Surrender (The Deadwood Hunter Series Book 4) Read online

  Dedication

  For everyone who stood by me.

  For my family, my friends.

  For every single one of you who held me up when I was broken.

  Then let me go so I could fly.

  You know who you are, and I want you to know how much I love and appreciate you.

  For without you, this book wouldn’t have been written.

  Copyright

  Copyright © Rachel M Raithby

  Cover Art Interior Images and Formatting by Creationinspire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Alice

  One Year, Nine Months after Holocaust

  Her fingers gripped the edge of the basin, her hair falling forward. Sweat rolled over her skin, dripping from the end of her nose into the sink. Switching on the tap, Alice scooped up the cold water and splashed it over her face. Her skin felt too tight; she was an alien within her own body. Breathing heavily, Alice straightened, rubbing her hands over her face and into her hair, pulling the strands from her damp skin.

  Eyes closed, she swallowed the lump of bile in her throat and braced for what she’d find. For days she’d known, but it didn’t lessen the blow when she opened her eyes and gazed at the reflection staring back at her.

  Alice screamed, slamming her fist into the glass, ignoring the shards that shattered around her. Blood dripped onto the white porcelain, mixing with the water as it left crimson rivers swirling to the drain. She didn’t register the pain. A storm built inside of her, swirling and twisting, waiting to break free.

  “Alice?” Her mother knocked on the door, the sound booming through her skull like thunder.

  Gripping her head, Alice covered her eyes. “Go away,” she growled.

  “Alice? Alice, open this door!” Bang, bang, bang!

  The world was too bright, too loud.

  “Have you been drinking again?” Her mother’s irritated voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “This can’t carry on, Alice. I will not have you drunk in my house.”

  The world stilled. The sounds around Alice dulled as she shut down. Catching her reflection in a shard of broken glass, she didn’t recognize herself. Hatred settled deep in her gut like a disease. She loathed what she’d become, hated the eyes staring back at her.

  “Alice! Did you hear me? If you want to get drunk every night, then it won’t be under my roof.”

  “I hear you, Mother,” Alice muttered.

  Pulling up the bathroom window, Alice let the cold night’s air brush over her. Her body didn’t react; it didn’t feel the cold. It didn’t feel much these days. Not the full bottle of vodka she’d downed in an attempt to get drunk. Not the cuts on her knuckles.

  Her mother thought she was drunk, but the truth was, she was stone-cold sober. For weeks she’d been battling with fevers and cold sweats, and when they’d finally subsided, Alice knew… knew life was over. The cure had failed her. And she could no longer hide in a bottle. She couldn’t hide at all because it was written all over her face… in the strange kaleidoscope eyes that glared back at her. It wasn’t like before. Her eyes weren’t the gold of a hunter or the green of a human. They were altogether new, and Alice couldn’t face it.

  Straddling the windowsill, Alice listened to her mom pounding the bathroom door. She couldn’t stay; she didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong anywhere. Jumping to the ground, Alice didn’t look back as she ran into the darkness, leaving it all behind. Her home, her parents, her life… they belonged to a person who’d died years ago.

  She didn’t know where she’d go, only that she couldn’t sit still. The storm was chasing her, threatening to destroy her. So she ran; she hid and left her old life behind.

  Chapter 1

  Lexia

  Two Years after Holocaust

  The sun peaked the hill, its golden rays bleaching the forest, but Lexia didn’t see the present; she saw the past. Her hand grazed the tree she sat in, the texture familiar yet from another lifetime. Dropping to the ground, her knees bent to absorb the impact, much like she had done a hundred times before. She’d lost count of the times she’d sat in the tree, watching as the sun made its appearance on the horizon, signaling a new day had begun and reminding her of the impossible task ahead.

  Descending the hill, memories flashed in her mind while feelings stirred in her soul. The way her fingers had dug into the ground as she’d raced for the tree… the strain and ache in her muscles as she had pushed herself to breaking… to the point where her brain had focused only on the here and now.

  A clawing, aching need for escape slithered over her skin, as fresh as it had been years before. The landscape had changed, the evidence of what once had been forever gone, but in Lexia’s mind, it would always haunt her. A part of her would forever be racing uphill, desperately seeking escape when there was none to be had. She’d lost a piece of herself on the battlefield, and it would stay buried with the ghosts of her past.

  Falling to her knees, her hands hit the earth, all evidence of war gone. With her head dipped, a single tear dropped, catching like dew on a blade of grass.

  “Hello, Derrick,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I
t’s been a while.”

  Two years had passed, and this was the first time she’d come back. She’d made the trip alone, leaving Lincoln behind with Lola, with their pack. War and death weren’t a part of her life anymore, and as much as she loved her life, as much as she loved her family, they didn’t belong with her in that moment. All evidence of the hunter compound was gone, but beneath the grass, buried deep under the soil, lay the bodies of her past. The casualties of war.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Can you believe I was afraid? Well, I guess you probably would have. You always had this uncanny knack of reading me. Father’s intuition maybe? The fact you’re my father is still sinking into my brain…. You were my friend, my support, my protector. You were the one person I wanted to save, and I couldn’t do that.”

  Taking a deep breath, the air rushed loudly out of her mouth. Lexia looked up, her gaze fixing on the pink dusted sky making way to blue.

  “I guess it’s beautiful here. Well, it is now. No one will ever know the blood that marks this site. I wish you weren’t down there with her. I wish I could have gotten you out and taken you home. You deserved so much better than this, Derrick, but every day I remember. I remember the sacrifices you made so that we could live. Every hunter who survived, they live because of you. I know they think I saved them, but without you, I would have crumbled. Without you, Lola wouldn’t have a mother whole enough to love her.

  “Some days are harder than others. Some days I’m right back here, coated in blood, but then Lola smiles at me. She giggles at something and it gets easier. I don’t need to claw my way up the hill anymore. I’m already at the top.”

  Pushing up with her hands, Lexia brushed her knees and gazed around her. There wasn’t any fencing, no guards, but she could picture it all. There was an ache in her chest, a pain that belonged to the past, but coming back had brought it into the present.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be back again, Derrick. This place, it does things to me. I don’t belong here anymore.” She smiled. “I don’t train either, did you know that? I don’t run. I don’t fight. It’s still in me of course, the darkness. The killer my mother created me to be, but if I don’t touch it… sometimes… sometimes even I forget it’s who I was born to be.”

  After turning, Lexia began to walk. Her feet hit the ground light and nimble, her legs stretching with purpose. She didn’t run like her blood sang for her to do. Even as the darkness inside of her stirred, she kept control.

  “Goodbye, Derrick,” Lexia whispered, shutting echoes of the past into the vault in her mind.

  Two years had gone by, and even though trees and grass had grown and the rain had washed the blood away, no amount of time could ever erase the scars on Lexia’s soul. Those scars showed she’d survived. They held the map of her past. Every person, hunter, shifter, or human who had walked away alive had lost a piece of themselves. Death changed you. Loss, regret, guilt… they weren’t emotions that vanished. Time just made them easier to live with.

  Chapter 2

  Alice

  Alice slung back the last shot on her row of six. The liquid burned as it slid down, warming her stomach and sending a buzz through her veins. She savored the feeling, savored the numbing of her thoughts as the alcohol worked its magic and dulled her brain. Her smile was small but silly, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. But the magic soon wore off, the buzz faded, her head cleared, and frustration rushed through her veins killing any last trace of alcohol.

  Slamming her palm down onto the bar, Alice let out a stream of curse words and demanded another row. “Eight this time.”

  The barman eyed her warily. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough!” she yelled, her voice hoarse, angry.

  The barman watched her for a beat, a crease in his forehead.

  “Please?” Alice tried, sweetening her tone. When he still made no move, she proceeded to throw dollar bills on the bar, but as her hand rummaged into her jeans pocket, she came up with one measly note. “Fuck.”

  “Looks like the bar’s run dry,” the barman said with a smile. He nodded at someone behind her and a second later, a hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Time to go, miss.”

  “Get your hand off me,” Alice spat, glaring.

  “Come on, miss, let’s not cause a scene.”

  Yet Alice didn’t hear him. There was something far more dangerous than alcohol stirring in her veins. Her anger turned to need—a need to fight.

  “Get off me or you’ll regret it,” she said through gritted teeth.

  His laughter acted like a catalyst in her blood. Her body acting on its own accord, adrenaline rushed through her ten times more intoxicating than any drink. The man staggered back, utter shock on his face. He’d not expected her strength. No one ever did.

  The brush of skin from behind. Alice whipped around, struck out, but this time her opponent had a bit of strength behind him. His eyes widened, but he didn’t waver as he came at her once again. Alice noted this new opponent wasn’t trying to hurt her, merely restrain her.

  She smiled. Fool, her mind whispered.

  That one thought had her faltering. Not the word exactly, but the wickedness in which it had been said. It was enough for her to give up her fight. “All right, all right, I’m going.”

  Once released, Alice stalked from the bar, fear like ice in her blood. She was losing herself. Day by day, little by little, she was fading, and becoming one of them again. A hunter. A monster.

  “Hey! Hey, you left your bag.”

  Alice paused. Turning around, she waited for the man who’d restrained her to catch up and then snatched her rucksack out of his hands. Without a word, she began to stride away.

  “Wait.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, not pausing, and waved a dismissive hand in the air.

  Not that he listened. “How are you still upright?”

  Alice rolled her eyes. Not that he could see. “Two legs.” She pointed down but didn’t slow her steps.

  “I watched you drink enough alcohol to knock any large man off his feet, yet it didn’t touch you, not one bit.”

  Shit. Stupid, Alice, fucking stupid.

  “So what?!” she yelled, picking up her pace.

  His hand landed on her shoulder, halting her. “So, what are you?”

  Panic stole her words. She stared at him, trying to gage a read of his intentions. At last her mouth opened. “Get —”

  His head whipped around at the same time Alice registered the sound. It was a sound she’d not heard in a while, but one she’d never forget. Gunfire. Yet while he reacted, Alice froze.

  She’d been a hunter, survived war, but she’d never been trained like all the other hunters, not really. Alice relied on instinct in a fight, and it had failed her here. Fear paralyzed her. She saw the flash of the powder, heard the whistle as the bullet traveled through the air, but still, her limbs wouldn’t respond.

  The man collided with her, taking her to the ground. The impact jerked her into action. Scrambling across the ground, Alice took shelter behind a car.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  Alice looked at the man who spoke, really looked at him and registered what she hadn’t before. He was a shifter; it was why he’d not been as affected by her hit in the bar and why he’d heard the gunshot.

  “No one good,” she murmured, her mind racing.

  Bullets hit the side of the car.

  She had the sudden urge to cry. She’d been on a destructive path for months. At first, she’d ignored the signs that the cure was failing. Then she’d moved to numbing herself.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Alice had been indulging in a two-month-long pity party when she should have been seeking help. Because the government didn’t like its failed experiments roaming free, threatening to expose them. But her stubborn pride had stopped her from returning to Deadwood, and now she was alone, the cleanup crew breathing down her neck.

  “I’m
dead,” she whispered, horrified. “I’m fucking dead.”

  “Hey!” the man growled, taking hold of her wrists and dragging her hands from her face. “Now is not the time to freak out.”

  “You don’t get it. They aren’t just some randoms with guns. They’re trained killers.”

  The man half stood, glancing over the car they were crouched behind. “Okay.” He focused intently on her eyes. “I’m going to distract them, and while their attention is on me, you’re going to make a run for that truck.” He pressed a set of keys into her hand. “Start the engine. I’ll be right behind you. Got it?”

  Alice nodded. Swallowing her hysteria, she gritted her teeth and braced to run. He pulled a gun from a holster on his back and glanced at her with a hard look in his eyes. “Go!”

  She sprang to her feet. Instincts taking over her body, Alice gave in to the hunter genes that she’d been running from the last few months. Gunshots filled the night air, but she shut the sounds out, concentrating instead on reaching the truck. Waving the key fob as she pressed the button, the vehicle flashed to indicate it had opened. Her hand found the latch as bullets shot gravel up behind her. Launching herself inside, Alice slammed in the key and turned the ignition. The truck flared to life and, for a split second, she considered leaving her newfound savior.

  Go, he’ll only slow you down. The gear shift was beneath her palm. Her vision searched the darkness ahead. What am I doing? Alice shook her head sharply as if to dislodge the poison in her mind. The strength had begun to return, the speed and superior hearing, but so had the darkness, so had that sickly blackness on her soul. That was what she’d been running from. It was why she’d not returned to Deadwood. Alice was ashamed. Ashamed that while other hunters seemed to have no trouble being good, she did. The hunter gene sparked a selfish, nasty streak within her, which frightened her and made her question if she’d had that potential in her all along.

  “Move over.” The man appeared, breathless, his voice like gravel and was bleeding from his temple.

  Alice obeyed as the driver’s side window shattered. She ducked low, bullets hitting the car and sailing by. It took him seconds to dive into the car and ram it into gear. They were careening forward away from the danger, but it took Alice several moments before she could speak.