Michele Hauf - Ghost Wolf

Beck moaned into her mouth and lifted her by the hips.

Daisy wrapped her legs about his waist without breaking the kiss. He dipped his head to deepen their connection, dashing his tongue along hers. The taste of him ignited her desires.

“You do that very well,” she said against his mouth. “You said something about our kiss never ending?”

“I could keep this up for years.” He tilted his forehead against hers. “You do things to me, Daisy-Blu.”

“Good things?”

“Good. Bewitching. You make the wolf inside me want to howl.”

Daisy slid out of Beck’s grasp. “I almost had an interview with a hunter last night.”

“Last night? You were out looking for interviews? How quickly does word get around when something like a white wolf stalking hunters happens?”

“Even faster when it’s witnessed firsthand. I was in the forest. I got a few shots of the hunters running in fear from the ghost wolf, and I actually photographed the ghost wolf.”

Beck’s mouth hung open. Finally he blurted, “What the hell were you doing in the woods again? Alone? I thought I told you that was dangerous?”

MICHELE HAUFhas been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen.

Michele can be found on Facebook and Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com. You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Excerpt Beck moaned into her mouth and lifted her by the hips. Daisy wrapped her legs about his waist without breaking the kiss. He dipped his head to deepen their connection, dashing his tongue along hers. The taste of him ignited her desires. “You do that very well,” she said against his mouth. “You said something about our kiss never ending?” “I could keep this up for years.” He tilted his forehead against hers. “You do things to me, Daisy-Blu.” “Good things?” “Good. Bewitching. You make the wolf inside me want to howl.” Daisy slid out of Beck’s grasp. “I almost had an interview with a hunter last night.” “Last night? You were out looking for interviews? How quickly does word get around when something like a white wolf stalking hunters happens?” “Even faster when it’s witnessed firsthand. I was in the forest. I got a few shots of the hunters running in fear from the ghost wolf, and I actually photographed the ghost wolf.” Beck’s mouth hung open. Finally he blurted, “What the hell were you doing in the woods again? Alone? I thought I told you that was dangerous?”

About the Author MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. Her first published novel was Dark Rapture. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries populate her stories. And if she followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries she has never visited and of creatures she has never seen. Michele can be found on Facebook and Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com . You can also write to Michele at PO Box 23, Anoka, MN 55303, USA.

Title Page Ghost Wolf Michele Hauf www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Two gray wolves loped across the fresh-fallen snow within a forest that edged acres of private Minnesota land. The wolves had a standing arrangement to run off their energy in the forest every weekend, a father and son get-together. A half-moon scythed the oddly clear black sky. Not a star dotted the atmosphere. Yet areas where snow had begun to tamp down the still-springy blades of grass twinkled from the cool luminescence.

The younger of the wolves always tromped ahead, challenging the elder to keep up. He was well aware he could never outrace his father, but he liked to goad him. Besides, he’d spotted a red fox and wanted to chase it until its heart gave out.

When an echoing retort shattered the calm night, the younger wolf stopped, ears shifting outward. It was a sound he had learned to fear since he could remember having fear. The sound of death. Whining, he flicked his gaze about, seeking his father. No sign of the old wolf.

Another gunshot sounded.

The wolf dashed into a race toward where he’d heard the sound. At the forest’s edge the animal recognized artificial light from a mortal’s vehicle. He quickened his tracks, his paws barely landing in the slushy snow until he reached the clearing where a man with a rifle approached a fallen wolf.

Snarling, the wolf leaped for the hunter, landing its front paws against his shoulders and toppling him to the wet ground. The rifle landed in slushy snow. The innate compulsion to sink his fangs into flesh and tear out anything he could manage was strong. He could break a human’s bones with but a bite from his powerful jaws. Yet the wolf merely snarled and snapped at the hunter.

The hunter struggled with the wolf, slapping at its maw and crying for mercy. Fear and human urine scented the air. The wolf heard the fallen wolf’s heart-wrenching whines. In pain. Dying?

In that moment of the wolf’s disregard, the hunter managed to scramble out from under his aggressor.

“Damned wolves! Where’s my gun?” Scrambling about in the snow, he gave up looking for the weapon when the wolf’s snarls grew insistent. The hunter ran toward the lighted vehicle. “Wasn’t what I needed. It didn’t shift. God’s blood, this trial will kill me!”

The vehicle’s lights flashed across the tree trunks. Tires peeled through wet snow and soil, skidding until the rubber found traction. The car rumbled off, leaving the clearing tainted with the smell of gasoline and the echoes of the human’s angry voice.

The younger wolf began to shift, its body elongating and forelegs growing into human-shaped arms. Fingers flexed out at the end of hands. Knees, bent upon the ground, sunk into the snow. Within seconds, he’d transformed from his wolf shape back to his human were form.

Beckett Severo scrambled over to the wolf lying in the slushy grass. Crimson stained the snow near the wolf’s back.

“No. No, you can’t die.”

He found the entry wound over the wolf’s heart. He felt the tiny beads of buckshot from the hunter’s shell. One burned his fingertip. He hissed, pulling away. Liquid silver trickled within the bloody wound as if mercury.

The older wolf turned its head toward Beck and looked into his eyes.

“No, Dad, you can’t...”

Beck laid his head upon his father’s body and pushed his fingers through the thick winter fur. He cried out to the night until his lungs ached and the old wolf’s heartbeat struggled to pulse.