Doranna Durgin - Sentinels - Alpha Rising

She might even have stood on her toes, leaning into him physically just as he’d breathed in the song of her. “I am not Sentinel, and I am not yours, and nothing you can do will change that.”

The pack song stuttered back to static, staggering him as much as the connection had done. Holly turned on her heel, going down the steps with the same authority with which she’d come up.

And Lannie stood there with his side aching from her touch and aching for it, and knew she was exactly right.

Sentinels:

Alpha Rising

Doranna Durgin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DORANNA DURGINspent her childhood filling notebooks first with stories and art, and then with novels. She now has over fifteen novels spanning an array of eclectic genres, including paranormal romance, on the shelves. When she’s not writing, Doranna builds web pages, enjoys photography and works with horses and dogs. You can find a complete list of her titles at doranna.net.

Dedicated to tree huggers everywhere!

And with thanks to the Hitchin Post, where they not only help me take care of my own horse, they answer silly questions with a grin. The same could be said of my wondrous agent, come to think of it.

Contents

Cover

Introduction “I am not yours,” Holly proclaimed as she stood taller and straighter. She might even have stood on her toes, leaning into him physically just as he’d breathed in the song of her. “I am not Sentinel, and I am not yours, and nothing you can do will change that.” The pack song stuttered back to static, staggering him as much as the connection had done. Holly turned on her heel, going down the steps with the same authority with which she’d come up. And Lannie stood there with his side aching from her touch and aching for it, and knew she was exactly right.

Title Page Sentinels: Alpha Rising Doranna Durgin www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author DORANNA DURGIN spent her childhood filling notebooks first with stories and art, and then with novels. She now has over fifteen novels spanning an array of eclectic genres, including paranormal romance, on the shelves. When she’s not writing, Doranna builds web pages, enjoys photography and works with horses and dogs. You can find a complete list of her titles at doranna.net.

Dedication Dedicated to tree huggers everywhere! And with thanks to the Hitchin Post, where they not only help me take care of my own horse, they answer silly questions with a grin. The same could be said of my wondrous agent, come to think of it.

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Lannie Stewart fell back against the brick wall with a startled grunt of pain and a rare flash of temper. Son of a bitch has a knife.

His hand closed around the grip of the small blade now caught between his lower ribs; he twisted it slightly, releasing it...sending the white-hot scrape of sensation back at his attackers in the form of a snarl.

All five of them.

One of them cursed. The others didn’t have a chance. Lannie plowed into them, throwing the knife aside and drawing on the wolf within.

Alpha. No-holds-barred.

That made him faster than they were, and stronger, and riding the awareness of every pack he’d ever built. Not to mention infuriated by their assault of someone older and weaker and not looking for trouble.

A quick flurry of blows—fierce, efficient, effective—and they fell back, stunned not just by the impact but also by Lannie’s unexpected participation in a fight that had started out as five men kicking around what seemed to be easy prey. The men hesitated—suddenly wary, not willing to come back at him and not quite able to run.

Human submission. Or as close as they could be in this moment.

Fury still gripped Lannie, swelling against every breath. He eased back one step, then another—and there he held his ground, breathing hard but still perfectly ready.

The men got the message. They assessed themselves and their injuries, spat a few frustrated curses and bent to haul up their faltering friends. Lannie stood silent, letting them limp away—even if they did so with many a backward glance, not trusting Lannie to stand down when he’d gained such advantage.

But that was what a true alpha did.

Later, he’d find out who these men were and why they’d thought themselves safe not just to trespass, but to claim this space as their own. Most likely they’d come for a bro party involving six-packs and fisticuffs, but Lannie wouldn’t assume. Not with the recent threats—and losses—the Sentinels had taken lately.

For now he watched until they were truly away, loaded up on their four-wheelers and bouncing away through the dusk as if they belonged on this remote and rutted dirt road. But this was Lannie’s own property on the outskirts of the tiny high-country town of Descanso, New Mexico, even if the road itself defined the easement to the old community well house behind him.

Behind that hid the old man who had once again come out here to smoke his occasional joint—this time, apparently, also looking like tempting prey. Or maybe his whimsical coyote nature had once again gotten the better of him, and he’d approached and aggravated the men in some way.

Not that it made any difference, with five against one, youth against age. But the old man knew better.

“Aldo,” Lannie said, warning in his voice. He pressed a hand against his side, feeling the hot blood of a wound still fresh enough that it hadn’t quite pulsed up to pain.

The injury didn’t worry him. Not when he was Sentinel, and belonged to an ancient line of people whose connection to the earth gave them more than just strength and healing and a variety of power-fueled skills. His heritage meant he carried within him the shape of his other—his wolf. His exceptionally strong blood meant that unlike most of his ilk, he could also take the shape of that other.

Alpha wolf.

So no, the injuries and the pain didn’t worry him—but they damn well annoyed the hell out of him.

The thick scent of pot stung the air. Lannie said, “Aldo.”

The old man came out from behind the well house, carefully pinching off his joint. “They made me anxious,” he said, and kept his gaze averted.

Aldo had never been alpha of anything. But until lately, he’d been irrepressible, with a cackle of laughter and a strong side of levity. Now he bore his own bruises, and a vague expression of guilt. “I didn’t do anything, Lannie. This has always been an okay place for me.”

A safe place, on feed-store land. Lannie’s cell rang, a no-nonsense tone cutting through the falling darkness—a rare connection up on this mountainside. Lannie didn’t even look as he silenced the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. “It is an okay place for you.”

Or it should have been, and now Lannie’s temper rode high on a flare of hot pain and swelling bruises. If Aldo’s recent alarm hadn’t slapped through the pack connection and drawn him out here into the fading heat of dusk, the old man would have gone down under that knife. Aldo was a strong sixty, but he was still sixty.