Free The Wolf Moon (an erotic paranormal romance) (The Wolf Ring) by Meg Harris

 
 
 
 
    Chapter One

 
    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