Ethan: Kensington Cove World, #1

By April A. Luna

**This book is suitable for readers 18+ and contains cursing, strong sexual tension, and adult language/content.**

Lupine shifter Ethan Cotter, a member of the Shoshone clan, has a problem. And that curvaceous problem, with long, tantalizing legs has a name, Sadie Reed.

Sadie Reed, orphaned at birth, never knew her true family, but a clue sends her running to Kensington Cove. The day she arrives, a driving mishap lands her in the arms of one hot, sexy, leather-clad biker, Ethan Cotter.

The wolf in him stirred the moment they met. But Ethan's worried his secret will scare her off. But Sadie has secrets of her own, secrets that will turn Kensington Cove into a battle zone for supremacy.


**Ethan is the adult version of the Kensington Cove World series by April A. Luna, the mainstream fiction name of author Michelle L. De La Garza. If you prefer sex free-books (for ages 14+), then the Michelle L. De La Garza's Kensington Cove Realm version of Sadie for you.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: DLG Publishing Partners
• Release date: Mar 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393079323

Book preview

1

Killing Spree

Ethan Cotter

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The metallic scent of blood lingers, and the coppery taste coats his tongue and mouth, which only serves to wake his inner beast. On edge, Ethan, still sitting on his motorcycle, scans the area.

Overgrown brush, comprising mainly mesquite trees, thorny shrubs, and tall grass, comes into view.

None of the vegetation sets off his senses, not even the lingering blood from a recent kill holds his attention. Nope, not this time! It’s the residual stench of an unknown lycan that sends his predatory instincts on heightened alert.

Ethan removes his helmet and hangs it off a handlebar.

An early evening breeze blows through his hair, cooling his scalp. The wind brings with it a familiar scent. One that belongs to a local human rancher.

He engages the kickstand, swings one leg over his bike, then rises to the full height of six-two. Long strides across the shoulder, takes him to the edge of the ditch.

Sidestepping, he makes his way down, heading for one of several worn wooden posts holding up the barbed wire fence.

He grabs the lower wire, pushing it down just enough to slip between the created opening. Once on the other side, he continues his journey to the aged human, Jeb Snyder, standing over a tangled mass of fur-covered legs less than ten-feet away.

Thanks for comin’ out, Ethan. The man’s southern drawl rings in Ethan’s ears.

Ethan nods, then he kneels into a squat to inspect the slash marks carved into the abdomens and necks of the two mutilated calves.

Anytime, Jeb. Head down, Ethan continues examining the specimens. I’m always happy to help a fellow neighbor.

Two sets of legs, eight in all, protrude from a single birthing sack. The outer shell of the tiny hooves, still soft, feel like rubber bands.

Did you know she was carrying twins? Moving a leg, Ethan follows a deep slash over the abdomen of one of the conjoined twins.

Yeah. Jeb Snyder spits a wad of snuff-infused saliva. I suspected as much a little over a month ago.

They’re small, even for newborns. His eyes shift to the larger of the two, taking in the three bite marks on the neck. The first or second strike more than likely broke its while missing the jugular, but the third tore out the calf’s throat.

From the amount of pooled blood, the twins must have shared a blood supply. Probably took only minutes for the younglings to bleed out.

Betty here wasn’t due to give birth for another couple of weeks. Jeb pats the mother cow’s neck, then loops a rope around her head. Isn’t that right, ‘ol girl?

How’d you find them? A scan of the dried topsoil revealed the tracks of a few scavengers, such as a small fox, and a coyote or two, but the larger canine print, the one made by the rogue lycan, drew my eye.

When Betty didn’t come home, I went looking for her. Jeb coils the rope around his calloused hand, taking out the slack. This is the second attack on my property in as many weeks. Plus, the Taylors had a colt taken down just five days ago.

I heard about that.

Well, a few of us landowners are thinking of getting together and hunting the animal who did this. You and your brother are welcome to join us. He pauses. It sure is a shame. Jeb shakes his head. As a rancher, you expect a loss now and then when food is scarce. But that isn’t the case here. No. This animal isn’t hunting for food. Nope. It’s killing for the sport.

The phone in Ethan’s pocket vibrates against his leg. He rises, fishes the device free, and then checks the call log.

Cole’s number sprawls across the screen. He’s Ethan’s older brother—or parental shadow, as he likes to refer to him. Hello.

What’d you find out? Cole’s voice booms in Ethan’s ear. Was it a coyote?

Nope. Afraid not. Ethan walks away from Jeb.

No sense in a human overhearing the conversation. The content’s not meant for his kind’s ears.

Lycan? asks Cole.

Yep. Ethan ducks under the barbed-wire fence.

You leaving? Jeb leads Betty to the edge of the property. He leans against a post.

Yeah. Ethan heads to his motorcycle parked on the shoulder next to the road. Let me know when you rally the other ranchers, he shouts over a shoulder at Jeb. You have my number.

I’ll call you.

The sun is setting, and soon, it’ll be dark. He mounts his bike, then heads off down the road.

Drawing in a deep breath, he catches traces of the lycan.

Fucking rogue asshole. The words roll around in his head.

Kensington Cove has always had visiting lupines and lycans. But lately, the town has had more than its fair share of both, especially lycans without a clan. And the Kweo are always more than willing to add another stray to their cause. That makes the clan unpredictable, unlike his brethren, the Shoshone.

Hell. If it were up to the Alpha of the Kweo, the masquerade would’ve ended long ago.

Shadows of darkness dance around him.

He flips on his headlight and adjusts his helmet.

A single beam cuts through the night.

In the distance, the lights of a car peek over the hill. It swerves, and its headlights flicker.

Fucking kids, he breathes under his breath.

For the last several months, a group of human teens have made the trip down the road to park at The Point—a bluff overlooking the town—a situation he and Cole will have to remedy much sooner than later because of the rogue stray.

Ethan slows at the private entrance to his property, then stops.

The twin headlights continue to blink on the winding road.

Fuck.

Cole will bitch if I don’t do something about them.

In the twilight of the early evening, he pulls out and sets a course to intercept the teens.

2

A Day Late; A Dollar Short

Sadie Reed

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Turn right. Sadie Reed’s pink and purple cell phone’s navigation system pierces the interior silence of the QX50 Infinity.

The car continues to coast in the dark over an unfamiliar rural Texas road. Fingers wrapped tightly around the wheel, Sadie takes a sharp right.

Would it kill ya to give an advance notice next time?

The car’s bald, smooth tires screech over the pitted two-lane road, then she skids off the shoulder.

Her backpack purse topples over and lands with a thump on the floorboard, spilling the contents.

Oh, great. That’s just fucking great!

A quick glance in the rearview mirror reveals an undisturbed pile of clothes on the backseat.

Well, she said with a heavy sigh. At least nothing else avalanched.

Plastic hangers of all different shapes, colors, and sizes stick out of her clothing in every direction. In hindsight, she wonders if she should’ve taken more time to pack things neater, but when late on rent and fleeing one’s apartment without notice, time becomes a luxury, one she couldn’t partake in.

Moving to the ranch in Kensington Cove hadn’t been on her agenda today. Hell, she still had things to do and wanted to save more money before leaving San Antonio, Texas.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the plan, not today.

A single sigh leaves her lips. She should’ve known something was up when Gus, at the Five and Dine Café, called her into his office. During that fifteen-minute ‘pep talk,’ her life had turned from semi-crap to, well, a healthy heaping of shit that, if left alone, would surly run downhill.

Gotta cut corners, he was mumbling something about losing money and an overstaffed crew as if that shit had mattered to her.

She recalls something a past school counselor had told her. When one door closes, another opens.

If that’s true, she sure as shit hoped it would lead to something far better than working two jobs for little pay. But who was she to complain? Between working for Gus and the gas station, she made enough to pay the bills, almost always late, but hey, she paid them eventually.

At least at Gus’ place, he let her eat a meal there each day. So, that kind of helped supplement her food bill. But now, she found herself at the crossroad of change. She could stay in San Antonio, and try to find another crappy paying job, or take another path. And truthfully, she could find a shitty job anywhere.

So, it’s not as if she had anything to lose. Plus, without a job, there’s nowhere to live. Homelessness doesn’t rank high on her list of things to experience, again. And it damn sure isn’t an accomplishment—not one she wants to be added to her resume or bucket list.

Growing up in the foster care system teaches one to never count on staying in one place for too long, which suits her fine, but now, things are differ.

Where she’s heading leads to an actual home—to a family ranch, roots unknown to her, which is cool. Unfortunately, her ancestral line runs slim, or so the attorney says, because they’re all dead.

So, once again, she hit a brick wall in finding out about where she’s from and who her people were.

I’m a day late and a dollar short, she thinks.

But, at least, this time, she’s running to her own place instead of leaving someone else’s, and she’s got the paperwork to prove it.

The cell inside the cracked phone holder attached to the air vent shows the next turn