a Wolf's honor (paperback)

 He always followed the rules. Until she broke them.

Marc Kincaid must convince a rival werewolf pack that their worst nightmare is about to become reality. In order for their species to survive, the packs must form an alliance .To win them over, he has to play their games. But he runs across an unexpected glitch—a bonnie Fae lass with curves capable of unmanning him and a stubborn streak to match. His response to her is instant and hungry, and makes him burn for more than just survival.
But she's not a rule he's willing to break.

Bronaugh Lane has been fighting her dark Fae nature her entire life. Giving up control is not in her character. If she did, she would lose everyone she cares about. So when she meets a werewolf with the hard muscles of a warrior and a soft Scottish brogue, her intense yearning for him is disconcerting. She should keep her distance, but her lusty nature is her undoing, nearly messing up her plans to get close to the Texas pack, because Marc is her only chance at infiltrating their den.

And then the game changes.
There are no rules now.

This is no’ goin’ tae end well.

Marc Kincaid rose to his impressive height from the park bench he’d been lounging on. He eyed the threesome of sizable Lycan males sauntering toward him at typical southern speed across the front lawn of the Texas Capitol building. He sighed heavily, and wished they would hurry it the fuck up. 

He silently reviewed what he was planning to say to them, calculated the risks of saying this and not saying that, and prayed the hellish heat didn’t make them ill-tempered. He just needed them to listen for a few minutes. But even from this distance, one look at their stony faces and he was more certain than ever that this was naught but a mistake. He was wasting his time. 

But it was what his alpha wanted, and he’d agreed to try. Cedric hadn’t been pack leader for this long without knowing what he was doing.

As they neared, Marc’s eyebrow rose at their wannabe cowboy ensembles:  button-down shirts with rolled up sleeves, well-worn jeans, cowboy boots, and large brimmed hats slung down low on their foreheads. He half expected to hear jangling spurs and see stalks of hay sticking out from between their teeth, and was almost disappointed when he didn’t. He couldn’t quite keep the smirk from his face as he wondered if they all gathered round the campfire every night and planned what they were going to wear the next morning so they would all match. 

They even had giant silver buckles on their belts, even though Marc knew for a fact that not a one of them had ever ridden a bull. Bucking chute or not, there was no way an animal would allow any of their kind to get close enough to be able to climb onto its back. The poor thing would break its wee neck trying to escape first.

Arms hanging at his sides in a deceptively relaxed pose, Marc discreetly cracked his knuckles one by one, then wiped his sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs. He wasn’t nervous. Quite the opposite, actually. His wolf was well under control, which was how he liked it, and this meeting was taking place on neutral ground in full view of the humans milling about on their lunch hour. Unless these guys were a special kind of eejit, there wouldn’t be any violence here today. He was only sweating because it was unbelievably hot in Austin, even this late in the summer. He didn’t know how anyone could live here, be they human or otherwise, and especially not a pack of werewolves. Like him, their body temperature ran a little hotter than what was normal, and they were definitely better suited for a cooler climate. Why in all that was holy would these fools choose to live here?

He eyeballed their ridiculous ensembles once more and sighed.

Well, at least they seem tae have adapted well tae the local urban cowboy culture. 

A slight breeze blew through the scrub brush Texans called trees and Marc squinted against the dust. Even the bloody wind was hot here. He squinted up at the scorching sun. He was beginning to see why everyone moved at a snail’s pace here. Scratching the back of his neck, he contemplated sitting down again as it seemed he was going to be waiting a while. It was bad etiquette as he’d already stood to greet them, but fuck it. If they couldn’t get their arses over to him in a proper amount of time, then he saw no need to act any differently. 

The wind changed course, blowing in from the opposite direction, and he stopped mid-sit. Marc shot upright again, inhaling deeply. His entire body went rigid, straining in the direction of a new, intriguing scent. Digging his utility boots into the grass, he fought the urge to charge off after it with his nose lifted in the air like a hound.

What the hell is that?

It seemed vaguely familiar to him, but wasn’t anything he could immediately place his finger on. Yet it called to him with such a force that he was having a bloody hard time resisting. 

What the fook is that? 

After racking his brain for a full minute, it finally came to him, the place he’d smelled it before. It was Northern Ireland. Or rather, a brief moment of time he’d spent in Ireland a long, long time ago. 

Many moons before, his pack had crossed the North Channel from their homeland of Scotland after rumors of Faerie problems had made it to their ears. He’d been in his wolf form, standing alone in an open field and trying to catch his breath after he’d just run full-out for many miles. Panting heavily, he’d lifted his snout to the sky and breathed in the strong smells of the grass and the wildflowers, made musky from the recent rain. But there’d been one scent that had seemed to overpower all of the others:  the heady fragrance of what he’d later discovered had come from the creamy-white meadowsweet flowers. 

Those flowers were native to Ireland, however, so how was it that he was smelling them here? All the way across the ocean? In the desert landscape of Texas, of all places? 

His narrowed gaze swept across the manicured lawn of the capitol building. He searched the flowerbeds, the bushes, the trees…but saw nothing that even slightly resembled the dense white clusters he was accustomed to seeing. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the smell was gone. Immediately, his muscles relaxed, his heart slowed, and his attention once again turned to the approaching pack of werewolves who were suddenly uncomfortably close to him.

Shaking off the strange occurrence, he kept his gaze steady but passive on the leader of the pack, careful to emit neither dominance nor submissiveness. He wasn’t here to have a pissing contest, but rather to warn them of the war that was coming and to propose an alliance between their two packs. There was only one other pack that had taken up residence in the land between them on this side of the North American continent, for werewolf territory ranged far and wide. And if Marc could get these Texas wolves to agree to the truce, it would be easier to talk the middle pack into falling in with them.

The male in front came to a stop a respectable distance away and touched the brim of his buckskin-colored hat. Clear green eyes shone from tanned skin at a level with Marc’s own. “Afternoon,” he drawled. “Marc Kincaid, I take it?”

Marc gave him a nod of deference as befitted the leader of a rival pack. “Aye. Thank ye for agreeing tae meet me on such short notice, and under these circumstances. Cedric sends his apologies that he could no’ make it himself. He had an urgent matter tae attend tae.” Marc had no idea exactly what the “urgent matter” was. And when he’d asked, Cedric had danced around the subject until he’d given up.

The alpha nodded once, accepting the apology. “I’m Keegan. Alpha of the McRae pack here.” He nodded to the pale-skinned blond on his right. “This is Jace, my second-in-command.”

Jace crossed his arms over his muscular chest and gave Marc an arrogant stare, his blue eyes narrowed with mistrust. His cocky attitude reminded Marc of Lucian, and he struggled not to snarl back at him. He didn’t like this one. Not one bit.

“And this,” Keegan indicated the male to his left, “is Stone.”

Marc didn’t even bother to try to hide his surprise as Stone stuck out his hand with a wide smile of welcome. “I’m a bit of a surprise to new people, I know. But here I am,” he told Marc amiably. “Welcome to Texas.”

“Uh, thank ye,” Marc mumbled automatically as he took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake. He briefly studied the warm umber skin, dark eyes, and broad features before his gaze came to rest on the fangs that were glaringly obvious by that friendly grin. “I apologize for starin’,” he said after a long moment. “It’s just a wee bit o’ a surprise tae meet a male such as yerself.” 

Although Stone’s scent was overpoweringly wolf, there was a tinge of something “other” there as well. If Marc wasn’t mistaken, he was staring at the first werewolf half-breed he’d ever met. Or had ever even heard of, for that matter. But it wasn’t vampire. He knew the scent of vampires. As a matter of fact, some of his very good friends back home in Seattle were vamps. No. This was something else. These American wolves were just full of surprises.

But Stone just gave a deep chuckle and clapped him on the shoulder. “I understand, man. No worries. No worries. I get that a lot.”

Marc waited for him to say more, but it seemed there was to be no further explanation forthcoming. He didn’t know what else had sired this male, but whatever it was, it was powerful. That much he could sense.

“Stone is relatively new to our pack, but as you can well imagine, he’s turned out to be quite an asset,” Keegan told him. 

Marc glanced uneasily one more time at those ominous fangs that were such a contrast to the carefree grin that encased them, and then turned his attention back to the pack leader. “However do ye manage to keep him under yer thumb?” 

Keegan laughed and gave a small shrug with one powerful shoulder. “My charming personality?” Stone busted up laughing.

Cracking a smile, Marc decided that he liked this particular Texan, in spite of his silly clothes and accent. 

“How about we wander over to The Chili Parlor and have us a sit-down?” Keegan said. “Then you can tell us what’s so damn important that it brings you all the way down here from Seattle.”

Marc didn’t know what a “chili parlor” was, but if it involved food, he was all for it. He was starving. So he agreed without hesitation. “Sounds like a fine plan.”

There was little talking as they made their way over to The Chili Parlor, which turned out to be a little restaurant that served what was reputed to be some of the best chili in Texas. Making their way over to an empty booth, Marc observed Jace elbowing Stone out of the way to take his place by Keegan’s side. Stone rolled his eyes and slid in the other side, leaving Marc the spot on the end. Granting him an easy escape if need be. 

His trust in this pack grew a little bit more.

They ordered lunch and as they waited for their food, Keegan put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. He was suddenly all business. 

Taking his cue, Marc mimicked his pose. 

“So now, why don’t you tell me what this visit is all about,” Keegan said. “It’s not often we receive a request for a sit-down from a rival pack. If this were a normal challenge for territory or females, we would just fight it out in the traditional way. And the fact that we’re not tells me that this has nothing to do with either of those. Am I right?”

“Aye,” Marc agreed. “Ye are correct. This is much more serious than either o’ those.” Three pairs of eyes were on him now. 

Keegan sat back as the food arrived. Smiling at the waitress, he waited for her to leave before he picked up the conversation again. It took her a while, but when she could think of nothing else to offer them without being so blatantly obvious that it would get her fired, she finally gave them another pile of napkins and went to check her other tables. 

Picking up his spoon, Keegan said, “Well, might as well lay it on me.” Then he dug into his chili with such relish Marc wondered what it was exactly that was in this chili.

“Aye.” Marc paused, running his well-rehearsed words through his mind. But in the end, he decided there was no sense in beating around the bush. “They’re comin’.”

“Who?” Jace asked with an impatient tone.

“The soul suckers.” Marc took a big bite of his chili and moaned with approval. He took another bite, and another. They were right. This was some bloody good chili. With his fourth spoonful halfway to his mouth, he realized the rest of the table wasn’t eating anymore. 

They were staring at him in horror.