Chapter One
Homer Prinze prowled through the crowd, counting the seconds until he could leave the putrid stink of the city. One year since the end of the Dragon Wars— the battle that had raged between werewolves and dragons for over seventeen years and caused nothing short of total destruction in the end—and the reconvening survivors of the war were arguably worse off than they’d been during the attacks. At least when they’d all been fighting a common enemy the werewolf population had been all on the same side. Post-war, the werewolf community all seemed to be turning their former dragon hatred on each other. They needed Alphas again. Pack life. A return to the thing which had at one time made them great.
How the wolves could find their way again was beyond his limited viewpoint. Homer had been a great secret soldier during the war and he was, he hoped, an excellent dominant pack mate since. Solving the world’s problems had to fall to someone else.
He couldn’t get home fast enough. His Alpha, who had once been his commander during the war, Robbie Owens, honored him with the task of negotiating supplies. He was cognizant of the recognition it brought him within the pack. Only he hated coming to the city every time. Gods, the smell. He shook his head. As soon as he returned home, he was shifting and running the last two days off.
Robbie usually handled the trips to the city himself. Entrusting Homer to make the run showed enormous confidence in him as a pack member, and Homer was not going to screw anything up.
If only all these lost souls could find the small beacon of happiness he had with his newly formed pack. He shook his head. The Owenses had been good to him, given him a chance first as a soldier and now as a valued member of their group.
The small beacon of paradise in the midst of all this hell…
A cry caught his attention and he turned toward the sound. Why the one noise called out to him when so many didn’t he had no idea. But the small feminine agony in the midst of all the rest of it trapped his attention and wouldn’t let him move another step.
The black market vendors he did business with were going to deliver the seeds to his hidden truck in two hours time. He had to see to whoever needed help. Waiting in the truck for his supplies to show up was out of the question.
The hidden Alpha in him wouldn’t let him do anything else.
Gritting his teeth, fighting the need to shift, he plowed forward into the crowd. The sound of pain gave him a path to follow until his nose could pick up the scent associated with the noise. Roses, which was standard for a female werewolf, and the distinct aroma of cinnamon to go with it. He nearly tripped over his own feet as the fragrance moved through him.
His heart rate increased. He hadn’t even seen the female yet and already he knew…she was his mate. Homer’s heart rate kicked up a notch and he moved forward. The sudden understanding, the sheer truth of scenting another and knowing they held your future in their hands was a gift he had never expected to find for himself.
His family thought him dead, a requirement of joining the Special Forces. Better that way. Almost every elite soldier died at the hands of the dragons. The squads could face impossible odds knowing they had nothing left to lose. Except Robbie’s group hadn’t. And now there was going to be…
Homer broke into a run. His mate was in distress. Whatever it was, he would fix it for her.
Darting down an alley, he looked around before he came to an abrupt halt. The source of the noise—his mate—was backed into a corner in the alleyway. Dark haired with bright blue eyes, she held a large stick out in front of her as she tried to ward off two men who, from their scent, were stoned out of their minds from the dragon drugs.
Soon the supplies of the cursed serum would disappear. Any werewolves who had given into the temptation the addiction offered would either rehab or die from the
Homer Prinze prowled through the crowd, counting the seconds until he could leave the putrid stink of the city. One year since the end of the Dragon Wars— the battle that had raged between werewolves and dragons for over seventeen years and caused nothing short of total destruction in the end—and the reconvening survivors of the war were arguably worse off than they’d been during the attacks. At least when they’d all been fighting a common enemy the werewolf population had been all on the same side. Post-war, the werewolf community all seemed to be turning their former dragon hatred on each other. They needed Alphas again. Pack life. A return to the thing which had at one time made them great.
How the wolves could find their way again was beyond his limited viewpoint. Homer had been a great secret soldier during the war and he was, he hoped, an excellent dominant pack mate since. Solving the world’s problems had to fall to someone else.
He couldn’t get home fast enough. His Alpha, who had once been his commander during the war, Robbie Owens, honored him with the task of negotiating supplies. He was cognizant of the recognition it brought him within the pack. Only he hated coming to the city every time. Gods, the smell. He shook his head. As soon as he returned home, he was shifting and running the last two days off.
Robbie usually handled the trips to the city himself. Entrusting Homer to make the run showed enormous confidence in him as a pack member, and Homer was not going to screw anything up.
If only all these lost souls could find the small beacon of happiness he had with his newly formed pack. He shook his head. The Owenses had been good to him, given him a chance first as a soldier and now as a valued member of their group.
The small beacon of paradise in the midst of all this hell…
A cry caught his attention and he turned toward the sound. Why the one noise called out to him when so many didn’t he had no idea. But the small feminine agony in the midst of all the rest of it trapped his attention and wouldn’t let him move another step.
The black market vendors he did business with were going to deliver the seeds to his hidden truck in two hours time. He had to see to whoever needed help. Waiting in the truck for his supplies to show up was out of the question.
The hidden Alpha in him wouldn’t let him do anything else.
Gritting his teeth, fighting the need to shift, he plowed forward into the crowd. The sound of pain gave him a path to follow until his nose could pick up the scent associated with the noise. Roses, which was standard for a female werewolf, and the distinct aroma of cinnamon to go with it. He nearly tripped over his own feet as the fragrance moved through him.
His heart rate increased. He hadn’t even seen the female yet and already he knew…she was his mate. Homer’s heart rate kicked up a notch and he moved forward. The sudden understanding, the sheer truth of scenting another and knowing they held your future in their hands was a gift he had never expected to find for himself.
His family thought him dead, a requirement of joining the Special Forces. Better that way. Almost every elite soldier died at the hands of the dragons. The squads could face impossible odds knowing they had nothing left to lose. Except Robbie’s group hadn’t. And now there was going to be…
Homer broke into a run. His mate was in distress. Whatever it was, he would fix it for her.
Darting down an alley, he looked around before he came to an abrupt halt. The source of the noise—his mate—was backed into a corner in the alleyway. Dark haired with bright blue eyes, she held a large stick out in front of her as she tried to ward off two men who, from their scent, were stoned out of their minds from the dragon drugs.
Soon the supplies of the cursed serum would disappear. Any werewolves who had given into the temptation the addiction offered would either rehab or die from the
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