road. Dodging creatures of the night, placing ourselves in precarious situations for a dime. Our band, Blood Moon, isn’t trying to make it big or get discovered. For us, that would be kind of disastrous—we need to stay undercover, so to speak. We’re just a collection of eclectic gypsy “other” musicians who prefer the road to laying down roots. Each of us is a product of a broken foster care system and a fucked-up home life. Frankly, it’s a miracle none of us are junkies or worse. We found kindred spirits in one another through music and far deeper secrets that pretty much guarantee we’ll stay together. I am counting on our strong bonds tonight; this won’t be the first time I’ve disappeared after a set, but looking out on the crowd, I know this is possibly the most dangerous situation we have ever been in. These wolves are far more focused than any I’ve ever seen.
Stepping to the microphone, I close my eyes, willing peace to settle over me. As the first guitar chords echo in the quiet room, I allow the music inside me, becoming one with the melody behind the beat. One deep breath, then I open my mouth and pour forth my soul. I got something for you wolf bastards ...
~
Rannulf
The singer is a witch. A beguiling, sexy little witch who has the power to cast a spell with the sound of her melodic voice. I’m not a pup; I’ve seen a lot of things in my time. I’ve just never witnessed a witch with enough natural gifts to enchant without complex machinations. Raw magic is rare in these modern times. Most witches have to go through complex rituals or mix potions in order to enchant a crowd this large, and even then the witch had better be skilled, because that kind of magic has a tendency to backfire. The voluptuous little thing on stage right now simply opens her mouth and has the full attention of a bar full of weres . In truth, she had all our attention as soon as she presented herself. The power in that lush, yet petite body is innate; I can feel her power vibrating through the room. Yet I suspect she has no idea what she is doing right now. What kind of witch in her right mind would verbally seduce an entire den of natural-born wolves?
“Who is she?” I demand, not willing or able to tear my eyes off the songstress. I know it’s a spell, an enchantment, but that doesn’t help me one bit. I don’t even blink as I watch her. I haven’t felt fear in over a hundred years, but I am scared if I take my eyes off her she may disappear, and that I can’t abide.
I want her. My cock springs to full attention, rubbing painfully against the cold, hard steel zipper of my jeans. A singular thought keeps booming through my skull...MINE!
No, I don’t want her—I fucking need her. I have to devour her whole, taste her, mount her, sink my canines into her, mark her for all time. I needed her reduced into a sweaty ball of nerves, quivering in the middle of my bed, begging for more. I need her sobbing my name as I take her to climax after climax. But then, it won’t be only her and me in that bed.
“Her name is Kamra Sama —the band is Blood Moon,” Rollo, my second in command growls. Growls. At me. His fucking Alpha. I have known Rollo since we were whelps. He’s always been by my side, standing by me as I left my original pack to form my own. Not once has he ever disrespected me. Now look at the poor bastard. His canines are prominent as his gaze burns hot over the witch on stage. “There was no indication the woman was a witch when we booked them.”
“Yet you thought it a good idea to have one woman here among a bunch of unmated wolves?” I know there’s a dangerous edge to my voice, but I don’t appreciate my pack lusting over her before I can claim her. After—well, they can lust but, touching will mean death. It’s good that Rollo wants her, though. This is the only woman he will ever be allowed to cover after I make her mine. So why exactly it is that I want his blood covering my
Stepping to the microphone, I close my eyes, willing peace to settle over me. As the first guitar chords echo in the quiet room, I allow the music inside me, becoming one with the melody behind the beat. One deep breath, then I open my mouth and pour forth my soul. I got something for you wolf bastards ...
~
Rannulf
The singer is a witch. A beguiling, sexy little witch who has the power to cast a spell with the sound of her melodic voice. I’m not a pup; I’ve seen a lot of things in my time. I’ve just never witnessed a witch with enough natural gifts to enchant without complex machinations. Raw magic is rare in these modern times. Most witches have to go through complex rituals or mix potions in order to enchant a crowd this large, and even then the witch had better be skilled, because that kind of magic has a tendency to backfire. The voluptuous little thing on stage right now simply opens her mouth and has the full attention of a bar full of weres . In truth, she had all our attention as soon as she presented herself. The power in that lush, yet petite body is innate; I can feel her power vibrating through the room. Yet I suspect she has no idea what she is doing right now. What kind of witch in her right mind would verbally seduce an entire den of natural-born wolves?
“Who is she?” I demand, not willing or able to tear my eyes off the songstress. I know it’s a spell, an enchantment, but that doesn’t help me one bit. I don’t even blink as I watch her. I haven’t felt fear in over a hundred years, but I am scared if I take my eyes off her she may disappear, and that I can’t abide.
I want her. My cock springs to full attention, rubbing painfully against the cold, hard steel zipper of my jeans. A singular thought keeps booming through my skull...MINE!
No, I don’t want her—I fucking need her. I have to devour her whole, taste her, mount her, sink my canines into her, mark her for all time. I needed her reduced into a sweaty ball of nerves, quivering in the middle of my bed, begging for more. I need her sobbing my name as I take her to climax after climax. But then, it won’t be only her and me in that bed.
“Her name is Kamra Sama —the band is Blood Moon,” Rollo, my second in command growls. Growls. At me. His fucking Alpha. I have known Rollo since we were whelps. He’s always been by my side, standing by me as I left my original pack to form my own. Not once has he ever disrespected me. Now look at the poor bastard. His canines are prominent as his gaze burns hot over the witch on stage. “There was no indication the woman was a witch when we booked them.”
“Yet you thought it a good idea to have one woman here among a bunch of unmated wolves?” I know there’s a dangerous edge to my voice, but I don’t appreciate my pack lusting over her before I can claim her. After—well, they can lust but, touching will mean death. It’s good that Rollo wants her, though. This is the only woman he will ever be allowed to cover after I make her mine. So why exactly it is that I want his blood covering my
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