Chapter One
The night closed around Dolf as he got out of his black Porsche 911 Carrera S and headed out on the hunt for the werewolves sired by Fenris the wolf. At one time, it’d been all he’d lived for. As one of the warriors that Tiw, the Anglo-Saxon god and Sky Father, had charged to protect mortals from the beasts who hunted them, Dolf was good at what he did. A sword in his hand as he struck down his enemies was when he’d been his happiest—until he’d found Maggie.
Walking down one of the streets in Norwich, it appeared to be like any other one found in England. Except around here, one never knew what could be lurking in the dark shadows, ready to spring. It only took a single bite from one of Fenris’ get to change a mortal into what had attacked him.
Dolf kept his senses alert to his surroundings, hoping to come across his prey. There was one in particular he wished to find each night he hunted—the bastard who was the pack leader of the enemy. It was because of Stephen, that Maggie, Dolf’s would-be mate, was absolutely terrified of werewolves. That included Dolf, since Tiw had bestowed upon all of his warriors the ability to shift into what they hunted, to give them a better chance of taking down the beasts they faced.
If Dolf ever managed to get his hands on Stephen, he’d tear the fucker apart with his sharp teeth and claws while in werewolf form, before sinking his sword that had silver mixed with steel through his black heart. After abducting Maggie and keeping her prisoner in his pack’s den, it was what Stephen deserved. Dolf wouldn’t rest until he put the bastard down. He’d watch as Stephen’s body was consumed by Tiw’s god-fire, wiping him out of existence as if he’d never been.
Thoughts of Maggie and what she meant to Dolf had his wolf throwing back its head, howling mournfully. Both it and the man longed for their mate. He ached to seek her out at her parents’ house and pull her into his arms, and never let her go. But the way things now stood, that would never happen. He’d tried to see her shortly after he and his fellow warriors had rescued her, but all he’d gotten was the door slammed in his face, though not before he’d seen the terror in Maggie’s eyes. That had felt as if someone had taken a knife to his guts.
Catching a scent on the slight breeze blowing in his direction, Dolf slowed his steps. A werewolf was nearby, not the one he sought, but still one of his prey. The area he hunted, the homes were spaced out with large back gardens and ample places to hide in the shadows.
Dolf stopped in front of a house cloaked in complete darkness, giving away the fact that no one was home. He sniffed the air, following the scent trail to the side of the property. Several tall bushes were planted there, and the werewolf’s scent seemed to be coming directly from them.
He shook his head at the beast’s stupidity. Where he hid offered no protection, nor did it stop Dolf from being able to detect him. With stealthy movements, he worked his way to where his prey was concealed and willed his sword onto his back. He reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle to unsheathe it. The blade quietly hissed as it came free of its scabbard. The silver mixed with steel shone in the moonlight.
A blur of dark brown fur shot out from the bushes and charged Dolf. He deftly stepped out of the way, and at the same time, brought up his sword, catching the werewolf across its chest. The beast howled as its skin sizzled from making contact with the silver. Dolf expected another attack, but slowly lowered his weapon when the werewolf shifted to his human form.
“What the fuck,” his prey cried out while he pressed a hand to his wound and scowled.
To say this was unlike any normal werewolf behavior he’d witnessed would be an understatement. Fenris’ get usually didn’t back down, especially when confronted by one of Tiw’s warriors. Their pack members knew all about
The night closed around Dolf as he got out of his black Porsche 911 Carrera S and headed out on the hunt for the werewolves sired by Fenris the wolf. At one time, it’d been all he’d lived for. As one of the warriors that Tiw, the Anglo-Saxon god and Sky Father, had charged to protect mortals from the beasts who hunted them, Dolf was good at what he did. A sword in his hand as he struck down his enemies was when he’d been his happiest—until he’d found Maggie.
Walking down one of the streets in Norwich, it appeared to be like any other one found in England. Except around here, one never knew what could be lurking in the dark shadows, ready to spring. It only took a single bite from one of Fenris’ get to change a mortal into what had attacked him.
Dolf kept his senses alert to his surroundings, hoping to come across his prey. There was one in particular he wished to find each night he hunted—the bastard who was the pack leader of the enemy. It was because of Stephen, that Maggie, Dolf’s would-be mate, was absolutely terrified of werewolves. That included Dolf, since Tiw had bestowed upon all of his warriors the ability to shift into what they hunted, to give them a better chance of taking down the beasts they faced.
If Dolf ever managed to get his hands on Stephen, he’d tear the fucker apart with his sharp teeth and claws while in werewolf form, before sinking his sword that had silver mixed with steel through his black heart. After abducting Maggie and keeping her prisoner in his pack’s den, it was what Stephen deserved. Dolf wouldn’t rest until he put the bastard down. He’d watch as Stephen’s body was consumed by Tiw’s god-fire, wiping him out of existence as if he’d never been.
Thoughts of Maggie and what she meant to Dolf had his wolf throwing back its head, howling mournfully. Both it and the man longed for their mate. He ached to seek her out at her parents’ house and pull her into his arms, and never let her go. But the way things now stood, that would never happen. He’d tried to see her shortly after he and his fellow warriors had rescued her, but all he’d gotten was the door slammed in his face, though not before he’d seen the terror in Maggie’s eyes. That had felt as if someone had taken a knife to his guts.
Catching a scent on the slight breeze blowing in his direction, Dolf slowed his steps. A werewolf was nearby, not the one he sought, but still one of his prey. The area he hunted, the homes were spaced out with large back gardens and ample places to hide in the shadows.
Dolf stopped in front of a house cloaked in complete darkness, giving away the fact that no one was home. He sniffed the air, following the scent trail to the side of the property. Several tall bushes were planted there, and the werewolf’s scent seemed to be coming directly from them.
He shook his head at the beast’s stupidity. Where he hid offered no protection, nor did it stop Dolf from being able to detect him. With stealthy movements, he worked his way to where his prey was concealed and willed his sword onto his back. He reached over his shoulder and grasped the handle to unsheathe it. The blade quietly hissed as it came free of its scabbard. The silver mixed with steel shone in the moonlight.
A blur of dark brown fur shot out from the bushes and charged Dolf. He deftly stepped out of the way, and at the same time, brought up his sword, catching the werewolf across its chest. The beast howled as its skin sizzled from making contact with the silver. Dolf expected another attack, but slowly lowered his weapon when the werewolf shifted to his human form.
“What the fuck,” his prey cried out while he pressed a hand to his wound and scowled.
To say this was unlike any normal werewolf behavior he’d witnessed would be an understatement. Fenris’ get usually didn’t back down, especially when confronted by one of Tiw’s warriors. Their pack members knew all about
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