eBook Details


The Wolf Moon

Series: The Wolf Ring Series , Book 3.0
By: Meg Harris | Other books by Meg Harris
Published By: Meg Harris
Published: Nov 07, 2012
ISBN # MGHRRS0000024
Word Count: 15,546
Heat Index     
Eligible Price: $0.99

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.mobi), Epub

Categories: Romance>Paranormal/Horror Romance>Werewolves/Shifter Romance>Erotic Romance


The Wolf Moon (The Wolf Ring Series) by Meg Harris - Romance>Paranormal/Horror eBook

Book 3 of The Wolf Ring.

When Graeme meets a mysterious, unclothed woman in the moonlit forest, his life is transformed... and so is he.

Length: Novella (15,500 words).

Warnings: Blunt language, explicit sex.

Look for the other books in the series, The Wolf Ring and The Wolf Hunger.
Reader Rating:   0.0 Not rated (0 Ratings)
Sensuality Rating:   Not rated
Whenever the moon rose, he itched.

Graeme Fenrir scratched irritably at his chest and glared up at the moon as if it were a personal foe. It wasn’t even half full, but he knew from experience that the itching would get progressively worse as the moon waxed. By the time the moon was full, two weeks from now, it would be almost unbearable.

He’d been suffering with this problem for three months now, and yesterday he’d finally gotten annoyed enough about it to ask his friend John Braden, who happened to be a family practitioner, if there was such a thing as a moonlight allergy. John had just laughed at the idea.

But John wasn’t the one who was being driven slowly crazy by the itching. Maybe Graeme wasn’t allergic to moonlight—but he was damn well allergic to something.

He sighed, and lowered his gaze from the moon to the dark woods behind his house. He was standing on his deck in his house, in the small town of Lupine Rapids, and just beyond the back boundary of his yard, the woods stretched out, shadowy and inviting.

He shook his head wryly at the thought. There was nothing particularly inviting about dark, dense woods. If he left the house and walked into them, he’d probably break a leg falling over a log.

And yet, somehow… the forest called to him.

The restlessness that had been growing inside him lately swelled, until he couldn’t fight the impulse any longer. Slowly, he paced down the steps of his deck and walked across his large backyard. As he reached the boundary of the woods, he hesitated for just a moment, and then plunged into the trees.

It really wasn’t that dark, he thought as his eyes adjusted. He could see with surprising clarity. For that, he supposed he could thank the moon. He walked through the woods, finding paths through the old-growth trees and the thick underbrush easily, as if he were walking by instinct.

Far away, he heard a long, eerie howl. A prickle ran down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Wolf, he thought, even though he knew there hadn’t been wolves in this region for decades. It had to be a coyote, or maybe just someone’s dog.

But the howl rose again, long and quavering, and the hair on his arms rose, too.

It occurred to him that he was going to get lost in the woods, but he couldn’t seem to stop walking. Somehow walking helped with the itchiness, as well as with the restlessness that had plagued him lately.

He suspected part of what was bothering him was grief. His grandfather, his namesake, had moved in with him a year ago, after suffering a stroke, and Graeme had devoted much of his time to caring for him. But his granddad had passed away a few months before, and Graeme found himself missing the frail old man a great deal.

Which explained the restlessness, but not the itching.

He went on, and before long he’d walked a half mile or more.

He sensed her before he saw her. He came to a halt, and sniffed the air. Which was ridiculous, because he wasn’t a dog. And yet… he could smell someone, and what was more, he knew the someone was a female.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

She seemed to melt out of the underbrush, materializing right in front of him like a magical forest creature. She was lovely, moon-pale hair falling halfway down her back, midnight-dark eyes gazing at him. Her body was clad in nothing but moonlight and shadows.

He gaped at her, wondering if he’d stumbled into a Wiccan ritual, or a nudist campground.

“Um…” he said, less than intelligently.

Her voice was soft. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He couldn’t seem to stop gaping. “I… uh, hello. I’m sorry if I… intruded…”

“Not at all.” She took a step toward him. He thought he should probably back away, but he couldn’t seem to move. “I told you, I’ve been waiting. I knew you would come to me eventually.”

She took another step toward him, and her hands lifted, pressing against his chest. He noticed something gleaming on one of her fingers—a silvery ring inset with a small dark stone. But he was less interested in her jewelry than in the touch of her hands. Even through his dark green t-shirt, it felt like she’d scorched him. His skin began to itch fiercely.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Her hands trailed down his chest. “The burning of the moon.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” His voice sounded gravelly and hoarse to his own ears. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pooling in his groin. Well, that wasn’t surprising. She was naked, after all, and there was no denying that she was beautiful. But she was a complete and utter stranger, and there was absolutely no way that he was going to…

“Let me see it.” She lifted her hand to his throat, tugging on the necklace he wore. It had belonged to the elder Graeme Fenrir, and since the old man had died, he’d taken to wearing it all the time, as a sort of tribute. It was a simple enough piece of jewelry, a silver pendant hammered into the shape of a dagger, or perhaps a fang, inset with a tiny chip of sapphire, the same shade his grandfather’s eyes had been—and the same color as his own eyes, for that matter. It hung around his neck, suspended from a black satin cord. He wasn’t sure how she’d known it was there, though, hidden as it had been beneath his t-shirt.

“It belonged to my granddad,” he told her, trying to ignore the light brush of her fingers against his throat.

“Yes,” she said softly, fingering the pendant. “It’s been… altered. Some of the magic has been lost. That’s why you can’t effect the transformation.”

He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. Nor did he care very much. He was entirely focused on her. Her skin looked soft and satiny in the dappled moonlight, her silvery hair seemed to glow with a light of its own, and up close she smelled more female than ever. A fragrance clung to her, a scent of musk and flowers and…

Well, sex.

The Wolf Moon

By: Meg Harris