Taming the White Wolf, page 1
Table of Contents
Content Warning
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more romance from Entangled… Bad Moon Rising
The Black Lily
Bitten Under Fire
Moonlight
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by N.J. Walters. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
644 Shrewsbury Commons Ave
STE 181
Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon
Cover design by LJ Anderson/Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by EXTREME-PHOTOGRAPHER and mariusz_prusaczyk/Getty Images
NewAfrica/DepositPhotos
Joeprachatree/Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-64937-608-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2023
At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage for details.
https://entangledpublishing.com/books/taming-the-white-wolf
Over the years, I’ve made some close friends in the online community, friends I’ve never met in person but who have had an impact on my life. This book is for Donna—aka D.D. Galvani—taken far too soon. I’d like to think she somehow knows I borrowed her last name for my heroine and that she approves.
Author’s Note
This book is the start of a new trilogy whose mythology is not connected to any of my previous series. Many writers meticulously plot their books, but I rely on the characters to whisper in my ear. I merely take diction and try to be as faithful as possible to the stories they relate. This is a work of fiction, as told to me by the characters portrayed within the pages.
Lone Wolf Legacy
Since the rise of the werewolf, there has always existed a single lone wolf—with pure white, gray, or black fur and eyes that match—who answers to no alpha, belongs to no pack. Merciless and deadly, he wanders the world, both judge and executioner of rogue wolves who senselessly kill, endangering all their kind.
When one dies, another takes its place, awakening to his purpose the first time he shifts to his wolf form. Known by the sign of the lone wolf—a sickle over the heart—the short-handled, circular blade remains as a tattoo on the man and as a mark on the wolf. A lethal combination of intelligence, brutal strength, and keen instinct, he walks a lonely path, shunned by pack, always alone.
Gift or curse, he is endowed with immortality and can be killed only by beheading, either during battle or by stealth or betrayal. Some say worn down by responsibilities, they eventually choose to die. Some whisper only love can kill them. The truth remains a mystery.
For the first time, there are three in the world—white, gray, and black—who all bear the mark on their chests. No one knows why, least of all them…
Chapter One
Lightning slashed the night sky, illuminating the lone wolf on the hillside. A wild howl ripped through the air. Rain wept from the heavens, washing the blood from his pure-white fur.
It was done. The rogue was dead.
Devlin Moore trotted into the woods without a backward glance. There was a time he would’ve felt something—remorse, sadness. Almost a hundred years of killing had frozen his heart into a chunk of ice. This target had tried to hide in a remote corner of Maine. They never learned. There was no way to hide from him. The ultimate hunter, once locked onto his prey, there was no stopping him. The compulsion to see the job done was as much a part of the curse as the tattoo emblazoned on his chest.
The sun was starting to peek above the horizon by the time he reached his truck. He stood and watched the sky bleed orange tinged with red before the yellow broke free. Embracing his human form, he ran his fingers through his damp hair. After retrieving his keys from a metal box attached beneath the frame of the vehicle, he unlocked his truck. With the warming air wicking away the last of the moisture from his skin, he pulled on jeans, steel-toed work boots, and a long-sleeved Henley.
A blue jay darted through the pines, a splash of color against the darker green. A crow cawed. The world was waking up. He was ready for bed. As he drove away, he had no destination in mind; he never did. There was no home waiting for him, no one to care if he lived or died. His curse was a force that would not be denied. God knows he’d tried. It was either hunt or succumb to madness.
He hunted.
For the first time in werewolf history, there were three lone wolves—him, a gray, and a black wolf. He knew the names of both men but didn’t use them. It made no sense to get attached, not when he might have to kill them someday. So far, they’d managed to stay out of each other’s way, drawn to different parts of the world, their paths never crossing. But he kept track of any gossip and suspected sightings of them, as they did him.
He pulled up his favorite playlist on his phone and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as Five Finger Death Punch belted out a song. With each passing mile between him and the scene of his latest execution, the muscles in his shoulders unknotted. When he pulled to a stop at an intersection, he rolled his neck, groaning when the bones cracked. Closing his eyes, he listened for the impulse. North into Canada or down to northeastern USA? When none came, he began to smile. He was due for a break.
Canada it was. He wouldn’t mind fishing in Northern Ontario, maybe heading to the east coast. He hadn’t been there in decades.
His fingers tightened on the wheel. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Damn it.” He turned in the opposite direction. Seemed fate wasn’t quite done with him. The urge to hunt wasn’t quite there, not yet. It was more a tingle in the back of his brain. “More like a goddamn itch.”
He muted the music, his joy in it gone. When would it end? In the beginning, he would sometimes go weeks, even months, without working. These days, he barely got a break.
“Alphas aren’t doing their damn jobs.” Since there were more wolves in the world, it was logical there’d be more rogues, but it seemed never-ending.
New York.
The words popped into his head. He had no idea where they came from—his wolf or some source outside him. Wherever it originated, it always pointed him to where he needed to be. It was as much a part of him as the sickle-shaped blade etched over his heart. Both had appeared the first time he’d shifted into a wolf.
“Guess I’m going to New York.” That’s where he’d find whatever was waiting for him.
…
Zoe Galvani sat back in her desk chair and grinned. “I’m brilliant.” Unless the client was a raving idiot, he was going to be pleased with the redesign of the company logo and promotional materials.
Making sure everything was saved, she sent it off and then stood, groaning when her back complained.
“Damn it, I set an alarm.” It was part of her newest promise to herself to get up and move around every hour. Working for long stretches of time at a computer wasn’t the healthiest, no matter how much she loved her job as a freelance graphic artist.
She stared at her phone. Yup, the alarm had gone off. Once again, she’d been so into her work she’d ignored it. Come to think of it, she had a vague memory of turning it off.
“I’ll grab some lunch.” The walk and fresh air would do her good. She checked the time. “Make that an early supper.” She’d missed lunch…again. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, she pulled on a pair of purple Converse sneakers, grabbed her colorful hobo-style purse, and hurried down the four flights of stairs to the street, stepping out onto a bustling sidewalk. With a grin, she turned left toward her favorite deli.
Even after ten years, the sights and sounds of New York enthralled her as much as they had when she’d first arrived, scared and alone. She was still alone but was never lonely. She had plenty of acquaintances, but only one person she’d call a friend.
“So what if I don’t make friends easily. It’s not a crime,” she muttered, shaking off the dark cloud that threatened to rain on her excellent mood. It was a gorgeous June day, sunny without being
She ducked into Bernie’s Deli and got in the lineup. It moved quickly and in less than five minutes it was her turn. “What are you having today?” Bernie himself was behind the counter. He was the second Bernie, his father, Bernie senior, having started the business some sixty years ago. Bernie Junior also worked here. She couldn’t begin to imagine such a family legacy.
“Pastrami and Swiss on rye.” Her mouth watered in anticipation.
“You want a cookie with that?” He assembled and wrapped her sandwich.
“Why not?” She’d finished a big job today. That was as good an excuse as any to celebrate. She perused the display case and made her choice. “Give me a brownie.”
“Going all out today.” He added the treat to her bag.
See, she might not have close friends, but Bernie knew she normally had an oatmeal raisin cookie when she indulged. “Finished a job for a client.”
“Good for you. Beautiful young woman like you shouldn’t be cooped up in her apartment working all day.” Bernie was pushing sixty and constantly trying to set her up with an assortment of relatives and friends—and they were legion. She’d always politely declined.
He added a bottle of water to her order without asking. It was both comforting and annoying. Was she that predictable? No, she’d gotten the brownie, hadn’t she?
If that was the extent of her impulsiveness, she’d dug herself into a big rut.
“I’m heading to the park. Thanks,” she added as she paid, but Bernie was already talking to the next customer.
What was wrong with her today? She loved her life. Yes, she lived in a tiny, hole-in-the-wall apartment, but it was in New York Freaking City. It was everything she’d dreamed it would be. Sure, it cost a fortune to live here. Even making a decent living, she had to cut corners to make ends meet. Hence the shortage of brownies in her life and the thrift-store clothes jammed in her minuscule closet. But every sacrifice she’d ever made was worth it.
Her phone rang as she strolled down the block. She dug it out of her bag and smiled when she saw the name on the screen. “Hey, Brenda.” Her friend worked at the thrift store Zoe frequented and waitressed three nights a week at a swanky restaurant.
“I’ve got tonight off. Want to head out to the Green Door?” Nightclubs popped up overnight in the city and disappeared just as fast. The Green Door was new and relatively unknown. That meant drink specials which fit her budget…if she didn’t eat out for a week.
Normally, she’d be sensible and decline, but she was still feeling the sting of realizing she was in a rut. “Sure.”
“Really?” Brenda’s surprise made her roll her eyes.
“You want me to go or not?”
“Sure. Usually, I have to talk you into it. Hang on a sec.” In the background, she heard the murmur of voices. Her friend was calling from work. She stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change.
“Gotta go.” Brenda sounded slightly harried. “How ’bout we meet there around nine?”
Before Zoe could reply, the line went dead. Stuffing her phone in her bag, she stepped off the sidewalk. A horn blared. Tires squealed. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and yanked her back. The deli bag slipped from her hand and dropped to the ground. Off balance, she would’ve ended up on her ass except she rammed into someone.
What the hell! Heart pounding, mouth dry, she trembled.
“Watch where you’re walking, lady,” the driver yelled, speeding away. Stunned, all she could do was blink. It had happened so fast.
“You okay?” The voice was impossibly deep and vibrated in the very marrow of her bones.
Tilting her head back, she stared up and up. Holy cow, he was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen, and every inch of it was prime. The black T-shirt he wore stretched across an acre of shoulders and clung to rock-hard abs. At a loss for words, she catalogued his features. He wasn’t handsome. That was far too tame a word. Primal sprang to mind. His face was all hard, sharp angles, his jaw stubborn. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching up to touch him to make sure he was real and not some figment of her overactive imagination.
Maybe I’m dead and this is heaven?
His hair was pure white and pulled back from his face in a short tail. But this guy wasn’t anywhere near ancient. No, he was young and vibrant and smoking hot. She didn’t think it was dyed, either. Not a single dark root in sight, and maybe it was stereotyping, but he didn’t seem the type to dye it. That meant it was hereditary.
He held her at arm’s length, his lips compressing into a hard line. “Lady, are you okay?”
Tongue-tied by his mere presence, she nodded.
“You need to watch where you’re going.” Releasing her, he walked away without a backward glance.
He might be handsome as sin, but his personality sucked. Okay, that wasn’t fair. He’d saved her life. She’d cut him some slack. He likely had somewhere he needed to be.
Glancing down, she found her deli bag. By some stroke of luck, it hadn’t gotten squashed beneath the tires of a car or trampled by passing feet. She grabbed it and checked. The sandwich was slightly crushed. The brownie was unharmed.
Zoe took a deep breath. “You’re okay.” Despite her reassurance, her stomach churned, and she couldn’t stop trembling. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the scare she’d had or the man who had saved her. Probably both in equal parts. Forsaking the park, she headed home. Her unexpected hero was already out of sight.
Sighing, she went to rub her hand against her forehead and clunked herself with the deli bag. “Get with it, girl.” Clasping the bag to her chest, she slowly walked home and dragged herself up the stairs. She wasn’t hurt, but she’d had a shock.
After kicking off her sneakers, she took her meal to her desk, which stood in front of her one window and doubled as her dining table. Staring down at the street, she ate by rote, not tasting the delicious sandwich.
“I wonder what color his eyes are.” Sunglasses had covered them, but she’d sensed the intensity of his gaze from behind the tinted lenses. Giving a sigh, she reached for the brownie. “Stop it. It’s over. He’s gone. You were two ships passing in the night, even if it was daytime. Maybe he’s your guardian angel.”
That made her laugh. He was too badass. Whoever he was, he was anything but an angel.
Chapter Two
Hours later, Devlin couldn’t get the woman off his mind. It was irritating. He rarely involved himself with humans but had acted instinctively, dragging her out of the way before she’d ended up beneath the wheels of the speeding car.
Over the centuries he’d lived, he’d seen plenty of beautiful women. Why, then, was she stuck in his head? About average height, she’d come up to his chest. The faded jeans and pale blue shirt she wore were more about comfort than any sense of style. The one bright pop of color had been her sneakers.
For fuck’s sake, now he was a fashion critic.
Her coloring was unique. Maybe that was it. Her hair was black as night, except for a stripe of white in the front. The eyes that had looked up at him with remnants of fear still lingering had been white with the faintest hint of pale blue around the edges. He doubted most people noticed the slight variation. Her scent, a combination of coffee, vanilla, and warm woman, lingered on his shirt where she’d brushed against him. When his dick started to swell, he swore under his breath.
Forget her.
Easier said than done. Rolling his shoulders, he turned down an alley. He’d already tracked his quarry to three bars in the neighborhood. He’d find him eventually. There was nowhere the rogue could hide. But this one was doing a damn good job. He’d been in the city almost a week and was getting tired of playing cat and mouse, his inner radar dragging him from one place to another. He wanted the job done. Being around so many people was aggravating.
Ignoring the people hoping to get into the club, he went to the head of the line. The bouncer took one look at him and stepped aside. Devlin didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. Whether it was his size, or the human sensed the danger emanating from him, he was smart enough to let Devlin pass unchallenged. He didn’t care, as long as it got him inside without a hassle. Not that that was ever a problem; people feared him without understanding why.
