Prey for the Hell-Dog (Hell-Dogs Book 3) by Amber Foy

Author:Amber Foy [Foy, Amber]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Creature Features
Published: 2017-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

“Lene?”

I snuggled into warm blankets and hot, smooth skin—

And stilled. Skin. Human skin. And that voice. It wasn’t inside my head. What…what? Goddess, had it been a dream and now I had to wake to the nightmare?

“Sh-h, my Lene. I have you. It’s me. It’s your less furry hell-dog.”

Strong arms wrapped around me and held me to a broad, male chest, but his scent was the same, earth and rain and I breathed him in, fighting the panic. I huffed a laugh against his skin. “Less furry?”

Lips found my forehead and a soft kiss chased away the last of my fears. I melted against him. “I can wear this skin, this shadow but this is not my true form.”

“I prefer my hell-dog.” I nuzzled into the strong column of his neck. “I like fur.”

He drew back and the dawn light gilded his sharp face in rose and gold. Silver eyes shone and I couldn’t resist tracing slow fingers over his sharp jaw and the perfection of his lips. “Though, I will admit, you are beautiful in this skin too.” I tucked myself under his chin and wrapped my arms around him. “No, still missing the fur.”

He laughed and squeezed me to him…oh, so somethings didn’t shift to human with his change. His dog-prick was a monstrously long and hard line against my belly and I rolled against it with a smirk. Raig growled, a smooth ripple of sound, before he let out a long breath and pressed a kiss to my hair. “None of that. We must find your beloved Uncle.”

I froze. Fuck. Fuck. I had disobeyed him…for months. “Raig…”

“All will be well.”

I wanted to believe him, I did, even as he eased me into clean robes and shifted his form into my hell-dog. I buried my face against his great shoulder, breathing in his scent, welcoming the softness of his fur and the molten heat that threaded through him in gleaming, golden veins.

Lord Glenn was still sprawled on the floor and we stepped over him. Raig’s claws and rough-padded paws clacked in a familiar way down the corridor to the doors and waiting guard. Blank-faced as ever, he inclined his head and murmured “Good-day, Lady.”

I willed on my mask, even as my skin bloomed with heat at what he had to have heard. The screams, the howls…

“He heard nothing. You are mine, alone.”

Raig’s voice was a strangely soothing growl through my thoughts. I dug my fingers into his fur, threading through the run of long hair that thickened over his withers and chased down his spine. I needed that touch. To convince myself I was not caught in a dream.

“The orgy is winding down and Othin is still in the throne room.”

Witnesses. Wonderful.

The mass of sticky, messy flesh—a tangle of limbs and wild hair—softly twitched and jerked and snored before Othin’s throne. A naked woman lay sprawled over the Warlord, his gnarled hand tight on her ass. His pale eyes narrowed on me and then on the massive hell-dog that stood beside me.

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