Tacos Wolves and Abnormal Behavior (Grimstone Island) Read online

  TACOS,

  WOLVES

  AND

  ABNORMAL

  BEHAVIOR

  The Grimstone Island Series

  Book Two

  ROCHELLE PEARSON

  Copyright © 2018 by Rochelle Pearson. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Due to sexual content and explicit language and dialogue, this book is recommended for readers 18+.

  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Tacos, Wolves and Abnormal Behavior (Grimstone Island, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

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  ***

  WELCOME AGAIN TO GRIMSTONE!

  Clearly, you're not sane...

  Werewolf Wild Child.

  Taco Enthusiast.

  Drunk Table Dancing Expert.

  Queen of Shitty Relationships.

  Me.

  Kokoa Lovell. (Pronounced as cocoa)

  I'm an honest-to-goodness, denial wearing- fuck-up. My love life contains themes of extreme complication, washboard abs and mind-blowing romps in the sack. It's okay though. I swallow the crazy shit life is bringing in buckets because I really don't want to deal with what's important... like finally facing my scarier than split ends great grandfather—the head honcho himself and why his decades long absence has come to an end in time for my birthday. And wondering why I collected lust cards from three different guys.

  The next few days I face is sure to be a cluster—fuck of epic proportions, during which, I will learn the following:

  It's cute to cuddle with a lion but dangerous when he's keeping secrets...

  Flirting and making hubba-hubba eyes at a vampire is just asking to get your neck chomped on.

  And sending Polaroid pictures of your ass to a dragon is all fun and games till he decides to kidnap you.

  My solution: Eat a ton of birthday cake then run like hell.

  Adela

  /Ad·dell·uh/

  Noun

  A magic enriched tree made entirely of obsidian rock, rooted in a moat of salt water; located near the east side edge on a supernaturally inhabited island called Grimstone. Created by six supernatural beings known as The Hallow Six, the tree’s power hides the island’s identity from mortals, and allows the walking dead to bask in sunlight without fear of turning into dust or in need of sunblock. Merfolk can shed their fins for adequate limbs to properly ride tandem bicycles. The tree is mainly known to represent the freedom of magic, the overabundance of preternatural life, and unity of any and all creatures, living or undead, among the island of Grimstone.

  ...Although Adela’s alliance with the very place unites and encourages free lifestyles for the things that go bump in the night—chaos is always near to disrupt the order of peace. After all, it is the land of the monsters.

  Chapter One

  Curiosity always fucks up a cat. But what about a werewolf? What happens to it? Or better yet, what specifically—-besides just curiosity—causes a wolf to stray towards disaster?

  Here’s a hint: It involves the opposite sex.

  I can’t stand waiting. Even it’s for one small, microscopic, shit-crumb thing I just don’t like it. Visualize my lack of patience as a little kid sitting in a chair, fidgeting, red-faced, and about to unleash all hell because Bobby Sue ate the last Oreo cookie.

  Buildup isn’t a thing that goes well for me, and others share my reservations.

  Which is why it is fortunate you’ve been dropped on your lovely asses in this very opportune moment of my twenty-two—soon to be twenty-three—year-old life.

  Things have already been said—shockingly. Events already done—inappropriately, and not so much regrettably. But let me assure you, you’re not missing out on anything. This episode of the Kokoa Show is the first, and fingers crossed it doesn’t get cancelled!

  I refuse to be compared to a sappy serial of sorts where the poor victim viewing must wait forever to see the juicy stuff.

  Nope, not here, peeps.

  I’m not with the whole wondering when a bitch is gonna finally chuck aside the “what ifs” and just bang the dude she’s been wanting into the next dimension. You won’t catch me sitting in a corner, preventing myself from gettin’ a piece of hot ass. I say what I want and do what I want. Blunt is my fashion choice, folks. I’m a semi-sober and not-so-sane werewolf whose lifestyle theme borders on the impulsive. It’s been working out fine since, for one thing, I’m not dead. I’ve got great friends, and amazing (cough, cough, slightly annoying) family, and three gorgeous slabs of male specimen locking their sights onto me.

  I’ve hit the jackpot, you say? More like, here comes that bump in the road that may fuck up my lucky streak of debauchery. Sucks, right? No more than two seconds ago, I was just saying everything was fine...

  I am not attached, nor am I looking to obtain a relationship status in the conventional sense...

  Okay, stay with me, now.

  I like to have an overwhelming abundance of sexy fun time in any place that provides a decent amount of privacy because, hello, I’ve got class. It works out fine. I’m fine, because I. Am. In. Control.

  Except, the façade of me trying to run shit with my love life evaporated like fucking Cheeto dust the second I collected lust cards from three different guys.

  T. H. R. E. E.

  3

  Goodbye, driver’s seat. Hello, windshield wipers—from which I’m holding onto for dear life while flapping in hundred-miles-per-hour winds. In other words, I no longer sustain solid control than I originally thought.

  Let me explain.

  Jonathan Griff, Gavin VanWrath, and Adrian Galzra.

  The lion, the vampire, and the dragon.

  All better known as the three-way dilemma that’s causing me to use sleep aids at night because I sure as hell can’t calm my body down. I’m riled. I’m fidgety. Simple horniness left the building hours ago.

  Enter bitch in extreme heat.

  Jonathan is over six feet of pure scruffy sexiness. His laid-back personality mirrors my own and that’s a good part of why we’ve been close for years. He and I go way back to the training wheels era. I was like one of the boys, running with his pride of stubborn felines. Being a lycan, I proved quite quickly that despite howling instead of purring, I sure as shit can hold my own and then some. Years on, our testy but overall solid, goofy friendship blossomed further. Jonny is a gentle giant who’s close friends with my family, and I, his. We’re staples in each other’s lives.

  To present day, he’s also the man whom I’ve been engaging in an overabundance of sexy fun time with. It’s not awkward between us. It sorta happened, effortlessly. I’ve always been attracted to him, and after one night over a couple of beers in the hot tub, I flat o
ut asked, “Wanna have sex?”

  I mean, how could I not? He makes Thor look like a punk-ass green bean. He tossed our bottles aside, pulled me on his lap, and the rest became the new norm for our relationship.

  To clarify, we’re not dating. I swear, really, it’s not awkward in the least. We’ve found ourselves in a fuck-buddy union with amazing benefits. I thought it would be tiresome after a while, and I have no problem going back to the way things were, except we haven’t stopped.

  He scratches my back.

  I scratch his.

  I know that’s an expression, though sometimes I actually do scratch his back.

  Lion—big cat—likes getting scratched, you get the picture.

  That was behind door number one.

  Moving on to door number two...

  Coming in at six feet, body covered in tattoos, my vamp buddy Gavin rang in the new year at the age of one-hundred-and-twenty-five, but not looking a day over twenty-five. Let me rewind to a conversation we had a while back. It’ll show you who Gavin, descendant of Lucien VanWrath—another founding father—really is. As well as the type of flirty battle I deal with on a daily basis.

  “I’m that swoon worthy, pussy tingling, bad boy best friend you secretly want to get in all sorts of trouble with.” Gavin cracked a blinding smile that gleamed in his ruby-colored eyes.

  “Wow. That sounds like a sucked-dry character description that’s in every romance novel.” I rolled my eyes and flipped through a magazine.

  He laughed. “Have you thought about us being together?” He smirked, waiting for an answer.

  Damn him, he already knows. “Yes. I admit, I’m a bit curious.”

  “I am, too.” He leaned closer, overwhelming me with an intoxicating aroma of refreshing peppermint. The magazine slipped from my fingers. I met his hungry gaze. Goddess, he was beautiful. Pale, sharp jaw. Midnight-colored cropped hair. So gorgeous.

  “Walls broken. Completely vulnerable. Enslaved by the need to satisfy each other’s enflamed flesh. You can’t deny that’ll happen.”

  “Sure, but after being on an angst-filled roller coaster ride that’s headed for multiple disasters, not to mention downing several bottles of Xanax along the way.” I blinked, breaking away from the spell he cast on me each time he spoke this way. “That’s how I see being in a relationship with you.”

  “Wait. Disasters meaning orgasms, right? Because I’m cool with that.”

  I met Gavin a while ago at a gas station parking lot in the middle of the night. I was having a shouting match with the clerk, a lying wendigo-creature who insisted I’d smuggled out a mini bag of cheese doodles and stuffed them in my bra.

  Up ‘til then in my life, I considered myself to be a pretty rack-tastic female. It took all of ten seconds for the clerk to deem my 32C cup size as mini bags of lumpy cheese doodles.

  Anyway, I was ready to get furry, honor my boob size, and of course, not give into his accusations, when Gavin—the creepy vampire shit that he is—strolled by and defused the situation. He slipped the nasty clerk a few bills and sent him on his way. Afterwards, I got a full look at my soon to be new friend.

  To clear things up, his attitude and sudden, unexpected popups make him a creepy shit. Nothing on this man’s body resembled fecal matter. Gavin VanWrath is fine.

  A fine undead creature... who I haven’t slept with.

  Hey, the night is still young...

  Shifting gears, you lovely guests have finally reached door number three. It should’ve been locked with heavy chains and bolts, but do you honestly listen to the person who tells you to not touch the big red button? Hmm?

  Thought so.

  Adrian— hold my panties —Galzra.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Sex in a suit. Lean and preppy-looking with a quiet, shy demeanor that beckoned me to poke his scales. Not literally. I haven’t seen him in his dragon form. But man, I’d sell my left nipple to get front row seats to see him shift.

  After spotting Adrian one evening, I’d found myself assuming the role of stalker and taking the long route home to catch a glimpse of him every day coming out of The Tower, a skyscraper that houses important agencies and businesses. I can safely bet he works there, side by side with the rest of the Galzras, who are basically the politicians of Grimstone.

  I hadn’t noticed him in town before.

  The island is small, so a new dragon packs a punch to the atmosphere. A punch he sure left. The handsome bachelor had just landed back home from being in the human world for quite a long time.

  That was two months ago.

  Two months ago, I started a game I doubted he even wanted to play.

  I was wrong...

  My silly, immature—to the general population—self, left a gift for him through the disregarded cracked driver’s side window of the sleek Lamborghini he drives.

  It was a somewhat grainy polaroid picture of my ass.

  Don’t comment yet.

  I swear, I only did it once... on that day, anyway. The adrenaline rush is my Kool-Aid and I kept drinking it, damn it! Nothing discouraged me from slipping more “gifts” because, when he was about to get in, he picked it up, looked around in search of the jokester, and smiled broadly as if I’d left a basket of steak and chocolate.

  He pocketed the photo then drove away.

  Afterwards, the driver’s window remained cracked. Every. Single. Day. If that’s not a green light, I don’t know what is.

  From then on, I kept the charade going, depositing amateur bum pics on his seat. Discreetly. None show my face or give a clue to my identity. No one knows what I’m doing, including close friends. It’s my and Adrian’s weird, kinky, unknown game. Now, you probably have a few questions. Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to how many times I was dropped on my head as a baby to pinpoint what exactly possessed me to become a slutty stalker. Sorry, I don’t.

  Here are others:

  1. Do I know anything else about Adrian besides the make and model of his vehicle?

  2. Do I regret starting this game?

  3. And where did I get a Polaroid camera from?

  Answers: No. No. The Internet.

  The gate is clear to enter your “Is this girl insane?” thoughts and comments.

  To sum, I’m dealing with three completely different men who happen to share one common denominator.

  Me.

  And I want all of them.

  In whatever way I can have them. I don’t have to choose. That’s not what you signed up for the second I told y’all my name. This isn’t one of those stories where the flustered chick is caught in the middle of which guy she should spend the rest of her life with. Ha! Not here.

  If the stomach can crave a double cheeseburger, a box of pizza, and strawberry ice cream in one day, then for damn sure, the heart can be greedy too. I choose to go down shady paths because it guarantees I’ll never know where the hell it leads. And what’s the fun in having all the answers?

  Naïveté is my guide. Winging-it is my flashlight. We’ll see what type of shit hole I fall into. But hey, I can only blame myself. That’s nothing new.

  Speaking of shit hole...

  At the bottom of one, it seems an imaginary rug has been ripped from underneath my feet, and my blissful life is now upside down. Not in a completely drunken—-how did I end up laying backwards on a playground swing with a stranger’s phone number written on my elbow—-type of fun.

  No, I’m talkin’ being violently thrown to the ground and before hitting it, you’ve done several backflips and are now achy, thinking, what the fuck just happened?

  Jonathan is acting strange, and I’m not liking the invisible wedge that’s appearing between us.

  Gavin has amped up the flirting and not-so-casual brief touches, like he’s preparing an army to cross several lines. Yeah, he’s voiced it tons of times before but in a playful manner. There’s nothing playful about his serious gaze that burns with lustful heat now.

  As for Adrian... I’m still re
eling from his little present he left on my porch this morning. A note that reads:

  My naughty Kokoa,

  Scrumptious. Divine. You set my blood on fire.

  Your perfect, soft-looking curves are the cause of my failed concentration at work. I must say, you’ve become quite the fixture inside me.

  You’re probably wondering how I know it is you in the pictures.

  Besides the fact I picked up a wolf’s scent on the pictures, I busted you the first time you slipped something into my car when I happened to look out my office window. Sneaky little thing you are to not trip the alarm system. Now I’m intrigued by what else you can do...

  And you’re not the only who likes to watch what you desire.

  I’ve seem to make it habit driving past the beach and catch you tanning. You always wear the sexiest bikini bottoms, leaving little to imagine, but still leading a male’s mind to crave and run rampant.

  Thank the Gods, I was the one male who was honored with such a fine, succulent rear.

  From this moment on, no more games.

  I want you entirely.

  Very, very soon.

  Yours truly,

  The Ass Collector.

  It took me a few tries to successfully pick up and reassemble my jaw.

  I... he... no, I’m speechless.

  Let the record show, I’m not a woman who is desperate for love, lust sure, not actual love nor in need to hear or be shown traces of it. (Family love excluded.) My feelings toward the matter are on mute until when or if I turn them on. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m still young. I like living in the moment. I’m still stupid. I continue to make irrational decisions, and I’m at least semi-smart enough to not mix my messy shitty ways of doing things with the real important shit.

  And yet, without realizing it, I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

  Three times the amount I’m used to...

  Chapter Two