About Two Howls
Author: Sean Michael
Word Count: 17400
Page Count (pdf): 65
Date Published: February 27, 2017
Publisher: Sean Michael
Series name and number: n/a
Max is on the run, but is he running from his past, or toward his future? Only Ulf knows…
Werewolf Max knows desiring males is wrong, but he can’t help himself. When his pack nearly kills him in an attempt to cleanse him, Max runs. Jumping on his motorcycle, he heads north.
Ulf has lived on his own in the wilds of Northern Ontario for a long time. When he catches the scent of a stranger in his territory, he’s angry at first, until he realizes that Max is more than just another werewolf. They’re mates.
Ulf must make Max believe that two males can be mates, but just as he’s about to succeed, Max’s past catches up with him. Will the home they’ve been hoping to build together be lost for good?
Originally released with another publisher.
Max Starling headed down the road, pushing his bike as fast as it would go. He’d burned every bridge ever built from Miami to Nashville to Detroit and now he was headed across the border.
Fucking assholes. Fucking liars. Fucking moon.
He made it past customs and into Canada around midnight, his body exhausted, his mind racing like his Harley. He’d whine about never finding a place to settle, but no place was big enough to handle the trouble that followed him like a mist.
He hadn’t bothered to stop in Toronto, roaring through the big city like the plague was following him. He didn’t even stop for a fucking coffee, just got the hell through the city and continued north. He’d gone damn far north, it seemed, leaving behind civilization and decent roads long ago. Which sucked, because, coffee.
His eyes were exhausted, burning and fuzzy around the edges. On top of that, it was going to be dark soon enough and he was going to have to find somewhere to stop and put his sleeping bag down. No way he could drive through another night. Not without falling asleep right there on his hog.
Not long after carefully crossing a less than stable wooden bridge onto a small, unpaved road, he found a trail—not even something as big as a road—and headed up it. There would be a place to shift, to cuddle in and sleep for a day or two. Surely there’d be something. Somewhere off-road where he wouldn’t be disturbed.
He thought he heard the howl of a wolf over the roar of his engine. Was that even possible? He guessed so. It was the Great White North, right?
He kept going, the trail he was on getting harder and harder to follow. So far he hadn’t found anything very sheltered, but he was far enough from the so-called road he’d left that he was possibly safe to stop. He’d give it a few more minutes.
Finally he gave up, turned his motor off and walked his bike off the trail into the woods. He stowed the bike, hiding it beneath some underbrush among the trees.
The wind blew hard, bringing leaves and scents with it. He’d never been anywhere that felt so deserted of humans.
Whatever. He just needed a safe place to sleep.
He grabbed his pack and started walking, heading up along the trail, eyes peeled for a place to hole up. Something dark that might be a building, or a larger rock, was off to the west, so he headed for it, delighted when it slowly coalesced into a log cabin.
Please be deserted. Please be deserted.
The door opened easily, the place empty. It smelled strongly of occupancy, though. Hell, it almost smelled like wolf. Dammit.
Still. One afternoon. Just let him get one afternoon of sleep and he’d be gone. Poof. He swore.
He stripped out of his leathers and got into his sleeping bag, curled up and went fuzzy. Oh, better. Sleeping. Just for a little while.