He's found his fated mate.
If only he could remember her…
When Shane meets Bekah, and his wolf claims her, all the broken pieces of his life finally snap into place. He's ready to settle down, but his witch bandmates have fame on their minds and a sinister plan to achieve it.
No werewolf in his right mind would agree to summoning a demon to help them achieve stardom.
And if Shane's not with them, he's a liability…
All single mom Bekah wants from Shane is a one-night-stand with the sexy musician to help find the woman in her she's lost. Though their sizzling chemistry and his promises of tomorrow are enticing, she's not surprised when he ghosts her.
Until he shows up at her café with no idea who she is or how he got there.
Neither can deny their soul-deep connection, but an unknown menace has followed him to New Orleans. If he can't recover his memory, his fated mate--and the entire pack--will be in danger.
Can Bekah help Shane remember his past? Or will both their futures be in peril?
Coming November 26, 2019
With her gaze cast downward, she caught a glimpse of a pair of black leather boots stopping near her table. Her phone slipped back into her purse as she lifted her head and found Shane standing in front of her. His leather jacket hung open over a dark-gray V-neck T-shirt, and his torn jeans hung low on his hips in typical rock star fashion.
That same crooked, kissable grin tugged on his lips, making heat bloom below her navel. “Hello.” He slipped around the side of the table and settled into the empty chair. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but the bartender said you were drinking rosé.” A delectable accent lilted his speech as he set the glass of wine in front of her. “I’m Shane.”
“You’re British.” She clamped her mouth shut as heat flushed her cheeks. Way to go, Captain Obvious. Why don’t you tell him he’s male too?
“Guilty.” He chuckled. “I’m also a musician, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
She gazed into his eyes, trying to remember how to form a coherent sentence. A thread of yellow encircled his pupils, shattering in a starburst pattern to blend with the deep green of his irises. The fine lines on the outer edge of his eyes crinkled, deepening as his smile widened.
Swallowing the dryness from her mouth, she pulled herself together. “I’m Bekah.”
“Bekah. That’s a pretty name.” In typical English fashion, he added an imaginary R sound to the end of her name, and in typical American girl fashion, her heart fluttered at the sound of his accent. “Is it short for Rebekah?”
“No, it’s just Bekah.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bekah.” If he didn’t stop saying her name like that she might start running a fever.
He reached a hand toward her to shake, and she paused, making sure she had her empathic ability in check before accepting the gesture. His magical signature registered on her skin, but nothing more. She’d rather not know his true emotions at the moment.
“Hmm. Are you…?” He held onto her hand a beat longer than necessary.
Her stomach fluttered as she slipped from his grasp. “Second-born. Yes.” First-born wolves had a strong signature, but those that couldn’t shift gave off a more muddled magic and were often mistaken for witches.
He rubbed his beard and let out an unbelieving chuckle. “Beautiful woman, beautiful name, and a werewolf too. It’s no wonder you’ve piqued my interest.”
She ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “Oh, I’ve piqued your interest, have I?” It had been ages since she’d been the object of anyone’s flirtation, but this sure did seem like flirting. A buzzing sensation spread beneath her skin, curving her lips into a smile she couldn’t have fought if her life depended on it.
He leaned toward her, resting a forearm on the table. “Very much.” He had a warm, woodsy scent mixed with leather and a hint of the sea, and she found herself drifting toward him, drawn in by his presence.
“Yo, Shane. Two minutes,” the lead singer called from the stage.
“Bloody hell.” He closed his eyes for a long blink and let out an exasperated sigh.
Bekah stifled her giggle, clearing her throat to cover it.
He arched a brow. “Something funny?”
“That’s such a British thing to say. ‘Bloody hell.’ I can’t imagine hell being anything but bloody.”
“You’re making fun of me?” He straightened and took a long drink from his beer, watching her with an amused expression over the bottle as he held it to his lips.
“Not making fun. It’s cute.”
“Oh, come on. With your looks alone, you’re a ten. Then you open your mouth, and that deep voice with the sexy accent comes out, and women’s clothes probably fall off on their own.”
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze smoldering as he swept it up and down the length of her. “Yours are still on.”
They wouldn’t be for long if he kept looking at her like that, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. In the ten minutes she’d known the man, he was doing a damn good job of finding the woman in her she’d lost. A sexy musician, one night of passion, and then she’d go home and be a mom again. A little fun wouldn’t hurt her.
With her elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her hand. “I guess you’ll have to try a little harder if you want them off.”
Passion sparked in his eyes so primal it pulled the breath from her lungs. She’d never been so drawn to a man in her entire life, and the temptation to touch him, to use her ability to see if he felt the same, had her fisting her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t intrude in his emotions when hers were running so high. She might not be able to separate his from her own.
He slid his arm across the back of her chair and leaned in, his breath warming her ear. “If that’s a challenge, love, consider it accepted.”
Oh, lord, what have I done? Her body hummed in anticipation as she turned her face toward his. “Good luck.”
His gaze drifted to her lips. “Won’t need it.”