Home > Rogue Unloved (Feral Pack #4)

Rogue Unloved (Feral Pack #4)
Author: Eve Langlais





Rogues aren’t supposed to fall in love.



Lochlan’s been lying low for a while and would have remained hidden forever if Luna hadn’t come along.

The woman is trouble, and this cynical wolf knows he should walk away. Whatever crisis she’s dealing with isn’t his problem. However, he can’t abandon his mate.

Yup. His freaking mate. So much for thinking he’d die grumpy and alone. Despite not being crazy about the idea, he can’t ignore her—or the danger stalking her.

A threat that might extend to all of Werekind.

Like hell.

Whoever is responsible better run far and fast, because this rogue won’t hesitate to kill for the ones he loves.



For more info on this book or more Eve Langlais titles, please visit, EveLanglais.com.






Growl and Prowl

A Lion's Pride

Kodiak Point

Bitten Point

Dragon Point

Freakn' Shifters



Find even more books at EveLanglais.com






Four decades ago…


“Pay attention!”

The sharp rap of the ruler across knuckles brought tears to Luna’s eyes, but she knew better than to cry. The nuns who ran the orphanage didn’t tolerate whining or misbehavior.

Her crime? She’d been caught staring out the window, longing for the sunshine and fresh air just out of reach. How she missed it. Day in and day out, the orphans went from the dormitory to the classroom or the church then back to the dorm. That schedule allowed for only a short outdoor break where they could breathe fresh air and stretch their legs. Not enough for a growing girl—and torture for the wolf inside.

Before Luna could earn another bruise from the strict nun, she ducked her head and resumed practicing her cursive letters then moved on to mathematics and science, followed by an hour of prayer before dinner, chores, and more prayer as they readied for bed.

Every day was the same. Despite being here just a few weeks, Luna barely remembered a time before the orphanage and its strict schedule. Only her mother’s face, and her yipped admonishment to run the last time Luna had seen her, remained clear.

Luna had run, even as she’d heard the gunshots. She’d run and run, until she could run no more. When a pair of hikers found her, she’d been naked and covered in scratches. The strangers had brought her to town and dropped her off at the police station, where a uniformed man with a big, bushy mustache questioned her, his burly manner frightening to a small child.

The kinder social worker had better luck getting answers.

“Who are you?”

“Luna Smith.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I lost my mom in the woods.”

“Where do you live?”

“I don't know.”

They'd moved so often and rarely stayed in one place for long. They’d even lived in a car, until the engine died. They'd been walking ever since. It had been a while since Luna had been in school.

A different social worker had temporarily placed Luna in a foster home while they’d searched for her mother. For three days, the police searched, only to fail to find her mama. Given Luna’s age—seven, with a birthday coming up in the fall—they’d chosen to transfer her from the foster home, which was better suited for younger children, to an orphanage run by nuns.

She hated it.

Every day, Luna hoped her mother would appear and take her away from this cold and scary place. However, no one came to rescue Luna.

At least not all the sisters were mean. Some could be quite nice and comforting to a little girl, but they didn't smell right. Nor did they hug Luna when she was sad. Or care when she wanted more meat to eat instead of oatmeal and stew.

When the full moon rolled around, the first since her arrival—the last being the night she’d lost Mama—Luna thought nothing of sitting in the dormitory window to admire it. It tickled her skin. She closed her eyes, basking in it. Her wolf wanted to come out and play, but Luna knew better. Mama always said to keep it a secret.

“What are you doing out of bed?” The harsh rebuke came from Sister Francine, one of the younger but more severe nuns.

“I was admiring the moon. It’s so pretty.” Luna pointed at it.

“The moon is for those who love the devil. Do you worship Satan?”

Luna gaped. She hadn’t even known about God and the devil before she’d arrived at the orphanage. That ignorance had led to an old man in robes flinging water in her face and chanting. A baptism the nuns called it, to ensure her soul didn’t go to Hell if she died.

“No, Sister Francine, I would never worship the devil.”

“And yet, here you are, doing his work, out of bed, obviously praying to him.”

The accusation confused her. “But I—”

“Don’t you sass me!”

Luna couldn’t avoid the switch the sister wielded—freshly cut every day so as to keep them in line. It whipped against her bare arms peeking from the nightdress.

“Ow.” She couldn’t stop the sharp exclamation.

“That didn’t hurt.”

“It did,” Luna insisted, lips wobbling as tears brimmed. Mama had never hit her. No one had. This kind of pain was new.

“Liar! Devil’s handmaiden.” The switch came down again and again, even as the moon seemed to get brighter.

Luna’s pain and fear swirled into anger. This was unfair. Why was she being punished for something she used to do every full moon with Mama?

“I hate you,” Luna screamed.

As Sister Francine brought down the lash again, Luna grabbed for the switch, her little hands gripping it tight.

The act of defiance led to a rapid slap that snapped her head back, and her teeth clacked hard, nipping her tongue. She tasted blood, and more tears welled.

She might be young, but she knew what Francine was doing was wrong. Evil. And according to the nuns, the Bible said to fight evil. She knew only one way to do that.

As her anger exploded, so did her wolf.

Caught in a rage, wanting only to stop the pain—not just that of her whipped hands and arms but the pain in her sad heart too—Luna found satisfaction for her frustration. It took strident screaming from the other orphans for her to snap out of it. By the time the other nuns arrived, Sister Francine was crawling to the door, bleeding from the many scratches and bite marks peppered all over her body.

The shock in the gazes of those around Luna fizzled her anger and shriveled her up inside, because she saw fear and disgust. They thought her a monster.

And perhaps she was. No one else had blood in their mouth.

She deflated, fur receding, skin reappearing, a weak child once more.

The nuns lunged, and Luna didn’t fight them as they dragged her from the dormitory to a storage room, where they locked her in. She hugged her bare knees—she’d lost her nightgown when she’d shifted. Not for the first time, she had no blanket to cover her. But before, she’d had Mama. Now, she was alone.

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