Wolf Born

Ignoring shaky limbs that refused to behave properly and his heart’s off-beat rhythm, Colton leaned into her. Licking gingerly at her lips, nipping lightly at the corners of her mouth before again sealing his lips to hers, he took her breath into his lungs, and felt that breath warm him.

Had this slight, ebony-haired creature truly fought beside him, placing herself in jeopardy in order to help? Although Rosalind’s mouth was momentarily motionless beneath his, Colton sensed with every instinct he possessed how much she wanted to respond.

He wanted her in that moment as much as his beast had desired her in the park. Every inch of him yearned for her, now that he’d been awakened and had captured her in his arms.

One word resonated in his mind, on its own loop, playing over and over.

Mine.

Wolf Born

Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA THOMAS-SUNDSTROM writes contemporary and paranormal romance novels for Mills & Boon® Nocturne™ and Mills & Boon® Desire™. A teacher by day and a writer by night, Linda lives in the West, juggling teaching, writing, family and caring for a big stretch of land. She swears she has a resident Muse who sings so loudly, she often wears earplugs in order to get anything else done. But she has big plans to eventually get to all those ideas. Visit Linda at lindathomas-sundstrom.com or on Facebook.

To my family, those here and those gone, who always believed I had a story to tell.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Everyone had demons.

“Some species are just closer to them than others,” Colton Killion muttered as he ran beneath the light of a huge Miami moon. For a werewolf like himself, the desire for what the moon offered fit into another category altogether. But now wasn’t the time for beastly antics. He’d had an emergency call.

Drenched in moonlight, and in human form, he sprinted over a wide stretch of dirt and grass. The night air, filled with the scent of the ocean and a dozen kinds of Cuban food, burned his throat as he sucked in it, and left a warm sensation in his groin.

Running appealed to his animal nature.

At the moment, though, he couldn’t afford to blow his cover. Two other cops were on his heels, running as fast as their human legs would take them. The radio on his shoulder kept repeating directions interspersed with static.

“Officer down. All units on the south side respond to the following address. 521 Baker.”

The harsh words wouldn’t have been half as bad without the address the dispatcher had given out. Damn if his family didn’t live on the same street.

Colton lengthened his stride to reach an area of what in Miami passed for a forest of trees. Liquid moonlight had already begun to move through his veins as if he had injected it into an artery. The phantom sensation of an elongated muzzle made him reach up to check that it hadn’t materialized yet.

Those cops behind him couldn’t see that. There was no way they would understand having a Lycan in their midst, and that a searing, breath-robbing heat was spreading outward from deep inside his chest where a sleeping beast lay curled, craving the night, awaiting its freedom.

“Killion! Wait up!” Julias Davidson, the officer responsible for this beat yelled, the strain in the man’s voice due to him being shamefully out of shape and having to run to the cruiser parked on the street.

Colton didn’t care about the identity of the officer loping along in Davidson’s wake. He was more concerned that Davidson, usually nosy as hell, hadn’t asked why Colton had been passing through this way in the first place when he was officially off duty.

Good thing he hadn’t been asked that question, since Colton didn’t know the answer. He’d just acted on a feeling that something was up with this park and had dropped by for a look. Most of the time, he paid attention to those little sparks of intuition.

“Hell.” In deference to the unanswerable why he was here, Colton found himself in a precarious state. With the muscles of his neck throbbing and the skin on his bare arms undulating like disturbed water in a pond, restraining his lupine abilities took every ounce of willpower he possessed.

The moon called to him, but there was also an officer down just two doors shy of his parents’ house. And the sudden notoriety of an injured or, God forbid, dead police officer would be unwanted attention for a family like his that had a lot to hide—and even more to lose, if they were identified as Lycan.

“Hellfire!”

The whitewashed oath didn’t satisfy him, or take the edge off his anxiety. “I’ve got a bad premonition about this dispatch to Baker Street,” he whispered hoarsely. In fact, his gut told him he shouldn’t wait for the others, and that he would get to the crime scene faster if he ditched the limiting human persona.

Too late now. He had company. Turning, he said to a breathless Davidson in a steady voice, “I’ll go ahead,” as Davidson hit the edge of the trees.

“On foot?” Davidson tossed back.

“I know a shortcut through the park.”

“This park’s dangerous enough with three of us out here.”

“There hasn’t been much real trouble since Scott, Wilson and the other boys cleaned it up last year,” Colton said.

Key word there: Other boys. Capital O. There weren’t many completely human bones left in the bodies of detectives Adam Scott and Matt Wilson, whose lives had radically changed after receiving rogue werewolf bites less than a year ago, and who now had their own secrets to keep.

“Yeah? Well, suit yourself, Killion,” Davidson said. “Some bastard shot a cop, and we need to be there.”

Without stopping for anything longer than two quick breaths, Davidson and his partner took off again. Colton watched them go, his own breath regulating now that he was about to be alone.

Or almost alone. That initial spark of intuition nagged at him again. The night had a strange feel to it that was thicker, denser than a normal night. It felt to him like too many unseen things moved through the dark, taking up space and crowding the atmosphere. Notable oddities like these seemed to hint at an unusual kind of energy massing on the park’s periphery.

He could taste that wayward energy. The word to describe it was wild.

Raising his face to the moon, he absorbed the tingle of light on his skin, and sniffed the air. Most of the scents under the trees were familiar to him. He often worked this part of Miami.

He sniffed again and waited to make sure no intruders appeared, knowing that he had to let the moon have her way this time. He had to let the beast out because of his need to get somewhere fast. Werewolf speed was legendary and what he needed right now was to beat the other officers to the crime scene.

In order to beat Davidson and the others to the crime scene on Baker, Colton Killion, officer of the law, but also much more than his seemingly human appearance or profession, needed to morph into a creature that really wasn’t an entity other than himself, but an integral part of him.

Not a metaphorical twin or the symptom of a split personality with an evil side, his beast was something he birthed by merely turning himself inside out to expose what lay beneath the surface of his skin.

All true Lycans, with pure, undiluted Lycan blood in them, were born to this. Lycanthropy, the oldest form of werewolfism, meant housing a rare blood disorder that predated history, escaped explanation and encompassed the strongest, fiercest of the beings falling under the heading of wulf.

Man-wolf hybrids. Not wolf, but wulf. Royal-blooded werewolves, able most of the time to blend in with human society in a world that had unknowingly absorbed them.

“Okay,” he said with calm finality. “Bring it on.”

Lupine euphoria hit before he finished the invitation. His body quivered with excitement. His core temperature rose in a lightning-fast ascent, reaching the level of “sizzling” before his next intake of air.

Claws popped from the ends of all ten of his fingertips like spring-loaded blades. Brief, swollen seconds of what felt like dark-dipped madness came and went, a throwback to a state people once called Lunacy. And then the process of a man becoming a werewolf took over.

Bones snapped. Ligaments stretched. The sound of hot, wet flesh tearing echoed in the night as his muscles redefined themselves. Colton’s stomach knotted and clenched, doubling him over at the waist for a few more tense seconds as rich brown fur sprouted from his pores.

When he again stood upright, feeling inches taller than his usual six-two, and confined and claustrophobic in his clothes, he opened a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and issued a low guttural growl that mimicked the sound of distant thunder, a sound that was both a response to the temporary pain of this shape-shift and a keen acknowledgment of being something other than one hundred percent human.

Following that, he belted out a harrowing, piercing howl that rolled through the park’s vast emptiness with a feral quality that would have sufficed to make any animal’s skin crawl, and was meant to do just that.

But as he gathered himself, ready to utilize the animal’s agility and superior speed, Colton’s senses suddenly jerked again to a state of full alertness. The feeling of not being alone made a comeback.

And then, out of the silver-coated darkness, came the surprise of an answering howl.

What the hell?

Had he missed something out there?

Colton’s fur stood on end. He backed up a step, stunned as another howl followed the first. This one was higher in pitch than his own vocalization and no less menacing. But it was also tantalizing and seductive.

Colton glanced up, thinking that the moon must have been playing a trick. But a third sound came soon after the second, closer this time, and from ground level.

Haunting, preternatural, seductive in nature, this howl originated from the part of the park where he’d sensed strangeness but had seen no one. No human, anyway.

The wulf’s immediate natural instinct was to find what had made that sound and mount it, instead of dashing off in the direction he needed to go. The animal’s need to chase down whatever had made those wolfish sounds was so strong and insistent that Colton tightened his mental leash on the beast.

Despite the check of restraint that had him frozen to stillness, Colton’s insides writhed with the new dilemma he faced due to hearing that answering howl. Should he hurry to Baker Street and see what had happened there, or take the time to find out who or what else roamed this park?

He and his beast weren’t completely at odds over voting for the last one. It was, however, an unexpected trip in the agenda when timing might be critical.

Waiting out several more thunderous heartbeats, the blood inside his distended arteries began to burn. Judging by his arousal, he knew that the unexpected visitor was female.

Not just any female, either. Not with a voice like that. This was a she-wulf—powerful, practiced and pure Lycan, or he was a sorry son of a bitch who didn’t know a Lycan from a hole in the ground.

Who are you?

Where did you come from?

He hadn’t met many purebred female Lycanthropes.

The rarity of full-blooded she-wulfs was the reason true Lycans as a breed were slowly dying out. Females often weren’t wired correctly for the transition from human to werewolf, and many of them didn’t make it past the Blackout phase of their coming-of-age party for reasons no one actually knew. Special Lycan matchmakers traveled the world to find females to bring home to a qualified clan. He, himself, had been waiting ten years.

And what? One of those rarest of creatures has just announced her presence here in Miami, on the edge of this park? To me?

The acknowledgment of this possibility hit Colton with the force of an oncoming train. His wulf-heavy limbs shuddered. His teeth snapped together, filling his mouth with the acrid taste of his own blood. He grew hotter, and a little confused.

Hell, his human side wanted to chase after whatever had made those sounds as much as the beast did. Finding a She fulfilled a powerful need and provided a possible solution to a lot of problems of sheer physical necessity for a male. Keep the line going. Keep it strong. Choose a mate.

But damn the timing of finding this female. Not only did duty call, it also called with an overriding personal necessity that meant the possible welfare of his family. He had taken an oath to protect and serve not only the population of Miami but the few Lycans left in his scattered clan. Oaths were binding for werewolves, and lifelong.

In addition to that, he might know the cop who had been shot.

Shit. He visualized the scene. There would be officers, CSI techs and television crews all over the place, knocking on doors.

And a she-wulf appeared now?

Really bad timing. Effing bad.

Worse yet, his beast had already driven him to take a step toward the female’s invitation, stretching at its leash.

Colton hauled himself back with difficulty and a barked chastisement. Can’t have this. Get a freaking grip. There’s too much at stake.

Good advice in the best of times, but the beast’s needs were elemental and approaching the point of no return. It was hungry to bury its cock in that female’s damp, furry, feminine folds, and angered by the restraint.

He had to get away, though leaving this spot would be one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had to ignore this she-wulf, knowing the odds of ever finding another one.

Resolutely, regretfully, he echoed the she-wulf’s call with a low-pitched howl that could have been translated as: You have no idea how sorry I am for having to go. Though it actually meant so very much more than that, and perhaps even the extinction of his family’s line.

Stepping out from under the trees, and filled with regret, Colton took off. Alone. Into the night. Toward the scent of a downed cop’s blood in the distance.

Chapter 2

Rosalind Kirk dropped to her haunches and slammed a furred-up fist into the ground to keep herself from following the Were in the park, whose scent was new, feral and overtly masculine.

Her hackles rose with a mixture of curiosity and anger.

That wulf had ignored her invitation.

She stared at the way he cut a smooth swath through the trees, running faster than anything she had ever seen. He was a big werewolf, tall and powerfully built. His brown pelt blended with the shadows. Highlighted by moonlight, it appeared that he wore clothes.

Strange.

Although anger flared over his rude rejection of her call, Rosalind’s heart raced as she watched him run. She felt the rhythm of the movement of the brown Were’s legs in her muscles, and heard the harshness of his breathing echo inside her chest. All this made her feel disturbed in a way she’d never experienced before.

Her fur ruffled.

Her chin lifted.

Finding a male of her species hadn’t been the reason she had slipped her father’s net when he wasn’t looking, but suddenly seemed like a bonus.

She’d been homesick for her bayou property, where she could run unhindered. Here in Miami, where her father had accepted an invitation to visit the Landaus—an ancient Lycan line as old as her own—she had been quarantined on the estate’s grounds. Her father had forbidden her to go past the expansive property’s stone walls.

Right. Like she’d listen to that, or be chained to a ridiculous confinement, however lovingly the directive had been issued by a father who said he had her best interests in mind.

Like she had ever met his expectations.

I’m a woman now.

Even her father, an elegant, intelligent Lycan, had no idea how elevated her metabolism became on a night like this one.

Sure, it was dangerous being out here in wulf form. There were plenty of risks in ignoring the rules and restrictions. It was equally dangerous to expose herself to a member of another pack without being properly introduced. Yet her boundless need for freedom resonated in every bone and cell in her body. The moon’s influence blasted through her like some kind of invisible ray, dispersing her humanness almost completely.

She had too much pent-up energy, and her search for freedom had been interrupted before she’d used it up. Her focus had been riveted to a big brown werewolf sprinting in the opposite direction who hadn’t paid any attention to her at all.

Didn’t you hear me, Were?

Shaking her head without taking her eyes off him, she leaned forward, into his scent. A series of disgruntled growls rumbled in her chest, registering her displeasure. Maybe Miami Weres held contempt for those outside of their packs, and that’s why he had turned from her.

His loss. She was lithe, smart, fast and strong—a worthy mate for a purebred male. In spite of that, she had been shielded from all eligible partners and kept from pursuing any outside company at all, leaving her to wonder what everyone had been waiting for.

She was sick of the tight ring of supervision surrounding her, and ready for her first close-up with a prime example of her species.

Like you, pretty, brown-pelted wulf.

Wasn’t finding a mate what she was eventually supposed to do?

Had the brown Were considered her unworthy, when the whispers behind her back at the Landaus’ place had described her as special?

Special...

The dreaded Blackout phase wired into her family’s line had come upon her at thirteen, instead of the usual age of twenty-one. Surviving her body’s internal rewiring at so young an age had caused her to acquire a stellar repertoire of abilities.

Special...

At fifteen, she outdistanced her father in races. By sixteen, she could painlessly shape-shift in seconds whenever she chose to, with or without the moon. Even her father couldn’t do that.

Tonight, at the matronly age of twenty, eight-foot-tall stone walls hadn’t stood a chance of containing her. One agile leap was all it took to escape the Landaus’ boundaries.

Piece of cake.

In her defense, she hadn’t planned on being outside those walls for very long. Merely one good sprint to calm her had been the justification...

Until she felt the ongoing song of this male’s Lycan blood as if that song had been written for her. Until she had sensed him in the shadows as clearly as if he’d stood five feet away.

Even now, his earthy, alluring scent pulled her like some sort of unavoidable undertow.

Unsure of what to do next, because she actually was socially inept, and had been more or less a prisoner in her own home all of her life, Rosalind didn’t completely understand the feelings of wanting to catch up with the brown wulf in spite of his rebuff.

Seconds ticked past as she stood there, longing to give chase. Her legs trembled with the desire to move. Her dark muzzle quirked at the thought of werewolves having one-night stands in public spaces, and how that would go down.

So, which way to go? Back to her father, or after the rude brown Were?

With a glance over her shoulder toward the Landaus’ walled border in the distance, Rosalind straightened to her full five-foot-five-inch height. Her black pelt—thick, rich, shining like polished obsidian in the moonlight—reflected the bright look of rebelliousness in her amber-green eyes as she made her decision.

* * *

As Colton had feared, the five-hundred block of Baker Street crawled with people. Too many people gumming up a crime scene always made a bad situation worse.

He hit the side of a building hard with his left shoulder to shock his wulf side back to reality. Closing his eyes, blowing out a breath, he willed his beast into the background and corralled it with a word of promise. Later.

The reversal of his shift was equally as hard on his body, but one hell of a lot quicker. Everything rearranged with a soft snapping of ligament and bone. On human legs, Colton cut a path through the hordes of neighbors out in full force behind fluttering expanses of yellow crime tape. But after those few moments of letting the beast out, the sensory bombardment of being near to all these human bodies weighed him down. Fresh from his run, his thermostat had yet to settle. He was damp with perspiration and needed about ten more deep breaths in a quiet place where he could fully recover before showing himself—a luxury he didn’t have.

In spite of the distraction in the park, he had beat Davidson to the scene. Six other cruisers were parked along the street. Two emergency vehicles were in attendance with their back doors wide-open. Uniforms moved like an army of ants up and down sidewalks in the dark.

Colton grabbed hold of a blue uniform whose name tag said EMT Smith. “What happened here?”

“Homicide,” Smith said after checking out Colton’s badge.

“Where? Who?” Colton’s voice cracked with emotion.

“Name’s Connelly. And one officer was shot after arriving at the scene.”

“Connelly.” Colton processed the news. “Which Connelly?”

“All of them.”

“What?”

“The whole family was killed. Two adults and two kids. It’s one of the worst scenes I’ve been to. Blood and body parts are spewed all over the place. The house looks like a freaking horror movie set. No offense or disrespect, Officer, but I need some air. I’ve only been on this job for three weeks.”

Colton felt a rush of adrenaline returning in a bad way. He knew the Connellys. His parents had socialized with that family on occasion. A year ago he had helped to build their kids’ swing set.

But the arctic adrenaline dump jarring him was also an indication that he needed to chill out in public. EMT Smith was still looking at him as if the guy awaited permission to be dismissed, so that he could slink away and hurl his dinner.

“Thanks,” Colton said. Staring at what Smith had called a house of horror, he added, “The injured officer? How is he?”