Angel’s Wolf

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Angel Kane had seen enough male shifters begging to be her mate to last a lifetime.

Sitting down at the truck stop diner, surrounded by the sounds of the highway outside, she ran a hand through her dark-as-night black hair and wondered if she had finally lost them.

Julian Vincent and Houston Darvill were the most persistent of the pain-in-the-ass men she had encountered lately. They’d been chasing her since she left New Orleans two weeks earlier. She’d thought she’d lost them when she got to Maryland but she’d been wrong. They’d shown up two days later, much to her chagrin.

So she’d run. Again.

You don’t have to run. I told you. We can take them. All of them. Easily.

Angel signaled to the waitress that she wanted coffee before sinking further into her seat and tried to ignore the smell of grease wafting from the kitchen. Her wolf was always so sure of herself, so capable, so completely confident that they could kick the butt of anyone who threatened them.

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