The Last Werewolf
Glen Duncan
Language: English
Pages: 368
ISBN: 0307742172
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Glen Duncan delivers a powerful, sexy new version of the werewolf legend, a riveting and monstrous thriller--with a profoundly human heart.
Jake Marlowe is the last werewolf. Now just over 200 years old, Jake has an insatiable appreciation for good scotch, books, and the pleasures of the flesh, with a voracious libido and a hunger for meat that drives him crazy each full moon. Although he is physically healthy, Jake has slipped into a deep existential crisis, considering taking his own life and ending a legend that has lived for thousands of years. But there are two dangerous groups--one new, one ancient--with reasons of their own for wanting Jake very much alive.
Touching Darkness (Midnighters, Book 2)
Hunting Season (Twenty-Sided Sorceress, Book 4)
Shiv Crew (Rune Alexander, Book 1)
mean anything. Vengeance for the murdered supposed the dead enjoyed sufficient afterlife to appreciate your efforts. The dead enjoyed nothing of the kind. The dead didn’t go anywhere, except, if you were the monster who’d taken their lives and devoured them, into you. That’s the gift I should have given Harley, or rather made him give me. At least that way we would have been together at the end. I turned inland, light of heart and heavy as the Dead Sea, thinking, So thank you, dear Grainer, but
table. She knelt and began undaintily helping herself. Veins showed in her white hands and ankles; my cock stirred in dumb irritable reflex. She wasn’t falling-in-love material but the thought of eating her was already, as from a great distance, starting to appeal. “Werewolves are not a subject for academe,” she said, “but you know what the professors would be saying if they were. ‘Monsters die out when the collective imagination no longer needs them. Species death like this is nothing more than
down the aerated tunnels and moving walkways into the bright lights and echoing announcements of departures, was to keep my distance. Just once I got too near and she stopped, turned and took a few steps in my direction. I had to duck into a doorway to break the connection—and do it with sufficient casualness to keep the WOCOP tail in the dark. There was a vampire, it turned out, a tall black male with greying hair and a gold hoop earring looking down from the check-in hall’s balcony. A further
her pockets. Stared at the road ahead. This was the problem with talking. Sooner or later it led here. Sooner or later everything led here. Evening on our fifth day from New York we stopped in the middle of nowhere for me to pee. Sunset was a gap between land and cloud like a narrow eye or broken yolk of light, rose gold, mauve, dusk. On either side flat prairie to the horizon, an effect that remade the earth as a disk of pale grass. Ahead the road ran straight to vanishing point; turn 180
masculine deflation. This had been her template for happiness. This and the deep cahoots with her long-suffering father, whose little sprite she was and who indulged her, recklessly, and who had not just heroes and gods to entertain her but black holes and comets and the precise weight of the sun. Among the Gilaley tribe Nikolai’s already negligible Greek Orthodoxy had disappeared. “He started with capitulation,” Talulla said. “Went through the farce of converting to marry my mother. It made him
