An Erie Operetta Novella 2 in the Lake Erie series
Erotic M/M Shifter Romance
Templeton Reed, skunk shifter, is having trouble sharing a mansion with wolf shifters, even if one is his beloved Mikel, the alpha of the pack. Winter has settled over Lupei mansion and cabin fever is pushing the pack into rowdy behavior. To counter the boredom, and to instill some decorum into his fellow wolves, Mikel announces a trip to the opera is in order.
At first, Templeton is thrilled to be attending such a prestigious event. He is, after all, a lesser breed, and has never been privy to such glamorous entertainment. Sadly, what starts out as a night of opulence and refinement turns into a murder mystery when Templeton discovers a body in the cheap seats. Who, or what, has killed one of the elite of the Lake Erie shifter community? Who is the stranger that arrives to oversee the murder investigation and why is he insisting on staying at Lupei Manor? Will Templeton survive long enough to see act two?
Then, and only then, did I wiggle out of the side of the duvet to land on the cold bedroom floor on my hands and knees. I stood up quickly, my cock jutting out proudly. Mikel opened one sleepy golden eye, saw my erection, flashed me a smile filled with fang, then leaped off the bed. Toweringly tall, wide-shouldered and lean of waist, Mikel carried over three hundred pounds on his six-foot, seven-inch frame with magnificent masculinity. Even his damned toes were buff. I squeaked playfully and ran. This is a fun game for a lycan. Sometimes it's fun for me as well, as long as I know the wolf breathing down my neck will be fucking me and not gutting me. That is a major distinction for a prey animal.
I skittered around the bed, my hand on the tall poster that rose off the footboard. Mikel's big foot hit a small throw rug. He sailed past me, eyes as well as mouth wide, pawing in the air until his hand landed on his dresser. Cologne, a wristwatch, and a jewel box sailed off the top as the dresser lurched upward to try to support his weight.
I was giggling like a schoolgirl when I streaked out into the hall, my balls flapping in the wind. I had stopped and was in the process of turning to taunt the great hunter when a football slammed into my nose. I saw brilliant white flashes, a couple bright dots, and then blackness.
When I came to, I was back in bed with the blankets up to my chin and a cold compress on my nose. Three rather contrite-looking men stood at the foot of the bed. I placed my hand on the compress. I could taste blood on my tongue.
"How are you feeling, Templeton?" Mikel asked sheepishly, or as sheepishly as a wolf can. He had gotten dressed while I was in La-La Land. Jeans and a thick blue sweater suited him. I sat up. My head began throbbing violently. I lay back down, the icy compress on my tender nose.
"You were supposed to catch it," Dave said, holding the offending pigskin in one hand. "I mean, I did yell to you to be like Jerry Rice. Didn't you hear me?"
"No, I didn't," I said, then frowned. My nose was plugged with dried blood. I sounded congested. "Who the hell is Jerry Rice?"
"Oh man, he is like one of the most famous running backs in--"
I cut off Eddie with a sharp look. "I don't care about hockey!"
"It's football, not hockey," my lover gently corrected. The two goons in Levi Strauss and officially licensed team logo shirts looked down at their huge feet. "I'm just saying that if you're going to live among lycans, you should know the difference between football and hockey, Templeton."
"And you baboons should know how to behave inside! I know that the call of the wild is strong with you wolves, and that being cooped up inside this mansion isn't conducive to good behavior. But, on the other hand, we are not living in Norway with the Vikings. We are modern men, not slobbering pillagers intent on killing, raping, looting, and playing football inside a mansion!" I yelled, instantly hating how much I sounded like some medieval fishwife. I think I was haranguing. I did not wish to be a haranguer.
"I would love to pillage," Eddie said with a grin that crinkled his scarred face and lit his gentle eyes. Dave agreed instantly, his eyes glowing with the ancient need to engage in bloodletting. Mikel cleared his throat, ending the wistful talk of the lycan homelands.
"They meant no harm, Templeton," the alpha repeated. I swear, I am going to get a t-shirt printed up for Mikel with that platitude printed on it. Both men nodded enthusiastically. "You're correct, though. I have been letting them run wild and it has to stop. The long winter is making us cabin-fevered and restless. Our minds are slipping, allowing our baser nature to come out."
"Exactly," I said. "What we need is some class, refinement, and decorum to remind us of what proper gents you three can be."
"I don't like ties," Eddie muttered under his breath.
"Suits make me chafe," Dave whispered to the side.
Mikel nodded in understanding. "Yes, I know, being confined in tight clothing isn't the way of the young lycan." He padded around the bed, removed my compress, then ran a hand over my head, smoothing my hair from my brow. "But this is something you must learn. Being civil and refined is our way of life now. So, to that end, I think I will call the opera house to see what production is coming next."
"Opera?" both subordinates moaned.
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V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl, and two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
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