Bite the Big Heartache: Werewolf Shifter Romance (A Monstrana Paranormal Romance Book 2) Read online

  Bite the Big Heartache

  A Monstrana Paranormal Romance

  Book #2

  Lacy Andersen

  A Bite Out of Love

  Copyright 2018 by Lacy Andersen

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  First Edition

  Cover by Molly Burton

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Bite the Big Heartache (A Monstrana Paranormal Romance, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Something Fishy About Love FREE SNEAK PEEK

  About the Author

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  Chapter One

  Werewolf Princess Stasia Pavlosky was going to be fired from her job. Today. She could feel it in her bones. There was something in the air at Lochness Broadcasting Network. A nervous feeling that made every employee sweat and left the bosses itching to put the ax down on the first person they caught sipping too long at the water station or smiling a little too hard.

  As if on cue, station manager Travis Treckle came stomping down the aisles between the two dozen work stations, a tremendous scowl etched permanently into his pudgy face. He tugged at his sagging khaki pants and rubbed a swollen hand across his belly. Stasia averted her gaze to stare at the mess of papers spread out across her desk, but it was too late. Mr. Treckle’s beady little eyes had zoomed in on her the moment he entered the room and he marched to her side.

  “Where are we with that new comedy club hour slot?” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly.

  To anyone outside the supernatural haven island of Monstrana Kingdom, he would appear as nothing more than a grumpy, middle-aged blond man with crooked teeth and a sullen attitude. But Stasia knew better. Her boss was of the troll variety, descended from the awful creatures of legend that guarded bridges and preyed on the weak traveler. He loved to lord his superiority over her, even if she was the crown werewolf princess. At the network, he was king, and she was nothing but a peon desperate to get her footing in the entertainment world.

  “We’re having trouble getting enough sponsors,” Stasia said, jumping to her feet. She towered over the troll by at least a foot. Her dark, curly brunette hair bounced around her head like it had a mind of its own. She blinked her large, honey-brown eyes at him and grimaced. “The witches’ circle is still sore about that interview we ran with a Salem supporter last month and the vampires aren’t interested in sponsoring late night shows unless it features Jimmy Kimmel. Did you know that dude’s a vampire sympathizer? Who knew?”

  Mr. Treckle squinted at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. “What’s the problem, then? In my day, the boys in the office would’ve already tackled the issue and found us three new sponsors. Do your job, Ms. Pavlosky, or I will find a man who can do it for you.”

  Stasia tried not to let her smile dim. Behind the cheerful expression, she entertained thoughts that sounded much like those of her best friend and co-ruler of the Monstrana crown — Vampire King Viktor Romanov. Throw him in the castle dungeon for a few nights. See if he’s so big and tough after that. Her coworkers certainly wouldn’t mind.

  Instead, she took a cleansing breath and nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

  Mr. Treckle harrumphed and gave her one last disapproving scan, starting at her designer leather boots, up her black satin leather pants, and over her baby pink sweater with bows printed on the front. She managed not to squirm under his scathing gaze.

  “And Myra wanted to give you the rogue alpha story?” he grumbled, turning his back on her. “What utter nonsense.”

  Myra was the station’s head of editing and a fierce vampire to boot. Not to mention, a rising star in the industry. She was the only person who didn’t cower under Mr. Treckle and had taken quite a liking to Stasia ever since the Vampire Bachelor segment they’d run last year featuring Prince Viktor and his lady suitors.

  It had been Stasia’s best idea yet and the most rewarding. The country had fallen in love with Prince Viktor and his wonderful mate, Cate. On top of it all, Stasia had been able to witness her closest friend fall in love. She could only wish that someday she’d be just as happy as the two of them.

  “What story did Myra want me to have?” She tripped over her boots as she ran after Mr. Treckle and knocked some papers off of a fellow worker’s desk.

  Her mother had always wondered at her lack of grace. Agility was a trait inherent to most of the werewolf kind, even in human form. It had missed her by a mile. The only time Stasia didn’t feel like a clumsy fool was in wolf form.

  Mumbling an apology, she shot after the troll again and cut off his retreat. “What story, sir?”

  He tugged at his pants and growled. “Nothing for you to concern yourself about.”

  “But Myra...”

  “Myra doesn’t know what’s best for this network,” he snapped.

  “Is that so?” a cool feminine voice replied.

  A woman about Stasia’s height stepped out from an office doorway and cocked her hip. She wore a skin-tight black pencil skirt and a satin blouse that fit her torso like a glove. A thin gold band encircled her right index finger — the customary magical ring of vampires which allowed them to walk in sunlight without burning. Long, strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face and she blinked long black eyelashes at the reddening troll.

  “I don’t...I didn’t...” The words came out of his mouth like the last ditch effort of a dying lawn sprinkler. Blood filled his cheeks and he snarled. “If you hadn’t so rudely interrupted, you would’ve seen that I was just about to give Stasia the job.”

  “Good, good.” She approached him with the steadiness of a predator. Her eyes narrowed and her red lips formed a disapproving frown. “Because with Princess Anastasia as the lead on this interview, I believe we’d really see public engagement. And with your falling numbers as of late, I’m sure you’ll take all the help you can get.”

  Mr. Treckle’s face changed from red to purple. He sputtered out a few mumbled words that sounded suspiciously like troll curses and then threw a nasty glance Stasia’s way.

  “Don’t mess this up,” he
spat. “Check in with me every day. I want to know your every move.” And then he was gone, off to stalk another poor unsuspecting employee, no doubt.

  Stasia turned with wide eyes toward Myra and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “A spot on our Nightline show,” she answered with a knowing smile. “An interview by the Werewolf Princess Anastasia Pavlosky with the lone alpha werewolf who abandoned his American pack after a harrowing battle with hunters. According to my sources, he’s just resurfaced in the tiny little Monstranian village of Molodoy. This is perfect for you.”

  Stasia swallowed hard and felt the energy drain from her body. It had been years since she’d stepped foot in Molodoy. Back then, she’d been young and foolish. A teenager angry with her family and wanting to run away from it all. She hadn’t even had her first moon yet.

  That’s where she’d met him, the only boy to ever truly understand her. Or, at least, that’s what she’d thought at the time. But he’d turned out to be just as big of a phony as the rest. And when her parents had finally hunted her down and brought her back home to the castle, she’d tried to erase him from her past. But memories never truly died. They just slept below the surface, waiting to punch her in the gut at the most inconvenient times.

  “Is something wrong?” Myra ran her tongue slowly over her top teeth, revealing a set of razor sharp fangs. “I hope you’re not getting cold feet. I thought you wanted this.”

  “I do, I do.” Stasia shook her crown of curls and set her jaw in a determined expression. “There’s nothing wrong. This story sounds perfect. What else do we know?”

  Myra smiled approvingly and then pulled a slip of paper from her blouse pocket. “Not much, to be sure. I’m not even confident I have a real name for him. William is all my sources uncovered. But they’re pretty sure this is his address. I’m afraid this one is going to be a tough nut to crack. He likes his privacy.”

  She took the piece of paper with an address scrawled in dark ink across the front. “What should I do?”

  “Go to Molodoy, spend a few days buttering him up. Use your feminine wiles if you have to.” Myra winked salaciously and Stasia felt her cheeks grow pink. “Then, get the interview. I’m afraid Mr. Treckle has only agreed to spare one camera man for this trip.” She made a face and rolled her hazel eyes. “...the cheapskate. He is unfortunately also in charge of your final product, so try your best to work around his brutish behavior.”

  “On it.” She saluted Myra with two fingers, the excitement returning to her rapidly pulsing heart.

  This could be her ticket off the ground floor of the Lochness Broadcasting Network. Nail this, and she could have her own segment. Her own show. She’d be the Oprah of the supernatural realm. Already, she pictured herself smiling graciously up at an adoring crowd and giving away shiny new cars. A car for you and a car for you!

  Molodoy wouldn’t intimidate her. She had this in the bag.

  “Perfect.” The vampiress sidled over to her office door and paused a moment, glancing over her shoulder. “This is a once in a lifetime interview, Stasia. I’ve never heard of an alpha leaving his pack, except in a change of leadership. There’s a story here. Something dark and compelling. I can feel it in my undead heart. Find the dirt.”

  “Absolutely.” She crumbled the paper in her hand. “I won’t let you down, Myra.”

  “I know, my dear.” A smile tugged at one corner of her blood-red lips. “That’s why I put my neck on the line for you. Forgive the pun, but I’m confident you’ll sniff out this story.”

  As soon as the lithe woman disappeared into her office, Stasia pumped her fist high in the air and mouthed a silent hurrah. Feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes, she turned on her heel to discover the entire floor staring at her. She pushed her hair out of her face and she gave them a dazzling wolfish smile. Nothing could get her down today. She was on her way.

  Chapter Two

  Billy Finley rounded the doors to his garage and cursed at the mutilated hunk of metal and chrome leaking oil on his driveway. The teenager who’d driven this once beautiful truck into the ground should’ve been strung up naked in the middle of the woods by his ankles. He would make a perfect meal for the enchanted swarm of giant mosquitoes that escaped from an illegal magical trading shop just last month.

  That would serve him right.

  He whistled low and gave the Nissan Titan pickup one slow circle and then looked down at the invoice order in his hands. The teenager’s dad was a rich man who didn’t seem to think twice about putting such a luxurious and expensive vehicle in the hands of his reckless son.

  Still, Billy couldn’t complain. This was going to be a big job. He needed the new business. And he needed the cash.

  “Sorry, old girl,” he said, patting the truck on what remained of its hood, “but you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow morning. It’s quitting time.”

  Right then, he wanted nothing more than to ramble on over to his one-bedroom house attached to the garage, open the fridge, and press his lips to the mouth of an ice cold long-necked bottle. It was how he ended most days now. Quiet and alone. So unlike his months spent in America, preparing for the role as alpha of a diminishing werewolf pack. But that felt like a lifetime ago and it was a life he preferred to forget.

  “Yoo-hoo!”

  Billy’s whole body cringed when he heard the customary greeting of Madge, the town witch. She was as old as the hills and looked even older. All that was left of her family was an equally elderly sister who didn’t seem to have the time to make many visits home from her city apartment, leaving Billy as Madge’s only form of entertainment.

  He turned slowly to see her scuttling up the drive, a black shawl hanging from her bony arms and a long skirt tugged up over her massive belly. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, pressing a hand to her backside, and then called to him again.

  “Billy Finley, I really must engage your services,” she croaked.

  He resisted the urge to roll his green eyes and instead bit the inside of his cheek. “Yes, ma’am. What is it this time? Need help unloading the groceries? Can’t reach the mixing bowl?”

  She swatted a hand through the air. “No, I have another very particular request. If you could invite me into your home, I will explain.”

  He bit back a sigh and set down his clipboard. When he’d moved back home to Molodoy last month, he hadn’t intended on becoming the witch’s neighborly gopher boy, but old man Rick had just put his garage up for sale and Billy couldn’t turn down that deal. It had been the fresh start he needed. Just good old-fashioned hard work and no alpha duties. With a side of witchy interference.

  “Come on in, Madge.” He lumbered toward the side door and held it open for her.

  She stood at half his height with loose, wispy gray hair and more wrinkles on her face than the dress shirts stuffed in the dark reaches of his closet. Making a beeline for his two-person dining table, she used her elbow to sweep off the piles of old crinkled newspapers and waggled her fingers over the wooden surface. A worn book with black plastic ring binding appeared out of thin air.

  “Now, then.” She licked the tip of one crooked finger and began to flip through the pages. “I have just been informed that Mary Wirtz has returned home to Molodoy. She just purchased that yellow shuttered home across from the gas station.”

  He raised one eyebrow at her and migrated toward the fridge. “Yes...does she need some work done? I noticed last week when I drove by that the vinyl siding is cracked on the north side.”

  “No, no, no.” She waved her hand and squinted at him. Her gray eyes looked him over from top to bottom, as if scrutinizing his greasy cut off t-shirt, jeans, and work boots. “You’re what, about thirty-five years of age? And a little over six foot tall?”

  Six foot three to be exact, but he didn’t correct her. “That’s right...” He popped open the fridge and pulled out two bottles. “Drink?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. So
he put one back, screwed off the top of the other, and pressed the bottle’s mouth to his lips.

  “Well, your previous engagement is a bit of a bump in the road,” Madge continued, looking down at the scrawlings in her book, “but I’m sure Mary will still have you. All she requires is a werewolf of less than forty years with a proven track record of employment. The fact that you own your own business should be a bonus.”

  Billy spat out his drink and stared wide-eyed at the little witch. He’d heard rumors that Madge fancied herself the village matchmaker, but surely, she wasn’t trying to set him up. The last thing he needed was the drama of a relationship. He preferred his solitude. No girlfriend, no pack, no problem.

  “Wait just a minute...” he began once he could find his tongue again.

  “But of course, your cleaning skills leave much to desire.” Madge spoke right over him and swept the room with her critical gaze, paying particular attention to the collection of empty shopping bags on one side of the couch and the overflowing trash can next to the sink. “You’d have to join the local werewolf pack. There’s also the matter of personal grooming. We can’t deny that you lack in that necessary area.”

  He stuttered and found himself looking down at his own body to make sure they were both seeing the same thing. Yeah, he hadn’t shaved in at least six months and an unkempt beard and a shaggy hairstyle had been the product of that neglect. And sure, car grease had permanently soaked into his skin, making him look much darker than he normally did. But he owned a vehicle repair business. No one expected him to walk around smelling like frankincense.

  “You know what, Madge? I think my football game is about to start,” he said in a pitch entirely too high. “And, I’m sure you have lots of other bachelors to interview for Mary. Why don’t you make your rounds and then get back to me?”

  The old woman grimaced and clutched the book to her chest. “No, there are only two other candidates...”

  “Then, start there.” He herded her toward the door with his arms stretched wide. “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t want to think that you’ve phoned in your duty by giving her my information.”