Taming The Shifter (Nocturne Wolf Romance)

by Lisa Childs

  Can Passion Override the Werewolf’s Need for Vengeance?

  When Detective Kate Wever shoots a man in the chest, she expects him to die…and to stay dead. But it seems that Warrick James is not like other men. What he is, though, is a mystery that can only lead her deeper into danger. As she learns about Warrick’s all-consuming quest to stop whatever monster killed his father—a monster he’d apprehended and lost when Kate shot him—Kate realizes that things in the underworld of Zantrax City are not as they seem. A reality that is even more crystal clear when she looks into Warrick’s glowing topaz eyes and sees a man whom she instinctively knows is no mere mortal and a passion that will change her life forever.

  “You’re not weak at all,” Warrick assured her. “You’ve overpowered me.”

  “Because you let me.”

  He nodded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You did,” Kate said.

  “Not anymore,” he said, lifting his head to close the distance between his mouth and hers. His lips skimmed across hers. “Now I just want you…”

  And she wanted him, her skin heating and tingling everywhere they touched. The sheet had slipped down, so that her breasts were bare against his chest. His hair, that covered his impressive pecs, tickled and teased her nipples, bringing them to tight, sensitive points.

  “And I want—” Kate struggled free of his loose grasp and grabbed up the sheet again, holding it between them like a shield “—to arrest you.”

  Lisa Childs writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Harlequin. She lives on thirty acres in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, lisachilds.com, or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435.

  Books by Lisa Childs

  Harlequin Nocturne

  Taming the Shifter

  Mistress of the Underground

  Witch Hunt Series

  Haunted

  Persecuted

  Damned

  Cursed

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Special Agents at the Altar Series

  The Pregnant Witness

  Shotgun Weddings Series

  Groom Under Fire

  Explosive Engagement

  Bridegroom Bodyguard

  TAMING THE

  SHIFTER

  Lisa Childs

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you will enjoy revisiting my fictional urban city of Zantrax, Michigan, with its underground Secret Vampire Society and meeting Warrick James—a man who has lost his honor and his place in the pack. The werewolf’s only redemption will be to kill the monster responsible for his father’s murder. He has the killer in his grasp when human Detective Kate Wever intercedes. She thinks she’s killed him, but she would have had to have a silver bullet in the gun she fired at him. Kate is unaware of the creatures who secretly live among the humans in the city she has sworn to protect and serve. And if she discovers the secret of the vampire society or the werewolves, she is doomed. She’s also unaware that she’s capable of the passion she experiences with Warrick until she falls hard for a man she instinctively knows is much more than a man.

  Can Warrick set aside his vendetta for Kate? Or is it already too late to save her from her fate and from the dark forces conspiring against Warrick?

  Happy Reading!

  Lisa Childs

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Billionaire Wolf by Karen Whiddon

  Prologue

  The sweet, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, and chimes rang out from the clock tower in the town square. Warrick James didn’t need to know what time it was. He was already too late. He was always too late.

  He pushed open the door and stepped into his father’s den. He had known what he would find; he’d been warned. But still the scene struck him like a body blow.

  His father lay back in his chair, blood gushed from a hole blown in his chest. Even with the bullet—that special bullet—in it, his heart continued to pump.

  And his father’s eyes stared—not up at the man who had taken his life. But at the man who had failed to save him. Warrick was used to the disappointment in his father’s pale brown gaze. For thirty years, he had seen it every time the man had looked at him.

  The chimes continued to ring out. Was that the eighth or the ninth? Just a few more chimes before midnight arrived…

  Warrick reeled; his heart feeling as if a shot had been fired into it, as well. Maybe a bullet would pierce it next. Reagan—the man he’d known he would find standing over the body—held the gun yet, his finger against the trigger. And the barrel of that gun was pointed at Warrick.

  “What kind of monster are you?” Warrick asked even as he felt his own body beginning to turn from man to beast. “How could you do this?”

  “You don’t understand,” Reagan replied. “Let me explain…”

  Warrick shook his head. He was beyond listening. He didn’t even care that that gun—loaded with those special bullets—was pointed directly at his heart. Just as the clock chimed for the twelfth time, he launched himself at his father’s killer.

  *

  Detective Kate Wever intimately knew the city she protected. Before being promoted to the major case squad, she had patrolled these streets. She knew the metropolis of Zantrax, Michigan, as well as she knew herself. As she knew her friends…

  Or so she’d once believed. Now she wasn’t certain what, or who, to believe. Except for Bernie…

  She knew not to believe the vagrant. Yet she followed him into the dead-end alley between some of the tallest buildings in the city. The sun hadn’t set, but it was dark in the alley. The air hung still and putrid above the asphalt.

  Kate, following too close to Bernie, held her breath—unwilling to breathe for fear of gagging. The man should have gone to the shelter instead of the police station. He could have used a shower. And probably a meal. Or at least some coffee. She held out a cup to him and pulled a sandwich from her pocket. “Here,” she said. “You need to eat.”

  He needed to sober up. The stench wasn’t just because he hadn’t showered for weeks—maybe months. He also smelled strongly of alcohol. Or of strong alcohol…

  She hadn’t brought enough coffee. He reached for it, his hand shaking. The cover came off and the hot liquid spilled over the rim and splashed onto the front of his long trench coat. “Bernie, are you all right?”

  His gray-haired head jerked up and down in quick, nervous nods. His dark eyes were wild. With fear or drunkenness?

  “It’s this place,” he said with a shudder of revulsion.

  “We didn’t have to come here.” She wasn’t sure why he had insisted on her following him from the station to the alley. With no sun between the buildings, the air wasn’t just still—it was cold.

  She shivered. But not just from the cold.

  One of those buildings had a bar in its basement—Club Underground. A bar where strange things happened…like Bernie had claimed happened here. Too bad her friend own
ed the place…

  “This was my home first,” he said, gesturing toward a Dumpster shoved against one of the buildings. “Then all of them started coming around—making trouble.”

  “All of them?” she asked. “Who are you talking about?”

  “What,” he corrected her, the word sharp. “They’re not human. They can fly.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. And exactly how much had he had to drink?

  “Those things,” he said. “I’ve seen ’em fly out of the alley—straight up in the night sky like big, human-looking bats.”

  He had definitely gotten into some strong alcohol, but his words weren’t slurred. So maybe he’d just been drinking so long that the alcohol had damaged his brain. Over her years on the streets, she had seen a lot of vagrants develop alcohol dementia. She wouldn’t be able to reason with him; he was probably beyond that.

  So she simply asked, “What do you want me to do about them, Bernie? Flying isn’t a crime.”

  “They’re killers,” he said. “They kill humans and each other. If you’re not careful, Detective Wever, they might kill you.”

  Kate smiled and opened her mouth to assure him that she would be fine. But the alley suddenly grew darker and colder. Along with a chill, a sense of foreboding rushed through her, and for a moment she believed Bernie. There was something out there—something not quite human—and it was coming.

  For her.

  Chapter 1

  The murderous intent gleaming in the man’s topaz eyes chilled Kate’s blood. He was going to kill someone.

  His hands, with wide palms and long, strong fingers, grasped her shoulders. Then he moved her aside and continued his pursuit of the man he had been chasing down the street before Kate had stepped into his path. But instead of knocking her down, he had caught and steadied her. Her skin tingled from his touch despite the layers of jacket and sweater that had separated his palms from her bare flesh.

  She shook off the eerie feeling and forced herself to move, running after him. And as she ran, she reached for her phone and her gun. She wasn’t on duty, but it was her job to stop him from killing.

  In a metropolis like Zantrax, Michigan, a detective was never truly off duty—no matter that her real shift had ended hours ago. Or that she wanted nothing more than a stiff drink and a soft bed and sweet oblivion.

  “Where the hell did he go?” she murmured, unable to catch a glimpse of him ahead of her. This close to midnight the sidewalk wasn’t as crowded as during the day—especially since this area consisted mostly of office buildings and warehouses.

  Except for the underground nightclub in the basement of one of those buildings.

  Club Underground was always busy, always full of people who were too beautiful to be real. She shook off the doubts Bernie had put in her head a few weeks ago.

  He was crazy, she reminded herself.

  And maybe so was she for not calling for backup before chasing after a man as big as the one who had nearly run her down. But she couldn’t call in a crime in progress until she knew he was actually committing one. It was possible he’d just been running, albeit in jeans and a white sweater, and she’d just imagined that murderous gleam in his eyes.

  Damn Bernie and his wild stories. But if she was being honest, she had to admit she’d had doubts about her city even before Bernie had warned her about flying nonhumans.

  The man who’d nearly run her over had been human, though. And he had definitely been angry as hell. She couldn’t see him now, but she couldn’t get that brief image she’d had of him out of her mind. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, with a long mane of thick black hair that he would have been impossible to miss had he still been on the street ahead of her. But he couldn’t have just disappeared.

  She stopped and glanced around, peering into the shadows gathering outside the circles of light from the streetlamps on the sidewalk. A rage like his wouldn’t have been easily suppressed or controlled so that he could hide silently in the shadows, though.

  She cocked her head and listened. Grunts and groans and an almost inhuman cry shattered the quiet of the nearly deserted street and confirmed that her instinct to pursue the man had been right. Her pulse leaping, she tracked the sounds of the fight to the narrow opening of that alley between the building with Club Underground in the basement and the deserted furniture warehouses.

  Lifting her cell phone, she reported the assault in progress. A unit would be dispatched for backup. But, remembering the gleam in those unusual topaz eyes, she doubted backup would arrive in time to prevent a murder. So she pulled her gun from her holster and, adrenaline and nerves coursing through her, stepped into the alley.

  The two men grappled on the ground, rolling across the asphalt as they locked in mortal combat. The man with whom she’d collided swung his fists over and over into the face of another man. They were closely matched in size—tall and muscular. But one was clearly the attacker, the other the victim. The victim kicked and pushed, trying to get away. “Stop!” she yelled. “Zantrax PD. Break it up!”

  The man on the ground murmured something, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

  “Shut up. Just shut up! Or I’ll tear your damn throat out,” the attacker growled, his hand reaching for the other man’s neck.

  “Stop!” Kate shouted now, panic rising. “I’m Lieutenant Wever, a detective with Zantrax Police Department, and I’m placing you under arrest for assault.”

  But he ignored her as if she had not spoken at all. She couldn’t just stand there and do nothing while one man killed another—as she watched. So she fired. The bullet struck the man’s shoulder and propelled him back. He shook his head and shrugged, as if shaking off a muscle twinge and glanced at the blood spreading down his sleeve and across his white sweater.

  The victim struggled beneath the man she’d shot, but before he could get out of reach, his attacker caught him again. His hands, his long fingers stiff like claws, closed around the man’s throat. Despite the bullet in his shoulder, he had lost none of his strength.

  Was he on something? Drugged suspects were sometimes harder to subdue and apprehend because they tended to be more violent. And superhumanly strong.

  So Kate fired again.

  This bullet propelled him back farther, his hands slipping from his victim’s throat. Finally, he turned toward her, as if just noticing that she’d joined them in the alley. With that murderous intent directed at her, he lurched to his feet, and she noticed the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  He was armed and he was heading straight toward her.

  Heart hammering with fear, Kate fired again. This bullet struck him directly in the chest—in his heart. He pressed his hand to it as if pledging allegiance. Then he pulled it away and looked down at his bloody palm—seeming surprised to see the blood.

  Had he thought she was firing blanks? Couldn’t he feel the wounds in his shoulder? Blood saturated the sleeve of his white sweater and spread like a red wave across his chest. Finally, his legs buckled beneath him, and he dropped to his knees on the asphalt.

  While he fell to the ground, another man rose from it—albeit with a lurch and a groan. The man he’d been pummeling stumbled forward.

  Instinct had Kate swinging her gun toward him. But he had no weapon at his waistband and was in no physical shape to assault her or his attacker.

  “Stay back,” she said. She wasn’t sure who she was protecting—herself or the man she’d shot. She stepped between them.

  “He needs medical help,” the beat-up man murmured, his voice weak—probably from nearly having his throat ripped out.

  She’d had no choice. She’d had to shoot.

  But even with three bullets in him, he was reaching out as if trying to grab for his victim again. “No…”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get you help,” she said. She’d had to shoot him, but she felt guilt hanging heavily over her like the night sky. “Save your strength…”

/>   However, he must have used his last because he slumped forward, his chest and head hitting the asphalt.

  “Oh, God!” she exclaimed in horror. What had she done? She hadn’t wanted to kill him. She’d just wanted him to stop. During her career, she’d had to shoot other suspects—had even killed a couple of them. But she hadn’t felt like this then. She hadn’t felt any doubt and certainly not any guilt.

  Her hand shaking, she reached for her cell. Where the hell was the backup she’d called? If she hadn’t shot him, she might have been the one lying in the alley bleeding out if he’d grabbed for his gun. He still had his weapon on him, but he hadn’t pulled it. He wouldn’t have needed the gun to kill her, though; he could have used his bare hands like he had on his victim.

  She gripped her gun tighter in one hand while she used her other to press the call button on her cell. Before anyone answered, she heard the sirens. Help had arrived.

  But was it too late? Was he already dead? There was so much blood, pooling like tar beneath his body. She dropped down next to him. His face was to the side, his strange topaz eyes staring up at her. She couldn’t help him. Her only medical training was CPR, and he was breathing. His heart was beating. She couldn’t help him.

  “You let a killer get away,” he said.

  She glanced around the alley. Even in daylight it was dark between these buildings. Now, close to midnight, the blackness was thick and impenetrable. The other man could have been standing beside her and she might not have seen him. But she knew he was gone. While she’d been distracted, he’d slipped away.

  “A killer?” Had she shot the wrong man and let the real perp escape?

  “Yes,” he murmured, and blood gurgled from his mouth now. It was amazing he was still alive—given where she’d hit him. But he wouldn’t last much longer.