Unquenchable Desire

Evernight
Publishing ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2014
Lynde
Lakes

ISBN: 978-1-77233-060-1

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Melissa
Hosack

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my dear friend
Vonnie
Grey.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many thanks to
Evernight
Publishing and acquisitions
manager Marie
Buttineau
.
And, of course, to my
Evernight
editor Melissa
Hosack
and cover artist Sour Cherry.

Appreciation
also to the staff at
Aina
Haina
& Kapolei Libraries and last but not least, my loyal and supportive
readers, now friends

UNQUENCHABLE DESIRE

Virgin
Wolf, 3

Lynde
Lakes

Copyright
© 2014

Chapter One

On the evening of July 4
^th
,
with fireworks from the Mt. Baldy Mountain Lodge sprinkling the sky with
rainbow bursts, Valerie breathed in the sultry, slightly smoky breeze coming
through the open terrace doors of her second-floor bedroom. Although the
mansion, with its jetting towers, history of death, destruction and evil
secrets was intimidating, God had miraculously blessed her with loving parents,
a raven-haired supportive paternal-twin, and an uncle who loved her as if she
were his. Yet, at this moment, as the tremors of morphing started, she felt
alone. Valerie pushed her fingers though her hair. Before her twin’s elopement,
Victoria
usually went through the morphing with her. Valerie struggled back inside and
scanned the dark corners of the unsettling sanctuary.
Shadows
shifted in the room.
A tremor slid down her back as an icy essence
drifted over her. “Uncle Hugh is that you?”

Although he suffered from the Lamont
family’s lycanthrope curse as well, he’d vowed to watch over her. They often
ran into the wilds together. Valerie’s stomach knotted. If here, he would’ve
answered, even if only in a familiar growl. Clearly, the icy essence wasn’t
him. Was the chilling ghostly presence riding the air currents the evil spirit
of Dad’s murdered half-brother, Raymond Lee Reeves? Was his wispy evilness
floating nearby watching her torment?

She shivered. It wouldn’t surprise
her. For years her home was the shelter for the Lamont family’s hideous and
undying curse and resulting secrets. Memories swirled in her mind. As a toddler
she’d been kidnapped by the spirit residing in one of Reeve’s human forms and
was vaguely aware of the dark, undiscovered rooms and twisting tunnels in her
own home. After Uncle Hugh rescued her, he and her father had sealed off the
tunnels.

The hairs at the base of her neck
prickled.
But what if the current
unidentified vessel for the spirit of her evil half-uncle Reeves had unsealed
them?
She shuddered.
She’d never
known Reeves, the resurrected monster that reportedly had risen from the dead
and morphed into the now deceased scientist Lazar, a man she’d come to know
only too well. Valerie’s saliva tasted metallic. She’d naively trusted Lazar,
who unknown to her at the time housed the wicked spirit of the risen Reeves. She
shivered again. With icy hands, Lazar had grabbed her and pulled her into his
car, then her twin
Victoria
’s
biker hero saved her. Valerie closed her eyes a moment. It had been a close
call. She’d
almost lost her life—and
Victoria
had almost lost her true love Rick.

The morphing tremors grew stronger. Valerie’s hands trembled harder and
sweat popped out on her face
. Is morphing
my fate until I die? Will I ever have a true love of my own?
Maybe due to
the affliction, going solo was best. What guy would have the guts to for fall
for a girl who shifted into a wolf on full moon-lit nights?
Victoria
had lucked out and found the only
one. Valerie picked up a magazine and fanned herself. The deluge of sweat
rolled down her cheeks and dripped off of her chin. Liquid trickled down her
spine. She stepped further out onto the terrace. The breeze was little help. She
stiffened as the moon wrapped its spiteful beams around her like steel
manacles. She howled in protest, but the on-sought of escalating pain from the
Lamont family’s lycanthrope curse hit like a merciless tornado.

Think, think of something
beyond the racking agony
.

For a moment, she transended the pain and lifted her chin proudly as a
twinge of pride surged through her. At the Indepence Day-dual birthday celebration
nothing had gone as her parents planned, but due to her quick action,
Victoria’s two aficionado’s didn’t come to blows, and her twin ended up running
off unscathed to Las Vegas with her true love.

A fiery
pain shot down her spine. She wouldn’t wish these sharp spasms on anyone. If
her newly married twin had children, would this torment pass on to them? What
was happening with
Victoria
?
It was her sister’s wedding night. Was the moon changing her twin into a wolf
as well? Or did the moon poppy herbs, as
Victoria
claimed, really control some of the symptoms.
 
Please, God, no matter what, don’t allow
Victoria
’s wedding night
with Rick to be marred by the curse. And allow any wildness she exhibits to
enhance the honeymoon experience for both of them.

Imaging
her sister making love as a half-wolf half-human sent a sizzling, electrical
charge through Valerie and, when it surprisingly eased the raking pain, she
willingly let the steamy heat stir her own
untamed highly-sexual desires.
She imagined her shadowy lover,
leanly-muscled, and monumentally mysterious looming over her, his dark, hungry
eyes glinting with raw passion.

He would dip his head toward her. Then,
after a small eternity passed, their lips would meet. The imaginary lover
circled her lips with a tongue as hot as the flames rising in her core. He slid
his warm, rough hand up her thigh. She wriggled and arched her virgin body,
wanting the unknown pulsing deep inside her.

She pressed hard against her secret
womanly place to calm the fierce tingles.
What
am I doing? I don’t want to just imagine making love. I crave the feral, sexual,
and emotional release. I want to breathe in the scent of hot bodies and sex.
Burning
with raging desire and a need to conquer, she whispered,
“But I don’t want sex with just any male; I want it with an alpha,
heroic, caring man like my dad, Uncle Hugh, or
Victoria
’s Rick.”

Panic shot through her and she
closed her eyes.
Oh, God, is it possible,
while morphed, to control my feral urges so I won’t do something stupid?

Unable to trust the unknown or
herself when morphed, she prayed.
Please,
God, let Dad and
his remaining team of scientists find
a cure.
They’d done a great
deal of
research on lycanthropes, investigating documented reports and folklore alike,
and in their study, they experimented with wild wolves to develop a serum. She
closed her eyes.
But in all these years of trying they
hadn’t found a cure.

To deter the disquieting direction
of her thoughts, she looked down at her new
PJ’s
with
glittery pink hearts all over them that her dear grandmother had given to her
for her birthday.

Pain whipped through her even
sharper now. Overwhelmed by the intensifying tremors of the curse, she quickly
stepped out of her nightwear and folded the top and bottoms neatly on the
wrought iron that circled the terrace.

She took a deep breath and waited
for the swirling thick fog of completion to envelope her mind and its snaking
tendrils to squeeze away much of her rational thought while she drowned in
agonizing, brain-shaking pain. It was as though she were on a runaway roller
coaster, violently rocking and speeding out of control. She pressed her hand her
mouth to mute her howl. Muscles throughout her body throbbed and contracted,
followed by more escalating, excruciating pain. She howled again and raked her
fingers through her wild, thickening mane.

She looked down at her elongating
hands. Long painted claws jutted from her fingertips. She shook her head. Liquid
pooled in her eyes as the waves of pain repeatedly attacked her body, each
surge sharper than the last. She convulsed and writhed upon the terrace floor. Her
lengthening incisors grazed her lip and drew a drop of salty blood. She
thirsted for more even as the heat of morphing grew in intensity.

She rose, clung to the railing, and
sucked in the cool night air. The call of the moon grew stronger. She backed
up, charged forward, and then leapt with arching-grace over the wrought iron
railing. The moment her front paws hit the grass-covered ground, she headed for
the hills and the caves beyond, thirsting for freedom, lusting for the unknown,
and desperate to answer the compelling lure tugging at her feral soul.