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Falling for Storm

Amara is a bit of a loser—in her opinion anyway. But then she meets Dakota, a xxxxxx chick who introduces Amara to Storm. He’s her handsome-as-xxxx brother who owns a local bar. Little does Amara know that they’re both werewolves…and she’s about to enter a world of danger, mystery, and potential tragedy.

Age Rating: 18+

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.

 

Falling for Storm by Kat Tharsis is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.

 


 

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Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

1

Amara is a bit of a loser—in her opinion anyway. But then she meets Dakota, a xxxxxx chick who introduces Amara to Storm. He’s her handsome-as-xxxx brother who owns a local bar. Little does Amara know that they’re both werewolves…and she’s about to enter a world of danger, mystery, and potential tragedy.

Age Rating: 18+

Original Author: Kat Tharsis

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.

Amara

I stood in awe in front of my freshman dormitory.

Duke University wasn’t considered an Ivy League, but I was lucky and grateful to have landed a full scholarship.

After all, they only accepted about six students per year into the art history department.

My admission had been more of a shock than a piece of wonderful news.

I wasn’t the smartest nor the most talented in my family, as my older sister reminded me every chance she got.

I’d applied knowing full well that I wouldn’t make it, and yet here I was.

My sister and I weren’t close; in fact, we had a constant hate relationship.

It was no secret that she hated my guts—according to her I was not normal, and therefore she was allowed to bully me .

She was 5 foot 7, blonde, pretty, a high school cheerleader who hated to study and had one too many boyfriends.

I was a 5-foot-5, average-looking brunette, awkward as xxxx, used to burying herself in art and books and not having boyfriends.

The only thing we had in common were our blue eyes.

Anyway, taking the first step on the path to my dream of someday earning a Ph.D. in art history and visual studies—at a school so far from home—meant the world to me.

I was finally doing something right, something for myself.

It would be a long journey, I guessed that much, but I wanted to savor the experience.

I was scared, but somehow I had a gut feeling everything was going to work out.

I walked in with luggage in tow. There were students everywhere, some talking in groups and others running about.

I got the vibe of a movie scene where the main character is about to embark on an adventure with a dude who’s way out of her league.

Yeah, I know, I have a strange imagination.

Maybe it was all the romance novels and sappy movies—they seemed to be affecting my perception of reality—but in my defense that was where my creative juices came from.

I climbed two flights of stairs, walked down the hall, exchanged polite smiles, and read each room number until I found 205.

I took a deep breath and knocked lightly to let whomever—if someone was inside— know I was about to come in.

I waited a bit and didn't hear anyone, so I went in to start getting settled.

The room was spacious enough for two people. Two beds, two study tables, two wardrobe closets, and a large window.

Cozy.

The bed to the right had things scattered on it. I guessed my roommate had arrived and could have just gone somewhere.

Judging from what I'm seeing, she likes heavy metal and big bikes.

And most of the stuff she owns is either red or black.

Interesting.

Bending down, I picked up the black leather jacket lying on the floor and placed it on the bed.

As if on cue, the door opened to reveal an attractive, self-assured-looking girl.

She doesn't completely look like someone who causes a lot of trouble, but I get the idea she's a force to be reckoned with.

Long black hair, gray eyes, the face of an angel, and curvy hips. And we were about the same height.

A total knockout. I must look dull next to her.

She gave me a confident smile and introduced herself as Dakota Black. A local, she called herself.

I figured she didn't need to stay at the dorm if she was a local, but she explains that she wants to genuinely experience university life.

The works.

But she would be going home every weekend, she told me, to help out at the bar her older brother owned.

We talked while we organized our stuff and then grabbed something to eat together, and soon we were becoming more and more comfortable.

Dakota was nice and easygoing. She liked reading as much as I did. And yes, she listened to heavy metal.

I sincerely believed she and I would get along just fine.

The days flew by, and I settled into my classes nicely, even though some of my professors loved to challenge our mental capacity.

I’d also noticed that “the locals” were very kind and helpful, and almost everybody knew everybody.

Dakota was the coolest person I'd ever met. She introduced me to her friends and the locals we came across from time to time.

Apparently her family was well respected here.

I felt myself adapting and seriously hoping for life to stay the same, even if just for the year.

I'd keep my fingers crossed.

 

Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

2

Amara

Friday afternoon, and I was not sure of my weekend plans yet.

I was thinking of spending time in the library or exploring downtown for landscapes to sketch when Dakota asked if I wanted to help out at her brother’s bar.

She said it was absolutely safe. We’d be waiting tables or helping out in the kitchen. She even offered to split tips.

I was reluctant at first—I knew nothing about kitchen stuff—but I could have used the extra cash.

And there was not a lot of schoolwork for now, so why not?

By 7 PM, I was being shown around and instructed by Dakota. It wasn’t a big place, though it looked popular among “the locals.”

Three pool tables in one corner, a small stage on the opposite side for live bands, and scattered tables and chairs in front of the counter.

By 10 PM, everything was in full swing, bustling with people looking to get drunk and unwind.

Dakota tended bar while I was in charge of delivering drinks—easy enough, except that balancing a tray of bottles and glasses could be tricky.

I was on my way to get the next drinks out when a hand came out of nowhere, groping my butt.

“Hey, hon,” said a deep voice from behind.

I was momentarily stunned. Then I whipped around, slapping the hand away as hard as I could.

I came face to face with a mountain of a man sporting a long blond beard.

Let me tell you, he was one hairy, scary-looking dude. Like a yeti.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

I had half a mind to knee him in the groin, but I didn’t want to cause a scene or get Dakota and her brother in trouble.

So I just started to walk away.

The xxxxxxx didn’t take my warning seriously. Let’s face it, what xxxxxxx does?

Instead of sitting down, he grabbed my elbow and spun me into his chest, grinning at me like a mule eating briars.

The audacity of this xxxxx!

“Let me go!” I shouted, trying to push him away with all my might, but he didn’t budge.

“Come on, hon, don’t be like that, I just wanna show you a good time.”

I knew it—the sleazy jerk’s universal pickup line.

Being in this predicament made me think about a few things.

One, I was going to murder my roommate.

It'll be fun, she said. It'll be safe, she said. Well, nothing in this situation said fun or safe, did it?

Two, I might give this guy a high-five in the face with the tray I was clutching for dear life.

Three, were there any bouncers around? I could really use some help right about now.

Four, I was about to throw up—he reeked of alcohol, sweat, and cigarettes.

The more I tried to pull away, the more he tightened his hold, sniggering.

I was on the verge of a panic attack when Dakota appeared at my side, yanking his arms.

“Let her go,” she spat. “Now!”

“Or what?” the yeti man retorted.

“Or I’ll break every bone in your body and shove that bottle up where the sun don’t shine.”

I shivered. “Let her go and get out of here,” a low voice growled.

It sounded deadly and cold as ice, but it wasn’t fear that gave me goosebumps. I was certain it was something else.

I so badly wanted to see who it was that had come to my rescue, but I couldn’t do anything yet as I was still in the yeti’s arms.

I figured that a staring contest ensued before the “yeti” man slowly released his hold on me.

Once I was free, Dakota placed an arm around my shoulder and led me away.

“Are you okay?”

I hadn’t even realized we were inside an office-like space. “I-I’m…what just happened?”

I mean, I knew what happened, but I was confused about what I was feeling just then. Calmer than I should feel, specifically.

“I’m so sorry, Amara. This hasn’t happened before. I wish I could take it back.”

I could sense the truth and sincerity in her apology. I knew she was feeling guilty because she was having trouble looking at me.

But it wasn’t her fault that some men were just xxxxxxxx.

“Don’t worry about it, Dakota. I’m okay.”

She enveloped me in her arms, giving me a squeeze. I welcomed the comfort.

She was the sister I had always needed but never had.

Just then, three guys burst into the office, making me jump back up the wall behind me.

A few things happened at this point.

First, the guy in front stopped dead in his tracks the moment he saw me.

Second, the two guys following him weren’t able to stop in time when he did, so he was pushed forward and tumbled toward me.

Third, Dakota doubled over, laughing hysterically.

What the xxxx?

xxxxx! I’m sorry!” the first guy said, panic evident in his voice, and I felt him move away from me.

I closed my eyes tight and froze in place, arms up in fists like Mike Tyson, until I heard everyone laughing.

I opened one eye and then the other before straightening up.

Oh, earth, please open and swallow me whole!

 

Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

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