Hour of the Wolf, Book One, Four Brothers Clan Series featuring MatéoBlurb:
Now, the thoughts of two wolves are intruding on her consciousness. Wolves? Yeah, she really must be losing it. Then again, there may be some thing more dangerous going on. Without the help of a beautiful stranger, Reese will fall prey a sinister obsession.
More than anything else, Reese Emmerson craved quiet. Not that she needed to escape from the hustle and bustle of Fredericksburg—as if the university town she called home could be referred to as hustling and bustling. She longed most for respite from the whispering.
One would think, for a person of Reese’s abilities, the daytime hours would be toughest, but this wasn’t the case. Daytime whispers were usually innocuous. Pick up a gallon of milk. Don’t forget dinner tonight with the dean. Chem paper due. French Lit paper due. Art History paper due. As an assistant professor of English Lit at Mary Washington University, she lived near campus, and there were always lots of whispers about papers due. These mundane things she could block out. Not like the voices she heard at night.
Does she know I’m screwing her roommate?
That’s it. Today was the last time I cut myself. For real, this time.
C’mon, take drink, you little bitch. Then you won’t be too good for me.
Help me. God, somebody help me.
I need something to come down. I need to sleep.
Reese understood a longing for deep, dreamless sleep. She rarely enjoyed a full night’s rest. Some random whisper would wake her; then her own worries would kick in. and she’d be up for the rest of the night. The hour of the wolf—that was what her father, Gene, called it. That time after midnight but before dawn when all one’s worries came home to roost. Fear preying on itself, using vulnerability and fatigue to inflate its importance. Reese knew the phenomenon all too well.
But at the cottage, the whispers couldn’t reach her. Situated near Smith Mountain Lake, but far enough into the woods that she had no neighbors for miles in each direction, the cabin gave her a much needed sanctuary. Even on the drive down, the whispers weren’t too bad except when going through Richmond, particularly Jackson Ward. Junkies and whores and gangbangers, oh my! Too much sorrow to block out there. But past that onslaught of desperation, Reese could turn up the radio and think for a little while that she was just like everyone else. It was one of her favorite games: pretending to be normal. But she wasn’t.
