hEY, I happen to like naif-art kindergarten scrawls…
Extract: Wolf Runaway by Alex Ankarr, gay werewolf romance FREE and downloadable via link
They’re on the loose, out on the heaths and fields and moors, now. Still on Hotstaat land, but waving a goodbye to the pruned and tended and civilized parts, that are kept within bounds and given the same semblance of civilization as the wolves themselves. With all of the wildness and the rawness up close beneath the surface. Although he’s going to feel the bumps and the bruises tomorrow, it’s at least a bit easier to keep himself upright and along for the ride, as long as he doesn’t get cocky about it and stop clinging on for dear life. As long as he doesn’t do anything crazy, like it would be to fling his arms up in the air, to just leave go of Ree’s scruff – which is at least a good third of what has him anchored in place, and not flying off Ree’s back for a bumpy landing and a broken bone or two – and to whoop and holler with the exhilaration of this wild midnight ride.
That would be crazy. And impulsive. And childish. Not to mention fulfilling all of Ree’s most cherished and dearly-held fantasies, about their sacred boyhood and the perfect lawless joyful amity they would have lived in together as adolescents. Before, presumably, falling head over heels for each other in a tragic doomed Romeo and Juliet style romance. Which in Ree’s head also translates to a happy ever after, Penn rather thinks. The inside of his head has to be a mysterious maze in itself, more so than any conglomeration of hedges and gravel on Hotstaat land.
He isn’t enjoying this exercise in idiocy, this skylarking and play-acting at Cathy and Heathcliff, at Jane and Mr Rochester? He can’t be.
Penn presses down closer into Ree’s back, holds tighter and squeezes his eyes shut as the dark world bumps and bounds past him, socking the breath out of his lungs. The tip of his nose is buried in rough thick black pelt, as it shines green-black and blue-black, and it scratches like needles against his cheeks. The world heaves past like he’s a seasick sailor on a boat in a storm, and he won’t enjoy this, won’t revel and participate and collude. Why should he give Ree the satisfaction of being actually right, as well as the wolf’s privilege he has already, of being right even when he’s wrong?
© Alex Ankarr, all rights reserved.