Stolen Passions: Forbidden Passions, Book 1

by Crystal Jordan

  Enemy mine…

  Forbidden Passions, Book 1

  Lyra Marcus tries to avoid her werewolf family’s political entanglements. Instead, she heals the wounds of the never-ending border skirmishes between lycans and wereleopards. It’s a bitter irony that she’s about to die in that war.

  When she awakens after an attack, the horror of her situation dawns. She’s a wounded werewolf in the middle of wereleopard territory. And standing over her is a son of its most powerful family, Zander Leonidas. Her fate may be a swift and bloody end, but she intends to go down fighting.

  Zander has no plan to fight the little she-wolf who’s landed at his Refuge Resort, a place where shifter species are free to be what they are—except wolves, of course. Yet Lyra fits him in a way she shouldn’t, and the urge to mark her as his mate is irresistible. A match like theirs, though, would rock the foundations of their world.

  He intends to find out who left Lyra for dead on Leonidas land. And keep her safe from whoever wants to finish the job—not to mention the werewolf alpha who wants his niece back at any cost…

  Warning: Two sexy shifters on the opposite sides of a war doing naughty, forbidden things to each other. Forward, backward, in bed, out of bed, you get the idea. All while trying to escape an assassin. Then it really gets exciting…

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Stolen Passions

  Copyright © 2010 by Crystal Jordan

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-241-7

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2010

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Stolen Passions

  Crystal Jordan

  Dedication

  For my partner in crime, Loribelle Hunt, without whom this series would never have come into being.

  For my editor, Bethany Morgan, because she liked the series enough to give it a home.

  For my best friend, the Mad Madam M, just for being her.

  For my other partner in crime, the Professor Moriarty, because he actually codenamed himself after a villain. That’s my kind of guy.

  Chapter One

  It was the heat that woke her.

  Something rough rasped against her cheek, and sweat slid in slow beads down her face. It stung her eyes when she opened them to see the blazing sun overhead. Sand. It was sand scraping the skin on her face. From the smell of it, she was in the desert, no longer in the humid air of New Orleans. She was so hot, she felt as if her blood was boiling. Exhaustion sapped at her strength, willing her to return to oblivious slumber, but questions nagged at her, buzzing around like insistent gnats.

  Where was she, and how had she gotten here? Why was she outside?

  When she tried to lift her head to get a better look at her surroundings, every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Oh, God. She remembered now. She’d been attacked after she’d finished a late shift at the clinic in New Orleans—a clinic just for people like her. Shape-shifters. Wereanimals.

  The last thing she remembered seeing was a gloved fist slamming into her jaw—and it packed the kind of strength behind it that a human couldn’t manage. It had to be another shifter. The physician in her began cataloguing injuries even as the wolf wanted to rip someone’s throat out for doing this to her. Multiple lacerations and contusions, possible fibular fracture and a serious case of dehydration. If she didn’t get to water soon, she was so screwed.

  The anger whipping through her made it easier to ignore the shrieking agony that threatened to make her collapse back to the sand. It didn’t matter if it hurt—she was going to die if she stayed here. She wiped sweat and dried blood from her face, pushing her long black hair back over her shoulder.

  Lifting her nose to the wind, she inhaled and tried to catch the scent of civilization…or water, whichever was closer. West. The faintest aroma of people came to her, so she turned in that direction. Her gait was a broken stagger, but she was moving. She stumbled again and again, crashing hard to the ground and scraping skin from her palms and elbows.

  A hopeless sob was wrenched from her chest, but she forced herself to get up, to keep going. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to give the son of a bitch who’d done this to her the satisfaction. The wide expanse of rocky desert terrain stretched before her endlessly, broken only by stark mountains rising to the north. Sweat burned the cuts on her face. Gritting her teeth, she pushed on. If she gave in to the pain, she’d never get to see them punished. A grim smile pulled at her cracked lips. Revenge was a great motivator.

  When her ankle twisted and gave out from under her, she tumbled down a short ravine, landing on her back. Squinting against the glare of the sun, she saw a large bird pass in front of it. Probably a buzzard coming to pick her bones when she died. Groaning, she braced her hands on the ground and tried to force herself up again, but her arms collapsed, and her head slammed down to the ground. Her ears rang with the force of the impact.

  It was almost funny that she, Doctor Lyra Marcus, fastidious to a fault and niece of the most powerful werewolf Alpha in America, was filthy, bloodstained, lying in the dirt and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. A giggle that bordered on hysteria bubbled from her throat. Well, at least she remembered her own name. That was something. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter.

  Get a grip, Lyra.

  Digging down deeper inside herself than she ever had before, she used the side of the ravine to pull herself upright, to stand, to lean against as she shuffled along again. The farther she walked, the more her thoughts grew fuzzy around the edges, and that wasn’t good. No, not good at all. Eventually the ravine ended, and she staggered out into an arid wasteland. It wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t get up if she fell, couldn’t go any further. And then the scavengers would have their turn at her. The thought didn’t scare her as much as she knew it should, and time slid away as she put one foot in front of the other.

  She lifted her head as she smelled something worse than death on the wind, and the horror of her predicament finally hit home.

  Wereleopard.

  The sworn enemy of her kind. She was in the desert, which meant that if she was still in the United States, she was deep into the western territory the cats claimed for their own. A place where no sane wolf would ever go.

  She couldn’t see it among the scraggly brush and broken rock, but she knew it was there. The way her wolf senses screeched danger was no lie. She picked up her pace, tried to run, tried to escape. To where, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t being taken in enemy territory without a fight.

  And there it was, all tawny fur and dark spots—huge, sleek and undeniably male. His gaze locked on her as he pursued her at a ground-eating pace, hunting her. She snarled, more the wolf now than woman. Her fangs erupted from her gums, but she didn’t have the energy left to shift into full wolf form. Too weak to defend herself.

  Wea
k, and probably dead before the vultures ever got a piece of her. It was her last thought before she tripped over a sunken boulder, and the ground came rushing up to meet her.

  The world went dark, and she knew her life was over.

  Zander slowed to a lope to circle the unconscious woman. Confusion and anger had flooded him the moment the scent of werewolf had reached his nose. Someone was trespassing on his family’s land, and he’d needed to investigate. This wasn’t what he’d expected to find. His claws dug into the loose sand as he paced around her, looking for a trap. The desert was eerily silent. He hadn’t seen anyone else out here, couldn’t smell anything but her on the wind. It was distracting, that smell. Titillating in a way that he shouldn’t allow it to be. Still, it didn’t answer the most important questions. What the fuck was going on here? Who was she, and how had she gotten here?

  He nudged her shoulder with his muzzle, pushing her limp body over on to her back. Whoever she was, she was in bad shape. Blood caked her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. Ugly bruises mottled her creamy skin. Horror and rage fisted his belly as he saw distinct handprints on her flesh. Someone had done this to her deliberately—beaten this woman until she collapsed. He fought the urge to track down the bastard and return the favor. Every muscle in his body locked as he got a stranglehold on his temper. It was unlike him to react so violently, and he shook his head hard.

  She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes flaring open for a moment. The unusual liquid silver color snared him, fascinating the cat within him. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. She growled a warning at him, her fangs baring. But he read the fear and desperate helplessness under the fierceness in that gaze. He wanted to reassure her, let her know that she was safe, that he would never allow anyone to hurt her again. But then she was gone, her eyes closing and her body relaxing against the ground as she passed out.

  Some emotion he couldn’t name gripped his chest as he stared down at her. Whoever she was, she was his responsibility now. She was his now. A shudder of foreboding ran through him, but he pushed that aside the way he had his unexpected anger. He had more vital matters to deal with, like saving this woman from dehydration under the blazing sun.

  He stretched, his body shifting from leopard to human form. The spotted fur retracted until he was left crouching naked beside her. He gingerly scooped her up and cradled her slim form to his chest. Protectiveness flooded him as he felt how delicate she was compared to him. He could get all his questions answered about her after he got her out of the desert heat. Sweat already slid in rivulets down his back and stuck his skin to hers.

  After only a few steps, the hot sand managed to scorch and blister his very human feet. He bit back a curse as he started the long trek home.

  Over twenty-four hours later, he sat by her bedside while she slept fitfully. Her silver eyes rolled back for a moment before she opened them fully to meet his.

  “Welcome back.” Zander dropped the financial report he was reading to the bedside table and leaned forward in his chair. It looked like his uninvited guest was finally awake.

  Neither he nor his brothers had been able to figure out who she was or how she’d ended up on their land. He did know that if he hadn’t had a meeting and needed to cut short his daily run around his family’s extensive property, he never would have found her. If he hadn’t taken that shortcut, she’d be dead.

  And that would be a damn shame. A woman this lovely shouldn’t have to die that way. Once he’d cleaned her up and the natural healing ability all shifters possessed kicked in, he could see the fine bone structure, the full lips, the lovely face framed by a pool of inky black hair against the white pillowcase. Those locks had trailed to her waist when she’d run from him. As beat up as she’d been, he had no idea how she’d managed to run at all. The way she’d bared her fangs showed a predator’s nature. Her strength impressed the hell out of him, and his reaction to her on every level made her unlike any woman he’d ever known before, regardless of species. She’d been in and out of consciousness, and he’d forced liquids down her throat every time she came to.

  His brothers had offered to take turns sitting with her, but he’d refused. The first moment Zander had seen those gray eyes focus on him, he’d been caught by something more powerful than he’d ever experienced before. It hadn’t relaxed its grip on him since. The leopard in him wanted her, the animal as intrigued as the man. He couldn’t walk away. So here he sat, alert to every breath she took as her body rapidly restored itself. She appeared to be completely healed, so he watched and waited for her to awaken and not just resurface briefly as she had before.

  Her gaze was blank and glassy as she returned to awareness by degrees. “W-where am I?”

  That low voice reminded him of chicory and hot, humid nights on the bayou.

  “The infirmary at Refuge Resort.” Leaning farther forward, he caught a lock of her silky hair between his fingers and slid it away from her face. Her scent came to him the way it had that first moment in the desert, sweet, rich and all woman. He sat back with a jerk, pushing away the errant thought.

  “Refuge? That’s in Arizona.” She blinked hard, raising herself onto her elbows. Her movements made the narrow cot squeak. The thin sheet slipped down to bare a dusky nipple. His gaze dropped to it, to the slight, firm curves of her body, and his body reacted, cock going rock hard. She lifted a hand and covered herself without haste. Not a scrap of embarrassment shone on her face when he met her gaze. He arched a brow, and her mouth quirked at the corners. “Sorry, kitty cat. I’m not shy. I’m a doctor, so nudity doesn’t bother me.”

  “Good to know.” He let a lascivious smile curl his lips as his gaze swept over her body. The sexual response he had to her was outside of his control, but what he did with it wasn’t. And he always kept the upper hand.

  But…kitty cat? As if a leopard could be compared to a domestic house cat. He snorted. The woman was more than bold. It was too bad he liked that in his women. He shifted in his seat to adjust the fit of his khaki slacks—his hard-on hadn’t let up and fire balled in his gut. Damn, he had to be desperate if he was getting this hot over a wolf. Even if she was well enough now to play, she was a werewolf. He’d smelled the wolf on her before he’d even seen her, and the way she’d bared her fangs when she’d seen him told him she was no stranger to the conflict between their species.

  His older brothers would want to know she was awake, especially Nico, the resident security expert at the resort. Hell, the security expert for the vast empire of companies the family owned. The whole operation was based in a collection of offices here at the resort. If she’d been a man, Nico would have suggested putting her back out in the desert to rot, but harming a woman was one of the few lines even the half-feral Nico wasn’t willing to cross. He had wanted to cuff her to the bed though, and Zander had flatly refused, which meant Nico was now in a thoroughly pissed off frame of mind.

  The air conditioning kicked in, and the vent over her bed spewed cool air. She shivered, goose bumps rising on her skin. The sunset made her ebony hair shimmer as she jerked her chin at the fading daylight coming through the windows. “Why was it so hot outside? It’s not even June yet.”

  He grinned, tried not to stare at the way her nipples hardened under the sheet, and stretched a leg out straight to give his straining erection some room. Jesus, what was it about this slip of a woman that had him so horny? He swallowed and reined in his thoughts—and hormones. “Never been to the desert, huh? We’re getting near record highs, but Tucson can get over a hundred even in March and April. For about a week we’ve been hovering just under one-ten. It’ll cool off a little when the monsoon season hits.”

  Where was the smooth tongue he was so famous for? There were a million things he needed to speak to this woman about, and the weather wasn’t one of them.

  That silver gaze swept over him, pinned him in place. “Which one are you?”

  “Excuse me?” He arched a brow. Where had that question come from? Maybe she wa
sn’t quite as awake as he’d assumed.

  She sighed and sat all the way up, wrapping the sheet around her toga-style as she swung her long, shapely legs over the side of the small cot. “You’re one of them. The Leonidases. You’re not just a leopard.”

  He chuckled. No, she was definitely awake. And sharp. There was nothing sexier than a smart woman. He forced himself to derail his totally inappropriate lustful admiration and respond to her question. “Got it in one.”

  “There are four of you, aren’t there?”

  “Yes, but only three of us still live in Arizona.” Since the airplane accident that had taken his father’s and sister-in-law Celeste’s lives. He didn’t let himself finish the sentence. His eldest brother, Jason, had been gone for months, unable to remain and live with the daily reminders of his dead mate. That left Adrian, Nico and Zander to lead the leopard clan of this country. He swallowed and forced an easy smile to his face. “What gave me away?”

  “Like every werekind, I’ve seen pictures of your father in the papers. The resemblance is there.” One creamy shoulder lifted in a shrug, and a single ebony curl slipped down to curve around her breast. Lucky curl.

  “Huh.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, working out a kink from sitting beside her bed for so long. “Adrian was always the one who looked like our father.”

  And Jason had been the odd one out. If it wasn’t their father singling Jason out and shoving him up on the dutiful pedestal reserved just for the Leonidas heir, it was the fact that he looked nothing like anyone else in the family.

  As a melanistic leopard, Jason might have the same green eyes as his younger brothers, but his blue-black hair was a sharp contrast to their lighter brown. The difference was only accentuated in animal form when his dark coat and cream colored spots were the exact opposite of a traditional leopard’s. Melanism was a genetic anomaly known to big cats in the wild as well as shifters, where regular cubs were born in the same litter as a black cub.