High Risk

Praise for the novels of
New York Times
bestselling author

VIVIAN AREND

“The bitter cold of Alberta, Canada, is made toasty warm by the super-sexy Coleman
brothers of Six Pack Ranch . . . skillfully written erotic passion.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Vivian Arend pours intense passion into her novels.”

—
Library Journal

“The perfect combo of well-written world-building, wonderful romance, and sexy shifters.”

—Lauren Dane,
New York Times
bestselling author

“This is a new favorite cowboy series, and a must read!”

—
The Book Pushers

“[A] rare combination of romance, adventure, humor and screaming hot sex, all in one.”

—
Long and Short Reviews

“Arend instills humor and heart into a story.”

—
Book Lovers Inc.

“I have fallen in love with this paranormal werewolf shifter series by Vivian Arend.
With her humorous writing style, the off-the-chart chemistry and love scenes, and
the endearing and wonderful characters, this series has become auto-buy.”

—
Pearl’s World of Romance

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

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HIGH RISK

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2013 by Vivian Arend.

Excerpt from
High Passion
by Vivian Arend copyright © 2013 by Vivian Arend.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed
in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in
or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
Purchase only authorized editions.

BERKLEY
^®
is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-0-425-26333-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-59987-7

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley mass-market edition / March 2013

Cover art by Gene Mollica. Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wonderful people have encouraged me at every step of this adventure. Anne Scott brought
me into the publishing world and guided me through everything from track changes to
how to fill plot holes. Bree Bridges and Donna Herren have been my sounding board
(or two by four) as needed. Maya Banks’s encouragement to try something new came at
just the right time. My agent, Kim Whalen, is a rock star in her own right, not even
blinking when I submitted a “so, I kind of have an idea, what do you think?” proposal.
And now the team at Berkley lifts me to new heights: Cindy Hwang is every bit as amazing
as I’d heard. The art department has brought Marcus and Becki to life.

To every one of you: Thanks for sharing your skills and cheering me on.

PROLOGUE

September

Grand Teton, Wyoming

Thick fog enveloped her, fading the brilliant green needles of the nearby spruce to
a nondescript grey. Becki adjusted her grasp on the climbing rope, reset her feet.
Worked to steady the rolling in her gut.

“You ready? Sometime today would be great.” Dane’s teasing tones removed the sting
from his words.

“Bastard,” Becki muttered as she peered over her shoulder in yet another futile attempt
to find a safe path off the mountainside. What she needed was for the dense cloud
cover that had rolled in out of season and out of nowhere to vanish.

“I heard that.”

She snorted in spite of the fear tangoing in her veins. “Bastard with Superman hearing.
Good for you.” She squinted, then opened her eyes as wide as possible. It was no use.
“Dane, I can’t see a bloody thing. I could be on route, or hanging over a thousand-foot
free fall for all I know.”

“You want me to go first?”

Now he offered. “You couldn’t have said something fifteen minutes ago? Jerk.”

He laughed. The familiar sound warmed her in spite of the tension there’d been between
them the entire weekend. She and Dane had been climbing partners and lovers for long
enough to forgive a few strained conversations.

“Yeah, but I’m
your
jerk, right?”

Becki sighed. Even with his moments of childishness, and the peculiar way he’d been
acting the past couple of weeks, she did care for him as much as she cared for anyone.
“Yes, Dane, you’re my jerk.”

“Bec? Love you.”

She leaned back, staring up the hillside. Maybe a glimpse of his face would explain
the uncharacteristic quiver in his voice. “Dane?”

All hell broke loose.

The rock wall to her left gave way, an entire slab of granite dropping in one chunk.
A splash of red flashed past as Dane shrieked. Becki’s heart pounded, the echo of
her own scream loud in her ears. Then her rope harness jerked, dragging her upward,
slamming her against the mountainside as she lost her footing.

As Dane fell, the rope connection between them dragged her in the opposite direction
toward their safety anchor. She twisted, tucking in her legs, using her elbows and
upper arms to attempt to belay their motion. Scrambling for a firm hold, palms ripping
against small rocks.

As quickly as it began, Becki jolted to a stop.

Knuckles throbbing with pain, breath ragged, she grabbed blindly for where the rope
attached to her climbing belt. She slid her aching hands upward, following the thick
cord to discover the coarse bark of a stump, the twisted fibers tangled around the
jagged protrusion.

She hauled herself higher using small footholds, clinging to the mountain until she
could add additional loops to make the accidental anchor more secure.

She screamed into the misty abyss. “Dane.”

No answer.

Becki alternated between glancing down for a sign of her partner and peering upward,
trying to calculate how far from the top she was.

The eerie silence from below caused her hands to shake. Her limbs jerked as she climbed,
adjusting ropes, anchoring herself and keeping Dane’s lifeline in control.

A soft breeze pushed the clouds against her, soaking her to the skin, but increasing
her hopes. If the wind picked up and blew away the mist, she’d be able to see Dane
easier.

“Dane.”

Still no answer as she scrambled to set additional anchors.

Another moment passed before she managed to pull herself over the lip, now farther
to the right than she’d been when they first reached the edge to rappel down. The
sight of the raw new surface where the mountain had given way made bile rise. She
shoved away the fear—she’d have time to freak out after her partner was safe.

“Dane. Answer me, dammit. Whistle.”

The rope was heavy with his weight, so she had to assume he was unconscious. Becki
calmed her breathing and centered herself, methodically grabbing the equipment she
needed to belay him.

The wind increased as she worked, flapping the edges of her hood as if ghostly fingers
were playing with her. Visibility improved as she maneuvered into position, each move
careful yet as rapid as possible.

“I got you, Dane. Hang in there, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

She wrapped her fingers around the cord to haul him to safety.

The mountain shifted again.

The secondary rope she’d anchored to a sturdy tree snagged tight before she’d fallen
more than a couple of meters. The backup system locked her in position as the main
rope, the one leading to Dane, jerked erratically. Becki skidded on the moving rocks,
scrambling to find a place to stand. She twisted, planting her feet into a wide stance
to stop from spinning. It worked enough to put her facing the wall, a shower of stones
descending from above and crashing into her shoulders. Instinctively she ensured the
safety lock on Dane’s lifeline was engaged, her fingers moving rapidly even as something
heavy struck her helmet, and the world went black.