Rome And Jules
by Tara Lain
Blurb:
Two werewolf households, both alike in dignity….
Rome Siracusa, youngest son of the alpha of the nouveau-riche Siracusa pack, wants to be a faithful son and pack member, but he’s got two big secrets. One, he’s blessed with enhanced hearing, vision, strength, and the ability to shift at will. Second, he’s gay, a fact he can’t admit to his deadly homophobic father.
Rome crashes a party at the mansion of his pack’s greatest enemy, the ancient, pure-blooded Havillands. Jules, the gay son of the drunkard alpha, is being married off to a rich entrepreneur. Smitten and moved by the beautiful male’s plight, Rome tries to find a way to save Jules—while digging himself deeper into pack politics and navigating his own arranged marriage. Secrets climb out of the caves as the werewolf gods speak through the mouths of their children, and the two great families clash, suffocating the hopes of star-crossed lovers.
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Excerpts
Holy shit! Rome controlled his face and swooped
Yolanda into a big twirl to cover his surprise. As he came out of the spin, he
leaned in and sang, “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? The big bad wolf.”
Yolanda gave him a gutsy laugh. “Whoever you are, cutie,
you’ve got balls. Not many guys want to take on my brother.”
“Surely he can’t object to you dancing?”
She shrugged. “I guess the problem is that no one knows what
Ty will object to.”
“Must limit your social life.”
A crease popped between her arched brows. “Tell me about
it.”
“Uh, where is your brother?”
She shrugged. “I guess he got kind of beat up on the tennis
courts today and decided to go drown his sorrows with some of his cronies
rather than attending this command performance.”
“But then that means he’s not performing on command.”
She spoke softly. “Ty doesn’t give a fuck. Not like old man
Havilland can do much, or at least will do anything. Too busy with his friends
Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.”
Rome quirked a half smile. The music stopped, and he hid his
sigh of relief. He gave Yolanda a small bow. “Thank you for the dance.”
“Thank you for the courage.” She chuckled again. Shame she
was a blatant enemy. He kind of liked her.
A tapping against a glass brought the whole crowd around to
face the center of the dance floor.
All the guests who were sitting stood and placed a hand over
their heart. Rome didn’t even have to ask. He turned to find Gerard Havilland
weaving drunkenly between his sister, a pale, delicate-for-a-wolf female, and
some male named Alphonse who Rome had heard was Havilland’s second. Nobody
spoke about Havilland’s wife, who’d apparently walked out on him years before.
Rome sighed quietly and crossed his heart. Yeah, and his fingers.
Someone started the pledge.
“I pledge my life to the alpha, who is the conduit to the
wolfgods and giver of wolfen energy. Hail the alpha, source of strength and
unity. Praise the alpha, defender of the pack and wellspring of all that is
good. I lay myself at the alpha’s feet without need for request, cause, or
reason. The alpha rules us all.”
As the voices died down, Rome felt all his hair standing on
end. Regardless of how unworthy the alpha, the pledge rang with the truth of
ages and united every were.
Havilland waved his hand impatiently toward the crowd. Rome
turned his head—felt his mouth fall open—and let his body follow the turn.
Oh my god of wolves.
From the side of the big room walked a young male who could
only be the much-heralded son. What was his name? Who cares? The guy was tall—taller even than Rome—reed slender,
with dark blond hair that likely fell to his shoulders if released from the
queue gathered at his neck in a ribbon. But the face. Like someone translated
poetry into a person. Large eyes, so blue Rome could see their color from where
he stood, dominated his face above high cheekbones that would have been gaunt
if they weren’t a soft, glowing pink. His neck was long, his hands graceful. Gods, what is he? Wolf males might be
tall like Rome, but they were nearly always powerfully built. This guy looked
very little like Gerard Havilland.
Rome’s whole
body vibrated with electricity and shook as if the male were a magnet and Rome
was iron filings trying to organize around him.
Crawling through the balcony window wasn’t exactly
nonconfrontational. He plopped on the grass and pressed his back against the
trunk of a tree. Maybe pebbles on the window? And if it’s not his room, dumbass? It made sense he’d have the one
balcony on this side of the house. Do I
risk it? He’s probably still out with Asshole Anderson. Man, that idea
nauseated him. He closed his eyes and bumped the back of his head against the
scratchy bark.
Lights shone against his closed lids, and he flicked his
eyes open. Somebody’s in that room.
He rolled up to a crouch and stared at the french doors. Like he willed it, one
of them opened and out walked Jules.
Whoa. Rome sucked a breath, and his alpha-advantage
eyes focused clearly on the scene, even though he was many feet away. Jules’s
fair hair hung onto his shoulders, shimmering in the moonlight. He’d left his
shirt open, and the white fabric barely contrasted with his pale chest—the
chest that showed off those surprising muscles. He leaned on the parapet and
sighed. Though hardly a whisper, Rome heard it clearly. He slipped a step
closer.
Jules’s head snapped up. “Is there someone there?”
Wow. Could he hear that?
Think fast. “But soft.
What light through yonder window breaks?” Rome stepped out from under the tree
branches and stopped. If Jules was going to scream, he needed a head start on
the pursuers.
Instead, Jules gave that head cock, full of curiosity and
unselfconscious charm. “I’ve always liked the sun.”
Rome let his smile break free. “I thought when I saw you
that your hair looks like a great fall of sunlight.”
“How poetic.”
Rome walked slowly to the foot of the balcony and gazed up
at Jules. Wild overgrown vines grew on trellises, some of them hanging away
from the wall with the weight of the unkempt greenery. Rome pointed toward the
window in front of him. “Is there someone sleeping inside?”
“No. There’s no one else in my end of the wing on either
floor.”
“How nice.”
Jules rested his forearms on the balcony rail and leaned his
chin on them. “When you broke in the other night—and I still don’t know how you
did that—you said you wanted to be my friend and that you were worried about me
being a pawn in a political game.”
“Yes. That’s all true.”
“Umm. But I don’t have any friends who recite Shakespeare to
me. At least not Romeo and Juliet.”
He smiled ever so slightly.
Rome’s heart beat hard. “And what does that suggest to you?”
“That the youngest son of the rich, powerful, and very
homophobic Siracusa clan… is gay.”
About the Author
Tara Lain writes the Beautiful Boys of Romance in contemporary, paranormal, and suspense gay romance novels that star her unique, charismatic heroes. Her first novel was published in January of 2011 and she’s now somewhere around book 45. Her best-selling novels have garnered awards for Best Series, Best Contemporary Romance, Best Paranormal Romance, Best Ménage, Best LGBT Romance, Best Gay Characters, Book of the Year, Gay Romance of the Year, and she has been honored as Best Author of the Year. She often does workshops on both author promotion and writing craft. Tara, her soul-mate husband, and her soul-mate dog are recent transplants to Ashland, Oregon from the southern California coast where she has set many of her books. Passionate about diversity, justice, and new experiences, Tara says on her tombstone it will say “Yes”!
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