Thursday, December 11, 2014

SOUL FIRE by Shannan Albright

SOUL FIRE by Shannan Albright 

The Guardians of Drakkan Book 1

A dragon on borrowed time.

Crispin, king of a shape-shifting race known as Drakkan’s children has little hope left for his dying race. Without females for his males to mate with, their extinction is assured. When the mating fever grips him, he knows his time can be counted in days before he goes mad and must be destroyed.

A woman who holds the key to a race’s survival.

During the Beltane Ceremony, Aslynn Durry is one of the chosen by the god Drakkan and the Tuatha de Danann to save the shape-shifting race. Within a secluded glen Aslynn and Crispin, unite for what they think is one night of celebration, only to find both of their destinies’ are woven together.

An old enemy rises from the pits of hell to have his revenge.

The Fomorians have bided their time to strike. The alliance between the Tuatha de Danann and the great dragon god Drakkan has given them the chance they need to satisfy their thirst for revenge.

Crispin and Aslynn find themselves pawns in an ancient war. Can they survive long enough to defeat the Fomorians? Or will the hope for Drakkan’s dying children be destroyed?



Forcing her gaze from those penetrating eyes, she became aware of his overpowering presence. The air around him crackled with power, an expectant hum filled the silence in the air. Dimly she realized he was more than human, something…other. Enticing and terrible, a heady mixture coalescing into an acute awareness. An arrow of lust pierced her belly, traveling down to her core, a liquid fire making her ach to the point of pain.

She couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His massive body hummed with male aggression and dominance, a perfect counterpoint to her femininity. Long, thick hair caught on a small breeze, lifting away from a face of sharp angles and shadows. Moonlight touched upon him like a lover’s hand, casting him in silver, a god come to earth to claim her.

A fanciful thought to be sure, yet by his intense regard of her, mayhap she had the truth of it.

He strode toward her with an unnatural grace, her pulse raced with every step toward her. He reminded her of a predator, more animal than man. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, her breathing labored as she watched him approach, forced to tilt her head up as he stopped before her. The glen suddenly seemed too small to contain such a powerful being. He slowly held out one hand to her, her eyes riveted to the long fingers. High born, not one of calloused palms from laboring in fields, but smooth, soft.

Her hand reached for his of its own accord, watching as his swallowed her much smaller one. Warmth spread from her fingers up her arm as he pulled her up to her feet with a gentle tug. His nostrils flared as she stood mere breath betwixt them.

A rumble rose deep within his chest and she trembled. Not from fear, nay it ’twas desire which throbbed in exquisite anticipation, her body pitched upon a precipice from which there would be no return. The hunger from moments ago flowed hotter; his male scent of windswept seas and cedar mixed with an undertone of musk caressed her.

A moan escaped her as she took him into her lungs, her body softening, her core turning into molten liquid. Her ears roared as blood surged through and scalded her veins. Her body prepared for his, even as her normally logical mind struggled to reason through such a reaction with little luck.

The only clarity she could summon held sway of her emotions, for in the very marrow of her bones she knew this male was hers. If only for Beltane. The gods saw fit to give her a gift. Drakkan spoke of being the hope of his children. She would grasp this with both hands, hold it tight for this one moment, and have the memories to warm her on lonely nights. For once, she would take something for herself and face the consequences on the morrow.


Thursday, December 4, 2014



Apocalyptic Series Book Three

She might be the enemy. He might have to take her down. But all he really wants to do is make slow, sweet love to her.

Grimm Forbes has been captured by sexy spaceship Captain Cari Pascale and turned into her sex vassal. But, as alliances conspire to take down his old friends at the Authority, Grimm worries that the woman who ignites his sexual fantasies might be at the epicenter of the treachery.

It's possible he'll have to make a choice between his friends and the woman he wants in his bed. He only prays he has the strength to make the right decision, because the consequences of making the wrong one will be apocalyptic.



“You were brought on board because you escaped the Avenging Angel. There were to be no survivors.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me?”

Standing behind her desk, she made no move to sit. Her fingers tapped the clear, swirly surface as she frowned. “I’m not sure.” Her gaze snapped to his. “I’ve heard much about the fourth quadrant space pirates and I guess I was curious.”

Grimm slipped off the gurney, straightening his shoulders as his gaze burned into hers. “Well, here I am. Has your curiosity been satisfied?”

Her green and gold flecked gaze scoured over him, leaving behind an uncomfortable heat. “Not completely.”

Her slender fingers stilled on the desktop. She cocked her head again in what Grimm realized must be her considering pose. “There is much I’d still like to…explore.” She slipped silently around her desk again, swaying toward him with a determined set to her delicate jaw. Halting in front of Grimm, she held his gaze, rose up on her toes and captured his lips.

Heat flared in the places where they touched—the sensitive skin of their lips, the spot on his hip where her small hand rested, the dual spots below his pecs where the lush tips of her breasts pressed. Grimm’s cock pulsed beneath his jeans. He reached for her and his hand was jolted violently backward, constrained by the cuffs.

The sound seemed to fracture the spell and she jerked back, breaking the kiss. She rubbed her lips with a fingertip, still staring at him. “I’d heard the stories but I didn’t believe them.”

Grimm fought not to shift his gaze guiltily from hers. “Stories?”

She watched his lips move, her tongue coming out to slide across her own mouth before she spoke. “The pirates have become urban legends of a sort. They have the reputation for being very masculine and…sexually profound.”

Grimm snorted. “Sexually profound?”

She shrugged, giving him a secret smile.

He shook his head, lifting a hand to skim a fingertip along the pale, flawless column of her throat. “I don’t know what stories you’ve been reading, but they have nothing at all to do with me.”

A strawberry-blonde tendril touched his hand as her head tilted again. “Don’t they? I think they do, pirate Grimm Forbes. I think they have everything to do with you.” She held his identity chip up between them, grinning. She’d lifted it from his pocket as they kissed.

Damn! Grimm was impressed despite himself.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

MIDNIGHT HEAT by Sarah Grimm

MIDNIGHT HEAT by Sarah Grimm

Black Phoenix Book 2

The unconscious man wheeled into Dr. Rebecca Dahlman’s ER is sexy—devilishly sexy—and injured. This isn’t just any patient in need of medical help. He is the only man she’s ever loved—the one who still haunts her dreams.

Black Phoenix bassist Dominic Price made a mistake three years ago when he walked out on Rebecca. A mistake he plans to rectify. But first he has to convince her to open her heart to him again.

One touch of his calloused hands reignites their passion. Can they rekindle their trust as easily, or will her fears cause her to lose him again…this time to a man bent on revenge?

Chapter One

“Forty-year-old male MVC victim,” the medic shouted as he and his partner pushed the stretcher through the doors and into the emergency department. “SUV versus semi. SUV rolled multiple times before stopping to land on its passenger side.”

Adrenaline surged through Dr. Rebecca Dahlman’s system, revving her pulse, pushing away the fatigue of an overly long shift. It worked better than the half pot of coffee she’d already consumed.

“Upon arrival at the scene, patient was unresponsive. We were able to get the c-collar on him right away, but had to wait for the Jaws of Life to extricate.”

Gown and gloves in place, Rebecca ran her gaze over the unconscious man strapped to the backboard with orange belts as they swung into room one and transferred him to the ER’s gurney. Her team, already assembled in the trauma room, moved efficiently around the patient, cutting off his clothes with trauma shears, starting large bore IVs and getting vital signs.

The medic continued feeding her pertinent information as she began her assessment. “Blood pressure is one-twenty over seventy-five, pulse ninety-five. Pulse ox is one hundred percent on room air. Pupils—dilated, equal, and reactive.”

The guy was a mess. Blood covered his face, soaked the left side of his head and shoulder of his shirt. He had a laceration on his left upper arm; deep enough to require sutures, and some bruises were already beginning to form at his left shoulder and right hip from the seatbelt doing its job of holding him in place. Even more troubling was the bruise forming on his right side, a sign of rib trauma. Ribs weren’t the only common injuries from impact with the center console. The ones she couldn’t see were what caused her the most concern.

“I want an ultrasound of the abdomen,” Rebecca stated automatically as she shifted closer and listened to her patient’s chest. Lungs clear, respirations even and non-labored, heart tones audible not muffled and no abnormal rhythm. Good, no internal chest trauma. She looped her stethoscope around her neck and leaned in, searching the man’s scalp for head trauma. “Get me a cross-table C-spine, chest and pelvis x-ray. Draw a full trauma panel, type and cross, and a urine tox screen.”

Karmen Williams, Rebecca’s best friend and charge nurse for the night, pulled the man’s wallet from the pile of clothes on the floor. “Rebecca.”

Directly above his left ear Rebecca uncovered the source of all the blood. Pushing her fingers into his hair, she palpated the injury site. The wound immediately began to bleed again. “No skull fracture that I can detect.”


“I’ll want a CT scan of the head and neck.”

“Rebecca.” Karmen’s voice was tight and pulled her attention. “It’s Dominic.”

For a moment, a heartbeat really, the words didn’t make sense. Then, she looked closer at the lifeless man on the gurney. As if in slow motion, Rebecca dragged her gaze up the torso, locked it onto the face partially hidden behind long, blood-soaked black hair. Her breath snagged in her throat and she froze, the echo of her pulse beating in her ears. It was a struggle to keep her hand steady as she pushed his wavy hair away from his face and focused on his mouth, those lips, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, the thin, straight nose.

“Stud,” she whispered, her voice torn.

His eyes were closed, ringed in thick black lashes. Were they open they would be the color of the sky just after a cleansing rain.

Her world tilted.

No. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t him. Dominic didn’t have a goatee or a scar across his right clavicle. Dominic wasn’t in California, he was in London. Safe in London.

Not unconscious and bleeding in the middle of her ER.


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