Table of Contents
Cover Page
Copyright
Content Warning
Dedication
Pronunciations
Quote
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
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Text and Cover Design/Illustration
Copyright ©2020 Feather Ink Publishing
©Tyffany Hackett and Becky Moynihan
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7347972-1-3
ISBN-10: 1-7347972-1-5
Printed in the United States of America
Feather Ink Publishing
beckymoynihan.com
tyffanyhackett.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example electronic, mechanic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written consent of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is coincidental.
• Cover Design by Becky Moynihan
beckymoynihan.com
• Ebook Design by Tyffany Hackett
tyffanyhackett.com
• Design Element Images via
freepik.com
Content Warning
This is a New Adult series. While the language and gore are relatively minimal, we do invoke and address harder topics and issues. We try to handle them with sensitivity, but we want our readers to be aware that they are discussed, in case of potential triggers. <3
Dawn till Dusk contain themes of child harm/death, reference to sexual assault, parental abuse, self-harm, and suicidal ideation.
To the tomato haters of the world: tread carefully.
No, really. Watch your step.
You never know . . .
Pronunciations
Character Names:
• Tarik — T-air-ik
• Reagan — Ray-gan
• Nevaeh — Nev-eye-uh
• Mordecai — Mor-di-kye
• Alec — Al-ik
• Benji — Ben-gee
• Haven — Hay-vin
• Leilani — Lay-lon-ee
• Jocelyn — Joss-ill-in
• Sebastian — Seb-as-tee-in
• Elias — Ill-eye-is
• Micah — My-kuh
• Malachi — Mal-uh-k-eye
• Caspar — Cass-per
• Akeno — Ah-ki-no
• Flynn — Fl-in
• Callie — Cal-ee
Location/General:
• Nathra — Nath-ruh
• Daranil — Dar-uh-nil
“Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it.
Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it.
Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.”
— Martin Luther King, Jr. —
Staying out past curfew and surrounding myself with enemies were two habits I needed to break.
One of these days I’d wisen up, but not tonight.
I yawned, wide enough to crack my jaw. The dim ambient lighting of the place made my eyelids droop, and the heavy stench of cigarette smoke dulled my usually sharp senses. What I wouldn’t give for a coffee right now.
Coffee wasn’t served in the warehouse district, though. Only hard liquor and about every form of drug imaginable. To my right, a rainbow array of bottles lined a black shelf behind the bar. I looked away from the tempting assortment as a slim shape sashayed toward my table. The girl, long-legged and way too young to be working this joint, sidled up beside me and trailed her fingers along my exposed forearm. I stiffened, but she didn’t take the hint.
“I’ve heard about you,” she purred, walking her pointed, red-lacquered nails up my bicep. Her other hand flicked aside strands of the red hair shadowing my face. I kept my expression neutral, reining in the sneer that threatened to twist my lips. She wanted something from me—all shifters did. But I wasn’t here for that. Never that. “Tarik. Or should I say ScarFae?”
I hated that name. Why not just call me Scarface?
The shifters who frequented The Pit loved their cheesy nicknames, though—the cheesier the better. But you’d think they could have come up with a more creative name for this seedy establishment.
Practically everyone here went by a pet moniker. Pets. That’s what my race called them. Shapeshifters had one master and waited with pricked ears for his call, like obedient lap dogs.
Sickening.
“Go home,” I muttered, watching the girl from my peripheral. She was pretty—for a shifter. I could acknowledge that. But young. Too young. “This place will pick apart your flesh and spit out your bones when it’s finished with you.”
Short fur suddenly darkened her soft pale cheeks. The pupils of her light brown eyes slitted. Long nails became talons, jabbing into my skin. I yanked my arm from her clutches and knocked my stool over as I stepped back. She laughed, the sound throaty and self-assured. “I’m not the one who should go home, Fae.”
She walked away before I could, her miniskirt-clad hips swaying so hard, I wondered how gravity hadn’t taken her out by now. Most of her kind knew to avoid me on nights like these—she must have missed the memo. I came to The Pit for one purpose: to fight in the cages.
I needed the release, the pure natural hum of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Better than any artificial drug. Sometimes I won, but more often than not, I lost. Didn’t matter. I would always be a loser in their eyes anyway. Lesser. They only put up with me because I was a curiosity—an anomaly. No other Fae dared step inside this shifter-infested den.
“ScarFae, man, you’re up next,” someone yelled over the thumping music. A hand clapped my shoulder and I almost lost my cool. The worst part about coming down here was the touching—and the nakedness. Shifters had no shame.
I strode through the scantily-clad crowd toward my assigned cage. A literal cage, with chain links and a steel lock keeping the fighters contained. I checked to see if my opponent was inside. He was. Stocky, tatted up, already vibrating with adrenaline from being surrounded by his kind. Typical shifter.
After I slipped through the gate, a bouncer clicked the lock shut, sealing us inside. Besides being knocked unconscious, there was only one way to lose a cage fight: using your abilities. But that was a joke. Shifters carried their abilities with them wherever they went. They were naturally strong, even in human form. Their reflexes surpassed humans and Fae alike.
That’s why Shapeshifters were top dog in this dirty city, and why I didn’t bother giving myself a pep talk. I wouldn’t win, but I would sink my fist into this shifter’s gut tonight—maybe break his
