VALENTINE'S SURRENDER by Ashley Blade

VALENTINE'S SURRENDER by Ashley Blade

Submission: it’s a thin line between punishment and pleasure.

Lorali, an independent woman and sexual therapist, believes she has everything she could ever want – except love. After being abused for much of her childhood, she closes herself off from the rest of the world.

Now, on her thirtieth birthday, she has to face her fears, let go of her control and perhaps fall for the man of her dreams. But there’s a catch, to have a future with Cade Caruso she’ll have to become his submissive.

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Excerpt:
Prologue

Her mother’s screams for mercy filled Lorali’s room. Her father was always a mean drunk. There was no doubt about that.

“Shut up you little, cunt-sucking bitch!” Her dad raged as she heard the heavy thwack of flesh hitting flesh. There was no question her father was doing the hitting. Tonight’s fight had been the worst Lorali had ever experienced. Pushing her burnt sienna-colored hair behind her ear, she sniffed back more tears.

She learned at a young age, if she didn’t want to get beat, she stayed away from her father. Her mother on the other hand, wasn’t afforded the same luxury. If dinner hadn’t been on the table as he walked through the door, her mother had been beaten until it was placed before him. It was the same for the laundry and daily cleaning of the house. Why Lorali thought it would ever change she had no clue.

Maybe it was sheer stupidity or a crazy notion she’d gotten in her head, but, hell, she figured if her mother was being hurt by someone else, her father would care.

Obviously not.

Earlier that evening, her mother had invited another woman and her husband over while her dad worked the late shift at Henderson’s Automotive. Lorali had made the mistake of walking in on them at an inopportune moment. Her mother was knelt between the woman’s legs and the man behind her. Shocked and confused, she covered her eyes and backed out of the room. Freaking out, Lorali called her father at work. She mistakenly thought her mother was being hurt. Or at the very least, forced into some sick act.

She was only trying to protect her mom.

Soon the yelling ceased and her mother’s sobs were quiet. She heard her father tell her mother to go fuck her whore and her prick. She wasn’t allowed in his house any longer. Lorali didn’t know what to do. Did she run out of her room? Did she stay where she was and hope her father didn’t come after her next? In her mind she had done the right thing. In his mind, Lorali would be just as responsible as her mother.

It was sick, twisted even, but she knew the rules. The only way for her to stay safe tonight was to not move or make a sound.

“Lorali, I love you sweetheart,” her mother choked back a sob. “Honey, I don’t blame you. You didn’t know what you saw. I’m sorry baby, I really am.” Lorali could hear her father coming down the stairs, and her mother began to speak faster. “One day I’ll come back for you. Then I will explain everything to you. I promise.”

“You’ll be teaching her nothing of the sort, you ungrateful bitch. She will grow up being a proper lady with proper values. You will never see her again, Diane. Never!”

Lorali lay there, tears streaming down her cheeks, as her father slammed the door. She tried to wipe them away as they fell so if her father came in he wouldn’t see them. It was a weakness he could prey on with her. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he frightened her anymore.

The door to her heart and soul slammed shut. Lorali’s body went numb from all the pain and anguish. Never again would she put herself in the predicament she was in.

Staring up at the ceiling, a steely resolve filled her. Her only way out now was to get a scholarship to a school far away from her father. She would find her mother and beg her for forgiveness. Then if she had the money, Lorali would help her as much as she could. Because, deep in her soul she understood that she’d just ruined everything for both of them.

Chapter One

Present Day

“I don’t know doc. I have tried everything including, you know--” He leaned toward Lorali. “Self gratification. It still doesn’t help or work. I can’t come,” he whispered. He sighed and sagged against the back of the couch. His already messy hair was sticking out at odd angles as he ran his shaky fingers through it.

Lorali had been seeing Malcolm for almost six months. In his mid-thirties, he acted as if he were in his seventies. His gray eyes were dulled with depression and the premature wrinkle of his skin had Lorali worried for him. Every time she gave him an exercise to try, he came back the next week to denounce its effectiveness. She was beginning to believe he just didn’t have the ‘want’ to fix his sexual problems.

Scribbling down a little note to talk with his wife, she cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Malcolm, I believe part of the problem you’re having is the inability to let go. You want to be in control so much you have made yourself climax constipated. The moment you let go of your control, will be the moment you will come so hard you’ll wonder if you will ever walk straight again.”

Malcolm looked at her skeptically. “What’s to say I lose control and I still don’t come? What then?”

Lorali took a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted to ten before she spoke. “How about you bring your wife in with you next week. We will explore this a little bit more. In the mean time, I want you to try what I suggested.”

Malcolm seemed to think about it before he spoke. “All right.” He picked up the prostate massager and put it in its bag. “We’ll give it a try tonight, and I will work on the control thing.” He looked down at her with a sly smile and winked. “If this works, I won’t be back next week with my wife.”

Lorali nodded, not even acknowledging the sly smile or the wink. “Sounds like a plan, Malcolm. I will cross my fingers for you and hope all goes well.” With that said, she stood and ushered him out of her office. He was her last client for the day and she was in a hurry to meet with her mom.

She was plucking her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk when the memory of the last night she’d been in her father’s house assaulted her.

* * * * *

Tip toeing through the house quietly even though her father was at work, she made her way to the kitchen. Grabbing what she could to eat, Lorali headed into the living room to do her homework. She savored every bite of her cheese sandwich and stale chips. Food was a rarity anymore. Some days she felt like a squirrel trying to get a nut in the dead of winter. Lorali had been reduced to raiding her father’s wallet twice a week just so she could buy food.

His belief was his money was better spent on alcohol.

As she ate the bit of food she’d scrounged up, she watched a little TV and studied for her test the next day. The sound of metal trash cans crashing together and a stray cat’s wail of surprise startled her. It was her father’s slurred, “go fuck yourself”, muffled by the back door that had her cowering in fear. Lorali knew he was in a foul mood.

Her biology book sat open to human sexuality and reproductive organs when he finally stumbled into the room. His eyes were blood shot and weepy from one too many scotch on the rocks. He loomed over her, his rancid breath filled her nose, causing her to gag. “You little whore!” He slurred. “What are you reading and why?” Her father backhanded her off the couch and sent her flying into the coffee table. “You cock–sucking, white–trash, good–for-nothing!” His words were punctuated with open handed smacks against her side, back and legs. “I tried to raise you to be a proper lady and this is the thanks I get? You bringing smut into my house.”

Lorali couldn’t think straight. Her father’s breath reeked of liquor and made her nauseous. It was only a biology book, nothing more. She opened her mouth to speak, but was backhanded again. The room swam. Black dots clouded her vision, and she could feel herself falling. In the distance she heard a scream.

Later she found out it was the neighbor. Mrs. Crasck heard her father yelling and, fed up with his abusive ways, came for Lorali

She didn’t remember anything else from that night. Lorali woke up three days later in the hospital. Her mother was by her side along with the husband and wife whom she’d seen a year ago. Her mother explained she was going to live with them. They would protect her no matter what, and her father would never find her again.

Lorali had cried and begged her mother and her friends for forgiveness, but they wouldn’t take her pleas. They said it was they who were at fault. They should have known better, but she blamed herself.

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DARK SEDUCTION by Dakota Trace

DARK SEDUCTION by Dakota Trace

She's supposed to be the enemy - too bad the voices in his head claim otherwise.

Kennet Baghadur, the oldest living son of Camulos - the God of War and a minor Serenity Faerie, hides his pain behind his laughter. Cursed by an angry demoness, the two parts of him, the faerie and God, are split. The result - the inside of his head is a constant battleground. To protect himself and those around him, he shows the world his Faerie side all the while hiding the dark passions he's inherited from his mighty father, never wanting to cause a woman to go through what his own mother went through.

Now a grown man, Kennet is called upon by his father's TrueMate to protect a person he considers the enemy: Bilés youngest daughter. If it had been anyone other than Cayleigh asking, he'd have told them to take a flying leap. But it wasn't, so girding himself to babysit a young demoness, he's in no way prepared when Jasmyn walks into his life and turns it upside down. Nor could he anticipate the fact that for once the two bickering voices in his head have actually agreed upon something: Jasmyn is their TrueMate and both of them plan on claiming her.

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Excerpt:
Prologue



“Mate me!” The red-headed woman writhing under Kennet Baghadur raked her fingernails down his damp back. Gritting his teeth against the onset of pain, he ground his cock between her splayed legs. The vague memory of drinking too much ambrosia-laced wine at Autumn Festival had dulled his recollection of how he’d exactly ended up in an unfamiliar room with a demoness under him. But hey you only live once, Baghadur, far be it for you to refuse what she’s so willingly offering. Nipping at her neck, he grinned at the salty taste. Damned if the Lord of the Underworld doesn’t have the most delightful creations.

She arched up against him, pitting her strength against his own. With ease he pressed her back into the soft mattress. “Patience, my sweet, we’ll get there.” He trailed his mouth along her exposed collarbone. A sudden flare of pain at the nape of his neck made him jerk back with a hiss. Cursing under his breath, he reached back and untangled her talons from his hair.

“What is your issue?” He tried to focus on the features of the woman despite the blurriness caused by the alcohol rushing through his veins.

“Mine! You will TrueMate me, lover! I will give you much pleasure.” Her eyes glowed as dark horns appeared at her temples before a forked tongue darted out to flick at him.

“What the hell?” He scrambled away from her, his cock deflating. Even in his debilitated state, he knew there was something not right with the woman.

Crouched on all fours, she stalked him across the rumpled surface of the bed much like a lioness intent on her prey.

“I’m horny and I want you to fuck me, Flannery Baghadur. With our union, Bilé’s head will be mine.”

Confusion swamped him. Bilé’s head…what do I…? Realization struck him. She thinks I’m Flannery and I have access to Bilé. Stupid bitch doesn’t even realize she’s got the wrong brother. A drunken chuckle escaped him. “Sorry, can’t help you there, Lydia…Laura, whatever your name is…”

She hissed and swiped at him with her claws. “You will help me or I will shred your precious manhood next.”

A new sharper pain radiated from his stomach. Glancing, he tried to focus on the furrows gracing his stomach, which were now slowly seeping blood. Grabbing his discarded shirt off the floor, he clumsily dabbed at the wounds, a grunt of pain escaping him at the feel of the rough cloth. “Like hell. Even if I wanted to help you, you got the wrong brother, you crazy ass bitch. I don’t need this shit. I’m outta here.”

Beyond angry that he wasn’t going to get laid tonight, he tossed the shirt away intent on leaving the demoness behind. Perhaps if I get back to the hall, I can find another demoness. He was just at the door when the demoness latched onto his back, her talons digging, seeking purchase.

“You will not walk away from me, Flannery!” The screech echoed inside the chamber and nearly shattered his eardrums.

Roaring out his anger, he rolled his shoulders trying to dislodge her, but like a tick she hung on. Finally in desperation, he spun around and slammed her between his body and the door.

Clinging to him, he heard the sounds of demon-ish and winced as her chanting grew louder. Not that it worried him. As the son of a God he was normally immune to most maladies that brought down others. He winced when she sank her teeth deep into the muscle running over his shoulder. The agonizing sting of her fangs caused him to stumble forward. With his flesh burning, he reached behind him, grabbing blindly. Finally finding a limb, he jerked hard, trying to break her hold, when dizziness swept over him. Falling to his knees, he tried to stay conscious but failed. The last thing he saw when he turned his head to ask, “why”, were the vindictive burning eyes of the demoness.

* * * * *

“That’s enough, Lenora.” Bilé, the God of the Underworld, grabbed the feeding demoness by the nape, ripping her away from Kennet’s body. Immediately the blood began to seep from the wound. He’d been on his way to his private chambers with his protective guard when he’d heard a commotion coming from one the alcoves off the main hall. Pure rage consumed him when he found Kennet, one of the God of War’s sons, being used by Lenora, the daughter of one of his staunchest rivals, as a food source. The girl glared at him even as she bared blood- coated fangs.

“Put pressure on it,” he told Flannery, the head of his protective guard and Kennet’s twin. “I’m going to deal with this...” he gave Lenora a rough shake, “...greedy little bitch.” Not waiting to see if the younger man did as he asked, he strode from the room, holding the struggling demoness with ease. “I really ought to kill you, Lenora.”

Hissing at him, she squirmed viciously against his hold. “You wouldn’t dare! It would cause a war such as the Underworld has never seen.”

Slowly smiling at her, he leaned in closer. “And play right into your father’s hands—I don’t think so. I have a more fitting demise for you than death.”

She paled. “You can’t kill me! If you do, the godling will never recover!”

Bilé stopped in mid-stride and gave her a rough shake. “What did you do, Lenora?”

Licking her lips, he watched as she tried for what he assumed was a haughty stare but wasn’t surprised when she failed spectacularly. “I used the Origin’s spell on him. As long as I live, he shall too. If I die, he dies!” A sneer crossed her face. “How are you going to explain that to his father, Almighty One?”

If he’d thought he was angry before, he was wrong. Now he was enraged! “The Origin’s spell is dangerous! Do you know why it’s so rarely used, Lenora?”

She trembled under his fierce gaze. He was sure the brimstone and flames of the Underworld were showing in his eyes.

“When you attempted to bind Kennet’s life source to yours, you didn’t bother to find out if he was a half-breed!” It was taking all of Bilé’s considerable self-control to keep from striking her down. Wrapping his hand around her throat, he lifted her off the ground.

“But, he’s Camulos’s son….” Tears began to form in her eyes.

“And his mother is a faerie!” His fingers tightened around her neck. “Not only is it illegal to use such a spell on a God, by using it on Kennet you just split Kennet’s origins in half. His father’s bloodseed will tear apart his mother’s faerie side.” He ignored the pain her clawing fingers inflicted as she tried to free herself.

“You fool! You idiot!” Giving her a shake, he tossed her to the ground. “Go home to your father. If I ever catch even a glimpse of you, you’ll wish I’d killed you because I’ll give you to Camulos. Hell will have no fury like the God of War’s when he finds out what you did to his son.”

Cowering before him, she whimpered, her eyes wide with fear.

“Now, GO!” His order echoed through the halls. She nodded and scrambled away. Raking his hand through his hair, he turned to see Flannery standing in the open doorway, his expression torn. “He’s gone.”

Bilé forced a smile. “He’s not gone until I say he’s gone.” He pressed by Flannery and entered the room. Dropping to his knees next to the lad, he placed his hands over the wound. He froze as something inside him stirred to life, making him realize how important it was to save the boy. Damnation, he’s Jasmyn’s. I can’t let my daughter’s mate die. Drawing deep within himself, Bilé invoked a powerful but seldom used incantation.

“What was once torn asunder, mend again, take two halves which are independent and make whole.” Heat burned his palms as he forced the mending power into Kennet’s still body. As the heat slowly faded, he slumped over the boy. The things I do in the name of love. Keep my power safe, young Kennet, until my daughter is old enough to replace it with her own. He lifted his eyes to meet Flannery’s. “It’s done. He’ll survive by my power until he mates.”

“He’s gonna be okay? Are you sure? He’s still not breathing.” Anguish racked Flannery as he dropped to his knees next to Kennet.

“I did the best I could.” Bilé slowly rose as Kennet opened his eyes.

“Oh dear God, the voices…someone stop the voices!” Kennet shook as his hands flew to his head.

Flannery gave him a beseeching expression. “What’s wrong with him?”

Bilé sighed. “I couldn’t undo the Origins spell, but I was able to mutate it enough that each part – both godly bloodseed and faerie spirit could survive.”

Flannery was horrified. “What the hell does that mean?”

“He now has two separate voices in his head, trying to tell him what to do.”

“Son of bitch!” He grabbed at Bilé’s shirt and tried to shake him.

Pulling the distraught man closer, he tried to comfort him. “It was either that or death. Kennet is strong, he’ll adjust. I have greater plans for him.” He rubbed his hand over Flannery’s back.

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BLACK WOLF'S ULTIMATUM by Belladonna Bordeaux

BLACK WOLF'S ULTIMATUM by Belladonna Bordeaux

His ultimatum is a sexual eye-opener for her.

Wendy Williams was groomed from birth to be the perfect daughter and eventually become a trophy wife. Her parents' grand plan for her took a detour when Wendy met the man of her dreams, Elijah Dickens. He's hot and she's hot for another go across the mattress with him.

Elijah Dickens, born from werewolves, is about to make his life mate realize he's the only wolf for her. With the help of his two friends, he leads her into the racy and erotic world of BDSM.

The only issue left to be resolved is whether or not Wendy will agree.

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Excerpt:
Chapter One

“Come on. Get over your funk, girl,” Wendy Williams whispered. “Valentine’s Day sucks.” This year a lot more than others.

Her gaze roamed over her living room. Nadda, zip, zilch that even remotely related to being in a long-term relationship met her gaze. There wasn’t a picture of Elijah hung on her wall or taking up space on her mantel. She picked up the pillar candle she’d bought at a fancy boutique and breathed deeply of the heady sandalwood scent.

The memory of buying the hand made candle came forward. She’d been out with her mom, shopping for Christmas presents when they stumbled across the boutique. Her mom was on the hunt for something very pricey for her uncle, while Wendy was trying hard not to bitch about how bad her feet hurt. She’d ignored most of the kitschy knickknacks when she’d caught a whiff of a scent that was so close to Elijah’s she couldn’t resist purchasing it.

Her mother had clucked her tongue and said something to the extent of, “evergreen or cranberry is more festive.” Of course her mom had sent her an askance glare when Wendy didn’t immediately put the candle back and purchase one of the scents suggested.

Groomed. That’s what her friends called her and she supposed that was what she was. Groomed to be the epitome of trophy wife. Groomed to be the perfect hostess. Groomed to not have her own mind.

She swallowed hard against the knot of emotion forming in her throat. In a few short years she was expected to lie down and marry whichever man promoted her Congressman father’s career. Her happiness be damned.

In the past she always laughed off her friends comments, but her reality was much more hurtful. She wasn’t just groomed—hell no—from birth she’d been put in a gilded cage and informed in cold terms she would sing beautiful songs on demand and look fantastic or there would be hell to pay.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Yes, and I didn’t ask to meet the man of my dreams when I was in a traffic accident either. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. Elijah had had his hands full with consoling the sixteen-year-old girl who’d reared-ended her while trying to take her statement. It was when he flashed a smile during a candid moment that she found herself really entranced by the tall, dark skinned policeman.

He became the focus of her private fantasies for the next few months. Then, by chance, she’d bumped into him at a bar, and voila, they were seeing each other.

Compared to most of her other relationships, theirs wasn’t half-bad as long as discretion was maintained. In the year she’d seen Elijah Dickens, she’d seen him at his best and worst. He was kind, caring, and considerate. Everything she wanted in a boyfriend. She couldn’t even bitch about their sex life except that maybe he was insatiable. But, then again, she figured most twenty-seven-year-old guys were geared for banging.

The big problem standing between them was her parents, specifically her father.

She was white.

Elijah was mulatto.

Unlike Wendy’s affluent parents, Elijah’s mama was a boisterous Latina with a quick smile and the temperament of a grizzly bear protecting her cubs should someone insult one of her six kids. His dad could trace his roots back to the slave markets of Charleston. He’d put himself through college and didn’t find anything wrong with his job as a community organizer. There was so much unconditional love in Elijah’s family that for a while Wendy was jealous of the Dickens brood.

She set the candle down on its plate and strode for her living room windows. In a sick way, she was cheating Elijah out of what a real relationship was supposed to be. By trying to have the best of both worlds while not rocking her family’s conservative ideology, she was cheating herself.

She knew it, and so did he.

And, finally two weeks ago he’d given her the ultimate ultimatum. Either she was all in or they were done. Personally, she didn’t blame him for reaching the limit of his patience with her and her folks. She was pretty sick of sneaking around too.

“On Valentine’s Day, you have to give me your answer,” he’d said to her before walking out her backdoor the last time he’d stopped in for a good fuck. “Believe me, Wendy, I love you, but I have had it with all these covert maneuvers. Think about it, and on Valentine’s Day I want an answer.”

She still didn’t have one. There were too many tangents to consider. Too many things to weigh. She just didn’t know whether or not the risk was worth the effort.

Sighing, she pulled the lace curtains back to stare at the full moon hanging heavy in the sky. A few wispy clouds worked their way across the inky backdrop and shrouded the glowing satellite from time to time. This is a night made for lovers.

She also recognized Elijah was breaking with his freaky tradition of staying away from her when the full moon rose. Even if he wasn’t on patrol, he’d call her but wouldn’t set foot in her apartment. A tingle of passion curled in the pit of her belly. The man certainly knew how to get her hot over the phone. He’d pushed her into thinking outside the missionary position to fantasize about hot sex. Toys. A little bondage. Yes, she’d gone there with his avid prompting.

It was weird, his departure from her life for one night a month, and she wanted to joke with him about it. How many times have I wanted to ask him if he is a werewolf or something like that? Too many. She’d almost actually gone through with her teasing on a few occasions, but with their relationship being clandestine by her request, she figured he was allowed his own idiosyncrasy.

What to do? What to do?

Two friends she trusted above reproach called her silly and stupid for even debating sticking with a good man. She’d made a decision after taking their advice to heart, to damn her family if they didn’t approve or accept Elijah. Yet, the moment her mother called to ask her if she was going to some fundraiser, the doubts filtered back in.

Not in her wildest dreams could she picture Elijah at a GOP fundraiser.

God, please tell me what to do.

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THE BETRAYAL by Tamsin L. Silver

THE BETRAYAL by Tamsin L. Silver

A Living Dead Girl Novel

The line between good and evil is sometimes blurred.

Atlanta Hart learns that she's an Air Witch, the first discovered for centuries. Suddenly she and her friends find themselves immersed in a world of magick and magickal creatures, not all of which uphold their birthright to protect the human race.

This new world is on the brink of war, propelling Atlanta to embark on a journey to understand her powers in order to fight for her life and the lives of those she loves. With the help of legendary vampire hunter turned vampire, Sean Cameron, will she discover the truth of her past in time to save her future?

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Excerpt:
Prologue

Out in the Middle of Nowhere in the Quebec Province of Canada

Early September

1997

Valencia stood in the center of the circular outdoor chamber and tilted her head, lifting her face to the night sky. Her long, wavy red hair cascaded across her bare shoulders, catching the moonlight as it tumbled down her back and over the laces of the black corset. She closed her eyes, raising her arms into the night air and called to the wind. As a vampire the night caressed her, but as a witch, the wind spoke to her. It warned her that dawn approached; her time was running short.

“Ladies, are we ready?” Valencia asked her three witch sisters who had accompanied her to the chamber to conduct the experiment. Each wielded a different discipline. Where Valencia was gifted with Air, they were Fire, Water, and Earth.

“Yes, Mistress,” They answered in unison.

With a crash, the large oak and cast iron door that led from the fortress into the chamber burst open, slamming into the wall. Lowering her arms, the wind subsided as Jonathan, her lover and second in command, kicked a prisoner through the door. He then walked in after, graceful as a cat, the last of the wind tossing his long white-blond hair about.

Seeing the prisoner she’d hoped for stumble towards her, Valencia grinned. “You found him, how splendid! Glad you could join us Mr. Cameron.”

“The pleasure is all yours, I’m sure,” Sean responded, coldly. “Mind telling me what the fuck I’m doing out here? You know how I hate to leave the dungeon. Besides, it’s Bingo night.”

His cocky grin and sarcasm threatened to ruin her mood. “I am your Mistress and you serve me when I see fit,” she snapped. Goddess, his presence irritated her! Seeing him reminded her of all of her men he mercilessly killed before she’d captured him.

“Oh goody. You know I live to serve,” he said, his voice flat with sarcasm. He pulled against Jonathan’s grasp on his arm. “Let go of me you bastard! I’m shackled, where the hell would I go?” With one last yank, he escaped from Jonathan’s grasp.

Valencia fought a grin. Even withholding blood from Sean for the past few days, he was strong enough to pull away. Yes, her decision to use him in this experiment was the right call.

She may have been delighted with this, however Jonathan was not. He grasped Sean again. “Leave him be,” she scolded, “He’s right. Besides, it is time. Ladies? Attach him to the platform.”

The witches grasped Sean and laid him on the wooden square on the ground, quickly undoing the middle joint on each shackle that had bound foot to foot, and wrist to wrist. They reattached them to the platform, a limb at each corner, splaying him like a large X. Valencia slid the altar between Sean’s legs while the witches lit the candles that surrounded the platform.

Movement at the door drew her attention. Lifting her gaze, she recognized the head of The Superior Order’s army. The General lumbered into the space with a scowl on his face. “General McMasters, thank you for coming.”

“What’s this all about Mistress Valencia?” His gruff voice demanded. “Pulling me out of my bed at an ungodly hour? Bah! You best have a good explanation.”

“I do. Don’t I always?” She purred, her hand caressing Jonathan’s arm. She squeezed his hand lightly, “Lover, will you please go fetch Sean’s gift?”

“As you wish.”

Valencia addressed the group. Jonathan crossed toward the door, where the General still stood. “You all have been gathered here to witness how I plan take control of those self righteous peons who call themselves The Great Order.”

“This again?” the General mumbled.

Jonathan’s arm whipped out so fast it was a blur. Grabbing the General’s arm roughly he snarled, “Show some respect for your Mistress,” through clenched teeth. Holding on long enough to make his point, he let go and exited through the door, leaving it open.

Valencia sighed dramatically. She was sick to death of the General’s disbelief in her powers. If lucky, that would change here and now. Pulling out a silver ring from the pocket of her velvet cape, she held it up so the moonlight glinted off it. “This is the key. This creation of mine will ruin them.”

“Ooh, a ring,” Sean mocked sarcastically. “Nifty. Now can we tell me why the fuck I’m here?”

One of the witches, snapped, “Shut up and pay attention.”

Sean rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“This ring has the possibility to do amazing things, Sean. If this experiment works, I will have made it possible for vampires of my choosing to no longer be constricted to night travel only.” Valencia stared at the ring in her hand, entranced by her own work. “This ring is made of silver, sugilite, and clear crystal quartz. Sugilite is the most powerful protection stone there is. It aids in physical healing while silver aids circulation, strengthening the blood. Clear crystal quartz enhances a witch’s powers and thus the spell.”

“Blah blah blah—and?” Sean sassed.

She tilted the ring so Sean could see it. “Recognize this symbol? It’s a Celtic knot, called a Triquetra. Simply put, when combined with the correct spell this ring becomes a talisman of protection for the one who wears it.” Pulling her hand away she spun about once with a giddy cackle. “Protection from the sun.”

“Have you tested it out?” the General asked.

“No.”

Sean taunted her. “Then how do you know that it works?”

“That is what you are for,” she told Sean, looking down on him. “I’ll leave you out in this sun chamber with this ring on. When the sun rises, we’ll see if it works.”

“You’re insane!” he said with a strained chuckle. “Then again, all of us here know that. Look, you can go find yourself someone else to try your toy on. I’m not gonna help you. I’d rather take it off and turn to a cinder.”

Valencia walked around the altar to lean her face down toward his, their noses almost touching. “Trust me Sean, you don’t have a choice.” She stood up and raised her voice, “Jonathan, you can bring her in!” The glee bubbling in her as she saw Jonathan re-enter the sun chamber with an unconscious, young girl slung over his shoulder, was almost enough to make her dance. He shut the door and locked it, proceeding toward Valencia. She bounced once and gestured grandly. “Lay her on him.”

With a nod, Jonathan draped the young girl over Sean, placing her neck near his face, in reach of his mouth.

"Now Sean, drink,” Valencia ordered. “You need to be strong for the spell."

“No.”

Starved as he was, she knew it took everything he possessed to refuse. Though impressed she insisted, "You must feed!"

"I sure as hell will not!"

Valencia pulled out her black bladed ceremonial dagger, known as an athame, and stepped forward. Lifting the girl by her hair she smiled at Sean underneath, "You wanna bet?"

"Don’t do it," he pleaded.

She made a small slit in the girl's throat, letting the blood drip onto Sean's face, onto his lips. He shifted his face from the falling drops of blood. Valencia leaned over the body to study Sean, amazed at his will. She knew it wouldn’t last, seeing as the blood now dripped onto the side of his lips. "You cannot hold out forever. The bloodlust will win."

Sean’s natural instincts finally exceeded his will. His guttural yell exploded from him as Valencia witnessed his two canine teeth elongate. She smiled and took her cue, lowering the neck of the girl and pressing it to his mouth. Crying as he fed, Valencia gloated at his eventual loss of control. When he finished Sean let go of the young girl and screamed out again.

“Take it away,” she requested of Jonathan, who lifted her up and tossed her aside.

“You bastard!” Sean yelled. “She’s not dead. I didn’t kill her. You can’t just throw her around like garbage! She’s a human being!”

A cold smile spread across Jonathan’s face, making his white-blonde hair appear like pure ice in the moonlight. He stepped over to the girl, grabbed her by the neck, and snapped it. “Now she’s not.”

“Damn it!” Sean knocked the back of his head against the wood platform.

“Boys boys, can I have some focus here?” She interrupted in a calm tone, trying not to lose her temper. “We’re starting. Now get in place.”

Jonathan answered with a twitch of his eye and a nod, pulling the General back toward the wall so they would be out of the way.

Valencia pointed the knife at the sky. "I call on the Four Corners of the Earth to hear me!"

“North,” said the witch in green as she raised her blade into the sky.

"East," Valencia followed, raising her blade.

The witch in red brought up her blade. “South.”

Lastly, the witch in blue lifted hers. “West.”

"O Spirit of the North Stone, Ancient Ones of the Earth, I call you to attend this circle. Charge this by your powers, Old Ones!"

The next two women echoed the same words, acknowledging their corner, their element, requesting the attention of its vast power. They lowered their blades, and Valencia continued, "Air, Fire, Water, Earth, Elements of Astral birth, I call you now; attend to me! In the circle, rightly cast, safe from psychic curse or blast, from cave and desert, sea and hill, by wand, blade, cup, and pentacle, I call you now. Attend to me! This is my will, so mote it be!"

A moment of silence filled the air as Valencia stood still. She felt her connection to the three other ladies as they stood, hands raised up. Gazing down at her subject, she noticed Sean pulling frantically at his binds, causing his own blood to spill upon the platform.

"May the powers of The Ones, the source of all power—the goddess and Lady of the Moon, and the god—the Horned Hunter of the Sun bless this place and at this time. Know that I am with you and you are with me.”

Thunder crashed above and clouds began to roll over the night sky. Wind blew through the enclosed space, tossing the witches’ skirts and hair as Valencia held up the ring. "With this pentagram I lay Protection here both night and day. And the one who should not touch let his fingers burn and twitch. I now invoke the law of three. This is my will, so mote it be!"

Lightning scorched the sky, flashing like a slow strobe light while the air hummed of static. Sean and the ring became luminescent as the moon above, telling Valencia it was time. She moved from behind the altar to place the ring on Sean’s right ring finger. His skin felt warm, to almost a human temperature and with a flicker of hope that the spell was working she quickly finished it off.

"Horned Hunter of the Sun I call upon thee to see this man, this ring. I ask thou for the protection from the harm of your rays. May they be protected by your might, O gracious god, day and night."

As the three women chanted, “May they be protected by your might, O gracious god, day and night,” with Valencia, the air in the chamber became bright as day. Then, they all stopped and looked up, throwing their hands into the air. In doing so, the light surrounding them shot upwards. Like a bullet out of the chamber of a gun it hit the sky, spread out, dissipating the clouds and making everything clear once more.

"We must close,” Valencia instructed. “Daylight is approaching.” Standing in the East, she pierced the circle's wall with the blade at waist level. “Farewell Spirits of North, South, East, and West. We give thanks for your presence here. Go in power.” Moving clockwise around the circle, causing the power of it to dissolve, she let the outside world slowly regain its dominance.

Returning to East once more, Valencia set the athame on the altar, motioning to Jonathan to assist in cleaning up the supplies before stepping to lean over Sean. With a Cheshire grin, she put sunglasses on him. “So sorry to leave you, my pet, but we won’t be far.” She motioned to everyone else, “Time to go. Let us all retire to the viewing room. There’s still some time to kill until the sun reaches the floor of the chamber." She then walked out of the chamber without even so much as another glance at Sean.

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BARELY HUMAN by Trace Riles

BARELY HUMAN by Trace Riles

Now you see her. Now you don't

Recently promoted, Jessie is struggling to get into the groove of things alongside her edgy and more experienced partner.

Lately she’s found it increasingly difficult to hide an ability she can’t control, and doesn’t understand. While investigating the murder of a local teen, she discovers the shocking truth about what she really is. Worse, she suspects the killer that continues to hunt teenage girls is closer to her than she could ever have guessed.

As she delves deeper into a world where demons, vampires, and werewolves not only exist, but are all around us, unlikely friendships blossom as a group of misfits band together to put a stop to a madman’s murderous rampage.

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Chapter One

“Poke her, I dare you.”

“No way! I’m not doing it, you do it.”

“What if she’s dead?”

“Maybe we should take her wallet. If she’s dead she won’t need it anyway.”

“She doesn’t have a wallet. She’s only wearing a t-shirt. Where would it be?”

The fingers of sleep began to loosen their grasp on me. I’d read myself to sleep last night. The last time I’d looked at the clock, it was two, maybe three. I shivered. Must have left the window open. Normally I loved the crisp autumn air, but this was ridiculous.

Off in the distance, a couple of kids were arguing. Their voices had pulled me from my dream. Damn, why did they have to be so loud? They could have been in the same room with me. Excited about going back to school, I guessed. Yawning, I shifted my hips and felt my t-shirt snag on ...Rocks? Crap!

I listened while the boys continued to argue about which one should do the poking. “If either of you poke me, I’ll arrest you both,” I muttered after a moment.

The boys gasped at the sound of my voice. I squinted and looked up at the bright blue sky. Crooking my stiff neck, I checked out the kids, dressed in their new hoodies and jeans. They looked so warm. Lucky brats. I sighed. They get to leave the house dressed all warm and cozy, while I pop out in just any old thing.

“Lady, whatcha doing sleeping in the alley?” the tallest boy asked.

“Where’s your clothes? You trying to get yourself pneumonia?” asked the younger would-be assailant.

The taller boy leaned over and held out his hand to help me up. I waved it away and slowly got to my feet, feeling my joints snap into place. Nothing like a night on the asphalt to make you feel your best. I groaned as my lower back protested its new position.

“My great aunt got pneumonia last year and she nearly died,” the smaller boy offered, obviously feeling the need to enlighten me.

“Shut up, Charlie! No one wants to hear about your stupid aunt. She got pneumonia ’cause she smokes those cheapy cigarettes.”

“Hey!” I snapped at him while brushing bits of gravel from the hem of my t-shirt, “I don’t like the way you’re talking to him. And what’s this business about taking my wallet?” I stared at them with my best tough cop glare.

I tried to swallow, but my tongue stuck to the roof of my pasty mouth. If my breath smelled anything like the inside of my mouth tasted, I felt sorry for these kids. I took a step away.

“L-lady? What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Crap, my contacts.

As an infant I’d been diagnosed with a condition called essential iris atrophy, or ICE Syndrome, a very rare and progressive disorder that causes distorted or misshapen pupils. Not the worst disorder to have, I suppose. However, it did tend to unnerve people, which was why I normally wore contacts. “I had a late night, that’s all,” I lied, flinging my hand to my forehead, pretending to shade my face from the bright morning light. “Stop trying to change the subject. You were about to take my wallet?”

The boys exchanged an uneasy glance. “W-we weren’t really going to take it—right, Sam?” Charlie looked to the taller boy.

“Right. Nope, we would never do that. We were just kiddin’ around to see if, you know, we could get your attention.” Pleased with himself for his quick thinking, he shot the smaller boy a grin.

“Yeah, well...” I paused and scanned the alley. It was, thankfully, just the three of us. I refocused my attention on the boys. “I better not catch you two sneaking around here again. Now get to school!”

The boys dipped their heads, muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” and sidled off, leaving me alone in the alley.

Now I had to figure out how to get up to my apartment without being seen. Explaining to the neighbors why I was outside in my underwear was a task I could live without.

This was the third time this week that I’d flickered while sleeping—at least, that’s what I called it. It had started when I was thirteen.

I’d gotten my first period, and that same night I awoke in the tub, with no recollection of walking there. For the next few years, every once in a while I’d wake up somewhere other than in my bed. My mother chalked it up to sleepwalking until she came into my room to say good night to me, and watched in astonishment as I vanished. One moment I’d been in bed and the next I was gone, no walking involved. I could still hear her, “You just sort of flickered.”

For the most part, it was harmless. I’d wake up in my closet or in the hall just outside my room. But one frosty night in the middle of January, I flickered into the attic. My mother, thinking my dad had driven me to school early, went to work without a second thought. The small access hatch to the loft above the second floor of the house had been latched; trapping me for the entire day in the frigid, dark space. By the time Mom returned home and heard me banging on the hatch, I had frostbite on most of my toes. Luckily, there was no permanent damage. After that, my mother removed the locks from everything—just in case.

Two years ago last month, my mother passed away from an aneurysm. I found myself alone with my secrets, which up until a couple of months ago had been relatively easy to conceal. Easy because I kept to myself and, other than work, very rarely interacted with anyone. But lately, the flickering was becoming more frequent, the distances greater. Until recently, I’d never flickered beyond my own apartment. Last week I’d awakened downstairs in Mr. Murphy’s living room. I narrowly made it out of that one. I still have the scratches from his homely, one-eyed cat to prove it. Monday I’d ended up in the basement laundry room. And today...today I’m outside! In my underwear! I’m so screwed.

I climbed onto the dumpster and jumped up to grab the fire escape then hung, bare legs dangling, as a woman passed the alleyway. She looked up at me, expressionless, and kept going. Maybe climbing the fire escape in your underwear isn’t as unusual as one might think. The taste in my mouth was starting to make me feel seriously sick. What had I eaten last night?

I hauled myself up, then crawled under Mrs. Wang’s window, not up to hearing her lecture about the ticking clock. My clock wasn’t ticking, it was frozen in time. I like kids. Kids are okay. Truthfully, I’d not had much experience interacting with them, and they made me sort of nervous.

Children seemed much more intuitive than most adults. Whenever I was around them, I always felt as if they knew I had a secret. It’s not that I didn’t want children, but how could I, in good conscience, ever have a child without knowing what was wrong with me first? Besides, even if one day that changed, I’d have to find a man. Someone really, really understanding, who wouldn’t have a heart attack when his wife disappeared and reappeared like some freak straight out of a horror movie. Pfft, like that’s going to happen.

I climbed the short length of metal stairs to my kitchen window, and peered through the glass at the latch. I exhaled, relieved to find I had forgotten to lock it. I tried not to acknowledge the withering geranium in the flowerpot I moved off of the sill, but as I set it down on the landing it drooped to one side, sad and neglected.

Guilt surged. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d watered it, and I was pretty sure I should have taken it inside before the nights turned so cool. Like I’d ever be able to take care of a kid. I can’t even keep a plant alive. My chest clenched and I blinked against the prickle of tears. Then I resigned myself to my solitary existence and refocused on the task at hand.

A tacky decorative spike declaring that GARDENERS TEND TO SOIL THEIR PLANTS was the only thing still standing in the flowerpot—a gag gift from last year’s Secret Santa at work. It was stupid, but I’d kept it anyway—I didn’t get many gifts. I yanked it from the pot and forced the spiked end under the window as a lever. With a bit of effort, the pane lifted enough for me to squeeze my fingers in and push it up the rest of the way. A rush of warm air wafted over my chilled cheeks and I inhaled the familiar aroma of my apartment, a mixture of old plaster and Chantilly, my mother’s perfume. Occasionally, when I was feeling really lonesome, I’d spray some around the apartment. It always picked up my spirits.

I climbed awkwardly over the sill, knocking over a stack of my favorite self-help books. They didn’t seem to be helping me, but I couldn’t stop buying them. Maybe I could find a book to help me beat my book-buying addiction. I scooped them up, dumped them in a heap on the small kitchen table, and shut the window. A quick glance at the wall clock made me curse under my breath. It was going to be close. I started toward the bedroom but paused in mid-step and turned back to the window. I opened it a crack—just in case.

A long hot shower took the chill out of my bones and I was good to go. I left my apartment and entered the stairwell when my cell rang.

“Jess, where the hell are you? I’m your partner, not your mother, you know,” Ray chewed loudly on the other end of the line, completely devoid of any recognizable manners.

“I’m out the door. In the car, even. I’m practically there.” I jumped the last four steps to the lobby.

“Get a move on, will ya? Sarge’ll be handing out cases in twenty minutes and I don’t want to get stuck on bum clean-up again.”

I laughed. Ray was crude, and she never ceased to shock me. “Bums are people too, Ray.”

“Yeah, smelly people.” Without warning the line went dead. Typical Ray, no time for the usual niceties of civilized society.

I snapped my phone shut, stuffing it into my jacket pocket as I hurried out to the street where my Jeep was parked. I caught a break yesterday and garnered a space almost in front of my building. The driver’s side door screeched in protest as I yanked it open. The smell of moldy oranges smacked me square in the face.

Last week I’d picked up a fruit smoothie for Ray on my way into work, and had to stop a little too suddenly when some crazy woman cut me off. That had been the end of Ray’s fruit smoothie, and the beginning of the entity known as the Citrus Stinker. The juice and cream that soaked into my carpets had soured in the heat from the fall sun. I really had to take it in for a cleaning.

It was old and tired and I loved it—it had belonged to my dad. I knew it looked like it belonged in a junkyard, but I thought the wear and tear gave it character. I was usually the only one who thought so.

I’m on a parking streak, I thought as I slipped into a slot just vacated by an Explorer in front of Manny’s Deli. The prime spot meant Ray would be getting a full side view of my car, and I didn’t want to hear about it; my morning was already stressful enough. The familiar jingle from the bells hung on the deli door smoothed away some of my tension, though. My first steady partner—in or out of work, for that matter—was waiting inside. I had recently made detective and been assigned to work with Ray. Since I lived such a solitary life, I was really beginning to enjoy the closeness generated by spending large quantities of time with the same person.

“Gawd, can’t you even use a freakin’ alarm clock?” Ray blurted around a mouthful of bacon. She waved her empty coffee mug at the young waitress, making an obvious show of her impatience. The girl rolled her eyes on the way over. Ray was almost ten years my senior, but the way she acted you’d think it was closer to twenty—most of the time she was downright crotchety. She had made it abundantly clear to any cop who’d listen that she wasn’t too happy about being stuck with a greenhorn like me.

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A FOOL'S FOOL by Sandra K. Marshall

A FOOL'S FOOL by Sandra K Marshall

Kathy O'Reilly, a strong-willed woman doesn't allow men to walk over her or anyone else. When one of the co-owner's of Gagsters, Norm Jokes, is allowed to get away with playing pranks, she speaks up to her boss.

Jason Barrone, co-owner of Gagsters is attracted to his assistant and will not allow his best friend to cause him to lose her. Jason wants them to be friends because he doesn't want to have to make a choice of who goes and who stays.

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~Excerpt~

Jason stood in the doorway of his office pretending to read some papers while covertly watching the women scurrying excitedly from one cubicle to another. They whispered for a few minutes, giggled, and looked nervously around as if afraid of being caught.

He'd been traveling on business for a month, and when he came back from his trip he’d noticed a difference in the office. He’d watched the women for days and the ringleader appeared to be assistant's friend, Allyson.

His gaze turned to Kathy, noting the freckles sprinkled across her pale cheeks while a couple more dotted her nose. She tried to hid them with makeup, but he thought they were cute. She seemed immune to the activity outside her window.

Ever since she'd started working for him, he'd wanted to grab a handful of the thick red, blonde-streaked hair that fell around her shoulders. He wanted to rub his face in the strands. Whenever he was near her he would inhale her fresh citrus scent, and he wanted to get closer to her, nibble on her neck, and see what she would look like naked.

There was something about this matter-of-fact woman that fascinated him. She drew him to her on a sexual level. He couldn't help wondering what she was like away from work or in bed.

She looked fantastic in anything she wore but this top fit her lovely shaped breasts like a second layer of skin. Would the buds be pink or brown, he wondered.

Kathy raised her head and turned to look intently at him. "Do you want something?"

Oops, he'd been caught staring. He gazed into her topaz eyes then turned to look out her window before saying, "I'm wondering what the girls are up to."

Her eyebrows rose and her head tilted to one side. "What makes you think they're up to anything?"

Ah ha, he'd surprised her. She glanced at her desk, and he realized he was right, she knew more than she would admit. "They're all abuzz about something. Kind of like a bunch of busy bees in their hives."

Lowering her chin, she gazed at him with a smile on her lips and in her light yellow-brown eyes. "Well, you know a special day is coming up for us."

"Ah." Jason leaned more comfortably against the doorframe. "You're referring to April Fool’s Day." Just as he thought, they were planning a practical joke for one of them, either Norm or himself. He hoped it wasn't his friend.

Jason didn't know how Norm would react to someone pulling a stunt on him. He'd always been a jokester. He used it to defend himself against school bullies and to hide the fact that he didn’t have a normal family. If he thought they were tormenting, him, he'd get even.

Kathy nodded her head. "The girls thought it might be time to take a more active part developing pranks, and what better way to start than on April 1st?"

"Just as long as no one gets hurt," he said, turning back into his room. Jason knew Norm was sensitive, even though he didn’t show that side of himself at work. He needed to understand that other people might have those same feelings.

"Oh, not likely," she said.

Her annoyed tone warned him that there was more going on than Kathy was telling him. He just hoped it was nothing that required him to fire someone.

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SPACE, PIRATES & OTHER NONSENSE by Buffi BeCraft

If the pirates don't get you - The insanity will!

Sasha's Tran's horoscope has gone horribly wrong.

Between pirates tossing her off her own ship, being possessed by a three thousand year old spy on a mission, and waking up to a sexy ex from the distant past, she's in for one hell of a ride this Valentine's day. That's if the planet doesn't get blown to the corners of the galaxy first!

Genre Sci Fi Erotic Romance
Length Novella
Heat Level Extreme

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Julian Horoscope day forty-two:
Career opportunities sometimes fall out of the sky. Keep your head up so that you do not miss your next big break.  Lucky in love. Valentine’s Day is on course. Look for a new interest on the horizon.
Chapter One


‚Hobbs! Don’t do this!. Sasha Tran fought the slim, steel restraint, damning the creator of the near indestructible programmable rope to hell. The engine exhaust blasted her cropped hair into her face, coloring the world through red ribbons of betrayal. Cliché perhaps, but she’d never suspected her second in command of mutiny.

Hobbs shoved her to the edge of the loading ramp, which had never been intended to be used as an old-fashioned ‘pirate-walk-the-plank’. Her ship, the Fortune, cruised along several kilometers above the surface of a backwater, no-name planet. Hobbs knew better than to break the strict Allied Worlds First Contact regulations. Its new, sleek form would no doubt cause a lot of stir among the primitive locals and bring down fines on the Northern Star Trading Company.

A hulk of a man, Hobbs was bred and born on the farming moon colony of Ludd. She knew he’d been raised to smith metal by hand, so Hobbs could have easily tossed her off the deployed ramp. But no, the traitor was trying to salve the shreds of his conscience. That much was written in the nervous sweat gleaming on the thick folds of his furrowed forehead.

Sasha stupidly glanced down, then dragged her gaze from the forest and tried to quell the stark mental image of being impaled. She tried once more to reach through Hobb’s butt-ugly, dispassionate expression to the decency she’d always credited him for. ‚C’mon. This isn’t you. You’ve been at Northern Star for over twenty years. Selling out to a rogue pirate when you’ve always talked about retirement?. A flicker behind the sickly yellow rings of her second’s irises filled her with hope. His gun wavered a bit as the survival pack slid from his shoulder to his big, meaty hand.

Naïve, stupid, hope.

He shook his head. The thin wisps of hair covering the sloping forehead stood straight up in the furnace-like exhaust. Behind him, the fucking pirates stealing her ship snickered. Hales, the slime she thought she’d kicked off at dock almost three weeks ago, saluted. Fucking snake. Sasha’s eyes narrowed. She’d scream at them, but they wouldn’t hear anyway. She could barely make out what Hobbs was muttering.

‚Sorry, Cap’n. It’s either you or me, an’ I need the money.. He tossed her the pack, barely waiting for her to clutch the bundle with her restrained arms, then gestured to the edge of the open ramp. Below, trees whizzed by in a green blur. ‚You’re too honorable for the likes of their captain. You’ll fuck up the sale..

‚What sale? What are you into, Hobbs?. He didn’t answer her question, but she thought she glimpsed a bit of guilt. Guilt was good. Guilt was real good when asshole in question was about to throw her off the ship.

‚Remember that online course on the classics last year?. Sasha leaned forward, her voice loud and hoarse from the fury burning in her chest. She’d only taken the damn thing because Hobbs wanted a study partner. Who actually studied Dante’s Inferno?

‚I hope in hell, you’re frozen ass-upwards. And I hope that Satan himself takes you up on the offer. Ninth Circle of Hell, traitor.” The stout, brutish man paled. The course had appealed to Hobbs at his foundation. Ludds were inherently superstitious. “Because that’s where you’re headed. Can’t get any lower than that, you bastard..

She glanced at Hales who leaned with loose-limbed negligence against her freight as he exchanged money with the feline that had aroused her suspicions enough to seek out Hobbs. She had no idea what the species or planet the cat-person originated from, but understood the speculative gleam in all the pirates’ stares.

Replacement co-pilot, indeed. The crew replacements while scouting the two habitable planets were hinky enough. But when Soder, her co-pilot, abruptly resigned and skipped ship by stealing a precious lifepod, Sasha wanted answers. The miraculous arrival of the furry co-pilot this far out of civilized space was too coincidental.

The cat-person curled a lip, showing white fangs at Hales. It flattened its ears and commandeered a stack of freight to sit on. Silk and spices she’d worked a deal for in the Abaassanian market. Colonists and citizens alike paid out the ass for the aphrodisiacs and romantic shit from ‘The Planet of Love.’
There were other expensive items on the route she’d cultivated for the Northern Star Trading Company, but the planet Abassan was her prize. It was the jewel that got her the Fortune and bumped her pay grade to a primo level. Sleek and efficient, it was a hard blow to know pirate ilk were now in charge of her ship.

The buck-toothed pirate beside Hales grabbed his crotch, his leering face telling her how he’d help her stay on board. She focused on his short, unmoving dreadlocks instead of the hand working his crotch or the disgusting tongue flicking at her. Bastard. As if, she thought.

Sasha’s arms may have been tied, but her hands were free. She sent him a full-middle-finger salute, barely choking down her anger as the pirates cheered. Buck-tooth flung out his arms, in the universal ‘anytime’ motion while his horny pirate buddies yukked it up with cat-calls and a round of, ‚Oh, you want it baby..

‚Jump and you have a chance, Cap’n,. Hobbs told her. The thick line of his jowl was unyielding. ‚You won’t with the crew..

‚They’re not my crew.. She spat, silently berating herself for not noticing the transition of real crew for Hobbs’ pirate support, for being too caught up in her exploration. Then, with as much dignity left her, Sasha jumped.

The trees rushed toward her.

She was going to die. A scream ripped from her throat, terror and fear foremost, until the rope around her torso loosened and flew up and away. Then, she yelled a triumphant hurrah. She was falling straight down. Terror struck again. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! God the ground was coming up fast.

Twisting around mid-air, Sasha dragged the survival pack onto her shoulders. The wind ripped at her hair, her clothes, threatened to steal the pack as she fumbled with the cinch. She wasn’t military. She had no experience jumping from a ship with an emergency pack save the mandatory four-year safety seminar that Northern Star required of its captains. She pulled the cord and prayed for the best.

The parachute exploded behind her. Watching in awe as the chute unfurled into a silvery cloud above her, her descent suddenly stopped, jerked into the drifting pace of the parachute. Sparing only a brief thought for the Fortune as it shrank into a speck as it left the atmosphere; Sasha twisted and tried in vain to direct her descent into a pretty but bare-limbed cove of trees surrounding a small body of water.
She could practically weep at the irony of her mother’s email this morning telling her about the manager opening at the Orion Shipyard back home in the middle-of-nowhere, Earth. Normally, the idea of watching welders piece together ships she’d never fly held all the appeal of jumping out of her ship onto a primitive planet with less than the minimum of survival gear. Watching the sharp spear-like branches get closer and closer made that manager job pretty appealing.

* * * * *

People falling from space. Appears to be the prophecy day after all. Kiev-Dirrel leaned on his spear, watching the figure fall from the spaceship instead of dwelling on the disturbing underground rumblings plaguing his home. The wind whipped the fabric of his knee-length hip-wrap around his lower thighs. But the fabric was belted tight at his waist and wouldn’t impede the sword, which engendered confidence in the citizens, or access to the pouches on his belt, the contents of which made him feel more secure. For a few heartbeats, he’d thought the unfortunate alien would be splattered all over Shepherd Valley, but no—the alien managed to deploy a large section of fabric to slow its descent.

‚Kiev! Kiev!. Radan skidded to a halt, nearly toppling over Kiev’s cliff-side watch station. Arms flailing, the boy wind-milled as his sandals threw gravel every which way. Kiev snatched the shoulder of Radan’s robe. The kid’s wooden play sword waved under Kiev’s nose. A barely felt mini-quake shook more pebbles from the mountainside for a heart-stopping moment.

‚Slow down before you fall off my cliff.. He set his nephew down with a good-natured chuckle to mask the unreasonable paranoia Kiev had developed for the small disturbances. His imagination supplied images of the ground opening up and swallowing the entire city. No one, not even a single flying squirren could escape the type of earthquakes that destroyed Dirrel’s world so long ago. Kiev’s face hurt with the force of his smile. ‚And breathe. A warrior knows to pace himself. Excitement and fear can destroy your focus if you let it.. The reminder was a good one. Randan was an orphan because Kiev had let his guard down

Kiev liked watching the youngsters at this age. They were bright and amusing. Radan was no different. He nodded, sucking in a lungful of air into his small bony chest. The boy was a beautiful blend of both parents. He possessed his mother’s vivid imagination and his father’s sense of adventure. Randan was only six, too young for formal schooling, but innocent enough to find everything new and exciting.
The time for new and exciting had passed Kiev by years ago. Kiev’s heart lurched every time the child escaped his guardians and tutor. So he supposed that was adventure enough. He was old, if not in body, then in soul. For a moment the babble of eons threatened to press down.

‚Did you see the alien?. Radan’s high voice pulled him from his memories. The part of him that was Dirrel snorted. See what? The skewered alien that will soon be polluting the squirren’s watering hole? Niiice. Radan’s finger followed the ill-fated alien’s descent and sure enough, Kiev wanted to wince at the sight of the nettle tree tree’s limbs piercing the body. His nephew turned, excitement lighting his wide, blue eyes. ‚Will you take me with the search party? Do you think it has three heads or scales?. Radan sucked in a breath as another image popped into his head. ‚Maybe it has slimy tentacles and feathers for hair? What do you think, Kiev?.

Easing them both away from the image of the alien, Kiev tried to find the same joy bubbling in his nephew. What joy is there in the death of another? A knife in your gut, searing laser fire cauterizing your heart, poison seizing your veins, best yet—the grinding of the drago-lizard as it eats you alive.
Kiev’s alter ego, Dirrel had been a peace-loving scientist a couple of thousand years ago during the pinnacle of Aros’s age of crystal technology, and all of the wonders thereof. Dirrel, or Dirrellen as he’d been known then, helped develop the consciousness transmogrification process. They’d been so excited to discover how to use the unique crystal’s electromagnetic properties to capture and store a human’s psyche before death swept away the energy.

That breakthrough preserved the intellect of Aros’s brightest and greatest when the tectonic plates suddenly shifted, causing the greatest redistribution of landmass ever experienced. The event destroyed their world, throwing Aros into a primitive state.

When the end of the world killed most of the population, Dirrel’s transmogrification program yanked back the consciousness of those scanned into the system. On the bright side, their people’s knowledge was kept safe inside the crystal computer’s data banks. On the downside, the collected consciousnesses were alive and awake. They remembered as well.

‚Why don’t we go see what Lala, the wise-woman, has to say.. The suggestion sparked a round of giggles from Radan as they made their way down the path to the city. His brief respite from duty was officially at an end.

Smiling faces and respectful bows greeted him at the city gate. ‚Did you see the alien fall from the sky?. Kiev ignored the undue attention. He was a warrior now and had been in many previous lives.

‚Kiev, come by tonight,. breathed an overly endowed woman. She was vaguely familiar, reminding him of the carousing he’d been fond of before acquiring Dirrel’s reserve. She bit her bottom lip in invitation. ‚I remember what you like..

You shouldn’t wait so long between women. Big breasts and probably a willing—he cut off the thought, shoving Radan through Lala’s shaded courtyard and into her receiving room. None of the wild women had interested him in a long time, not since he remembered the difference between love and lust. The latter left him unsatisfied and wanting more, like a no-nonsense woman who laughed at danger and secretly teared up at the beauty in a sunset.

Warm, feminine laughter soothed Kiev. As the one who prophesied the alien’s coming two summers ago, Lala should have the bulk of the fanfare. A swirling flower and spice scented dervish descended on Radan, picking the boy up before dancing away again. ‚And how is my fine grandson today?. Lala pecked a kiss on Radan’s cheek and set him down, sending the boy off to the kitchen in search of a snack.

Lala turned the force of her lovely smile on Kiev. ‚And how is my favorite son this fine day.. He could tell the repressed need to sweep her affection all over him about killed her. His lips twitched at the mental image of her having to bottle up all that motherly love.

‚I am your only son, Lala, and head of your House Guard.. Relieved, but still on edge, he strode to the window. Beyond the house’s wall, people would already be gathering for the wise-woman’s word on their skewered visitor from the stars. ‚The day wasn’t so fine for the alien. It used a sheet to float from the sky and into the nettle tree grove.. Inside he sneered at the alien’s lack of technology. A species with space-faring technology and the alien had to leap with what amounted to bed linins to break its fall? Depsite his people’s lack of faith in machinery, Kiev made sure to outfit his men with useful gadgets pertinent to protecting the city’s most prominent lady.

Lala’s hand crept to her mouth, no doubt remembering Keiv’s similar death. It hadn’t been a bad death in either Kiev’s or Dirrel’s opinion. The assassin never had a chance to touch Lala. Her skin paled. She swallowed, gathering up the long layers of her scarf-dress. ‚Then we must hurry to her. Fate offers a second chance to only a few. .

‚The alien is dead.. Softening his harsh tone, Keiv sighed. Lala took her visions seriously, and so did the people, for good reason. While the scientist in him balked, he’d still done a study and calculated her at ninety-six percent on visions being accurate. The other four could be a margin error for faulty interpretation of the vision. ‚I do not know whether it is even human, much less your woman from the stars. It might even have scales and tentacles instead of arms.. He shook his head, frustrated with his own thoughts. Visions, psychic ability, and conferring with the gods had no real basis in science. The words, now spoken, couldn’t be taken back.

He tensed, waiting for the expressions of old friends and family that said he’d revealed too much of what he had become. The host. Guardian of the Past. The representative of the technology that failed their planet long ago. His people both feared and revered him.

Kiev could have laughed. If only they really knew the truth of it.

‚I would pray for human, my son.. Lala brushed by him, taking a cloak from its hook by the door. She slanted a long glance over her shoulder. Her expression said that she knew who and what he was. And accepted him. ‚Because it would be unfortunate for my future grandchildren to have to slither about like garden snakes..

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FULL LOAD by Kate Early

Who knew a trip to the Laundromat could get this...interesting.

James found a little hole in the wall Laundromat to get his clothes clean in peace. That is until Fin walks through the door and the dryers aren't the only things heating up.

Genre Contemporary Romance/Male/Male
Length Super Short
Heat Level Extreme

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ROY'S LAUNDROMAT
West Hollywood Ca.

One load down. Two more to go. James reached over the washer to grab the plastic detergent bottle off the folding table. A cap full of soap went in with his dirty towels, another he poured over the load of whites in the next machine then he dropped the lids to trigger the water. There was no glass door to look through on the old metal boxes for entertainment. Without the suds and rolling clothes to watch there was just the rhythmic bump and swish of water from the laundry machines. James might have described it as peaceful, but basically the laundromat was as boring as humanly, globally, and universally possible. The place was perfect.

He wasn't surprised to be alone, just happy. Privacy was a nice change. No women sat in the corner gossiping, knitting, or silently reading a book to fill the time. There were no screaming babies or bored children throwing toys at their siblings, just him and some clunky, old machines. Moldy ceiling tiles and the backs of newspapers covering the window out to the street were about the only visible decorations to the place. There were no soda machines or video arcades here. Hell, he had walked past the place a dozen times before he realized that it wasn't abandoned. The bigger shock would have been walking in to find lines of people with wet clothes waiting for a dryer to be available.

The bell hanging over the door gave a lonely jingle, distracting James from his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. Thirty minutes in the dimly lit room, the door opening let in the bright sunlight and a tall shadow. The outline of the stranger left him blinking. He was about to lose his solitude.

James could clearly make out the shape of a yummy–looking muscular man, but that was all until the door swung shut. Waiting for his eyes to adjust added to the anticipation. What would the tall and mysterious stranger look like? His vision cleared bit by bit, allowing him to take in a few details at a time. The stranger stopped for a moment after coming out of the California sun. Compared to outside this place must look like a dimly lit laundry cave.

An amused smile tugged at the corner of James’s mouth. This laundromat was the best discovery he had made in months, maybe years. Clean clothes and a hot man to watch. This was a hard to beat combination. Speaking of what the man was showing off... James couldn't give the fashion displayed high marks, but the body underneath was a ten. If the man was gay, then this little meeting was a gift from above. He felt the odds were in his favor. They were in West Hollywood after all; forty percent of the population was made up of gay men. Since the other sixty included men, women, and children there was a better than fifty/fifty chance the stranger was gay. Placing a bet on the subject in West Hollywood had better odds than most places worldwide.

A manly grunt ended James's distraction. Tall, Strong, and Sexy held an overflowing laundry basket and another mesh bag of clothes dangling from one hand. James jumped forward reaching out to help when the basket slipped from the other man's arms. Lending a hand before the clothes hit the filthy tile floor was the perfect excuse to move closer. Sliding his hand around the back of the plastic container put them close. James saw every detail of the other man's face clearly. Lady luck was certainly on his side today. The strong nose and wide mouth caught his attention first, then their eyes met, and he couldn’t turn away.

James’s fascination grew with every breath he drew in. The mound of smelly socks in the basket pressed between their bodies mixed with the scent of soap and aftershave. Who knew that the combo could be an unbelievable turn on? The blond’s bemused expression as he eyed James gave him hope. Was that a spark of interest or wishful thinking? Maintaining his hold on the basket, and trapping James close, the stranger's dark eyes lit with interest, and a bit more. Bouncing up and down with excitement was hard to resist.

“Thanks,” the word whispered past the full lips inches away, and James nearly swooned. His cheeks heated, and his breath grew choppy. Oh boy, not only was the guy hot, blond, and built; he had a British accent, too! One word was enough to make a native Californian weak in the knees. His knowing look turned hot. There was no misunderstanding the desire there. If the yummy new comer was free and interested James was having a good day.

“My name is Fin.” He flashed impressively white teeth when he smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

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SEDUCING THE SWORD by Dakota Trace

SEDUCING THE SWORD by Dakota Trace

Book 1 Darkest Submission Series: Camulos

While she wants no part of being a TrueMate, he has to have her or die.

Camulos, the God of War, lost his family when he couldn't give up what his wife, Ashlyn, called his war-like ways. After she leaves taking their twin sons, he secludes himself. He's unprepared when ten years later Cayleigh, Ashlyn's aunt, shows up with his now teen-aged sons.

With his wife dead, he's shocked to realize after waiting for centuries the Fates have finally given him the headstrong TrueMate he requires. Even as Cayleigh denies his claim, in the throes of the assero vel'abeo he has no choice. He has to have her submission. With less than twenty-four hours to insure it or die, whoever said the Fates were kind?

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Chapter One

"Kill him!" The clash of metal against metal rang out. "He doesn’t deserve to live! Remember Berwick!" A warrior wearing blue war paint and wielding a broadsword bellowed.

"I will, brother. We will have our revenge!" His brother in arms swung viciously at the British knight in front of him, lopping off his hand. The man screamed in agony.

Camulos, the former Celtic-Romano God of War, rolled his eyes at the corny lines being shouted on the television screen. These fools don’t even have a clue what actually happened at the Battle of Berwick. He pressed the pause button on his remote, stilling the bloody battle.

"Who the hell writes their dialogue? Like any warrior would stop in the middle of battle to talk about another bloody battle. It’s a damn fine way to lose your blessed head." After jotting down a few suggestions for the director, he thumbed the remote and the battle resumed.

By the end of the footage, he had a list of suggestions for the director and a half-assed headache. He often wondered why he ever thought consulting with this damn film company in New Zealand would alleviate the boredom brought on by his marriage. His family was gone. He was lonely once again and was still bored.

If only I’d known. But then again they say hindsight is twenty-twenty.

He rubbed his temples in frustration. "Damn her! Why couldn’t she have understood? I was the freakin’ God of War!" Even though, he’d known Ashlyn might have issues with his nature, and that she wasn’t his TrueMate, he’d wanted the Serenity Faerie.

And to have her, I tried to give up my warrior ways. I was so tired of being alone, that I gave her my oath. I quit practicing with Invincible because she said there was no reason to keep my sword skills honed. I cancelled all the tourneys that were to be held in my honor because even as a sport she saw them as violent.

He began to pace the theater room in agitation, unwilling to let the past go.

I should’ve realized after thousands of years being together, she’d freak out about me being a fight scene consultant. Even without me wielding the sword, she’d still find issues with violence portrayed on the screen. I should’ve never stolen her from the faerie realm. I should’ve realized she wouldn’t be able to handle the constant turmoil in the Mortal realm. The only good thing that came from our marriage is our sons.

A sharp pain filled his chest at the thought of them.

When he’d come home to find Ashyln gone, her desertion wasn’t a surprise, but it hurt like hell when he realized she taken their twin sons with her. He missed Kennet and Flannery, his little blond-haired tykes, like a drug addict yearned for his next high.

All the while he had no one to blame but himself. Ashlyn’s parting words made sure of it.

"I just knew you couldn’t change, Camulos. Once a God of War - always one. I was foolish to think you would keep your oath. We’re going back to Faerie realm, where your blood thirst won’t rub off on my sons."

He’d pled with her to not take his children, their precious miracles who were finally conceived after thousands of years of marriage, but in end it hadn’t mattered. His boys were whisked away to the Faerie realm and out of his reach until they came of age.

His broken oath had sealed his fate.

Across the room the phone rang, jerking him out of his torturous memories. He considered ignoring it just as he had the last six times it’d rung. When it continued ringing unabated, he finally snatched the receiver from the cradle.

"Yeah?" His snarl seemed lost on the person on the other end.

"Don’t you take that tone with me, Camulos! Open the gate! If it hasn’t escaped your notice it’s raining out here."

The feminine voice was both sensual and tart. It had him pausing even as his body reacted violently. His cock, which had refused to respond to another’s touch, was now primed as if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay. A tingle at the back of his neck and the urge to mate—no to dominate the woman—consumed him. He nearly dropped the phone in surprise.

This can only mean one thing!

While he hadn’t been interested in any female, let alone reacted to one since his wife left him, his body was now telling him his TrueMate was at his front gate.

He cleared his throat before forcing himself to speak. "Who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare unless you open this god damned gate!"

Even through his daze from his body’s unexpected reaction, he could hear a young male in the background. The need to kill the male boiled over. He reached for a sword that was no longer there.

"Now he went and did it. Only a fool pisses off Auntie."

"I’m going to show you who the fool is if you call me that detested title again, Flannery. Quit laughing, Kennet, before I kick your ass up between your shoulder blades!"

The shock of hearing his sons’ names calmed his need for blood. She has my sons!

With no recollection of the woman presenting him such temptation, he surged out of his chair. He had to find out who she was and why she was with his sons.

"I’ll be right there." His voice was gruff as he dropped the phone on the floor, uncaring about the muffled protests coming from it. He left the room at a dead run.

* * * * *

Standing outside the gate, Cayleigh grumbled as she pushed her damp hair off her forehead. The rain continued to fall. It was late autumn in Colchester, England and, as usual, the weather just sucked. Cold and rainy did not agree with her demoness side at all. She liked hot and dry – not cold and damp places. Behind her the cabbie looked at her hopefully from inside the warm taxi. Probably waiting to be paid. Jerking her head at Flannery, he nodded before ambling over to pay the man.

Moments later the car was gone and Kennet’s continued laughter had her considering the idea of knocking the teen on his ass. Despite the fact at sixteen he towered over her did little to deter her. Of the two, he was the practical joker. While both boys supposedly had the bodies of their father – the God of War – she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him or his twin, Flannery. They may have had a good fifty pounds on her and ten inches in height, but she was just plain meaner and nastier. After my stay in the Underworld, how could anyone expect me to turn out differently? Her niece had accused her more than once of being down right vicious.

Cayleigh made no apologies or excuses for her nature. She was a bitch partially because of her father. As a minor demon under Bilé - the ruler of Underworld, her father, Alastir, whisked her at a young age to the world of eternal damnation when her mother had died.

As a Serenity Faerie few things other than misguided love could kill them. Her own mother’s continual denial of her love for Alastir had caused her to slowly waste away as if being eaten from inside. Not unlike humans with their deadly cancers.

Raising a young girl, even a half-demoness, in Hell had taken serious balls. Under Alastir’s patient guidance, she grew up every inch a true demoness despite her slightly pointed ears and the delicate frame she’d inherited from her mother. In fact most considered her a full-blooded demon because of her vicious reputation.

It was quite the surprise, when her peace-loving niece called her for help five years ago. Her great-nephews were beginning to mature and were running roughshod over Ashlyn.

Remembering the situation she’d walked into, her niece’s pleas made perfect sense. At eleven, the twins towered over Ashlyn and were capable of being more than their already weakening mother could handle. It’d pained Cayleigh to watch her niece wither away from the same calamity as her mother. Only a foolish faerie woman gives her heart to an unacceptable man. Cayleigh had decided then and there she would never allow it to happen to her.

Thankfully it only took me a couple of weeks to get them under control and bring some sort of semblance of order to their house. The last thing Ashlyn needed was more stress in her life as she grew worse. Now all I have left to do is honor her last request.

Feeling an unfamiliar pang in her chest at her reason for bringing her nephews to Colchester unsettled her. Not wanting her unease to show, she faked a lunge at Kennet. She grinned when he scrambled backwards.

Despite the rain and the cold breeze, they were on the verge of a full-blown wrestling match when Camulos rushed through the gate. His long blond hair blew in the wind and rain dampening his dark sweater and faded jeans.

"What the hell are you doing? Unhand my son!"

Cayleigh froze at the god-like boom, and the effect it had over her senses. Even though she ignored the faerie side of her nature on most days, she couldn’t help but pause. It was a well known fact that faeries love sound, especially the deep timber of a virile man.

Narrowing her eyes at her grinning nephew, she promised him retribution for his little taunt. She shook her head when Kennet burst out in laughter. "Insufferable brat."

She stiffened when a large masculine hand landed on her shoulder.

"Remove it or lose it." Her breath left her in a rush when she was spun around by the hand. Looking up, she smirked at the thunderous expression on the man’s face. "Ew - is that your scary face, Cami-baby?" The knowledge the man in front of her was a real but ancient Celtic god didn’t scare her. Let him try to strike me down, I’ll be waiting for him in Hell. She laughed when utter disbelief crossed his roughly honed features.

"What did you just call me?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kennet double over in laughter. Flannery took a step forward, as if he wanted to protect her. When will that boy learn? I don’t need protecting? She shook her head.

"Cami-baby, you need to get over your bad self. I come bearing gifts." She nodded to the two boys. "Meet Kennet, the fool, and Flannery, the protector. Your sons."

He gave her a not-so-gentle shake. "I know who they are, but what I don’t know is why my wife’s rabid demoness aunt has them!" He kept his hands on her shoulders.

Biting her lip, she tried to control her need to deck the tall, yummy-looking god in front of her. "I see my reputation has preceded me. You’re going to get a first hand demonstration, if you don’t let go of me. Right now!" Keeping her tone soft and even, she could still feel the press of her horns begging to be released. During her time in this realm of normalcy, she’d been tempted many times to allow her true nature to show, but until this very moment she always managed to keep herself in check.

When he tossed his head back and laughed, a low warning hiss escaped her. She noticed that Kennet had stopped laughing to watch the unfolding drama.

"Father, I wouldn’t…" Flannery’s warning barely penetrated the standoff the two adults were having.

"Ah, shut it, Flan! I want to see Auntie kick Dad’s ass!"

Of course the little shit does, he’s almost as bloodthirsty as his brother.

Camulos laughed even harder, but didn’t take his eyes off her, even as he spoke to the boys. "Like there was ever a chance she could take me. You wound me with your lack of faith, Sons."

She let an evil smile cross her face. "Just remember you can’t say you weren’t warned, Cami-baby." Loosening her control, she let the strange ripple that accompanied her glamour dropping away flow over her to reveal her true form.

**END EXCERPT**

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