Title: The Worst Werewolf
Series: The Immutable Moon, Book 1
Author: Jacqueline Rohrbach
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 13th
Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex
Genre: Romance, paranormal, gay, lgbt, werewolves, vampires
The werewolf said, “Race you to the road.” It was the last thing Tovin heard before his life became uncomfortably complex.
Before that night in the forest, Tovin was the type of guy to play it safe. Happy wearing the same shoes, buying the same deodorant, and eating the same meals day after day, he thought his simple existence was pretty great. At least until his boyfriend dumps him for being boring. Heartbroken but on a mission of vengeance, Tovin decides to start a new life filled with excitement, danger, and maybe a meal from a questionable food truck.
A date with Garvey would start it all. Handsome, sophisticated, the man is everything Tovin thinks he needs. It’s a pity he turns out to be a werewolf on a mission to save his pack from destruction.
Now Tovin is caught up in Garvey’s world.
Abducted and forced to be the bloodservant of a powerful Alpha, he lands right in the middle of a brewing conflict that threatens to destroy humanity.
City people came to the forest with heads full of Whitmanesque romantic notions. Most didn’t discover themselves there. Rather, they were found by search and rescue, cold and shivering from disenchantment. And sometimes pneumonia.
Garvey seemed to fall into that camp. At least he sounded that way when he said, “The forest is magical, right?”
Carpenter ants bit his arms and legs, rocks dug into his butt cheeks, pine needles stung the palms of his hands, and droplets of deer poo splattered around the area gave the air a musky odor. The forest sucked. It was about as non-magical as a place could get, the very definition of earthy. But his date’s ass was spellbinding, so Tovin remained agreeable. “Sure,” he said, “this is great.”
Tovin wasn’t dumb, only horny. He’d heard countless stories about people having sex in the woods that all turned out okay. Kids in high school talked about little else, each locker room story was the start of a cautionary tale that ended in sexual conquest, not anything terrible. Even adults did it. His co-workers met women out here. All of them were fine. Just fine.
“…and that’s why I’m here.” Tovin was done explaining himself to Garvey.
Garvey turned. “So you’re here because you finally decided to take a risk and treat yourself?”
Garvey chuckled. “Oh dear.”
Nervous, Tovin fiddled with the edge of the blanket and sipped at overly sweet wine as his companion fussed to secure the backpack he brought with him. Garvey insisted on lugging the junk with them to, as he said, do it right. A blanket, some cheap wine, a few candles. Tovin wasn’t exactly dazzled. His date was as cheap as he was weird.
Once settled, Garvey was right down to business—taking off his shirt, his shoes, and undoing the top button of his pants. “Too much too soon?” He didn’t wait for a response, only browsed through Tovin’s facial features. “Pants it is. To be clear, we did come to the forest to screw, yeah?”
Tovin nodded. “Fantastic, then. Let’s get on with it.” Given the precipitous nature of the man’s undressing, Tovin expected a rough, demanding mouth upon his, taking what it wanted. Screwing, basically. Instead, Garvey traced the lines of Tovin’s face with soft kisses. He used the back of his hand to tenderly follow the same path. Noses bumped. Brown eyes continually met his as if asking, Is this okay? Do you like this?
Tentative, Tovin reached out to touch the nest of hair at the nape of Garvey’s neck, drawing away when the man arched his eyebrow at the gesture. “Sorry.” Tovin mumbled to his lap.
“I’m sorry, too, sweet treat. I want you to touch it, just not like that. It’s not going to kill you.” Garvey presented his head, shook it slightly so that the hair tussled and realigned itself around his crown.
Tovin stammered out a quick reply, “No, it’s made of keratin. Keratin would not kill you. Unless it’s in horns. Or nails. Then, I guess it could.” Inwardly, Tovin sighed at himself when Garvey tilted his head and once again raised his eyebrow. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”
“Noted,” Garvey quipped. “Touch my glorious mane of non-lethal keratin, then. It’s the best type of keratin, I say.”
Tovin was in the process of reaching for the second time—faster, slightly more confident—when two howls interrupted. He jumped at the noise, once again pulling back his fingers. He withdrew to the edge of the blanket. “What was that?”
Garvey smiled his same swagger smile, the right side of his mouth curving so that one lone incisor poked out of his lips. “Feral dogs.” He bent again to kiss at the corners of Tovin’s mouth. “And just when I thought you were going to make your move at last. You are so much work.”
“Feral dogs? What are they doing?”
“Being feral dogs. Hunting. Don’t worry. They’re not hunting you, sweet treat.” A reassuring hand traced the length of Tovin’s jaw. “They probably got scent of a rabbit, a squirrel…a something.”
“How do you know? They sound close.”
Garvey’s eyes darkened. “I know,” he paused slightly to bring Tovin’s mouth level with his, “because you’ve already been caught.”
♡ Guest Post
Inspiration for The Worst Werewolf
At the risk of sounding like a troubled youth, I daydreamed about werewolves at a young age, and I created stories for them all the time. Barbie was a werewolf who had a fabulous pink car. Cabbage patch dolls were evil werewolves. Strawberry Shortcake had an uneasy friendship with the werewolves. My little pony was a werewolf’s dinner. You’re probably getting the theme here.
Werewolves were the best friends a socially awkward loner could ask for. I couldn’t make eye contact. Well, they turned into literal animals. I spent recess crushing rocks with bigger rocks. Well, they ate people. It was hard for them to be judgmental is what I’m trying to say. Did they also gobble kids who bullied me? Hell yes they did.
At the risk of sounding like an equally troubled adult, the characters aged with me. There was always some version of Garvey, Tovin, Eresna, and Lavario (different names), but who they were in the story rotated depending on my mood.
One of the things that inspired me most when I decided to make their story into a book was my involvement in a research project. I got to travel around Ohio and interview offenders. At first I thought I’d write a crime novel based on some of the stories I heard. The more I thought about it, the more I realized a lot of what the criminals told me fit in with how I wanted to explain the predatory behavior of werewolves.
Garvey’s character was particularly shaped by how some of the offenders described target selection. It’s important to note Garvey isn’t actually considered criminal to other werewolves (deviant perhaps). Rather than use the narratives as an explanation for Garvey’s criminality, I used it to explain how he hunted.
One interview in particular sticks out in my mind. The young man told me, quite cheerfully, how he made sure he didn’t look like a criminal. He explained that in order to scope out potential targets, it was best to fit in with the crowd. He didn’t swear. He didn’t smoke. He was as polite as he could possibly be. The young man described himself as “always on,” always looking for an opportunity in other words.
Garvey is quite similar. He often describes himself as understanding what situations support his hunting habits and which do not.
Most of the others I spoke with were not as sophisticated. A professor once said that there are really three types of people in prison: the unlucky, the dumb, and the really bad. That seemed to hold pretty true for most of the people I interviewed. A good chunk of them were comically impulsive, not at all sophisticated in their approach.
Their stories also shaped Garvey’s character. He’s a wolf with a plan… sort of. He does seek a particular type of victim (the know it all); however, he makes it clear he’ll eat whoever he has to when the hunger strikes. In this way, he has long-term thinking capabilities, but he is also willing to engage in risky, impulsive behavior to meet his short-term whims and desires.
Grad school also exposed me to several different theories of crime and criminal behavior. The most influential for this novel was Routine Activity Theory by Cohen and Felson. It’s a very simple theory (at least on its face) that asserts crime is a result of a motivated offender encountering an attractive target lacking effective guardianship. Or, as Garvey explains:
“And I resent the notion I—or any of my kind—seek out promiscuous teenagers like some punitive abstinence-only education. Pure and simple, I’m an opportunist. Teenagers out in the woods alone and having sex are distracted, isolated, and vulnerable. Plus, you get two for the same amount of effort it would normally take to get one. All in all a low risk, high reward proposition.”
The motivated offender is Garvey. The teenagers having sex in the woods are attractive targets. They’re suitably vulnerable (too busy getting it on to notice and isolated) and therefore accessible.
What I learned in grad school did help me a ton, but it also made for an embarrassingly academic first draft. A bad first draft was something I allowed myself, and it’s a good thing because the first draft was indeed terrible.
To get myself back in the spirit of what I actually wanted to write, I watched a lot of horror movies. While I enjoyed the more “serious” werewolf movies, I must confess to having a soft spot for cheesy movies with dark humor.
One of my favorite werewolf movies, the Howling III, is TERRIBLE. Werewolf nuns. A ballerina transforming into a werewolf while pirouetting. Yes, that happens. Yes, it’s glorious. Thank you, 80s!
It also gave me what is perhaps my favorite quote from any movie: “What I need is a werewolf holding a smoking gun.”
Who doesn’t need that in their life? I’ll take five.
I hope you enjoy The Worst Werewolf, which is available from NineStar Press February 13, 2017. Follow @immutablemoon for updates on the second book. Thanks for reading.
♡ Purchase Links
NineStar Press: http://ninestarpress.com/product/the-worst-werwolf/
♡ Meet the Author
Jacqueline Rohrbach is a 36-year-old creative writer living in windy central Washington. When she isn’t writing strange books about bloodsucking magical werewolves, she’s baking sweets, or walking her two dogs, Nibbler and Mulder. She also loves cheesy ghost shows, especially when the hosts call out the ghost out like he wants to brawl with it in a bar. You know, “Come out here, you coward! You like to haunt little kids. Haunt me!” Jackee laughs at this EVERY time.
She’s also a hopeless World of Warcraft addict. In her heyday, she was a top parsing disc priest. She became a paladin to fight Deathwing, she went back to a priest to cuddle pandas, and then she went to a shaman because I guess she thought it would be fun to spend an entire expansion underpowered and frustrated. Boomchicken for Legion!
♡ Author Links
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