An American Werewolf in Hoboken Read Online Free Page B

tranquilizer.
    He’d. Known.
    He didn’t feel the emotional ties he was sure most felt when they found the person they’d share their lives with just yet, but he knew if he let her go, he’d suffer not just the curse, but something he hadn’t quite defined.
    That as-yet-undefined emotion was what had led him to play along at the shelter.
    He’d awakened too late to shift into his human form, and he had no clothes anyway. But something told him to stay put. Something invisible.
    And if scent really had anything to do with finding your life mate, JC definitely smelled like his mate. Her scent was different than any other he’d ever encountered. A unique blend of female and flowers and pheromones that made his blood pump hard and his head light.
    Not to mention, she was beautiful. She had the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen, plump and round. Her firm, lush breasts, full hips and glossy pink lips were nothing to scoff at either. And her hair… Hair a man could wrap around his fist as he came. Just touching her shoulders, it fell in raven waves around her heart-shaped face.
    But it was her eyes that intrigued him the most. A light brown beneath full, dark lashes that swept her cheeks when she looked down at him.
    Everyone in the pack always said he’d know when he found the one. Threats of curses, his long journey here, and his hellish shelter stay aside, he had to admit, they were right.
    And she’d shown up in the nick of time. As prophecies went, his was a pretty close call. While in shift, he still understood every word spoken amongst humans. He’d heard through groggy ears the sympathetic conversation shared between Manny and Dan at the start of the day—his last day. He knew he was on the chopping block.
    Yet, all day long, while he waited for the unknown, in and out of his drug-induced sleep, he hadn’t experienced an ounce of fear. Because somewhere, in some unknown region of his brain, deeply embedded in his gut, he knew he wasn’t going to die.
    Not today, anyway.
    Though wasn’t bearing the name Fluffy much like death?
    How long could a guy keep this cloak and dagger shtick up? Did the other men in his pack have to suffer this kind of humiliation while on the hunt for their life mates or was it just the curse that was making everything so hard?
    How was it he’d never heard tales involving blow dryers and flea dip while they all sat around the table, playing poker and drinking beer?
    Because their life mates were all fellow werewolves. JC was human. He’d like to see the explanation for that cosmic fuckup in his aunt’s chicken noodle soup.
    A human. He said the words in his mind again to remind himself just how difficult the elders had made this curse.
    He couldn’t think of a single human who wouldn’t curl up in a ball of terror-filled rocking when he shifted. Because it wasn’t pretty.
    In fact, it was quite noisy and uncomfortable. So not only did he have to tell her she was his life mate, but that he was a bona fide werewolf.
    The good times just kept rollin’ in.
    “Flufffyyy! C’mon, baby boy—yum-yum time!”
    He cringed. Yum-yums. All this cutesy talk, as if he were an utter imbecile, was demeaning.
    She thinks you’re a dog, pal. This is the avenue you chose to take, isn’t it? All covert and sort of Teen Wolf- ish. You could’ve just shown up and rented an apartment instead of road trippin’ your way to Hoboken. It was you who said you wanted to be free to roam the woods in shift while you were still single, wasn’t it? Free and easy down the road you go—or some such country song.
    You could’ve taken a bus, a train, a car, but nah. You spent your last days as a single man chasing deer and rolling in the mud amongst the pines of New Jersey’s forests. Your journey, your choice how you made that journey. That you managed to get caught by animal control is on you, brother. It was careless and your drawn-out road trip was self-indulgent.
    In fact, you could just come clean