Chapter 1

      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