Book 2 in The Lone Wolf Trilogy
The journey to become a better man isn’t easy, especially when there’s something worth fighting for.
Evan has been alone since Kaine’s death, moving from place to place, and for the most part, keeping to himself. He never expected to cross paths with Mason and Niall again. When he gets caught up in something bigger than himself, he is left injured, scared, and with nowhere else to turn.
Michael is like no wolf Evan has ever met before. Born a werewolf, Michael is stronger and faster, but has yet to truly tap into his abilities. Taken in by Mason and Niall, Michael struggles to come to terms with the horrific events in his past and the loss of his family. In Evan, Michael finds an unexpected focus. And despite warnings of Evan’s own dark past, Michael finds Evan to be someone worth fighting for, and someone who can help him understand exactly what he is capable of.
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Nine years ago.
“Mr Roth? Can you hear me?”
Evan fought against the hands of the people holding him down and desperately clawed at his face. Where was he? What the fuck was going on? He felt like he was being smothered. Something covered his mouth and nose, confining and hot against his skin. His vision blurred. A bright light disoriented him, and all he saw were black spots bursting across a white background.
“We need to get him stabilized…type and cross-match…get a line in.” Barely hearing the jumble of orders shouted over him, Evan focused on the key words.
Was this a hospital? Was that where he was?
In a brief moment of clarity, he looked around. A sea of people frantically moved about him, passing objects over him. They were dressed in white and green, and it became clear to him he was in the ER.
What the hell had happened? He’d been at a nightclub called Shiver, all dark, close spaces full of too many hot bodies. He remembered drinking, dancing, some guy feeling him up. Evan had been out with friends. It was supposed to have been a night of fun and catching up. It had been too long since they’d all met up and done something together as a group.
Am I dying?
Pain knifed through him as he struggled to sit up. He wanted out. He hated hospitals. He hated the smell and the cloak of death that hung around them. His father had been in and out of the hospital, helpless and wasting away from colon cancer that had been caught too late.
“Mr Roth, can you hear me?” Evan stopped struggling and looked up into the clear blue eyes of the young woman standing over him. She held his head and he focused his gaze on her. She must be an angel. Was this it? Was this how his life was going to end, bleeding out on some ER table?
“You need to let us help you,” she continued. “Don’t fight us.”
Evan swallowed awkwardly, the taste of his blood metallic and bitter in the back of his throat. He didn’t want to die.
“Do you understand?”
Nodding, Evan reached out and grabbed her wrist. He understood. “Please,” he managed from behind the mask. His hold weakened as the room darkened around him, a vast black space sucking him in. Please don’t let me die.
The desperate plea caught in Evan’s throat. Opening his eyes, Evan tried to sit up. His heart beat madly in his chest and pain shot through him, forcing him to give in. He fell back against the pillow and steadied his breathing. It took a moment for him to realize where he was, and he slowly curled his fingers in the starched white sheet of the hospital bed. The bed was solid and real and he thanked God he was alive.
Last night was a blur of blood and pain. If he was honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember, though little flashes of memories were slowly knitting together to form a terrifying picture. From the nightclub, he’d foolishly thought walking home was a good idea. Yes, shit happened, but shit happened to other people, not him. He was happy in his little world of Evan, safe and sound. But last night, he’d been terribly wrong.
The path through the city park was poorly lit. It had been for years, despite the handful of petitions to the city council. Evan had walked through the park what must have been a hundred times before, and not once had he ever considered himself in danger or potential fodder for some serial killer. He was a strong young man. Guess he’d learned his lesson. The attack had started with the simple sense of being watched. He recalled strange growling and the rustling of leaves, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and then the blur of motion before he was dragged from the path and into the bushes.
Teeth, claws, pain—how was he even alive after that? A wolf. It had been a wolf. He remembered now. A large, black-furred wolf with pure white eyes. Uncomfortably, he scratched at his bandaged hand and fingered the line in his arm. His breathing became ragged, and he wondered where to find a nurse. He wanted the line out and to put on his clothes. He wanted to get out of there.
“You shouldn’t play with those,” someone said from the corner of the room.
Evan looked fearfully to the shadows, surprised to find a man standing in the dark. Had he always been there?
The man stepped forward. “You should rest. Looks like you had one hell of a night.” The man wore his long dark hair back from his face and the overhead fluorescent light reflected in his eyes, making them seem almost silver in color.