Realm of the Wolf: Wolf Dance Book Excerpt

Realm of the Wolf: Wolf Dance


Rating: Carnal – contains violence and graphic sexual encounters, sex with werewolves in human form. Previously published by NCP in 2004, this work has been revamped to be longer and sexier.


Dark, erotic dreams and eerie phantoms warn of forbidden passions. Long ago, the Sungmanitu Indians withdrew into isolation; what dark secrets were they hiding?

Laura Ellison was soon to find out. The company she works for is planning to send her to Wyoming, where they are preparing to clear-cut the land of the Sungmanitu. A fellow employee has mysteriously disappeared, and the local police are baffled by a string of strange murders.



The land of the Sungmanitu: a place of breathtaking beauty and menacing evil, where Laura will discover the demon who haunts her nightmares, and the dark truth of who she really is. Laura Ellison will defy all warnings and fall in-love with Justin Gray Eagle, the sinister leader of the Wolf People.

© copyright by Lorraine Kennedy, October 2004

Reissued October 2010

Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, October 2010

ISBN 1-58608-252-3

Chapter One


Surrounded by darkness, her heightened senses picked up the scent of damp earth, and blood--so tangy--so sweet. It drove her into a mindless frenzy that threatened to rip away her shell of sanity. Her nails tore at her flesh in a desperate attempt to free herself of her prison of flesh.

The beast was close--she could feel his hunger, his lust. Instinct coursed through her, screaming at her to run, but a dark part of her soul kept her rooted in the midst of the inky darkness.

Though she could not see him, she could sense his nearness, and his hunger--a hunger so powerful, so overwhelming that it seemed to seep through her skin, penetrating into the core of her very being.

Large, powerful hands grasped her legs--spreading them against her will. Her struggles were fruitless against the brute strength that assaulted her. Sharp teeth nipped at the tender skin of her inner thighs, and savage hunger flooded her body as sweet, erotic pain.

The next moment she felt the sensation of a soothing wet tongue licking at her wounds, moving gradually toward that furiously burning need that she could not sate.

A woman's harsh voice came at her from the darkness. "Puta! Run you stupid girl!" the voice hissed.

She could feel his hot breath close to her ear. "Stay with me," he pleaded. Though his voice was soft, there was also an underlying, animal like growl emanating from him.

Thick mist whirled around her, reaching into her nostrils to suck at her life force. In desperation, she clutched at her throat and labored to breathe. A hand grasped her shoulder and gently shook her.

Gradually the fog cleared and she forced her eyes open. The purple hues of dawn were creeping into the small dingy windows of her grandfather's trailer.

"Laura, you are being haunted in your dreams." Grandpa Busby's hoarse voice pulled her further into the waking world. "You should not go on this trip."

Laura sat up, rubbing her sleep-swollen eyes. Getting to her feet, she walked the few steps to the small kitchen of the cramped trailer.

The coffee was fresh, as she knew it would be. Laura poured herself a large cup.

Sipping the soothing liquid, she studied her grandfather through the dim light. He still sat on the edge of the couch where she had slept.

Once again worry gnawed at her. He was old and so frail. The right side of his body no longer worked as well as it once had. This was the result of a stroke that had cut him down only a few years ago. Since that time he used a cane to help him get around.

Each and every day since his illness had struck, Laura had thanked God that he had been spared to walk the path of life with her for just a little while longer.

Long, thin wisps of gray hair framed the old man's deeply lined face. At times his eyes gave the impression of staring off into space, as they were at this very moment. Laura thought it possible that he might be losing his sight, but Grandpa would never admit it. She had tried on many occasions to convince him to move to Santa Fe where he would be near her, but she had received the same answer each time.

"I am Busby, born to the Bitter River People for the Deer Clan. I am Dineh and will die in my own country."

She understood him of course. He had raised her in the tradition of the Navajo and she knew that his homeland was very important to him. Nevertheless, the thought of him out here--all alone--troubled her. If something was to happen and she lost her grandfather--the thought was devastating. He was her only living relative, unless she counted the distant relation of her clansmen.

Laura quietly sipped her coffee, letting the hot liquid soothe her dry throat. Her grandfather's dark eyes seemed to be analyzing her, dissecting her from the inside out.

"Grandpa, you know I have to go to Wyoming. I stopped here to let you know where I'd be." She tried to soothe him.

His old bones burned with age and he grunted with the effort of getting to his feet.

"Don't know why you'd have a hand in that kind of work," he muttered.

Once again, Laura attempted to explain her motives. "It's my life, Grandpa, and I cannot live my life in poverty on this reservation."

"I warned your mother of the consequences of getting mixed up with a Belagana and now your father's ways are bleeding into your spirit." Busby painfully lowered himself to the hard kitchen chair.

"I don't cut the trees, I just work for them." Laura pleaded with him to understand.

"That is enough." Busby's voice contained the stern quality she knew meant he was deeply concerned about something. "If you destroy the earth, bad things will come of it. Already the darkness enters your dreams."

The sun had finally made its majestic appearance and Laura opened the aluminum door to let some light into the trailer. She breathed in the dry desert air. The tangy scent never failed to bring back childhood memories. Most of her memories were good, but the constant lack of food and water cast shadows on some of those memories.

"I don't agree with what they do Grandpa, but I just can't stay here and marry one of my mother's people. Life is too hard here and when I have children of my own, I do not want them to live through the ugliness of poverty. Not if I can prevent it." She tried to explain her reasons, like she had many times before.

The old man got to his feet and walked to the doorway where she stood. "You mean you want to hide your children from the truth of what remains of the Dineh." He brushed past her and slowly descended the steps of the trailer. A few moments later he disappeared into the junipers of the nearby hills where each morning he went to pray.

Maybe her grandfather was right?

Laura was not ashamed of her Navajo blood--she was just not sure that she wanted to share in their destiny, not when there was a life out there free of the dark clouds that existed within the boundaries of the Navajo reservation.

Her strange dream crept back into her thoughts. For two nights now, she had been plagued with the same nightmare. Heat flooded her cheeks as she recalled the details of the dream, and how it left her feeling, but even more troubling than the desire the dream stirred within her, was the fact that she was left with the vague feeling that she was being torn in two different directions.

In the brightness of day the dream seemed too ridiculous to worry about, but she had been brought up in a superstitious world, and doubt nagged at her.

The woman in the dream called her a whore--why? Why would she dream something like that?

Possibly she was feeling guilty? Her grandfather had been needling her since she'd started working for Duccini, and maybe it was finally starting to get to her.

Laura tried to shake the dark dream from her thoughts as she stepped into the small bathroom. She hurriedly changed into a T-shirt and blue jeans, and then ran a brush through her long, golden brown hair. As a result of inheriting her father's coloring and amber eyes, Laura appeared to be more white than Indian. She wasn't entirely sure she was pleased with that fact or not. When she was a child, there were times she'd felt out of place among the Dineh, and it had made her self-conscious.

Returning to the kitchen, Laura prepared the breakfast food that she'd brought with her on the small, propane stove. Once she'd finished, she waited on the steps for her grandfather to return. It was not long before he emerged from the brush, and Laura watched his slow progress across the desert floor.

She felt her throat constrict with emotion and unwelcome tears stung her eyes. The old man had made many sacrifices for her over the years and no matter how she might disagree with him, her heart would never forget that. Laura recalled the times he had pretended not to be hungry so that she would have enough to fill her aching stomach.

Laura set the food on the small wooden table and they settled down to eat. There were no further words between them.

Her eyes scanned the tabletop, taking note of the deep gouges and scars in the wood. Laura's gaze came to rest on some carved letters. Deeper than the rest of the marks on the table, the letters L.E & K.B stood out.

Remembering the day she'd carved them into the wood with her little pocketknife brought back fond memories of her childhood sweetheart. The days of innocence, childish laughter, and Kenny Begay seemed worlds away from her life now.

Finished with breakfast, Busby sat at the table and nursed his coffee while Laura tidied up the kitchen. When the kitchen was clean, Laura knelt beside her grandfather.

"I'll have to be leaving now. I'm due at the field office the day after tomorrow, but I'll be back soon, a couple of weeks ... maybe." She made a feeble attempt to put some cheer into her voice.

"The Indians up there, they have given your boss the rights to cut?" His voice betrayed his doubt.

"Yes, we received the release just a few days ago. It clearly states they have signed off cutting rights to the land surrounding Beaver Creek."

"I find it a hard thing to believe that the Shoshone would hand over their land to butchers of the earth." He was clearly skeptical.

"They are not Shoshone." Laura paused, trying to remember the name of the tribe that had laid claim to the area. "I believe they call themselves, Sungmanitu. From what I have been able to gather, they broke off from their main band years ago and settled a small part of the land in the area--forming their own community."

Laura was busy packing and failed to notice the way her grandfather's face had drained of color or the way his features distorted with fear.

"It's better if you do not go there, something's wrong about this. Why do they need you there?"

Snapping her suitcase shut, Laura took a deep breath and patiently tried to explain the situation. "The people there are not real happy about the situation and they need a

P.R. specialist to try and smooth the way for a while."

She felt it would be better not to add the fact that Dan Mitchell had disappeared shortly after forwarding the release documents. In addition to her other duties, she had been instructed to find out what she could about Dan too.

Franklin Duccini was a shrewd businessman, and smart enough to know that without Dan, there could be a problem. The Sungmanitu could contest the legality of the release documents, and without Dan as a witness, things could get messy.

"Grandpa, I have to go now." She stood next to him, holding her bags.

Busby took hold of her arm. "Be careful," he whispered in a raspy voice.

Laura's eyes widened in shock--a sudden rush of fear caught in her throat. "Grandpa, are you feeling well?"

Putting down her bags, Laura kneeled beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. Never before had he been so adamantly against her work.

He gazed at her with a wisdom that one can only obtain with the passing of many years. "You must promise me something, Laura."

"If I can, Grandpa."

"Stay far away from the Sungmanitu ... they are dangerous."

"What do you know of them?" Laura's curiosity was peaked.

The old man shook his head. "Stay away from them, Laura."

* * * *

The summer sun was climbing high in the turquoise sky and the surrounding desert shimmered with the rising heat. Laura drove west toward Arizona--she felt a slight sense of dread as she left New Mexico behind her.

Laura took her eyes from the road for only a split second to fiddle with the knobs on the stereo. When she looked back up her heart jumped into her throat. In the middle of the road stood an old woman--her bulkiness covered with a thin cotton blouse and blue skirt. Streaks of gray ran through the black hair that was neatly bound in a tight bun at the back of her head.

Her panicked consciousness took all this in as she was instinctively slamming on the breaks. The tires squealed and her red Bronco slid off the road, missing the woman by mere inches.

Still dazed, Laura scrambled out of the vehicle. The woman stood in the same spot, as if the near miss had not affected her in the least. The old lady just stood there-- staring with piercing black eyes that seemed to cut through Laura's soul.

Raising her hand, the woman pointed in the direction from which Laura had come. "Go back, Puta! The way you go leads only to darkness. Go back before it's too late."

Laura felt faint. It was the same voice she heard in her dreams. Shards of light burst forth in her head and Laura squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to block out the sudden ball of pain. When the throbbing finally subsided and she was able to pry her eyes open, the woman was gone. Laura quickly scanned the area but the specter was nowhere to be seen.

With her stomach twisting into knots, a wave of nausea overtook her. Laura leaned against the Bronco until the feeling began to pass.

Reaching inside, she grabbed a canteen of water. Taking the cap off, she brought the water up to her dry, parched lips. Laura took several swallows before capping the canteen and putting it back in its place on the floorboard.

Circling the car, Laura checked for damage. Fortunately everything seemed to be in order. Still too shaken to drive, Laura sat in the driver's seat and rested while trying to gather her wits. It must be heat sickness, she concluded. The woman could not have vanished into thin air.