A Week with Werewolves by K. Matthew

The second installment in a werewolf series

A week with werewolves

A dark new stranger. Forbidden desires. A devastating secret.

While Taya's busy trying to conduct interviews for her report on the Blackfoot Werewolf Reservation, she keeps getting distracted by yearnings she knows she shouldn't have. The assignment began as something she didn't care for, but now she's embracing thoughts of helping the werewolves—and one werewolf in particular.

This is serial 2 of 6.

Genre: FICTION / Fantasy / Paranormal

Secondary Genre: FICTION / Romance / Paranormal

Language: English


Word Count: 10522

Sample text:

Emmett's house was a picture-perfect vision of the American dream. A white picket fence outlined a well manicured lawn with immaculately trimmed shrubbery lining the path to a red-painted door. It was better than most people could hope to afford in the outside world with the recession going on. No wonder he was such a smug bastard.

Before I had even finished knocking, the door was pulled open, revealing the alpha of the Blackfoot Werewolf Reservation who had been expecting me the entire time. His dominant brown eyes looked down on me with amusement before he invited me inside for the grand tour.

The house oozed with luxuries vacant from most of the other werewolf domiciles. Rich wooden furniture and leather upholstered seating were a hallmark for those that worked hard within the community, but Emmett got it all for free just for being the leader of the pack.

“How many months have you lived in this?” I asked while he showed me the master bathroom. His tub was large and jetted, even better than mine.

“Are we starting the interview now, Ms. Raveen, or would you prefer to wait til we get to the living room?” he said.

There was that arrogance again, a subtle hint of it—a hint of his discontent from having me around. I had been oblivious to it before Devon, the omega of the pack, warned me that Emmett was only putting on a front. Now, I was all too aware of his false nuances.

“Whatever you're more comfortable with, Mr. Kennedy,” I tried not to sound rude.

When we returned to the living room, Emmett sat me down on the sofa and offered me a beverage from his mini fridge. I nodded in kindness, figuring he could spare a soda.

“I suppose we should start with the question I asked you in the bathroom.” Preparing to record his response, I flipped open my notebook to a fresh page, jotting down his full name on the top line.

Book translation status:

The book is available for translation into any language except those listed below:

Already translated. Translated by Julia Bahr
Author review:
Quick and precise.

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