Heat 0f The Night (Werewolf Shifter Romance)

by Gaja J. Kos

  Heat of the Night

  Gaja J. Kos

  HEAT OF THE NIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 by Gaja J. Kos

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Morana Designs

  Kolovrat Universe

  Heat of the Night is a standalone paranormal romance in the “Future” portion of the Kolovrat universe. If you want to read more about the world, several other works exist in the same sphere.

  Each series/standalone title can be read individually, or as a whole for a more complex insight into the universe where myth and reality blend into one.

  For the absolute best reading experience, I recommend picking up Heat of the Night after Transient Moon (Lotte Freundenberger #3).

  PRESENT

  BLACK WEREWOLVES SERIES

  Urban fantasy

  Novels:

  The Dark Ones

  The 24hourlies

  The Shift

  The Ascension

  Novellas:

  Never Forgotten

  Chased

  NIGHTWRAITH SERIES

  Paranormal romance

  Windstorm

  Blackstorm

  Nightstorm

  SUCC

  Standalone urban fantasy romance

  FUTURE

  PARADISE OF SHADOWS AND DEVOTION

  Standalone paranormal romance

  LOTTE FREUNDENBERGER SERIES

  Urban fantasy

  Shadow Moon

  Darkening Moon

  Transient Moon

  Phantom Moon

  SHADE ASSASSIN

  Urban fantasy

  Shadow World

  Shadow Lies

  HEAT OF THE NIGHT

  Standalone paranormal romance

  DAWN OF KOLOVRAT

  Urban fantasy standalone novellas

  Destiny Reclaimed

  Contents

  Kolovrat Universe

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Gaja J. Kos

  Chapter One

  My claws scraped against the fatigued concrete as I crouched in the deep shadows not even the moonlight could penetrate. The fume-laced scent of distant traffic entwined with the sharp night that had fallen over Munich swirled in my lungs, and the predator in me purred.

  The hunt was what I lived for. And I could only be grateful circumstances made it possible to conduct it in an official capacity.

  “I smell six inside.” Wilhelm’s polished voice sounded over the com-unit in my left ear. “Greta?”

  I sampled the air’s multi-textured structure one more time, just to be absolutely certain. Thankfully, the direction of the late April breeze weaving through the industrial zone hadn’t shifted since we’d arrived, providing me with a faint but steady stream of information. My heart was a calm, persistent beat in the background.

  “Three on the perimeter,” I confirmed.

  “Sounds like a party.” Hektor’s rumbling chuckle filled my ear. “Want me to put in a call for backup?”

  I snorted. If Hektor had it his way, the only acceptable answer would be a definite no. The threads of remorse in his voice when he’d grumbled the question made it clear enough. Unfortunately, even though I itched to fight just as badly as Hektor and Wilhelm did, we couldn’t throw caution to the wind. Although not something any of us hadn’t handled on our own before, nine weres wasn’t a negligible number when taking the wider picture into account.

  The civilian massacre staining our marks’ hands had been brutal. The kind of power display that spoke of an organized effort, yet one where all bets were off and the darker nature of our species let loose to reign supreme.

  I flicked my claws and dragged my gaze along the rundown buildings still separating me from the one our quarry was holed up in.

  We might actually need backup for once, in case shit went south. There were simply too many unknown variables in play for anything else. We might be ICRA’s disposable killing machines, but we had no intention of fulfilling that disposable part. Or flirt with death in any other capacity than inflicting it.

  “Call it in,” I said, then prowled around a heap of trash that reeked of the weeks it had been left here to the next pool of inky shadows. I braced my back against the cool wall of the warehouse, its touch bleeding through my long-sleeved black tee. “I’m signing off now. I’ll take care of the three assholes out here, then join you inside.”

  Wilhelm gave a grunt of approval. “Happy hunting, Greta.”

  I flicked off the unit with a quick press of my claw-tipped finger before I moved. Any closer and the werewolves just might overhear our conversations despite the low volume of the earpieces designed specifically with supes in mind. But top-notch technology or not, words were the hardest kind of noise to mask. The benefits of keeping the line open didn’t outweigh the risks.

  The far more typical harsh Munich wind compared to the earlier breeze whipped around the corner as I advanced nearly all the way to the end of the street, bringing with it the scent of two weres stationed up front. The third, unless something had changed in the interim, was on the other side of the building, monitoring the back entrance.

  Briefly, I considered cutting down the narrow alley and taking him down first, but if anyone sounded the alarm before I took care of all three marks, I’d much rather have just one asshole, not two, come running my way.

  Besides, after staking out this place for the past half hour, my body was dying to warm up.

  I flexed my clawed fingers and let my canine teeth descend. The weapons strapped to my body were all modified to accommodate my partially shifted form—a Black werewolf specific issue, since regular weres were either human or wolf, not in-between. But I wouldn’t give up my traits for the world.

  My nostrils flared as another gust of wind blew my prey’s scent straight in my face. The duo appeared to be on the move.

  No, not just on the move.

  They were headed my way.

  Amusement surged through me.

  No time like the present.

  Suppressing an excited growl, I went down into a half crouch—

  Then sprang.

  My claws snagged the first werewolf, a tall, broad-shouldered guy who smelled faintly of gasoline, right between the ribs as he rounded the corner, puncturing his lung. With our healing abilities, the wound wouldn’t kill him, but it would incapacitate him for long enough to devote myself to his buddy—who let out a snarl as his friend whizzed and staggered. I whirled on him, then slashed my claws across his chest to
push him back and, in the next second, kicked the already felled werewolf for good measure before making my advance.

  He went down like a stone.

  His buddy’s gaze flickered briefly to his hunched form, then fell on me. Murder and hatred filled his light blue eyes that seemed almost silver in the moonlight, but there was something far cooler and calculated there, too.

  The fact that he showed no inclination of shifting while facing danger spoke volumes as well.

  The man was highly trained.

  I wondered just how much.

  I lashed out with a foot, then followed the kick with a fast combination of punches. The were blocked them all. Still, I pushed, driving him deeper into the pale yellow light of the sole streetlamp illuminating the abandoned intersection. The glint of metal greeted me as he moved, and his coat fanned open—the brighter hinting at blades, but it was the darker shade that sent a flash of warning spearing through me.

  A gun.

  They’d slaughtered the humans using nothing but claws and teeth. The excessive weaponry I spotted on him now didn’t fit the image they’d projected earlier.

  But that was a puzzle to solve later.

  I ducked under his blow, then swept my leg in a wide arc. The were evaded my kick at the last moment, then threw himself at me. I sank my claws into his arms as I grabbed him, using his velocity to fall into a backward roll and kick the fucker off me. In a blur of movement, I righted myself—just in time to see him come crashing against the warehouse wall.

  My legs carried me forward, and I leaped, delivering a mean kick with my steel-enforced boot straight to his head. His hand shot up in an attempt to block me, but I was faster.

  A satisfying crack cut through the night.

  His head lolled to the side. Unconscious, but not dead.

  A part of me almost regretted it wasn’t the latter.

  But orders were orders.

  As fast as I could, I rolled him onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back with the premium-grade metal not even the strongest werewolf could break. Then I repeated the process with his legs.

  Once I had him secured, I marched over to his buddy. The gasoline-smelling were was just coming to as his healing abilities worked on the lung damage, so I landed another punch to his head to knock him out cold before cuffing his hands and feet. Done and done.

  The scent of blood permeated the air when I straightened. I turned my head in the direction of the warehouse where Wilhelm and Hektor were engaging the rest of the pack while reinforcements rushed to our location, but my job out here wasn’t finished yet. I dragged the werewolf into the shadows where he wouldn’t get in the way, then stalked down the alley on silent feet until I reached the back.

  The wind shifted, tugging at my tightly braided blood-red hair. I swore under my breath and pressed myself against the wall, still damp from the week-long rain.

  Too fucking late.

  The nearly inaudible thud of footsteps sounded from the dark ahead, coming ever closer. Then cut off. The werewolf must have pinpointed my position—or simply wasn’t foolish enough to risk the corner and nearly pitch-black shadows the alley provided. Every werewolf’s night vision was good, but it wasn’t infallible.

  Leather rustled, then a metallic sound grazed my senses.

  The clink of something landing on the cracked concrete.

  Rolling…

  Fuck.

  I threw myself as far away as I could as the smoke bomb curved into the mouth of the alley, the uneven ground aiding its trajectory right towards me. The damn thing went off, fucking up my senses despite my best efforts to minimize the damage. I retreated among the rusty, old containers positioned out on the road, where the risk of my scent leaking all over the place was at a minimum, and trained my gaze on the smoke-infested night.

  The werewolf’s presence licked at the nape of my neck.

  I tensed and looked—not out onto the street or even at the foggy alley.

  But up.

  I barely caught his hulking shape against the backdrop of the moonlit sky before he jumped off the container’s edge and straight on top of me. I braced myself against the impact.

  His muscular frame hit me like a fucking truck.

  Muscles and bones screamed as I fought to do everything and anything to prevent me from ending up on the ground. I knew when I was out-brawned. If my back hit the concrete, this would be over.

  My ankle twisted and pain shot red-hot through my nerves, but I didn’t yield. Instead, I shifted everything I had into spinning us around. The werewolf went down but yanked me right along with him. There was nothing I could do about that, so I went with it instead, determined to get that one opening I was angling for.

  Only the fuck didn’t waver or hesitate in our grappling struggle.

  His back to the ground, he shifted his grip on me, his legs and arms comprising a cage I could never hope to escape.

  His moves were efficient. Crude and to the point.

  Mercenary, a voice said in my head, though what he was didn’t make much of a difference.

  His current actions were all that mattered, not the training he’d obtained them through.

  As I let him think he was getting the better of me, I dropped one hand to the sheath strapped to my combat pants. My fingers curled around the familiar hilt of my dagger.

  The order was to bring all the werewolves into ICRA for questioning.

  Well, we’d just have to make do with one asshole less.

  I rammed the knife between his ribs and angled it upward.

  Knowing he couldn’t stop me from piercing his heart, the werewolf did the next best thing. He squeezed his fingers tighter around my neck. Motherfucker.

  My head swam as he cut off my circulation, darkness creeping at the corners of my vision and prompting me to end this shit while I still could.

  With a growl, I pushed the knife deeper.

  So fucking deep my clawed thumb pierced flesh and grazed his rib.

  Smoke-filled air flooded my lungs.

  The werewolf dropped to the ground beside me as I shoved him off and yanked my dagger from his corpse. I didn’t even bother wiping the blade as I left the asshole there and broke into a sprint towards the warehouse. The reek of blood became stronger the closer I got, clogging my nostrils and making me strain my ears for any sign of reinforcements.

  They were on their way, of that I was sure.

  But how far out was anyone’s guess.

  I took a few moments to gather my bearings and try to puzzle together what was happening inside, but the wind wasn’t acting in my favor, and the tinted, filthy windows offered no insight when I attempted to steal a glimpse of the interior.

  Fuck it.

  I palmed another dagger in my free hand and inched towards the door.

  A crash rocked the eerie, predominant silence, and glass shattered too fucking close to my head. I flattened myself against the solid wall, immobile and hardly breathing. Only my eyes scanned the area to my right and up ahead. Glass shards littered the ground where the window had blown outwards, but aside from a fairly large piece of metal equipment lying on the road, nothing—and more importantly no one—else burst forth. I loosened a breath, then locked on the scent and sound threads coming from within.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but the blood I’d already picked up on earlier.

  The fight must have moved on. And I needed to do the same.

  My footsteps made no sound as I maneuvered into position right beside the rusty entrance that had swung shut after the guys had pushed through. Here, the snarling and the smack of flesh against flesh became a constant melody—one that gave me hope Wilhelm and Hektor were holding up well. Sadly, that was about as much as I could glean.

  Just as I readied myself to kick down the door, the damn thing flung open.

  I threw myself into the shadows to my right and out of the immediate line of fire, but what came out wasn’t what I expected.

  Bile rose at the
back of my throat as I glanced down at the shape that rolled over to my feet.

  Blood spread across the concrete from the severed neck, appearing almost pitch-black in the night, but there was no mistaking Wilhelm’s blue eyes staring up into death.

  Chapter Two

  I sidestepped Wilhelm’s severed head, my mind flashing red.

  They would pay for this.

  Pay with every last drop of their blood, orders be damned.

  Daggers out, I advanced. A split-second was all it took to take stock of the situation.

  One of the mercenaries a beaten, lifeless mess on the floor.

  Hektor fighting off three of them in the far left corner with ice-cold fury guiding his every move.

  And a motherfucking tower of a man standing in the very center, blood dripping off his viciously sharp sword.

  I snarled, drawing everyone’s attention. Not that I gave a shit. My entire body thrummed with the need to fight, to fucking splay these bastards across the walls, and when Tower boy and a lanky were who’d been lurking in the shadows off to the side came running straight at me, I embraced it. Wholly. Fully. With zero shackles of morality to hold me down.

  The sword still slick with Wilhelm’s blood soared towards my head. I ducked and sent one dagger hurtling straight into the second asshole’s thigh to slow him down and keep him at a distance. As the blade sank into his flesh, mere inches from his groin, I devoted myself to the fucker who’d beheaded my teammate. For his massive size, the bastard was quick on his feet, his sword-work without fault.