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by Melody Knight, N. D. Hansen-Hill
Description: James Oberon Trask, AKA Jot, is a werewolf with a problem. His temper is as ferocious at moonrise as his size is diminutive. If all this weren't bad enough, Jot is also living in a dangerous place. Somewhere in the community, a serial killer is at work, enacting werewolf slayings under the full moon. Werewolf expert, Polly Merriworth, has been called in to find the Were psychopath. Polly remains skeptical about the existence of werewolves, but she can't help but wonder, given so many traditional tales, whether there might be some fact behind all the fiction? Or is the dark lore of lycans, the promise of passion and the bloodlust, merely an excuse for some misguided soul? When Jot encounters Polly, it takes considerable finesse to woo her without revealing his lunar affliction. Especially since it may well require the talents of his Were side to prevent her being the next victim of the lycan slayer.
eBook Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc./Black Rose, 2009
eBookwise Release Date: January 2010
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [96 KB]
Reading time: 54-75 min.
Fate had a strange way of playing him. His nickname, for example: Jot. It was short for James Oberon Trask, and nearly all his friends had adopted it. Completely at odds with his tall, lanky frame, which was half the joke.
It would be even more of a joke if they knew...He shoved the thought aside. It was the strength and stature of his human half that made him fearful, and stirred all those "what ifs." His strength, backed by a Were attitude, between the sheets. He shuddered.
No, for the time being he was just Jot, larger than life and steadfast as hell. Tough but trustworthy. Mild, but only because he chose to be.
And, of course, nobody knew what he became when the moon grew full in the skies, for despite how enamored the world seemed to be with mysticism and magic and all things changeling, he doubted it would win him any points with his friends. They wouldn't be prepared for what followed, or his reaction to it, for the way he went from being a big, gruff, human male...to a small, meagerly pathetic and scruffy wolf. If they teased him now about his mild-mannered lanky frame, imagine what they'd say about his diminutive savage one! A Dink filled with bloodlust, and quite capable of ripping out an eye, an ear, or burrowing into a chest after a heart. Of ripping off an arm, given a little gnawing time. A real savage, a terror, a scourge. Rapacious. Filled with horrendous hormonal urges...
Urges that were driving him mad at the moment. I'm on the cusp...
He cringed. That's no excuse, ya bloody fool. Hormones or not--his shudder was deep, woeful--he had to regain some control.
Because the worst of it was, as much as he wanted a human, or she-wolf mate--as Dink, despite his very best intentions, he was in lust with a Chihuahua.