Here’s what Romantic Times BOOKreviews has to say about RHYANNON BYRD’S BLOODRUNNERS seriesfrom Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne
Last Wolf Standing
“4 1/2 stars…Fast paced and exciting, Rhyannon
Byrd’s Last Wolf Standing is hard to put down.”
Last Wolf Hunting
“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars.”
Last Wolf Watching
“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars…Rhyannon Byrd’s
compelling, sexy characters and exciting story
make Last Wolf Watching a must read.”
Also available from Rhyannon Byrd
Don’t miss the rest of the dark and sensual
PRIMAL INSTINCT trilogy, coming this autumn
from Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne
Edge of Hunger Now availble
Edge of Desire October 2009
And available from Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne, the BLOODRUNNERS series
Last Wolf Standing
Last Wolf Hunting
Last Wolf Watching
EDGE OF DANGER
BY
RHYANNON BYRD
Dear Reader,
I’m thrilled to present Edge of Danger, the second book in my new PRIMAL INSTINCT series with Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne. Set within a world where paranormal creatures live hidden among an unknowing humanity, this provocative trilogy continues with the story of Saige Buchanan and the dark, devastatingly sexy shape-shifter who steals her heart.
Michael Quinn is a hero who refuses to forget his past…or to risk his future. And yet the instant he sets eyes on Saige in a crowded Brazilian bar, he wants her with a relentless hunger that’s impossible to deny. But Saige has fears of her own. To get what he wants, Quinn must conquer not only his own demons, but those of the wary, tempestuous Buchanan as well.
I’m so excited to be sharing Quinn and Saige’s wickedly seductive romance with you, and I hope it will be one that truly touches your heart!
All the best,
Rhyannon
To my amazing editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, without
whom none of this would have been possible. Endless
thanks for the wonderful guidance, support and insight.
You’re helping me to grow so much as an author and
I’m so incredibly lucky to be working with you!
Embrace the danger…
CHAPTER ONE
Embrace the danger….
Thursday evening
The Amazon
IF THE WOMAN was trying to blend in, she wasn’t very good at it. It’d taken Michael Quinn no more than five seconds to pick her out in the dim, crowded interior of O Diablo Dos Ángels, a rickety roadside barra in the bustling market town of Coroza, Brazil. He’d been traveling for two days now, working his way through the stifling, humid depths of the Amazonian rain forest, and it showed in his haggard appearance. Two days that felt more like weeks, each passing hour grating against his nerves like a rusty nail, until he was in what could only be classified as a category-five, off-the-Richter-scale, completely uncharacteristic foul mood.
Not that he was usually cheery. Normally Quinn just…existed. It’d been years since anything, or anyone, had managed to touch him or throw him off his firm, even keel—and now this. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment he’d been given Saige Buchanan’s photograph, his cool, steady calm had begun to fade, slipping away from him like water spiraling slowly down a drain. And in its wake, he’d been left with this seething intensity…this gripping tension.
What made it even worse was the fact that Quinn hadn’t even wanted the assignment—had, in fact, been adamant in his refusal. And yet, here he was, with his damp shirt sticking to his skin, the heavy scent of tobacco and sweat making his head hurt, while something piercing and uncomfortably sharp slithered through his system at the sight of his prey.
Huh. So this is little Saige, he thought, moving along the wall, away from the door, careful to avoid her line of sight as she sat at a small table on the far side of the room, a bottle of water held in one delicate hand. At her side sat a young man who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, his dark skin, hair and eyes attesting to his Brazilian heritage. The boy’s lips were moving, and though Quinn’s hearing was far better than a human’s, he couldn’t make out the words over the raucous cacophony of sound coming from the crowd.
It seemed a strange setting for an American woman and her young companion, and yet, no one bothered them. Not even the drunks. Was she a regular, then? Under the owner’s protection? Or was there some other reason the locals kept their distance?
Whatever the answer, it couldn’t be from lack of notice. Saige Buchanan stood out among the weathered patrons like a neon sign in the midnight pitch of night, glittering and bright.
Quinn rubbed his palm against the scratchy growth of stubble that came from going several days without a shave, then slowly shook his head, already revising his analogy. No, the reportedly brilliant anthropologist wasn’t brash or bold, like neon. As bright as she shone, there was a soft, almost tender aura about her, which probably made her stick out even more than that angelic face, lush body or unusual shade of hair. Neither red nor brown, it hovered somewhere in between, picking up the soft, hazy glow of light that spilled down from above, struggling against the lengthening evening shadows.
A heavy wooden door suddenly slammed behind the bar and Quinn locked his jaw, marveling that the ramshackle structure didn’t crumble down around them in a pile of mortar and bricks. Flicking a quick glance upward, he was surprised the stained ceiling actually managed to remain in place, even with the various thick support beams wedged between it
