Greta is a werecat whose tribe plans to sacrifice her during the next full moon. Her only hope for survival is Dayne, a sorcerer who once massacred most of the tribe. What’s that thing they say about the enemy of your enemy?
Zoe gives an overview of the book:
The wards dropped as Dayne opened the door to reveal a diminutive black cat with bright golden eyes sitting primly on the middle of his front stoop. She blinked up at him, full of rehearsed pet store innocence, her tail wrapped around her tiny paws.
“You must be kidding me. I don’t take in strays.” He slammed the door. Did the werecat think he couldn’t sense the magic crackling around her? Was she that naive? Perhaps a junior wizard still under apprenticeship would have been fooled, but not someone with his level of experience.
He drained the last dregs of coffee from the mug in the microwave. There was a second knock.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He was going to zap the little miscreant halfway across town and let the preternatural border patrol sort out the pieces.
Dayne opened the door this time with a spell ready on his lips, but stopped short. She was breathtaking, not that this was uncommon in a Were. They tended to have a certain … magnetism. She had short dark hair. And she was leggy, a personal weakness of his. Black leather pants encased her legs as if they’d been stitched onto her. It seemed only magic could have gotten those pants on and would be required to get them off again. A red silky top plunged to reveal ample, but not overpowering cleavage. The werecat had a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and balanced against her hip as if she’d planned to move in.
He held up a hand before little Dayne could cause him to do something colossally stupid. “The wardrobe change doesn’t alter my position, princess.”
“I thought you’d be old,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He gave her points for not stammering that opening line. “What leads you to believe I’m not?”
“I need help.”
Well, she got right down to it, didn’t she? Such a red riding hood. It was intoxicating. In a different mood, with a different species, he might have let her into his lair.
“Not interested. Try the Salvation Army.”
The brunette wedged one high-heeled boot inside the door. “Please. I’ll be killed. The tribe plans to sacrifice me.”
Desperate, frightened eyes.
“And somehow I can’t work up any feeling on that topic. Good-bye now.”
“Wait! You can use my blood.”
Dayne arched a brow. Not quite as naive as she appeared.
“I get my Were blood online. I have no use for you.” In truth, he could think of many uses for her, none of which required the promise of her potent magical blood.
The phone rang, preventing little Dayne from taking over. “If you’ll excuse me.”