Fate Revealed, page 1
Fate Revealed (Helheim Wolf Pack Series #1)
Copyright © 2023 by Lauren Dawes
www.authorlaurendawes.com
The right of Lauren Dawes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
E-book: 978-1-922353-74-0
Print: 978-1-922353-75-7
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organizations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Designs
Interior design by Sly Fox Cover Designs
To my wonderful husband Phil: For all your support, love and encouragement. I don’t think I could have done it without you.
AUTHOR NOTE
Readers, please be advised that there may be some triggering scenes contained within this book. These include but are not limited to sexual assault, sexual violence and Disassociate Identity Disorder. Careful and thorough research was completed, and I hope that I have given this subject matter the care and sensitivity it deserves.
PROLOGUE
James Vincent’s earliest memory of his mother was ripply—distorted as though looking through warped glass. He could see her standing above him, looking at him—not with love in her eyes like a mother should, but rather with malice. Her anger towards him was as palpable as the hand holding down his small body. His arms and legs were flailing around aimlessly, looking for purchase, but finding none.
Then he was able to breathe again. When the water cleared from his eyes, James found his father holding his mother away from the bath tub. They were screaming at each other, but James couldn’t make out the words over the chattering of his teeth. His father’s strong arms were suddenly around him then, lifting him out of the icy water and holding him close to his warm chest.
He was placed on the bed, blankets around him, watching his father pack a big suitcase for himself and a small one for James filled with his toys. James didn’t understand what was happening at the time, but he understood his mother’s look of smug triumph when his father carried him out the door that same night.
When James was ten, his father died in a car accident leaving him no choice but to go back to his mother. By that time though, his mother was no longer the secretary for a failing tire store, but a hooker turning tricks to make ends meet.
The shame of selling her body broke his mother. Her desperation to cleanse her soul and her body came in the form of a whiskey bottle. After she doused the fire of regret from her body, she took to beating James—cracking multiple ribs at a time, opening up new cuts that spilled crimson tears down his cheeks, or breaking his fingers during her many alcohol-fueled rages.
When James was twelve, his mother dragged him to the seediest bar in the next town over to sell her body to anyone willing. She’d brought James along because he’d started running away from her whenever she left the house. The evening was slow. She’d only managed a few blow jobs in the bathroom, but she had earned enough cash for a cheap bottle of whiskey. When she’d finished that bottle, she needed another. Desperation drove her to sell James to a complete stranger for another opportunity to get numb.
James managed to escape and a few days later, the police found James wandering the streets, looking through garbage bins for food scraps. He was returned to his mother, not telling the police the real reason he was out on the streets. His mother punished him for “running away” from her in the only way she knew. This was the first time she sexually abused him, tying him to the bed, forcing him into arousal then telling him he was a disgusting boy for enjoying it.
For years, the vicious cycle was perpetuated by liquor and self-loathing until James was old enough to fight her off and defend himself. At the age of seventeen, James came home to find his mother passed out on the couch in front of the TV with a pool of vomit on the floor next to her. She’d spent the entire day drinking again. Disgusted with the sight of her, he went to his bedroom wishing he could have unseen what he’d seen, but there was always that pull to still help her when she drank herself into a stupor.
When he went back through to the kitchen, he heard gagging coming from the living room. He stood in the doorway and watched his mother choke on her own vomit—her eyes bulging and desperate, her air supply running out quickly. The low, desperate noises she was making down in the back of her throat called to him. Against everything that roared through his body to just leave her there, he stepped into the room. Her wide eyes darted to him, begging him to help her. James felt himself being torn in two, like the very fabric he’d been cut from was violently ripping in half. With a shudder, he refocused on his mother. He took a step forward, one part of him wanting to help her—she was his mother after all—but then there was another part of him, this darker, hidden part that wanted her to suffer every cruelty she had ever inflicted on him.
His mother died on their sofa, surrounded by cooling vomit––her son watching on with a cruel smile twisting his lips.
ONE
Detective Vaile Wolfe stuck his pen into the little pile of ashes he was crouched over and stirred. The burned remains, picked up by the slight breeze from the mouth of the alleyway, got stuck in his nostrils, forcing a low growl out from between his lips.
What a goddamn fucking mess. The wolf that shared his body shifted uneasily, the scent of the blood awakening his baser instincts. He could feel his lupine form move under his skin—under his ribs—stirring to life restlessly. He’d denied the Change for nearly two weeks, sending the flashing red light of warning off in his head. He was putting the cops he worked with in danger with every day that passed. He muttered a few words under his breath to calm the beast and stood up, unable to avoid looking at the huge puddles of blood at his feet. He’d be seeing red for a fucking week.
“Did you find anything?” he asked the officer who had been assigned to him just that morning. Vaile had chewed through a dozen rookies in the last six months and he had a feeling that this guy wasn’t going to make it much past sundown. Vaile had a rep for being a sonofabitch to work with and that was just the way he liked it.
This new kid was all WASP. His pale eyes were wide as he took in the carnage around him. Vaile had caught him puking in the dumpster next to the crime scene. As soon as the kid had seen the blood, he’d gone as white as a sheet and ran. Vaile could still smell the stuff on his breath.
“No, sir. Nothing yet,” he replied perfunctorily. Vaile’s lips flexed into a parody of a smile. At least this kid knew who was Top Dog, not like the last cocky bastard he’d had working for him. “We’re just waiting for forensics to show up, sir.” The kid turned back to look at the puddles. “Sir, where’s the body?”
“There ain’t no body, kid. It’s obvious that this was the kill site. The body’s been dumped someplace else.” What the WASP didn’t know was that two members of his pack had taken the stiff a few hours before the cops had even got the call that morning from a sanitation worker reporting a lot of blood down an alleyway.
The other thing the cops didn’t know was that a vampire had been given its Final Death in that alleyway, but they would never recognize the signs. Humans saw only what they wanted to see. To them, the ashes that littered the ground in that goddamned frozen, filthy alleyway were the remnants from a hobo barrel fire, not the last resting place of a blood-sucking parasite.
The kid swallowed convulsively, his throat working over a lump, his skin turning a pale shade of green. “You going to puke again?” Vaile barked.
“No, sir,” the kid replied in a shaky breath. His fear was coming off his body in waves, causing a sneer to pull at Vaile’s top lip. Vaile got up in his face, taking him by the collar of his shirt and pulling the guy in close to his massive body. Intimidation factor? He would have said around a ten.
“Because if you are, you’re not working with me. You can just go back to the station now and get desk-raped,” he growled.
Vaile hadn’t thought it was possible, but the kid swallowed the green and his already pasty skin blanched out even further. “I’m fine,” he replied with a quavering voice.
What a fucking lightweight. Vaile gave him a hard look and pushed him away, causing him to stumble into the dumpster. Vaile walked back to a beat cop waiting just inside the yellow police tape. Beyond him—at the mouth of the alleyway—were rubberneckers wanting to see a glimpse of the carnage. Although another officer was placed there, arms outstretched and desperately trying to stop the click-click of camera phones, they still managed to get an uninterrupted view. Sometimes Vaile thought humans were more bloodthirsty than the wolf that shared his body. Looking away from them in disgust, he asked, “What did you see when you got here last night, Mack?”
Mack was a shifter, too. Werewolves made good cops. It was as simple as that. His pale green eyes flecked with brown met Vaile’s for a split second before dropping down to look at Vaile’s chin. “A human male drained of blood. That was all, but judging by the smell, and—” he kicked his toe into the ashes at his feet,
Vaile didn’t know who had given the vamp the cure for life, but he was goddamn elated that they had. He was a damn good cop and an even better detective, but the stench of the vampire was cancelling out the scent of any humans who may have been involved at the scene of the crime. To his sensitive nose, all he could smell was burning, rotten garbage topped off by cow shit.
“So who was the guy we picked up last night?” Vaile turned and spat on the ground; the nasty taste of the blood-sucker had coated the back of his tongue. After he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, Vaile turned back to Mack. He didn’t need to worry about the police cataloguing the sample because the whole damn report was going to mysteriously disappear in the very near future.
Mack shrugged. “There was no wallet on the body. Maybe he was a Renfield and the vamp lured him here. Maybe he was just unlucky.”
Renfields. Weren’t they a treat? They were humans who believed vampires were real, and who regularly donated their blood to other humans pretending to be vampires. Ignorant fuckers. And they wondered why HIV was spreading through the human population like wildfire.
“Whose blood is this then?” Vaile asked.
Mack shrugged. “The guy could have tried to fight back before the vamp managed to get his fangs in him.”
Vaile grunted, drew in a deep breath and coughed. “Goddamn vampires. I hate their fucking stench.”
“Tell me about it,” Mack replied in a drawl.
Just then, the forensic crew arrived in their signature white van, parking outside the alleyway’s only entrance and exit. The Uniforms began pushing people out of the way again, trying to make room for them to get out of the van. Time to get the fuck out of there.
“Hey, kid!” Vaile called out to his “partner”. When he couldn’t see his blond hair, Vaile marched over to the closest dumpster and peered over the other side. The kid had curled himself up into a ball in a pool of his own vomit. “Ah, fuck.” He looked over at the other shifter. “Mack? Come give me a hand, will ya?”
Vaile drove him and the WASP back to the station after he and Mack had got him into the back of his unmarked. Sure, Vaile could have lifted the kid no problem, but hauling a grown man around on your shoulder like he weighed nothing drew too much unwanted attention.
There was a groan as the car bumped into the car park behind the station. Vaile looked into his rear-view mirror to see the rookie coming around. The smell of vomit had permeated the interior thanks to the kid, and no amount of Febreeze was going to get that shit out.
“Get out and get reassigned,” Vaile barked, slamming his car door behind him. He navigated his way to the back of the building without a backwards glance to see if the kid had gotten out or not. When he reached the solid metal door, Vaile heard the distinct sound of a car door opening and closing.
And another one bites the dust.
Hauling open the heavy steel, Vaile walked into central command.
People were everywhere. Vaile passed through the security checkpoint, disarming himself and producing his badge. When he was finally through, he slipped his holster back on as he walked up the stairs. At the top, he hung a left.
Inside his office were about twenty people, each sitting behind a computer with three soft walls. It was partition heaven. Parking it behind his desk, he turned on his computer and clicked into his emails. He’d been working the Buxton rapist case, and the latest medical report was front and center. He opened up the email and scrolled through the three-page report, skimming it for anything that was useful. So far nothing viable had been collected from the women or the scenes. The sick fucker was getting more violent with them, too. He’d started just by threatening the girls, but now he was following through on the threat. The last girl had a broken jaw and a fractured cheekbone thanks to the bastard.
Kicking out of his chair, Vaile went to make himself a cup of coffee in the kitchenette they had in the back corner of the office. The coffee tasted terrible, but at least it got rid of the taste of vampire that was still sticking to the back of his tongue. He took another sip and, from over the lip of his cup, he saw his boss walking towards him.
“Wolfe. My office. Now.”
“You got it,” he replied, walking casually back to the desk to deposit his still-full coffee cup.
“Sit down,” his boss said as soon as Vaile had shut the door to his office behind him. His boss’s name was D’Angelo. His dark hair had started going gray around the sides, but his dark eyes were still sharp. “I’ve just spoken to Hauptmann. He says he wants off your service.”
“Really?”
“Don’t give me that fucking tone, Wolfe. Jesus!” D’Angelo ran a hand through the gray. “You only had him for…fuck, like two hours.”
“He’s not cut out for the work. He’s a beat cop at best. And besides, I’ve already told you I prefer working alone.”
D’Angelo’s blood pressure went up a few clicks. “You know what? If you weren’t my best detective, I would get your ass transferred someplace where I don’t have to see you every single damn day.”
“But I am your best detective,” Vaile reminded him. “And I’m sure you’d miss me.”
D’Angelo opened his mouth to argue again, but a knock on the door saved him. “Come in!” he yelled. The door pushed open and the scent of roses wafted in. Vaile’s head swiveled around to see a female officer standing in the doorway. He’d never seen her around the station before, but then again he’d never really looked at human women. What was the point? Love couldn’t transcend species. Lust? Fuck yeah. But love? Not a chance.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asked, breaking Vaile’s fixation. He turned back around in his seat, uncomfortably aware of her.
“Grey, come in.”
She shut the door behind her and sat in the chair next to Vaile. The scent of roses grew stronger, but it wasn’t her perfume. It was something else. Maybe it was her soap or shampoo or some shit.
“You expressed interest in working with Detective Wolfe. Does your interest still stand?” his boss said.
Vaile looked over at her and wondered why in the hell she would volunteer to spend time with him.
“Yes, sir.”
D’Angelo nodded perfunctorily. “Congratulations. You’ve been reassigned. Now get your asses over to Buxton Gen. Another girl’s been brought in overnight—suspected rape victim. Get a statement. See if we can’t finally nail this guy’s ass to the wall.”
Vaile stood up, Grey shadowing him. “You got it.”
TWO
TWO WEEKS EARLIER…
Indi knew he’d be trouble the first moment she laid eyes on him. Men in suits were always a problem for her. She felt like she’d had the words “harass me, asshole” tattooed onto her forehead from birth. And, of course, he was sitting in her section. Her anger prickled over her skin ever so softly, but she ignored it. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath and began walking over to his table.
“Do you want me to take him for you?”
Indi stopped mid-step and turned to look at the only other male friend she had besides her brother. Rhett had only been working at Jerry’s for a few months, but she felt as if she’d known him her entire life. Rhett’s mismatched eyes were soft and cautious as he waited for her answer. One eye was a light sky-blue and the other a pale pistachio-green.
He nudged the six-foot-four mark, his broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and muscular legs. He didn’t look like much with his clothes on, but Indi had accidentally walked in on him when he was changing out of his uniform one evening after the cafe had closed, and he was packing some serious muscle under his Hanes.
Indi smiled, shaking her head at him. “Nah, I’m good.” She rubbed the back of her neck, working some kinks out as she prepared herself to talk to the customer in her section. Plastering a fake smile on her lips, she made her way over to him. The guy’s dark eyes watched her the entire way with all the eagerness of a hungry predator.
