Kiss of the Silver Wolf

Inc.

Jethro cleared his throat. And this is Zachariah Abingdon.

Charlene expected to see someone the same age as Jethro and Rebekkah. She caught a whiff of soap and some unrecognizable musky spice and jumped, startled to find him standing at her elbow.

The younger man flipped shocks of silver hair away from his piercing blue eyes. A trail of heat blazed in her face and ignited a fire in her core. He gazed down at her, an amused hint of a smile playing on his full, sensuous lips. Call me Zack.

She felt as if he had reached out and caressed her cheek. He took her hand, and a surge of energy jolted her. Did he feel it, too? Dry-mouthed, she squeaked, Are we related?

He smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. No. Is it a problem?

Warmth filled her chest and suffused her face. She stared down at his large hand still clasping hers. She didn’t want to let go. How long could you hold a stranger’s hand without being inappropriate? No. Not at all.

Jethro cleared his throat again, and Zack grinned at her, a sly expression on his face as he slid his fingers away. She glanced down, half-expecting to see a visible red glow where his touch lingered on her skin.

We should let other people speak with you. Jethro pressed an envelope into her hand. There are no orphans among our people. Come home. We can help you take care of Joey in Eden.

Goose bumps ran up her spine. How did he know about her brother?

Praise for Sharon Buchbinder and…

KISS OF THE SILVER WOLF:

Ms. Buchbinder weaves ancient secrets and modern mysteries into a beautifully written story that will keep you turning the pages.

~ Roz Lee, USA Today bestselling author

Sharon Buchbinder seamlessly blends ancient lore, intriguing, sexy characters, and a unique approach to the werewolf genre in a fast paced suspenseful plot that will leave you howling for more.

~Sharon Saracino, author

Sharon Buchbinder's writing grabs hold from the very first page and stays with you long after the last page has been read. Her skill in combining historical fact with suspenseful fiction creates an exciting and dramatic backdrop for her stories. Ms. Buchbinder's books are now on my must-buy list.

~Jennifer Lynne, bestselling author

OBSESSION:

Ms. Buchbinder delves into the darkest recesses of humanity while shining a light on the love that gives us hope. I’m obsessed with Obsession!

~Roz Lee, USA Today bestselling author

Cults, cartels, human trafficking, and sensuality sprinkled with just the right dose of paranormal mysticism, Sharon Buchbinder offers the reader a little bit of everything in this well written, suspenseful page turner. Get comfortable when you open this book because you'll be obsessed until you finish!

~Sharon Saracino, author

Kiss of

the Silver Wolf

by

Sharon Buchbinder

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Kiss of the Silver Wolf

COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Sharon Buchbinder

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Black Rose Edition, 2010

Second Black Rose Edition, 2015

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0301-7

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For my husband, Dale,

who fills my life

with mystery, love, romance, and laughs.

Prologue

The Hunt

I told you to hold your fire! Homeland Security, Special Agent, Eliana Solomon stood by the abandoned mine and drummed her fingers on the butt of her Sig Sauer.

Sorry, sir—ma’am…I thought I saw a wolf in my night scope. The newbie stared at his feet as she glared at him.

This isn’t a hunting trip with your buddies. It’s an active operation, and I’m in command. One more shot and I’m taking your rifle away from you. Got it?

He gulped, clutched his weapon, and nodded. Yes, ma’am.

She had asked for experienced soldiers on this mission. Instead, the Army had sent a bunch of green boys. She understood the Middle East took precedence, but didn’t the military get the concept of domestic terrorism? Was her project a joke to them?

The mission of Project Aladdin was to find jinnis, locate the portals where they came through from a parallel dimension, and shut them down. Contrary to popular TV images of a pretty girl in a bottle, the jinnis, or genies, in modern speak, were powerful shape shifters created from smokeless fire at the same time as angels and man. Some evil jinnis, or ’Ifrit, hated humans and wanted to take over the world. An applied physicist specializing in weapons, Eliana theorized that, in the wrong hands, a jinni could become a weapon of mass destruction. If a terrorist ever found a way to conjure and command a jinni, the world would be on its knees.

Firsthand childhood experience with an ’Ifrit resulting in her mother’s death drove her to seek and destroy deviant jinnis. Her obsession and round the clock investigations had led nowhere—until now. Here in the heart of the Appalachians honeycombed with natural caves and manmade tunnels, a strange energy left its signature for the ever vigilant military satellites. The abandoned mine was the logical place for a portal. So far the soldier they’d lowered down into the shaft to scout the void hadn’t reported anything unusual, but she knew better.

Her jinni radar was tingling and stinging her like the nettles of a Portuguese Man of War. He, it, was here. Even when no one else saw or heard him, she felt him. If she didn’t get proof, she’d be exiled to a desk for the rest of her professional life. She shuddered at the thought of death by tedium, tugged her sleeves down, twisted the heavy signet ring on her left hand, and glanced at her wristwatch. The scout had been silent for twenty minutes. Reports were expected on the quarter hour.

Mouth dry, she keyed her radio. What’s going on down there?

A hush fell over the men.

Hello. Can you read me?

A long burst of static was followed by garbled voices in strange languages. A man shrieked in pain or terror. Then silence.

She wheeled on the corporal holding a rope. Get him out of there!

He leaned back and grunted, red-faced with exertion. Something’s wrong, ma’am!

She raced behind him, screaming at the pale young men huddling together. Get over here. Help us get him out.

Three of them put their backs into the effort, finally bringing the scout up into view. Limp-limbed, the young man’s head lolled back, his green camouflage uniform covered in blood. They hauled him onto the ground and rolled him over.

A soldier held a flashlight as Eliana pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face off. Something was on his forehead. She dabbed at it and stopped. The words burned into the man’s flesh told all. She stood on shaky legs.

Bug eyed, the corporal turned to her. What is it? What’s it mean?

She chose her words with care. It’s Hebrew. It says: Go away.

She flexed her fist and rubbed the heavy signet ring inscribed with pentacles and Hebrew letters. She wished she could call her father and ask his advice. He knew what she was up against. He’d lost his wife, her mother, to an evil one. If only she could tap into his in-depth familiarity with jinnis and their legends.

Not an option. Aside from her project being top secret, she couldn’t put her father in harm’s way. Losing one parent to an evil jinni entity was enough. She was going to get help from another source, one known in stories of the supernatural. Like the jinnis, werewolves were the stuff of legends. Unlike jinnis, werewolves were humans, at least part of the time. Which meant they could be found.

****

Zack leaned down on his front paws, relieved the kinks in his back, and shook out his thick coat. Beneath the cold air, a hint of spring tantalized his senses. Under the moist leaves, between the tree roots, alongside the chortling streams, the sleeping earth mother stretched her legs and wriggled her toes, too. He gazed at the pearl white moon as she rose on the horizon, full and iridescent in the February sky. Time for a run. He began to trot, then broke into a long easy gait, loping around the perimeter of his territory, through trees and winter-bare brush. He picked his way across a snow-melt-swollen stream, past massive rock formations and darkened houses, enjoying the feel of his muscles as they kept pace with his pounding heart. This is what it feels to be alive!

Too soon, he reached the asphalt and the end of his fun. Panting, he turned away from the road and walked at a slow easy pace, back to the pack’s meeting place. Time to speak to the Old One about the future. Midnight runs no longer suppressed his primal feelings or the visceral urge he felt when the full moon rose.

Each month, the call to mate was stronger—irresistible as the pull of the moon on the oceans—and on him. The unmarried females in the pack were off limits, bonded forever to their deceased soul mates. Their