Book 1
Ranked #1 in badboys: May 2018
(Unedited)
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The Wulf family is infamous in the werewolf community. Their family was the first. The origins of their kind. They are more aggressive and beastly. Their wolves more ruthless and blood thirsty. Th...
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He watched her lay on the bed. In HIS BED. His wolf nearly purred. The smell of her laying just feet from him made him rock hard. Something so simple had never done that before.
He watched as she whimpered and thrashed in her sleep. Not for the first time he wondered if she had nightmares often.
He stood and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Leaning closer to her, he brushes the dark hair from her cheek and stroke his knuckles down the side of her face. She instantly grew calm, leaning slightly into his touch. She seemed to be growing fond of his touch as if it eased her mind. But she had yet to wake and he too was growing too fond of the sleeping she-wolf.
He just couldn't understand how just her presence could draw these feelings from him. He was vicious and dangerous, yet he could feel the tenderness and urge to protect that seemed to bleed from his pores.
Stroking her cheekbone softly with his thumb for a moment before he pulled his hand away and stood. He moved back to the armchair that he had moved next to the bed and leaned forward, elbows on knees, with his hands pushed together, chin resting on his thumbs.
He had saved females before, but he knew something about this was different and knew in his gut that something in him had changed. The urge to protect her was deep, too strong to just be a good deed.
She whimpered softly before turning over and snuggled deeper into the blanket causing him to let out a soft growl he could no longer suppress.
He was Rage fucking Wulf, how could he feel so tender when he knew, when everyone knew, he was nothing but aggression. He was the epitome of Rage, nothing more than an uncontrollable wolf that could explode at any moment and wipe out a whole town in one blackout.
Yet, she seemed to have drawn something in him that didn't exist; a protective instinct that made him want her to keep her from ever being at the mercy of a male again.
A wicked smile overtook his features as he thought back to a few hours ago.
She had come bursting from the trees, gasping as if she had run miles.
He had seen her before she spotted him and had turned as he called to her.
She had been covered in filth, dried blood and he didn't want to know what else.
She had stumbled towards him, tripping over her own feet as if she hadn't walked for days.
A movement had caught his eye as she headed for him. Two men had exited the trees behind her.
He had felt himself smile as he noticed their sole attention was on Willow.
He stepped forward, meeting Willow and catching her as she stumbled to a stop.
"Who the hell is that?" One of the men asked the other, who shrugged.
"Who cares," the second man said as he hunched down, his fingers shifting, his teeth lengthening, sharpening.
