Wild Heat (Wilding Pack Wolves 3)

By: Alisa Woods

He's a hot cop. She's a wild artist.

Making art has never been so dangerously SEXY.

Kaden Grant is well aware that the Seattle Police Department is no friend of shifters. But when the mayor’s favorite artist is targeted by the local hate-fanatic, he orders protective custody for her… and Kaden is desperate to land the assignment. Because any other cop would just get the girl killed. If only her wild streak didn’t threaten to bring out his long-buried secret…

Terra Wilding’s family is being torn apart, and now the Wolf Hunter is targeting her because her of photographs bringing out the light in the dark corners of Seattle. The only way to keep her baby sister Cassie and the other wolves safe is to leave her mountain refuge and hole up in a small house that feels more like a cage. If only the human cop who’s guarding her wasn’t so hot…

When Terra slips away to meet up with a secretive art collector, Kaden’s protective side goes into overdrive. He’s an alpha’s alpha, and he lights a wild heat in her that threatens to burn them both down. Kaden wants to protect and serve, but can he tame the wildest Wilding before the Wolf Hunter catches up to them both?

Terra Wilding’s room was drenched in demonic light.

It was merely the darkroom lamp bathing everything in its blood-red glow, but somehow, it fit the dark and haunted mood that had grabbed hold of her. Terra’s new top-of-the-line enlarger had just shipped in, and she’d been itching to try it out, but all she had to work with were old shoots. Old film. Photographs that were taken months, if not even more stale. Her last gallery exhibition was eight weeks ago, and even that work had been shot months prior to that. It had been so long since she’d been able to scour the city—Seattle’s people and buildings and grimy corners—to find some bit of life for her art. Some tiny shred of goodness that she could bring out to say to her hometown, See, all is not lost, even in your days of hatred.

With the multiple attacks on shifters recently, she wondered if that was still true.

She swished the photo paper in the developer until the images came up, rising out of the red darkness to reveal themselves. But there were no surprises. No new angle or viewpoint, no matter how much she cropped or sifted through her old shoots. She used the tongs to pull the print from the developer and slide it into the tray of stop solution. She simply needed new material—and she wasn’t going to get it here at the River pack’s safehouse, tucked up in the mountains, far from the heartbeats of the city.

Only her city wasn’t safe for her anymore.

She moved the print to the fixer solution, then rinsed it in the final bath and hung the newly developed sheet on her clothesline. A heavy sigh escaped her as she gazed at the line of prints covering her wall—four rows high, twenty pictures long, covering two of the four walls with completely useless art. The third wall, the one with the window, had been swathed in light-blocking fabric as soon as she had arrived—two shades, a heavy set of curtains, and black tape around the edges. The fourth wall was taken up by the massive four-postered bed and some artwork that Terra couldn’t remove because it would insult her hosts. They weren’t half bad, actually—the art, not the hosts, who were wondrous. The paintings were realistic renderings of the gorgeous mountains that surrounded the safehouse ranch, but they weren’t exactly her style. They itched at her, day after day, like a tag left in her shirt.

She sighed again, looking back at her own work, and gave up on trying to wrench anything meaningful out of it. Instead, she just switched on the main light for her room, slipped her sketchpad out of her nightstand and curled up on the bed.

During her endless internment at the safehouse, her need to create something new had returned her to an original love—drawing. But what kept rising out of the charcoal lines on her sketchpad was even darker than the things she captured with her camera lens—bombs, body parts, the blown-apart carnage of shifters and metal, cars and buildings reduced to their elemental parts by the hate group that was stalking the sprawling Wilding pack. The bombers weren’t after her specifically, but she was one of the more visible members of her pack, what with her gallery showings and articles in Artist Today. The Wolf Hunter had outed her entire family as shifters in his doxing video, revealing all of their names and addresses, and the random haters in her city were all too eager to work out their dark mental issues in shifter blood and mayhem.