Read Online Weregirl by Patti Larsen - Free Book Online Page A

used pain in the past to make me stronger, years of it my training ground, and today is no exception.
    I cover more distance, laughing spitefully into the air as they fall behind, struggling to shift and follow me, catch me, even. They have no hope. They might be bigger, and, in some cases, stronger than I, but I am more powerful and my smaller body swift.
    If they can’t keep up with me, I don’t want them. Nor does my inner wolf.
    My mood lightens as I feel them fall away, stretching out, running at my fastest deeper into the forest. I allow the wind to wash away my anger, the rush of passing trees and scents and sounds to clear my mind. I only pause when I sense my wolf pack, waiting for me, coming to a panting halt not far from their den.
    They’ve never made themselves known this close to their home before and the moment I stop, I know why. They are upset. Something is troubling them, some creature or creatures close by threatening their territory. I worry at first it’s the males who follow me and the flood of werewolves now expanding the population of the palace, but no. This is something entirely new.
    The pack retreats, the white wolf and the alpha the only two remaining. I sniff the air, stiffening myself, a low growl escaping my jaws as I catch an odd scent. The ocean mixed with something bitter and almost putrid, hidden by the salt smell of the surf. I turn to the two wolves, only to find them gone.
    A chill runs up my spine as I feel a pack approaching. No great surprise more weres are on their way. But these feel off, odd and unusual, enough my wolf inside forces me to back up and tense as a group of werewolves flow into the clearing.
    There are only about twenty of them, but that is enough. Their unusual scent washes over me, silencing the few birds overhead still chirping, sending the last of the tiny creatures of the forest scrambling for cover. I hold my ground, feeling the approach like an assault on my body, though they offer me no physical aggression as they form up into a pack and observe me.
    A giant gray leads them, his ears at least a foot over mine, shoulders so broad I wonder what his human shape looks like. He shows me a moment later, perfectly formed body morphing to tanned skin covered in thick, black tattoos. I keep my eyes on his face though he is fully naked, my inner wolf pacing, unsure if she is attracted or repulsed by this werewolf.
    He takes a step toward me, as casual and unconcerned as though he were fully clothed on a city street. I secretly admire his confidence and the pure masculinity exuding from him even as I shudder from the odd sense of wrongness I smell on him.
    “You,” he says in a voice deep and cold, “must be Charlotte.”
    Anger snaps a rubber band, a flash of sparking rage forcing me into human shape. I stare him down, icy exterior well practiced and perfectly flawless in the face of his arrogance.
    “You have the honor,” I say with chill disapproval, “of addressing your heir, Princess Sharlotta Moreau of the werenation.”
    He grins at me, teeth flashing white against his tanned face, the scruff of his dark beard. He’s shaved his head close, stubble showing the perfect shape of his head.
    “Your Highness,” he says as though he doesn’t mean it as an honorific.
    I will tear his heart from his chest and devour it before his dying eyes. But we are no longer alone, his pack gathering behind him, shifting to human form, watching me with contempt and what I feel is some secret deceit as the pack of suitors who followed me finally catch up.
    The new leader observes them as they crowd around me, only a dozen or so, but more than enough to give his pack a fight. I have no doubt he would fight them, if I allow it.
    Who is this were and why does he smell so strangely?
    “I am Cicero Caine,” he says, gesturing behind him. “My pack. We heard the summons to compete for your hand,” his smirk tells me what he thinks of his competition as he looks at the panting