Wolf Tales 7.5: Chanku Honor

By Kate Douglas

Kate Douglas is definitely NOT for the timid reader. --Anne McCaffrey, New York Times bestselling author

The Time Is Now

By invitation of Mik, Tala and AJ, a new group of six young people are discovering their Chanku heritage. They call themselves the Wolfpack, with Logan, the leader, Jazzy Blue, his lover, and Deacon, the outsider. Together they will learn of their shapeshifting power and their amazingly sensual legacy. . .

Praise for Kate Douglas's erotic romance:

"Sexy, tense, and complex." --Romantic Times, 4 Stars on WOLF TALES 12

"The story is so thrilling and the sex is so hot." --Romantic Times, 4 Stars on WOLF TALES 11

"Kate Douglas always has a way with the sensual world of erotic romance." --Coffee Time Romance

This book contains adult content.

Previously published in Sexy Beast VI

33,000 Words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kensington Books
• Release date: Apr 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9780758288776

Kate Douglas

A lifelong Californian, Kate Douglas has been lucky enough to call writing her career for most of her adult life, but it wasn’t until she discovered the world of the sexy paranormal that she really found her niche. She’s having such a terrific time creating more Wolf Tales for Kensington’s Aphrodisia line as the imprint’s lead author that she’s still waiting for someone to call and tell her it was all a big mistake. Now with her new DemonSlayers series taking off, she’s definitely having the time of her life. Married for almost 40 years to her very own hero, Kate is mother to two amazing adults and “Dabba” to five perfect grandchildren—and two granddogs. Kate gives credit for much of her success to the fantastic cadre of generous and talented authors who have helped her over the years. She is a firm believer in the philosophy of “paying it forward.” Kate loves to hear from her readers. You can find her on Facebook at facebook.com/katedouglas.author or email her directly at katedouglas.com. There you can also join her newsletter for updates on bookstore visits, signings, and contests for a chance to win books.

Book preview

Chanku.

1

San Francisco, California

"Hey, Jazzy. What’s up?"

Yo, Deacon. Nuttin’. Just enjoying the sunshine. Jazzy Blue stepped over her buddy’s long, bony frame, rapped his head with her knuckles, and flopped down on the ground. She lay back in the warm grass beside him and flung her arm over her eyes to block the glare—as well as any further conversation. It was better this way, when all she wanted to do was think about the dreams.

She felt the ripples of arousal between her legs and wished that particular feeling would go away. That and the itchy skin. At least she could scratch her arms. She couldn’t very well sit out here in the park and rub her clit. Sex with the johns hadn’t done it for her.

It never had, not since she was a little kid and her pimp had her out working the streets, but that wasn’t unusual. Not for a kid who whored to stay alive. Sex was work, not pleasure, but damn it all, she really could use some pleasure about now.

Even Deacon was starting to look good.

She lifted her arm and glanced his way. He’d always felt more like a big brother than a potential lover, but beggars couldn’t very well be choosers. It was getting worse, that sense that if she didn’t have an orgasm right now she’d explode.

The odd thing was, the sexy feelings and all the weirdness seemed to be tied into the strange dreams she’d been having.

Really weird stuff about wolves and tall trees and the sound of animals huffing and growling beside and behind her. She’d been waking up scared half to death, waiting for something wild to pounce.

Of course, camping under a bush on the fringes of Golden Gate Park wasn’t necessarily conducive to a good night’s sleep, but it was the only place she had after trying to kill the man who’d kept her all these years. The corner of Jazzy’s mouth curved up in a grin. It had definitely been one powerful moment, when she’d finally cut loose and attacked the bastard.

Of course, that had been the end of a roof over her head. One does not try to gut one’s pimp with a serrated kitchen knife. Made for bad working relations. Crap. She was well rid of him.

All she knew about him was that he’d bought her from a slaver when she was about six and set her to whoring right away. No actual intercourse until she was ten or so, but the pedophiles who wanted to play out their sick fantasies would always disgust her. She’d rather not think about her not-so-pleasant childhood . . . as if she’d ever had a chance to be a kid. Thank goodness she’d always had an active fantasy life. It had given her a way out, even if it was just in her mind.

Jazzy stretched her arms over her head and closed her eyes against the glare. Red flashed through her eyelids and she flopped her arm across her face once more. Images from the dream she’d had last night slipped uninvited into her mind. She felt again the bunch and stretch in her muscles as she’d leapt over a woodland creek in a futile attempt to run down a rabbit.

On four legs. She’d had big paws, a long, bushy tail, and she’d awakened exhausted, as if it had all been true. She wished she could ask the rest of the guys about their dreams, whether they ever had nights like hers, but they’d probably think she was nuts.

Amend that. More nuts than usual. Of course, that’s what friends were for, wasn’t it? To tell you when you were headed over the edge?

Either that or hold your hand and take the leap with you. Sanity’s overrated, anyhow. Jazzy heard footsteps and the rustle of clothing. She lifted her elbow from her eyes enough to see who all was wandering by. Matt flopped down on the grass next to Nicky and Beth. It looked like the rest of the guys were hanging out as usual, down here at the memorial garden instead of their old turf over on Stanyan.

The crowd there was just too edgy, always looking for trouble. She used to fit in with them. Not anymore. Now she preferred hanging with the pack: Deacon, Matt, Nicky, and Beth.

And Logan. She couldn’t forget Logan.

They fit together almost like family. Like a pack. Logan was the one who started it when he called them a mangy pack of wolves, said they had a feral kind of connection. Jazzy liked that. She could handle being called mangy as long as she got the feeling of being connected to someone.

It was a long time coming.

Maybe that’s why she’d been dreaming of wolves and sex. Face it, anything that had to do with Logan was enough to make her horny.

She sat up and yawned, leaned over and picked a long strand of the grayish green grass that grew in clumps around the memorial garden. She ran it between her fingers and popped the thick stalk between her teeth. It was such a beautiful day. Perfect for hanging with her buds, nibbling on sweet grass, and watching the jet trails in the clear, blue sky.

She slanted another look toward Logan. He leaned against one of the slabs of granite that made up the heart of the memorial garden. With his face and all its sharp angles and planes lifted to the warming rays of the sun, he almost looked like a part of the stone. Damn, she could watch him all day. That long, lean body of his moved with a rhythm all its own. He gave her a hot, liquid tingle deep in her gut. Logan was way special.

He was tough, too. And really strong. Older than the rest of them. Kind of scary sometimes, with his head shaved halfway and all the tats. His body was a veritable canvas, covered in some absolutely rad artwork.

Nicky’d said even Logan’s cock was covered in tattoos. Now that was something she’d like to see.

Sometime.

Of course, Matt had whispered to her one day that Nicky had studs in his dick, something he called a Jacob’s Ladder. Little barbells running from the tip to his balls. She couldn’t care less about Nicky’s dick, but she couldn’t help but wonder about the tats on Logan’s.

Was he hard when the guy did it? How much did it hurt? She had a little tat of a flower on her ankle and it hurt like hell to get that one. She couldn’t imagine sitting still while some guy stuck needles and dye there!

What was it with guys and their parts?

Jazzy turned away from Logan, flopped back down in the grass, and closed her eyes. She scratched at her itchy arms and wished she could just eat Logan up—after she got a look at his dick, of course. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t like it when anyone tried to get close, and checking out those tats would mean she’d gotten way too up close and personal.

Jazzy? You got any of that cream?

She blinked and there was Nicky, kneeling so close he blocked out her sunlight. Your skin itching again? She sat up and dug into her jeans pocket for the tube of skin cream she’d gotten a couple days ago.

Feels like I’m ready to crawl right out of it. Just pop myself free of this bod and turn into—he bared his teeth and growled—a wolf! He laughed and took the tube, squeezed a little lotion into his palm. Sounds good in theory.

Nicky was such a sweetheart. Tall and slim, yet so gentle and quiet with dark eyes and olive skin. She wondered if he might be Indian, or maybe even Middle Eastern. His skin was almost as dark as hers, but right now his arms were covered with red streaks where he’d scratched himself raw.

Just like hers.

Nicky sighed as he slapped the lotion over his long arms. I feel like a dork using your girly stuff.

Beth flopped down on the grass next to Jazzy and laughed. That’s because you are a dork. She swung her dark hair back over her shoulder and tilted her chin. Nicky snorted and jabbed her with his shoulder. She bumped him back and took the tube from Nicky’s outstretched hand. I need it, too.

Jazzy noticed Beth didn’t really look Nicky in the eye. If she did, he’d know for sure how much she loved him. Jazzy knew, but only because she’d guessed. Beth never said a word about her feelings. She was afraid to, Jazzy was sure of that. Beth was really shy, not anything like Jazzy. She kept her chin tucked close to her chest and squeezed a thick spurt of white cream into her hand. Then she handed the tube back to Jazzy. I wonder if we’re allergic to something around here? Your arms are all red, too.

Jazzy chewed at the stalk of grass. She shrugged her shoulders. Nothing here but grass and trees.

Hey.

Jazzy swung around at the sound of Logan’s deep voice.

Holy shit. Check this out.

When she looked in the direction he nodded, Jazzy felt her skin go cold. Beside her, Nicky went very still but he radiated an almost palpable tension. Jazzy grabbed his forearm. He shrugged her away. She turned him loose and watched the drama unfold.

Montana was nice, but it really felt good to be back in the city. Tala picked up her pace as she headed down Stanyan to Haight, where she planned to cut through the park to check on Keisha’s memorial garden. She’d promised, after all.

As if she’d had a choice?

That thought alone was enough to make her smile.

Are the plants doing okay? Is the rock work still in place? Please, don’t let there be graffiti . . . like that’s all Keisha had to worry about. Still, Keisha had won a national prize and the chance to design the garden, and it was