Holdin' On for a Hero Read online

  Holding on for a Hero

  By Ciana Stone

  Three full length paranormal tales of love and passion, featuring the supernatural and things not of this world.

  Wolf Tale

  Wyatt Wolf is a warrior, a man without fear. At least that’s the picture he presents to the members of his Navy SEAL team. He’s a stone-cold killer with a reputation as a woman magnet, and needing no one.

  But appearances can be deceiving. Inside Wyatt is a man torn by love and betrayal. His only need, his one weakness—Chance—a woman from his past he can never have, can never trust. Wyatt will be forced to see her and face the old feelings that have haunted him for years, because something inside him, an entity of violence and lust, is fighting for control of his mind. And his only chance of survival depends on a love that will be pushed to the very edge.

  That Which Survives

  When a string of murdered scientists lead the police and the corrupt leader of a covert agency to Senna Laserian, she becomes embroiled in a series of events that take her ever closer to discovering the deadly secrets of her past.

  Konnor, an ex-operative of the same covert agency shadowing Senna, may be the only person who can save her. The question, however, may well become, who will save him from her?

  A Matter of Trust

  Two people, one dream. And a sensual awakening that will rock both to the core. Against a backdrop of breathless sexual interludes and the reuniting of two kindred spirits, it’s a race against time—and a ruthless family that will stop at nothing, even murder—to find the artifact and be the custodians of the immense power it holds.

  For the Readers:

  Starting in November 2014, every month Ciana will be giving away five $10.00 Amazon gift certificates to readers. All you have to do is visit her on Facebook and leave a comment.

  Additionally, every reader who leaves a comment will be entered into a grand prize drawing. Every quarter of 2015, Ciana is going to give away one Kindle Fire to a lucky reader. Just her way of saying thank you. It is, after all, the readers who matter the most.

  So, stop by for a chance to win. https://www.facebook.com/CianaStone

  Because We Love: Wolf Tale, That Which Survives and A Matther of Trust

  Ciana Stone

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Because We Love Copyright © 2014 Ciana Stone

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication November 2013

  Wolf Tale was originally published by Ellora’s Cave under the title Wyatt’s Chance. It was been revised for re-release.

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Men of the West Authors.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Contents

  WOLF TALE

  That Which Survives

  A Matter of Trust

  WOLF TALE

  Chapter One

  Behind them automatic weapon fire broke the silence of the night. Rapper’s voice sounded in the earphones of the headset. “Rock and roll, boys. We’ve got contact a little sooner than planned.”

  The three men crouched behind a stack of crates at the side of the wooden shed were moving before Rapper’s words were finished. Magnet jumped and kicked out at the same time. The weathered, wooden door of the shed cracked and splintered under the impact. Its rusty hinges gave way and the door burst inward. Magnet rushed in with DJ and Fish covering him from behind.

  A short, wiry man with faded brown hair was already whirling with a gun in his hand, while a young, raven-haired woman screamed and clutched her discarded dress in front of her nude body.

  Before the man could pull the trigger, Magnet fired two rounds from his handgun. The first slug hit the man in the middle of the chest. The small crimson circle had not yet begun to spread out over his shirt before the second bullet found its mark in the center of his forehead. As the man’s lifeless body fell, the woman seemed to forget the dress and made a mad dash for the window. Magnet yelled for DJ to stop her. The words were barely out of his mouth when a man burst in behind them.

  Magnet dropped and rolled, squeezing off three rounds. The man moving into the shed went down but there was another behind him who retreated outside, taking cover to one side of the door and firing inside.

  DJ slammed the woman to the floor and fell on top of her, shielding her with his body as he raised his weapon. Fish jumped behind a crate and took aim at the door.

  Magnet took a quick look around then hissed in the mic of his headset. “Secure the building!” Not waiting to see that his orders were followed, he took off out the door in time to see their adversary running toward a dark warehouse to one side.

  Heedless of the sounds of gunfire and the explosions that rocked the terrorists’ compound, Magnet pursued his target. Stretching out his long legs, he closed to within a couple of yards of the man. He launched himself into the air and tackled the man from behind, taking him down face-first into the dirt.

  No sooner had he landed, he jabbed the barrel of his handgun into the base of the man’s skull and yanked him to his feet. The sounds of gunfire abruptly ceased and an eerie stillness fell on the compound.

  “Magnet?” He heard the voice in his radio—the voice of his commanding officer.

  “Okay, Skipper. One prisoner. Send Bones. DJ and Fish have a woman in custody in the shed.”

  “Bones, you read that?”

  “On my way.”

  Magnet listened to his commander as he waited for Bones to come take charge of the prisoner.

  “Rapper?” A burst of static accompanied the commanding officer’s question.

  “A-okay.”

  “Anybody down?” the commander asked.

  “Not here,” Rapper replied.

  “Magnet?”

  “No injuries. Turning over the prisoner to Bones,” he answered as a short, stocky man with almost white-blond hair approached him.

  “Okay,” the commander replied. “Let’s get the goods loaded and get the hell out. Chopper’s ETA is five minutes. See you at the LZ.”

  Magnet returned to the shed and walked in, expecting to find DJ and Fish waiting with the female prisoner. They were there, all right, but what he saw made his eyes narrow in anger. The woman was lying on her back with her arms above her head. DJ was kneeling on her hands and holding a knife at her throat while Fish was pumping away between her legs.

  Magnet’s eyes took in the welling blood on the woman’s face from fresh cuts and the lacerations that ran down her legs. A cloud of black rage billowed inside him. His eyes burned as if they were on fire and a pressure swelled in his chest. Without warning blackness closed in around him.

  With a shout, Wyatt sat and looked around, his breath harsh and rapid. Sweat poured from his body and his heart pounded like a drum, fast and hard. He threw off his sweat-drenched shirt, rose from the bed, and walked downstairs to go outside. The cool air of the mountains he
called home chilled his skin but did nothing to ease the inner fire of torment.

  The dream was always the same. He would wake with his heart in his throat, his chest heaving and heart pounding, as a blackness darker than any hell he could imagine swept over him. He raked his long black hair back from his face and leaned his arms on the porch rail to stare out into the darkness.

  He hadn’t planned on coming home to the mountains of North Carolina, but life had a way of forcing situations on you from time to time. And this was one of those times. He’d been given an indefinite leave from the SEALs so that he could come home.

  Only one night there, and already he was wishing he were out on a mission with his SEAL team. At least there he understood the rules of the game and knew how to play. Here he wasn’t sure about anything. Most of all himself.

  * * * * *

  “Give me one legitimate reason you cannot attend!”

  Chance tried to ignore the demanding, arrogant tone and blew out her breath slowly before replying. “Father, I’ve already explained. I can’t just drop everything. I’m in the middle of a story and—”

  “Your goddamn job!” Maurice Davenport barked, not allowing her to finish. “You’d think you were the bloody president of CNN instead of some underling producer. Honestly, Chance, I can’t believe that you’d let that silly job of yours come before your own mother’s birthday ball!”

  “She’s not my mother.” Chance’s voice took on a sharp edge. “And my job is not silly. Just because—”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Maurice cut her off again. “In fact, I won’t tolerate any more excuses from you. You will attend Patricia’s birthday ball. You will not spoil things for her again. Is that clear, young lady?”

  Chance’s nails bit into her palm as her fist clenched, but her voice carried only a hint of her anger. “I’m sorry, Father, but I won’t be there. Give Patricia my regrets and I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She could hear Maurice shouting as she cradled the receiver. She closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair and took a couple of long, deep breaths, releasing them slowly. With some measure of calm restored, she opened her eyes and turned her attention to the computer monitor on her desk. Her eyes moved over the words on the screen but her mind paid no attention. It was directed elsewhere.

  Her stepmother Patricia’s birthday celebrations were at the top of her list of least favorite things. Every year Patricia insisted on having some lavish affair, each more grand than the last. The last one Chance had attended was three years ago. After that she had refused to attend any more. It had been held at the family’s home on the coast and Patricia had made a fool of herself as she always did, parading around in a fortune in diamonds and gold, decked out in her thousand-dollar bikini and showing off her latest cosmetic improvement.

  In truth, however, Patricia was not the real reason Chance refused to attend any more of the parties. The real reason was the fear of who she might run into. Three years ago Wyatt had shown up unexpectedly with his latest woman in tow.

  When she realized that she had not read a word of the report on the screen, Chance turned away from the monitor. Her eyes fell on the only picture that sat on her desk. Midnight black eyes set in a face of carved masculine lines stared back at her.

  She studied the face. It was the kind of face women created in their fantasies. Too handsome to be real, but not perfect and smooth in the way many beautiful men are. There was nothing effeminate about it. It was totally masculine, the kind of face one would imagine belonging to an ancient warrior in native mythology.

  She sighed and picked up the picture. After a moment she put it facedown in the top desk drawer. She should have done that a long time ago. In fact, she didn’t understand why she had it to begin with. It was just another reminder that things don’t always work out the way you want them to.

  With a wish that she had the courage just to get rid of the picture altogether, she closed the drawer. Wishing was fruitless. She would never get rid of it. And even if she did, it wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t get rid of her feelings. She didn’t believe anything would ever do that.

  * * * * *

  He stared at her for a long time, his dark eyes unreadable. Chance felt her heart rate rise. He was going to turn her down. She couldn’t take that. It would destroy her. She summoned every ounce of courage she possessed and moved closer, placing her palm on the firm swell of his chest. Muscles twitched beneath the warm skin. She didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Please,” she whispered.

  Still there was no response from him. Chance trembled with nervousness as she raised both hands to his shoulders and stood up on her toes to kiss him softly.

  It was not a long kiss, nor a passionate one. She didn’t have the courage for that. Perched on her toes, she still had to look up to meet his eyes. He stared down at her for what seemed an eternity. She wobbled and the motion pressed her forward against his muscular body. Wyatt suddenly groaned and wrapped his arms around her. His lips crushed against hers, parting her lips with his tongue and diving into her mouth.

  She had never experienced a kiss like that. She felt like she was being devoured and while it was a little frightening, it was the most exciting thing she had ever felt. Her nipples felt like they were on fire, and her sex suddenly felt swollen. She had never had such sensations. But it felt good and she eagerly returned the kiss, being bold enough to explore the warm interior of his mouth with her tongue and enjoying his spicy taste.

  All at once, he pushed her to arm’s length. “This isn’t right.”

  Chance couldn’t have cared less about what was right or wrong. All she wanted was another kiss. Sensations and yearnings, new and exhilarating, filled her. She wanted more.

  “Yes, it is,” she argued. “Please, I want to.”

  She thought he was going to turn her down. Instead, he yanked her T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her first reaction was to cross her arms over her chest to cover her breasts. She almost did. But that would prove that she was afraid, not ready. So she took a deep breath and forced herself to face him.

  His eyes moved slowly down her body, lingering on her breasts then moving lower. The heat of his gaze made her feel a strange hunger. His hands reached up to cup her breasts. She liked the feel of his hands on her, but when his fingers began circling her nipples, her breath caught in her throat and her hands fisted at her sides. Her nipples tingled then burned, and every caress seemed to make her sex feel more full and wet.

  He ran one hand down her body, into her underwear. She gasped as his fingers worked between the wet folds and penetrated her. He stroked her gently. Chance struggled not to make a sound. It was not easy. With his finger probing inside her, she wanted to moan and move against him.

  Before she could do either, he removed his hand and slid her panties down her legs. She stepped out of them and he guided her backward to the bed, pushing her down on her back.

  She wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He knelt in front of her and pulled her over to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs, and she almost chickened out. She had never been so exposed to a man’s eyes. He lowered his head and lapped at her wet channel and she nearly fainted from the sensation. She had never imagined. It made her skin burn, her toes curl and her muscles tense.

  His tongue flicked inside her, probing and withdrawing. She gripped the bedcovers, thrusting against his questing tongue for more of the delicious sensations. His tongue moved higher, circling her clit. She couldn’t stop the gasp that burst from her. When he sucked her clit into his mouth, her legs spread as if of their own accord. Her hands moved to fist in his hair. Her body arched back, the veins in her neck standing out as she panted and moaned.

  Something expanded inside her mind and abdomen, swelling until it consumed her and her clit burned and throbbed like it was going to explode. It wasn’t long until the sensation overwhelmed her and she was consumed by the most exquisite feeling she had ever experienced. She collapsed on the
bed, feeling strangely spent.

  He rose and dropped his pants and her eyes grew round. She had imagined him naked more times than she could count, but imagination did not do him justice. He was totally beautiful, strong and tall and perfectly proportioned. Her eyes moved up, seeking his.

  Wyatt’s dark eyes were intense and seemed to draw her in. She read longing in their dark depths, and something that told her this was as important to him as it was to her. He gave her a gentle smile and stroked his hand down the side of her face.

  Chance closed her eyes and felt his hands move to softly spread her legs. She opened her eyes as he lowered himself down, guiding himself into her. Before he was fully seated inside her, he met with resistance. He looked at her and for a moment they were frozen. She knew that he would stop if she asked, that he did not want to hurt her. But she didn’t want him to stop. She nodded, biting her lip against the pain.

  He pushed through the thin membrane and paused again, giving her the opportunity to stop what was happening. She could feel the tension in his body, and searched his eyes. What she saw in them told her that regardless of what had gone before this moment, Wyatt’s feelings for her ran deep.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. The pain was already vanishing, to be replaced with a new longing. “Please.”

  Jolted from dream by the shrill ring of the phone, Chance rolled over and fumbled for her cell phone in the dark. With her heart in her throat she lifted it to her ear. No one called in the middle of the night unless it was to relay bad news.

  “Hello?” Her voice was thick with a combination of sleep and fear.

  “Chance? Is that you? I-I wanted…I needed to…I had to talk…” the voice trailed off.

  Chance sat straight up in bed. “Wyatt? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

  “I called your father’s house and Abbott gave me this number.” He didn’t answer her questions.