Jul 03, Laura rated it really liked it 3. Our heroine Reda is a cop who froze during a robbery, causing her partner to get shot she feels the weight of guilt and blame of his death, feeling she is such a coward. So she has since taken a leave of absence from the force, and is instead hunting down a painting and book. We enter the story as she gets the book.
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Lord of the Wolfyn Jessica Andersen Once upon a time To save their children, the queen scattered them to safety and the king filled them with vengeance. Only a magical timepiece connects the four royal heirs. For practical Reda Weston, nothing could explain how reading a sexy version of Little Red Riding Hood catapulted her into another realm — face-to-fang with the legendary wolf-creature who seduced women.
A wolf who transformed into a dark, virile man.. Dayn cursed the Sorcerer that turned him wolfyn and damned him to a lonely fate. As a beast, he mated with women to gain strength. Strength he needed to save Elden. With little time left, Dayn had to either embrace his wolf to save his kingdom — or fight it to save his woman. Welcome to the Royal House of Shadows….
Do you dare enter this dark, dangerous and sexy world? I loved, loved, loved writing the story of a secretive magical prince and a redheaded cop with a penchant for archery and no luck with men. It was an absolute blast working with these talented ladies and imagining how these royal siblings would avenge their parents and save their kingdom.
Happy reading, To lone wolves and life mates. So he led his army in a vicious attack on the Royal Castle of Elden, vowing to wipe out the royal family and take the throne. Together, they guarded Castle Island and the villages surrounding Blood Lake, and kept the foul monsters of sorcery trapped in the Dead Forest. It was a noble role, a dangerous calling…and an incredible rush.
At least, it usually was. Tonight, though, he rode in anger with his reins white-knuckled in one hand and his loaded crossbow in the other, his mind not on protecting his castle or the country folk, but on the kill itself.
The bristling, pony-size gray creature could have been one of the giant wolves that hunted the high country beyond Elden, save for the saddle of reddish fur at its heavy nape and the golden stripe that ran along its spine. Those things marked it as something else entirely: a wolfyn. The older hunters told of the wolfyn taking human form and seducing the most beautiful women they could find…and then killing and eating them.
Those were just stories, though. Those days were gone now, the wolfyn nearly wiped from the kingdoms. The few that remained, though, were deadly and had to be killed for the safety of all. You must wed a proper princess.
He was twenty and six, and his kind lived for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of years. Yet his parents wanted to sell his life to whichever royal house bid highest. Gods and the Abyss, he wished he had been common-born. The stallion accelerated after the beast, which looked back at them with too-intelligent amber eyes, and Dayn gripped with his knees and raised his crossbow as the gap narrowed. The trees opened up around him, but he focused on the reddish saddle mark, which outlined the target for a kill shot.
He fought the magic that held him, but it was too powerful, too all-encompassing, a physical force that roared and keened, and then flattened, reverberating in his soul as he reached the calm at the center of the whirlwind.
There, he hung suspended—seeing nothing but the moving wall of gray-brown surrounding him, feeling nothing but the magic. His pulse hammered and his muscles screamed for him to fight or run. But there was nothing to fight, nowhere to escape.
What was happening? Mindspeaking was usually nothing more than shared thoughts between blood-drinking kinsmen. He and his father shared the bond most strongly, though he also had it with Nicolai. But this was something different entirely. Are you doing this? And his blood ran cold at the realization that this was no punishment.
It was a warning. Monstrous scorpion creatures filled the great hall below the curving staircase, knocking aside elite guard-soldiers with their poison-tipped tails, then slicing through their armor with razor-sharp claws.
As blood splashed and men screamed and died, the king slammed a bolt of magic down the stairs, driving back the ettins that were trying to win their way up the steps to the upper level. The huge three-headed ogres stumbled back, dazed, but not for long.
What surprised him was the panicked ache he felt at the sight of her rushing up the stone steps ahead of him, the inner whisper of, Please, gods, no. Worse, he saw the same emotions reflected in her eyes when she ducked into an alcove just short of their chambers and turned to him, holding out her hands for his. Folding his hands around hers, he moved in close and laid his cheek on her brow.
My love. I am sorry. Sorry that he had no hope to offer. He struggled against the invisible force that held him at the center of the whirlwind, lashing at it, cursing it. The word was spoken inside his head, in a familiar low, rumbling voice.
Get me out of here. The castle has fallen, and us with it. Just hang on. Aelfric snapped, much as he did to his men in battle. Find Nicolai? Muster an army? A magical attack? A retreat? Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined the castle taken, his parents gone. I will do whatever you tell me. The magic has sent you and your brothers and sister far away, as we intended, but it has also tied the four of you to the castle and begun a countdown.
When this count enters its final four nights—and not before then—you must all return to the island, retake the castle and kill the Blood Sorcerer. If you do not, you will die and Elden will be lost. But you must wait until the time is right. A woman will come to guide you home. The countdown begins when she arrives and ends on the fourth night. You must let her guide you, but remember: stay true to yourself and know your priorities.
Promise me that. A sob backed up in his throat. Seconds later, he was flying away from the calm center and back out toward the whipping wall of air. Pain consumed him, convulsed him, as his body suddenly sought to tear itself apart from the inside out. Flesh and muscle ripped; sinews snapped from one place to another and his bones bent. There was a sharp jolt, and agony javelined through him, so terrible that he screamed and his senses went dim for a few seconds.
Then, between one second and the next, the howling stopped and the tornado disappeared, blinking out of existence as if it had never been. He hung for a second facedown in midair, eight or ten feet above a grassy clearing surrounded by strange stone pillars. Then his weight returned and he fell.
Surely that explained why, as he struggled to his hands and knees, the world around him seemed too bright, the sky too pale, the trees too tall. But no head injury could explain the cold that cut through his tunic or the way he could see his breath on the air. Where was he? Had the spell sent him to the High Reaches? Even farther? Gods, what if he was all the way out by the Barrens?
It would take him months to get home. His father had said he needed to wait for a woman guide and a four-night countdown that started when she arrived, but impatience stirred at the thought. What if he returned on his own? He was a hunter, a Forestal. If anyone could make it safely through the kingdoms alone, it was him. What if— He jolted when movement blurred in his peripheral vision, and his pulse thudded thickly in his ears as he turned, hoping to see his guide.
Instead, men emerged from the trees. One was a gangly youth in his late teens, while the other appeared to be in his third or fourth decade. The strange fabric crinkled like parchment when they moved, coming toward him. But if he was in hostile territory, that was probably for the best. He needed to lay low and keep his true identity hidden until he knew whether it was safe for him to reveal himself as a prince of Elden.
What do you make of him? Homespun, nothing fancy, no weapons? Probably just a regular guy who stumbled into a vortex with zero clue what just happened.
Lord of the Wolfyn / Twin Targets
Books by Jessica Andersen