Shaking her head, Regan climbed the steps of her porch and unlocked her front door.She entered her home, closed the door behind her and headed straight for the shower, stripping as she went.It was time for normal life to resume.
For her, at least.
The early-morning sun streamed into her bedroom through the open side window like a stroke of brilliant gold paint, casting everything in a warm hue and turning the dust motes on the air into dancing points of white-gold light.
Eyes still closed, Regan stretched, arms extending up and out, back bowing into a deep curve.Rick Deluca—a vet she’d known since her university days and had dated off and on for the past three months—had commented more than once how cat-like she looked when first waking.Regan took it as a compliment.She liked cats.They were creatures of grace and feline beauty.If she had to be compared to animal, a cat was fine and dandy with her.
A gust of warm wind blew through the window and the organza curtains billowed, brushing against her bare legs and tummy.Groaning low, Regan opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.Why did her body ache like she’d been hit by a bus?
Her tired mind drew a complete blank.
For a disoriented second.
“Oh, bloody hell!”She smacked her palm to her forehead and dragged her hand down her face.“Epoc’s lab.”
Shit!What a complete cock up.
An image of a sad and dying German Shepherd filled her head and guilt flooded through her.She’d failed too many creatures this morning.The shepherd’s brown eyes grew light, cooler, and suddenly it was the wolf’s silver gaze staring at her.The wolf that saved her.
Saved her by ripping out the throat of a human.
A twinge of cold apprehension fluttered in her stomach and she swallowed.The guard, Blue Eyes, was never going to be a potential Nobel Peace Prize recipient, but no one deserved being mauled to death by a wolf, no matter how hideous they were.
Squinting against the bright morning sun, wishing like hell she could turn back time, Regan peered at her alarm clock.
Six twenty-seven.
She groaned again.“You’ve got to be kidding!”She’d only been asleep for two hours?What the hell woke her?
For a moment, Regan listened to the call of slumber beckoning her again:Another thirty minutes, that’s all.C’mon, y’know you want to.She wiggled on the sheets, the cool cotton caressing her bare skin like soft kisses.Oh, how tempting…
Her stomach however, had other ideas.She had after all neglected it for the last twelve hours.Now it grumbled loud enough she expected the neighbors to run from their homes screaming “earthquake”.With a very unladylike snort, she shook her head.There was no way she was going back to sleep now.
She climbed from her bed and padded barefoot across the polished floorboards of her bedroom, heading for the small but very cozy living room.Sydney wasn’t the cheapest city in Australia to live.Finding an affordable place halfway decent had been almost as draining and traumatic as her regular lab raids.Her home, tucked high on the northern hill overlooking Bondi Beach, may be the size of a postage stamp, but it was hers, not the bank’s and she loved it.Big enough for her king-size bed, third-hand sofa, old TV and a terrarium in the corner for Rex when he wanted to soak up some heat-lamp rays.
She studied the living room, wondering if the adult frill-neck lizard was waiting for his breakfast.
Nope.
A small grin pulled at her lips.He was probably sulking under the fridge.“Let me get my caffeine fix first, Rex!”she called to the absent lizard, shuffling toward the kitchen and its already percolating coffee machine.“Then I’ll get dressed and tell you about the nightmare?—”
A low whine stopped her dead.
With a frown creasing her brow, Regan turned.
And saw the wolf.
CHAPTERTWO
Nathan Epoc stormed across the expansive floor of his opulent bedroom, his head aching with enraged agony.
Fucking do-gooder, animal-rights activists.
ActivIST, Nathan.ActivIST.There was only one.A female.A single, unarmed female.
Hot blood pulsed through his head like a molten trip-hammer and he scowled, running his palms over the smooth dome of his scalp.One little bitch.One little do-gooder, animal-rights activist bitch causing all this trouble.He glared out the glass wall of his bedroom.
Sydney Harbor sprawled before him, so blue it almost hurt to look at—a cerulean blanket bejeweled by the dazzling dawn sun and gleaming white boats.The bone-white arcs of the Sydney Opera House curved up and over the horizon to his right, a defining monument of architectural brilliance for a young country.Money could not buy the view afforded through every window of his home, only power.Absolute power.And he—Nathan Epoc—hadabsolute power.Had it.Wielded it.Wasit.
