Claiming Their Mate

Two is Never Enough #2


Publisher: Self-Published
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill
Pairing: Male/Male/Male
Length: 91 Pages
Release Date: April 17
Format(s): eBook

Synopsis

He’s here on vacation. They’re here for him.

Samson and Dane are werewolves who act as guardians of their pack. They’re also lovers, but they both long for the third person they know will make their home whole. Their Chosen.

Ryan has no idea he’s even a werewolf. He’s visiting rural New Mexico and Colorado to write horror novels, not get it on with the two hottest men he’s ever met. So why can’t he keep his hands off them, and why is biting suddenly so hot? Can Samson and Dane convince Ryan that he’s like them, and that he needs to leave his city life behind?

This is a previously published title. The publisher has changed.

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Preview

“Shut the fuck up.” Dane elbowed Samson hard in the ribs, his brain ringing with his oldest friend, fellow guardian, and mate’s disapproval of his choice of places to eat. They were on their way to Durango, but his stomach was going to gnaw away at his spine, so they’d stopped in Cuba.

There were two choices in Cuba—McD’s and the Mexican place. He chose the Mexican place, because hello? Mexican!

“We eat Mexican all the time. I’m going to shit fire for a month. Let’s get french fries.” Samson snapped at him—literally. The bastard’s wolf was right below the surface and, damn, those bites could sting. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, really…

“If there was a place to get real fries and not plastic, I would. That shit doesn’t smell like food.”

He could hear the gears in Samson’s head working, trying to come up with a reasonable comeback, but Dane knew he was right. So he grabbed his phone out, praying he got signal. “El Bruno has five burgers on the menu. With fries. No ass fire required.”

“All right. That’s fair.” Oh, Mr. Teeth was feeling generous this afternoon. Dane approved. He really didn’t want another fistfight in yet another parking lot. While that eventually led to amazing fucking, it caused unwanted attention.

Once in a great while a little jail time.

That was always complicated and Goddess knew he didn’t need that shit. Bruce tended to express his displeasure drastically.

“Mexican burger it is.” Dane got the truck moving again, pulling in down the road at the restaurant. The place was pretty deserted since the hour fell between lunch and dinner. Only a sleek, high-end SUV sat in the parking lot next to the old Nova that had to belong to a waitress or cook.

Samson’s nose wrinkled, the expression one of hunger rather than disgust. The place did smell awfully good. He wanted enchiladas verdes, egg on top. Ooh, or fajitas. Maybe both. Would he be a pig if he asked for both?

“Guacamole and chips, too, so I don’t starve.”

Dane looked over at his fellow guardian—they were both of a size, barely fitting side by side in the cab of the pickup. “Right. Starving.”

“I am.” Samson vocalized a tiny, pathetic whine.

“Poor puppy, fading into nothingness.”

“I am! And you love guac, so don’t tell me you’re gonna say no.”

“Fuck no. I’m all over this shit…” Dane stepped out of the pickup and took a deep breath as he stretched. There was the oddest scent on the air—a mixture of sex and tea and…spice? Something like Mexican chocolate. Cinnamon and all.

“Mmm.” Samson came around to stand close to Dane, a deep rumble filling his ears. That sound meant everything—home, pack, desire, pleasure, and a flush of warmth hit him. “Something smells yummy.”

“Yes. Something.” Someone.  Someone in there. Dane followed his nose into the restaurant, his body lighting up.

Samson was on his heels, pushing him, sounds turning into a subvocal growl that filled the spaces around them. Dane felt his lover’s heat, the rising need that had nothing to do with food.

Where was it? Who was it?

Where was he?

There.

By the moon. Right there.

A pair of bright blue eyes stared up at him, the lean face framed by a haircut that had to cost the earth, complete with highlights and streaks of bright blue, although the hair that was natural was as dark as Samson’s, not russet like his. Unlike their own button-down and jeans, this sweet little piece of ass was in a t-shirt that had to have cost more than Dane’s boots and a pair of stretch jeans that let them know the pretty one was circumcised. Poor pup. The guy’s nose worked hard, and yeah, Dane knew he and Samson had to be tossing out pheromones.

Samson pushed at him, and they both started to stalk forward, intent on the little four-top table with the tight little body sitting between them.

The man stood when they reached his table, holding up both hands. “I don’t want trouble.”

Look at that—there wasn’t an ounce of fat, not a hair out of place, or room for a breath to come between skin and denim.

Ours. Samson’s thought slammed into the base of his skull.

Dane could only nod, no sound wanting to squeeze past the need in his chest. This man was theirs.

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