Moira Rogers


Temple of Luna, Story Two
Series Info:


September, 2009

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Zahra has devoted her life to serving Luna. The savage needs of the werewolf warriors can take their toll, and she serves as a healer, treating not only her fellow priestesses but anyone in need. Still, she’s never seen anyone so wounded as Jarek, an old friend who’s been through hell–and who doesn’t seem to remember her.

Jarek was always considered the most civilized wolf in his unit, a rare healer trained in werewolf magic as well as the medicine of their human enemies. When an injury shatters his self-control, the beast inside him takes over, leaving only the wolf. A wolf who remembers the scent of the mate he always needed…and is determined to claim her at any cost.

Originally published as Savage Need.

Read an Excerpt

He doesn’t remember his name.

He remembers blood, and the men who spilled it. Dozens, hundreds, a river of life flowing into death. He remembers the screams, hardened men with mangled limbs and the sure knowledge of their own mortality in their voices. He remembers guns and bombs and the ways men kill, cold metal tearing through flesh and machines crushing their bones.

He remembers pain. He remembers death. But he doesn’t remember his name.

He doesn’t remember her name, either. Words are jumbles of sounds that hurt his throat anyway, but her name… Her name would taste like peace. Would feel as good on his tongue as the pleasure that heats his body every time he catches her scent. Soft. Female. Familiar.



Even if Balthasar hadn’t been standing guard by the wall, Zahra would have known better than to go near the man in the corner. His eyes were more animal than anything else, and she shivered, remembering the intelligence that had once shone from their ice-blue depths. “Hello, Jarek.”

He didn’t speak, but his gaze stayed fixed on her face as a flash of something flickered across his features.

“It’s been a long time.” She moved slowly to sit in the chair in the center of the room. “That research elective, yes? With Dr. Bautista?”

His lips parted. When he spoke, the words were hoarse. Gravelly. “I’m a medic.”

“Yes, Jarek.” She leaned forward a little. “We went to school together. Do you remember me? My name is Zahra.”

He lunged so fast the stool he’d been seated on crashed against the far wall at the same time his hands curled around the back of her chair. Strong arms formed a cage, trapping her within a circle of masculine power and heat. She choked back the shriek that welled in her throat and steeled herself for an attack.

But none came. He inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent. In a mere moment, Balthasar dragged him away. Then Jarek grew violent, twisting to attack with an angry snarl and a blow strong enough to send the guard reeling. He turned and backed toward her, putting his body squarely between her and the guard. “Mine.

Hot, possessive magic filled the space between them. He may not have remembered her, but something about her was familiar enough to draw him close, and she could use that to reach him.

Zahra signaled to Balthasar to stand down, and eased up beside Jarek. Magic flared again, chafing her nerve endings and heating her skin. “Do you need me?” she asked quietly.

She was the King’s niece. It was the guard’s duty to keep her safe, and he knew it. “Out of the question. He’s feral, Zahra. If he needs relief, he needs a senior priestess.”

Jarek growled and edged to the side, placing his body in front of hers again. “Stay away.”

“He doesn’t need a senior priestess.” She raised one hand to his face. “You need a healer, don’t you, Jarek?”

He turned his head and caught the tip of one finger between his teeth, a gesture of dominance and claiming. On the other side of the room, Balthasar hissed out a curse and reached for the com unit clipped to his belt. “I’m calling the high priestess. Your uncle will snap my neck if I let you do this.”

“Call her,” Zahra urged. “Will you wait, Jarek, if I promise to return soon?”

“I don’t want another woman.” Jarek turned to face her, one hand coming up to trap her fingers against his cheek. There was no hint of recognition in those frozen eyes, nothing of the brilliant, civilized healer she’d known. He was as wild as any warrior and twice as hungry.

And all his attention, all his magic, was focused on her. He’d take her, sate that wild hunger in the depths of her body. Zahra could barely breathe, and her cunt tingled in reaction. “No other woman,” she swore, ignoring the guard’s incoherent protest. “You have my vow as a priestess of Luna.”

“Priestess.” He seemed to be testing the word. He shook his head. “What’s your name?”

“Zahra.” Doubt almost made her falter. She couldn’t lie to herself and think that he knew her deep down, under the trauma that had left his psyche in jagged shards. He didn’t know her. “My name is Zahra.”

His hand came up and his fingers touched her lips, traced their shape as if trying to memorize it. “You’ll come back.”

“Yes. Balthasar will take you to my room. Please go with him and wait for me there. Can you do that for me?”

Balthasar protested again. “Zahra, I can’t–”

Fury seized her. “I am a royal daughter, and you will do as I say!” She fixed him with a glare and took a deep breath. “I know my duties and my place. Do you know yours?”

Balthasar’s face closed off as brittle resentment filled the room. But he nodded. “Yes, priestess.”

The tension in Jarek’s body eased a tiny bit. His fingers ghosted over her cheek, over her hair and the line of her throat. “Zahra.” From his lips, her name sounded like a benediction, a prayer.

“Yes.” She backed away slowly, keeping her gaze on his. “I won’t be long.”