Evanne Lorraine
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A Scarlet Past

 
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Blurb:

World War II heats up on the home front. For two lonely Alphas sex ensures survival. Vivian loves Fergus, but a pack leader can’t bow to anyone even when surrender is her only chance for true victory.

Excerpt:

Rain poured out of the sullen sky. Two feral werewolves were already on the ground, bleeding out. Fortunately for him and the curvy bitch fighting, rogue packs were notoriously undisciplined. This group was no exception to the rule. Three of the lumbering males circled a fragile doll in human form. Every single one of the crazed dogs panted with arousal, their sick excitement polluting the night air. One of the circlers got impatient and charged her back.

Fergus leaped, knocking the charging male down. By rolling, he exposed the enemy’s belly. He used his own powerful hind legs and ripped through the feral dog’s stinking hide at the same time as he bit a big hole in the wounded male’s jugular.

He shook off the foul blood clogging his nose and scanned the scene, frantic to find the doll. He locked his eyeballs on unmistakable curves. She’d hamstrung one rogue and waltzed past with the last mobile enemy.

His heart stuttered with fear. The brave little bitch was way too delicate for this kind of fight. While he watched, she wielded a silver blade with graceful expertise, her movements quick flashes yet always controlled. She danced, nicking the enemy, and staying just out of the slower male’s reach. She stayed cool, not rushing into any hasty moves and waiting patiently for the horny rogue to make a fatal mistake.

Even in human form, the Alpha bitch looked as good as she smelled. Generous breasts balanced a full bottom. In between the lushness, a slender, supple waist twisted as she parried with the crazed male. Her hair glinted a deep red, ivory skin shimmered in the moonlight, and plump lips parted, baring pearly teeth in a tight smile at the foaming-mouthed rogue.

Watching her made Fergus’s own sorry hide feel too thin—too much like one of the poor, sick males. He itched for a caress from those delicate hands. The gut-twisting craving reminded him how touch starved he was and how close to madness he’d come.

Determined not to fail her, he ignored his hunger and paced downwind of the fight. Finally sinking to the ground with a grunt of grudging admiration, he let the rain roll off his thick fur and settled down to enjoy the show. The drizzle plastered her thin dress to her provocative curves, improving the scenery.

Meanwhile, she polished off the wounded rogue and kept the snarling mover at bay. As distracting as the wet cloth made her, Fergus stayed alert, ready to spring to her aid if she needed help. At the same time, he fumed about the kind of mangy Alpha who’d let this sweet little doll roam the night alone. After they’d finished up here, which was going to be a challenge with the body count she’d piled up, he planned to tear her pack leader a new asshole.

His plotting came to halt. She was panting for air and the rich scent of female blood pinched his snout. She kept one arm pinned to her side. The damn rogue had hurt her. How the hell had he missed that?

His snarl ripped the air during the short flight to the enemy snapping at the female. Fury obliterated his fatigue and aches, fueling him with extra strength. He bit down on the rogue’s neck, locked his powerful jaws, and shook the worthless dog until he went limp in his teeth.

He dropped the dead enemy and turned to check on the brave little bitch.

She watched him warily from a fighting crouch.

Hard as it was not to keep from gawking at her magnificent, heaving breasts, he forced himself to meet and hold her beautiful eyes.

From the edge of his vision he saw blood trickle from the gash in her side. How badly was she wounded? Why didn’t she shift to heal faster? A rumble of irritation escaped him as he closed the distance separating them.

With stunning speed, her silver blade flashed, nicking his chest. The small cut stung like a whole swarm of bees.

As he backed off, a sneeze cleared the stench of rogue out of his snout and he caught a good whiff of her. The intoxicating honeysuckle fragrance prickled with notes of anger, pain, amazing command, and seductive female challenge.

He moved in more cautiously. The bitch wielded a wicked knife, and she was pissed. None of that changed the fact she was hurt. He had to help her.

When he sidled nearer, she brandished her blade and edged away from him.

Rogues couldn’t shift. So he did. It was the only thing he could think of doing to reassure her that he was one of the good guys.

Her eyes widened to saucer size. With no warning, not a single damn tell, and way too much accuracy, she threw the knife.

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