Revo's Property

By Angelique Voisen

No rules. No regrets. Live without giving a fuck about yesterdays and tomorrows. That’s the motto of the Hellhounds MC.

Around Wolf County the werewolf riders are the law and they don’t take well to outsiders. When Revo, the club VP and pack beta, sniffs out an incubus feeding on the townsfolk, duty demands he get his hands dirty. But the last thing Revo’s wolf is interested in is shedding blood. The beast wants to mate Ezra and claim him, while Revo’s human half is certain bonding himself to a soulless being is a one-way ticket to hell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Sep 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781772334883

Angelique Voisen

Angelique Voisen writes LGBTQ erotic romances and likes experimenting with different sub-genres. Her stories are often set in exotic settings and may include blades, fangs, kinky magic systems, and happily-ever-afters. Visit Angelique at www.angelvoisen.blogspot.com

Book preview

Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2015 Angelique Voisen

ISBN: 978-1-77233-488-3

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Katelyn Uplinger

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my readers, I hope you enjoy the first book in my new MC series.

REVO’S PROPERTY

Hellhounds MC, 1

Author Name

Copyright © 2015

Chapter One

Ezra Haines drove through the night. He didn’t know when his faithful black Buick could give out on him. It sputtered and shrieked through his long road trip, but tonight, it sliced through the cracked pavement like knife on butter.

Even his radio worked, but the only thing on were raspy sounding preachers belting out the same old tune of hell and damnation in some still-functioning radio tower. More importantly, nothing came at him. No mutated biological nasty popped from the sand, or came swooping down at him from the skies.

Ezra didn’t know how long his fortune would last, but he needed Lady Luck on his side for what he needed to do.

During the day, the desert rose on either side of him. A colorless and cheerless sprawl of red soil and sand, and Ezra could hardly see any trace of life. Night wove a different story because with the dark on either side of him, it was easy to forget the world had moved on. That he had a job to do and time was running out.

He rolled his windows down, let the air whip his hair and face, but his mood died down the moment his car passed from one country territory to the next. Ezra expected some sort of tollgate, barbed fences with armed men patrolling and asking uncomfortable questions maybe, but all he saw was the sign.

Ezra read it out loud. Welcome to Wolf County. Beware of werewolves. Warning noted. He scoffed, but an uneasy feeling crept down his bones.

Everyone in the West Territories knew the rules. Wolf County might welcome outsiders, but if any visitor broke the law, they didn’t face some self-elected official. They got run down by the Hellhounds MC, the werewolf bikers who ran Wolf County with an iron fist, and their notion of justice involved claws and teeth. Some folks Ezra passed by even said they ate human flesh.

He shivered. With his lax mood lifted, Ezra sat up higher in his seat.

Damn you, Echo. Why the fuck would you screw up our perfect system? I’m so sick of cleaning your messes. Ezra screamed out his frustration to the empty wind, and like always, no one answered him.

He had a gut feeling Echo still lingered in Wolf County, but the important question remained. How much damage had his twin left in his wake? Wolf County was different from the other towns Ezra passed by. Those in charge actually gave a damn about those under their protection. They wouldn’t turn one blind eye, let alone Echo slip past their fingers. They would demand payment for the damages incurred—retribution. A pound of flesh.

Up ahead, the roads remained broken and riddled with holes, but another surprise awaited him. Spaced out from one another, actual working lamps lit up the path into town. Ezra couldn’t even remember the last time he visited a town where electricity still worked.

He gripped the steering wheel hard and followed the lights. Blinking flashes of color from the corner of his eye made him slow the Buick. A few meters from him, a dirt path split from the main road and into an open lot lined with a few vehicles. This close, Ezra heard familiar noises—a woman’s rowdy laughter spilling through the night followed by drunken voices and loud country music. A roadhouse.

Perfect. He needed to feed, but unlike Echo, Ezra would be careful.

The last time he fed his inner demon and spiritual hunger had been three days ago. Slim pickings. Ezra parked in one of the free spots. Before he got out, he checked his reflection from the side mirror. Smoothed his hair and clothes, before sauntering out.

The moment he stepped through the doors, a couple of heads turned to his direction. Underneath the smell of cigarettes, beer, and vomit, he found his next happy meal. Musk. Sex. In the hidden corners, he found his targets. Two men mounting a whore on a table and a threesome going at it like mating snakes against the wall—mortals drowning too much in lust to notice anything around them.

Ezra stretched out his senses further. He found one weak fledging vampire gently feeding on the throat of a waitress, a couple of young shifters, but no one dangerous who could puzzle out what he was, or what he would take tonight.

You looking for some company tonight, boy? One grizzled man in his forties asked as Ezra walked past. Others didn’t speak, but propositioned him through the line of their bodies, the suggestive look in their eyes.

Ezra might look like walking jailbait, but wasn’t prey, at least with this bunch. He settled himself on a free stool by the bar.

What would it be? asked the burly bartender.

Local beer. Since the world ended, prosperous and functioning towns brewed their own liquid poison, and Ezra liked to taste each one and keep the bottle caps after. "Leave the cap please, I collect