Beat of my Heart Read online

  Beat of my Heart

  Cursed & Hunted

  Book 9

  Sheri-Lynn Marean

  Contents

  Also by Sheri-Lynn Marean

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  1. Toren

  2. Mystical Pull

  3. The King

  4. Promised to Another

  5. Worse before Better

  6. Confusion

  7. Restless

  8. Foreboding

  9. Ilyium Attack

  10. Live or Die?

  11. North and West

  12. Arrival

  13. Friend or Foe

  14. Forbidden Kiss

  15. Distance

  16. Caught in the Act

  17. Goodbyes Suck

  18. Hard Truths

  19. Were-wolf Den

  20. Collared

  21. A Bloodsucker’s Pet

  22. One Chance

  23. Forgive Me

  24. Irresistible

  25. Mind Link

  26. No Distractions

  27. Chained

  28. Witch

  29. Game Over

  30. First Bite

  31. Trade

  32. Slight Reprieve

  33. Deal

  34. Soul Bound

  35. Dearly Parted

  36. Distraught

  37. Mourning Spot

  38. Acceptance

  39. Matching Rhythm

  Daggerthorn

  Also by Sheri-Lynn Marean

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2022 by Sheri-Lynn Marean

  This book is for your enjoyment only. You may not sell, give away, copy, reproduce, distribute, transmit in any form, (whole or part) by any means, electronic, digital, optical, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, printing, information storage, and retrieval system, without written permission from the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable for criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  All rights reserved.

  Also by Sheri-Lynn Marean

  DRACONES; CURSED & HUNTED

  0~Primalthorn ~ Prequel Novella

  0.5~ Dragonsworn Guardian

  1~Dracones Awakening

  2~Dracones Revelation

  3~Dracones Betrayed

  4~Dracones Thaniel

  5~Dracones Rogue

  6~Dracones Guardian

  7~Dance with Darkness

  8~Defiant Wolf; Curse Breaker

  Sanctuary; Dragon Heart Awakened

  Return to Sanctuary; We All Gots Beasts

  9~Beat of my Heart

  LEAGUE OF SUPERNATURAL ASSASSINS

  1~ The Dragon Assassin

  League of Supernatural Assassins Shared World

  DRAGON HUNTER BROTHERHOOD

  1~ Saberthorn

  2~ Casstiel; Born of Lightning

  Daggerthorn; A Christmas Gift Novella

  1~Alien Vampire Hunter; Kiss of Darkness

  1~Fantasy Lovers; Her Dragon, Wolf & Vampire Mates

  This is for everyone struggling to figure out where they fit in this world.

  Acknowledgments

  I wish to thank my wonderful editor Laura LaTulipe, my Beta Readers Christine Works & Denise Keel, my PA Barb Shuler, my VA Mindy Seal, and my rocking ARC team for your precious time and willingness to read my books.

  Author’s Note

  Beat of My Heart is an MM Shifter Romance. It spans two years, starting two years before Book 1: Dracones Awakening and ending at the same time as Book 8: Defiant Wolf.

  1

  Toren

  A bitter breeze ruffled Toren’s rust-colored pelt as he waited in wolf form for his pack to catch up. A storm was coming, but what kind, he didn’t know. He gazed down the rocky incline at the camp they’d set up in a forested clearing nestled against a towering mountain wall and tried to shake off the foreboding that had been with him for days. Yet despite all he did—despite the run with his pack mates—it hung on, clinging like a leech that refused to let go.

  The run had been good, fun, and he should be relaxed. But that wasn’t all that had been plaguing him. It felt like an itch under his skin, a need for something more. It had started five or six years ago, and grew steadily worse every day. And he hated it. Hated the deep loneliness that weighed upon him. He didn’t understand—surrounded by family and pack—what was there to be lonely about? Toren didn’t get why he always balked at his female friends when they offered to become more.

  Except that wasn’t the truth. He did know. They didn’t interest him. Not as lovers and certainly not as mates.

  Maybe this was his fate. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy.

  I need to try harder, he told himself, knowing it would fail.

  What he wouldn’t give to be like everyone else. The unmated members of his pack never hesitated to enjoy themselves with one another, and afterward they were always so relaxed.

  Toren could appreciate how uninhibited they all were, and he was glad for his pack mates. Though it often left him with a sour feeling of jealousy, and that didn’t sit well with him.

  It didn’t matter how many times Toren told himself he could change, or how many times he tried. He couldn’t seem to let go of what he wanted, what he dreamed of having. But maybe it was time to let it all go.

  He needed to give up his crazy dreams, push what he desired away and bury it once and for all and accept his lot in life.

  A blast of wind broke open the mild yet chilly day, howling like the melancholy in his soul as it swept icy fingers right through Toren’s coat. It flowed around him like a mini cyclone, bringing with it a wavering phantom.

  Toren blinked, unsure if his sorry musings had conjured up what he was seeing—a pair of vivid green eyes that seemed as real as if they belonged to a person standing right in front of him. Except there was no body, just the eyes that spoke of untold loneliness and sorrow.

  Toren couldn’t break the hold they had on him, yet he knew they were set in a masculine face as faint strands of long, dark hair swirled in the currents.

  A strong sense of dread, mixed with anticipation, wound through him.

  No, wait! Toren silently pleaded, but he was too late. The mirage, or phantom, or whatever it was, drifted away as did the sudden wind.

  Toren stood frozen, unsure if his mind was playing tricks or if he’d really seen what he had.

  With his wishful thinking, it could have been a figment of his imagination. But while foretelling the future had never been one of his abilities, it did run in his family, so it could be a latent gift.

  And if that were the case, what did it mean?

  The sound of paws tearing up the ground—of his pack mates as they finally caught up to him—brought Toren back to the here and now. Amid yips, grunts, and good-natured snarls, they ran by, kicking up mud as they passed him on their way down the trail. Then slowing, they entered camp, leaving a muddy mess in their wake. Some headed to the cooking food, while others dropped down and lay panting. A couple morphed into clothed human forms and then joined their families.

  He had a great bunch of friends, and right now, though they were grown up, they still enjoyed playing and frolicking. Yet when it was time to teach the younger pups, or take their turns on sentry duty, they embraced that as well, for they all knew how fleeting their time here could be, how quickly everything could end.

  As youngsters, it had been hard to sit tight and hide when the enemy found them. Harder still when the sounds of battle filled the air along with the scent of blood and death.

  Yet, they’d always had one another’s backs and still did. Toren loved his pack and would willingly die for any one of them, as he knew
they would for him.

  A large wolf, coat a shimmering deep golden-brown, stopped beside Toren.

  “One of these days I will beat you,” Deetan said via mind link as his tongue lolled and laughter gleamed in his dark-golden eyes. Though they were born the same day, his friend was a much bigger-boned wolf. Deetan’s rugged, masculine beauty, combined with a wicked sense of humor, made him well sought after by the single females.

  Power shimmered as the other male took his human form. In worn black jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt, Deetan’s gold eyes glowed as his shoulder-length brown hair fluttered in the wind. He focused on the unmated females below. One smiled and waved up at him.

  Deetan grinned. “I’m feeling horny.”

  Toren also changed into his two-legged form, adorned in similar clothing, grateful that they didn’t feel the cold like humans did. However, he’d definitely felt the frigid wind that had brought the green eyes to him. Toren shook off the strange occurrence and remained silent, aware of his muscle-bound friend standing so close. He purposely avoided looking at Deetan, as lately, the thoughts running through his mind, while confusing to him, would undoubtedly horrify Deetan.

  Deetan grabbed his arm as Toren was about to leave. “I’ve seen you watching me with them.”

  Toren froze and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

  “I know you’re Kyrian—our king’s—son.” Deetan stared at him. “And that comes with certain expectations, but sometimes you have to do things for you. Understand?”

  “What exactly are you saying?” Had Deetan figured out his secret?

  “You watch me with the females, yet you haven’t bedded any,” Deetan responded.

  Toren shrugged, not ready to admit the reason why.

  “Look, I know your father and uncle keep a sharp eye on you, so I can understand you being self-conscious about it,” Deetan said.

  “They’re just protective,” Toren protested, even though he was twenty-three years old.

  “I know, and with the life we live—the danger—I totally understand. I also know that you’re expected to mate a certain female. But you are a grown male. Surely your father wouldn’t begrudge you a little fun first, would he?”

  “No, of course not.” Toren’s father wasn’t the problem. He was.

  “So, come out with us tonight, we’re heading into the city.”

  From the corner of his eye, Toren spotted a massive black wolf exiting the forest. He shivered at the sight of his uncle, glad the male was family, ’cause Soroyan was one of the most ferocious wolves ever born.

  “What are you doing, pup?” Soroyan asked telepathically as he sauntered by.

  Toren scowled. “Nothing, and I’m not a pup anymore.”

  “Compared to me, you’ll always be a pup.” Then he was gone.

  “He call you a pup again?” Deetan asked.

  Toren blew out an annoyed breath. “I don’t think he’ll ever stop, no matter how old I get.”

  “Yeah, probably not.” Deetan slung an arm over his shoulder. “So, you coming with us tonight or what?”

  Despite how much he wanted to see Denver, Toren shook his head. His father didn’t want him spending time in the human world. It was a bone of contention that usually filled Toren with anger, but this time he was fine with not going. For if he did, he knew what would be expected of him by his friends, and he wasn’t ready to have sex with a female. “No, not tonight.”

  2

  Mystical Pull

  Cursed. Zeveride was definitely cursed. He had to be. This pull that dug its claws in and drove Zeveride to follow where it led, might have been intended as a gift, and sure, he would occasionally arrive in time to save or help someone. But more often than not, he’d arrive too late and end up staring at the remains of some poor soul, knowing that the curse was laughing its ass off at him.

  Feet aching, Zeveride ignored the cold, his hunger, and the trickle of anticipation that swept like tiny needles throughout him. Why couldn’t this so-called curse, or gift—whatever the fuck—ever send him to a warm sunny place? Like a beach, or somewhere he could relax and soak up some rays and save a turtle, bird, or fish. Maybe a beached dolphin or whale.

  ’Cause just once it would be nice not to chase death and danger.

  A chill shivered over his spine as he entered what felt like the dangerous part of this experience. Though this time, it didn’t reek of evil magic.

  He seemed to be the only supe able to smell the Ilyium’s magic when they used it for evil, though in all fairness, he’d not asked every nonhuman he met if they could. But the ones he had, hadn’t any idea it left an odor.

  Zeveride squinted up at the winter sun for a quick moment. Then he lowered his head again and trod on toward whatever awaited, putting one foot in front of the other. It was no use to try and avoid it, he’d been there and done that, and learned that when the drive was upon him, he was better off just following it.

  However, he’d been walking for days and was ready to end this journey. Like it would be so easy.

  He only made it a few more paces when the mystical force that had brought him out to the Colorado Rockies, suddenly changed direction.

  Zeveride glanced up the highway, then gazed westward.

  His pulse began to race. Though he stood in human form, he inhaled deeply, parsing the different scents around him. He might not be able to catch as much as he would as a wolf, but he still picked up a lot.

  Zeveride slid his water bottle from the side pocket of his pack and, without taking his eyes off the rugged, snow-crusted landscape, uncapped the bottle and then slowly sipped.

  He’d spent most of his life wandering the world, mainly in North America. He went where he pleased, when he wanted. The only change to his willy-nilly schedule was when he was drawn in a specific direction. It started the night he’d seen his mother die and his pack slaughtered.

  He should have died with them, but he’d been spared. Why, he never knew, and throughout his life, Zeveride couldn’t help but wonder if he might’ve been better off dying like the rest of his pack.

  As a hawk glided overhead, drifting lazily, Zeveride hesitated to move. The old fears never failed to return. What would he find this time? He’d lost track of the number of places he’d been sent only to discover his people—the Okami—lying broken in a pool of blood.

  One was too many, but the hope that he might show up in time to help—to lend himself to the Okami’s fight against the Ilyium—was all he had. If that didn’t end up being the case, then at the very least, he could bury the dead.

  Except, seeing the needless death and destruction hurt. Each time it took another piece of his soul away, leading him to ask questions all over again. Why had he been sent here to this spot? What was the point? Was fate bored and liked to see him chase his tail?

  Zeveride didn’t know if he believed in fate, or the gods, but he couldn’t discount them as there was much he didn’t understand. Like the fact that some Okami wolves had unique gifts, or magic as he liked to think of it, and could do amazing, good things. Some had mediocre magic that wasn’t very useful. Then there were the curses, of which Zeveride was almost sure he had.

  Still, in all his thirty years, none of the drives that urged him in a specific direction had ever left him feeling so tense. Which couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

  No. Never before had his heart quickened in such a way. It was as if his search had finally ended. Which made no sense whatsoever. He wasn’t searching for anything, just living day by day, sometimes in the human world, sometimes in nature as he’d been born—a wolf.

  Zeveride gazed back at the distant city of Denver and another shiver shook him. Somehow, he was aware that if he continued in his current direction, he’d be forever changed. He couldn’t say why, and it honestly didn’t matter. It was just something he knew deep in his bones.

  Again, a faint whiff of wolf—pack—drifted to him on the breeze. Not death this time, but living, breathing souls.


  It was a good sign, yet Zeveride hesitated. The sense of danger had increased, the itch within growing stronger. He was entering the territory of another pack. A dangerous one. Powerful.

  With each step forward, his stomach began to percolate with what felt like a cauldron of acid, and tension drew sweat from his pores even though it wasn’t warm out.

  Zeveride drew in a deep breath and continued onward, caution in every step. As bad as his life sometimes sucked, he wasn’t ready for it to end.

  Yet, as he grew closer to his destination, and despite the fear—the dire warning to tread carefully—his heart began to thump with excitement.

  Which made no sense. A pack was a pack, wasn’t it?

  The thought of being around others like him was always enticing, because, as good as he’d grown at keeping who and what he was from the humans, it was much easier being with supes like him. They already knew what he was, so he only had one secret to hide and it wasn’t this so-called gift that led him everywhere by the dick. No, it was another one. One that pretty much no Okami shifter he’d ever come across would be able to understand, never mind accept.

  And he’d met a lot of the packs out there. He’d helped them when he could, and then they’d nicely ask him to move on. Not many wanted a stray who might take a female from one of their own.