Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Wheel Wolf (werewolf horror)

Wheel Wolf werewolf horror

Don't go near the lake! Especially when a blood moon hangs overhead.

My werewolf ... my second skin ...
When the moon is on the rise,
I go naked into night.
I am never dressed to kill.

 —January Valentine

As I downshift, I make a mental note: Contact the game warden in the morning. Find out what the hell's creeping around the lake in the dead of night. Animals don't sound like that. I don't think humans do, either. The sounds were off. The sight was worse. Eerie enough to throw me into a panic. That's saying something for the guy who dove off Fisher's Bridge, which stands more than fifty feet in the air. Did I mention, in the dead of winter? My boots breaking through icy water. Did I also mention, a boatful of my buddies were waiting for me below when I crash-landed? They more than likely saved my life. But it was Jenny who brought me out of depression, booze, and addiction.

In my peripheral, trees whiz by like lines of wooden soldiers. Stationary troops. Alert defenders. Yeah, I'm losing it. Can't wait to get back to the house. Barricade the door. Pop open an ice cold Brooklyn Summer Ale. Hop into the shower, bottle in hand, then into bed with my cell phone. Dial my girl. Should I tell Jenny where I've been? What went down? What are you, crazy? You'll never hear the end of it. If she knew you were riding helmetless, she'd slash your tires. Or maybe glue the damn helmet to your head. You should know better, idiot.

Jenny ... My arms tighten around her. I can still feel her lips on mine. Then, out of nowhere ... something, other than my jacket, is clinging to my back. There's a thud. A guttural groan, gurgling, moaning. Silence.

Strange, I'm thinking as I'm airborne. I didn't see anything cross the road that I never took my eyes from.

Well, maybe for a second to unhook my helmet from the handlebar ...  
I'm trying to figure this out in the flashing instant of bone-shattering impact, mine with the pavement, then I'm no longer thinking.

Barnes & Noble

I'm tossing and turning. My brain hurts. It feels like it's fucking bubbling inside my skull. I'm twisting in and out of bizarre stages of sleep. I'm taking colorful naps. Beneath my sealed lids I'm seeing shadows and rainbows. Shuddering. Dancing. Circles. Lines. Dots. I bolt out of a fifth dimension of symbols and strobe lights, picturing faces, hearing voices. It's enough to drive me even more insane. A sliver of moon is filtering through the crack on either side of the blinds. Other than that, my room is dark. A tomb. A sexy tomb.

I'm smelling all kinds of mouthwatering aromas. Scents. Female. I'm tasting Jenny on my lips. Inhaling her peach perfume. I'm like a dog in heat, fighting incredible urges to hump something. Someone. I wonder if Rachel's around. Holy shit. Jenny would fucking kill me if she knew what was going through my head right now.

Unaware of how I got into this position, I find myself half hanging off the bed. What the fuck? I can move? Your arms dumbass. You're having nightmares, and you're dragging yourself across the bed.

No way. I'm awake. Which I know, because I'm sitting up wiping drool from my mouth, and about to jerk off. Then I stop myself. I've got to get this boner predicament under control. My skin is perspiring profusely and is itchy as hell. I'm scratching myself raw, delighting at the smell of my own blood that's seeping from claw marks and pores. My senses are so acute, I believe I'm about to learn the meaning of unearthly. Everything abnormal. Dark. Deadly.

Next thing I know, my legs are twitching, dangling over the side of the mattress. I'm wigging my toes. Shit. I think I can walk. I'm balancing on the balls of my feet, padding across the carpet, pushing up the unlocked side of the window with two furry things that don't look like familiar hands. Legs over, I suck in fresh air and leap onto dewy grass. Wearing boxers? The night smells beautiful, exotic, seductive, like Jenny. Jenny. 

Fighting For You

Fighting For You New Adult Romance

Have you ever loved someone so much you're positive breathing without him or her is impossible? Had to fight so hard  you lost sense of yourself? This book is dedicated to everyone who has felt the pangs of love. Suffered, fought, and recovered. May you find your dream and hold onto it. Never give up. Sometimes love takes more than a first chance.

Love is the beauty which clings to life, binds hearts together, leaving them hollow without it. – JV

Some Indigo moments ...

Favorite Indigo quotes:  "Life isn't perfect. Think of it as a designer dress you pull out of the closet. Beautiful, except for that one little wrinkle where it was crushed. When you try to iron it out, you end up making more. Choices are a bitch. Making the right one takes time, patience." ―Indigo

Jewelia Delarosa isn't too eager to fight her way through another dead-end relationship. Then her eyes find his. By chance. He's like wine, rich and intoxicating. One sip rocks her world, and suddenly, she's drowning in a guy called Indigo. She doesn't know how to handle her overwhelming emotions. His mood swings. The two women who refuse to let him go. The battle is all uphill. Giving up seems the most sensible thing to do, but once she's tasted his love, given herself to him body and soul, living without him is not an option. Until she realizes, leaving him seems the only protection from heartbreak.

About to begin his residency at NYU Medical center, Indigo's plan is to rescue every child who needs him, even if it sucks the life out of him.  He doesn't remember what happiness feels like. His mother haunts him. A wannabe girlfriend stalks him. He doesn't need another woman in his life. Then a stunning gaze captures his, and while fighting to resist, he sinks deeper into something he never thought could be his. Love has never been in the cards for Indigo. But a girl named Jewelia is as necessary as the blood coursing through his veins.

Fighting For Control

The windows were fogged, the sound of our breathing so heavy, I wasn't sure if it was caused by his breath, or mine, or the heat of our bodies clouding the glass. I felt the weight of a single finger as it rounded my breast, lightly skimming the silky fabric, all that stood between his hands and my skin. The stimulating circle grew smaller until my nipple tightened beneath his insistent touch, burning the tingling flesh beneath my dress.

I had no control over my body that strained against his, my hips that rocked with encouragement, overwhelming desire that flooded my senses. I fought the urge to grasp the hardness beneath me, touch him intimately, as he was doing to me.

When I moaned his name, he reacted by cupping my entire breast, his touch growing firmer, lifting, almost ejecting my breast from the garment's hold. Again and again he cupped and released until I thought I would die.

"Indigo ..." I squirmed, feeling him harden even more than I'd imagined possible.

"Baby," he groaned, "you have no idea what you're doing to me. But if you want me to stop, tell me and I will. I'll do whatever you want ... but I'm not going to fuck you ... not here ... not now."