Demon Wolf. Bonnie Vanak
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“Who are you?” Dale demanded as he grabbed her arms and pinned her against a parked SUV.
“I remember only darkness, pain and your scent.”
The woman wriggled away, lifted a hand to his face. Sexual energy jumped between them at the brush of her fingers. “Strong and courageous, is your heart, yet lonely and hurting … so much pain.”
Dale lost all sense. Crushing her against him, he fisted a hand into her hair and kissed her hard. She responded back with a moan, her tongue tangling with his.
And then she began to struggle and nipped him on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Dale jerked away in shock.
His mind fogged. Closing his eyes, Dale fell into a dizzying vortex. When he opened his eyes, the woman had vanished into the shadows, making him wonder if she wasn’t a dream.
Or his worst nightmare.
BONNIE VANAK fell in love with romance novels during childhood. After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to destitute countries to write about issues affecting the poor. When the emotional strain of her job demanded a diversion, she turned to writing romance novels. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband and two dogs, and happily writes books amid an ever-growing population of dust bunnies. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.bonnievanak.com, or e-mail her at [email protected].
Demon Wolf
Bonnie Vanak
To Robyn Lees. Strong, courageous and spunky, you fought the good fight to the end and inspired us all.
You’ll live forever in our hearts.
Contents
Prologue
Nicaragua, 1990
The Contra war was over, except no one had told these guys.
The crack of bullets and rattle of machine-gun fire echoed through the mountains of northern Nicaragua. Lieutenant Junior Grade Dale “Curt” Curtis crouched down behind a scarred oak tree and signaled to his men to wait. Heavy green and black greasepaint disguised their faces and the green camouflage uniforms blended in with the surrounding scrub.
Intel said nothing about fighting in this region. Could be a local turf war, but the sounds of that artillery to his seasoned ears warned this was a heavier engagement. Dale pulled his boonie hat low, scanned the terrain and cursed the godforsaken ass who’d assured them this area was safe to cross. But they were SEALs and accustomed to shifting gears.
He and his team of six operators had finished a successful op near the border. Now Dale had to figure out how the hell to get his men out of what was supposed to be uninhabited, safe terrain.
Motioning to his men to stay back, Dale crept through the jungle, making no noise. Four of his operators were norms. Then there was himself, a Primary Elemental Mage whose powers could blast through this jungle like a firebomb. And Etienne “Wolf” Robichaux, a Cajun from Louisiana, who was also a Draicon werewolf. Like him, Etienne used his powers sparingly around others.
The sickeningly sweet stench of decay assaulted his senses. Dale belly-crawled up a small rise, to a ravine and peered over. Revulsion and horror punched him.
Flies buzzed around a dozen naked bodies lying atop each other amid the dirt, grass and leaves. Women. Men. His stomach threatened to spill out the MRE he’d eaten.
In his five years as a navy SEAL, he’d seen his share of horrors. But this... The way the little group clung to each other, as if providing comfort in their last terrified moments, made him sick with anger.
A small whimper caught his attention. Dale raised his weapon and crawled down.
A black puppy, barely alive, hidden by the corpses. Dale’s throat tightened. The little guy hadn’t wanted to leave his mistress.
Or maybe it wasn’t a dog. He called for Wolf on the radio. When Etienne arrived, the werewolf studied the dog, his eyes furious.
“It’s a wolf, sir. Not a dog.”
Stunned, Dale glanced at the corpses. “Your people?”
“Not Draicon. Our young don’t shift until they reach puberty. I’ve never seen this species before.”
Like Mages, there were different classes of werewolves.
“Who are they?”
“I