Phoebe Morin thinks vampires are stalking her for the microchip her late husband left taped to the back of a photograph. After a vicious attack, Phoebe finds an unlikely protector in the office nerd, Drew Montana.
Despite his issues with socializing, Drew is curious about the microchip, which seems to hold the secret of the vampire universe. He is also the best one to protect Phoebe; killing the undead is what he does best. During the full moon, the introverted Drew transforms into a sexy, dangerous wolf with a mission to kick vampire ass. But when Phoebe presents him with the mysterious microchip, the full moon has waned. Can he discover its secret and protect Phoebe without the strength of the werewolf?
The wolf shook its head and thick saliva flew from its jaws. Drew couldn’t help but think the gesture was meant to tell him it was useless to run. It took a step forward, its golden eyes luminescent in the darkness.
Drew did what any normal coward would do. He turned and ran like heck.
He didn’t get far.
It slammed into his back, sending him sprawling forward. Dust and dirt went up his nose, a minor irritation compared to the searing pain in his shoulder as the wolf clamped down with its powerful jaws.
Then, it let go.
Drew rolled over, moaning and clutching his wounded shoulder. Through the haze of pain, he saw the wolf tilt back its head and howl. The hair on the back of Drew’s neck stood on end as the eerie sound drenched the night.
The wolf flung itself on the ground, yelping. Its bones stretched, creaked, popped. It writhed, stirring up clouds of dust as the shaggy silver coat receded. The elongated snout bulged before shrinking into a hairless upper lip and chin.
Bile rose in Drew’s throat and he swallowed it down. The pain made him see things. Werewolves weren’t real. They were myths for the ignorant-minded.
Watching the wolf shift and twist in bizarre contortions, he realized this was one myth he should reconsider.
A moment later, an old man sat naked on the jogging path, regarding Drew with cool amber eyes. He raked a hand through thinning white hair.
The burning in Drew’s shoulder faded. He tilted his chin and gawked as the wound knit. Even though covered in blood, the shoulder was as good as new, except for a jagged red scar.
“How?” Drew asked, his voice, a rasping whisper.
With a slight, tired smile, the man said, “I’m old. We need new blood. You’re one of us now.”
The old man lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, and disintegrated into dust, which swirled away in a sudden gust of wind.