A Curse of Fate (Shifter City Fated Mates #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

F reedom. An illusion that was about to shatter .

“Stop! The council requires all shifters to be registered with a pack city.”

Not bothering to look back, I sprinted down the alley, heading for the metal ladder I secured to the ground the day I moved into this apartment block. I never went into any situation without a plan B, C, and D in the works. These plans had kept me out of shifter cities for the past ten years, ever since Mom died.

“Fucking rogue! Stop!” he shouted again.

I felt the force of his dominance as he attempted to halt me in my tracks, but it rolled off me like it was never there. The fact that I was unaffected would clue him in to my designation, increasing the danger to me tenfold. Which I’d worry about if I got caught.

I’d never expected to encounter an alpha in Jacksonville, Florida. Alphas, as a rule, stuck to the main shifter cities, and I, as a rule, never went near those places.

Slamming against the ladder’s metal rungs, I scaled it in seconds, my long legs and lithe frame giving me the assist needed to move quickly to the second floor. When I scrambled onto the metal balcony, I partially shifted and used my wolf claws to swipe through the rope binding the ladder.

I was gone before it even retracted. In these situations, the difference between freedom and finding myself at the mercy of the packs was a matter of seconds. This wasn’t my first chase, but it was my first from an alpha.

“Unregistered shifters are required to face the Alpha Council in Golden Claw City,” he repeated, his rage spilling so loudly that even inside the building I heard him. If there were weaker alphas— or beta and delta shifters —around, they’d be on their knees at his dominance. Thank fuck I didn’t have to deal with that. There weren’t a lot of positives to my designation within the packs, but this was one.

I heard a bang as he grabbed the railing to pull himself up, but I was already racing through the empty apartment hall. I’d lived in this rent-by-the-week craphole long enough to know the quickest path to the other side and into the alley where I’d stashed my bike.

Without my baby, a Yamaha YZF-R6, I’d already be dead ten times over.

Golden Claw City was the absolute worst place for me to end up. Or any of the pack cities. The moment I stepped foot in front of the council they’d figure out my designation and the alphas would fight to destroy me. I’d spent too many years avoiding my mom’s fate to give in now.

Exiting the building through an open window, I dropped the full story down to the ground, my legs barely registering the impact as I scrambled for my bike. I hadn’t even been here a month, and it was already time to move on. Farther from the pack cities. Farther from whatever destiny awaited me at the hands of the council.

Farther from turning into my mother.

Not that she hadn’t deserved absolutely everything that happened to her, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, I couldn’t let the same happen to me.

My baby was exactly where I’d left her, tucked into a side street, already packed with a bag holding enough essentials to get me through a week. My getaway bag never left my bike, no matter how long I spent in a town.

The engine roared to life with a twist of my key and press of the button. There was a shout from behind. Fuck a delta! He found me fast . The alpha had my scent now, which would absolutely bite me on the ass, but I couldn’t worry about it today.

I had to get out of Jacksonville.

Lifting the kickstand, I pulled the clutch and shifted it into gear, taking off into the darkening street. It was early evening, but the weather in Florida was far from cooling off, even as we approached Halloween. I had wondered about the weather changes here, but I wasn’t going to find out; it was time to ditch the East Coast and head into a new territory.

Step one: avoid the main pack cities . There were five that I was aware of: Silver City in Vermont, Greenville in Louisiana, Durangille in Montana on the Canadian border, Thorny Gardens in Kansas, and the largest of all cities was Golden Claw. It sat on the West Coast in Oregon, right near the Californian border, taking up a large chunk of its forests and land.

Don’t get me wrong, shifters could be anywhere—witch magic kept the humans out of shifter cities, but unfortunately it didn’t keep shifters from human towns. But they never stayed long-term. If you weren’t tied to one of the cities and their council, then you were considered a rogue.

And rogues got put down.

I’d been on the run for a long time, but the last eight months had been particularly tough. It was almost as if I kept finding myself drawn to areas where shifters were visiting, which had forced me to run more than usual. It was freakin’ exhausting.

My ride through the dense urban center started slow, then I was able to fully open her up on the highway. As I sped into the darkness, my pulse finally stopped hammering in my throat, and my wolf’s growl simmered down in my chest. We weren’t on the best of terms these days, my beast and I. We might share a soul but her instincts were ancient and didn’t always align with human emotions. To her, we should be with other shifters, going on pack runs, protected from the human world.

A wolf’s instinct knew that a strong pack was the greatest force on Earth, and she pushed me toward the shifter cities every time I was in wolf form. Hence why I hadn’t shifted in weeks and would hold out until there was no other choice. Pack , she rumbled before settling down.

It’s too dangerous, we’re not like other shifters.

My wolf huffed, and I knew she thought I was an idiot ruled by a weak brain, but she left it with a derisive huff for now.

Forcing my thoughts away from another narrow escape, I let my mind calm, until there was nothing except the open road.

I rode for days, traveling across multiple state lines, only stopping to refuel and sleep beside my bike in pockets of forest.

Six days into my journey I crossed into New Mexico and pure exhaustion had me deciding to find a hotel. None of the larger pack towns were nearby, so it should be safe to rest for a few days. I reached Santa Fe by mid-day and parked my bike in a street lined with shops and market stalls.

After dismounting, I stretched my legs and eased the ache in my back, desperate for a proper shower and bed. I’d never been here before, but I was captivated by the city’s colorful buildings and unique architecture. Santa Fe held on to its history, and it echoed in the street until I could scent it in the cobbled stone paths and crumbling bricks.

No one paid attention to me as I explored, and I worked hard not to let my tourist show. Everyone noticed tourists, and I needed to blend. Eventually I headed back to my bike, thankful that I hadn’t encountered any sign or scent of another shifter in the area.

For the first time in almost a week I was relaxed as I munched on the meatball sub I’d purchased from a nearby café, which was the freshest, tastiest meal I’d eaten in days.

Even better, the owners directed me to a reasonably priced hotel for the night.

With the sun setting and the air cooling, I rode a couple of blocks to park beside the hotel. It wasn’t the best spot to stash my bike, but it’d do for a night. I planned on being gone early tomorrow.

Slinging my duffle bag over my shoulder, I procured a room easily enough and headed for “twenty-four,” the number drawn on the weathered green door with a sharpie. It was an old building with a square, low-set design. Ugly as heck, but I didn’t care. My only hope was for no roaches or rats. After days of sleeping on the hard ground, the rest I could deal with.

Inside, I was pleasantly surprised to find a dated but immaculate space. Cream walls highlighted simple furniture: two queen beds, a table with a lamp between them, and a desk in the corner. When I slid open the bathroom door, I discovered a shower-bath combo, and almost let loose my shriek of excitement.

I was going to soak my aching bones for an hour. Refusing to shift except when necessary had cost me over the years, but a good bath could fill some of the gaps left from my weaker healing abilities.

I locked the door and slid the deadbolt across—not that it’d stop a shifter, but it would give me a few seconds’ notice. Leaving my bag on the bed, I entered the bathroom and cranked the water full blast. While it was heating, I retrieved my bag of toiletries. I only had a toothbrush and paste, facewash and moisturizer, along with mascara and lip gloss. Everything else was back in Florida.

My financial situation was tenuous, but I’d managed to stash a few grand over the last two years. Thank the moon goddess I had it on me when I’d run. It would hurt to dig into those funds to replace everything I left behind, but it was better than being dragged to the pack cities.

Ditching my clothes on the floor with plans to wash them in the sink later, I stepped into the shower and quickly scrubbed myself down using one of those complimentary soap packets. It smelled grossly of roses and chemicals. Usually shifters avoided anything lab-made, but for the last few years they’d come in handy to hide my natural scent.

It was my bad luck that I’d run into that alpha after finishing my shift at the diner, when I’d already sweated through the synthetic scent. He’d scented me as a shifter from across the street, and when his alpha growl hit me, I’d taken off. I wasn’t about to wait around for him to ask for my pack affiliation.

Not if I wanted to live to see my twenty-sixth birthday.