Releasing
April 24, 2015
Dylan Royce, Willow Bend Hunter, is a natural flirt
and courted his fair share of she-wolves, but he’s never found the woman who
makes his pulse race. With the new pack’s borders verging on Willow Bend
territory, he’s tasked with keeping an eye on them. His job grows more
challenging daily, especially since one seductive female keeps crossing the
line.
Chrystal Landros knows she’s supposed to keep to her side of the Three
Rivers-Willow Bend line. But she loves to explore, and Willow Bend is home to
some spectacular sites. As a former Lone Wolf, she hasn’t always been certain
of her welcome, but her new home in Three Rivers opens a wonderful world of
unfamiliar opportunities. Too bad the wolf who makes her blood heat is tasked
with keeping her away from the places she wants to visit.
While Dylan and Chrystal clash repeatedly over her border incursions, the game
between them threatens to turn deadly. Tensions between Willow Bend and Three
Rivers continue to rise. Could their forbidden dalliance be the spark to ignite
a war?
Excerpt:
Racing the wind, Dylan
Royce danced over a thin shell of snow without sinking into the powder. A
recent blizzard dumped three feet of fresh accumulation in twelve hours, all of
it atop the ice-hardened pack beneath. Cold, crisp air flooded his lungs with
his every footfall. Invigorated by the chill, he kept his mouth open to sample
the breeze. The natural wonder from the weather made running his circuit a
pleasure rather than a chore as he spun through the remote pack campgrounds.
Human families escaped to
these campgrounds during the warmer summer months. The remote location, coupled
with the bordering state park, also made it ideal for young wolves to learn to
hunt, stalk and play away from day-to-day life. Winter often proved the second
favorite season for families with older youths to escape and romp in the snow.
With Three Rivers’ border so close, however, Mason slapped a moratorium on any
vacation plans to the area for the pack.
The usually populated
area remained virtually abandoned during Dylan’s tenure as Hunter guarding the
border, a downside to Mason’s order. Such a critical position would typically
have fallen on Owen Chase, but their Senior Hunter left for Hudson River eight
weeks prior with his mate to train the pack’s young healer and to provide
assistance to the Alpha.
So, while Dylan landed
the miserable position, at least he got to enjoy the snow. And, in a few hours,
he would get to enjoy Tawny, the sleek, svelte law student interning with Ryan
Huston. Dylan pursued her for months before she finally consented to a drink.
Where he spent his
weekend off hinged on the date. His wolf thrilled at the challenge. They would
definitely enjoy taking a bite out of her taut ass. Still, better to burn off
some of his frustrations…plus, he had all the gorgeous unbroken snow to
himself. After climbing to the highest vantage, he growled his approval.
Pristine powder lay in smooth waves down the hill.
Testing the ice crust, he
found only soft powder. It clung to his fur and bunched between his claws. The
swirling breeze carried the promise of more snow. Panting, he arched his head
back and loosed a single call. Infusing power into the call to demand a
response, he cut it off abruptly and listened.
Any wolves within his
range would respond. Flicking his ears, he heard only the wind brushing the
trees, the faint groan of branches heavily laden with winter’s kiss and the
whuffs of his breathing. No scents teased his nostrils, no sounds alerted him
to intruders, and all the magnificent snow lay waiting for him to play.
Tail wagging, he danced
away from the edge and trotted several paces. Judging the distance to be
perfect, he dashed forward, rushing on adrenaline-fueled muscles until he
reached the edge and flung himself onto the slope, legs sprawling out. His
trajectory and angle gave him additional speed. He flew to the base of the hill
and crashed into a snowdrift.
Bounding out, he shook to
free his coat of the snow and sneezed. Damn, that’s fun. He turned to
make another climb and repeat the wild ride when a tangle of lemon and orchid
teased his nose.
Whirling, he raised his
head to catch the direction of the scent, because beneath the citrus was the
musk of wolf—a wolf he’d already tossed three times in as many weeks.
Dammit, Chrystal. All at once, his
plans for the evening began to disintegrate. If the Three Rivers bitch
hightailed it over the line again, he’d have to track her, catch her, punish
her, and drop kick her ass back to Luciana “I Have No Idea What the Hell I’m
Doing” Barrows.
Tawny wouldn’t wait for
him, either. Five minutes late, she’d warned, and he would be out of luck.
Snarling to himself, he
trotted west slowly and caught the trace of Chrystal’s scent again. The
swirling wind kept yanking it away from him like a tease, but he was a Hunter.
He would find her.
An hour of stalking and
two false trails later, he’d finally narrowed her scent to a tract of land
below the campgrounds near the old falls. The snow continued, fat heavy flakes
crusting on his coat. His phone—like his clothes—were in his truck, parked more
than a few miles away. He tried to bury his sour mood, knowing his date with
Tawny slipped further and further out of reach.
Pausing in the shadow of
a tree, he scanned the rocky slope where the water spilled from any icy crevice
and flowed down into a sluggish moving pool. Ice shimmered around the shores,
slicking the hard surfaces. Despite the wind, Chrystal’s scent grew stronger
with each blast of wind skimming the pseudo valley.
With so much white on
every surface, he expected to find her swiftly, but it took him some time to
pick her out. She climbed the icy rock face along the edge of the waterfall.
His irritation switched
to concern. What the hell is she doing?
Dressed in jeans, a
sweatshirt, and a too-thin jacket, she climbed with determination, fighting for
every hand and foothold as the slippery ice gave way beneath her grip.
Straightening, he followed her progress and eyed the landscape in search of his
best route to the top. A skittering of skin and shoe against the slick rock
jerked his attention back to the curvy little pain in his ass. She’d dropped a
foot from her upward progress and clung to the rock through will alone.
The little minx needed a
damn keeper. Inch-by-inch, she continued her creeping ascent of the sheer
shale. Between the composition of the stone and the ice, she risked serious
injury to her bare hands. Even from his position, he could see the dampness
soaking her jeans.
What the hell could be worth courting frostbite?
With a leap, he bounded into the dip and sank into the wetter snow around the
waterfall’s pool. Fording through the dense drifts, he found the path he’d been
seeking and began to climb along the outer rim. Worn by the passage of many
feet over the years, faint stone steps existed deep beneath the snow. In
midsummer, the waterfall served as the perfect diving point. The pool below was
a good twelve to fifteen feet deep, which meant high divers didn’t usually
crack their skulls. Of course, the water wasn’t half-frozen or frigid in the
middle of summer either.
Chrystal continued easing
her way to the precipice. Ahead of her finally, Dylan scrambled onto the ledge
and leaned over to judge the distance between them. He’d need to shift to grab
her. She was beyond his neck range, even if he were able to snag her damp
jacket. If she ascended another foot or two…only she didn’t. She stopped.
Dylan stared, disbelief
sinking into his bones. Instead of climbing—or even holding on with her flimsy
grips—she slid her free hand into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone. She
stretched the phone away from her, angling toward the plunging water…why?
Forgetting the idiocy of
her actions, he rushed his shift. Fur slid away, muscle twisted and bones
snapped. Part of Hunter apprenticeship required shifting under high-stress
situations. His mentor’s lesson had been brutal on the point. They needed to be
able to change on the fly and, since they were at their most vulnerable
mid-shift, hurrying the process was the only alternative.
Bliss and agony
intertwined until he suddenly knelt in the icy snow with his palms flat against
the chilly surface. The cold assaulted his overheated and sensitized skin like
so many needling daggers plunging into his flesh. Fuck me. Blowing out a
frosty breath, he did his best to ignore the wind shivering his balls and
threatening to geld him.
The trembling in his
muscles had more to do with the temperature than his shifting. Pushing to the
edge, he found the idiot wolf with her phone angled at the spraying water, her
thumb hovering over a button.
What. The. Hell?
He opened his mouth to
snarl at her, but she hadn’t glanced toward him once and her scent hadn’t
changed. Focused on whatever the hell her goal was, she failed to notice his
position or the precariousness of her own. If he snapped at her…he clamped his
teeth together, molars grinding, and waited.
Hating himself—and her more—he
flattened to the snow. Working to ignore the way his dick threatened to fall
off, he stretched out an arm. He could reach her. The snow blew sideways and a
faint flicker of sunlight broke through the cloud cover. The light hit the
water as his fingers brushed the back of her jacket.
“Yes!” she whooped. Her
thumb slapped against the shutter control, snapping several shots in a row. The
thin tendril of sunlight lit the water, dancing off the frost and ice around
it, to shatter into prisms. Dylan might have even enjoyed the sight, save for
Chrystal’s enthusiasm as she leaned further away. One moment, she dangled
precariously. The next, she slid.
Even a wolf would take a
beating on the rocks below.
Fisting her jacket, he
ignored the scream in his bicep from lifting her falling deadweight and hauled
her upward. Yes. I have her. Her howl of surprise gave him a measure of
satisfaction. So did jerking her over the edge then tossing her sweet ass into
the snow. She came up spluttering as Dylan rose above her and scowled.
“What the fuck are you doing Chrystal?”
Untamed Wolf
Book #6 in the Wolves of Willow Bend Series
Releasing April 24, 2015
About the Author:
Heather Long
National
bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science
fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are
filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime.
From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather
might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters
drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes
her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like
your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines
so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll
enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Contact Details:
Email: heather@heatherlong.net
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