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Devon clutches his book protectively against his chest. "You can like the classics and paranormal romance. It's not mutually exclusive. And it's shifters, FYI."
By this point, RIP the main character’s panties.
by some miracle, she actually makes it out to the parking lot without dicks-for-eyes bothering her.
I. Am. Invested. In this story, I mean. Not the werewolf dick. I ain't gay.
There are only two thoughts in my brain as I lose my grip on consciousness. The first is regret that sets in immediately as I realize the last time I saw my brother, we got into a stupid fight over a stupid book, and the second is that I'm never going to get to find out how that stupid book ends.
I let out a dry chuckle. Great, I'm hallucinating now. Or dreaming. I'm really not sure which is worse.
Wonder when the eyefucker’s gonna show up.
I take a sip and he smiles at me knowingly. "Now, why don't you tell me what brought you here tonight," he says with a twinkle in his eye. I've lived on this planet for twenty-two fucking years and I've never seen someone's eyes twinkle. Something is very, very wrong with this place.
"Your cell?" he echoes, tilting his head in confusion. Shit. I forgot, the book is set in the early ‘80s for some fucking reason. Probably so the author can get away with lazy plot devices that the characters can't settle by just making a two-second phone call. "Never mind," I sigh.
LOL
I slide off the stool and walk down the hall where I find a payphone waiting outside the bathroom. Haven't seen one of these in a long time.
You and me both bucko
the bartender's eyes are twinklier.
2nd time for a twinkling eye and 2nd time it was the bartender
He looks exactly like he did in my mind movie,
Mind Movie!! OMFG DIBS
I look over my shoulder instinctively, half-expecting the heroine with the magical werewolf pussy to be standing behind me.
Nothing good ever comes from literature.
How the hell have these bumpkins not figured out he's a werewolf by now if he's teleporting all over the damn place like a complete weirdo?
He steps closer, so close I can smell the musky scent of his aftershave and see the flecks of goldier gold in his eyes.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Who does that? Me, apparently. Oh my God, I have to get out of this place.
There have been entirely too many strangers’ hands on my pecs this evening for my liking.
"Uh. Hello?" I gesture to myself up and down, in hopes of breaking whatever spell he's under that seems to have given him the impression that I'm some tiny little werewolf girl and not a six-foot-two, two hundred and thirty-four pound linebacker. "Do I look like I need your protection?"
I know that was a mistake, too, when I see the murderous look he's giving me, as if I've just fucked his mother on his father's grave. Without a condom.
WHAT IS THIS
A fuck palace, if ever there was one.
These 2 dudes think in such fun ways
Raul just sighs and opens an armoire. At least, I think that's what that thing is. Pretty sure it's the same thing as the busty French furniture chick from Beauty and the Beast. Real fancy shit.
I love my girl Catalina and all, but next to a big titty goth girlfriend with a blackbelt and a degree in microbiology? Come on.
I've been aware of the existence of werewolves for all of an hour, and they are already by far the most overconfident douchebags I've ever met. And that's saying a lot. Hell, I am an overconfident douchebag, and these people give me an inferiority complex.
If all this bullshit has taught me nothing else, it’s that being the little guy sucks—and everyone else treating you like you’re weak just makes it that much worse.
The prison is a huge, imposing building that looms over the surrounding area like a great beast. It's all dark gray stone and reinforced steel laden with blankets of ivy and moss, with tall towers on each corner that are topped with giant spotlights. There's a huge gate, too. The place is like Alcatraz for wolves.
"Yeah, well, old Wyatt's full of shit," I say, noticing the way his eyes widen. Something tells me whoever or whatever is responsible for retconning this book to shove me into the heroine's role was too fucking lazy to change more than my name and physical appearance, because this guy is staring at me like I just sprouted a third nipple in the middle of my forehead.
Sure, I'm not ready to entertain the idea that any of this is real-real, but it feels real enough to me and I know it feels real to them. That has to mean something, doesn't it? Maybe I'm losing it.
"You're gonna fuckin' what now?" The doctor looks skyward as if for strength even though I know for a fact he's an atheist. "I'm just going to feel your stomach."
"That's an accurate enough way of putting it, I suppose. A bit nonscientific, perhaps, but accurate. It is the omega body's natural response to the hormone cycle that begins with sexual maturity, and dictates the reproductive cycle, so... yes. You have your werewolf period."
Ugh, fuck this heat shit with a rusty dildo.
"Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."
