Smutty Shifter Shorts: Books 1-5 Bundle (Paranormal Werewolf Shape Shifter Romance Short Story Anthology) Read online

  SMUTTY SHIFTER SHORTS: BOOKS 1 - 5 BUNDLE

  BBW PARANORMAL EROTIC ROMANCE

  BY

  ANYA NOWLAN

  Smutty Shifter Shorts: Books 1-5 Bundle is a

  The Mate - Book 1

  The Chase - Book 2

  Outcast’s Claim - Book 3

  Outcast’s Pride - Book 4

  Outcast’s Mate - Book 5

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  “I think you’ve got the wrong girl for this, Varo. I’m no wolf-mother,” she said, trying her best to keep any attitude out of her words. The man just chuckled and leant down, hovering above her head. He sniffed deeply, his lungs filling with her scent.

  “I can smell your heat on you already, Bridget. You want me inside of you and you will be my mate, it has been decided. Do not fight, it will only make it more difficult,” the man growled, his intense eyes boring a hole right into Bridget’s soul. She gulped again, the resolve melting from her under the commanding gaze of the beast. He was giving her no option, no chance to escape. It was either submit to his will, allow herself to be taken and dominated by this man with the heart of a wolf’s, or fight it and get the same outcome.

  Varo didn’t give her time to think further, the man cupping her chin in his hands and tilting her head back as he leant in for a kiss. His lips were soft and the touch intense, a burning heat gathering in Bridget the moment his lips met hers. She groaned against better judgment, her body sinking towards his. The man responded hungrily, taking her face with both hands and kissing her passionately. Bridget could hear the panting of the wolves around her, but with each second it seemed to matter less and less. He was mesmerizing and could not be ignored.

  His strong, padded hands trailed over her shoulders and chest, discovering her pale skin and lithe features. Her hands slowly dropped from her breasts to reach for his naked form, his cock now hard and ready to take her. He was magnificent in more ways than one. His huge cock more than enough, regardless of whether he was beast, man or both. The woman sighed breathily as his fingers rasped over her perky nipples, tracing their outline and rubbing them slightly. She was putty in his hands and she was annoyed at herself that it was so easy for him to take her, but he had been right in one regard. They did indeed have a connection, she had felt it long ago and her attraction to him had been irrefutable.

  Copyright © 2015 Anya Nowlan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Smutty Shifter Shorts

  Books 1 - 5

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover © Jack of Covers

  You can find all of my books here:

  Amazon Author Page

  www.anyanowlan.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THE MATE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE CHASE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  OUTCAST’S CLAIM

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  OUTCAST’S PRIDE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  OUTCAST’S MATE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  WANT MORE?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THE MATE

  SMUTTY SHIFTER SHORTS

  BOOK 1

  BY

  ANYA NOWLAN

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Rusty Nail was going through its usual paces. Joe, the angry but tolerable binge drinker, had taken up a seat at the first booth and was having a gay old time reciting all the things that were wrong in the world to a glass of beer and a shot of tequila (his 8th and 7th, respectively). Annie, the tired and soft-spoken waitress, was doing her best to dance around groping hands as she delivered her armfuls of chicken wings and beer. The place was not packed, it never was, but there was a steady buzz filling the air and the patrons seemed to be on their usual mediocre behavior.

  It was a beer joint like many other of its kind. The bar was long and inexpensive, covered with wood veneer to make it look like it came from a much more expensive place than it actually did. The scant lights dappled across the wide room cast a thoughtful yellow hue about it, making sure to leave plenty of dark corners for less tasteful activities. Pictures of semi-celebrities and newspaper clippings of various historical events lined the walls in place of anything better to put up there. And in the middle of it all, the fiery redheaded bartender did her job to the best of anyone’s ability.

  Bridget had a fast tongue and a sharp mind. She had a constant smile on her ruby lips and her blue eyes had a bit of a spark to them, betraying a lot more attitude than she may immediately let on. A collection of tattoos, discreet but noticeable, speckled over her skin from a wilder life she had now left behind herself. The bartender was in her late twenties, having recently returned to her small hometown, Devonlake. In her youth, she had thought that the small town life was not for her, but she quickly learned otherwise. Though the town was known for its oddities and strange happenings, it had always been kind to her, which was a lot more than she could say about the rest of the world.

  Having learned her lessons and tasted the more questionable side of life, she had come back running with her proverbial tail between her legs. Bridget settled in to live on a property her parents owned, making sure the house still stood upright instead of keeling over at the slightest wind, got a job and started living like it was appropriate for a young lady of her age. The Rusty Nail had been her best option for work. It skirted the line between being a mundane job and being on the edgier end of things, as much as one could be edgy in a tiny place like Devonlake. She didn’t mind it one bit, though. Barflies were easy to deal with and they rarely gave her any trouble, since she was the mystical being that held the access to the alcohol. She had a quick wit and making small-talk was not something she had to struggle with. Plus, she was fairly hot, so the tips were okay. Not too bad for a job like that.

  That particular Thursday night was turning into being one of the more interesting times at the bar in a long while. The familiar faces were all there, but some of the booths were lined with folks neither Bridget nor Annie could place. All of them looked like people who Bridget may have known from her earlier days, clad in leather and chains, some wearing matching bandanas and thick tattoos up their arms. Just the kind of crowd she would have gravitated towards some years ago. The oddest thing of all was that she kept noticing them throwing measuring glances at her, as if the whole group was sizing her up for something or another. It made her a bit uneasy, but she was determined to not let her mind play tricks on her and just ride it out.

  I’m not bad to look at, let them stare if it makes them feel better, she thought, polishing s
ome glasses, which were never going to look see-through again to begin with.

  Instead of obsessing about the questionable bunch giving her the evil-eye, Bridget turned her attention to her very favorite customer,, Varo. Over the course of several weeks, a brutally handsome biker type had started to frequent a bar stool that gave him an excellent view of the bartender. He only came on the nights when she was at work and Bridget had concluded that it was, in fact, to be taken as a bit of a compliment. He had jet black hair, falling a bit past his ears, striking amber eyes and a darker complexion. The man was positively built, taut muscles rippling under his t-shirt, and his hands were calloused. He wore worn jeans and a leather jacket, which should have made him look like a bit of a cliché, but he was anything but that.

  She hadn’t managed to coax a lot out of him. Apparently, he was the strong silent type, which was perfectly fine by Bridget. Bridget knew that he kept a careful eye on her and despite there being no obvious flirting (at least from his side) she could feel a deep, animal attraction between the two of them. If she were to meet him in a secluded alleyway, she would not be held responsible to the nasty things she was willing to do to him.

  Other than the questionable gang of would-be bikers giving her long, questioning looks, Bridget was having a fairly uneventful evening. She did her usual song and dance of flirting with Varo, which gave her little information about the man but left her stomach in knots, served some drinks and had a generally fine night. When it came time to close the place up, she hadn’t even gotten a lot of resistance. It was a pleasant change to the usual. At least once a week she would have to bring out the shotgun and make the boozers run for the hills (or wherever they lived) at the threat of having a lot less structural integrity after she was done with them. It seemed that the gruff gang of leather-clad strangers did enough to control the urges of the dazed and the confused and the Rusty Nail emptied out without a single incident.

  That wouldn’t be the end of Bridget’s night, however.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bridget locked up the bar after having finished with the till. The owner of the place didn’t trust anyone but the bartenders to handle it and so Bridget always had the uplifting opportunity of being the last one to leave. The waitresses had disappeared more than an hour ago and the cook had teetered off some time ago as well, clutching a whiskey bottle as per usual. The back door closed with a satisfying click and Bridget tucked the key into her pocket.

  It was a chilly night. The moon was full and it lit the streets with a subtle glow, casting meek shadows on Bridget’s path. Devonlake was tucked away near a small interstate highway, but it was mostly lost in a thick carpet of forest. Bridget’s house was a few miles from the bar and she had taken to using a small path carved out of the woods to reach it. She had a flashlight with her to light the way, but that night it was barely necessary. As she strolled down the road, somewhat sleepy but otherwise more than content with the day so far, she heard the howling of wolves reach her ears from not too far.

  Bridget stopped, listening intently for a moment. She frowned, considering her options before setting on the task of getting home again, now with a bit more urgency to her step. Wolves were not a common fixture near Devonlake and Bridget couldn’t remember having heard them howl before, especially not this close to the town.

  Must be the full moon, she thought, zipping up her jacket.

  The forest was becoming darker as it grew thicker, the moonlight not breaking through the heavy bows quite as easily anymore. A slight wind was blowing, swishing the treetops and obscuring noises. Bridget thought she could hear something rustling behind and to the sides of her, but she figured it was just a figment of her imagination. It didn’t keep her from picking up her pace even further, though. When the noises seemed to be coming closer, she broke into a run, clutching the flashlight in her shaking hand.

  Her red hair, set in a ponytail, whipped into her face and stuck to her skin as she sprinted down the familiar road, chased by something that for the time being was just a figment of her imagination. The dark forest swayed and creaked under the weight of the wind, filling the woman’s ears with the sound of leaves brushing against each other and mighty trunks swinging and moaning under the steady force. She was certain she could hear soft footsteps padding around her, barely in a trot compared to her breathless sprint. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, making her head swim with confusion. Panic was setting in, an emotion that rarely took hold of the confident bartender, and it fuelled her aching muscles to push harder.

  Suddenly, something appeared on the path some few dozen feet in front of her. It was the large form of a male wolf, its mane blackish grey and white half-moon crescents dappled under its eyes. The eyes were striking amber pools, ferocity and intensity sparkling back from the almost human expression. The beast stood taller than any wolf Bridget had heard about and her heart skipped a beat, her entire body overcome with primal fright. She let out a small scream as she skid to a halt in front of the big wolf, who stood with his head lowered and the hairs of his coat standing on end. The powerful jaws were exposed in a quiet growl, ears up as Bridget was confronted by a row of huge glistening white teeth.

  Her throat was dry and she could barely form a coherent thought, but the instinct of self-preservation was quick to take over. The lithe woman sprang into the underbrush to the side of the road and broken into a run again, blindly heading for whichever direction lead away from the horrific beast. She could feel tears welling in her eyes as she fought through the young trees and spiky bushes that grabbed at her clothes and hair.

  How do I get away, was the only thought that hammered in her head, her ears desperately listening for any more sounds other than the ruckus she was making.

  Sure enough, she could catch the gentle steps of creatures much better fitted for running through a dark forest at night. Bridget had dropped her flashlight when she jumped off the road, the lonely sliver of light abandoned by the roadside. She felt like her throat was constricting now, making her struggle for breath as her body protested against the mad dash. The redhead stumbled through the thicket, her hands and cheeks covered with small cuts, reaching a small clearing in the forest. She stopped for a moment, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Stark blue eyes glanced around in terror, looking for anything that would grant her safety, but there was nothing to be found.

  Before she had time to react, the massive forms of several dozen wolves slowly appeared from all around her, from every direction of the unexpected gap in the thick woods. Her heart sank. There was nowhere to run. She could hear a steady growl behind her, nudging her forward, and the girl stumbled a few feet deeper into the soft grass, lit by the gentle moonlight. The wolves had formed a circle around her, blocking every possible exit. Even if she had not stopped at the edge of the clearing, it was obvious to her that she would have not made it far. She was just the simple prey, outplayed by a much stronger, wiser predator.

  The large male, who had jumped in front of her earlier, appeared from the shadows of the forest, the rest of the pack making room for him to pass through with quiet respect. In the pale light of the moon, he was even more impressive of a sight. The Alpha was imposing in every meaning of the word. His mane was long and lush, dark colors mixing together. A broad chest made way for powerful shoulders and back, long strong legs carrying him without a noise. His head was held high, intelligence in his eyes that the girl had thought was just a trick of the light before.

  How could this beast have such emotion and wisdom in its eyes?

  Bridget was paralyzed in place, her muscles burning with pain from the prolonged run, but more than ready to fight her way to freedom, as futile as the effort it may be. She swallowed drily, her gaze transfixed on the magnificent animal. He made his way towards the woman with long, languid steps, as if completely at ease with the situation. Bridget frowned again, her face pale with fear. The wolf looked squarely at her and the closer it got the more familiar he seemed. There was somethi
ng about the way he moved and the look in his eyes that reminded Bridget of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on who it could be.

  She barely had enough time to put up her hands in front of her face as the mighty beast leapt towards her, pushing her over on her back with strong paws. Bridget screamed out as she felt powerful jaws ripping at her clothes, tearing and pulling at the fabric. She tried to struggle but to no avail, the animal was holding her down and would not permit her to get out from under it. The cold nose touched against her skin and long sharp teeth tore her clothes until there was little more than rags covering the woman. She cried desperately, her voice resounding through the forest and echoing back, no one there to hear her scream aside from the wolves surrounding her.

  Finally, the beast stopped, Bridget left in strips of fabric that did nothing to conceal her supple young body. Her breath was ragged and she dared not look out from behind her palms. It slowly dawned on her that she didn’t feel pain anywhere, there were no cuts other than a few stray scratches from the long nails. She peeked out from between her fingers and her eyes went wide with surprise. The large Alpha wolf was transforming before her very eyes. It was as if his coat was disappearing into his skin as he stood from four legs to two, the lean, powerful body changing into a much more familiar form. It took seconds, but to Bridget it may as well have been hours as she stared, mesmerized.