by Anya Nowlan
ONE LAST PROWL
SHIFTER GROVE BRIDES
BOOK 6
BY
ANYA NOWLAN
A LITTLE TASTE…
It started with a kiss, and a moment later her hands were latching onto Austin’s shoulders, her thighs were straddling him, and the delicious dinner was another thing forgotten in the wake of her need to fuck the ever-living shit out of him.
And she wasn’t a crude woman usually. But she really needed that man right then and there and there was nothing she was willing to do to change that.
“Austin,” she whispered feverishly, her nails digging into his flesh so hard she thought she’d rip through the shirt.
“Yes,” he murmured teasingly, his Herculean body rising up from the dining room chair and locking her legs around his waist like he’d never taken a step without her clinging to him.
“I need you to fuck me now,” she said, gasping at her own forwardness.
Oh my God, what am I saying…
Copyright © 2015 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
One Last Prowl
Book 6
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover © Jack of Covers
You can find all of my books here:
Amazon Author Page
www.anyanowlan.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A LITTLE TASTE…
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
BEAR THE BURN EXCERPT
WANT MORE?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Dahlia
Dahlia kept wiping the tears out of her eyes as she ran through the school parking lot and toward the main entrance. She knew the route far too well at this point, and every time she got faster when she had to run it. And she had to be fast. She had to get to him, before something else happened.
Her heart pounded in her chest and she could vaguely tell that her palms were sweaty. Maybe there was even a sheen of cold sweat on her forehead. Dahlia clung to her clutch, half-heartedly praying that Mr. Anderson would find it in his heart—again—to not fire her for having to run out of the massage parlor in the middle of the day. In the middle of an appointment with a client, no less! But her baby came first. For a parent, this was completely understandable, just as long as it didn’t mean obvious and immediate repercussions to someone’s company and well-being.
Please, God, don’t let them expel him!
Dahlia swung the doors wide in front of her, running up the stairs and taking two at a time. She didn’t need to stop and ask for directions like the first few times. No, she knew exactly where she was going. It was like a demon was on her back as she stormed through the second floor hallways, dodging kids as they were piling out of their classrooms and chattering excitedly amongst themselves.
For a fleeting moment, the grayness outside caught her attention. It was almost poetic: the weather was dull and mildly depressing as always and the view the school was afforded wasn’t really one at all, unless concrete slabs outside the windows counted as an aesthetic experience.
Chewing her lip, Dahlia slowed to a sharp stop right in front of the principal’s office and stepped in with relative calm, trying to hide her fast breathing and the—to her—deafening beating of her heart. Immediately, her gaze found Marcus, swinging his legs with boredom, his dark eyebrows bushed into a scowl that she knew all too well. It meant slamming doors and uneaten dinner. It meant yelling, pleading, and later crying, when Marcus wasn’t close enough to see her shed those tears. It meant frantically searching for a new school that would take him after he wore out the patience of whichever New York City education establishment that had tried to give him a chance.
It meant failure. And it meant that her heart would be breaking all over again, just like that time five years ago when his father passed away.
She gave him an encouraging smile, but she knew he could see it in her eyes. That sadness and the worry that he probably mistook as disappointment in him, when it was really disappointment in herself.
“Ms. Roberts! Ms. Martins would like to have a word with you.”
Dahlia nodded, strangling the scream she wanted to let out instead. “Come along, Marcus,” she called.
“No, just you, ma’am,” the chipper secretary said, her face portraying the perfect picture of mild annoyance.
Dahlia sighed, biting her lip before nodding. She knew exactly what that meant. Motioning with her hand, she told Marcus to sit back down and continue his quiet and obviously annoyed scheming. On her way past him, she fished out an apple from her purse and gave it to him.
“I bet you missed lunch,” she said, keeping her voice level.
“Mm-hmm,” came the unenthusiastic reply, Marcus already biting into the apple.
Dahlia knocked shortly on the door and then slid in, not opening it fully, as Ms. Martins called for her. She felt like she was the one that had done… well, whatever Marcus had done this time. And unlike her son, she was feeling bad about it already.
“Ms. Roberts, please have a seat. I’m sad we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances again,” Ms. Martins said, giving her a genuine, if a bit strained, smile.
“That makes two of us, Ms. Martins,” Dahlia started, falling into one of the wooden, high-backed chairs that always reminded her of her youth and the time she’d spent at an all-girls school. Comfort was strictly not allowed. “I’m sure whatever he did, he didn’t mean to. He’s a good boy, but after his father—”
Ms. Martins raised her hand, shushing Dahlia mid-sentence. It was all too familiar. She’d gone through it with at least three schools in the last two years, and it seemed this one would be no different. In her mind, she could already envision moving, finding a new place to work, discovering some magical school within a five-mile radius that would take her delinquent—as several teachers and at least one principal had called him—son. All using money she no longer had after all the previous similar moves.
“We know his story. And I am sympathetic, I really am. We have been trying to be patient with him. We’ve given Marcus every opportunity to better himself, even by a little. But it seems that every day that goes by, things get worse. You’re a caring mother, Ms. Roberts, I can see that, but he needs the kind of help a regular school can’t provide. He needs special—”
“He’s not slow or dumb!” Dahlia gasped, tears threatening to burn her eyes. It had been one time too many. She couldn’t sit by and have someone lecture her again on how she wasn’t doing enough for her only child. “He’s angry, yes. And he’s disappointed. But he isn’t a b
ad boy. He’s smart—you’ve said so yourself! If you got to know him, you’d know as well as I do that he’s a sweet kid. He just needs a chance.”
Her anger turned to pleading as soon as she realized that there was nothing to save. The strict, dry, almost painted-on look that the principal got as soon as Dahlia launched into her tirade told her everything. She might have been sympathetic, but she sure as hell wasn’t willing to do anything anymore to help. And, honestly, Dahlia couldn’t blame her.
“This was the third window he broke. In two weeks. We ask him why, he says he wants fresh air. He skips class to sit out in the courtyard, not even trying to hide it. He’s disrespectful to his teachers and his classmates. I’m sorry, Ms. Roberts, but we can’t have Marcus stay in our school any longer. As of now, he’s expelled and I am not able to negotiate on this. We have strict limits and he has pushed the boundaries one too many times.”
“I understand,” Dahlia said, standing up, even though she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that she didn’t.
But what good would that do her? Nothing. Anger never helped. Crying sometimes had, but she’d used up those tactics with this particular school a while ago. Once, she’d even bought Marcus a few extra months by donating what little she had left in her savings, but there was nothing left to bribe anyone with. For all she knew, she might be heading into work the next day to get her final check. It had happened before and by the looks of things, it would happen again.
“We’ll send his transcripts to your home address. I’m very sorry, Ms. Roberts,” the principal called as Dahlia shook her hand and was already one step out of the office.
“I am too,” Dahlia muttered under her breath, reaching out her hand to Marcus as she passed by.
Of course, he didn’t take it, grabbing his bag and standing up to follow her. He was getting so tall. And he looked just like his father had, which only made things harder to bear.
“Home?” Marcus asked, easily falling into step with Dahlia.
She was five foot eight and at twelve years old, Marcus was already towering above her. She had no doubt that when he really hit his stride, he’d easily be taller than his six foot three father had been. Dahlia nodded mutely, pushing through the door and out of the room, ignoring the secretary’s high-pitched “Goodbye!” behind her.
“Yup, home.”
***
Music was blasting so loud through their little one-bedroom apartment that Dahlia knew for a fact that one of the neighbors was going to be down in about half an hour. So that meant she could let Marcus keep playing his tunes for another twenty-five minutes or so. She didn’t have the energy to fight him at this point. Not tonight.
Sipping her wine, she scrolled through random pages on SassyDate, looking to get her mind off of things. Tomorrow, she would tackle everything. She would go in on her free day and talk to Mr. Anderson about keeping her job in the massage parlor—taking a pay cut if needed—and she would start looking for a new school for Marcus. It was getting increasingly more difficult finding one. He was getting a reputation as one of “those” children. The ones that should be separated away from the rest of modern society and hidden like some animal in a corner.
The apartment was getting cold as hell—the joys of New York City in late October with the windows open. Or specifically, one window open. The one in Marcus’s room. It was always open and for the life of her, Dahlia couldn’t understand how that boy managed not to catch pneumonia.
Her head still rung a little from the argument they’d had while taking the bus from the school to their dingy little Washington Heights apartment. She was wrapped in a thick, plush blanket, curled up on the living room couch that also doubled as her bed. As much as she missed the privacy of her own room, she knew Marcus needed it more at that age. And whatever she could do to make him a little happier… well, she’d try it.
Guilt struck her as she scrolled through the ads or looked at her messages. What right did she have to be on SassyDate? Yes, it had been five years since Arthur died, but was that enough? A tear rolled down her cheek in earnest as she thought back to her tall, strapping husband and the short eight years of happiness she’d been afforded next to him.
They were only kids when they got married: she was nineteen, and he was twenty-two. But it had felt right and Arthur had left her no doubt that being with him was her one shot at happiness.
And it had been. He was a shifter, a mountain lion. They’d met in Arizona and gotten married there. The only reason they’d ended up in New York was because Dahlia had wanted to live in a big city so badly. They’d just gotten settled in when Marcus came along and everything seemed to be okay. Well, better than okay. It was perfect.
Right up to the day that Arthur got shot while delivering construction equipment to a worksite in his truck. It had been a simple robbery: they wanted the truck and the equipment and Arthur had put up a fight, like any shifter would.
Dahlia was sure he would have survived if only she had gotten to him in time. With the help of his fated mate, maybe he could have recovered… but she was too late. And while it had broken her, it had devastated their son, who had idolized his father as his hero as all little boys do. Ever since then, things hadn’t been the same. Dahlia could vaguely remember the way she’d been able to see colors when she went outside and now, everything seemed… dull. Like the life had gotten sucked out of her surroundings. And it seemed to be so much worse for her kid.
Still, over the last few years, she had started missing companionship again. Through the downs and the lower lows—there hardly ever seemed to be ups, unless they were moving again and looking forward to a “new start” that would inevitably be just like the previous ones before it—Dahlia had felt more alone than she could imagine. Looking around herself, she had to wonder if that was the kind of life Arthur could have imagined for his mate and son.
Shaking her head in frustration and downing the last remnants of wine in her glass, Dahlia moved onto the classifieds page. She went through it, reading but not really absorbing, until one ad made her go back to it not once, not twice, but three times. Reading it, she wrung her wrists nervously, feeling the urge to drop the man a reply. But what good would it do? And it wasn’t like she was feeling ready to move across the country, let alone for a man…
The ad read:
Southern gentleman mountain lion seeking amiable, preferably sweet, woman for matrimonial agreement. Children not a hindrance. Must love outdoors, big cats, and be capable of helping said gentleman understand the mysteries of housekeeping and other such mundane, fantastic acts. No shyness necessary; mountain lions only bite when provoked.
Dahlia grinned to herself. That was exactly something like what Arthur would have written. He kept sending her little notes when they were in their teens, trying to talk her into going out on a date with him. When she finally budged, he’d smiled like he’d won the lottery.
Dahlia poured herself another glass of wine and considered the ad thoughtfully. There was no harm in exchanging a few notes, was there? She could have a little bit of fun to finish out this otherwise completely depressing day, right?
“Dear southern gentleman,” she started typing, giggling. “But what if biting is a necessary prerequisite to capture this sweet belle’s heart and soul?”
She felt incredibly silly, pushing the send button. And she felt even sillier when he replied a few minutes later. But along with that, a scarlet blush rose to her cheeks…
Oh, what did I do?
CHAPTER TWO
Austin
The air was so damn clean that Austin immediately found himself regretting the fact that he had been a heavy smoker for fifteen years. He felt like his lungs should have been able to expand far more with the scent of pine wafting around him, even while standing in the middle of Shifter Grove. Out of habit, his hand went to his pocket where he usually kept the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, but this time his palm fell flat against the lining. He chuckled to himself, letting the
hand slide off the pocket.
New town, new rules, new start, he chanted to himself.
It seemed like he’d been saying that to himself for the past week or so and that was probably pretty close to the truth. With great difficulty, he pushed a certain southern belle out of his mind and concentrated on the work ahead of him. His arms were crossed over his chest as he eyed the sign above the store, Slate and Trey trying to level it to the best of their ability.
“A bit to the right, I reckon,” Austin said in his thick Texas drawl, always sounding like he was in mid-chew of a particularly tasty bit of chewing tobacco.
“I’d say it should be a bit down, really,” Tyler commented, standing next to Austin and considering the action with equal care.
“I say both of you need to shut up and get me a drink,” Slate groaned, drawing a round of laughter from around him.
“I can’t say I disagree with the man,” Deacon muttered, leaning on the truck that the sign had been brought in on.
Austin glanced over his shoulder, noting the growing collection of Shifter Grove menfolk gathering around him. Well, them and Cerise, the owner of the Sunrise Diner not far down the street from his fine new establishment. It was no surprise, either. Every side-road town needed a bar, right?
“I see you’re going for name recognition,” Raleigh commented, grinning.
“Well, you gotta make a name for yourself somehow, huh? I figured I wouldn’t try my luck with all of you too much,” Austin chuckled. “All right, boys, that’ll do. Nail that sucker in and come inside for a cold one,” he bellowed, his deep, gruff voice sounding easily to the top of the small building where Slate and Trey were already sighing with relief. “The rest of you, follow me! Drinks on the house at Austin’s Texas tonight!”
That was met by a resounding round of cheers, exactly as Austin had hoped. He grinned to himself, walking through the old-school saloon doors he had built in. The regular doors were swung wide open for now, even though October in Idaho was no joke. He wanted everyone to get that first visual shot of his bar looking exactly as he imagined it.
