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Zoya is Rusalki, a powerful Russian forest sprite, whose heart navigates her destiny. Luka, a medved shifter, knows she’s his mate, the problem lies in convincing her of that before the Volk attack.
The passion and desire between Luka and Zoya is unmatched, but will they bond before their sworn enemy, the Volk, take away a secure future for both of them?
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Lure of Passion:
The forest was growing dark. The trees, littered the ground with dying foliage. The days, this time of year, were shorter and colder.
He looked down at the tracks as his great horse stomped again.
Luka stroked the beast’s neck and breathed deep. A noise drew his attention, and he climbed from the horse, black as the shadows and mean as an adder. “Dvori, stay,” he told the animal.
He followed the faint tracks in the ground, barely moving away as one of the tree limbs swung towards him.
There was not a breeze to have born the limb’s movement.
He paused and waited. The forest was silent; a storm was moving in and he knew it would not be long before the cold of winter beckoned at their door. This time, he stilled himself, let his medved, his inner self, tease the air around him. His heart was still beating too quickly—out of anger and a good dose of fear.
Fear was something he rarely dealt with, but his fear for Zoya wouldn’t abate.
Damned foolish woman, she knew, knew the Volk were after her and would stop at nothing until they had her in their clutches.
The pulse pounded in his skull. He took another deep breath and tried to calm his senses.
The forest settled.
The noise drew his attention again, almost like laughter, but not. Singing. It was singing.
Carefully, he tracked the sound. He closed his eyes and listened, allowed his instincts to take over and follow the faint sounds that broke through the trees. The farther he scouted, the quicker he moved through the brush, along the paths and over fallen logs.
Then he saw her.
Luka froze and breathed deep, shaking his head and shoving the lingering fear for her down deep.
A slight dance of notes on the air, whether from her or the air itself, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care.
Fates, she stole his sanity.
No wonder legend told of the Rusalki, beautiful women, luring young human men to their doom.
She was of the powerful Rusalki women, forest dwellers.
She stood in a pool of water no deeper than her calves. Her rubakha was already drenched and molding her body as he wanted to.
Zoya would damn well lure any man—not that he’d allow it.
He watched from the shade of the
trees. Idiot. Plain and simple. What the hell was she doing out here alone? Already he’d seen where the Volk had tracked her to the edge of the forest.
No one had noticed she’d been missing all damn day. When some observant soul had finally noticed his betrothed had not been seen in hours and verified she was no longer within the fortress walls, it had taken another two hours to locate him and give him the news.
His betrothed had disappeared yet again.
He’d picked up her scent quickly and followed her, always behind, always in the shadows, never wanting her to know.
He took another deep breath, hoping to calm his still racing heart. She smelled of rain, of the mountains, of the forest itself. His cock had hardened the first time he’d caught the scent of her, weeks ago. Now, that he knew of her will, of her spirit, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to sink balls deep into her or run in the other direction.
Actually, he had little choice in the matter. She was his.
