Claiming His Fate
Feral Breed Motorcycle Club Series, Book #1
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A shifter battling his wolf instincts…
A woman living a life of obligation and lies…
A moment of fate interrupted by danger.
Rebel Lynch has spent two hundred years searching for balance between his human side and his inner wolf. As a den President of The Feral Breed Motorcycle Club, a lack of control over the beast within isn’t just a pain in the tail, it’s a death sentence. One served by his club brothers: the judges, jury, and executioners of the wolf-shifting community.
At Amnesia Gentlemen’s Club, customers and staff check their real-world identities at the door. Charlotte, one of the club’s best waitresses, ditched her legit career in corporate IT because she needs the kind of income those pesky IRS folks can’t track. When the smart-mouthed bombshell pulls a gig serving a private party, she expects nothing more than a few extra tips. That is until dirty-talking Rebel Lynch strolls into the room looking like sin incarnate, flashing motorcycle club colors, and blasting Charlotte’s expectations about work, life, and love straight to hell.
One glance at Charlotte and Rebel knows she’s his fated mate. But a wolf shifter is attacking women at the club, threatening Charlotte’s life, and putting the entire shifter community at risk of exposure. Rebel and his Feral Breed MC brothers must find the crazed shifter before he strikes again. If Rebel can’t uncover the new monster in their midst—and learn to rein in the protective instincts of a fully mated alpha—his future with Charlotte will be dead on arrival.
What's Up, Kitten?
Shaking off my frustration, I marched up the stairs and down the hall toward Rebel’s room. I needed to put everything on pause. Rebel and I could get to know each other on my terms, in my town, and then see where things would go. But until then there would be no more kissing or licking or sniffing or snuggling or growling. I lost my head when he started growling, all my thoughts disappearing as my libido reigned over my actions.
I had to put a stop to all of it so we could have serious discussions about shifters and motorcycle clubs and mating. I knocked on the door to Rebel’s room, my decision made; ready to tell him exactly what we needed to talk about and how we should proceed.
Until he opened the door wearing nothing but a threadbare towel wrapped around his hips.
Water darkened his hair, made him appear older and more dangerous. I swallowed hard and stared, unable to pull my eyes away from his body. The way the muscles in his neck curved to meet his broad shoulders. The way the light hair on his arms and chest shimmered in the overhead lighting. How the water droplets cascaded over the curves and dips of his muscled abs as gravity took them toward the floor.
I wanted to lick every fucking inch of him.
“What’s up, kitten?”.
His whiskey-rough voice didn’t just push me over the edge of reason; it tied me to a hang glider and sent me soaring out past the point of no return and into the land of pure animal instinct. I restrained myself for all of six seconds, which felt like a major accomplishment.
And then I sprung into his arms with a murmured, “Oh, what the hell.”