FED TO THE WOLVES, Part 1: BAD MOON RISING
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What they asked of me was impossible. Worse than impossible, it was insane!
How could I willingly let them use my body–let them ravage me–and still be the girl my Mama and Daddy raised? How could I let these men put their hands on me–put their mouths on me, their stubble rasping over my most intimate places–as they tasted my flesh… as they feasted on me? How could I even consider jumping into bed with three men I just met, much less let one of them breed me…
Hell, who’s to say I would even survive the encounter. After all, the Boucher Boys are more than men, muscled like modern-day gladiators, even before they Change. Every fiber of my being senses danger when they are near. I can practically taste it in the air, like ozone before a twister comes crashing down. But I just can’t help myself…
Especially when Quentin, the one who tracked me down, looks at me with those deep, dark eyes, and smiles at me like a wolf looking at his prey… I lose all control.
If I don’t help them, if I don’t use my Healer’s Gift, then the curse they’re under will keep getting worse, and people in the small town of Cattail Creek will keep turnin’ up dead. I need to figure somethin’ out before the next Full Moon, or my reputation is going to be the least of my problems!
But no matter how dashing Quentin is, no matter how tall and handsome Bastian and Felix are, I can’t let myself lose sight–I can’t ever forget…
The Boucher Boys are monsters, plain and simple.
And they eat little country girls like me for breakfast.
Curious? Here’s a SNEAK PEAK, below, from Fed to the Wolves, Part 1: Bad Moon Rising!
“Now, where Quentin got off to, I can’t be sure-“
“I’ll take it from here.”
A sultry voice from the darkened doorway stopped Rosa in her tracks.
“Here you are, and here is your lovely guest, you devilish boy,” she said.
She reached up and planted a kiss on each cheek of the figure in the shadows, who bent down to embrace her.
“Thank you, Mama. Please tell the others to meet us here, yes?”
“Bien sur,” she said, squeezing his arm.
She bustled out of the room, and the tall stranger closed the door behind her. He turned and held out a glass of iced tea, grinning like a fox in a henhouse.
“Your drink, Cher,” he said.
In that moment, I found myself frozen, staring, wide-eyed up at the most drop-dead gorgeous man these eyes have ever seen. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen my share of hot guys—I’ll admit to watching Dirty Dancing and Top Gun more times than is probably healthy–but in the flesh, right here in front of my sweaty self, this man was in a league all his own.
Laughing brown eyes met mine, so dark and rich, they were almost black. A strong-looking hand ran back through a mop of dark hair, sweeping it away from a face that looked like sin—dimples and stubble framing a wolfish smile that made a shiver run up my spine. He looked confident, almost cocky, like he didn’t have one doubt in his mind that he could turn any woman inside out in the bedroom… but at the same time, his dark eyes looked like they held secrets. Like he’d known pain in this lifetime, and it had left its mark, just beneath the surface.
Quentin wore an odd combination of fitted slacks, and one of those tank-top undershirts, spotted with mud. He had a pair of work gloves tucked under one arm, and I couldn’t help but notice his strong, wide shoulders, and muscular chest, gleaming slightly with a sheen of sweat, as well as the taut abdominal muscles, barely visible beneath the dirty cotton. Apparently, this rogue was no stranger to hard work, even though he’d look more at home at a poker table or a bar, instead of hammering a nail.
I shook my head, willing myself to snap out of it.
Close your mouth before you drool on his floor, I thought.
I felt myself blushing as I reached forward and took the glass. Our fingers brushed briefly, his rough and callused against my soft, white skin. A thrill went through me at his touch.
I looked up, and saw his eyes widen, noting his breathing as it caught, then came fast and shallow.
Did he feel it, too?
For God’s sake, Trix, get a grip! For all you know, he’s mixed up in more trouble than a weasel in a henhouse.
Why did I have to act like such an awkward schoolgirl in front of this man? I’d always been an introvert, but now, I felt like I’d never interacted with the opposite sex before. When he laughed and smiled down at me, I felt my heart do a belly flop, and felt my cheeks heating beneath a furious blush.
“It’s Trixie. I mean, Trix. Well, I mean, my friends call me Trix… And if you want, you… I mean, there’s no need to be so formal, is all.”
I cleared my throat, and took a sip of tea, my inner voice swearing furiously. I looked down at my shoes, needing to get away from that penetrating stare. It’s not like I’d never talked to a man before, but something about this Mr. Boucher had my head spinning. Something about him was so intense, like he set the very air around him crackling with electricity.
He chuckled, and shook his head, grinning in a way that made my knees feel like Jell-O.
“Trix it is, then.”
Happy reading, you naughty things! 😀