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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Her feet were hurting, her thighs were burning, but she pushed on.
Twelve hours they had been running and Rage didn't look like he was going to stop. He didn't look affected at all.
It made her wonder how long he had been running. Why had he left his pack? His brothers?
Abruptly he stopped, lifting his nose into the air, sniffing for a few moments before turning to her.
He moved over to her, sniffing low as he grew closer. Willow's stomach clenched. She had no idea what he was doing, and it made her nervous.
She lifted her chin as he moved his lowered head down to her front paws, the air from each sniff, rustling the fur there.
He growled softly in irritation before stepping back and taking in their location. Willow looked down at her paws, realizing then that they were raw and bleeding, she had no idea how she had not noticed it until now.
A soft growl came from Rage, drawing her attention to him; he moved his head to the side before moving in a different direction than they were headed. She followed him silently, trying to ignore the pain in her feet that seemed to have worsened now that she noticed the bleeding.
He led her to the edge of another small human town. She wanted to cry as she realized that they were stopping. Her chest swelled at his kindness.
Eyes on her, he lowered his head, pointing his snout at the ground with a tough nod. When she sat down and he was content that she would stay put, he moved towards a large tree, flanked by overgrown bushes, not too far from them.
She watched his predatory stride as he moved through the woods. There was no doubt that he was powerful, dangerous. The large, black wolf was covered in many scars and no doubt had killed just as many.
Willow waited patiently as he shifted, his body lifting into a stance as he slipped into his clothes.
The bushes covered him below the waist but left his upper half exposed to her. Each of his scars seemed deep, each white puckered skin that left his tan skin shocking against them. Each one held a story, a fight, probably a death, and she wanted to know each one, she wanted to touch each one.
She watched the way his muscles flex as he pulled his pants on, it was hypnotizing the way he moved, each ripple of bulging muscle called to her on a purely animalistic level. His body pulling at parts of her: desires from her that she had never felt before.
She tore her eyes from him as he raised his head and slipped on his shirt, effectively blocking his body from her view.
She could feel his eyes on her now, as he moved, barefoot, towards her. Refusing to meet his eyes, she was glad that she could not blush in wolf form because her face would be as red as a tomato.
She stared at his feet as he stopped and set his duffle at his feet before placing her clothes and shoes onto the ground in front of her.
She didn't move for a minute as his kindness brought forth a wave of cravings for him. She knew he could smell it, and waited, unmoving until she was sure she had calmed herself down. She tried to ignore the deep breaths coming from him, the deep smell of his lust urging her forward, away from him. She knew if she stayed there, she would do something she didn't want to do.
