"A great combination of paranormal abilities, mortal angst and great storytelling."
Reviewed by Vicky Gilpin
Posted October 18, 2010
Romance Historical | Romance Paranormal
Caitrin Macleod usually does not leave the women who are
like her sisters, her coven. However, one of them needs
Caitrin's help, so she's a bit out of her element in
England. She's even more out of her element when the
handsome rogue Dashiel Thorpe nibbles on her shoulder in
her host's study. Even on her flight back home, Caitrin cannot shake Dashiel,
and he's as determined as a dog on a scent. This makes
sense, as Dashiel's biological father was a Lycan, a wolf
shapeshifter, and Dashiel is headed to Glasgow for
training. Caitrin doesn't know how to react to Dashiel,
since he is the only person about whom she doesn't get
visions; in fact, being in his arms keeps the visions from
others at bay. A quick read and as engrossing as the previous two in the
series, THE TAMING OF THE WOLF combines paranormal
abilities, mortal angst and great storytelling.
SUMMARY
Regency England Has Gone to the Wolves! He Could Never Lose Control... Dashiel Thorpe, Earl of Brimsworth, has spent his life
fighting the wolf within him. But when the full moon rises,
Dash is helpless. A chance encounter with Caitrin Macleod on
a moonlit night inadvertently binds the two together
irrevocably, and Dash's impulsiveness plunges them both into
a nightmare... She Never Saw Him Coming... Caitrin Macleod is no quiet country lass, but a witch with
remarkable abilities. But when it comes to Dashiel, she's as
helpless to fight his true nature as he is. Her senses
overwhelmed, she runs back to the safety and security of her
native Scotland... But Dashiel is determined to follow her - she's the only
woman who can free him from a fate worse than death. And
Caitrin will ultimately have to decide whether she's running
from danger, or true love...
ExcerptOne
Westfield
Hall, Hampshire
January
1817
Caitrin
Macleod vowed never to step foot in England again--or at
the very least,
to keep her distance from Lycans in the future.
She
stopped mid-pace to look out the bedroom window, her breath
fogging
the pane. She wiped it away with the flat of her hand and
stared out
into the darkness. She'd stayed in her bedchamber all day
and now most
of the night.
It
was safer for everyone that way.
The
visions had started days ago, wild visions where she saw
wolves and
their mates together under the light of the moon. There
were several
of them, all part of a family of Lycans. She was quite
familiar with
those Lycans, because her coven sister, Elspeth, had
married into the
family. Most days, they were simply the Westfield family.
But one night
each month, the male members walked on four feet instead of
two under
the light of the full moon.
Those
visions weren't troublesome; she was quite used to them.
But lingering
around the edges of her visions was a wild wolf, an
outsider. A danger.
The Westfields were aware of the threat and had, indeed,
prepared themselves
to handle it.
She'd
begun to see visions of a golden wolf, the wild one,
earlier that very
day. She knew what mischief he'd cause before the night was
over. But
she couldn't tell the others what she'd seen, or she'd risk
affecting
the future. And she didn't want to be the one to disrupt
the natural
order of events. The results could be disastrous.
To
avoid breaking that unspoken rule, she'd locked herself in
her guest
room at Westfield Hall and refused to come out. She'd not
set foot out
the door and had only opened it briefly to take her meals.
She'd wished
several times for something to help her pass the time. At
the rate she'd
been pacing, she would wear a hole in the duke's Aubusson
rug before
long. That thought made her smile.
Caitrin closed her eyes tightly and
tried to will the vision of the Westfield wolves into her
mind. She
sighed with contentment when she realized all was well. The
danger to
them had passed, and she was now free to leave the prison
of her own
making. None of them would return until the sun rose in the
sky. The
estate was empty except for her and any servant who
happened to be still
awake. No one would know if she donned her silk wrapper and
sneaked
downstairs to retrieve her book while everyone was away.
Maybe then
she could try to get a few hours of sleep.
She
crossed to the chamber door and opened it quietly. On bare
feet, she
padded along the hallway and down the main staircase. The
last place
she remembered having her book was in the duke's study.
Cait
turned the corner into the study and stopped short.
Standing behind
the duke's desk was a tall man, one she'd yet to meet. Most
of him was
hidden in shadow, but his face was lit by the moonlight
that filtered
through the drapes. He was a blond Adonis, tall and lean. A
vague memory
of him, maybe from one of her visions, created unease
within her.
A
small gasp escaped her throat when he turned his amber gaze
her way.
"I'm
sorry. I dinna ken anyone was up at this hour." She turned
to leave.
"Don't
go," he said. Then he closed his eyes tightly and took a
deep breath.
"You needed something in Blackmoor's study?"
"Aye,
I left a book in here yesterday when I came ta find Her
Grace." She
glanced quickly around the room, though she didn't
immediately see her
copy of Maria Edgeworth's Patronage. "Perhaps I left
it in the library." Perhaps I should
run as fast from this room as my legs will carry me.
"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked,
his tone amazingly familiar. As though he'd known her for a
lifetime.
"Aye.
At times, I canna get thoughts out of my head." Why had she
told him
that? He probably didn't care to hear how her visions
played in her
mind at all hours of the day and night, preventing her
rest.
He
walked around the desk and perched a hip on it. His hips
were narrow,
his shoulders broad. Stop
ogling the man's body, Cait. His
eyes narrowed at her, as though he knew she had a secret.
She closed
her eyes and tried to get a vision of him, something to
tell her who
he was. But her mind was blank, which was more than
disconcerting. Her mind was blank? That had never
happened before.
"I
canna tell yer future," she muttered under her breath.
"Pardon?"
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Ah,
there's my book," she said, smiling at him, hoping he'd
believe she
hadn't a care in the world. She picked up a small, black
leather book
that lay on the desk behind him. It wasn't hers, but it
would have to
do.
Before
she could turn around, he reached out and grabbed her by
the waist.
She couldn't even utter a gasp as he drew her body flush
against his.
Her breath stilled.
"What
are ye--" she began, but he covered her mouth with his, his
lips hard
and urgent.
She shouldn't let a man she'd never
met before take such liberties. But he smelled so good.
Felt so good.
Tasted so good.
Her
tongue rose to meet his as a whimper of pleasure left her
throat. Her
heart beat wildly as he tilted his head and deepened the
kiss.
Cait
had been kissed before, but never like this. Never so
thoroughly that
she couldn't think straight. Never so expertly that her
legs threatened
to buckle. Never with enough passion that she could drown
in it.
A
tug to her hair sunk into her consciousness. He pulled her
head back
and looked into her eyes. He gently tugged, guiding her
head until it
leaned to the side, exposing her neck. She nearly jumped
when his lips
brushed feather-light down the side of her jaw as he
trailed a kiss
down her throat. He pulled at the neck of her wrapper and
nightrail
until they opened, baring her shoulder to his gaze. She
shivered.
When
he reached the place where her neck met her shoulder, he
sucked at the
tender spot and then nipped her gently. It was the most
sensual thing
she'd ever experienced. Light-headed, she heard a moan
escape her throat. More. More, please.
He
nipped her again, then opened his mouth wide and bit
through the tender
skin of her shoulder, jerking her instantly from the
passion-induced
haze.
"Ow!"
she cried and smacked his shoulder. "That hurt!"
The
pain of the bite broke through the lust-soaked area of her
brain, which
she'd never known existed, and she smacked him again. One
moment, he'd
had her warmer than a fire in the grate on a cold winter
night. The
next, she was raising her hand to her neck to appraise the
puncture
wound he'd created on her shoulder.
She
punched his chest. "Why did ye bite me, ye big lout?" she
asked
as she rubbed the wound, dabbing at the small amount of
blood from the
bite, and scowled at him.
"I
didn't mean--" he started.
But
she didn't let him explain as she turned and fled from the
study.
"Come
back," he called quietly. She heard him, but she ran down
the corridor
and up the stairs as fast as her feet would take her.
Cait
slammed the door to her room, threw the little leather book
to the bed,
and ran to the mirror. Baring her shoulder, she appraised
the wound,
which looked like a crescent-shaped bite mark, the same
shape as his
mouth. Blast him! He'd bitten her. And for the life
of her, she couldn't
understand why.
Well,
she wasn't going to stay around Westfield Hall and let any
other guest of the duke maul her. Not even if he
looked
like a Greek god and smelled positively delicious, like the
outdoors
and citric shaving lotion rolled together. They were ill-
mannered English
swine, the lot of them, and she'd had her fill.
Cait's
cheeks were aflame as she remembered standing so close to
the man in
the study. She'd behaved like a common trollop. It was just
another
reason for her to leave for Edinburgh as quickly as
possible. She was
obviously losing her mind.
She'd
always prided herself on her comportment, though her
behavior in the
study was seriously lacking. The man was just so
mysterious. In her
twenty years, she'd never met anyone whose future, either
immediate
or otherwise, hadn't popped into her head. The blond Adonis
was like
a blank page with nothing written on it. She couldn't blame
herself
for being curious, could she?
The
bite on her shoulder burned slightly, and she frowned with
a fresh wave
of irritation. She'd already stayed in England longer than
she'd planned.
It was time to go home.
Cait
stomped over to the bellpull and tugged hard. She probably
woke every
servant in residence, but at the moment, she couldn't be
bothered to
care. She needed to leave Hampshire, leave England, for
good and never
look back.
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