Lone Wolf

Lone Wolf
Karen Whiddon

Destroyed by passion, reunited in vengeanceAnton was looking for peace and quiet deep in the Texas mountains, away from his pack. Until he was abducted and held captive with none other than his ex-lover-turned-nemesis, vampire huntress Marika. But that’s not all. Marika bore his miracle child. And that child has been taken…An ancient vampire priestess is behind the kidnapping, but why? To exploit the child’s rare gifts? In a race against time, the two former lovers must overcome bitterness and broken hearts in order to save their daughter – and save themselves in the process.

Daddy.

Her stomach dropped. This hurt a million times worse than she’d thought it would. Beck wasn’t giving up and going away. She’d have to tell him the rest of Brigid’s warning. Otherwise, he would never understand why she couldn’t let him within ten miles of their child.

Thank goodness Dani was safely hidden.

Knowing she had to choose her words carefully, she squared her shoulders. “The Seer, Brigid, was very specific in her warning.”

“The Vampire Priestess? She’s also a seer?”

“Yes. Her magic is powerful and she can see things.” Another deep breath. “She warned me against you and your kind.”

“You don’t think I …” Eyes narrowed, as he stared at her, a muscle worked in his jaw. “I would never hurt a child, especially my own daughter. She meant someone else, not me.”

“More than anything, I want to believe you. But I can’t take a chance. I’m sorry, but that’s why I go alone. I trust no one. Not even you.”

Dear Reader,

There is much to celebrate in life. Oftentimes, caught up in the daily hustle and grind, we lose sight of that. Sometimes it takes a miracle to make us recognize truly how lucky we are. I try to count my blessings daily—hourly if I remember—and even the smallest things—a perfect butterfly, a blooming flower, the way the sun colors the clouds ocher—are causes for celebration.

It’s not always like that, nor will it be. I know into every life occasionally comes darkness, sweeping in and throwing a black cloak over the sun. Such is the case with my Lone Wolf, Pack Protector Anton Beck. Still mourning the loss of his sister and having given up searching for his mate, an unlikely Vampire Huntress named Marika, Beck is living a solitary life when he is granted a miracle. A daughter. Now not only are vampire/shape-shifter matches frowned upon, but since they are technically dead, Vampires are unable to bear living children. That Marika not only does this, but raises the miracle child in secret, is another thing to marvel at. That is, if Beck could see past his rage at being lied to.

Of course, a child that shouldn’t exist is very valuable and is hunted, and Beck and Marika’s journey to not only protect her but find and stop the ones who want to take her, is in itself something to celebrate. Love can clear back the blackest darkness and bring a spectacular ocher sunrise, if only you let it into your heart.

I hope you enjoy reading the Lone Wolf.

Karen Whiddon

About the Author

KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amidst the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty of the rugged peaks and spun stories of love that captivated her family’s attention.

Karen now lives in North Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing the contemporary romantic suspense and paranormal romances that readers enjoy. You can e-mail Karen at KWhiddon1@aol.com or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182, USA. Fans of her writing can also check out her website, www.KarenWhiddon.com.

Lone Wolf

Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To my husband Lonnie and my daughter Stephanie—my own two miracles

Chapter 1

His dashboard clock showed one minute after midnight. The patrons spilling from the doorway of Addie’s Bar were well into their partying, reeling around the parking lot laughing and shouting.

Anton Beck parked his truck and turned the ignition off, feeling the loud bass thump of the music all the way out here. Smoke curled from the open windows, a blue haze that reminded him of the morning mists of Vancouver Island, one of his favorite places on earth.

But this was Alpine, Texas, and even at this late hour, heat still shimmered from the dry earth in muted waves. Now that his air conditioner no longer blew, the heat made beads of perspiration break out on his forehead. He needed to get out of the truck and begin what he’d come to do.

Still he sat, unwilling yet to take the steps necessary to take him inside. A headache had begun to throb behind his eyes, the kind that promised to explode into a full-blown migraine if he wasn’t careful. The noise level inside the bar just might be enough of a trigger to send him staggering for a quiet place to lie down. He hoped not. Not tonight, of all nights. Such a thing was not possible.

Swallowing, he hesitated. Once he stepped onto the gravel, he knew the memories would swirl around him, haunting him with the aching familiarity of grief. Stark contrast to the riotous nightlife going on in and around the bar.

A bar was the last place he wanted to be tonight, any night, actually. But this was a special night, and this was Addie’s Place. Addie was the nearest person he had to family, and this was the closest thing he had to home. He needed to say hello to her, to let her wrap him in her flower-scented arms and hug him, while feeding him tortillas and tamales. As though her rich, sinful food could help him begin healing the scars that pockmarked his soul.

But first, he needed to focus on his sister. This night, he had a ritual to complete. He had made a small cross outside the bar, near the rise and the twisted tree. Every year he came on the same date to light a candle and stand guard over the marker that noted the spot where his baby sister, Juliet, had been killed. He’d never forgiven himself for her death. She’d been here to meet him, after all. And he’d been running late.

Growing up, he’d always wanted to watch over her, keep her safe. Being taken away by the Pack to become a Protector had made this impossible. But he’d done what he could. In this instance, he’d failed tremendously. His own mother hadn’t spoken to him since.

Now, three years had passed, and each year he felt the burden of guilt heavier on his shoulders.

A group of vampires strolled past his truck, laughing quietly amongst themselves. Their pale skin gleamed in the moonlight, beautiful and icy. Beck couldn’t help but admire them, even knowing that at one time in the distant past, they’d been his sworn enemy.

And, as had become habit now, he searched all their faces, compulsively seeking one that was less than perfect, yet still lovely. Marika, his sister’s best friend. She’d disappeared after Juliet had died, making him wonder if she’d had something to do with her death. If he ever saw her again, he planned to ask her.

Though he’d not yet found her, he hadn’t given up hope. Vampires these days humored him. Once, staring too long would have been seen as an insult and caused a battle.

Juliet had endured a lot of flack for her friendship with Marika. Shape-shifters and vampires just didn’t mix.

Beck had proven this even further by his one misstep with his sister’s best friend. Though Juliet had never known about their brief affair, he’d never forgiven himself. He and Marika had been together when Juliet had been killed. The memory, even now so ragged and painful, made him flinch.

Shaking off the ache in his chest and the nagging hurt in his head, Beck got out of the car. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and headed toward the bar. Before he could see Addie’s welcoming smile, he had a pilgrimage to make.

He patted his hunting-vest pocket, making sure his bottle of rotgut was still there. It was. Though he would have welcomed company, specifically Marika’s, without her this salute was better made alone. When he’d finished, then and only then, he could go inside and accept comfort from the woman who’d loved them both like her own.

Trudging up the slight rise, he stared out over the moonlit land that seemed to go on forever, unbroken except for sagebrush and cactus. In the distance, the mesa rose, dark purple against the night sky, a tribute to ancient gods from a long-forgotten past.

He’d long ago tried to make his peace with them, settling finally for an uneasy compromise.

Each step brought him closer to hell.

Here. He slowed as he reached the spot. The marker, a stylized ankh carved in granite, had been well-tended, and someone had placed a foil-wrapped planter of tulips in front. Addie.

Beck smiled slightly, making a mental note to thank her later.

He dropped to his knees on the soft grass and pulled out his bottle, barely wetting his lips before he spoke. “Hey, Jules,” he said softly. “Me again.”

The answering silence felt full of condemnation.

This time, he took a swig in earnest, the pungent whiskey burning down his throat. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I haven’t found your killer, not yet. But I promise you I won’t give up.”

No answer, of course. There never was.

Beyond him, in the undulating land toward the mesa, he heard the muted sounds of nature in the night, behind him, human noises of revelry enhanced by alcohol and music.