I’ve completed the first draft of Izabel, third in the Wolves of Sorrow series of short novels, and will let it simmer for a few weeks before returning for a second pass to iron out any noticeable kinks. Would love to get one or two more reliable beta readers on board, so if you’re interested, drop me a line in the comments below, contact me on Facebook or Twitter, or shoot me an email. The fourth in that series, Jelayan, is still in the planning stages, though I think I have most of the story beats figured out. The single flash which later became Shoba’s book is the gift that keeps on giving.
Izabel Canavar is a wolf with a secret. Ranoch Til is the security director of Korlyn’s Glen assigned to help Sorrow’s warriors integrate into the various martial units on their new home planet. Will a chance meeting become the start of something beautiful?
This snippet is from Chapter One. A storm unlike any seen on Earth Prime for centures rolls into the wolves’ small community on the outskirts of Korlyn’s Glen. As the pack emerges from their homes to play in the rain, Izabel gets her first real look at the Rifaniir security director. And likes what she sees.
In a nearby doorway, someone gasped. In another, she heard a startled yip. It rarely rained in Sorrow and never like this. She licked her lips and tasted only clean, pure water. This was a feast after a lifetime of famine. It was real, truly real. Izabel closed her eyes and let the water wash over her.
She laughed while rain fell from the sky as far as the eye could see. Holding her arms wide, she spun in a circle and let it soak into her hair, her clothing, her skin, her very soul. A giggling pup darted from a nearby den, followed by another. Then another. Soon, the street was full of muddy pups and awestruck wolves.
She stumbled in the mud and large hands gripped her waist to steady her. “Careful.”
The voice, as deep as the thunder which rumbled and growled overhead, brushed across her ear in a gentle caress. His hands were warm through her wet clothing, his touch firm but not bruising. She shuddered again, but not from fear or cold. She liked the voice and the touch even more than the reality of the rain.
Laughter still curving her lips, Izabel turned to thank him. The words died on her lips, her laughter fading into utter enchantment. The Rifaniir male was a dream made real. Tall and stocky with a broad chest and muscular shoulders, he was striking in his uniform. The rain plastered his dark hair to his head, water beading on his long lashes before dripping down his cheeks. His lips were full, his jaw and upper lip covered by a neat moustache and beard. And when she looked into his eyes, she didn’t see galaxies. She saw a forest of fairy lights in greens and golds and autumn reds. Beautiful and captivating.
“Thank you.” The words were barely a whisper, stunned fascination gripping her throat and stealing her breath.
“Any time,” he murmured, his eyes wide and locked on hers.
If she were a fanciful sort of person, she’d think he’d fallen into fascination with her. She was the pack’s healer, too sensible to believe such foolishness. Still, his hands remained on her hips, and he hadn’t walked away. No, he’d stepped closer, and his eyes roamed over her, devoured her.
She swallowed to moisten her dry throat. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Izabel.”
His thumbs brushed against her hips, the light caress penetrating her wet clothing to stroke over her skin. “Ranoch.”
Wolves of Sorrow: Izabel, September 20, 2022