After a savage lycan attack destroyed her parents, Kit March has ignored the rules saying only men can be hunters and dedicated her life to destroying lycans. Her profession is hell on her love life, but she's been resigned to the lack of romance until she meets sinfully sexy European werewolf hunter Rafe Santiago. Unfortunately, Rafe is a man with a mission: eradicate rogue hunters from the American branch...and the foremost name on his list is Kit March.
Rafe has always put business before pleasure, but something about this feisty yet vulnerable woman is doing strange things to a man who has never before allowed his emotions to get the better of him. The merciless hunter excels at eliminating threats, but he doesn't know how to handle the threat Kit poses to his heart.
The world of lycans has always been black and white. But now, suddenly, the rules are changing. Forces that have been brewing for generations put Kit and Rafe in terrible danger, and nothing they confront is quite as it seems...including each other. Is the passion between them just as illusory? Or is it the only thing real?
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1 . Rafe could be my man!
Posted July 19, 2010 by Turcato , ConroeEnjoyed..Enjoyed!
September 01, 2008
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Excerpt from Kiss of a Dark Moon by Sharie Kohler
Kit's attention strayed from the man sitting across from her. Her gaze flitted over the dimly lit bar and restaurant. Only eight o'clock and the place was busy, every table full. The tiny hairs along her nape stood on end, and she shivered as she assessed her surroundings. Her gaze roamed the dance floor, the tables, then back to the bar, checking each and every face, looking, searching for the source of her unease.
Her date's voice faded to a distant buzz. The music from the band playing onstage subsided to a dull throbbing of drums and guitars, the singer's voice lost entirely as Kit scanned the room. Awareness tightened the skin on her face, made her ears burn and cheeks tingle.
She knew what she was looking for. It had always been so with her -- this intuition, the deep sense of knowing. When it came to detecting lycans, her radar was dead on. Even better than her brother's. At least, he claimed this.
Her gaze lit on them then. Three of them sat at the bar, the drinks in their hands untouched as their silver eyes surveyed the room, searching for something besides alcohol to quench their appetites. Four days until the full moon, and they were hungry. Starving. They looked haggard, features drawn and tight. Their bunched muscles corded and flexed beneath their shirts. Even from across the room she sensed their impatience, their desperate hunger.
The closer the full moon, the more dangerous they became. Some hunters refused to hunt altogether so close to moonrise. Not Kit. Those hunters played it safe. Cowards, in her book, disappearing when mankind most needed protection.
They flirted with a waitress, their smiles seductive, enticing, as alluring as fire to a moth. And just as deadly. The girl preened at their attention, clearly flattered, unaware of the dangerous spell they were weaving.
Kit's eyes narrowed as one of them lifted a hand and ran it down the waitress's shoulder in a leisurely stroke. Kit read the threat behind that caress, the barely checked hunger. Hungry in the way a beast covets its prey.
They may not be able to satisfy their blood hunger until shifted, but there were other ways to unleash their aggression, to sate their lust until moonrise. The way their feral gazes followed the young waitress as she moved off, Kit knew the unsuspecting female had just become a candidate for their dark appetites. If she didn't do something, the waitress would be tonight's victim.
Kit snapped her attention back to her date. "Sorry," she murmured, setting her drink down on the table and gathering up her purse. "Would you excuse me? I need to use the ladies' room."
Dan nodded, his soft brown eyes clouding with doubt. He was probably wondering what kind of woman he had agreed to meet for drinks tonight that she needed to dive into the restroom five minutes after saying hello.
She wound her way around tables and waiters, the heels of her boots silent on the carpet as she slipped a hand inside her purse and removed a small bottle of vanilla body spray. She had learned long ago that sweet scents such as vanilla and cinnamon worked best in attracting lycans. With a quick spritz at her throat, she dropped the bottle back in her purse.
Her heart hammering, she cut a path their way. Pasting a smile on her face, she squeezed between two of them, taking special care to brush against them. Physical contact was important. Anything to make herself noticeable.
One of them, the most striking of the trio, with dark hair and tanned skin, leaned forward on his barstool. She slid him a speculative glance, her smile inviting as she asked the bartender to break a twenty.
"Thanks," she murmured, accepting her money and pushing herself off from the bar. She tossed a saucy glance over her shoulder as she sauntered away, catching sight of the dark one's nearly imperceptible nod to his companions. The movement was slight, but enough. Enough for Kit. The trap had been set. Her brother did not approve of her tactics, but they worked for her. The soulless bastards never expected a woman to fight back. Much less pack silver.
Inhaling, she headed toward the winding iron staircase that led to the restaurant's bottom floor, knowing that the three would follow.
Three. Not an advisable number to take on alone. But then, Kit was accustomed to doing things alone.
Leaning forward, Rafe Santiago glanced through the windshield. Fingers of red and gold clawed at the graying sky. He inhaled deeply, lowering his gaze back to the building he had been watching for the last half hour. Watching and waiting. Time was running out. Blood already laced the air, rich and pungent as freshly tilled earth.
The bar's front door swung open. A woman stepped out. Petite, with a mass of short blond waves, she headed down the sidewalk alone, her short strides quick in sexy black boots. "Fuck-me boots." The kind a man liked to imagine wrapped around his waist.
His gaze shot to the seat next to him, to the file there that he had memorized. The photograph within was black-and-white and not the best quality, but he would have recognized her anywhere. He recognized her now. Kit March. Rogue lycan hunter. He grimaced. Or huntress. Whatever he called her, it didn't change the situation. He'd been sent to terminate her.
A quick glance at the night sky through his windshield brought forth a frown.
Four days until the full moon, and the beasts ran restless, almost as dangerous as when the moon beamed brightly overhead, engorged against a dark sky. He'd observed such nights before. Countless times. He knew what was to come, the carnage that resulted when hell's foot soldiers were granted free roam, their lust for blood and flesh at its zenith.
It happened all the time. Unsolved murders around the world spoke to that. Mysterious catastrophes throughout history held no mystery for him. Lycan archivists had documented the truth. Villages sacked. Cities razed. The Siege of Jerusalem in 1099. James-town. The riverboat Sultana. He knew the truth behind those tragedies. Knew the blame went to lycans.
He assessed his surroundings, his nostrils flaring. Almost as though his thoughts had called them forth, the door to the bar swung open again and they emerged.
Three big bastards stepped out into the warm dusk. Even across the street's distance, their eyes glowed a familiar silver. Pack creatures. Bold and deadly. Confidant in their power, they had not bothered to don colored contacts as some lycans did, wary of any one of the dozen hunters in the city detecting them.
They stood still as stone for a moment, not speaking as they lifted their faces to the air, no doubt catching the scent of the female who had gone ahead of them. In moments, they were moving, fast as wind, following her with avid, feral eyes as she turned into an alleyway.
Little fool likely had no idea there were three beasts on her tail. She would be overpowered in an instant.
Rafe opened his car door and stepped into the humid night. He treaded silently after them, his strides quick. He couldn't let them get to her first. If she were attacked...
He blinked hard, refusing to contemplate the prospect. He would not allow that to happen.
For all their sakes.
Quickening his pace, he approached the alley, the sweet scent of vanilla teasing his nose as he followed in Kit March's wake, another predator set loose on the night.