KENSINGTON BOOKS

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      CONTENTS

      Chanku Honor

       Kate Douglas

      Foreword

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Animal Instinct

       Lydia Parks

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Wings of the Swan

       Anya Howard

      Chanku Honor

      Kate Douglas

      Foreword

      They live among us, often unaware of their true birthright as they try to exist in a world that, in many ways, forces them to abide by laws and customs contrary to their nature. Ruled by a powerful libido, by an innate sense of honor and a loyalty to their own kind that is so deeply ingrained it cannot be denied, they often live lives of quiet desperation until their feral nature is finally, often explosively, unleashed.

      Descendants of an ancient race born upon the Tibetan steppe, they are more than human—they are shapeshifters.

      They are Chanku.

      1

      San Francisco, California

      “Hey, Jazzy. What’s up?”

      “Yo, Deacon. Nuttin’. Just enjoying the sunshine.” Jazzy Blue stepped over her buddy’s long, bony frame, rapped his head with her knuckles, and flopped down on the ground. She lay back in the warm grass beside him and flung her arm over her eyes to block the glare—as well as any further conversation. It was better this way, when all she wanted to do was think about the dreams.

      She felt the ripples of arousal between her legs and wished that particular feeling would go away. That and the itchy skin. At least she could scratch her arms. She couldn’t very well sit out here in the park and rub her clit. Sex with the johns hadn’t done it for her.

      It never had, not since she was a little kid and her pimp had her out working the streets, but that wasn’t unusual. Not for a kid who whored to stay alive. Sex was work, not pleasure, but damn it all, she really could use some pleasure about now.

      Even Deacon was starting to look good.

      She lifted her arm and glanced his way. He’d always felt more like a big brother than a potential lover, but beggars couldn’t very well be choosers. It was getting worse, that sense that if she didn’t have an orgasm right now she’d explode.

      The odd thing was, the sexy feelings and all the weirdness seemed to be tied into the strange dreams she’d been having.

      Really weird stuff about wolves and tall trees and the sound of animals huffing and growling beside and behind her. She’d been waking up scared half to death, waiting for something wild to pounce.

      Of course, camping under a bush on the fringes of Golden Gate Park wasn’t necessarily conducive to a good night’s sleep, but it was the only place she had after trying to kill the man who’d kept her all these years. The corner of Jazzy’s mouth curved up in a grin. It had definitely been one powerful moment, when she’d finally cut loose and attacked the bastard.

      Of course, that had been the end of a roof over her head. One does not try to gut one’s pimp with a serrated kitchen knife. Made for bad working relations. Crap. She was well rid of him.

      All she knew about him was that he’d bought her from a slaver when she was about six and set her to whoring right away. No actual intercourse until she was ten or so, but the pedophiles who wanted to play out their sick fantasies would always disgust her. She’d rather not think about her not-so-pleasant childhood…as if she’d ever had a chance to be a kid. Thank goodness she’d always had an active fantasy life. It had given her a way out, even if it was just in her mind.

      Jazzy stretched her arms over her head and closed her eyes against the glare. Red flashed through her eyelids and she flopped her arm across her face once more. Images from the dream she’d had last night slipped uninvited into her mind. She felt again the bunch and stretch in her muscles as she’d leapt over a woodland creek in a futile attempt to run down a rabbit.

      On four legs. She’d had big paws, a long, bushy tail, and she’d awakened exhausted, as if it had all been true. She wished she could ask the rest of the guys about their dreams, whether they ever had nights like hers, but they’d probably think she was nuts.

      Amend that. More nuts than usual. Of course, that’s what friends were for, wasn’t it? To tell you when you were headed over the edge?

      Either that or hold your hand and take the leap with you. Sanity’s overrated, anyhow. Jazzy heard footsteps and the rustle of clothing. She lifted her elbow from her eyes enough to see who all was wandering by. Matt flopped down on the grass next to Nicky and Beth. It looked like the rest of the guys were hanging out as usual, down here at the memorial garden instead of their old turf over on Stanyan.

      The crowd there was just too edgy, always looking for trouble. She used to fit in with them. Not anymore. Now she preferred hanging with the pack: Deacon, Matt, Nicky, and Beth.

      And Logan. She couldn’t forget Logan.

      They fit together almost like family. Like a pack. Logan was the one who started it when he called them a mangy pack of wolves, said they had a feral kind of connection. Jazzy liked that. She could handle being called mangy as long as she got the feeling of being connected to someone.

      It was a long time coming.

      Maybe that’s why she’d been dreaming of wolves and sex. Face it, anything that had to do with Logan was enough to make her horny.

      She sat up and