I never planned on going back to Hung Island, Georgia. Ever.
I was a top notch Were agent for the secret paranormal
Council and happily living in Chicago where I had everything I needed – a gym membership, season tickets to the Cubs
and Dwayne – my gay, Vampyre best friend. Going back now would mean facing the
reason I’d left and I’d rather chew my own paw off than deal with Hank.
Hank the Tank Wilson was the six foot three, obnoxious,
egotistical, perfect-assed, best-sex-of-my-life, Werewolf who cheated on me and
broke my heart. At the time, I did what any rational woman would do. I left in
the middle of the night with a suitcase, big plans and enough money for a
one-way bus ticket to freedom. I vowed to never return.
But here I am, trying to wrap my head around what has
happened to some missing Weres without wrapping my body around Hank. I hope I
don’t have to eat my words and my paw.
BUY LINKS:
Where to find Robyn:
Author Bio:
NYT and USA Today best selling author, Robyn Peterman writes
because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them
life on paper. She writes snarky, sexy, funny paranormal and snarky, sexy,
funny contemporaries. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends,
shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke Zero Cherry with extra ice in a
styrofoam cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and
collecting stray animals. A former professional actress, with Broadway, film
and T.V. credits, she now lives in the south with her family and too many
animals to count. Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a
job where she can work in your underpants works really well for her.
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