An American Werewolf in Hoboken Read Online Free Page A

brand-new dog. She worked diligently to untangle the mats in his hair as she toweled him, and then dug around under the bathroom sink for her blow dryer.
    “Now don’t get all freaked out on me, it’s noisy, and I know you’ve suffered your fair share of indignities today, but with all this hair, we need to dry you. It’s too cold out to let you air dry. So sit, okay?” That was probably the wrong way to address him. The Dog Whisperer said she had to be the alpha of her pack. But he appeared to respond best when she took a friendlier approach.
    Again, he didn’t budge, patiently waiting while she plugged the dryer in and got the new dog brush from her bag of purchases. While she attacked the task of drying him, JC chatted at the dog as if he were a new girlfriend. Not that he seemed to care much. In fact, he had all the haughty disdain she’d attributed to a cat covered.
    There were no happy belly rubs or sighs of contentment.
    Just him and his completely unfazed, eerily quiet resolve.
    And the stare. He did a lot of the stare.
    Clean and dry, though, he was quite impressive. His dark gray fur lightened considerably with a good cleaning and some softer threads of black were now visible down the length of his back. The fur around his face was full and springy and he smelled a hundred times better than he had two hours ago.
    Her beautician’s hands primped and scrunched, running her fingers affectionately along his body as she went. “You’ve got an impressive coat there, buddy. Very fluffy.”
    Fluffy.
    “That’s it! How do you feel about the name Fluffy?” She cupped his jaw, staring into his deep-brown eyes as though she expected him to answer.
    More staring back at her—hard, in fact. Rather unnerving.
    “What? Why the face? You don’t like it? Look, you’re one scary mothereffer. I can’t keep calling you Cujo. It only adds to your already freaky-deaky outward appearance. Maybe the name Fluffy will take some of that edge off when we go to the dog park. It implies cuddly and sweet, don’t you think? Sort of your bark is worse than your bite…don’t judge a book by its cover?”
    He huffed at her when she slung her arms around his broad neck and gave him a squeeze, choosing to ignore the odd rumble he made low in his throat.
    She pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up, drawing him close to her. “Selfie time, Fluff,” she said on a laugh when he twitched.
    Planting a kiss on his clean muzzle, she winked at him. “Wait until I show the girls at work how gorgeous you are.”
    * * *
    A selfie? Look, guys, Fluffy has a selfie.
    And Fluffy? F-L-U-F-F-Y? Max ticked the letters off mentally.
    Christ. Who named a “dog” of his size and stature Fluffy ? A poodle made complete sense, even a Chihuahua. I got your fluffy.
    Full, with a thick, luxurious coat that happened to be worn and a little travel weary? Yes.
    But fluffy? No.
    Catching a glimpse of himself in her full-length mirror, Max shuddered, watching the ripples of his fur shimmer on his hindquarters. Jesus, she’d made him look like some mutant Chia Pet.
    Wasn’t it enough she’d shoved dog treats under his nose and tied a leash around his neck? Taken him to PetSmart and paraded him up and down the aisles with all those pampered, condescending pooches lifting their noses as he passed?
    To degrade him this way, by giving him a name better suited to a bunny rabbit, was almost more than he was willing to suffer for his life mate.
    Max could almost hear his pack, laughing and laughing.
    Damn this woman. If she weren’t so good looking, if her scent wasn’t driving him out of his ever-loving mind, he’d pick up and go the hell home.
    But he couldn’t. Whatever she had—whatever mystifying pull that drew him to her like a mesmerizing Mata Hari—just wasn’t gonna let him go.
    JC was his prophecy. He’d known it ten seconds after she’d appeared in front of his cage at the shelter, even as groggy as he was from the