#Wolf Love—A Serial by S.C. Dane

Okay, folks. Time to change tack and set a different course. Truly, I’ve yammered on long enough, it’s time to give you what you like best about me: my stories.

So, here’s a paranormal romance I was inspired to write shortly after finishing The Luna Chronicle series. I wrote all three of those books—Luna, Grane, and Kenrickey—in the first person point of view. I was ready to work with a different voice, one that would let the reader see more than just the one side of a first-person narrative.

So, this story was an experiment, and an unfinished one at that. Other third-person narratives competed for my attention and won. I’ve written and completed two other novels since starting Wolf Love. I don’t know where this one is going. Maybe as Wolf Love unfolds, you, my dear readers, will have some ideas. Maybe I’ll let a lucky reader finish it for me.

In the meantime, I’ll strive to post a new installment every Saturday during my lunch break.

Feel free to share a comment, or your opinion.

Happy reading!

Wolf Love

A Serial by S.C. Dane

Chapter One

   The deep-toned voice rumbling from below tickled across Sofia’s skin, elevating the fine hairs on her arms. Its rich velvet coiled a serpentine around her gut, squeezing it taut while the rest of her warmed. Clenching her jaw in defiance, she shimmied her shoulders to shake the feeling out of her body. Except that just made her skin flare; the heat crept up the base of her skull.

    Concentrating on her gloved grip and the bales of timothy in front of her, Sofia shut out that stirring voice, and certainly didn’t peer over the edge of the hay loft to see who it belonged to.

    It was a stranger, she knew, not someone already working on the farm. Because a voice like that would have sizzled in her veins long before now. Nope. That sultry silk of string was new, and it was talking with Charlie, the owner of the farm. The voice was seeking employment, so help her, at this farm. The very place she’d found sanctuary, her respite from the rest of the world. From her past.

    Sofia should’ve been pissed. Instead, her feet were slinking closer to the lip of the loft and her body was leaning downward, tipping toward the owner of that voice, as if she were a houseplant seeking the sun.

    Dammit. Her body was a traitor, and to punish it she retreated to her chore, yanking the fifty pound bales of hay and flinging them toward a darkened corner, where they skidded into haphazard piles she’d have to neaten. Which meant moving the bales yet again, so they’d be stacked tight and high, to make room for the rest of the hay laying cut in the fields. It was hard and itchy work in the hot loft, and not really a one person job. But Sofia preferred the solitude, and by now the other farmhands understood that and left her alone.

    The stranger was here to help bring the new hay in. At least, that’s what his words were saying, and she couldn’t get a good look at him from her position in the loft without giving herself away. If the owner of that sultry baritone matched the voice then he’d have enough muscle for the job.


   Charlie was welcoming the stranger to the team and shuffling him off to check out the rest of the farm, to meet the other employees. Which meant the owner of that voice was going to be sticking around to do a lot more than gather in the hay. Mr. Baritone was going to drive her away; Sofia was as sure of that as she was of her body’s reaction to him. A voice with the power to resonate within her the way this one did meant trouble, pure and simple.

   Because it generated the same heat within her body the dreams of her past did, and those had dealt her nothing but a lifelong strand of misfortune.

   Sofia returned to the bales in front of her, letting the sweet aroma of drying grass fill her head and crowd out what the arrival of the stranger meant. She was a grown woman, after all, and it was time to quit running. Her dreams were just that—dreams.

   “What do you think, Sol? Stay put?”

   The dog she spoke to lifted his chin from his big paws, his brown-eyed gaze attentive as he cocked his broad, shaggy head.


   The wolfhound mutt dropped his muzzle back onto his paws and puffed a contented sigh.

   “Damned straight, Sol.” Sofia hurled another bale, showering itchy flecks of chaff onto her sweating skin. Determined, she toiled in the heat of the loft as she plotted ways to stymie the dreams forever looming in her conscience.

   And which were now creeping into her reality.


   German smelled the woman the minute he stepped into the barn, despite the overwhelming stench of domestic livestock hanging in the air around him. Wolf was here. Sublimely female, too, and he felt a tugging in his guts he’d only ever heard about.

   Ignoring it, he nursed his anticipation, and couldn’t help but bask in his good luck. He’d hit pay-dirt. Those who’d sent him on this fool’s errand had been right about the woman. And hadn’t even known it.

   German’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a lethally gleeful smile, but he promptly put his palm to his mouth to hide it before the fellow named Charlie turned to see it. Humans did not
like his smile. In fact, they instinctively backed away from it, and because the aroma of that sweet woman up in the loft promised him freedom, he couldn’t afford to offend the human who stood beside him.

   He needed to get closer to her, and showing off his pearly whites wasn’t going to earn the trust of the man who stood between his future and this woman he was scenting. He’d have to play this hot situation as cool as he could manage. Which meant not even hinting there was more to him than his bare skin and normalness. One blip on the weird detector and he’d get politely escorted off the farm and away from his quarry.

   Which was something this wolf-man couldn’t afford.

   So, he sheathed his strong teeth as he lowered his eyes and shoulders into a more submissive posture, to deflect any flash of instinctual awareness that might flare up in the human beside him.

   “Glad to have you on board,” Charlie said, sticking out a calloused mitt of a hand.

   Clasping it like the lifeline it was, German kept his lips pulled down over his teeth in his warmest semblance of a grateful grin. “I’m glad to be here,” he answered without lying. Because in spite of his subterfuge and private reasons for seeking employment at the farm, German didn’t lie, ever. A wolf never could.

~S.C. Dane

Stay tuned for installment number two of Wolf Love coming November 16, 2013.


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