AMAZON KINDLE VERSION A Siberian Werewolf In London EDITED 3 9 2012

A Siberian Werewolf in London

Book Two of the Siberian Volkov Pack Series

By

Caryn Moya Block

Published By Caryn M. Block

Copyright © 2012 Caryn M. Block

Cover Design by Jirves GFX

Male Model Photo by Hot Damn Designs.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

DEDICATION

To my sons, Chadwick and Christopher Block.

“Dreams can come true.”

Special thanks to my readers who are part of the dream.

To Paula Scott Luddy and Judith Dreyer, my cheerleaders,

and Bette Hileman, my editor, I couldn’t have done it without you
.

CHAPTER ONE

Breathing deeply, Melisande Reule stepped from the cab in front of the London Hilton. She looked down at her wrinkled blue suit and sighed. Seven hours in an airplane would crease any material. She smiled as she glanced around. Another city and another experience—new foods to try, new people to meet. The sun was shining; it was a glorious day. She wanted to drink a pint of warm beer, tour a castle, and search out all the tapestries in the English museums. She thought about skipping in her happiness but was afraid she might trip in her high heels. Dressing for success didn't lend itself to skipping. Besides, at thirty she was a little old for that and didn’t want to embarrass herself. So Melisande strolled into the lobby, her head held high, pulling her suitcase behind her as she walked up to the desk.

“Sandy, darling, I'm so glad you made it,” a voice called from across the lobby, waving at the young woman who entered.

Grigori Solovyov, a Siberian lycanthrope, straightened from the marble column he had been resting against. His wolf senses flared, his claws started to break through his fingertips. He felt wildness surge within him. Hair began to push through his flesh. His clothes irritated his inflamed skin. He wanted to howl. But he was standing in the lobby of a posh hotel in London. He couldn't risk someone noticing his reactions.

Grigori
subdued
his wolf spirit, taking deep breaths to calm his animalistic side. He stared at the young woman who had walked into the building and triggered his responses. Never before had he lost control. Never before had he felt so out of control. A word reverberated through his soul. "Mate.” Could it be? Was it possible? Unable to stop himself, he moved closer to her.

He felt her irritation as she dealt with the
aristocratic
woman in the big hat. But it was the woman in the blue suit who held his interest. She was exquisite, her figure slim, her carriage tall, her long blond hair swept into a twist at the nape of her neck. She turned, and he noticed how her cobalt silk suit matched her blue eyes. She walked with confidence. She looked educated and independent.

Grigori listened to her conversation without guilt. Lycans learned different languages very easily. In addition to his native Russian, Grigori knew how to speak English, French, and Chinese.

He wanted to touch her, hold her, watch her eyes darken in pleasure as he buried himself deep within her, binding their souls together forever. He needed to know her name. He needed to claim her. He couldn’t deny it. It was instinctual. This woman was his other half. She would complete him.

The young woman reluctantly turned toward the aristocratic woman. "Lady Ashtown, I just arrived. I thought our appointment was for tomorrow at
three
.”

"Of course dear, but I’m wondering if you want to come over tonight to see the collection," Lady Ashtown said.

"I'm sorry, but I have another appointment this evening. I hope you understand.”

"Oh, of course, dear. I guess it can wait until tomorrow. Well, I'll run over to Harrods and see what’s new. I can always use a nice pair of shoes. See you tomorrow, Sandy," Lady Ashtown said, as she waved and sauntered toward the door.

"It's Melisande, or Meli, but it is
never
Sandy," Melisande said as she continued to the counter.

Grigori smiled as he heard her mutter. She was a feisty little thing. He walked up and stood next to her at the front desk. He noticed how the top of her head would come to the bottom of his chin. She would fit him perfectly.

"Yes, sir?" the hotel clerk asked, giving Grigori an appreciative smile.

"I believe this lovely lady was here first," he said, gesturing toward his mate.

"Thank you, sir. How wonderful it is to know gentlemen still exist," the woman answered, her voice flowing over him like warm rain. She turned to the clerk. "You have a reservation for Melisande Reule.”

Grigori waited patiently while Melisande went through the process of checking in. Melisande was a lovely name. He inhaled her scent, taking it deep into his lungs. She smelled like roses on a hot afternoon. He wanted to taste her to see if she would taste as sweet. He felt his canines lengthen and forced his wolf back again. It demanded its mate. Grigori listened to her voice, the sweet tones washing over him as she spoke to the clerk. She completely mesmerized him. He almost missed her room number, 403.

Melisande smiled at him and turned to walk away, but Grigori needed to touch her. Smiling his most charming smile, he stepped in front of her as he offered his hand.

"Welcome to London, Melisande. I am Grigori Solovyov. I hope I can see you again.”

"Thank you, sir. You are too kind," she said as she placed her hand in his. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, caressing her. He liked the feel of her. Her skin was so soft.

"Grigori, please . . .” he encouraged her.

Grigori, it was a pleasure meeting you," she said, slowly pulling her hand free.

Grigori reluctantly released her. She smiled as if she felt his struggle and turned to walk to the elevators, the
bellboy
trailing behind her. Grigori watched her go, his fingers still tingling from the shock of electricity that had passed between them at first touch. She was the one. If he tried hard, he saw a sliver of yellow light trailing after her, the beginning of the mating bond taking hold.

He yearned for her to look back, to be curious, to need to see him once more, to know that the mating heat affected her now that he had touched her. A hunter scenting prey, he waited. As the elevator opened, she turned. Her face flushed when she realized he was watching her, but he rewarded her with a smile and a slight nod of the head. Perfect, she was absolutely perfect.

His trip to London was looking up. Grigori loved the hunt, and this prize was the most important. She was his mate, his true love, the one woman born for him. He would have her. It was beyond anything he had ever hoped for.

There were no mates in Siberia for the males of the pack. Grigori had believed he was destined to be alone, doing his duty to the pack but never having a family of his own. As the elevator doors closed, taking Melisande from his sight, the clerk cleared her throat, trying to gain his attention.

"Can you tell me where the nearest florist is?" he asked.

Once the clerk wrote down the address, Grigori headed for the door. Flipping open his cell phone, he called Dmitry Volkov, the Alpha of the Siberian lycan pack, telling him he would be delaying his trip back to Siberia.

Melisande looked back at Grigori. What was it about the man? His voice had passed over her like warm honey. She felt her nipples tighten and a flush of warmth between her legs. With his muscular
physique
and emerald-green eyes, he was dangerous. His hair, brown and silky, was tied at his neck with a leather thong. She longed to run her hands through it. The attraction between them was strong and instant.

He was dressed in a black silk suit, looking like a lord of a castle. His accent sounded Russian. She pictured him riding a large black horse through the forest. He was beautiful, and she wanted to leap into his arms and never let him go. The temptation overwhelmed and unnerved her. She had never felt such strong reactions to a man.

Jumping into his arms would scandalize Lady Ashtown and her friends. Since Melisande was here to work for them, she couldn't afford to cause a scene. She was the foremost authority on medieval textiles, traveling here to date a tapestry from Lord and Lady Ashtown’s collection. Melisande hoped if they liked her work, they would tell their friends. She might get several new contracts as a result of this first one. Word-of-mouth was always her best resource.

Melisande let the bellboy open her door, and she walked in her room. It was bright and airy, with a queen-size bed prominently displayed. The light drew her to the windows, and she looked out to see a view of the Thames. The sunshine on the water made it sparkle and glimmer. She handed the bellboy a tip and, once he left, locked the door.

She walked back to the windows and this time looked down along the walkway running parallel to the river. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the gorgeous man on the sidewalk below. As if he felt her gaze, he stopped and turned. Grigori's eyes found hers, and she felt branded. His smile weakened her knees. She raised her hand in a tentative little wave. He bowed to her in response, then turned and continued on his way. Unable to move from the window, Melisande watched until he disappeared into the crowd. Why was she so drawn to this man? She wanted to follow him, never letting him out of her sight.