Whatever it Takes


3.67 · 3 ratings · Published: Jan 1st, 2017 {{ book.ratingTitle }}
Owen Olsen needs a familiar. His magic is unbound, pure, and utterly vulnerable to the many witcheaters roaming the world just looking for a tasty little morsel like Owen to swallow up whole. Only bonding with a familiar will make him safe. But no matter how many times Owen performs the ritual to summon an animal to be his servant, guardian, and protector, it just doesn't work.

Owen’s grandmother assures him it just takes time—that his familiar will find him—but time is the one thing Owen doesn’t have. Every minute of every day is another chance for a witcheater to hunt him down, tear down his shields, and eat him, and the stress and fear are killing him.

Then he meets Luke Wolfman.

Luke Wolfman is a werewolf in need of a solution. He’s been exiled from his pack—banished for having the audacity to sleep with the alpha’s son—and living on his own is eating him alive. His wolf needs his pack like his body needs water, and he won’t give up on finding his way back to them.

He needs a plan. Something that will force his alpha to forgive him and accept him back into the pack. But knowing you need a plan is very different from having one, and Luke doesn’t.

Until he meets Owen.

Owen Olsen is a witch, and Luke’s ticket back into the pack. All Luke has to do is seduce him and convince him to let himself be claimed, and he’ll be set. Alpha Grayson will have no choice but to forgive him if he comes back with a witch...

(This 87k word book has a HEA and no cliffhanger.)


Picking up the last box, Owen cut through the tape on the bottom with an efficient swipe of his letter opener, and he was just about to push it flat when the door behind him opened. He jumped into the air, knocking the box to the floor and clutching his chest like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Martha, you startled m—"

Owen turned around, his words freezing in his mouth at the sight that greeted him.

It wasn’t Martha.

Owen stared up at what could only be a werewolf, taking in the man’s colossal height, massive muscles and crazed expression with a sense of almost detached curiosity.

He was so screwed.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice sounding like it was coming from far away. The werewolf had been about to step closer, his enormous boot lifted off the ground, but at Owen’s question he froze. The air crackled with tension, and after a few seconds he lowered his foot and shuffled back. He was breathing heavily, but the wild look in his eyes receded and left him looking adorably flustered.

Owen studied him. The werewolf had dark eyes, a heavy brow, and a jaw that looked like it was carved from marble. His nose was aquiline—nostrils flaring with each breath—and his wide mouth was just open enough that Owen could see his teeth. They were so even and white they looked like they belonged in a toothpaste commercial. He was also dressed up as a biker cop, and Owen had never seen anyone fill out a uniform so well in his life.

“I just…” the werewolf trailed off, his gruff voice making Owen’s spine tingle. The werewolf closed his eyes, his whole chest rising as he took a deep breath to calm down.

His shoulders were almost as wide as the door.

“You’re a witch,” the werewolf said when he’d finished exhaling, his eyes still closed. When he opened them they were smoldering and filled with desire...

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