A Greek Werewolf in New York (The Accidental Succubus #1) Read Online Marian Tee

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Accidental Succubus Series by Marian Tee

Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)

‘I’m thirty-two and boyfriend-less my entire life. Everyone also thinks I’m an idiot for waiting for my fated mate.

Three years ago, I was all ready to swipe right on the first decent guy to pop up on my screen. I just wanted to be “normal”, since everyone’s saying I’m not because I was still a V.
But then that day happened. Yes, I’m talking about That Day when vampires came crawling out of the woodwork, and the world was never the same again. That Day was when we humans were almost annihilated…until shapeshifters, Faes, Caros, and all other magical creatures exposed themselves to rescue us.
After That Day, all things preter flooded the Internet, paranormal romance was renamed preternatural romance, and I couldn’t sign out of dating apps fast enough, permanently.
Call me foolish if you want, but my heart is telling me this is why no one’s been able to unlock my chastity belt all these years. A girl should always be free to dream, even if she’s in her thirties. And while I’m not asking for instalove, I don’t think it’s too much to wish for a spark or two. Or three. All I want is some chemistry, and as destiny would have it—
A certain Greek werewolf in New York does turn out to be my fated mate, and he not only happens to be my ridiculously good-looking billionaire boss, but…
One kiss from him also changes everything, and I find out I’m a succubus?

Note: This is Book 1 in a series. Urban fantasy with high heat. Fast-paced paranormal women’s fiction.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Some humans think of mating as a deprivation of free will.

Some of us think they're just fucking jealous.

Humans could spend the rest of their lives chasing after true love and never find it.

We get ours handed to us on a silver platter.

~ Domenico Moretti in The Werewolf Prince and I (now a major motion picture)

'MY BOSS IS A BEAST,' the female narrator whispers to my ear. 'And he's no ordinary one either. I've watched Twilight, and Jacob is either human or wolf. But my boss is different. My boss is both.'

I quickly hit Pause on my audiobook because I need to catch my breath.

Oh. My. God.

Hana and the Beast Man is one of my all-time faves, and I honestly thought it would take centuries before English-language romance writers could catch up, and I can finally start enjoying some anthropomorphic smut happening in American soil.

And just to be clear: romance is the operative word here, not erotica.

But now this.

Please, please, please Author.

No behind-the-door sex, please.

If I wanted clean, then you shouldn't have added a male chest to your cover.

So please, please, please—-

I mentally cross my fingers as I click Resume.

'My throat tightens as I watch him slowly straighten up, and so does the rest of my body when I realize what I'm looking at. A wolf - no, a werewolf. A six-foot-plus werewolf standing on its two feet. A werewolf with a furry muscular body save for...that. And THAT...is another beast on its own.'

I need to hit Pause again, and I catch a few people glancing at me oddly as I start fanning my face.


I love listening to steamy audiobooks. The dirtier, the better, too, but it's when I'm indulging in my favorite filthy hobby in public that things can get awkwardly...heated.

The pedestrian light turns green, and I breathe a sigh of relief as everyone loses interest in the flushed state of my cheeks, which is understandably baffling since today's weather is a comfortably chilly fifty degrees.

We all cross the street in a hurry, and no one complains when there's a bit of shoving here and there. This is New York, after all; it's always been a city for hares, not tortoises, and the occasional flash of meanness from hares is just part of its charm.

I see the 7:05 train bound for Night Bloom arriving as I run down the steps, but an old woman hunched down on the subway station's cold tiled floor also catches my eye. Her hair is long, gray, and unkempt, and she only has a thin, dirty shawl placed over her fragile set of shoulders.

New Yorkers are all about minding their own business, and while on one hand it means being free to do whatever you want, this is one of its downsides, with everyone just walking past her like she's invisible.

One minute, I promise myself. Just dash over there, drop some money in her can, and you can still make it.

It's the perfect plan, and I executed it perfectly, too.

But what I don't count on is the old woman suddenly grabbing my wrist before I can pull away.

"Choose a card," she rasps out as her grip tightens with surprising force. Have I been pranked? Is she not an old woman, after all? Or maybe she's really old, but not human?

I glance back at her—-


Her eyes are blood-red, and I fall on my ass in shock.

Did I really just see that?

I look around me, but even though no one else seems to have seen it, tiny cramps of fear still squeeze my stomach as I slowly look back at her.

"The train bound for Night Bloom has departed. The next one will arrive in ten minutes."

There goes my train, but on the upside, the eerily red sclera of the woman's eyes is all gone, too. Maybe I just imagined it?

"Choose a card," the old woman repeats as she finally lets go of my hand.

Her grip has left reddened marks around my arm, but while the sight makes me wince, I forget all about it when she seemingly conjures a pack of cards out of thin air.


I look at her suspiciously. "You're not human, are you?" The question would've sounded crazy a couple of years back, but since That Day happened, it's totally become the norm. It's just like asking someone if they're vegan or not, married or ready to mingle, vanilla or not vanilla.

"Choose a card," the old woman insists with a toothless cackle, and the sight is as creepy as it's weirdly adorable. The fear inside of me gradually subsides, and since it's going to be another eight minutes before the next train arrives...

"Okay, I'll choose." My lips purse as I study the deck of cards partially spread out between her hands. Most cards these days are made of plastic, but these ones look like they're made of thick, aged paper.