LITMIR.BIZ

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2014 by Daisy Banks

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: January 2015

      eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-617-9

      eISBN-10: 1-61650-617-2

      First Print Edition: January 2015

      ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-632-2

      ISBN-10: 1-61650-632-6

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To my husband.

      Prologue

      A little outside the village of Darnwell, in England, stands an ancient estate. The woods are dark, the wrought iron gates black, the vista hidden. A foggy haze rises both dawn and evening along its quiet cinder paths. The majestic house, beyond a wealth of trees, carries within a cruel secret, or so, after a pint or two in the pub, the Darnwell villagers will tell any traveler. Most visitors smile or nod at the tales, one or two might seem interested, a few even take a walk to try to see the house, brave enough until they arrive at the gates. Often then, business commitments force them to leave.

      One woman has ventured to this place. Sian lingers where she has discovered love, but with the rare, precious sweetness, she’s found a fearful threat lurks. If she can’t learn to control the danger, her love will be nothing more than dreams. If she can’t control the dreams, her love will be nothing more than danger.

      Lust and love battle for ascendency. Autumn mist rises like smoke from the dark water of the lake. A horror reaches out to be assuaged. Love, tenderness, and hope linger in the daybreak, in the evening shadows, too, for not all evils are without redemption.

      Chapter 1

      Thank God. No claws.

      Magnus examined his hand, a man’s hand, before he clasped Sian’s offered palm and met the massive dark pupils in her gaze as she set the padlock down. Naked, grimed by the process of transformation, he used her help to haul himself up from the floor.

      She slipped the silver necklace with the key to his chains inside her shirt.

      He grimaced as he wiped the scraps of crusty dust left after his transformation from his arms. October’s full moon had proved nothing like the last. This time there was no delightful shared dream.

      Instead, Sian had met more of the wolf he carried within him.

      Heaven help him, tonight she bore an injury to attest an encounter he couldn’t recall.

      God.

      He gritted his teeth. His gaze fixed on her. “What happened?” He nodded to her bandaged arm dreading her answer. “How did you get hurt?”

      “Here, Magnus.” Sian draped a warm robe around his shoulders. “I’m fine.” She glanced to her arm. “This, it’s not more than a scratch.”

      He staggered away from the cage, where the beast spent his days, leaning on her for support. “I scratched you?” he managed to ask, begging for confirmation of his fears.

      “It was my fault. I got too close to the bars. We’ll get you to the bathroom, then I’ll go make us something to eat.”

      He dragged one slow step after another. Sian slipped her arm around his waist, and with her help, he made it along the corridor to the bathroom. She opened the faucet on the bath while he drank two glasses of water. All the time, he kept his gaze on her.

      “You bathe, I’ll go cook. Please, Magnus, don’t worry.” She smiled. “We’ve survived this month’s full moon.”

      He ached to kiss her, but not like this, not with the grime of transformation ingrained on his skin. She deserved better. Sian—his goddess, the woman he’d die to protect—deserved the best he could give her. “We’ll talk after I bathe.”

      She nodded so her thick brandy-colored curls moved to lure his fingers. “Yes. Don’t be troubled.”

      Reaching out, he touched the bandage on her forearm. She winced.

      “Impossible,” he whispered. “I adore you, but I’ve hurt you.”

      “It’s not what you fear. I remain mortal.”

      “That’s how I want you to be. How you should be.”

      “Hmm.” She turned off the taps. “We have to make a decision, Magnus. I’d like us to decide soon. I can’t bear this. Everything would be solved if…”

      “I know. After I bathe, you can tell me what happened while we eat.”

      Sian placed a kiss on the end of her finger and pressed it to his lips before she left. His heart ached for her hopes, for her confidence that she could make all well. He dropped the grubby robe, climbed into the tub, and closed his eyes. This full moon had pushed the usual boundaries. The additional power of Samhain seemed to have supercharged his appetite, but there was more than he’d anticipated. Though often he returned from transformation confused, his body still attuned to the senses of the wolf, this evening every muscle clenched tight, filled with lactic acid, as though he’d been rigid since Friday night when the full moon shifted his consciousness. Somehow, in his transformed state as the wolf, he’d spent hours fighting to keep himself still. The reason for such strange behavior in the beast eluded him.

      He tilted his head back into the water, so the warmth might ease his corded neck muscles. The sensation of heat welcome, he sank lower in the

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