Shifter Rage

Shifter Rage WOLF DESIRE BOOK 1 HANA LISETTE Copyright © 2023 by Hana Lisette All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Design: Killer Covers by Hanna Created with Vellum Contents Foreword 1. Celeste 2. Celeste 3. Celeste 4. Luke 5. Luke 6. Celeste 7. Celeste 8. Luke 9. Celeste 10. Celeste 11. Celeste 12. Johan 13. Celeste 14. Johan 15. Johan 16. Luke 17. Luke 18. Celeste 19. Luke 20. Celeste 21. Celeste 22. Celeste 23. Celeste 24. Celeste 25. Celeste 26. Johan 27. Celeste 28. Johan 29. Celeste 30. Celeste 31. Luke 32. Celeste 33. Celeste 34. Celeste 35. Celeste 36. Luke 37. Celeste 38. Celeste 39. Celeste 40. Celeste 41. Celeste 42. Luke 43. Celeste 44. Tom 45. Celeste 46. Celeste 47. Luke 48. Luke Pupper Magic About Hana Foreword The Wolf Desire trilogy features strong language, graphic violence, and explicit sexual content. Potential triggers are as follows: Early in the series, there will be on-screen depictions of panic attacks related to social anxiety and trauma. Furthermore, since the trilogy will feature shifter warfare, please expect death and destruction—often through daggers, explosives, and fires. Another weapon is a fantasy drug known as “glitzwild”, which many central characters will wield to further their own ends. This drug is not addictive, but it is deadly. Finally, please expect themes of moral ambiguity. Our protagonists have good intentions, but their actions may be unjust. Please turn back now if you find the above content triggering. If not, happy reading! CHAPTER ONE Celeste Standing above the towering casino, I watch the glittering skyline illuminate the stars. I’m clad in black, my face shrouded by a dark cloth mask and my sweater hood. Even the messenger bag dangling at my hip is a crisp midnight black, and I’d blend in with the night except there’s no darkness in the Vegas Strip, only the glimmer-glitz shine of the casino lights. There’s a certain peace in the syncopation of shouts, honks, and drunken cheers. I revel in it, and as I spread my arms against the cold wind rushing past my body, I watch the ant-speck world like a giant looking down a hill and feel like a queen. “Ready,” I whisper, and my discreet ear piece buzzes with an approving male hum. Glass shatters in the distance, again-again-again, audible only to my shifter senses— Klaxon sirens pierce through the rhythmic city ambiance. The commotion spreads until the Strip itself is rioting with it, the ground shaking from the incessant siren screeches. Two heartbeats and the building I’m on begins to roar, its ground-floor windows cracked by an onslaught of bullets. The noise scrapes my shifter-sensitive eardrums, harsh and grating, and my wolf shudders inside me. I score my lip in irritation. “Subtlety is lost on you,” I say, unsheathing two witch-enchanted daggers from a messenger bag compartment. Witches are conceited as hell, demanding ludicrous prices for their services, but they’re almost competent enough to justify it. “For the last time,” my ear piece growls, and I struggle to focus through the sirens. “Seven damned missions hang in tonight’s balance. Be grateful you can rely on the commotion for yours.” “Eh.” I snort, delighting in my handler’s exasperation. “I like being challenged.” His only response is an indulgent scoff. Biting the handle of a dagger to free one hand, I swing down from the roof, free hand clutching the rooftop edge while the other slams the second blade into the tower’s cliff-face. The enchanted blade slices through steel with minimal resistance. Cold wind whips at my fists and shoves my body left-right in a precarious dangle. My heavy, gem-laden necklace shifts with my weight, distracting me—but I just narrow my eyes and tighten my grip. In a whipcrack sweep, I seize the dagger from my mouth and ram it into steel before my body can swing down fully. Mouth finally free, I intake a sharp breath. Muscles tense. Shaking with adrenaline, I lower myself down the tower, my hands taking turns to tug the dagger out and slam it back in when gravity sways me down. Pull, swing, shove. Pull, swing, shove. Minutes pass until I spy my entrance in my peripheral vision—a window draped by a black velvet curtain. An abandoned office. I adjust my path left as I descend until my blades are planted right above the window. Now to enter. Upper-floor windows are bulletproof. Unbreakable. The Casino splurged more heavily on their protection. But I’ve got better than bullets. Squeezing one dagger tighter, I release the other to grab a puffy gold sticker from my messenger bag. A witch-enchanted explosive. Biting its protective sheet with teeth, I detach the sticker and attach it to the window. I once scoffed at any shifter who relied on witch magic, but that was before my soulmate rejected me and exiled me from his pack. Five years without the pack’s expectations being rammed down my throat has been… illuminating. Witch magic is convenient. Efficient. Without it, I’d need quadruple the effort and time to achieve the same results. Sliding out the free dagger, I seesaw my feet until I’m swinging heavily like a pendulum. Using the momentum, I snatch out the dagger still lodged in steel before propelling myself sideways. I barely manage to nick the sticker with a blade before I’m thrown to the wind. Breath catches; heart hammers; I rake both daggers back into steel, and they skid down, forcing jagged gashes in the building face that mirror lightning bolts— The sticker detonates; the window shatters, and burning glass shards plummet like glittering hail— Sirens blare from the suite, but that’s not anything new. Vegas is still screaming with sirens, every inch of this block shuddering from incessant noise. Heartbeat later, the explosive flames vanish like