By Rachel Vincent
Ok, so cats don t constantly land on their toes. i do know that higher than so much. because rejoining the satisfaction, I ve made substantial judgements or even greater error: the sort paid for with blameless lives. because the first and in simple terms girl enforcer, i've got lots to end up to my father, the satisfaction, and myself. And with murdered toms turning up in our territory, I m operating more durable than ever, even though I consistently locate the strength for a bit after-hours activity with Marc, my accomplice either on- and off-duty.But now not all of my errors are at the back of me. We re starting to suspect that the useless are hooked up to a rash of lacking human ladies and they can all be laid at my feet--two or 4, take your decide. And one terrible indiscretion could but price me greater than i will be able to bear...
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Additional resources for Rogue (Werecats, Book 2)
Example text
I shoved the extra pair of underwear back into the drawer. ” His jeans fell to the floor, and my eyes trailed after them helplessly, hypnotized by the golden-brown color of his skin. No fair tempting me while I was too weak to resist. Fortunately, I knew how to play that game, too. I let my robe fall open, framing my body with lavender terry cloth. Marc came forward with his arms outstretched, lust in his eyes and impatience in his step. I held him at arm’s length. ” He groaned and backed toward the bathroom, his eyes holding mine captive.
And fucking pissed me off. ” I was certain of that much. The scent was very faint—meaning the murderer had only briefly touched the victim—but I knew two things without a doubt. The scent was not from a native cat, and it did not belong to Luiz. ” Marc shook his head slowly, but his stare never left Moore’s neck. ” I’d only met Luiz once, but that was plenty. If I lived to be two hundred, I’d still remember his scent on my deathbed. It was permanently imprinted on my brain, alongside such innocent memories as the taste of my first kiss—Marc—and the flavor of my first snow cone—blue raspberry.
He was lucky I hadn’t broken his cheekbone. At least, I didn’t think I’d broken anything. Except possibly my own knuckles. Behind me, Marc made a soft whistling sound, clearly impressed. “That’s not standard procedure,” he said, his tone entirely too reasonable as he leaned over the stray’s body to open the back passenger-side door. ” The rest of my father’s employees had more respect for the rules than I had. They also had much more testosterone and two fewer ovaries. None of them really knew what to do with me.