Showing posts with label Zombies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zombies. Show all posts

Friday, August 10, 2012

FOUR BIKERS & A WITCH by Cheryl Dragon

FOUR BIKERS & A WITCH by Cheryl Dragon

Warrior's Craft Book Three

Valerie grew up in the Vegas biker culture, seeing the tempting and dark side. Now a nurse, she can't escape her past. Axle and Rebel Herth were kicked out of the biker gang as teens and, along with their boyfriends, run a motorcycle shop. They've wanted Val for years, but she won't date anyone in the biker world.

They need her witch talents to help them fight the zombies that are plaguing Vegas. Val's best with potions but the sex spell intrigues her. She learns the ropes of fighting zombies, and rides motorcycles like a pro as her potion brews, but can she let her sexual guard down with the guys?
Rough sex and dirty talk with four men who can easily overpower her is a huge turn on! How far will she go now that she's hooked on these bikers fighting for good?

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Four Bikers & A Witch
Cheryl Dragon
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Cheryl Dragon

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Valerie Berman parked her scarlet red Harley Super Glide behind Herth's Repair Shop. Grabbing her bag from the bitch seat, she once again tried to change her automatic thinking. So much of the biker culture put women second or third after their bike... yet she couldn't escape it.  Going in the back door, she found her parents in the inventory area. As usual, Dad was bleeding. Looking at him with his long gray hair and tattoos, he was an old biker and Mom, with her ink and tight clothes, a biker's old lady. Valerie rolled her eyes. She should be rebelling. Of course, with her parents, having a job and being responsible was a rebellion.  "Seriously, you need to retire from this crap." Val opened her bag and cleaned the cut on his arm.  "Val, your father was defending me. Some drunken ass grabbed my boobs." Mom smiled.  Shaking her head, Val pressed gauze to the wound so it'd stop bleeding. Mom loved the attention and it invited danger. Some of the bikers shared women. Female groupies were one thing, but wives? Some men didn't care. The wrong signals could cause a major fight. At least Dad had protected her. A girl growing up in a biker gang was vulnerable, but she'd made it out safely.  "Is this the only injury?" Val asked.  Dad nodded. "A few bruises, but yeah. My bike is messed up but the boys will fix it."  Axle Herth walked up from the direction of the repair room. "Everything okay?"  Val ignored the shot of attraction she felt whenever one of the Herth brothers came around. They'd grown up in the same gang until they were kicked out as teens. They hadn't gone far.  She shook her head. "He should get stitches."  "You do it." Mom waved it off.  "I'm a nurse, not a doctor." Working in the ER gave Val a sense of satisfaction and adrenaline rushes. She might've gone on for more education, but she didn't want that much in student loans.  "Just patch me up." Dad never minded an ugly scar.  Val dug through her bag of medical necessities. The bikers who knew her never went to the doctor. They only landed in the ER if they were scooped up by an ambulance, or Val couldn't patch them up. This was her unofficial office.  You never really left the biker world. Val would rather have them owe her favors than the other way around.  "Mom, hold these. Axle, I need you to help." Val could've done it herself. Still, it'd be cleaner with more hands. Plus the smell of grease and a hot man made the trip worth it. Axle pinched the skin tight as Val guided his rough hands. She added as many sterile strips as she could to hold the skin together. Then she covered the whole thing with a bandage. "I'll come by next week and change the strips. Don't get it wet."  "He's got to shower." Mom scrunched her nose.  "Put plastic over it, like a new tattoo." Val shrugged and closed her bag. "Don't drink either. If you need something for pain, take a pill."  "Got it." Dad's response to anything, which meant he understood. That didn't mean he'd actually listen.  "I'm serious. Take it easy too. How did you get cut and crash your bike defending Mom? Sounds like a bar fight." Val wasn't sure she wanted to know.  "Jousting," Axle said.  "Motorcycle jousting? Men." She tried not to stare at Axle's big muscles, teasing her from under the Herth's Repair Shop t-shirt. His black hair was cropped short, but those brown eyes of his had depth she'd always wanted to unlock.  She'd love to explore both of the Herth brothers. Rebel was only a year younger and looked very similar to Axle. However, his eyes were an icy blue. Now both had boyfriends who worked at the shop with them. If they weren't bikers and gay, she'd make a move. They'd been her adolescent crush. Liking bad boys had to be in her DNA.  Mom fussed over Dad, pressing her curves, stuffed into a leather skirt and halter top, to his side. At twenty-six, Val could wear that and look good, if a bit slutty. Sighing, Val knew her mom looked good for nearly fifty, except for the sun damaged skin. Dad still thought she was the hottest piece of ass on the planet.  "Men." Mom hugged her man. "No reason you don't have one, Valerie Trixie Berman. You've got my gorgeous red hair and curves. A little sun and those green eyes would pop."  "I just burn and freckle. I got Grandma's skin." She avoided Axle's eyes.  "Four hot men right here. They're not in a gang but they fix bikes. It's something." Mom gestured to Axle.  "Let's go. We'll get a loaner bike from Rebel." Dad steered Mom to the front. He knew why Axle was kicked out of the gang. A lot of things were kept secret, men from women and so on. Val had found out from the gang leader's wife only because Axle and Rebel had been getting some lessons from her as well.  Mom frowned at Val. "You couldn't dress nice, at least? You look like you're an old lady in that potato sack."  "They're scrubs, Mom. I came from work." They'd had that conversation more times than Val could count. Mom thought Val could wear short shorts and tight tank tops to work.  Once her parents were gone, Val turned to Axle. "I'm so sorry about them. They're nuts."  "Don't apologize. We deal with serious bikers all the time." Axle put a hand on her back.  Val shivered. She tried not to think about Axle naked. "Thanks for keeping them out of trouble. I should go home. Let you guys get back to business."  "Actually, would you hang out a while? We need a favor. We'll buy you dinner. We're ordering Chinese." Axle smiled.  "Okay, sure." Val shrugged.  Smoothing her hair as she walked into the repair shop, she looked at all four very attractive guys. Val knew this wasn't about motorcycles. Axle and Rebel were clearly brothers and sexy as hell. Sebastian was Axle's guy, seriously into vintage bikes. His lean build and dirty blond hair made him stand out. The quietest of the group, he just nodded to her with a big smile.  Luke was the opposite of Sebastian. Brown hair and piercing green eyes, he'd grown up in another biker gang. The guy had a huge ego and no shame. His look slanted to a bit more brutish than handsome. His confidence enhanced it.  "What do you want?" Rebel waved the menu.  "Orange chicken." Val sat on a stool next to Sebastian around an empty repair table. Rebel sent the order on his phone and nodded. "It'll be here soon. Sorry about your dad."  Val shrugged. "Idiots jousting on motorcycles. He's not a kid anymore."  "Well, we've got experience fighting on bikes. Sometimes it's necessary." Luke tossed a shirt and shorts on the table.  "What's that?" she asked.  "Just in case you want to change into something less clinical. The meeting could take a little time." Rebel nudged the clothes closer to Val. "If you don't like those, grab anything off the racks you want. The scrubs look hot."  "Vegas is hot. The scrubs keep blood and other fluids off me. The fun of being an ER nurse." She grabbed the clothes and went to the ladies room. The shirt was the right size, even though she would have grabbed a size bigger to hide her cleavage. The shorts were denim and made her feel terribly on display. Her long legs were a feature other women envied. Scrubs hid everything well.  Pulling her hair out of the clip that was part of her work wardrobe, she combed her fingers through it to cool off. The curls looped down to her mid-back. Glancing in the mirror, it looked like she was primping to get their attention. Mom would absolutely approve. Tugging her hair into a ponytail, she managed to clip it that way. She looked less severe but not flirty. Her boring old clogs would kill any sexy ideas.  Going back to the guys, she felt something more in their glances. Even out of her heavier clothes, she felt flushed. The smell of food drew her near. "That was super fast."  "You service bikers, you get good service." Rebel smiled and handed her the orange chicken.  "Egg roll?" Axle offered.  "Thanks. So what is all this about? More vampire problems?" She opened her chopsticks. Luke set a diet soda in front of her and Val smiled. It'd been a while since Vegas had had a paranormal invasion.  "No. Something new. These things we can't really handle on our own," Sebastian said.  Val had trouble believing that. Sebastian was good at the pagan stuff. Val, Axle and Rebel had been intrigued by the private classes in Wiccan religion the biker leader's wife had taught them as kids. Back then, they'd had no idea why she'd chosen them. Val kept in touch with her, and now understood it was that woman's way of rebelling. She embraced her feminine powers, and Val tried to follow that path.  Mom and Dad didn't need to know their daughter was a respected witch in the local Wiccan coven. The guys couldn't be seen there and keep their clients. She knew they'd found some online coven. They rarely included her because what they did was dangerous. When the vamps had moved into Vegas, the guys had gone on the attack. They hadn't needed her then. Was this a set up?  "So what can't you guys handle?" she asked.

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Friday, January 20, 2012

DEAD SPACE by Buffi BeCraft

DEAD SPACE by Buffi BeCraft

Mankind has always reached the stars... and what we find is reaching for back for us. You'd better run like hell.

With only hours to save themselves Zoey Moody and Joe Rigatelli are in the most primal race for survival they have ever faced. Teaming up after a simple planetside trip goes horribly wrong, they are fighting for their lives against the worst alien infestation imaginable. Zombies.

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(c) Copyright by Buffi BeCraft, January 2012

Published by New Concepts Publishing

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.



Emergency lights barely cut through the bare humid atmosphere. The weak yellow haze reminded Zoey of her childhood addiction to video games. Eerie, violent, dumb, fun, she’d once thought. Not so much now, she grimaced, letting the sweating pipes take her weight.

Who would have thought she’d be the star in her own real-live zombie flick? She almost laughed, but was afraid that once she started, she’d never stop. She and rational thought had parted ways days ago. Or had it been hours?

Zoey shook her head. Even the damn setting was perfect for her B rated role. The spaceship’s endless maze of pipe and ducting snaked through the underbelly and service tunnels of the Pisces, carrying power, water, and until recently, temperature regulated life-sustaining oxygen.

On the lookout for more monsters, she settled the aluminum softball bat on her opposite shoulder. Why couldn’t she have had the video game version of this hell? At least then she’d get cool weapons and armor upgrades. The damned bat now felt like it weighed a ton and pressed the slick, generic vinyl one piece coverall against her skin, where the suit stayed stuck. Still, she was thankful for the freaking hot protective cover-all. Without it, she would be dead, or worse.

Zoey refused to think of the worse, or acknowledge the red smeared evidence of the unlucky ones on her coverall. Really, what she needed was sleep. Every muscle in her body quivered, exhausted, at the end of her stamina. Her eyelids drooped despite the fact that the rhythmic hiss-hiss of her oxygen mask overpowered her hearing.

The mask was a constant in her fucked up life. She longed for a breath of unfettered oxygen that she once took for granted. The high levels of carbon dioxide now pumping through the ventilation system would suffocate her in minutes. Lovely if you were a tropical plant, she supposed. Or one of the zombies. It sucked meteors if you were human.

A stray bolt slid across the floor; its lazy velocity jerked Zoey into instant alertness. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Fucking slow rotters! She ducked out of a potential grab from behind and swung the bat, intending to run once she knew where the zombie was coming from.

“Hey!” An oxygen mask hampered the man’s deep voice, but he dodged, barely moving out of the way of her swing. Zoey swallowed her fear. She raised the bat again. “Hey! I’m okay. I’m o-kay.” He repeated, drawing out the last word as if she were impaired. Her heart hammered in her chest, her fight or flight response screaming through her veins along with the shot of adrenaline.

She lowered the bat watching the shadow of his eyebrows raise as he read the blood and gore smeared inscription, Class of 2510 Go Rockets! He didn’t appear zombie-fied. She saw his raised arms for the first time. His weapon of choice appeared to be a table leg, ripped from one of the cheap artificial wood tables that PrimaTech outfitted the Pisces with. Blood and gore clung to the square end of the table leg. “Your eyes,” She pointed to her own mask then at his. “Let me see your eyes.”

The man nodded, carefully using the sleeve of his own cheap coverall to wipe the detritus from the face shield. Zoey purposely shoved the thought of where the muck came from out of her mind. Eyes wide, he turned his head left and right. “See? Blue eyes, probably bloodshot. No orange at all. I’m okay,” he repeated, in an attempt to sooth. She wasn’t comforted, but did drop her bat from the ready position. A fine tremor began in her joints as she sagged against the pipes again. God, she was tired.

“We should find a hidey-hole. A place that locks from the inside. With manual locks.” The man edged closer. Damn, but he was big, she noticed. He was half-again bigger that her, the top of his head and shoulders towered over her. The man took a moment to double-check the path that he’d come from then reached out a hand that Zoey simply stared at. “Joe Rigatelli.” He waited, nodding at the smirk.

“Rigatelli? Isn’t that a pasta dish?” Changing the heading he was aiming for, Zoey ducked under a grouping of fiber-filled pipes, the kind that sent data and power humming through the Pisces so that it could keep the engines and equipment on the heading to the next space station. She did like the way he smiled, without offense, as he crawled behind her.

“Rigatoni is a pasta. Rigatelli is the chef.” His answer made her stop and twist around. The movement was awkward, but she spied a flash of humor in his expression; the smile behind the mask reassured her. “My oh-so-fashionable white-on-white official ensemble is at the cleaners.”

“Chef, eh? Or cafeteria assembly line?” She quipped, drawing a chuckle from him, once again proving his good humor in dire circumstances. She supposed PrimaTech’s zealous dress code was a bit militant and color-by-numberish by most civilian standards. But Zoey had dedicated her entire career to the company; it was in her blood. The uniforms and psueo-military hierarchy were all she knew as far as jobs went. Zoey’s fear eased down a bit. On the bright side, she’d probably never have to wear her blah uniform of gray slacks and shirt again.

“Zoey Moody. Corporate keyboard jockey. Data entry drone.” She was just another geek nobody that wasn’t missed on Earth, not even by her family, who measured importance by some formula of indolence and wealth that never appealed to her. After years of fighting to go her own way, building success on her own merits, like her revered ship-building ancestor, sipping a Mai Tai at an exclusive resort sounded pretty good right now.

His gloved hand closed on her ankle and she stifled the urge to squeal. Joe nodded to the left, indicating a huddle of zombies crouched in a widening circle of blood. Damn, but she hadn’t seen them. If Joe hadn’t grabbed her, she’d have popped up almost behind the things.

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Thursday, September 2, 2010

THE BEAST WITHIN by Erin McCarthy

THE BEAST WITHIN - Meet three men without boundaries, hell-bent on satisfying their deepest desires - and those of the women who drive them wild...

The Howling by Erin McCarthy
When Liv Lugaru's boyfriend Sebastian disappears, she finds comfort in his brother's arms. But Sebastian is much closer than Liv realizes...and he'll stop at nothing to protect her from the feral danger that comes alive only when she sleeps...

Smoke On The Water by Bianca D'Arc
In the misty fog of a lakefront village, zombies are roaming wild - and zombie hunter John Petit must stop the carnage. John is also fighting a different kind of battle: a forbidden passion for his new partner, Donna. With her help, killing zombies is a walk in the park, but keeping his desire in check is making him sweat...

Redeeming The Wizard by Jennifer Lyon
Gage Remington was once a powerful wizard; now he's a recluse who keeps the world at bay. But when Mira Tate arrives at Gage's door, she stirs in him an attraction he can't deny. Soon, Gage will risk everything to keep Mira close - even the secret that may be his ruin...

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The Howling by Erin McCarthy

“I know you feel grateful to him, but you can’t build a marriage on gratitude. He can’t possible want that. Won’t want that if you’re honest with him.”

The little food she’d eaten burned in her stomach. “I care about him.”

“And you’re dreaming about being eaten by wolves on your wedding night. Look, if you can’t call it off altogether, just postpone it. Indefinitely. Tell him you’re not ready. Just go on dating or whatever and give yourself time to figure it out.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay with that?” Liv asked, grasping on to hope. That seemed possible. Workable. It would buy her a reprieve.

But not from sex.

She should want to have sex. It had been six months since she had, and her body should be eager, primed, on fire, yet she chilled out and dried up every time she contemplated it.

“I honestly don’t know. Scarborough doesn’t exactly seem like a patient kind of guy to me. He’s… brisk.” Mary Fran made a face, her hand checking the back of her gold hoop earring. “But it’s worth a shot when the alternative is a marriage you don’t want.”

Liv wanted to protest, but she couldn’t even dredge up a convincing enough voice, so she let her silence speak for her.

Then Mary Fran spoke the words she couldn’t stand to hear. “Just because you don’t have family doesn’t mean you’re alone. Remember that. You have friends who love you. You’re not alone.”

Yes, she was. She knew Mary Fran meant well, and she knew her friends cared about her. But it wasn’t the same. Since that horrible night twenty years ago when her parents had been murdered, she was alone. Some of her teachers growing up, one couple out of the many foster parents, and a few close friends had all cared about her, but she didn’t have family. Someone who was biologically or legally tied to her.

Orphan was a word she’d hated growing up and Sebastian and Scarborough understood that, owning the lonely label themselves.

“Are you sleeping with him yet? How is that going?”

Looking uneasily around the crowded room, Liv pulled her dove gray crew sweater closer around her. “No, we haven’t.”

“Why does he even want to marry you?”

The words were like a slap. “Probably guilt because his brother not only wouldn’t commit to me he stole what little money I had and left without a word. I mean, why else would anyone marry me? I don’t bring a lot to the table, dead broke and emotionally stunted. It’s pity, that’s why he proposed. Hello.” Saying it out loud was liking taking a bullet, even as she hid behind sarcasm, but it was the truth. It wasn’t like Scarborough was marrying her for true love either.

God, what a mess.

Mary Fran’s voice softened. “That’s not what I meant. Of course you bring a lot to the table. You’re generous and smart and compassionate, and you’re beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. But with everything that’s happened, I don’t understand the push for marriage… if Scar has feelings for you it would make more sense for the two of you to explore that slowly.”

“I think we both want security.”

For that reason, maybe more than any other, Liv would marry him.

He was giving her a home, a family, the possibility of children, a life she craved to the very marrow of her bones, and had since she was eight years old and had lost her parents in one swift brutal act of violence.

Scarborough was loyal and stable and motivated.

And he was the one man alive she trusted to keep her safe during her frightening all night black-outs.

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