âYouâre pack now, Jamie. Mine. I always protect my own.â
Damian ran a thumb across her cheek. âNext time weâll take it at your pace. I wonât push you.â She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the tense muscles, the power. Suddenly having this big, bad wolf watch over her made her feel erotic and wanting. Jamie tugged out his shirt and slid her hands up his flat abdomen, feeling him quiver beneath her touch.
âPush all you want,â she told him.
His eyes darkened. Damian took her mouth in another drugging kiss. His hips pushed against hers.
âMine,â he said roughly. âNo other male will dare touch you and you will not want them. Youâre mine.â
Dear Reader,
What do you do when the woman who tried to kill you turns out to be your destined mate?
If youâre Damian Marcel, alpha-werewolf pack leader and ruthless hunter, you pursue her to New Orleans to make her your own.
Jamie Walsh is on the run from Damian, for she thinks heâs the Draicon werewolf who murdered her brother. Damian is determined to get her to trust him and surrender to the bond they share. When they discover Jamie is infected with a spell thatâs turning her to stone, they work together to find a missing book of magick. Only the book has a cure for the stone spell, and if the evil Morphs find it first, they will use it to destroy all Draicon.
As they race against time to find the book while warding off attacks from the Morphs, Damian and Jamie progress from enemies to lovers. When Jamie discovers a profound power lies within her, she must turn to Damian for help in harnessing the magick sheâs longed for all her life.
Iâd like to think Damian and Jamieâs story reflects the determination and grit of New Orleans. Like the cityâs residents, they are survivors who struggle to heal from past tragedies and begin anew. And, like New Orleans, their magick endures even through the darkest times.
I hope you enjoy Damian and Jamieâs story of courage, strength and how two strong-willed individuals learn to set aside the past to forge new beginnings formed from love and understanding.
Happy reading!
Bonnie Vanak
BONNIE VANAK fell in love with romance novels during childhood. While cleaning a hall closet, she discovered her motherâs cache of paperbacks and began reading. Thus began a passion for romance and a lifelong dislike of housework. After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to countries such as Haiti and Guatemala to write about famine, disease and other 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 at www.bonnievanak.com, or e-mail her at [email protected].
For the uber guild âNOOBS GONE WILD.â
Thanks, guys, for all your help with computer games and for being so riotously funny. Adam âBilldacatâ Persac, Michael âPachomiusâ Bailey, Drew âFuriousmageâ Richardson, Carlos âMalandroâ Plata and Jerry âDemonslayrâ Stetler.
Once the prey, now he was the predator, Damian Marcel thought as he hunted through New Orleans for the woman whoâd tried to kill him. His destined mate, the only female he could impregnate. Jamie Walsh. His draicara.
The scent of fresh river water hit like a hard slap. Damian lifted his nose to the wind, and drank in the smell of the Mississippi. His Draicon senses tasted the water, licked it with a slow, lingering caress. At last, home again.
Twin feelings of joy and deep sorrow pierced him. Home no longer. This place wasnât home. Not anymore. It was a damn tomb, sucking him under, making him scream as he tried to claw his way out.
Damian tried to concentrate on the physical terrain, opening himself up to everything, resisting the instinct to shape-shift into his more powerful wolf form. New Orleans was known for the supernatural, but a werewolf prowling through the bustling French Quarter might scare a few tourists. He gave a mirthless smile.
Another, sharper scent pricked. Honeysuckle and warm woman. His nostrils flared, trying to catch the elusive fragrance. His fingers reached up, traced the air as if stroking a femaleâs soft skin.
âJamie,â he murmured. âJamie, chère. You can run, but you canât hide. I will find you.â
He cursed in French as her scent faded. Somewhere in this thicket of narrow alleys, colorful shops and hard-grained nightclubs, she hid from him.
Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he ignored the chattering tourists snapping pictures. Across from Jackson Square beneath a shady tree, a thin-shouldered painter dabbled color on a canvas, shifting his weight on a lopsided folding chair. On a park bench, a man in a white shirt and faded khaki shorts played mournful notes on a banjo, accompanied by a saxophone player. The music reflected Damianâs pensive mood.