Here's another peek into SHAE: A BEAUTY & THE BEAST GAY ROMANCE!
A few days after he's freed Marc from a rogue trap and saved his life, Shae returns to Fennys Lake to look for the alpha and check on his injuries. He's done a little research in the meantime, though, and knows that the sexy outlaw might actually be a notorious killer: Marc Rufus, the rogue king...
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The blue and silver glimmer of water dances through the trees in front of me. Fennys Lake, finally. I step out onto the pebbled shore, and there, at the water’s edge, is my rogue.
He’s standing facing away from me, absolutely motionless. The sunlight makes the tanned skin on his bare arms gleam and the velvety hint of fleece on his head sparkle like gold. He’s holding a fishing rod in both hands. Again, pointlessly, I try to pick up his scent, experiencing a sudden, acute yearning for it.
“Nurse Greyson,” he says in a low voice without turning his head. Of course, my scent betrayed me. It feels unfair that he’s known I’m here the moment I stepped out of the forest. He’s known I was coming for the last ten minutes, probably.
As I walk up to him, he turns around to me. He looks—yeah, like the rugged criminal he is. In the bright afternoon light, his hard, unforgiving features look like carved out of bronze marble, and his arms are all sculpted alpha strength.
God, I love his looks.
“You been waiting for me?” I say instead of a greeting.
He turns scarlet. He shouldn’t even be able to with his suntan, but he actually turns frigging scarlet.
“Hey, why are you blushing like that?” I laugh. “Hey, you can blush like a Rufus!”
The laughter dies in my throat. A Rufus.
What if he is? What if he really is that surviving son Sky talked about, the rogue king? Someone who’s not only committed murder, but who’s suspected to have killed his own pack?
He lowers the fishing rod. “You’re a blusher, too,” he says, sounding surprisingly defensive and not at all like a deranged killer. “I can tell you’re a Greyson from that alone. Everyone knows you Greysons blush like little kids.”
Rogue king or not, he needs an answer to that.
“Okay, I’m a Greyson, but you are ginger.”
He stares at me.
“You shaved off your hair because it’s ginger! Admit it! You did it because you have what they call the Rufus flare on your head and people kept being a pest about it.”
“That’s not why I shaved it off.”
“Why did you, then?”
He turns away and reels in the fishing line. “Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” he asks over his shoulder. “If you become a risk to my people, I’ll have to keep you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I scoff.
He puts the rod on the ground and closes the distance between us with a few strides.
“You think I won’t do that?” he asks, glaring down at me. “Think again, duckling.”
“Don’t call me duckling.”
“Why not? You look like one, with that funny sort of down you have for hair.”
He’s attacking me back about my hair. I hate it, and it feels like pure electric energy.
“We’ve talked about that, haven’t we? It’s better than being bald,” I shoot back.
He utters a brief, rasping laugh. “Hey, don’t get mad. I like down. But seriously. Don’t come here again. Don’t force me to take you prisoner.”
His eyes bore into mine. Is this a threat?
“If you did, my pack would come look for me,” I reply hoarsely.
“I know they would. You’re lucky, Shae Greyson, do you even know that?” This time, his laugh sounds different. Desolate. He shakes his head and adds roughly, “But they wouldn’t find you. So. Don’t do that to them.”
This is a threat all right. …
