Chained: A Paranormal Wolf Shifter Romance (Wolf City Book 1) by P. T. Mulholland

Author:P. T. Mulholland [Mulholland, P. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-02-26T06:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

ANDERS

After we finished off the buck and ate most of the innards and meat, we brought meaty limbs back in our mouths to the yellow house for Freya, Ronin and Sienna. The Belfast Brigids were great hunters in their own right, however they weren’t in the mood to hunt and I could tell Ronin was at odds with his mate carrying the cub of another man. It’s not the first time this had happened in our world and it won’t be last.

Keegan went back to Birdie’s for a romp, which they always did after a hunt. Actually, they romped every day, several times a day. It was getting me down, with my brother getting all that sex and yet the only action I was getting was in my dreams. I couldn’t go near another she-wolf once I identified my mate. It’s like some weird hormonal thing, where the scent of other females turn rotten and you become fiercely loyal to your one and only. Sounds romantic, but in my situation, it’s been damn hard work keeping my cool.

I paused when I noticed a visitor in our living room, resting on the wall. It looked like the cicada I wrote symbols over, but I couldn’t be certain. I grabbed it in my hand and drew the symbols over it again and abstract images flashed on the wall. I realized the last time I did this with the moth that I was the facilitator of the images. They were extracted out of the insect and conveyed through me, hence why I’d be the only one to see them.

It appeared the cicada had crawled inside the General’s hummer and was sitting on the seat behind the General and Renault. All I could see were the backs of their heads. They seemed to be in the throes of a conversation, unfortunately the images didn’t come with sound. The scenery through the tinted windows was forest and hills, still in the national park, I assumed.

Renault opened the lid of a laptop and for twenty minutes or so, I watched a fight play out between two of my kind, slipping in and out of wolf form. Anger reared its ugly head inside of me and my wolf snarled and bared his teeth. Their day will come. Trust me. Their day will come.

Someone stepped inside my house and landed himself next to me on my couch. “What are you doing?” he asked in his Australian accent. Pretty boy Brodie.

“Open eye meditation,” I lied, “to calm my fucking angry thoughts.”

“Maybe I should try,” he answered.

“Keep talking to me,” I told him telepathically.

“Okay.” He talked about his life back in the Gold Coast, his pack, the surf, the fires, asking me a question now and again to make the conversation seem authentic. In the mean time, I watched revolting footage on Renault’s laptop of fuckfests and orgies of our kind forced to tangle. It was a disgusting exhibition where partners would be made to shift halfway, thereby humans fucking wolves, knotted together.

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