Shifters Hunt: Shifters Hunt Romance Boxset Books 1-4 Read online

  Shifters Hunt

  Shifters Hunt Romance Boxset Books 1-4

  Selina Woods

  Copyright ©2020 by Selina Woods - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  Shifters Uproar

  Shifters Escape

  Shifter Challenge

  Saved By the Lion

  About the Author

  Shifters Uproar

  (Shifters Hunt)

  Book I

  Story Description

  Shifters Uproar: (Shifters Hunt) Book 1

  by

  Selina Woods

  Ragnor the lion shifter can’t afford the luxury of kindness. In the ruins of a city called New Orleans, it’s kill or be killed—even if the faces of the dead keep him awake at night. The only beautiful thing left in his ugly existence is sweet, hopeful, Skylar. But no good can come of his tender feelings. A war is brewing, and only the toughest will survive.

  Chapter One

  I may have lived in this hell forsaken town since I was very small, but I never could seem to get used to the sweltering heat and humidity. Standing in the questionable shade under the awning of a small shop that sold fresh produce, I scowled dangerously at the owner. An aging deer shifter named Heny sweated under my gaze, his brown eyes wide with fear.

  “Ragnor, please,” he said, his voice pleading. “Business has been very bad, and I can barely feed my family.”

  I glanced into the shadowed shop, seeing his mate and two youngsters gazing at me with the same terror in their eyes. “Aren’t you a little old to have brats?” I asked.

  “They are our grandchildren,” he explained hastily. “Their parents were killed by Kanata six months ago.”

  “Ah. And they will be orphans again if you don’t pay Kanata’s taxes right now.”

  He shivered, visibly trembling as I loomed over him. Being a large and very muscular lion shifter, I never failed to intimidate, and it was my job to frighten them into coughing up the cash. Often forced to use violence as well as scare tactics, I had bloodied my claws and fangs more times than I could count. That my species preyed upon his species in the distant past always made it easier on me to persuade folks like Heny to pay their taxes.

  Reaching into his pocket, Heny pulled out a small wad of cash. His hand shook as he handed it to me, licking his lips. “This is all I have. Please tell Kanata we have nothing else.”

  I swiftly counted it. “Less than half of what you owe, Heny,” I growled.

  “I’m sorry, really I am,” he answered, shunting his gaze from me. “I can’t pay what I don’t have.”

  For a moment, a brief instant, I felt bad for him. Guilt for what I had to do in order to survive in not just this town, but this world, made me look out over the hot and quiet street. Long before I was born, wars tore governments and cultures to pieces and turned the planet into a kill or be killed society. Gang lords ruled cities and regions, the powerful preying upon the weak.

  “Look,” I said, removing the menace from my tone and posture, “I know times are rough. Pay a little extra next month and try to get caught up. All right?”

  Heny glanced at me; the gratitude on his now smiling face only added to my guilt. “Thanks, Ragnor. I’ll do the best I can, I promise.”

  Shoving the money into my pocket, I walked on, heading toward the next stop on my route: a human family-run clothing store and who also could not pay the full amount owed to Kanata. I recognized they, like Heny, told me the truth and were not deliberately holding back. I knew for a fact many residents of this town, New Orleans, quietly drifted out and headed for other places.

  More prosperous and less dangerous cities and towns.

  With my limited haul, I walked back to Kanata’s office-cum-residence, a sprawling mansion that rumors said used to be an old governor’s house. The front doors were guarded, of course, by a pair of wolf shifters armed with semi-automatic weapons. They nodded respectfully enough to me, and I offered them the same. Passing them by, I entered the cool structure and felt the sweat finally dry on my skin.

  “Hand it over.”

  I eyed Lawson with dislike, pulling my take from my pocket and giving it to him. A tiger, he stood at Kanata’s right-hand side and collected the taxes from us enforcers, all the while treating us as though we were pond scum. He self-importantly took a seat behind a desk in the tiled foyer, Kanata’s personal bodyguards behind him, as well as strewn around the entrance.

  Lawson scowled. “Is this all, Ragnor?

  “Business is bad everywhere.”

  “Funny, the others don’t seem to have the same problems with collecting.”

  I folded my arms over my chest, matching his glare. “I also have the poorest neighborhood.”

  Deciding not to mention the exodus from the city, as both he and Kanata knew about it but could not seem to halt it, I waited with patience. At last, he blew out a sharp gust of breath, peeled a few bills from the stack, and gave them to me. “Next time, put more pressure on them,” he snapped.

  Leaving him to mark the take and my small payment in his books, I left the echoing mansion and returned to the nasty heat outside. We enforcers worked for a pittance but were given free food from the citizenry we preyed upon for their “taxes.” It’s better to be at the top of the food chain rather than below it.

  Not being able to afford a vehicle or the fuel it took, I walked everywhere, and now strolled under the blazing Southern sunlight, fresh sweat trickling down from my armpits and temple. My thick pale, reddish-gold hair tumbled down my forehead, and I pushed it back, hating the oily feel of it. Maybe it’s time for me to find a cooler place to live, get the hell out of here.

  If ordinary people were caught leaving New Orleans, I and the other enforcers killed them and left their corpses to hang from lamp posts as an example to others who owned itchy feet. We were no exception. If Kanata ever read my mind and suspected I was less than happy to work for him, he’d spend a very long time killing me.

  Entering the dim coolness of a bar called The Den, I waited for my eyes to adjust, checking for any potential danger to my person. Not that many would try to challenge me, as I was well known here, and, from the owner on down to the regular patrons, was feared. Taking my usual stool at the bar, I offered the bartender, Jonas, a friendly nod.

  “Afternoon, Ragnor,” he said with pleasant half-smile. “The usual?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He drew me a beer from the tap and set it on the bar in front of me. “Uh, is Skyler working today?” I asked before he turned from me to answer the gesture from another patron.

  His pleasant expression faded. “Yeah, she is. She’s cooking right now.”

  “That’s okay,” I said hastily. “Maybe if she has a minute, she can come out and say hello?”

  “Sure thing.” Jonas’s smile this time was little more than a thinning of his lips. “You hungry?”

  “You know it. How about your fried chicken special?”

  “Coming right up.”

  Leaving me to drink my beer, just the thing on a hot, muggy day, he called my order to the back and stopped further down the bar to take another order. I gazed around at the bar’s patrons, a blend of shifters and humans, with a warlock sitting in a corner. They didn’t usually mix with
the rest of us, and kept to themselves. Though most everyone inside was a regular, I didn’t recognize this guy.

  Due to my work for Kanata, and my reputation as a vicious bully and killer, I had few friends. Truth be told, I had no friends, as even my fellow enforcers preferred to avoid me unless absolutely necessary. It didn’t bother me much, since I liked being a loner, except when it came to Skyler.

  She brought the plate of smoking-hot chicken, fries, and coleslaw to me personally, her luminous golden eyes avoiding mine. “Hi, Ragnor,” she said, her voice low as she placed the food in front of me.

  “Hi, Skyler. How you doing?”

  Self-conscious, she swiped her heavy lengths of gold-brown hair behind her ear, her shoulders rounded. “I’m okay. How are you?”

  Skyler was small and slender, even for a lioness, and though I never asked, I suspected she was the runt of her litter. Around my own age of nineteen, she had attracted me from the very first time I saw her. I liked her pale, delicate features, her huge eyes, and that quirky smile I sometimes managed to wring from her when I told a naughty joke.

  “I’m doing okay, too, I guess.”

  From down the bar, I caught a glimpse of Jonas watching us with poorly concealed disapproval. Skyler was his daughter, and he certainly did not like the attention I, an enforcer, offered her. “It’s hot outside today,” I went on, knowing how lame a topic of conversation that was.

  She nodded. “Yeah. It will cool off this fall.”

  That she was terrified of me, I had no doubt. I always tried to speak kindly to her, with no aggressiveness in my posture, and hoped one day I might obtain her trust enough to have a real conversation. “Uh, look,” I said, hunching my shoulders over the bar, “I was wondering if maybe, after you got off work, you might go walk with me.”

  Shooting a fearful glance over her shoulder at Jonas, Skyler shook her head. “I can’t. You know, you know how it is. The neighborhood—”

  Bitterness rose to my mouth, tasting of ash. “Yeah, I know. If you’re seen with an enforcer, they might turn on you.”

  Squirming a little, she chewed on her knuckle, her eyes flicking to me and away again. “Yeah.”

  “I just want to get to know you, that’s all.”

  With another glance over her shoulder, Skyler tried to smile, though it appeared lopsided to me. “I have to get back.”

  As though fearing The Den’s patrons might attack her for delivering my dinner and taking thirty seconds to talk, she rushed through the door to the kitchen with her head down. No longer very hungry, I pushed the tasty chicken past the ash and ate every bite.

  I drank more than I usually did.

  To be honest, I was well on my way to being shit faced. Near closing time for the staff and patrons of The Den, I received several scowls shot discreetly in my direction and knew Jonas was afraid to throw me out. Once off the stool, I knew I shouldn’t have kept ordering beer after beer. Though it was free no matter how much I ate or drank at any establishment, I dug the small amount of cash from my pocket and left it on the bar.

  “You don’t pay, Ragnor,” Jonas called to me. “Keep it.”

  Rather than answer, I waved my hand over my head and continued to focus on walking a straight line to the door. Opening it, the darkness met and enveloped me as I strolled along the sidewalk, closely watching where I was going.

  My instincts for danger dulled by the beer, the shadows I never looked at peeled away from the walls and emerged from the alley to surround me before I even knew I was targeted. Hauled up short by the two lions that stood in my path, I blinked in surprise.

  “Shift and you’re dead, Ragnor.”

  Chapter Two

  I recognized that voice. “Starr?”

  “Yeah.”

  My fellow enforcer stepped closer, then wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Boy, you reek.”

  “’Sup?”

  “Look, bro,” he told me. “I never liked beating on one of our own, but the boss says we got to teach you a lesson.”

  “A lesson?”

  I blinked around and discovered there were six of them, and finally, my blood realized exactly how much trouble I was is. Sobering quickly was out of the question, so I did the next best thing—I apologized. “Hey, tell him I’m sorry my take has been so low, but my people haven’t got it. I swear they don’t.”

  Starr shook his head, still regretful. “Sorry, bro, really I am, but we got to punish you. Kanata says we do, and you know what happens to us if we don’t.”

  I nodded, thinking that if I hadn’t drunk so much, I might have shifted and run fast, on four legs, and might have escaped even if they chased me. Starr slugged me hard in my gut, sinking in deep past my muscle to the beer sloshing around in there. My face at a perfect striking level, his fist on my jaw knocked me backward into his companions.

  As though that were the signal to attack, four used me for punching practice while two held my arms. I felt every hit, every fist, every kick from hard boots. Had I wanted to shift in order to defend myself, I hadn’t the consciousness or will power to manage it. I ended up on the cement, vomiting blood and beer as Starr and his team kicked the shit out of me. They were experts at what they did and hurt me enough to put me down, yet not quite kill me.

  From a distance, I heard him order them off. “Quit now; that’s enough. Any more and we will kill him. Kanata still wants him alive.”

  Someone snickered. “He won’t be showing up for work tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

  “And Kanata may not be too happy about that, either,” Starr growled. “If we put him out of action for too long, Kanata might be pissed at us.”

  “Aw, he’ll be fine in a day or two,” said someone else, a voice I didn’t recognize. “He’s tough, and we didn’t break his ribs or rupture any organs.”

  I ain’t so sure about that. I lay still, breathing in the stench of my own sweat and puke, blood trickling from my nose, mouth and numerous cuts on my cheeks. My ribs felt pulverized, my innards crying for mercy even as my head felt as though it were going to explode.

  Starr squatted in front of my face. I rolled my eyes back to see him as moving hurt too much. “Remember, Ragnor, these were our orders. Nothing personal, see? Maybe once you heal up, you and me, we’ll go for a beer. I’ll even buy. What you say?”

  Unable to do much more than offer him a weak grin and a thumbs-up sign, I lay on my stomach and wished they had killed me. Starr patted me on the shoulder.

  “You’re a good guy, Ragnor,” he said, standing. “I’ve always liked you, even though you kinda snub everyone. Kanata will go easier on you after this, and I’ll put in a good word for you. I know how tough business is these days, even if the boss can be a hard-ass. Let’s go.”

  Boots on the asphalt passed me by, then the night’s silence descended. Very few left their homes after nightfall as it was too dangerous. We enforcers weren’t the only predators roaming the streets. That thought made me realize how vulnerable I was to the packs of wolves or lions that raped and killed outside Kanata’s authority. In the shape I was in, I was one dead lion shifter if I didn’t get myself out of sight pronto.

  Swearing violently, I tried to get up, agony racking my entire body. Shit, even my stupid feet hurt. My head swimming with dizziness, I regained my feet only to slam into the wall with my shoulder. Hey, if it helps me to stand up, I’m grateful. The alcohol I hadn’t hurled remained in my blood and screwed up my every intention of walking anywhere.

  My belly churning with nausea, I tried to breathe as deeply as my aching ribs permitted, and the dizziness slowly passed. Just as I thought I might be able to head home and not fall headlong into the gutter, I heard a voice speak.

  “Ragnor?”

  Fears of preying wolves or lions surging in my blood, I spun around before I realized they wouldn’t speak my name first. Skyler flinched back from me, cowering behind the half-opened door of The Den. “I heard—noises,” she said, gazing around at the silent street, shadows under the m
oonlight long and menacing. “You better get in here. Before they come.”

  I didn’t try to waste breath agreeing. My arms across my agonized chest and belly, I ducked back into the bar as she swiftly shut and locked the door. The place was darker than it had been before I left, the scents of beer and hot oil hardly interrupting the odor of my vomit stuck in my nostrils. The barred windows had been shuttered, and only a faint lamp illuminated the entire place.

  “This way.”

  Skyler walked to the back where she worked, the grill and vats of frying oil shut down for the night, and led, barely keeping my feet under me, to a smaller room off the kitchen that appeared to be a sitting room. She pointed me to an armchair, then turned on a very small lamp. Gratefully sitting, I peered at her with one working eye and tried to grin.

  “You—live here?”

  “I live with my parents,” she replied, gingerly sitting on the edge of a couch, her shoulders rounded as usual, her rich hair sliding forward to half conceal her face. “I stay here sometimes, though, if I work late.”

  She flashed a swift downward smile. “Papa had to go to a meeting and couldn’t walk me home.”

  “Lucky for me.”

  I caught another sight of her teeth before she hid them. “I can, you know, clean you up. If you want me to.”

  “Thank you.”

  Standing quickly, Skyler rushed past me to what I presumed was a bathroom behind my chair, for I next heard running water. Returning, she held a washcloth in her hand and hovered over me, uncertain. “It’s for, um, your face.”

  “It’s all right, Skyler.”

  Blushing to the roots of her hair, she bent over me and with incredibly gentle hands washed the blood, vomit, and other crud from my face. Returning a few times to rinse the cloth, she cleaned my wounds, and opened the top of my shirt to wash my neck and collarbone.