This time when he told the story, Xio learned some things were meant to be. Like a bank robber and lawman, or a gunslinger and Chinese princess who’d escaped a prearranged marriage and traveled by ship to America, where she’d found her true love in the Black Hills. Fate sometimes had a way of mixing oil with water, and Xio wouldn’t have it any other way. Opposites did attract.
Marcus Cazador was the yang to her yin.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
D. L. Jackson is a writer of urban fantasy, science fiction, military romance and erotic romance. She loves to incorporate crazy plot twists, comedy and the unexpected into her worlds. As a U.S. Army veteran, she naturally adores men in uniform and feels the world could always use more. She does her part by incorporating as many sexy soldiers in her novels as she can. When she isn't writing or running the roads, you can often find her online chatting with her peers and readers. Grab a cup of iced coffee, pull up your virtual chair and say hi. She loves emails and blog visits from her readers.
You can visit D.L. at:
http://authordljackson.com
Want more Black Hills Wolves?
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Wolf’s Song by Taryn Kincaid
Prologue
“Magnum?” Brick Northridge snorted and muttered into his beer. He stared bleary eyed at the hated alpha holding court in the center of the saloon. “More like a .22, if you ask me. Maybe a pea shooter.” He sat off by himself, as always, in a far corner of The Den, making deep inroads into his second foamy pitcher, his chair tilted back against the stone wall, its two front legs off the peanut shell-strewn floor. The brew gave him a heady buzz, but failed to still the roar in his head. Too many wolfy voices. Too many pictures of lupine death.
Like right now. A white flash went off, revealing a series of mental Kodachromes of Magnum Tao, the pack’s alpha, laid out all Rest in Fuckin’ Peace on a satin lining, a lily sticking up from his cold, crossed hands. The pack shedding a few crocodile tears. Then rejoicing.
Brick didn’t want the visions arriving unbidden in his head, all chopped up movie-trailer style, decibel level cranked, useless coming attractions when he never knew the where or when…only the how. He’d learned as a cub to keep his mouth shut and wait for the feature to begin. No one ever appreciated hearing how they’d die. Not when they couldn’t do much about it.
But the current video of Funeral Home Magnum deposited more funds into Brick’s mortgaged courage account than the liquid variety drained from a beer mug. His back went as rigid as if someone had shoved a titanium rod up his ass. He bolted out of his chair, upended wood splintering.
One of these days, he and Gee, the saloon-owning werebear, would have to settle his running bar tab and retire that long-distance marathoner. Gee risked his liquor license even letting his underage ass into the joint. But the gruff old walking throw rug took pity on him, apparently, and seemed to understand his need to still the unwanted cacophony of others’ thoughts, letting him self-medicate the clamor into a low hum the only way he knew how.
“Yeah? Well, no one asked you, punk.” Magnum whirled around and trained his belligerent gaze in Brick’s direction. He dropped his sinewy arms from the shoulders of the two stacked humans who Wonder Breaded him like a slab of bologna. A scent at once gamey and oily, the twin odors of decay and greed, wafted from the alpha’s hide. Brick twitched his nose as the stink, laced with evil, struck him full on and chiseled up his nose like a burrowing parasite. His stomach clenched but he tamped down the gag reflex.
“Who the hell let you in here, anyway?” Magnum demanded. “Gee?” He looked around for the proprietor but the massive werebear merely crossed his arms over his huge chest and said nothing. “You let this underage motherfucker drink in your establishment?”
“Between you and me, asswipe,” Brick said. “Got nothing to do with Gee. Leave him out of it.”
“You and me?” The older wolf snorted. “And what fuckin’ cavalry?” Magnum’s eyes glowed yellow as he waited for an answer. The greasy, unkempt hair on his nape rose. All conversation stopped, raucous laughter misting away. Even the band dropped their instruments to watch the confrontation, their eyes wary, gazes skittering across the room in an effort to meet no one else’s. The silence lengthened, pea souped into a dense fog, and swallowed the electric buzz rippling with the promise of a brawl. The scent of fear and horror, flavored with excitement, thickened the air.