As engrossed as Danika generally is in her work, even she notices the underlying hostility with which the locals in the small northwestern town regard her and her research. She notices the biker gang that arrives shortly behind her even more. With their long hair, tattoos, and piercings, the rough group of bikers aren't the sort of men she's ever had contact with-and shouldn't want to have contact with-but they don't seem to grasp that they're not her type and she isn't theirs.
Length: Epic Novel
Word Count: 101,779
Genre: Paranormal/Werewolf Romance
Available formats: PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)
© Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, February 2008
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Danika Whitney’s frustration had mellowed somewhat by the time she reached the edge of town. Pushing the worrisome puzzle of her latest defeat in tagging one of the wolves terrorizing the area to the back of her mind, she searched her pockets with one hand for the list she’d made for herself before she left the cabin.
“Shit!” she muttered when she discovered it wasn’t in her shirt pocket. When a similar search of her jeans pockets came up empty, she glanced at her carryall frowningly and finally let out a huff of irritation that ruffled the brownish blond tendrils straying from her ponytail over her brow and along her cheeks.
So much for thinking she’d let one trip into town suffice to hold her for another week! “I made a list,” she muttered to herself. “I know I did. I must’ve put it in the bag.”
She didn’t feel very reassured, but after contemplating turning around and heading back to the cabin she’d rented for her investigation, she dismissed it. She was hungry, damn it! That was probably why she’d forgotten the damned list. She’d had her mind on a nice hot ‘I didn’t cook it’ meal at the diner, and her latest failure, and she’d probably lain the note she’d made for herself down somewhere, or maybe just left it on the table where she’d sat down to write?
The roar of an engine behind her jerked her out of her preoccupation about her missing list. Danika flicked a glance in the rearview mirror of her truck and froze.
There was a pack of motorcycles roaring up behind her.
She stared at the leather clad men on motorcycles for several moments, feeling a jolt of adrenaline rush through her when it occurred to her that it didn’t look as if they had any intention of slowing down or stopping behind her. Transferring her gaze to the light at the intersection where she’d stopped on ‘autopilot’, she realized it wasn’t actually a traffic light at all but rather a blinking caution light.
Discomfited when it dawned at her that she’d been sitting at the intersection searching for her list while she waited for the light to change—which was never going to change—she took her foot off the brake. Before she could move forward, the men on the cycles, who did actually slow, whipped around her like the tide rolling around a bridge piling, three on one side, two on the other.
To a man, all five turned to stare at her as they moved around her.
Unnerved, Danika stared back them, glancing from one side to the other before it dawned on her she probably shouldn’t be looking at them at all. They looked rough, and dangerous, and it was never a good idea to encourage the notice of obvious gang members—probably felons and drug addicts.