Necuratul 2: Rasputin's Rage

Sheri Lewis Wohl

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Grigory Rasputin has waited nearly one hundred years imprisoned beneath the frigid waters of the Pacific Ocean. Now he's returned -- horny, pissed, and determined to reclaim that which had been stolen from him. He indulges every...
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Grigory Rasputin has waited nearly one hundred years imprisoned beneath the frigid waters of the Pacific Ocean. Now he's returned -- horny, pissed, and determined to reclaim that which had been stolen from him. He indulges every fantasy while he plots his revenge amidst the beauty and glory of Vancouver, British Columbia.

Just when she thinks the world is safe again, psychic Catherine "Cat" Lohr feels the stirrings of danger. Reluctantly leaving her enthusiastic lover, shape-shifter, Adam Bell, to follow the trail of an evil killer, Cat returns home to Canada. Powerful as she is, Cat needs the help of another hunter from the ancient order of Anima Mundi to do battle with a force some had called a saint and many more had called a sinner.

Galena Popov leaves her native Russia to answer Cat's call. Galena is ready, as always, for the battle against evil, but she is unprepared for the love and passion she finds in Cat's lifelong friend Robert "Bobby" Shepard. Neither can she deny it.

Attractive and charismatic Grigory Rasputin leads the duo of psychics on a hunt filled with lust, misdirection, and murder. Will Cat be strong enough to stop this soul who heals with one hand and kills with the other, or will the secret Galena holds in her heart doom them all?

  • Note:This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Dubious consent, menage (f/m/f, f/f/m/m), violence (strong).
Cat Lohr was naked, sweaty, and pissed as hell. The sex was great. Then again, when wasn’t it? Wolfman made her body buzz like nothing she’d ever experienced before. And what he could do with his tongue and fingers was enough to make her come just thinking about it. Being pissed off had nothing to do with Adam or the way the gorgeous shape-shifter made love to her.

It had everything to do with that bitch they’d been hunting.

For a little while, the lovemaking had kept her mind and body entertained enough not to think about an evil soul that refused to be destroyed. She hadn’t thought about it until her heart had slowed and Adam had fallen into a deep sleep.

Now, in the silence of the early morning, Cat was as restless as caffeine junky. She wished she could close her eyes and embrace the slumber that made Adam’s chest rise and fall in a smooth and gentle rhythm. It wasn’t happening, and wasn’t likely to either. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that face.

The question Cat couldn’t answer was how had she done it? How had Elizabeth Bathory slipped like sand through their fingers? No wonder the bitch had been smiling even as a bullet had passed through her body. The damn woman had looked right at Cat and smiled. Then, if that hadn’t been weird enough, she’d locked lips with Martin before both of them dropped dead to the floor. The whole thing had been something out of horror movie, and yet it had been incredibly real, as she was to find out later.

She and Adam had believed the body of their mentor and leader, Martin Ludlum, had been loaded onto a plane that would take him home to London. They’d been at the airport, had stood beside the casket that held his body. When Cat had touched the casket to say farewell, the truth flooded her mind and soul with an intensity that dropped her into oblivion. By the time she had come to, the plane was gone and so was Martin’s body, the body that Cat realized was playing host to the soul of one of the most evil women in history.

Throughout the night, her mind was whirling, running over everything she knew and everything she thought she knew. What was that saying -- knowledge is the key? Key to what? Cat wondered. She had the knowledge, and it was doing pretty much squat for her.

Logic dictated that to destroy Bathory once and for all she first had to locate Martin’s body before Bathory had an opportunity to find another living host. The flaw in that particular plan was his body had disappeared somewhere between the Pacific Northwest and the British Isles. The precise where, no one could quite determine. That, in her opinion, was a crock of shit.

It was the twenty-first century, not to mention post-9/11. With security, in theory, tighter than the purse strings of Ebenezer Scrooge before the visiting ghosts, how in God’s name had a casket gotten lost? Really, how could a casket get misplaced? It wasn’t like the box was the size of a suitcase. God knows the airline industry could lose a suitcase, but a casket? It didn’t make sense, logical or otherwise, and it was driving her nuts.

Martin’s missing body was complication enough except that wasn’t the whole of it. Sandy Roberts, the local contact for the division, had fanned the fire even more with his call yesterday. The antique coffin that had been home to Bathory’s body and found during the course of the hunt in a crypt beneath the oldest church in the city had also disappeared. It was about as stupid as the airlines losing Martin.

The church grounds had been taped off due to the murder of both the pastor and his assistant at Bathory’s hand, but because they assumed Bathory had been killed, local law enforcement hadn’t bothered to post even a single officer. Someone -- or something -- had marched in and carted the coffin off, and nobody had stopped them. No one had even seen a thing.

Beside her, Adam groaned and rolled onto his side, throwing an arm across her stomach as he did so. His skin was warm, his arm heavy and comforting. It would be easy to lie back and relax against the security of his body, if she were the kind of woman to depend on a man, which, of course, she wasn’t. She should have headed back home to Vancouver three days ago, and would have if she hadn’t felt so drawn to Adam. Granted, she missed her dogs, but since her house sitter had evolved into a roommate, their care wasn’t an issue, and she found herself still in the good old U.S. of A.

She’d been scared as hell coming here after her less than graceful parting in Romania. She’d made such a fool of herself that pride had her cowering in shame. Gracious as ever, Adam had made it all okay, and she’d felt herself beginning to slide into the love she didn’t want to feel. Love hadn’t been her friend through the years, not to mention all the strings attached to it. She didn’t want the strings; she sure as hell didn’t need the heartache.

As bad as the hunt had been in Romania, this go-round, she hadn’t counted on coming face-to-face with death. That had a way of making all the uncomfortable feelings from before disappear in a snap. Truth was, she was in love with this Spokane Indian with the long black hair, latte-colored skin, and brilliant mind. The fact that he was a shape-shifter who took the form of a wolf didn’t scare her. If pressed, she’d have to admit that not only did it not scare her, it thrilled her. No werewolf here; he was far more than that. In the most ancient of traditions, he was a shape-shifter with powerful tribal roots and one damn fine body in either shape. Yup, Wolfman floated her boat all right.

Cat trailed her fingers across his chest, loving the feel of his smooth skin. Just touching him made her pulse race. It was clear she wasn’t going to sleep, and there was still quite a bit of time before they had to abandon the bed and face the day. There was only one way to stop thinking about that bitch Bathory. She dipped her head to Adam’s chest and ran her tongue across one nipple. It sprang up hard against the heat of her mouth. Sleeping Beauty was about to awaken.

She slipped her hand to his penis, and she stroked with a light touch, teasing him from his slumber. Adam groaned, a sound that came from deep in his throat. One she knew well. Cat smiled and abandoned the nipple, trailing her tongue down his torso to the spot on his belly where black hair curled. His hips moved to meet her searching mouth, and she took the tip of his penis between her teeth, biting gently. He groaned louder.

Oh, yeah, this was so much better than worrying about a psychotic killer from the seventeenth century.

Cat poured all her nervous energy into the project at hand -- or rather, in mouth. She took the length of him between her lips, her tongue teasing and stroking. He was hard, thick, and hot. She had him. As both a man and a wolf, Adam was powerful and magnetic. With a stroke of her tongue, she held the power, and it was heady. Triumph was hers when his fingers grasped her hair, his body shaking all over.

She smiled as she looked up at him with an air of innocence. “Oh, were you asleep?”

His breathing was ragged. “You’re going to kill me yet, woman.”

Sliding up until her head rested on his damp chest, she said, “I hope not. There are a couple of things I haven’t tried yet.”

Copyright © Sheri Lewis Wohl


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