What Others Have Said About

Project W.Olf

"Seasoned with police humor and science (perhaps quasi-science), fascinating and little-known vignettes culled from nature, biology, chemistry and quantum physics. Schuh’s runaway emotional and rapid-heartbeat authorship makes the novella hard to put down—and then there’s that unexpected but heartwarming conclusion. Altogether, a delightful cocktail of science, levity, and the human fallibility and potential.

My total impression was a resounding 5 stars."

~Kenna Mary McKinnon, author of Blood Sister, The Insanity Machine, Benjamin and Rumblechum, and more.

"On the market today, we find many books about shifters and werewolves but not so many about men who agree to become part of a scientific experiment to gain wolf-like abilities.

Schuh has done a stunning job at creating a world where this not only happens but is so easily accepted. The characters of Peter and Marie are well-crafted and so down to earth that they like they could be the people next door. The emotions flowing in and out of the story are sculpted to near perfection allowing the reader to grasp and feel what the characters feel. The twists and turns along with some good humor and you have a fantastic read.

Book one of the Project W.Olf Trilogy will surely grab you by your emotional strings and not let go until the last word! Can’t wait to read book two and see what happens next."

~Cheryllynn Dyess, author of The Chronicles of Elizabeth Fairbairn series

PROJECT W.OLF

Project W.Olf Trilogy Book 1

Eileen Schuh

WolfSinger Publications ~ Security Colorado

Copyright © 2020 by Eileen Schuh

Smashwords Edition

Published by WolfSinger Publications

www.wolfsingerpubs.com

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should visit your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the rights of this author.

For permission requests, please contact

WolfSinger Publications at

editor@wolfsingerpubs.com

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

Cover Art copyright 2020 © Lee Ann Barlow

Digital 978-1-942450-74-0

Print 978-1-942450-73-3

Chapter 1

Quick! Climb on, NOW! he barks. You’re in danger!

He has a feral look about him, standing astride the quad, nodding to the seat behind him, his dark hair mussed and his wolfen eyes on me. His jeans hug tight across his crotch, as a man’s jeans are prone to do when straddling the saddle of an off-road machine.

The butt of a rifle protrudes from the gun boot mounted on the left fender and a shotgun is strapped across the basket in front. As I’m feeling half-feral myself this brilliant autumn afternoon, I only briefly consider my options before clambering up behind him. As soon as I’m settled, he sits his ass between my legs, revs the machine and reverses into a three-point U-turn. We are soon heading down the forest trail the way I’d come.

My decision to climb aboard isn’t a reckless one. Since before I can remember, I’ve been honing wilderness survival skills. Both strangers and rides are more often saviors than enemies in Canada’s boreal forest, so my skill set doesn’t include refusing rides from handsome men on ATVs.

That said, although I’ve been doing a heck of a lot of honing and surviving since before I can remember, I can’t tell you much of my adventures because ‘before I can remember’ is a point in time which shifts with the sun and is never very long ago.

As we race full speed over the roots and rocks and logs, I somewhat fall into a trance, mesmerized by the long poplar shadows splaying across our path—hitting my face with shadow and light, shadow and light.

My stupor snaps when he begins maneuvering the machine down a steep incline. Gravity draws me forward on the seat, forcing my groin dangerously close to the small of his back. I brace, pressing my boots against the footrests, but the incline steepens, forcing me to give in and cuddle up. I lay my head against his broad shoulders, wrap my arms around his middle and close my eyes.

‘You’re in danger!’ he’d said. His warning came as no surprise—I’ve been in danger since before I can remember. Being rescued by such a gorgeous creature is a surprise though, and one I relish…for only a few moments before the quad grinds to a halt and gears click. He rips free of my arms and stands, sending a blast of engine heat surging between his legs and into my face.

Fearing he’s stopped because he’s read my mind and found my sexual musings offensive, I straighten and lever myself to where I ought to have been seated. However, it is soon apparent he’s simply surveying the trail ahead.

Hang on! he shouts as he stands on the footrests and leans over the handlebars. Low gear catches and the quad lurches forward. What he expects me to hold onto now that he isn’t seated in front of me is not apparent. I reach for the gun boot but its smooth polyethylene finish offers no grip.

He’s working the gears, struggling for the best combination of traction and speed as we head up an incline that puts Mt. Everest’s slopes to shame. I glance over my shoulder, wondering what the chances are I’ll tumble off the rear. I’m relieved to see I have a full upholstered seatback behind me as well as a massive toolbox. Looking forward, all I can see is his silhouette and the red nose of the quad inching into the cerulean autumn sky—sparking my next worry that the entire machine will topple backward over me.

The pistons don’t miss a beat though, the engine holds a steady roar and the giant tires just keep rolling up the hill.

He half-turns when we reach the top. You okay? he asks.

I shrug, relieved to see a flat field of pasture grass spreading before us to the horizon. He faces forward and turns his head left, right, up and down. Operating the gears once more, he takes us from a roll to a gallop in just seconds. He remains standing with his face into the wind, working his nostrils as a dog does when it sticks its head out the window of a moving car.

Ah, yes. Judging by the welts on my arms from the late autumn grasses whipping by, I’d say we are hitting close to one hundred klicks. Too bad tomorrow, I will not remember the thrill.

Chapter 2

Before shutting off the machine, Peter once more drank in the scents coming to him off the land. From here he could not smell the musk of the man or the vehicle oil and exhaust fumes that had overloaded his senses in the valley. The sharp scent of gunpowder was no longer riding in on the breeze. He did catch the visceral scent of a squirrel. Satisfied he and the woman were safe, he cut the engine.

Although he possessed the nose of a wolf he didn’t have its hearing; he had to listen with human ears for scentless dangers. He caught the sound of a few belated October leaves falling and the call of a lone goose far in the distance. The squirrel he’d smelled was chattering in the spruce tree beside the cabin off to the right. It seemed all was as it should be.

Although this site wasn’t as far from the open field as he’d have liked, it was well hidden by evergreens and poplars. The underbrush, now leafless from the autumn shed, was full of brambles and wild rose thorns providing a prickly wall of defense against man and beast.

He concentrated on releasing the tension in his muscles, quieting his mind, lowering his adrenalin and testosterone levels. Relaxation was an integral part of his survival plan because the scent of fear travels much farther in the forest than does the wash of peace.

He dismounted and eyed the woman who was still seated on the machine, staring at him. She was more a girl than a woman. He took a whiff and guessed from the nubile scents she was in her mid-teens. She had long straight black hair, blue eyes, and a button nose. Despite her tender age she was looking at him hungrily. He could forgive her—the developing amygdala in the teen brain often misinterprets fear as sexual arousal and the ride he’d just given her had