Son of the Cursed Bear (Sons of Beasts, #1)

by T.S. Joyce

He pretended he wasn’t, but Nox was the son of Clinton Fuller. He could spy crazy from a mile away.

“You give me erections. Of my dick.” He gestured grandly at his lap. “My dick is erect.”

“If you cry, know that I’ll want to kill Darren, revive him, and then kill him again. And then repeat that process like…eight times. Suck it back in your eyeballs!”

If this was all he had to do to stop the tears, he would literally rub her back until he had to take a leak and/or starved to death.

Without even unbuttoning them, he peeled them off, shoes, panties and all, like she was some kind of horny banana.

Nox, Son of the Cursed Bear, the man who thought he was incapable of anything but fucking, had just made love to her. And as their aftershocks slowly faded away, she leaned up and kissed him in a silent thank you. “Does it hurt?” she whispered, unable to ignore the red streaming down his neck. The corner of his lips twisted up in a smile. “I think love is the best kind of pain.”

Your body is tired and it aches, but that pain means you’re still alive. And it’s up to you to get up from that rock bottom and start slowly climbing that wall again to get back where you were.

But Vyr and Torren had come to help her and Nox, and in this moment, she knew these were her people, no matter how broken they were.

“I like it,” Torren said, still staring at the writing. “Did you use Baskerville Bold.”

Nox beamed. “Why yes, I did. It’s my favorite font for vandalism. It’s classic, thank you for noticing.”

“Fiiine,” Vyr muttered. “We’re a crew. For now. But I’m not biting you fuckers because you probably taste like cheap beer and bad decisions.”