Excerpt

I'm actually writing. Yes, indeed. Been having lots of fun, too, on the third of my were trilogy. And here is the unedited WIP:

They were almost mouth to mouth. Shit, Yeah, it was Grey all right. The same scars criss-crossing his face. The same scowl. Grey said people were put off by his scars. He’d even seriously thought Rome should be put off because Grey was older. But there was a hell of a lot more to him than some old wounds or white hair at his temples. Ah, hell. Grey’s scent was just as sexy as ever. His body was just as muscular, tough and potent. Rome swallowed, his throat suddenly going dry.
Grey barked out a short laugh. “You’re getting mighty close for a fighting man. Do you want to fight me or fuck me?”
Both. Holy God, he wanted both.
“Why’re you here?” Rome kicked, landing a blow right under the chin of the bartender, who had been inching toward his nightstick.
“To fetch you back, boy. We need you.”
“Why?”
We need you wasn’t I need you. But then Grey wasn’t much on telling folks what he wanted. Hadn’t that been the problem? Grey’s dumb ass “I don’t feel anything” act was why Rome had vowed he wasn’t ever going back. And he wasn’t.
Grey slammed the next would-be brawler onto the bar and then slid the unconscious man onto a bar stool, where he slumped, completely out for the count. “Well, like they said in another family, we’ve got a little proposition we don’t think you can refuse.”
He wasn’t doing what Grey or the rest told him to do any more. But somehow Rome found himself inching out of the bar when a few minutes ago all he’d wanted was to stay and fight. Grey was at his back –protecting him? herding him? both were possible -- and neither of them bothered to say anything until they stepped out into the night air.
Then it seemed Grey had plenty to say.
“Shit, boy, haven’t I told you to keep out of stupid damn brawls? I don’t care if your wolf is up and you want to go howl. Fighting like that just isn’t smart. Non-weres can get the best of us if there are enough of them. I’m proof of that. If it hadn’t been for your Daddy—“
“I know the lecture. How Dad saved you from death when you got into a fight where you were outnumbered. How I’m just a stupid pup with no sense. How you should never try to mess with anyone when the odds are bad. I’ve got it memorized.” Rome threw his hand up in the air. “Now you need to ask me if I care.”
“You’re an idiot, Rome.”
“I’m on my own now. All grown up and not listening to what my elders tell me. I’m not going back.”
“You fucking well are. I promised.”
“Ohh, because you promised. That’s why. Be honest. If I did die in some damn fight, you’ve already shown you don’t give a damn. Good riddance, I’d finally stop bothering you. Right?”
Before he got his answer, lightning struck—lights danced in front of his eyes before darkness slid, peacefully but inevitably, around him.
Grey spat once, flexed the fist that had knocked out Rome and looked down at the huddled heap in front of him. Damn, the boy had turned out handsome. Handsome as his daddy, but with his mama’s pretty eyes.
Pretty boy. He’d never gone for pretty boys before. Non-weres would call Rome a twinkie. Weres didn’t like things that sweet. They went for meat. Preferably raw. But damned if this twinkie wasn’t tempting. Rome had been tempting him for years, in fact. When he wasn’t getting Grey mad enough to do something like hit him.
Ah, hell. There was no way around it, no way to make little of Rome or ignore him. Rome wasn’t a pretty boy even though he had the face of an angel. If he had been, Grey would never have looked twice. What he was, though, remained to be seen.
The kid had a tongue on him, though. He could hone right in and make a man’s head buzz.
You don’t give a damn. Right?
Ask me if I care. Do I? “Yup. I guess I forgot to ask if you cared.” Grey hoisted Rome’s dead weight over his shoulder and headed for the truck. “But then again, boy, you forgot the part about even when it looks safe, you still gotta keep your eyes open.”