Author Charlie Richards

Giving love and imagination free reign


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Singing in the Wolf's Shower

Wolves of Stone Ridge: Book Forty-Six

Out of the Cage: A new wolf shifter enforcer accompanies his alpha to San Francisco on a rescue mission, but he discovers something even more valuable than a new pack.

Mishka Fadgen is new to the Stone Ridge wolf pack, and after losing a challenge to earn the beta position, he’s offered a slot as an enforcer instead. His first task comes soon, as the alpha’s daughter, Sara, goes missing from college. Mishka accompanies several others to San Francisco, following a lead to her whereabouts. After consulting with a detective who’s aware of shifters, he hits the streets and starts searching. What he finds, however, isn’t what he expected—his mate. Mishka discovers a young, crippled human living in an abandoned warehouse. With a lot of coaxing—and the promise of a good meal and a hot shower—Mishka convinces Aramis to join him at the home the shifters have rented. When the detective shows up, an untrusting Aramis disappears. Learning that Aramis may have information about Sara’s whereabouts only heightens his need to find the man once more. If Mishka manages to track Aramis down again, can he convince his mate that his intentions are sincere and not just a means to an end?

Excerpt - Singing in the Wolf's Shower

The excerpt below contain explicit adult language and sexual content.

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    Crap balls!

Aramis couldn’t remember the last time someone drove down that street this late in the afternoon. Who was he, and what was he doing there?

And why is he following me?

Shuffling faster, Aramis bit his lip. He did his best to ignore the pain shooting through his bad knee as he forced it to hold his weight over and over. Climbing stairs was tough for Aramis on his best day, but doing it while in a hurry—yeah, this sucks.

Aramis fought back a whimper of relief when he finally reached the second floor. Pausing an instant, he rubbed his right knee, hoping to ease the strain. It sort of worked…or maybe that was because he’d stopped moving.

Evil gang bangers with bats.

Oh, god. Is this guy one of them? Did he recognize me?

Over eight months before, Aramis had been beaten and left for dead by a bunch of thugs, all because he wouldn’t agree to suck their dicks. He prided himself on being a street rat, not a whore. With his small, lean body, Aramis could live very happily off scraps he found dumpster diving.

“Hello?”

Straightening, Aramis listened carefully. He’d been standing still too long, lost in thought. Even though he knew it happened—often, actually, especially after getting bashed—Aramis couldn’t afford to be caught wool-gathering at the top of the stairs. As quietly as Aramis could, he began creeping down the dirty hall.

“Wait, please,” the deep voice called again. “I just want to talk to you. I have a question about the area.”

Aramis almost snorted with his disbelief.

Yeah, right!

Hustling toward the corridor that led to the back stairs, Aramis thought about where to flee after that. Then he thought about the maze of boxes someone had left in the massive storage bay downstairs. He knew the twists and turns like the back of his hand, so surely he could easily evade the man there.

Aramis had just reached the hall and begun to turn when the deep voice called, “Wait, little one. I’ll continue to chase you, but I would rather you give me a chance without force.”

Pausing at the turn, Aramis looked back the way he’d come. His eyes widened. His heart sped up in his chest as he took in the man there.

The stranger was big, probably six-foot-three. He sported broad shoulders, their breadth not hidden in the least by his leather bomber jacket. His legs were encased in dark jeans, the cloth tight enough to showcase thick muscles.

With his hands spread a little away from his body, the man swept a deep brown-eyed gaze over Aramis’s frame. Even though his eyes were slightly narrowed, he had his lips curved slightly. The man gave off an aura of concern.

I never realized that was a thing. Huh.

“My name is Mishka. Mishka Fadgen,” the man said, taking a step toward him, then another. “What’s yours?”

Despite his reservations, he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “Aramis.”

Hearing his name repeated back to him, rumbled by Mishka’s deep voice, caused a shiver to travel down Aramis’s spine. The hairs on his nape stood on end, and his skin goose bumped. Even his blood heated in a way he’d never before experienced.

Aramis slipped out his tongue and wet his lips. He swallowed hard, clenching and relaxing his fingers. When he felt his penis plump in his ragged jeans, he fought back a shocked gasp.

That’s never happened before.

When Mishka softly asked, “Do you know this area, Aramis? The buildings around here?” Aramis snapped back to attention.

Aramis realized the huge, handsome male had drawn even closer. Crap balls. I was drifting again while processing my reactions. On top of that, Aramis realized his reactions scared him.

Giving in to his fear, Aramis yanked his gaze away from the guy and bolted—as fast as his body would allow anyway. He limped swiftly down the hall, ignoring Mishka’s cry of, “Wait!”

Reaching the stairs, Aramis grabbed the railing with his right hand. He kept his left arm tucked close to his chest, seeing as that limb had been next to useless since the attack. Aramis knew something—maybe more than one bone—had been broken, and even after it had healed, his fingers just didn’t want to move much.

Amaris hobbled jerkily down the stairs, moving as swiftly as he could.

“Wait! Aramis, please!” Mishka called. “I won’t hurt you!”

Yeah, right.

Aramis had heard that before. Never again would he believe it. Strangers always wanted something from him, and most of the time, it wasn’t anything good.

Just as that thought slid in and out of his mind, a spike of pain slashed up his right knee. It buckled. With a cry, he tumbled down the last couple of stairs and sprawled on the halfway point landing.

Panting hard, Aramis barely heard Mishka’s cry of, “Shit! Aramis?”

Aramis definitely felt the man’s hands on him though, and a whimper escaped him before he could help it.

“Where’s it hurt, little one?”

Aramis tried to curl into a ball, but Mishka’s grip was too firm on his upper arms.

“Just relax. Just breathe and relax.”