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The Unforgettable Wolf
Jane Godman


When the hunter falls for his prey, all bets are off!Once a werewolf, always a werewolf? That's not the case for rock star Nate Zilar, who was saved from the ultimate transformation. Now he's devoted his life to hunting wolves…until he rescues the mysterious Violet from their clutches. But when she must return to the Otherworld, Nate is left with an impossible choice: lose the only woman he desires or forever become the thing he despises.At first, Violet can't remember how she came to Nate's world. It isn't long before she realises she poses the ultimate threat to her sexy protector. How could he possibly love the daughter of his sworn enemy? But where there's a will, there's a way…







When the hunter falls for his prey, all bets are off.

Once a werewolf, always a werewolf? That’s not the case for rock star Nate Zilar, who was saved from the ultimate transformation. Now he’s devoted his life to hunting wolves...until he rescues the mysterious Violet from their clutches. But when she must return to the Otherworld, Nate is left with an impossible choice: lose the only woman he desires or forever become the one thing he despises.

At first, Violet can’t remember how she came to Nate’s world. It isn’t long before she realizes she poses the ultimate threat to her sexy protector. How could he possibly love the daughter of his sworn enemy? But where there’s a wolf, there’s a way...


Sorry? How could he explain that he didn’t want her memory to come back because that would mean she would leave him?

How selfish did that make him? “Will you be okay up here?”

“Okay?” She tilted her head back, her eyes sparkling. “I can’t wait to see this concert.”

“It should be a good one. Khan is in fine form.”

“I won’t be watching Khan. I’ll be looking at you.” There was a husky note in Violet’s voice.

And, because he couldn’t help himself, Nate bent his head and kissed her. Fire spread through him as soon as his lips connected with hers, so hot he thought he might burn up with it. When his tongue probed the seam of her lips, they parted readily for him, and he probed the honeyed warmth of her mouth. Violet’s hands bunched in the material of his T-shirt as though she was using him to stay upright. He groaned, kissing her harder, and she trembled, returning the caresses of his tongue eagerly.

She tasted like everything he had ever wanted and never knew he needed until now.


JANE GODMAN writes in a variety of romance genres, including paranormal, gothic and romantic suspense. Jane lives in England and loves to travel to European cities that are steeped in history and romance—Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are among her favorites. Jane is married to a lovely man and is mum to two grown-up children.


The Unforgettable Wolf

Jane Godman






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my beautiful new daughter-in-law, Julia, who is already such a special part of our family. Congratulations on your wedding to my wonderful son, Mike. I am looking forward to sharing lots of amazing memories with you both.


Contents

Cover (#uda0f34cc-6122-59cf-96ed-6d48d2cd0a9a)

Back Cover Text (#u32b1078b-c96d-5a61-956b-b08fc84ca67a)

Introduction (#uda1f969c-fd9d-5665-bc99-bf240d6260d7)

About the Author (#u755e6957-598a-5a84-826d-3f4292bdc41b)

Title Page (#u28680f82-8046-5c0c-b608-f4115fcce536)

Dedication (#u7ee0d871-71b9-58f8-901e-f53cbfb2fb7d)

Chapter 1 (#uff6dbe2a-8e41-513b-aa77-1d0832b22e05)

Chapter 2 (#u2b38e885-66b0-50c9-949e-42b5b67b0477)

Chapter 3 (#u348daae5-79e7-5b68-9257-3a38d62c7ef6)

Chapter 4 (#u752dacdb-09a7-5073-9d30-01a7543a181b)

Chapter 5 (#ubf3e64dc-3372-58ad-a69d-2d483e42f5f9)

Chapter 6 (#u2f3e40d3-b420-53d7-ad5e-3c0dbc53452f)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

Just because he was no longer a werewolf didn’t mean he wasn’t big and bad. It just meant he had to be careful. Very, very careful.

Which was why, as the courier approached, Nate Zilar’s every sense was on high alert. He had chosen this meeting place because of its deserted location and had checked the surrounding area carefully. There was no one around. The parking lot was empty, apart from his car and the truck in which the other guy had just pulled up.

“Do you have the merchandise?”

“In the back.” The courier jerked his head.

Nate stepped forward. Another quick scan of his surroundings confirmed they were alone. Even now, after six years, he got flashbacks to that time. A reminder of that brief period when everything—his vision, hearing, scent and intuition—had all been so much more acute. When his body had been a raw mass of power and reaction. It wasn’t welcome, but at times like this, that residual supercharging of his senses came in useful.

The courier stepped aside, allowing Nate to view the objects in the back of the truck through the open doors. Silver samurai sword. Three daggers in varying sizes. They were the real thing. Nate had seen enough imitations and alloys over the years to know pure silver when he saw it. And he could smell it. It was another thing that had stayed with him. That crawling, gut-churning, nostril-burning stink of verdigris and death. When you’d been stabbed through the heart with a silver dagger, you never forgot the stench. It remained embedded in your pores, branded deep in your psyche.

Even though his shifting days were over, Nate remembered the damage silver could do. It was the only thing guaranteed to kill a werewolf. And he should know. He examined the guns. They were what he had ordered. His favorite Remington 700 and a couple of handguns.

“Bullets?”

“A dozen. Solid silver.” The courier pointed to a box.

Nate shook his head. What if his quarry wasn’t alone? “Not enough. I need at least twice that many.”

He clenched his teeth hard, biting back his frustration. This was the problem with international travel. He couldn’t carry his own kit on an airplane, so he was forced to rely on others to have things ready and waiting for him. At least here in America he could usually count on getting exactly what he wanted. In some places, like on his recent mission to a remote African state, it proved more of a problem.

“I was told a dozen.” Like hell you were. For the first time, he looked the other man in the eye. The courier took a step back under the full force of Nate’s glare. “I can get more, but it will cost you extra.”

“Figures.”

“I’ll have them here in the morning.”

Nate withdrew a roll of cash from the back pocket of his jeans and started counting. He knew from experience it was the only language that worked. “I’ll be gone from here in the morning. I need them tonight.”

The man’s eyes fixed greedily on the hundred-dollar bills. “Anything you say.” He paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.” Doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.

“Can I get an autograph? It’s for my daughter. She’s a big fan...” Under Nate’s steady gaze, his voice trailed off and he swallowed nervously.

When Nate didn’t answer, the courier walked away, muttering an embarrassed curse under his breath as he climbed back into the truck.

So the day he’d dreaded had come at last. He’d been recognized. Had this guy already been to the press with the story, or would he have long enough to complete this mission before all hell broke over his head? The best headline he could hope for was something speculative like Why is Nate Zilar Stockpiling Illegal Weapons? The worst? Rock Star Turns Werewolf Hunter.

* * *

“My friends are not your business.”

“I am the Wolf Leader. Everything you do is my business!”

They were the words her father had flung at her before Violet stormed out of his study in a rage.

He used the same words to end every argument. As the youngest daughter of Nevan, the ruler of the werewolves, Violet was tired of being expected to bend to his every demand.

Her father was a powerful figure in Otherworld politics. The Wolf Nation was one of the most influential dynasties in Otherworld, and many werewolves also lived alongside humans in the mortal realm. It meant the Wolf Leader was a dominant force in both worlds.

Their relationship had always been stormy. Violet’s mother had died soon after she was born and, without the calming influence of the woman he had loved deeply, her father had become even more autocratic and domineering. Violet, the child many said resembled her mother more closely than any of her siblings, had borne the brunt of this.

Things had gone from bad to worse recently when her father had succeeded in his ambition to overthrow his sworn enemy, Anwyl, the former Wolf Leader. Now he was no longer Nevan the Rebel. He was in charge. His arrogance had swelled in proportion to his power and influence. Violet’s defiance increased correspondingly. Their clashes became legendary. Confrontation was commonplace in the Wolf Nation, but when Nevan and his daughter fought, everyone else took cover.

Now Violet had reached adulthood, and she found her father’s control stifling. She wanted to do something with her life, an ambition that horrified Nevan. No child of his was going to undertake any form of employment. Violet’s suggestion that she should do voluntary work had also been met with scorn.

The vast series of rural islands that comprised the Wolf Nation was a difficult territory over which to keep control. Nevan wanted to maintain the appearance of a powerful leader with a dutiful family at his side. A daughter who went her own way did not fit that image.

Although Nevan had quickly consolidated his position with ruthless strikes against all those who had previously opposed him, a new resistance had soon sprung up. For so many years, Nevan had been the rebel leader. Now he had achieved his goal. Anwyl, the man he hated was dead, but the new rebel leader, Roko, was as determined as Violet to change the political landscape. The difference between them was that Roko was able to speak openly about his beliefs. Violet didn’t dare.

It had been easier to pretend her closeness to Roko was friendship than to tell her father the truth. If he discovered she was working secretly with the resistance to help the refugees, those werewolves made homeless by Nevan’s cruelty, the storm breaking over her head would have become a tempest.

Since becoming leader, Nevan’s fury against Anwyl’s followers had been boundless. The two main islands that comprised the Wolf Nation were Reznati and Urlati. Until recently, Reznati had been the base of Anwyl and his followers. Urlati had always been Nevan’s home. Following Anwyl’s defeat, Nevan had exacted terrible retribution upon the people of Reznati, burning villages and driving men, women and children out of their homes.

Violet drew a breath as she exited Nevan’s study. In the most recent confrontation, her father had forbidden her from seeing Roko. He had forbidden her many things during her life, most of which she had disobeyed.

Leaving the house, the beautiful mansion known as the Voda Kuca that occupied a prominent position on the island of Urlati, she made her way to the nearby forest where she knew Roko would be waiting. Sure enough, he was lounging against a tree trunk.

Faced with her father’s atrocities toward his enemies, Violet had no choice other than to turn to the resistance for help. But both Roko and her father made a huge assumption if they believed her interest in the rebel leader was romantic. Maybe I haven’t tried hard enough to convince either of them. She experienced a pang of guilt as Roko’s handsome features lit up with a smile when he saw her. She had never given him any encouragement, but that look told her she might not have given him a clear enough signal that friendship and a working relationship were all she had to offer. Her conscience prodded her again. Maybe a part of her had enjoyed inflaming her father’s anger even further by hinting that this was something more.

“Trouble?” Roko asked as he saw her expression.

“My father has issued an ultimatum. I am to stop working for the refugee movement or face banishment.” The words came out in a rush. The tears she had tried so hard to suppress were close to the surface, but she didn’t know Roko well enough to allow them to spill over in his presence. Her pride would not allow a display of that nature. She knew he would be only too happy to offer a sympathetic shoulder, but that would mean dismantling a boundary that she preferred to keep intact.

“Bastard.” His features hardened. “What will you do?”

“What can I do?” Violet sighed. “I cannot accept my father’s autocratic rule, not just over myself, but over the Wolf Nation. I’ve always known he is a cruel man. I’ve seen the evidence of that throughout my life. Even when I was younger, I tried to persuade him that there were other ways to secure the loyalty of his subjects.” She laughed at the memory. “My efforts were always greeted with a sneer. When he finally defeated Anwyl and took over, his treatment of those who were loyal to the former leader was brutal.”

Roko nodded. “I know. I see the evidence of it every day. Anwyl was a good man. He led our dynasty peaceably for many years until Nevan turned against him. I want a return to those days, a return to the werewolf traits of nobility and pack loyalty. We are not a nation that turns on its own.”

Violet didn’t point out to him that the resistance was weak. Since Anwyl’s defeat, Nevan had done everything he could to stamp out any opposition. The only reason Roko was still alive was that Nevan didn’t view him as a real threat. Her father had made sure Roko had no real support. Anyone who might have considered joining the resistance was already in the refugee camp, fighting to stay alive.

“As I was growing up, my brothers and sisters tried to get me to follow their lead, to turn a blind eye to what my father was doing, but I couldn’t. That this cruelty is going on in his name makes it so much worse, because I am associated with it through my relationship to him. He makes me stand at his side when there is a formal function. I must walk next to him when he goes on his triumphant journeys through the Wolf Nation. When he took over, I had to do something—anything—to make things better for the innocent werewolf packs caught in the crossfire of his revenge.”

Violet shook her head. She hadn’t answered Roko’s question. What was she going to do? When your father was feared throughout Otherworld for violence, and within his own family for his temper, it was probably best not to openly defy him.

So why do I continue to do it? Violet wondered, not for the first time. Why the hell don’t I just accept defeat and bow down to his wishes?

The answer was obvious. Because if I give in this time, I’ll do it every time. I would abandon my principles and let down all those people who are depending on me.

Maybe this one time, I have to let go. It was a small, insidious voice at the back of her mind. She had been hearing it more and more frequently lately. No matter how hard she tried to shut it up, it refused to be silenced. She knew her father’s threat to banish her was a serious one. She didn’t have far to look for the proof that he meant what he said. After all, it had happened to one of her own brothers.

Roko cast a speculative glance in her direction. “Why don’t you come with me to the mortal realm?”

Roko had boasted before that he had friends in the human world. It had seemed so exotic when he first told her about it. The mortal realm was a mystic place, somewhere Violet had heard of only in stories. She knew there were werewolves who lived alongside mortals without detection, but it sounded like the fairy tales she had read as a child. It was another world, one she had never thought to visit.

Even though the veil between the two worlds was a thin one, with Otherworld existing unseen alongside the mortal realm, there was very little overlap between them. All Violet knew was that access to the mortal realm could be gained through a series of portals. While some hardy adventurers used these as a means of traveling regularly between the two, most beings remained within their own worlds. Those in Otherworld had an awareness of the mortal realm, but mortals remained blissfully unaware of Otherworld.

She blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“There are werewolves there who can help the refugee cause. Wealthy businessmen and women who make their money in the mortal realm. They can provide the support we need for the camp of Anwyl supporters who have been displaced by your father’s policies.”

Violet’s heart began to beat faster. “My father would never allow it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we should tell him.” Roko grinned delightedly at the look on her face. “Your father’s beta werewolves, the goons he sends to sniff out a problem, are used to operating here in Otherworld. They’ll never be smart enough to figure out where we’ve gone.”

It all sounded so enticing, so brave, so spur-of-the-moment glamorous. There was just one problem.

“We are friends, right? Nothing more.” She had to be sure Roko knew that before she embarked on any journey with him.

His grin deepened. “Sure thing, babe.”

Babe? Had he listened to what she’d just said? Violet knew why Nevan was so opposed to her friendship with Roko. Apart from the fact that he was a rebel, her father saw her as a pawn to further his political ambitions. He wanted to marry her off to one of his powerful allies. Prospects were everything as far as her father was concerned. Prospects were something Roko lacked. He was not an alpha wolf, and his family was not noble.

Looking at Roko’s smiling, handsome face, Violet finally understood what prospects really meant. It wasn’t about whether the man she chose as her mate would further the werewolf cause with Otherworld dynasties. When the werewolves sat around the table at gatherings of the Otherworld Alliance, they met with faeries, elves, phantoms, and dryads, to name but a few of the many dynasties who made up the vast realm of Otherworld. Not to mention the age-old enemies of the werewolves. The vampire dynasty under its charismatic leader, Prince Tibor, was on the rise. Nevan wanted alliances that would make the werewolves a match for the vampires. That was what prospects meant to him.

But shouldn’t prospects also mean her mate would be able to care for her, protect her and shelter her if they made a mad dash into the mortal realm? With Roko, the answer to all of those was a resounding no.

When she looked at Roko, Violet saw the opposite of Nevan. She saw weakness instead of strength, but neither man had the true qualities needed to lead the Wolf Nation. Both were lacking the essential ingredients of compassion and empathy. It scared her that her people—her pack—were reliant on these warring individuals to provide the leadership they so desperately needed.

Oh, Roko could offer her fun...and fun had been one element that had been missing throughout Violet’s life. Now and then, she had briefly wondered if it might be worth combining business with pleasure. But Violet had realized some time ago that fun might be all Roko had to offer. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from her future mate, but it was a hell of a lot more than this.

Even though she had her doubts about the company, a proposed trip to the mortal realm offered her an escape from her father’s threats and the chance to drum up some much-needed support for her cause.

“Very well.” She nodded. “When do we leave?”

“How about right now?”

* * *

Nate jerked awake suddenly, aware that he was no longer alone in an anonymous motel room. Instinctively, his hand dived under the pillow for his gun.

“Relax. You don’t need it.” The voice of the man seated in the chair at the side of the bed was amused. The moonlight streaming through a gap in the curtains illuminated his face, and his eyes shone with a silver gleam that was unusual, but familiar.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that. Can’t you just arrange to meet in some seedy strip joint like other people do at—” Nate squinted at the digital clock on the bedside locker “—four in the morning?” He reached out a hand and flipped the switch on the lamp.

His uninvited visitor grinned. “Must I remind you that I’m a happily married man?”

Nate sat up against the pillows, tucking the bedcovers around his waist. “Looking good for it, Cal. Being a father obviously suits you.”

It still felt strange to call Merlin Caledonius by his nickname. The greatest sorcerer the world had ever known, the man responsible for bringing the legendary King Arthur to the throne, should surely be accorded more respect. Nate reminded himself that Cal was the name the man himself preferred.

“You haven’t seen me trying to change a diaper. It would do my reputation no good whatsoever if word of how bad I am at that simple task ever got out. Three children, and it doesn’t get any easier. Stella sends her love, by the way.”

Nate could never think of Cal’s wife, Stella, without remembering that night six years ago. As far as he could recall it. Some of the details were a blur. The part where he had tried to rip Stella’s throat out was pretty much lost in the mists of time. The voice in his head urging him on wasn’t. Nate could still hear that voice. It haunted his dreams.

“Sending mine right back to her. And the twins? How are they? Nice touch on the names, by the way. Keeping the whole Merlin and Arthur theme going.”

“We think so. And it’s a tribute to one of my best friends, of course. Young Jethro and Arthur are thriving, thank you.”

“It was certainly unexpected that your friend Jethro de Loix would turn out to be the reincarnation of King Arthur,” Nate said.

“But useful when it came to naming our sons. We were able to name both twins after the same person.” Cal cast a glance around the bland room. “Not up to your usual standard. Seeing this, no one would believe you were one of the most well-known men in Europe.”

“The choice of location was yours. They don’t exactly deal in luxury out here in the back of beyond. Anyway, I thought we agreed I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. The band may only have made it big in the US recently, but people tend to sit up and take notice when I fly into town.” Should he mention the courier? There was always a tendency to assume Cal knew everything. “Which reminds me, I was recognized yesterday.”

Cal muttered a curse. “Give me the details and I’ll sort it out.”

Nate nodded. He knew the man assigned with the task of keeping the peace on the boundaries between Otherworld and the mortal realm was unlikely to mean anything sinister by those words. It was probable Cal would simply erase the courier’s memory, or use some other sorcerer’s trick on him.

Nate yawned and glanced at the clock again. He’d been asleep for four hours. It felt like less. “Who have you got for me this time?”

Cal produced a photograph from the pocket of his button-down shirt. It showed a young man, looking directly at the camera. There was a slight smile on his face as he raised a beer bottle in salute to whoever was taking the picture.

“He looks about the same age I was.” Nate’s voice was expressionless. This was always the hardest part.

“A bit younger.” Cal’s tone held a note of sympathy that Nate really didn’t want to hear.

“How long?” He swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that were trying to rise up inside him. This was going to be difficult enough without feeling any sort of attachment.

“Three months.”

“Just a novice.”

“Hardly that.” Cal produced another set of pictures, and Nate’s resolve hardened. Blood, gore and the torn-apart bodies of innocent victims would do that every time.

“Where?” Nate became businesslike again.

“There is a thriving werewolf population in this part of the world. A peaceable one for the most part. They generally live alongside the humans without drawing attention to themselves, but there is a big party tonight. It’s a fund-raiser of some kind.” Cal tapped the photographs with one fingertip. “Our friend here is a feral werewolf, so he won’t be invited. But he will be drawn to the other werewolves. Pack instinct. He won’t be able to help himself. It will be easier to hunt him and take him down out there, in the countryside, than in town.”

Nate nodded. What Cal was saying made sense. Werewolves were sociable. They liked to reinforce their pack status with regular parties and meetings. The rogues he hunted were cast out by the werewolves who lived alongside mortals. They gave werewolves a bad name. Even so, the feral ones, the ones who belonged to the legends of full moons and misty moors, still longed to be part of lycanthrope society and were drawn to their law-abiding counterparts without understanding why. It was just another facet to the curse they labored under. He remembered it well.

Nate drew a breath. The formalities might be over, but there was something else he needed to say. Even though he knew what Cal’s response would be, he always had to raise the subject. It burned away inside him, ate him up. He needed to hear the words every time just in case, by some miracle, they might be different.

“You know which one I want you to send me after.”

Cal shook his head. Like he always did. “You know it can’t be done. Nevan rarely enters the mortal realm, and it would be too dangerous for you to go after him on his home territory. Otherworld is not the place for humans.”

“I’d risk it if it meant I could take that bastard out.” Nate hated the tremor in his hands as he pressed his fingertips against his temple. “When I remember what he did to me. Having him inside my head...”

“Let it go, Nate.” Cal’s voice was gentle.

Nate leaned back on his pillows, breathing deep as he tilted his head to look at the ceiling. Let it go? Only a man who had never lived with the nightmare Nate had endured could utter those words. Six years ago, Nate had been attacked by a feral werewolf. Having survived, Nate had become a rogue werewolf himself, subject to the same bloodlust each time the moon was full. Even worse, his mind had been controlled by a powerful, manipulative werewolf called Nevan. This werewolf, one whom Nate had never met, had used an evil form of telepathy to try and force him to kill Stella.

Nate had a feeling he might be the only person who had lived through the horror of becoming a werewolf and coming through the other side as a human once more. That remarkable feat was due to the ingenuity of Cal and Stella. When Nate had attempted to kill Stella, Cal had stabbed him through the heart with a silver dagger, killing the werewolf within him. Stella, who was the greatest necromancer the world had ever known—so great that she was known throughout Otherworld as the “necromancer star”—had used her incredible powers to bring him back to life. Nate had survived the experience. He was intact, but not unscathed.

Cal regarded him steadily. “Although I’ve never questioned your commitment, I worry about what this does to you.”

“It screws with my head, but I can’t stop.” Nate gave a shaky laugh. “And I don’t see a queue of people lining up to take my place. So, worrying or not, I guess I’m the only werewolf hunter you have.”

Cal nodded. “I know this is no consolation, but Nevan has his own set of problems right now. As well as struggling to maintain control after a bloody fight to take over as leader, his youngest daughter has gone missing.”

“My heart bleeds for him.” Nate managed a sarcastic snarl that was a little too wolfish for his own liking. “Just so we’re clear...if the opportunity ever presents itself, I will do whatever it takes to make that bastard pay for what he did to me. With or without your approval.”

* * *

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Held in a vast, ranch-style house deep in the heart of a Vermont forest, it was unlike any other Violet had ever attended. The dress code was casual; there were no formal introductions, and, since dinner seemed to consist of helping yourself to raw steak and beer, there wasn’t a seating plan. The mortal realm was finally beginning to live up to its fairy-tale reputation.

Violet was conscious of the number of glances, both surreptitious and open, being cast her way as, with a proprietorial hand on the small of her back, Roko steered her out toward the backyard.

“Do these people know who I am?”

He shook his head. “No way. I haven’t told anyone. Only Teo. One word in the wrong ear and your father’s mongrels would find us and rip me apart.”

“Then why are so many of them staring at me?”

Roko flashed his grin at her. He hadn’t used it much since their arrival in the mortal realm, and somehow it had lost a lot of its impact. “Because you’re gorgeous.”

Teo, who’d overheard the remark, tilted his drink in her direction in an appreciative salute. Pack dynamics seemed to be off-kilter here in the mortal realm. In Otherworld, Teo would not have dared to cast a look in the direction of the daughter of the great Wolf Leader. Here it seemed to be okay to throw her a glance that blatantly told her he was picturing her human without any clothes...and her wolf self baring her belly in preparation for submission.

So far, the mortal realm had not lived up to Violet’s expectations. From the moment they entered it, they had been in hiding. Her father controlled all werewolves, not just those in Otherworld. Nevan’s word was absolute. From the minute they crossed the border from Otherworld, the search had been on. Violet was hunted, and Roko was a marked man. One or two narrow escapes had been enough to turn the swaggering, would-be alpha into a frightened, petulant cub.

Sunlight had become a distant memory. Hiding away indoors, staying cooped up inside for days on end, running scared: all of those things were alien to Violet’s natural instincts. And the food? Don’t get me started on the food. Prepackaged, tasteless and limited. It wasn’t even fit for dogs. How mortals survived on this crap, she would never know. She needed to get out, to run, to hunt, to sink her teeth into her own kill. A kill that was still warm...

The backyard was predictably more crowded than the house. Like Violet, most wolves would rather be outdoors than inside. She tilted back her head, drinking in the velvety night sky and sniffing appreciatively at the loam and pine scent of the forest.

There was nothing she’d have liked more than to slip out of her clothes and let her wolf self run free through the trees. There was just one problem. She cast a sidelong glance in Roko’s direction. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Violet almost laughed out loud. She didn’t want to give him any ideas. Coming to the mortal realm in his company had been about the worst move she’d ever made. She wasn’t going to compound it by letting him think she was ready to mate with him. She knew Roko was waiting for a signal from her. A signal that was never going to come.

Violet found herself in a new situation. Strong-willed, headstrong and determined, for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to do. Slink back to Otherworld with her tail between her legs, face her father’s wrath and the subsequent humiliation? Or remain here in the mortal realm with a man who wanted more than she was prepared to give? So far, there was no sign of the support he’d promised for the refugees, and she needed to get back to the Wolf Nation and back to her role in helping them. It was a dilemma, and she found herself paying more attention to her thoughts than to her fellow partygoers. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was never going back to her role as the oppressed daughter of the Wolf Leader. She wanted to do something with her life. What that something might be, she had no idea. All she knew for sure was that it would involve helping the oppressed werewolves under her father’s control...which meant she would be pitting her will against his.

After a few beers, Roko seemed to relax and was soon the center of a group of young males. Violet got the impression he was inviting their admiration because of her, in a look-what-I’ve-got way. It annoyed her, because it provided more evidence of her foolishness in being here with him. She drifted away from him slightly, following her instincts and allowing the woods and the night to call to her.

The moon was full, adding to her restlessness, and she walked deeper into the trees, leaving the sounds of revelry behind. She breathed deep, inhaling the darkness. Her inner wolf leaped at the scents and sounds around her. Damp earth, crackling leaves underfoot, scurrying creatures. Night sounds. A glance over her shoulder showed her the lights of the house, barely visible now through the dense tree trunks.

Why not?

What possible harm could there be? Violet’s wolf self nudged insistently at her human. Make it fast. No one will ever know.

Slipping off her sneakers, she tugged her sweater over her head. Jeans and underwear followed. The cool breeze felt wonderful on her naked body. God, she had missed this. How had she gone so long without shifting?

Hiding her clothing in a neat pile inside a hollow at the base of a tree, she was just about to shift when a low growl made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Looking up, she encountered the burning, yellow gaze of a feral werewolf.


Chapter 2 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

Using the photograph and information Cal had given him, Nate tracked down the young guy to a house in the town. He followed him as he left his home, and watched as he glanced furtively all around before making his way up to the woods. Nate observed in dismay as darkness fell and the fresh-faced young man shifted by the light of the full moon. The memories came flooding back. He saw the fear and confusion on this guy’s face just before his body altered. His heart ached for the other man. Nate knew exactly what he was thinking. I’m going out of my mind. It was what Nate himself had believed six years ago.

Now, of course, he knew exactly what had been happening to him. Back then, he had been twenty-two-year-old Nathan Jones. Zilar was his mother’s maiden name, and he’d been pushed into using it by his band’s manager, who wanted to go sexier and catchier. A promising music student, months away from graduation, he’d had his life turned upside-down. He’d been scared, lonely and unable to talk to anyone about what was going on inside his head and, even more frighteningly, within his body.

He clearly remembered the werewolf bite that brought about his transformation. It was after a night out with friends. He didn’t have the money for a cab, so he had walked home. Something or someone—he thought at the time it was a wild dog—had jumped out on him from a narrow side street in a quiet part of town. It went for his throat. He thought he was dead for sure, but a group of passersby disturbed the animal and it ran away.

Unconscious, Nate had been rushed to the hospital. He had bite marks to his throat and scratches on his chest and face. The police insisted they were looking for the same attacker who had brutally murdered a number of young men in the same area. He was lucky to be alive, they told him. It was only when the next full moon came around that Nate had known there was something very wrong. Lucky to be alive? He had lived with the irony of those words ever since.

Nate watched now as the werewolf crouched low, stealthily approaching the house through the trees. The backyard bordered the forest, and the businessman who lived here had chosen the location well. Privacy and country living combined to make this the perfect home for a werewolf blending into human society. He could hear the sounds of the party. The young werewolf sniffed the air, and Nate felt a fresh wave of pity wash over him. Acceptance and belonging were part of a wolf’s makeup. Pack instincts. The parts that had been stripped away from this youngster by whoever bit him. This youth was an outcast. No longer human or wolf. He belonged in neither world and would be destined to walk on the darkest edges of both. When the moon was full, his lust for human blood would be out of control, and, out of his mind and out of control, he would satisfy that lust with wild attacks on people, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Until Nate put an end to his torment. The way I begged Cal to do for me.

And Cal had obliged. Because there was only one thing you could do for a feral werewolf. The final kindness you could do the poor, tormented scrap of humanity left behind after a werewolf attack was to kill it. But there would be no one to step in and rescue this guy the way Nate had been saved. No one was going to start his heart up again once the silver bullet had stopped it beating. Lucky bastard.

All werewolves, whether in the mystical realm of Otherworld, or here in the mortal realm, came under the rule of a single leader. The recent overthrow, and death, of the longstanding Wolf Leader, Anwyl, by his rival, Nevan, didn’t change that. A different face at the top didn’t alter tradition. Nevan was in charge. Just the mention of that name made Nate’s blood run cold, but he forced himself to focus.

The problem for the Wolf Leader was that these feral werewolves—the true werewolves of ancient human legend—were not members of any pack. No group would accept a feral werewolf into its fold. They didn’t obey the rules. They had no idea there were rules. The hierarchy that applied to wolves in the wild was equally important to werewolves. The social structure of an alpha male whose rule was absolute was unchanged. Anyone who was unwilling to accept that dynamic was cast out. Feral werewolves were not welcome in such a well-regulated society. They were the dirty secret of which werewolves didn’t care to speak.

When in the grip of their wolf selves, feral werewolves were governed by uncontrollable rage and hunger for blood. They were driven to kill everyone they encountered, regardless of their human part. Once they returned to their human form, they remembered nothing or very little of what they had done. The condition was transferred through a bite, assuming the bitten person survived the attack the way Nate had done.

Over time, werewolves had mutated, achieving a remarkable feat. They were able to gain control over their bloodlust, although their other lupine instincts remained intact. Gradually, the werewolf world had split into two packs. One dwelt in Otherworld, while the other chose to reside in the mortal realm. With strong leadership, they could have been an imposing force. As it was, they warred among themselves and more closely resembled a pack of rabid dogs.

Although they were becoming rarer, feral werewolves remained a problem. Six years ago, when Nate had been feral, he had been cruelly used as a weapon by Nevan in his attempt to destroy Stella. When Nevan had gotten inside Nate’s head he had urged him to rip out Stella’s heart. That sort of mind control over feral wolves wasn’t used often, but it wasn’t unknown. Often, they ended up in prison cells and mental institutions in the mortal realm, unaware of the terrible deeds they had committed when the moon was full.

That was where Cal, in his role as Otherworld peacekeeper, stepped in. He and Stella couldn’t save all feral werewolves the way they had helped Nate. That would have been an impossible task. The best Cal could hope for was to find a werewolf hunter who would destroy feral werewolves in a way that was as painless and humane as possible.

That was why Nate was here now, lining up this young wolf in his sights, preparing to fire a silver bullet into his heart before finishing him off by decapitating him with a samurai sword.

His finger tightened on the trigger. This part was never easy. There was always a temptation to walk away, to tell himself he’d done his share of these kills. To let someone else take over now. Except, as he’d pointed out to Cal in the early hours of this morning, there was no one else. And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. He owed it to the poor bastards locked in this torment.

Just before Nate could pull the trigger, the werewolf’s lips drew back in a snarl and he crouched low, his eyes fixed on something a few feet away. Nate breathed a soft curse and turned to look at whatever it was that had caught the werewolf’s attention. A dog? Maybe a deer? There was enough light from the full moon through the tree canopy to illuminate the scene. Even so, he thought he must be imagining things. There, standing stock-still like a marble statue, her long, dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders, was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. He did a double take. The most beautiful naked woman he had ever seen.

The werewolf sprang, closing the distance between himself and the woman. His eyes glowed toxic yellow, and his huge fangs were bared. Frozen out of her immobility at the sight, the woman stumbled back. With not a second to lose, Nate fired while the werewolf was in midlunge.

The huge beast shuddered as the bullet caught him in the chest. At the same time, the woman lost her balance completely and began to fall backward, her arms flailing wildly as she tried to find something—anything—on to which she could grab hold and save herself. She was unsuccessful. Even across a distance of several feet, Nate heard the sharp crack of her head hitting a rock before the werewolf came crashing down on top of her. Her slender body disappeared under the pelt of the huge, feral animal pressing her into the forest floor.

* * *

She opened her eyes slowly. The black of the night sky was splattered with bright stars, and the full moon hung huge and low in the center of her vision. It was blurred, and she blinked in an attempt to clear it. Nothing happened, so she sighed and closed her eyes again. Her head hurt and there was a horrible smell, like rotten meat and unwashed bodies. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be here. A warm, drowsy feeling swept over her.

“Don’t go to sleep.” It was a man’s voice. Unfamiliar and authoritative.

She frowned and opened one eye, seeking the source of those warm, well-modulated tones. A face loomed above her. The moon was behind him so she couldn’t make out much of his features. She got the impression of strength and determination. As he leaned closer, she caught a whiff of his clean, masculine scent. Soap and cologne. Something woodsy, musky and warming. He wasn’t the source of that gut-churning smell. Although the scent probably wasn’t the most important of her problems right now.

The feeling of cold earth and damp leaves against her bare flesh brought another realization crashing over her. She struggled to move, but the pain in her head was too intense. “Why am I naked?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

He asked the question in a slightly incredulous manner that could have been intended to convey almost anything. She gazed up at him in horror. She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember why she was naked, why she was in these woods, why her head hurt, who he was. Who she was.

“What did you do to me?” The words trembled on her lips.

“Apart from saving your life, I haven’t done anything to you.” The words were harsh, clearly intended to put a swift end to any possible allegations.

She shrank back farther into the dirt. “I don’t believe you.”

He pointed to something just to one side of her. “Believe.”

With an effort, she turned her head. Inches away from her lay the body of an enormous wolf. Its jaws hung open to reveal lethal fangs, gleaming white in the moonlight. At least she had finally discovered the source of the smell.

“He was about to rip your throat out—among other things—when I shot him.”

Among other things? Even through the pain and fear, she picked up on something in the man’s tone. Sadness and sympathy. Regret. He referred to the wolf as “him,” not “it,” almost as if he was deliberately giving it an identity. That was how it felt, but maybe the shock or the bump on the head was making her overimaginative.

“I don’t know why I’m here.” The tears threatened to spill over, and she fought them. She might not know who she was, but she knew she didn’t do crying.

“There’s a big party going on at a house on the edge of the woods. Could you have come from there?” He turned slightly, presumably in the direction of the house he was talking about, and she caught a glimpse of his strong profile.

“I suppose it’s possible.” She risked sitting up, hugging her knees up to her chin. Her head hurt like hell, but at least she felt less exposed in this position than lying flat on her back. “It doesn’t explain why I’m not wearing any clothes.”

Her rescuer tugged his hooded sweatshirt over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on.”

She accepted it gratefully, pulling it over her head and sliding her arms into the sleeves. The residual warmth from his body and that delicious smell were comforting. She drew the garment around herself, trying desperately to remember something—anything—about what had happened before she had opened her eyes and seen this man leaning over her. It was no use. Her memory remained stubbornly blank.

“Can you stand?” He leaned down, offering his hand.

Taking it, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once she was upright, the world swam out of focus and she staggered. Strong arms caught and held her, and she leaned her forehead gratefully against a chest that was hard and muscular.

“Who are you?” It seemed a little late for introductions. His hands maintained a firm grip on her hips and, even through her giddiness and discomfort, she was glad the sweatshirt was long enough to reach the top of her thighs.

“My name is Nate.” He looked over her head toward where she guessed the house party must be taking place. “Maybe we should go down there and see if someone recognizes you. Even if they don’t, we can call for help from there. I don’t have a phone with me and I’m not from ’round here. I have no idea where the nearest hospital is, but I think you should get that head injury of yours checked out.”

She lifted her chin so she could scan his face. In the circumstances, it probably wasn’t the wisest move. Her head was spinning and nothing made sense. She didn’t know this man, but she sensed there was a lot he wasn’t telling her. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Somehow, she had lost control of her life and now she had no idea how to get it back on track. She was so far from the track, she had lost sight of where it might be. The thought set her heart pounding and her breath coming in short pants.

As she fought to regain control, a series of questions swirled around in her head. She had no idea why she was in the woods—let’s not get into the whole naked thing right now—but why was he here? How had he conveniently managed to kill that wolf just as it was about to attack her? What did he mean by “among other things”? And how was it that she could sense, beyond any shadow of a doubt, his overwhelming reluctance to go toward that house where the party was being held?

As the questions chased each other around inside her fragile head, the moonlight illuminated a glimpse of Nate’s rueful grin.

“Before I do anything, I have to take care of our friend over there.” He indicated the wolf’s body. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, and, when I’m finished, you probably won’t want to come anywhere near me ever again.”

With those cryptic words, he released his grip on her hips and shifted her weight so that she could lean against the trunk of a tree. Moving stealthily in the darkness, he walked a few feet away and rummaged among some items that were in a large bag on the ground. When he returned, he was carrying a curved, gleaming sword and a shovel.

* * *

The woman recoiled violently as Nate walked toward her. She eyed the sword and shovel with a look of horror. “What are you going to do with those?”

It was not an easy thing to explain. He had to decapitate this werewolf while the moon was still full, or his job was only half-done. The silver bullet had stopped his heart, but Nate had to be sure he couldn’t rise again. Legend was divided on this issue. Some believed that decapitation was the only way to finally lay the tortured soul to rest. Others felt it was overkill. There were no examples that he could find for what happened if someone left the werewolf’s body intact. Preferring to leave nothing to chance, Nate went for decapitation. And, since he had to be on a flight to London in a few hours, he had to do it here and now.

What sort of bad luck was this? Okay, the circumstances of their meeting weren’t ideal, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, Nate felt a tug of attraction toward a woman. More than a tug, if he was honest. What he was about to do next would kill any reciprocal feelings stone dead.

The woman, who was gazing at him with huge, troubled eyes, was about to get a live demonstration of the messy side of werewolf hunting. He ran a hand through his hair, wondering if there was any way to make what he was about to do sound acceptable to her. He was never going to see her again after tonight, but the idea of figuring in her nightmares for the rest of her life didn’t fit comfortably with him.

He tried for a soothing opening sentence. “This is not an ordinary wolf.”

“It is very big.” Her voice was wary. Clearly she was wondering where this was going. And whether she was humoring a madman.

“He’s a werewolf.” There. He’d said it. She hadn’t run away screaming. But that might have more to do with her head injury than her acceptance of his sanity.

In the moonlight, he couldn’t see the color of her eyes. He saw only the sweep of her long, dark lashes as they came down and rested on her pale cheeks before lifting slowly. “What do you have to do to him?”

“I have to cut off his head.”

The gulping sound she made as she swallowed echoed in the silent forest. “I can’t watch that.”

Nate nodded grimly. “I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

She kept her eyes closed, leaning back against the tree. Nate worked swiftly. Although he’d lost track of how many times he’d done this over the years, he had developed a routine. It might not suit the purists who first devised these ancient rites, but it worked for him. Kneeling beside the body of the werewolf, he bent his head. Prayer wasn’t appropriate. He didn’t know this young man. Didn’t know his background, his beliefs or his culture. It didn’t matter. A werewolf was a creature of darkness. If this man had worshipped a deity before his transformation, his allegiances would have changed once he became feral. But something was needed. Some acknowledgment of who he had been, a recognition that he would die alone, that his family would never know what had become of him.

Nate owed this unknown man something. It was a duty. Just as Stella, when she laid her hands on Nate six years ago, had felt a different sort of obligation to him. Nate wasn’t a necromancer. He couldn’t bring this guy back to life the way Stella had with him. Even if he had that choice, he wasn’t sure, knowing what he did, that he would exert it. No, his ritual was simple. He murmured a few words, lines from a poem he’d once heard, to ease the dead on their way.

The samurai sword, with its curved blade, worked best. He’d tried others, but always returned to this. Raising it high above his head, ignoring the awful silver stench, he brought it down in a single, swift stroke. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh and bone never failed to sicken him. Usually one blow was all it took. This time, clouds had obscured the moon at the crucial moment, and his aim was not true. Cursing his bad luck, he aimed the sword at the werewolf’s neck a second time and finished the job.

And, just like that, the wolf was gone. In his place, the body of a slender young man lay curled on his side.

“At peace now.” Nate said the words quietly. Sadly. Although whether the sadness was for the werewolf or for himself, he was never quite sure. Because Nate himself sure as hell wasn’t at peace.

His voice must have attracted the woman’s attention. Her gasp shattered the stillness of the forest before her hand flew to cover her mouth. Those huge eyes met Nate’s across the few feet separating them.

He experienced an overwhelming impulse to go to her and draw her into his arms. After so many years of believing he wasn’t capable of feeling attraction, it was as if the floodgates to his emotions had been opened in spectacular style.

He tried telling himself it was the strange circumstances that had him enthralled, but it didn’t seem to be working. He was fascinated by this woman he had only just met, drawn to her in a way he didn’t understand. He got a grip on the impulse to go to her, telling himself she had been through enough without the uninvited embrace of a stranger.

“It was true. He was a werewolf. When you said ‘among other things,’ you meant he was going to rape me before he killed me, didn’t you?” There was still a trace of incredulity in her voice, but there was no longer any fear.

“The poor bastard will have had the urges of both man and wolf, with no way of controlling either.” He became brisk again. “And now I have to bury him.”

The ground was damp, and Nate was able to dig a grave quickly. He was worried about the woman. Although she was a complication he could have done without, she had become his responsibility as soon as he had rescued her. Leaving her standing around injured and half-naked while he completed this task didn’t seem like the behavior of a hero. He almost laughed out loud at the idea of himself in that role.

Of the five band members, Nate was the one labeled by the press as “the shy one” or “the quiet one.” He was the one who didn’t do relationships. He was the one most likely to be tucked up in bed with a good book while the others were out raising hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even talked to a woman. Heroic? He wouldn’t know where to start.

When he’d finished burying the body, he came back to the woman, wiping his hands on his jeans. His thoughts were focused on the problem of how to get her to safety. If that house on the edge of the forest was the scene of a werewolf get-together, the last thing he wanted to do was walk in there. But if it was where she had come from, he needed to return her to her friends. Was she a werewolf? If she had come from that party, it seemed likely she was. None of my business. He’d pledged to get her to safety, not judge her.

What if she’s not a werewolf? What if you walk into that house with her and they have no idea who she is? A darker scenario presented itself. What if they say they know her, but it’s a lie? He had no reason to suppose the werewolves at that party were not law-abiding citizens. Most werewolves in the mortal realm were. But this woman was alone, vulnerable and...well, she was fucking gorgeous. What if they welcomed her with open arms because they had plans for her that were similar to the feral werewolf’s intentions?

No, there was no alternative. Nate Zilar, celebrity by day, werewolf hunter by night, was going to have to walk into a house full of werewolves. He had cast himself in the role of hero, and now he had to live up to it. He was going to make damn sure this woman was safe before he left her anywhere.


Chapter 3 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

She was conscious of so many things as they approached the house where the party was taking place. How much her head hurt. The cold flesh of her legs. How her bare feet were scratched and muddy. She wore Nate’s sweatshirt with nothing underneath it. If it wasn’t for his strong arm around her waist holding her up, she’d have fallen several times.

Oh, and this man she was trusting? He’d killed a werewolf back there in the depths of the forest. Sliced its head right off and buried the human remains like it was part of his everyday routine. And she had stood by and watched. Not the decapitation, but the aftermath. As if what he did was normal. I might not know who I am, but part of me feels I should not be okay with this. Yet she was wrapped in a surreal bubble where everything else was gauzy and his protective presence was all that mattered.

Although she couldn’t see Nate clearly in the darkness, she got the impression of power and energy. The moonlight gave her glimpses of strong features and dark coloring. Those things meant he was an attractive man, but they didn’t explain the instantaneous connection she felt to him. He rescued you from a wolf. Of course that meant there was a connection. But it was more than that. It had been a bright, instant flame, sizzling the air between them. And it showed no sign of subsiding.

Overriding everything else was a hazy sense of something she could barely describe. Of not belonging. Of being in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything. Her hurt head tried to tell her what it was. Or maybe her hurt head was the problem.

“I can’t just walk in there.” She indicated the sweatshirt that barely reached the top of her thighs. “What if they don’t know me?”

“Don’t worry. I’m going ahead of you.”

She wished she could get a proper look at him in the moonlight. Something flashed through her mind. Something about prospects. About what the word really meant. How having prospects wasn’t about power and wealth, it was about how well a man would take care of you. It was a fleeting thought, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

They were in the backyard of the house now, and she could see a few people nearby standing around drinking and talking. On the immediate edge of the yard, where it joined the forest, a group of three young men appeared to be attempting to restrain someone.

“Roko, wait here. This could be a trap.” The man spoke in an urgent tone.

“Too right it could.” The response was panicky, almost terrified. “You know what he’s capable of, Teo. He could have snatched her from under my nose.”

Nate moved forward. “Wait here.” He motioned her to step back into the shadows.

It was too late. The man called Roko had already caught sight of her. Breaking free of his friends, he started toward her. “Violet! What the fuck...?”

She frowned. Surely she would remember this man if she knew him. He was very handsome. As he reached her, Roko made a grab for her hands. She shrank away from him in alarm, moving instinctively toward Nate.

Nate positioned himself between them. “Who are you?”

Roko bristled. He scanned her face, his expression changing, becoming even more annoyed. “This is a joke, right? Tell this guy to butt out.”

As he spoke, something was happening inside the house. There were shouts, crashes and sounds of glass breaking. Looking up, she saw what looked like a dozen people erupting from the house into the yard. They appeared to be running from something.

Roko turned to his friends. “You said we’d be safe. You promised they wouldn’t find us here.”

As he spoke, he gave a signal to his friends. Kicking off their sneakers and shrugging out of their outer clothing, they shifted. Just like that. No big performance, no whisper of sound, no creaking of bones or sprouting of fur.

Within seconds, the young men were gone. In their place, a pack of sleek werewolves dropped to their haunches, shaking themselves free of the final remnants of clothing that had been shredded during their transformation. Baring huge fangs, they crouched low, preparing to face the group that had emerged from the house.

Nate pulled on her arm, drawing her back into the shadows where they could see what was going on, but not be seen themselves. Her instinct was to run from this scene, but she understood what he was doing. Roko—the man who had just shifted and become a werewolf—knew her. There were clues to her identity here.

The five werewolves who approached from the house dwarfed Roko and his friends. Huge and black, with eyes that glowed gold by the light of the moon, it was clear they meant business. The crowd that had followed them from the house was a combination of humans and werewolves, and the atmosphere thrummed with a cocktail of fear and anticipation as the two opposing packs lined up.

Crouching low, the black wolves rippled with muscle and menace. Vicious snarls rent the night. The space between the warring forces crackled with rage. Roko and his pack barely had time to answer back before the black werewolves sprang at them. The fury of the attack was so intense she felt its force even from her hiding place in the darkness. Instinct made her draw closer to Nate, and he placed a steadying arm around her shoulders.

In the golden glow of the garden lamps, blood sprayed and fur flew. It was clear from the start that Roko and his pack were hopelessly outclassed, but they fought bravely. The black wolves tore into them, ripping chunks of flesh from the smaller werewolves, forcing them onto their backs and into submission. It was clear this was an organized fighting force, used to working as a team, used to getting what it wanted.

Within the watching crowd, there were screams and shouts of outrage.

“Can’t we stop this?”

“Who are they?”

Even as some of the partygoing werewolves who had emerged from the house made a movement toward the fight, it was already over. The black wolves, having subdued Roko’s pack, were shifting back into human form. Five naked, muscle-bound men stood over the injured werewolves.

One of them addressed himself to the partygoers. “Apologies for any inconvenience. We won’t disturb you any longer.” Reaching down a giant hand, he grabbed Roko by the fur at the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. “This is what we came for. He has something belonging to our master.”

Dragging Roko and the other wounded werewolves with them, the five men strode through the watching crowd and out through the front of the house.

* * *

“Violet...is that your name?”

Nate still had his arm around the woman, and he could feel the tremors that ran through her slender body. He wasn’t surprised. A brutal, bloody attack like the one they’d just witnessed was enough to leave anyone shaken. Following on from the earlier events of the evening, he was amazed to find she could still answer him coherently.

“It’s what he called me, so I guess it must be.”

“Wait here while I see if I can find out what that was all about.”

She slid her hand into his, those huge, trusting eyes fixed on his face. “Don’t leave me.”

Something lurched in the center of his chest. In a place where he hadn’t felt anything for a very long time. Six years, to be exact. He gave her a smile that he hoped was reassuring. “I’ll be two minutes.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his hand. An answering smile trembled on her lips. “I’m timing you.”

Nate strode out of the shadows. The party atmosphere was understandably subdued following the fight, and people were standing around discussing what had happened. He approached one group, slotting in as unobtrusively as he could.

“Who were those guys?” Nate turned to the man next to him.

“No one seems to know. Looks like they were gate-crashers who had a grudge against the other group, the ones they dragged away with them.”

“So no one knows who they were, either?”

Another man joined in the conversation. “Teo is a regular at these parties, but the others hadn’t been here before.”

“I heard Teo call one of his friends Roko,” Nate said.

“Name means nothing to me.”

“Me neither.” Both men shrugged.

Conscious of Violet—since that seemed to be her name—waiting anxiously for him in the shadows, Nate tried the same questions on a few other people. He got similar responses. Teo was known, Roko wasn’t. No one seemed to know what the fight was about or who the black werewolves were. With no more idea about what was going on or who Violet was, he made his way back to her.

“Nothing.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Back to my hotel room. At least there we can get you cleaned up and into some warm clothes while we talk about what to do next.”

Nate was getting seriously worried about Violet’s ability to stick with him by the time they had trudged back through the forest to the point where he had left his werewolf-hunting kit. Although she was making valiant efforts to keep up with his pace, she was clearly struggling. From the point where he had buried the werewolf, they still had to walk to the road where he had left his rental car. Hoisting his bag onto one shoulder, Nate scooped Violet into his arms so he could carry her the rest of the way. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head in the curve of his neck.

“Who are you? Really? I know your name, but that’s all.”

He laughed. “Just your average werewolf hunter.”

How did he start with the rest? Oh, and by the way, I’m in a band. Not just any band. We’ve been one of the top ten bestselling rock bands in Europe for the last two years and we’re just about to embark on a world tour. Which is why I have to be back in England tomorrow.

Somehow, nothing else mattered except how his hands felt compared with the softness of her thighs. Suddenly his fingers felt too big, too rough to be pressing into her delicate flesh. He experienced a ridiculous urge to apologize in case the abrasiveness of his touch was uncomfortable for her.

“But why are you here hunting werewolves. Why here, why now?” Her voice was a soft murmur in his ear, her breath warm against his cheek. Nate felt as if he was meant to carry her weight in his arms forever. This is ridiculous, he told himself firmly. He was getting carried away, believing himself to be taking the starring role in a child’s fairy tale. Slaying werewolves was part of his routine. Rescuing maidens seemed to have gone to his head.

“I get a message when there’s a problem.”

She laughed. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, it’s that simple.” As if anything in the last six years of his life had ever been that simple.

They had reached the car, and he placed Violet on her feet before stowing the bag containing his kit in the trunk. The courier would collect it from the motel later and dispose of it. All part of the service. A very bizarre service.

They accomplished the journey to the motel in silence, and once inside the room, Nate locked the door and switched on the lights. For the first time, he got a proper look at the woman he had rescued...and his breath caught in his throat.

“What is it?” Violet made an attempt to pull his sweatshirt down farther, squirming slightly under the intensity of his gaze.

Nate shook himself. “Well, at least we know your name really is Violet.”

She looked confused and he took her hand, drawing her over to the mirror. Turning her so that she could see her reflection, he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were enormous. Fringed by thick, spiky black lashes, they were a glorious, vivid shade of violet-blue. Her hair was a tumbling mass of midnight curls, and her skin, in contrast, was pale as milk. In the forest, he had thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The harsh overhead glare of the neon lighting only confirmed his first impression.

Violet gave a shaky laugh. “How can I not know my own face?”

“That bump on the head must have caused you to lose your memory.”

She turned to face him. “You’re the only thing that seems real.”

With those words, the weight of his responsibility to her hit him full force. He had rescued her from that werewolf, but it didn’t end there. He couldn’t abandon her now. What had he hoped to do? Take her to a doctor and sneak out the back door while she was in the consulting room? Hand her over to the police? How would that story work out? While I was out werewolf hunting last night, I came across this naked girl...

No, Violet was in his care. Until her memory came back, or he found out who she was, he had a duty to look after her. A tiny voice at the back of his mind spoke up. Are you sure that’s what this is about? You haven’t just been bowled over by that beautiful face and those endless legs? Firmly, he shut it up.

“Go and take a shower or a bath while I make some calls.” He hesitated. “This might sound creepy, but it’s not intended to be...don’t lock the door. You may have a concussion, and I need to be able to get in there if you black out.”

She nodded trustingly and headed for the bathroom. Trusting. That’s what she’d been almost from the start. He had to live up to that trust. Six years a loner, and now, all at once, he was having to think for someone else.

Minutes later, he heard the faucet running. Nate dug his phone out of his pocket. It occurred to him that it would be useful if he had a number for Cal. His relationship with the sorcerer didn’t work that way. Cal contacted Nate when he needed to, usually turning up at some unearthly hour and surprising him when he least expected it. No, he couldn’t rely on Cal being around to help him out on this occasion. Instead, he called the other person who could be guaranteed to help him out in a crisis.

Ged Taverner had managed Beast since the group formed six years ago. He was the man who knew everything about each member of the group, every secret they had, both past and present. Now, despite the time difference, Ged answered on the third ring and managed to do a good job of sounding awake. He listened in silence while Nate explained what he needed from him.

His manager’s weary transatlantic groan needed no explanation. “Nate, don’t do this to me. You’re the sensible one, the one who never causes me any problems. I’ve never had to bail you out of a foreign prison. Never had to bribe a reporter to keep quiet about your antics. You’re not the one who calls me up days before we start the biggest tour of our lives and gives me this sort of headache.” Nate remained silent, and Ged tried for a persuasive tone. “We can find you another girl.”

Nate glanced at the clock. “It’s just after midnight here. I need you to sort this out today.”

Ged muttered a curse. “Nate, if she has no identity documents, there’s no way I can help you.”

“Make it happen, Ged, because I’m not leaving here until it does.”

This time the groaning and cursing held a note of defeat. “I’ll call you back in a few hours.”

When Nate hung up, he sank into a chair, leaning his head back and gazing at the ceiling as he listened to the sounds of splashing coming through the thin walls of the bathroom. He had made a commitment to protect Violet, and he would see it through. Even as he made the promise to himself, and to her, that little voice spoke up in his mind once more.

What if you find out that flawless face and beautiful body hide the soul of a werewolf?

* * *

Clad in a clean sweatshirt and a pair of Nate’s sweatpants rolled up at the ankles and cinched in as tight as she could get them at the waist, Violet emerged from the bathroom. She had used the dryer on her hair, being careful of her head wound, and it now curled wildly around her head and shoulders. Clearly, before her memory loss, she must have had a better idea of how to style it.

“I think I left half a forest in that tub.”

“How’s your head?” Nate was sprawled in a chair near the window.

“Sore.” She grimaced as she felt the back of her skull. “It’s not cut, but there’s a lump right here that hurts like hell.”

He snatched up his car keys. “Let’s get you to the emergency room.”

She studied him as he came toward her. He was tall and powerful, with an effortless, athletic grace to his movements. With his dark hair and eyes and masterfully carved features, her rescuer was a striking-looking man. There was something soulful in the depths of those dark eyes that tugged at her. When she looked into them, she felt like she was prying into some private grief.

But there was more to Nate than sorrow. There was an undercurrent of danger, a rawness about him that Violet thought held an untold story of hurt and anger. She guessed it provided the steel backbone necessary for killing werewolves and cutting off their heads and wondered why it didn’t scare her.

“Why are you doing this?” She had to tilt her head to look up at him. At least tilting no longer caused dizziness. “I mean, I really appreciate your help. I just wondered why.”

He paused, looking down at her with those eyes that had seen too much. “Because you need me.”

The words caused a fluttering sensation that had nothing to do with her injury. She tried to find a suitable response. The words that came out were totally inadequate. “I have no shoes.”

“We’ll stop on the way.”

It was intensely frustrating not to know things. Until Nate took her to a place called a mall, she hadn’t known that it was possible to buy sneakers, jeans and a sweater at midnight. Or that a doctor was available at an accident and emergency department at any time of the day or night. I must have known these things once. One bump on the head and they’ve gone? Just like that?

“My memory will come back, right?” she asked the doctor at the hospital who examined her.

“It will, but I can’t offer you any guarantees about when.” The woman doctor stepped back, stripping off her gloves. “It could be hours, days or even weeks. In some rare cases, it can take months for the memory to return fully after this sort of post-traumatic amnesia. Some people find things come back to them slowly. For others, their memory comes back in a sudden rush. All I can advise is that you rest, remember that you’ve suffered a trauma and don’t overdo it.”

“But there is no serious injury?” Nate asked.

“There is no external injury,” the doctor said. She extended a hand, helping Violet down from the examining table. “Your skull isn’t damaged. If you get any symptoms, such as headaches, dizziness or blurred vision, then seek medical help immediately. Also, I would advise a CT scan, a detailed image of the brain, just to rule out any underlying injury.”

“Will she be okay to travel?” Violet looked at Nate in surprise. Where was she traveling to?

The doctor pursed her lips. “As I said, my advice would be to rest. If traveling is essential, do it in easy stages.”

Violet thought she saw a flash of humor in Nate’s eyes at that comment, although she didn’t understand its source. Having thanked the doctor, they made their way back to the car. Violet felt exhaustion wash over her as she sank into the passenger seat. She studied Nate’s profile as he drove through the deserted streets of the quiet town. I don’t even know the name of this place. This could be my hometown and I don’t recognize it. The thought caused her a moment of panic. It subsided as a flash of certainty came to her. This is not my home. I don’t belong here.

That thought prompted a question. “Why would I need to travel?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he took his eyes off the road briefly so he could glance her way. “Violet, how much do you know about rock music?”

The question was so unexpected it made her laugh. “If I said nothing, it would be a massive exaggeration. Although I might have been the world expert a few hours ago.”

They had reached the motel, and Nate stretched his long limbs before sliding out of his seat. Coming around to Violet’s side of the car, he held open the door before helping her out. As they walked into the motel room, she glanced up at his face. He looked tired, but there was a frown between his eyes.

“Just tell me.” She may not have known him for long, but she knew that frown was there because of her.

He threw himself down in the chair he had been seated in earlier, scrubbing a hand over his face as though attempting to erase the weariness. Violet sat on the edge of one of the beds. “I have to leave here today and fly to England.”

“Oh.” She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Its glowing figures showed it was close to three in the morning. “Look, it’s been really kind of you to take care of me. I should probably just go now...”

“Where will you go?” He sounded unexpectedly harsh.

“I don’t know.” Her voice refused to rise above a whisper.

“Exactly.” He rose from his seat, coming to sit next to her. Clasping her hands between both of his, he ducked his head low so that he could look at her face. “I can’t leave you alone here like this, Violet.”

She was confused by the mixed messages he was giving. “My head hurts.” All she wanted to do was lean against Nate’s broad shoulder and let him take away her cares.

“I’m not surprised. Tonight has been enough to scramble anyone’s brain, with or without a blow to the head.” She didn’t understand why, but his smile warmed her. “Let me explain. I’m in a rock band. We’re just about to start a world tour, which is the reason why I have to go back to England today. If there was any way I could avoid it, I would cancel and stay here with you.”

“You’ve done enough. I wouldn’t ask you to change your plans for me.” Violet felt something sharp and bright sting the back of her eyelids at the idea that he would even want to. No one had ever put her first. How do I know that when I don’t know anything else about myself?

His grip on her hands tightened. “Violet, can you remember any details? Anything about your family, your home? Why you were at that party? That wolf called Roko? Why you were in the woods? Why you were naked? I know the doctor said don’t force it, but is there anything there?”

She closed her eyes. When she tried to probe her memory, all she could feel was a gray mist of nothingness. And a sense of...not belonging. She tried to grasp it. To give it a name. Otherness. That was as close as she could get. Sighing, she opened her eyes and gazed into the dark, soulful depths of Nate’s. He was all she had. The thought of him leaving terrified her.

“The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t belong here.”

“Then that settles it.” He nodded decisively. “You’re coming with me.”


Chapter 4 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

Violet’s memory might have deserted her, but she was fairly sure most people did not travel in their own luxury jet. As they mounted the steps of the sleek airplane, a uniformed man bowed low in greeting. That, too, seemed unlikely to be an everyday occurrence.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Zilar. My name is Daniel, and I’m here to take care of your comfort during the flight.”

“Is there any message for me from Mr. Taverner?” Nate kept his hand in the small of Violet’s back, and she was grateful for that light contact. Everything felt strange and overwhelming, but his touch was comforting. Was there a possibility of it already becoming too comforting, of her starting to depend on him too much? She didn’t have time to explore the thought, but like a new and exotic taste, it lingered.

“Mr. Taverner told me to tell you everything is taken care of.” Daniel turned to Violet. “Your luggage has already been brought aboard, Miss Wolfe.”

Miss Wolfe? She turned questioning eyes to Nate, and he grinned. Leaning closer, he pressed his lips up against her ear so he could whisper. “It was the only name I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”

“My luggage?” she whispered back, as they followed Daniel inside the polished interior of the plane.

“Ged is very thorough.” He seemed to feel it was an answer. Instead it raised more questions. Who was this mysterious Mr. Taverner who seemed to already have such a strong influence over her life?

The main cabin was an elegant salon with cream furnishings and walnut trim. Every feature had been designed with comfort in mind, including the finishing touches of fresh fruit, champagne and chocolates. Violet gazed around with wide eyes. Daniel held open a door, through which she could see a huge bed.

“I took the liberty of placing your suitcases in here.” Daniel indicated a neat arrangement of stacked luggage just inside the bedroom door.

There were three large suitcases and two smaller ones. Although Violet might not know much about these things, she sensed that they, like her surroundings, were expensive and customized. She tried to catch Nate’s eye and give him a we have to talk about this look, but he was turning away from her, addressing his next words to Daniel.

“There was a problem with Miss Wolfe’s passport. Mr. Taverner was going to sort it out.”

“It’s all taken care of. The new document was delivered just before you arrived. The immigration official will come aboard before we depart to do the necessary checks.”

Violet slid her hand into Nate’s. Document? Official? Checks? None of those things sounded like things in which she wanted to participate. That sense of not belonging swept over her again. The fear of being discovered in some wrongdoing was overwhelming. Nate returned the pressure of her fingers reassuringly.

“In that case, can you leave us alone before we set off?”

Daniel bowed again and closed the bedroom door behind him as he left. When he had gone, Nate leaned against the door, watching Violet’s face. “You are not okay with this.”

She released a long exhale. “That’s because I have no idea what this is.” She gestured around the small but luxurious bedroom as she spoke. “Do you always travel this way?”

He laughed. “This is my manager’s over-the-top way of responding to my plea for help. I told him I wasn’t leaving America without you, but that you had no identification. I don’t know how he has managed to get you a passport in such a short time, and I’m not going to ask. I suspect his methods weren’t legal and probably cost a lot of money. All I know is I sent him your picture and he said he’d do the rest. I guess he decided there would be fewer questions asked if we flew privately.”

“And the luggage?” Violet pointed to the suitcases.

“I asked him to get someone to pick you up a few things. He tends to do things on a grand scale.” He smiled reassuringly. “Once we are over the passport hurdle, we can relax. I’m meeting my bandmates in London, so we have the plane to ourselves.”

Daniel tapped on the door at that moment, his face apologetic. “The immigration official is here. He said it will only take a few minutes if he could just see you both with your passports.”

Violet edged closer to Nate, and he took her hand again, smiling down at her. “Come on. Once this is done, we can get going.”

She nodded miserably. She had no idea what her life was usually like, but she didn’t recognize this crawling feeling of fear. She sincerely hoped this constant nervousness was werewolf attack–induced and not a feature of her personality. Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe I’m just tired. She hadn’t slept, and that big, crisp bed looked very inviting.

The immigration official was more interested in Beast, Nate’s band, than in Violet. He had their latest album and was annoyed that he hadn’t known he would be meeting Nate that day.

“I’d have brought it along and asked you to sign the cover.”

“Write down your contact details.” Nate signaled to Daniel, who produced a piece of paper and a pen. “I’ll get a copy to you that’s been signed by all the band members.”

For a moment Violet thought the immigration official might be about to hug Nate. She knew it would not be a popular move with the intensely private man she had known for only a few hours. Instead, he recalled his position and opted for gripping Nate’s hand gratefully. Turning to the passports, he checked them quickly.

“Everything is in order here. You’re cleared to leave.” He handed the documents back to them and left, turning back with a cheery wave when he reached the door.

“That’s it?” Violet looked down at the little booklet in her hand. It had conferred a status on her she didn’t have before. Wolfe. She wondered what her real passport said. She couldn’t recall ever seeing one of these things until now. Memory was a strange thing. Somewhere, locked away in the recesses of her mind, were the clues to her identity. She just had no idea how to get to them.

“That’s it,” Nate confirmed. “It’s a long journey. Why don’t you make the most of it by getting some sleep?”

“Do you always know the right thing to say and do?”

Her words seemed to shake him, and he gazed down at her for a moment before replying. “Not always.”

* * *

Do you always know the right thing to say and do? Violet’s question had played on his mind throughout most of the transatlantic flight. He watched her as she slept. Lying next to her, but not touching her. Because that was what she had asked him to do.

“Will you stay with me?” She only had to raise those incredible violet-blue eyes shyly to his and he was lost.

“Anytime you need me.” Would he always do what Violet asked him to? Probably.

His words, together with his presence, had calmed her nerves, and Violet had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillows. Not Nate. Despite his weariness, he had remained awake, wondering about that question. Debating his motives. Could bringing her with him be considered “the right thing”?

As soon as he had taken a look at Violet in that cheap motel room, something inside him had lurched out of place. It hadn’t gone back again. He studied her now. The dark fan of her lashes against her pale cheek. The midnight velvet of her hair curling soft on the pillow. The plump, inviting cushion of her lips. She was cream and rose and ebony. And, when she opened those glorious eyes, she was lavender and lilac. A fairy-tale princess. Every man’s fantasy. But Nate wasn’t every man. Six years ago, a werewolf had stripped away his humanity. Yes, his friends had patched him up, but they hadn’t made him whole again. The part that made him human was gone forever. He didn’t know what he was. A man-shaped monster. That about summed up Nate Zilar.

He had spent too much time between then and now wallowing in self-pity, and he shrugged it off, returning to the mystery of Violet. If she was a werewolf—and he felt strongly that she was—why wasn’t he repulsed by that? He hated werewolves. But that didn’t come close to describing the red-hot bitterness he felt toward them. When Nate had been at his most vulnerable, a werewolf had tried to use him as a murder weapon. That werewolf was now the Wolf Leader. The only thing that had kept Nate alive throughout the last six years was the knowledge that one day he would pay Nevan back for what he had tried to do. No matter what Cal might say, one day Nate would look that bastard in the eye before he took his revenge.

But the thought that Violet might be a werewolf didn’t repulse him. On the contrary. It excited him. Aroused him. It called to something dark and primeval inside him. Something he thought had gone forever when Cal drove that knife into his heart. Something he didn’t want to explore. Because, if he explored it, he would have to name it.

Violet had triggered not only his protective instincts, but so much more. A memory, a longing, stirred deep within him. A younger man’s sweet dreams of romantic love coupled with a healthy dose of good old-fashioned lust. Both were things he had never thought to feel again. Yet here he was lying beside Violet with an erection so rock solid his zipper was in danger of leaving a permanent imprint on his penis as a reminder. And for a werewolf? He shook his head. If only he’d known. All these years and all it had needed to restore his manhood was a little wolf porn.

At that inopportune moment, Violet stirred. A soft sigh murmured against Nate’s cheek, jacking his already iron-hard cock to even more uncomfortable proportions. Her eyes opened slowly. Confusion blurred their depths for a few seconds, then she smiled and Nate’s heart faltered. This is what it would feel like to wake up next to Violet every day. To see her head on the pillow next to his, that smile in her eyes, to be able to kiss those sweet lips, draw her close, relieve the aching demon between his thighs...

“I’m hungry.”

She means for food, he told himself sternly, forcing his mind away from his raging erection. “I’ll have Daniel organize breakfast.”

Daniel must have been anticipating their needs, and before long, they were seated at the table in the salon with a choice of hot and cold dishes spread before them. Nate was conscious of Violet studying his face as they ate.

“What’s our story to be?” she asked eventually. “Are we pretending I’m your girlfriend?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Does it matter?”

“Surely your friends and family will wonder what’s going on if you turn up with me at your side and no explanation.”

Friends and family? He didn’t have any. The other members of the band were about as close as he came to either, and they wouldn’t interrogate him. They had never questioned each other. “Pretend girlfriend. Close friend. Whichever you choose.”

A slight frown furrowed her smooth brow. “All this—” she waved a hand to indicate the plane “—I can’t just accept your generosity indefinitely, Nate. You have to let me do something in return.”

He quirked a brow at her. “What did you have in mind?”

A soft pink blush stained her cheeks as his meaning hit her, and she gave a little gasp before plowing on. “I don’t know because I don’t know what I can do.” Her brow wrinkled. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t know what my qualifications are. I could be an artist or an attorney. Maybe I could clean your apartment or cook for you?” Her eyes clouded. “If I know how to cook.”

Nate caught hold of her hand. “Violet—” he waved his other hand, just as she had done “—all this means nothing. I have enough money to care for you until your memory comes back or we find your family. In the meantime, relax and enjoy it. I’m going to. Being on the road is lonely and boring as hell.” An image of his bandmates came into his mind. Boring as hell? Maybe not the first words that sprang to mind when describing the phenomenon that was Beast. “I’m glad to have your company.”

Violet’s expression remained doubtful, but she ate the rest of her meal in silence. It was a huge meal, Nate observed, consisting mostly of meat, eggs and berries. She shuddered at his offer of coffee, drinking water instead. Her choice of food and the quantity she ate seemed to support Nate’s suspicion that she could be a werewolf. Or maybe she adhered to some diet he was unaware of. Or she had allergies. Perhaps he should stop second-guessing and do what he had said...just enjoy her company.

As Violet met his eyes and smiled, Nate decided finding pleasure in being with her wasn’t going to be a hardship. On the contrary, he had a feeling Violet’s company might prove to be addictive.

* * *

Since their arrival in London a few hours earlier, Violet felt like she had been plunged into a whirlwind of light and sound and movement. A car and driver had met them at the airport and driven them through busy streets to Nate’s luxurious apartment long enough for him to prepare for the tour. He had shown Violet to a guest room, where she had showered and selected an expensive outfit from one of her new suitcases. The unknown person who had been sent by Nate’s manager to shop for her had done an impeccable job.

“How did they know my size?” she asked Nate as she turned to study the fit of the tight black jeans in a full-length mirror in the hall.

“I sent Ged some details.” The look in his eyes as they traveled up her legs and skimmed her ass left her feeling slightly breathless. “I guess I must be better at describing the female form than I thought.”

His hair was still damp from the shower, and his chest and feet were bare. He wore hip-skimming jeans and had a towel slung around his neck. Violet was suddenly very aware of his potent masculinity. Of his upper body that was a masterpiece of well-defined, taut chest muscles and superchiseled abs that cried out to be touched. The thought made her cheeks flame, even though she couldn’t drag her eyes away.

As he lifted the towel to his hair, his sharp-edged biceps and sculpted stomach tightened. His hips were so well defined that the sharp V line of his muscles drew her eye downward. Her imagination ran wild as she pictured running her hands over that broad chest, exploring those ridges of muscle, sliding lower... Raw, untamed need pulsed through her. Every cell in her body was achingly aware of him and, even though her memory was gone, Violet knew she had never felt like this before.

Aware of Nate’s eyes on her face, she forced her thoughts away from such dangerous territory and back to practical matters. “What happens now?”

He grimaced. “People imagine that life on tour is glamorous. But it isn’t. It’s hard, boring work. In fact, it feels like Groundhog Day.” He frowned. “That doctor said you needed to take things easy. Even though we’ll be traveling, I intend to make sure you do that.”

Violet shook her head, a slight smile trembling on her lips. “Whatever brought me to those woods on that night, it didn’t just bring me an encounter with a werewolf. It also brought me a meeting with you, so I can’t regret it.”

His expression was slightly bemused as he smiled down at her. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t understand it myself. I just don’t think I’ve ever had this feeling before, of someone looking out for me the way you do.”

Nate laughed. “Having lost your memory, maybe you wouldn’t know that?”

“Maybe.” Violet didn’t know where to begin. How could she explain that the loss of her memory appeared to have also enhanced her senses? Or was it Nate’s nearness that was having that effect on her? When she was with him, her awareness was on high alert. Was he the trigger that sent her senses into overdrive? Or had this heightened perception been caused by the bump on her head? All she knew was everything felt more. As though adrenaline was pumping out of control through her body, causing colors to be overly bright, scents to be overly strong, sounds to be overly loud.

She didn’t know if it had occurred to Nate to wonder, as she had, why she was in those woods. The most likely explanation was that she had been at that party. Certainly the man called Roko had recognized her. And he was a werewolf. All of the people at that party had been werewolves. Does that mean I’m a werewolf? She believed it was likely. More than likely. Why else would she have been at that party?

But what did it feel like to be a werewolf? Ever since she had stood in the shadows and witnessed the fight, Violet had tried to reach inside herself and answer that question. So far the only response she had received had been silence. If Violet did have an inner wolf, she was in hiding, cowering deep inside and refusing to show herself.

“Ready?” Nathan was pulling a white T-shirt over his head, drawing her back to the here and now.

His expression seemed to ask another question, as though he was attempting to delve into her thoughts. But how could she confide in Nate—a man who killed werewolves in a brutal way—her fear that she might be a werewolf? Ever since she had opened her eyes in the forest and found him leaning over her, she seemed to be living through a dream sequence. Reality had taken a back seat. Except, of course, she had no idea what her reality looked like. It was only when she looked into Nate’s dark eyes that she got any sense of reassurance or well-being. He was what was keeping her going, putting one foot in front of the other, taking that next breath. Without him, she might just give up and crumple into a heap.

Placing her hand in his felt natural. “As I’ll ever be.”


Chapter 5 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

A heavy, thumping beat filled the cramped space while on the screen the camera panned around to capture the ten-thousand-strong audience. Excitement, anticipation and exultation showed on the waiting faces. The person who had made the recording they were watching had perfectly captured the energy pulsing through the crowd. Thick, theatrical smoke rolled like fog from the stage and out into the waiting audience and, within it, colored strobe lights danced in time with the music.

Through the haze, Violet caught occasional glimpses of the giant LED screens at the rear of the stage. Alternating images of fire, close-ups of snarling animals and a stylized symbol that looked like three entwined number sixes flashed up on the screens. At the side of the stage, random explosions went off, shooting orange flames into the air.

As the camera panned the crowd again, Violet noticed the three-sixes symbol on people’s clothing. “What does that mean?” She managed to turn her attention briefly from the mesmerizing images on the screen to Nate.

It was Ged Taverner, lounging in a seat behind her, who answered. “666. The Sign of the Beast.” Violet glanced over her shoulder to see him putting his fingers on either side of his head to make devil horns. His grin exuded confidence. “It’s the band’s logo.”

Violet took a moment to digest that information as she cast a sidelong glance in Nate’s direction. The sign of the beast? Okay, so this band he’s in is not exactly the sweet, wholesome boy band I pictured. As if in response to her thoughts, on screen, the tension built further as the crowd sensed something was about to happen. The lighting shifted, becoming focused on a podium at the rear of the stage that supported a vast, gleaming circular wall of drums. Even above the music, the roar of the crowd filled the air as a lithe, muscled man ran on from the side of the stage and leaped into his seat behind the drums. His chest was bare and his tattooed biceps bulged as he pounded out a furious beat, his blue-black hair flopping forward to cover his face. He exuded raw, brooding vitality, and something more. Even through the screen, Violet could feel it. It was suppressed menace.

“That’s Diablo,” Nathan said. “The best drummer in the world. That’s what he’ll tell you when you meet him. If he speaks to you.”

“Why wouldn’t he speak to me?” Violet couldn’t take her eyes from the artistic thunderstorm Diablo was unleashing before her eyes.

“It will depend on his mood.”

Before she could unpick that cryptic reply, the cameras panned upward, spotlights picking up two men being lowered on twin platforms at either side of the stage. Their fingers flew in a symphony over their respective guitars as they focused intently on their playing.

“On the right, you have Torque. He’s lead guitar. Dev, on the left, is rhythm guitar.”

“Fire and ice.” Ged spoke up again.

Violet saw immediately what he meant. Red-haired Torque was all burning drama and flickering movement. The air around him glowed with life, and he punctuated the sweeping arc of his hand on his guitar so that it was perfectly in time with the explosions at the side of the stage. In contrast, Dev held his body statue still, the movement of his flying fingers the only sign of life. His white-blond hair and pale skin added to the illusion that he was carved from ice.

She watched as Nate, taking up a position slightly to the left of center, and behind Dev, joined the group. She turned questioning eyes to him.

“Bass guitar,” he said, replying to her unanswered question. “Only one person to come.”

With those words, the screen erupted into life. The crowd was in a frenzy as the lead singer strutted onto the stage. Owned the stage. Violet saw the devil horn gesture that Ged had made repeated over and over within the audience as the man on the stage grabbed the fixed microphone stand and rubbed it suggestively against his groin. When he started to sing, his voice ranged from husky crooning to wild screaming. No matter what sound those perfect lips made, he was mesmerizing. Throwing back his red-gold mane of hair, he strutted, crouched and jumped around the stage in skin-tight black leather pants and a flowing white shirt open to the waist.

“Khan.” Nate said the single word as though it explained everything.

There was no doubt about it. Beast delivered a spine-tingling performance. As the number reached its end, Diablo pounded out a crescendo and Nate slid his palm over the neck of his guitar, fingers caressing the frets, the instrument dropping down between his muscular thighs as he lunged. Torque and Dev played back-to-back in the center of the stage, and Khan howled out the final chorus while lying on his back and dry-humping the air.

As the final chords died away and the crowd went demented, Khan leaped to his feet. Tilting his head back and holding his arms wide, he half yelled, half growled, “Guten Abend, Berlin!”

If it was possible, the noise from the audience grew even wilder until Nate pointed the remote control at the TV set and muted it. Shifting in his seat, he viewed Violet’s face. “And that’s Beast.”

“Wow.” She was stunned by what she had just seen. By what he was a part of.

They were seated in a small room off the larger living area of the band’s tour bus. In addition, Violet had seen a kitchen, shower room, two restrooms and a long narrow hall lined with bunks. Nate had explained that they used hotels when they could, but the bus was their home away from home when they were on the road. While they were waiting for the others to arrive, Ged had suggested showing her the film of the band.

“I wanted you to watch this before you met them. Beast is not like any other band,” he explained now. There was a note in his voice that troubled her.

Violet turned her black leather chair to face Ged. She wasn’t sure what she thought of the band’s manager. Ged Taverner was a huge, dark, brooding figure with eyes that seemed to see right inside her soul. “I see what you mean.”

He stared at her for a long silent moment. “I’m not sure you do...but you will.”

* * *

Nate kept one eye on Violet as the men who had saved his sanity climbed—or, in the case of Khan, erupted—onto the tour bus. All at once, the vast, glossy space was filled with noise and virility. It was always like this when the five of them were together. Not so much a competition, more an unconscious demonstration of strength. The band members were such a closely knit group that they had developed their own brand of masculine pride. With five huge competing egos, it sometimes looked like machismo gone wild. Only they knew the truth. Only they knew the real story. And Ged knew it all, of course. He was the man who had brought them together. The man who had saved them.

When the backslapping and calculated insults were over, Nate spoke up, his voice cutting across the clamor. “Guys, this is Violet. She’s joining us for the tour.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to study Violet. Diablo’s were gold with haunted shadows in their depths, Torque’s gray with multicolored moonstone flecks; Dev’s were like chips of ice and Khan’s a brilliant, unrelenting amber. He could feel Violet’s unease as she was caught in their combined beams. Nate knew what the others were thinking. Saw it in Khan’s altered stance and the way he licked his lips. A flash of anger ripped through him. No way.

“She’s with me.” He kept his voice level, but his eyes challenged them. Don’t even think about it.

Slowly, the others relaxed. The coiled tension unwound. The macho posturing gave way to casual welcome. Nate had staked a claim to Violet that the others would respect. None of them had ever brought a girl on tour before. Oh, there had been plenty of women sharing those bunks. Plenty of wild nights and crazy days. But no one had ever started out by introducing someone to the band, announcing that she would be accompanying them. It was a new dynamic. He knew Ged was watching closely, observing how it would work out.

“Welcome to the zoo, Violet.” Torque’s brilliant smile flashed. He brushed back his long, flame-red hair, his movements quick-fire. Torque didn’t know how to be still. “Beast. Zoo. Get it?” Violet smiled, and Nate could see some of the tension draining out of her. Torque wandered away to stow his belongings under his bunk.

“Has Nate made coffee yet?” It was Dev’s drawling voice.

“No.” Violet looked wary. Dev’s uncanny stillness and watchfulness always had that effect when people met him for the first time.

“Good. Nate’s an Englishman. He can’t make coffee for shit.” Cool as ever, Dev strolled off in the direction of the kitchen.

Watching him, Violet was taken by surprise as Khan grasped her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Nate should have introduced you to the most important person first, beautiful Violet. I am Khan.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Violet said, casting a helpless glance up at Nate.

“Naturally. Everybody is.” Khan’s voice was a purr as he went to his bunk. Nate knew from experience he would curl up and be asleep in seconds, leaving his luggage strewn in everyone else’s way.

Diablo was always the unpredictable one. In the end, he muttered something that could have been a welcome, but might just as easily have been a curse, as he went to join Dev in the kitchen.

Nate drew Violet down to sit on one of the large, squashy sofas that lined the living area. “These are the people you will have to live in close proximity with over the coming weeks, maybe months.” He didn’t mention that the tour was scheduled to last just over a year. Surely her memory would have returned by then. “What do you think?”

“I think I need another blow to the head.” She gave a shaky smile. “Seriously? I think I’ve totally disrupted your life...and theirs. Are you certain you want me along?”

The question shook him. Gazing at her, Nate tried to analyze what he was feeling. This wasn’t about his sense of responsibility toward her. It wasn’t because she needed him to come to her rescue and care for her. Are you certain you want me along? He wanted her. It was that simple. And that complicated.

“After a few hours cooped up with us, you may wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. Torque’s zoo comment wasn’t far wide of the mark.” He stretched his long legs in front of him. “The schedule is punishing. We’re crossing the Channel to France tonight and starting the European leg in Paris. Things will get really frantic in a month or two when the US tour begins.”

“How many of you are American?”

He should have foreseen she would want to know more about them. Questions about their backgrounds weren’t easy to answer, but they had come up with a biography that suited them. Over the years, they had honed it so it satisfied even the most pressing journalist. Even so, he didn’t feel comfortable telling Violet a series of half-truths. “I’m English, as you know. Diablo is Native American. Khan is from India and Dev comes from Nepal.”

Violet accepted his explanation without further comment. “And Torque?”

Ah, Torque. The hardest one of all to explain. “He’s well traveled.”

“A child of the world, that’s me.” Torque returned carrying coffee. “Wherever I lay my well-worn beanie, that’s my home. So it begins. Diablo has just threatened to kill Khan for stealing the best bunk.” He raised his cup in a mock toast, those curious, mercurial eyes shifting color. “Welcome aboard, Violet.”

As he spoke, the engines rumbled into life and the gigantic bus rolled out into the traffic.

* * *

The band was going to spend the afternoon at the stadium engaged in rehearsals. Nate explained the way it worked. Their entire stage, video and lighting rig was in duplicate, so while one stage was being erected in one city, the other one was on its way to the next venue ready to be set up there.

“It’s a luxury not many bands can afford. A huge crew of professionals travels ahead of us to set everything up, so all we have to do is turn up and perform. All part of the mystery that is Ged Taverner and his billions.”

Violet was bemused at the way he spoke of Ged. It was as though he was indebted to, but barely knew, the man who was responsible for the band’s success. “How did you meet Ged?”

They were eating lunch on the tiny balcony of their Parisian hotel suite. It overlooked the River Seine, and the brilliant sunlight, blue skies and iconic buildings made it a picture-perfect scene.

A slight shadow crossed his features. “It was six years ago. I had been through a difficult time. I’d been ill following an attack—” his eyes were on the river, so she couldn’t read his expression “—it’s not something I care to remember, let alone talk about. I was a music student and I’d been in a band. Not Beast.” He turned back to look at Violet, and the shadows were gone. “I’d never come across anything quite like Beast. Ged turned up at my apartment one day. He said he’d seen me play—God alone knows how, because I hadn’t done anything for a while—and he was putting together a rock band. He was looking for a bass guitarist, if I wanted to audition. At first I wasn’t interested, but he left me his card. I don’t know what it was, but something about the encounter, something about Ged, kept tugging at my mind. Anyway, I got in touch, did the audition and haven’t looked back since.”

“Is that how Ged found the others?” Violet sipped her water. The elegant menu had dismayed her, and she had ordered a rare steak with a salad instead of any of the dainty French dishes. “He scouted them?”

“I suppose so,” Nate said.

Violet sensed he was being deliberately vague. Beast had been together for six years, so he had to know the details of how every one of the members joined the band. Violet thought about Ged Taverner. On the surface, he was charming, but there was something about him that troubled her. It was a watchfulness, a stillness, that was outside of her experience. He was the puppet master, the Svengali, and he reveled in the role. Maybe that was what she felt from him. That sense of needing to be in control. Whatever it was, it worked. The band clearly owed their success to him.

“Is this okay?” Nate indicated the suite behind them. They had arrived in Paris just over an hour ago and checked into this grand, old hotel that cried out “money.” There were two adjoining bedrooms with a sitting room in between. “This way, the others in the band won’t get any ideas that you might be available.” His face darkened as he said the words.

She reached across the table and clasped his hand. “This is perfect.”

Could she tell him she’d be happy to share one room—and a bed—with him? Could she find the words to tell him that her fantasies about getting him into bed, any bed, were getting wilder by the minute? She didn’t know if this longing was something she’d experienced before; all she knew was it was raging out of control. How would Nate feel about that? About her wanting him, but also about her possible inexperience? She guessed he wouldn’t want to take advantage of her memory loss. No matter how much I might want him to.

She wondered if something of her thoughts showed in her face, because Nate’s eyes flashed and his grip on her hand tightened. Just as he leaned across the table toward her, there was a wild pounding on the door.

“Nate?” It was Torque. “Get decent, man. We’re leaving in five.”

Nate groaned. “I have to go. You can either come and watch—but I warn you it will be boring—or you can explore the city and meet me at the stadium in a few hours.”

“I choose the nonboring option.” Even though it means being apart from you.

“Very wise.” He rose to his feet, paused and then, as though unable to help himself, stooped and kissed her lightly on the lips before striding out without a backward glance.

Violet sat very still for a few seconds, then slowly raised her fingertips to touch her lips. It had been the briefest of kisses. Barely a kiss at all. So why did her lips feel like they were on fire? Why was she trembling all over? Why did she want to run after him and beg him to kiss her again? Because this attraction was growing like wildfire, consuming her to the exclusion of everything else.

The thought jerked her up from her seat like a lightning flash. No. This couldn’t have happened. She was confusing gratitude with something deeper. She was still suffering the effects of that blow to her head. I could have a husband, or a lover, waiting for me somewhere. He could be frantically searching for me even now. I may not be free to have these feelings for another man.

She didn’t think that was the case—and Nate’s frequent internet searches that turned up no trace of anyone looking for her, no newspaper reports of her as a missing person, backed up her hunch—but she clung to the thought anyway. Because the alternative was that she had tumbled headlong into this intense attraction toward Nate with no real idea of who he was. Worse than that, she still had no idea of who she was. But she had a suspicion that she was a werewolf, and she knew he was a werewolf killer. It was hardly a match made in heaven.

Restlessly, she decided to push her thoughts aside, reasoning that her damaged head wasn’t capable of straight thinking. After being confined on that bus with all the raw energy that was Beast for the best part of a day, she needed activity. Among her expensive new clothing, she had noticed some kick-ass running gear. Changing hurriedly into three-quarter-length leggings, a tight T-shirt and running shoes, she made her way down to the lobby and out onto the street.

The wide pavements alongside the river were busy, but there were other joggers taking advantage of the pleasant weather. Violet ran at a steady pace, enjoying the fresh air and the sunlight on her face, even though she craved more. What more was, she didn’t know. When she tried to reach within herself to find out, it eluded her. All she got was a sense of needing bigger, freer, wilder. Frustration kicked in and she paused, leaning over a wall to view the river as she caught her breath.

That was when it hit her. A memory. The first she’d had since that blow to her head. Brief and faint, it flashed into her mind for a second or two. A man, strong, tall and powerful. He was angry. His voice was raised. She got a sense of her own anger firing back at him before the image faded. Although she tried to catch it, to hold on to it, it was gone.

Even though she had felt the confrontational mood of the flashback, she had felt something else more strongly. It was there again. That feeling of otherness. Wherever she had been when she and that man faced each other with rage quivering between them, it had been...different.

Where am I from? Where do I call home? That man cared enough to be angry at me, yet he doesn’t seem to be searching for me. The mystery of her identity appeared to be tied into the mystery of where she belonged. A slight headache was forming behind her eyes, and instead of jogging back to the hotel she walked slowly, her feet dragging. Her thoughts kept returning to the only thing that mattered.

Nate. She picked up the pace. I need to be with Nate.


Chapter 6 (#u989c0b99-ca17-5395-8e64-2bd75c237d68)

Nate tried to drag his focus back onto the forthcoming gig. Around him, everything was the usual organized chaos, but he hardly noticed. His mind was on Violet. Face it, he told himself. His mind had been on Violet since the moment he met her. But she’d been unnaturally quiet ever since she’d turned up at the rehearsal. In the whirlwind of preparation, he’d barely had time to speak to her.

Typically, before a performance, the big personalities in the band would take up most of his time. Nate was the peacekeeper. He wasn’t the showman. He was a classically trained musician and, just as his guitar playing brought the music together, it was his temperament that held the team in place. He was the one who didn’t need his own ego massaged. There was a definite pecking order, starting with Khan. The closer they got to the start time of the gig, the more outrageous the lead singer’s behavior became. Khan was so high maintenance, he was off the scale. By the time they went onstage, he was often lucky to still be alive.




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