Howling (KismetBorn #1)

Chapter One

FRANKIE

Iclasp my hand over the vicious wound in my side, then wince in dismay when blood bubbles up between my fingers and spills to the ground, leaving a trail that a blind wolf could follow, much less the elite kill squad tracking my ass.

I might as well be wearing a blinking neon sign above my head that points to my location.

Refusing to admit defeat, I stop only long enough to yank my shirt over my head, then wrap it around my waist and cinch it tight over the gaping slashes. Despite black dots dancing in my vision, I grit my teeth against the pain and begin my long trek through the forest.

The quiet of the woods would almost be eerie if it were a normal forest, but it’s called the Dead Forest for a reason.

Nothing that enters ever returns.

Some people claim vampires live here, others say demons.

All anyone knows is that it’s cursed.

The origins of the myth have been buried in the mists of time.

Anyone who knew the truth died a long ago, taking the secret to their grave.

A pack of hounds bay in the distance, the distorted melody revealing they aren’t real hunting dogs but beasts summoned from the Underworld, and bound to do their master’s bidding.

And that is to find and kill me.

Fun times.

I pick up my pace, doing my best not to touch the trees and brush, leaving as little trace of me behind as possible.

While I’m normally in excellent shape, the injury is slowing me down, the blood loss weakening me and draining my stamina faster than normal.

Sweat and blood cake my tank top, and my pants are torn in more than one location from where claws tried to rip me apart.

I won’t survive much longer, but damn if I will make it easy for the bastards to kill me.

The lore are ancient creatures who survived in a time when teeth and claws were the only form of law, many of them hundreds of years old or more.

The fae like to think they’re the first to civilize the world, but they’re just a different type of vicious. Only a small colony remains in Kyperian, but that doesn’t stop the snooty assholes from acting superior to everyone else.

Though they might try to deny it, their shit stinks just as much as everyone else’s.

The most powerful lore are now the magical beings who rule Kyperian through an ironclad dictatorship, and they have hunted my kind since the beginning of time. They call us unnatural, abominations who taint the earth by our very presence.

We can’t be allowed to live.

In truth, we’re hunted for our abilities. Not only are we resistant to magic, which means we can’t be bespelled, but we can also absorb it with a touch. In rare cases, we can either mimic others’ abilities for a short period of time or temporarily transfer them to others.

I am kismet, one of the last of my kind, one of the few beings left who can alter the course of fate. And if the lore get their grubby hands on me, no one will be safe from their tyranny. With my gift, they will be able to bend anyone to their will.

They will destroy my mind, twist my reality until I become nothing more than a minion to do their bidding. I’ve seen it often enough. When others have been summoned to the tribunal, they never return the same.

They’re conditioned.

Brainwashed.

Any kindness or sympathy is stamped out.

The lore believe they are superior to everyone else, that they deserve to be treated better and that anyone below them is lucky just to breathe the same air as them.

I refuse to allow that to happen to me.

I won’t let the greedy assholes alter other people’s fate for their own personal gain and private amusement.

I won’t be a weapon at their disposal.

I would rather die first, which is a very real possibility.

The deeper I burrow into the gnarled woods, the more the world around me changes.

The sunlight disappears through the heavy canopy of rustling leaves.

A few rays dapple through the forest, the slow strobe light effect disorienting.

The branches overhead are so thick that I’m unable to see the lavender dome they use to protect our city from being discovered by humans.

The temperature chills, gooseflesh pebbles my skin almost painfully, and the air thickens until my lungs struggle in an effort to breathe. The ground is spongy under my feet, slowing my momentum, and a dense fog creeps along the foliage like poison, looking for its next victim to consume.

I must be close to the edge of the dome.

While the security measures are supposed to keep humans out, I suspect it’s more to keep people from escaping Kyperian. We are the last refuge for supernatural creatures—shifters of all kinds, elves, fairies, trolls, ogres…basically any mythical creature humans haven’t hunted to death.

The ruling council claims the outside world is dangerous, and anyone who ventures beyond the borders of Kyperian is banned from ever returning. Thanks to the magical dome, once we leave, we’re unable to locate the hidden kingdom again.

It’s a safety measure.

As far as I’m concerned, they can keep their privileged world, where only the top predators have any freedom.

The rest of us are born to serve and live in the slums. The lore—a combination of alphas, vampire masters, and mages who rule the council—use their powers to keep the citizens docile and under their thumb.

Like we should be grateful for their meager generosity and the dubious honor of obeying their every whim.

It’s all bullshit.

Sure, I could challenge others for a better standing, rise through the hierarchy—I have enough power to join one of the elite squads—but I can’t risk my abilities being discovered.

Not that I have to worry about my secret anymore.

It’s all been for nothing.

I trusted the wrong person. In return for saving their life, they turned me over to the lore for a reward and a chance for a better future.

I almost can’t blame them.

Almost.

Tiny insects swarm the mist, hunting for their next meal, and I pick up my pace when the buzzing around me increases, like they caught my scent. The little fuckers are carnivorous beasts who can pick a person’s bones clean in under an hour.

If they catch my trail before I cross the barrier, I’m dead.

With gritted teeth, I swipe away the sweat dripping off my face and pick up my pace, cursing myself for being a fool. I should’ve left Kyperian a long time ago, but I was hoping to save up more money for the coyotes—real coyotes shifters who smuggle people and goods in and out of Kyperian.

They’re scavengers, natural rebels, and one of the few species that don’t give a shit about the ruling council. I had an appointment with them next week to smuggle me and Gramps out…until I fucked up.

Now, I’m on my own.

My heart aches at the thought of Gramps, and I shake my head, trying to banish my last memory of him. If I allow myself the luxury, I’m afraid I might collapse under the weight of my grief.

My guilt.

Though the chance of escaping is minuscule, I refuse to give up—not when Gramps sacrificed himself to get me out.

Most likely, I’ll be hunted down by the Orion.

They’re an elite squad of legendary hunters trained from birth to track down anyone who breaks the laws of Kyperian.

That is, if they survive the training. Only ten out of every hundred who apply actually graduate.

Most who fail the training are either dead or too injured to ever work again.

So few Orion survive the brutal training that they are expected to work until they die.

Even those who are injured in the line of duty are still expected to serve, knowing full well that they won’t survive.

I’m baffled why so many people try to join the ranks.

Some might think the perks outweigh the risks, but I saw the horrors they faced firsthand from Gramps.

Nothing is worth what he had to endure daily.

Sure, the privileges that come with the job are amazing, but the trick is you have to live to enjoy them—free housing at the capital, generous pay, and the rare benefit of selecting a mate of your choosing, instead of being assigned one by the council.

And that’s only if you’re lucky enough to be selected to breed, since the population is approximately ten males to one female.

Though I have never trained with the Orion directly, I was taught everything they know in secret by Gramps. He was one of the few warriors allowed to retire after being injured in the line of duty, one of the few elders still alive after nearly a century of service to the council.

Although I’m not sure if you’d consider the dubious honor of training the next generation of killers as retirement.

No one dares to protest their assignments, not if they want to live.

Gramps took me in as an orphaned child, training me behind closed doors.

He wasn’t a gentle man, but his gruff affection showed in the way he made sure I had the skills to survive.

Though we never talked about it out loud—it was too dangerous to even whisper the truth—I suspected Gramps knew I was a kismet.

He did his best to give me the skills I needed to survive without spending a lifetime in shackles.

The scarred warrior was a gnarled old wolf shifter who claimed he just didn’t know when to die.

He and three of his best friends joined the Orion for love.

Only sheer luck and daring skills allowed them the opportunity to select their mate, the woman they adored with their last breath.

Unfortunately, they never had any children.

Since Marion wasn’t able to breed, she was put on a list of undesirables. Any extra advantages given to breeding females were denied her. Without a mate to protect her, she would have been fair game to anyone who wanted her. Gramps and his pack brothers saved her from a fate worse than death.

With Marion and his pack brothers gone, Gramps claimed he was just waiting to die…until he found me.

He made it his mission to keep me safe.

He always said that Marion sent me to him, and I’m not sure he’s wrong.

Anyone else would have instantly turned me over to the lore.

Instead, he saved me.

He trained me harder than any Orion, never granting me any mercy.

His goal was to ensure I had the skills to survive in the human world, because when I turn twenty in three weeks, I will be forced to go in for testing, something that is required of all females.

If we can breed, we are moved to the capital and trained how to be submissive and to pleasure our partners.

If we are defective, we are sent to the fringes and forced to work. We’re considered fair game, and many women find themselves sold to the highest bidder, usually to a whorehouse. Or, if they are lucky, a group of men will bid on a woman and offer their protection.

The instant I go in for testing, they will discover I’m a kismet.

I will be granted the “privilege” of being the council’s lapdog, because being born a kismet is a criminal offense. Anyone who manifests that designation is to be immediately detained and reported.

I’d only had to survive one more week before I would’ve been free.

Instead, I fucked up, and it cost Gramps his life.

When the Orion came for me, he fought them off and gave me time to flee.

Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I furiously blink them away.

Now is not the time to grieve.

Escape first…then make them fucking pay.

I desperately wanted to stay, but the old man used his alpha voice and ordered me to leave.

I could’ve fought the order, could’ve remained at his side, but it was a losing battle.

Even with a head start, I barely escaped with my life.

Soldiers were waiting for me when I left, and I had to fight my way free.

I managed to evade them for hours, stealthily working my way toward the fringes. I thought I would make it…until they summoned the hounds.

It doesn’t take a seer to know I’m fucked, but I don’t stop.

I refuse to make my capture easy for them.

Kyperian is not a place for the weak. The only protection within the walls is for those who take it.

The lore governs with an iron fist. You need permission to mate, permission to hunt for food, permission to relocate, permission to breed, permission to switch occupations, permission to even leave the protection of their walls.

Nothing is done without their approval.

The kismet had their own territory once upon a time…

until we were hunted to near extinction.

We’re too dangerous to be allowed free, not when a single touch from us can change a person’s fate.

No, the council wants us in chains, forced to do their bidding.

The predators on the council don’t want anyone to challenge their rule.

Since most paranormal creatures can live for hundreds of years, they’ve been in charge for nearly half a millennium.

They would rather die than give up their seats on the ruling council.

They are so corrupt that if anyone is strong enough to challenge them for their spot, the poor fools usually find themselves on the wrong side of the law and hunted down.

I’m a prime example.

Much to my frustration, my strength is flagging. By the time I fight through the thick brambles, I’m barely able to stay upright. Blood has soaked my shirt through, my jeans are wet with it, leaving bloody footprints behind, but that’s not what holds my attention.

The shimmering shield from the dome is only a few yards away, and my shoulders sag in relief. I’m shocked that I made it.

Unfortunately, I celebrated too soon.

Just as I step toward freedom, branches snap behind me. I whirl, stumbling away when a huge black beast crashes through the underbrush. I barely have time to brace myself before the massive creature charges.

My ribs snap on impact, his fetid breath bathing my throat, then the force of the collision sends me flying through the air. I smack the ground hard, the breath knocked from me, and it’s only years of training that have me rolling painfully to my feet.

I brace for teeth and claws to tear me apart, but nothing happens.

I lift my head, my whole body aching at the simple movement, and I blink when I see the hound pacing on the other side of the dome. Instead of killing me, the creature knocked me through the shield…and out of reach.

Since the hound was created from magic, it’s unable to cross the barrier. It’s one of the few rules the council follows, since it wouldn’t do for humans to witness magic being performed.

I hesitate a moment longer, mostly out of disbelief that I’m still alive, then I turn on my heel and run before the Orion can track me down and drag me back.