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SPECIAL: A FREE EBOOK (A Woman of Wolves Borne) is included with the purchase of this title.
 Terrified of his bestial side, the werewolf Dan Sullivan lives a reclusive life, fixing old manuscripts and watching bad horror films, but when he meets the beautiful and seductive Gwen, his solitary life is turned upside down. He finds himself drowning in her affections. Perhaps she’s rude and callous, but lonely Dan is willing to overlook her faults for a chance at love and marriage, especially one that makes him feel human.
But when Gwen discovers his dark secret, her murderous intentions are revealed, and Dan discovers that even the fairest face can hide a monster. Now trapped in his wolf’s body with little hope of every regaining his human form, the real fight for his life begins....  "A real gem! The book grabs you from the first page and takes you through the whole gambit of emotions. This is one book I had trouble putting down and will definately be re-reading!" - Raven Reviews
"In this book, Bannerman handles an unconventional plot structure with such subtlety that she makes it look easy, and this is nothing compared to the enthralling characters that inhabit her world... Not only is this a book to read, it is also a name to watch." - A. L. Wakenum, Lupus Book Review
"A strange twist on your traditional werewolf novel...great book!" - Evo Terra, The Dragon Page
"The author displays unusual and sometimes uncomfortable characters, and I care about them all, the significant players and the extras. If you like reading stories about intriguing people, this story doesn?t disappoint.... If you like short, satisfying reads between your "Harry Potter" or "A Song of Ice and Fire" ten pound seat-raisers, then buy the ...planet-friendly version of this book." - Joe Murphy, The Dragon Page
"Compelling, colorful and emotional, this novel transcends the cliches to present us with a well-crafted story that should be on everyone’s list." ~ Susie Hawes, Reviewer, The Coffee Cramp Review.
"[Kim Bannerman] has a knack for pulling you further and further into the book. I loved it."
~ Lea Schizas, editor-in-chief, Apollo’s Lyre 
PART I
"Adversity makes men and prosperity makes monsters."
Victor Marie Hugo
Chapter One
Dan Sullivan was not the sort of man you?d remember. He was broad shouldered and handsome with thick black hair and sharp eyes the color of malachite, but for all his striking characteristics, something in his features belied description: a certain sheltered quality, a curtain of anonymity which costumed his countenance. These were the first thoughts through Morris Caufield’s mind when the door opened and Sandra ushered Mr. Sullivan into the office, leaving a tray with two mugs of coffee on the desk before she left. When Caufield threw Sandra a little wink, she flushed and the creases of her cheeks deepened as she scowled at his boyish behavior; there was no reward greater when teasing the old battleaxe than a flash of her smoldering rage.
"Please, Mr. Sullivan, have a seat."
Mister. This guy was less than thirty, half of Caufield’s age at best, and the word left his mouth awkwardly and strained. Caufield felt a certain smugness when someone so young hired his services, and even though he knew it was unprofessional, he couldn?t help feeling a smattering of judgmental disdain. ?They all think it’s easy,? he mused to himself, ?But once the honeymoon’s finished--?
He forced himself to stop, to muster his professional demeanor, and saw with a start that Sullivan had noticed the cold tone. As the man took the wooden chair opposite the desk, Sullivan’s eyes had narrowed but the rest of his expression remained benign. Something in those brilliant green eyes seemed unnaturally intense, but the rest of his face remained emotionless, and a thought struck Caufield as sharply as an arrow. ?He cultivates his blandness,? he realized, ?This here’s a guy who wants to be forgotten.?
Sullivan reclined in the stiff chair as best as possible and rested his elbows on the armrests, folding his hands together, waiting.
Caufield coughed to clear his throat. "So, Mr. Sullivan," he began, checking his appointment log for a given name, "Dan. May I call you Dan?"
"Sure."
The voice was low and measured with a hint of caution. Not too loud, not too soft. One hundred percent Goldilocks.
"It’s not normally my style to make an appointment on such short notice, but we had a few cancellations this morning." Caufield shuffled through his papers, head down, searching for his pen.
"Well, you came with good references." Dan replied, "I would?ve waited, but I admit, I?ll be happy to get this business finished with as soon as possible."
So this guy hadn?t just plucked a random lawyer from the Yellow Pages. Good. Caufield tented his fingers, casting Mr. Sullivan a cocky grin to demonstrate that they were going to be allies, comrades through the battlefield of the legal system, and he?d chosen his council wisely. More than a lawyer and client, they were going to be buddies. "Now, I just want to start off by saying that divorce is never an easy hurdle; it’s a big change and a lot of ugliness gets stirred up, but I?m here to make the transition go smoothly. If you choose to take me on as your attorney--"
"I don?t want you as my attorney." said Sullivan. The corner of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. "You see, I?ve done research into your background and I was most intrigued, Mr. Caufield. Morris. May I call you Morris?"
Caufield, interrupted in his opening speech, took a moment to find his voice. "What?"
"Morris," the man began, his eyes gleaming, "I want you to be my wife’s attorney."
With a grunt, Caufield leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands across his crisp cotton shirt and his generous tummy. He cocked one eyebrow and grinned, intrigued, savoring the idea that this man had more going on in his head than he disclosed. Most husbands who sat in that cold wooden chair were either fretting over losing their life’s possessions or guilt-ridden about the discovered affair; but Mr. Sullivan, calm and quiet and calculating, exhibited neither symptom. He wasn?t stupid, of that Caufield was certain, and he didn?t let his motives slip out unintentionally.
"You must understand, Dan," he said with a chuckle, "That you can?t hire a lawyer on your wife’s behalf. Conflict of interest. Simple as that."
"I?m aware of that, but..." Here he paused, lowering his chin and affixing Caufield with that penetrating stare, "I need a man with a great deal of... how should I put it? Discretion."
"Your wife has certain knowledge that you would rather remain confidential, is that it?" Caufield tried to match Sullivan’s focused stare but found himself faltering, and finally dropped his gaze to the desk between them. "So what is it? Money laundering? Something sexual? Maybe a fondness for heroin or little boys?"
"Nothing so sordid as that." Sullivan replied. The comments hadn?t shaken him, much to Caufield’s disappointment.
"Well, look buddy," Caufield threw up one hand, "Whatever your wife tells her attorney is her own business, and if it helps her case, her lawyer will use it. Even if that lawyer is me."
"I know." Sullivan replied, and his smile returned. It was neither warm nor welcoming; upon reflection, Morris realized it was almost predatorial. "But your secrets are well hidden, Mr. Caufield, and I hoped you could keep mine equally well."
Caufield felt his skin blanch. He coughed into his fist. "I don?t know what--"
"Of course you do." Sullivan replied. Their eyes locked for a space of a minute, assessing each other openly. Caufield realized that further bluffing was a waste of time and effort. This strange, nondescript man sat without a twitch of impatience, without a hint of doubt.
Caufield lowered his voice and looked quickly to the intercom to ensure that Sandra wasn?t listening. She did, sometimes, the cranky old hag. But the light on the little beige box was dark; Sandra was busy with her filing. "Listen, you bastard, I paid this month’s fee."
"I?m not the one blackmailing you, Morris, but if you promise to help me, I?ll tell you who’s behind your little ?problem.? As simple as that."
"How do you know--" Caufield held up his hand and ran his palm over his balding crown. Beads of sweat had appeared on his brow. His heart sank as he said, "Helen hired you. She knows, and you?re some damned private investigator. God damn it."
"Not at all." Sullivan rocked back in his chair and it squeaked under his weight. "I?m a limner for Warley Conservation Studio." When Caufield’s face pulled down in a confused scowl, Sullivan leaned forward again and said, "I fix old manuscripts and paintings, I?m what you might call a restoration artist. I?m just very good at research, Morris, and I tend to notice things that other people miss." He smiled again, and this time there was a warmer tone to the expression. His eyes seemed friendlier than before. "I never thought about private investigation; that would be an interesting career choice, wouldn?t it? Hmm. Might look into that..."
Caufield shook his head to clear his thoughts. "You have nothing to do with Helen?"
"If Helen’s your wife, then no. Never met her."
His heart soared with relief. "You?ll help me with this mess I?m in, tell nobody, not even Helen, if I help you divorce your wife. That’s what you?re proposing?"
"Please."
A bright rage flashed behind Caufield’s face. He balled his hands into fists, felt his blood pressure rising as his cheeks turned crimson. "God damn it, who the fuck do you think you are? Holding me hostage with my own blackmail? I ought to--"
"Ought to what?" Dan interrupted, "You can?t go the police, or you would?ve done that already."
Caufield huffed, enraged.
"Look, Morris, I?m not holding you hostage," he began, glancing at the full length windows of which the left wall was comprised. A spectacular twelfth-floor view of Vancouver’s skyline unfurled below, framed by the northern mountains and the slate-colored streak of English Bay, and the first pattering of a gentle November rain had begun to splatter across the glass. Dan closed his eyes, listening to the gentle sound, and said, "I don?t want your money, Morris. You?ll be paid in full for your services. I need a divorce, and I need a sympathetic lawyer to represent her, but you?re free to refuse my offer. I?ll just take my business elsewhere." He glanced again at Caufield. The cold focus in his eyes was gone, replaced by one of congeniality. "But you?re a man in a bad position, Morris, just like I was. I want to help."
Caufield flustered and grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his forehead. "If it’s anything illegal--"
"It isn?t. I?m simply requesting that you ignore one of her claims."
"That’s it?"
"One claim. Use all the rest to her advantage, but ignore one story she?ll tell you."
Caufield pulled his pen from his breast pocket and fiddled with it between his meaty fingers. "This claim of hers, this accusation...it must be something ugly, hey?" he pried, "Because, I mean, you said you?re a...a...whajacallit...limner? How many rules can a limner break, hey?" He gave a strained chuckle, more like a nervous whistle in the back of his throat than a show of mirth.
Dan tapped his fist against the wooden arm of the chair, smirking at some secret joke. "Well, it’s certainly not as bad as a fondness for heroin or little boys."
"Then why this? Why sneak around, looking for someone to represent her, and throw me over a barrel with my own problems?" He now tried very hard to leech the bitterness from his words. "I don?t like being threatened, Dan. I don?t like it at all."
"I haven?t threatened you," was the reply, and those malachite eyes resumed their coldness that chilled Caufield’s clammy skin, "I need help, and so do you. A business proposal, Morris, that’s what this is."
Caufield clenched his teeth. "A business proposal."
"Yes."
"This story," he started, pulling a yellow legal pad close and clicking his pen, "Is it true?"
"I wouldn?t ask you to ignore it if it was a lie, would I?" Dan replied.
"Hrmph." Caufield doodled circles to ensure the pen worked. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking, and realized he didn?t have much choice. If Sullivan walked out that door, his offer refused, Caufield would forever wonder what would?ve happened, what might have been. Wasn?t he desperate to have his life back? To know who knew his secrets? He took a deep breath that reached to the bottoms of his lungs. "Alright, Sullivan. I?ll do it. I?m desperate enough to get these bastards off my payroll."
That unnatural coldness in Sullivan’s eyes melted. He leaned back in his wooden chair with a pleased mien. "Thanks, Morris."
Caufield grumbled, taking another deep breath to steady his rising temper. "I?ll ask you the first thing I ask any client, Dan: Why do you want a divorce?"
Expecting an answer, he was surprised when Sullivan stood, unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled down one side to expose his right buttocks. A wicked scar ran along the upper length of his muscular thigh that disappeared under his cotton boxers to emerge again above the waistband. It was puckered and scarlet, poorly stitched, and less than six months old, a knotted line of violent red that Caufield immediately recognized as a bullet tract. "She shot me, Morris." Dan said, "She tried to kill me. Twice."
Caufield studied the crimson wound. It was worse than any of his old army scars, even the pitted white one where a drunken corporal’s dagger had sliced open his palm. "Goddamnit, buddy!" he said, shaking his head slowly in awe, "Turn her over to the authorities!"
But Sullivan yanked his pants up again and said, "I can?t do that."
"Because of what she knows?"
"Exactly."
"What’s she going to tell me?" he asked incredulously, leaning forward and studying Dan’s face like a map. "What can she know that would keep you from throwing her crazy ass in jail?"
Sullivan gave a broad grin as he took his seat again. "Well, Morris," he said as he rested his elbows on the edge of the desk. "She’s telling everyone that I?m a werewolf."
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