Arctic Bite Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Forgotten Brotherhood

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… The Rogue King

  Shifter Planet: The Return

  Night’s Kiss

  Red Awakening

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by N.J. Walters. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover photography by MRBIG_PHOTOGRAPHY/iStock

  curaphotography, Ravven, weyo, Jim_Filim, and vichie81/DepositPhotos

  ISBN 978-1-68281-596-0

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For my family. Your love and support is everything.

  Author’s Note

  The world is rich in mythology. Every culture in the history of time has left a legacy—written and unwritten—for those of us who came after. As a writer, I draw on those myths, legends, and beliefs and twist them to create something totally new. So, while you may recognize many familiar creatures, gods, or belief systems in this series, this world is something totally new. Expect the unexpected. It can, and will, happen. This is a work of fiction, as told to me by the characters portrayed within the pages.

  Forgotten Brotherhood

  Alexei Medvedev checked the Forgotten Brotherhood website, a clearinghouse for jobs for men like him—immortals who assassinated other immortals. After all, who were you going to call when another paranormal went rogue and was in need of killing?

  Choices were limited.

  The men who used the website were like him—extremely dangerous loners with loyalty to no one. They had no pack, no coven or community. Or at least none that would claim them.

  All they had was the Brotherhood.

  In truth, not much separated them from those they put down. They were assassins for hire but terminated only those who deserved to die—paranormal creatures who murdered without discrimination.

  They were all stone-cold killers, men holding on to what little was left of their honor and sanity. But they all lived by a code. Kill only those who deserved it and let their gods sort them out. Kill them before they killed you. Never, ever betray a fellow assassin.

  Simple and easy with little room for discussion. Because once a contract was accepted, it was carried out. There was no other option.

  In their line of work, there could be no mistakes.

  Prologue

  Cassandra held out her hand and beckoned. “Come with me.” She ignored the crushing sadness that bled from the woman. It was a drawback of the job that she could sense every emotion from whoever she approached.

  The woman looked around, a bewildered expression on her face. “What’s happening?” She looked down at her feet, saw her body lying there, and took a startled step back.

  “It’s okay. I’m here to help.” That was her job, her purpose. And she was damn good at it. Why, then, did her heart clutch a little tighter this time?

  “Am I dead?” the woman asked.

  She ignored the question that they inevitably all asked. There was no point answering. It changed nothing. “Please come with me.” The quicker she finished this job the better. The calm and sense of purpose that had sustained her through the never-ending passage of time was nowhere to be found.

  The woman placed both hands behind her back and shook her head in denial. “No. I don’t want to go. This is a bad dream. That’s all it is. I’m not dead. Really, I’m not.”

  Something inside her shifted. She could almost hear an audible snap. Sorrow cascaded over her. “I’m truly sorry.” And for the first time in her existence, maybe she was. “There is no going back.” No matter how much she might wish differently. She reached out, gently took the woman by the arm, and led her away from the dark alley and fetid stench of garbage and blood, away from her lifeless form.

  The woman’s only crime? Covering a friend’s shift at the restaurant where they both worked so the friend could celebrate an anniversary with her husband. For that, she’d died. A victim of a robbery gone wrong. Simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  That was fate. And she was a bitch.

  It was so unfair. But then again, no one ever promised life wouldn’t be.

  “There’s so much I have left to do,” the woman murmured. “Fall in love, finish culinary school, get married, have kids.”

  She tried to block it out. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard millions of times before.

  But this time was different.

  Still, she had a job to do. But for the first time, she was reluctant. If only she could turn back the hands of time and warn the woman to stay home. But then her friend would have died, and it wasn’t her time. Stiffening her spine and swallowing back the rage bubbling up inside her, she guided her charge forward. “This is where you need to be.”

  A brilliant light shone on the woman. She peered into it and slowly nodded before glancing back over her shoulder. “It’s just not fair.” Then she walked forward and was gone, leaving Cassandra all alone in the dark.

  Chapter One

  “You gonna order something or are you going to sit there all night and brood?” the sexy bartender asked.

  Alexei studied the woman, his intended target.

  Her black hair was sleek and cut short. Way shorter than his. But it suited her, framing her exquisite face and making her pretty green eyes stand out. She resembled a fairy princess in a storybook. No, scratch that. She’d be a queen. Definitely a queen.

  What had she done to warrant a contract on her life? The details had been way too sparse for his liking. Hell, he didn’t even know exactly what she was—only that she had to be “other” or the client would never have contacted the Brotherhood. Being immortal didn’t mean you couldn’t die. Just that you were damn hard to kill.

  “Hello?” She waved her hand in front of his face. He bar
ely suppressed a growl. “What will it be?”

  “Whiskey. Leave the bottle.”

  Since he couldn’t get drunk—he was too damn big, and his metabolism ran way too fast to allow it—he’d need to drink an entire bottle every five or ten minutes to even get the slightest buzz.

  “No can do,” she said with a smile that made his heart skip a beat. “What I can do is keep the drinks coming. Okay?”

  “Set up a dozen.”

  “Whoa.” She straightened and reached for a bottle. Not the cheap stuff, but the top shelf whiskey. Or at least as top shelf as it got here in a small roadhouse tavern on the outskirts of Nome, Alaska. Still, he had to admit, he was impressed.

  “Woman trouble?” she asked.

  You have no idea.

  He grunted and waited while she set out glasses and poured. Her movements were quick and competent. She didn’t spill a single drop.

  “There you go, buddy.”

  “Alexei,” he corrected her. He wanted to hear her say his name. “Alexei Medvedev.”

  “Russian?”

  “Da,” he replied in his native language.

  “Okay, Alexei. I’m Cassie Dobbs, and I’ll be pouring your drinks tonight. Enjoy.” She set the bottle back down and headed toward a couple patrons waving for her attention.

  He downed the first few shots without pause. The alcohol burned slightly before slowly warming his insides.

  Long ago, he’d been nicknamed the Russian Bear. Why? Because he was Russian, and he was a bear. Simple. He preferred things that way.

  The woman on the other side of the bar was complicated.

  I don’t like complicated.

  Not that his life hadn’t been without its challenges. There’d been the incident with a vampire two hundred years ago. It had changed him, morphing his shapeshifting abilities, sharpening them, honing them to a razor’s edge. He survived the attack…barely. Or as he liked to say…bearly. Afterward, he’d been stronger and faster than any other polar shifter.

  He also hadn’t aged, hadn’t died.

  He was something totally new and unique—a vampire bear, a bear vamp—he had no idea and didn’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about it. He was a bear with a little something extra.

  From his seat, he watched Cassie work, unable to take his eyes off her. The dark blue denim jeans she wore hugged her lush ass. Her long-sleeved top covered everything but left little to the imagination. The woman had curves that would make any grown man fall to his knees and give thanks to whatever deity he worshipped.

  The only flash of color came from the dangling earrings she sported in each ear. They were a series of a half dozen silver chains of various lengths, each tipped with a gemstone. When she walked, they swayed and reflected the colors of the rainbow.

  His gums tingled, his fangs itching to drop. He snatched up another glass and downed the whiskey, scarcely feeling the bite as he chased it down with two more, trying to drive back the bloodlust stirring inside him.

  Another unwanted present from the bastard who’d changed him.

  Forcing himself to look away, even though he kinda wanted to keep staring, he spun around on the stool and surveyed the room.

  It was typical of this kind of establishment, which existed in every corner of the world. Along with the eight stools in front of the scarred wooden bar, there were a dozen small tables scattered around. The back room had two pool tables, both currently occupied. Country music pumped out from the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. It was a cozy space, a place where everyone knew everyone else.

  He was the stranger, so everyone was watching him while trying to pretend otherwise.

  He made eye contact with each and every man and woman. None held his stare beyond a couple of seconds, all of them dropping their heads or turning away.

  “Stop trying to scare my customers.” He swiveled back around to face Cassie, who seemed more amused than concerned. Her skin was smooth as silk. He longed to stroke it to see if it was as soft as it appeared. This was the kind of woman men wrote songs about. Ones much better than the one currently coming from the jukebox.

  “If they’re scared, that’s their problem.” He frowned, which usually sent people scurrying. He’d practiced it in the mirror for days until it had become second nature.

  The musical sound of her laughter filled his ears, drowning out all other sound. She picked up the whiskey bottle and refilled the glasses he’d already emptied.

  She wasn’t afraid of him. Not in the slightest.

  Every muscle in his body tightened. Sexual arousal roared through him.

  Do not get attracted to the target.

  First rule of being an assassin. It was too easy to allow emotion to cloud judgment and get in the way of doing the job.

  “It’s my problem if they leave. That would upset my boss.” She rested her elbows on the counter and leaned forward as she confided in him.

  The slightest hint of wildflowers tickled his nose. Nice.

  When he did nothing but stare at her, she sighed and patted his hand. The brief contact sent a shock of electricity racing up his arm. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The urge to scoop her up, toss her over his shoulder, and spirit her back to his lair was almost overwhelming.

  “Just do what you can. How are you paying? You are paying, right?” When she smiled, the bottom dropped out of his stomach and he forgot how to speak. She was more potent than any whiskey.

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a wad of cash. After peeling off five hundreds, he slapped them down on the counter.

  Her eyes widened, but she simply took the money and held it up. “I’ll let you know when this runs out. Oh, and I’ll be giving myself a generous tip, just so you know.”

  Her audacity made the corners of his mouth twitch. Not only was she smart, she had a wicked sense of humor—a potent combination.

  She pointed at him and smiled. “Aha. That was almost not a frown. We’ll get you there.”

  Heat crept up his cheeks. He was flustered, a very rare occurrence. He was generally calm and thoughtful. But he was also as curious as any ursine shifter, which was why he was sitting here chatting with her. Call it his need to know, his need to make sure he wasn’t executing someone innocent.

  His teeth tingled again.

  Best to eat before he did something stupid, like bite her neck to see if her blood was as tasty as he imagined it would be.

  “Can I get half a dozen burgers?” He could eat a dozen, but asking for that much food made people uncomfortable. Not that six was much better, but he was hungry. Usually, he’d move around to different restaurants, ordering just slightly larger than normal meals, but there weren’t a whole lot of options up here at this time of night.

  Cassie never batted an eyelash. “Sure. I’ll put in the order. You want fries with that?”

  “With all of them.” It was always best to be specific.

  Now her eyes did widen slightly, and she ran her gaze over his body. “I guess there’s a lot of you to fill.”

  He barely resisted the urge to puff out his chest. He hadn’t acted this idiotic around a woman since he’d been an adolescent. And that was a very long time ago.

  She put in his meal order and poured several beers for the guys at the pool table in the back.

  When she bent over to retrieve more napkins from a cupboard, he downed another glass of the whiskey. And he kept going until they were all empty.

  …

  Her back was turned, but Cassie knew he was watching her. Her skin prickled in warning. She resisted the urge to check.

  Just who was Alexei and why was he here? He wasn’t a regular. She’d worked here long enough to know them all.

  At almost seven feet all, all of it solid muscle, he was a mountain masquerading as a man. Unlike everyone else who’d made
their way here tonight, he’d walked in wearing nothing more than a heavy sweater and a hat. Not even gloves or a coat. But he hadn’t seemed the least bit cold.

  He’d certainly ramped up her heat levels.

  She shivered, missing the warmer climes of home. It was one of the reasons she’d picked such a faraway place to settle. Alaska was the last place her family would think to look for her.

  And she enjoyed her job…mostly. The people who came to the Final Pit Stop, aka The Pit, were good folks. Sure, some of them got a little rowdy from time to time, blowing off steam, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

  She was used to riding herd on folks. It was what she did. Or at least what she’d done until she’d walked away rather than stay in the family business.

  “Who is the stranger, Cass?” Buck Saunders was a regular, an older man whose wife had passed and whose children had long since moved to other less remote areas of the country.

  “Name is Alexei.” She set a bowl of peanuts in front of him and got him another beer. Buck had the same thing, every evening—two beers. She gave him the nuts for free to help the alcohol settle.

  She worried about him. Hell, she didn’t want anything bad to befall anyone who lived here. That would just bring a member of her family, meaning she’d have to run or hide.

  She was an ex-reaper. Was there even such a thing? Once a reaper, always a reaper. The first to ever willingly leave the fold. It set a dangerous precedent, one that couldn’t be allowed to stand. If others decided to follow her lead, who would deal with the dead?

  It would be a catastrophe.

  Her rebellion would have to be squashed, and she would be made an example of, a cautionary tale for the others.

  Even knowing all that, she’d still left.

  Since the dawn of time, she’d been going to the dead and leading their souls to whatever afterlife awaited them. She never judged. That wasn’t her place. That was predetermined by Death himself and the god or gods of whatever pantheon the person believed in and worshipped. Or in the case of those who didn’t believe in such things, they were Death’s problem to sort out. It was a simple and straightforward system. Efficient.