Wolf-Bitten
Erotic Paranormal Romance Short Story --
He is her betrothed, her erotic dream. Is he her worst nightmare? Alaya is a woman on the run. Brock is the werewolf hunting her.
Alaya ran from home to avoid her fiance, Brock. Unwilling to tie herself to a werewolf, Alaya wars with her divided longing to run to him, and her urge to run away. Eager to make Alaya his mate and prove he isn't an animal, Brock escapes captivity by the enemy, Wolfsbane. Brock is of the PACk, a community of shifters sensitive to petroleum. He braves the gas clogged suburbs to track down his errant mate. Together, their passion ignites, but before returning to the PACk, they must escape the clutches of the dreaded Wolfsbane.
Never run from a werewolf, unless you want to get caught.
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Excerpt from Wolf-Bitten
Copyright © 2009 Ella Drake
All rights reserved — a Cobblestone Press publication
Chapter One
A mile behind Brock Wolfrik, smudge pots spewed rank smoke into the air while he ran from the last three of his thirty-six years. Dog kennels weren’t good enough for dogs, much less a man who needed to stand tall without his fur on occasion. The three werewolves loping beside him would agree. Over their panting, he heard shots echoing behind them. All four picked up the pace while their hearts raced, thundering in his ears.
Their paws scrambled over a rocky ledge as they snuffled and sneezed to rid themselves of the pollution.
He wasn’t entirely sure, but he judged their position to be in the foothills of the Appalachians, probably North Georgia. His PACk—Petrol Abolished Community—couldn’t be far.
The Alphas of his PACk would be appalled to learn of Wolfsbane’s dog-fighting ring. He didn’t have time to inform them now, though. He had to find Allie. First, he had to get out of here.
The little white female who’d escaped with him fell back a bit. Weeks of living with petrol fumes coating her lungs had taken its toll. He didn’t know her name. Males had been kept apart from the females, but he wouldn’t have noticed anyway. He didn’t know any of their names. Fighting for his life every time he’d been forced from his cage didn’t allow time to get to know the other captives.
He flicked his head back to the other two males. The smaller lupine, his fur black with silver highlights, chuffed. Nose bobbing to the ground and up, he waved Brock forward. Brock didn’t need any other incentive. The one good thing about living with gas fires surrounding him for years, he’d developed a resistance to the corrosive allergy. He leapt into a dead run, leaving the trailing wolves behind. He didn’t look back.
All he cared about now was finding his mate and taking her home.
