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Wild in the City

Wild in the City

3.6 5
by Camille Anthony

Genre: Multicultural Shape-shifter Paranormal

Series: Werewulf Journals; Next Book: Trolling For Love

Torn between two worlds...

Hunter is both wulf and man, an ex-cop and a predator who claims San Francisco as his hunting territory. On the prowl one night, he discovers a queen-sized lady of the evening--the perfect midnight


Genre: Multicultural Shape-shifter Paranormal

Series: Werewulf Journals; Next Book: Trolling For Love

Torn between two worlds...

Hunter is both wulf and man, an ex-cop and a predator who claims San Francisco as his hunting territory. On the prowl one night, he discovers a queen-sized lady of the evening--the perfect midnight snack.

The product of an ancient, alien breeding experiment, Melody's very genes drive her to mate with Hunter. Is her fierce need for him the result of chemistry, or is there more between them? She'll never know for certain--unless she takes a chance and runs wild in the city.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and practices that some readers may find objectionable: anal play/intercourse, sex in partially shifted form.

Product Details

Loose Id LLC
Publication date:
Werewulf Journals 1
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
File size:
393 KB
Age Range:
18 Years

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

The evening was beautiful, the chill October air invigorating. The weather rode the fine line between balmy harvest nights and blustery autumn days, clear and crisp with just a touch of brisk breeze to energize me.

Goddess above, but the coming night sang to me! The blending of the setting sun's magenta glow with that of the bright cold radiance of the rising harvest moon reminded me why this time of evening is called twilight--two lights. The beauty was almost overwhelming. I wanted to throw back my head and howl my joy to the pristine sky. Not even the constant thrum of human misery and noise could dampen my rising spirits.

Wandering the streets, I meandered in a haphazard pattern, no particular destination in mind, soaking up the impressions of the city. About a mile and some past my neighborhood, I came upon the lower economic district. Three blocks away, inside a broken-down housing duplex that should have been condemned years ago, the sound of furious fucking carried on the thin air of the waning day. I paused, ears pricked as I caught the guttural curses falling from a man's lips.


My hackles rose, the protector in me coming alert. I sprang into action, covering two blocks before the woman's wild, tortured--well, hell!--ecstatic cries reached me. This close, I could smell their commingled odor. This couple had been together long enough that they had taken on each other's scent.

This fevered coupling constituted no rape. Rather, it celebrated the violence of passion given and received between two lovers. My tension gave way to wry amusement. Smiling in sympathy with the man, I closed my eyes and leaned against a low brick wall,deliberately listening in.

I could almost visualize the male over his bitch, claiming her in a rage of possessiveness and masculine power--the only power poverty allowed him. Straining my ears, I heard the rhythmic pounding of his hips slamming against her pelvis. I somehow doubted he gave the physical state of their home a thought as he took his mate: roaring aloud his claim to the female, the reigning monarch of his castle marked off his territory.

Their loud, uninhibited fucking reminded me of home. It brought to mind the joyous, public fucking that mated couples indulged in, often drawing the curious eyes of the young, randy cubs. Drinking in the distant sounds of their climaxes--his low-growled grunts and groans of love, her warbled cries and moans of surrender--my own cock stretched in envious hunger.

I wondered if the woman appreciated her good fortune. Life could be worse than having a true alpha male as mate--one who takes the time and effort to spread her out and fuck her often--bestowing slices of heaven amidst the hell they resided in.

As a former officer of the law, I had seen life at its gritty worst. Overhearing this interlude, knowing a male was spending quality time with his mate, was a refreshing change.

Pushing away from the wall, I continued my stroll. The more I thought about what I had just heard, the greater I felt my own lack. As I slowly left the vicinity, I sighed, battling the melancholy trying to smother my joy.

Lately, I'd grown resentful of my ever-present loneliness. Because I was heir to the Alpha of Western America Pack and a mature, healthy wulf, everyone was constantly urging me to mate. I would love nothing better than to enter into a committed relationship with a female I could love, cherish and nightly attempt to impregnate. Hell, Buford and I were tired of living in a perpetual state of sexual hunger because human couplings just didn't satisfy a wulf's total craving.

Unfortunately, I had yet to find that illusive creature: a mate--wulf bitch or human-derived Breed designed by our scientists, ordained by manipulation, nature and fate to be a perfect breeder, capable of birthing a wulf's pups.

Tonight, I was hornier than usual, due to the case I had just completed. Damned thing had dragged on and on, so it had been a long, dry spell between playtimes for me.

Buford pressed excitedly against my jeans, impatient for our special after-hunt fuck. Picturing my plans for later, my hand dropped to my aching cock. I rubbed it through my jeans, grimacing when it jerked and stretched in need of tighter, hotter friction. I glanced around, made sure no one could see, and whipped Buford out. Poor thing was flushed, hurting, distended and swollen. I gave him a couple of sympathy jerks to take a little pressure off the building head of steam. With a calming pat and a few words of consolation, I tucked him back in and buttoned up, reminding myself that only a short wait stood between having both my culinary and sexual hungers sated.

A plaintive howl rose on the early evening air, interrupting my train of thought and informing me another of my kind prowled the city. The lonely, haunting cry drew my mind back to the beauty of the coming night. On the horizon, the moon hung low, the sight of that bright, mysterious beacon soothing my agitation and distracting my troubled thoughts from my escalating hungers.

My smile but a mere lifting of my lips, I glanced about and found myself in a remote section of San Fran, off the beaten track but still well within the greater boundaries I had previously marked as my private territory. This small segment of city was unfamiliar to me. Though claimed, it remained unmarked and, right now, devoid of human watchers. With deft, quick motions, I unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them and my boxers down. Freeing my cock, I sprayed the corner of the building and the alley walls. I nodded in satisfaction. The strong smell of my claiming wafted up, carrying my signature pheromones. Any wulf prowling about had better take heed and avoid trespassing on my grounds this evening.

Man, was I ready to howl. It had been a while since I'd really let loose and I had got a truckload of pent-up lust and sexual heat to dissipate. The woman I chose tonight would have her hands--and her cunt--full of randy wulf.

My mind still focused on the coming events, I headed back towards my main territory. As I strolled, I gazed at the starry sky, stunned by the brilliance and beauty of the twinkling panoply. The oversized moon hung low in the star-studded heavens, swollen and pristine in her beauty, her chill light pouring down. In response, my beast rose up, beating against the fragile walls of skin that imprisoned it.

"Soon, Mother," I crooned, throwing my head back and emitting a soft howl, joining in the chorus of renewed greetings offered by the others of my kind. My anticipation grew as I waited for true dark to creep over the city.

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Wild in the City [Werewulf Journals 1] 3.6 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 5 reviews.
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