Just Like Animals: A Werelock Evolution Series Standalone Novel

by Hettie Ivers

  JUST LIKE ANIMALS

  Werelock Evolution, Book 5

  Hettie Ivers

  Contents

  About This Book

  1. Raul

  2. Raul

  3. Bethany

  4. Raul

  5. Bethany

  6. Raul

  7. Bethany

  8. Raul

  9. Raul

  10. Bethany

  11. Bethany

  12. Bethany

  13. Raul

  14. Raul

  15. Bethany

  16. Raul

  17. Bethany

  18. Raul

  19. Bethany

  20. Raul

  21. Raul

  22. Bethany

  23. Bethany

  24. Raul

  25. Bethany

  26. Bethany

  27. Raul

  28. Raul

  29. Bethany

  30. Bethany

  31. Raul

  32. Raul

  33. Raul

  34. Raul

  35. Bethany

  Epilogue

  SEER

  THANK YOU, dear readers!

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from SLIP OF FATE

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 Hettie Ivers www.hettieivers.com

  Cover Photo: Lindee Robinson Photography www.lindeerobinson.wix.com/photoillustrator

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Please be advised that this book contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language. If such content offends you, please do not read.

  ISBN: 978-0-9994405-1-3

  FBI ANTI-PIRACY WARNING:

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  About This Book

  Although Just Like Animals is book number five in the Werelock Evolution Series, please note it may be read as a standalone within the series. It is not necessary to have read Werelock Evolution: The Complete Trilogy or No Light prior to reading Just Like Animals.

  That said, having read the books that precede this one may enhance your enjoyment, as those who are familiar with the earlier books in the timeline will pick up on a few jokes and references that will be lost on new readers. This book also continues the overall overarching storyline of the series.

  Please be advised that Hettie Ivers has a tendency to see satire and irony everywhere, and she has never met a foul word or raunchy euphemism she didn’t like. (With the exception of “baby batter”—which remains a hard limit for her.) This book contains violence, foul language, adult content, and a lot of over-the-top werelock characters. If such material offends you, please do not read. (Or read it and be offended, if that’s your bag.)

  1

  Raul

  “Sir, car’s out front.”

  I nodded in acknowledgement, but my feet were rooted to the cement floor of the club, my eyes transfixed by the gyrating blonde as I tried to determine if I was seeing things.

  Nope. It was definitely her. And she was drunk off her ass. Of that there was little doubt. Yet she still displayed an enviable natural rhythm out on the dance floor—with that barely clothed, to-die-for body that I had found myself jerking off to in memory on more than one occasion over the past ten years. More times than was probably healthy, given the fact she was strictly off-limits.

  More than off-limits. She might as well have been taboo. Maybe that’s what made her so attractive? Or maybe I was just a masochist.

  Her girlfriends appeared equally inebriated. Men surrounded her like vultures. Two of them were putting their hands on her. I took a step closer without thinking. Then another.

  “Sir?”

  I rationalized that I just wanted to confirm it was really her, to see her up close … make certain she was okay and that she had a safe ride home. I told myself I had only pure intentions this time.

  I’d checked up on her over the years and knew that she’d completed medical school and was now finishing her residency at UCSF Hospital. And that she was engaged. A fact that came back to me in a blinding flash when she flung her arm up in the air and the enormous rock on her finger caught the flare of the strobe light.

  She was engaged to some big-deal society schmuck. Silicon Valley trust fund baby trash. I’d seen their cheesy engagement photo spread all over social media seven months ago and had pegged the guy a class A douchebag at first sight.

  She’d looked radiant in the photos. Better than I’d even remembered. And happy. So fucking happy. A fact I’d had conflicting feelings about at the time.

  She didn’t look happy now, though. And once again, I felt conflicted over this observation.

  Sure, she was grinning as if having the time of her life, throwing flirty bedroom eyes at the men dancing with her as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if she wasn’t engaged to be married. But those eyes were red-rimmed and puffy beneath their well-applied makeup, and lined by dark circles. They looked more green than blue. She’d been crying hours earlier. I was sure of it.

  My inner animal took over. Before I knew it, I’d nudged the guy at her back out of my way, my hands had encircled her tiny waist, and I was yanking her lush, round ass into the swiftly growing ache in my groin. Definitely a masochist. I delivered a mental push accompanied by a flash of yellow eyes to the asshole in front of her when he looked up to glare at me in protest. He did a double take and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to back away as quickly as possible.

  I felt her body stiffen against me, a trickle of alarm tightening her muscles, a sliver of fear tainting her perfect scent. It only made her smell more edible. I groaned as my jean-encased cock swelled and lengthened against her ass, along with my canines. She attempted to pull away from me. And though it irritated me, at the same time I was quietly pleased. Impressed that even drunk she possessed strong survival instincts.

  When I failed to release her, she tried to crane her head back to see who had taken hold of her and had scared off her dance partners, but I hauled her little body tighter in against mine to prevent it, my forearm crossing her chest, my palm caging her throat. I didn’t want her to recognize me.

  Not yet. I wanted a moment between us where there was no history to get in the way. Where we could be two strangers dancing in a club, and I could pretend that I had a chance with her.

  “Relax.” My thumb stroked back and forth over the rapid pulse beating in her neck. “One dance and I’ll let you go. Promise.”

  I’d weighted my words with Alpha energy, and yet they sounded half-command, half-plea to my own ears. Regardless, they seemed to reassure her enough that the tension in her body dissipated. And soon that delicious body all but melted into mine as our hips began to move as one and my roaming hands took liberties they shouldn’t have. I couldn’t stop though. Not when I scented what it was doing to her. How wet she was getting beneath the scrap of material she was wearing.

  She had one of those flimsy, stra
ppy dresses on that looked and felt more like a form-fitting slip. Silvery pale grey in color and barely long enough to hit her upper thighs. My hands slid over the silky smooth material like they had every right to, feeling every hard ridge of muscle and soft mound of flesh that lay beneath. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the temptation to explore her breasts—to feel those diamond-hard nipples through the thin fabric of her dress right there on the dance floor—was more than I had strength of will to resist in the moment. Not when all the blood in my brain had already rushed to my cock.

  She was tall for a woman. Lean and fit but still curvy where it mattered most. And my God, those fuck-me legs! I remembered the first time I’d really noticed them. She had been fifteen and wearing a cheerleading uniform. And I’d never been able to look at her the same way since.

  Those lean, muscular limbs looked about a mile long now in six-inch designer heels that she wore as comfortably as if she’d strutted out of the womb wearing them. I wanted to lick the length of those legs. I wanted to feel those toned thighs locked around my waist.

  Clenching around my face.

  Christ, I was a liar. There was no way I was letting her go after one dance.

  She’d begun making those beautiful moan-y, breathy, I-need-to-come noises that only a woman can make, and I was close to losing my shit, debating whether to teleport us to privacy or sink my dick into her right there on the dance floor and worry about erasing the minds of onlookers later.

  I looked down and saw that one of my hands was rubbing her upper thigh.

  And it was wet.

  Her thigh. Was. Wet.

  I told myself it was only sweat from all of the dancing she’d done. And if I’d been human and unable to smell the difference, I might’ve convinced myself. But my other hand had wandered up under her dress from behind and was rhythmically squeezing and exploring the flesh of her thong-clad ass cheek, rubbing its way toward her hot, needy center—where she was dripping wet.

  Fuck me, I needed to stop.

  We needed to stop.

  But instead, I brushed her hair aside with my chin until my mouth found her neck, kissing and sucking her perfect skin. She moaned and arched into me, and then she rubbed her ass up and down along the length of my erection.

  Once.

  Twice.

  I’d been so wrong before. The girl possessed no survival instincts whatsoever.

  None at all.

  Because she drew my hand that was on the front of her thigh straight up under her dress to her soaked pussy, and she came against my fingers before I had time to register what was even happening.

  My mind blanked, retreating to a dark, desperate, possessive place where there was only the sound of her erratic, panting breaths, her frantic heartbeat, and the sensation of her fluttering, wet clit pressed against my fingers, her cum soaking my palm as I sank my canines into her neck.

  2

  Raul

  Bloody hell, I’d bitten her!

  She spun around to face me, her hand clutching the side of her neck. Pink hit her cheeks the moment her startled eyes met mine, and she gasped. “Holy baby Jesus in a filthy fucking manger.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, my lips twitched helplessly at her outburst. “I’m so sorry.” I cleared my throat to keep from laughing. “I don’t know what came over me, Bethany.”

  “Raul. Wow. Wow, oh, wow.” She shook her head continuously, staring as if she couldn’t fathom that it was me. “Holy shit. Oh, my God. Oh, my Gawwwd. Wow. I didn’t know you were you … and you … didn’t know that I was me.” She explained it aloud to herself. “I mean—obviously. Because I never would’ve—and you never would’ve—I mean—we, we never would’ve …”

  Damn. She was cute all flustered, gesturing wildly with her hands as she rambled on.

  “I’m sure what you experienced was a moment of shock. Panic? Exactly,” she confirmed to herself. “Panic. It was reflexive. Instinctual. A PTSD response. Yes.” She snapped her fingers as if she’d found the explanation for it all. “I read about how this happens to individuals who are orally fixated. I read it in a medical journal somewhere. I think. God, I don’t normally get myself off on strangers’ hands … in uh … ahhm … pub”—she trailed off as she watched me suck my fingers into my mouth, tasting her—“lic.”

  Fuck me. That taste. Definitely not letting her go. I hummed and nodded. Her jaw fell open. I took advantage of the opportunity, pulling my fingers from my mouth and slipping them into hers before she could object. I used her moment of stunned inaction to lower my head closer to her shoulder and assess the damage I’d done to her neck, whispering, “You taste fucking delicious, Bethy,” next to her ear on the way down.

  I was no expert in mating bond bites by any stretch, but her neck didn’t appear to be as bad off as I’d initially feared when I’d tasted her blood in my mouth. Certainly not the way I imagined a mating bond bite would look.

  Huh. Maybe it hadn’t been deep enough to be damaging or significant? Somehow I felt disappointment at this rather than relief. I was sick.

  I licked over her broken skin a few times, partially healing it with my saliva. Then I kissed the spot. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” I pulled back to look at her. “You were just so hot. I got carried away.”

  Her eyes were dazed, her pupils wide. Her lips had closed over my fingers. When her tongue moved tentatively against them, I feared I might bust a nut in my pants. I vowed that I would come in her mouth before the night was through.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have a hickey for a few days,” I advised. Or a few weeks. Or maybe a lifetime? Best guess was one of the three.

  Her hand reached up and lightly grasped my wrist. Slowly, she pulled my fingers from her mouth, giving them a timid, parting suck as they passed between her plump lips. I was absolutely coming in her mouth before the night was through.

  “It’s late. I should go.”

  Hell to the no. “Of course. I understand. But maybe you could buy me a drink first? So I don’t go home feeling cheap and used.”

  Her eyes widened and she turned so red I feared she might pass out.

  “Kidding, Bethy.” I held up both palms. “A joke to lighten the mood. But I am serious that we should have a drink and catch up a bit.”

  She looked unsure. And entirely too sober all of a sudden. I couldn’t have her overthinking this.

  “Look, if we try and ignore what just happened, it’ll only be more awkward the next time we run into each other, don’t you think?” I reasoned. “C’mon, we’re old friends. We can handle this like two responsible adults, can’t we?”

  “Hi, Bethany’s friend,” a slurred female voice broke in, bringing too much perfume with her into our personal space.

  I endured introductions to several tipsy girlfriends. To my annoyance, Bethany introduced me as her “best friend’s brother.” It shouldn’t have bothered me. It’s what I was to her. It’s what I would always be to her.

  Unless I’d bitten her too hard.

  We got drinks and found a quieter spot tucked away from the dance floor. She was still flustered, but she put up a good front, plastered on a bright smile, and proceeded to catch me up on her life, confirming mostly facts that I already knew.

  “So I’m finishing my residency, and I’ll be opening my own gynecology practice next year.”

  “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” The reminder that she stuck her fingers inside of other women’s pussies for a living wasn’t helpful when I was still struggling to get my mind off of hers.

  “I adopted a rescue puppy last week, I’m getting married in three months, and I just couldn’t be happier,” she concluded.

  “Wonderful. Where’s the fiancé tonight?”

  “Who?”

  “Your fiancé.” My eyes slid to the giant princess cut diamond on her finger in indication.

  “Oh.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh, you mean Gregg? That fiancé?”

  I frowned. Nodded. “Ther
e more than one?”

  She broke into high-pitched, nervous laughter. “No, no, it’s just the one,” she confirmed, punching me playfully in the arm. “You were always so funny.” She sighed and took a sip of her drink. Then she took another sip that turned into a chug as she downed the remains of the glass.

  “Gregg’s cheating on me,” she announced with the next release of air that escaped her. “Not that it’s an excuse for me to use your hand to masturbate myself on a dance floor or anything.”

  “I see.” They were the only words I managed as conflicting emotions and a million thoughts jumbled through me. How hard had I really bitten her? Could I get away with killing Gregg without upsetting her? Would I be able to resist biting her again if she continued to make reference to coming on my hand?

  “It’s just—you were touching my breasts,” she continued in a rush. “And I’m really into nipple play. And then you were rubbing my thigh … and your hands felt so good everywhere on me that I had this mad impulse to come on them. I always preach that women should follow their sexual instincts. So I did. Would you excuse me a moment?” She didn’t wait for my reply before jumping up from her seat and bolting in the direction of the bathroom.