Monday, October 31, 2011



Blood Bond One
Frances, Joseph, and Christian are vampires living seamlessly in human society. Although they're drawn to the girl down the street, mating with a human is forbidden. Frances finally dares to visit Heidi at night, entering her fantasies. When his brothers find out, they all want to get in on the action.

Heidi's always had a crush on the three DeVille brothers, but they never acknowledge she exists. When they hire her to sell their mansion at the end of the street, she wonders if they've actually noticed her all these years. Once they begin to dote over her, pulling her into their erotic web, she's ready and willing to submit.



“Enough.” Francis’s deep voice rang through the lust-filled room. Joseph pulled free of her mouth, and she turned to face the end of the bed. “It’s time, my sweet, little lamb. Are you ready?” Francis climbed up the bed with the grace of a panther, dark shadows giving him a sinister edge.

“Don’t make me forget again,” she said, afraid it would all seem as a dream when she woke up in the morning.

Francis shook his head. “I want you to remember this.”

“Please,” she begged. “I need you.”

The tips of those super sharp incisors peeked out from under his thick lips. They fascinated her—his differences, strengths, fueling her desire. She felt the head of his cock between her moist folds. She’d never been so wet, so achy. He exhaled after he pushed an inch inside her. “You’re tight. Very tight.” Francis sounded like a man on the edge. This was exactly what she’d wanted, to see him lose control, become lost to their lust.

“More.” The more he pushed in, the snugger the butt plug felt in her ass. She was being filled to the max, stuffed full of cock and silicone.

“I may break a slight thing like you. You’re only human.”

Human or not, she knew her body could take every inch of his cock. Heidi had survived his flogging, so she could survive being fucked by him. “If I’m really meant for you, then we must be well suited.”

He tucked his arm under her shoulders and held her close. With his free hand, he drove the remaining inches into her tight pussy. She moaned from the mix of pain, fullness, and undiluted satisfaction. Once fully seated, he rested, his weight bearing down on her.

“Oh gods, you feel good hugging my cock.” He kissed her lips, slowly, sensually.

As the kiss deepened, she was pricked by his needle-sharp fangs, just as she had with Christian. The pooling of blood in her mouth seemed to spur him on. Their mouths blended into one as they explored each other. Without pulling away, Francis rose up slightly and began to thrust in and out of her cunt. The friction drove her mad. Her inner walls were so hyperaware and sensitive to this intrusion. He’d taken her dreaded virginity, made her feel like a woman for the first time. She bonded to him, wrapping her legs tight around his narrow hips.

Francis fucked her now, hard and rhythmically. The mattress shook, and she grabbed handfuls of his blanket in her fists to anchor herself to the bed. Every thrust hit a thousand pleasure centers. When she began to see sparks in her vision, Francis shifted her to her side.

Joseph’s deep voice was behind her, right at her ear. “Get ready for more, Heidi. I’ve never been so hard. It’s time we finish what we started earlier.” He plucked the butt plug from her ass and tossed it. She immediately noticed the emptiness and craved the fullness of being double fucked. He aimed his cock at her nether hole as Francis held her thigh over his hip to aid him. She held her breath, knowing his hard flesh would be different than the small toy. “Shhh. I’ll ease in nice and slow. Tell me if it hurts.”

These weren’t savages. They were thoughtful, giving lovers.

He thrust up, sliding against Francis’s cock. Both men groaned as they shared, squeezing into her petite body. She gasped, nearly gagged as the full length of his erection filled her. The rough scrape of his pubic hair on her ass and Francis’s against her mound proved just how sandwiched she was. How deep both cocks fucked her.

“How does that feel, little one?”


“Not full enough,” said Christian. He knelt at the head of the bed and offered his glistening erection for her perusal. He smirked, making her mouth water. He was so adorably fuckable. She beckoned him with her tongue and swallowed as much of him as she could. The connection was complete. All four of them on the bed together, each man taking her from a new angle.

Francis and Joseph began to move, working together to scissor in and out of her body. The dual thrusts, the sweat-glistened bodies, and muscle upon muscle surrounding her began her ascent. Heat pricked in her toes, climbing up her limbs and pooling in her pussy. Her uterus spasmed erratically, signaling she was getting close to orgasm. Christian pulled away when things got too wild, pumping his cock in his hand as he watched the display in front of him.

“I need to taste you,” Francis muttered, lost in the sex act. His hand gripped her hip so tight, she swore she’d have bruises over her lashes.

“Then bite me, vampire.”


NECROMANCER & CO. by David Stroup

NECROMANCER & CO. by David Stroup

In the city of Sylian Tul, licensed necromancer Ander Waeryn has his hands full.

His wife's family -- one of the most powerful of the ancient Armiger clans -- just want their wayward daughter to come to her senses and return to the family estate. As an Aelf, Ander isn’t even supposed to have been allowed to study magic, much less a dodgy specialty like necromancy. And it’s harder every day to make a living in the slums of the soot-stained, steam-powered capital of the human-run empire.

Then his latest paying commission goes horribly wrong, and suddenly the Metropolitan Investigation Office’s only Consulting Necromancer is in the middle of a case that has the city ready to boil over. As mobs take to the streets and the city’s press -- led by Ander's ex-lover -- fan the flames, Ander is torn between an investigation the police won’t allow to proceed ... and a horror from the past that shouldn’t exist.


A strange, low rattling had been added to the constant dripping of the water from above; I looked around but couldn’t identify the source. The smoke of the incense, I saw, wasn’t dispersing the way it should ... now it was pooling on the rough wood floor like a ground-fog out on the riverbanks.

“Where is the key, Geb?” Hurst asked. “The key to the north cabinet?”

The corpse on the gurney took in a great wracking breath and began to talk.

“You ... Kylen ... not ...”

“Geb, damn it, where’s the key to the north cabinet in the warehouse?”

“Kylen ... can’t ... get away, Kylen, get ...”

Something was wrong. V’Marnion was non-responsive to the questioning -- the shade shouldn’t be able to do anything but answer direct queries, and I didn’t like the sound of what he was saying. I heard a choking sound behind me, and turned to see Llan vomiting against the wall ... VourJalledionne looked terrified. Whindle had pulled a wicked-looking smallsword from under his coat -- some ugly eastern design with a blue-black blade -- and Hurst was edging over the circle of chalk.

“Llan? Llan, are you all right?”

“I -- huk -- gimme a min’ --”

The air was bad, but it was far more than that. Was it something I had done? Over the next few days I would ask myself that question many times ... and be asked it by others. But I couldn’t think of any error I could have made that could have produced an effect like this ...

“Mister Hurst -- stay back --”

The rattling sound was mounting... there was so much else going on in the room I couldn’t pin it down. The air had dropped another ten degrees in the last few seconds. I made a decision.

“VourJalledionne -- get out!” I yelled. Whindle, dimly seen across the foggy room, was stabbing at phantoms with his short sword ... Hurst, one foot over the line of my thaumatic circle, was having second thoughts.

The circle was broken; with the perfect integrity of the magik sigil violated, the thaumatic field should have been dispersing. It wasn’t. I tried to release the reins of power mentally, and nothing happened.

I glanced at the door again -- VourJalledionne was leaning against it, pale, unmoving.

“Get everyone out of here, Llan,” I said. “And I mean fast ... see if there’s anyone else in the building as well.”

I had located the source of the rattling ... every corpse in the room was twitching convulsively, shaking on their wooden gurneys.


Sunday, October 30, 2011



Though maintenance man Elliot has a list of work orders a mile long, he decides to knock out one of the easier jobs right before lunch -- an upper floor apartment has a leak in the A/C's condensation line. It'll take five minutes to blow through, then Elliott can take a break.

When he arrives at the apartment, he finds the female tenant in the shower. He debates coming back later, but he's already there and wants to get the job over with as soon as possible. He's halfway finished, too, when the bathroom door opens and there stands Donnie -- very wet, very naked, and definitely very male.

Suddenly Elliott wants to blow something other than an A/C line.

Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

I noticed the bathroom door was shut. Light seeped under the crack along the floor. I closed the apartment door behind me -- didn’t want that supersonic cat making a break for it -- and crossed the short hall to the bathroom. I heard the rush of a shower running inside, and was the fan running, as well? A man’s voice sang out, some rap song I didn’t recognize. She probably had the radio on, too. No wonder she couldn’t hear me.

I debated waiting. I didn’t want to knock on the bathroom door and startle her -- what if the music playing came from an iPhone within reach on the corner of the sink, and she decided to call the police? What I should do, I reasoned, was knock off early for lunch and come back after I had something to eat. Give her time to get out of the shower and get dressed.

But I was already there, I’d dragged the shop vac upstairs, and it would take literally two minutes to clear the a/c line and vacuum up any condensation she’d heard dripping behind the panel. I could be done with it in no time. She’d never even know I’d been inside the apartment until she found the work order I left signed on her counter.

I’d work fast, I assured myself. And if I heard the shower cut off, I’d holler out again so she wouldn’t be surprised to find me in her apartment.

Sounded like a plan to me.

The air conditioning unit was in a maintenance closet inside the apartment’s utility room. I went inside, stepping around a pile of dirty laundry and the cat box on the floor, pulled the shop vac in after me, and shut the door for more room. When I opened the closet, though, I realized too late she used it for additional storage -- a broom, an old mop, and a snow shovel leaped out at me like some poorly constructed booby trap. I dodged them aside, catching the mop and broom handles, but the shovel was shorter and I winced as it clattered to the floor. Shit! Was she seriously not hearing this?

I strained to hear through the closed door and yep, the shower was still flowing in full force. All right, fine. I planned to be quick, didn’t I? And already I’d wasted a minute fiddling with broomsticks. I leaned the broom and mop against the side of the washing machine and got to work unscrewing the a/c unit vent. As I was on the last screw, I heard the a/c kick on and I could’ve groaned in frustration. Why hadn’t I cut that off?

It didn’t matter now. Plugging the shop vac into the outlet behind the washer, I leaned into the unit and blew out the line, then vacuumed up the condensation that had pooled on the floor. It was an awkward reach -- one of the cooling lines blocked my path, and my arms weren’t long enough to reach all the way inside the unit. The closet was too small to hold my bulk. Easier to go around the front of the unit and unscrew the vent in the hallway.

Which was just across from the bathroom door, now that I thought of it.

But I’d be done in a heartbeat. I’d get all the dripping water out of the a/c and the unit would be as good as new, until the line decided to block up again as they tended to.

So I turned off the vac, pausing a moment to listen for the sound of the shower. Yes, it was still running. Good. I pulled myself out of the cramped closet, unplugged the vac, screwed back on the vent cover, shoved everything that had fallen out of the closet back into it, and shut the door quickly before the broom and its friends could jump at me again. Then I opened the door to the utility room, took a step out into the hall, and came face to face with an incredibly sexy -- and incredibly naked -- wet man.

He rubbed a towel over the top of his head, letting his slim, toned body air dry. Shower spray beaded in the scant tufts of hair on his chest, glistened on his arms and legs. Water ran down chiseled muscles to the V of his crotch, where a fistful of black curls coiled above his heavy dick. I caught a glimpse of his face, nothing more, then couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away from that thick, ruddy, semi-erect cock.

Sweet Jesus. My day just got a whole hell of a lot better.




After declaring their love for each other on Christmas Day, Simon Peters and Mark Smith settle down to a cosy life of domestic togetherness.

A new year brings new joys and challenges. Sam, a neighbour boy comes to stay for a few days and adopts Simon and Mark as honorary dads.

A promotion at work gives Simon more responsibility. Mark finds employment at the local café. The purchase of a car allows the couple to get out and about to explore the Yorkshire countryside.

Snuggle up in an easy chair and toast your toes in front of the fire as you read Simon and Mark’s continuing romantic adventures.


Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

We’d just finished eating when there was a knock at the front door. I went to answer it.

It was Paul Bates and his fourteen-year-old son, Sam.

“Sorry to bother you,” Paul said in a rush, “but Helen’s waters have broken, and --”

“She’s early,” I said, then realised Paul didn’t have time to debate such things. “Sorry. How can we help?”

“Would you mind looking after Sam? My parents are on holiday and --”

“No problem.” I interrupted.

“Thanks.” Paul dashed back down the street, leaving Sam standing on the doorstep, not looking terribly happy.

I gave Sam an encouraging smile, then stuck my head out of the door and called, “Paul! If you need to stay with Helen overnight, Sam can bunk on the sofa.”

“Thanks.” He waved before disappearing into his house.

Turning around, I saw that Mark had come into the living room. “This is Mark ... a friend of mine.” I told Sam, beckoning for him to come inside. “Are you excited about having a baby brother or sister?”

“No, not really,” came the meek reply. Sam’s eyes were hiding behind long lashes, which I suspected many girls would be envious of.

“Why’s that?” Mark asked.

“He or she will probably cry all night.”

“But it’ll be nice to watch the baby as he or she grows up, starts crawling, walking and talking.”

“Suppose,” Sam said with little enthusiasm. “What happened to your hands?” he asked Mark.

“Someone I knew was playing around with chemicals, and things went wrong. I should be okay in a week or so though.”

“That’s good.” Sam smiled; he seemed to be warming up to Mark.

“Would you like anything to eat?” I asked Sam.

“No thanks. We just ate when Mum decided she needed to go to hospital.”

“What about watching some television, or maybe a video?” I asked, pointing at the shelves of tapes. I felt out of my depth, never having had to keep a teenager entertained before.

He shrugged and walked over to the shelves.

“So, Sam, what are you studying at school?” Mark asked.

He shrugged again. “Oh, you know, the usual boring stuff.”

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“There must be something you’ve done that you’ve enjoyed.” Mark wasn’t giving up.

“We’ve just finished a project on 1930's Britain. The differences between those who had a job, and those who didn’t.”

“My grandfather went on the Jarrow March,” Mark said.

“Really?” Sam turned from examining the rows of video tapes. “Did you know the march was fifty years ago this year?”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, 1936,” Sam said. “Did your granddad say much about the march?” he asked Mark.

“He said he felt betrayed.”

“Is your grandfather still alive?” I asked.

Mark shook his head. “He died a couple of years ago.”

“Sorry,” Sam said.

The subject moved back to the Jarrow March and Mark told us more about how it had affected the area where he’d grown up. “Basically the government couldn’t have cared less about conditions in the traditional industries.”

I had no idea Mark was so political.

“Things were a lot better for the newer industries like car making and electronics,” Sam said.

“But most of that was in the Midlands and the South,” Mark pointed out.

“That’s true.” Sam nodded.

The room grew quiet. Then Sam, who had gone back to choosing a film, said, “Can I watch this one?” He’d pulled out an action movie I’d bought for Mark but we’d never gotten around to watching.

“Of course,” I said. “Put it in the machine and come and sit on the sofa.”

Sam sat in the chair looking at first Mark then me.

“Is there anything wrong?” I asked.

“Erm ... I, are you ... I mean, do you mind me asking, is Mark your boyfriend?”

I looked at Mark. He gave a slight nod.

“Would it bother you if we were?”

“God, no. My uncle Steve is gay, he’s cool!”

“Do you get to see him much?” Mark asked.

“No, he lives in the north of Scotland. He doesn’t have a boyfriend though. How long have you and Simon known each other?”

“A few months, but we only became boyfriends yesterday.”

“Really? Wow, that’s great!”

“I think so, too,” Mark said.

I smiled, touched that Mark would say such a thing. But thinking we should change the subject, I said, “Shall we watch this film?”


CAUGHT by J. Tomas

CAUGHT by J. Tomas

When shortstop Mike Watson catches his Junior Varsity teammate Robby Brown slipping a tube of ChapStick into his pocket at the store, he doesn't know what to think.

Mike has had the hots for Robbie since the two boys started high school and finds it difficult to talk to him without feeling awkward and stupid. But he has to say something. What if someone else saw and Robby gets in trouble?

Does Robby make a habit of stealing things? Has Mike’s perception of his friend been wrong all these years? Is the ChapStick a cry for help or a way of getting Mike’s attention? Mike is determined to find out.



Shortstop Mike Watson is standing in the aisle of CVS Pharmacy, debating between a bottle of generic pain reliever and Tylenol, when he sees his Junior Varsity teammate Robby Brown slip a tube of ChapStick into his pocket.

Maybe he doesn’t realize he had it in his hand, Mike muses. What other reason would Robby have for stealing something that costs less than a dollar? Maybe he forgot he had it and when he found it, he’d laugh sheepishly and take it to the register. Maybe ...

But Robby glances around nervously, and when he pulls his hand out of his pocket, the ChapStick remains behind.


Mike’s stomach turns over. He looks around, too, but it’s just the two of them in the aisle -- the coach is near the front of the store, waiting for the rest of the team to stock up on candy and soda and whatever else they might need on the bus. They’re scheduled to play Hermitage High in a little less than two hours. In another few minutes, Coach Barrett will holler for the guys to get a move on. So why the hell is Robby stealing ChapStick, of all things?

Mike doesn’t know.

Should he say something? But what? Robby isn’t looking his way and probably doesn’t even realize Mike’s in the same aisle, standing there, watching him. As it is, Mike has difficulty talking to Robby on a good day -- sure, they grew up together, and were even friendly as kids, but since high school, Robby’s popularity has soared a bit more than Mike’s. They don’t hang out with the same crowd any more, even though they’re in the same grade and both play on the baseball team.

But Robby’s a legend on the field, the best third baseman they’ve ever had, able to pluck the ball out of the air with a grace few fifteen year olds can muster. Robby, with his dark, disheveled hair, his crooked grin, his soulful eyes. On the field, Mike spends most of his time staring at his teammate’s backside and daydreaming about getting up the nerve to talk to him outside the game. Mike doesn’t even dare to look Robby’s way in the locker room, lest one of their teammates see the lust in his face and rag on him about it.

Yes, he has it bad for the guy. Yes, he’ll admit it, if only to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts. But Robby’s untouchable, perfect in every way, at least in Mike’s eyes.

Then, this.

He can’t imagine what might be going through Robby’s mind at the moment, but his own heart pounds in his chest and his stomach churns nervously. Don’t they have cameras in the store? The last thing they need is for their all-star player to be caught stealing from CVS.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mike thinks. That’s from a movie, isn’t it? Some Disney film he saw as a kid, probably even one he watched at Robby’s house back in the day, but he can’t remember which. Still, it helps strengthen his courage. Putting back the bottles of pain reliever he was waffling over, he walks the length of the aisle until he stands right behind Robby. Then he leans in a little, trying not to swoon, and whispers, “Put it back.”

Robby jumps. Whirling around, he narrows his eyes at Mike before looking around to make sure they’re alone. “Put what back?”

He tries to look confused. If Mike hadn’t seen him pocket the ChapStick himself, he might have bought it.

“Whatever it was you put in your pocket,” he replies, pointing. He resists the urge to dip his fingers in after the tube, and tries not to envision what he’d feel curled against the front pocket of Robby’s jeans. “I saw you.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Robby says, shaking his head.

He keeps his voice low, but Mike knows he’s scared. The fear of discovery shines brightly in Robby’s eyes. “Robby --"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mike. I didn’t put anything in there.” Robby scowls. “Why would I do that? I don’t steal.”


Saturday, October 29, 2011

WORLD WITHOUT END by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

WORLD WITHOUT END, AMEN by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

Judith answers the doorbell, to her past: Eamon O'Hara. There is no question as she leaves everything--kids, husband--to return with him to Ireland. Things, however, aren't quite as they seem as Judith adjusts to her new reality.

When Judith Richardson answers the doorbell one October morning, she finds her past love--and husband--Eamon O'Hara at her door. His unexpected return challenges her complacent life, revokes her marriage, changes everything. Their love remains alive and powerful. After an intimate reunion, Judith realizes that she's willing to walk away from her family responsibilities and the life she's built to be with the love of her life. Everything changes as she leaves to go home with him to Northern Ireland, but she's happier than she's been in years.

As they arrive on Irish soil, she begins to realize that things may not be quite what she thought they were. Once they return to his native Derry, Eamon tells her a truth that will shatter everything she's believed, and threatens their happiness--unless she can accept the new reality.



On an ordinary late October morning, Judith Richardson tried to tune out the clocks ticking too loud beside the framed family photographs on the wall. Those were easier to ignore than the kitchen sink heaped with dishes she should be doing, and the stereo blasting out the music of her youth.

The doorbell rang. Judith thought it must be the mail carrier with a parcel or maybe the silly woman from two doors down who sometimes popped in to borrow something strange, a potato or a pencil, or once, a can of hair spray, so she didn't hurry. She plumped up the couch pillows as she passed and when she opened the door, she pasted on her phoniest smile. It faded the moment she saw who stood on her threshold, as nonchalant as if she'd seen him just days ago instead of years.

Her heart paused, the rhythm off beat, as she stared for a very long moment and then a real smile, wide and warmer than melted butter spread over her lips. She parted them to speak, to say something but no words came out. While she dithered, he came forward and she welcomed his embrace backing up so that he stood just inside, not out on the porch in view of the neighbors.

"Acushla," he breathed into her hair. "Judith, woman, it's grand to see you again."

"Eamon, is it really you?" Despite the solid feel of his familiar body against her own, she couldn't believe he was here. "I heard you were dead."

"Don't believe all you hear," Eamon O'Hara told her. "I've come for you."

That had been her desire for so long, that he would come after her, alive after all, but he'd arrived too late.

"Eamon, I'm married now with two children," Judith said, as her heart broke again into a thousand sharp shards. "I can't go with you."

"You're my wife."

That basic truth was far from simple. She nodded, struck silent by the pain radiating from her heart out into the rest of her body.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, quick as if speed might conceal her emotion. Eamon shifted her position until their eyes met, his dancing black ones gazing into hers with powerful love. Then, before she could even think about stopping him, Eamon put his mouth to hers and she yielded, her body telling the truth her lips denied.


Thursday, October 27, 2011

BONDED SOULS by Nina Pierce

BONDED SOULS by Nina Pierce

Prequel in the Shifting Bonds Series

After discovering her boyfriend is married, veterinarian Jayda Kynslan decides to give up on men. She has every intention of planting her feet firmly on the path of celibacy - right after one more night of shameless sex with a stranger. A vacation in Montana would certainly ease the pain of betrayal and offer her anonymity.

Police chief and wolf shifter council leader, Cole Takoda, needs a break from investigating the murders of shifters plaguing his town. When a beautiful stranger seduces him at the local tavern it's more than a's uncontrollable desire. And Cole can't stand it. To top it off, their quickie becomes a revelation of shifter secrets and unfulfilled prophecies.

The discovery of a dead man in the forest behind Jayda's rented cabin thrusts her into a foreign world of animal shifters and murder and the man she thought was only a casual diversion seems to be the only one willing to hear her side of the story. Jayda's just not sure if Cole's going to take her to jail - or his bed.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: BONDED SOULS

Copyright © NINA PIERCE, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

Jayda Kynslan sauntered into the Whip and Bull Tavern, wanting only two things—a cold beer and a hot cock. The first, she hoped would ease the heavy ache in her chest. The second would be attached to a good-looking man who would replace the images of the jackass who’d broken her heart. This whole road trip to the high mountains of Montana had been a knee-jerk reaction to the asshole’s selfishness. Jayda shook her head, clearing away thoughts of the friggin’ pig of a manwhore. She didn’t want to go there tonight. This night was about getting a little buzz and a whole lot of sex.

Her first objective was only as far away as the bar across the room. But weaving her way through the handful of empty tables, her red cowboy boots tapping across the peanut shells strewn on the marred floor, Jayda realized finding someone to fulfill the second thing on her wish list wasn’t going to be as easy. She’d picked a bad night to go cruising for male flesh in a nearly empty bar that seemed to cater to the college crowd.

Plunking her voluptuous ass on one of the padded barstools, Jayda lifted her hand to the bartender. Some might consider Jayda overweight, but she liked to think of her size-sixteen frame as curving in all the right places. Why men would go for the little waifs with nothing to hold on to, like the petite blonde behind the bar, was beyond her understanding.

“A long neck. Something domestic. I’m not picky,” she said to the female bartender, who looked only slightly less bored than Jayda felt at the moment. Except for football season, which had already passed, she figured Monday nights, even in a cowboy town like Lonesome Fork, weren’t really big tavern nights for most people.

The bartender’s ponytail swayed as she set down the bottle, offered a glass, which Jayda refused, and slid over the bowl of peanuts. In a hurry to begin her vacation, Jayda hadn’t bothered to eat lunch before leaving the vet clinic. Anticipation had kept her driving through the Montana mountains and now her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t taken time to fix herself dinner before leaving the cabin either. Grabbing a handful of nuts, she broke open the shells and popped them in her mouth. She scanned the reflections of the patrons in the mirror behind the bar, searching for possible targets.

Tonight, Jayda decided, would be her last go-around with the opposite sex—unadulterated, uncomplicated coitus with a complete stranger. A nice memory to hold on to in the quiet of the night when she was alone in her bed. Jayda didn’t want to need a man. She was a successful veterinarian in a big practice. It should be enough.

After tonight, she’d spend the week in solitude at her friend’s mountain cabin, mending her shredded heart and planting her feet solidly on the path to celibacy. Obviously, two weeks drowning her sorrows with tears hadn’t helped. Men, Jayda had come to believe, were nothing but scumbags of trouble on the garbage heap of misery. The sooner she cleared them from her mind, the happier she’d be.

Jayda nervously toyed with the bangle bracelet at her wrist. She’d chosen this evening’s outfit to accent her best features. Her ass was swaddled in her favorite pair of worn jeans. A white cashmere sweater displayed her plentiful cleavage quite nicely. The clothes definitely announced, “I’m yours for the taking.”

She hadn’t wanted to mess with the corkscrew curls of her hair while traveling the ninety minutes from her condo in Blackfish Springs to the cabin in Lonesome Fork, so Jayda had pulled the whole mess into a long French braid. The thick tail of black curled over her shoulder and draped invitingly over her left breast.

Unable to make out faces in the murky light of the tavern, Jayda gave up on her sly inspection of the clientele and kicked the stool a half turn. Leaning one elbow on the padded edge of the bar, she casually sipped her beer, assessing her chances of getting laid.

A rowdy group of young men, barely old enough to drink, sat at a booth, flicking a paper football between them. A few others spilled onto the tables next to them. Most likely students from the state university at the base of Coppertip Mountain. Though their youthful stamina would be a definite plus, Jayda thought a more experienced man would leave her with more satisfying memories. A sigh puffed out her cheeks, and she turned the stool back to the bartender.

“Quiet tonight,” she said.

“Give it another thirty minutes.” The bartender flicked her head toward the door leading to the back room of the tavern. “Monday’s the mechanical bull competition. They’ll start filtering in here soon enough.” The woman swirled a couple of beer steins in some homemade rig for cleaning glasses and set them next to the sink. “Not from around here?” She turned the statement into a question.

“That obvious?” Jayda casually shelled a few peanuts, adding the husks to her neat pile on the bar. “I grew up in New York City, but now I’m living in Blackfish Springs. Even after four years in the foothills of Montana, I can’t seem to lose the city accent.”

The bartender smiled. “Lonesome Fork’s a small town. I know most everyone coming and going. Accent’s not that obvious.” The bartender used her cloth to wipe the bar and push the peanut shells to the floor. “Part of the Whip and Bull’s ambiance,” she said, almost as an apology. “What brings you to Lonesome Fork?”

“A man.” Jayda immediately regretted the words. It didn’t help that the cobalt eyes staring back at her grew wide with surprise. Jayda’s hand shook with her head, wiping away the confusion. “That came out wrong.” She took a long pull of her beer, trying to wash down the embarrassment. “What I mean is…I’m not looking for a man. I just broke up with my boyfriend and I’ve come here for a vacation to get my head on straight.”

Tension eased out of the bartender’s shoulders and she smiled and nodded. “I’m Becca.” She wiped her hand down the small apron around her waist before extending it to Jayda. “Nice to meet you…”

Jayda shook her hand, relaxing into the female kinship of understanding. “Jayda. Jayda Kynslan.”

“Well, Jayda, Jayda Kynslan, welcome to Lonesome Fork.” Becca leaned in conspiratorially. “I guarantee the fresh mountain air smells a hell of a lot better than testosterone.”




Erotic Gems Short Story With Resplendence Publishing

A Mistress who's really a submissive with a secret. A Master who's a black jaguar shifter. And an evil vampire out for, what else, blood!

It's just another hot Halloween at Demented, a BDSM club that caters to humans and the paranormal creatures who love to dominate and be dominated by them.



Master Reed surveyed the curious newbies enjoying the bondage party for Halloween at Demented, a BDSM club that catered to humans and paranormal creatures. Reed had been a Dom there for a few years, and it felt like family. He loved sampling the visitors especially when he shared a room with the seductive Mistress Cherish. She reignited his need to control because she refused to play his game.

He watched as Cherish ground the point of her thigh high leather boot into a grateful sub’s balls as another sub fucked his ass. She dispensed sex with just enough pain to motivate people to the next level. Graceful sensuality flowed from her, and the subs clearly responded to it.

Once the men had come for her, she kissed them in reward and let a Master-in-Training take over. She walked over to Reed and studied the new crowd.

“They seemed to have fun,” he said. “You should let him fuck you. Take some pleasure in your work, Cherish.” Reed loved to watch her in action. In the six months they’d shared a room at the club, he’d learned Cherish was a submissive in denial. She’d become his fantasy and biggest challenge—worse, he’d fallen for her. But the woman showed no sign of giving in to him.

“They want to please men, not me. I’m giving them what they want even if they can’t admit they are gay. I’d give them to you if you liked men. A strong sensual Master would thrill them and force even more progress.” Her glossy black hair hung to her waist is soft curls, and her dark eyes popped against her pale skin. Reed was obsessed with her hourglass figure currently wrapped in a tight, black corset that flaunted her sensuality. This corset was special for Halloween and decorated with black cats. Reed was sure that was for him.

Most men and a fair number of women in the club longed for Cherish’s attention. Their biggest mistake was they wanted to submit to her. The only way to win her heart would be to take it by taming her body and mind from the top. Reed trusted his instincts and had no intention of giving up pursuit of his sub.

“No male subs for me. Thanks. How about giving everyone a Halloween treat? Submit to me, and show the switches you’re with them.” He stepped in behind her, and the scent of her perfume made him hard in ways the begging of subs never could. Reed never enjoyed the easy subs as much as a challenge.

She smiled. “You’re an excellent Master, but I’m good at what I do. It serves a very useful function, and I get new subs every time.”

Cherish was a great Mistress. Reed admired how she picked those she could help and knew exactly what they needed and how to nudge them toward their true Dom. She never kept one long and never let the sex grow too intense or intimate. It seemed as though she didn’t want to make them attached to her. If only she’d give in and try it his way, they’d be done trolling new subs or those without a Master. They’d be together. She’d challenge him forever.

Instead of pushing her, he nodded to the blonde kneeling and naked in the group. “She’s got spirit. Reminds me of you a little. If I could get you on your knees, I’d never need another sub.”

Cherish frowned. “No, not her. Send her away. She’s dangerous.”

He moved in close and whispered, “I’ll be thinking of you when I fuck her roughly and make her crawl for more. She’ll beg for more.”

Grabbing his arm, Cherish looked him in the eye. Reed’s cock stiffened at her bold manners. Everyone else saw her as a Mistress, but she would be his someday.


Tuesday, October 25, 2011



The only doctor in Buckhorn County, Kentucky, Sawyer Hudson knows a thing or two about saving lives. But when he rescues the beautiful Honey Malone from a car wreck and nurses her to health at his home, he finds himself dreading the day she's well enough to leave. Because now that he's met the woman of his dreams, he's not about to let her go...

Buckhorn's big, bad sheriff, Morgan Hudson, wants a wife - one who's even-tempered, undemanding and content with small-town life. So why can't he stop thinking about brazen Misty Malone? The dark-haired city girl is downright aggravating - not to mention she's found herself on the wrong side of the law. But though she may not be perfect, Morgan is hell-bent on convincing her they'd be perfect together!



It was one of those sweltering hot weekend mornings when a man had nothing better to do than sit outside in his jeans, feel himself sweat and wait for a breeze that wouldn't come. The sky was the prettiest blue he'd ever seen, not a single cloud in sight. He loved days like this, and looked forward to viewing them from his own house once he finished it. If all went well, it would be ready for him to move in by the end of the summer.

Morgan Hudson tilted his chair back and closed his eyes. Everyone was gone for the day, and the house seemed strangely quiet, not peaceful so much as empty. He hoped he didn't feel that way when he moved in. Living with three brothers and a teenage nephew got a man used to chaos, especially his brothers.

Sawyer, the oldest, was the only doctor for miles around, and he had patients coming and going through the back office attached to the house all day long-sometimes even through the night. It was one reason the brothers had all hung around together for so long. Sawyer was an excellent father, but when Casey was little, they'd all pitched in to cover dad duty so the rigors of med school, and later being the town doc, didn't overwhelm him. It had been a pleasure.

Jordan, his younger brother, was a vet, and that meant the house and yard were always filled with stray animals. Morgan didn't mind. More often than not he got attached to the odd assortment of mangy, abandoned or just plain homely critters. 'Course, he didn't tell Jordan that.

Gabe, the youngest brother, was a rascal, with no intention of settling down anytime soon. And why should he when half the female populace of Buckhorn County, Kentucky would be bereft if he ever did? The women had spoiled Gabe something awful, and he indulged them all. Gabe just plain loved women, young and old, sweet and sassy. And they loved him back.

Casey, Sawyer's son, was constant chatter. He was at that awkward age of sixteen, half man, half kid, when females fascinated him, but then, so did driving and stretching his independence. Casey, as well as the brothers, was thrilled when Sawyer decided to marry again, adding a female into the masculine mix. The adjustment to Honey Malone had gone surprisingly smooth. Morgan smiled. Damn, but he liked Honey. Mostly because the woman had snared his brother with a single look. Sawyer had fought it, Morgan'd give him that, but it hadn't done him a damn bit of good. He'd gone head over arse in love with Honey almost from the first day. And once Casey had decided he loved her, well, that had put a bow on the package. Sawyer would do anything for that boy, so it was a good thing Casey had taken to Honey the way he had.

Morgan wanted to have a son just like Casey some day- if he ever found a woman he wanted to marry. At thirty-four, he figured he'd waited plenty long enough. He almost had the house done, and he sure as hell was settled enough now, despite what his brothers thought. He had a respectable job and plenty of money put away. It was time for him to get on with his life, his hell-raising days long over.

A bird landed on the porch, right next to where Morgan's bare foot was braced on the railing. He cocked an eye open, whistled softly to the bird, then watched it take flight again. Obviously the bird hadn't known he was human-or else it'd thought he was dead. With a grin, Morgan closed his eyes again. He was like that, so still sometimes it set people on edge. To Morgan, it was all about control, taking charge of his life and seeing that things fell into place. He had the future mapped out, and he had not a single doubt that things would be just as he wanted them. He controlled himself, he controlled his future.

Whenever possible, he controlled those around him.


ADAM by Jacquelyn Frank

ADAM by Jacquelyn Frank

The Nightwalkers- Book 6

Haunted by magic, beset by evil, the Nightwalkers face their darkest hour yet. And when they unthinkable happens, only one legendary male has the power,
the will, to save them: Adam....


From their first tantalizing touch, Jasmine knows he is different. What other lover could unlock her tight control, flood Vampire senses jaded by a lifetime of decadent self indulgence? Centuries ago, when he disappeared without a trace, she had given up hope of ever fulfilling the promise of incomparable passion. But here he is, against the very laws of nature, ready to bring down their most vicious enemy, ready to bring her blood to the boiling point.... If she will only let him.


Samhain 2008

“There’s too many of them!” Isabella cried out after a moment wasted in catching her breath. The dark ebony cloud of her hair was flung around her head in a wide arc as she whipped it around to look at her companion: her mate and husband, the father of her daughter, not to mention their son, whose impending existence they had only found out about a week ago. He guarded her back just as she guarded his in this fight, and together they were protecting the thing most precious to them both. “Jacob!”

The female Druid was forced to turn her back on her attackers as she saw that the odds she faced were nothing compared to his. No matter how strong and skilled she had become as a fighter over her years beside him, no matter how powerful an Earth Demon he was, they would never survive against such forces. Not alone. But Jacob would not relent.

He could not relent.

It was not only because they were the Enforcers and it was their duty to fight these foul aggressors with every last breath in their bodies. It was because their daughter, Leah, was secreted away only a few yards distant from the ground they currently defended. Jacob would sacrifice his last breath before he would see his family harmed. Isabella would do no less.


Jacob reached for her between one smooth strike at the enemy and the next. He linked his arm through hers, and like the perfectly fitting cogs of a watch, she rotated over his back, her legs windmilling in dual strikes that stunned and stumbled enemies. When her feet hit the ground, she instantly stepped back so the heel of her left foot touched the heel of his right.

They braced themselves in that back-to-back position as the forces around them circled like vultures. Fortunately, both fighters knew that baser instincts would prevent these Transformed Demons from organizing themselves with intelligence, cunning, or strategy. The situation was critical enough with their bloodlust berserking; if they were to work in tandem, they would have a horrifying advantage.

Even as Bella struck a mark with a petite arm that packed far more punch than would be expected in one so small, Jacob spread his hands out parallel to the earth, his fingers curling as if they were burying into the soil that, in actuality, was a good four feet below the thick stone under their feet. Shattered quartz and rich loam spewed up toward those commanding hands, starting in one place and rapidly exploding in a circle around him and his wife until they were being swallowed by a perfect cylinder of dirt, rock, and debris.

Isabella wasn’t afraid when the ground caved in beneath her and the earth literally sealed its lips above her head and swallowed her up. She instantly dropped down into the chute of the tunnel being burrowed through the soil, her husband sliding swiftly beside her as they fell. Even though she could see and hear the rumble of clean fill collapsing above their heads almost as fast as they fell, she was not intimidated. On the contrary, she was relieved. The monsters above them could never catch them now. It was all Jacob; every grain and every pebble being manipulated around them was under her husband’s artful command. He was the most powerful Earth Demon alive. The oldest of his kind.

None of the Transformed Earth Demons above them could match the speed and accuracy Jacob used to manipulate the Earth around them, or the way the soil was repacked above them tighter than nature herself had originally done. Now their enemies would have to figure out how to find their way through tremendous amounts of earth in order to find them.

Finally they passed through what was once solid limestone before bursting out of the Demon-made tunnel and into a nature-made cavern. Jacob manipulated gravity so they landed gently on their feet, even giving Isabella an extra moonwalk bounce that made her laugh briefly in spite of their dire circumstances.

Then she turned sharply around to face her mate.

“The baby!”

“Easy,” her husband reassured her. “She’s just through the caverns. I pulled her down, too. What did you think I was going to do?” He reached out and swatted her backside as she hurried in the direction he had indicated. But despite the playful gesture and her smart look over her shoulder, they were both very aware that they weren’t safe yet. Granted, most of those above could not follow them, but some . . .

Some could.

“I pulled Jasmine into the caverns as well, but she’s hell and gone from here,” he warned his wife. “It’s going to take some time for her to reach us.”

Bella threw up a hand of acknowledgment, even though he already knew she had heard him and understood him. Understood they were on their own.

Isabella’s speed as she ran along the twisting corridor still amazed her. It had been six years since she had evolved from a human into a Druid, or rather, a hybrid of human and Druid. The power that had come with that alteration in her genetic makeup, including her ability to run with incredible speed, had been one of many blessings in her life since then. As she rounded a corner, she saw one of her blessings indignantly dusting off the soil the other blessing in Bella’s life had caused to get on her dress.

“Daddy, I’m dirty,” the five-year-old complained, the hands on her tiny hips and the jut of her lips all too reminiscent of her mother’s infamous gestures of pique. She completely disregarded the fact that she’d been in any danger.

“Sorry, angel,” Jacob apologized halfheartedly as he looked up toward the cavern ceiling, sensing the danger looming above them. “We have to make haste,” he said softly as he leaned in toward Bella’s ear.

Isabella was already scooping up her daughter as her husband’s hand fell into the small of her back to guide and hurry her.

“Mommy, I can walk,” Leah reminded her with her trademark stubborn independence, just as she always did when Isabella tried to carry her.

Of course, Leah let her father truck her around everywhere from dusk to dawn if that was his wish, and she never complained then, Isabella thought.

“Mommy is faster than you are, sweetheart, and we have to run,” Bella explained as she began to do just that.

She didn’t lose patience with her daughter’s distorted priorities. It wasn’t that Leah didn’t understand that there was peril around them, because she did. However, Leah had grown up watching her parents run into battle at the slightest threat to their home and homeland, their friends and family, or their monarch’s people. She was speaking like a child who wasn’t worried in the least about her safety because she knew her parents to be a mighty force, an undefeatable army of two that would never fail to protect her for as long as she lived.

There was a bursting change in the cavern’s air pressure, one that all three of them recognized; although in Leah’s experience, the force that created that sinus-snapping aftermath was always friendly. This one was not.

Isabella skidded to a halt, shoving her daughter behind herself so suddenly that Leah’s dress hit the dirt once more.

Bella and Jacob squared off to face the traitorous Demon Ruth, who had become a powerful enemy as she’d added potent necromancer magic to her already vast repertoire of ability as an Elder Mind Demon. It was she who had betrayed and Summoned the Transformed Demons Jacob and Isabella had left up above them, layers of earth and rock away.

Worse yet was the presence of the Vampire named Nicodemous, who now shared her power, just as he seemed to share her black magic abilities. Ruth had caused devastating death and destruction when she had defected, first with her daughter, and then, upon her daughter’s death, on her own. Now, mated to a Vampire of such age and avaricious might, she was an unfathomable force of evil.

They both were.

The only small thing in the Enforcers’ favor was that Ruth’s Transformed minions couldn’t immediately come to her aid. That wouldn’t last long, however.

Ruth only needed a moment of concentration before she could begin teleporting them down to her side a bucketful at a time.

Isabella refused to give her the advantage. The Druid released the tight rein she always kept on her ability to dampen the power of any Nightwalker. This was by far her most powerful ability, and it was also the most unpredictable and dangerous to her personally. She even forced herself to acknowledge the unknown damage it could do to the delicate fetus she carried.

But she didn’t see that she had a choice with the lives of the rest of her family at stake. Even with Jasmine on her way to back them up, the female Vampire was only one person, and it would take an army to defeat these two evil creatures if their powers remained intact. They had learned much about how to use them over these past few years. And it was only going to get worse. Bella and Jacob had to strike now, while they had a chance. And besides, the traitorous bitch was coming after her child. Bella would see to it Ruth paid for even daring to think about touching Leah. Damn the painful consequences she might suffer. If Bella didn’t do something, they all would die anyway.

Clearly Jacob felt the same, or he would have volubly protested her impending actions through the telepathic link they shared with one another. He knew what potential harm there was to his wife, but while he’d argued against it in the past on many occasions, there was no time to argue now.

And so she opened herself to the dangerous unknown and drew it into her vulnerable mind and body. Bella had absorbed the power of a female Mind Demon before, but nothing like this blackness of soul. It was sucked harshly into her like acrid ammonia.

She had taken the power of a corrupted Vampire before. He had stolen the lives of other Nightwalkers, gathering their power into himself through the drinking of their blood. But she knew instantly that this Vampire was tainted well beyond that, the stain of necromancer magic on his soul as well. It was like imbibing a double dose of pure, liquid evil. She felt the cloying blackness of dual channels of power from the twin sources; they seeped into her like thick oil and tar. The evil twisted together inside her, suffocating her from the inside out. Her eyes, normally a beautiful violet color, blacked over and she looked down at herself to see pitch liquid oozing out of her skin. She did not realize the vision was only in her own mind.

Jacob felt his mate scream in horror long before she actually found the voice for it. He saw what she saw, just as he knew her every waking thought every moment of the day. He knew she was seeing a hallucination, and he couldn’t help the instinct that had him leaping into her mind to convince her of what was real and what was not. He whirled around to catch her in a single strong arm as she lurched in a back-arching seizure.

Leah watched with wide, frightened eyes as her mother was flung backward by an unseen force. Her young heart leapt into her throat as her father spun to catch her mother, the long brown-black tail of his hair whipping like that of an agitated horse. She felt her heart seize fitfully with incomprehension as she watched him quickly ease his beloved wife to the ground as gently as he could, considering the violent contortions of her body.

That was all the time it took for the enemy behind him to strike.

It was the Vampire that moved. Leah watched, paralyzed with shock and fear as he reached with blinding speed into his long, dark coat, grabbing for something that looked sharp and deadly. Even Leah’s immature Demon senses could smell the sudden tang of rusted iron, the poisonous metal that was deadly to Demons.

A moment later the Vampire leapt onto her father’s turned back and drove the iron spike between rear ribs and shoulder blade.

Leah watched as if through someone else’s eyes as the spike burst through her father’s chest, spearing him straight through the heart. The inconceivable sight of her sire’s blood exploding out of his chest was nothing compared to seeing him fall to his knees in total shock, his face full of outrage and a clear frustration that only those who loved him would understand. Jacob looked up into his little girl’s violet eyes, so like her mother’s, and felt his failure to protect his family so sharply that the last sound to leave him was a keening cry of utter remorse.

Then he fell forward onto her mother, the last exhale of his breath echoing in the suddenly silent cavern.


Leah screamed for her father as the Vampire reached to yank him off her mother, baring his fangs. He hissed and then threw Jacob away so violently that Leah heard her father hit the near wall with a sickening smack.


Monday, October 24, 2011

DEVIL'S EYES by G.R. Richards

DEVIL'S EYES by G.R. Richards

Synesthesia isn't always a useful gift for a recording engineer, as Graham reveals during a film interview for Noah's documentary on the topic. Synesthetics are people who see music. Some see colors or shapes in the notes they hear. Graham's a little out of the ordinary -- he sees images. Often, entire scenes play out before his eyes.

Graham's come up against a stumbling block because of his synesthesia. In the bizarre death metal tracks he's working on, the devil's eyes appear at every turn. He's scared stiff, and if he's afraid to listen to them, how will he ever get the tracks edited?

As Noah and Graham discover, confronting the devil's eyes is a job for two.


Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Watching Noah through the mirror, Graham set the system to broadcast into the studio. He put on his headphones as Noah worked away at his laptop. He should probably give the guy some warning. Pressing the speaker button, he said, "Noah, I'm putting one of the Valley of Darkness tracks on now. This is their take on 'In the Hall of the Mountain King' from Peer Gynt."

Noah turned away from his computer to squint at the wall of dark windows. He obviously couldn't make out Graham's shape through the glare of the glass, but he gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up nonetheless. Graham's insides seized at his broad smile. In a short space of time, Noah had tapped his inner thoughts and asked about mental patterns most people expressed little interest in hearing about. It seemed only natural to fall for a documentary filmmaker. They were like therapists, inviting transference.

With a deep breath, Graham started the track. Fuzz. The guys' chatter. Voices didn't bother him. Even a capella singing didn't cause him much synesthetic reaction. His stomach clenched as they went quiet. To distract himself from the revival of old images, he marked on his sheet where to clip the track at the start. When the upright bass struck its first deep, reverberating note, he nearly jumped out of his chair. Noah turned owl-like and latched onto his gaze, even through the dark glass. There was a silence between them, despite the cello seeping into the groundwater of the bass' heavy-handed performance.

They were a blood-thirsty group, Valley of Darkness. The results were impressive and chilling, but they tore the classics to shreds like a pack of wolves. Graham was shoulder-deep in a vision before he even realized the synesthesia had kicked up. It came on fast, and once he was this far-gone he knew there was no escape. When he looked around, it wasn't a room with a soundboard he saw. The expanse in front of him was no longer a recording studio behind dark glass. The deep, haunting music transported him to a world that wasn't his. A dark planet with nothing on the horizon but starlit space. A bone yard. There was no atmosphere, only bones everywhere he looked -- underfoot, too. They snapped like pencils. Dust rose knee-high before dissipating into the planet's nothingness.

Graham had never seen this place before. As a well-worn drum kit kept the rumbling cellos and basses in time, he gazed around the planet. In the distance, silver wolves snarled and snapped as they tore at a bloody carcass. His heart beat faster. Should they come after him, how would he defend himself? The bones turned to dust as he trod on them. Why approach wolves with no manner of defence? He couldn't say why his feet were moving. He certainly wasn't willing them to.

The wolves looked up from their meal and their eyes were devils' eyes -- red pupils in golden gleaming pools, lined in black. They shocked Graham into submission. He stood very still as the mangiest of the dogs crept away from the pack. The rest were more interested in fighting over table scraps. He watched the silver dog with matted fur. He watched its devil's eyes as it approached. A wolf would go for the jugular, wouldn't it?

Like a virgin sacrifice, Graham fell to his knees among the bones.


Sunday, October 23, 2011

SHADOWED SOUL by Stacey Kennedy

SHADOWED SOUL by Stacey Kennedy

A 1 Night Stand Story

Four months have passed since Ellie's heart was broken by her cheating boyfriend, Gerrid. Sick of mourning, she sets out in search of a man to make her forget. Madame Eve of 1Night Stand arranges for Ellie to meet just the man at Nocturnal Nightclub in Miami. Bryce is not only sexy as sin but full of mystery. He does things no man should be capable of. Ellie might question his fast speed, cold hands, and even the way he bites at her skin - if he wasn't so determined to awaken the part of her that's been buried by lies.

Days have passed since Bryce's last feeding and his vampire hungers demand to be sated. But feeding is not his only intention. Ellie seeks to be a different woman, to gain power for herself, and Bryce plans to push her to discover it. To show her she can do things she never thought possible and force her to see the strength she yearns for already lives inside of her.

Ellie will have to choose, expose all of herself, or remain hidden in the dark shadows. But Bryce will have to make a choice of his own - let her go or keep Ellie forever?



Ellie scanned the dance floor, searching for the man matching the picture Madame Eve had emailed her. Instead, she got a few heated glances from guys she wouldn’t touch on her worst days. So, instead of continuing to search, she lingered taking a seat upon a stool, listening to the bartender and Kenna talk dirty nothings to each other. Why isn’t he here?

After she downed her second Cosmo, goose bumps pimpled on the back of her neck, and she glanced over her shoulder to discover her date standing against the back wall. His gaze focused on one person, her.


“ night is looking up,” she exclaimed.

Kenna didn’t respond, too busy playing googly eyes with the bartender. Ellie jabbed an elbow into her side. She hissed as she rubbed her ribs. “Ow, what?”

“He’s here. I’m going to dance.” She gestured behind her and grinned to show her intentions.

Kenna peeked over her shoulder before focusing back on Ellie and giving a shit-eating grin. “Have fun.”

Ellie slid off the stool, keeping her focus on the stranger. His mere presence screamed sex. Much taller than her five-foot-five frame—around six-two—but built like a brick shit house. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders tempting her, and she couldn’t wait to run her hands over them tonight.

Putting a little oomph into her step, she made her way onto the dance floor. The loud techno song washed over her, and the vibrations were strong against her feet. Her kinda music—hard and dirty.

Staying at the edge of the crowd, she found her beat and moved with the rhythm. Twirling, she ran her hands along her torso and did anything and everything to gain his attention.

To all appearances, her plan worked.

He dropped his arms to his side and stepped forward. His sparkling blue eyes, short, fashionably-styled black hair, and chiseled features warmed her right down to her toes. Her heart raced. Her insecurities drifted away. The world around her ceased to exist, leaving only him and her.

Wetness pooled in her panties. His nostrils flared and his heated gaze burned deeper. He approached and as he settled in front of her, he grabbed her lower back and yanked her against his hard body. Her head tilted back and he leaned down, cupped her nape, and kissed her.

A kiss not meant for strangers―not meant as a sweet hello. No, a promise he would pleasure her and she sang a big thank you, Jesus for bringing him to her. No thoughts. No regrets. Just two sweaty bodies going at it until exhaustion set in.


Saturday, October 22, 2011

ULTIMATE JUSTICE by Ryder Islington

ULTIMATE JUSTICE by Ryder Islington

A Trey Fontaine Mystery

Special Agent Trey Fontaine has his hands full as he tries to juggle three different sets of cases in his hometown. While healing from a bullet wound, and on limited duty, he is charged with helping find out what's happening to young women who are disappearing without a trace. But that's just the beginning. Someone is beating and raping women in town, women who are related to his godfather, Detective Russell Coleman. And then the bodies of men start showing up, eviscerated. Are the crimes related? Or are has the town become a haven for all sorts of criminals?

Wile, Rocky, and Drew, three children from a violent home, take matters into their own hands and soon the small town of Raven Bayou, Louisiana is brimming with dead bodies. But the only victims are those whose background proves them to be deserving of such justice.

Can Special Agent Trey Fontaine stop the violence? Or will he only figure out the truth after someone he loves is dead?


Chapter One


Rural Neighborhood Crime Scene

Raven Bayou, LA

Friday Early Morning, 3 June 2005

Intermittent flashes of the camera gave Trey ugly glimpses of the scene—cobwebs—a broken shovel—a roll of rusty wire—

The body.

Quick flickers of light enhanced the details as the camera clicked—the petite body in a semi-fetal position on the bare dirt, back to the door. Click—naked and bruised, hair matted with blood.

Click—camouflage-mottled skin, swollen and distorted with gases.

“Shit,” he mumbled, forcing a smile, trying not to gag.

His reaction to the dead woman gnawed at him. He’d been on the job with the bureau nine years, long enough to become immune to grisly images of death, so what was it about this scene that affected him so deeply? He’d learned to distance himself from the carnage that came with his profession, or so he thought. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath as a disturbing thought crossed his mind. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe being shot had done something to his mind. No. That’s not it, he thought. It was just seeing such a scene in his own hometown.

Back when he was a boy, the population was about nine thousand. Now it was closer to fifteen thousand, with two casinos. He hadn’t spent more than a weekend here since going off to Quantico. He took another deep breath, lifted the camera hanging from his neck, and limped a few feet away to get an overview shot of the shed.

Turning away, he wiped rain from his clean-shaven face, swallowed hard, and focused on the small forest across the road, trees fighting for life against the choking kudzu and poison ivy thick as the set of a jungle movie. Rain ran down his forehead from his short-cropped hair.

His Hummer, called “Streak,” for the silver grey paint the color of a lightning bolt, sat at the edge of the dirt road not far from the deputies and crime scene techs who combed the weeds inside the splintered rail fence. They swarmed over the Louisiana mud, fire ants searching for a lost colony. A couple of officers tied off the ends of the overhead tarp and started stringing lights.

Right hand stuffed in the front pocket of his black jeans, Trey stood between a dilapidated tool shed and a shanty some poor Louisiana family had once called home. Paint peeling. Windows broken. The small porch sagging on one end.

He took a breath and turned back to the crime scene. His eyes adjusted from dark clouds and pouring rain to the even darker shadows beneath the canvas canopy. He stared into the maw of darkness, the open door to the outbuilding in question. The canopy gave the detective some relief from the rain and would allow the coroner to remove the body without washing away evidence.

Trey’s cell rang.

“Got answers for you.” It was the smooth Southern drawl of Tamlyn Washington, intelligence analyst down in the New Orleans field office.


“May tenth, Ilene Grant reported her sister Kelli Stevens missing. This is the last girl working at Bayou Lights Casino who went missing. And you’ll love this. Four days ago, Michael Grant reported his wife Ilene missing as well.”

Sisters, he thought. “Is Ilene linked to Bayou Lights?”

A service officer set a box of supplies near the detective. Trey hadn’t seen him before, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Straight, dark hair. Gray eyes. Large dimples. Patrician nose. He was a damned Boudreaux.

“Nothing suggests that,” Tamlyn said.

He refocused, pulled out a notepad and pen. “I’m ready.”

Tamlyn described Ilene Grant and as much of the particulars as she’d found.

“Much obliged.”

“Is it fun to work a case in a casino? I’ve heard things about Bayou Lights. Hopkins said it was probably a pain in the butt.” Tamlyn giggled.

“Cute. Tell Hopkins...Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.” Bobby Hopkins had been his partner for a little while and there was nothing he loved more than to razz Trey about getting shot in the butt.

“Hey, Trey...How’s Ace doing?” Tamlyn asked.

He bit the inside of his lip. “Just as expected. She’s the rising star. Thanks for asking how I’m doing.”


He pressed the END button. Tamlyn had only been with the Bureau for a year, but she was a good analyst. One day when he was feeling more generous, he’d have to take the time out to warn her about his partner. Bobby Hopkins was a bad influence on young women.

The service officer walked away before homicide detective Russ Coleman could introduce them. “A Boudreaux on the force?”

“Yeah.” Russ worked the camera. “Near about a deputy. Hope I’m out to pasture by then. The youngest boy. Has a year to go but he’s on it. How’s Georgia?”

Trey stepped back. “Mom left town for a conference before I got here. She’ll be in Baton Rouge until Monday. Then she’s going on a cruise with a friend.” A sigh of relief managed to escape his lips and Russ chuckled. He offered a faint smile. Russ knew him too well. “Brother-in-law of one of the missing girls filed a missing persons report on his wife.” He gave Russ the rest of the details. Unless an I.D. proved the body to be of one of the missing women linked to Bayou Lights, he had no business here. Hell, he had no business here anyway.

Trey wouldn’t have gotten the call if any other detective were in charge of the scene. It pays to be an agent in your home state. It’s even better if your godfather is a senior detective for the Sheriff’s Department.

The camera clicked away in Russ’s mocha-colored hands as he took interior shots of the outbuilding. Below the camera, Trey noticed the gray in Russ’s goatee. He’s getting old, Trey thought.

When the flashes stopped, the body became barely visible through the dimness within.

The portable light had just been hung and strung. The generator kicked on. Trey flipped the switch. The sight made his heart thump against his ribs. Bile burned the back of his throat and he swallowed hard. He’d seen hundreds of bodies and had smelled worse things than this. Maybe he should have taken a little more time off after the shooting. Maybe being wounded had affected his mind. No. That’s not it. My mind is fine. He took a breath, lifted the camera hanging from his neck, and limped back a few steps to get an overview shot.

He had intended to keep his hand in his pocket like a good observer. It wasn’t his damned case, but he was antsy, ready to do something, not just stand around being useless. Besides, doing something would give him an excuse to stay at the scene.

Since the shooting, he’d been given nothing but scut work. And now he was Ace’s babysitter. While she went undercover on a potentially huge case, he played boyfriend, a perfect position for collecting info from her and updating her on any new evidence. It wasn’t a perfect position for Trey.

The last nine years with the Bureau had taken him across the country, though he worked out of the New Orleans field office. The bad guys had taken to traveling, forcing agents to pursue. But he’d never had to pursue one to Raven Bayou. He only remembered one murder in this town in all of his childhood. This town was an oasis, so different from the big cities. And now his safe oasis was the scene of an ugly murder, a place where young women were disappearing.

Squatting near the door of the shed, he winced as the half-healed wound in his butt sent a shot of pain up his hip. He returned to his standing position, eyes glued to the child-like body of a woman.

Could be either of the sisters. Or not. With her back to him and her skin stippled, he couldn’t tell much about her, other than her hair was dark brown and relatively straight, though neither of those things could be relied upon in determining ethnicity anymore. People colored, straightened, or permed their hair on a whim these days.

He slid the button on the digital camera hanging from his neck and snapped a few shots. It would be easier to see the truth when the pictures were printed in black and white. His mind filtered through the thousands of photos and textbook descriptions of decomposition and its many manifestations, calculating how long this body might have lain here.

After a breath, he stepped back and returned his right hand to its proper hiding place. The size of the body was a match for Ilene Grant. That wasn’t much. When all the evidence was in, he’d load it into his computer and make some calculations. Then he’d have something concrete to work with. If Russ needed his help, Trey would be ready.

Russ took a few more shots before putting his camera down and beginning a sketch.

“Any crime spree against females I don’t know about?” Trey shifted his weight.


“Any similar crimes?”

His godfather gave him a quick look, jaw flexing. “Nothing leading to death. Had a rape and beating of a young woman, Endri Cheramie, a month or so ago. In the hospital two weeks.” He looked down at the body. “Guess we’ll know more after this autopsy. I suspect this one wasn’t raped, and the cases aren’t related.”

“I know, your famous gut.” Trey noted the name Cheramie on his pad.

“And nearly forty years doing this.”

Trey averted his gaze and kept his mouth shut. He scanned the site again and saw that Russ was the only detective there. “Where’s your partner?”

“On her way. Some people sleep in till five, sometimes even six.” Russ didn’t bother to look up.



“Taylor who?” Trey said.

“No, Gemini Taylor.”

“Gemini? Like in twenty years ago, Gemini.”

“That would be the one.” Russ raised his gaze. “You know her?”

“Everyone in Raven Bayou at least knows of her. I met her right before she left town.” He rubbed two fingers up the ridges between his eyebrows. “I can’t believe she came back here.”

“I think a coyote just run over your grave.”

Was it just a coincidence Taylor and Trey were in town at the same time? It had to be. There was no such thing as fate. Not that he meant anything to her. She probably didn’t even remember him. But he sure remembered her. The bad girl of Raven High.

“I’ll check with them.” He motioned toward the techs, heads down like hens after scratch.

Russ nodded and went back to work.

Trey limped, carefully avoiding possible evidence beside which sat bright yellow markers. Most of this shit’s probably just trash someone threw out a car window. Mud seeped above the soles of his black boots, staining the sides an ugly brown.

He pulled a small mint tin from his pocket, opened it, removed two Lortab, and tossed them past his tongue, dry-swallowing without so much as a flinch. A tingle ran up his spine and tickled his neck, and he took a quick peek behind him only to find his godfather’s eyes boring into him. Having an almost familial relationship with a detective was a dagger. And both edges were razor sharp.



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