Last Wolf Watching (2 of 3 free samples)

---

COPYRIGHT
Last Wolf Watching by Rhyannon Byrd. Copyright 2008 by Tabitha Byrd.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

---

Previous | Next

Prologue (CONT'D)

He was a Bloodrunner, the offspring of his human mother and Lycan father. A hunter of rogue werewolves. A protector of the Lycan way of life for the Silvercrest pack. But unlike his fellow Runners, Brody knew that in some ways he was more monster than man. He walked a delicate balance between the two opposing worlds, and the woman inside this house upped the stakes to a dangerous, deadly level. For too many months, his beast had been denied the physical pleasures that fed its soul, not unlike the way a wild kill fed his animal appetites. By the time he’d understood the dangerous effects of his self-imposed celibacy—it was too late. He hadn’t dared to seek out a woman, even a Lycan one, because he didn’t trust his human half to be able to master the savage urges of his beast.

Then Michaela Doucet had walked into his life, and Brody discovered what it was like to live in true fear—what it was like to live in hell. Every moment spent in her company took him one step closer to the crumbling edge of his control, until he could all but feel the fires of damnation licking at his skin.

“You need to go home, grab a bottle of Jack and find a way to forget she even exists,” he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes tight as he lifted his fist and knocked harder, all but shaking the sturdy door within its frame, nearly cracking the wood. The wind grew savage, riffling through his hair, pulling the dark auburn strands across his face until he had to swipe at them with his hand. Drawing in another deep, ragged breath, Brody hammered at the door again... and again, feeling every bit the part of the Big Bad Wolf getting ready to huff, and puff and blow her picture-perfect world to pieces.

Finally, the lock on the front door clicked, the handle turning, and Brody shoved his shaky hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, steeling himself to get what needed to be said over and done with as fast as possible. After all, he’d come tonight to tell the woman who’d become his secret obsession that she’d lost her brother—or rather, the brother she’d always known.

The boy she’d raised was gone. Forever.

“And you get to be the lucky bastard who tells her,” he snarled, the whispered words so guttural, they barely sounded human.

Brody muttered a foul word under his breath, and with the rasping ease of an old, comfortable house, the front door quietly opened...

Previous | Next