to maintain or increase the population of the pack, and that would be the extent of the tryst. Rarely, if ever, would he or she call another were their mate.
It was possible for a were to mourn for a lifetime. In the beginning, when the death is fresh and the wound deep, it wasn’t unusual for the surviving mate to become incapacitated by grief. That is when the pack is most vulnerable. At first, many members of the pack act like children, rejoicing that no one is watching their everymove. But soon, when they realize how big and bad the outside world really is, they grow fearful and sometimes angry because they no longer feel safe. That never appeared to be the case with Kara’s pack.
Kara had changed significantly since Carl’s death, which was understandable considering how close they had been. Carl had doted on her. Always surprising Kara with jewelry, roses, or whatever he thought she might fancy at any given time. Being vice president of Regent’s Bank, Carl’s income had afforded them the luxury of a three-story colonial in Algiers and matching Corvettes. Now, Kara lived in a two-bedroom apartment and drove an eight-year-old Chevy Malibu.
Danyon hadn’t had many dealings with Kara since Carl died, but he’d heard that her mourning period was unusually short, and that she ruled with a firm hand, did not tolerate slackers, and was obsessively territorial. He supposed those traits were good for the pack in that they established black-and-white boundaries. But those same traits might prove problematic when it was time for her to take orders from someone else. Danyon couldn’t help but wonder if Kara thought she had to be tougher because she was female and younger than most of the alpha males who led other packs. He wondered if Shauna, being the youngest Keeper, thought the same.
Danyon exited off the expressway and headed south toward Estelle, a small town that sat at the feet of the Jean Lafitte Wildlife Preserve. As he drove, Danyon found his thoughts awash with Shauna. It was difficult for him to see her as the Keeper of an entire race for the city of NewOrleans. She was so young and beautiful. He remembered how she had stood up to him, defiant, wanting to be part of the murder investigation. How she never once faltered in her commitment to that decision, no matter how frustrated or angry he became. She was certainly from MacDonald stock—hard-headed, loyal, fiercely passionate in her beliefs and, of course, stunning.
All three MacDonald sisters were breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something about Shauna that hooked into his senses and refused to let go. When they had sat across from each other at August’s conference table, it had taken a massive amount of will power not to sit and simply stare at her. Watch her move, talk, blink, breathe. The struggle to control his attraction to her had been as great as his battle to fight off the anger that forced his transformation. As difficult as it had been, however, Danyon thought he’d managed it relatively well.
Until last night.
He had only to take one look at her wrapped in that bathrobe, her freshly scrubbed face, bare feet, long hair, wet and tousled, and something so powerful welled up inside him, he feared he’d transform on the spot. It was more than desire, more than common sexual attraction. She looked like a waterfall to a man dying of thirst. Somehow, he’d still managed to control himself, act as if everything was normal—even though he stirred a pot he could not see—heard only the melodic sound of her voice, her laughter. He’d kept reminding himself that shewas human, he was were, and the difference between them was too vast to bridge.
Not that sex hadn’t tried to shove its way to the fore-front of his mind. There was no question he was sexually attracted to her. Any man in his right mind would be. But Danyon had had more than his fair share of sexual encounters, with most of them beginning and ending the same way. A little spark
It was possible for a were to mourn for a lifetime. In the beginning, when the death is fresh and the wound deep, it wasn’t unusual for the surviving mate to become incapacitated by grief. That is when the pack is most vulnerable. At first, many members of the pack act like children, rejoicing that no one is watching their everymove. But soon, when they realize how big and bad the outside world really is, they grow fearful and sometimes angry because they no longer feel safe. That never appeared to be the case with Kara’s pack.
Kara had changed significantly since Carl’s death, which was understandable considering how close they had been. Carl had doted on her. Always surprising Kara with jewelry, roses, or whatever he thought she might fancy at any given time. Being vice president of Regent’s Bank, Carl’s income had afforded them the luxury of a three-story colonial in Algiers and matching Corvettes. Now, Kara lived in a two-bedroom apartment and drove an eight-year-old Chevy Malibu.
Danyon hadn’t had many dealings with Kara since Carl died, but he’d heard that her mourning period was unusually short, and that she ruled with a firm hand, did not tolerate slackers, and was obsessively territorial. He supposed those traits were good for the pack in that they established black-and-white boundaries. But those same traits might prove problematic when it was time for her to take orders from someone else. Danyon couldn’t help but wonder if Kara thought she had to be tougher because she was female and younger than most of the alpha males who led other packs. He wondered if Shauna, being the youngest Keeper, thought the same.
Danyon exited off the expressway and headed south toward Estelle, a small town that sat at the feet of the Jean Lafitte Wildlife Preserve. As he drove, Danyon found his thoughts awash with Shauna. It was difficult for him to see her as the Keeper of an entire race for the city of NewOrleans. She was so young and beautiful. He remembered how she had stood up to him, defiant, wanting to be part of the murder investigation. How she never once faltered in her commitment to that decision, no matter how frustrated or angry he became. She was certainly from MacDonald stock—hard-headed, loyal, fiercely passionate in her beliefs and, of course, stunning.
All three MacDonald sisters were breathtakingly beautiful, but there was something about Shauna that hooked into his senses and refused to let go. When they had sat across from each other at August’s conference table, it had taken a massive amount of will power not to sit and simply stare at her. Watch her move, talk, blink, breathe. The struggle to control his attraction to her had been as great as his battle to fight off the anger that forced his transformation. As difficult as it had been, however, Danyon thought he’d managed it relatively well.
Until last night.
He had only to take one look at her wrapped in that bathrobe, her freshly scrubbed face, bare feet, long hair, wet and tousled, and something so powerful welled up inside him, he feared he’d transform on the spot. It was more than desire, more than common sexual attraction. She looked like a waterfall to a man dying of thirst. Somehow, he’d still managed to control himself, act as if everything was normal—even though he stirred a pot he could not see—heard only the melodic sound of her voice, her laughter. He’d kept reminding himself that shewas human, he was were, and the difference between them was too vast to bridge.
Not that sex hadn’t tried to shove its way to the fore-front of his mind. There was no question he was sexually attracted to her. Any man in his right mind would be. But Danyon had had more than his fair share of sexual encounters, with most of them beginning and ending the same way. A little spark
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