Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-150-3
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella
ISBN (13): 978-1-60521-150-3
Genre(s): Futuristic, Paranormal
Theme(s): Werewolves, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Dance Wars
Length: Novella
Blurb:
Embattled Lovers…
Adair leads a very successful band of scavengers, bandits who prey on Pony Express riders and their motorbikes. But since the first night he spotted Lachlan in the crowd at the Chlodwig’s, Adair’s been far too relenting with captured Pony Express riders, and he’s been concentrating his efforts on winning the Dance Wars rather than snatching their prey.
Adair’s crew is getting suspicious -- has their leader gone soft? There’s no place in their world for a sappy Werewolf. Adair rashly promises a kill for their next capture -- only to have his world come crashing down on him when Lachlan’s motorbike falls in their trap.
Adair can’t go back on his word. Seems there may be only one option left -- one neither rider nor werewolf is ready to face…
Excerpt:
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The sky beyond the window is slowly tinting with pale pink and amber-yellow. It slithers through the filthy glass and onto the rumpled, discarded sheets trailing on the floor, hesitating there for an instant as if asking permission before going up a pair of long, beautiful legs. It dances on panels of finely toned abs and lean, smooth pecs, to paint the skin golden.
Lachlan shifts in his sleep, a flurry of movement that has unruly blond hair falling across the sharp lines of his face, hiding him from Adair’s attentive scrutiny. Adair’s fingers curl in Lachlan’s forelock, pushing it off to the side. The light of morning gives Lachlan’s body an ethereal quality. Adair’s thumb runs across the sweep of Lachlan’s cheekbone, down to his jaw and up again to stroke kiss-bruised lips. A rather vivid image of those lips wrapped around his cock surfaces to the forefront of his mind. He swallows, elbows his way down on the bed until they’re level, and draws his fingers on the expanse of Lachlan’s chest. He’s loathe to wake him, but at the same time he knows he ought to. If he waits any longer they’ll probably find more scavengers afoot. The fact that his crew gives Adair a two day break before and after the full moon doesn’t mean everyone else is not taking advantage of his absence.
“Lachlan,” he whispers, palm skimming over his lover’s arm, down his side. “Lachlan, wake up.” A grunt, and Lachlan sinks deeper into the mattress, burying his face into the pillow. Adair leans closer, nudging his forehead with his chin. “Wake up, c’mon.”
The sound that Lachlan makes could’ve been anything between “fuck you,” “not ever,” and “forget it.” Adair doesn’t need to know; he thinks he’s got the gist anyway.
He tries not to sigh in frustration. They’ve been through it a hundred times. Lachlan’s as stubborn as a mule and twice as conceited. Somehow, the notion that something might happen to him, either coming or going from Washington every full moon, has completely escaped Lachlan’s self-assured ass. Of course, it works in Lachlan’s favor that Adair really doesn’t want to think about what could happen if Lachlan gets snatched by one of the crews -- and they both know he could. It’s like Lachlan simply refuses to contemplate the possibility, and it scares Adair, far more than he’s going to admit.
“I’m too good,” Lachlan had told him only the previous night, the light of the moon not yet faded from the sky and Adair’s eyes, the wolf’s instincts still rearing under Adair’s skin.
“Too insane,” Adair had growled as he toppled the both of them over the bed. They’d been frantic, burning with need after a month without seeing one another, and Adair hadn’t pressed the point.
Now, though. The sun’s rising, and soon it’ll be harder to avoid detection. Adair looks at the sharp dip of Lachlan’s jaw, the sunrise sharpening the collection of brilliantly red love bites down his breastbone and kicking Adair’s possessive streak into overdrive. He molds his hand over the finger-shaped bruises he’d etched on Lachlan’s hips earlier and pulls him closer, delivering tiny nips up Lachlan’s arm as he watches him cling to sleep with eyes screwed tightly shut.
“C’mon, it’s past dawn already,” Adair whispers, trying and failing to sound stern, his breath blowing cool over saliva-damp patches of skin. He can’t resist sinking his teeth a little harder on the tender hickey on the juncture of Lachlan’s neck, remembering how he’d pushed him face first on the bedding, mouth branding every inch of Lachlan’s upper body as Adair fucked him with rough, short thrusts, taking Lachlan to the edge and pulling him back so many times that Lachlan had been crying by the time Adair had finally allowed him to come.
“Ngh,” Lachlan grunts eloquently, but he arches backwards against Adair’s chest, still halfway between conscious and dream, turning his head to the side to bare his neck for Adair’s pleasure.
The submissive act stirs ever-burning coals in Adair’s gut, and he spans the width of his hand over Lachlan’s belly, fitting himself to his back as he licks a line from the furled tip of Lachlan’s ear down to the ruby-red mark on his shoulder. He can see Lachlan’s cock from this angle, already half hard and heavy between lean, muscular thighs. He sneaks his other arm under Lachlan’s armpit, circling his waist and lazily fisting the base of Lachlan’s cock, giving it a couple of soft, slow pulls and grinning against the back of Lachlan’s head when he hears him groan.
“Oh no you don’t,” Lachlan mumbles, angled elbows trying halfheartedly to pull back. “No nookie. Sleep.”
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