I’ve been scrolling through my current Works in Progress, to see what I might be able to share with you. This was another series where I didn’t quite get a full run. I completed Book 1, started Book 2 and took time off. When I came back to it, I finished Book 2, started Book 3 and never got around to finishing it. My goal for 2021 is to complete Book 3, so that the entire series is finally completed.
The paranormal world is full of double standards. Like how his werewolf boyfriend can cheat on him, because he wants pups, but Owin will never be more than a mistake, in the eyes of the pack. In revenge, Owin risks a one-night stand at a local club. Only, the loner loser he picks up is a beast in the bedroom…until he bites Owin. Blacking out and waking to find a terrified lycan in his bed, who accidentally claimed him as a mate, wasn’t how he expected this night to end.
Nor was it what Carney planned. He’s under no delusion as to what he is. Having survived a childhood kidnapping, medical experiments, and the separation from his wolf, Carney fears nothing but a long life, and hurting Owin. With his sanity hanging by a thread, and a history with Owin that only Carney remembers, biting him is only one of many nightmares come true. Now, Carney needs to be strong. To keep Owin safe until he finds a better, more suitable mate. Then, once Owin’s life is back on the Happily-Ever-After trail, Carney will do what should have been done years ago. He’ll let his inner demons drive him to his death, to finally end his tortured existence.
Faolon made his childhood a living nightmare, and when Carney discovers Faolon’s filthy fingerprints all over Owin’s past, it leaves him in no doubt. When he dies, he needs to take Faolon with him, and end his reign of terror, once and for all.
One messed up pack and a war on the brink might not be enough to save a wolf without faith.
THEMES: shifter, mpreg, found family, historical research, medical experiments
This extract is UNEDITED and subject to change.
Porter wasn’t going to like it. Not one bit. But Owin was sick of taking his boyfriend into account whenever he was out on the town. He’d been faithful and loyal for years and what did it get him? Cheated on.
With a skanky blonde girl, no less.
All of Porter’s excuses for his behaviour were sickening, so Owin came here. To club Growler; some sort of cross between a gay bar and a prowler bar, according to the advertisements he’d seen on Porter’s laptop. Not that he was supposed to be here, or on his boyfriend’s laptop, but he’d lost the ability to care. The club looked fun and the rules displayed on the site were simple to follow.
So here he was, in a club he’d never even heard of before, eyeing up the hotties at the bar. He wore a blue tie, handed to him when he arrived. Most other clubs just stamped a hand or wrist and had it over with, but this place was special. The tie wasn’t just admission, but a visual display of his dominant nature, the blue a representation of his preference to be a bottom in any hook up that might occur.
The group of four boys at the bar, three deep in conversation while the fourth sat alone, all wore dickie bows; the sign of submissive natures. The three boys had the deep green colour of pure submission. Boys that would do anything for a partner, whether of a one night stand or more permanent nature. The loner, however, had what the rules on the website claimed was a rare colour—grey. Grey, from what Owin could remember, meant that he wasn’t looking for anyone at all. It was a sign of someone who was only a submissive because they didn’t want to dominate. And Owin didn’t really know what that meant. Especially in this context.
Growler was clearly a hook-up spot for gay men, so why would this sad looking man be here if he wasn’t interested in any action?
Though six men grabbed Owin’s interest throughout the night, two even joining him at the table, he couldn’t stop thinking about Mr Grey. He was gorgeous, with that stylishly messy hair, closely shaved on either side and left long to flop over his eyes or be styled up on top; beautiful pouty lips and sad grey eyes. Despite the excess of hair on his forearms, his bushy brows and a decently attractive beard, he was pretty much Owin’s ideal man in the looks department.
“You look preoccupied,” one of the men noticed, smiling right up to his green eyes, only accentuated by his green dickie bow.
When he didn’t answer right away, too busy watching Mr Grey finish his third drink of the last hour, a hand cupped his face and turned him until he faced Mr Green.
Owin couldn’t remember his name. But when he was kissed, he allowed it and appreciated the soft, compliant lips that parted beneath his. He appreciated it all the more when Mr Green turned him towards Mr Orange—a switch—who also kissed him.
Reaching up with one hand, Owin grasped Mr Orange’s hair and deepened the kiss, as Mr Green took his glass of whiskey from his free hand. Since it was free, he only moaned his approval when it was drawn down to cup Mr Green’s hard dick, pushing through the fabric of his trousers.
Dragging his hand away, Owin got to his feet and stepped past Mr Green, leaving both him and Mr Orange confused. Until he reached the other side of the table and smiled. “Coming?” he asked, heading towards the back of the club, where there were private rooms.
Both boys grinned and followed eagerly. They were almost at the door leading to the private rooms when Owin caught a reflection in the mirrored door. Mr Grey was getting up and paying his bill. If he ever planned to solve the mystery of that strange man, it had to be now. “You boys go ahead and have fun. I have to do something, before I join you,” he said, turning round and heading for the bar.
Though he could sense eyes on his back, almost feel the frustration of his two companions, he couldn’t help himself. He felt compelled to follow Mr Grey, who chatted politely with the female bartender. From their body language, Owin guessed they knew each other, but that sad look never left Mr Grey.
What part of Growler didn’t suit this man? It was an old class Gentleman’s club, with private rooms for fooling around, great music and atmosphere, a dance floor and a bar. It had any number of hot men, all sporting different preferences and all looking more than willing for a quick fumble on the dance floor or in a booth. Why had Mr Grey come here if not to indulge in the decadence of this place?
Half the men wore suits and the other half wore suits that were being partially removed by their companions. Men looked sexy as fuck in a suit, so the appeal of the appropriate apparel for this place wasn’t lost to Owin. How could Mr Grey not see it?
Stepping up beside the sad man, he caught his elbow and whispered in his ear. “You leaving?”
Mr Grey shivered and broke off his conversation with the barman abruptly, to turn his way. “Yes,” he replied, looking caught between unsure and terrified.
“Want to come back to my place?” he asked, in a whisper.
There was no point playing games or beating around the bush; they were both here to get laid. Owin to get back at Porter for his affair and this guy probably to brighten his life, which seemed so sad and lonely. Why pretend that conversation was important when all they wanted was to use each other for their own gains?
Mr Grey nodded, though his eyes were even sadder than before. As though, somehow, Owin’s offer was out of pity. It wasn’t as if he’d missed the fact that Mr Grey’s eyes never left him, the moment the man spotted him in the club. He wouldn’t lie; it had been intriguing to see the constant glances in his direction, the discreet smiles whenever he heard Owin laugh or their eyes met across the room. Mr Grey always looked away, though, keeping his distance, and Owin wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d been trying to draw his attention. It just hadn’t worked the way he’d planned.
Placing his hand on the small of Mr Grey’s back, Owin guided him towards the exit. At the door, he handed over his tie, while the bouncer simply nodded to Mr Grey and smiled in a consoling sort of way.
“It was a pleasure to see you again, sir. I do hope you had a nice time,” he said, with a heavy dose of sincerity, as though he cared about Mr Grey.
Owin watched the exchange, curious and wondering if these two had history.
“It was lovely to see you too, Llewellyn,” he responded, completely bypassing any comment on whether he’d had a nice time or not. He simply walked out the door, tie still in place, and stalled only when he realised Owin wasn’t right behind him.
He stepped into place by Mr Grey’s side and walked out to the parking lot with him. “Did you bring your car?” he asked.
“Don’t have one,” Mr Grey said, with a smile.
“Right. We can take mine,” he decided, confused as to how any man in his late twenties or early thirties, as Mr Grey was, didn’t own a car. It was yet another mystery to add to the already growing enigma of Mr Grey.