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City Howls #3

The White Wolf, Vale
Exclusive Library
Heller finds his pack on the outskirts of Dogtowne, revealing a crisis underway for the shifter wolves. One of their pups is missing and what the cursed werewolves will do to a shifter is a fate worse than death.

Sage can’t find any relief from his growing ache, no matter how much Frey and his gang helps. He’s ready to go home, hoping to spend the rest of his days hiding his scent in the Wastes. But the werewolf pack leader has made a decision, one that will change Sage’s life forever.

This serial is 10,000+ words long per episode. It contains graphic language, violence, sexually explicit content between men, and shifter bestiality including tying. 18+ Only

10,000+ wrds, Published June 10, 2016.
Heat level: XX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT CITY HOWLS

on April 20, 2016
on June 11, 2016

Review by: ann on Oct. 01, 2016 :

This book is nice and different looking forward to finding out why sage smells special. Thanks sadie your uploads on smashwords are way easier to download thsn those on amazon. Keep writing

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

It was right before dawn when the black wolf Heller found his pack.

The verdant blue-green of the forest was how he remembered it, shadowed, fogged and deadly to any that didn’t belong. What would have been a simple wood was magically enhanced by his pack’s sorcery. Heller had found the warnings of new traps, scents that spooked his wolf and kept him from trails that two years ago had been safe. He found the remains of those less lucky, shredded bodies of the cursed that had dared to stalk in their territory during the full moon. There were more than a few picked away corpses left as a warning to those that might come next moon. It made Heller uneasy. The werewolves had rarely dared into their territory before. What had changed that made the crazed howlers think they could stand a chance?

The group of shifters was occupying one of the many private estates belonging to Vale. It was the west facing villa built right by the steep ravine, fortified and protected by both magic and the natural lay of the land. It was another concern because Vale had refrained from opening this last house for years because of the sentimental association it had for the alpha. Something had changed in the dynamic while Heller had been away and he hoped he had not lost his pale leader while he had sat in prison.

As Heller slipped into the manor, his dark paws padding near silent on the tile, he was overwhelmed with the scents of his pack. Breathing in, he could feel the last two years try to seep out of his bones and fur to be replaced with warmth and a feeling of security he had long thought gone. Home. It didn’t matter which building be it hovel or mansion; as long as his pack was there he was home.

He found his pack in the middle of the common room, the group of men, shifted wolves and dogs stretched out on the floor in a pile of fur, limbs and pillows, a few human mates and females among them. Heller recognized nearly all of them. Even though Vale was not among them, he had no fear that his alpha was nearby for the man’s scent was everywhere, still fresh and vibrant. Pack life was like no other. It provided many with a family beyond what they had been born into with stronger bonds and deeper loyalties that connected them together through magic and beast. Heller had not truly felt the loss of such a life until finally returning home.

Stepping surefootedly between the warm, hard bodies of his pack, Heller was greeted welcomingly if not sleepily. He took the spot between Blade and a fluffy Rusty and promptly curled up on the hardwood floor and sighed heavily. With his pack around him, it was nothing for him to close his eyes and slip into the darkness, for the first time free of the fear that had haunted him the last long months. Finally, Heller let himself sleep.

***

Heller felt his pack leave him while the light of day warmed him, their scents clinging and keeping him safe. There were more than a few wet tongues kissing his snout as they left, hands petting him gently before they slipped away to go about their day. Shadowed and familiar, it was the kindest dream he’d had. He wasn’t roused from his deep sleep until hours later and only because of the pale, bare feet of his alpha standing before him, patiently waiting for him to awake. It might have been two years, but Heller was not one to deny Vale anything.

“You made it.”

Heller stretched and then shifted into his human form, sitting for a dazed moment on the floor as he adjusted. “Barely,” he grunted, peering up through his long, black tangle of hair to take in the form of his pack leader. It was strange to see Vale immaculate as always, his white hair sleek and thrown over his shoulder, aristocratic features calm with a hint of haughtiness that only added to the man’s charm. His muscular form was toned and compact and currently dressed in a thin pair of white pants, downplaying the power the man held physically and magically. Vale was a force and even if his human form showed him to be serene and still, his wolf form was a white beast of size and strength none were able to match.

Vale looked the same as always while Heller knew the man saw a different story as he gazed down at him. He had been changed; too thin, face unshaven and dirty. His blue eyes were different as if prison had drained a vitality from him and replaced it with madness. He had always been hard to tame but Heller was now more wild and manic than ever. He felt very much unworthy to kneel before his beautiful alpha after all that he had been through, all that he had survived and ruined to make it this far.

Silver eyes assessing the brunette for long minutes, Vale reached his hand out. The warmth of the man’s hand was a jolt to Heller’s senses, his fingers curling and gripping his pack leader’s palm tightly. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, avoiding Vale’s piercing gaze as he swayed unsteadily for a moment. His alpha refused to release his hand and Heller didn’t complain, drawing strength from the simple connection.

“How was the escape route?”

Heller huffed. “I had to go through the entire cursed town. Ended up in the Wastes and nearly lost my nose… and my mind. There was nothing easy about that route.” He dared to meet the man’s patient gaze, glaring back almost challengingly as he waited for whatever judgment Vale had for him.

None came. Reading his gaze for another silent moment, Vale pulled Heller into a fierce embrace, wrapping the taller brunette so tight, Heller wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe. Still, he hugged him back just as tightly, a desperation in his movements and the sting of tears to his eyes that threatened to have him fall apart if he let go too soon.

Heller sank into the feeling of Vale scenting him, the blond breathing him in deep and ingraining him into his memory. The man was always quiet—except when he was angry, then Vale was quiet and bloody. Very much a ghost, the pack leader had moon pale skin and nearly as white hair, his long silky locks looking to belong to a much older man. Many shifters aged differently, some were even thought to be immortal. Heller didn’t know Vale’s true age but he knew he looked only in his late thirties, all tall, limber muscle and cold, icy silver eyes. He had looked the same when Heller had joined Vale’s pack over twenty years ago when the brunette had turned fifteen. There was no one he trusted more than his white wolf alpha.

Vale pulled away all too soon, Heller left feeling lost and confused to no longer have the man’s warmth and strength around him. “Have you eaten?” Vale asked, eyes again reading something on his face he wished he could hide. “Flint saved you some breakfast.”

“I’m starving,” Heller admitted brusquely, summoning a pair of loose drawstring pants to step into. Two years had filled him with such coldness and he couldn’t find the words for anything just yet. He was home but he didn’t know if it was the same, if he still fit after so much time. Vale seemed to sense his distress, the shorter man wrapping an arm around Heller’s back and holding his bicep as they walked towards the kitchens as if afraid he would disappear if he let go.

“I didn’t expect to find the pack here,” Heller muttered, glancing around the manor as he tried to gain his bearings. He had been to the villa more times than he cared to remember, always alone with his pack leader. It had not only been a fortress to keep enemies out but also to imprison those that were too dangerous to let loose. Knowing his pack was living there was a concern on a different level for Heller.

“I had little choice in the matter,” Vale said simply. “The potion is still effective.”

Heller glanced sideways at the man, wondering how many months Vale had spent wondering if his pack would be wiped out from inside the manor instead of from without.

Shifter wolf packs were more necessity than tradition. There had been a time when shifters hadn’t felt the need to stay together beyond family, especially when the world had opened up with technology and communication. Magic and a simple internet connection could give every available luxury a shifter could dream of. But that was for other shifters, ones that didn’t have to face the cursed.

No one was sure exactly where the source of the werewolf population sprang from. There had of course been legends as far back as humans had been able to write, and before that, when they shared their tales around the fire. Werewolves had always existed in small numbers as had shifters, but something had changed less than a hundred years ago that had spread the werewolf infliction through the population. For a time, every month a new town was infected, the epidemic threatening to take out all of Europe and America until someone had finally made a stand.

Magic users were not the type to work together. They were freelancers at their best, egomaniacal and power hungry on a normal day; sorcerers and sorceresses were more likely to exploit a situation than save humanity. Shifters, not always strong in magic but magical enough to transform into their inner animal, were less prone to self-centered thinking but still preferred to be left alone. If the cursed hadn’t been enraged by the scent of all canines, including the shifters that transformed into the four-legged creatures, the wolf packs may have never taken on the task of destroying the werewolf population. But they had, and after word had gotten out that the cursed were systematically hunting and murdering every canine shifter they could find whether the moon was full or not, they’d had little choice. They could either fight back or be wiped out.

Packs had started to form beyond just family bonds, growing out of a need for survival. Sorcery was taught to every member no matter how little they had the skill. Werewolves had a magic to their cursed forms and physical attack alone could not harm them when they were transformed. Defenses and ways to single out a werewolf in the light of day and far from the full moon were adapted over time. They had even started working on potions in the hopes of finding a cure for the cursed, and if not that, at least a way to keep them from their beserker, howler ways when the moon did hit them.

The shifter wolf packs had come a long way in a short amount of time and while they had struggled to survive, the werewolf population had started to balance from their full out murderous assault and began to police themselves as only their kind could. Leaders had risen up among them, more intelligent and in control of their instincts than the untamed cursed. They had formed gangs that controlled territories, demanding loyalty from the werewolves and humans that if not given was met with ruthless, joyful violence. The shifters had not stopped their war for survival but they enjoyed the lull while the werewolf gangs fought each other for dominance of the cities.

Of the twenty-some shifters that made up Vale’s pack, they consisted mostly of wolves and a few large dog. All of them were accomplished sorcerers, powerful in magic in a way few shifters could claim. Most lived with their spouses and children, a few choosing to move as far away from Dogtowne as possible once they had bred even if it meant losing the pack’s immediate protection. Pack life was unique but it wasn’t always healthy for families. Their days were filled with magic, strategies, and patrols, ever watching the moon and anticipating the bloody fight to come.

Vale had one of the most powerful shifter packs around and Heller had once been second in command to his charismatic alpha. But that had been before the murder of Lorna by the werewolves, before he had been falsely convicted and imprisoned. Heller had no idea where he stood with his pack anymore or the enigmatic man he called alpha.

“I saw the dead cursed in the woods,” Heller remarked, his eyes sliding to what could only be a mounted cursed head. Someone had taken the time to preserve the hideous piece, the strange distortion of human and wolf face twisted in its final death throws. “Fresh. No older than a moon.”

Vale nodded, his grip on Heller’s shoulder tightening for a moment. “I had a room set up for you,” he said in his quiet way, eyes fixed straight ahead. “All your things are there; instruments, spell books, clothing. Even that dreadful ficus that you refused to let die. I need to leave soon—We’re in the middle of a crisis. But I thought you could settle in, get caught up with the pack for now. I’m sure you’re tired.”

Heller growled, trying to pull away, only to have Vale hold his arm tighter.

“I’m not excluding you. You’ve been on the run for weeks, Heller,” Vale said calmly. “You need rest and there is little of that outside these walls.”

“It was prison, not a retirement home,” Heller snapped. “I can help. I… Well, I actually might need your assistance for something.”

Vale raised a pale eyebrow, releasing the brunette once they reached the kitchen. The room was huge, tiled and filled with stainless steel appliances to go with the three large refrigerators and walk-in freezer. Shifters required a lot of food to handle their advanced metabolism. What they hunted and didn’t eat, they froze for later. Food was already out, meat and vegetables waiting at the kitchen island making Heller’s stomach growl at the scent.

“Is this someone from the prison?” Vale asked while Heller threw himself across the room at the plate.

“No, nothing like that.” Heller summoned his jacket one handed while grabbing a fork with the other. “Upper left pocket. Vial. I ran across some sort of… Well, I’ll let you decide what the hell he was. Small, likely a runt if anything.”

Vale caught the long coat when it was thrown to him, picking through Heller’s pockets until finding the item he was talking about. “Sperm?” He asked, his voice reflecting growing confusion.

“Smell it,” Heller grunted, his mouth full. Food had been sparse the last month, nonexistent his last week running for his life. That he felt hunger he took as a good sign that his body hadn’t given up just yet. Each bite was a return to himself, a reminder he wasn’t starving, wasn’t running. Home. He had made it home.

Eyebrow again raised, Vale stared curiously at the small vial, eventually popping the lid to give the contents a hesitant sniff. “Son of a—Fuck!” He snarled, immediately capping the vial and grabbing onto the nearest stool to keep from falling to the ground. “Heller… What the fuck are you trying to do to me?” He snapped, silver eyes flashing warningly.

“Just tell me what he is, Vale,” Heller said, not looking remotely apologetic as the pale man swayed and grasped the kitchen island hard. “I need to know I’m not going crazy here.”

“Bitch,” Vale gritted out, his glare only growing as his trembling arms gave out and he fell chest first against the marble top. “Fuck… Fuck, Heller, you know what that scent does to me.”

“It’s stronger, right? Stronger than a normal bitch scent?” Heller pressed, dropping his fork as he reached over and took the vial from his alpha’s fingers before the man accidentally crushed it.

“Yeah… He has some sort of magical enhancement. Whoever he is, he’s powerful.” Vale continued to glare, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he tried to gain control of himself. “Who is he? Is he in our territory?”

Heller grinned, his fangs glinting as he leaned down next to the panting man and met his gaze. “He lives in the Wastes.”

“What?” Vale wrinkled his nose in confusion. “In the dump?”

“He doesn’t even know how to transform. His parents are dead. Lives with some dick that thinks shifters are the devil.”

Vale furrowed his brow, trying to focus on what the brunette was saying. “But he’s a shifter… How could he have been left behind? We always collect our own.”

“He said werewolves killed his family.” Heller paused, fingers combing into Vale’s long, white hair, his alpha exhaling loudly from the touch. “He doesn’t know he’s a shifter. He’s confused, scared… He begged so pretty when he took my wolf’s knot. Wanted it so bad.”

Vale whimpered, turning his head so he was face to face with the brunette. “Heller.”

“Made me think of you, beautiful. How much you need it at times.” God but his alpha was beautiful like this. Heller tilted his head so he was resting it on the table, his mouth brushing close to Vale’s red lips. “You get so desperate to be filled. Do you want that, Vale? Do you want me?”

“Please,” Vale whispered, arching his back with a moan. “I missed you. Need you.”

 

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Demon Arms

The Paranormal Adademy For Troubled Boys Book 1

Wylie Doe has screwed himself once again with the help of his freakish demon arms. Sentenced to an academy for out of control paranormal boys, he finds himself surrounded by shifters, sorcerers, and halflings while facing an identity crisis. He has a dragon inside him that’s in love with a sorcerer he’s only just met.

Dorian Black is wealthy, cool, and extraordinarily powerful, but he hides a deadly secret. Drawn to Wylie and his alpha shifter ways, he can’t stop his dangerous attraction or the literal sparks that fly between them. Wylie’s everything Dorian’s been dreaming of but isn’t allowed to have.

When gangsters call Wylie out to face his past, he’s ready to take responsibility for his mistakes. Will Dorian finally make a stand for the boy he’s fallen for? Or will Wylie find out the hard way if his dragon scales can stop a downpour of bullets?

This novel contains explicit m/m sexual content, graphic language and violence. Expect sexual tension, animal behavior, mating of a very wet variety, angst, bloodlust, an institution filled with hot paranormal boys, first time experiences and some sweet sap near the end. All sexually active characters are 18+

101,000+ wrds, Published April 1, 2016.
Heat level: X

$2.99

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WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT DEMON ARMS

on August 20, 2016
Read this book NOW, you will not be disappointed. The chemistry between Wylie and Dorian so hot that you will need a cold shower. This book is so good that I have already re-read it about four or five times ?, and I have no doubt that I will read it again and again.
on August 23, 2016
I sincerely hope there will be a continuation to this series, man it was awesome!
It was sexy, funny, had great characters, great character development and even though it was a case of (almost) insta-lust/love it worked freaking well for this story, because they still took their time.
I really really want to know what’s going to happen to Dante, Vince, Fox, Wylie and Dorian, as well as the rest of the academy…
Awesome, awesome story!!!!
on February 26, 2017
I chose this book through the instafreebie giveaway program and I love it! Dragons, sorcerers, gangsters, magic, shape shifters and romance! What a heady combination. Take Hogwarts and Harry Potter and go a step further. I loved the action, angst and danger thrown in with two guys so hot sparks fly and a total transformation occurs for the first time. You’ll rejoice for Dante, grieve for Leo and laugh with Vincent and Fox. I was so excited to see that this is the first in a series. I definitely wasn’t ready to leave The Academy forever. And now I won’t have to!
READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

It was Wylie’s first burglary and he already wondered how bad it would go down. It was off to a shit start and his expectations weren’t rising as time ticked by.

They’d been sitting outside the huge gates for a good ten minutes now. The engine of the black van rumbled while the group waited for the little tech-wiz to hack them in. It was a small crew and they were all new to the game except their asshole leader for the night, Diego. He was the driver, his job to point out shit to steal and all around bark orders like an angry motherfucker. Adam was the kid genius who kept humming nervously as he typed on his mini keyboard up front. Wylie was the freak in the back of the van. Muscle would be the preferred term, but Diego had insisted on calling him a freak since meeting an hour ago. Wylie chose to embrace it for the night instead of getting pissed off. The lookout with his hand in Wylie’s pocket and lips wet on his neck was his recent boyfriend, Beck.

Wylie was ready to smash Diego’s face in. The gangster was as mean as a junkyard dog and just as foul. He was surprised the vicious bastard didn’t turn into a wolf or even a badass mangy dog. But Diego smelled all human, just like the rest of the crew, which left Wylie as the only guy who could transform into something else.

What that something might be, he had no freaking idea. It wasn’t a full transformation, just his arms. Wylie’s black scales didn’t look like any shifter animal he knew of. Even so, the shift allowed the blond eighteen-year-old to break through locked doors, metal gates and even safes with a strength no human possessed. Not knowing what he was didn’t make it any less impressive, and Wylie’s demon arms were enough to get him into the initiation with Roth’s gang that night.

He hadn’t actually set out to join a gang when he started hanging with Beck a few months back. Beck was a tight piece of ass who liked to get into trouble to piss his religious nut-job parents off. He was the first person to not freak when Wylie’s arms transformed into scaled, demonically powerful weapons. Actually, it kind of got Beck off. Wylie never thought he’d find someone that fucked. But then again, he had demon arms and liked dick, so he supposed they were even on the freak level.

Diego’s irritated growl from the front of the van made Wylie again think of a mutt. Their timetable was going out the fucking window. Adam’s hands kept shaking and they had no damn clue if the kid was getting the job done. Wylie knew nothing about computers. Still, better to fuck it up while no crime was committed, than fuck it up shit deep in the mansion they were planning on emptying.

Wylie had only met Adam once before. The kid reeked of so much fear, he couldn’t understand what the hell he was doing running with Roth. But maybe Adam was one of those types who didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Wylie sure as fuck didn’t know. He stopped being afraid years ago when he realized no matter how many foster families told him he was no good, he could still survive on his own. Even if he didn’t get into the gang, Wylie knew he’d be fucking fine.

Beck’s hand drifted lower and Wylie grabbed his wrist. He gave him a look his boyfriend couldn’t see in the dark. “Quit being a pervy kink. Focus.”

“Don’t be that way.” Beck pressed his lips to Wylie’s jaw and smirked against his skin. “You’re going to fuck me tonight. We’re going to ace this shit, and you’re going to come over to my place and fuck me with those studly arms of yours out while my parents sleep.”

Beck was fucked and Wylie really had no complaints about it. Well, except the screwing with his scales out. He was always worried he might accidentally hurt him. When you could tear through metal, human flesh was fucking butter in comparison.

Wylie didn’t get a chance to answer. The gate gave a sudden shudder and the wrought iron blocking the driveway opened smoothly on motorized tracks. Hallelujah. Diego muttered a long line of relief-filled curses—apparently he was shit with computers, too—and pulled the van up the long drive. They parked close to the side door, their entry point into the downstairs lounge and bar.

Diego glared at the group as he killed the engine. “Remember, the house will be empty. It’s almost winter and the owner flies south to some fucking island. Beck, you’re lookout, at the door, ear on the scanner for signs of cops. No matter what we’re carrying, you don’t leave that post until it’s time to go. Adam, get your ass out. I want you tagging stuff that needs to be moved.”

All the outside lights were on along with a few internal ones, but that was to be expected with the place empty for months at a time. Looking full of people was as much a deterrent as actually being full of people. They didn’t bother wearing masks. Adam had taken the cameras down along with all the other security, and there was no fear of being spotted.

Wylie left Beck with the van. He gripped his boyfriend’s shoulder in farewell, which earned him a smile. Beck wasn’t fearless but he got off on adrenaline and that was good enough.

Adam practically threw himself backward when Wylie approached. He stared up at his heavily scaled arms like he was some hellspawn demon there to kill him and his entire family. It was a look Wylie had grown used to since the age of eight and was sometimes more comforting than Beck’s unique response.

Diego growled at him and pointed to the door just in case Wylie was too retarded to figure out the reason he was there.

“Alarm dead?”

“Of course it’s fucking dead. Open the shit and shut up,” Diego snapped.

Wylie licked his teeth; his fangs itched to bite the aggressive fucker on the face. He reached across and drew a long, black talon down between the seam of the door and molding. He found the metal bolts, three in all, and with precise slams of his palm, knocked each one through the reinforced door and into the room behind. Satisfied, he wrenched the handle, opened the door with a flourish and waved the scowling Diego in. Adam took longer to enter; he was very busy trembling like a hyperventilating rabbit. Diego snapped at him and he finally scurried past.

Adam’s fear scent was getting to Wylie and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Sure, the kid could get past security but he was useless in the house. He was too waif-limbed to carry shit and skittish to trust as a lookout. Beck was a sweet talker and if some nosy neighbor came sneaking her head over the fence, Beck could come up with a lie and a smile on his pretty face in a second flat. Not so much Adam, who managed to trip twice just walking through the empty room.

“Start grabbing anything that looks worthwhile,” Diego ordered the shaking Adam. He pointed to the wall of electronics in the downstairs room to the right. Wylie followed with his eyes, brows furrowed. He really didn’t know shit about computers and tech and stuff, but there was a lot of shiny metal and plastic shit there. If he went by Adam’s expression, it wasn’t the run of the mill stuff you usually found in some rich bitch’s house.

“This is military grade,” Adam whispered. His eyes widened as he reached for something that looked to be solid steel and more than twice his weight.

“Figure out what’s important and we’ll be down to move what you can’t lift,” Diego said impatiently. “Come on, freak. The safe’s upstairs.”

His eyes strayed to where Adam was flicking something on that looked disturbingly like a laser. Wylie followed the muttering gangster through the long hallways. They must’ve gotten the plans to the place in advance or Diego had been there before. He seemed to know exactly where to go and didn’t bother to turn on lights even in the darker hallways. Wylie admitted to a mild appreciation of his skill, glad he wasn’t some bumbling idiot who didn’t know what he was doing. He could put up with the asshole if Diego managed to get them through the night alive and out of jail.

The stairs were a huge, wide expanse, easily able to fit a damn concert on the steps alone. Wylie kept his senses alert. He heard Diego’s breathing as the man muttered under his breath. There was a ticking as they passed a large echoing room housing a tall grandfather clock, along with…

Wylie turned his head as he caught a whiff of the flowers sitting in a vase on a table down the hall. Worry prickled in the back of his mind and without a word, he turned and walked toward the scent.

They were fresh, daffodils and small white daisies. Diego gave a low grunt when he realized Wylie was no longer behind him, and stomped over to his new location. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Fresh flowers,” Wylie said tightly. He glared when the gangster looked ready to go off on him. “They’re not even wilted. Who puts flowers out in an empty house?”

His eyes narrowed. Diego stepped forward and smelled the flowers briefly to see if they were real. He shrugged. “Look at the fucking place. Do you really think someone this rich does normal shit? Maybe the fucking maid put them out just in case they got robbed and wanted to make things look nice for us. Now hurry the fuck up.”

Not even remotely convinced, Wylie considered getting the fuck out. It was midnight and whoever was there—maid, butler, guest, or owner—would likely be in bed in one of the many rooms in the maze of a place. It was one thing to steal shit; it was another to terrorize people while stealing shit.

Diego turned and waved his hand in an exaggerated movement to tell him to get the fuck over there already. Wylie bit his tongue and followed. Fuck, for all he knew the fucking rich put flowers out every day even when no one was home. Rich people were fucking crazy where money lifted them as far from reality as drugs ever could for a strung out crack whore. Shit, whoever lived there had rooms for their stuff, not for their people. Who was he to say for certain what went on in the minds of the ultra-rich?

Diego led him surefooted down a long corridor. He touched doors and counted as they went. He stopped where dim light greeted through a narrow band of an open door. “The office. Jewels and bonds are in here, some cash.” He pulled something from the inside of his black leather coat, and unfolded a canvas duffle bag. “Safe’s on the far side wall past the windows and desk. Bunch of books opens up like a door. Empty the entire thing and then meet me in the bedroom, five doors that way, left side.” He pointed down the hall.

Wylie took the bag while wondering what the fuck was in the bedroom Diego wanted to go alone for. He kept his mouth shut. He was there for one purpose; to do what he was told so that he could get in with Roth. Wylie stepped into the study and paused on the threshold. He looked around carefully but the dim table lamp revealed no sign of life. Still, he was pretty sure he smelled the distinct scent of human flesh, only mildly stale. Older, male… Cigar smoker…

The butler, he told himself briskly as he walked the length of the room. Whoever left flowers probably checked the rooms on occasion during the day, and did dusting or some shit. He didn’t know; it wasn’t like he’d ever be in a situation where he’d need to keep a mansion looking nice. He found the false wall of books easy enough, and raised a brow at the ridiculousness of it all. The house alone screamed money. Clearly anyone who looked would know money was also inside.

The safe was large and bolted to the floor. A dial and handle revealed the need for a combination. He considered the metal contraption in silence. Wylie punched his hand forward, then his other, and slowly curled and bent the metal door down. He twisted it like a thin tin of spam. He really was just made for this shit.

He swept each shelf into the black duffle and paused as the stacks of money flipped past his view. Fucking rich people. If they put their money in a bank, people wouldn’t walk into their house to steal their shit. But hell, maybe the tens of thousands swiftly sailing into the bag was equivalent to spare change in the couch for normal people? Giant mansion, giant tech, giant amounts of dough; the rich were just too fucking large to comprehend.

The jewelry was harder to ignore, harder to resist the strange urge to grab, touch, hold the gems and stare at them for hours. He wasn’t a materialistic person, not really, but sometimes Wylie had issues, strange ones that came up when his scales were out.

The crazy wealth brimming in the mansion would have been a total orgy for Beck. Probably for the best they left him in the driveway. Thoughts of Beck got Wylie hustling faster; he didn’t want to linger and leave him exposed outside for too long.

The bag was bursting by the time the safe was empty, but he just pushed his scales further up his arms to reinforce his shoulders. Wylie’s demon arms were limited. Where the scales reached, his muscles and bones beneath changed to something beyond human, but only there. The shift also imbued his senses with the creature he couldn’t fully turn into. The scents in the room were vibrant with information when he breathed in again.

Yeah, there was a man in there recently. He could smell the sweat now and found a glass by the stand of alcohol that held the slightest sour hint of clinging saliva and bacteria. If it was the butler, he sure as fuck wasn’t afraid to leave his booze stealing ways out for all to see.

Wylie didn’t bother counting the doors. Instead he followed Diego’s scent down the hallway. The door was closed and he pushed it open only to inhale sharply as scent and sight revealed a shit storm.

“Don’t fucking do it, man.” Wylie stepped into the room.

Diego glanced his way and waved him off with the hand not holding a gun. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Help the twerp with the—” He fell silent when Wylie threw the heavy duffle on the ground defiantly.

“Pick it up and get the fuck downstairs, freak!” Diego yelled. He now pointed the gun at Wylie instead of the bleeding man crumpled on the floor of the bedroom. There was a safe built into the wall, door currently wide open with cash spread out on the hardwood like a paper waterfall.

“Why? So you can kill this guy?” Anger filled Wylie’s voice. “We’re here to rob, not fucking kill. You think Roth is going to pat you on the back for murdering some poor slob in his fucking bed? He’s going to fucking kill you for fucking things up so royally.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Diego sounded tough but doubt crept into his beady eyes.

“We’ve got the money. I cleared out the fucking safe, and the little shit downstairs is rolling in enough tech to give him a woody. Just walk the fuck away, man.”

“I can’t!” Diego shifted from one foot to the other and pointed his gun with two hands back to the man on the floor. The stranger’s eyes were open, hazy from the head-wound. Blood that looked black in the dark room flowed down his forehead and cheek. “The rich fuck saw my face. I’m not going back to prison. I am fucking done with prison!”

Wylie began to feel the first signs of fear trickle past his strong defenses. Diego was going to waste this guy. It didn’t matter what the fuck he said, no matter how much money was at hand; Diego was more afraid of being caged again than of taking a life. Wylie hadn’t realized he still had something left to be afraid of, but apparently seeing an innocent man get shot to death was it.

“Listen to me, really closely here.” Wylie took another step into the room. He was about seven feet from Diego. It definitely wasn’t close enough to do a flying leap faster than a bullet. But if he could just inch a bit closer…

“Let’s say he manages to describe you even though the lighting is total shit in here and he’s got an egg on the side of his head the size of my fist. Let’s just say he doesn’t have brain damage or memory loss and he can describe you.” He stole another step closer. Diego was still staring at the old dude and not at him.

“What’s he going to say? It’s just a face. There are a fucking million people who look like you. You’re not pretty, you’re not ugly. It’s just a damn face, man.”

“I’m not going back!” Diego snarled and snapped his gaze back to Wylie. “You don’t fucking understand what it’s like in there, freak. What they fucking do to you! Hands like yours, they might leave you the fuck alone. But me? You think they care if I’m pretty or not? You think they care if I run with anyone? They—”

“Stop. Chill the fuck out.” Wylie could just pick up the sounds of Adam calling softly down the hall; he was probably wondering what was taking them so long. “If it all goes to shit, you’re either in for robbery—which is a fucking cakewalk—or it’s murder. They’ll never let you out if you kill this guy. You fucking hearing me? They will lock you away with the animals forever!”

“Shit… shit!” Diego shook with indecision and his expression twisted in fear. “I have priors… It’s not robbery, it’s fucking armed robbery.”

Wylie’s patience was done. “This isn’t just about you, you selfish fuck!”

“What, I’m supposed to give a fuck about the rich asshole who wasn’t supposed to be here!” Diego shouted back, his face red.

“The lookout, you dick! The fucking nerd! Me! You’re setting us all up for life if you—”

Adam pushed into the bedroom and Wylie felt the trigger squeeze before it happened. His muscles screamed as he lunged forward and knocked into Diego’s tall form.

The gunshot was an explosion of sound in his ear. Wylie’s hypersensitive senses reeled from the sudden light and noise. Diego went down heavily. He fired off another shot before Wylie wrestled the gun from his hands.

Wylie lurched to his feet, and he hauled the whimpering gangster up. Diego’s flesh was torn and bloodied from where Wylie’s inhuman claws and sharp scales had sliced and scraped. He turned to the door. Adam smelled of piss and fear. His eyes were wide and fixed unblinking on the man huddled on the floor. Wylie didn’t dare look; he could scent the blood quickly pooling and heard the man’s shattered breaths gasping for air.

“Get to the van, kid.”

“What about… W-What about the stuff?” Adam choked out. Tears began to stream down his small face and with an effort, Adam turned from the view of the dying man. He looked green. Wylie really hoped he wasn’t going to hurl.

“Now!” Wylie shouted.

Adam quickly backpedaled away when Wylie stormed to the door. He dragged the now-screaming Diego, who couldn’t escape the clawed hand that gripped his arm and carelessly sliced deep into the muscle of his bicep. Wylie followed the scent of their trail and strode through the mansion. They left far faster and much less cautiously than when they arrived. Wylie held Diego’s slumped form under one of his monstrous arms as they descended the wide staircase. Each step of pain wrenched more blood and weaker sounds from the flailing gangster. Adam scurried behind and bit his fingernails. He was silent as he watched Diego’s clothes and flesh shred in Wylie’s merciless hold.

They found Beck at the outer door. His dark eyes revealed he heard the gunshots.

“You’re driving, B.” Wylie moved to the back of the van and threw Diego’s barely conscious form in with the pile of electronics Adam had salvaged. As an afterthought, he reached in and grabbed Diego’s cell, then slammed the door.

“What, are you getting in front—Wylie!” Beck chased after him when he headed back to the house. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”

“Making sure that guy doesn’t fucking die!” Wylie turned and jerked away when Beck reached for him, his scaled arms too dangerous to touch. “Get them the hell out of here, B. Diego might need a hospital. I fucked him up bad trying to get the gun from him.”

“Don’t! Just come with us—baby, fuck, don’t do this!” Beck pleaded frantically with tears glowing in his eyes. “No one will know it was us. No one will fucking know and we can just… just…”

“Hurry up, B. That asshole is going to need you to help him after his huge fuck up.” Wylie’s smile was grim when he leaned down and pressed a swift kiss to Beck’s cheek. “Don’t let him pin this on you with Roth. I gotta call an ambulance so I need you safe and out of here first, okay?”

“Shit… Shit, you’re such a fucking idiot,” Beck whispered. His eyes still pleaded for him to come with. Hesitantly, he stepped backward. His gaze never left Wylie until he reached the open driver’s door. He disappeared in the van and the headlights glared to life. Beck’s voice was rough when he snapped something at the hysterical Adam and turned the van around in the driveway.

Yeah, definitely. He was as fucking stupid as they came.

 

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City Howls #2

The Werewolf, Frey
Exclusive Library
Sage, desperate and confused, goes to his friend Taylor for help to hide last night from his crazy brother. Taylor brings Sage to The Den, a werewolf gang hangout in the hopes of getting the boy’s curse removed. Frey, the werewolf alpha, has an idea what Sage’s problem really is. Unfortunately, werewolves are not immune to Sage’s intense scent.

This serial is 10,000+ words long per episode. It contains graphic language, violence, sexually explicit content between men, and shifter bestiality including tying. 18+ Only< 10,000+ wrds, Published March 11, 2016.
Heat level: XX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT CITY HOWLS

on April 20, 2016
on June 11, 2016

Review by: ann on Oct. 01, 2016 :

This book is nice and different looking forward to finding out why sage smells special. Thanks sadie your uploads on smashwords are way easier to download thsn those on amazon. Keep writing

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Sage had managed to get to school without Corey waking up, his brother having stumbled in drunk some time around dawn and promptly falling asleep. School had been difficult, impossible to concentrate with so many thoughts running through his head never mind feelings through his body. The shifter had not been in the alley. Sage had checked. He wasn’t even sure why just that he had to know that Heller was really gone. Whether he wanted the man to still be there or not, Sage still wasn’t sure. His body was aching and he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

Taylor was waiting for him after school, soft ash blond hair and bright blue eyes setting him apart from the others. Taylor was a really odd kid, looking very much sweet and weak and even shorter than Sage was. But the boy was vicious when he needed to be, a switch inside his friend that turned Taylor into a wild, angry thing that would defend himself and friends at any cost. That was how they had become friends to begin with.

Sage had seen the boy being picked on and gone to help, only to be as surprised as the bullies to find that Taylor was plain crazy, biting and punching back with a rock in his fist. He had burst out laughing, seeing such a sweet looking kid go nuts and win. Bullies always underestimated him too, and it just seemed right to hang with Taylor after that.

“You get home alright last night?” Taylor asked, slipping in step with Sage, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans. “I wish you had let me go with you. You know how I worry.”

Sage nodded mutely, not sure what he wanted to tell his friend just yet. He was in trouble, he knew that much. His body was aching, each step he took making his hole throb in memory and unceasing want.

“Sage… you kinda smell, man,” Taylor said, glancing over at him. “And not a garbage smell from the Wastes. Something musky, almost.” He stopped, grabbing the brunette’s hand when the boy tried to walk by him. “What are those marks on your neck?”

Sage ducked away, covering his neck. His flesh had only gotten darker as he slept, bruises blossoming purple in the morning light. “Shit, is it really noticeable?”

“That someone’s been sucking on your neck? Yeah, it fucking is. What the hell happened last night?”

“Oh god, Corey’s going to kill me,” Sage gasped frantically, eyes wide in fear. “Literally kill me. Tayls, I need makeup or some shit. I need to hide this. You know how he gets—He’s going to slice me up so bad, I’ll never move again!”

“Calm down, Sage. Just stop and breathe.” Looking around at the students in the distance, Taylor pulled his friend down the street, heading for his neighborhood. “Start at the beginning and we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

Sage nodded weakly, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Tayls… do werewolves ever… fuck people on the full moon?” He asked quietly, staring at his sneakers.

Taylor stopped walking, scratching the back of his head. “Umm… why do you…?”

Sage ducked his head, edging closer to whisper into the blond’s ear. “When they’re transformed, do they ever… fuck people?” He asked again, blushing brightly.

“I don’t…” Taylor glanced around, speaking quietly. “Yeah, I think so. Not something I’ve seen firsthand, or anything, but they talk about it sometimes. I guess there are some people that really, er, like it.”

“What about shifters?” Sage asked, fidgeting under his friend’s stare.

“Do werewolves fuck shifters?” Taylor asked, looking confused.

“No… damn it.” Sage got right into Taylor’s ear, feeling the blond shiver from his breath. “Do transformed shifters screw a lot of people?”

“Um… maybe? There was this girl once, sister to one of the shifters. The gang had said things about her. About her letting dogs do her and stuff. Why? Did you see something last night?” Taylor stepped back, looking Sage over cautiously. His friend looked different, his already pale skin nearly translucent, lips flushed a deep red, green eyes bright and glowing.

Sage had always been kind of pretty, singled out for his delicate features and slender form. The kid was tough with a terrible brother that kept most bullies away just by existing, but Taylor had taken it on himself to protect Sage as much as he could. The boy was just so nice, stuck in a bad situation with his brother and was the most loyal friend a guy could want. Seeing the brunette now, he had to wonder if maybe Sage might have been getting a different sort of attention looking the way he did.

Glancing around nervously, Sage pulled Taylor into a blind alley, making sure no one was walking by or that any windows were open. “I… I don’t know how to say this,” he mumbled, rocking from foot to foot. “It’s really, really fucked up and… and I don’t know if…”

“Just say it,” Taylor demanded, grabbing Sage by the shoulders. “I don’t care, just tell me. Was it Corey? Did he kill one of them?”

Sage shook his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he tugged his chocolate locks in frustration. “I met a shifter.”

Eyes widening, Taylor pressed his hand over the brunette’s mouth, looking around the alley to make sure that no one was definitely there. “Are you fucking serious? Did he hurt you?”

Sage bit his lip, unable to meet his friend’s concerned gaze. “A little… I don’t think he meant to. There’s something wrong with me, Tayls. I think someone might have, have cursed me or something.”

“Why would you…? Just tell me what happened,” Taylor muttered, ducking his head so his friend could whisper in his ear. Blue eyes widening in shock, Taylor began to curse under his breath as Sage poured out the events of the last night in halting sentences. “Holy fuck, Sage. Shit… Shit! How did you even go to school after that? How are you just fucking standing there and not fucking freaking out or something? He—Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t yell.” Taylor stepped away, kicking the nearest thing he could find, a soda can clattering loudly down the pavement.

Sage continued to tug at his hair agitatedly, watching Taylor’s sneakers as the blond paced. “I gotta find a way to hide the marks, Tayls,” he whispered, flinching when the blond reeled and turned on him.

“You’ve just been fucking raped!” Taylor covered his mouth, glaring at the entrance to the alley. Ducking his head, he whispered furiously into Sage’s ear. “You should go to a doctor. Make sure he didn’t give you something. Who the fuck knows what kinds of diseases shifters have?”

Sage just shook his head, his anxiety growing. “If I go to a doctor, they’ll want to talk to Corey. The shifter is not the issue right now. If Corey finds out, I’m fucking dead!”

“He wouldn’t—Would he? Is he that fucked up that…” Taylor trailed off, eyes closing. Corey was that fucked up. He wouldn’t care how or why, just that Sage had been tainted by a shifter.

“Please, Tayls, I don’t know what to do,” Sage pleaded softly, watching the emotions swirl on his friend’s face. “There’s something wrong with me. The shifter said I had a scent that made him that way. And Corey smelled me last night and you just did now. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay. Okay, we’re going to fix this. I just… just have to ask for help.” Taylor looked at his friend warily, again taking in the brunette’s strangely beautiful features. Whatever had changed in his friend, it wasn’t just the odd, musky scent. He looked different too, possibly magically different. “First we’re going to get you a hoodie to cover you up. I got something big at home you can wear. And then… then I’m going to call Jared,” he added under his breath.

“But Jared’s a werewolf,” Sage said fretfully.

“Yes, and werewolves know magic,” Taylor replied as evenly as possible, trying to ignore the feeling of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “So if you’ve really been cursed to… to make shifters want to do that… Well, he’ll be able to help.”

Fidgeting, Sage eventually nodded, letting Taylor grasp his arm and lead him towards his house. “Just… we can’t tell Corey. If he finds out that I’m talking to a werewolf… I already get in trouble because you talk to them.”

“I know, Sage, and I’m sorry about that. We’re going to disguise you so no one will know it’s you.”

Taylor’s mom had once had a fling with a werewolf, the man passing through their lives very briefly. But Taylor had been drawn to the lifestyle the werewolves had led while they were dating, never having to worry about anyone preying on his family or trying to cheat his mom out of her hard earned money and house. Taylor had figured if he were a werewolf, maybe he could protect his family the same way.

“He won’t… he won’t think I want to be one, right?” Sage whispered, Taylor unlocking the door to the small house he lived in and quickly jostling the brunette inside.

“I’ll let him know, not that it matters. They have so many damn hoops you have to jump through,” Taylor said bitterly. “Jared says they won’t even consider me until I’m twenty-five—Which is fucking bullshit because I’ve seen way younger than me. But that’s Frey for you. He’s one of the better pack leaders and has rules like that to keep from being totally terrible like the other gangs.”

Taylor left Sage drinking a glass of orange juice in the kitchen while he rustled up a large, black sweatshirt out of his closet. Grabbing a toothpick, he chewed on it mindlessly while looking around his room. His eyes fell on a pair of sunglasses on his bureau and he quickly snatched them, bringing both downstairs to his friend.

Sage dressed while Taylor used his special cellphone to contact Jared. There would be no way the werewolf would come to his house. It just wasn’t smart, even with Ms. Hunt out and working at the hospital. Taylor’s mom was not a fan of what her son had been slowly getting into, having seen firsthand the consequences of the werewolf gangs and the people that tried to cross them.

“Come on. He says he’ll meet us at The Den,” Taylor said abruptly, pocketing his phone. Sighing, he pulled the hood over Sage’s hair. “I know it’s hot out, but you have to stay covered so you won’t be recognized.” Taylor didn’t bother mentioning that he’d run across way too many fucked up werewolves that would think someone as pretty as Sage was fair game. Jared was his sponsor, protecting him from any ill attention even though he wasn’t officially in with Frey’s pack yet. Another perk with joining a proper werewolf pack and not some bunch of fucked up creeps that thought just because they could transform on the full moon they could hurt anyone they liked.

Sage let Taylor pull him out of the house, his head spinning, stomach tight with anxiety as they headed for the bus. He had made a point to avoid the werewolves; after nearly being murdered by one as a child, Sage really didn’t trust any of them. Taylor was the only reason he was even considering this, and mostly because his friend was as street smart as they came. If Taylor thought the werewolves were his only chance to fix whatever had happened to him, then Sage was willing to give it a shot.

 

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