August 30, 2013

Ethan Holloway is one hot … Caged werewolf! Come see!

If the meek can become deadly, the strongest can be weak.

For Ethan Holloway, his mission to find a missing werewolf should be simple. Crack a few heads, bust a few chops and the solution always reveals itself. Always.

Not this time.

Ethan’s reputation precedes him, and because it does, someone is ready. Waiting. Unbeknownst to Ethan, he’s about to go down. Hard. Against a foe he never suspected and in a world he never imagined could be real.

What awaits Ethan is a fight not only for his reputation, but also his pack, his female, and his life. If he survives, damage control will become priority number one.

If he survives.

Because even Ethan’s not sure he’s strong enough to take on an entire race all by himself.

Especially one hell bent on exposing who and what he is in the name of sport.

Excerpt

1

“… from the Shropshire area. Following Carly McDowd’s disappearance on the fourth, and Andrew Doherty’s on the seventh, this is the third incident this month …”

I turned from the square-jawed newswoman on TV to Dad, where he sat in his corner armchair.

His attention remained on the screen, a frown across his brow.

“… the duo of friends were first reported missing late last night by their parents, after they discovered neither of the teenagers …” The newscaster’s voice infiltrated once more.

Images of a couple of lads flashed side by side on the screen. The one on the left had the appearance of any late teen, with shaggy overgrown hair and the twinkle of mischief in his expression.

From the other image, brilliant blue eyes stared out at me from beneath a shock of pale blond curls.

“Oh, shit!” I pushed to my feet, took a step forward. “That’s …”

“Nineteen year old Gabriel Lewis was believed by his mother to be staying at Colum Delaney’s since Friday evening, whilst Colum’s parents …”

Dad stood, his fingers retracting his mobile from his jeans pocket as I worked my own out. He paused, nodded to me. “Go on. You make the call, Ethan.”

Shelley Lewis’s number had been saved in my phone book since the beginning of the year, right after we met for the first time. I hit dial and paced to the window. September sunshine, of the early morning variety, blinded me as my phone rang.

It took only a few trills for her to answer. “Ethan?” Her voice held hope, as well as a heavy weariness and the thickness of tears.

“Is it true?” I’d promised to support her—a lone parent, a female no less, raising a werewolf son with no guidance. So far, I’d delivered on that promise.

The sob hitting my ear gave confirmation enough. “Oh, Ethan.”

“Hold tight, Shelley. I’m on my way.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dad said, as I hung up and spun to him. “Shout Sean, too—in case we need to do any scouting. I think I heard him stir upstairs.”

“What about Connor’s lot?” The Larsen’s made up the other half of our eight-wolf pack, but lived separately to us on the south side of the forest.

Dad shook his head. “I’ll update Connor whilst you deal with Sean—”

“And Jem?” I asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Dad’s lips twitched, but he continued as though he hadn’t noticed my reference to his buck-passing. “Just the three of us will go. Connor and his boys can spend the morning here and stay close to Jem and your mother unless we need them.”