A Scarlet Past

Blurb:

As World War II heats up, so does the secret battle on the home front. For two touch-starved werewolf warriors, mating is more than pleasure—it’s a matter of survival. Vivian heals the fissures in Fergus’s humanity. Though he saved Vivian’s life, she’s an Alpha bitch unable to meekly submit to any male. Both try to dominate the other, when surrendering to their deepest desires is the only chance of victory.

Excerpt:

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

Fergus leapt, knocking the charging rogue to the ground. By rolling him, he exposed the enemy’s belly. His own powerful hind legs ripped through the rogue’s stinking hide at the same time he bit a big hole in the wounded male’s jugular.

Shaking off the foul blood, clogging his nose, he scanned the scene, frantic to find the doll. She’d hamstrung one and was waltzing with the last mobile rogue.

His heart stuttered with fear for her. The brave little female was way too delicate for this kind fight. While he watched, she wielded a silver blade with graceful expertise, her movements quick flashes, but always in control. She danced, nicking the enemy, and staying just out of the slower male’s reach, patiently waiting 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 lush curves, a slender, supple waist twisted as she parried with the rogues. Her hair glinted a deep red, ivory skin shimmered in the moonlight, and plump lips parted, baring pearly teeth at the foaming–mouthed male.

Watching her made Fergus’s own sorry hide feel too thin, too much like one of the crazed 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 needs 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 watch the show. The rain 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 dress made her, Fergus stayed alert, ready to spring to her aid if she needed his help. At the same time, he fumed about the kind of mangy Alpha leader who’d let this sweet little doll roam the night by herself. After they’d finished up here, which was going to be challenge with the body count she’d piled up, he planned to tear her pack leader a new asshole.

Then he noticed she was breathing too fast. The rich scent of female blood pinched his snout. A closer look showed she kept one arm pinned to her side. 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 female.

From a fighting crouch, she panted, watching him with wary eyes.

Hard as it was not to notice the magnificent breasts heaving, he forced himself to meet her eyes — her beautiful brown eyes.

Blood trickled from the gash in her side. How bad was she wounded? Why didn’t she shift to heal faster? A rumble of irritation escaped him as he closed the distance separating him from her.

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 seductive honeysuckle fragrance prickled with notes of anger, pain, amazing command, and a seductive female challenge.

He moved in more cautiously, she 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 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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