Olivia perched on the edge of the leather chair, her back straight, her legs crossed, one high-heeled foot swaying with carefully controlled excitement as Lyon, the powerful chief of the Feral Warriors, paced at the front of the wood paneled war room in Feral House. Outside the sky had grown dark, but inside the room blazed with light and energy.
Her gaze skimmed along the edges of the large conference table, staring at the Ferals with barely concealed awe. Only five were in attendance today – Lyon, the leader of the group, Tighe, Paenther, Wulfe, and the pain-in-the-ass Jag – but they radiated such force, such raw, untamed power, their numbers felt much larger.
Each of the Ferals was exceedingly tall, thickly muscled, and the object of lust of many a Therian woman. Of many a woman, period. They were the guardians of the Therian race, the only remaining shape-shifters on the planet. And they were, quite possibly, all that stood between the world and true destruction.
Amazingly, they’d asked for her help.
Well, not hers specifically. Several weeks ago, Lyon had called the British Guard – the most elite of the highly trained Therian fighting units, and requested a small team of warriors be sent to assist his own. With the Ferals’ numbers down to eight, and the battle heating up on numerous fronts, the Ferals were fast becoming spread too thin and no one knew it better than their leader.
Olivia had been given the assignment to lead the team of three Therian guards to Feral House. The assignment of an immortal lifetime.
Only one thing, one person, dampened the perfection of this moment.
The Feral Warrior, Jag.
From across the huge conference table, Olivia could feel him watching her as keenly as any predator. Though she tried to ignore him, she kept finding herself glancing his way, spearing him with an icy look that only made his eyes crinkle with amusement.
Click HERE to read the first 20% of this book!
End of Excerpt
Read the excerpt from the next book in the The Feral Warriors Series »