Start your review of Sleeping With the Wolf After the Crash, 1 Write a review Shelves: romance , adventure , short , sweet , pnr-series , shifters , series , suspense , future Creative twist on many popular themes. Armageddon fifty years in the future with werewolves? Talk about a new twist on an old idea. She did not disappoint and you will find me following this series in the future.
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Cover Artist Lyn Taylor This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Blurb Rising country music star Carla boards a plane in the year But it crashes in the future, fifty years after Armageddon has destroyed technology and plagues have reduced the female population to a precious few.
She finds herself offered as prize in a Bride Fight, where only the strongest and fiercest men are allowed to compete to win a wife. Alpha werewolf Taye knows Carla is his mate. He wins the Bride Fight and takes her to his den, ready to give her everything, even his heart. Will Carla ever be ready to give him anything? She had spent most of the last five years standing on stage, singing her songs and playing her guitar for thousands of enthusiastic fans at a time, both men and women.
None of that had ever made her suffer from nerves before. There were only a few hundred men fixated on her here, but her sweaty hands were shaking worse than they ever had before a show. God help them. How could she have gone from being a rising country music star in the year to a piece of merchandise in ? Useless questions raced angrily around her head, bringing her perilously close to tears, so she scowled at her surroundings. The theater she was in now must have been a showpiece in its glory days, and maybe a historical site later.
Right now it was a shell. The majority of one wall had been knocked out and replaced by mismatched windows so light could come in. The afternoon sun lit the interior like a spotlight on a once elegant but now aging diva. Half the fancy chandeliers were missing, and half of those remaining were missing most of their crystals.
The balconies, like the one she stood in now, lined the only intact wall. Carla could see traces of the gold paint that once embellished the ornate carved wood. The raised stage was below and to the left of her balcony, framed in carved wood, but the curtain was gone.
The slightly sloping floor was bare wood, marked with rough spots where the seats had once been fastened. The stage had a large square marked off to designate where the fights would take place. Several of the men made a point of standing below her balcony while they stripped off their shirts and shoes to get ready to fight. They preened for her, stretching muscled lean bodies trying to catch her eye.
Some made kissing faces at her. She pointedly ignored them. Her fingernails, showing only chipped remnants of Cherry Bomb nail lacquer, were ragged while they bit into her palms.
If she counted correctly, today was The Day. But that world was gone. No cell phones, no cars, no computers, no planes.
At least none that could fly … When she left Minneapolis after a show four days ago and boarded a plane to Denver, the world had been sane. There were restaurants and grocery stores and malls in every town they flew over. The plane had been full of businessmen tapping away on their laptops and families with teenagers who were glued to their cell phones.
And then … the world ended. Somehow the plane had gone fifty years into the future. And this future was after the apocalypse. Carla glanced over at the woman on the balcony beside hers. Lisa Anton was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful: she was a model. She had long blond hair—natural blond! Carla, already in her seat, had cynically tagged her as a Blonde, not too bright, way too vain, and useless. But when the plane went down and the survivors tried to dig through the wreckage to find others, the blonde model had done more than her share of digging and lifting.
Her perfect makeup had been smeared all over her face, her perfect clothes torn and dirty. When the only surviving member of the plane crew asked for volunteers to walk to try to find help, she immediately offered to go.
Three groups of two survivors each set out in different directions to find help. A fat lot of help they had gotten. They had been glad and relieved to see the farm people after hiking for a day with no signs of life.
The two-lane asphalt road they found was badly cracked and overgrown with grass and weeds. There had been nothing to see but grassy plains for miles. The first town they came to after walking for two hours was totally empty except for rusted shells of cars and sagging buildings.
They continued to struggle on, confused by the emptiness around them and worried about the people they left behind. They passed a number of empty ruined farmhouses without ever seeing a person. It made no sense why miles of farm and grazing land were empty. But a dozen empty houses? Carla knew there was something weird about that.
But she never in a million years would have guessed they had gone fifty years into the future. The crash had been completely unexpected.
It was a beautiful day for travel, so when the turbulence hit it caught all the passengers by surprise, and Carla had felt terror close her throat when the plane jolted violently and began to descend. So many had been killed or hurt she felt almost guilty to be merely bruised. The walled farming community they found the following morning was weird too. A militant Amish community?
Or some strange group like at Waco? But these were the first people they had seen, and the people from the plane needed help. There were plenty of suspicious men, but very few women in the Odessa farming settlement.
The farmers wore plain pants and shirts, and their wives wore ankle-length dresses. These farmers did without phones or televisions or computers. They seemed odd but not aggressive in spite of the armed guards at the gate.
Their religion was rigid, and all-p revalent. The women had fussed over their blisters and torn clothes and set up skimpy baths of water heated over the stove, like in Little House on the Prairie. The men agreed to take Carla and Lisa to the nearest town so they could get help for the survivors. Fooled by a bunch of Amish farmers. The farmers had taken them in a horse-drawn wagon into a nearby town that looked like a cross between an Old West town and a military base, to the so-called mayor, Ray Madison.
The town was strange, with tall walls made of stone sectioning off some blocks and no signs of technology anywhere. There were no cars, no lights, no fast food places.
They passed a building that had once been a popular chain restaurant, but the familiar sign was bleached by age and weather. Some men and boys were on the streets, staring at the two of them like they had two heads each, but they saw no women. Ray had looked them over like they were prime livestock while they had explained about the plane and the survivors needing medical help.
He only gave the farmers some boxes and bundles in trade for the two of them. The farmers had left them with Ray. Lisa had cried. Carla had argued. But Ray had rubbed his hands together gleefully and announced that he would offer them as prizes in a Bride Fight. It seemed that two unknown women in their twenties were hot commodities in this future hell. And no help yet for the plane crash survivors. Had either of the other volunteer teams found help?
Her fair skin showed the signs of tears. Carla hoped her own tanned face was calm. But where could she go?
Ray, the man who had bought her, stepped into her balcony. He smiled at her, showing a few gaps between yellowed teeth. Dental care must be hard to come by in this place. He indicated the men below. You got a preference, little lady? Ray looked pitying. Same thing happened a few years back. My missus told you about them other women from the Times Before who showed up out west of here. They never got back neither.
Sleeping With the Wolf
He watched her go up the stairs with sadness. He wanted to spend all his time with her. With a sigh, he turned to go to the kitchen. Paint was standing in the kitchen door. He rolled the push mower over the grass, wondering why anyone needed to cut grass.
Sleeping With The Wolf