Page 1 of Wolf

Prologue

Lilli

A soft breeze rustles the trees before I hear the low rumble. Following the dull sound as it becomes a roar, vibrating the windows of our little church, I step off the curb and stop next to my sister.

Two children, playing on the swing set at the Bay River Elementary School across the street pause, their mothers chatting on the bench opposite turning.

Not much happens in our small town, untiltheyroll in. The good-for-nothing, rotten motorcycle club that Daddy insists has a one-way ticket to hell. I should know, I’ve seen him shake his fist as he complained about them for almost eighteen years.

The rough sound of their bikes becomes a crescendo that vibrates in my core, and I suppress a gasp at the sensation.

Beside me, Rachel huffs and shakes her head, while I grab my unruly hair and re-tie it in a knot. Truthfully, I've given up trying to understand why she cares about my hair, but if I’m not careful, Mama will be down my throat about it any minute now, which would completely ruin the moment. If keeping it back means I’m the modest young lady she wants me to be, it’s the easier way out. That’s for sure.

As if she can read my thoughts, Rachel touches her neatly tucked away hair, smoothing the nonexistent stray strands.

A revving motorcycle reminds me of my quest, and I search over the group, spellbound as the sun reflects off shiny chrome and hard muscle.

The Shadow Saints MC owns this town, or so my daddy says. He doesn't appreciate their presence and ensures his parishioners hear about it on any given Sunday.

Beside me, Rachel drops her arms and turns, but I ignore her, hoping to spy the sable-colored head of hair that I can't resist whenever an opportunity like this presents itself.

Wolf Castro. That’s his name, or so I’ve heard. It’s not like we’ve ever had an occasion to speak. Definitely not. I’m one of the four daughters of the great Reverend Abernathy and so, off limits to someone like him.

Not that he would bother anyway. I’m a pale version of the women seen with this MC. From their brightly colored hair to their glowing skin on full display, I'm dull to their brilliance and that’s the way it will stay as long as Reverend and Mrs. Abernathy have anything to say about it.

The last of the bikes passes by with a whoosh and I ease back with a kernel of disappointment. I guess today isn’t going to be one of those days.

Resigned, I smooth my skirt and follow Rachel back to the church, chewing on my lip.

The first time I noticed Wolf Castro was at the farmer’s market where Mama sets up a booth every weekend to sell her homemade soaps and lotions.

I was arranging the jars on a shelf when I looked up and found him striding down the corridor between the booths.

Like a giant from a fairytale, he approached, his dark countenance stealing the breath from my lungs. With just a glance, I knew this man was no prince, at least not the kind I should have been admiring.

Of course, he wasn’t buying soap and stopped before another vendor nearby, greeting the man standing there with a frown.

His dark brows hovered over eyes I now know are a pale gray, his lush mouth forming a thin line. High cheekbones accentuated his fierce expression but his chest, easily at eye level with his companion, made my tummy tighten painfully.

A beast stood before me, and I was caught in his snare. It was no mystery that he was MC with his vest, covered in patches, including the emblem that proclaimed him a member of the Shadow Saints–a dark angel holding two swords against his chest.

To this day, I don’t recall who he spoke to, but I do remember the tattoos decorating his skin, rippling as he crossed his arms in the morning light.

The conversation was short, and he raised his eyes to mine when he turned. I sucked in a breath at the contact, but he merely nodded and walked away.

That day changed my life and ever since, I’ve learned tiny details about him whenever possible. Like his name. Wolf. He’s the Vice President of his club. He prefers brunettes as far as I can see and he hates my daddy, but it doesn’t stop me from lookingfor him whenever I can, my heart in my throat at the chance to see his glorious facade one more time.

“C’mon,” Rachel grumbles, tipping her head of auburn hair.

Nodding, I smooth my strawberry blonde tresses back into place, my pulse finally starting to slow.

It’s the devil's own work, Daddy would say but I’m caught on a dangerous biker, and I think—no, I know—if he ever focused those stormy gray eyes on me, I’d say yes to whatever he demanded.

It’s Sunday and I silently groan at the prospect of sitting through Daddy’s sermon because after the scene we just witnessed it’s sure to be all about them.

I suppose they couldn’t have picked a worse name in Daddy’s book. ShadowSaints. Daddy’s probably frothing at the mouth to get inside and let loose.

Mama eyes me sternly as we approach where she’s standing outside the doors to the church, greeting parishioners with a smile—not too wide and not too stingy. It wouldn’t do, to be too eager or unhappy.

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