Fangs and Fists (Collection)
by Kate Hill
Series: Fangs and Fists
Universe: Pandemonium
Format(s): Ebook
Heat Level: Erotic
Pairing(s): M/F
Genre/Themes: Paranormal
Length: Novella
Cover Art: Bryan Keller
Purchase Links: Changeling Press
In a futuristic world ruled by demons, werewolf gladiators are enslaved to fight for the amusement of their evil masters.
Bolt (Fangs and Fists 1): Bolt and Kiara have loved each other from the moment they met, but Kiara was mated to Bolt’s best friend. When Grit is killed in the arena, they surrender to their desire. Will their love be strong enough to help them win freedom from their evil masters?
Grit (Fangs and Fists 2): Grit died in the arena, only to be resurrected by a demon. He lives a shadowy existence as one of the soulless, remembering only bits and pieces of his former life. Long ago, vampire warrior Zari helped Grit escape. Now they’re free to explore their feelings as they fight the demons. Whatever the outcome, Zari and Grit intend to face it together.
Victor (Fangs and Fists 3): Jolanda’s a member of a secret pack of wolf witches who want to free their kin from the demon tower. Victor is the Alpha she needs to help her. Together they plan an escape from the tower, hoping to strike a blow the demon masters will never forget.
Haylen (Fangs and Fists 4): Faith healer turned resurrection demon, Haylen served the masters for centuries, creating legions of the soulless. Maddy, a mechanic with magical powers, has studied Haylen’s history and finds the demon fascinating. But she’s even more intrigued by the man he can become. In a world where good and evil are constantly at war, can the good witch save the demon’s soul?
Excerpts
Excerpt from Bolt:
Sometimes Kiara felt like the masters watched everyone, every second. Perhaps they did. With their magic and technology, they could do almost anything. That was how they’d managed to capture so many wolves.
Unlike certain other species, wolves lived much as they did thousands of years ago. They hunted for food, took shelter in caves or in cabins made by their own hands. They accepted little of modern life. For years they’d taken pride in their ability to survive simply, happily, but what they considered independence might ultimately destroy them. The freedom they valued had been taken by creatures who had spent generations perfecting magic and advancing technological skills.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Lila asked.
“No, but thank you for your kindness.”
“It’s all we have left, isn’t it? If we’re not kind to each other, no one else will be. Not here.”
Kiara nodded. Lila walked to the door.
Just moments after she left, the door burst open.
Startled, Kiara jumped to her feet, her senses alive. Two guards shoved Bolt inside. Naked and covered from head to toe in dried blood, he stood, trembling visibly. His blue gaze found hers and Kiara felt a bit ill. She’d never seen him like this.
“She’s yours now,” said one of the guards. “We’ll remove the cub of her previous mate.”
Kiara nearly panicked. She growled, her inner wolf on the verge of attacking the guards, futile as it would be. Still, she’d rather die fighting to protect Jett than willingly surrender him to these monsters.
“No,” Bolt said. “The cub is too young. Let her keep him for now.”
“Very well,” said the second guard. “But it will soon be weaned. Do your duty, wolf. She’s a healthy female and ripe for more offspring.”
The guards marched out, leaving Kiara and Bolt facing each other.
Kiara wasn’t sure about the severity of his injuries. The blood covering him didn’t look fresh, which was good. Apparently any wounds he’d sustained had started to heal. She couldn’t begin to guess what he’d endured.
“Come sit.” Kiara reached for his hand. It was ice cold and he jerked away.
“I’m a mess.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve had blood on me,” she said, remembering the days when she’d hunted with her pack.
This time when she took his hand, he tightened his grip so that it was almost painful and followed her to the washroom. She turned on the water in the black tile shower.
Kiara withdrew her hand from his grasp to cover the toilet with a towel. Then she urged him to sit while she wet another towel in the sink.
“Do you have any open wounds that need attention?” she asked.
“I think they’ve all healed. I’ve been in a cubicle for most of the night,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.
Neither spoke for several moments while she cleaned the blood from his face. All the while he stared at her. Bolt had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen — almond shaped and the blue of a clear autumn sky.
The towel turned red and she washed it again, wrung it out and left it on the side of the sink. By then shower was steaming up the bathroom.
“Get in,” she said.
Bolt rose and did as she told him. She couldn’t help noticing the firm curve of his backside and the play of muscles beneath his gore-covered body. It seemed wrong to notice his magnificence when he was in such a state, but she couldn’t help herself.
He stood under the water, still trembling despite the warmth. Kiara didn’t hesitate before stripping off her clothes and joining him in the shower. She took a cake of unscented soap and started washing him. She lathered his chest, shoulders and arms. Streams of hot water swept away the pink-tinged lather.
“Talk to me, Bolt,” she said, managing not to sound as worried as she felt.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“What happened? What did they do to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His eyes became more focused and his shocked expression turned to one of rage. “Bastards!”
He slammed his fist into the tile. It crumbled and fresh blood welled from his knuckles.
Kiara drew a sharp breath and took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at her.
“Don’t be. I’d rather you be angry than –”
“In a stupor?” A faint, sad smile tugged at his lips. “Kiara, I’m so sorry. Grit, he –”
“I know.”
Staring into her eyes and caressing her cheek, Bolt said, “I had to claim you, otherwise there was no telling who they’d give you to.”
She felt almost as bad as when she’d learned of Grit’s death. So Bolt didn’t return her feelings after all. It had been pure fantasy on her part. He’d only taken her out of decency and the desire to protect her because she was his friend’s wife.
She nodded, took his hand and lowered her gaze so that she could concentrate on pulling a few embedded pieces of tile from his bleeding knuckles. Water washed away more blood and the wounds began to heal.
“I understand, but you didn’t have to do this.”
He swallowed and cupped her chin. “You don’t want me.”
“It’s not that.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a terrible thing to ask so soon after Grit. How could you want anyone right now? Kiara, I won’t force you. I’d never –”
Standing on her toes, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him — not a simple kiss, but one filled with all the passion she’d felt since the moment they’d met.
Excerpt from Grit:
“Grit.”
Grit awoke with a start, his heart pounding and growls rumbling deep in his throat.
Instead of dark walls and the bodies of his brethren, he gazed into the huntress’s face. Zari had a square jaw and strong but compassionate eyes the color of rich earth. He didn’t recall everything about his past, but he knew she had been a loyal friend. Seeing her comforted him — until he realized others stood across the spacious room in what had been, in a more productive time, a Detroit warehouse.
The rebels with whom Zari worked had brought him here after she had aided him and others in escaping the tower. The demon masters ruled the city from that hellish place. All over the world such towers had been erected — dark skyscrapers that extended even farther below ground than they stretched into the sky.
Captured and enslaved by the demons who now ruled the world, werewolves were used as entertainment in gladiatorial matches.
At one time, Grit had been a prized gladiator. Then he’d been killed in the arena.
Glancing at the metal claws on his fingertips, he strained to recall that last match. All he could remember were small flashes of a bigger wolf tearing his throat. He placed a hand to it, feeling the cool metal that covered what had once been a gaping wound.
Then he had awakened in a cold, dark chamber, his only company the silent bodies around him and the voice of the demon who had resurrected him whispering in his thoughts. In his sleep, he had been there in the chamber again, and he remembered.
Jett. His son.
The boy was gone now — safe in the care of his mother, Kiara, and her mate, Bolt, on their way back to wolf country.
Despite his murky memories, Grit knew Bolt was loyal. He knew Bolt loved Jett and Kiara. She had belonged to Grit once, but only by the will of the masters. Kiara and Bolt loved each other as mates should, and in a way that he and Kiara never could.
Now Grit wasn’t sure if he could love at all, and surely no woman could ever love him — a creature raised from the dead by a demon.
One of the soulless.
The woman and two men who stood across the room now approached. The tallest of the three was a tough-looking man with a shaved head and stern blue eyes. He had rugged features and a muscular build visible beneath his snug jeans and long sleeved blue T-shirt. By the look of him, he might have been a gladiator himself. There was something familiar about him, though Grit had no memory of meeting him before.
“Grit, these are the rebel leaders,” Zari said. She pointed to the rugged one first. “This is Gunner, the Alpha Wolf of Detroit, but you probably know about him already.”
Grit wished he could say he’d met Gunner, but memories of his life as a wolf were murky. Still, he knew the Alpha commanded respect. No Alpha remained in power without earning his place.
Zari motioned toward the second man, who looked to be around Grit’s height of six feet. He was slim with chiseled features and eyes such a pale blue that they reminded Grit of a frozen lake. The mass of black curls on his head lent him an almost boyish look, but there was nothing youthful or remotely vulnerable in his expression.
“This is my leader — the Sovereign Vampire of the USA, Blaxton Ward.”
“The one who came over on the Mayflower,” Grit said, more to himself than to the others. Zari had told him about her leader during a previous conversation.
“Travel has improved since then,” Blaxton said, a faint, quirky smile on his lips.
“I’m Ashley Johnson, High Priestess of the White Pine Clan,” said the brown-haired woman. At first glance she wasn’t particularly remarkable. Of medium height and weight with a simple brown bob, she wore a casual black and white business suit. The eyes that stared at Grit from beneath her steel-rimmed glasses were the most penetrating he’d ever seen. Large and green with amber flecks, they were as steady as those of any gladiator he’d ever met.
She extended her hand to him and Grit shook it, noting that her grip was quite firm for a mortal woman.
“What do you intend to do with me?” Grit asked, glancing at the leaders. He could have fled the city after escaping the tower, but he had chosen to stay. His son, his former mate and his friends were headed back to the woods, but unless the demons were stopped, they wouldn’t be safe. No one would be safe. Grit would give his life a second time, if necessary, to see the demons unseated so that Jett and all other cubs, whether human or wolf, could grow up in freedom.
“You’ve made it clear that you want to join the rebellion,” Blaxton said. “And we’re willing to accept you, but your situation is unusual, to say the least. You’ve been resurrected by a demon. How do we know you won’t cause more harm than good?”
Anger ignited in Grit, but he smothered it quickly. “You have good reason to doubt me, but I can’t prove myself unless you let me.”
Excerpt from Victor:
“Victor!” She jumped out of the shower and stepped in front of the door before he could open it.
“Get out of my way.”
“You have to listen to me.” She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “I came here to fight them.”
“Right.”
He grasped her upper arms to move her aside.
“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “I came here to help.”
He laughed humorlessly. “You’ve done a great job so far. It was a huge help when you kicked my ass in the arena, and then when you demanded to use me as your private cub maker, that was about all the help I ever wanted.”
Of course that was how he’d feel and what he’d think. She’d humiliated him in every possible way.
“You have no reason to believe me, but if you would just listen to me, you’ll see that I can’t do this without you.”
He held her gaze.
Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “We can do this together. Apart, we’re both fucked. You know I’m right.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment that you’re telling the truth. What’s your plan to help us?”
“Right now, I don’t have one.”
Excerpt from Haylen:
Haylen’s nightmares were intense — even for a demon.
He heard howls and gunfire.
He smelled magic and blood.
He sensed death all around.
Maybe he wasn’t dreaming at all. The throbbing pain from nape to tailbone felt real enough.
Lying on his side in an unfamiliar bed, he gazed at his surroundings through half-open eyes. He was inside a small caravan — or RV, as the modern version was called.
His last memory before blacking out was a painful descent down metal stairs in the warehouse where he’d endured a gruesome surgery. Only the physical and magical support of the young witch Madeline had enabled him to reach the bottom of the stairs and crawl into the RV parked below. No sooner had she helped him into bed than everything went dark.
The soreness in his back worsened. He was now fully awake, but still not sure if everything he’d heard and smelled was real, or a nightmare. He and Madeline had escaped in the midst of battle. The city of Detroit was in chaos.
Even now he didn’t know if they had truly escaped, or at least made it to a safe place. His wound must have affected his mind even more than he’d thought, for he knew there was no safe place in a world ruled by the masters. Still, if he was under their control, he wouldn’t be suffering in the comfort of a tiny bed. He would be grotesquely tortured in the deepest, darkest chambers in the tower.
As consciousness took a firmer hold on his mind, he noted that the vehicle was running roughly. He gritted his teeth against the jarring pain each time the RV hit a bump in the road.
Finally it stopped. Haylen drew a deep breath — and even that hurt — before sitting up. Fire spread down his healing spine and he groaned.
Removing the tracking device that the masters had implanted had been even more painful than he’d imagined — and not just physically. After centuries as a demon, he had learned to withstand just about any sort of pain. His kind weren’t known for mercy, even among themselves.
It was the return of long dead emotions that had taken him by surprise. As a resurrection demon, repressing emotions was an especially important ability. Apparently the tracking device had served a dual purpose — to allow the demons to monitor him and to help control his humanity.
When the witches had started to extract the device from his spine, emotions he’d suppressed since the Middle Ages had burst through — loss, death, murder, joy, hate. He’d seen and heard his wife and son again. He’d witnessed the aftermath of the massacre on his village, and he had endured the savage lessons in black magic from countless teachers who had inevitably led him to the demon masters.
He didn’t want to focus on that now, but needed to find out why the RV had stopped.
On unsteady legs, he stood and braced his hand against the wall. After a slight pause, he made his way to the door and painfully down the few steps, where he paused again.
The clink of metal on metal was followed by Madeline’s frustrated, “Oh shit.”
Sighing, Haylen made his way slowly toward the front of the vehicle, where she was tinkering with the engine, a lantern in one hand and a toolbox by her side.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked, trying to look and sound stronger than he felt.
Not that it mattered. This witch had seen him at his worst. He must be getting better, though, because now he was humiliated by what she’d witnessed. It had been centuries since anyone had seen him in such a state of agony. Even as a man, blatant displays of emotion hadn’t been part of his nature.
She glanced at him and straightened. The sleeves of her yellow sweatshirt were rolled up to her elbows. Grease smeared her cheek and the tip of her nose.
“Haylen,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Well enough,” he muttered.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t sure yet, and he didn’t want to discuss it, so he asked, “What’s wrong with the caravan?”
A smile tugged at her luscious mouth. “We need to update your vocabulary. It’s an RV.”
“RV. Caravan. It’s a tiny house on wheels. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing now. I fixed the problem, so I think we’ll be good — at least until we run out of gas. We should have filled up before we left the city.”
He glanced around. It was still nighttime, but like most demons, Haylen could see well in the dark. They were parked in a dirt turnoff in a wooded area. “Where are we?”
“Almost into Reed City.” She tossed the wrench into the toolbox and stepped toward him, holding the lantern up so she could see his face. “You’re not feeling much better, are you?”
He held her gaze and reached out to wipe the grease from her nose. The motion hurt, but it was worth it to touch her. From the moment they’d met, he’d struggled to keep his hands off her. Not since becoming a demon had he desired a woman. Unfortunately for her, everything about this witch tempted him…
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