WeresDigest
Authors: Desconhecido
Weres in
the City
Natasha Perry
Taylor Evans
Maranda Russell
Published
by
Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
Max's
Passion, Natasha Perry, Copyright
Ó
2010,
2011
Were Hearts, Taylor Evans, Copyright
Ó
2010, 2101
The Night Watchman,
By Maranda Russell, Copyright
Ó
2010,
2011
Names,
characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond
the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Credits
Editor: Nancy
Schumacher
Copy
Editor: Taylor Evans
Format
Editor: Mae Powers
Cover
Artist: A. Bratt
Max's Passion
By Natasha Perry
Max Dalton, a lupine-shifter, has it all: wealth, a castle,
brothers, and a doting grandfather. What he doesn't have is his life's mate—until
one day, in London, he recognizes the scent of his woman. Max always believed
his mate would be a lupine as well, so he's surprised to discover Carrie
Sweeney is not only human, but all woman.
* * * *
Were-Hearts
by Taylor Evans
Due to the strains brought about by their were-society, four
persons must undergo a troublesome emotional journey in order to untangle their
lives and hearts. Their worlds will never be the same again; can they handle
the outcome?
* * * *
The Night Watchman
By Maranda Russell
Shape-shifter Diego finds himself helplessly drawn to a
human
woman named Marissa. He is astonished at how easily she accepts his non-human
side. Still, he’s afraid of giving in to his intense feelings, due to his fear
of hurting her.
Max's Passion
By Natasha Perry
Max Dalton, a lupine-shifter,
has it all; wealth, a castle, brothers, and a adoting grandfather. What he
doesn't have is his life's mate--until one day, in London, he recognizes the
scent of his woman. He's always believed his mate would be a lupine as well, so
he's surprised when he discovers Carrie Sweeney is not only purely Irish but
human and all woman.
* * * *
Dedicated to Mae Powers
Publisher, editor, friend
* * * *
Ms. Perry has been writing
romance, under another pseudonym, for thirteen years. She is from the
Midwestern United States, where more snow flies than the sun shines. Ruined
Hearts, an erotic historical, available from Midnight Showcase,
www.midnightshowcase.com is her first erotic romance using the pen name,
Natasha Perry.
Weres in the City, Max's
Passion is her second erotic release.
* * * *
Ruined Hearts
Cursed by the Moon
Book 1: Max’s Passion
By Natasha Perry
Prologue
1861 Scotland
Morgan Dalton sprawled on the moss-covered ground, a
smile on his lips as he watched his three tow-headed triplet sons perform
somersaults for his entertainment.
“Oh, they are growing so fast,” his wife murmured sadly.
“Yes, they are,” he replied, then smiled at his love,
the boys’ mother. Angelica Evans, Daughter of Walter Evans, the Duke of
Freemont, was a beauty, and their sons had inherited her pale coloring. His own
hair, ironically, was black as pitch.
He took her hand and kissed each knuckle, his gaze
focused on her sparkling sky-colored eyes. Keeping her hand in his he sat up
beside her. “It’s amazing, really, how quickly they’ve grown in a year. But
then, that’s what happens to lupine-children. They tend to reach puberty much
quicker than their human counterparts do.
“Yes, you told me this, but heavens, they appear to be
five and not a year! But then they do slow down to a more natural growth, you
said.”
Laughing, Morgan took her in his arms and kissed her sweetly,
firmly on her lips. “Yes, you don’t have to worry that they will grow old and
grey before you, my sweet all human wife.”
Pouting, she pulled out of his arms. “Well, you can’t
blame me for being insecure about them, can you?”
Pulling her into his arms again, he kissed the very
tip of her nose. “No, I can’t blame you at all.”
“I worry about us, Morgan. Do you think
he
will
ever find us? He and I were betrothed, you know.”
“No,” he said. “Canton Mason will never find us.
Traveling here through the highlands can be murderous. We’ll be difficult, if
not impossible, to trace.”
“Even for one as powerful as he?” He just stared at
her. “I pray he does not,” she whispered, then turned to watch her sons once
more.
Morgan did, too, hoped, and prayed the evil man would
not find them. He was a powerful, wicked wizard with superior magical gifts and
skills. On several occasions, Morgan wondered why the man hadn’t found them
yet. Of course, returning to his home in the isolated hills of the highlands in
Scotland had made it more difficult—if not impossible. He hoped the man had
given up, though he very much doubted it. Angelica Evans was a prize and
difficult to lose.
* * * *
Two years later. The countryside outside London
Autumn had arrived in London, along with the typical
damp and dreary weather. Finally, after two days time, the rain had stopped,
the sky clearing, leaving behind soft, soggy ground. Now that evening had set
in, a full moon glistened down on the wet earth, bathing it in an eerie light.
Canton Mason, looked down with utter malevolence at
the broken body of what had once been a man—having changed to a hairy beast
during their hard-fought battle. Evilness overcame goodness every time, Canton
mused cynically, though it had taken him a year to devise a curse wicked enough
to kill the beast.
He’d bided his time, knowing the man and woman would
return to England sooner or later to visit her father, the Duke of Freemont.
Canton had been so attuned to the task of killing the
werewolf, he’d closed himself off from all other sound and sight, until now, as
Angelica’s laments reached him.
The woman was meant for
him
—they’d been
betrothed upon her birth twenty years ago. But she had made the mistake of
falling in love with this lupine, Morgan Dalton, from the outer reaches of
Scotland. He sighed and cast a fiery look at her for he had staked her naked
body to the ground so she wouldn’t escape, then proceeded to take her lover’s
life. He had searched for two years for them, and fury ran amuck inside him
when he’d learned they’d married.
As he gazed upon her beauty, he decided Angelica was a
perfect name for one so fair, her pale blonde hair appearing silvery in the
light of the moon. He saw her chest heaving as she threw her head back and
howled, as though she were wolf and not human, same as her dead husband had
done with each full moon.
“Scream, wail, lament all you like, for it won’t
matter. He is dead,” Canton snarled as he drew near her.
“Murderer!” she shrieked.
He reached up and loosened his cape, allowing it to
fall to the ground, then moved to her side. “He deserved to die for taking what
was mine. And his children will be next.” His nostrils flared as he glared down
at the beauty, then he straddled her and sank to his knees. With his
leather-clad hand, he pulled a dagger from its sheath at his waist.
“Please,” she begged, “Don’t kill my sons.”
“I won’t, if you promise to be my consort.”
“We were betrothed once,” she whispered.
“Yes, well, everything’s changed since you gave
yourself to that animal. If you want your children to live, you will give
yourself to me, willingly. Do you understand?”
Satisfaction tore through him when she gulped and gave
an infinitesimal nod. She would be his! Willingly! But she would pay for
deceiving him; for leaving him; for giving herself to another. Canton had
looked forward to taking her virginity, but now it was gone. She didn’t deserve
to be his wife so she would be his whore—forever—or for however long he desired
before he grew tired of her.
“Suffice it to say, my Lady, soon to be my whore for
the rest of your days, I have already had my servants release your brats deep
into the forest. They will either perish or live,” he said with a shrug,
“though it matters little to me. You will never see them again.”
His revelations, he knew, were painful enough for her,
so he saw no reason to avail her of the spell he’d cast upon the brats; they
would change to wolf form as their father had, but not monthly, upon the full
moon, but every evening, with the rising of any moon, they would change.
Canton knew of the pain shape-shifters experienced as
they changed, and decided this was a just punishment. They would suffer every
night, for the rest of their lives. And only the hot, moist cunts of their true
mates would comfort them—that is if they found their true mates. He actually
felt pity for their mates, having to suffer each night the heated force of a
lupine male’s fucking. But then, he thought, the chances of them surviving the
forest was nearly nonexistent so it shouldn’t be a problem for them.
Callously, he ignored her sobs as his gaze traveled
over her body. She was a faithless bitch and deserved to lose everything she
held dear in life. “Morgan Dalton deserved killing. And you are nothing but a
slut to have spread your limbs for that beast.”
“He was a wonderful man and he loved me,” she spat.
“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to end my life!”
“No,” he said gravely. “You deserve to live and suffer
at my hand from this day forward.” He lifted his hand and dragged the point of
the dagger from her jugular to her stomach and a narrow band of blood surfaced.
“But I admit revenge would be sweet. The thought of gutting you fair makes my
heart leap for joy,” he said cynically. Meeting her horrified expression, he
murmured, “Yet, I think living with me, being my slut, will be a much more
fitting punishment.”
She cried out again and shook her head from side to
side, her eyes closed. “Return me to my father then,” she begged.
“Your father will miss you, for certain. Perhaps you
should have thought about him before now. You will disappear, my Lady, along
with me. Canton tossed down the knife, loosed his britches, and, with effort, and
no care for her, shoved himself inside her.
The wizard took pleasure in her pain, knowing she was
dry, tight, and unprepared for his entry. Quickly, he lost himself inside her,
ignoring her screams and protests until he exploded deep inside her. Panting,
he rose from her body, closed his britches with a shaky hand, furious still.
Dalton had cheated him out of her virginity, but he would have her, from this
day forward, as his whore and slave.
* * * *
1876 – A London marketplace
Walter Evans, the Duke of Freemont, stared out of his
coach window at the crowded marketplace. It had been years since he’d ventured
from his castle, Darkwirth, into the streets of London, for he’d been plagued
with unceasing melancholy at the disappearance of his daughter, Angelica,
fifteen years past.
She’d last been seen with a man by the name of Morgan
Dalton, a solicitor, he’d later learned, from Scotland. Walter had spent two
years trying to pacify her betrothed, Canton Mason, a wealthy merchant, whom
he’d since learned was a wizard – and strangely powerful, but even Mason and
all of his powers hadn’t been able to find his daughter.
Then he’d lost touch with the man altogether, of which
he was grateful. Mason had made him nervous.
His visit to the marketplace was impetuous, but how
could he ignore the excited telling from his cook and other staff of spotting
three young boys who resembled his daughter? Was it possible she’d birthed
children before her death, for that was the only reason he could account for
her disappearance.
His eyes turned misty with tears as he smiled at the
antics of the children on the street, hands held out, and waiting for coin from
him as they ran alongside the coach. What the hell? Why not! He’d lost all
desire to manage his accounts, since losing his daughter. It was time he had
some good news for a change, as he thought about his solicitor’s recent
telling; he was near to being as poor as any one of these children on the
street. And isn’t that what he got for trusting a friend to manage his estates?
The duke pulled several gold pieces from his pockets and tossed them out the
window. Then he sank back in his seat, chortling at the sounds of their excited
high-pitched voices and their own joyous laughter.
The Duke sat forward once more as the coach sped up,
ready to leave the marketplace. As he stared out the window his eyes widened,
then he shouted, “Stop, Fergusson. Stop!” Immediately, his driver slowed then
came to a stop as he requested. Two footmen appeared, opened his door, and
helped him down. Hating his elderly age and poor health he eased himself out of
the coach and stood straight and tall, staring straight ahead at a vegetable
stall.
As cook had stated, there stood three young men,
identical in appearance and size—and so much like his daughter, Angelica,
except she’d been petite. Narrowing his eyes on them, he noticed some
differences. Two of them looked like matching bookends, from the wheat colored
hair on their heads liberally streaked with sandy tones, to their size. The
third boy had darker, bronze-colored hair and streaked the opposite of the
other two, with pale wheat-colored strands.
They were in their middle teen years, he guessed,
coming out of boyhood, leading toward manhood. He sighed, thinking how, if
these were his grandsons, and he believed they were, how much he’d missed of
their growing years, but he meant to make up for it for the rest of his days.
As he strode toward the booth, the crowd parted,
knowing him as the Duke of Freemont. He smiled to himself, at the astonished
faces he passed. Yes, it had been a long time since he’d been out and about,
but they hadn’t forgotten him.
He stopped directly in front of the vegetable stall
and perused the vegetables, looking at the three young men often. An elderly
man came around from the side of the wagon and said, “What can I help you with,
my lord?”
The Duke cleared his throat, only after meeting the
gaze of each boy for a long moment, tears filling his eyes.
“What vegetables would you like, my Lord?” the old man
tried asking again.
“I don’t want any vegetables. I want to ask some
questions about the boys.”
The old man stared intently into Walter’s eyes, then
sighed, closed down his stall and, with a melancholy expression, turned to his
boys. “It’s time, Max, Jake, Simon…”