She Wolf and The Detective: (Suspense, Crime, Thriller, Mystery, Fantasy) (Book 1-3)

by Michael Reyes

  Whatever that means. Chelsea thought glumly.

  Hunter ran up the stairs, darting into his room grabbing the first pair of pants he found. He emerged and ran headlong into Olivia and Megan. Megan narrowed her usually round brown eyes at him.

  “Why did you not call…say she was human?”

  Hunter ran a hand over his sweaty head. “I was hoping for the best. Where is she?”

  Olivia motioned down the hall with her head. “Guest room.”

  Hunter limped down the hall, Olivia’s voice calling after him.

  “Get cleaned up first, Hunter! Your cuts need looking at!”

  “Look at Oscar’s! I’ll be fine!”

  Olivia waved him off. “Stubborn.” She muttered. Megan once again nodding agreement.

  Hunter tried the door before he began pounding on it. “Chelsea? Chelsea, please let me in!”

  Chelsea sat up and stared at the door. She didn’t answer. She just wanted him to go away. She was in love with a fairy tale, an impossibility that would only break her heart.

  “I’m so stupid.” She whispered.

  “Did you see how she just poked them?” Bradley asked excitedly.

  “We saw.” Ryder replied, his golden hair catching the dappled sunlight as he bent his head to spit tobacco juice on the ground. He dropped the leg that had been resting on the seat of the picnic table as Oscar came out of his cabin. Bradley, Ryder, and Aaron stood at something close to attention. Oscar’s swollen eyes looked at them.

  “What? Do you want me to say at ease or something?”

  The three younger men looked at one another and relaxed their stances.

  “What are you going to do?” Aaron asked. He was the oldest of the three that were called the “young wolves”. At twenty five he was nearly as tall as Oscar, and was the compound’s workhorse. He was also a thinker, and could keep the youngest two in line fairly easily by reminding them of common sense.

  Oscar felt tired. He didn’t want to war with Hunter, but he was furious over what he had done! He flicked his eyes away, his words quiet.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “If you want to leave,” Ryder began, spitting more tobacco juice on the ground, “we’ll come with you.”

  Bradley nodded. “Yeah.”

  Aaron said nothing. Oscar regarded him silently. He could see the indecision in the young man’s eyes. He wouldn’t force him into a corner. Hunter had been good to him. Hunter had been good to them all.

  Hunter sat with his back to the door of the guest room. He could feel his face and hip joints getting hot. His body was healing itself. He wondered how Oscar was feeling, but decided swiftly that he didn’t care. He stood as he heard movement at the door, holding his breath as the door creaked open. He tilted his head to the side, his heart breaking when he saw Chelsea’s red rimmed eyes and splotchy face.

  “Hey.” He said gently.

  “I need my bags from the truck.”

  “Well, come on out, we can get them together.”

  Chelsea barked a laugh. “Together? No, I’m going to call my father, and as soon as he can get up here to get me, I’m going home.”

  The way she said “home” made Hunter feel like he had been slapped in the face. He took a step backwards.

  “You are home, Chelsea”

  “Uh, no.” She said and opened the door, jerking away from him as he reached for her. She whirled on the steps as he followed her. “Leave me alone! I just want my bags!”

  Hunter stopped at the bottom of the steps, watching his angry bride march through the yard to the truck. He knew he should help her, but couldn’t move from his spot. She was rejecting him and his way of life, and it had taken less than two days of marriage.

  Olivia emerged from the kitchen. “I put the food away.”

  “There was food?” Hunter asked, his eyes still on Chelsea.

  Olivia chuckled. “Yeah, but you and Oscar were too busy trying to kill each other to notice.” Her gaze followed his, and she saw Chelsea in the bed of the truck throwing her suitcase to the ground. She climbed out and hooked her book bag and purse to one shoulder and picked up the suitcase angrily. Her stride was purposeful as she came back towards the house.

  “She’s a tough one.”

  “She is.” Hunter agreed.

  Olivia touched his arm gently. “She’s an Alpha’s mate…that much is obvious.”

  “Too bad I’m losing her. She wants to go home.”

  “She’ll come around. The thing with the stick was as much about defending you as it was about proving a point.”

  The front door opened and slammed shut as Chelsea silently walked past them and back up the steps. Olivia and Hunter followed her progress.

  “I’ll see if she needs anything.”

  Hunter nodded. Maybe the thing to do would be to beat her to the punch. Maybe He should call Tommy himself.

  “How in the hell did you expect it to go, Hunter?”

  “I don’t know. She’s your daughter. What should I do?”

  Tommy sighed. Hunter could hear faint noises from Papa’s, and he wished he was there again starting all of this over.

  “Just give her space. I’ll come if I need to…but you guys have to work this thing out…together.” The pain was evident in Tommy’s voice. Hunter knew Tommy probably wanted to drive up there right then and take his little girl back home.

  “Alright, Tommy. I’ll do my best.”

  Hunter hung up and tapped the phone lightly. Something had to be done and quick. She wouldn’t stay willingly for long.

  He stood and stretched. Night had fallen and the porch held the soft murmurings of at least part of his pack. He stepped onto the porch to find the married couples enjoying mixed drinks and beer. Jameson held up his glass.

  “There he is! Our married fearless leader.” He smiled brightly in the darkness.

  “You’re drunk.” Hunter said dryly, accepting the beer Franklin handed him.

  “I’m not!”

  “He is.” Olivia laughed.

  Hunter whipped his head around as Aaron stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the porch steps.

  “What is it?” He growled.

  “Oscar would like to meet again.”

  “Why can’t he come and tell me himself?”

  Aaron kept his eyes steady. Hunter could smell the fear coming off of him. He could smell fear from two other wolves nearby too.

  “He’s close. Are you willing to talk?”

  Hunter turned his body, swigging beer in the process. He let the bottle hang loosely between two fingertips by his thigh. “I am.”

  Aaron walked back into the darkness and reemerged with Oscar, Ryder, and Bradley. Oscar stood at the bottom of the steps, his head low.

  “So…speak.”

  Oscar lifted his eyes only. Hunter noticed that one eye was still swollen. He definitely needed medical attention.

  “I don’t want to see the pack separate.”

  Hunter sighed. “Neither do I.”

  “Chelsea’s a strong human.”

  “You owe her an apology.” Hunter crouched on the top step, the beer bottle dangling between his legs. “She wants to go home.”

  Oscar winced. “She’s already home, Hunter.”

  Hunter stood. “I would like to think so.”

  “Can I see her?”

  Hunter moved to the side. “She’s in the guest room.”

  Oscar mounted the steps, his emotions raging within him. He wanted to hate the woman, but he hated his violent and rude reaction to her more. He knocked lightly on the guest room door.

  “What?”

  “This is Oscar. May I speak to you?”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes, and slid off the bed, laying the book she was reading aside. She opened the door, looking at Oscar blankly.

  “Your eye is a mess.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go sit on the bed.” Chelsea ordered, and wandered into the hallway bathroom to see if there were fir
st aid supplies.

  Oscar set Chelsea’s book back down as she came back through the doorway, looking at her sheepishly. “You like Stephen King?”

  Chelsea set the cotton balls and peroxide beside him on the bed. “I thought he was brilliant. Now that I’m living my own nightmare, I think he’s a pansy.”

  Oscar wanted to laugh but sucked in breath sharply as she touched a peroxide drenched cotton ball to the cuts above and below his eye.

  “I thought Werewolves heal quickly.”

  “We do, but the worse the injury the longer it takes.”

  “You could have lost an eye.”

  “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted.” Oscar tried to look up at her as she stuck a band aid over his eyebrow. “It wasn’t fair. You’re the one Hunter loves. It isn’t for us to decide.”

  Chelsea capped the peroxide and sat beside him. “Thanks, but I don’t think he loves me.”

  Oscar furrowed his brow, ignoring the pain it caused. “Why would you say that?”

  “He hasn’t told me he does.”

  Oscar was speechless. “You married a man…not knowing if he loves you?”

  Chelsea willed the tears away. “I love him. I figured that was enough.”

  Oscar regarded her with a new respect. “You really are tough.” Chelsea’s motionless body told him she was in no mood for joking. “Please don’t go home. You have a home…here.”

  Oscar walked slowly down the steps and out onto the porch. He took the beer offered by Hunter. He supposed they should have some kind of bro hug now that the fight was over, but the offered beer served as the same thing.

  “She left the door open.”

  Hunter smiled hopefully. “Thanks.”

  Chelsea sat with her back to the door, her head in her hands. Hunter came and sat next to her, but didn’t dare to touch her yet.

  “What can I do?”

  Chelsea lifted her head, her eyes accusing. “You haven’t even told me that you love me!”

  “What?”

  “That’s right…not once.”

  Hunter felt like he was an inch tall. How could he have neglected that? He brushed a stray tear from her cheek. Her blue eyes were deep and intense. He let his forehead rest against hers.

  “I do love you, Chelsea. I’ve loved you since that first night you let me kiss you.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Will you stay?”

  Chelsea sighed. “I’ll try.”

  Hunter closed his eyes in gratitude before moving his lips to hers.

  Two years later…

  “Dad, don’t you dare feed her another piece of cake!”

  Tommy looked at Chelsea innocently. “But it’s her birthday! Her first birthday!” Tommy lifted his granddaughter high above his head, laughing as she squealed with delight. She had her mother’s blonde hair, but he could see Hunter’s strong features.

  “Give me that baby!” Isabela demanded.

  “You’ve been calling her “that baby” since she was born!” Kamden teased. “Her name is Vanessa!”

  “I know, but she’ll always be the baby!” Isabela cooed, and began bouncing Vanessa on one knee.

  A football whizzed past Hunter’s head as he flipped hamburgers on the grill. “Hey, watch it!” He chided Ryder and Bradley.

  “Sorry!” Bradley laughed as he tried to outrun Ryder to the ball.

  Chelsea shook her head and nudged Hunter in the back. “Look over there.”

  Hunter scanned the tree line until he saw Karlee and Aaron sitting on Oscar’s picnic table. The sight of the empty cabin still made him a little sad, but he knew his friend would return, and when he did he would bring his own mate home with him.

  “How long have they been up there like that?”

  “Oh, about an hour now.”

  Hunter looked again. Aaron was entertaining Karlee with some kind of story, his hands moving rapidly as he talked. Karlee lowered her head, laughing shyly.

  “She’s different around him.”

  “I know.” Chelsea smiled. “You can’t chose love.”

  Hunter looked down at her, his heart expanding a little more. “No…and I’m glad.”

  The end…

  My Werewolf Husband

  (Werewolf Lover series 1)

  By

  Michael Reyes

  Chapter 1

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes with my palms. My head hurt from staring at the screen all day and I’d been clenching my teeth. They felt like they were going to fall out. I ran my fingers through my hair. Home stretch. One more chapter to edit and then I could publish the manuscript on Amazon. I sighed and got to work. I had an hour before Kian came home. I wanted to be done by then.

  I’d been self-publishing Erotica e-books on Amazon for almost a year now. It was a side-line thing. I did a lot of admin work from home, my boss only wanted me to come to the office once a week. The rest of the time I could get up to whatever I wanted.

  Three pen names. Three different Erotica genres. It was definitely a lot more fun than admin.

  I read over the last words I’d written, where the heroin was finally going to give in to her lover, and let him take control. I shifted on the chair, scissoring my thighs. My eyes danced over the words, and I corrected a spelling error here, a typing error there. My mouth went dry. I was becoming hot and bothered. If my own writing could do that to me, I was on the right track.

  When I was done I walked to the kitchen and prepared the chicken with vegetables to roast in the oven. I took a stake out of the freezer and set it to defrost in the microwave. This one I wouldn’t cook. Kian ate his meat raw. Not rare. Raw.

  This was something not a lot of people knew about my husband. He was a werewolf. It was the thrill of what he was that had made me sit up and notice when I’d met him. He’d been a fairytale to me. I knew I would get a chance to escape my rule-restricted life once and for all if I married a man that broke the laws of nature just by existing.

  Well, that had been what I’d expected, anyway.

  He always came home at six. He would go take a shower while I finished the food, and then dinner time was at seven. We were a young couple with no children, and still we had a strict routine. Married life was very run-of-the-mill.

  I heard the key in the lock, and glanced at the clock that hung above the back door. Right on time.

  “Hi honey,” I called when I heard the door close again.

  “Hi sweetheart,” he answered me, and a moment later appeared in the kitchen door. His dark hair was messy, like he’d spent his day pushing his fingers into it. But his eyes were clear and greener than green.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, putting down his laptop bag and phone. He walked over to me and pecked me on the cheek.

  “Roast chicken. And steak.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. “I’m going to hop in the shower.” He turned and walked away. I nodded, and when he was out of ear shot, I sighed. A peck on the cheek. It was endearing. But a passionate full kiss on the mouth? I wished.

  Even if he just ran his hand over my ass, just once outside the bedroom. Just to spice things up.

  I slid the dish into the oven, and started on the salad.

  We went through the motions every evening. It was Tuesday which meant Kian’s talk show was on at nine. We watched that. He laughed, his eyes glued to the screen. I watched him, traced his profile against the light from the lamp on his other side. I wondered how we’d managed to sink into a rut so soon in our marriage.

  When I’d met him he was wild, a guy fresh out of college with a degree and a new job, the confidence to take on the world. He’d been the most attractive thing I’d ever seen when we met at a party. Our romance had been whirl wind, I’d known since our second date that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

  We’d gone through the motions, dating for two years, engaged for a year, and then finally married, because that was how I was raised. That was how things were done. Bu
t thinking about it now, we really shouldn’t have done that.

  I was scared I’d killed the passion by insisting we stick to the rules.

  At ten o’clock Kian switched off the television and we went to the bedroom. I took off my make-up, checked my clothes for when I needed to go to the office tomorrow, and put cream on my hands. Kian climbed in bed and read a men’s magazine. When I climbed in next to him I threw an arm over his chest and listened to his heart beat.

  It was steady, a rhythm that I’d built my life around.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you too, honey,” he said, not taking his eyes off the article he was reading.

  At ten thirty he switched off the light, and settled into the covers. Ten minutes later he was snoring, and I lay staring up at the milky gray light that fell through the crack in the curtain, wondering how it happened that my life was slowly seeping through my fingers.

  Half an hour I stared at the ceiling before I slid out of bed, trying not to disturb the covers and wake Kian. I tiptoed into my office and started up the computer. The low hum of the CPU filled the office. I opened a the web browser and drew up Google.

  The bluish light of the screen illuminated the dark office, and my world came to life. In cyberspace I wasn’t the administrator for a publishing firm. I wasn’t the boring housewife that cooked dinner at six sharp every night. I was a damsel in distress, a heroine, a seductress. An exotic temptress. A princess. A queen. I wasn’t Abigail Foster. I was Paige, Aurora, Jennifer, Ariella.

  One of my pen names was starting to do really well. I hadn’t realized how serious people were about things that were out of the ordinary. I’d started to realize that ‘normal’ didn’t sell. No one was interested in in-and-out missionary anymore.

  I chuckled. Neither was I, for that matter.

  They wanted a thrill. Something out of the ordinary. Something crazy. Something they couldn’t tell their spouses about in real life because of how they might sound. The truth was, everyone had a kink in them. And erotica was where they lived out a part of themselves they weren’t sure society wanted to see.

  There were two things that made me a good erotica writer. Reading other erotica, seeing what worked and what didn’t – and really, I just had to rely on my body to tell me that – and doing my research about what was plausible. There was no bigger mood kill than reading something that just didn’t make sense.