Priscilla Devereaux watched morosely from the cafe across the street as Nancy Pace left the sheriff's office where her dark-skinned fiancee worked. Everyone seemed to be happy but her. Even that no good law officer had a steady girl that she was sure he was fucking. Only she was alone, it seemed, and she didn't like it. Priscilla was very unused to being deprived of anything, and having been spurned by Mark Denning at the conference at the Radisson, the fire of envy and resentment burned strong. It had been almost two months, that time in his hotel room when she had taken his cock in her mouth and given him supreme joy, only to be rejected and turned out of his room and his life, in favor of that nasty little blonde bitch that sang in church and did nothing but make people love her and want her! Silly little twat! Even now she was off on some island in the Caribbean, fucking her, Priscilla's, sweetheart Mark.

Priscilla didn't like the situation, would not countenance it. She wanted her revenge on DesirЋe and she wanted Mark back. She would have things her way, however. She would!

It mattered little to the sleek and powerful German Shepherd dog – a mixed breed with a small amount of feral wolf – that the small town's streets had been brightened with additional lamp, lantern, even fired torch-light. He merely clung more stealthily to the inevitable shadows of the warm summer night, avoiding with ease the clumsy patrolling male-humans who sought to destroy him. A balanced sense of avenged pride burned warmly in his deep muscular chest; through their females, he had punished them for the brutal beating he had received at the hands of their black sheriff, satisfying the primeval law instinctively imbedded in his uncanny animal-brain. Yet, in so doing, he had rekindled the banked embers of another smoldering force from the dawn of time, a seething aberrant urge that had brought him down from the hills again this night.