Shifting Solitude (Outlaws, Fangs and Claws Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Shifting Solitude

  Outlaws, Fangs and Claws 1

  Cheyenne Hart

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Want More Paranormal Romance?

  Copyright © 2017by Cheyenne Hart

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  “What are you going to do with that?" asked the young woman.

  What the man was holding, the thing she was talking about, was a hefty, shiny pistol. There was a silent hesitation all around the two, as the other men and women on the bus stopped and stared.

  "Didn't you say you wanted some good shit? Well, you can snort it off the side of my piece," he told her, pulling out a fist-sized bag of white powder. He tapped some of it out along the side of the gun’s barrel in a messy line.

  "Oh, you scared the life out of me with that thing,” she said with relief. Then, “Wow, though look at all that crank!” With cloudy eyes locked on the bag of drugs, she no longer worried about the gun." She was barely out of her twenties, but already had the aged look of an addict. “Why do you want me to take it off your gun though?” she asked.

  “Because, it’s totally bad ass. Besides, maybe it gets me off holding my piece up to a sexy little thing’s face. What do you care? You want free drugs, and this is good shit. Suck it up already or miss your turn.”

  The young woman shrugged and did as told, shivering with pleasure the moment that fine powder had vanished up her nose.

  Melody watched this happen from her seat near the back of the bus and sighed. She was annoyed by how most of these younger girls behaved. They seemed to think they were in some magical adventure, going down the rabbit hole to Wonderland. Melody knew that in reality, the life of a drug-loving party girl only lead to hardship. At this point in her life, this was just another night in the underbelly of the big city; another way to secure herself a fix. Sadly, it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go that night anyway.

  "Oh—my—fuck, that is good shit!" rejoiced the young woman who’d just had some of the meth. She made piggy-snorting sounds, forcing the powder in as deep as she could. It was like she thought she’d never get another fix or something.

  Laughing, the man replied, "That's why they call me The Powder Man, baby. You've never had anything so fine inside you.”

  Watching this guy who called himself “The Powder Man,” Melody decided that he was fairly good looking, even if he was probably in his forties. He took care of himself well enough to have firm muscles running through his arms and a strong chest and shoulders. His facial hair was out of control though. The men on the bus were generally fuck-able, but Melody still would have gotten on the bus with complete duds—just to score some meth. And that was the reason she was there.

  One of them was sitting next Melody, but he had partied himself out already. The dude couldn't manage to keep himself awake and his head flopped around with the movement of the bus. Melody had to keep squaring her shoulders up and gently pushing him, stopping him from slobbering all over her with his slumber-drool. At least he was quiet, unlike almost everyone else around her. The things she did to get a fix …

  "Last, but certainly not least," he said when he came down the aisle and arrived before Melody. He had a hard musk to him, like maybe he needed a shower. But that wasn't it, no, he didn't smell unwashed, but he had an overwhelmingly male scent. It was a strangely arousing on a primitive level.

  Another factor might have been that Melody hadn't had sex for over a week. That was when her non-exclusive-almost-boyfriend, who doubled as her dealer, had kicked her out so he could shack up with a new woman. Melody hadn't had a substantial fix since then either. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, her sparking eyes seeming so innocent. "You're damn right I am," she said. Looking at the gun he was holding, she cringed a little.

  That made The Powder Man laugh. "It's not loading, pretty lady. Relax." He tapped out jagged line of the powder on the side of the gun's barrel, and then pointed it between Melody's eyes.

  She almost went all blurry with crossed eyes trying to focus on it. His attempt at an assuring comment did not make her feel any more at ease having a firearm pointed right at her. Melody tried to play it cool, but her h
eart was out of control, she was genuinely terrified that the gun might be loaded and go off in her face.

  The Powder Man just smiled, big white teeth, way too clear for a junkie. Maybe the guy just liked to dole the stuff out to inexperienced vixens, to help them make bad decisions regarding who they slept with.

  Stifling her fear and acting tough, Melody plugged a nostril, took a test breath to make sure the other one was clear, and sucked back the stuff. She felt tingles run through her almost instantly, like her body could already relax and stop pining desperately for the drugs — salvation was at hand. Anything else that happened for the rest of the night was unimportant. Melody had appeased the monkey that lived on her back.

  "That's a good girl," said The Powder Man, still grinning. His teeth were so white. "Maybe I'll spend some time with you later, once we arrive at our destination." He moved along to the next girl near them and started the whole act of powdering up his gun, putting it in her face, all over again.

  The bus went around a bend that the driver barely slowed down for. The sleeping guy next to Melody all but fell over into her lap. "Hey," she said sternly, "get the hell off me, pal." She pushed and barely managed to get him back over, so he was leaning against the window. "Screw this," she muttered to herself and got up.

  Just as a man got up and moved seats, Melody seized the opportunity and slid herself in where he'd been sitting, beside a lost looking girl.

  "Hi," said the girl, seeming uninterested in everything. Her arms were crossed in front of her perky, small tits.

  Melody wasn't jealous of those at all, but she was intimidated by the decade that probably separated the two women. Such a sweet, young thing was bound to get men's attention. "How old are you?" asked Melody.

  "Old enough," replied the girl. Her hair was short and her clothes were tight. Altogether, her look was like something out of a teen magazine. Just the right amount of fun and quirky, while still being slutty enough to get attention from boys.

  "That usually means you're not old enough."

  "I'm nineteen, an adult just like you."

  "If you say so," replied Melody.

  After some silence, the girl said, "My name's Rita anyway."

  "Melody. So, you look like you're having as much fun as a pastor at a rave. What's up with that?"

  "When these guys were inviting girls to come on their bus, buying us all drinks, dancing, they seemed like a lot of fun. I like fun. I don't like being expected to put out by strangers."

  "You didn't notice that they're all wearing the same leather jacket with the same logo on the back? I don't exactly think they got those from a bowling league."

  "I have a boyfriend."

  "I'd say most of these girls do too," said Melody with patience. "What's that got to do with the gang jackets?"

  "Jimmie is in a gang, a hard-core one. I've never heard of any gang with a logo that's, what is it anyway? A fist?"

  "Looks more like a claw to me." Melody had noticed the red claw emblem emblazoned the second she's sighted the guys coming into the club. It was what drew her to them. Guys in biker clubs or gangs, or whatever, usually had ready access to the best stuff.

  "I'm not looking for any hook up, just some fun."

  Well, Rita," said Melody with a sigh, "this might not be the kind of fun you had in mind. Just grin and bear it. Try to keep your head down, okay? Stick by me if it makes you feel any better. Be warned though, I haven't had a good fix for some time and I plan to get loose tonight."

  The party bus was really getting warmed up by the time they got away from the big city lights and crowds of clubbers, tourists, and street walking reprobate. No one batted an eyelid when they left that area. After all, it was difficult to have a really good time with so many watching eyes, not to mention the police patrolling the streets.

  It was a nice bus as well, rolling along at a solid pace and taking the frequently bumpy dirt road with luxurious grace. Rita and Melody were buzzing nicely, so they were content to stare out the window for extended periods of silence. At least, it was a long time for two tweekers to be quiet while they were high.

  “Where do you think their hang out is exactly?” asked Rita at last, like a kid on a car ride who’d become bored.

  “I couldn’t even guess,” said Melody. “Then again, these guys weren't lying about how good their supply is, so I don’t mind where it is. Just relax and try to go with the flow, hey? Trust me, it’ll make everything a lot easier.”

  Having done the rounds up and down the aisles, The Powder Man called out, "Anyone else? Who didn't get a fix? We want all you bitches to be fucking flying by the time we get to the party spot. It's a lot more fun that way, isn't it?"

  "Say, where are we going to anyways?" piped up a pretty blonde near the front of the bus. She was skinny but toned, had striking face like those old pin up posters, and red lipstick on too, which matched the dress that was snuggly wrapped around her body. "You taking us to your club house or somethin'?"

  "Don't worry. You'll find out soon," replied a big, darkly shadowed man who was at the head of the bus by the driver. If anyone was in charge of this little mystery tour, it seemed to be this man. He stood and watched over everything without interacting much with anyone. When he did mutter the occasional thing to one of the other men, they seemed to perk up and pay him their full attention. It was like a combination of fear and awe.

  Another bulky man, one with a totally shaved head and a long goatee, said, "What are you worried about? You think we'd need to give you free goodies if we just wanted to have our way with you? We take something if that's what we want."

  Melody found what both of these men said disconcerting, even in here drugged out state. She told herself they were just playing around, acting tough. It was nothing new, really. Besides, the quiet guy up the front was built like a truck and sexy in that brooding, mysterious kind of way. She did like that.

  And goatee-guy was not at all someone who she would kick out of bed either. A few seats in front of where Melody sat beside the slender Rita, a puff of hair sank down below the line of bus seats.

  "Oh my God," said Rita. "Are you seeing this? Wow, look at her go." Rita's faked disgust was swallowed by a lustful intrigue as they watched a guy get a blowjob just feet away.

  "That girl certainly isn't thinking about any boyfriends back in the city," said Melody with dry wit. She went back to looking out the window at the surrounding woods. The moon was pooling down over the tops of trees and catching in little nooks and crannies. The beauty of it made her stop and think about how small she often felt.

  "I think I should have gone somewhere else after the club," said Rita, breaking Melody's concentration.

  "There are a lot of things a lot of people should have done different," Melody replied. A good fix did make her all spacey and philosophical sometimes, like she had all these answers to important things. During day-to-day life, any other times, she didn't even realize there were such questions to be answered.

  It was funny that Rita had said that, because Melody repeatedly wondered if she'd taken the wrong paths in life. Naturally, she assumed that she had. She wasn't stupid, and her lifestyle didn't seem very right. That could be freeing though. This one added night of mistakes wouldn't make a difference in the bigger scheme of her life, surely. Their drugs were too good to pass up anyway, and the guys were sexy and willing to take charge, whereas she tended to drift and float through life.

  Chapter Two

  Hallard slept deeply in a cold, alone space. The walls around him, and the land without, were his primary source of personal security. He wanted to be alone in his dreams, as he was during the day. Unlucky for him that he was plagued by bad memories of when he used to live with the rest of the human race. Bright lights and dusty, overused streets bustled through his unconscious thoughts. The city, a place that only served to remind him of the ultimate rejection, the worst sort of abandonment by his own mother, his own father. Nothing good came from there as far as Hallard was con
cerned, because that was where people lived.

  He dreamt of the people who he hated, but still yearned for. Not for all of them, but for women, at least one, a partner_a mate.

  It was strong urge, deep and instinctual, written in his genes long before he was even born. An urge that wrapped its earthy fingers around his whole essence, clenched slowly around him every day.

  As if demonstrating its cruelness, nature makes man and woman feel their deepest desires while they sleep. Hallard faced his strongest yearnings of lust, and right at the time when he was least able to repress them. The thoughts of naked body parts turning and writhing, bouncing and shining with sweat. His erect phallus thrusting out into the darkness, the wettest, deepest hole, pink nipples pressing hard against his lapping mouth.

  These thoughts were an improvement on the depressing dreams of his youth in the orphanage and foster care. His father leaving, his mother leave too but in a more permanent way.

  It was only that thinking of sex had become a painful reminder of what he didn't have, and what his body sorely needed. Teenage girlfriends had come and gone, before he finally grew old enough to run away from the city. Even with their naive eagerness to please, they hadn't been able to handle his passion, the beast he was liable to become when triggered by extreme passions, sometimes literally.

  At least he had control over his shifting now, as an adult ...

  He stirred, thrashing around in clammy sheets, as the vision of a deliciously buxom women faded in and out. They were maybe the same age. She was there, round and enticing, but he could not manage to face her directly. Every time he tried, he only drifted farther away.

  It was more of a sensation of her being there, being with him, but not as a lover. He could see her intimately, touch her soft, hot skin, smell her very essence as her hair taunted, coiled outward like tendrils of rich honey. Still, it was the purest of sexual frustration. Why couldn't he just touch her? Be with her in the primal way?

  Of course, it was typical that life wouldn’t even let him enjoy some normal human pleasure in his dreams.