To Love a Shifter: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Read online

  “You think this is funny?” I snap without thinking.

  The wolf nods.

  I close my eyes. My head starts to ache at the impossibility of it. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. When I open my eyes, I’m going to find out that Domenico Moretti’s somehow drugged me, that he actually runs a secret human trafficking joint and he’s holding an auction for me.

  I open my eyes.

  The wolf looks at me in pity.

  I stick out my tongue without thinking.

  A sound comes out of the wolf’s throat and I immediately cringe back, fearing that I’ve angered it somehow. It takes me a few moments to realize that the ferocious growls still rumbling out from the wolf sound suspiciously like laughter.

  Well, shick.

  It was actually laughing at me.

  Somehow, that eases my tension. I start to laugh, and part of me knows I’m becoming hysterical. The wolf howls, a distressed sound that shuts me up, saving me from a possible mental breakdown.

  I wet my lips. “If you’re really Mr. Moretti…” I pause, unable to believe I’m actually saying the words. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I say, “If you’re really Mr. Moretti – raise your left forepaw.”

  The wolf snarls.

  “I have to make sure!”

  It stalks toward me in a steady, purposeful pace. I hold my breath as it reaches me.

  Shick, shick, shick!

  I squeak out, “Don’t come any--”

  Closer, I finish silently, because the wolf is already within kissing distance. It growls and I tense even more. I just know I’m going to get eaten any second now.

  The wolf growls again – before raising its left forepaw to touch my cheek.

  “MR. MORETTI?!”

  The wolf – Mr. Moretti – walks away but looks back to nod at my question. I can’t help crawling after it this time, giddy at the discovery that Domenico Moretti is a werewolf, and he’s trusted me with his secret for some reason.

  A werewolf!

  A real, honest-to-goodness werewolf who’s a drop dead gorgeous Italian billionaire in its human form!

  I know the sensible thing to do here would be to run out of the room screaming and have him nabbed by the dog pound or animal control or something. Mostly, I just feel excited, so much so that my head’s in a daze. The wolf – Mr. Moretti – suddenly stops moving. It turns around to face me, startling me into falling back on my butt with wide eyes. A nervous laugh only slips past my lips when I see the discarded shirt between its teeth.

  “I get it. You’re going to change--yeargh!” Mr. Moretti is suddenly in front of me again, dazzling as ever.

  He also happens to be completely naked.

  I shriek, instinctively covering my face so that I don’t embarrass myself by eye-raping him. But even with all the lust-colored thoughts going through my mind, one fact stands out from the rest. Domenico Moretti is a werewolf.

  My body starts to shake. I expected it, of course I did. I knew Mr. Moretti was the wolf – in theory. When I saw him change back to his human form just like that, it threw me off...to say the least. Blood rushes into my head as shock cuts off my oxygen supply. The last thing I remember is Mr. Moretti swearing as he reaches for me.

  When I come around, familiar green eyes gaze down at me in concern. The memories return at lightning speed, and I sit up immediately.

  “Easy there.” Mr. Moretti gently pushes me back down.

  His form doubles, triples, and just keeps on multiplying in front of me. I give up and close my eyes, letting my body fall back on the bed--

  Bed?

  My eyes fly open. I want to fly out of the bed, too, and I would have if Mr. Moretti and his countless duplicates weren’t still swarming in front of me.

  “Stay,” he says firmly, his hands pinning my shoulder blades down to the bed.

  Stay? I’m not the dog here. That’s what I want to say – or would have said if the years gone past hadn’t turned me into such a huge wimp. When you’re dirt poor, you kind of realize early on that pride’s not going to send you to bed with a full stomach.

  “Where am I?” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible. I need to take a logical approach to this, and arguing with a werewolf close enough to take a bite at you is definitely the illogical and worst possible approach to make.

  “I didn’t take you away to some secret hideaway, if that’s what’s worrying you. We’re still in my office, and you’re in my private quarters.” He gives me a glass of water, and I take it gratefully, lifting my head just enough so I can get rid of the dry and uncomfortably scratchy sensation in my throat.

  “Take your time,” he murmurs as I almost gulp the glass’ entire contents down.

  When he turns away to put the glass back on the bedside table, I use the time to quickly look around. Somehow, I expected something a lot kinkier than this cozily furnished room. It even has its own faux fireplace and a rocking chair. If this was an orgy house, it would seem like Mr. Moretti has a taste for cougars. The really old ones.

  Past the mini living area in front of the fireplace is a breakfast counter and a small but fully-equipped kitchen. There’s even a basket of fruits on the worktable, plus a blender half-filled with some thick-looking yellow liquid.

  Organic Viagra, perhaps?

  When I glance back at Domenico Moretti, he’s visibly exasperated. “It’s just a fresh mango shake, my dirty-minded little darling.”

  Forget about the dirty mind part. I’m totally blown away he’s called me his darling.

  “Don’t believe the stuff people have been saying about me. Most of it is garbage.” He frowns, staring hard at my face as if he’s seen something that doesn’t make sense.

  Shick!

  I try to school my expression into something less obvious, but it’s too late.

  He makes a choking sound. “Are you actually disappointed?”

  “I’m not!” My cheeks heat up at his accusation. And I’m not – really!

  Mr. Moretti laughs, a full-bodied one that shouldn’t have sounded so sexy but does. He leans back against his chair, still laughing. Seated as he is, head thrown back in laughter and lean, muscular legs fully stretched out before him, Domenico Moretti looks like a picture-perfect ad for Playgirl.

  He’s also unapologetically aroused.

  I can’t help noticing, and it turns me into a tongue-tied lump of melting jelly. The shape of his erection is more than visible against his pants, which stretch tautly on his thighs. My heart speeds up, working double-time as he finally stops laughing and leans forward.

  “I’m sorry I made you faint,” he murmurs.

  I swallow. My hyperawareness of Domenico Moretti makes me do my best to sink further into the soft mattress. I need to put more distance between us so I don’t start hyperventilating again. Or worse – pull him into the bed with me and have my wicked way with him.

  “You’re too quiet.”

  My wimpy side begs me not to speak, but my old self says I should seize the moment and impress him with my wit. “I’m always quiet,” I croak out, my wimpy side winning half the battle.

  “No, you’re not.”

  He sounds so sure I look at him suspiciously. “Did you have someone spy on me?”

  He doesn’t even deny it. “I have to be careful with my choice of wife.”

  The casual way he tosses the words out makes me wince. “Stop it with that--”

  “Misty--”

  Toes, do NOT--

  I grit my teeth when my toes disobey me, curling at the sound of Domenico’s voice saying my name.

  “I’m not going to be your wife!”

  Domenico Moretti smiles.

  Oh, shick. Why hasn’t he been acting like the guy I’ve heard he is? Everyone says he’s a super cold anti-smiling bastard who’s out to take over Wall Street and, after that, the world. But here he is, smiling at me and being just too darn attractive for his own good. He makes me want to take his shirt off so I can rake my nails on h
is chest and watch him groan--

  Oh. My. God.

  I am not having a sexual fantasy about Domenico Moretti when he is just inches away from me.

  I close my eyes in utter mortification. Something is seriously wrong with me. Maybe there’s some weird gas in the air that’s turned me into a mega-slut all of a sudden.

  “Misty,” he says again.

  I squeeze my eyes closed tighter. He’s using his voice as a weapon, and it’s working. Smart man.

  “I need you to marry me, Misty.”

  “I’m not going to marry you.”

  “You will,” he says. “You just have to tell me what I should do to make you say yes.”

  “Do you know how crazy you sound?” I have to ask.

  “You don’t really think that.” He sounds so confident. he makes me doubt myself.

  I shriek when he suddenly takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. I’m mesmerized when I see his eyelids fall closed, which emphasizes the absurd length of his lashes. He inhales my scent. I shriek again when he suddenly bites my forefinger.

  “You haven’t asked why I want you to marry me, Misty.”

  I can’t take my gaze off his mouth, can’t stop staring at the way he’s sucking my finger, and I absolutely can’t stop my body from responding. There go my newly dried panties, now soaking wet all over again.

  “Don’t you want to know, Misty?”

  “I…”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. “I chose you because I knew--”

  I hold my breath.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have trouble believing me.”

  For more than a few moments, I can only gape at him. I don’t even know if I’m insulted or complimented. Worse, I’m not even sure if the words disappoint me when I know I should have been relieved. One thing’s for sure: he’s telling me the truth. The way he looks at me and says the words convinces me that he really does mean it.

  “You always liked reading about supernatural stuff ever since you were a child, didn’t you? You’ve always believed in what you never see.”

  He’s stopped sucking my finger, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

  I am so fracking hopeless. I should be reflecting on what he just said, but all I can think of is when he’s going to suck my finger again.

  “Didn’t you used to love hearing stories about things that go bump in the night?”

  Yes. Yes, I did, and look where it got me. Nanette used to tell me all the time how nothing good would come out of my fascination with the paranormal. She used to punish me for watching reruns of The Twilight Zone and I always had to sneak past her just so I could visit Mrs. Cairns next door. Mrs. Cairns had the most amazing stories to share about vampires, werewolves – she even told me stories about the Sceleri, which translates to "sin eaters". I scoured libraries and bookstores for more knowledge about them but never found even a single mention of the Sceleri. Up to this day, I’m not entirely sure if Mrs. Cairns made them up or not.

  When I was a kid, I used to wish I could be like the heroines in Mrs. Cairns’ stories. I wished I could fight the evil monsters like Sceleri who have succumbed to ennui or angels who have turned their backs on God like Vidange. It was incredibly easy to imagine myself brandishing a sword and slaying them because they were monsters I could handle. The monsters in real life, the ones with human masks and fought with lies – they terrified me so much more.

  I could never tell Nanette about my dreams and fears, though. Not when she was the most terrible bogeyman in my nightmares. But I’ve grown up since then.

  “You chose the wrong woman,” I say tonelessly. I don’t have the spunk, the zest for adventure that I used to have when I was a kid. That Misty is long gone. “I don’t believe in--"

  Mr. Moretti’s fingers go back to the buttons of his shirt. “If you need more proof--”

  “Okay, okay, I believe you!” I yelp when I see more than half of his bare chest.

  Mr. Moretti smirks, fingers stilling on the fourth button. It makes me want to kiss him. God, I’m so hopeless.

  “Now, tell me what you want me to do so you’ll marry me.”

  “Give me a million dollars,” I quip.

  “I’ll give you ten. If that’s all--”

  “Stop!” I give him a disgruntled look. He wasn’t supposed to take the bait. Doesn’t he know that? “Why do you need a wife anyway? I mean, a wife like me?”

  Cocking his head to the side, he says in a musing tone, “I suppose it would be fair to let you know what you are up against. This is a lifetime arrangement, after all.”

  “That’s not helping your argument,” I say honestly. Domenico Moretti may be rich, gorgeous, and sexy, but he’s also a werewolf. The kind that may – can – kill and feast on human flesh every full moon for all I know.

  “I am the future leader of my pack.” He doesn’t bother explaining what a pack is, which just shows how much he really knows about me. When he says ‘future’ leader, I’m guessing that means he’s the son of the current pack leader. That basically makes him a prince. A prince who had just asked me--more than once at this point--to marry him.

  Oh boy.

  I’ve always prayed to God that if he could just make my life the slightest bit more exciting I’d thank Him forever. I wasn’t asking for this! It’s beyond exciting. It’s plain crazy, that’s what this was.

  “There are pacts that I have to make, business deals that I have to broker, so to speak, with other packs. As someone who is unbound--”

  “Unbound?”

  “Unmarried.”

  I file the term away for future use.

  “As I am unbound, other packs would not hesitate to use the pact as an opportunity to forge alliances through…marriage. But if I were to choose one pack over the others, then I also risk alienating the packs I had not allied myself with.”

  “Which is why you need a human,” I finish for him. “So you don’t offend anyone with your choice.”

  “Not just any human,” he counters and grants my secret wish by sucking on my finger again. When his mouth finally releases my finger, I’m this close to having an orgasm. It’s the way he keeps looking at me, okay? It’s just…unbelievably erotic. I cringe at the words, aware that my obsession with having sex with Domenico Moretti has reduced me to being redundant. It’s the worst thing someone in my chosen career could be.

  I reluctantly tear my gaze away from the way he’s playing with my fingers when he starts speaking again.

  “The woman I choose as my bride has to be someone special, someone who fully understands and accepts me as I am.”

  Shaking my head with a frown, I say, “I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one--”

  “Trust me. You are.” He sounds so certain again that I can only gape at him.

  “You are the only one who can fulfill the role of my wife.” His gaze turns searing. “The only question is what you want. So tell me and I shall give it to you.”

  “I just can’t believe I’m the only one who can be your wife,” I insist stubbornly.

  Mr. Moretti sighs. “I started my search by looking over all the resumes of my employees.”

  “That’s romantic,” I can’t help mumbling.

  He ignores that. “As my employee, it would mean you would already have some of the qualifications I need, such as loyalty and intelligence.”

  I think about Janice Rudely and choose to hold my tongue. Whatever. Maybe I just haven’t seen those sides of her yet.

  Mr. Moretti is smiling at me knowingly.

  “What?” I feel defensive without even knowing why.

  “Women like Janice Rudely have their uses,” he says.

  My eyes widen. He really does know me! Too well!

  He continues, “Based on the report I’ve received, I see that you have the qualities I look for in a future queen – one who will rule benevolently, or with an iron will when she has to.”

  “Are you serious?” I choke out. I think he pretty much described a diff
erent woman there.

  Mr. Moretti only stares at me.

  “I’m a wimp.” I hated to say it, but someone has to.

  He brushes my words aside with an arrogant wave of his hand. “Nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. I’m telling you, I’m not--”

  “You are the oldest in your family, yes?”

  “Yes, but--”