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Back Claws and Crochet Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Untitled
  3. CLAWS & CROCHET
  4. NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
  5. CONTENT WARNING
  6. 1
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  63. 58. Epilogue
  64. EPILOGUE
  65. VISIT FOLK HAVEN
  66. SEDUCED BY A SELKIE
  67. NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
  68. ALSO BY LAUREN CONNOLLY
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Moira MacNamara takes shit from no one, and that includes Levi Abadi, the enticing, infuriating monster who thinks he can dictate what she does with her own property. She makes a deal with him, sealed in blood. But now she can’t help noticing how her veins thrum with heat every time he comes near…

VISIT FOLK HAVEN

Want more magical stories? Take a trip to Folk Haven, the small town full of mythical creatures and fated mates! Keep reading for a sneak peek of Seduced by a Selkie, book one in the Folk Haven series…

SEDUCED BY A SELKIE

DELTA

When my father died, he left me a lake house, and I hate him for it. As if losing him suddenly wasn’t bad enough, now, I’m back in this middle-of-nowhere town in northern Georgia, forced to set his estate to rights.

Estate. Ha. That word makes his house sound impressive. Maybe from the outside. But step in the door, and everything turns into a death trap.

When I got the call from Folk Haven’s police chief about my father’s passing a few months back, I half-expected the cause of death to be something more gruesome than a heart attack. Not that I wanted my father to suffer. They told me his death was quick, and even if someone had been nearby, there would have been an infinitesimal chance he could have survived.

With Dimitri Novac’s hermit lifestyle, that chance had turned into zero.

Which leaves me here, sitting alone on the end of his dock in the early morning, listening to the hollow lap of the water against wood, contemplating Lake Galen and mortality.

Maybe my morbid thoughts manifest a response because, suddenly, I’m sure I’m staring straight at a lifeless body floating facedown in the water.

“Oh hell,” I mutter, scrambling to my feet, unsteady on the floating dock.

The higher vantage point shows me the same image. Just past the mouth of the inlet, maybe a hundred feet away, a person is rocking in the waves like the leavings of a shipwreck.

Adrenaline and panic make my decision for me. I rip off my long-sleeved shirt and unzip my jeans, pushing the denim off my legs without the hindrance of shoes because I walked down here, barefoot. Pulling on my muscle memory from a long-ago summer swim team, I dive into the water and plow toward the prone figure, using a strong freestyle. The distance first appeared closer than it is, and as I continue to pump my arms, I try to remember how long a human can go without oxygen and still survive.

Is it long enough for me to reach them, drag them to shore, and start performing CPR?

Doesn’t matter. I have to try.