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The wolf panted, so thin his bones rattled in his body. His fur was matted, dirty. Skin covered in sores, paw pads bloody. He’d traveled for so long, but now was in such bad shape, he moved purely on instinct. On will.
As if there was a homing device in his brain, he’d know when to stop.
The driveway was almost a surprise. The endless Shoshone simply stopped and, suddenly, civilization. Lifting his head, he blinked up at the buildings. One was new? He barely had time to register that, took two steps, and collapsed.
That was it. He was done.
He’d made it, and now he wouldn’t die in some unmarked grave, all alone.
Suddenly there were shouts, footsteps on the gravel. Someone bent over him, and his wolf opened one eye, but he couldn’t see more than a blur. Couldn’t shift to speak, to answer his brothers’ rapid-fire questions.
Where did this wolf come from?
Who is he?
My God, it can’t be.
His answer came only in his head, dredged from the depths of near-forgotten memory.
My name is Ari.
And I’m home.
Turn the page for an excerpt from the first book in the Alpha Pack series,
PRIMAL LAW
Available from Signet Eclipse.
Kira Locke had thirty seconds to lift the samples and get the hell out. Every second counted.
And then, technically, she’d be a thief. A criminal. The police wouldn’t know quite what to do with the items she’d stolen should she be caught, any more than she knew what to do with them if she wasn’t. Her brilliant plan had included getting them out of here, not where to go afterward. Or who to give them to. Who did she dare to trust when she offered little more than some dead tissue and a couple of wild accusations? Who would believe her?
A metallic scraping noise from somewhere down the hallway caused her to jump, her hands trembling so hard she nearly dropped the precious containers. Scratch that thirty seconds. Shit. Quickly, she checked the lids once more to make sure the formaldehyde didn’t leak out, and then slipped the small film-sized canisters into her purse.
There. Let’s see what Dr. Jekyll and the ghouls are up to.
The scraping sound came again, louder this time. Closer. The steady, heavy tread of boot heels on concrete, the systematic opening and closing of screeching metal doors announced that one of the night guards was making his rounds. Checking all of the labs and other rooms in this restricted area of her place of employment that she had no clearance to breach.
Make that former place of employment, if she got caught.
The footsteps came nearer, another door squealed open, and she silently cursed the bad luck that A.J. had called in sick tonight. The young guard would’ve covered for her, considering that he harbored the same suspicions Kira did about something being hidden in this place. Something terrible. Then again, it was probably good that her friend hadn’t known what she’d planned to do tonight because now he couldn’t be accused of helping her.
Heart in her throat, she considered her options—find a spot to hide and hope the guard moved on, or stroll nonchalantly from the room and try to fool him into thinking she had every right to be here. Play it cool, and then get lost.
A sinking feeling in her gut told her the second choice was out of the question, and that the cops were the least of her worries. Glancing around the lab, she zeroed in on the long worktable built on a solid base, the only object large enough to shield her from view. After switching off the light, she skirted the edge, moved to put the table between herself and the door, and crouched. Just in time.
The door swung open, the light flipping on again. The guard paused and she could picture him eyeing the area, trying to decide if anything appeared out of place. His boots scraped the floor as he moved inside a bit farther, and she huddled like a frightened rabbit in a hole, certain that any moment he’d decide to step around the table. Catch her there and call her boss, Dr. Gene Bowman. And if the pompous prick knew she was snooping, what was in her possession, and what she suspected . . .
Go away, please. Please. Her pulse hammered at the hollow of her throat and she was certain he could sense her fear. Smell it, sour and thick in the dank air.
Gradually, his steps retreated after he flipped the lights off again, and closed the door. Only when his tread faded down the corridor did she slump in relief, dragging a hand through her hair. Taking a few deep breaths, she stood, the temporary reprieve at an end. She still had to get out of the damned building unseen, though at almost midnight with nothing but a skeleton crew, the odds were slightly better.
Right. Keep telling yourself that.
Clutching her purse straps in a death grip, she eased toward the door. Turned the knob and slowly inched the weighty metal door open. A bit at a time, just enough to slip out and close it again. Her patience was rewarded with the tiniest squeak of hinges, but even that small noise sounded like a trumpet blast to her ears.
The corridor was clear. Of course it couldn’t be dimly lit with lots of inky shadows to hide in, like in the movies. The tunnel-like space was as brightly lit as a football field at halftime, and if the guard came back, she was toast. At least the lack of cover meant no one could sneak up on her, either.
