Blood Wolf Dawning Read online

  And what he felt for her now. God, there simply weren’t words.

  The night was sultry and sweet, the woman in his arms, snuggled against his body, even sweeter. Her heart was pounding, rushing the blood through her veins, and he could feel the darkness in him quickening with awareness, eager for the hot, rich spill as he pierced her flesh. Even his wolf had become addicted to his blood feedings, the intimacy of the act appealing to the beast’s primal, possessive nature.

  After long discussions on the matter, Sayre had finally convinced him to keep feeding from her until she reached his age, since she wanted them to be able to grow old together. Like the miracle she was, she was teaching him to not only accept that brutal part of his nature, but also to embrace it. And the way she called him her “blood wolf” when she wanted to feel the bite of his fangs made him steel-hard every single time. They indulged often, and he loved how close it made him feel to her, only strengthening their bond.

  “Already?” she asked with a soft catch of excitement in her voice, when he rolled back on top of her, pushing his way between her thighs. His cock was hard as a rock as it brushed against her slick, swollen folds.

  “I have a lot of time to make up for,” he told her, pushing inside her, working his hips in careful nudges until she’d taken every inch. When he was buried deep, her soft little body gripping him like a tight, wet glove, he lowered his head and took her mouth with hot, hungry kisses that curled her toes.

  “So this whole making-up-for-lost-time-in-the-sack thing we have going on. Does that mean you’ll eventually stop wanting me so much?” she gasped, when she finally had to break away from the ravenous demands of his mouth so that she could catch her breath.

  “I should say yes, but I honestly don’t see that happening, lass. Each time, I want you even more...and it somehow just keeps getting better.” And it was true. Not just on a physical level, though that was unlike anything he could have ever dreamed of. The way she clasped him in her tight body, the way she moved with him and smelled and tasted and felt in his arms—there was simply no comparison. But the emotional aspect was just as intense, if not more so, adding a richer, deeper layer to the act that was impossible to explain. He just knew that he needed it, needed Sayre, more than he needed water and air. Hell, he needed her more than he needed blood or the moonlight. His hunger for her had become more a part of him than either his wolf or his “dark” blood could ever be, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “At this rate, we’ll probably kill ourselves with sex,” she teased, pushing against his shoulders until he’d rolled to his back and she’d ended up on top, straddling his hips.

  “You won’t hear me complaining,” he growled, mesmerized by the sight of her as she started to move. “More like begging for more.”

  Eyes gleaming with pleasure, she gave him a beautiful, breathtaking smile. “I love how you do that. How you always tell me how much you want me. You’re going to spoil me rotten, aren’t you?”

  “You bet your sweet little ass I am. Before and after I get my ring on your finger.” He was ready to pull her down to him so he could take that sweet mouth of hers in another greedy, scalding kiss. But she had other ideas.

  “I promise to spoil you back,” she whispered, pulling her hair over her shoulder as she turned her head, exposing the vulnerable curve of her throat. It was the signal that she was ready. Ready to give him all that he needed. To nourish his body, as well as his soul.

  “Baby,” he groaned, his abs flexing as he sat up and buried his face against that warm, tender skin, his mouth watering for the taste of her and his heart thundering like a drum, “you already do.”

  Then Cian buried his fangs hard and deep, and as he lost himself in the intoxicating taste of his woman, the feel of her reaching into the very heart of him with that burning, blinding light that was pure Sayre, he knew a sense of peace that reached all the way down to his soul. A sense of being home, exactly where he belonged.

  He no longer feared the present or let the past consume and define him. He didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense, because he was too busy looking to the future. To a life that was so much more than anything he could have ever hoped for.

  A future he wouldn’t give up for anything in the world.

  And he couldn’t wait to get started.

  * * * * *

  Read on for an extract from SHADES OF THE WOLF by Karen Whiddon.

  Chapter 1

  The man appeared in her peripheral vision, just like all the others who had come before. A hazy shape, flickering into mist before solidifying somewhat. Her black cat, Leroy, hissed his usual back-arched warning. Anabel Lee clenched her teeth and ignored the apparition, willing the ghost’s ethereal form to dissipate so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

  Or worse, hear him try to speak to her. Mentally, she cringed. The voices were what bothered her the most. Whispers and muffled laughter. Wisps of conversation drifting on the breeze.

  And pleas for help. Almost always cries for help. She had come to realize ghosts never appeared unless they wanted something. For whatever reason, they all seemed to think she could give it to them. Instead she steeled herself and sent them away.

  This wasn’t the first time one had appeared inside her home either. They were prone to popping up in all kinds of places, everywhere. Some wailed; some screamed. Others simply glared at her with burning eyes, as if she could read whatever was left of their mind. And most asked—begged, actually. Until she ordered them gone. Doing so cut off the voices.

  Since there seemed to be a method to her madness, she simply closed her eyes. “Go away,” she ordered, speaking slowly and loud. “I don’t want you here.”

  Having spoken, she counted silently to ten, quite confident that when she opened her eyes again the apparition would be gone. They always went, once she ordered them gone.

  Only he wasn’t. Instead it seemed he’d moved closer. Her eyes widened. Dimly, she registered he was—or had been—a beautiful man. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a narrow waist and capable, long-fingered hands. He wore his dark hair unfashionably long, which she also appreciated, since she too made a practice of skirting the edge of current style. This hair did not go with his camouflaged military fatigues and combat boots.

  Leroy hissed again, then gave an indignant yowl and stalked away, his yellow cat’s eyes flashing.

  “What do you want?” she asked rudely, pretty sure she already knew the answer. And she got ready to strain to hear the whisper or brace herself for the shriek, since ghosts apparently couldn’t speak in a normal tone.

  “I need your help,” he said, his deep voice strong and edged with velvet. Such a sexy voice, she felt the impact all the way to her toes.

  Stunned, she stared at him. “I didn’t expect that.”

  One corner of his well-shaped mouth quirked. Damned if she didn’t feel a little electric tingle deep inside.

  “What, that I’d need your assistance?”

  “No, not that.” She waved him away. “All the ghosts want some kind of help. But you’re different. You can talk. Not whisper, but speak. That’s unusual.”

  “Is it?” Appearing unconcerned, he shrugged. To her consternation, he appeared to be solidifying the longer she looked at him. Handsome, sexy and getting more real by the second. Maybe she finally had lost her mind.

  “I’ve been sent back here for a reason,” he continued. “And your energy is strong. It directed me to you.”

  This was new. Of course, she’d never gotten this far with a specter before. This ghost was different. For one thing, he was massive. And ruggedly handsome. His self-confidence was even sexy, making her feel something she hadn’t since David’s death. Things she definitely shouldn’t be feeling.

  Resolutely, Anabel ignored him. Eventually, he’d disappear. He had to. He had no reason to ha
ng around haunting her. She’d brought her vegetables in from her garden for dinner. She planned to roast summer squash, zucchini, tomatoes and onions. Not only did she love the fresh taste, but the bright colors made eating feel like artwork. This, along with some quinoa, had become one of her favorite meals ever since she’d decided to give vegetarianism a try.

  Which had given the townspeople of Leaning Tree even more to talk about. After all, who’d ever heard of a shape-shifter who didn’t eat meat?

  Anabel didn’t care. At least that was what she told herself—ever since David had been killed and she’d lost her mind, she’d long ago stopped caring about what other people thought of her.

  “Earth to Anabel.” The ghost snapped his fingers. At her. And she could actually hear them. “Shutting me out won’t make me go away.”

  Ignoring him should have worked. Sometimes she’d found she could actually will them away, as if she had magical power over ghosts or something. Closing her eyes, she wished him gone.

  “Hello? I know you can hear me. This is really important. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come.”

  Him again. Still here. Worse, he actually knew her name. None of the other ghosts had called her anything but lady, or ma’am, or even Ms.

  “Fine.” Sighing, she crossed her arms and faced him. “I’m listening. Go ahead and tell me what you want.”

  She expected him to immediately start listing his demands. If they followed along with the other spirits who’d visited her, they’d be along the lines of find so-and-so, my wife, my mother, my father, and tell them I love them and that I’m at peace. Which she absolutely refused to do. Mostly since she knew no one would believe her. She already had a reputation as a nut job anyway.

  So she waited for him to begin his laundry list of demands before she could shoot him down.

  Instead he cocked his head and studied her. Anabel realized she’d never seen eyes that hazel, in either a live man or a ghost. Especially a ghost.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” he asked, his deep voice kind. “Your husband, that is.”

  She started, only the slightest twitch, but she thought he noticed it anyway. “If you’re here to tell me he’s all right, that he’s not in pain and that he’s happy, don’t.”

  Even though she tried to keep the misery out of her tone, she knew she’d failed. “After all,” she continued, “if he really wanted me to know, he’d have told me himself.”

  “I’m sure he couldn’t.” Again the flash of a smile, far too radiant for an apparition. “It seems to be some kind of rule or something, prohibiting us from appearing to those who loved us the most.”

  Which made sense. Though it didn’t lessen the hurt. “I see ghosts. Not everyone can do that. I would appreciate just a short visit, or even a message...” She broke off, squinting at him and not bothering to hide her suspicion. “And don’t take that as a good excuse to hand me some syrupy fake message. I’ll see right through you. David and I had our own form of code. He’d definitely use it to prove to me that any communication actually was from him.”

  As she wound down, she noticed how his mouth quirked upward in amusement. He had a ruggedness and vital power she found very attractive. Which felt not only weird—he was a ghost, after all—but entirely unwelcome.

  “I don’t have a message from anyone,” he said, not sounding the slightest bit regretful. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Irritated, embarrassed and more than a little bit flustered, she waved his words away. “Just tell me what you want so I can get on with the rest of my day.”

  “What I want...” His expression stilled and grew serious. “I need you to help find my sister. Somehow she managed to reach out to me. She’s in danger.”

  This was a new one. “But you’re a...ghost. You should be able to find her yourself.”

  “I have tried.” He sounded frustrated. “And all I can tell is she’s in some dark, windowless place. Underground, maybe. No matter how long I search, her exact location is blocked. She’s still alive, though her light is beginning to fade. She is running out of time. The man who has her will kill her soon.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “The man who has her? Are you talking about a serial killer? Or just some sort of psycho?”

  “I don’t know.” His lips thinned as his expression turned inward. “He’s probably killed more than once, because when I’m around my sister, I can also feel the whispers of other lost souls.”

  A shiver snaked up her spine. This just kept getting stranger. Not only did a ghost too good-looking to be real show up, but now he was spouting stuff about serial killers? She really, really needed him to go away.

  Crossing her arms, she studied him. His massive shoulders filled out army camouflage. Her stomach swooped. The combat uniform had been exactly what David was wearing when he was killed. Coincidence? She thought not.

  Steeling herself, she took a deep breath. “I have to ask. Why me? I don’t even know you. Did someone else, some other ghost, send you to me?”

  “No.” His quick answer crushed all her hopes. “Your energy drew me to you. I need someone with your power. Not only that, but you live in the same town as I used to. My sister still lives here.” He frowned. “Don’t you ever wonder why you can hear the voices of the dead?”

  “Not really. Mostly I only hear whispers.”

  “You can hear me. And the energy you send out directs the spirits to you.”

  Pain stabbed her. “Funny thing, that. You’re right. I do attract a lot of departed spirits. All of them want something from me. But the one voice I most want to hear has never come to me.”

  “Your husband, of course...” Gaze intense, he frowned. “Maybe I can help with that.”

  “I received word David was killed in Afghanistan eighteen months ago. I just knew he’d come to me, at least to say goodbye. But he never did.”

  His frown deepened. “I cannot appear physically to my sister, even though she’s in danger.”

  “That’s nonsense.” The words burst from her, practically vibrating with hurt. “I hear all the time of people seeing the shade of someone close to them. I don’t understand why...” Tears pricking at the backs of her eyes, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  He dipped his chin, as if he understood. “All I can say is I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” Though for once, she’d been able to say David’s name without her voice cracking. “It’s been really tough. David and I were mates. That’s why I just don’t understand.”

  “Mates. Interesting. During my time on earth, I never had the privilege of meeting my mate.”

  “Not everyone does. I got lucky. And I don’t think it’s too much to ask that he contact me. Or, if there’s a rule to prevent that, he could reach out to someone else and send a message to me.” It dawned on her that was what all the other spirits she’d sent away had been trying to do and for all she knew, David might have had the same luck if he’d made the attempt.

  “Sometimes, when a soul has suffered a traumatic injury, he is taken away and given positive, healing energy,” the handsome ghost continued. “Time passes differently there. Your David may not even be aware eighteen months has passed since his death. For him, it may feel merely like minutes.”

  His words felt like a soothing salve poured on a festering wound. They helped, even if she didn’t really understand the logic behind what he’d said. The connection between mates should have transcended both space and time.

  This ghost simply didn’t understand. She felt bad for him; she really did. And she felt worse for his poor sister. Being held prisoner in a dark place sounded like her worst nightmare come to life. Add in serial killer, and it went way beyond the realm of terrifying. So much so that she knew she didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

  Now to convince him of that. She swallowed hard,
lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze.

  “Your eyes are the color of burnished copper,” he said.

  Nonplussed, she completely lost her train of thought. “Uh. Thanks. I guess.”

  The quick flash of a devastating smile further derailed her. “You’re welcome. And I should thank you, for agreeing to help.”

  That snapped her out of whatever twilight land she’d gone to. “That’s just it. I haven’t agreed to anything. Look, I understand that I can hear you. But I’m just one person, a widow who, quite frankly, isn’t well regarded in this town. Serial killers scare the heck out of me too. So what do you think I can do to find your sister?”

  “More than I can,” he shot back, his smile vanishing. “You have a physical presence. You can talk to people and be heard. You can ignite a fire under law enforcement. And you are able to research and hunt down the clues that occasionally flash into my consciousness. Once you and I figure out who this man is, we can have him arrested.”

  Still, she considered. Lately, she’d made a career out of avoiding just about everyone in town. For all she knew, they’d laugh at her if she started asking questions about a missing girl.

  “How did you die?” she asked, feeling as if she needed to know.

  “In Afghanistan,” he said, his voice curt. Clearly, he didn’t like discussing his death. “Like your husband and a lot of others. For me, it was a suicide bomber at a roadside checkpoint.”

  A chill snaked over her. This ghost and David had both lost their lives in a similar fashion. It couldn’t be a coincidence, even if she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “I’ll find your husband,” he offered. “And try to bring him to you. If I can’t, I’ll bring back to you exactly what he’d like you to know. But time is of the essence. The longer Dena—my sister—is in that place, the weaker she becomes.”

  Again the image. A poor woman, curled up on the cold concrete floor, hoping to ward off blows—or worse. That could be any woman, even Anabel. She had to try to save her. Just like that, she decided.