Bianca and Her Wolf

Book 4 of The New York City Werewolves

I swear, if tears even dare to pool in my eyes, let alone fall, I will rip the eyelashes from my eyelids just to show them who’s boss around here. I never cry. But Mike’s got me all twisted up and things aren’t normal…my normal, anymore.

It’s definitely Mike’s fault. We’ve known we were each other’s mates for over nine years. I’ve kept away from him because he brutally betrayed me. I cannot forgive him. Ever.

And if we mate, he gets me. All of me. I’m not giving myself to anyone, least of all that backstabber.

However, I can’t avoid him if he attends my mother’s funeral, can I? I should have known he’d go. He’s responsible and respectable. The jerk.

I wish he didn’t smell so good. And have such broad shoulders in that shirt.

I’m busy, and I have work to do. Apart from working for the best boss in the world, I have to clear my deceased mother's home.

And I use the term ‘home’ loosely. It’s a hoard. And every time I look outside, he’s there, hands in pockets, waiting for me to go to him.

It’s frightening.

The hoard and Mike.