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Anna Moder has just witnessed a shooting, seen her car pulverized, and rescued a wounded stranger only to discover he’s really a werewolf. And by her recent standards, things are actually looking up. Lycanthropes don’t faze Anna. Doctoring a wolf pack outside Grundy, Alaska, is the closest thing to home life she’s known in years. But hitching a ride to Anchorage with long-absent pack member Caleb Graham—that’s a risk. Part of her itches to whack his nose with a ...
Anna Moder has just witnessed a shooting, seen her car pulverized, and rescued a wounded stranger only to discover he’s really a werewolf. And by her recent standards, things are actually looking up. Lycanthropes don’t faze Anna. Doctoring a wolf pack outside Grundy, Alaska, is the closest thing to home life she’s known in years. But hitching a ride to Anchorage with long-absent pack member Caleb Graham—that’s a risk. Part of her itches to whack his nose with a newspaper. The rest is trying unsuccessfully to keep her own paws off every delicious inch of him.
The problem is—Caleb employs his lupine tracking abilities as a notquite- legal bounty hunter, and Anna is suspicious of both him and his profession. On the run from her past, with old problems closing in, she’d like to stay far, far away from anybody with connections to the law. Caleb, however, seems determined to keep her close. Are his intentions noble, or is he working a more predatory angle?
Anna’s been dreaming of returning to a semi-normal life, but now she’s experiencing a strange new urge . . . to join Caleb in running with the wolves.
How to Run with a Naked Werewolf
I didn’t mind working at Emerson’s Dry Goods, but I was wrapping up a sixteen-hour shift. My back ached. My stiff green canvas apron was chafing my neck. And one of the Glisson twins had dropped a gallon jar of mayo on my big toe earlier. I hadn’t been this exhausted since doing an emergency rotation during my medical residency. The only nice thing I could say about working at Emerson’s was that the owner hadn’t asked for photo identification when I applied, eliminating an awful lot of worry for my undocumented self. Also, I usually dealt with less blood.
Unless, of course, I did bludgeon Gordie with the ham, which would result in a serious amount of cleanup in aisle five.
I only had a few more weeks of checkout duty before I would be moving on, winding my way toward Anchorage. It was just easier that way. Now that I was living in what I called “the gray zone,” I knew there was a maximum amount of time people could spend around me before they resented unanswered personal questions. Of course, I’d also learned a few other things, like how to make an emergency bra or patch a pair of shoes with duct tape. And now I was trying to learn the zen art of not bashing an indecisive cornflake lover over the head with preserved pork products.
I glanced back to Gordie, who was now considering his oatmeal options.
I swore loudly enough to attract the attention of my peroxide-blond fellow retail service engineer Belinda. Middle-aged, pear-shaped, and possessing a smoker’s voice that put that Exorcist kid to shame, Belinda was the assistant manager at Emerson’s, the closest thing to a retail mecca in McClusky, a tiny ditchwater town on the easternmost border of Alaska. Because I was still a probationary employee, I wasn’t allowed to close up on my own. But Belinda was friendly and seemed eager to make me a “lifer” at Emerson’s like herself. I suspected she wasn’t allowed to retire until she found a replacement.
“I’ve known Gordie for almost forty years. He can make a simple decision feel like the end of Sophie’s Choice,” she said, putting a companionable arm around me as I slumped against my counter. It was an accomplishment that I was able to give her a little squeeze in return.
“You’re thinking about throwing one of those canned hams at him, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “I guess I’ve made that threat before, huh?”
Belinda snickered at my irritated tone. I glared at her. She assured me, “I’m laughing with you, Anna, not at you.”
I offered her a weak but genuine smile. “Feels the same either way.”
“Why don’t you go on home, hon?” Belinda suggested. “I know you worked a double when that twit Haley called in sick. For the third time this week, I might add. I’ll close up. You go get some food in you. You’re looking all pale and sickly again.”
I sighed again, smiling at her. When I’d first arrived at Emerson’s, Belinda had taken one look at my waxy cheeks and insisted on sending me home with a “signing-bonus box” of high-calorie, high-protein foods. I was sucking down protein shakes and Velveeta for a week. Every time I put a pound on my short, thin frame, she considered it a personal victory. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my pallor wasn’t from malnutrition but from stress and sleep deprivation. I gave her another squeeze. “I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all. Thanks. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do,” she said as I whipped my green Emerson’s apron over my head and stuffed it into my bag. As I made my way to the employee locker room, I heard her yell, “Damn it, Gordie, it’s just Cream of Wheat. It’s not like you’re pulling somebody’s plug!”
Chuckling, I slipped out the back through the employee exit, waiting for the slap of frigid September air to steal my breath. I snuggled deeper into my thick winter jacket, grateful for its insulating warmth. Years before, when I’d first arrived in Alaska, I’d brought only the barest essentials. I’d spent most of my cross-state drive shivering so hard I could barely steer. Eager to help me acclimate, my new neighbors had taken great pains to help me select the most sensible jacket, the most reasonably priced all-weather boots. I missed those neighbors with a bone-deep ache that I couldn’t blame on the cold. I missed the people who had become my family. I missed the valley I’d made home. The thought of trying to make a place for myself all over again tipped my exhaustion into full-on despair.
Fumbling with the keys to my powder-blue-and-rust Pinto, I heard someone say, “Just tell Jake I’ll get him the money in a week.”
A gruffer, calmer voice answered, “Marty, relax. Jake didn’t send me. I just stopped in for a burger. I’m not here for you.”
I closed my eyes, hoping to block out the shadowy forms in the far corner of the employee lot that Emerson’s shared with the Wishy-Washy Laundromat and Flapjack’s Saloon. I didn’t want to see any of this. I didn’t want the liability of witnessing some sort of criminal transaction. I just wanted to go home to my motel room and stand in the shower until I no longer felt the pain of sixteen hours and a jumbo jar of mayonnaise on my feet. I turned my back to the voices, struggling to work the sticky lock on my driver’s-side door.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit,” the reedier, slightly whiny voice countered. “He sent you after me when I owed him ten. You don’t think he’s going to do it again now that I owe him seventeen?”
“I’m telling you, I’m not here for you. But if you don’t put that gun away, I might change my mind.”
Gun? Did he say “gun”?
Who the hell has a gunfight in the parking lot behind a Laundromat?
I focused on keeping my hands from shaking as I jiggled the key in the lock. Stupid circa-1980s tumbler technology! I gave myself another five seconds to open the door before I would just run back to the Emerson’s employee entrance.
That was my plan, until the point when I heard the gunshot . . . and the screech of tires . . . and the roar of an engine coming way too close. I turned just in time to see the back end of a shiny black SUV barreling toward me and my car. I took three steps before throwing myself into the bed of a nearby pickup truck. Even before I peered over the lip of the bed, I knew the loud, tortured metallic squeal was the SUV pulverizing my Pinto.
“Seriously?” I cried, watching as my car disintegrated in front of my very eyes.
The SUV struggled to disengage its back end from the wreckage of my now-inoperable car. As the driver gunned the engine, I followed the beams of the headlights across the lot to a man curled in the fetal position on the ground.
My eyes darted back and forth between the injured man and the growling black vehicle. This was none of my business. I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t know what he’d done to make Mr. SUV want to run him down like a dog. And despite the fact that every instinct told me to stay put, stay down until this guy was a little man-pancake, I launched myself out of the truck bed and ran across the lot. I dashed toward the hunched form on the ground, sliding on the gravel when I bent to help him. I tamped down my instincts to keep him still while I assessed the damage, assuring myself that any wounds he had would definitely prove fatal if he was run over by a large vehicle.
“Get up!” I shouted as the SUV wrenched free of my erstwhile transportation and lurched toward us.
Mr. Pancake-to-Be struggled to his knees. I tucked my arms under his sleeves and pulled, my arms burning with the effort to lift him off the ground.
“Get your butt off the concrete, now!” I grunted, heaving him out of the path of the SUV. I felt a set of car keys dangling out of his jacket pocket. I clicked the fob button until I heard a beep and turned toward the noise.
Just as I got him on his feet, the headlights of the SUV flared. We stumbled forward, falling between his truck and Belinda’s hatchback. The hatchback shuddered with a tortured metallic shriek as the SUV sideswiped it. I jerked the passenger door of the truck open, slid across the seat, and dragged him inside. When I pulled it back, my hand was red and slick with blood. He groaned as he tried to fold his long legs into the cab. I reached over him to slam the door.
“Not smart,” I mumbled, slipping the key into the ignition. “Like ‘and she was never heard from again’ not smart.”
I watched as the SUV careened off the far corner of the lot into the grass. The ground was soupy and particularly fragrant, thanks to a septic-tank leak. The owner of Flapjack’s had warned us not to park anywhere near it, or we’d end up stuck to our axles in substances best not imagined, which is what was happening to the SUV the more it spun its wheels. I glanced between my demolished car and the guy who seemed so hell-bent on killing my passenger. At this point, I didn’t know which was more distressing. The SUV driver stepped out, slipping and sliding in the muck that had sucked him in to the ankles. There was a flash of metal in his hand as he strode toward the truck. A gun. He was pointing a gun at us.
Fortunately for me and my barely conscious passenger, the SUV guy wandered a little too close to my Pinto. And my rusted-out baby, being the most temperamentally explosive of all makes and models, had not taken kindly to being squished by the big, mean off-roader. My notoriously delicate gas tank was leaking fuel all over the parking lot, dangerously close to the lard bucket Flapjack’s set out back to catch employees’ cigarette butts. And because the saloon was staffed by likable though lazy people, there were always a few smoldering butts lying around on the gravel.
The fuel ignited, sending my car up like a badly upholstered Roman candle. Mr. SUV was thrown to the ground as a little mushroom cloud exploded over us.
Good. Explosions drew a lot of attention. People would come running out to see what had happened, and Mr. SUV couldn’t afford that many witnesses. This guy would get the (fully equipped) medical attention he needed . . . and I would end up answering questions for a lot of cops.
I hadn’t even realized I’d punched the gas before I felt the gravel give way under the tires and the truck lurch toward the open road.
He slumped against the window as I careened out of the parking lot and onto the highway. The closest medical facility was in Bernard, about seventy miles up the road. As we neared the town limits, I passed the Lucky Traveler Motel, wishing we had time to stop and pick up my clothes and medical bag. But nearly everyone in the bar knew where I lived. The SUV driver would only have to ask a few people in the crowd that gathered to roast marshmallows around my immolated car and he’d find me in about ten minutes. For that matter, he could have been following us at that moment. Somehow, that made my spare contact-lens case and stethoscope seem less significant.
“Mister?” I said, shaking his shoulder, wincing as I noticed the blood seeping through his shirt. Gunshot wounds to the abdomen usually meant perforated major organs and damaged blood vessels, but his blood loss was minimal. I held out hope, though I knew that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. There could be some complication or an exit wound I wasn’t aware of. I pulled my apron out of my bag and pressed the green canvas against his belly. He groaned, opening his burnt-chocolate eyes and blinking at me, as if he was trying to focus on my face but couldn’t quite manage it.
“You,” he said, squinting at me. “I know you.”
I swallowed, focusing on the situation at hand instead of the instinctual panic those words sent skittering up my spine. “No, I’d remember you, I’m sure. Just hold on, OK? I’m going to get you to the clinic in Bernard. Do you think you could stay awake for me?”
He shook his head. “No doctors.”
I supposed this would be a bad time to tell him I was a doctor.
“Not that bad. No doctors,” he ground out, glaring at me. I scowled right back. His face split into a loopy smirk. “Pretty.”
His head thunked back against the seat rest, which I supposed signaled the end of our facial-expression standoff.
And now that I had time to study said face, I could appreciate the shaggy black hair, eyes so intensely brown they were almost black, and cheekbones carved from granite. His lips were wide and generous and probably pretty tempting when they weren’t curled back over his teeth in pain like that.
“Please,” he moaned, batting his hand against my shoulder, weakly flexing his fingers around it.
Well, damn, I’d always been a sucker for a man who kept pretty manners intact while bleeding. “Fine,” I shot back. “Where do you want to go?”
But he’d already passed out.
“And she was never heard from again,” I muttered.
A few miles later, my passenger stopped bleeding, which could mean that he’d started to clot . . . or that he’d gone into shock and died. My optimism had reached its limit for the evening.
Keeping an eye on the road, I pressed my fingers over his carotid and detected a slow but steady pulse. I took a deep breath and tried to focus. I’d been through so much worse. It didn’t make sense to panic now. How had I gotten myself into this? I’d worked so hard to avoid this kind of trouble. I’d kept my head down, stayed low profile. And here I was, driving around in a possibly stolen truck with a possibly dead body slumped over in the passenger seat. If I’d had one operating brain cell in my head, I would have run screaming into the bar the minute I heard the men arguing in the parking lot. But no, I had to help the injured stray, because living with the less-than-civic-minded side of humanity over the last few years had apparently taught me nothing.
I saw a sign ahead for Sharpton. Since he didn’t want to go to the clinic, I’d turned off the main highway and stuck to the older, less-traveled state routes. I tapped the brakes, afraid I would miss some vital piece of information hidden between the words “Sharpton” and “20 miles.” As the truck slowed, the big guy slumped forward and snorted as his head smacked against the dashboard.
Good. Dead people do not snort. That was my qualified medical opinion.
“Hey, big guy?” I said loudly, shaking his shoulder. “Mister?”
He snorted again but did not wake up. I laughed, practically crying with relief. I gently shook my . . . passenger? Patient? Hostage? What was I going to do with him? He didn’t want a doctor, he said. But as much as I needed a vehicle, I didn’t have it in me to just leave him on the side of the road somewhere and drive off.
Just over the next rise in the road, I saw a sign for the Last Chance Motel, which seemed both ominous and appropriate. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it slowly expand my lungs. By the time I exhaled, I’d already formed my plan. At the faded pink motel sign, I turned into the lot and parked in front of the squat, dilapidated building. There were two cars in the lot, including the one in front of the office, which seemed to double as the manager’s quarters.
I reached toward the passenger seat and gently shook the big guy’s shoulder. His breathing was deep and even. As carefully as I could, I raised the hem of his bloodied shirt and gasped. The bullet wound, just under his ribs on his left side, seemed too small for such a recent injury. The edges of the wound were a healthy pink. And the bullet seemed to be lodged there in his skin.
I pulled away, scooting across the bench seat. That . . . wasn’t normal.
Calm down, I ordered myself. There’s no reason to panic. This is good news.
Maybe some weird act of physics had kept the bullet from penetrating deeply in the first place, I reasoned. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the wound while I was playing action hero in the dark parking lot. In my panic, it must have looked much worse than it was. Either way, the wound looked almost manageable now.
“Just hold on tight,” I told him, placing my hand on his shoulder again. He leaned into my touch, trying to nuzzle his cheek against my fingers. “Uh, I’ll be right back.”
It would appear that I was footing the bill for this little slice of heaven. I couldn’t reach his wallet, as it was in his pocket, firmly situated under his butt. I had just enough cash in my purse (a twenty and a few lonely singles) to cover one night. After that, I was dead in the water. The rest of my cash had been stashed behind a dresser in my motel room near Emerson’s.
I jumped out of the truck and tried to look calm and normal as I walked into the motel’s dingy little office and saw its creepy-as-hell occupant. The hotel seemed to have run a bizarrely specific Internet ad that read, “Wanted: semiskilled applicant with off-putting sex-predator vibe and lax standards in personal hygiene.”
And this guy was no exception. It took no less than three refusals of a “room tour” from the night manager before I was permitted to trade a portion of my precious cash supply for a little plastic tag attached to the oldest freaking room key I had ever seen.
“Two beds, right?” I asked, taking the key.
He shook his head, leering at me. “Single rooms only. We like to stay cozy here.”
“Is there a pharmacy anywhere around here?” I asked.
“In town, about four miles down the road. Opens in the morning, around eight,” he said. “But if you’re feeling poorly, I have something in my room that might perk you up.”
I turned on my heel and made a mental note to prop a chair against the outside door once I got to the room.
I opened up the passenger-side door and saw that the big guy had managed to sit up and had his head resting on the seat back. He was snoring steadily. I spotted a bulky duffel bag in the backseat of the cab and threw it over my shoulder. I unlocked the room door, tossed the bag inside, and steeled myself for the task of hauling his unconscious ass into the room. Careful to keep his bloodied side away from the manager’s window, I hoisted his arm over my shoulder in a sort of ill-advised fireman’s carry and took slow, deliberate steps toward the open door. The movement seemed to reopen the wound, and I could feel blood seeping through my shirt. We made it through the door.
I heard a distinct metallic plink. I looked down and saw that the bullet had rolled across the filthy carpet and hit the wall.
I meant to set him gently on the bed but ended up flopping him across the bedspread. The rickety bed squealed in protest as he bounced, but he didn’t bat an eyelash. I huffed, leaning against the yellowed floral wallpaper to catch my breath. “Sorry. You’re heavier than you look.”
I locked the door and wedged the desk chair against the knob. The room was so outdated it was almost in style again but the dirt and neglect screamed “dingy,” not “kitschy.” The carpet was a dank greenish-brown color that could only be described as phlegm. The bedspread, threadbare and nearly transparent in places, matched the shade.
I shook off the Norman Bates flashbacks and told myself it was just like any of the other crappy indigent motels I’d stayed at in any number of cities, and I hadn’t been stabbed in the shower yet.
I turned back to the sleeping giant on the bed. The flannel shirt made an unpleasant ripping noise as I peeled it away, the dried blood causing the stiff material to adhere to his skin. The wound seemed even smaller now, the area around it a perfectly normal, healthy color. I pushed back from him, away from the bed, staring at the minuscule hole in his flesh.
This couldn’t be right.
Taking a step back, I knocked over his duffel and saw a bottle of Bactine spray sticking out of the partially opened zipper. I arched an eyebrow and pulled the bag open. “What the—?”
Never mind having to run to a pharmacy. The bag was filled to the brim with well-used first-aid supplies—mostly peroxide and heavy-duty tweezers. And several different types of exotic jerky. But not much in the way of clothes.
I glanced from the shrinking bullet hole to the enormous bag of meat treats with its distinct lack of clothes . . . and back to the bullet hole.
Oh, holy hell, this guy was a werewolf.
Posted December 31, 2013
I received an ARC of this book from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for a fair and honest review. That being said I am a huge Molly Harper fan and have yet to read anything by her that I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed and How To Run With A Naked Werewolf is no different. This is the third novel set in the “Naked Werewolf” world but can be read stand-alone.
Anna is sweet and sassy. She is smart and strong. She is also on the run from an abusive husband. Not the type of story to make you think of laugh out loud craziness but that is exactly what this is. From page one you are torn with worry for Anna and laughing at the impossible situations she finds herself in. There is also the sweet horror of falling in love while on the run. I loved revisiting the werewolves and hope this years snowstorms spawn another installment.
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Posted February 10, 2014
How to Run with a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf #3) by Molly Harper
Anna Moder is the former human doctor to the wolf pack outside Grundy, Alaska. She learns her abusive ex-husband discovered her whereabouts and needs to leave her new home to avoid detection. While she is on the run, she rescues a man, Caleb Graham, from a shooting. Telling her “no doctors” she helps the man recuperate while journeying with him on his job as a bounty hunter.
I have been wanting to read my first Molly Harper book for a while now, and I am so glad that I finally did. I am definitely going to need to back-track and read some more of her books.
I love Anna’s sarcastic humor. The dialog is amusing. She is a strong character yet she was stuck in an unhealthy relationship. This could so easily happen to anyone.
I enjoyed both Anna and Caleb’s personalities. They were both strong in their own ways and good for each other.
The story was original. I liked that they were on the road together for most of the novel. There are also some compelling twists throughout the novel to keep you interested. I flew through this 352 page book with ease. It was really hard to put down.
ARC provided by Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.
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Posted January 1, 2014
Posted July 28, 2014
Molly Harper’s paranormal Naked Werewolf series is a hoot. When I received How to Run with a Naked Werewolf from the publisher for review, I went back to read the first two books in the series. I loved them. Each was set in and around the small town of Grundy, Alaska, and humorously dealt with outsiders moving into this werewolf friendly setting.
How to Run with a Naked Werewolf is a bit different as most of the action does not take place in and around Grundy, but on the road. So quite a few of the familiar characters aren’t seen till almost the final chapters.
The story is also a bit more serious and focuses on the werewolf's doctor, Anna Moder. She’s in hiding and on the run from Grundy, heading towards Anchorage when she bumps into Caleb Graham. Caleb is a member of the Grundy pack, but they’d never met. He also tracks people down for a living and he’s on the hunt for a particular woman. Their worlds collide. With Anna trying to escape from an abusive ex- and Caleb not sure what to believe, this book is a bit more serious than the previous to series titles.
But Harper delivers a tight story and another compelling read with How to Run with a Naked Werewolf.
Posted July 14, 2014
Posted May 29, 2014
I have loved all three in the series! And, this has to be my Favorite! I loved the interaction of the characters & fell in love with them!
Hope she puts out another one with the NAKED Werewolves!
Posted May 16, 2014
Anna Moder, is a woman on the run. She doesn't stay in one place for very long due to someone in her past searching for her. Leaving work one night, she sees a man get shot and almost run over, so she saves him and nurses him back to health. Her previous position as a doctor helps her along the way.
Caleb Graham, is a werewolf that happens to be a bounty hunter. That's a great job for a werewolf if you think about it. He has sharper senses, and is able to track down the people easier than most. After being rescued by Anna, he takes her along his adventure and I could see Anna slowly beginning to trust Caleb. Anna's character is an emotionally and physically abused woman, that is trying to make a life for herself. It was believable in the aspect that Anna didn't immediately trust Caleb, she shies away.
How to Run With A Naked Werewolf is book 3 in the series, and though it was a hard decision, this is my favorite in the bunch. The two characters suited one another without being picture perfect. The plot was engaging and entertaining, and I wondered what would happen next. There is humor strewn throughout the book as is MHarper's style. The characters in the first two books of the series make appearances, which made me happy. I love when I get to glimpse little added bits of their stories. How to Run with a Naked Werewolf is an engaging read that will make you want your own sexy werewolf bounty hunter. If you haven't read this series yet, I highly suggest it.
Posted May 10, 2014
Name: jacob age: 14 species: werewolf/ lycanthrope appeanace: brownish blonde hiar greenish grey eyes and a mark on my shoulder that looks like a wolfs paw other: just turned or rather bit by a werewolf on may 8th, 2014 and doesnt have anyone to call familyWas this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted May 3, 2014
My Initial Reaction...
I launched into How to Run with a Naked Werewolf immediately after finishing The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf, eager to continue watching the lives of my favorite Alaskan community. And once again, I was shocked and disappointed. Someday I will learn to read the synopsis for this series (assuming it's not over), since had I read it, I would have known that How to Run with a Naked Werewolf did NOT actually take place in Grundy, Alaska with the Colombian Basin Pack. And yet somehow, it's my favorite book in the Naked Werewolf series so far.
I know you have to be sick of me praising Amanda Ronconi - I'm almost tired of it. And yet, she continues to deliver fantastic performances. She just GETS the characters and makes them come to life, complete with appropriate differentiation between characters and of course, her trademark snark. I recommend any book read by her.
How to Run with a Naked Werewolf is told from the point of view of Anna, whose connected to the Columbian Basin Pack we love by being their former doctor. Their former doctor on the run. Anna was hiding out with the pack (though they didn't know it) because she was running from her husband. He got controlling and abusive and she finally had enough. But he's the type that won't let her go - and now he's caught her scent again, so she's on the run again. As you can imagine, her experiences have made Anna a bit skiddish, particularly around men. She doesn't trust them (or anyone, really). But at the same time, she's a strong chic, even if she's not fully aware of it. I mean, it takes a lot to run away from that life, not to mention to become a doctor to werewolves!
And it's lucky for Caleb that she's been a werewolf doctor, because when she first meets him it's saving his butt. He's injured in a shoot out and she helps him escape and then tends to his wounds. It takes her only minutes to realize that he's healing way too fast and that he must be a werewolf too. In fact, she figures out quickly EXACTLY who he is. He's also connected to the Columbian Basin Pack - he grew up there, but with his father's death, he doesn't spend much time there. Instead, he's a bounty hunter, putting his wolfy skills to money making use. He's sort of what you'd expect in a bounty hunter - he's got a job to do and he's doing it - pushing emotions aside. But he's got a softer side, which Anna totally brings out in him.
So the story for How to Run with a Naked Werewolf revolves around this massive road trip basically. Anna has to get to her new papers and life, Caleb has jobs to do on the way, so he takes her along with him. What makes it really fun is that Anna doesn't tell Caleb that she knows who he is - so he thinks he has to hide that he's a werewolf from her. Waiting to see that shoe drop was entertaining - I kept thinking it was going to happen and then it wouldn't!
The other really fun part of this plot was seeing their relationship grow, despite Anna's lies. They fall into this comfortable friendship. She gradually opens up to him and he gradually relaxes around her. She starts helping him with his work - doing all his paperwork and organizing his jobs - of course she's doing it to push him along towards her destination more quickly, but it turns into this perfect relationship. And all the while they're flirting, but never crossing that line. And you're waiting for that shoe to drop too - when will they realize that they're falling in love?
As always with these books, there was tons of humor of the sassy and snarky kind. You've got a snarky heroine and an overprotective wolf, which Molly has proven time and again makes for a fanastic combo. Loved every minute!
Posted April 22, 2014
Posted March 26, 2014
This is the third book in the Naked Werewolf series by Molly Harper. I was a huge fan of the first two books in this series and and even bigger fan of Molly Harper, so when I saw this was available on Netgalley, I just had to grab it.
This is the story of the doctor of our favorite Alaskan Werewolves, Anna Moder. Except that's not really her name and get a chance to find out more about Anna as she goes back on the run from a past that is quickly catching up with her. When events conspire to put her with Caleb, a bounty hunting werewolf, she plots how to escape while Caleb plans on how to keep her.
The two thirds of the book were about Anna and Caleb. The last third we get to see characters from the first two books again and check in on how they are doing, while the story draws to a climax. Anna learns to stand up for herself and trust her friends will stand with her. And with Anna at his side, Caleb finds a reason to return to his home pack.
I really enjoyed this book. There was a nifty little surprise at the end that I totally thrilled at. I won't give it away, I will just say to make sure that you are paying attention to names. ;) I gave this book 4 stars on Goodreads.
Posted March 22, 2014
YIN<p>Name: Yin<p>Age:17<p>Gender: &female<p>Species: Weretiger<p>Appearance: In human form, she has fair skin with white hair and blue eyes. In tiger form, she is white with black stripes and blue eyes.<p>History: Became most recent light guardian, otherwise unknown.<p>Personality: Meet her.<p>Powers: Powers of light, fire conjuror. Most powerful in daytime.<p>Other: Ask.<p>Theme song (casual): Through the Nether (Metallica).<p>Theme Song (battle): Fallen Blood (Epic Battle Fantasy)<p>YANG<p>Name: Yang<p>Age: 19<p>Gender: &male<p>Species: Werelion<p>Appearance: Has dark brown skin (despite not being Af<_>rican American) with black hair and red eyes, as well as being muscalur, in human form. In lion form, black fur with red eyes.<p>History: Most recent darkness guardian, otherwise unknown.<p>Personality: Meet him.<p>Powers: Power of darkness, ice conjuror.<p>Other: Ask.<p>Theme Song (casual): Call Me (Shinedown)<p>Theme Song (battle): Divine Madness (Epic Battle Fantasy 3)Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted March 22, 2014
This was an interesting story. Anna’s been on the run from her husband for a while now. She’s learned to become resourceful and it also helps that she has a doctorate degree. So she’s been able to blend into the crowd and find jobs every time she’s moved. However, no matter how bad she wants to remain anonymous among the crowd, she can’t stand by and watch someone get killed. Little does she know that the guy she’s saving is a werewolf. A werewolf who’s also a bounty hunter.
“I was the ass-backward Red Riding Hood.”
I liked that Anna had previous experiences with werewolves and doesn’t take long to warm up to the fact that Caleb is one. In fact, she knows it the night she saves his life. She was a pretty strong character who had been beaten down enough and wasn’t going to take it anymore. She’s not only not scared of Caleb but she also isn’t intimidated by him to obey his every command. She ends up being quite the asset to Caleb and his work.
Caleb is a werewolf, so you expect some sort of possessiveness when it comes to Anna. However, his character was also consistent. He didn’t go from alpha male to whimpering pansy all because he found his mate. Nope, he stayed the same throughout the book and I really enjoyed it.
This was a great continuation of the story. You could technically read this one as a stand alone. I have only read the first in the series and jumped right to this one and had no problems following along. Granted, some of the characters from the first book come into play towards the end of this book, but the majority of the story focuses on Anna and Caleb. Maybe Anna played a roll in the last book? She definitely had a connection to the people from the original book so who knows. Either way, this is a great series for any paranormal romance lover.
Posted March 19, 2014
Posted March 19, 2014
Name is alec. Age is 18. Species is werewolf/wereblood. Looks tall dark hair grey eyes and a scar on hand that looks like a wolf head. Personialty differs. Mate has yet to be chosen.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted February 18, 2014
Posted February 14, 2014
Posted February 6, 2014
I really love the lighthearted fun to be found in every Molly Harper book. This was the best way to pass a snow day. After a storm closed my office, I wanted to make good use of my bonus day and chose a book I didn’t get to read during the chaotic holidays. I was enjoying Caleb and Anna’s story so much I had it done in an afternoon.
Caleb and Anna spent their time running around Alaska, never really getting anywhere, and mostly getting to know each other which just made for an entertaining story. Some paranormal series are intense, but I just love the carefree fun and great one-liners which make up a Molly Harper book.
This is definitely an amusing story with fun characters, and although we do have a get together at the end with Mo, Cooper, Maggie and Nick, the story is mostly the new characters of Caleb and Anna.
Posted February 1, 2014
Posted February 1, 2014