Last Wolf Watching

  Book three of Bloodrunners.

  There was nothing simple about what Brody Carter had to do...

  With any other woman, it would be. But not with Michaela Doucet. He barely knew the provocative Cajun, but already her beautiful face haunted his dreams. True, women like Michaela never took an interest in guys like him—ones who were scared and bitter enough not to care what the world thought about them. But that had no bearing now that he had to protect Michaela from the Lycans who wanted her dead. Even if this decision would change his entire life. Even if it was pure madness.

  Brody had no other choice. He never had....

  Previously published.

  “Who is willing to watch over the human?”

  “I am.” The two roughly spoken words resounded through the clearing with the force of a cannon blast, and Michaela instantly stilled, stiffening against Brody as all eyes turned toward them. “Until this is over,” Brody growled, “the human is mine.”

  The unbelievable words echoed through Michaela’s head, the evocative warmth of Brody’s breath against the sensitive shell of her ear enough to make her tremble with something more visceral than shock or fear. She struggled for the source of her reaction—then realized it was hunger, urgent and sweet, spreading hypnotically through her system. A craving that moved like warm, thick honey in her veins, settling deep within her like an intimate, pulsing glow of heat that she wanted to curl around herself. And it centered on the Bloodrunner who held her in his hard-muscled arms, the resonating beat of his heart banging out a powerful rhythm against her back.

  Oh God, this can’t be happening.

  About the Author

  RHYANNON BYRD fell in love with a Brit whose accent was just too sexy to resist. Lucky for her, he turned out to be a keeper, so she married him, and they now have two precocious children, who constantly keep her on her toes. Living in the Southwest, Rhyannon spends her days creating provocative romances with her favorite kinds of hero—intense alpha males who cherish their women. When not writing, she loves to travel, lose herself in books and watch as much football as humanly possible with her loud, fun-loving family.

  For information on Rhyannon’s books and the latest news, you can visit her Web site at www.rhyannonbyrd.com.

  LAST WOLF WATCHING

  RHYANNON BYRD

  To Debbie Hopkins Smart, for all the laughter and the

  smiles, and for always being there.

  With lots of love,

  Rhyannon

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve been looking forward to sharing Brody Carter’s story with you since the beginning of the BLOODRUNNERS trilogy, when the scarred, brooding Runner was first introduced. Believing himself unworthy of love and his own happily-ever-after, Brody is one of those characters you can’t help but pull for, who reaches in and takes hold of your heart. Of course, like his fellow Bloodrunners, the heroic half-breed also possesses his own special brand of sex appeal. There’s just something so wonderfully alluring about a powerful, love-wary warrior who’s determined to fight his primal hungers, denying himself the thing he wants most in this world. And what Brody wants most is the one woman he believes he can never have—Michaela Doucet.

  In Last Wolf Watching, the third installment of the trilogy, Brody finally finds his match in Michaela, the fiery Cajun whose beauty steals his breath and whose passionate nature thaws his guarded heart. Theirs is a deeply emotional, sensual romance about finding faith in those we hold dear and the realization that we’re all worthy of love, no matter what we’ve been conditioned to believe. Together, Brody and Michaela discover that putting their trust in their hearts and in one another leads not to their greatest mistake, but to their ultimate triumph, as they learn to overcome the demons from their past in order to embrace the promise of their future.

  Writing the BLOODRUNNERS trilogy has been a most amazing experience for me, and I hope you’ll look forward to future stories from this dark, seductive world.

  All the best!

  Rhyannon

  * * *

  Last Wolf Watching

  A BLOODRUNNERS Novel

  The Bloodrunners Law

  When offspring are conceived of a union between human and Lycan, the resulting creations may only gain acceptance within their rightful pack by the act of Bloodrunning: the hunting and extermination of rogue Lycans who have taken a desire for human flesh. Thus they prove not only their strength, but also their willingness to kill for those they will swear to protect to the death.

  The League of Elders will predetermine the Bloodrunners’ required number of kills.

  Once said number of kills are efficiently accomplished, the Bloodrunners may assume a place among their kin, complete with full rights and privileges.

  * * *

  Books by Rhyannon Byrd

  Harlequin Nocturne

  Bloodrunners Series

  Last Wolf Standing

  Last Wolf Hunting

  Last Wolf Watching

  Dark Wolf Rising

  Dark Wolf Running

  Dark Wolf Returning

  Blood Wolf Dawning

  Harlequin HQN

  Primal Instinct Series

  Edge of Hunger

  Edge of Danger

  Edge of Desire

  Touch of Seduction

  Touch of Surrender

  Touch of Temptation

  Rush of Darkness

  Rush of Pleasure

  Deadly Is the Kiss

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles

  Books by Rhyannon Byrd

  Silhouette Nocturne

  *Last Wolf Standing #35

  *Last Wolf Hunting #38

  *Last Wolf Watching #39

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The Bloodrunner stood on the sidewalk, staring through narrowed eyes at the silent house nestled among a bevy of trees at the end of the picturesque neighborhood street. His mood was dark, edged with impatience, muscles coiled with tension that wound tighter…and tighter with each passing second.

  “Just get in, tell her and get the hell out,” he muttered in a husky rasp, the nearly silent words lost in the gusting Maryland breeze, the heavy chill of autumn wrapping its arms around his shoulders like a coldhearted lover.

  It was a simple enough plan—and yet, Brody Carter knew there would be nothing simple about it. With any other woman, yes. But not with this one.

  Letting out a slow, measured breath, he stepped beneath the ivy-laden trellis sheltering the front porch. The golden glow of an old-fashioned streetlamp softly illuminated the deep shadows of the night, heavy storm clouds smothering the silvery rays of the moon, until only a few, pale streams of ethereal light filtered through. He concentrated on forcing the aggressive blend of rage and hunger that coursed steadily through his blood beneath a cool, untouched surface of indifference, and finally lifted his hand. With a sharp movement, he rapped his knuckles against the front door, his tanned skin dark against the antique white finish of the wood.

  With the rational part of his mind, Brody accepted the fact that he’d rather be anywhere in the world than standing there, on Michaela Doucet’s doorstep.

  Unfortunately, the dangerous, animal side of his nature had other ideas, relishing the thought of being near the provocative Ca
jun once again. He’d had his first look at the mysterious human nearly two weeks ago, at the wedding of a fellow Bloodrunner, Mason Dillinger. And though Brody could appreciate physical beauty as much as the next guy, it seemed this woman was almost too beautiful, with that lush body, long black hair that fell in soft curls to the middle of her back, perfect features and dark blue eyes so big a man could get lost in them.

  Still, a pretty face he could have forgotten—but it was her scent that wouldn’t leave him in peace.

  The autumn winds surged with a vicious fury, bitterly cold in the dead of night—and his nostrils flared as he caught a trace of that warm, peaches-and-cream fragrance that no store-bought product could duplicate. Suddenly, the cool air of indifference he’d struggled to maintain bled away like the last flecks of snow down the sides of a mountain, replaced by a blistering wave of heat. He imagined his features must look twisted with the madness of his emotions, his expression one of equal parts hunger and disgust for his weakness—and knew he’d be lucky if she didn’t run screaming in the other direction the second she set eyes on him.

  “Not that I’d blame her,” he grunted under his breath. While his partner Cian was most often described as the pretty boy of their group, Brody figured he was the equivalent of the intimidating guard dog. Big, mean and scary-as-hell were the adjectives most suited to his appearance, and he’d learned to live with them. He’d never wished to be anything different than what he was—he only wished he’d never set eyes on the sexy Cajun with a siren’s smile, who was perfect enough to have any man that she wanted.

  Look, there’s no need to make it complicated. Just get in, deliver the news and get the hell away from her before that scent has time to screw with your head.

  He rubbed uneasily at the back of his neck, and a scowl twisted the scarred corner of his mouth, while he wondered what was taking her so long to answer the door. A dog barked down the street, and his gaze slid across the row of neighboring houses, his frown deepening with unease. This pristine world of white picket fences and quaint, family homes was as alien to him as any make-believe landscape, making him feel like the horrifying monster trespassing within a storybook fantasyland. The uncomfortable feeling had Brody struggling for calm, and he locked his jaw, just wanting to get back to the peaceful quiet of the forest.

  Being in the city always set him on edge. The man in him hated the constant grind of the noise and crowds and irritating stares, preferring the isolation of the mountains where he and the other Bloodrunners lived. The wolf in him found the endless sensory overload a constant source of frustration. It felt constrained, tethered, when all it wanted to do was throw off his human mantle and howl beneath the comforting, seductive pull of the moon. The continual fight against his primal, instinctual urges whenever a hunt took him into civilization made him restless, wearing him thin.

  And now he had to deal with Michaela. Not good. Not good at all.

  “You’re tempting fate, just like your old man,” he quietly grunted to himself. “The last thing in the world you need is to be close to her.”

  As if to confirm what he already knew, his beast lifted its nose to search for a deeper source of that heady, mouthwatering scent that seemed to destroy him a little more with each breath. He wanted to moan, it was so good. Wanted to claw his way into her house, take her beneath his body and pretend that he’d forgotten the reasons why he couldn’t touch her. Claim her. Search out her delicate pulse and bite her. He wanted to sink his fangs into her slender throat, her warm flesh damp and deliciously tender beneath his mouth, and lose himself in the hot, carnal rush of her blood at the same time as he buried himself hard and thick and deep between her silken thighs. His hands fisted at the dizzying thought, muscles locked in a paroxysm of agony, while he choked back a low, rumbling growl of frustration.

  He was a Bloodrunner, the offspring of his human mother and Lycan father. A hunter of rogue werewolves. A protector of the Lycan way of life for the Silvercrest pack. But unlike his fellow Runners, Brody knew that in some ways he was more monster than man. He walked a delicate balance between the two opposing worlds, and the woman inside this house upped the stakes to a dangerous, deadly level. For too many months, his beast had been denied the physical pleasures that fed its soul, not unlike the way a wild kill fed his animal appetites. By the time he’d understood the dangerous effects of his self-imposed celibacy—it was too late. He hadn’t dared to seek out a woman, even a Lycan one, because he didn’t trust his human half to be able to master the savage urges of his beast.

  Then Michaela Doucet had walked into his life, and Brody discovered what it was like to live in true fear—what it was like to live in hell. Every moment spent in her company took him one step closer to the crumbling edge of his control, until he could all but feel the fires of damnation licking at his skin.

  “You need to go home, grab a bottle of Jack and find a way to forget she even exists,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes tight as he lifted his fist and knocked harder, all but shaking the sturdy door within its frame, nearly cracking the wood. The wind grew savage, riffling through his hair, pulling the dark auburn strands across his face until he had to swipe at them with his hand. Drawing in another deep, ragged breath, Brody hammered at the door again…and again, feeling every bit the part of the Big Bad Wolf getting ready to huff, and puff and blow her picture-perfect world to pieces.

  Finally, the lock on the front door clicked, the handle turning, and Brody shoved his shaky hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, steeling himself to get what needed to be said over and done with as fast as possible. After all, he’d come tonight to tell the woman who’d become his secret obsession that she’d lost her brother—or rather, the brother she’d always known.

  The boy she’d raised was gone. Forever.

  “And you get to be the lucky bastard who tells her,” he snarled, the whispered words so guttural, they barely sounded human.

  Brody muttered a foul word under his breath, and with the rasping ease of an old, comfortable house, the front door quietly opened…

  Chapter 1

  Eighteen hours later…

  Fear sat on the tip on Michaela Doucet’s tongue, as bitter as an aspirin waiting to be swallowed. It possessed a sharp, acidic flavor that made her mouth water in the way that it does when you’re about to be sick, while her eyes burned with a stinging wash of gathering tears. She willed them back with the sheer stubborn force of her will, reminding herself again and again that Doucets weren’t ones to cower. Raised in the superstition-rich environment of the Louisiana Bayou, she’d grown up on whispered tales of ghosts and goblins, vampires and werewolves.

  Yes, she’d always been a believer, even if she’d never seen proof of the paranormal creatures most humans consigned to the realm of fantasy and fiction. But now the veil between the two worlds had been lifted. Two weeks ago, she and her brother Max had learned the truth about the secret that resided in the eastern mountains just a few hours’ drive west of their home in Covington, Maryland. Werewolves did indeed live among us. Some good. Some bad. Some so evil, they were more monsters than men.

  And then there were others who were truly heroes. Dark, dangerous and tortured ones, yes—but undoubtedly heroic.

  Michaela’s best friend, Torrance Watson, had fallen in love with one such hero: Mason Dillinger, a man who was half human–half Lycan. Mason was one of a select breed of hunters known as Bloodrunners who were committed to hunting down and exterminating the rogue Lycans who’d begun murdering humans. Because of their half-human bloodlines, the Runners lived separately from the Silvercrest werewolf pack they protected, in a place named Bloodrunner Alley.

  The Doucets had been under Bloodrunner protection ever since a rogue werewolf had made a move on Torrance’s life. And while Michaela didn’t care for the lack of privacy, Wyatt Pallaton and Carla Reyes—the Bloodrunning team assigned to their protection—had become friends to both her and Max. She had been thankful for their watchful eye, especially fo
r her brother’s sake.

  Yes, she could accept the existence of werewolves. She’d even begun to embrace a few of them as part of her family. But tonight, terror consumed her.

  Beneath the wraithlike streams of silvery moonlight, the autumn wind whistled past her ears, reminding her of a specter imparting secrets, the cool frost of its voice chilling against her skin. Shivering, she inhaled deeply through her nose, searching for the fresh scents of the surrounding forest, for pinesap and juniper and the moist smell of the soil. Like a frightened child grasping at a frayed security blanket, she needed the familiarity of those things to ground her in a world that had tilted on its axis, knocking her off balance—but all she could find was the acrid stench of aggression. Feral and thick, the heavy scent closed around her like a physical vise, banding her chest, making it difficult to draw enough air into her lungs.

  Even as an outsider in this ominous setting, she understood instinctively what the menacing energy permeating the night signified. They were ready—the Silvercrest pack’s anticipation ripe for the ceremony that would soon begin.

  Hold it together, she silently scolded. Do not fall apart.

  Willing her backbone to keep her upright, Michaela focused on the towering blaze of a roaring bonfire that rose from the far side of the clearing, its orange flames burning with maniacal zeal against the ink-black curtain of night. Not even the stars shone in the eastern sky. Only the moon burned in the stygian darkness of the heavens, its yellowed mass seeming to reflect the fiery glow of the sinister flames.