Lup Teren (Wolf Land Series Book 1) Read online

  Lup Teren

  Wolf Land Series

  (Book One)

  By

  L. D. K. Johnson

  Lup Teren Copyright

  Copyright L. D. K. Johnson,

  May 2014

  Cover art by L. D. K. Johnson

  Copyright December 2013

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be considered as fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  About The Author

  American author, L. D. K. Johnson is an island girl, brought up in one of the most beautiful locations in the world. Her favorite past times are attending sidewalk art festivals, watching series about zombies, werewolves, and other creatures that go bump in the night, eating dark chocolate, reading erotic romances and writing about book ideas that come to mind at 2:00 a.m. Since the age of eleven, she has loved to create unforgettable characters that readers will fall in love with. L. D. K. Johnson is best known for The Kapahu Series, Counting Stars and Four Past Midnight.

  Dedication

  For everyone who has ever

  wished they were

  More…

  Table of Contents

  Lup Teren Copyright

  About The Author

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Now Available

  Coming Soon

  Prologue

  “I’m serious,” Antonio Santiago said, looking around the dark cobblestone path that ran along the outskirts of Clapham Common in South London. “I swear to god.” His dark brown eyes narrowing indignantly as he stared at his best friend.

  “You need to stop insisting we see horror movies. Especially movies about werewolves and vampires,” she chastised, automatically rolling bright hazel eyes rimmed with long, thick, ebony lashes and smiling evilly causing Antonio to frown.

  “I’m not kidding, Raina,” he stated, shaking sandy blonde locks. The shaggy surfer-cut enhancing his boy-next-door features and charming Spanish ancestry.

  Chuckling, she insisted, “No one is following you.”

  “Yes,” he reaffirmed, lowering his already whispered declaration. “I know someone is following me.”

  “Stop being so bloody paranoid,” she accused, smacking him on the shoulder playfully, sighing when his grimace deepened. “Fine,” she huffed, “why do you think you’re being followed?”

  Stopping suddenly, he turned to peer over his shoulder at the deserted path behind them. The wind blowing softly through the trees creating a low howling sound that unnerved her as well.

  Tilting his head to the side, he asked, “Do you hear that?”

  “That’s enough,” she scolded, her Cockney accent strengthening under stress. “Your paranoia is spreading like a cold. I forbid you to see any more scary movies. Is that clear?” She walked away from his still frozen form. “I guarantee if we hadn’t seen An American Werewolf in London tonight at the cinema you wouldn’t be acting so strangely. Antonio, are you listening?” She turned back around on her heels, hands on her hips, a scowl marring her otherwise cute features. “Antonio?”

  Her mouth opened on a gasp when she realized she was the only one still remaining on the desolate path. All of the moisture left her mouth as she swallowed hard. Hands instinctively grasping the small canister of pepper spray she carried wherever she went. It was the only gift from her father that was useful or practical.

  “Antonio,” she called into the unforgiving English wind. “Antonio, stop fuckin’ around you ponce.” The wind answered, but it wasn’t the sound she wished to hear. “Stop playing around. Right! Now!”

  From a few feet away, a low, menacing growl came from the perfectly trimmed holly bushes near the entrance of the path, their spear-tipped leaves beginning to shake violently. Quite against her will, her arms began to tremble too and she prayed she could keep hold of the pepper spray dispenser.

  With a hesitancy she felt in her bones, she walked in its direction, cursing herself and her unnatural curiosity. If she were smarter, which clearly she wasn’t, she’d have turned tail and ran like the Hounds of the Baskerville’s were pursuing her. Instead, she quickened her step until she stood only a few feet away from the path’s entrance and inevitable doom.

  “Antonio,” she whispered at the foliage. “Get out of there this instant. It’s not funny.”

  A soft moan caught her attention to her left near her feet. Looking down, she saw Antonio lying in a pool of dark liquid. Big, brown eyes round with horror and a trail of blood trickling from his nose to full, pouty lips.

  “Raina,” he whimpered on a groan, face ghastly pale, eyes rimmed red.

  “Shite!” she wheezed, trying to suppress her oncoming panic attack. The sight of her friend bruised and bloodied made her extremities shake. “What did this to you?” she asked while wedging her arms under his sweat-drenched armpits, trying to get him to a standing position. The metallic scent of pennies accosting her nostrils reminded her of his massive blood loss. “Stand,” she ordered, as rivulets of hot tears beginning to tickle her heated cheeks. “Damn it! You’re a heavy bastard.”

  “Stop,” he gasped for air. “Listen.”

  It wasn’t surprising that his 6’4” athletic frame would be almost impossible to move by herself, but she prayed he could help her by moving his legs or at least straightening them.

  “Antonio,” she begged, securing him around the torso. “I need you to stand.” The words left her in a rush as she looked down, her eyes fixating on his lower body. His lower body sans most of his legs.

  Freaking hell!

  His legs below the knees were tattered as if they had been fed through a paper shredder. Flesh dangling like chipping paint off of his half-mauled legs. Bone twisting outward like mangled tree branches. All of the air left her lungs as she stared at him in horror.

  The large quantity of popcorn and sour gummies she had eaten at the cinema earlier suddenly lurched in her stomach and she fought to get it under control.

  “We’ve got to get outta here.” Her arms kept slipping as more and more viscous fluid left his barely intact body.

  “Raina,” Antonio panted as he coughed, blood spraying out onto her white, cotton hoodie.

  “What is it?” she asked, fighting back irritation and mind-altering fright.

  “Run,” his request faint, yet commanding.

  Still struggling to get her arms secured around his torso, she stammered, “I-I’m not l-leaving you.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Raina!”
He shoved her hard. “Run!” The unexpected movement caused her body to lunge backward, landing in a heap on the cold, wet stones. “Get outta here!” Seconds ticked by as her survival instincts finally kicked in sending her scrambling to her hands and knees then eventually to her feet. “Now!”

  That ominous growl was heard again, but this time it was closer. Much. Much. Closer.

  As the English breeze rustled the tree branches, the smell of rotting wood and mold overwhelmed her. The crunching of dried leaves was her only warning before she turned to stare death in its face. It’s very terrifying face.

  A scream tore from her, just as long, knife-like claws gouged the material of her hoodie, causing it to tear in multiple places. With only a small bit of commonsense left in her quickly tensing brain, she raised the pepper spray and pushed down the button releasing its contents.

  The thing in front of her yelped and clawed at its own eyes. Mouth wide. Fangs bared. A pained expression covering a semi-animalistic face.

  “Run, Raina,” Antonio gasped from his outstretched position on the ground.

  She did. Heaven help her, she ran. She ran as fast as her chubby legs could go. Ran in the direction of the busy road running parallel to Clapham Common. Inadvertently ran into the street and turned in time to see a large, hairy shape grab what remained of Antonio and pull him into the surrounding holly bushes.

  The sound of her own scream lost as the fast approaching motor coach lights barreled toward her. The sudden impact of metal against skin and bone held no contest. Everything went black.

  Chapter One

  Four years later…

  “Good to see you again, Miss Jacobs.”

  “It’s good to be seen.” Raina Jacobs gave a genuine smile, bright hazel eyes full of unshed tears, tears she had been holding in for precisely four long, gruesome years.

  “Today is your four year anniversary. Since the attack, I mean,” the man’s voice faltered and he cleared his throat to mask it.

  On a pained sigh she simply stated, “It is.” Her tone warning the good doctor not to venture further. It wasn’t a subject she felt comfortable sharing.

  “I’m glad you could make today’s appointment. You’ve canceled the last three,” he reminded, looking over her chart. “How’s the leg?”

  “Much better, Dr. Simonson,” she replied, bending the appendage at the knee to her own satisfaction.

  “No more spasms?”

  “Not recently, no,” she reassured the middle-aged, occupational therapist on staff at New York Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan.

  Lost in thought, he continued to review her medical chart and then looked up with a concerned frown.

  “I see you haven’t been going to your psychologist either. Actually,” he pushed his glasses up more securely on the bridge of his nose before continuing, “…it has been over six months since you’ve been to therapy of any sort.”

  The guilty expression that landed on her face didn’t help. Neither did the worry lines that appeared on her forehead.

  “I’ve been training on my own, doc,” her accent getting a tad bit stronger under his intense scrutiny.

  “Training?” One dark eyebrow arched upward toward his thinning hairline.

  “Yes, training,” she repeated, gracing Dr. Simonson with one of her patented Raina Jacobs smiles. The kind of smile that melted anyone into a sympathetic accomplice.

  Arranging himself more comfortably in his wingback chair, he asked, “What kind of training?”

  “Every kind of training.” She didn’t elaborate.

  It wasn’t a lie. She had been training. Ever since she had limped out of the hospital in London three years ago, the hospital that had become her second home for an entire year while she recuperated from being hit by a bus and from the loss of her best friend. Since then, it was her life’s mission to never see the inside of a hospital again.

  After her broken leg, cracked ribs, and mangled wrist had healed and she was released from the hospital, she had seen every competent orthopedic specialist, physical therapist, personal trainer, self-defense instructor, and martial artist that her father’s money could buy.

  Needless to say, when she first started treatment she could barely stand, yet alone walk. Every orifice of her body hurt. No. Hurt wasn’t a strong enough word. A Medieval torture rack would have been a welcomed experience in comparison.

  It took all of her willpower to learn how to function again. As months past, she was able to walk ten feet. Then twenty. Then forty. Until she could walk a mile on her own.

  Increasing her speed came next as she began to jog. First, one mile. Then two. Until she could run almost ten miles without stopping or becoming winded. The chubby, uncoordinated young woman who used to exist was replaced by a long distance runner who could keep pace with an Olympian marathoner if she chose.

  Strength training was also crucial. If she had possessed more power, she might have been able to get Antonio out of the park to safety. Away from that thing. Fueled by that memory, she began lifting weights. Not to bulk up, but to build upper and lower body strength, to be able to stop anyone or anything that came after her. And she was certain it would be coming after her eventually.

  “Miss Jacobs,” Dr. Simonson said on an exhale, bright green eyes filled with sympathy, “I know you’re better, but you want to stay that way.”

  “Doc, my body is being held together by pins. Little. Metal. Pins. I’ll never be entirely better.” She sat ramrod straight on the cushioned chair in front of his desk, hazel eyes glued to his, mouth in a thin, harsh line that dared him to debate with her. “I spent an entire year in the hospital. I’ve been poked and prodded and bent until I thought I was a pretzel. I’ve had enough of doctors. No insult intended.”

  He smiled. “None taken, but…”

  “We’re finished here.” She stood interrupting his lecture, grabbing hold of her purse strap, the smooth leather comforting her. “If I feel under the weather in the least, I’ll make an appointment, alright?” Dr. Simonson sighed nodding his salt-and-pepper head. “Fantastic. I’ll see you soon. Actually, I don’t know when I’ll see you, but it’s been real.”

  “Yes, it has,” the man chuckled good-naturedly. “Take care of yourself, Miss Jacobs.”

  She smiled back. “I always do.”

  *****

  “C’mon, Rain,” Steve aka Basher provoked. “You’re punching like a freaking girl today.”

  “Maybe it’s because I am a girl, you wanker,” her insult thrown faster than his punch to her abdomen, which she easily blocked.

  “Don’t pull that weak crap with me, little girl.” He chuckled only making her madder. Basher knew it pissed her off when he called her little girl. Dark eyes narrowed and a scowl marred his handsome face. “Hit me like you wanna hurt me.”

  “I am,” she admonished, blowing the stray black tendril that had escaped her ponytail holder out of her eye, so she could see properly.

  “We’re not leaving here until you inflict some damage, little girl.”

  “Stop! Calling! Me! That!” She punctuated each word with a jab to Basher’s face mask.

  “Getting mad are we?” he smirked. “Good! Now, punch me.”

  And she did. Boy…did she ever. She struck with all of her might to the left side of his head protection, then quickly followed with a backhanded blow to the right side of his head just below his ear. Then jumped, planting a solid roundhouse kick to his jaw, sending the 6’2” cage fighter/self-defense coach to the padded floor with a loud thump.

  “Better?” she asked, offering her hand to help him up.

  “Much,” he chuckled, grasping the outstretched hand and pulling to his feet, a slight grin of encouragement on his full lips.

  “I’m callin’ it a night, me ole mate,” Raina informed as she removed her face mask, then her gloves, finally her elbow and knee pads. “I’m gonna see ya, tomorrow, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Basher mumbled rubbing his jaw. “You wanna grab some di
nner?” he never failed to ask, his lips set in a wistful smile. As usual, she nodded and playfully threw the equipment at him.

  “Nah, gotta go to work in the a.m.” It wasn’t a lie. “Some other time,” she added with a saucy wink. That was a lie. She never mixed business with pleasure. No matter how hot the bloke.

  *****

  At precisely 7:00 p.m. on the dot, her cell phone began to buzz, which made her hip vibrate, which annoyed the hell out of her. She sighed as she hit the answer button, already knowing who was on the other end.

  “Hiya, Dad.” She closed the front door of her midtown Manhattan flat firmly behind her and clicked the deadbolt into place. “What ya harassing me for?” she giggled.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Richard Jacobs huffed into the receiver at his only daughter. Only child. “You’re alright, aren’t you?” His proper, English accent made her smile.

  “I’m right as rain,” she teased then suddenly lost the Cockney accent before adding, “I’m well. How’s Sherry?”

  Her stepmum, Sherry Winston-Jacobs, was a right stropping cow.

  “Fantastic, actually. She’s at Heathrow Airport waiting for a flight to Maui with her sister. They’re going on holiday for a few weeks.”

  Consciously, she rolled her eyes knowing he couldn’t see. “Without you?”

  “Well, you know how it is with the business and all,” he replied defending his wife of a month and a half. “No time to lollygag around.”

  “I guess not,” she agreed as she continued on the well-worn path to the refrigerator where she peered inside at the sparse space, wishing she had made it to the supermarket for some groceries. “Work is going to kill you. Men your age have heart attacks too, you know.”

  “Men my age,” he repeated with a sulk. “I’m not that old you cheeky wench.”