Lycan Contempt

Epilogue

Did they actualy think they could catch him? At this point, he hoped they did because he was tired of running for being labeled something he wasn’t. He was no rogue. He was an ancient who chose to live his own life. He never went against the lycan laws, but he refused to answer to anyone. He was his own man, always had been, always would be.

Sanctuary was a place run by his kind, mostly ancients and their mates, a place where rogues who were thought fit enough to reform were taken. Now he had been labeled a rogue, and had been relentlessly chased for the past six months. The few times he’d tried to talk some sense into his pursuers, they hadn’t wanted to listen to him. That put him in a difficult situation. Run or fight his own kind. And if he chose the latter, things wouldn’t turn out wel for them.

He didn’t want to be responsible for kiling any of his species. He’d done enough kiling in his lifetime, but he’d about had enough of this chase the rabbit bulshit. If they’d give him a damned second to explain, they’d realize he was probably older then al of them put together. He’d been around a long time.

A damned long time.

“Whenever I find that little punk-ass motherfucker, I’m going to rip his fucking head off,” he muttered.

He’d make an exception about kiling his own kind then.

Terrance. The little whiny bitch he’d had a run-in with nearly a year ago was the reason for al of this.

He’d had lots of time to figure out who could have labeled him a rogue, who could have set Sanctuary on his ass, and every path led back to Terrance. The rogue had been taken to Sanctuary a little over eight months ago. He didn’t believe it was a coincidence that al of his problems started shortly thereafter.

From little bits of rumors he caught, he’d put enough pieces together to figure out that Terrance had taken revenge against him by teling the ancients at Sanctuary that he, Galen Soloman, had been his leader. That he was a ruthless rogue. One that had committed atrocious acts against his own kind and their potential mates. Thus, the amped up man—wolf —hunt.

He’d lost his last pursuers over a week ago and had covered his tracks wel. It would take a long time for them to find him. For now, he was tired, pissed off, and hungry. Just as he thought he’d be sleeping on the cold ground another night, nibbling on what little berries and bugs he could find, he came to a clearing.

He stood at the tree line staring at the somewhat large cedar-shingled farmhouse. He sniffed the air.

Suddenly, every muscle in his body tensed. His wolf franticaly clawed at the surface for release, and a deep rumble emanated from his chest.

“Fuck no. Why now?”

His mate. He’d found her. She was here. He couldn’t see her, but her scent was strong. He’d longed for a mate, yearned to meet the one woman who was fated for him, who he was fated for, for more years than he could count. Several years ago, he’d come to the conclusion that he would never find her or that if she did exist, someone else had gotten to her first.

His stomach clenched in a big bal of knots. The thought of someone else laying a finger on his mate sent murderous thoughts through his head, sent bony fingers of jealousy slithering through every cel of his being. He was not prepared to find her now. Over that last few years, he’d become a hard, bitter man.

He wasn’t gentle, and his mate deserved a man with a big heart, a man that would show her romance, tenderness. He was not that man.

At one time? Maybe. Now? No. Nonetheless, every single fiber of him answered to her cal. He had iron-clad wilpower, and not even he had a hope in hel of resisting. He had to see her, had to hear her voice, see her lovely face. An invisible force puled him in her direction. He came into the clearing and approached the farmhouse with caution and determination. The whole way, he swore he’d only get a glimpse and move on, but when he laid eyes upon her for the first time . . .

Inky black hair so dark it looked blue was swept off her head and knotted in a messy ponytail. Her skin, turned golden from the sun, was smooth and flawless, and when she turned toward him and finaly noticed him watching her, the breath whooshed from his lungs. Her blue eyes with a hint of violet widened, and her ful lips formed an O. He was a lost cause.

She was his, and she didn’t even know it. And one glimpse would never be enough.

Yep. I’m fucked.

The End

About the Author S. K. Yule’s love for reading started in high school, and finaly inspired her to try her hand at writing. Once an outlet was discovered for an overactive, and at times overwhelming, imagination a passion for creating stories for others to enjoy was born.

You wil most often find S. K. Yule tapping away on her laptop in her farmhouse located in a tiny Midwestern town with a population of one hundred fifty. She lives with her real-life hero, her husband, and plans to have the happily ever ending with him that she so often writes about.

Their children consist of three yorkies and three miniature schnauzers, al of which are spoiled rotten.

S. K. Yule’s previously published, bestseling Romance works include:

Darkest Hours, Darkest Book I Darkest Desires, Darkest Book II Darkest Intentions, Darkest book III Lycan Lover

Lycan Lust

Lycan It

Lycan Heat

Lycan Vengeance Lycan Christmas Demon Scorned

Jericho’s Revenge Breaking The Cowboy Three Lovers For Lucy Second Chances Melandra’s Men S. K. Yule loves to hear from readers and other authors/writers. You can find more information about her and contact information at: www.skyule.com www.facebook.com/skyule www.facebook.com/skyuleauthor Table of Contents Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One