by Lexxie Couper
Alphas Unleashed Book Eight
Never let horny dogs lie…
Searching for her missing uncle, Katy-Lin Yunker finds herself in the isolated, mysterious Australian Outback town of Kangaroo Creek. The whole town seems to have a secret, one that her heart tells her involves her AWOL, eccentric uncle. She’s at her wits end but determined to find him, no matter what the cost. And then the sexiest man she’s ever seen walks into the bar and things get really…dangerous.
Dean Singleton has tried to deny the animalistic nature of his species. A dingo shifter with a profound connection to the ancient magic of the land, Dean knows surrendering to his inner animal may lead him down a path he cannot come back from. But when he sees Katy-Lin—a human—the carnal desire he feels for her rocks him to his core. So what is he to do when he learns she’s the niece of the man who has uncovered the existence of his kind, threatening the safety of his pack and all the shifters in the Creek?
Dean and Katy find it impossible to fight against their attraction…but someone else has plans for Katy. Someone who wants Dean dead. In a land more brutal than most, this California girl is about to discover not only how wild a dingo shifter can be, but how fierce she can be.
Genre: Paranormal RomancePurchase link(s): Amazon ARe iTunes Kobo
Content/Theme(s): Shifters, Dingo, Romantic Suspense
Release Date: October 1, 2016
Publisher: OmniLit/All Romance eBooks
Excerpt & More
Dean walked across the dust-covered road, the summer sun blasting down on him like a furnace. He didn’t turn to look back at the Longyard Pub, despite the itch between his shoulder blades.
Who the hell was that?
In his head, the American woman smiled at him and then pressed herself to his body, sliding her palms up his chest to bury her fingers in his hair as she tugged his lips down to hers and kissed him with a sexual hunger wilder than any he’d experienced before.
Fuck a duck, what the hell?
Dean narrowed his eyes, ignoring the urge to return to the pub and the woman in it. He could practically taste her sexual arousal on the air every time she looked at him. And her unease whenever she looked at Grayson.
He slowed his pace and, before he knew what he was doing, looked over his shoulder at the Longyard’s closed doors.
“What the fuck are you doing, Singo?” he muttered with a shake of his head. He continued walking to his truck, parked down the road out in front of the Creek’s one and only general store.
The American wasn’t his business, even if she was every sexual fantasy he’d ever had wrapped up in one delectable blonde bundle.
For starters, she was human. He didn’t do human, no matter how sexy.
Secondly, she was connected to Martin McCoy—a likeable old bugger with far more knowledge than a human was meant to have. That connection made her strictly off-limits.
He ground his teeth at the thought of the American man. He hadn’t missed the way Grayson stiffened at McCoy’s name. The reaction fed his suspicion the Russian wolf had something to do with McCoy’s sudden departure from the Creek.
But if McCoy’s niece was now here…a month after he’d supposedly left…looking for him…
Her image filled his head again, her long lithe limbs wrapping around his body, her plump lips moaning his name, her eyes promising a world of pleasure as she gazed up at him…
Christ, when had he ever reacted like this to a human? His prick was getting hard. Walking across the Creek’s main street with a fucking boner. Awesome.
The sooner he got into his truck and out of here, the better. He should have known better than enter the Longyard. Ipo was a decent bloke with no real affiliation to anyone, but at this time of day, Grayson and his pack—fawning gutless wonders who never stood up to Grayson’s brand of intimidation—were always going to be in there. And if there was one person here at Kangaroo Creek that Wedge Grayson hated more than any other, it was Dean.
Dingoes and wolves did not get along.
It didn’t help Dean went out of his way to antagonize the Russian prick.
But hey, when presented with such an enjoyable target as Grayson, Dean had no hope of curtailing his sarcasm.
At times, he’d actually found himself wishing Grayson was a bear shifter, not an Arctic wolf shifter, just so he could truthfully say “I really shouldn’t poke the bear, but…”
Once again, an image of the American woman filled his head, uninvited and unsettling. He ground his teeth, the itch between his shoulder blades exploding into life again.
What was it about her that tugged at him so much?
And, more to the point, what was she doing in a place like the Creek alone? Out whoop-whoop, miles from anywhere, in a pub that no person in their right mind would willingly enter.
No. Change that. No human in their right mind. When it came to the Creek, none of its regular population were human. So entering the Longyard wasn’t much of a big deal.
Dean yanked open the driver’s door of his truck with a scowl. He needed to stop thinking about her. What he should be doing was working out what happened to her uncle. And what Wedge Grayson knew about it. That would get her out of the Creek, and get her out of his—
“Fuck it.” He slammed the door shut, pivoted on his heel, and strode back to the pub.
Ipo looked up from wiping the counter, expression—as always—impossible to read. Even after all these years of knowing the man, Dean had no real idea what Ipo was.
“She’s gone,” the barkeeper said, returning his attention to the counter.
Bloody hell. Dean scanned the room. “Where?”
Ipo raised an eyebrow. “Not my place to tell you that.”
Dean snarled. Great. Fucking great. “Did she say where she was going?”
Ipo shook his head again, slapping the dishcloth he was using over his shoulder as he looked at Dean. “Why?”
Because the farther I walk away from her, the closer I want to be to her.
“She’s human, Ipo. Here. In the Creek. Isn’t that why enough?”
The barkeeper shrugged. “We’ve had humans here before.”
“And how well has that gone for most of them?”
Dean scanned the pub’s dim interior again, drawing a deep breath through his nose. Maybe he could track her?
A faint hint of jasmine and musk and roses threaded through the stale-grog-and-sweat stink on the air. Beyond faint. Choked. Tenuous.
Dragging in another breath, he closed his eyes and focused on the taste and smell. Christ, Merv needed a fucking shower. How could anyone breathe in this town with the farmer’s stench polluting the very oxygen?
A lick of cold contempt unfurled through him as Wedge Grayson’s undeniable scent flowed into his lungs. As soon as he got home he was scrubbing his tongue. Just the thought of the Russian’s smell permeating his body made him sick.
Fuck. What traces there were of the American had completely faded. Overpowered by Grayson and his unwashed pack.
Opening his eyes, he crossed to the bar. “Do you remember her uncle? He stayed here, didn’t he? In that room you’ve got upstairs. Did he tell you what he was here for? What he wanted?”
Ipo folded his arms over his chest, expression bored. “Have I ever been interested in what humans want, Singleton?”
Despite the tension eating at him, Dean flashed the barkeeper a smirk. “Well, there was that one guy who—”
An invisible palm mashed itself to Dean’s mouth. Ipo studied him with glinting eyes. “You know better than that.”
The unseen gag disappeared. Dean wiped at his lips. He watched Ipo drag the dishcloth from his shoulder and turn towards the other end of the bar.
Okay, so Ipo wasn’t going to be any help. If he wanted to find her he might have to shift.
And you do want to find her. You want to bury your face in her hair. Breathe her in. Feel her body moving beneath yours. Feel her warm moans on your neck as you—
“If I see her again,” Ipo tossed over his shoulder, “I’ll be sure to ask where she’s staying.”
Dean let out a shaky sigh. It was better than nothing. “Thanks, mate.”
Ipo nodded and then got back to work.
With another sigh, this one far more agitated than the first, Dean left the pub. He needed to find Cam. His beta had followed the old American’s scent miles out of town. If there was a reason for the American woman to be here now, Cam might know.
And if he didn’t, Dean would have to do what he’d been putting off for a long time: face the fact the animal he truly was could no longer be controlled. Which was very worrying, given how powerful the desire to find the American woman was right now. Not to help her find her uncle, not to encourage her to leave the Creek ASAP, but to explore every inch of her body and fuck her senseless. Pure, base, animalistic rutting.
Animal. Out of control fucking.
What the fuck was going on? And when the hell had being a dingo shifter in the Australian Outback become so bloody difficult?
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