Ruthless corporate cowboy Dain Phillips had kicked off the traces of his impoverished past, burying his scars under wealth and power. But money couldn't help him buck the illness now fatally riding him--only a mysterious Cherokee medicine woman deep in the Arizona desert could.
Earthy, radiant Erin Wolf bred in Dain a rage to live.
A hunger to mate. A thirst for the wonders of love. But surrender the reins of his steely control? Trust his heart to another? Never! That would take a miracle....
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September 30, 2000
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Excerpt from White Wolf by Lindsay McKenna
The white wolf was howling again. Hovering between sleep and wakefulness, Dain Phillips heard himself moan as the wolf's lonely, serrating howl cut through him, opening up that gulf of dark fear within. Dying. He was dying. Only six months more to live...
He drifted back to his dream, a hazy, golden colored world where he could see the radiance of the wolf's coat as the animal stood forlornly upon a red sandstone bluff, nose lifted toward the black sky. Again the baying voice stabbed through Dain, tearing at him, making him sweat-making him want to cry out like a frightened little boy.
Oh, God, no! Dain groaned, flailing around on the bed, tearing the sheets from their anchoring points and knocking a pillow onto the floor. Sweat covered him, tiny rivulets trickling down his temples. The urge to scream filled him--to cry out in absolute rage and terror. He didn't want to die, damn it! He wanted to live! Live!
In his mind's eye, he stood on the reddish sand and looked up at that smooth sandstone bluff above him. He watched as the wolf's gold, glittering eyes turned a deep amber with compassion, then filled with an unbridled menace. As Dain groaned, the wolf pricked up his ears and leaped down the cliff--toward him.
Panic set in. If the white wolf got to him, the beast would tear him apart! he'd kill him! Oh, God, he didn't want to die. He had too many things to experience yet, too many things to see. Dain started to run, feeling as if there were weights on his feet, the red sand sucking at his hiking boots.
Breathing heavily, his lungs burning, as Dain ran like a madman across that red desert. Jerking his head to look over his shoulder, he saw the white wolf steadily gaining on him, felt his feral amber eyes burning into his back. Faster! Pumping his arms, he stretched his legs until they screamed in pain and his calf muscles began to knot up. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them, burning them. His breathing became erratic and hoarse as he cried out over and over again, "No, no, no!"
The white wolf was still gaining on him, steadily, with intent. With savage grace and a primal hunter's instinct, the animal closed the distance between them. No matter how fast Dain ran, no matter how much he pushed himself, the wolf still advanced. Dain couldn't die this way! He just couldn't!
Suddenly, he found himself in a box canyon, the red sandstone cliff in front of him impossible to scale. Whirling around and nearly losing his balance, he sobbed for breath. His knees were like jelly and he lumbered about drunkenly. With the back of his hand Dain tried to wipe away the sweat burning his eyes.
The wolf slowed to a lope, his amber eyes never leaving Dain's blue ones. Standing there, Dain felt helpless. So damned helpless. Wasn't anyone going to come to his aid? Hadn't he prayed to God for deliverance? And then he remembered he'd never prayed to anyone or anything all his life after... So why should God answer his prayers now, when Dain knew He hadn't saved him before?
The wolf slowed even more, stopping within ten feet of him. The animal was barely breathing in comparison to Dain, whose lungs burned. Leaning down, Dain rested his hands against his knees and bent over, trying to think clearly. Lately, his mind was nothing but a damn bowl of mush. Mush. The word brought a fresh wave of pain as Dain remembered the horrid stuff he'd eaten as a kid in that damned orphanage.