Zenya's Story

By Holly S. Roberts

With a beastkind war on the horizon and his entire pack wiped out by the southern lion pride, Nicolas longs for death after months of daily torture at the hands of his enemies.

Zenya, a werecat, rescued by wolves, places herself in danger’s way because Nicolas’s dark eyes haunt her dreams. They’re natural enemies but their beasts have other ideas.

Add in a one-armed teenage hellion, a blind female with a heart of gold, and a deadly vampire with a boyish face, and Nicolas just might have a new clan.

Misfit cats, crazy wolves, and a special miracle combine with danger, love, and revenge in the next Fang Chronicles’ installment.

7-Books Series Complete

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly S. Roberts
• Release date: Mar 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005478551

Holly S. Roberts

Holly S Roberts is a retired homicide detective and the USA TODAY Bestselling Author of Play and Ruck (Completion Sports series). She is excited to announce a new crime thriller series published by Bookouture Hachette releasing 1/13/2023. For Holly's spicier side, you'll love her anti-hero bad boys who will curl your toes (Hotter Than Hell series) and a lighter (not so spicy) humorous paranormal series with shifters and Hellhounds (Marinah and King). She also writes cozy mysteries under the pen name Suzie Ivy. She lives with her two spoiled dogs high in the mountains. Holly is a self-defense instructor and owned a martial arts gym where she taught women to kick butt. Visit wickedstorytelling.com for more info.

Book preview

Prologue

While Brandt was fighting for his mate, the cats led an organized attack on Nicolas’s pack and most were killed with Nicolas taken hostage. Fang Chronicles continues…

South America

The room was dark and only a small sliver showed through the solid door that kept him imprisoned. Chains, attached to his arms and legs, also secured him to the wall. He was barely able to lie on the floor.

A putrid bucket for waste sat next to him but he had not eaten in weeks or drank water in days. He no longer needed the bucket. His body was filthy with lice skittering through his shaggy hair and blood crusted on his skin and he no longer cared.

He was dying. Lack of food, water, and torture, along with the loss of his pack had finally taken away his will to live. The next beating would be his last.

When he arrived in hell, he swore he would take cats with him before he died but that was no longer possible. Revenge couldn’t hold back his pain; grief was no longer important. He gave up but knew his friends would take retribution for the murder of his family. Darkness descended, he hoped this was death.

Light entered his cell then shadows quickly replaced it as the door closed. His mind was cloudy but he knew this was his last moment on earth.

Did he have a burst of energy to fight one last time? He didn’t think so.

The steps approached. They were soft, coming closer than usual. Maybe they thought him so near death it no longer mattered. A body knelt beside him. The cat was inches from his hands.

Fuck yes; he would finally take one with him in death.

Every last bit of alpha’s power roared through his body. Coming to his knees he wrapped his hands around the throat of his enemy.

So weak, where once he could twist off a head, this death would take longer. He swore he would squeeze every breath of air from the cat’s body.

He wanted to see the eyes that would precede him in death. His wolf gaze took over and through the darkness he pulled the dying man closer.

Panic filled green spheres with black cat irises stared back. Small hands came up to clasp his, Zenya.

A female cat he met once before he landed in hell. Shock loosened his grip.

Terror stared back and she sucked air sharply into her lungs. Her throaty words barely made it past her lips. Amy sent me.

His fingers loosened more. His rasping words growled into her ear. Helping me won’t save you. I will kill every cat alive.

She was now taking deep long breaths but her eyes never wavered. Fine Nicolas but kill me when you don’t need me anymore.

That can be arranged.

Chapter One

Dim lights.

Muted sound.

Pain.

Darkness.

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His brain barely functioned, but then the distant sounds turned into voices. He tried to connect the words from a male voice.

Enough already, how…times…let him die.

Darkness.

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Awareness came slowly. Everything hurt and then pain seared into his back, bringing him off the cold, hard surface.

Hold him down, dammit, or tighten the chains.

Something or someone mashed him further into what laid beneath him. He managed to open his eyes to see… cement. He was on a cement slab. Dried blood. Was it his? He smelled burning flesh. That was his and he was in hell.

Again.

The pain intensified. He couldn’t hold back his scream, and when it tapered off, his bleary mind heard laughter.

He’s back with us.

His cloudy eyes blinked past the tears and he saw the branding iron held by someone he didn’t know; it went back into the fire.

That someone jerked his head up suddenly so he was staring into cat eyes.

Hello, Nicolas. We’re glad you’ve joined the party and are partaking in our entertainment.

The hold on his hair released, and his head slammed against the cement. The voice drifted away and a hand reached for the reddened iron. He saw the X draw closer and then felt the burn against his lower back. He was awake now and managed to hold in most of his next scream.

The skin on his back burned in two distinct places but didn’t come close to the sizzling skin now under the iron.

Again and again they seared the skin from his back. Finally, blackness took him away.

He felt the vampire at his wrist. Opening his eyes, he saw the vampire pull away. Fuck, it was a kid. A goddamned blood-sucking kid.

Penetrating amber eyes looked into his. You’ll feel better soon, but I don’t think that’s a gift. Eventually they’ll kill you. I’m sorry my bite will make that day further away. Sleep now.

Dark clouds descended and the world floated to nothingness.

This time his body hung from a rafter and he came to with a bucket of water saturating his bare skin. The liquid brought him to consciousness but unfortunately spiked his thirst. Dripping from his hair, a few drops traveled over his cracked lips. Not enough.

Let’s get to work and see how long he stays with us this time.

The scent of burning flesh no longer filled his nostrils, and he inhaled the unmistakable smell of cat—filthy, dirty, feline, shit.

The first cut brought his head up. Then the tearing burn drew a low groan as they peeled the skin from his body. He gritted his teeth until he was afraid they would crack. Strip after strip. He slowly drifted away...

His home.

Burning.

Screams.

No, not the babies. Must protect the babies.

He couldn’t move. Secure vampire arms made him helpless. All he could do was watch his pack be massacred.

A voice pulled him out of the nightmare.

I can’t keep bringing him back if you don’t give him water or food.

Physical pain was much easier to deal with than mental, and Nicolas felt relief.

Cool water met his parched lips, but his tongue, too swollen to control the liquid flowing into his mouth, couldn’t stop it from rolling down his throat. He choked. Maybe he would drown.

The youthful voice sounded far away, Drink and then I’ll relieve the pain.

We aren’t done with him yet.

Then you’ve just wasted good water. He’s too close to death and it’s almost impossible to draw blood. He tastes like shit.

He’s wolf, of course he tastes like shit.

Nicolas would have laughed because he thought the same about cats, but laughter was beyond him.

If you don’t give him nourishment, you can find another vampire.

The alpha wants him alive.

And you’ll risk him dying? I told you he’s almost beyond my help, and there’s little I can do unless you get some water and food into him.

Colter, take him down and secure him to the wall. Fetch some of Stella’s pozole and see if you can get that slop into his stomach.

"Call me in an hour and I’ll heel his newest wounds. If… he tastes better."

You’re such a pussy. If I’d known, I would’ve asked one of the other vamps to stay behind.

Nicolas heard the thump of the cat’s body hit the wall. He wanted to smile again. Beastkind didn’t fuck with vampires, even an infant one.

The pozole didn’t stay down, though he tried. He needed his strength to kill every cat alive. After that, he didn’t care what happened. His pack was gone; every last man, woman, and child. He would never stop hearing the screams, and wondered if death would give him needed peace. He wanted to die, but only if he could take the cats with him.

Cold hands lifted his arm and, though he tried, he couldn’t move away.

You can fight but I’ll win, so just relax.

Nicolas couldn’t even gather spit in his dry mouth to spew into the vamp’s face.

The kid laughed. My name’s Vorlyk. I’m sure you don’t care, but I feel I should make introductions before I feed.

Fuck you. His vocal cords barely worked.

That’s better, wolf. Vorlyk bit deep, sucking greedily. Retracting his fangs, he looked his meal in the eye. Hatred can carry you far. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll live long enough to do anything about it. I’ll leave some water next to you. Before unconsciousness takes over try to keep a little more down. I’m leaving for good in a few hours, but I’ll come in before I go and give you a small boost before the next round starts.

Why do you give a fuck?

The deceptively young vamp tipped his head to the side, studying the pitiful excuse for a werewolf in front of him. His boyish voice went down an octave. I don’t.

With that he was gone.

Nicolas almost thought be dreamed the vamp’s pre-dawn visit, but when the cats came in he felt renewed energy, though hours later it made little difference.

This time the face of his tormentor changed. It was the cat he hated above all others; the baby killer.

The alpha liked to use his fists, and when that didn’t give him satisfying results, he grabbed a tire iron. Nicolas’s last thought before his blood-drenched eyes went dark… If there’s no vamp, I’m a dead fucking wolf.

Chapter Two

Months later…

Nicolas lost count of the days, weeks, and months of his captivity. Rarely did light come through the solid door that kept him imprisoned. The wall secured his arms and legs with chains, making it almost impossible to lie fully on the floor. The tight restraints kept him from changing into wolf unless he wanted his joints torn from their sockets. The skin around his wrists and ankles was past scabbing over and was little more than torn flesh and bone, oozing thick puss. A bucket for waste sat next to him, but he hadn’t eaten in weeks or had a drink of water in days. He no longer needed the now-dry and crusted foul pail.

His body was giving out.

Lack of food, torture, and the loss of his pack had finally taken away his will to live. The next beating would be his last. No vampire had visited him in weeks. When he got here, he swore he would take cats with him when he died, but that wasn’t going to happen. Thoughts of revenge barely managed to get past his pain and suffering. His friends would need to handle the retribution for the murder of his pack.

He fell asleep thinking of death.

A small ray of light entered his cell. His cloudy mind knew this was it. Did he have a burst of energy to fight one last time? He didn’t think so.

He heard the steps of a single cat coming closer than normal. Maybe it realized he was so close to death it no longer mattered. A shadowed form knelt beside him. The cat was inches from his body.

A thread of hatred broke through his agony.

Fuck yes, he would be taking one of them with him in death. Every bit of alpha’s power he possessed brought him to his knees, and his restrained arms successfully wrapped around the throat of his enemy. His weak hands should have been able to twist the head off, but this death would take longer. He would slowly squeeze every drop of air from the monster’s body.

With a clouded but glinting gaze, he looked into the face of the man beneath his death grip. Zenya’s green eyes stared; panic evident and her small hands came up to grasp his. She was a female cat and one that he knew. The shock caused him to loosen his grip, but her terror remained, and low gasping words came from deep in her throat.

Amy sent me.

His fingers relaxed. His raspy words sounded in her ear. Helping me won’t keep you from death.

She was taking deep breaths but never looked away. Fine, but kill me when you no longer need me.

That can be arranged.

Her eyes didn’t blink, but her hand disengaged and trembling fingers opened to show a key in her palm. His heartbeat accelerated and his gaze traveled from her hand to her face.

Her shining eyes peered back at him. Are you able to walk?

I’ll die trying.

She unlocked the leg chains before removing the ones on his wrists. The metal around his throat was last. Fight the change. It will only make you weaker.

She was right, but god he wanted to let his wolf out. Disregarding her disgusting cat smell was impossible and he itched to feel her throat in his hands again. How long have I been here?

Four months.

What about the clans?

Marcus and Amy are okay, Cheri lost some wolves, but overall they survived. Yours is gone.

Without thinking, his forearm connected with the side of her head and even in his weakened state her body landed a few feet away.

She wiped the blood from her mouth. Feel better now?

Through gritted teeth he managed, Don’t ever fucking mention my clan again.

She didn’t acknowledge the order. Do you need help walking?

Don’t fucking touch me.

She went straight to the door and opened it. Light shone in from an outside bulb and he could see the darkness in the distance.

We need to get past the outer perimeter, but you need to move out of the way first. She picked up a bulky tarp on the other side of the door and carried it over before unfurling it.

God, he smelled wolf for the first time in months, dead wolf. His hatred burned and he almost lost his mind.

I know this is hard, but he’s dead and you’re alive. I need to get his clothes off and put the chains on him. I’m hoping they smell his body and think you’re dead. If so, they’re lazy and will let you lie in here for a while.

Her hair was in his fist before he realized he grabbed her, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed to kill a cat. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and he went to his knees managing to savagely pull her head down with him. He stared directly into her green eyes. Did. You. Kill. Him?

No. Her gaze remained steady. He got too close to the boundary. He’s been dead over twenty-four hours. I carried him here before coming for you. If you’re going to kill me, do it. Chances are we’ll be caught. I’d rather die quickly.

Letting go, he gathered the dead body into his shaking arms and rocked back and forth. There was no moisture left for tears, but he whispered the prayer of death’s safe journey. Taking a deep breath, he released his desperate hold on his brother wolf and then removed the clothes with unsteady hands. Not looking at the she-cat, he snapped the chains in place, and then turned.

What do we do with the clothes?

Put them under the body. She folded the tarp and handed it to him. After he looked up, she pulled thin pants, a shirt, and socks from beneath her loose-fitting top. Put these on. I have shoes and supplies a mile from here.

The clothes smelled like cat and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Her gaze remained steady. They can’t smell wolf leaving here. It’s bad enough they might smell the body I carried over.

He put on the clothes. He was barely standing, but needed the supplies, especially if food and water were waiting. He would kill her then.

Chapter Three

Not using her to lean on was impossible, and ten minutes into their escape she wedged her body under his shoulder. Her cat odor overpowered his other senses and made him angrier, if that was possible. He stumbled, fell, and gasped for air. He could feel several broken ribs grinding, compliments of his last beating. His arm was broken too and needed resetting. Sweat dripped down his face and the hot humid air didn’t help. Her body was soft but made of iron when it came to taking his extra weight.

He managed to stay conscious, barely. There wasn’t any activity at the camp, and Zenya kept to the shadows until they hit the jungle. Brambles stuck to his socks, but he was past caring. Everything hurt, but at least if he died now, it would be someplace other than the hellhole he’d been kept in.

They trudged along. Her breathing wasn’t quite as loud as his, but taking his weight was finally having an impact. Suddenly, he felt a tree against his back and her arms slipped away. He was too tired to move. His socks came off and then soothing cool water spilled over them.

Here. She placed another water bottle at his lips. Drink slowly. If you can keep it down, I’ve got some jerky. I can’t do anything more about your feet but put clean socks on them with the shoes. Sorry.

His throat managed to work and absorb the liquid. His hand shook as he tried to take the water bottle. He gave up, exhaustion taking its toll.

You need to sleep. I’ll give you an hour after you get some jerky down and then we’ll try some more food and water before taking off.

No… must go. His words slurred.

You’re dead on your feet and I can’t keep carrying you. Sooner or later we’ll need to move fast. Right now we’re safe, but that won’t last. I’m hoping we get a day’s head start. Here, eat. She forced a strip of jerky between his lips.

He was too tired to argue or kill her. Another piece of meat would have been welcome, but his eyes closed before he could ask.

Nicolas, wake up.

He rolled, pulling the cat beneath his body before he realized it was Zenya.

We don’t have time for this, wolf. Her muffled voice sounded beneath his chest.

He rolled back over, trying not to show the pain in his chest caused by his broken ribs. How long did I sleep?

Two hours. Here’s some more water and jerky. Be quick.