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Awakened By The Wolf
Kristal Hollis
Who's been sleeping in the Alpha's bed?Exiled from his pack by his father, Brice Walker has secretly come home to visit his ailing grandmother only to discover a human and very desirable female sleeping in his bed. Their attraction is instant. But his new bed buddy seems determined to resist his Southern charm and Alpha allure.or Brice, fiercely independent Cassie not only represents a chance to build a new life in Walker’s Run but is also his one true mate. Cassie's reluctance dissolves when a rogue shifter kidnaps her, and now she and Brice must work together to save his pack. But once she witnesses the savagery of wolfan justice, can Cassie accept Brice as man, beast and her true love?
“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
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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
Cover (#u8c200355-38f1-5afd-be29-bbcfb55daaac)
Introduction (#u43f62618-014a-5324-8970-a4730ff30e75)
Title Page (#uf739f828-daa5-5864-b50e-c20a193daeb2)
About the Author (#ud7468e9e-dd62-5743-92ae-8e7059406436)
Dedication (#u953dfbeb-f30a-5982-8d17-feef9b651cd0)
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
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#uc3bf57b6-9594-5302-9547-4c5212104a78)
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 during a shift—slapped against his arm. Each time it struck, electric shocks pinched his skin.
He untied the key and rubbed it between his fingers to dispel the residual shift energy, wondering if he wasn’t about to make the second biggest mistake of his life.
When his uncle, Adam Foster, had whisked Brice to Atlanta after his first epic fail, he didn’t have time to say goodbye to his beloved grandmother. Of course, he hadn’t known that his uncle’s offer of respite disguised a permanent relocation.
Brice unlocked the back door. His heart paused at the click. For the past five years, the Walker’s Run pack had considered him wolfan non grata.
Trusting that Margaret Walker wouldn’t disown her only surviving grandson, Brice clamped down on his nerves and limped into the kitchen. The dim light above the stove softly illuminated the pie on the counter.
First his heart swelled. During his college days, Granny always had a fresh-baked pie for him on his weekend visits.
Next Brice’s gut clenched, his stomach bellowed and his mouth watered, putting him in serious danger of drooling. Despite the ample game he’d encountered on his journey, he hadn’t eaten in days. The thought of killing again triggered nauseating sweats—if he was lucky. God-awful flashbacks if he wasn’t.
Silently he snagged a small saucer from the cabinet, a spoon from the drawer, a knife from the wood block. Then he cut a large wedge out of the pie. The first bite of sweet-tart deliciousness slid down his throat, slow and easy.
Mmm, cherry! His entire body sighed.
One piece wasn’t enough. He had to have two. A chug of milk washed down the third. Abandoning all etiquette, he scarfed down the rest and licked the pie pan clean. At long last, a warm, cozy satisfaction ebbed from his belly.
God, it’s good to be home.
The snazzy penthouse apartment above his uncle’s law offices served as a place to eat and sleep. Brice felt no more connection to the space than he would a hotel room. His heart and soul resided here, in this simple cabin. Always would.
He hobbled through the dark house. Each right step shot pain through his calf.
“Granny?” He rapped a soft knock against the bedroom door. A few seconds later, Brice slipped into her unlit room.
Nothing seemed amiss or out of place, so he assumed she’d spent the night with his parents. She often stayed in the family’s private quarters adjacent to the Walker’s Run Resort whenever they hosted a social event. Granny never missed a good party.
Vacillating between disappointment and relief, he wanted his grandmother’s welcoming embrace and assurance that all would be well between them again, but he was too weary to face the alternative. He headed down the narrow hallway to his old room, each gimping footstep heavier than the last. At the door, his senses tingled even before he set eyes on the small lump in his bed.
The mixed feelings Brice had about his homecoming knotted into concern. Granny knew wolfan law forbade adult males and females of blood relation to share bedding, so why had she fallen asleep in his room?
“Granny?” He eased onto the edge of the mattress and touched her leg.
An unfamiliar feminine gasp prickled the skin along his spine.
“Who the hell are you?” Brice didn’t mean to sound so rough and angry, but pain and exhaustion made him edgy and terse.
“Stay away from me!” The woman kicked out of bed and grappled with the bedside lamp.
“Fuck!” The sudden brightness stung like a fistful of sand slung in his face. Shielding his light-sensitive eyes behind his arm, Brice tuned into his other senses. The air thickened. He could almost taste the sharp tang of her fear. Her breaths came hard and fast.
“Get out before I call the cops,” she demanded.
“With what? Telepathy?” To his knowledge, Granny had one telephone. A landline in the kitchen.
