Awakened By The Wolf. Kristal Hollis
Читать онлайн.| Название | Awakened By The Wolf |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Kristal Hollis |
| Жанр | Зарубежные любовные романы |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Зарубежные любовные романы |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9781474049986 |
“You don’t want me to stay away.”
Brice’s stubbled chin grazed the underside of her jaw, making it impossible to refute his accusation.
How could she even speak when the ethereal vibrations of his hot breath skimming her skin paralyzed her vocal cords?
All that escaped was a small mewling sound from the back of Cassie’s throat. It didn’t sound like the protest she meant to project and Brice didn’t take it as discouragement.
Delicate kisses replaced his breath along her jaw. The feathery sensation penetrated her senses, muting the wisdom to push away and run. What was the point? She’d already learned the futility of trying to outrun a wolf.
Cassie tipped her head, exposing her neck. He could rip out her throat if he wanted, but he seemed content to nip and lick and suck every inch. Trembling, she felt no less devoured as her strength failed from the hum of sheer pleasure.
Dangerous, oh, so dangerous.
Southern born and bred, KRISTAL HOLLIS holds a psychology degree and has spent her adulthood helping people and animals. When a family medical situation resulted in a work sabbatical, she began penning deliciously dark paranormal romances as an escape from the real-life drama. But when the crisis passed, her passion for writing love stories continued. A 2015 Golden Heart® Award finalist, Kristal lives with her husband and two rescued dogs at the edge of the enchanted forest that inspires her stories.
Awakened by the Wolf
Kristal Hollis
To Sylvia Plumey, my 9th grade English teacher—a promise kept.
Sincere thanks to Brenda McLaughlin, Candace Colt, Joanne Calub and Raven Winter—my awesome critique partners. To my first fans, Angela Jarvis, Michelle Ochoa and LuAnn Nemeth, much love for your unwavering encouragement and support. Mom, thank you for the gift of reading. An extra special thanks to Keith, the hero of my heart. And to my editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle—thank you for believing.
Contents
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Naked and wet, Brice Walker crouched on the back porch of his grandmother’s log cabin. The splintered grooves of the weathered boards bit sharply into his sore hands and feet, intensifying the throb in his right leg.
He focused his better-than-human night vision and tuned his ears to any movement along the forest’s dark tree line. Every muscle clenched in fight-or-flight readiness, though he was too tired for either. The three-day trek in wolf form and subsequent swim up the Chatuge River had overstretched his endurance.
If things were different, he would’ve driven from Atlanta to his grandmother’s home. His present situation being what it was, he no longer enjoyed that freedom.
He’d fucked up. Colossally.
One careless mistake and he’d lost his family, his friends, his home.
Regret flared inside him like a backdraft. He tried to swallow the burning ache, but its fiery fingers fastened around his throat and squeezed until his mouth prickled from the embers.
His banishment was well deserved and if he got caught slinking into the territory, the sentinels would waste no time hauling his bare ass in front of the Alpha.
All things considered, Brice would’ve preferred catching rabies to facing his father. Distance didn’t always make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes it fostered bitterness.
A faint August breeze stroked his skin like a lover grown cold and distant. Out of habit, he sniffed the night air. The familiar scents of pine and honeysuckle eluded him. Once his nose had been his pride. Now he depended on his eyes, ears and gut instinct to compensate for his lost sense of smell.
The evening symphony of crickets calling their mates salted the wound of his loss. Scent triggered a Wahya’s mating urge. Despite the heightened acuity of his other senses, only his nose could lead him to his true mate.
With a heavy humph, he shook. The water droplets that had pebbled on his heated body thwacked against the deck. A silver-coated house key fastened around his biceps with corded silver—the only substance that wouldn’t disintegrate