A Touch of Monster Hunter Romance

A Touch of Wild-1

A Touch of Wild

Werewolves clawed.

They bit. They hit. They strangled.

They even used weapons sometimes.

They were fast, had excellent fighting instincts, and could think beyond the bloodlust that consumed them to strategize.

They were pretty damn near the top of my list of shittiest creatures to hunt. Werewolves were class B monsters, so technically not rated the most dangerous, but I hated hunting them. Part animal, part human, with all the worst traits of each and the fighting ability of both.

And that whole pack thing? Just garbage.

There was no structured society within the world of werewolves. Unlike most shifters, werewolves weren’t born, they were made. And in the making, they left that part of the wolf behind.

Werewolves were antisocial assholes, in human and were form.

Case in point: the six-foot-two, dark-headed, antisocial asshole standing in front of me now. Maybe not bad looking, if he weren’t a f*****g werewolf.

“You need a helping hand, and I’m here to help.”

No, he didn’t.

Except he had. He’d questioned my competence. In my own office, in front of my solitary employee, two seconds after he walked in the door, and a second after I pegged him as a were.

I stared at him. Because, really, did he expect me to respond?

He’d walked onto my territory, questioned my monster-hunting skills, and he thought I’d play nice. Who was this asshole?

He spoke into the lengthening silence. “You just got an assignment to pick up a rampaging wolf. I’m here to help.”

And that was twice now.

Twice that he’d offered his aid.

Twice that he’d insulted me by implying incompetence on my part.

My administrative assistant, Eric, looked between the two of us and said, “You should leave. Before she decides to answer you. You know, not with words.”

The asshole looked completely unconcerned by the warning my assistant gave him. Maybe he’d been brain damaged during his change. I’d heard that could happen.

“Rafe sent me.” The asshole stared at me. In fact, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me, even when Eric, the apparent larger threat with his greater height and significantly greater muscle mass, spoke.

Antisocial and an asshole, yes, but maybe not brain damaged.

And Rafe sent him.

Son of a b***h. I was going to maim Rafe, because I wanted to kill this guy and I couldn’t. My guild leader deserved some displaced anger after sending this amateur my way.

I indicated my office door with a tip of my head.

Once he was inside and I’d closed the door behind us, I said, “Explain.”

He quirked an eyebrow, like he found me two parts rude and one part entertaining. I’d show that fucker entertaining, just as soon as I’d officially declined the aid my guild leader had sent me.

“I know your target. Mark Jared and I used to be buddies.”

Mark Jared was a murderous piece of s**t who’d killed at least three humans and was hiding out in Austin’s underground, so this guy kept awesome company.

He must have read the judgment in my eyes—weres were good at body language—because his jaw clenched. “Used to be.” His eyes narrowed. “I knew him before.”

Werewolves and certain varieties of felid weres may be made rather than born, but that didn’t make them victims. Not when they did s**t like shred three humans beyond the point of recognition.

Two of Jared’s victims had been found by their families. The third by a roommate. I might not have studied the files in great detail, but there were pictures of the real victims’ bodies.

Fuck that. Werewolves got no sympathy from me. Not today, not ever. Monsters were creatures that preyed on humans. That killed humans.

And in my book, just about every were made was a monster waiting to happen. The bloodlust was there, just under the surface, waiting for any opportunity to rise and take over.

The rules of our society didn’t let us monster hunters off our leash until a human paid the price, because ethics. But a were, any were, was a ticking time bomb. Too bad the guild and mainstream society didn’t agree with me.

“So you were buddies,” I replied before deliberately sitting down behind my desk. This guy was no threat to me, and I was happy to tell him that with my actions. “Before has nothing to do with today.”

“In Mark’s case, before has quite a lot to do with today.”

I pulled the three case files out of my inbox. I’d just gotten the Mark Jared assignment this morning. Eric had printed the files and popped them in my inbox about an hour ago. Holding the case paperwork in my hands, reading the details on paper, was a part of my process.

I hadn’t had a chance to give the files more than a cursory review, because I’d been tying up loose ends on my last case.

If the time prior to Jared becoming a were was important… “He knew his victims before he’d been turned. All three of them.”

If that was true, then it was new information.

“Not exactly, and there are four.” My unnamed visitor scowled at the three file folders. “Three that have been found. A fourth is missing.”

I refused to ask this guy’s name. I shouldn’t have to.

Rafe, that sorry bastard, should have told me he was coming. Should have told me his name. Should have told me why the f**k he’d given this guy—a werewolf—the go-ahead to show up at my office. And he really should have told me why he wanted an amateur’s help on an active case.

Now I was at a disadvantage, a small one, but regardless, it pissed me off. “How is it you know about a fourth victim and the guild doesn’t?”

He approached my desk and extended his hand over the paper-laden surface of my desk. “Barrett Miller, the man who made the connection between all four cases and reported the crimes and the perpetrator to the guild.”

When I ignored his gesture, he added, “And the guy who made a fat donation to make sure picking up Mark Jared was bumped to the front of the line.”

Dammit. f*****g Rafe and his f*****g donor ass-kissing bullshit. He prioritized donors almost as highly as he did catching monsters.

Though it wouldn’t have taken Barrett Miller’s cash to get Jared’s case bumped to the top of the list. Three dead people did that.

I’d believe the fourth was dead when his or her rotting corpse showed up, but until then, that fourth person might be alive.

I took the guy’s hand. His huge hand. I wasn’t a fan of being underestimated based on my diminutive size, and men always made assumptions, especially after they shook hands with me. I was a Van Helsing. We were feisty as f**k, regardless of size, and talented at basically one thing: killing monsters.

I squeezed hard. “Mariah Van Helsing, not at your service. I work for the guild, not you.”

He grinned in response.

A grin that disappeared when I asked, “And why do you care about these people?”

“I cared about the guy who’s doing this. Now, I care that he stops hurting people.”

Hmm. He wasn’t saying something. Leaving s**t out that might be important later. f*****g amateurs were the worst.

Rafe was going to get his ass kicked for this.

“What do you know that's not in my files, Barrett Miller? What information do you have that could help me catch this monster?”

He settled into the seat across from my desk, the cheeky bastard. “Tell me what you know, and I'll fill in the gaps.”

Who was running this show?

This guy, sitting in my chair in my office and trying to call the shots on my case. Definitely an antisocial asshole, like most werewolves, but also arrogant as f**k.

I shifted in my seat. I didn’t find that hot. No way.

The friction of my jeans brushed my sensitized c**t, and I could feel the slickness between my legs. What the ever-loving hell?

He was a sorry, arrogant f**k, but a hot sorry, arrogant f**k, and it looked like that pushed my buttons.

Except he was a monster-in-waiting.

I didn’t do monsters.

I shifted in my seat again.

Technically he wasn’t one…

Yet.

I glared at him, because the circular path I’d just run in my head was his fault. The hot arrogant f**k came in here, acting like he cared, wanting to help. It was messing with my monster radar, but I was not attracted to monsters. Not ever.

Getting off wasn’t the goal here; catching a killer was. So I needed to file my attraction for this man in the never-gonna-happen file and move on.

I leveled a steely look on Miller. “You don’t call the shots on this case, Miller. That’s not how this works, regardless of how much money you slipped Rafe.”

“The guild, not Rafe. I’m not crooked. I didn’t bribe anyone. I made a donation to a respected organization.”

A werewolf who asserted his honesty, as if that mattered.

It did. To me.

Not usually to weres.

Weres didn’t usually care about victims of were violence. They didn’t care about following rules. They didn’t care about honesty.

I could spot a liar even better than I could spot a monster. This guy wasn’t lying to me.

Shit. And now I really was wet.

This fucker needed to get out of my office.

So I could work the case.

Solve the case.

My head needed to be in the game, my focus on the case.

And after I took out Mark Jared, I was going out and getting laid. It had obviously been far too long.

The case…

I tapped the files with a finger. Rafe only just assigned this case to me, but even so, it didn’t take more than a cursory look to see the pattern. The killer struck at night.

“It’s ten o’clock. This guy isn’t hitting anyone during daylight hours. Unless you know where I can find Jared or who his next target is, you need to get the f**k out of my office and let me get to work.”

He didn’t move.

Then his nostrils flared.

He wasn’t human.

He was an almost-monster.

I’d known it the moment he walked into the office. I called it my monster radar, but really, it was the bit of magic inside me, inside all the Van Helsings, that let us see creature, beasts, magical beings—those that would become monsters with a few wrong choices.

Barrett Miller wasn’t human.

He was a werewolf, with all of that beast’s accompanying physical advantages…including a keen sense of smell.

My glance slid from the feral smile on his face to the raging erection he was sporting. Barrett Miller was hung more like a horse than a wolf. A fact I would have much preferred not to know.

He was sitting across from me, getting off on the scent of my arousal.

I flashed a cold smile at him. “Out.”

He left, but not before he adjusted his erection. He didn’t even pretend to attempt discretion. Hell, I was pretty sure he gave himself a quick tug, the fucker.

Even the brief glimpse of his large hand on his rigid d**k, and I was thinking thoughts. Filthy thoughts involving Barrett Miller, his d**k, his hands, his tongue, his fingers…

Looked like someone was going to have to rub one out before she could get any work done.

That would be me.

I’d be rubbing one out.

And I was definitely going to have hate-s*x in my head with a certain werewolf when I did it.

Small problem: I wasn’t sure who that hate was directed at. Him for making me hot? Or me for being so turned on I was slick and ready for a quick screw with a f*****g monster-in-waiting.

Two orgasms.

That f*****g asshole distracted me so much that I had to lock my office door and finger my p***y and tweak my c**t for two full orgasms. And I didn’t even wait until Eric went to lunch to do it.

That s**t was not normal for me, and it definitely made me feel like beating the crap out of Barrett f*****g Miller.

I didn’t have time for two f*****g orgasms.

But after that, I put him out of my mind. I had a monster to hunt.

Two hours later, and I’d read each of the files in close detail. Eric also managed to wrangle the fourth file from Rafe, even though he didn’t consider it a part of the case since there was an absence of physical evidence pointing to the missing man’s death.