Her Werewolf Bodyguard: Werewolf Guardian Romance Series, #1

By Jodi Vaughn

Wild. Untamed. Blazing with need. She can't avoid being burned.

Werewolf Damon Trahan lives by one rule, protect the pack with his life. Content to be left alone, he avoids complications until he is ordered to rescue a general's daughter from a rival Wolfpack . . . or die trying. Little does he know she will tempt him to break every rule he's ever known, because the opposing pack isn't the only enemy in Ava's life. Her own father has been keeping deadly secrets from Ava, and now it's up to Damon to convince her of the truth before it's too late. 

Ava Renfroe is tired of Alpha males running her life. Growing up the daughter of a strict military general made her crave independence more than air. First she's kidnapped, and the danger ignites a rage in her body she's never felt before. Adding insult to injury, her commanding and arrogant new bodyguard is exactly the kind of man she doesn't want. But try telling that to her out of control libido. Being on the run with a dark and powerful stranger will push Ava so far she might never recover. But this wild, needy thing stirring to life inside her?

With the entire Wolfpack hunting them, there is nothing Damon can do now but keep her close . . . and let their passions burn.

**This book was previously published as By The Light Of The Moon**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jodi Vaughn
• Release date: Apr 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781946591524

Book preview

Chapter One

Damon Trahan shoved a hand in his jeans pocket and leaned against his black Harley-Davidson Breakout. For three long hours, he’d been standing watch outside the dilapidated bar constructed of cinder block walls, rusted tin roof, and grim desperation. The seedy bar was a well-known hangout for rogue wolves that had no respect for Wolf Law, making it the perfect place for his suspect to hide.

He grimaced as the scent of stale urine and fresh vomit wafted over him, making his stomach clench in a violent spasm. He regretted parking in the dark alley away from the blinding security light, but tonight’s mission required stealth, so he’d sacrificed fresh air and comfort. His saving grace from the repugnant odor was the occasional breeze carried on the October wind.

He narrowed his gaze on the door, as if willing Raymond Wilson to exit so he could apprehend him. Why any werewolf would risk outing their species to the world for easy drug money was beyond his comprehension. Risky behavior, whether criminal or not, wasn’t tolerated by the Pack. The U.S. Government knew about the existence of werewolves. In fact, some of the military’s best soldiers were werewolves. On the other hand, the civilian human population had no clue their species even existed. If humans discovered them, it would be an all-out war. Werewolves would be hunted down, one by one, until they were eliminated.

No one deserved to live their life in fear. No one.

His cell phone hummed against his thigh. Gritting his teeth, Damon fished it out of his pocket. I’m a little busy right now, Barrett.

Damon, we need to talk.

Damon bristled at the sharp command of his Pack Master. Since he’d moved to the Natural State, Barrett Middleton regulated his schedule, day and night, twenty-four seven. That’s what happened when a wolf joined the elite ranks of the Guardians. You gave up your life to protect the Pack and watch over civilian werewolves.

Damon wasn’t complaining. Being a Guardian had given him a purpose, a reason to keep going. He was ready to lay down his life for the better of the Pack.

Their small community of werewolves, located just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, functioned like a military compound to the human world. In reality, it was a training base for elite werewolf soldiers, also known as Guardians. Barrett was Pack Master over Arkansas, but he still answered to the General and the Council. The power was too great for any one wolf to rule alone.

A white male shoved the exit door of the bar with such force, it bounced against the wall with a bang and the resounding boom ricocheted in Damon’s ears. Country music from the jukebox bled out into the night on the wisps of cigarette smoke.

Damon clenched his hands, his gaze never wavering from the suspect. Can this conversation wait? Your culprit is leaving.

The suspect, in his late thirties with muddy brown hair, hurried out of the bar. Dressed in a red flannel shirt and ripped jeans, the man made a beeline for a beat-up blue and white truck. He cast a few nervous glances toward the shadows where Damon crouched.

Damon tilted his head back and sniffed the brittle air. His nostrils flared as the familiar scent of wolf hit him. The drug dealer might look human, but there was no denying his scent was all wolf.

I need to go. He straddled his Harley.

Goddamn, Damon. Forget about him.

Why? He shifted in his seat while his gaze darted from his suspect back to the bar. Something was wrong.

Barrett never left an assignment unfinished. His Pack Master was relentless when it came to keeping order and protecting the werewolves in Arkansas. Calling off the investigation when they were so close to catching a suspect was completely out of character.

Unless...

Unless Damon was being pulled off the case and being reassigned to another Pack.

Damon rolled his neck side to side in an attempt to loosen the tension that had suddenly blossomed. Not again. His last Pack in Louisiana had thrown him out without warning, leaving him on his own to find another state, another pack, another home. He thought he’d found a home in Arkansas. For once, he almost let himself believe he’d been accepted.

He’d been a fucking fool to entertain such a thought.

Which Pack are you reassigning me to? Alaska? Antarctica? The comment smacked of sarcasm and he winced at the lingering bitterness his words left behind.

I don’t think you understand, Barrett’s tone lowered, the same way a mother might do when she was about to discipline an unruly child. An emergency assignment has come up. I’m putting you on it. Alone. The grimness in Barrett’s voice had unease snaking up Damon’s spine like a night crawler.

He’d never been on assignment alone. Barrett had always put him with at least four other Pack members. In fact, the other three Guardians, Zane, Lucien and Jaxon, were probably tailing the suspect and bitching about Damon’s absence.

One of our females has been abducted. Barrett’s voice came out low and laced with deadly intent.

Who was it? Damon’s lips curled a feral snarl as his pulse raced. Some things were punishable by death, and taking a female ranked number one.

Ava Renfroe.

The blood drained from his face and pooled in his stomach in a nauseating rush. The rest of the conversation turned to white buzzing noise between his ears.

Ava Renfroe was the General’s daughter.

She lived near Jonesboro and he had only seen her once, from a distance, when she visited the General over the holidays. With silky black hair, eyes the color of emeralds, and a body made for sin, Ava was a female any male would fight over.

What are the demands? Damon tightened his grip on the cell phone. The plastic squeaked, threatening to break under his sweaty palm.

The kidnappers have made no demands. No demands for money, prisoner exchanges, or territory.

The only thing a wolf Pack needed more than food and territory was a female. A female to ensure their population and increase their numbers. He knew exactly what kind of hell that would be for a female as beautiful as Ava Renfroe.

Why did you call me, Barrett? Why not call one of the other Guardians?

The other Guardians are too far away.

Didn’t that just warm the fucking heart? He was Barrett’s last choice. Or maybe he was Barrett’s only choice.

You have the skills and the ability to infiltrate the compound where we believe she’s being held.

You mean they won’t be able to smell the scent of your Pack on me. Fully belonging to a Pack always seemed beyond his reach. What was the use in trying anymore?

This is your Pack, too, Damon. Once your trial period is over, you’ll be initiated into the Arkansas Pack.

Yeah, right. You keep believing the shit that’s coming out of your mouth, Barrett, he snarled.

Watch your tone when you address me, Barrett growled.

Barrett always called him on his shit. For that, Damon respected his leader.

Right now, my main concern is getting this female back before they can do God knows what to her. Damon clenched his muscles, fighting the anger racing through every cell of his body. This wasn’t the time to shift into a wolf.

It’s an isolated wooded area. I’ll text you the coordinates to the compound. According to the Intel from our surveillance planes, that place is locked up tighter than Fort fucking Knox.

I’ll be ready to go within the hour. He slipped his phone into his leather jacket and glanced at the yellow glow of his Luminox watch. He needed to run home and grab a few items. Thankfully, he was already packing most of his weapons. Two Sig Sauer 45s holstered to his chest, a ten-inch blade in his right boot, and some thin strips of C4 in his pocket.

All he needed were a few detonator caps, a remote control, and he was in business.

Chapter Two

Lethargy seeped into the recesses of Ava Renfroe’s foggy mind and threatened to pull her back into the blackness she was so desperately trying to escape. She’d never felt this tired, so drained of energy, and she wondered if she might have a bad case of the flu. It was too much to fight and she was sucked back into unconscious oblivion.

An eternity later, she pried open her heavy eyelids.

She blinked, letting her eyes get adjusted and glanced around. Cold, musty air stung her nose and each breath made her lungs ache. A cold sweat popped up across her skin as she gaped at her bleak surroundings.

Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she hissed as a deep pain shot through her back from lying on the concrete floor. Where the hell was she? She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from being sick and focused on taking slow, even breaths.

The last time she felt this bad was a few years ago, after a night of shooting tequila. After that, she’d sworn never to touch the stuff again.

Wincing from the glare above, she cradled her throbbing head between her hands. An ancient, incandescent light bulb hung overhead, illuminating rusted tin walls that soared upward to a metal beamed roof. She was in some sort of warehouse.

How the hell did she end up in a warehouse?

What the hell is going on? She flinched as her voice reverberated throughout the cavernous space. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. Think, Ava, think.

She remembered getting up at dawn, drinking coffee, and reading the newspaper on the back deck of her tiny country house. Nothing special happened on her noon shift at the Golden Lair Restaurant and bar. After that, she had gone home.

She remembered her doorbell ringing. A shiver raced down to her toes as the next memory came into focus. She’d opened the door to a figure standing on the other side, dressed completely in black. Then she remembered . . . nothing.

Her eyes popped open. Icy, wet fear trickled through her veins like a winter stream.

Why the hell couldn’t she remember what happened next?

A door creaked open somewhere in the shadows. She jerked her head up and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomach churned at the sudden motion.

Glad to see you’re awake, female. The man’s deep voice slithered across the room, making the hair on her arms stand up.

Who are you? Where am I? Her voice cracked. How did I get here?

We brought you here. You’re our special guest. His accent was more redneck than southern. Raised in the South, she could tell the slight difference.

I think it’s time I left. A chill skipped across her heart, hard and quick, like a pebble on a frozen pond. What had happened in the last few hours that she had ended up here, alone?

It doesn’t matter what you want.

My family knows I’m gone. They’ll be looking for me. Anger and terror paraded up her spine, racking her body with tremors.

Evil laughter, echoing against the metal walls, hung over her like a vile promise of what was to come. Booted footsteps tapped against the concrete floor as her captor circled her in the safety of the shadows, his identity concealed.

Your family has no idea you’re missing. And when they do, they may try to come for you, but it’ll be too late. We’ll be long gone.

Rage pumped through her body. This asshole had another thing coming if he thought he could keep her here like a prisoner.

You’re the key to our survival, Ava.

What the hell are you talking about? Survival of what? I’m just a bartender. She squinted, trying to make out the dimensions of the room and find a way out.

We need to increase our numbers, Ava. We need children. We need you to provide those children for us.

She froze. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs like a deflating balloon.

She shook her head. This wasn’t happening. She must be trapped in some kind of nightmare.

Nausea engulfed her. She dropped to her hands and knees and emptied the contents of her stomach.

That’s it. Get that nasty drug out of your system.

Sitting back, she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, and glared into the shadows. You drugged me? It would explain the drowsiness she felt earlier.

It was the only way to get you here without a fight. The shadow chuckled. I hope you’re ready. It’s almost time.

She squinted, trying to make out his features. Time for what?

It’s time to present you to your lovers, of course. All forty-five of them.

Chapter Three

Damon tore down the dirt road on his Harley, kicking up a wave of dust in his wake. According to the surveillance coordinates, he should be quickly approaching the destination where Ava was being held.

He white-knuckled the handlebars. Ava. He hadn’t wanted to bring his Harley to make the rescue. He wasn’t sure what condition Ava might be in when he found her. Though the bike had a slender second seat, his Harley-Davidson Breakout was more suited for one person than two. But showing up in his Hummer would have definitely blown his cover as a Rogue wolf. Rogues didn’t make the kind of money Guardians did and he didn’t need to stand out. He needed to blend in.

Rounding the curve, he slowed his bike and headed off the road into a field and drove toward the tree line. He killed the engine and eased off the motorcycle. He stilled, listening for any sign that he had been followed.

The cadence of an occasional barn owl and the rustle of dead leaves filled the night and assured him he was alone.

Within ten minutes of hanging up with Barrett, a messenger had met Damon with a package containing a pair of Ava’s pajamas. He needed something with her scent in the event he couldn’t locate her visually. He reached into the leather saddlebag and pulled out her pink pajama bottoms. The soft material slid through his fingers like silk as he lifted it to his nose. Her sweet feminine scent hit him right in the gut, sending his body careening and making his cock harden.

He shook his head, shaking off the daze she’d put him in by scent alone, and forced his mind onto the objective of his mission.

He lifted his face to the sky and sniffed. The scent of decaying leaves and crisp October air mingled in his nose.

A jolt shot through his body as he caught another scent settling upon the wind.

Ava.

Her scent, like honeysuckle baked in the hot July sun, was unique and like nothing he’d ever experienced. His squeezed his eyes shut and forced his body under control. He was on a mission. Now was not the time to fantasize.

From the aerial map he’d gotten from Intel, the compound where they suspected she was being held was located another two miles deeper into the forest. If he could smell her from that distance, she must be putting off some major fear pheromones.

His pulse sped up as he bared his sharp teeth. Every vile image of what they might be doing to her invaded his mind. He curled his fingers into fists, clenched his muscles, and forced his wolf side under control. First things first. Must find Ava. Her safety was his priority.

He walked his Harley underneath a nearby oak tree and flipped the kickstand with his boot. Reaching inside the saddlebag, he pulled out a bottle of camouflage scent. He covered his entire body with the masking spray, concealing any odors he might have picked up from being near his pack.

The plan was simple. Get in, find Ava, and get the hell out before they both ended up dead.

He hit his red and black bandana with a couple sprays before retying it to his head and then slipped on his Oakleys. Despite the darkness, wolves had excellent eyesight and the sunglasses didn’t impede his vision in any way.

Damon snapped off branches and laid them around the chrome of his Harley. The last thing he needed was some redneck asshole out in the middle of a bean field trying to get laid and running upon his motorcycle.

The camouflage scent would only last about an hour before it wore off. He needed to get in, find Ava and get out before that happened. He set the timer on his Luminox watch, patted himself down in a last minute weapons check, then launched into a dead run.

Ava’s scent guided him like a ghostly finger, leading him deeper into the thick woods. His feet slammed into the cold, dead ground as he sprinted, dodging low-lying branches. The forest was quiet except for a startled raccoon that snarled and jumped out of his path as he raced through the trees.

He approached an illuminated break in the trees and slowed. Keeping his body hidden within the forest, he surveyed the open grounds.

Several werewolves in human form congregated around five small campfires. Old school Kid Rock blared from an old truck’s radio, breaking the solitude of the night.

He squinted at the wolves as he caught a whiff of their scent.

What the fuck? They were not just any wolves. They were red wolves.

How was that possible? Red wolves had been extinct in Arkansas for years. They had become so savage that they’d managed to kill each other off in their bloody rages. Gray wolves, were the only wolves left in Arkansas.

A shout echoed through the camp. Damon dropped to a crouch and palmed the cool steel of his .45. He steadied his breath and waited for the attack. When no one rushed him, he stole a glance at the camp.

Two red werewolves shoved each other as they argued over the choice of music. Apparently, not all of them were Kid Rock fans. The rest of the group drew closer, shit talking and urging on the fight. One wolf shoved the other and then fists were flying.

Fucking bunch of idiots.

With everyone’s attention on the fight, no one was watching the perimeter.

He eased away from the tree line and stepped into the camp, attempting to blend into the group. His stomach clenched as their overwhelming scent grew stronger.

He hated having people touch him. What he hated and what he needed to do were two different things. He knew their repulsive odor would mask his own. Passing the wolves, he rubbed his shoulder against members of the motley group.

Blood lust vibrated in his veins. Visions of his past rose up behind his eyes, almost blinding him with rage. It was all he could do not to rip their throats out for being so close.

He stepped away from the group and made his way to a pull-behind camper. Kneeling, he pretended to tighten the laces on his riding boots while he slipped an explosive to the underside of the camper.

Damon stood and grabbed a beer from the nearest cooler. He leaned against a rusted white truck and took a long drink from the icy bottle. Watching the fighting, he tucked his fingers under the hood and secured the second explosive.

He tossed the beer and looked around. He needed to find Ava and get out.

Making his way further into the camp, he spotted a large warehouse. Two werewolves stood on either side of the rusted door, shooting glares at anyone who ventured too close.

He raised his Oakleys, made eye contact with one of the large guards, nodded and then turned his back.

Hey, you, the large guard yelled.

Damon smirked. He tensed and waited for the guard to make a move. One thing a wolf didn’t tolerate was the disrespect of another wolf turning his backs to him.

Hey, asshole, I know you heard me!

Anger boiled low in his stomach. He wanted nothing better than to jump the guard right there. Get Ava out first. He swallowed his rage and held his ground.

Hey, you fucker!

Okay, the fucker part got him.

Damon turned.

The guard deserted his post and now stood several feet in front of him. His greasy brown mullet hung over his thick shoulders, reminding Damon of the movie, Joe Dirt. Dressed in jeans and a dirty white wife beater, the guard snarled.

Damon slipped his sunglasses up on his head, looked the guy in the eye, and gave him the finger.

The second guard roared with laughter. I don’t think he likes you too much, Bubba.

Anger flashed through Bubba’s eyes. He bowed up and threw a punch. Damon dodged the blow and grabbed Bubba’s arm and twisted. The guard cried out in pain. He planted his boot on Bubba’s back and pushed. Bubba landed with a thick plop in a mud puddle.

What the hell’s going on? A white male in his late forties came trotting out of the warehouse hoisting a shotgun over his shoulder. His gray hair was styled in a high-and-tight military cut and his weathered face had more mileage on it than an eighteen-wheeler. He stopped short when he spotted his guard lying on the ground. Bubba, what the fuck you doing in the mud?

He’s in the mud because that’s where I put him. Damon cocked his head and met the old man’s stare.

The second guard broke into another howl of belly-splitting laugher.

The older man drew his disgusted gaze from Bubba up to Damon. He leveled his shotgun at Damon’s forehead. Who the hell are you?

Demon. Damon knew better to give his actual name. He was also smart enough to keep it close to his real name in case someone called out to him.

What the hell kind of name is Demon?

What the hell kind of name is Bubba? Damon held the older wolf’s gaze, refusing to look away.

The guy’s eyes widened for a second before he barked out a laugh.

"What the hell you laughing at,