About Where the Moon Touches

by Kiernan Kelly
10 pages / 4650 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, epub, Sony-optimized pdf

Valerian is a werewolf with a problem that has nothing to do with sprouting fangs and a tail under the full moon. He’s being forced to mate with a female of his Pack against his will. When a night spent cruising the local gay bar nets him more than a one night stand, he discovers that true happiness may come at too high a price.

Sample

I scented him before I saw him. Warm and woodsy, his smell hit me full-on like a slap in the face the moment I stepped over the bar’s threshold. He smelled of loam and primal seas, earthy, and sexy in the way mere cologne could never duplicate.

Lycanthrope.

My eyes darted around the room, trying to match the scent with its owner. My nose told me it was the young man standing in the dark shadows under a huge, inflatable banana. At first, I thought I must be mistaken, although my nose never lies. Lycanthropes tend toward darker coloring, if not downright swarthy. My bronze skin, dark brown eyes, and pitch black hair was the most common color combination for my breed, although a few of us sported hazel eyes, and brown hair. No lycanthrope I’d ever seen looked like the man belonging to the enticing scent.

He was as tall as me, long and lean, wearing baggy surfer shorts, flip flops, and a white, sleeveless T-shirt raggedly cut short to expose a ripped, flat belly. His body was muscular without being bulky, and covered head-to-toe in smooth, golden skin. The dim lighting in the bar precluded my telling if his eyes were blue or green, but they were definitely very light in color. His hair was perhaps his most remarkable feature -- pale blond, sun-streaked nearly white, it fell in straight hanks over his forehead to brush his eyelashes, and was long enough in the back to skim his broad shoulders.

He had the face of an angel, the body of a god, and the scent of a wolf.

Mine.

My body hardened instantly as something feral sprung to life inside me, demanding I take him, mark him as mine. I’d never felt so strong a compulsion, and it startled me enough to give me pause.

It was obvious he’d scented me, too, because as I slowly threaded my way through the crowd toward him, his pretty eyes grew very round, his plump lips parted, and he blanched under his golden tan.

The unmistakably bitter tang of fear tinged his wondrous scent. He was afraid of me.

Why? I didn’t even know him, had never seen him before.

Didn’t matter.

I wanted him, and fear or no fear, my animal nature insisted I claim him.

He pressed up against the wall, his eyes darting side to side as if seeking an escape route. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and a single droplet of sweat trickled over his left cheek.

He wasn’t just scared. He was terrified.