Wolf Born. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

and his beast weren’t completely at odds over voting for the last one. It was, however, an unexpected trip in the agenda when timing might be critical.

      Waiting out several more thunderous heartbeats, the blood inside his distended arteries began to burn. Judging by his arousal, he knew that the unexpected visitor was female.

      Not just any female, either. Not with a voice like that. This was a she-wulf—powerful, practiced and pure Lycan, or he was a sorry son of a bitch who didn’t know a Lycan from a hole in the ground.

       Who are you?

       Where did you come from?

      He hadn’t met many purebred female Lycanthropes.

      The rarity of full-blooded she-wulfs was the reason true Lycans as a breed were slowly dying out. Females often weren’t wired correctly for the transition from human to werewolf, and many of them didn’t make it past the Blackout phase of their coming-of-age party for reasons no one actually knew. Special Lycan matchmakers traveled the world to find females to bring home to a qualified clan. He, himself, had been waiting ten years.

       And what? One of those rarest of creatures has just announced her presence here in Miami, on the edge of this park? To me?

      The acknowledgment of this possibility hit Colton with the force of an oncoming train. His wulf-heavy limbs shuddered. His teeth snapped together, filling his mouth with the acrid taste of his own blood. He grew hotter, and a little confused.

      Hell, his human side wanted to chase after whatever had made those sounds as much as the beast did. Finding a She fulfilled a powerful need and provided a possible solution to a lot of problems of sheer physical necessity for a male. Keep the line going. Keep it strong. Choose a mate.

      But damn the timing of finding this female. Not only did duty call, it also called with an overriding personal necessity that meant the possible welfare of his family. He had taken an oath to protect and serve not only the population of Miami but the few Lycans left in his scattered clan. Oaths were binding for werewolves, and lifelong.

      In addition to that, he might know the cop who had been shot.

      Shit. He visualized the scene. There would be officers, CSI techs and television crews all over the place, knocking on doors.

      And a she-wulf appeared now?

       Really bad timing. Effing bad.

      Worse yet, his beast had already driven him to take a step toward the female’s invitation, stretching at its leash.

      Colton hauled himself back with difficulty and a barked chastisement. Can’t have this. Get a freaking grip. There’s too much at stake.

      Good advice in the best of times, but the beast’s needs were elemental and approaching the point of no return. It was hungry to bury its cock in that female’s damp, furry, feminine folds, and angered by the restraint.

      He had to get away, though leaving this spot would be one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had to ignore this she-wulf, knowing the odds of ever finding another one.

      Resolutely, regretfully, he echoed the she-wulf’s call with a low-pitched howl that could have been translated as: You have no idea how sorry I am for having to go. Though it actually meant so very much more than that, and perhaps even the extinction of his family’s line.

      Stepping out from under the trees, and filled with regret, Colton took off. Alone. Into the night. Toward the scent of a downed cop’s blood in the distance.

       Chapter 2

      Rosalind Kirk dropped to her haunches and slammed a furred-up fist into the ground to keep herself from following the Were in the park, whose scent was new, feral and overtly masculine.

      Her hackles rose with a mixture of curiosity and anger.

      That wulf had ignored her invitation.

      She stared at the way he cut a smooth swath through the trees, running faster than anything she had ever seen. He was a big werewolf, tall and powerfully built. His brown pelt blended with the shadows. Highlighted by moonlight, it appeared that he wore clothes.

       Strange.

      Although anger flared over his rude rejection of her call, Rosalind’s heart raced as she watched him run. She felt the rhythm of the movement of the brown Were’s legs in her muscles, and heard the harshness of his breathing echo inside her chest. All this made her feel disturbed in a way she’d never experienced before.

      Her fur ruffled.

      Her chin lifted.

      Finding a male of her species hadn’t been the reason she had slipped her father’s net when he wasn’t looking, but suddenly seemed like a bonus.

      She’d been homesick for her bayou property, where she could run unhindered. Here in Miami, where her father had accepted an invitation to visit the Landaus—an ancient Lycan line as old as her own—she had been quarantined on the estate’s grounds. Her father had forbidden her to go past the expansive property’s stone walls.

      Right. Like she’d listen to that, or be chained to a ridiculous confinement, however lovingly the directive had been issued by a father who said he had her best interests in mind.

      Like she had ever met his expectations.

       I’m a woman now.

      Even her father, an elegant, intelligent Lycan, had no idea how elevated her metabolism became on a night like this one.

      Sure, it was dangerous being out here in wulf form. There were plenty of risks in ignoring the rules and restrictions. It was equally dangerous to expose herself to a member of another pack without being properly introduced. Yet her boundless need for freedom resonated in every bone and cell in her body. The moon’s influence blasted through her like some kind of invisible ray, dispersing her humanness almost completely.

      She had too much pent-up energy, and her search for freedom had been interrupted before she’d used it up. Her focus had been riveted to a big brown werewolf sprinting in the opposite direction who hadn’t paid any attention to her at all.

       Didn’t you hear me, Were?

      Shaking her head without taking her eyes off him, she leaned forward, into his scent. A series of disgruntled growls rumbled in her chest, registering her displeasure. Maybe Miami Weres held contempt for those outside of their packs, and that’s why he had turned from her.

      His loss. She was lithe, smart, fast and strong—a worthy mate for a purebred male. In spite of that, she had been shielded from all eligible partners and kept from pursuing any outside company at all, leaving her to wonder what everyone had been waiting for.

      She was sick of the tight ring of supervision surrounding her, and ready for her first close-up with a prime example of her species.

       Like you, pretty, brown-pelted wulf.

      Wasn’t finding a mate what she was eventually supposed to do?

      Had the brown Were considered her unworthy, when the whispers behind her back at the Landaus’ place had described her as special?

       Special...

      The dreaded Blackout phase wired into her family’s line had come upon her at thirteen, instead of the usual age of twenty-one. Surviving her body’s internal rewiring at so young an age had caused her to acquire a stellar repertoire of abilities.

       Special...

      At fifteen, she outdistanced her father in races. By sixteen, she could painlessly shape-shift in seconds whenever she chose to, with or without the moon. Even her father couldn’t do that.

      Tonight,