Bonnie Vanak - Demon Wolf

“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 VANAKfell 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 bonnievanak@aol.com.

Demon Wolf

Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

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

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Extract

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 don’t know.” Etienne wiped a trickle of sweat from his face, smearing the green and black greasepaint. “These carry a deeper, richer scent.”

“This place smells of darkness. No wonder the intel was screwed up.”

The sounds of battle ceased. Dale glanced around and made a decision. “Take the pup, head west and lead the men out of here. Use that nose of yours and flush out the smells of gunpowder, avoid the fighting at all costs.”

“Curt...”

“It’s not human. Whoever did this isn’t human.”

Etienne’s jaw tightened. “All the more reason for me to stay with you, sir.”

“I’m right behind you. I’m not leaving this area for some naive civilian to stumble into and get killed.”

“If you ward it with magick, you’ll drain your powers,” Etienne warned.

Dale gave a cold smile. “You have no idea of the extent of my powers. Now go.”

As soon as his men had passed, Dale lifted his hands, closed his eyes and began a low chant. The magick shield would prevent humans from entering the area, and save them from meeting the same fate as the wolves.

Slightly drained, he opened his eyes, and turned to leave. A low growl rumbled behind him.

The wolf was as large as a small Shetland pony. Sleek black fur stood on edge. Dale remained motionless, his gaze never leaving the creature.

Not even when the wolf opened its mouth, showing fangs as sharp as dinner knives....

* * *

Her world had shattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Her parents, her pack, they were all dead.

Simon, her little brother, whom the demons promised to spare in exchange for her slavery to them...dead, as well. The demons had lied.

She was only eleven, but already experienced in her powers as wolf. In wolf form, Keira stumbled through the undergrowth. Rage and anguish blinded her to everything. Soon the demons would return and force her to do their bidding.

Magick skimmed her fur, pinged off her muzzle. Light, good magick. She shook her head and growled and loped toward the source.

A tall man lifted his hands to the sky and chanted. He was clad in uniform, his face disguised, and the metallic scent of weaponry clung to him. Rage engulfed her. How dare he violate her people’s final resting ground?

Blinded to everything except the red haze to hurt as she hurt, she stalked forward and growled.

The man fingered the gray metal weapon and she charged.

Knocking him down, she leaped on him and raked a sharp claw over his arm. But the man made no move to fire the weapon.