River of Dreams I: To Tame a Werewolf

Angela has long fantasized about werewolves, titillated by dreams of hot, steamy nights and savage caresses. And yet she’s certain this fantasy is one that will never be fulfilled, particularly when she is stranded at an isolated cabin by a blizzard with the handsome, deliciously appealing, but infinitely refined professor, Connor.


Length: Short Story
Word Count: 12,579
Genre: Paranormal/Werewolf Romance
Rating: Erotic
Available formats: PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)


River of Dreams I:
Myra Nour


© Copyright by Myra Nour, April 2006
© Cover Art by Dan Skinner, April 2006
ISBN 978-1-60394-543-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636


This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.


They ate in silence in front of the fireplace. The TV didn’t work due to the storm, so after supper, Angela took a romance novel from her suitcase.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Connor.

He was restless and kept staring out the windows. His agitation seemed to increase as dusk fell and he paced back and forth. Finally, she threw her book down.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Stepping in front of her, his posture rigid, he declared, “It’s not safe.” Glancing out the window, he added, “I must get out of this cabin.”

Angela sprang to her feet. “Are you insane? You can’t go out in that blizzard.” She waved a hand at the snow hitting the panes.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, if I have to. You’ll be safe from me.”

His eyes swung to her face, the gray glittering like silver. They were so intense. For some reason she picked up a sense of danger radiating off of him in waves.

“I am worried about your safety.”

The words were ground out between his clenched jaws. She noticed his fists were balled and a slight trembling shook his frame.

“Are you sick?” She took a step toward him.

“Stay back,” he growled.

Angela shivered. Something was definitely wrong. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear his hair looked wilder, standing out from his head as if he had tangled it with his hands. The black growth on his jaws was thick, looking more like three days worth instead of one.

“It’s too late,” he snapped as he walked stiff-legged over to his suitcase. She didn’t know what was going on, but suddenly she was very frightened. The air was saturated with a manly musk and her heart raced like mad. Every nerve ending in her body screamed run.

Connor pulled four heavy dangling chains from his luggage and stumbled past her to the bed. Angela started toward him, but he snapped, “Get back,” his voice so deep it was unrecognizable.

His back was turned and she stood in stunned disbelief as he ripped off his shirt, and then stripped his pants in seconds. His body shuddered violently and he crawled onto the bed, dragging the chains with him.

Was he planning on raping her? Was this some sick game?

Staring at Connor’s tight-featured face as he clamped manacles around his ankles, then secured the chains around the bedposts, she knew it was no game.

“Quick,” he growled, panting, “Tie my arms.” He spread his muscular arms, the manacles already around his wrists.

Angela still didn’t understand, but if Connor were crazy, it’d be safer with him chained up. She swiftly secured the ends of the chains with the locks that were attached. A key hung from each and she took them out with a jerk. Connor was twisting on the bed, his arms and legs straining against the metal.

After a violent spasm passed, he stared toward the window, then back at her. In a deep, gravelly voice he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to put you in danger.” The next instant his face and body broke out in a sweat and he howled.

Alarmed, and even more scared then she’d felt earlier, Angela backed away. She stared in disbelief at the writhing form. Muscles bulged, as if growing in spurts, like they were going to pop from beneath the restraining skin. What was happening to Connor?

Something moved along his flesh and it took a few seconds for her to realize hair sprang from every pore. Long, thick, black hair. He howled again, his teeth snapping forcefully.

Angela took another step backwards, her legs almost buckling as tremors shook her. The thing that lay stretched out on the bed whipped its head toward her, its silver eyes pinning her to the spot.

Oh God. Could this be real? Was that a werewolf manacled to the bed?