If you love Zoe Chant...
You’ll also love Lia Silver!
Keep reading for a preview of Lia’s full-length paranormal romance, Prisoner (Werewolf Marines.) Werewolf Marine DJ Torres is a born rebel. Genetically engineered assassin Echo was created to be a weapon. When DJ is captured by the agency that made Echo, the two misfits find that they fit together perfectly.
Prisoner
(Werewolf Marines)
Chapter One
DJ
We’re Like Brothers
DJ Torres had broken a lot of rules in his life. But he’d never expected to break the most important rule of all, the rule he’d had drummed into his head since he was a little kid (and little pup), particularly since it was one of the few rules that he actually agreed with: “Never turn anyone into a werewolf.”
It went on, at least the way DJ’s pack elders had taught it to him, “Not even if they’re your best friend. Especially not if they’re your best friend. Not even if they’re dying and it’s the only way to save their life. Especially not if they’re dying and it’s the only way to save their life. They’ll end up wishing you’d let them die. And so will you.”
DJ looked down at Roy Farrell, his best friend, whose life he’d saved by turning him into a werewolf, and hoped to hell they weren’t both going to end up wishing DJ had let him die.
The blazing Afghanistan sunlight glared off the white sand, making DJ’s eyes water. Though they were shaded by a pair of boulders, the radiant heat made sweat trickle down his bare back.
The helicopter had mostly stopped burning, but it still sent up a plume of oily black smoke. On the bright side, it was a signal for medevac and rescue. On the dark side, it was also a signal for anyone in the vicinity who might want to kill or capture some Marines. DJ briefly released Roy’s hand to pat his M-16 and Roy’s SAW, just to reassure himself that he could snatch up either weapon in an instant.
The air was so bone-dry and still that DJ couldn’t even smell the smoke. If he’d been a wolf, he could have. If he’d been a wolf, he could have detected not only the smoke, but also the twisted metal of the wrecked helo, the crushed weeds beneath them, and Roy’s natural scent, a blend of charcoal, leather, damp earth, and dark chocolate.
As a man, all DJ could smell was Roy’s blood. It had gotten all over him when he’d hoisted Roy over his shoulders and carried him from the helo. He could feel it drying in the sun, sticking his hair together in clumps and pulling at his skin.
Despite the heat and the shirt DJ had wrapped around him, Roy was shivering. DJ wondered if he should move Roy out of the shade, or if that would just give him a sunburn on top of the worst shrapnel wounds DJ had ever seen anyone take and not immediately drop dead.
Roy closed his eyes. His breath went out in a sticky-sounding exhale, leaving more blood on his lips. He didn’t breathe in again.
DJ’s heart lurched at the thought that after everything he’d done, Roy would die anyway, right now in his arms.
“Hey!” When that didn’t get a response or an inhale, DJ slapped his cheek. “Wake up!”
Roy dragged in a labored breath, his eyes fluttering half-open. “I’m listening.”
Which was another bad fucking sign, because DJ hadn’t been talking. He’d talked so much in the last hour or however long it had been since their helicopter had been shot down, trying to keep Roy awake and tell him everything he needed to know about being a werewolf, that he’d had to stop for fear of losing his voice.
“What are you listening to?” DJ cleared his throat, but he still sounded like a rusty door when he spoke again. “What did I just tell you?”
“Uh...” Roy’s gaze drifted into the distance. “Can’t remember. Sorry. I’m a little... A little spacy.”
Sorry, I’m a little spacy.
Meaning, I’m in shock and bleeding inside and the only thing keeping me alive is my werewolf healing and I’ve probably got another half-hour or so before even that won’t cut it any more.
And that was classic Roy. After all the time they’d spent together on their fire team, with Roy carrying the SAW and DJ carrying the SAW’s extra ammunition, they’d gotten to be each other’s universal translators.
I’m fine, DJ, stop bothering me.
Meaning, I haven’t slept in three days and I’m about to pass out, but don’t worry, I can hold out till we get back to the base.
I’ve got dust in my eyes, Roy, can you read this for me?
Meaning, I’ll lose my mind if I have to spend five minutes trying to read three words, and there’s guys around who don’t already know about me, and if they call me stupid I just might snap and punch them out and get another demerit.