The Shadow Wolf

The hurricane was aiming for them.

Gabriel had to get them off the island soon. Picking up an icy water bottle, he took a deep swallow and thought of Megan. Her delicious floral fragrance. The natural sensuality of her throaty voice. The spark of passion in her eyes. Her sweetly rounded hips swaying as she walked …

His body tightened as he remembered her rosy mouth parting as if anticipating his kiss. The sultry awareness in her eyes, the longing for connection.

He’d almost kissed her.

Dear Reader,

Out of all the Draicon werewolves in my previous Nocturnes, Gabriel Robichaux is the most misunderstood and the most dangerous. A fierce warrior with a dark past, Gabriel has a secret to hide and will do anything to protect it.

But Megan Moraine threatens to topple every safeguard Gabriel has erected. Megan is a Shadow Wolf, Draicon who are outcast because they can turn invisible. She and her cousins escaped their island prison and are on the run from authorities. To protect the girls, Megan must team with Gabriel, the very Draicon she fears the most.

Trust doesn’t come easily to either Gabriel or Megan. But they must learn to depend on each other to survive …

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

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 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].

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of my dear cousin, Margi Musarra.

You loved your family more than anything else and always put their needs above your own. You will live on in our hearts and our memories.

Please, don’t throw us to the wolves.

Icy air blasted Megan Moraine as she pulled open Casa del Sol’s etched glass door. The hotel’s sprawling lobby gleamed with polished wood and mirrored columns. Beneath the cracked soles of her secondhand tennis shoes, the marble floor sparkled.

Motioning the twins to remain outside in the sticky Florida heat, she scanned for threats. The restaurant here was a safe house, but so was the oceanfront Naples, Florida, mansion they’d visited last night. When Megan had exposed the silver crescent moon birthmark, the homeowner’s expression had turned ice cold.

“I don’t like Shadows, but I’m generous. I’ll give you sixty seconds to leave before I call an Enforcer or send my mate after you,” the Draicon werewolf had warned.

Sixty seconds didn’t allow enough time to reach the car’s hiding spot. Chased by a brutish male waving a meat cleaver, she and the girls raced down the beach. Megan spent the night guarding the twins, two seven-year-old girls who should have been tucked into soft beds instead of curling up on wet sand. As dawn streaked the gray skies, they’d snuck back to fetch the car.

More hostile Draicon could be inside, but she had no choice. Her jeans pocket held a few crumpled dollars. The aging Ford she’d hotwired was running on fumes. She needed help to reach New Orleans and Alexandre Robichaux. The kindly Draicon secretly gave escaped Shadow Wolves new identities. He wasn’t a soulless creature like his legendary Enforcer brother, Gabriel, who liked to make his captives bleed.

The girls’ blue eyes widened as they scurried past the hotel lobby into the arched hallway. Megan felt more conspicuous when she saw the restaurant’s linen-draped tables and polished silverware. The trick to blending was all in the act. Act like you belong, and people treated you that way. In a voice as impervious as a Palm Beach matron, she asked for seating on the terrace.

Their granite-topped table was half-hidden by a terra cotta planter. The terrace overlooked a lush garden of palms, ferns and tropical flowers. Best, she had a good view of the hotel entrance to eye new arrivals.

A smiling waitress in black trousers and starched white shirt sailed over, pen and pad in hand. Her gaze fell to Megan’s right hand.

Damn. Megan clapped her left hand over the birthmark she’d forgotten to cover with cosmetics. She couldn’t risk exposing her identity until they knew this was a safe house. But the waitress only smiled.

Megan glanced down at the heavy leather menu and cringed at the dollar signs. “One small glass of milk for them, and water for me, please.”

“Cousin Megan, can’t we have sausage and eggs?” Jenny pleaded.

“We can share,” piped in Jillian.

“Maybe later.”

The girls stared at the tabletop. Her heart broke at their crestfallen expressions. I’m doing the best I can. I’m sorry I can’t do better.

The waitress hesitated. Megan lifted her chin. “That’s all, thanks.”