In Love with a White Wolf (Paranormal BWWM Interracial Alpha Male Erotic Romance) by Champagne Jackson Read Free Book Online
Authors: Champagne Jackson
Rogue
I grew up on a farm in the Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. It was one of those picturesque, post-card type places, with a big sky that goes on forever and miles and miles of wheat fields, corn fields, soy fields… Any kind of field, really. That was my home. Fields, sky, and barns.
My name is Shaniyah. Shaniyah Jefferson. I’m eighteen years old and I’m just about to graduate from high school. I’ll be going to the University of Nebraska next year and I want to major in biology so I can become a veterinarian. See, I’ve always loved animals.
Part of that comes from growing up on a farm, I bet. My family moved to the farm from Detroit when I was a little kid. My momma and daddy, they hated the cry and the dirt of the city… They saved and saved and always dreamt of having enough to buy a little farm somewhere. Finally, they managed it and with the preacher man’s blessing, we moved out of the city to the countryside.
I’ve always been around animals: horses, cows, pigs, goats, chickens, dogs, cats… If you can think of it, we probably had it on the farm at one point. We even had pheasants and Cornish hens and other weird little birds for a while until my dad decided selling them to rich city folk didn’t make enough money.
My favorite animal on the farm, though, wasn’t a cow or a chicken or a horse or even a dog, really. It was a great big white wolf dog we took to calling Rogue. Can you believe that?
A wolf on a farm, living like a member of the family… No one was really sure where Rogue came from. I was the one who found him, when I was only nine. I was outside playing, running through the fields when I heard a growling amid the corn rows.
I remember turning and seeing a real wolf: huge and terrifying, spit dripping from its bared fangs, bearing down on me. I shrieked, as any nine-year old would and I started to run. I ran as fast as my little legs would carry me but I was so terrified and the corn was so thick, it wasn’t long before I went tumbling to the ground.
The wolf was on top of me in a second but before it could do anything, something even larger, a dark grey furry something crashed into it, ripping it off me. The two beasts wrestled on the ground for a minute before the wolf that attacked me darted off, disappearing into the fields.
It was Rogue who saved me. I was trembling and crying, sobbing in a ball on the ground, and it was big old Rogue who trotted up to me and nuzzled my face with his snout, licking my tears away with his big soft tongue. He nudged me until I stood and led me back to the house.
I explained to my father what had happened. My parents, my brothers and sisters, they all listened in amazement as I told them how Rogue had saved me, how he’d fought off the wolf and then led me home.
“Can we keep him, daddy? Please, please, please, please!” I remember begging.
“He’s basically a wild animal, Frank,” I remember my mom saying, glancing at my dad and then turning her gaze to Rogue’s face, which looked a little hurt at the suggestion that he was nothing more than an animal. He really did look like a wolf—a huge one at that, bigger than me, more like a small polar bear than a dog.
“But look how tame he is!” I cried out, sticking my hand under Rogue’s snout for him to lick me gently.
“There have been more wolf attacks lately,” my dad said, a thoughtful note in his voice. “It’d be great to have a dog around who could scare off the bastards.”
He sighed and reached out to tousle my light brown hair.
“All right, kiddo. You’ve got yourself a dog. A wolf, maybe.”
“Thank you, daddy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I squealed, hugging him and Rogue in turn.
And why did we name him Rogue? Because my dad wanted him to be our Rogue against wolf attacks. Somehow, Rogue understood his duty perfectly. He’d sleep in the
I grew up on a farm in the Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. It was one of those picturesque, post-card type places, with a big sky that goes on forever and miles and miles of wheat fields, corn fields, soy fields… Any kind of field, really. That was my home. Fields, sky, and barns.
My name is Shaniyah. Shaniyah Jefferson. I’m eighteen years old and I’m just about to graduate from high school. I’ll be going to the University of Nebraska next year and I want to major in biology so I can become a veterinarian. See, I’ve always loved animals.
Part of that comes from growing up on a farm, I bet. My family moved to the farm from Detroit when I was a little kid. My momma and daddy, they hated the cry and the dirt of the city… They saved and saved and always dreamt of having enough to buy a little farm somewhere. Finally, they managed it and with the preacher man’s blessing, we moved out of the city to the countryside.
I’ve always been around animals: horses, cows, pigs, goats, chickens, dogs, cats… If you can think of it, we probably had it on the farm at one point. We even had pheasants and Cornish hens and other weird little birds for a while until my dad decided selling them to rich city folk didn’t make enough money.
My favorite animal on the farm, though, wasn’t a cow or a chicken or a horse or even a dog, really. It was a great big white wolf dog we took to calling Rogue. Can you believe that?
A wolf on a farm, living like a member of the family… No one was really sure where Rogue came from. I was the one who found him, when I was only nine. I was outside playing, running through the fields when I heard a growling amid the corn rows.
I remember turning and seeing a real wolf: huge and terrifying, spit dripping from its bared fangs, bearing down on me. I shrieked, as any nine-year old would and I started to run. I ran as fast as my little legs would carry me but I was so terrified and the corn was so thick, it wasn’t long before I went tumbling to the ground.
The wolf was on top of me in a second but before it could do anything, something even larger, a dark grey furry something crashed into it, ripping it off me. The two beasts wrestled on the ground for a minute before the wolf that attacked me darted off, disappearing into the fields.
It was Rogue who saved me. I was trembling and crying, sobbing in a ball on the ground, and it was big old Rogue who trotted up to me and nuzzled my face with his snout, licking my tears away with his big soft tongue. He nudged me until I stood and led me back to the house.
I explained to my father what had happened. My parents, my brothers and sisters, they all listened in amazement as I told them how Rogue had saved me, how he’d fought off the wolf and then led me home.
“Can we keep him, daddy? Please, please, please, please!” I remember begging.
“He’s basically a wild animal, Frank,” I remember my mom saying, glancing at my dad and then turning her gaze to Rogue’s face, which looked a little hurt at the suggestion that he was nothing more than an animal. He really did look like a wolf—a huge one at that, bigger than me, more like a small polar bear than a dog.
“But look how tame he is!” I cried out, sticking my hand under Rogue’s snout for him to lick me gently.
“There have been more wolf attacks lately,” my dad said, a thoughtful note in his voice. “It’d be great to have a dog around who could scare off the bastards.”
He sighed and reached out to tousle my light brown hair.
“All right, kiddo. You’ve got yourself a dog. A wolf, maybe.”
“Thank you, daddy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I squealed, hugging him and Rogue in turn.
And why did we name him Rogue? Because my dad wanted him to be our Rogue against wolf attacks. Somehow, Rogue understood his duty perfectly. He’d sleep in the
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