Jez Morrow -Touch of a Wolf, Morrow
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Touch of a Wolf
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Copyright © 2010 by Jez Morrow
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For
information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
Cover illustration copyright Alessia Brio
Used with permission
ISBN: 978-1-61040-457-1
Printed in the United States of America.
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Torquere Press, Inc.: High Ball electronic edition / July 2010
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
Chapter One
A motion disturbed the mist under the streetlamp haloes up ahead. Matt could just see a hazy figure
resolving out of the icy murk, walking toward him.
There was no one else on the sidewalks and few cars moved down these streets at this hour. No one
was out here who didn’t have a better place to go.
Matt didn’t.
He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think about anything but his loss, grieving as if he were the only
person in the world who ever broke up with a cheating lover.
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He knew he presented an easy mark. He had left the safety of the gayborhood behind, and this was no
kind of place for cruising.
There were worse neighborhoods in Philly. But not too much.
Matt shouldn’t be out here. He was asking for it.
Fine. He didn’t care who was coming at him. Just so he could feel anything other than what he was
feeling now.
The figure took on shape in the misty gloom.
The stranger was bare-headed. His trench coat flapped open to the seeping November cold and he
didn’t seem to give a rip, while Matt hunched in his short navy pea coat, its wool collar turned up around
his ears, his hands fisted in his pockets.
Even at a distance, the stranger looked forceful, dangerous, from the proud set of his shoulders to his
swift gait. He held his head bolt upright except for the quick alert turns to either side. He had the look of
a man owned the street and you can just back the hell off.
Crossing the street would have been a good idea right about now, but Matt was locked in a
moth-to-flame spiral.
The man’s features came into some sort of focus passing under another streetlamp—white guy, overdue
for a haircut. He was wearing mainstream clothes complete with a necktie, except that the knot was
pulled away from his throat so that the tie hung like a noose. Even at a distance Matt could see the face
was hard with eyes that had seen everything.
The man’s gaze connected with Matt’s and locked. Matt could not look away.
Closer, Matt could see the man wasn’t too much older than he was. Twenty-something, but fearless and
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definitely like a man who had been around a long time.
They were on a collision course, and both of them knew where this was going.
I don’t do this kind of thing.
The inevitability hardened as the distance between them closed.
This was going to happen.
Matt couldn’t say how he knew. He just knew.
Every fiber in his body was awake, ready, begging. His breaths became shallow. His cock stirred. His
heartbeat stepped up to an expectant thrum. Common sense flew away. He didn’t feel the cold anymore.
The distance between them disappeared.
And the man was here—close enough to smell—walking past him so close Matt felt the edge of the
stranger’s coat slap against his thigh. Passing.
Matt’s hopeful fear plunged into a bewildered letdown.
Then a strong hand closed round his upper arm.
Matt’s breath caught. He could have cried for joy if he were not so terrified as he was pulled off the
sidewalk and into the blackness of an alley.
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