Shannon Curtis - Wolf Undaunted

Dedication This story is dedicated to Vivianne Sidhom, the friend who first introduced me to the “racier” Mills & Boon novels in the back of the classroom. You now have a sexy hero of your own.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Vivianne Marchetta forced herself to listen as her Southern district manager gave his report. Her first week back at work, and her days had been full of meetings, reports, brain-draining budgets...

Something dark flitted at the corner of her eye, and she brushed her hair away from her forehead. Damn it, not now, not here. It was important that she came back from her “rest” fully charged and healthy. Strong. She had to be, otherwise it would be a bloodbath for her vampire colony if there was even a hint of weakness in the Nightwing Vampire Prime. She couldn’t afford to weird out her followers.

“Explain to me again why we can’t use the river to transport these goods?” she interrupted in a cool tone. She didn’t miss the fact he’d glossed over that detail.

Mike Falcone halted, lifting his eyes from his laptop to meet hers. He seemed a little hesitant, and Vivianne frowned. Mike was rarely hesitant. It was one of the reasons he was usually so good at his job. Yet he looked reluctant to share some critical information with her. She arched an eyebrow, and he sighed as he leaned back in his chair.

“Things have changed since...” He frowned, trying to find the right word. She couldn’t blame him. What did you call an eight-month coma that was magically induced after what should have been a lethal werewolf bite?

“My break?” she supplied.

A breathy chuckle whispered past her ear, and she turned. Who the hell was that? The area behind her was empty, with just a few yards between her seat and the wall—just the way she liked it in the boardroom, so she could see whoever was coming for her, no sneak attacks...figuratively or literally.

She frowned as she turned back to the table, then quickly composed her features when she realized her six directors were watching her warily. “I’m waiting,” she prodded primly, ignoring her interruption.

Mike nodded. “Your break. Woodland Pack and River Pack formed an alliance—”

“How is that possible? Woodland are fighting with everyone.”

“Not since Rafe Woodland was cast out of the pack and Matthias Marshall became Woodland Alpha Prime.”

Vivianne’s lips tightened at the mention of the former alpha prime’s name. Rafe Woodland was the reason she’d been lying in a coma for eight months. Still, apparently there had been quite a shift since that late afternoon when the black mutt had bounded out of the shadows and attacked her. Her eyebrows rose. “Marshall is now Woodland?”

Mike nodded.

She leaned back in her chair. Rafe Woodland had been wild and erratic. Matthias Marshall would be a steadying influence in controlling the Woodland Pack and its territory. Damn it. It was so much nicer when things were a little chaotic. She’d managed to creep their border forward when Woodland was distracted with its petty squabbles with River Pack.

“Why did River Pack shut down our access to the river?” She’d asked a direct question, she’d better get a direct answer. Forcing their goods to be delivered overland was costing them a small fortune. “And please, let’s not make this a breadcrumb trail. Tell me everything.”

Mike sighed. “When you were attacked by Rafe Woodland, your brother found your body. He then attacked Woodland—”

“Of course,” she responded, dipping her head. It was the obvious course of action.

“He killed some dog, and they teamed up with River against us.”

“Well, you know my view—the only good werewolf is a dead one. My brother did the right thing. But are you telling me we’ve lost river access to Irondell, all because my brother killed some mangy mutt?” Vivianne shook her head. And in all this time, none of her guardians had successfully rectified the problem. What had they all been doing while she was in her coma? Watching the lycans ride rough-pad over the Nightwing empire?

“This was an across-kind crime. We can bring this to Reform Court and demand retribution.” She jotted a reminder to speak with her legal counsel, but paused as Mike shook his head.

“The original crime occurred in Nightwing territory, but Rafe Woodland had already been banished from his pack and was technically a stray, with no affiliation to any pack at the time of his attack on you. Your brother trespassed on Woodland territory and killed a lycan. If we requested a transfer to Reform jurisdiction, Nightwing would have been penalized.”

“And all because some measly little mongrel was put down—”

The notepad she’d been jotting notes on flipped up from the table, startling everyone, and Vivianne rose sharply from her seat.

“Stop it,” she ordered, glancing wildly about. As Vampire Prime of the Nightwing colony, she sat at the head of the table, and neither of her closest neighbors were within reach. She bent to check under the table, then whirled as she sensed someone behind her.

Only, nobody was there. She turned back to the table, and something dark shifted in her peripheral vision. She twisted again, only to see her PR director’s puzzled expression as he, too, peered over his shoulder.

“Did you see that?” she demanded.

He shook his head, wary and confused. She glanced down the table. “Did any of you see that?”

They all shook their heads, and Mike rose slowly from his seat. “Are you all right, Vivianne?”

It was the quiet concern that gave her pause, and she glanced at her guardians. They were all looking at her as though she was either having a medical episode or just slightly unhinged.

This was not the impression she needed to make in her first week back at work after surviving a werewolf bite.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, as she stepped back a little from the table, although she glanced vigilantly around the room.

“Do you need a break?” John, the PR director queried, although his lips curved in the smallest of smirks. “Maybe you’ve come back too soon.”

Vivianne forced a smile as she strolled around the sleek curve of the glass and chrome board table. She had her suspicions about John. He was good at what he did. Always on message. Particularly if it was his own message, like a leadership gambit. She also suspected he’d had something to do with tipping off the lycans and allowing them access into Nightwing in order to abduct a murder suspect—one who turned out to be innocent of the charge. Either way, her border had been compromised by the wolves, but only with inside help. Not that she could prove her suspicions. Still, he was challenging her, in a very subtle way, one that she couldn’t let slide if she was to restore control and calm to her colony.

“You know, I think you’re right, John. I think I do need a break,” she sighed as she patted him on the shoulder. Quick as a flash, she grasped his chin and shoulder, then twisted, hearing the satisfying crack of bone. Her momentarily dead PR director slumped over in his chair, his forehead landing with a distinct crack on the glass table, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. When he revived once again, he’d have a hell of a headache.