Embracing the Wolf by Felicity Heaton Page A

rescued her from an attack
in which a friend of hers had died. The commander of the group had
taken pity on her and had offered to train her so she could have
her revenge. She had gladly taken the opportunity.

    Back then, Kat had not
known what tainted blood ran in her veins.

    When she had reached the
level of hunter, she had met Amon. He had come to her unit and
reported a rogue werewolf within his pack. Even though Kat had
known what Amon was, she hadn’t been able to stop her feelings for
him. He was everything good and, over time, she had come to see
that not all werewolves were out to kill humans. It was only then
that she had discovered she carried werewolf blood in her
veins.

    If she had known about the
genes she had inherited from her parents before she had joined the
Werewolf Control Forces, she still would have gone through with it.
Eliminating the rogue werewolves, those that had turned dangerous
and had made it onto the WCF’s lists, gave her purpose.

    When she had found out
about her blood, her job had given her something more too. It gave
her a strange sense of satisfaction. She hated her kind more than
ever. She hated the blood that ran in her veins. She hated that she
had never known, and that her foster parents had never told her.
She hated her dead parents.

    Now she hunted those her
of her kin that had turned dangerous, those that had become lost in
darkness and the violence that the beast inside called
for.

    She killed others too,
werewolves that were not on the list.

    Anyone that Amon sent
after her met with a silver bullet.

    The beast inside her rose
again. She forced it to heel. It fought back and she took deep
calming breaths until the hunger to change had passed. Her hand
trembled against her chest. It was growing stronger and harder to
control, but there was not a chance in hell that she would let it
take over.

    A large black van crawled
along the winding gravel road of the cemetery. Stones crunched
under the fat tyres. She gestured to it and then hopped down from
the tomb.

    Her gaze fell to the dead
werewolf.

    Amon would be
angry.

    Tonight, it had been one
from his pack. Amon was close to finding her. Or was she close to
finding him? Her unit moved every four weeks. A few months ago, she
had realised that her and Amon were gradually moving towards each
other. Every new town brought them one step closer to meeting again
and she could not bring herself to make the unit change its
schedule.

    Not when she was so
close.

    Every inch of her craved
the fire of Amon’s touch. Every night she had dreamed of him,
reliving each sensual and erotic moment of their time together.
Those dreams had now turned to nightmares. And in those nightmares
there was nothing but pain—agonising, searing pain—that woke her
bathed in cold sweat and shaking.

    What did they
mean?

    Her heart said that she
knew the answer to that question.

    The sound of the van
pulling to a halt snapped her out of her thoughts. Three men
dressed in the standard black fatigues of her unit hopped down from
the back. They grabbed the werewolf and hauled it into the van as
though it was meat at a market.

    The commander offered her
a lift. Kat waved him away and watched the van leave.

    The graveyard fell quiet
again. The silence was comforting. Out here in the dark night, she
could forget the horror of her dreams and the words they
whispered.

    Kat turned slowly to
regard the man stood barely fifteen foot from her. Leyton. It had
taken him longer to arrive than expected. The grim set of his face
said the dead werewolf was not the only reason for his
visit.

    “ Amon is in
pain, isn’t he?” she whispered, afraid to raise her voice and
acknowledge that Leyton was really there. He looked exactly as she
remembered him, but then werewolves didn’t age once they had
matured.

    Amon had sent him on
purpose.

    Leyton was like a brother
to her.

    A solemn nod was Leyton’s
answer. Long pale fingers pushed through his sandy waves of