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  Prey to the Heart

  The Wolves of Wild Junction

  Kristen Banet

  Copyright © 2018 by Kristen Banet

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Abigail

  2. Abigail

  3. Thomas

  4. Abigail

  5. Abigail

  6. Abigail

  7. Abigail

  8. Antonio

  9. Abigail

  10. James

  11. Abigail

  12. Thomas

  13. Abigail

  14. Abigail

  15. Antonio

  16. Abigail

  17. James

  18. Abigail

  19. Abigail

  20. Abigail

  21. Abigail

  Dear Reader,

  About the Author

  Also by Kristen Banet

  Trust Your Heart

  1

  Abigail

  November 2017

  Abigail wandered around her condo in LA. She was a world-class psychiatrist and therapist. She was one of the best.

  And woefully jobless.

  “How did this happen?” Abigail bemoaned, running a hand through her straight, shoulder-length hair. “Everything was going so well.”

  Her phone started to go off and she sighed. Probably a friend calling her to wish her well. She checked the caller ID and groaned in frustration. Her father.

  “Daughter mine!” he began happily, the moment she answered. She didn’t even get a chance to say hello. “When are you coming home? I’ve heard you’re unemployed, and that’s awful. Come home and let your mother and I take care of you.”

  “I’m not going home, Father,” Abigail sighed. “I have a paid off condo and enough savings to sit around for several months without worrying.”

  “The Herd can take care of you,” he scoffed.

  Her father, the buck shifter, Daniel Harris, thought the Herd could solve anything for a doe shifter like her. She could go back, be a farmer, and live in what amounted to a commune. Meet a nice buck boy. Settle down. She was waiting for him to remind her of all of this.

  “Harry’s boy Dennis is all grown up.” Yup. There it was. “He’s a good buck, and he always liked you. You can work the land, be close to nature. We’re the only Herd not in a city. I’m not sure how you stand living there.”

  “I like the city,” Abigail reminded him. Again. Like every phone call. “I know I’ve been unemployed for a few weeks, Father, but I’m fine. Really.”

  “Your mother would love to see you.” He was trying to coax her into visiting so they could lock her away, keep her. Tell her there was no reason to come back to LA. She normally only visited for the holidays, and she always made sure to have work scheduled right after the visit so she had a real reason to leave.

  “I’ll come for Christmas, Father,” Abigail said, giving him a polite chuckle. “Like always.”

  “Once a year isn’t enough,” he mumbled, petulant.

  He loved her, she knew, but she needed this. She needed the city and the work. She loved her life. She loved being away from the small community of four hundred prey shifters living in a tiny, fake town that never let humans move in. They had created it right under the nose of the wolf Pack that ran the state as territory, and ignoring the Herd. She wasn’t going back.

  “Father, I need to go,” she said quickly, cutting off whatever he was saying.

  “You know, I remember telling you not to work for the Shifter Special Task Force. Do you remember that? I told you that they would screw you.”

  “Father!” she snapped at him. “I was helping victims of trauma. I wasn’t an agent. They called me in to help those in fragile or vulnerable states in the aftermath of dangerous events. I did good work. They just decided they would hire people out of house and not keep a staff for it anymore. Budget cuts. It happens. They gave me a great severance package in compensation.”

  She was still mad at them for firing her, but she couldn’t tell her father that. They needed people like her in-house for their own employees, though they never listened to her about that. They were the United States’ answer to helping shifters stay hidden, but also keeping them in line - mostly - with the law. A lot of shifter drama was ignored, so they could stay apolitical. She just helped the victims. The rest had been someone else’s job.

  “Now, Abigail,” her father groaned. “Please don’t-”

  “I’m going to let you go now, Father,” Abigail told him sharply. “I need to find a job. I love you.”

  She could hear his ‘I love you, too,’ as she pulled the phone down from her ear and hung up. Darn it. She should have known her sister would tell her parents she was jobless. The last time he’d been so adamant about her going back to the Herd had been when her engagement was broken off eight years ago.

  Abigail ended that thought before it could begin. She was not going to think about her broken love life. No way. She was great at her job, but she turned all of that training off for her own life. She wouldn’t over-analyze herself, her friends, or any non-existent lovers. She wouldn’t over-analyze the cheating ass of an ex or the lack of relationships she’d had since. She worked, and it was good.

  Now she just needed a job again. She was well-known in the shifter community for her work. Surely if she made some calls she could find something.

  It was hours and several phone calls later when Abigail gave up for the day. The sun was setting over her beautiful city. She had her laptop open, playing a hidden radio station, one that reported on shifter news worldwide. Public stuff: who was fighting who, who was marrying who. It was all the big names. Recently, there had been some strange news from Colorado, news that had everyone shocked and a little scared.

  “I would like to report that the Kingson Pride returned this morning. Publicly, no information is being given, but a source in their state shifter patrol reported that they’ve been having serious trouble with shifter hunters. It’s believed they were captured by hunters on their way from Denver to Wild Junction and escaped. No casualties reported. We’ll keep everyone posted on the status of the Pride.”

  “That’s awful,” Abigail moaned. “Poor felines.”

  The Kingson Pride had always been a strong force in the shifter world, but this younger generation seemed to have a knack for trouble that other shifters didn’t. She wondered how they kept finding themselves in the chatter. She was thankful that a doe like her would never need to worry about shifter hunters. They just didn’t care, or maybe even know, that something like her existed. But the predators - the big felines, the bears, the wolves? They had to be extremely careful not to be outed or vulnerable to capture. That sounded like a fate worse than death, being caught by shifter hunters.

  There were a few commercials and Abigail sipped on a glass of wine as she waited for more news.

  As the commercials played, she thought on it. The Kingson Pride was considered royalty, especially among the feline shifters. Not as much now as it once was, since there had always been chatter about how the current Alpha didn’t get involved that heavily. He handled his own and dealt with problems brought to his doorstep - nothing more, nothing less. And he dealt with them ruth
lessly. He was the last King and he didn’t want his crown. Every shifter knew that, for their own good.

  “Jim, I’ve heard the SSTF has decided to crack down on shifter hunters due to recent happenings around the Kingson Pride.”

  “I think it might also be related to the South Dakota Pack. Their entire inner circle and Alpha needed to be replaced in the last month after they picked a fight with local hunters and lost,” Jim responded.

  Abigail listened to this carefully. South Dakota was where the Herd was. She’d heard about the chaos of the wolf Pack. Chris Marek hadn’t been a very good Alpha, but he was good enough to ignore the Herd and let them live in peace. Now there was a female at the top. She wasn’t bad, but she took an interest in the Herd that made Abigail even more uncomfortable about going home.

  “I heard they won, but the hunters’ retaliation was what did them in.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jim said. “Either way, shifters out there. If you are in the United States, things are changing for the better - finally. Due to this grievous attack on a public face of our community, the SSTF has started making promises to chase the shifter hunters back into whatever holes they crawled out of. They’re going to follow in Canada’s footsteps and work on truly protecting our kind instead of just dealing with the aftermath. It’s a great time to be alive, even if it’s through the misfortune of others. Before we sign off here in New York, we send our prayers to the Kingson Pride and the missing members of the South Dakota Pack.”

  Abigail sighed and took another sip of her wine. These predators needed to stop picking fights with hunters…or each other. The last Pack in the U.S. that lost an Alpha and inner circle like this had been eight months before. They lost the fight to take over another Pack. Georgia’s Pack had obliterated Alabama’s. And felines? Their political and business wars, and the intrigue surrounding them, were infamous.

  But she sent her prayers too. There wasn’t a shifter in the country who wasn’t going to be happy that the SSTF was finally stepping up and doing its darn job.

  Abigail refilled her glass and wondered what she was going to do with herself. As she brought the glass to her lips, her personal cell phone began to ring again.

  She grabbed it and answered, ignoring the screen telling her it was an unknown number. The speaker started talking before she could open her mouth.

  “Abigail Harris? I heard you are currently out of a job. Come work for me. My Pride needs your services. I can’t tell you any more over the phone. I would prefer if we speak in person. I’ve bought you a seat, first class, on a flight from LA to Denver for tomorrow at six a.m.”

  “Who is this?” Abigail interjected, frowning to herself. And how did this deep-voiced male have her personal phone number? She kept a work phone for old and new clients to call her. Her personal number was for family and friends only.

  “Brenton Kingson, Alpha of the Kingson Pride.”

  She nearly dropped her phone as he continued to explain.

  Speak of the Devil.

  When he hung up later, she packed her bags. When the King called you, no matter what, you didn’t say no. Not if you knew what was good for you.

  And he was giving her a job.

  When Abigail got off the plane in Denver, she didn’t know what she’d expected. It was windy and cold. That was something she’d been prepared for. November in Colorado? Of course it would be chilly. She shouldn’t have worn heels, she realized, as her toes curled against the icy breeze.

  It didn’t take her very long to rent a car, especially when she realized one had already been set up for her. This was a last-minute trip, so she hadn’t expected Alpha Kingson to get everything set up for her visit.

  On the other hand, this was the Brenton Kingson, one of the most powerful Alphas. Maybe she should have expected him to have every tiny little thing prepared for her.

  She hadn’t been told much about this visit to the mountains of Colorado. Only that he would pay her triple her average rates and she could be here for a very long time. The ‘very long time’ part meant she had brought several suitcases. She dragged them along to the car and loaded them all up, ignoring the people turning to look at her.

  People? No, other shifters.

  She was rare to most of them - and to be in this city, at a time like this, brought questions. Not just because of her shifted form, but also her profession.

  She began the trek out into the country, turning on the radio to a local news station. “Brenton Kingson has been located.”

  Abigail sighed and clicked the radio back off, not wanting to hear news she already knew. Weird, to be a shifter in Colorado at a time like this. I mean, if this Pride isn’t safe, who is? She pondered that thought for most of the drive. Somewhere along this highway, out toward Wild Junction, they had been taken. And now she was on her way, she assumed, to help deal with the aftermath.

  She pulled in front of the mansion and stepped out, her heels suddenly an even worse idea. It was colder in Wild Junction than it was in Denver. The door opened before she could ring the doorbell and she gasped at the scent that hit her.

  Tiger.

  Abigail previously had a job that took her near predators frequently. She also had a lot of personal experience with them, but still, nothing could stop the instinctive shiver of fear and the urge to bolt like a skittish doe.

  “You Abigail?” the tiger growled.

  She only nodded, looking up - and farther up - to meet the tiger’s eyes.

  Ice blue eyes, pale skin, and black hair told her that this was the infamously dangerous Zachary Woods, white tiger shifter and second of the Kingson Pride. He had a reputation, one that should have sent her back to her car and towards the airport. Tattoos covered all the skin she could see except his face and neck. His hair was punk and wild, flopping to one side like a mohawk that couldn’t stand up correctly. A lazy mohawk, she decided.

  She swallowed the fear and composed herself. She extended a hand to the huge tiger. She hoped that all the shifters here weren’t his size. Very few predators intimidated her anymore, but this guy was all bad and all dangerous.

  “Abigail Harris,” she informed him. She waited for a long beat before he took her hand gently and shook it. Gently was an understatement. He barely even touched her, which was considerate for a predator to a prey, not just male to female. He would have used a stronger grip on a male prey like her father, but even then, it still would have been a light shake. It was just proper.

  The second thing she hadn’t expected: for these felines to respect the species boundary. She could have never guessed that these felines knew the way predators should act with a prey shifter to keep everyone comfortable.

  “Zachary Woods, but I think you know that,” he said. He gave an annoyed grunt. “Come inside. You’re expected in his office.”

  “Whose office?” she asked, stepping in as he held the door. She could hear the whispers of conversations in other areas of the mansion, but there were too many smells for her to properly get a read on what and who was in the mansion.

  Zachary gave her a funny, and slightly angry, look. “Brenton’s, obviously,” he huffed, locking the front door. “Follow me.”

  She tried to ignore the annoying sound her heels made in their home. She wasn’t wearing heels again, that was certain. Her hearing was just too sensitive to deal with it. She’d only done it for this meeting because she knew better than to come here without looking her best.

  “He’s waiting inside,” Zachary told her, pulling open a door on the first floor. She stepped into the office, wondering how this meeting was going to play out.

  “Come in and have a seat,” Brenton Kingson sighed.

  Abigail looked over his face with her professional gaze. She studied and made judgements on how to best approach this situation. She didn’t take a seat, though, preferring to stand after the long drive.

  He was tired, this male. So tired. The dark circles under his eyes, and leaned-back posture in his large executive c
hair were the clearest indicators. His brown hair was messy, as if he couldn’t be bothered to spend the energy to fix it. He was handsome, though. Brenton’s gold eyes seemed to shine even under the weight of exhaustion. He was massive in size: broad shoulders, broad chest. His suit couldn’t even hide his muscles. Very much a lion, and not particularly her type. He was too crisp. Too maintained, even with the messy hair. She assumed he normally had it properly styled. And she didn’t like the super-buff types.

  She stepped closer and that’s when her weaker sense of smell told her there was something else in the room. She wished she had a predator’s sense of smell; theirs was much better.

  She turned slowly and saw him: brown, curly hair; stubble all over his strong jaw; and another set of ice-blue eyes that seemed warmer than the tiger’s. More of a sky than an iceberg, once she considered it a little longer. He also looked tired but expectant. And gorgeous. This wolf, she knew, had always been gorgeous.

  And her type.

  Thomas Marek, South Dakota Pack second. The worst of the surprises. The last thing Abigail had been expecting to find in Wild Junction.

  She met his eyes and wondered if he recognized her. She wondered how much of his Pack was here. If he was here, she wouldn’t doubt that Chris, Lochlan, James, or any of the others were far behind. Not that any of them were bad - or even knew her name. But they could recognize her, and she really hoped they didn’t.

  And what was Thomas Marek doing here? Why hadn’t they gone back to South Dakota to reclaim their Pack? Why was he in Kingson’s office?