Hour of the Lion
What reviewers are saying about Cherise Sinclair…
This author should be at the top of every reader's favorite list!
~ Shannon The Romance Studio
If you haven't read a Cherise Sinclair book, you should certainly pick one up. Apparently, no matter the genre, you just can't go wrong.
~ Jae Dark Diva Reviews
If you‘ve not experienced the fantastic work of Cherise Sinclair, now‘s a good time to start.
~ Fern Whipped Cream Reviews
Hour of the Lion — Erotic paranormal ménage romance
A dedicated covert ops agent, Victoria Morgan follows two rules: do your duty, and protect the innocent. When she gets bitten by a werecat—yeah, that was a sucky day—she must investigate beings that shouldn't even exist. Just how is she supposed to tell if a person is human…or an animal-shifter who eats raw meat for breakfast?
During her investigation, she finds a real home and friends for the first time. Now, scientists are waiting for her to turn into something four-legged with a tail, the shifters suspect her of spying, and she has fallen in love with two werecat brothers. Should she do her duty and expose their existence? Or should she follow her heart and protect them with all of her deadly skills.
Hour of the Lion
VanScoy Publishing Group
Copyright June 2011 by Cherise Sinclair
Published by VanScoy Publishing Group
Cover Artist: For The Muse Design
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this eBook only. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
That was a really bad dream, Vic thought, though it had started well enough. Looking up at her father, trying not to fidget, she‘d recited the marketplace gossip, and she‘d remembered every detail too. He‘d actually smiled and said he couldn‘t do without her. But somehow twenty years had passed, her boss stood over her hospital bed and was saying a disabled soldier wasn‘t any good to him. He‘d walked away, leaving her there. Alone.
Even now, wide awake, she felt the aching loss in her chest.
Only…the ache was real. Her ribs really did hurt. This was more than a nightmare residue.
Her sniper-damaged knee ached like a pulled tooth, and her skull throbbed like hell. Couldn‘t be a hangover. She hadn‘t tied one on since Wells recruited her into his estrogen-heavy, covert ops unit.
When she opened her eyes, light blasted through them like a frag grenade, and she barely managed to muffle the moan. Just the thought of turning her head had bile flooding her mouth.
Then don"t move, Sergeant. Just assess. She was curled up with her cheek resting on cold cement. An ugly feeling crept up her spine when she realized her hands were tied in front of her.
Narrowing her eyes to slits, she took stock of the room. Exposed beams, cinder-block walls, and tiny rectangular windows near the ceiling. The stench of feces and sickness mingled with a musty smell like mildewing socks. Basement.
A gray-haired woman lay nearby, her back to Vic. Familiar-looking. That was it. Her memory engaged.
Rescuing a woman who was trying to escape from a man. Check.
Didn‘t win. Check.
Now, tied up in a basement. Check.
Probably concussed, too, considering the speed of her thinking. Her day had definitely gone to hell. I might as well be working. Why the hell had she risked her life when a phone call to the police would have worked?
The answer to that really sucked. She‘d acted all macho—and stupid—to prove she still had it. That she wasn‘t irreparably damaged. But she was. In the hospital, Mr. Show-no-emotions Spymaster had looked at her with pity; he didn‘t think she‘d heal enough to return to duty. So she‘d jumped right into the first fight she could find. Act any dumber and I might as well be a guy.
Well, with luck, her inept rescue could be salvaged. The idiots hadn‘t tied her legs.
Hearing footsteps, Vic froze, watching through dark eyelashes as the guy she‘d fought appeared. Shaved head, built like a linebacker, all muscle. Ripped off sleeves showed tattoos: eagle, globe, and anchor; bulldog; skull and crossed rifles.
'Hey, BeastieBoy.' The man walked to a metal kennel near the stairs. A naked teenager with shaggy blond hair huddled in the far corner of the cage. Shivering. Scared half to death.
Eyes sunken, he was skinny, as if he hadn‘t eaten in weeks. Bruises and abrasions—even burns—marred his fair skin.
Vic‘s breath hitched. Tortured?
Baldy slapped the top of the cage with his fist, making the kid jump. 'You ready for another session, pussy cat? Just tell me how to make new beasts, and I won‘t hurt you anymore.'
'I won‘t tell you anything.' The boy‘s voice cracked on the last word.
Brave kid. Vic cheered silently even as her stomach tightened in fear for him. And what did the asshole mean by making new beasts?
'Dumb fuck.' Baldy raised a long rod—a cattle prod. The kid was as far back as he could get, but it wasn‘t far enough. He jerked at the shock of the prod, and the bastard didn‘t stop, kept jamming with the prod until the boy screamed.
Teeth grinding together, Vic yanked at her ropes.
And then the kid...blurred.
A huge tawny cougar stood where the boy had been. A chilling snarl ripped through the room, echoing off the concrete walls. The hair on Vic‘s arms rose.
What the hell? Kid one moment, the next, a...a mountain lion. She sucked in a hard