Every wolf has his breaking point.

Tor Kemp is an executioner, not a babysitter. But his visions tell him that Cassidy Sinclair is in serious danger…and his visions are never wrong. She’s defenseless against a world she knows nothing about.

Cassidy has dreamed of Tor before. Unfortunately, he always leaves her unsatisfied. But in real life, satisfaction is guaranteed…until he vows to protect her.

Protecting her means keeping his hands to himself. But Tor quickly learns that every wolf has his breaking point.

Chapter 1 excerpt (PDF)

Juggling a bucket of orchids and her cell phone, Cassidy struggled to open the service door of the Winston Atlas hotel.

“Ugh…huh. Right. Yep,” she told Jennah, her right-hand woman. It was a crazy day. Nonstop arranging and deliveries, and Celeste, her friend and event planner extraordinaire, had called to say that somehow, Cassidy’s assistants had managed to include the wrong orchids in the arrangements for tonight’s event. “Hang on a sec.”

She managed to swing the door wide and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Which roses did you want in—arrangement?” The line crackled. “We’re out of Champagne. Rick’s on his way to the warehouse now, but…” Jennah sighed. Cassidy felt like doing the same thing. She turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings. Wall after wall of gray concrete block surrounded her, closed in like catacombs. If she could just get through this maze and switch out these flowers, she could go home for a hot shower.

“Just substitute Vengelaes. It’ll work.” She hoisted the bucket higher against her chest.

This was one of the few times she’d been through the bowels of this hotel. In the past, she’d arrived out front to camera flashes and paparazzi shouting her name. Nine months ago, she’d had no idea how tiresome a double life could be. But she dutifully showed up to fancy events and made her way through the marble lined halls. She schmoozed and passed out enough business cards that Jennah had needed to reorder. Down here, the bright florescent bulbs didn’t have any of the warmth of their crystal chandelier counterparts upstairs.

“We just got another order for a funeral.”

“Ask Marcy to do it.” Cassidy hated funerals. She still couldn’t get the image of Veronica Aragon’s beautiful face, frozen with death, out of her mind. It seemed like ages ago that she, Celeste, and James Brody had rallied around their best friend, Viki, and mourned her sister.

Shuddering, she started down the hall and heard the distinct rumble of the service elevator.

“Do you need anything else over there?” Jennah asked, always efficient. Barely out of college, Jennah was young, eager, organized. Cassidy had hired her seven months ago and had no idea how she’d manage if Jennah wasn’t there to keep her life running smoothly. Her work life, anyway.

“I think I’ve got everything. Once I get these orchids switched, I’m heading home to get ready. Are you sure you don’t want to come? I’ve got extra tickets.”

“You’re the face of Sinclair’s, not me. Besides, I’ve already rented a movie for me and Jason to watch tonight. Give me a call if you need anything else.”

“Will do.”

Cassidy slipped the slender phone into the back pocket of her jeans and wrapped both arms around the bucket. The heavy door of the elevator rumbled upward, and she quickly stepped on. Her nose was in the bucket, inhaling the delicious fragrance, and she didn’t notice the big man in front of her until they’d bumped into each other. Ice-cold water splashed over her corset top and raced down between her breasts, chilling every inch of flesh along the way.

Goose bumps ruptured across her skin as she met the stranger’s dark gaze. He was tall. She had to look way up to meet his eyes. Really tall, and really…big.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Entirely my fault,” he said, a trace of accent lacing his words, as they switched positions. His hair was long, dark, verging on wavy. Normally, she liked the cleanly shaven look, but on him there was something perfect about the ruggedness of his wild hair. It made him seem untamable. And though she was sure she’d never met him before, there was something familiar about him. Something that heated her blood and turned her insides to mush.

She gave him her most charming smile, and he returned it with one of his own. The corner of that deliciously kissable mouth turned up in a way that made her think of slow, soul-shattering sex. Like he knew just how to touch, please, and caress a woman. More specifically, her. Suddenly, her breathing seemed too shallow, as if she’d been punched in the gut.

She was vaguely aware that someone else had rolled a cart onto the elevator just as the door began to shut. She had the insane urge to bend down, not wanting to miss a glimpse of the handsome stranger. After all, she hadn’t felt this tremor of excitement in…forever.

As the door closed with a severing thud, she stared straight ahead. Where had she seen him before? She didn’t recognize him as a model or actor, but he was definitely familiar. The elevator started its climb, jolting her from her daze. She squirmed in the wet top and glanced down to survey the damage. Thank goodness the corset was black. She didn’t think anyone would be able to tell it was wet.

For decades, women had been trying to get corsets out of their wardrobes. Cassidy didn’t have a clue why. Corsets where the staple item in her closet.

She’d had an awesome corset made from black leather to wear to the annual Masquerade Ball tonight. The matching black skirt had two thigh-high slits. She couldn’t wait to show it off. It’d been a rough couple of weeks, and she needed to let loose.

When the elevator stopped, she got off and followed a waiter carrying a tray piled high with water glasses into the ballroom. The tables were set with crisp linens and fine china. The arrangements she’d designed sat in the middle of each table, adding to the elegantly spooky mood.

To her right, a cleaning lady turned off an ancient looking vacuum cleaner and followed the cord into the hallway. Cassidy set the bucket on the stage next to one of the large urns of flowers that Rick had already delivered, and pulled out a delicate black orchid. She went to work removing the red orchids that had been accidentally included as the waiter put a glass at each place setting. He was humming. After she swapped out the flowers, she stood back to check the finished arrangement for height and shape. Much happier with the spooky result, she turned to fix the matching arrangement on the other side of the stage and noticed her friend, Celeste, breezing into the room like a woman on a mission, clipboard in hand. Her blonde ringlets were pulled back into a ponytail, but a few tendrils escaped. From the corner of her eye, Cassidy saw the waiter approaching the power cord. She started to call out, but it was too late. His foot snagged it, and the tray tipped forward.

Celeste threw up her hands. Then everything stopped. The man. The glassware. The tray. They were frozen in time. Cassidy blinked. Before she could make a sound of disbelief, Celeste rushed forward and plucked the tray from thin air. She set it on a nearby table then stacked the remaining glasses on it.

Cassidy had to be dreaming. She rubbed her eyes.

Celeste snapped her fingers, and the man fell into her arms. She spoke to him in quiet tones, and together they finished setting out the goblets. Cassidy watched them in disbelief. She shook her head, trying to clear it. They acted as if nothing had happened. As if time hadn’t stood still, and some magical force hadn’t suspended glassware. Then they strode from the ballroom as if everything were completely…normal. Slowly, Cassidy snapped her mouth shut and turned back to the flowers, dutifully fixing the second arrangement. Her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Or were they?

Chapter Two

Darkness settled over the city. All Hallow’s Eve was a few short days away. Soon, Ayraliah would rise from the depths. A wide grin stretched Slode’s lips. It was that time of year when spirits traveled freely from the underworld. He loved it.

“What news?” he asked when he sensed Bram and Giermund’s presence behind him.

“Everything is set.”

“Long drive,” Bram added.

Slode rolled his eyes.

“Everything is prepared then for Ayraliah’s return?”

“Yes, sire.” Giermund was dutiful to a fault. But he served well, faithfully. Bram, on the other hand, was full of humor. Slode turned and regarded his fellow Viking warriors.

“Loki will be so thrilled.” His voice was deadpan.

“So will Asgard.” Bram grinned, knowing that Ayraliah’s return would wreak havoc on the god’s city. Asgard would splinter, tremble with controversy.

“Releasing a demon is bound to piss a few people off.” Namely, the god who sent him away. But it was Loki’s fault that Ayraliah was a demon in the first place. As a son of Odin, Ayraliah should have his place in Gods Hall. But it had been denied to him for a thousand years. The wait was finally over.

Almost.

“There is one problem, sire.”

“Problem?” He glared at the two men in the dappled light of the surrounding skyscrapers. The wind picked up, whipping his ash blond hair around his face.

“The visionary lives.”

“Lives? As in now?” His voice grew louder as rage burned inside him.

“In New York City, sire.”

Slode’s roar of disbelief echoed off the surrounding buildings. “Find her. Kill her.”

* * * * *

Of all the predators Tor Kemp had met in his life, the barracudas of New York City ranked among the scariest. And he’d met some real monsters. He turned from the bar and let his gaze scan the ever-growing crowd of the Winston Atlas ballroom, easily spotting the rare breed of predators that creatively hid their scales and razor sharp teeth. The New York barracuda stood out in any crowd. They often chased unavailable men, or anyone who dangled a flashy object in front of their face.

Blonde, brunette, redheads…they came in all colors. Sometimes they watched their prey from afar. Usually they hunted with a pack but struck alone.

Things hadn’t really changed in the last half dozen centuries, he mused. Women still attached themselves, like leaches, to any man they thought would fall for their charms, keep them in their comfortable lifestyle.

Not for the first time he wondered about the wisdom of attending tonight’s event. Celeste had invited him, and he’d tried to get out of it this afternoon, but the little witch could be very persuasive, especially when the cause was so dear to her heart. After years of friendship, he didn’t want to disappoint her. Some very influential Others were attending. He could smell tigers, lions, and bears. Feel the quickening heartbeat of the vampires and the dark energy of the demons.

And while he preferred to keep his nose out the human world, he recognized several influential people in the crowd. Even the governor. Celeste was under the mistaken impression that Tor’s presence would keep the rogues away and keep the humans safe. But rogues would strike whenever and whomever the hell they liked. Having an executioner in the room would only taunt them.

However, the food and drinks were free, so he wouldn’t complain. And he might just pick up some intel for his next assignment. Free alcohol made for loose lips. He finished his whiskey and placed the empty glass on the bar. Then he turned to watch the little blonde witch, dressed head to toe like a peacock, take center stage and welcome everyone.

“Chef Bach has prepared us a wonderful meal. If you’ll take your seats…”

* * * * *

She was late. It had taken her longer than she’d expected to collect herself and get ready. But with her knee-high, sexy-as-hell boots, she could tackle anything. Or so she kept repeating to herself.

No sooner had Cassidy stepped foot in the massive ballroom than she felt a tremor of awareness wash over her. Dinner had already been served, and couples crowded the dance floor. An odd yet anxious excitement fizzed like champagne bubbles through her veins as she scanned the crowd. Something good was going to happen tonight. She could feel it. Her gut had never let her down.

Everyone who was anyone had turned out for tonight’s event. Thank goodness. Celeste needed all the help she could get to raise money for her pet project. The room was abuzz with laughter and music. Flickering candlelight showed off the kaleidoscope of colors and costumes.

“Can I get you a drink?” The voice at her right drew her attention. Short, built like a tank with a sinister smile, his eyes roamed over her body, and he made no attempt to hide his interest. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have minded. But something she couldn’t put her finger on made her inwardly cringe. She was used to men chasing her. She let them. But this was definitely not the man she was looking for tonight.

No, the man she was looking for was tall and wide with a smile that made her stomach flutter and dark eyes that she could get lost in.

“Sure,” she said, slipping into the well-mannered persona her mother had always groomed her for. One thing she’d learned these past few months; she never knew when she would make a sale. She picked up a good percentage of her business at parties like this one, and she never missed an opportunity to pass out a business card.

He flagged down a waiter. “Penbrook. Wade Penbrook” He extended his hand, and she did the same.

She knew by the cock of his head that he already knew who she was. “Cassidy Sinclair.”

He looked up at her with intense interest in his eyes. “From the Wall Street Sinclairs?”

She nodded, hating to use the connection, but it did bring in business, and she hated that too. In the back of her mind, she heard herself yelling at her father. I’ll make it on my own merits. Without your name.

But the truth was, her last name was Sinclair. She was the spitting image of her beautiful mother. It was virtually impossible to sell flowers to the uber rich of New York City without them finding out who her family was.

The papers had mocked her in the beginning. As had her older brothers. Heiress Plays Businesswoman, the headlines had read. The memories brought a bitter taste to her mouth, and she was happy when “Penbrook, Wade Penbrook” handed her a flute of champagne.

He sidled closer. She leaned in the other direction. She’d seen plenty of his type. Those hoping to get wealthy by association. Or preferably through marriage. If she’d been alone, she would’ve snorted at that. She wasn’t the marrying type.

“Where will you winter? I was thinking Greece.”

She tossed back the whole glass and tried not to choke on the bubbles. “I’ll be in New York,” she said as evenly, as diplomatically, as possible. She wasn’t a bear. She didn’t winter anywhere.

Deep breaths, Cass.

She let her gaze travel over the massive room to the stage where the bachelorette auction would take place later. The arrangements she’d designed looked incredible. From here, she could make out the wild combination of red dogwood stems, black orchids and tulips, with white carnations shooting out of heavy black urns. The last minute orange lilies and chocolate roses were a nice touch.

Feeling calmer, more collected, she looked back at the man at her side. “It’s a shame I won’t be up for auction tonight. The orphanage really could have used your donation.”

“I’ll have to cut them a check then,” he said, not missing a beat. In her world, there were two kinds of people. Those who wrote off charitable donations as a tax deduction, and those who genuinely cared.

Celeste was in the latter group. This man in the former. Before she could further dissect his character, she heard her name.

“Great flowers,” the buxom Macy Lee-Evans gushed as she stopped in front of them. “Would you be able to do a few arrangements for my Halloween dinner? You’re the only one who remembers that Donald is allergic to lilies.” Donald Evans was indeed allergic to lilies. Cassidy saw the tall, graying man giving the flower arrangements a wide berth.

“Absolutely. You have our number?”

“Of course, dear.”

Cassidy gave the plump older woman a smile. “Give us a call, and we’ll fit you in.”

“Thanks so much, Cassidy.” She shuffled off.

“Flowers?” Penbrook asked, blond eyebrows rising.

“You might have heard of me,” she said, plucking a business card from the side of her corset. “I’m the Sinclair not on Wall Street.” She tilted her head to the side, regarding him as he stared down at her card. “If you ever need an arrangement, give me a call.”

He looked up at her then back at the card, as if he couldn’t believe she was trying to sell him a flower arrangement while he tried to close a sale of an entirely different sort.

Another shiver raced over her skin, and she glanced around, her gaze landing on a familiar mane of dark hair. The crowd shuffled, parting just enough that she got a better look. He was a head taller than everyone else. And big. Really big.

An excited flutter started in her stomach and radiated south. She caught a quick look at his strong profile. Had she known she would meet him again, she would have left the eye patch at home. But as it was, she was dressed as a sexy pirate, and it was too late to change. She’d taken too long to get here and show her support in the first place. In the middle of her shower, she’d realized why he had seemed so familiar. He’d been haunting her dreams for months. And for a few brief minutes, as she’d been blow-drying her hair, she’d considered blowing off tonight’s event to try to find him. Find out just who the hell he was, why he was always in her dreams. And if his lips really did taste of Scotch.

She was both surprised and pleased to see him here. It would save her the trouble of grilling everyone in the hotel until she found out who he was and where she could find him. Though he was decked out in a tuxedo, he looked out of place but not uncomfortable about it. She supposed it was his rugged masculinity that seemed to come at her in waves. She’d never met anyone like him before.

She hadn’t expected this years’ Masquerade Ball to be any different from any other year, and yet, there he sat. Her breath stopped when she saw one of the new It Girls, a platinum blonde in a skintight black dress, strut over to him.

Penbrook shifted at her side, and she gave him a brief glance.

“Perhaps I’ll call and order an arrangement for you. What’s your favorite flower, Cassidy?”

She couldn’t believe he hadn’t given up. The corner of his mouth hitched up in what most women would consider a charming smile. But she wasn’t most women. And she had her sights set firmly on someone else she’d waited far too long to get to know.

“How sweet. Roses are my favorite,” she murmured, hoping to placate him. “If you’ll excuse me. I see a friend I need to say hello to.”

If nothing else, Cassidy was adapt at escaping the clutches of the strange creatures like Penbrook. It was a bait and hook tactic that worked. Bait them with something they wanted, and hook them with their own ego, at which point you politely excused yourself.

Blondie, a woman she recognized now as Gloria Ringwald, touched him on the arm while holding her other hand just above her cleavage. Cassidy could tell by his stillness that he didn’t like the other woman touching him, and she knew Gloria was only after one thing. It wasn’t romance. She could imagine what the blonde was saying to him. Cassidy could practically recite the lines; she’d heard it all before.

Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Gorgeous looked around as if gauging the distance to an exit. The gesture caused Cassidy to smile. Unfortunately for Gloria, no one was better than Cassidy Sinclair at snagging a man or, if need be, rescuing him. And this man obviously didn’t appreciate the silicone boobs, spray-painted tan, or salon blonde hair.

Cass dodged a waiter dressed in a crisp black and white uniform carrying a tray of champagne in sparkling flutes.

The delicious chill crept over her again as she approached them, and she knew it was time to come out of retirement and snag herself a man. She held her breath as she finished closing the distance, praying she didn’t topple off these killer heels and embarrass herself.