A Charming Mask
Troy Lansing, envoy to the Brighton Pack has one mission – to find out everything he can about the new wolf pack living near his father’s territory. He offers the hand of friendship to the Moonlight pack, there’s just one problem. His father isn’t in the business of making friends.
A Stranger with Secrets
Belinda Thomas, omega to the Moonlight Pack is tasked by her alpha to find out the truth behind Troy’s façade. Her omega abilities give her a unique insight into the hearts of other wolves. When she comes face to face with the enigmatic Troy, she doesn’t know what to make of him. Her wolf knows though.
A Forbidden Passion
Bound by secrets, duty and honor, Troy and Bel are drawn to each other, moths to the destructive flames of their passion. They will risk it all for the hunger driving them both.
A Desperate Fight
Can Troy and Bel find a way to save the Moonlight pack from the evil clutches of the Brighton alpha? The final fight for freedom might cost them more than their love; they might have to pay the ultimate price.
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Wood creaked to his left, and Troy stilled, lowering his feet down from the porch railing. The heavy shadow of the overhang would conceal his presence. Rand had made a point of telling him he shared the home to the right with his mate but hadn’t mentioned the occupant of the cottage on the opposite side. A pale reflection caught his eye, moonlight shining on light hair. The slender figure moving toward the woods paused and glanced in his direction. Bel.
He was out of his chair before realizing he’d moved; the thick railing around the porch was all that prevented him from striding across the open space toward her. Rain pattered against his skin, mixing with the sheen of sweat coating his chest. If she had turned away, kept moving without acknowledging him, he might not have acted. But he’d never know. Instead, she raised a hand to her throat, drawing his eye to the delicate line of her arm, the expanse of bare skin above the low neckline of her simple dress.
Bending his knees, Troy leaped onto the railing, balancing on his toes in a crouch. She turned her head, glanced toward the woods then back in his direction. The last vestiges of the mask of civility he wore slipped away, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin. Do it, he urged silently.
As though she heard his voiceless plea, Bel spun on her heel and made a break for the trees. Growling low in his throat, he sprang from the railing, hitting the ground at full speed. The clouds overhead burst open, turning the gentle patter of rain into a raging torrent, soaking him to the skin in moments. His feet slipped and slid in the long grass underfoot, but he didn’t slow his pace. Diving between a pair of thick trunks, he ducked beneath long curtains of Spanish moss and passed instantly into full darkness. The tangled canopy overhead masked the worst of the rain. Twigs snapped, warning her of his approach, marking her own desperate flight through the woods. Her scent hung thick in the humid air, a blanket of sunshine and sweetbriar.
A twisted root caught his ankle, sending him sprawling forward. Tucking his shoulder, he rolled with the motion, gaining his footing moments later at the base of a small incline. He stood in the bottom of a natural hollow, a clearing in the trees. Bel was less than twenty feet away, clutching the skirt of her dress high as she scrambled up the other side of the hollow.
“Stop,” he growled, forcing every ounce of command he possessed into the word.
She froze, one foot on the crest of the slope. He stalked across the clearing, watching her shoulders heave as she tried to catch her breath. He knew how she felt. Between the thick summer air and the lust coursing through his veins, he might never breathe normally again. The muscles in her calf twitched where her toes braced for purchase on the incline. He’d never spent much time considering the graceful shape of the back of a woman’s leg before. The curve of muscle narrowing to taper into the rigidity of an Achilles tendon, the pregnant swell of a smooth heel, the arch of her elegant instep.
Pausing at the base of the slight hill, he reached for her leg, traced the lean muscle of her calf. He slid his hand higher, watching it disappear beneath the damp hem of her dress. A soft gasp escaped her lips. Bending his head, he nibbled along the defined edge of her calf muscle, burying his lips into the dimple at the back of her knee.
“Troy!” His name on her lips sounded both a blessing and a curse.
About the Author
Merryn Dexter is a military spouse who, after a varied employment career (from selling sandals to old ladies with bunions to being a health and safety coordinator for a construction company), is thrilled to be pursuing her dream career as a romance writer. She likes The Winchesters, Spike, Hotch, Loki and watching complicated European Noir. Her hobbies include crying at books, crying at movies, crying at tv serials (there’s a theme!) and believes all stories should have a Happy Ending.
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