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?