Unbeknownst to humans, the werewolves of the world live in tight knit gangs, or “dens”, for protection from outsiders – and each other. Every major metropolis has one; to belong to a den is to have a family for eternity. Shaye Cassidy, an unhoused human woman scraping by on the streets of Los Angeles, hasn’t had anything close to a family in over ten years. Shaye left her home under a cloud to chase the dream of a new start, a dream that quickly turned into a nightmare; a nightmare that grows even more twisted when Shaye witnesses a werewolf killing a fellow unhoused man.
Andy Vasquez is a top member of Sangre Sagrada, second only to the den leader herself. When she tasks him with tracking down a werewolf gone rogue, someone who is killing humans for sport and risking the exposure of their world, Andy dedicates all his resources to the task. He couldn’t have predicted that the key to uncovering the identity of the rogue wolf would be a human woman, any more than he could have predicted that he would fall in love with her.
Now, Andy must protect Shaye not just from the rogue wolf, but also from those within his den who wish she would disappear. Shaye has her own secrets, however, and in the city of angels, everyone has a devilish side.
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EXCERPT:
I faced forward and froze.
Sitting on the stool across the table was the slim man from the library. He looked me over with an unimpressed glaze to his eyes, leaning against the table, his breathing somewhat labored.
“Shaye Cassidy?” he said casually, as if we had arranged to meet here on a blind date.
I pushed away from the table, my eyes widening. “Shit–!”
Two massive hands clamped onto my shoulders. I tried to twist around, to twist out of their grip, but I might as well have been trying to squirm out of handcuffs. “Stay awhile,” said the silver-haired man behind me, pressing me down into the stool, squeezing hard, but not hard enough to be painful.
Heart in my throat, pounding against my skin like it was trying to escape, I watched as the dark-haired man slid himself on top of the plush green seat across from me, reaching forward and picking up a few pieces of hard-shelled candy out of the bowl as he settled himself. “How did you even get into a place like this?” he asked, an amused quirk to the corner of his mouth that set me on edge.
Even in the midst of the chaotic bar, his voice was deep, cool, and clear, like water from a mountain river. I watched as he threw the candy into his mouth piece by piece, and he returned my stare, his brows lifting over his dark eyes.
My tongue darted out to wet my suddenly dry lips. I cleared my throat. “Are you going to hurt me?”
His lips twitched up into a lightning strike smile that was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “No.” Tongue probing the inside of his cheek, he leaned forward across the table, so he didn’t have to shout. “Are you going to answer my question?”
His calmness grated on my raw nerves. I rolled my eyes and gestured towards the back of the club, past the dance floor. “Fire door alarm around the back is busted. Has been for almost a year.” As I shifted my weight on my seat, the man’s grip on my shoulders remained steady and firm. I grimaced at the pressure. “I noticed it when they hired me for a day to wash some dishes.”
The man looked in the direction I indicated and gave a harrumph, his shoulders rising and falling. He returned his attention to me, nodding. “Clever.”
Frowning, I gripped the edge of the table tightly. “I’m homeless, not blind.” I looked around. No one seemed to notice that I was under duress. If I started screaming, what would happen? What would anyone do? I decided not to risk it, sighing and staring at the man across from me instead. “I’m not stupid either. You’re Andy Vazquez, right?”
His calm facade cracked, if only slightly. This time he actually looked impressed, his eyes widening slightly, faint surprise clear in the opening of his mouth. “Ah, yeah.”
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“I thought you said you weren’t stupid.” He smiled, his eyes narrowing. “What would someone like me want with someone like you?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with unusual honesty, throwing one hand into the air. “I don’t even know who you are; not really. Just that you’re looking for me. You and the LAPD.” Looking him over more closely, a thought occurred to me. “Is that it? Are you a cop? Like a detective or something?”
As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I knew the answer was no. Getting a closer look at him, he couldn’t have been dressed less like a police officer. A part of my brain I had not used in a long time recognized the deceptively plain white dress shirt he was wearing as Louis Vuitton, meaning it cost somewhere close to a thousand dollars. The pants they were tucked into? Armani, over a thousand. The jacket? Even at this distance, I could tell: a single-breasted affair in virgin wool and silk – two thousand at least.
But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way he wore them.
Author Bio:
Robin Jeffrey can almost always be found cranking out punchy flash fiction, lyrical essays, or world-rich novels. Her writing has been published in magazines across the country and around the world. She currently calls the Pacific Northwest of the United States home, where she lives happily with her husband and their out of control comic book collection. She currently resides in the rainy Pacific Northwest. More of her work can be found on her website, RobinJeffreyAuthor.com.
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Never read this author... thanks for the intro.
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