Preferred Prey - Bite of the Moon: Sons of Fenris MC BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance, #1

By Erika Masten

Preferred Prey (Sons of Fenris 1 ~ Bite of the Moon ~ BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance)

For a girl with extra curve, walking into a dive strip club that caters to the shifters of the Sons of Fenris Motorcycle Club is just like ringing a dinner bell for hungry wolves.

But a curvy latent werewolf’s gotta do what she’s gotta do or else end up prey herself.

Tabitha is ready to embrace the transformation from latent wolf to full-on shifter. If the only wolf shifters she can find to make that happen are also the most vicious breed, the Fenris Wolves, so be it.

Walking into the den of iniquity for the SoF, however, also means seeing him again—Finn.

He was the beautiful long-haired boy who grew into her first crush and her protector, but he was also the savage Fenris Wolf who nearly took her life when he turned. The first sight of him in more than four years is enough to bring all her fears and desires back to the surface right when she needs to show no weakness.

Is Tabitha really there to be turned, or has she really come looking for Finn?

Is it her dearest fantasy or her deepest dread come to life when the devious and paranoid MC president, Mick, orders Finn to deliver the bite meant to turn Tabitha? If he bites her, he might have to kill her, no matter how much of his heart she has already claimed.

Preferred Prey is the first standalone—NO CLIFFHANGER—erotic novella in the Sons of Fenris BBW paranormal shape shifter romance series by bestselling erotica and erotic romance author Erika Masten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sticky Sweet Books
• Release date: Nov 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519976635

Erika Masten

I'm the girl next door with an unexpected wicked streak (and an addiction to sexy high heels). I love turning forbidden desires and secret fantasies into erotic tales with literary flare and a dirty mouth. Let me tell you a naughty story...

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Copyright © 2015 Erika Masten

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Erika Masten

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Website: http://erikamasten.com

Blog: http://erikamasten.blogspot.com

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Published by Sticky Sweet Books. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental.

Warning: Explicit content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted herein are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature. This is a work of erotic fantasy. In real life, please protect yourself and your lover by always practicing safe sex.

Preferred Prey (Sons of Fenris 1 ~ Bite of the Moon ~ BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance)

For a girl with extra curve, walking into a dive strip club that caters to the shifters of the Sons of Fenris Motorcycle Club is just like ringing a dinner bell for hungry wolves.

But a curvy latent werewolf’s gotta do what she’s gotta do or else end up prey herself.

Tabitha is ready to embrace the transformation from latent wolf to full-on shifter. If the only wolf shifters she can find to make that happen are also the most vicious breed, the Fenris Wolves, so be it.

Walking into the den of iniquity for the SoF, however, also means seeing him again—Finn.

He was the beautiful long-haired boy who grew into her first crush and her protector, but he was also the savage Fenris Wolf who nearly took her life when he turned. The first sight of him in more than four years is enough to bring all her fears and desires back to the surface right when she needs to show no weakness.

Is Tabitha really there to be turned, or has she really come looking for Finn?

Is it her dearest fantasy or her deepest dread come to life when the devious and paranoid MC president, Mick, orders Finn to deliver the bite meant to turn Tabitha? If he bites her, he might have to kill her, no matter how much of his heart she has already claimed.

CHAPTER ONE

This whole plan wasn’t just a bad idea. It was the mother of bad ideas. It was the fanged and furred, snarly, growly, tear-a-girl’s-throat-out father of all bad ideas. And it was all Tabitha’s doing, with no one else to blame.

Maybe that fact wasn’t entirely apparent just from the way Jiminy, the overdressed club manager cum psycho concierge, bellowed at her all the time. Taffy! Taffy, front and center! Tabitha knew well enough he meant her.

Taffy? Seriously? In the three weeks she’d worked at the dive strip bar, he’d only gotten Tabitha’s name right twice, by accident. But Taffy? What was it about the plus-size but still athletic waitress who made a point of never smiling and never flirting that came off as a Taffy? Was it the blond hair? Because that wasn’t a bleach job, and she didn’t have a My Little Pony tramp stamp or even neon pink nails with matching frosted eyeshadow, honest.

Perhaps, then, her folly should have been clear when the manager pounded his fist on the bar and shouted again over the suggestively thrumming music. Taffy, get your ass over to VIP. You’re serving.

Instead of really listening to that order—paying attention to where Jiminy was sending her—Tabitha fumed as she glared over her shoulder at the red-faced man. His fleshy, clean-shaven cheeks practically glowed over the stiff collar of his dress shirt. Bluster in a business suit. She had to wonder if he actually got those shirts starched, the ones he wore with his absurdly professional navy blue suits and ties. A little overdressed for presiding over bikers and petty thugs buying cheap beer and lap dances on a hole in the wall on the bad side of town.

Tabitha stood behind the bar with Jim Neece—Jiminy, the anti-conscience of the bar patrons—not ten feet away, as she wiped down the poorly washed glasses for the night. He scanned the crowd for his staff and skimmed right past her. Story of her life. The girl was always just one more warm body, someone to serve drinks, someone to kick around, a notation on the memo line of a foster care check, but no one who warranted actual notice or a name of her own.

Shaking her head with an irritated swish of her ponytail along her shoulder blades, the waitress whipped her dishrag down onto the bar and snatched up her tray. She used up every ounce of restraint she had resisting the urge to smack Jiminy in the back of the head with the plastic disk.

Taffy!

I’m going, she said, snapping back at the man she knew would forget her minutes later. And it’s Tabitha.

Jiminy didn’t seem to notice that last comment or her use of the tray to shield herself from his scrutiny as she slipped behind and past him. For the last few nights, he’d been after her over her waitressing uniform not being tight enough or small enough. Like a thin white tank top and a pair of flouncy black shorts qualified as a uniform. Only in a strip club. As it was, one good yank from an aggressive patron, and Tabitha was in danger of joining the lineup of strippers. She just didn’t see that working out for a girl with a little too much curve and, by her own estimation, at least one too many X’s on the size tag of her clothing. Not that the crowd at Skin seemed to mind; all the most popular dancers there were big girls. Go figure.

The fact that Skin even had a VIP section, a cordoned off alcove centered on its own stripper pole, seemed ludicrous to Tabitha as she dodged and wove her way through the club’s obstacle course of booths, tables, and handsy patrons. A maximum security block would have been more in order. It was a biker bar, for chrissake. Not just any biker bar, obviously, or she wouldn’t have taken a job there even to keep herself from starving. Getting into Skin as either a dancer or a waitress were the only options Tabitha had if she was going to find the men she was looking for without becoming one of their victims—and even this route posed its risks.

And that was what Tabitha should have kept in focus as she hurried up the steps into the VIP section with her high heels clacking loudly on the black tile. The floor reflected dingy flashes of color from the neon stage lights. She tended to keep her eyes trained on her order pad and those lights, to discourage patrons who equated eye contact with a come hither invitation to grope.

How long do you think you can keep this up, Tabitha? She was hardly earning anything because she wouldn’t put out for these creeps. Carrying a baseball bat just to get back and forth from the club to her car. Did she really think getting tangled up with the Sons was going to change anything? Once a throwaway kid, always a throwaway kid. Maybe they just didn’t want or need another mongrel in their pack.

Anxious questions and doubts swirled in Tabitha’s head, but the only one she asked out loud was, What can I get you?

Avoiding eye contact as usual, she had asked the first pair of black motorcycle boots she’d found, on the VIP patron sitting closest to the steps up into the alcove. When she didn’t immediately hear an answer shouted gruffly over the music, Tabitha braced herself, pen poised. This was usually the pause before the smarmy pick-up line about whether or not she was on the menu. On bad nights, the rowdier clientele went straight for lewd propositions and graphic descriptions of what they’d gladly do to her in the alley behind the bar. With the way the guys in Skin behaved, a girl could have gotten to think that chubby was the new in thing. Or maybe that was just the nature of strip clubs, with the men there hitting on anything with a vagina.

Another few seconds passed with no response. That was the point when Tabitha looked up, and realized, and really truly entirely understood what a bad fucking idea all this was. With shaggy raven hair and shoulders out to there, Mick Lebeau, president of the city’s most brutal motorcycle gang—sorry, motorcycle club—caught Tabitha’s breath and heartbeat with the terrible intensity of a wordless black glare.

It was him. Them. The Sons. Shifters. Wolves.

Tabitha, for all the cruelty and beatings she’d taken in her life, had never flinched back just from a look, until then. His eyes did seem utterly black, though she knew they must have been very dark brown, set beneath a firm brow and careless waves of hair. Even knowing the man’s name, who he was and what he was, Tabitha hadn’t expected... any of this. Not the gleaming eyes or how much like prey she’d feel with them trained on her. Not the stony expression or the wide-set planes of his handsome face darkened by bristle so fine it was hard to tell stubble from shadow. Not the eerie motionlessness that so reminded her of a wolf studying a helpless deer.

A helpless deer. Yes, that was exactly what Tabitha felt like as she glanced quickly around her, judging how much space she had between this predator and herself. They were there with him, several more of the Sons, all watching one of the girls slithering up and down the VIP pole. Tabitha recognized Garik, the gang’s enforcer, black hair and light eyes and also too