Bro and the Beast (The Wolf's Mate, #1)

by L.C. Davis

By this point, RIP the main character’s panties.

It's like I'm watching a movie in my head, and despite the fact that this bitch keeps making supremely stupid decisions that make me wonder if it's her first time outside of the house, I can't bring myself to stop.

I'm sticking to action movies with oily shirtless dudes and WWE from now on. Nothing good ever comes from literature.

"Brad Miller," he answers, hiccuping as he takes another swig of beer. My God, he is so enchanting.

"We are at war," he says firmly, his eyes aglow with determination. This is definitely that look that melts the main character's panties. My sweatpants are getting tight for entirely unrelated reasons, though.

"Now we're talking. Lead the way, Helsing." I raise an eyebrow. "Helsing was the werewolf hunter." "Not in the movie I saw," he counters.

"Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."

"Easy," he says, and that's the six-hundred dollar square in “things you'd say to a horse and also a lover."

But I can tell from the look in Raul's eyes that those piercing "golden orbs" are sharp enough to see the truth boiling beneath the surface.