The fall of promise the.., p.1
The Fall of Promise (The Wolves of Promise Falls Book 1), page 1
THE FALL OF PROMISE
(THE WOLVES OF PROMISE FALLS, BOOK 1)
A SPINOFF SERIES FROM OATH OF BANE
By T. S. JOYCE
The Fall of Promise
Copyright © 2022 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2022, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: February 2022
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoyce.com
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America.
Editor: Alyxandra Miller
Contents
Copyright
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
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Chapter One
“Choose one.”
Denver Mosley frowned at the piece of paper her mother slid across the table. Three names were written onto it.
Aloud, she read, “Bartholomew Hanson, thirty-four years old, five foot nine, no kits, no prospects, willing to relocate, works as a foreman at Lancaster—Mom, what is this?”
“It’s the three best matches your father and I have found for you.”
Denver probably had about forty-five wrinkles on her forehead right now from her eyebrows trying to reach her hairline. “So, this is a menu of men?”
“Not just men. Fox shifters, like you.”
“I’m aware of what I am,” she said, standing. She shoved the paper back across the table. “I’m not choosing a mate off this list of strangers.”
“You promised,” her mom said in that calm tone Denver hated. It always made her feel like she was being a difficult child, but she wasn’t a child anymore. She was thirty years old and completely capable of making her own life decisions.
“That wasn’t a real promise.”
“Yes, it was,” her father said from where he was sitting at the head of the dining room table.
“I should’ve known this was some stupid ambush,” she muttered. “We never sit in the formal dining room. Only bad stuff happens in here.”
“You’re being melodramatic,” her father said. “Sit down.”
“You can’t be serious about a childhood promise I made when I was eight years old,” she said, sitting slowly. It was time to have a real discussion about this, because it was getting to be too much lately. “I’m fine. I’m happy.”
“Are you?” Mom asked. “Because all we’ve seen for the last two years is you moping around.”
Don’t. Snap. “I haven’t been moping. I’ve just been busy with work.” Lie. “And a budding social life.” Also a lie. “And, and…I’m thinking about moving!” Lie also, but she needed them to focus on anything other than her love life. “Far away. Maybe to Texas.” To escape this stupid discussion.
Both of her parents had their heads cocked to the side, and the looks on their faces said they didn’t believe a damn word she said.
“You turned thirty—”
“—two days ago—”
“And that was the deal. It’s the same deal with every fox shifter,” Dad pointed out. “You have until thirty to choose, and if you don’t, the parents get to step in.”
“Well, Bart made it to thirty-four without his parents trying to set him up with a loveless match, so that means his parents are four years more awesome than you—”
“His parents are dead.”
“—well…that’s…a really sad story actually.” She’d been ready to tirade, but that sucked the wind right out of her sails. “Why is he volunteering for this?”
“Because he understands the importance of breeding,” Mom said in a tired tone.
Breeding. That’s what every fox shifter aspired to do, right? None of the other parts of their lives were important, just the number of kits they could produce.
Mom shoved the paper back at her. “These three have no link to our lineage, and they are all adequate matches.”
“I don’t want to settle for adequate,” she murmured. “I want something more.”
Mom pointed to Bartholomew’s name. “There is nothing more important than this. Do you think your father and I were a love match? We weren’t. We did our duty and agreed to our parents’ wishes, and we had you and your brothers and sisters, who, I might point out, have already all paired up—”
“—even your younger siblings,” she finished in sync with her mom. This wasn’t the first time she’d gotten this speech. “You’ve picked apart everyone I’ve ever tried with,” Denver uttered.
“Because none of them were good enough for you.”
“But they were my choice.”
“But they were human.”
“So what?” she demanded. “I would still have kits. And I could’ve been happy.”
Dad slammed his hand onto the table. “There aren’t enough of us left, and you’re not diluting the line with a human mate. You are the only one who doesn’t understand that. How many parties have we thrown? How many meet-ups have we gone to where you ignore every good prospect so you can go run around town with humans? And even if that was a valid excuse, you haven’t dated anyone in three years. You didn’t try with anyone.”
“Because you shame me for anyone I find interesting!”
Denver’s phone lit up on the table, and she dragged her attention to the glowing screen. It was a text from her oldest sister, Lyndi. It was two words, but that tiny sentence sucked the fire right out of her.
He’s back.
It was enough. Denver knew exactly what that meant.
Daylen was back.
Daylen, who had left without a word of goodbye two years ago.
Daylen, in line for the crown in the Sheridan Pack.
Daylen, the werewolf.
Daylen, the one she’d leaned on since she was six.
Daylen, her very best friend in the entire world.
Lyndi was always the last one to know anything, so how did she find out?
Denver slid her attention to her parents. “Daylen is back,” she whispered in shock. “Did you know?”
Mom’s lips tightened into a thin line, and she refused to answer. That was a yes.
Daylen was really back! Excitement trilled through her and she stood so fast the chair flew out from behind her. She grabbed her phone and bolted for the door, and yanked her jacket and purse off the bench sitting beside it.
“We aren’t done with this discussion,” her dad called behind her.
Daylen, Daylen, Daylen! Denver leapt off the porch and straight over all five stairs, landed hard in the snow, and sprinted for her beat-up old blue and silver Dodge.
“Please start, please start!” she chanted as she turned the key.
And it did! First try! It’s like the universe wanted her to see him faster. She kissed the steering wheel and put her seatbelt on as quick as she could.
Her parents were standing on the porch, so she waved to them as she drove down their snowy driveway.
He’s back.
She hadn’t known how important those two tiny little words could be.
She hadn’t been moping for the last two years, as her parents had put it.
Denver had just been missing her best friend.
Chapter Two
Daylen felt nothing.
He tried to as he scanned the property that used to mean the world to him, but all that remained was numbness.
“Are you going to finish it?” Stark asked from behind him.
Oh, Daylen had heard him there. He’d smelled him, too, but if Stark wanted to kill him, he would’ve already done it.
“I don’t know,” Daylen answered honestly as he shifted his weight in the snow in front of the old miner’s cabin he’d vowed to fix up.
Stark came to stand beside him. He’d shaved the sides of his hair and pulled the blond mohawk into a knot at the back. He looked different. “You gonna go in?” he asked.
“Workin’ up to it.”
“Want to talk?” Stark wore a baiting smile. They weren’t friends.
“Fuck you.”
“Mmm,” Stark said, a snarl in his throat. “Tessa sent me here with a message.”
“If my mother had something to say, she would give me the message herself. What do you want?”
“To see your face when you find out.”
Daylen inhaled deeply. Why couldn’t he feel anything? “Find out what?”
“Most of the Pack left.”
Daylen jerked his gaze to Stark. “What? Who left?”
“It’ll be easier if I list the ones who stayed. Tessa, you, Marsden…” The grin that took Stark’s face was evil. “…and me.”
Ten wolves. Ten wolves had left. Ten layers of protection had abandoned them, and he couldn’t really blame them. Not after what he and Tessa had done. Not after what had happened in the mountains of Montana with Krome’s Crew. Not after what happened with Ruby Daughtry.
“Aw, poor prince of the Sheridan Pack. There’s no kingdom left to inherit.” The joy that vibrated from Stark was a weight in his chest, like Daylen had swallowed cement.
“Why did you stay?” Daylen asked.
“Two reasons. One, where would I go? Huh? We both know this is my last-chance Pack. I’m stuck, but I’m okay with that.”
Numb, numb, numb. The wolf inside of him might as well not even exist right now. “What’s the second reason?”
Stark’s lips curled back and exposed his sharp canines, and his piercing blue eyes blazed almost white. Voice low, he snarled, “I wouldn’t miss your downfall for the fuckin’ world.”
Daylen let the venom in Stark’s voice coat his skin like tar. He blinked tiredly at the dilapidated miner’s cabin as Stark’s boot steps faded away.
“Wolf,” he murmured softly to the sleeping animal inside of him. “Are you there?”
No answer. This was the first time he’d passed on a chance to fight Stark. Honestly, Daylen couldn’t be angry with what was happening to him, because he deserved this.
It was the universe’s way of setting things right, because he’d done something horrible.
Daylen stepped up to the door and rested his hand on the handle. Next to it was a dog bed, half covered in snow, which made no sense. Dogs weren’t allowed in his territory. The wolf would eat them. It had been two years since he’d marked these woods though. Perhaps, the woods had forgotten who he was.
Daylen dug in his pocket for the house key, but he didn’t need it. The breeze pushed the door open before he could even get the key in the slot. Creeeeak.
Inside, natural light filtered through the windows. The light switch didn’t work, but that was probably because he quit paying the power bill a couple years ago. That’s when his mom, and Alpha, Tessa had pulled the entire Pack to Montana because his brother, Vager, had been transferred there to serve three years of his murder sentence.
Everything had gone wrong, and the tornado of what happened to the Pack over the last few months had made him block this place out entirely. He’d had to. There had been no room for looking back or missing happy places.
His breath froze in front of his face as he stepped inside. The wolf might be quiet inside of him, but he still had all the heightened senses.
There were yellow linen curtains on the windows, and the kitchen cabinets had new, matching pine doors. There was a rug under the table, which had been righted by someone after he’d destroyed everything in here the night he’d found out about Vager’s sentencing. Only two of the chairs had survived him, but the broken ones had been replaced by a pair of white ones. There was a vase of old, dead, dried-out flowers on the table, and in the corner of the living room, by the wood burning stove, was a pile of blankets and a pillow.
Someone had been squatting here.
The hairs rose on the back of his neck and he scented the air, but all he smelled was old cabin and cold. Whoever had been here had left long ago.
Something fluttered on the small kitchen countertop, and he jerked his attention to a folded piece of yellow, ruled notebook paper, held in place by a rock. The window over the old, rusted kitchen sink was broken, and snow had fallen over the counter. The breeze was lifting the corner of that letter.
Daylen’s boots made hollow sounds across the aged, scuffed wooden floors. Gingerly, he picked up the letter.
Day,
Where did you go?
Denver
Daylen dropped the letter like he’d been burned.
He’d abandoned her, and that loyal little fox had still come here and cleaned up the mess he left behind.
This was the part he hadn’t been ready for.
Shaking his head, he backed away from the letter as he watched it flutter to the floor in the breeze.
No. No, no, no, he couldn’t do this yet.
There was a grenade in his chest, and the only thing that could put the pin back in it was an escape from this place.
He’d been happy here, and now that would never be his story again. No one was to blame but him, because there was a shadow that would follow him for always now.
He’d been happy, and then everything had gotten yanked away, and he’d allowed it.
And worse than that…he’d participated in a destiny he’d seen coming from a mile away, and hadn’t even lifted a finger to stop it.
He’d done something unforgiveable, and this place was no longer a home.
It was just a reminder of all that he’d burned to the ground.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t here.
Denver scanned the living room of Daylen’s cabin and her eyes landed on the note she’d written, drifting slowly across the floor as the breeze through the broken windowpane picked up and then died off again.
It smelled like him in here…kind of. Like him, but different than she remembered.
He’d read her note, so why hadn’t he texted her with a Hey, you wanna meet at Quincy’s Steakhouse to catch up?
She checked her phone and opened his text thread, but nope. There were just her forty-seven unanswered messages over the last two years.
She didn’t understand what she’d done in the first place to make him so angry that he would leave her like that with no explanation.
Part of her had feared him dead, even though her family had explained to her ninety different times that sometimes werewolf Packs picked up and moved off for no known reason, because they were crazy. All shifters knew werewolves were crazy, except for her, apparently.
Denver moved to shove her phone into her back pocket, but it buzzed with a text. A feeling of such hope bloomed in her heart as she jerked the phone back up in front of her face.
It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Daylen.
It was Mom sending her a photo of the stupid mate menu.
And then another picture, zoomed in on Bartholomew’s information. Her parents clearly had a preference.
The breeze from the broken window lifted that old letter into a little tornado at her feet before it settled again. Where did you go? It had been months since she’d been here, at least in this form. Sometimes when she Changed into her fox, she still ended up here in Daylen’s woods. On those nights, she’d slept on the dog bed she’d dragged to the front door. She didn’t know why her animal liked coming back here. Perhaps it was a link to a time where everything made sense, and the fox didn’t want to let go of it yet.
Werewolves were crazy, and foxes were loyal.
Stupid boy.
She was going to find Daylen and make him explain himself, and then she would take him out to Quincy’s Steakhouse and get him a good steak and make him spill his guts and everything would go back to normal.
God, she needed everything to go back to normal.
Okay. Okay!
If he wasn’t here, he would be at one of his favorite places. That wolf was a creature of habit, and she knew a thing or two about tracking.
She would find him, and everything would be all right.
It had to be, because they were best friends.
As she zoomed down the overgrown dirt road and back to the main, she compiled a list of places to search in her head, and the order to search them.
First up was Promise Falls, where they’d spent every summer swinging off a rope swing into the river. It had a bench there he used to go sit on for hours when he had something on his mind. The bench, however, was empty, and someone had carved a wiener into the spot where she used to sit with Daylen, so she pulled out her pocket knife and took ten minutes to turn the little cartoon carving into a horse. She wasn’t sitting on some wooden dick when she and Daylen hung out here again. A horse was better.
