“So, when does the debauching begin?” I asked. Kidnapped by gorgeous hunks, my expectations for exceptional seduction and corruption were high.

What a pity my abductors acted so gravely instead of taking off their clothes.

“There will be no debauching.”

“Is that your final answer?” To those who wondered if I did it on purpose to drive them crazy…

Duh. Of course, I did. Sometimes, a girl had to make her own fun, especially when people were determined to behave in such a serious, responsible manner. It brought out the absolute best or—depending on your perspective—worst in me.

Looking my most innocent, which my best friend claimed appeared more as if I were about to commit a cardinal sin, I asked, “Is it true you’re werewolves?”

None of my kidnappers deigned to reply.

“Do you howl at the moon?”

A question ignored.

As if I’d let that deter me from trying to make conversation. “Bark at cats?”

Again, no response.

Undaunted, I kept peppering my abductors, anything to make them talk—or snap. “Chase cars? Pee to mark your territory? Ever get sprayed by a skunk? Is it true you need to soak in tomato juice to get the stench out?”

A practical question they also chose to ignore.

“Are you leg humpers? Do you like it doggy style?”

One of my abductors developed a slight twitch.

I tossed out the big guns. “Have you been neutered? Do you still have your balls?”

Finally, I got a reaction. The big dude, and I mean big in every sense of the word, turned to look at me.

Someone hand me a fan. Tanned, with brown hair and eyes, Mr. In-Charge was a caramel fantasy I wanted to lick from head to toe. Especially the spots in between.

“Would you stop that?”

With a grin that promised I wouldn’t, I purred, “Stop what? Just making conversation. About time you remembered I was here.”

“How could I forget? You never shut up.”

“You’re the one who kidnapped me. Deal with it.”

“We didn’t kidnap you,” he growled, the low rumble perhaps a result of his animalistic pedigree.

“Did you or did you not sandwich me between your big, burly bodies and whisk me off to your lair?” And by lair, I meant house on the rim of town, not a cool cave or aerie.

“We were tasked with protecting you.”

Did he have to sound so annoyed by it? He might not be enamored with the job he’d been assigned, but I said too bad. I was having the time of my life even if I still wore all my clothes.

To those who huffed, “Hussy,” they could suck it. What else was a girl with blood running through her veins to think or fantasize about when guarded by three ungodly handsome hunks? Yes, I said three. Tall, broad dudes with serious muscles and chiseled faces.

My va-jay-jay was swooning—or possibly drowning. Whatever the case, my panties were soaked and not from pee, even if some girls might have wet themselves if confronted by three guys who were a little bit on the hairy side. Hairy as in they were werewolves.

Real ones, not the kind that wore a fur suit and faked howling on Halloween.

Werewolves really existed.

Turned out humans weren’t alone on this planet, and did the shit ever hit the fan when we found out.

As to how it happened, a little while back, shapeshifters and other weird creatures came out of the fairy tale closet to tell the world they existed. They didn’t really have a choice when the little orphan girl the forest rangers had rescued from the woods turned into a wolf pup on live television. Apparently, the bright lights set her off.

Out of fear the government would dissect her to death, the leader of the wolves, some older, hot dude who called himself an Alpha, stepped forward.

People kind of lost their minds.

Cute, itty-bitty wolfgirl wasn’t so scary. Big-ass wolfman? Humanity’s deepest fears and superstitions bubbled to the surface.

For a while, panic drove humans a little crazy. Sales of guns and silver went through the roof. But, eventually, the chaos settled down as folks realized werewolves were just like us, only hairier.

The memes that flooded the Internet as a result were epic—gallon-sized bottles of Nair for the werewolf in your life, clogged drain jokes, you name it, the Internet had a pic for it.

The jokes about them fetching balls and chasing cars died down only when the newest scandal rocked the media. The Internet just about broke the day the world discovered mermaids were real—and really not as hot as the sailors used to claim. Made you wonder just how much grog they used to drink before they tried to bang one. It definitely explained why so many men claimed va-jay-jays smelled like fish.

Knowing Lycans—the fancy word werewolves used to classify themselves—existed was one thing. Actually meeting one in the flesh and multiplied by three?

I could have howled in excitement. It made me wish I’d worn something more provocative like my red sweater or at least my T-shirt that said Huff and Puff with an arrow pointing down.

While my abductors looked human, I had to wonder, did they feel human on the outside?

“Would you stop stroking me?” the leader of the crew barked. Human bark, not wolf.

“You’re not as furry as expected.” Despite the canine gene, the Lycan dude’s forearms were actually pretty smooth and hair-free.

Did that lack of fur extend to all their body parts? My gaze might have strayed south of his belt buckle.

“He’s not hairy at all, but I am,” McHunky number two stated with a wink.

The guys actually had names. The leader was Dale—he of the tanned skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. Mike was the serious beast with the dark locks and killer blue eyes that kept glaring at me. Then there was Sebastian or, as I’d secretly named him, McHunky, with his long hair held back in a ponytail and the most amazing green eyes.

Dale, Mike, and Sebastian. Sounded like strippers to me. Looked like strippers, too, in their skintight T-shirts and hip-hugging jeans. Made me wonder how they’d react if presented with a pole.

Would they dance around it in tiny G-strings, or treat it like a fire hydrant and pee on it?

I kind of wanted to find out, but a glance around didn’t show any kind of pole in their place. Nor any full-length mirrors or glittering disco balls.

“This is fucking unbelievable,” growled Mike.

He was the grumpy one of the three, sporting a scowl from the moment we met. It totally made me want to turn his frown upside down, but when I grabbed his ass and goosed him, he didn’t even squeak.

“If you don’t like having me around, then maybe you shouldn’t have kidnapped me, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“We didn’t kidnap you,” sighed Dale.

“I know,” said with a roll of my eyes. “You are protecting me from evil.”

At least, that was what Chloe, my BFF, claimed when we returned after an epic day of shopping to find her place trashed.

Someone, or something—cue the ominous music—had totally demolished her place, and there was concern that whoever or whatever did it would come after Chloe again. If they couldn’t find her, then what better way to hurt Chloe than coming after me, her bestest friend in the whole wide world?

Seriously, we’d been best buds since kindergarten. She was the Chewie to my Han Solo. The wingwoman in my quest for dick.

Except, as it turned out, she was better at the holy quest for cock, seeing as how Chloe snared two guys—a vampire, and a werewolf—totally one-upping me.

Bitch. Yes, I was jealous. Totally green-eyed with it. But I could still redeem myself and beat her at this game. After all, I was in the custody of three werewolves and totally down for some hot and sweaty action.

Only one problem with my plan. The three dudes assigned to me pretended disinterest.

Totally not cool. Utterly unheard of.

In today’s modern world, where men outnumbered women five to one—the theory for that disparity being we’d not had any great big wars in a while—meant women had their pick of dudes. Hell, there were even laws encouraging women to marry in multiples. The tax breaks were amazing.

No woman, from legal-aged to ancient, lacked for male companionship if desired. I couldn’t go anywhere without men hitting on me.

Alas, for all my experience—much of it exaggerated so my best friend wouldn’t know I scared most guys off with my shining disposition—I’d yet to find even one guy that I liked who could stand me for more than one night.

Sure, they had sex with me, but…you know how guys say they will call?

Mine never do.

Sad. Actually, kind of ego crushing, but I wasn’t the type of person to let that get me down.

If the men I met didn’t realize how awesome I was, if they couldn’t handle a woman with spirit, then screw ’em. I don’t need them.

If only I believed that lie, then maybe I’d stop torturing myself.

“Fear not, baby, we’ll keep you safe.” Sebastian winked. He was the flirtiest of the three, his sexy green eyes enough to melt the panties off any woman with a heartbeat.

“How long do we have to babysit her?” asked Mike.

The fact that Mike termed a bodyguard job “babysitting” brought out the imp in me.

I grabbed my hair on each side of my head, fisting it into pigtails, and jutted my lower lip. “I’m bored. Wanna play with me?” I batted my lashes, and he turned away.

Dale did his best to not smile.

My antics proved hard for him to resist. I was that cute.

Annoying, but adorable.

“We’ll watch her for as long as I say,” Dale announced. “Which is until it’s deemed safe for her to leave.”

Mr. Grumpy just wouldn’t give in gracefully. “Just because you owe Pete a favor isn’t a reason to rope us in.”

Pete, for the uninformed, was Chloe’s werewolf boyfriend. They’d met over an indecent exposure case. He peed on a neighbor’s flowers, and she defended him.

So romantic.

Flopping onto a couch that had seen better days, I sighed. “If you don’t want to watch me, then maybe I should just leave.”

I didn’t mean it. Why would I want to leave the most exciting thing to ever happen to me?

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Not even nirvana? How disappointing.

Twirling a lock of my hair around a finger, I did what I did best. Asked questions. “So, who or what exactly do you think went psycho on Chloe’s place? Ogre?” Not as cute as the Shrek version according to the documentary I watched. “Dwarf?” Small but stocky with mighty tempers, especially when drunk. “Rabid rabbit?” Hold on, wasn’t that a video game?

“It was a demon,” Dale announced.

To which Mike scoffed, “Those don’t exist.”

“On the contrary”—Dale shook his head— “they do. We just haven’t seen or heard of any for centuries.”

“Maybe we haven’t seen any because they don’t exist.” What a surprise, Mike argued.

“I’ve got it on good authority that they do,” Dale argued back.

“Fine, let’s say they do exist. I thought they liked eating witches, so why would a demon be going after a human?” The disparagement in Mike’s tone couldn’t have been clearer.

As I jumped in to defend my BFF with a, “Hey, humans taste delicious.” I frowned at Mike. “Why shouldn’t a demon go after Chloe? She is, after all, the second most awesome person in the world.”

“Let me guess, you’re first?” Mike drawled with an arched brow.

So sexy, but my lust for him wouldn’t let the insult slide. “I’m third on that list, actually. My meemaw is number one.”

Grandma had raised me to be the perfect person I was today. Now, if only people would value it. Other than my meemaw, only Chloe and her parents appreciated my unique blend of outspoken sarcasm and blunt charm. Even my daddy couldn’t handle me.

It would make me sadder except Meemaw said, “He’s a pussy, forget about him.” So I did…most of the time.

“Your meemaw should have taught you manners,” grumbled Mike. “Who the hell goes around asking people if they bark at the moon?”

“I said howl, and I don’t see the problem. I mean, if you asked me if I read books, I wouldn’t take offense, even if I say the only good book is a movie adaptation.”

“You are completely insane.” Mike shook his head at me.

“No, she’s not,” Sebastian jumped in. “I think she’s interesting”—that earned him a smile—“for a human.”

The smile disappeared faster than my morals after a few glasses of wine. “Are you guys always so speciest?” Yeah, I made the word up. What else to call these men who seemed to think they could look down on me and not just because they were taller?

Being tall didn’t mean I couldn’t take them out at the knees.

So I did. I dove from the couch and hit Sebastian around the thighs, toppling him—timber!

He hit the ground, and before he could recover, I scrambled up his body until I straddled him.

“You’re an ass,” I stated with my arms crossed under my boobs.

He didn’t reply.

Not one word.

And a slow smile pulled at my lips because, despite my humanity, he really did think I was cute. The proof pressed against my va-jay-jay, evident even through my pants and his jeans.

Alas, I couldn’t be a normal girl and bat my lashes or say something adorable and sexy.

I was just me. Brenda Jane Whittaker, and I ruined the moment with, “Holy shit, are you hiding a tail in your pants?”