Linda Johnston - Alpha Wolf

“You sure you’ll be okay here alone tonight?”

“Are you offering to stay?” Her body ignited with the idea of this man staying the night.

“Do you want me to?” Drew countered.

“No.” The word erupted from what was left of her good sense.

“Fine.” But he didn’t leave. Instead, he looked down at her. His amber eyes seemed to stare through her, to her soul. Setting it on fire.

Setting her on fire.

Or was that a factor of the searching heat of his lips as he bent and touched them to hers? The kiss was hard and hot and suggestive.

She ached for his touch elsewhere. Everywhere.

Except…he suddenly pulled back.

His expression had become cool. Distant. “Good night, Dr Harding. Sleep well.”

And then he was gone.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA O. JOHNSTONfirst made her appearance in print in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and went on to win the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year. Now, several published short stories and novels later, Linda is recognized for her outstanding work in the romance genre.

A practicing attorney, Linda juggles her busy schedule between mornings of writing briefs, contracts and other legalese, and afternoons of creating memorable tales of the paranormal, time travel, mystery, and contemporary and romantic suspense. Armed with an undergraduate degree in journalism with an advertising emphasis from Pennsylvania State University, Linda began her versatile writing career running a small newspaper, then working in advertising and public relations and later obtaining her J.D. degree from Duquesne University School of Law in Pittsburgh.

Linda belongs to Sisters in Crime and is actively involved with Romance Writers of America, participating in the Los Angeles, Orange County and Western Pennsylvania chapters. She lives near Universal Studios, Hollywood, with her husband, two sons and two cavalier King Charles spaniels.

Many thanks to my delightful editor, Allison Lyons—and may she enjoy editing many more Nocturnes!

Lots of love to Dr Donald Zangwill, my stepfather, and to Carol Boll, who’s there for him.

And, as always, with love to my husband, Fred.

Dear Reader,

I am an admitted animal aficionado. That’s why I’ve always wondered “what if” about werewolves. What if people really had the ability to change into animals, and vice versa? What if they decided not to make such a gift into a horror story, but to use it for good?

That was the origin of Alpha Wolf. It’s the story of a lady veterinarian (my own childhood dream) who meets a hunky military man who challenges everything she has believed about science and anatomy—and love.

I hope you enjoy it! Please come visit me at my website www.LindaOJohnston.com. Oh, and I just happen to blog about pets at www.KillerHobbies.blogspot.com. See you there!

Linda O. Johnston

Crack!

Dr. Melanie Harding’s hands jerked. Seated at her scuffed wooden desk, she nearly dropped the financial statement she’d been studying—the first month’s figures for her new veterinary practice.

Had that been a gunshot?

From down the hall, dogs started barking—one shrill and high, the others gruff and deep. The outside noise had clearly disturbed some of the patients kept overnight for observation. It hadn’t been her imagination.

Not that she’d really thought so.

She glanced across her compact office toward the far window. The sound had come from that direction.

She couldn’t see much outside from here. The moonlight, although bright, didn’t do much to illuminate the yard or, beyond it, the thick woods bordering the town of Mary Glen.

Sure, this wasn’t Beverly Hills, where Melanie had come from, but it was still a civilized area, despite its somewhat remote location on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. People didn’t just go around hunting here at night—did they? Too dangerous to people, let alone any defenseless animals that might be their prey.

Melanie stood, shoving her fists into the pockets of the white lab coat she still wore, resisting the urge to race out and yell at whoever was shooting. Not that she was likely to see who it was. And if the fool was still there, any movement she might make could turn her into a target.

Besides, maybe it wasn’t a hunter.

Maybe it was something else. Something more sinister—like what had happened to her predecessor vet.

Despite her uneasiness, she felt compelled to glance out there. See if she could figure out what was going on.

Without being foolish, though. It was late, after ten o’clock, and except for her hospitalized patients she was alone here. She crossed to the open office door and flicked the switch on the beige wall beside it, turning off the overhead light. That way, she wouldn’t be back-lighted as she stood by the window.

She edged toward the glass, stood cautiously sideways behind its frame, and looked out.

The area behind her clinic was fenced in, a place where dogs could be let out for exercise and evacuation. The surface was concrete—not as comfortable on tender paws as grass, but easier to keep clean.

The enclosure was empty now, illuminated by a gorgeous full moon that hung high in the black sky, its light obscuring any stars that might otherwise be visible.

Beyond the yard was the dense amalgamation of poplars, oaks, dogwoods and other trees that composed the local woodlands—beautiful in daylight, especially now, in springtime, as some of them blossomed…but darkly ominous at night. Melanie could make out the swaying of branches in the light breeze—like arms waving her away—but little else in that direction.

She stood still for a minute, scanning all she could see, but everything looked fine back there. Normal.

Peaceful. As if there had never been any gunshot.

Even the dogs down the hall had stopped barking.

Sighing, Melanie shook her head. Her long, deep brown hair was caught up in a clip at the nape of her neck, as it always was when she worked. It had been a long, tiring day. But enjoyable. She’d stayed later than usual to check over a litter of puppies that were born today at their home—sweet, tiny Yorkies that their owner had brought in with the mama dog for reassurance that all was well. Melanie had sent them back home with smiles and instructions.

Only then had she been able to get to the paperwork. She hadn’t intended to remain this late. And now she had been interrupted.

She wouldn’t convince herself that the sound hadn’t occurred, but she was unlikely to learn its source. Maybe it had been a car backfiring—did they still do that? It wasn’t necessarily as menacing as she had first imagined. No need to call the police and have them think she was some nervous newcomer, a city girl who imagined scary urbantype incidents here, in this pleasant country area.

Leaving the window, she grabbed her purse from a desk drawer and headed down the hall.

A soft light glowed in the infirmary. She stepped inside, and glanced from cage to cage to check on the occupants. The air smelled familiarly of antiseptic and the aroma of healing dogs.

“Hi, Rudy,” she crooned to the Jack Russell terrier she had been treating for a leg injury he’d gotten on a mad dash through a neighbor’s yard. “Was that you I heard barking? How are you feeling?” The small, wiry terrier stood on three legs, holding his left front paw up piteously as he wriggled for attention. A soft, flexible recovery collar was fitted over his head to prevent him from chewing at his injury. Melanie opened the front of his cage and extracted the active pup, hugging him tightly as she checked to ensure his dressing was intact.