Gone Hunting by Cecy Robson
Cover designed by Dark Wish Designs
Discover Cecy Robson’s sensational Weird Girls series for the first time—or go back to the beginning …—
The rest of the werewolf pack might consider Aric Connor to be omniscient and destined to save the world when evil returns to claim it. But for the most part, fifteen-year-old Aric ignores the confirmations of his powers, taking everything in stride until he meets her.
Celia Wird wasn’t supposed to awaken naked in the mountains of Colorado, not when she was just stalking her prey in a filthy alley several states away. She especially wasn’t supposed to meet Aric, the handsome werewolf who comes to her aid.
As a supernatural tasked with protecting the earth, Aric sympathizes with Celia’s dangerous situation. He’s also struck by her beauty and kindness. Yet, as much as Aric welcomes Celia, her arrival isn’t a peaceful one.
Dark forces stir in Celia’s presence, resolute on killing her. Aric and his inner beast are adamant about keeping Celia safe and with them. But there’s a time and a place for love, and Aric and Celia might not survive long enough to find it.
Read an Excerpt
Excerpt from Gone Hunting
I glide down the steep incline on four paws, digging my claws into the thick forest bed to keep my balance. The weight of my three-hundred-pound wolf form leaves deep indentations in the soil. There wasn’t just one elk. There was a massive herd. We separated them as a pack, targeting the eldest and weakest, as nature demands.
The one I’m chasing stumbles down the ravine, his immense body crashing into the river bank and sending waves of muddy water to drench my face. I shake off the thick drops blinding me and hurtle forward. I’m almost on him, my excitement of snapping his neck and bringing home a feast propelling me faster.
I bare my teeth at the scent of his fear. Despite his weariness, he’s fighting the kill. I can respect him as my prey. That doesn’t mean I’ll let him go. My supernatural strength jets me faster, ghosting over the slippery rocks when the elk stumbles. He quickly recovers on wobbly limbs. It doesn’t matter. I have him. My family will have a sweet meal tonight.
We round the bend as I leap toward his neck. My fangs barely graze his tough pelt before I crash into what feels like an invisible wall. The force flings me backward, slamming me into the river bed. I whirl up, wondering what happened and pissed that it did.
The sound of beating hooves grows distant as the elk disappears. I ignore his escape and growl with murderous rage.
Something’s here. Something different. Something magical.
My paws keep my footing over the uneven and rocky bank as I stalk forward. I poke at the air with my nose, trying to sense the wall or whatever it was that caused my fall.
My nose twitches, latching onto something . . . weird. It’s not elk, not deer, not even rabbit.
I smell predator.
A challenging growl rumbles through my torso and down my legs, causing a ripple across the water. My eyes sweep my surroundings, up the incline where the woods are thickest and back down where small, gentle waves splash over the river rocks.
Where are you? I growl again.
I angle my body to the left and frown. Something like rot permeates from the forest. It reeks of dead prey and danger, but then it moves further away from me and the predator I seek.
My eyes round with surprise when I hone in on a different scent. In the breeze, cascading along the bank, the fragrance of water misting over roses overtakes the aroma of pine, rich soil, and thick beds of moss, ensnaring me in its beauty.
An excited chill runs down my spine, standing my fur on end. I shake my head, trying to clear a scent that has no business latched to another predator . . . especially one warning me to keep my distance.
My ears perk up and my eyes hone in on a thick mound of blackberry brambles a few feet away.
There you are . . .
I prowl forward, my steps quiet and purposeful and my jaws set to sink into bone.
This isn’t a cougar. They run from us.
This is hungry.
My body quivers with growing excitement and my thunderous growls echo. I snap my jaws in challenge, letting my prey know I sense him.
It’s time to flee or fight. The choice is his. I’m not going anywhere.
The brush shifts. Slowly, very slowly, my prey rises. My lips peel back, yet the next growl dissipates before it can fully form.
Instead of fur, wet, wavy brown hair with streaks of gold catches the faint sunlight, spilling over slender shoulders and flawless olive skin while droplets of river water trickle around large green eyes and full pink lips.
I stop breathing.
And she’s naked.
©Cecy Robson, LLC Gone Hunting