Hunger Pangs Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Story Information

  Prologue

  Part One: Placing the Board

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Part Two: Arranging the Pieces

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Part Three: The Queen's Gambit

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Before You Go

  Character List

  Author's Note

  Thanks to Patreon/Ko-Fi

  About the Author

  Crewel Intentions Sample

  Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

  Flirting with Fangs

  ♥

  Joy Demorra

  Copyright © 2020 Humerus Intentions Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Jen Hickman https://www.jensington.com/

  Cover Design by RoseLark Publishing https://www.roselarkpublishing.com/

  Formatting by RoseLark Publishing https://www.roselarkpublishing.com/

  Editing by RoseLark Publishing https://www.roselarkpublishing.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events 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.

  DEDICATION

  For those who encouraged me against my better judgment. With special thanks to everyone who supported me through my blog and Patreon and made this creative endeavor possible. In a book about vampires, werewolves, and all other manner of creatures that go bump in the night, you are possibly the worst monsters here.

  You wonderful bunch of enablers ♥

  To Jenee, my dark and terrible muse who first put this idea in my head, I hope you’re proud of yourself.

  Resounding thanks to my beta readers and editors for getting me across the finish line.

  And to Mothman, the best cryptid husband a gal could ever ask for. Thanks for not only putting up with but also encouraging my antics. I love you more than words can convey. But I’m going to keep trying, anyway.

  STORY INFORMATION

  In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more...

  Captain Nathan J. Northland had no idea what to expect when he returned home to Lorehaven injured from war, but it certainly wasn’t to find himself posted on an island full of vampires. An island whose local vampire dandy lord causes Nathan to feel strange things he’d never felt before.

  Particularly about fangs.

  When Vlad Blutstein agreed to hire Nathan as Captain of the Eyrie Guard, he hadn’t been sure what to expect either, but it certainly hadn’t been to fall in love with a disabled werewolf. However Vlad has fallen and fallen hard, and that’s the problem.

  Torn by their allegiances—to family, to duty, and the age-old enmity between vampires and werewolves—the pair find themselves in a difficult situation: to love where the heart wants or to follow where expectation demands.

  The situation is complicated further when a mysterious and beguiling figure known only as Lady Ursula crashes into their lives, bringing with her dark omens of death, doom, and destruction in her wake.

  One thing is for certain, nothing will ever be the same.

  *

  For content warnings, please check out my website.

  PROLOGUE

  Lightning flashed followed by a roaring boom of thunder which split the quiet of the night. Out on the roiling black waves, a single light trembled on the horizon, flickering valiantly against the tempest battering the rocky coast. The light would likely be flotsam by morning, another victim of the capricious whims of nature. But there was always the slim hope it might not.

  Another bolt split the sky. For one brief instant, the features of a tumbled down statue were cast into sharp relief. Features, which had once been carved in the likeness of a god, now stared hollow and vacant out into the night. Fragments of the past lay strewn over the sacred and scorched earth.

  But there was more to this place than the crumbling ruins of lost and forgotten prayers.

  Something else lingered here.

  Something old and dark, clawing its way out of the yawning maw of the earth with a silent, desolate howl. A single glowing sigil held the something at bay.

  Barely.

  The sigil murmured to itself in the darkness—one last parting gift from those who had plucked the eyes from their Gods and left fire in their wake.

  A gift, but also a warning.

  The Gods were not dead. Not yet. But they likely wished they were.

  Part One:

  Placing the Board

  CHAPTER ONE

  1887

  Under a starlit sky, beyond the rolling tundra and snowcapped mountains to the far north, a lone tree stood in the exact center of a deserted clearing. Encircling it with limbs outstretched a deep and unnatural forest grew—the kind of forest found in much warmer climes. Leaves still green and vibrant despite the freezing cold, elm, ash, and oak flourished amidst the pine and fir. Ice crystals floated in the air like diamonds, illuminated by a silver light—a stuttering and fading light coming from the lone tree’s core.

  “What’s wrong with it?” A tall heavily-armored mountain of a man asked, his voice rumbling like thunder deep in the cavern of his chest.

  Pushing back the hood of her fur cloak, Ursula stepped toward the oak tree. Her face was drawn with worry, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. They’d ridden hard to get here after receiving the frantic letter from the Sisters, weaving their way into the arctic while skirting avalanche-choked passes and snow-drenched forests. Ursula desperately wanted a bath and a warm bed, but that was for later. She needed to solve the problem standing here before her.

  “I’m not sure, Alfbern,” she said to her long-time guard and companion. Slowly, steadily, she walked in a circle around the ailing Ancestral Tree. Her eyes narrowed, assessing. Absently, she flicked away the snowflakes that caught and melted in her blonde tresses. “The magic is bleeding away like… like water
through a sieve. I’ve not seen anything like it…”

  Lifting the skirt to her fine wool riding habit, she stooped to examine the roots. An oily substance oozed from splits in the silver bark. The putrid smell of bubbling decay hung thick in the air; Ursula brushed aside the snow. Blood drained from her cheeks, and her breath caught in her throat. This was bad. This was very, very bad. Shivering—but not from the cold—she stared at the now exposed dead, pale gray earth.

  Ursula swept away more snow to find more of the same. “Whatever this is, it’s been spreading for a while. Why wasn’t I informed sooner?” Her voice was hard. Accusatory.

  Alfbern glared over his shoulder to where a matronly auburn-haired woman hung back at the edge of the clearing.

  The woman shivered under Ursula and Alfbern’s combined gaze. “Begging your pardon, my Lady,” Sister Anastasia said, her tongue heavily accented with the hard vowels of the mountain folk who took refuge in these woods. “But we didn’t know there was anything to inform you of. Not until the light started to fade—”

  “The smell alone should have told you that something was wrong,” Ursula cut her off. She wrinkled her nose. While she’d smelled worse things, it had usually been on battlefields, not out here. Not in the literal middle of nowhere. “Which means either we need to get your nose seen to, or you haven’t been tending the tree.”

  “My Sisters and I are here every night! We know better than most just what this tree means!” the other woman proclaimed indignantly, her fear morphing into anger. “I do not need to be lectured about tending the Ancestral Tree from some trickster—”

  “Sister Anastasia,” Alfbern rumbled, and the woman clamped her mouth shut. “Can you cure it?” he asked, turning back to Ursula.

  “Probably.” She gnawed on her bottom lip. Truthfully, Ursula was annoyed she hadn’t noticed there was a problem herself. The magical field surrounding the tree was so weak it was barely tangible. What ought to have been a blaze of power in her mind’s eye was now as thin and fragile as gossamer weave. She should have noticed this. She should have felt it happening. She should have known sooner.

  So why hadn’t she?

  But there was a time for shoulds and oughts, and it wasn’t now. Squaring her shoulders, she reached out toward the tree without touching it, her palms outstretched as she wove threads of magic between her fingertips. Later, Ursula would curse herself for a fool. Later, when the dust had settled. Later, when their wounds had healed. But now, now, all she could do was scream. From deep within the tree, something dark and unnatural rose up to greet her. It twined around her magic with an endless hunger, eager to plant roots in the mortal flesh of her heart.

  “Ursula!” Alfbern’s frantic shout scythed into her psyche, saving her from falling into the darkness’s grasp.

  Fighting for all she was worth, she cried, “It’s in the tree!” The ground beneath her feet shuddered and groaned, the shadows surrounding them elongating as they clawed their way toward her. She needed to make a light; she needed to push the shadows back. But the more she fought, the more strength it gained. The darkness feasted upon her power. It was like being eaten alive from the inside out. Pain. So much pain. Ursula cried out again—although perhaps she had never stopped.

  Unstrapping the battleaxe from his back, Alfbern rushed forward with an almighty bellow. The iron blade struck the massive trunk of the tree and bounced off, throwing the old werebear to the ground, the axe tumbling from his hand. But the iron left a dent, the withered bark splintering like cracked ice as the magic at its core broke free.

  Abruptly, the tether holding Ursula in place snapped. She staggered forward, gasping for air. She was free! Free! Every synapse fired with the need to destroy that hungry darkness with extreme prejudice. With an enraged cry of her own, she lifted Alfbern’s axe from the ground and swung it at the dent for all she was worth, pouring all of her soul—all of her power—into the blow. A loud snap filled the air as the axe shattered, the force of it reverberating up her arm.

  The tree exploded.

  Time slowed as eons-old magic roared over her, tearing at the very strata of her soul. With what little strength she had left, Ursula did what she could to protect herself.

  It was barely enough.

  Time returned. Ursula was flung backward like a ragdoll as the wild magic blasted outward, seeking a place to ground itself. With nowhere to go, it arced up into the sky, vanishing with one last final crack, which sounded like the splitting of the world.

  In the ringing silence that followed, Ursula became vaguely aware of hands pulling at her, turning her over on the cold ground to look up at the stars. They appeared startlingly dim compared to the flashes of light splotching over her vision.

  “Ursula! Little Bear, speak to me!” Alfbern pleaded. His voice cracked on the last, a sure sign of his distress.

  Distressed was a mild way of describing how Ursula felt at the moment. The splintered remains of his axe lay forgotten in her hand, the iron of the blade slowly cooling as it melted into a puddle in the snow. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she mumbled, aware that her head felt too light. “Iron shouldn’t be able to kill an Ancestral Tree.”

  “Little Bear, are you all right?”

  Ursula sat up stiffly. “I think so…” She winced, clutching at her ribs as she coughed. Nothing seemed to be broken, and her head didn’t fall off when she moved it, but it would be quite some time before she would be able to use her bow again. Everything hurt.

  “Lie back down,” Alfbern urged.

  But Ursula pushed him away. “No, I need to make sure it’s dead. Help me up.”

  “But—”

  “Help me up, Old Bear, or I’ll do it without you.”

  Reluctantly, Alfbern helped her stand, moving slowly to compensate for his own scrapes and bruises. His armor had taken most of the magical blow—iron was good at that—but the tree had shattered outward like glass. Shards of bark were tangled in his hair and beard, scratching faint lines of blood where they had grazed his face.

  “Don’t,” he said when she reached up to him. “They will heal on their own. Save your strength for yourself.”

  Lowering her hands, Ursula nodded grimly and limped toward what had once been the site of one of the last Great Ancestral Trees. Blackened, charred earth surrounded what was left of the stump, the falling snow sizzling and melting before it could even touch the ground.

  “What happened?” Sister Anastasia asked as she joined them, pale and shaken. “What did you do?”

  “That wasn’t me.” Ursula examined what remained of the roots. They crumbled to ash between her gloved fingers, scattering in the winter wind. “It was something living inside the tree. Feeding on it. Whatever it was, it’s gone now. It died with the tree. In fact, I think the tree might have already been dead for some time. It was just… hanging on.”

  Ursula hung her head, willing the hot tears prickling at her eyes not to come. Not yet. Later. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ingrid.

  “You’re sure?” Alfbern asked.

  Ursula nodded. She couldn’t sense any of it now, not the darkness, nor the tree itself. It was as though it had never been, though she knew it would be some time before she stopped feeling those dark tendrils ghosting over her skin. It had felt so… hungry.

  She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, Sister Anastasia. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Whatever that thing was, you had no way of knowing it was there until it was too late.”

  The woman waved away the apology. “What will happen to our land?” the Sister asked, looking around the dark pine trees with mounting apprehension. “What will we do now without the protection of the Ancestral Tree?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So, what do you know?! All I know is that you have doomed us this night!” the other woman shouted with tears in her eyes. “The forest will die. My people will starve! What are you—”

  Alfbern loomed over the frightened priestess. “Have a car
e for whom you speak to, Sister,” he rumbled. “Or those words may be your last.”

  “Alfie, don’t.” Ursula shook her head. “She’s right. I failed. I’m sorry.”

  Sister Anastasia simply nodded as she turned away, likely intent on informing her people about their changed circumstances.

  Ursula watched her leave, knowing there was little she could do to ease the woman’s plight. The knowledge hurt, but it was just one of many pains she’d been dealt that night.

  “You did what you could,” Alfbern said as if reading her thoughts. He knew what the loss of the tree meant. What it would mean for all of them. But they didn’t have time to mourn now. They didn’t have much time for anything.

  “I have to visit the other groves.” Pushing her own grief aside, Ursula regarded what was left of the once-sacred space. “I need to make sure whatever that thing was isn’t defiling anything else.”

  “That is a journey that will take months. Years, even.”

  Ursula gazed toward where the gray light of dawn was just beginning to push back the fading night. “Well then, we’d best get moving.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Also 1887

  A fine haze of mist hung in the air as the mud-spattered coach drew to a swaying halt outside the Crossroads Inn. It was the kind of penetrating gray drizzle that seeped through layers in ways that an honest downpour never could. Unfortunately, it also meant that Captain Nathan J. Northland was drenched the moment he stepped from the carriage. Standing patiently to one side, he waited for his luggage to be handed down from the roof. When a short woman struggled to claim her own case, Nathan stepped forward, passing it down to her.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, smiling gratefully at him. “But you needn’t have, not with your arm in a sling…” Her gaze landed on his injured left arm as she trailed off.

  “It’s nothing,” Nathan assured her as he confirmed that she had a firm grasp on the handle before letting go. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small reticule. He was half tempted to ask if she was carrying rocks in it.