Her kiss has hidden bite…
When the spark of the firestorm sears Arach Knight’s soul, the dragon shifter warrior knows he’s met his destined mate—even if feisty Wynter insists she isn’t tempted. He’ll do anything to secure their union, even help her avenge the wolf shifters against the surviving Dark Fae—except he’ll never again risk his heart for any woman or her cause. Once burned, twice shy.
Wolf-shifter Wynter Olson wants to strike back at her pack’s enemy while she has the chance, and prove herself as the new alpha—and no matter how hot Arach the dragon shifter is, she knows he’s not her destined mate. This is her chance to make her own mark and she won’t be distracted by something so fleeting as desire, even if Arach’s fiery kiss melts her reservations.
But when Wynter awakens a magick left slumbering eons before, Arach has to defend his destined mate against disaster. The only way they can save their respective kinds is to join forces—but can these two battered souls overcome the wounds of their pasts to build a new future, together?
An excerpt from Dragon’s Wolf
“When are you going back to Alaska?” Arach asked. He was walking with Wynter back toward Bones, the firestorm simmering between them with seductive golden heat. She was trying to put distance between them, again, and Arach wasn’t cooperating. He made sure he was right beside her.
It was a cold morning in late December and as they approached the bar frequented by the shifters in town, a damp wind blew from the Hudson. Bones was located in Hell’s Kitchen, the former meatpacking district, an area that was beginning to regentrify. Instead of empty lots and rundown buildings, construction sites were popping up like mushrooms and shiny new towers stretched toward the sky. Arach wondered whether Murray would relocated his bar once all the beautiful people moved into the condominiums under construction. He wondered whether there was anyplace left on the island of Manhattan that was sparsely populated.
Wynter cast him a hostile glance, her grey-blue eyes glittering like ice. It was her eyes that made it impossible to forget that she was a wolf-shifter. They were as cold as those of a real wolf, the eyes of a predator that would seize any advantage to win. “People will see,” she hissed, trying to step ahead of him again.
Arach caught her elbow in his hand, and even that slight contact sent a rush of desire through him that weakened his knees. He heard Wynter catch her breath as the light of the firestorm flared to brilliant yellow. It was even casting sparks that shone brightly as they fell to the sidewalk then extinguished. “No one else is awake.”
“Be serious. This is New York. There’s always someone awake.”
“We have to talk about our plan.”
She stopped to face him, tugging her arm from his grip and putting her hands on her hips. “We don’t have a plan.”
“Then we need one,” Arach insisted, folding his arms across his chest. She was tall but he was taller and he could feel the crackle of energy between them as they squared off. “We’re a team now. We’re destined mates.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Don’t wolf-shifters have destined mates?”
“Of course, we do, but you’re not him.”
“How do you know?”
She didn’t answer him directly but lifted her hand, reaching toward him so the sparks of the firestorm shone brilliantly. They both inhaled sharply and Arach saw her flush slightly. “This firestorm of yours is fake, just like the last three, some kind of Fae spell.”
“But…”
“I don’t care about the details,” Wynter said, interrupting him fiercely. “It’s not real. I know it, so I’m not surrendering to it.”
Arach smiled. “But you’re tempted.”
“Of course, I’m tempted.” She surveyed him, her appreciation undisguised for once, and Arach’s heart warmed. “But if we have sex, it will just convince you that we’re intended to be together forever. I can do without the complication of a lovesick dragon following me around.”
Lovesick?
She pivoted and marched toward the bar. It was closed, but she was meeting the mates of the Alaska pack there, as she did every morning.
“Lovesick?” Arach echoed. “I’m hardly lovesick.”
“You would be. I guarantee it.” Wynter cast him a knowing glance. “Unless the firestorm is just about sex. Just about making another dragon shifter? One and done is how I understand it.”
“You’ve been listening to Thorolf.” Arach felt a little grumpy that his fellow Pyr were undermining his own firestorm. Thorolf had probably thought he was being helpful.
“He’s not the only one who knows how it works with you Pyr. I mean, there’s a cable show about you.” She shook her head and dropped her voice to a growl as she marched onward. “How discreet is that? It’s no wonder your kind were once hunted and slaughtered, since you can’t keep your mouths shut.”
“While you’re all about the secrets?”
Her sidelong glance was as furious as he’d expected. “It’s safer that way.”
Arach nodded, unwilling to let that pass unchallenged. “Explain to me again how all the wolf-shifters in the Alaska pack were slaughtered the same night? Your alpha and your brother first, then all the other males? Taken by surprise and eliminated, just like that?” He snapped his fingers.
Wynter turned to glare at him. “That was Maeve’s doing and you know it. We were targeted by the Fae.”
Arach shrugged. “Dead all the same.” He wondered then if she was annoyed about something else. “Seems like an incredible coincidence that you’d all be wiped out.”
“We were having a meeting,” Wynter acknowledged. “There’d been some…celebrating, so I guess those on guard weren’t very watchful.” She rolled her shoulder slightly and winced.
“It might not have mattered, given that the Fae were attacking.” Arach had asked about her shoulder before but he did it again. “Anything I can for that shoulder?”
“No.” She bit off the word.
“Maybe you should have it checked out.”
“What’s the point? I know what it is.”
His mate wasn’t the most forthcoming individual on the planet, that was for sure. In a way, though, Arach liked the challenge. “And?” he invited. She looked up. “What is it?”
“A wound that can’t be healed.”
“Were you struck down by a Fae weapon?” he asked. “Because Hadrian might have some ideas…”
“Look.” Wynter spun to face him, her eyes narrowed and her hands on her hips. “I don’t need help from any dragons. I don’t want to talk to you and I’m not your mate. Maybe you should find another hobby.”
Arach smiled and raised his hands, watching the light of the firestorm become radiant. The glow was reflected in her eyes and softened her appearance. He thought maybe its persistent heat was wearing down her objections, too.
A guy could hope.
“The firestorm won’t go out until we satisfy it.” He smiled. “It’s pretty persuasive.”
“And it’s satisfied with sex?”
“By the conception of a Pyr son.”
“No, thank you,” she said crisply and spun on her heel, marching onward. “The last thing I need right now is a dragon baby.”
“What happens now with the Alaska pack?” Arach asked. “Another pack amalgamates with yours and you have to answer to a different alpha?”
“Over my dead body,” Wynter said. “I’ll lead the pack.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Are you seriously going to challenge me over this?”
“I’m just thought wolf-shifters were fixed on the gender thing.”
“Even more than dragons?”
“There only are male dragon shifters,” Arach informed her. “Except for the Wyvern, when there is one. There might not be one now.”
“Aren’t you sure?” Wynter was almost sneering.
“One of the Pyr has a daughter, which is unusual. If she’s the Wyvern, she won’t come into her powers for a few years yet. Then we’ll know.” Wynter didn’t appear to be interested so Arach asked about wolves. “How many female wolf-shifters are there, anyway? Is there any precedent for one taking charge?”
“It’s really not your business.”
“Of course, it is. From the first spark of the firestorm, your business became mine and vice versa.”
Wynter’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve changed my mind about taking a hostage. You Pyr can all stay here in New York and leave us alone.”
“You’re my mate,” Arach insisted, knowing already what her reply would be. “It’s my responsibility to defend you.”
“Please. I’ve been defending myself just fine.”
“What do you wolf-shifters call yourself anyway?”
She granted him an arch look.
“Not telling?” he asked.
She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned close as if to confide in him. The firestorm, predictably, flared with glorious enthusiasm. The golden light softened even the hard line of Wynter’s lips. “Here’s the thing: that’s how secrets stay secrets. You don’t tell them to anyone.”
“Very funny. But you have mating signs, too?”
She spun away from him and marched down the street toward the bar, heels clicking on the sidewalk. She was wearing black tights that showed off her powerful legs, and short electric blue boots with spike heels. She wore a black leather biker jacket and a big blue scarf that matched her boots and did amazing things for her eyes. “Don’t look for common ground with me, dragon.”
“Even though there is common ground. We Pyr mate once and for our lifetimes. Don’t you?”
Wynter marched on.
“And you know you’ve found your partner, because of the mating sign, right?”
She didn’t answer him.
“What’s yours like? Is it as obvious as the firestorm?”
She paused in front of the door to Bones, gripping the handle as she turned to glare at Arach. “We’re not mates. We’re not friends. We’re not lovers. In fact, our respective kinds are ancient enemies.”
“Go on.” That was news to Arach.
Wynter continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “None of those things are going to change so you might as well give it up now. I have what remains of my pack to defend, as well as werewolves at the proverbial gates, and that’s plenty for me for now.”
“Two are stronger together.”
“Just stop. You can’t step into a wolf battle.” She glared at him. “We’re not mates.”
“Bull,” Arach said. “This firestorm is real and you know it as well as I do. Nobody ever thinks they have time for destiny, but that doesn’t stop it.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he couldn’t resist any longer. He framed her face in his hands and saw her lips part as the firestorm heated to a pale yellow fury. It snapped and crackled around them, leaping between the two of them like lightning in a bottle. As he stood there, astonished by its power, their heartbeats synchronized and then their breathing. Their gazes locked and Arach felt as if they were two halves of a single being, finally united.
The feeling shook his world.
“Holy shit,” Wynter whispered and Arach knew she’d felt it, too.
Desire surged through him, heating him from head to toe, filling him with a desire that wouldn’t be easily satisfied. He wanted a complete union with her, to merge first their bodies, then their hearts and souls. He surveyed Wynter, loving how forthright and brave she was, loving her strength and her dedication to her pack, knowing in his heart that the firestorm had chosen a warrior for him who was his equal in every measure. She shook her head slightly and he would have released her, but she opened her eyes and her gaze was simmering this time, filled with a need he couldn’t resist.
“I don’t even know if you’re immortal or not,” he said softly and she smiled, the curve of her lips making her look even more alluring.
“And I’m not telling,” she whispered, her gaze flicking over his features. “Unless you have a plan to change my mind?”
There was an invitation Arach wouldn’t refuse. He leaned closer and touched his lips to hers, brushing his mouth across her lips slowly. The move sent an army of shivers over his skin, heightening his need and making everything but Wynter fade to oblivion. He felt her gasp, her free hand landing on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into his neck, drawing him closer, and Arach smiled as he slanted his mouth over hers, surrendering to the invitation of the firestorm. With that touch, the firestorm flared to blinding white, shooting sparks in every direction and blinding Arach to everything but Wynter’s face. She sighed and closed her eyes, then released the door, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him as she welcomed his kiss. The heat of the firestorm rose between them as she kissed him back, sparking and shimmering, frying any reservations and fusing their desires into molten need.
The kiss was seductive and potent beyond anything Arach had ever felt before. It lit a flame within him that only Wynter could satisfy and forged a conviction that the firestorm was unassailable. He pulled her closer, pushing his fingers through her short dark hair, savoring the crush of her breasts against his chest, wanting all she had to give—and then a little more. He could have taken her in the street on that cold December morning, so lost was he in the magic of the firestorm.
* * *
Who would have guessed that the first guy Wynter had met who really knew how to kiss would be a dragon shifter?
It was some kind of rotten luck, and worse that Arach was convinced they were meant to be together. Wynter was fighting against the influence of his so-called firestorm, but knew she was losing. The story was that the firestrom never gave anyone a break. It kept simmering all the time, turning her thoughts to pleasure and seduction at the most inconvenient moments—well, actually, it did that all the time. It was relentless and persistent and it was easy to see how women who were mere mortals fell at the feet of these dragon shifters.
Wynter was having a tough time resisting temptation herself.
It didn’t help that Arach was gorgeous. Not only was he completely ripped and obviously principled—a weakness of hers—but his black hair and silvery eyes were a striking combination. He could have been a model, maybe for an Italian designer, and when he’d shifted to his dragon form for Hadrian’s scale repair, she knew she’d never seen a more magnificent creature in her life. He was lean and powerful, his scales seemingly cut of aquamarines and edged in silver, his wings like pewter leather, and when he’d breathed fire, she’d wanted to cheer.
It also didn’t help that she’d been alone too long. Not long ago, she’d been busy fending off the advances of Logan, another wolf-shifter and one determined to unite their families by blood. Avoiding Logan had been a full-time responsibility after he’d joined the Alaskan pack and become her brother’s Kirk’s second in command. He’d been there every time she turned around. Worse, Kirk had supported Logan’s suit. There’d been no way she could be with another werewolf, or even slip off to Anchorage for a fling.
But with the responsibility for the mates of the slaughtered Alaskan pack, she didn’t have time for romance. She didn’t have time for dragons, even this one.
The firestorm, though, screwed with her mind. It undermined all the things she knew to be true: that weredragons were the bane of werewolves, that their kinds were ancient enemies, that no good came of mingling blood with anyone other than man or wolf, that a destined mate was worth the wait, that she was the last person who would ever compromise. She didn’t have time to be pregnant. She didn’t want to subsume her identity and her nature to that of her partner. She didn’t need complications when she faced the biggest challenge of her life.
But the firestorm tickled and teased. It awakened her in the night and filled her dreams with visions of Arach when she did sleep. It left her tired and restless and hornier than she’d ever been in her life—and to her thinking, someone should pay for that.
That was why she’d challenged Arach.
She hadn’t had one second’s doubt that he’d take her dare and kiss her. She was hoping his kiss would be underwhelming, as that would make it easy to move on.
Of course, it wasn’t. That would have made her life too simple.
Arach’s kiss was incredible. It cajoled and teased, inviting her participation, fanning the flames of desire until she wanted to roar. When she leaned against him, running her hands over his muscled shoulders, she had to slide her hands under his jacket and stroke the hard heat of him through his T-shirt. The firestorm seemed to boil beneath her hands, filling her mind with radiant white heat, drawing her closer like a moth to the flame. When she opened her mouth to him, wanting more than a taste, Arach’s kiss burned down her barriers, incinerated objections, annihilated all rational argument and staked its claim—a little too close to her heart for comfort. The sex would be amazing, and she was tempted to back him into the wall, to deepen their kiss, maybe take him fast once inside the bar.
It might be worth it…
‘Don’t forget,’ a voice growled in her thoughts and Wynter jumped at the intrusion. She broke their kiss and took a step back, then glanced up the street toward downtown. Predictably, Caleb Davison, the leader of the Manhattan wolves, was striding closer. He was older, his hair turned to silver, and he walked with a limp. He was incredibly handsome all the same, exuding a virility that probably stopped women in their tracks. His eyes were narrowed and he looked grim.
“Did you just interrupt us?” Arach asked, looked as if he’d square off with Caleb.
“Of course,” Caleb said easily. He opened the door to the bar and gave Wynter a hard look. “Wynter called a meeting and we don’t want to be late.”
“You can’t have heard him,” Wynter said when Caleb disappeared inside. He hadn’t gone far, because she could smell his watchful presence.
“I heard something, but not whatever he said.” Arach was serious. “You can communicate with each other without speaking aloud?”
Wynter didn’t want to talk about the abilities of her kind. “What difference does it make if we can?”
“It’s like old-speak,” Arach said. “That’s one way we Pyr can communicate. Those of us who are good at it can whisper in the thoughts of another Pyr. It’s at a lower frequency than human speech so most of them can’t hear it.” He shrugged. “Or they think it’s distant thunder.”
“Bragging?” Wynter asked and he laughed.
“Finding common ground.”
“We don’t have common ground.”
Arach counted on his fingers. “Werewolves have something similar to Pyr old-speak. Werewolves are mostly born male.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Just plain old observation. Most of those mates who followed you from Alaska brought their sons. There are only a couple of girls, and given the numbers, that’s a pretty good statistical sample.”
Wynter shrugged, not admitting anything.
“Werewolves have destined mates, and even better, you’re waiting for yours.”
“You don’t know that!”
“You’re single,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “And beautiful, which means that situation is your choice. Why else would you wait than for a destined mate?”
“If I am, you’re out of luck.”
He shook his head with a confidence she could respect but that also infuriated her. “No, you just need to see the truth. The firestorm is never wrong.” Before she could think of an argument against that, he gestured toward the darkened interior of the bar. “After you.”
The problem with dragons was that they only saw what they wanted to see.
And they were stubborn.
Well, Wynter could be just as stubborn. The firestorm tickled at the edge of her thoughts, distracting her from the meeting ahead as if it would argue that.
That was when she realized that Caleb wasn’t the only male werewolf inside Bones. No, she could smell half a dozen of them, undoubtedly drawn by the lack of leadership for the Alaska pack.
She strode into the bar, fearing the worst, and she wasn’t far wrong. There was Sterling from the Yukon pack standing by the bar. Alrik from the Oregon pack was leaning against the wall of a booth filled with mates and kids. Wynter didn’t miss that several of the mates were giving him a good look. Alrik had always been too handsome for his own good. And on the far side of the bar, flirting with the hostess, was Lowell from the British Columbia pack. All three of them looked up when she entered. All three of them assessed her, then their gazes slipped past her to Arach.
Sterling straightened, proving just how tall and powerful he was. He was dark with dark eyes, and had been a friend of her brother’s for a long time. Of them all, she was most inclined to trust him—but she knew he’d act in his own best interests first. Alrik appeared beside Sterling, his expression turning stern as he folded his arms across his chest. He had wavy chestnut hair, a bit too long, and cool tawny eyes. Before Wynter could blink, Lowell had joined them, moving as silently as a shadow. She watched his jaw set and his nostrils flare as he considered Arach.
Murray, the dwarf who owned Bones, was behind the bar, a worried expression creasing his brow. “Not again,” he whispered. Wynter noticed that his bartender was nowhere to be seen.
“Wolves only,” Sterling growled.
“This is a private meeting,” Alrik added.
“You need to vanish, dragon,” Lowell concluded and the three of them stepped forward as one.
“How nice of you to make the trip,” Wynter said, trying to gain control of the meeting. She felt Arach move behind her, the heat of the firestorm at her back, but gestured for him to stand back. She felt his annoyance, but he did as she requested. Despite herself, she liked that. A lot.
“The future of the Alaska pack is our concern,” Sterling said.
“Well, it shouldn’t be. I’m going to lead it.”
Alrik laughed, a short harsh bark of sound. “I don’t think so.”
“Not a chance,” Lowell agreed in a slow drawl.
Sterling just smiled.
“This isn’t your concern,” Wynter said, her annoyance rising fast. “I’m the blood daughter of Magnus, and the only sister of Kirk, the last alpha. I’m the obvious heir.”
“Amen,” said a number of the mates who had accompanied her from Alaska.
“And she avenged us on the Fae,” added Alison. Twenty years older than Wynter and the widow of Wynter’s cousin, Lucien, Alison was a grandmother and Wynter’s strongest supporter. There were high fives all around the bar after that. Alison’s own small pack—two daughter-in-laws and four grandsons and a granddaughter—nodded emphatic agreement. She’d lost both of her sons and her partner in the Fae attack and had been one of the loudest voices calling for revenge.
“I wouldn’t argue if you had the stones for the job,” Alrik said with a wicked smile.
“Meaning only a male can lead the pack?” Wynter demanded.
“It’s tradition,” Lowell said.
“But this pack isn’t your family,” Wynter argued.
“And you show up now?” Katelin scoffed. “Where were you when there was fighting to be done?” Wynter’s cousin’s widow had always been outspoken. Her two boys were lanky teenagers and they showed the new arrivals some attitude now.
“Step aside, Wynter,” Sterling said with soft menace. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“It is not the right thing to do,” Wynter snarled, summoning the change. She’d fight to her last breath for this and her family. She saw the eyes of the other three flicker and knew they’d team up against her. Caleb stood up and raised his hands, but before he could speak, a flicker of light prompted Wynter to look over her shoulder. Blue light shimmered around Arach’s silhouette and she already knew that meant he was on the cusp of change.
A dragon defending her was the last thing she needed. These wolves would conclude that she couldn’t fight her own battles.
“Stop it!” she cried and flung out her hands. The firestorm flared and crackled vivid yellow between her and Arach, visibly astonishing the three werewolves. They stared at the light, transfixed, their battle with Wynter forgotten.
“What the hell is that?” Alrik whispered.
“Trouble,” Caleb said calmly. “Dragons are always trouble.” He lifted his glass of beer, and addressed the three astonished werewolves. “I suggest you have a beer. It’s a long story.”
To Wynter’s relief, the four male shifters exhaled and stood down.
Never mind the firestorm: Wynter needed a plan.
Fast.
Deborah Cooke: Author 