Free Bad Boy Romance: Bad Marine (Bad Boy Military Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy New Adult Contemporary Male Stories) by GP Joyner

elected not to think about what might have happened if this miracle of a revelation had eluded him much longer, what might of occurred had he one evening encountered a human lost in the woods, or a hunter, or someone camping as he had been upon his original infection.
    Speculation, he knew, would drive him crazy more quickly than the transformations themselves, and he knew that if there was any grace left in the world for him, it was to be found in the avoidance of dwelling on thoughts regarding things he could not change.
    Every full moon he simply ran and ran and ran, working off all energy to kill in as frenetic and endless a plight imaginable, never allowing himself the chance to give in to impulse, wearing himself out so thoroughly that by morning he would be sound asleep and dead of exhaustion.
    Presently, he hurdled like a bullet up a steep incline, weaving through the trees, up and up and up, to the highest peak of the highest hill in the entire forest.
    When at last he burst into a clearing, he peered down at the world around and below him, all his, his territory, his reign, and then up above him, his mother moon in the sky, the finger on the button of his transformations, the satellite that made it all happen.
    He reared back, and let out a vicious howl toward the great white rock, a cry as much of reverence toward the orb as it was a plea for its mercy, a desperate begging, please don't let me kill again, please don't let another life be destroyed at my hand...
    And his cry was overheard.
    Far away, in fact, the new participant in his story was hiking along the moonlit trail, and stopped to listen to the sound of his plea. She swallowed hard, and breathed nervously, looking around trying to discover what she should do. The safe and sane thing, of course, would be to turn tail and flee, to return to the cabin and to the relative safety of the four wooden walls. But of course, the decision to flee, in and of itself, had hardly been a rational one, and in her fright and lack of reason, the prospect of facing down whatever monsters may lurk in the forest seemed preferable to returning to that hellhole of a cabin amidst the bile of her family. She proceeded cautiously, moving deeper and deeper into the web of the werewolf's story.
    The wolf smelled her.
    His nostrils flared, picking up the distinct scent of a female, a human female at that, something that had long remained absent from these woods, for as many days now as he cared to remember.
    Nostalgia flooded over him like a great, inundating wave.
    There was no full moon anymore. No looming shadows or dark creeping forests or any possibility of death to anything.
    All he saw now were visions of Lily.
    Lily.
    That had not been her real name, of course. She had no real name, raised by wolves as she was.
    But she was always Lily.
    When he'd found her, she'd been standing in a clearing, wearing nothing but a lily in her hair and looking absolutely gorgeous in her innocent nudity.
    This must have been what it was like in the Garden of Eden between Adam and Eve, or among the world's earliest secular humans, whatever their names were. Though of course Ugg and Grog were slightly less romantic names for such a beautiful notion, if a more realistic coupling. But the sentiment was the same. Two human beings in their natural state, without shame, without judgment, suddenly recalling what they were without the parameters shoved upon them by society, with or without their consent.
    And when she turned to look at him, God, oh God almighty.
    Those eyes. The smile that spread across her face at the sight of him looking at her.
    For the first time since his initial infection as a werewolf, he had felt as though there was still hope for him. That there was a life to be lived. That there was even the faintest chance that things might be okay somehow.
    Their days together had seemed endless and perfect and pure, like their own little private existence, immune to the influence of the world