Excerpt of Moon Thrall by Mel Teshco

The werewolf sank onto his belly among the tall, brittle grass, staying motionless and ever watchful as he peered over the rim of a fissured escarpment knotted with weeds.

A log cabin some forty yards below sat smack bang in the middle of a bare paddock, scorched dry by a long gone Australian summer and a seemingly endless drought. Only a distant line of gum trees broke the desolation, framing the night sky like shadowy sentinels.

He shifted restlessly. His werewolf muscles, used to the flex and shift of a loping run, were stiff from his vigil that had seen him return here these last two nights.

Beneath his thick black pelt his skin prickled with anticipation. The waiting was the hardest. Sheer willpower alone kept him frozen in place even when he was primed to explode from the thicket of yellowed grasses. But there’d be no racing against fate.

With the moon big and fat on the horizon, soon there would be no more waiting, no more hiding.

There were no signs of life inside the cabin. No lights broke the darkness, no television screen flickered. Not even a wisp of fireplace smoke lingered in the crisp winter air.

A mortal would assume the dwelling was unoccupied. The werewolf knew better.

He slunk lower still in the tall, dry grass, whining low as his ears pricked forward, alert to the sudden movement inside the cabin.

The woman, his weren, had awakened.

Seconds later the door swung open. She appeared in the doorway, very much alone, the moonlight turning her long red-gold hair to flame.

The werewolf’s tongue slipped out, sweeping a semicircle around his whiskered muzzle.

She looked surreal in her virginal high-necked and long- sleeved sheer white dress. The full moon lit up her slender silhouette and showcased the swell of her breasts, her almost flat belly and the dark triangle of her pussy between her thighs.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, his belly tightening.

But still he didn’t move, though he could feel the vibrations of her emotions—anxiety, confusion, lust. The latter would intensify very quickly after her change, until every other sentiment would cease to exist, cease to matter.

He had hoped she’d come to realize she wasn’t dreaming, hoped her subconscious would come to terms with her psyche long before she’d arrived here. But it was obvious she was clueless.

Most werewolf parents chose not to break the news to their children of their birthright, preferring they enjoy a normal childhood—and indeed, for a short time, adulthood— for as long as possible.

But in his experience, it was better a werewolf knew and accepted who they were well before their first complete transition on their twenty-fifth birthday. Well before the thrall of the full moon, and its sexual pull, overcame them.

Even now, unbeknownst to her, the male in him was stimulating her senses, inciting her change and a deep yearning for her wolf-mate.

His hunger for her was twofold.

He whined again, watching her stumble outside, her hands pressed to her belly. He lifted his snout, scenting the air, tasting her pheromones. Need lanced straight to his loins, turning his whine into a barely restrained howl.

But he would not approach her now. Her transition was almost upon her. The agony of change would, for a few minutes at least, override all else.

The woman abruptly flung back her head, the moonlight flooding her pale face. She spread her arms wide and laughed aloud, spinning like a top to a rhythm she had yet to understand.

His eyes narrowed, distorting the vivid abstract colors of his werewolf sight.

It was time to make himself known.

Elyse Wellston laughed again, the sound even more discordant and shrill. No surprise. She’d known these last few days she was going stir-crazy. Her emotions, already shot to pieces, had been seesawing right off the charts.

After close to five years living with a possessive, carefully masked madman, she’d chosen now to fall to pieces? She was only glad Caleb, her monster of a fiancé—ex- fiancé—hadn’t yet succeeded in tracking her down to witness her slide into insanity.

She swallowed. If she stuck to her plan, stayed solitary, invisible, she had at least half a chance to outmaneuver his far-reaching tentacles, his powerful influence.

Her belly cramped, much more painfully than what she’d experienced just minutes earlier. She bent over double. Laughter skidded into a strangled gasp, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip. Pain, sharp and intense, exploded behind her eyes, a tunnel vision of swirling, too- brilliant colors.

Her legs collapsed beneath her and she slumped to her knees with a groan, her throat convulsing, her skin rippling.

What is happening to me?