His tone was so serious that it brought tears to her eyes. “I love you, too, Jason.”
“And if you think you could stand hanging around a mechanic, former thief and wolf shapeshifter—”
“Stand it? I’d love it!”
He kissed her again. And again. And soon his hands were tearing off her clothes.
“Can I watch you shift again tonight?” she gasped between kisses and her own efforts at undressing him.
“Count on it, Lieutenant,” he said, and then he entered her.
Epilogue
Just over a month had passed since the last exercise at Ft. Lukman between Alpha Force and the USFT—and the capturing of Colleen Hodell for her attempts on the general’s life as well as Sara’s and others.
A lot had happened in that month, Sara thought as she sat once more at the front of the assembly room. It was filled again with people from both military units, only now there was a true camaraderie between them.
As there should be. They had joined together in the mission to rescue the government workers held captive in the Middle East—and had succeeded in liberating them.
The rumbling of voices around her sounded pleased. An aura of excitement enveloped the audience members.
This was a special event. The USFT members would be redeployed to another base as of tomorrow, their mission here accomplished.
That was why today had been chosen for the awarding of medals for bravery.
And more.
Sara sat between Melanie Harding-Connell, Drew’s wife, on one side, and Captain Rynton Tierney on the other. Melanie had always been friendly, thanks to her close ties to Alpha Force. Rynton not so much—before. Now he was chatting with her on and off as though they were best friends.
“I still wish I’d been more than an on-site observer during the rescue,” he was telling her. “Things happened so fast—and all to the good.”
“Your real-time reports back here were definitely appreciated,” Sara assured him. She had been on the radio with him a lot of the time, giving up-to-the moment updates to General Yarrow and General Myars, who had remained here.
“You’ve heard, haven’t you, that the terrorists we rounded up in the raid—those who survived—are being sneered at by their fellow countrymen for claiming that they were attacked by a bunch of dogs as well as snipers.”
Sara laughed. “Yes, I heard that.”
A hush suddenly befell the room. Sara quickly looked up. Speaking of the generals... There they were. Behind them stood the members of Alpha Force and the Ultra Special Forces Team who had been deployed on this mission.
That included Jason. Sara couldn’t help smiling at how proud he looked, all smiles up there in his camo uniform just like all the rest—but somehow he stood out.
“Thank you all for coming,” General Yarrow said to the crowd. “This is a very special day.”
“It sure is. For all of us.” That was General Myars who, for once, didn’t appear to be playing one-upmanship with the CO of Alpha Force.
They told everyone to stand, and the entire room pledged allegiance to the American flag.
And then it was time.
More than a dozen troops had been sent to perform the overseas mission, most of them from the units stationed here.
“I want to read the commendation from the commander in chief first,” General Yarrow said, and he did. The president of the United States expressed his pride in the soldiers who had participated and those who had helped to train them.
Next both generals pulled out the medals of bravery and each awarded them to the members of their units who had performed so honorably in rescuing the captive American citizens.
That was when Sara couldn’t help really smiling. Oh, it felt good to see the commendations given to Alpha Force members Drew Connell, Seth Ambers, Jock Larabey, Marshall Vincenzo and Simon Parran.
Their shifting aides, too, were commended.
She even appreciated the medals given to the USFT members: Cal Brown, Samantha Everly, Manning Breman and Vera Swainey.
But mostly she waited.
And then it was time. “We’ve saved the best for last,” Greg Yarrow said. “Sergeant Jason Connell, please step forward.”
Jason did, approaching the general.
“Jason, thanks to our camera equipment used on this mission, we both heard and saw your actions in combat, when two tangos attempted to flee with a couple of the hostages. You were in wolf form then, and despite the gunfire around you, you attacked the enemy, brought them both down and maintained domination over them until the USFT members were able to approach and take control. I hereby award you this medal for your bravery.” The general took a box from the table near him, pulled out a medal and pinned it onto Jason’s uniform.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jason said.
“And in addition,” the general continued, “that special bravery both then and here at Ft. Lukman during our recent issues has earned you more, Sergeant. You have earned the right to be equals with the other shifters in Alpha Force. You are hereby promoted to Second Lieutenant.” And General Yarrow pinned those bars onto Jason’s uniform, as well.
Jason beamed. “I really appreciate this, sir.” He saluted the general, then turned and saluted General Myars and the others. “We all did a damned good job, didn’t we?” he asked his fellow soldiers.
They mostly laughed and shook his hand.
Sara couldn’t get close to him. Not just then. But she would congratulate him later.
* * *
Damn it all, Jason thought a while later. Who’d have thought that he’d actually be proud to be in the military?
But heck, he was a real officer now.
Which meant...
The crowd was dispersing.
And there she was. Sara.
She hurried up to him. Saluted. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” she said.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” he repeated.
They had been told of his promotion in advance, and she had already expressed her pride to him. But now...
“Hey. Come here. I want to show you my new...stuff. And prove to you how brave I really am.”
She laughed. “I already know how brave you are. But I do want to see that medal more closely.”
Lord, was she beautiful. And she looked at him so proudly that he couldn’t help grinning back.
He hurried with her into Drew’s office and closed the door behind them. His cuz had been primed to stay away for now.
“What’s—” Sara began, and then she gasped. He saw the tears in her gorgeous blue-green eyes as she watched him go down on one knee.
He was about to do something he’d never have dared—before this moment.
“Lieutenant Sara McLinder, would you do me the honor of fraternizing with me for the rest of your life—I mean, becoming my wife?”
“Oh, Jason. Oh, yes, yes, yes.”
He pulled out the box containing the ring he’d bought a few days earlier on a trip to D.C. He’d kept it in the glove compartment of his Mustang until a short while ago, just before the awards ceremony was to begin.
He stood and slipped the ring onto Sara’s finger.
And this time, when they kissed, he knew it would be the first of forever.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from POSSESSED BY A WARRIOR by Sharon Ashwood.
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Nocturne story.
You harbor otherworldly desires…. Harlequin Nocturne stories delve into dark, sensuous and often dangerous territory, where the normal and paranormal collide.
Enjoy two new stories from Harlequin Nocturne every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Chapter 1
>
Sam Ralston shed his robe, tossing it to the floor. He’d done so a thousand times, in many contexts. Most involved women.
This time, however, he was staring at a wall of knives. They were eight inches in length, set about four inches apart, each point aimed straight out like the quills of an angry porcupine. In the half light, the blades gleamed softly, stainless steel polished to the understated efficiency of a showcase kitchen. The wall of blades blocked the room from end to end, leaving only a narrow gap near the ceiling.
Getting over the wall was his first challenge. Sam gave a derisive sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. It echoed oddly in the otherwise bare room, adding nothing to the gray-on-gray atmosphere.
Trust La Compagnie des Morts to come up with an obstacle course designed to shred the runner right at the start. Everything that came after would be painful in the extreme, even for vampires.
But Sam was one of the Four Horsemen, La Compagnie’s crack unit named after the riders of the Apocalypse: Death, Plague, Famine and War. Units like theirs were called in after the CIA, the FBI, MI5 and all the rest of the international alphabet soup had failed to get results. Then they swept in and saved whatever needed saving.
As jobs went, the hours were bad but it was never boring.
Sam was War, and he was better than any trial the Company of the Dead could dream up. He’d proven it, mission after mission. Nevertheless, the Company put all their operatives to the test every so often, which was why he was standing in their Los Angeles facility, wearing nothing but running shorts, sneakers and fangs.
He flexed his knees and leaped. The gap was too narrow to land on top of the wall—that would have been far too easy. Instead, Sam caught the edge with his right hand, forcing himself to pause in a kind of one-armed pushup before he swung his feet onto the ledge. He felt the muscles in his shoulder and stomach bunch to hold his weight. The maneuver was almost perfect, but one blade kissed his left calf, leaving a trail of blood to snake down his leg and into his shoe. He cursed, mentally docking himself a point.
Without pausing at the top, he flung himself onto the mat on the other side. Wooden arrows hummed through the air, whispering against the back of his neck, skimming his chest right above the heart. He rolled, grabbing a SIG Sauer from the rack on the wall and taking out the two mechanical bowmen within seconds. He dropped the gun, knowing there were only two bullets inside. Miss once, and he’d be staked.
Dispassionately, Sam scanned the room for the next course on the menu. The room was lined in more stainless steel, and he could track his movements in a blurry reflection. Dark hair, gray eyes, a body coiled more like a beast than a man. No more emotion than a machine.
He heard a door open, and an enormous wolf bounded forward. A werewolf, actually. Famine, one of the other Horsemen—but the fact they worked together didn’t mean Kenyon would give him an inch. For the first time, Sam felt his stomach tighten. Everything so far had been a test of strength or coordination. Kenyon, on the other hand, had a very crafty mind.
The wolf stopped a few paces away, crouching with a warning growl. Pale gold eyes raked over Sam, sending an electric prickle across his shoulders. He growled right back, feeling the low rumble in his chest. His fangs were down, adrenaline bringing out his own beast. His calf stung from the knife wound, and he could smell the blood, the coppery scent almost, but not quite, like a human’s. From the gray wolf’s twitching nose, he’d noticed it, too.
Kenyon sprang. Sam leaped to grab the wolf in midair, twisting so that they both fell hard to the floor. Kenyon writhed, jaws snapping, hind legs slashing. Sam straddled the beast, the coarse hair rough against his skin. At the same time, he had the wolf’s head between his hands, trying to immobilize him. They were matched for strength. Sam’s only hope was to keep him off balance.
It might have worked, except Kenyon chose that moment to shift. The burst of energy sent Sam sailing backward. His back had barely hit the floor when Kenyon was on top of him, huge hands around Sam’s throat, shutting off all air.
“Sucker,” Kenyon gloated. A manic grin lit his Nordic features.
Sam replied with a hard right jab.
“Ungh!” Kenyon fell sideways, releasing Sam’s neck.
Sam got to his feet and glared down at the werewolf, putting one foot across his throat. “Vampires don’t have to breathe, remember?”
Kenyon rubbed his face and swore.
“Time.” The voice came from somewhere in the ceiling. “Two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Sam grunted. Not bad. Not his best speed, but close. He held out a hand to Kenyon, who took it and pulled himself up.
“You’re not even sweating,” the wolf complained.
“Cardio only applies if you have a pulse.”
Kenyon gave him a scathing look. He’d heal quickly from Sam’s punch, but he’d have a black eye first. “I should have had you.”
“Dream on, dog breath.”
The door opened again, and this time one of the human technicians came running in holding Sam’s cell phone. Sam exchanged a look with the wolf, seeing his own question in Kenyon’s eyes.
The tech waved Sam’s iPhone, a harried look on his face. “For you. It’s Death.”
* * *
“Sam, I need you and the others at Oakwood pronto. Code...whatever. Code the whole damned spectrum. Just get your butts over here.”
Jack Anderson, also known as Death, threw the phone onto the seat beside him, needing both hands on the wheel. He should have been using the hands-free option, but driving with undue care and attention wasn’t Jack’s issue.
It was the jackass trying to make a hood ornament out of his Porsche that was the problem. Not that anything could outrun his silver Porsche 911 GT2 RS—or at least not here, on the back roads of Wingman County, where soccer-mom SUVs and handyman trucks ruled the two-lane highways. Except the car behind him was a black Mercedes SLS complete with a sniper in the passenger seat.
Jack navigated a sharp turn, hugging the cliff and ignoring the sheer drop to his right. A bullet punched through the back windshield and tore through the leather seat. Bloody barbarians!
He could have sworn the bullet had glinted like silver. They know I’m a vampire. Jack stepped on the accelerator, taking advantage of a straight stretch of road to leap ahead. Then the downshift, left turn, and he was on the wooded road leading home.
The next bullet made a spiderweb of the windshield. Who are these guys? They were bad shots, or maybe just not up to Jack’s standards. Sam would have taken out a tire and sent the car over the cliff. That was how you ended a car chase: one bullet, no fuss.
He’d picked up the yahoos on his tail about halfway home, just after he’d left the populated part of the coast. They’d started shooting as soon as he was on the treacherous cliff road and couldn’t get away. Jack drove as fast as he could, but the twists and turns held him back. The fact that it was two in the morning and pitch-black didn’t help, either. Vampire night vision only did so much.
Just like his so-called immortality had its limitations. He was hard to kill, but a silver bullet or a fiery crash could take him out. Whoever was behind this attack had done his or her homework.
What do they want? There were plenty of people who wanted him dead. Okay, extra-dead. Re-dead. Whatever. Which ones were these?
Another turn, this time to the right. Now it would be safe to jump out of the car, vampire-quick, but he was almost home. He could do it. He could beat them.
He could see the massive iron gate of Oakwood, his mansion with its handpicked security staff. Oaks flanked the entrance, huge, gnarled sentries. Thank God. Jack’s heart leaped with relief. Safe.
Then, finally, a bullet took out the rear tire. The Porsche bucked and slid. Jack swore, one curse running into the next. He’d been going too fast, and...
Copyright © 2014 by Naomi Lester
ISBN-13: 9781460331736
UNTAMED WOLF
Copyright © 2014 by Linda O. Johnston
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Untamed Wolf Page 26