Allyson James - Howlin.pdf - A - bella40

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Howlin’

ISBN 9781419913662

Edited by Mary Altman.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication December 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written

permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-

3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales

is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

H OWLIN ’

Allyson James

Chapter One

Alain Dupree walked stark naked onto his back porch to watch the moon rise.

Thick trees screened him from his neighbors, giving him privacy in this house built

right on the bank of Oak Creek. This land had been his grandfather’s, then his father’s

and now Alain’s.

The moon rose above the trees, round and full. Its silver light traced shadows on

Alain’s hard-muscled chest and picked out the sharp lines of the black tattoos that

encircled his biceps. He could feel the vibrations of this place—what the New Agers

called vortexes. A high concentration of magic lingered here, no matter what it was

called, and it tingled and sang through Alain’s blood.

He sniffed the wind, tilting his head back. He knew there was another werewolf out

there, a female, but he didn’t know where. He’d sensed her when he arrived but hadn’t

been able to pin her down. Yet.

But he’d do it. He knew she was out there somewhere—he could scent her on the

rising breeze. Time to find her and break the news.

* * * * *

Patrice Spencer was also naked, in the bathroom of her doublewide just inside the

line of Yavapai County.

I’m not going to change into a werewolf, she told her reflection. It’s ridiculous.

Today, a man calling himself a shaman showed up at the police station, asked to see

her, then said he’d been sent to warn her. Her parents, long dead, had been werewolves

and Patrice would undergo her first change the full moon after she turned twenty-five.

She’d turned twenty-five two weeks ago.

Howlin’

Shaman. Right. He’d said his name was Jackson Gray, couldn’t have been more

than thirty himself and wore jeans and an earth-colored Sedona t-shirt. The t-shirt

stretched tight across honed pecs and broad shoulders. He had long black hair caught

in a tail, and the liquid brown eyes of a Native American.

Hubba hubba.

He’d made himself right at home in her office, lounging on a hard chair like it was

padded with eiderdown.

“Hello, Patrice Spencer,” he said in a silken voice. “Guess what?”

She’d never seen the man before. She knew most of the Native Americans in and

around Sedona and Cottonwood, but not him. She’d have remembered him .

He leaned forward and rested sun-bronzed arms on her desk, his eyes so dark she

wanted to drown in them.

“What?” she answered. And does it involve you slathering me with massage oil?

He’d smiled until she wanted to melt into a puddle and then those brown eyes

twinkled as he’d told Patrice she was a werewolf and needed to get used to it.

“But don’t worry,” he said, sitting back, at his ease. “I’ll be around to help you. The

first change is the hardest, not because your body has trouble changing to the wolf but

because you have to integrate it into your life.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s

hard up here, but I’ll be there for you. You have friends, Patrice.”

This had to be a joke. Why did one of the most good-looking men she’d seen in ages

have to be insane?

She’d see another man just as handsome the other day, but only briefly, and she

hadn’t encountered him again. Just her luck—she went for years without a real date,

then encountered a hunk and a gorgeous, crazy Native American in the same week.

“We do have programs to help people like you,” she said to Jackson. “The clerk can

give you some phone numbers. I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of about a million

reports.”

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