Howling. Hot, Hard Book One

I haven't done anything wrong. Lately. So why is there a dead man on my bathroom floor, and blood magic scorched into my grout?

Death by dildo.  Yep. That’s going in the Council record books, and honestly, I regret nothing. But the blood magic laced through the attack is a curse eating into my skin like acid. And some sorcerer with more ambition than sense wants what's buried in my basement badly enough that he sent a zombified human to get it.

The body makes it Council business. Which means it's his business.

Trenton Nicholas, Prime Werewolf, the man who announced at a Pack bonfire that I meant nothing to him. Four years later, he's forced to open a vein to heal me, forging a mate bond he doesn’t want. And glaring at my toy chest like it personally offends him. His control is legendary. Mine is a work in progress. Between the two of us, something's going to break, and it won't be me.

I've got a puzzle box that draws moths like I’m a flame, a talisman someone's willing to kill for, and a Prime Werewolf who runs hot and cold enough to give a girl whiplash.