Werewolves in Love 3: Ready to Run (17 page)

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Kiss and Kin

Yours, Mine and Howls

Sometimes happily ever after is on the wrong side of death’s door.

Yours, Mine and Howls

© 2011 Kinsey W. Holley

Werewolves in Love, Book 2

Thirteen years ago, Ally Kendall died defending her young cousin from his werewolf stepfather.

She hasn’t been the same since.

Ally returned from the hereafter with strange new powers, burdened with the secret of why and how she survived. She managed to scrape her life together and raise her cousin, but now he needs a pack to guide him into adulthood. That means pulling up stakes yet again and heading for Colorado to find the only werewolf qualified for the job. A werewolf, she discovers, who tempts her to give up control in a thousand sinful ways.

Cade MacDougall, Alpha of an unrecognized pack, has a tragic history, a sizable ranch, and a daughter who thinks she’s a cat. Time to find a mate? Don’t make him laugh. Until Ally shows up with a smokin’ hot, preternaturally strong body that smells like mine, and introduces him to a nephew who holds the key to unraveling mysteries about Cade’s family—and himself.

But Ally’s holding something back. As Cade’s enemies gather, the cowboy and his secretive new mate must come clean about their mysterious pasts…or else all hope of protecting their newly formed family—and their future—will be lost.

Warning: A sexy, smartass alpha hero, a heroine who could kick his ass if she wanted, heart-pounding action, and some serious werewolf cowboy lovin’.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Yours, Mine and Howls:

“His daddy was an alpha! A
real
wolf! Not a drunkass loser like you!” Humans could’ve heard the woman screeching in the next parish. Werewolves probably heard her all the way to Houston.

“You’re a lyin’ whore! The brat’s mine! Where is he? Dylan?
Dylan
!” The werewolf, smashed on moonshine, couldn’t change easily. But a drunken wolf on two feet could still tear a human apart.

“Get outta my trailer, asshole!”

“It’s
my
trailer and I’m not going anywhere, you fuckin’ bitch!”

Next came the sound of breaking glass, followed by the bellow of a liquored-up beta, more breaking glass, the woman screaming, rinse, repeat…

Allison Kendall, exhausted after a day’s work at the stable, turned up the television and longed for a remote to mute Guy and Gracie Fontenot. Her trailer and the Fontenots’ stood a hundred feet apart, the last two left in the otherwise deserted Bayou Estates Mobile Home Park. The next nearest house lay a half mile away. It made living next door to the violent couple creepy, even though they were kin.

The window unit in the living room sputtered, useless against the suffocating August heat. Listening to the White Trash Werewolf Show was better than stewing in her own sweat, though, so she left the windows open. At least the unit in her bedroom still worked.

Carefully she opened the door to her room, where five-year-old Dylan Fontenot slept. The din of domestic war couldn’t keep the tiny veteran awake. She dropped a kiss on his forehead and tiptoed out. When the phone rang, she dove to catch it before Dylan woke up.

“Hey. I just got home,” said her cousin, Seth. “You up for something?”

“Can’t. I’ve got Dylan. Gracie brought him over this afternoon.”

“Shit. How bad?”

“Real bad.” She slumped as she sighed, her emotional exhaustion equal to her physical fatigue. “Your bimbo sister just told her psycho husband he’s not a daddy.” The rest of Lake Charles had figured it out five years ago.

“I wish you’d stay out of that mess.”

“Seth, we’re family! I’m not leaving him in that hellhole when they go at it.”

“But you can’t keep him all the time, either. He doesn’t belong to you. We’re only—oh, fuck it,” he muttered.

She didn’t feel like arguing again either. “Guy’s lost it this time. Should I call the cops?”

“Don’t. Gracie won’t press charges. She’ll just get pissed off at you and take it out on Dylan. God, our family sucks.”

So did living in the middle of a never-ending episode of
Cops
.

“I guess it’s pizza again,” said Seth. “Want me to re—”

Gracie Fontenot’s shrill, skull-piercing scream drowned out the rest of his words. Her terrifying wail ended as abruptly as it began, like someone had snipped a cord.

Or snapped her neck.

The world held its breath. Then Guy Fontenot’s moonshine-maddened roar shattered the night. The Fontenot trailer door opened and slammed.

Seth screamed, “Get the shotgun—I’m on my way!”

She dropped the phone and raced for the second bedroom at the back of the trailer.

Aunt Jackie always kept it loaded, please God, please, let it still be loaded it has to be loaded…

Thank God. She pumped it once and started back for the living room, shaking with fear. The shotgun rattled in her hands. Bile rose in her throat as hysteria began to squeeze the air from her lungs.

“Ally?”

Dylan’s sweetly sleepy voice stopped her cold, instantly quelling the panic. She paused outside her bedroom door.

Mine or not, no one touches him.

“Stay in bed, baby,” she called softly. “Everything’s all right.”

She reached the living room and found it empty. No sound came from outside.

Maybe Guy had passed out.

Maybe he was stumbling to the biker bar a mile down the road.

Maybe he’ll get run over.

The front door went flying as if sucked out by a whirlwind. Guy Fontenot lurched across the threshold, staggered, and steadied himself with one hand against the doorframe. His slack, sallow face gleamed with sweat. He squinted at her as he tried to focus. The acrid stench of moonshine and unwashed werewolf filled the tiny room. She stifled a gag while her mind raced.

Guy couldn’t move that fast, this drunk—but he didn’t have far to reach her. The shells were silver-loaded—but how much would it take to stop him? If she fired and missed, she wouldn’t get another chance.

She’d never imagined she could die at eighteen.

“Where’s m’boy?” He looked ready to pass out.
God, please.

“Go home, Guy. You can see Dylan tomorrow.” Her voice came out several octaves above normal, but still steady. A human’s fear pheromones could push an enraged wolf over the edge. Moonshine made it worse. She swallowed, silently begging her heart to slow down and her hands to quit shaking. She kept the shotgun pointed at the floor.

“Gracie’s dead. M-my wife. I killed m’wife.”

Learning his wife had borne someone else’s child could drive a stable werewolf to murder. No one would mistake Guy Fontenot for stable.

He sagged against the jamb, but she hesitated to raise the gun. She’d never killed anyone before. If she held him off until Seth showed up, she wouldn’t have to.

“It’ll be all right, Guy. You need sleep. Tomorrow you can figure out what to do.”

“Want the boy.”

“No, Guy, I’ll take care of Dylan. You go on home now.”

He stared at her for a moment. His eyes widened. He snapped his mouth shut as he stood a little straighter.

Guy was slow, not stupid.

“You wanna get ridda me so’s you c-can call the cops.” He sneered at her and she shuddered. “Think you can shoot me, girly? You wanna sh-shoot me?”

She watched in horror as his nails began to lengthen and the bones of his hand began to move beneath his skin, twisting, stretching, popping.
Oh, shit
. She’d been so focused on his body she’d ignored his eyes. The irises had begun turning yellow. He stank so of moonshine and sweat, she hadn’t caught the rich, earthy scent that was another signal of impending change.

Guy stumbled toward her. She couldn’t back up. She didn’t want him near Dylan.

The howl of an enraged werewolf on four feet filled the air, and she nearly fainted with relief.
ThankyouJesus
.

Seth was here.

It happened so fast, and all at once. Through the open door behind Guy, she glimpsed a streak of brown fur as Seth reached the front yard. Guy didn’t turn to see death running at his back, but rushed at her just as she raised the shotgun.

Her trembling hands betrayed her. The shot went wide.

Guy closed the distance. She swung the gun at his head. He knocked it from her hands. With a strength born of terror she kicked, sole first, straight into his balls. It didn’t stop him. He clutched at his groin with one half-changed hand as the other swiped wildly. His claws raked her belly. She stumbled backwards.

It took a moment for the pain to penetrate. She looked down to see a blossoming red stain soaking her T-shirt. Touching it, her hand sank into a gaping wound.

She looked up at Guy’s yellowing eyes and saw tears.

In dreamy slow motion, he grabbed her by the throat and flung her aside. Guy roared as Seth landed on his back. Ally went flying across the room, her skull striking the metal window ledge. A brilliant, bright white pain exploded behind her eyes, like a camera’s flash going off at the end of her nose. She crumpled to the floor as someone whispered in her head.

Dylan’s cries, Seth’s howls and the disembodied voice were the only sounds in the trailer now. Guy was dead.

A second later, so was Ally.

She was never the same after that.

He’s the one who taught her to ride. Now all he wants is to ride her.

Rocky Mountain Heat

© 2011 Vivian Arend

Six Pack Ranch, Book 1

Blake Coleman is old enough to know that acting on impulse causes nothing but a heap of trouble. But when trouble’s a western-hat-wearing blonde with slim legs that go on forever, what’s a man to do? Wanting the sweet girl next door is just wrong. The responsible thing to do is keep his hands off.

Jaxi has other plans for Blake’s hands, and his heart. She may have once considered him a big brother, but that was a long time ago. She’s all grown up now and ready to convince him that she’s perfect for him. Except he can’t seem to see past the big “don’t touch” sign that’s apparently still hanging around her neck.

When Jaxi ends up living right under Blake's nose, the undeniable heat between them slides off simmer and leaps up to barn-burning levels. However, a few of the younger six-pack Colemans have decided Jaxi’s brand of trouble is worth risking a few busted bones.

That is, if Blake’s finally ready to let go the reins and fight for what he wants…

Warning: Sexy cowboys seducing and being seduced in trucks, pool halls and barns. Droolworthy country charm, a little double-teaming, a few secrets and a whole lot of brothers to look forward to. Anyone wanna go for a ride?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Rocky Mountain Heat:

Blake dragged a breath of air into his lungs in an attempt to cool his burning body. This wasn’t right. She was a guest in their home, and yet here he was, acting like a hound dog. He should be ashamed of himself.

He grabbed his travel kit from under the bed and marched down the hall toward the large shower room in the annex. He, Matt and Daniel had promised to use the larger bathroom and let Jaxi have the privacy of the other for herself.

The sound of running water met his ears and Blake stepped into the dimly lit room, wondering why his brothers had turned on only half the lights. Splashing noises echoed. Leaving his kit on the sink counter, he rounded the corner to the showers.

And froze.

The three showerheads in the open room were separated by nothing but space. Steam filtered the dim lighting into a moonshine glow.

All he saw was wet, naked skin. Jaxi’s skin. Every inch of her bare to his gaze as water poured from the middle shower, streaming in waves over her body. She faced away from him, head thrown back as she shifted to allow the water to slip over her face and down her chest. Blake, his body hot and needy, watched in a daze as the shampoo rinsed from her hair and undulated down her back, tiny bubbles racing over the curve of her waist. His gaze followed the bubbles along the gentle swell of her hips and the full curves of her ass. Her skin was pale pink from the heat of the water, faint tan lines showing on her thighs and arms.

His mouth went completely dry. Retreat. It had to happen—he had to turn and leave before she spotted him. Yet, no matter how loud his brain screamed at him, his feet remained glued in place as she slid the soap over her body. As she lifted her hands to brush her hair back from where it clung to her shoulders in white ribbons.

Blake’s cock tented his boxers as Jaxi rotated under the showerhead, turning the front of her body to his sight. Her nipples were soft. Tender, juicy pink berries crowning full, taut curves. The perfect size to fill his hands and still allow him to take her into his mouth. Water slid in rivulets over her belly and through the pale blonde curls visible at the junction of the long legs he’d fantasized about so many times. Jaxi’s eyes were closed, and she swayed as she washed, her hands slipping over her body in a way that made Blake heat to near boiling just from watching her. She hummed, quiet and low, her hips moving to the faint tune.

Guilt shot through him. He had no right to watch her, no right to invade her privacy and treat her like anything but the beautiful, caring person he knew her to be. She wasn’t his to admire.

God help him, he wanted her to be.

He swallowed hard and tried to peel his gaze away. Tried to not watch as her hands covered her breasts, then slicked over her belly in slow circles. Tried to glance away as she slipped her fingers gently through the curls covering her pussy, over her ass, washing every inch of her luscious body clean.

Blake watched, motionless and noiseless for so long he felt like a statue, every bit of his body gone as hard and rigid as his aching shaft. Indecision held him, immobilized him. The rush of blood through his veins drowned out the part of his common sense saying he needed to leave. The pounding faded everything logical and rational away in him and stripped him bare to need and desire.