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       Praise for SUSAN KRINARD

      “A master of atmosphere and description.”

      —Library Journal

      “Susan Krinard was born to write romance.”

      —Bestselling author Amanda Quick

      Come The Night

      By

      Susan Krinard

       MILLS & BOON®

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Dear Reader,

      One of my favourite types of heroes is the hard-boiled detective…oh, not too hard-boiled, but the kind of rough-and-tumble guy who can dish it out and take it, who’s world-weary and cynical but just ready to fall for the right woman.

      Ross Kavanagh is just that sort of guy. First introduced in Chasing Midnight, he’s an ex-cop who was thrown off the force for a crime he didn’t commit. Being a cop was his whole life, and now he’s rudderless, waiting for a chance to prove his innocence…when he is reunited with his former love, proper Englishwoman (and werewolf) Gillian Maitland.

      For Gillian, seeing Ross again is painful but necessary—her son, Toby, has run away to America to find his father…none other than Ross himself. Ross didn’t know that his brief affair with Gillian had produced a child, and now he’s determined to claim his fatherly rights. The problem is that he’s only a quarter werewolf, unable to Change, and thus—by the laws of Gillian’s traditionalist werewolf clan—an unfit mate.

      Now Ross has two things to prove: that he’s worthy of Gillian, and that he’s innocent of the crime that changed his life forever. But first he has to acknowledge his love for the woman who left him so many years ago, and she must defy her father and risk abandoning the life she’s known—by recognising that her love for Ross outweighs even the dangers of defying her clan and provoking its jealous enemies.

      I hope you’ll enjoy reading Come the Night as much as I enjoyed writing it.

       Susan Krinard

      This above all: to thine own self be true,

      And it must follow, as the night the day,

      Thou canst not then be false to any man.

      —William Shakespeare

       PROLOGUE

       Cumbria, England, 1910

      “CHANGE, DAMN YOU!”

      Her father’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, but to Gillian it sounded like a shout. She curled into a tighter ball and concentrated as hard as she could.

       Change. Oh, please Change.

      It seemed as if her body was doing everything possible to resist, everything possible to make Papa angrier with her. He’d already chastised her numerous times for lagging so far behind most loup-garou children.

      “You aren’t trying hard enough,” he’d accused. “You wish to shirk your responsibilities. Well, I won’t have it. You’ll do as I tell you, even if I have to beat it into you.”

      Gillian had believed him. He’d resorted to the belt more times than she could remember, and for far less terrible infractions than this. But oh, if she could only please him. The sun would come out in his eyes then, and the beatings would be forgotten.

      She wanted so badly to please him.

       Change.

      She squeezed her eyes shut with such force that little white lights danced behind her eyelids. Her muscles twitched and protested. She imagined what it would be like when she became a wolf…how different the world would seem, how beautiful, how perfect.

       You’ll be like the others. You’ll belong.

      Without understanding why she did so, she let her mind go blank and her body relax. Her arms and legs went limp. She could still hear Papa’s voice, but it seemed very far away. A softness flowed through her like liquid sunlight.

      And then something shifted, as if invisible gears had clicked into place. She had expected it to hurt—surely something so difficult would have to hurt—but it didn’t. There was nothing strange about it at all. One moment she was a fourteen-year-old girl—neither particularly pretty nor unusually bright, as her father so often reminded her. The next she was crouched on four large paws, and the universe was exploding with sounds and smells she had never known in all her life as a human.

      She straightened and shook out her golden fur. There was nothing awkward about her now, nothing to make Papa ashamed. She looked up at him, daring to allow herself a shining moment of hope.

      Papa was smiling. The warmth of his approval spilled over Gillian, bathing her in relief and joy. She jumped up high, twisted in midair, landed again as lightly as a feather. Every muscle and tendon obeyed her to perfection. She turned toward the wood behind the house, longing to escape into the fells, to feel the power of her new shape in all its glory.

      But it was not to be. “Enough,” Papa said. “I have business to attend to.”

      He had already turned away by the time she Changed back. The crisp morning air brought goose pimples to Gillian’s naked skin. She pulled on the dress she had left lying over a bench, skinny and plain and awkward once more, and berated herself for her foolish expectations. Why should there be a celebration just because she could finally do what any werewolf was supposed to do? Why should this day be any different?

      She slipped her shoes and trudged through the kitchen garden to the servants’ entrance, praying that no one would see her. Not even Cook’s sympathy would make her feel better now. Cook was only human and couldn’t possibly understand.

      No one stopped her as she climbed the stairs to the nursery. She was briefly cheered by the thought that Papa would no longer force her to remain in the room she’d occupied since infancy; she’d proven herself a woman today.

      A woman whose future was already decided.

      Gillian slumped onto her narrow bed and covered her face with her hands. She barely felt it when someone touched her drawn-up knee.

      “Gilly? Are you all right?”

      She opened her eyes. Hugh was standing beside the bed, his normally cheerful face overcast with worry.

      Gillian straightened and found a smile. “Of course I’m all right,” she said. “I Changed today.”

      Hugh’s mouth formed an O of surprise. “Cor blimey!”

      “You ought not to curse, Hugh.”

      “Did

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