Kiss of the Silver Wolf
Read Kiss of the Silver Wolf Online
Authors: Sharon Buchbinder
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©
First published in 2010
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
CONTENTS
* * * *
Her voice came out in a husky tone. “Guess it's
just you and me. Would you like some apple pie? Or cake? I seem to have enough for two. Or two hundred."
Zack gave her a long, lazy smile that made her breath catch and said, “I was hoping for a taste of something else."
Heat raced up her neck and face, and she could barely whisper, “Applesauce?"
He put his arms around her waist, pulled her snugly against his chest and brushed her lips with his. “You,” he breathed. “I want to taste you."
She ran her tongue along his luscious lower lip. “Like that?"
He growled and pressed her up against a wall.
Deep within she felt a primal stirring, an almost animal urge to throw him down to the floor and tear at his clothes. Her rational self wondered what she-beast he had awakened, but her inner wild woman said,
Shut up and enjoy the ride!
Charlene pawed at his shirt, the buttons eluding her fevered grasp. Frustrated and crazed with lust, she yelped, “Take the damn shirt off!"
He stepped away from her, grinned and began to undo the buttons at a leisurely pace. “Am I going too slowly for you?"
Praise for Sharon Buchbinder
"A sexy, suspense-filled romp that will leave you howling at the moon for more!"
~Beth Werrell
"An exciting twist to werewolf legend. I can't wait to read the her next story."
~Sherrie Denora
"Sharon Buchbinder writes with heart and understanding. Her characters will enchant you and her heartwarming tales will make you a believer and a fan as they did me."
~Dara Edmondson
Kiss
of the
Silver Wolf
by
Sharon Buchbinder
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Kiss of the Silver Wolf
COPYRIGHT (C) 2010 by Sharon Buchbinder
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Nicola Martinez
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Black Rose Edition, 2010
* * * *
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my husband, Dale,
who fills my life with love and romance.
And to my wonderful editor, Amanda Barnett,
for her faith in this story.
Prologue
The Hunt
He leaned down on his front paws, relieved the kinks in his back, and shook out his thick coat. Beneath the cold air, a hint of spring tantalized his senses. Under the moist leaves, between the tree roots, alongside the chortling streams, the sleeping earth mother stretched her legs, and wiggled her toes too. He gazed at the pearl white moon as she rose on the horizon, full and iridescent in the February sky. Only a few days left to enjoy this part of his life.
Time for a run
. He began to trot, then broke into a long easy gait, loping around the perimeter of his territory, through trees and winter-bare brush. He picked his way across a snow-melt-swollen stream, past massive rock formations and darkened houses, enjoying the feel of his muscles as they kept pace with his pounding heart.
This was what it felt like to be alive.
Too soon he reached the asphalt and the end of his fun. Panting, he turned away from the road and walked at a slow easy pace, back to the pack's meeting place.
Time to speak to the Old One about the future.
Midnight runs no longer suppressed his primal feelings, the visceral urge he felt when the full moon rose.
Each month, the call to mate was stronger—irresistible as the pull of the moon on the oceans—and on him. The females in the pack were off limits, bonded forever to their soul mates. Besides, their scents didn't arouse him. No, the one he wanted was far away, almost an unattainable being. The moment he saw her smoky-eyed image, he knew she was
The One
. Often when he was alone at night, he gave into his dark urges and fantasized about holding her and making her his own. But in the morning, he was still alone, his dream-mate a dust mote on a sunbeam. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and stepped into the apple orchard.
Half-hidden in shadows beneath the moonlight dappled trees, the Old One nodded his head, a knowing glint in his bright orange eyes. The younger male trotted over to him and bowed his head. Half a dozen adolescents tumbled over and around the Old One, bit his gray ears, and nipped his toes. When the smaller ones looked up and saw the younger male, they yipped, hobbled over to him, and threaded between his legs. The Old One's mouth opened in a grin, and his tongue lolled.
The younger male fell to the ground, rolled on his back, and the six pups leaped on his belly. He chuffed and pawed at them, cuffing each one lightly. He enjoyed the role of honorary Uncle, but what he really wanted was his
own
pups to play with. After a few minutes, he gave a great sigh and flipped onto his belly. The little ones seemed to sense his change in mood and hobbled off to play with sticks.
He locked gazes with the Old One.
When will I have my own mate? It's not enough for me to watch the little ones play.
The Old One winked and nodded.
My job is to preserve the pack, to keep our people alive. I have chosen your mate. You know who she is. You have my oath.
The younger male shook his head.
You didn't answer my question. When? When do I get my mate and become Pack Leader?
The Old One leaped to his feet, glared at the younger one, and growled a deep throaty roar that belied his age.
You dare to question me? Me? The one who saved you? Is that how you show your gratitude?
The younger male put his ears down and lowered his head, his nose touching the ground.
Forgive me. I'm—I'm so lonely. My heart aches for a loving mate and my own pups. Every moon the urge gets stronger, the hunger greater.
The Old One came closer, grabbed the back of the younger male's neck with his teeth. The large signet ring on his iron necklace clanked as he gave the upstart a small shake.
The
time is coming near. I promise. You will—
The unmistakable crack of a rifle sounded in the distance.
The Old One's mate barked out orders to the other females.
Grab the pups. Get them home. Hurry, hurry.
The younger male found a straggler hobbling along as fast as his legs permitted. He lifted him by the scruff of the neck.
C'mon, little one. I've got you. You're safe now.
A second shot rang out closer by.
The little one whimpered and shuddered in his grip.
Please don't let the hunters kill me, Uncle Zack. Please?
"I told you to hold your fire!” Special Agent Eliana Solomon stood by the abandoned mine and drummed her fingers on the butt of her Sig Sauer.
"Sorry, sir
—
ma'am...I thought I saw a wolf in my night scope.” The newbie looked downward as she glared at him.
"This isn't a hunting trip with your buddies. It's an active operation and
I'm
in command. One more shot and I'm taking your rifle away from you. Got it?"
He gulped, clutched his weapon, and nodded. “Yes, Ma'am."
She had asked for experienced soldiers; instead they sent a bunch of green boys. She understood the Middle East took precedence, but didn't the Army get the concept of domestic terrorists?
The mission of Project Aladdin was to find jinn, the portals where they came through from a parallel dimension and to shut the gateways down. Contrary to popular TV images of a pretty girl in a bottle, the jinn, or genies, were
not
nice. Powerful shape shifters, they hated humans and wanted to take over the world. If a terrorist ever found a way to conjure and command even one jinni, the world would never know what hit it.
Despite her obsession and round the clock investigations, she'd been unable to make any progress. With her evaluation coming at the end of the month, she had to find
something
. Otherwise, she'd be exiled to a desk and spend the rest of her professional life analyzing emails. She shuddered at the thought of death by tedium and twisted the heavy signet ring on her left hand.
Strange energy signatures had been seen on satellite images of this area and identified as the type associated with jinn. The abandoned mine was the logical place for a portal
—
but so far the scout they'd lowered down into the shaft hadn't reported anything. She glanced at her watch. He'd been silent for twenty minutes. He was
supposed
to be reporting in on the quarter hour.
Mouth dry, she keyed her radio. “What's going on down there?"
Static.
"Hello. Can you read me?"
A long burst of static was followed by garbled voices. A man screamed.
She wheeled on the pale-faced young corporal holding a rope. “Get him out of there!"
He leaned back and grunted, red-faced with exertion. “Something's wrong, ma'am!"
She raced behind him, screaming at the stricken-looking young men huddling together. “Get over here. Help us get him out."
Three of them put their backs into the effort, finally bringing the scout up into view. Limp-limbed, the young man's head lolled back, his camouflage uniform covered in blood. They hauled him onto the ground and rolled him over.
A soldier held a flashlight as Eliana pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face before dabbing at a stubborn spot on his forehead. The words burned into the man's forehead told her all she needed to know. She stood on shaky legs.
Bug eyed, the corporal turned to her. “What is it? What's it mean?"
She chose her words with care. “It's Hebrew. It says: GET OUT."
She flexed her fist and rubbed the heavy signet ring inscribed with pentacles and letters from an ancient language. She was going to need help from a source that
some
people said didn't even exist.
Chapter One
Say No Eulogies
Charlene Johnson stood ramrod stiff in the over-heated, wreath-filled Serenity Parlor of Charles and Sons’ funeral home, half-numb with grief and shock from the sudden loss of her parents.
She just needed to get through the next two hours without falling apart. One foot in front of the other.
A melange of lilies, wet wool, body odor and a hint of alcohol pressed against her nose as if it were a hot, wet rag. Despite the March winds and bitter cold rain lashing the building, she longed to go for a long run, stretch her legs, breathe fresh air, and ease the tightness binding her chest.
What happened? What made her father drive into that concrete buttress? Was he trying to avoid something? A heart attack? Bad brakes? What? And why wouldn't the police answer her questions?