Lord of the Grrr's (31 page)

Lying on the floor, with Zinsa’s hands on his stomach, Grant fought against the shame trying to overtake him. It took every vestige of courage to meet her eyes, and his heart stuttered when he saw nothing but acceptance. “Zinsa?” Every ounce of his uncertainty resonated in uttering her name.

With a tender smile, she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “My love.”

He sniffed, filtering out the scent of their mutual passion hanging in the air, looking for any hint of fear from her and finding none. His brow furrowed, and he regarded her with confusion. “How can you be so accepting?”

Zinsa shrugged before sitting cross-legged on the floor, her thigh pressed against his stomach. “You are what you are, Grant. I’ve waited too long to find someone to complete me to throw it away because of fear.” She brushed a curl off his forehead. “I’ve been cursed, you know.”

For a moment, he had no idea what she was talking about, but then the memory surfaced. “Your family curse?”

She nodded, grinning widely. “I’ve found my soul mate and knew him instantly.” “There’s no curse in my family, but I know you’re the other half of my heart.”

“Darling, I’ve decided it’s not a family curse.” Zinsa stretched forward, her mouth hovering against his. Just before kissing him, she added, “It’s definitely a gift.”

*******

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Kit lives in Idaho with her husband and two sons. She enjoys writing several genres and subgenres, but almost everything she writes has a strong romantic element. A fan of post-apocalyptic, zombie, and dystopian books, she prefers to read or view such stories from the comfort of her living room and never, ever in person.
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Howl for Me

M/M Paranormal Shifter Romance

By

Artemis Wolffe and Wednesday Raven

Prologue

He had just closed up the bakery for the night when he saw him there curled up in a corner next to a decaying box of lemons. He was shivering and obviously seeking refuge. His fur was silver and black and hung on him in matted, dirty clumps. The alley behind the bakery was home to many stray animals, so it was no surprise to see this scraggly dog there. They were always looking for day old breads. But somehow this one looked a little different. The lighting made him look almost wolfish in appearance.

He quietly eased the key back into the lock, went inside and scrambled up some eggs with bits of bread. After it cooked, he brought it out to him with a bowl of water and sat it near him.

The scraggly wolf-dog looked up at him and bared his teeth.

The baker stood back but still kept an eye on him.

The poor animal was scared and hurt, but at least it started to eat and drink something. He stood on wobbly legs and tried to walk, but it was clear he was in too much pain.

Without thinking of any consequences, the baker scooped him up and took him into the far room of the bakery.

They stayed there all night wrapped in a blanket. He gave him some head scratches and kept him hydrated all while saying soft, sweet things to him. Nothing seemed broken and there were no open wounds that he could see, but there were tufts of hair coming out that signaled he’d been fighting. At some point, they fell asleep there on the bakery floor.

In the morning he hobbled out the door, turning back only once. The baker would never forget his jade and gold eyes that made his heart ache for the poor stray.

Chapter One

Rafe Canis looked around his penthouse and thought life was pretty good. He had overcome his lanky features, his high school mistakes, and his inability to find love by having every material item he'd ever wanted. They kept telling him that money can't buy happiness, but that didn't stop Rafe from trying. To everyone around him, he had it all: money and power with a successful company, and a revolving door of male models and actors in his bed.

What they didn't see was how the money couldn't stop the memories of how terrible he behaved while in high school, that the power couldn't help him get past his crippling self-esteem, and that the models were no substitute for someone who truly loved you. He was just as alone today at 34 with his billions in the bank as he was at 14 working his paper route, and the wolf within him still longed for his mate. A restless wolf is an unhappy one.

It was shortly after he dropped out of college when Rafe eyed a failing housing market and decided to take what little student loans he had left and invest in a "renter's special" on the corner of Lexington and Main. He worked on it day and night, restoring the period flooring and tile, bringing it back to its splendor. After two months of laboring, he flipped it for a $45,000 profit. He kept taking the money from one flip and investing it in another. It was the dedication and the love of seeing something transform, much how he wanted to transform himself that led him to where he was today -- CEO and founder of Canis Realty. To this day, Rafe still loved finding houses to work on and spent much of his time in the field instead of behind a desk.

He arrived at the office early and yet his assistant-slash-receptionist was already hard at work.
The woman is a testament to work ethic.

"Janice, can you find a listing of all the January foreclosure homes that are going up to auction?" he asked the frail receptionist he'd hired over all the younger girls that applied. Those interviews soured him to this day, as they came in cleavage baring tops and dresses trying to hook a relationship that'd benefit them over an actual job. Ms. Little came in last with impeccable qualifications and he'd hired his on the spot. It was one decision he didn't regret.
Those cleavage-laden women were barking up the wrong tree,
he thought.

"No problem at all, Mr. Canis" she replied, her fingers already flying on the keyboard to get up the listing for the next month.

Rafe kept on top of the market and went for foreclosures. They were typically easier to get at a cheaper price, which meant he had more funds for anything that may come up in the renovations. And, of course, less money invested meant a bigger profit.

He wanted a challenge, personally and professionally. Something to arouse his mind and soul. He hoped that the list would turn up a gem that he just had to have.

Chapter Two

Martin James somehow survived his high school years, but barely. He always knew who and what he wanted to be in life. Passionate about animals and giving back to those that have little, he opened a bakery as soon as he was out of pastry school. Every night he sent out sacks of leftovers to the homeless and every morning he baked his special recipe peanut butter dog biscuits for the local animal shelter. Animals and broken people he had a fondness for; they didn't judge him.

High school was hellish for Martin and seemed to have marked him in an inability to trust other people. He was a big boy then and still was. Back then he was told his breasts looked like a woman's, his hips were too wide, and his ass too large. The boys teased him horribly, especially one boy. He never knew what his problem was but he was relentless in his teasing.
Jiggle James. Martin Melon. Fartin' Martin.
He could still hear them taunt. He tried to lose weight, but it wasn't happening. Today he was still looked at by some as overweight but to him he'd grown into his body. Night after night he hit the gym to turn that weight into mounds of muscles and became almost bearish in appearance. His muscles accentuated his softness inside, the warm folds of his body only showed the heat kept in his heart.

While he'd enjoyed a good life with good friends lately, his accountant had been telling him that he needed to stop giving out freebies to the homeless and stop the mass baking of dog biscuits for free. It was eating into his profits and while the bakery was fine, it seemed his house wasn't.

Generations of James's have lived in that little bungalow, but it seems like come next month I won't be one of them anymore. Which is fine, really, I'll be okay in the apartment I've started to rent. Cheaper, easier, all that.

He had just arrived home from work when he saw the torrent of blinking lights signaling messages on his phone's answering machine.

That always ended up being bad news. He silently hoped the family back home were alright and clicked the flashing button.

"Martin? It's Brad."
Why the hell is Brad Thomas calling me? We've been broken up for ages.
"I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. Could we see each other for coffee or something and talk? Call me back."

"Martin? Come on baby, call me back. It's Brad"

Brad was his last boyfriend. A six foot five 40 year old with an early midlife crisis.
We were doing great up until the point where he forgot where his dick parked and I found it in the middle of someone else.

He had swore it was a one-time thing and that he'd never do it again, but they were never the same together again and stopped seeing each other shortly afterwards.

That was a year ago. He thought that, barring losing the house, he'd done okay for himself since.

Martin wasn't proud that he dialed his number. He wanted to have a hearty "fuck you, Brad" attitude, but he also wanted to hear what he had to say. Perhaps he'd changed. He knew he needed to find out before he shut the door for good.

Chapter Three

Martin and Brad met at the coffee shop downtown. He had just come to the table with a fresh-from-the-oven blueberry scone and a chai tea when he walked in.

Damn, he hasn't stopped being sexy as hell.

"Martin, you look as hot as ever," Brad said as he bent over to kiss his forehead. Instinctively, Martin's eyes closed and breathed in the scent of pine and citrus, the same scent he wore when they dated.

"So Brad, what did you want to talk about?"

"So many things, really. How are you? How's the bakery? The house? Everything, Martin, tell me everything I've missed."

He sat there and told him everything that had happened in the past year. He started crying when he was at the part about the home foreclosure and Brad carefully held his hand. Even after so long apart from each other, they fell in to their old routines.

"So they're just going to take the house? What kind of beast takes away the home of people struggling? Wolves, all of them."

"It's just business. I was more worried about holding on to the bakery than the house and it caught up with me. I've an apartment now in the city close to work. I'll be fine, really. It's sweet of you to care." And it was. He'd been without comfort the entire time they'd been apart. While friends were great to have, he missed having someone to wrap up with at night and tell his cares to.

"Martin, I know you're vulnerable right now, but could we start seeing each other again?" Brad sat there and still held his hand as he waited on a response.

"We go slowly, Brad. Glacially slow." He replied.

He got up from the table and extended his arm out to him. His perfectly pressed blue button-up shirt setting off the blue in his eyes. He rose up to meet him, grabbed his hand, and hugged him close.

"Let's go for a walk and get to know each other again, baby bear." He said, using his special pet name for his.

Martin smiled. They walked from the shop up the cobbled street to his bakery. Brad had wanted to see it again and so Martin took him on the full tour, right down to his making his favorite pastry while they were there. They sat there in the small red booth that was rarely used in his mostly to-go crowd.

"You've powdered sugar all over your face." He laughed as he brushed it from his lips and chin. He grabbed his hand, held his gaze, and kissed him. A slow, soft kiss at the start it quickly escalated to deep and passionate. Martin had missed this; the fire, the excitement, the want of man. He regretted his
glacially slow
remark when he was kissed him this way.

"Brad, perhaps it is better if we close this date and see each other later?" he questioned. He didn’t want his body to override his head, that’s what got them together in the first place and he knew how that had turned out the first time they tried a relationship.

"Agreed. It was great to see you again, Martin. And the bakery. I've missed it." Brad looked at him again as if he were going to ask something, and then stopped himself. His eyes wandered all over the reclaimed wood floors, the antique windows and the vintage cash register he used instead of a computer. "I will see you soon and I'll text you tonight."

Martin watched him walk through the glass front door as he went to switch off the lights and turn back on the alarm, wondering if he was making a mistake in asking him to leave or if it was a mistake in seeing him again.