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BURNED BY THE LYCANTHROPE
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SNEAK PEEK
SAVED BY THE LYCANTHROPE
?
Charlotte & Elijah’s Story
I’ve never even met a man, let alone a lycanthrope. So how is it that the first one I meet is my fated mate?
Before my grandparents went missing, I lived a completely sheltered life in post-apocalypse Texas. They were the only two people I knew, and I figured they always would be.But when they go missing, I have to undertake a journey across the crumbling state.
And there’s only one man who can help me.
Handsome, cocky, smooth-talking Elijah Weston is the last person I want as a companion, but he and I end up together anyway. He says I smell delicious—which issuperweird—but as I get to know him, I realize he’s not the only one with heightened senses.
The temptation between us becomes irresistible as the full moon draws near. Will I make it to Austin intact? Or will I fall victim to the big bad wolf?
?
The kiss is inevitable.
I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know exactly what it’s going to feel like. What I don’t expect is how sweet he’ll be—how withholding, when all I want to do is fall into him and forget I ever had another life. I curl my fingers desperately into the white cotton of his t-shirt as he threads his hands in my hair and presses soft lips to mine, the stubble on his chin and jaw scraping against my skin.
I open to him, desperate for more, knowing at least what the steps aresupposedto be from the romance novels I’ve devoured over the years. But Elijah pulls my head back gently, his grip commanding on my scalp.
“You’re gonna kill me, Sunshine,” he says through gritted teeth.
I flatten my hands against his chest, sliding them over his shoulders, feeling the muscles I was barely able to look at without blushing just one night prior. “What do you mean?”
He hisses out a breath when I roll my hips andfeelhim there, pressing between my legs, deliciously hot and thick even through his jeans. “If the whiplash wasn’t enough, you know I can’t give you what you’re asking for…not tonight.”
“But you wanted this,” I protest. “I’m fine.”
“I still need to see to that head wound, darlin’,” he purrs, his accent a little stronger. His hands slide around the back of my head to hold me in place, and his eyes flit toward the wound. It still hurts, but not too much—not enough to change my mind. “And I’m not sure that you understand what you’re asking for.”
“I’ve read the books,” I cut in.
“But the men in those books aren’t like me,” he says, a growl of dark promise in his voice.
