BELIEVING IN DREAMLAND by Cheryl Dragon

BELIEVING IN DREAMLAND by Cheryl Dragon

7th Kind Series, Book Four

When four Air Force pilots get nabbed by aliens, the truth about her fellow soldiers is revealed for Samantha Montgomery. Now instead of flying with three hot men from whom she's been hiding her feelings, she learns her men are aliens and the situation is serious. Her memory may hold the key to what the hostile aliens want. Being trapped in Dreamland and discharged from her normal duties leaves her little choice but to meddle into alien issues.

Samantha and her men must prove their loyalties and usefulness while they explore new levels of group love. Dreamland is their future and these pilots are ready for anything!

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~Excerpt~

Major Mason Nowland monitored the formation of his unit. The new planes were maneuvering well. After repeated drills and tests, a smaller crew had been granted permission to take them for a little run locally. They’d been put through the paces over the southern Nevada desert, and it was time to call it a day. He gave the command to head back to their home base in California. The three others acknowledged, and they set the course.

The new aircrafts were great for stealth fighting, but Mason couldn’t figure out their exact purpose. As with most things government, it was need-to-know only. His team had the best pilots on the west coast so if anyone could fly these babies, it was them. They’d certainly tested well in the field. The new aircraft were powerful and heavily shielded, but their weapons were minimal. Perhaps, that part was top secret and would be added later. The military did things for their own reasons, and he’d long ago learned to keep the questions to himself.

Watching the other three, he couldn’t wait to get back to base and have a little R&R with his team. As long as Sammie, the only woman in the unit, didn’t go finding a boyfriend the group was happy. He felt guilty for not being able to tell her the truth about him and the other guys being of non-human origin, but the government had its reasons and ways. None of them were fair. The three men didn’t have girlfriends either. Loyalty was first to the flag then to the unit and so on. Not that it stopped the connections and passions from happening, but so far the men hadn’t acted on their feelings for Sammie. How would they be able to explain things without telling her the truth?

A quake in the atmosphere bounced the plane slightly. The radio buzzed with attempts to identify it. His flight team was on their toes and doing their job. Then Mason saw the UFO behind them. Identification was pointless. Escape was vital.

“Full speed! Out run it.”

Mason radioed the base for backup and help, but the communications were cutting in and out. The Keelon’s alien technical superiority could not be discounted. A shockwave could knock the Air Force planes out of the sky, and Mason wanted to avoid a body count. Alien sightings, mostly Keelon vessels, were up. However, why they’d chosen here and now to make an appearance baffled Mason. It’d been over twenty years since he’d seen a ship like that. The six-year-old in him worried.

Now, he was no longer a child. Flying to save his life, Mason watched the alien ship keep pace. What did they want with four Air Force pilots on a test mission? There was no way Mason and his pals were going back. Mason had many theories, but in his career, this was the first time he’d had an alien encounter. What did they want? If it were nothing more than abducting humans, military personnel with weapons and witnesses seemed like a foolish target.

Their planes gave all the speed and power they could, but there was no outrunning a Keelon vessel. The closer it came, the more Mason recognized the alien ship from his nightmares. Abductions had been up. He’d heard that through the UFO watchers grapevine inside the military. The men always kept Sammie out of the loop as much as they could. She didn’t need to know the truth about aliens yet. Today, the truth had found them. No more denials or speculations for her. Aliens were real, and she’d have to believe it now.

As the group tried to out maneuver the larger vessel, Sammie’s voice cut through the static asking what the hell it was. Mason couldn’t answer. He had no idea if that ship was out to attack, abduct or observe. She didn’t need anyone to confirm it was a UFO.

A beam of light caught Sammie’s ship first. Why her? They were all about the same distance from the UFO. She wasn’t lagging behind at all. Mason worried about the aliens’ choice. Clearly observation wasn’t on the mission docket for the Keelons today. The beam pulled her ship in closer to the hull of the Keelon vessel. The others turned, without orders, and targeted what little weapons they had at the sourced of the beam and attacked. Mason joined them.

Sammie’s plane shook violently, and the Keelons beam cut out for a short time. As the men tried to radio her to see if she was injured, Mason found himself in knots. Nothing could happen to her. The men would never forgive themselves. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was the only woman in their squadron, but those reasons didn’t matter now. Mason had to keep it together for all of them.

Her radio stayed silent, but her plane was in the air. As she steered away from the Keelon vessel, another larger beam of light engulfed all four ships. The huge net momentarily stunned them all. Mason radioed for help from the base. They were under attack and possibly being taken prisoner.

Changing to the special Nevada frequency, he repeated his call for help in more detail. The odds of rescue weren’t very good. As the ships were drawn close to the UFO, a large door slid open. Mason tried to memorize it all. The details of Keelon vessels remained a mystery. Mason felt as if he were breathing a mist. The fog clouded his brain, and he shook his head for clarity.

Their crafts hovered just outside the Keelon ship’s entrance as Mason’s world went black. He had no regrets except one: Sammie had no idea how much she meant to the men. The Keelons had won this round, but Mason knew if his group lived, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

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SWITCH ANTHOLOGY

SWITCH ANTHOLOGY 

'Top or Bottom?' by Desiree Holt

When you think something is missing from your BDSM relationship, maybe it's time to ask 'top or bottom?'

Both Keith and Shea were looking for something a little different in the BDSM world. Their chance meeting in an adult toy store gave them the opportunity to switch for an afternoon.

But when their playtime was over, would they be fulfilled? And could they go back to their normal roles or would they still crave something more?

Reader Advisory: This book contains active BDSM play and a high degree of smuttiness.

'Still The One' by Wendi Zwaduk

She'll be his salvation if he's willing to switch.

Being stressed out sucks, especially when you're in charge of a team. Just ask Eric Trask. The pit crew of the Fifty-Four truck team depends on him. The stress of keeping things running smoothly is wearing Eric down. What's a guy to do to get a little relief?

Janine Walters knows exactly what Eric's up against. She's the public relations face of the team. Pressure is all a part of the job. Her outlet for stress just happens to be wielding a crop.Can Eric embrace her methods for stress relief or will her suggestion tear their fragile relationship apart?

Reader Advisory: This book contains the use of a crop, spanking, a little bondage, a little pegging, some toys and a woman who knows how to use a strap on to pleasure her man.

Other stories include:

'Mastering Maya' by Lisabet Sarai
Behind the mask of control hides a spirit aching to surrender.

'Wagers of Sin' by Elizabeth Coldwell
Selina will never be a true dominant until she learns to submit...and Marcus bets he can show her how.

'Switching Off' by Amy Valenti
With his collar around her throat and her pulse pounding through her body, can she switch off enough to submit to his every whim?

'Who Compels My Strength' by Lauren Gallagher
Can switching roles restore their confidence in their Dom/sub relationship, or are these doubts happening for a reason?

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~Excerpts~

Top or Bottom? by Desiree Holt

Keith Richmond glanced sideways at the displays on the far wall of the store. Yup, she was still there. Little more than a pixie, her height boosted by sexy stiletto heels. Her short coat, which barely brushed the tops of her thighs, was belted tightly at the waist. He wondered if she was wearing anything beneath it.

When she reached a small hand up to pluck a short switch from its hook, his groin tightened and his cock tried to push its way through the fabric of his pants.

Down, boy!

But she drew him, nonetheless, the magnetic field almost visible. His sub was away for a week. The house felt empty without her and he was seized with a grinding need to satisfy his desires. He'd ditched work for the afternoon, thinking a trip to their favourite adult store to buy her some surprises might help. Besides, he knew they were at some kind of crossroads...both of them were questioning their individual roles. He'd thought about this for weeks, talking himself out of it, then into it again.

He'd seen sex from one side for so long that he wasn't sure if he was capable of being a good Dom anymore. Was he still in tune with his submissive? Had habit taken over their relationship? Was he still as completely intuitive as he'd always been? The quality of a good power exchange depended completely on the Dom and the sub understanding each other's needs, both physically and emotionally. Lately, he'd been questioning his ability to give as well as take.

He'd walked in and there was the pixie, almost as if she'd been waiting for him.

He gave himself a mental shake. He hadn't come to the adult merchandise store to while away the afternoon lost in thought. He'd come here for a reason. And maybe that reason was the tempting piece standing across the store from him. She had "submissive" written all over her. It was in her posture, her gestures. Definitely in her eyes. And certainly, the thin choker gracing her neck was an unmistakeable sign of ownership.

He watched the way her slender fingers brushed over the length of the switch, which was actually a length of birch wrapped in clear, damp cloth. He knew this store well, knew it took a fresh delivery every day. Birch and hickory were the most flexible woods to use for switches. For optimum effect, the birch should be fresh, peeled before the sub, all twigs and detritus efficiently removed. Keith liked to have his sub run her fingers over the freshly denuded wood before he brushed it across the entire length of her body, giving her a light taste of the feel of it before he applied it to her delicate skin.

Was the pixie thinking of her Dom while she caressed the length of wood? How it had felt in the past when he'd wielded it on her body? The sharp raps with it, the stinging pain cutting into her pleasurably, a pause between each so that the pain ebbed just a little until the next bite into her flesh? Liquid trickling from her cunt as her arousal grew in strength? Or did she prefer him to split the tip of the rod into many thin strips and apply it rapidly, raising streaks on her body from shoulders to thighs?

At the thought, Keith wanted to shove his hand inside his pants and grab his cock, to masturbate right here in the store to relieve his need. That brought him back to reality in a hurry.

Still The One by Wendi Zwaduk

For once I'd like things to go according to plan. Eric Trask gritted his teeth. If he kept up the nervous gesture, he'd break his teeth and bite clean through his jaw. He wiped his hands on his shop towel and measured the B-post on the race truck once more. The thing should've fit the templates. Damn. He glanced up at the flags hanging from the ceiling. Each flag highlighted a win for Blitz racing, the racing team he loved and worked for.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Oh, fuck. Not another thing.

He flicked on the screen and set the call to speaker. "Trask."

"I'm glad I caught you. Are you on your way to the airport? You do remember it's Tuesday morning, don't you?" Megan Poston, the team owner, asked from her end of the call. "You're supposed to be here, helping to get the truck around for practice tomorrow."

On his way? Practice? Eric glanced over his shoulder at the wall clock. Eleven-forty-five a.m. Shit. He should've been cleaned up and at the airport fifteen minutes ago. Hell. He'd just got back from Michigan.

"I'm still at the shop. The B-post on the Atlanta truck isn't fitting the templates right. Give me another fifteen and I'll be out the door."

"It's a quicker turnaround in your schedule, but this isn't like you." Megan went silent for a long moment. "Tucker wants to talk to you."

The connection snapped and crackled as Megan handed the phone to Tucker. "Eric?"

"You called me." Eric groaned. "I'm sorry, man. What's up?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you." The line snapped again. "I had to get out of Megan's earshot. She's worried because you're not here."

"The B-post is fucked up. I don't know how it was fabricated wrong, but it was."

"Shit happens. Look, you've been freaking out about everything. You're the calmest guy I know. Why are you chewing everyone out? I wouldn't have nominated you for the crew chief position if I'd thought you couldn't handle it."

"I can handle it. There's just a lot of crap happening and this quick run of races over the weekend. I got behind but I'll get the rest of the way caught up."

"Like?"

"Broken spark plugs on the backup truck. I've spent four hours going through the box. Half of them are screwed up. We never have that issue."

"Have Delaney work on it. He's in the engine shop for a reason."

"I can't figure out what the hell you stuffed in the radiator before you slammed into the wall in Pocono. It's shit like that."

"Okay, I'm going to get a little emo on you, but tough titties. You're my best friend and like my brother. You're going to have to chill out. Your blood pressure has to be through the roof and, yes, before you butt in with it, I know you're healthy as a horse. Guess what? I don't want my best friend to kick off because of hypertension."

"Hypertension won't kill me."

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NEVER LOOK BACK by Tim Smith

Today on our Cyber Launch Party Blog we are celebrating the release of NEVER LOOK BACK, a new Nick Seven Adventure from author Tim Smith and eXtasy Books.

NEVER LOOK BACK by Tim Smith

A former CIA spook and his lover are pulled into a deadly masquerade by a rogue agent from their past. Who will win?

Nick Seven and Felicia Hagens left the CIA to carve out an idyllic anonymous life in The Florida Keys. The last thing they wanted was to be used by their former employer as pawns in America’s war on terror.

Nick and Felicia navigate a complex maze of intrigue and double-crosses while dealing with a rogue agent from their past who has a score to settle. When Felicia becomes part of the scheme the stakes get higher and more personal.

Can Nick keep her out of harm’s way or will he finally be outwitted? Will Felicia stay with him or return to Barbados?

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~Excerpt~

Nick lay in bed trying to go to sleep, but after the evening’s events it wasn’t possible. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled a relaxing breath. He opened his eyes when he felt Felicia’s hand gently running along his chest. He raised his head and looked over at her. Her eyes were open and she stared at him.

He sat up and leaned against the headboard. A wisp of moonlight shone through the open curtains and highlighted her soft brown eyes.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She slowly shook her head while moving her hand down his torso. “Nothin’ wrong. I just don’t feel like sleepin’.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She scooted over then kissed him. “Don’t feel like talkin’, either.” She paused. “You saved me tonight—again.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. “You’re worth it.”

Her hand moved further south. “Seein’ you show your tough side makes me hot.”

She leaned in and kissed a light trail along his cheek while her fingers roamed the back of his neck. “I just feel so close to you,” she whispered. “When all hell broke loose you didn’t hesitate. You wanted to make sure I didn’t get hurt.”

Nick peered into her eyes. They gave off a soft glow in the dimness. He felt something inside, a warmth and a longing to bond with Felicia in the most intimate way, to make her a part of him. He gave her a deep kiss and felt her breasts moving against his chest and her hand fondling him into hardness.

“I’m feeling pretty close to you, too,” he said.

Felicia slithered down his body and took his hard-on into her mouth. She lovingly sucked him while her hand squeezed and stroked. The fingers of her other hand raked his chest. Nick moaned softly as Felicia got him fully hard. He wanted to pull her to him but knew this was her seduction. He reached down to play with her nipple, tweaking it between his fingers until it was hard and puckered. Felicia purred and sucked him harder and deeper, working her throat down his length. She teasingly ran the tip of her tongue along his swollen head, making him jerk and pulse.

Nick’s breathing rate accelerated. “I love it when you do that.” He opened his eyes and looked at Felicia’s head bobbing up and down, increasing his excitement.

“Felicia, I need you,” he panted.

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TRAINING AMBER by Desiree Holt

TRAINING AMBER by Desiree Holt

Sequel to TEACHING MOLLY

Amber McCloud is taking a two-week timeout with her friend Molly to heal the wounds from a bitter divorce. The last thing she expects is to meet a sexy man like Cesario “Rio” Negron.

But the attraction is instant and hot. Not only does he teach her how good sex can really be, he also introduces her to the world of BDSM, a world she takes to like a kid with candy. It helps when she learns Molly and her husband are also advocates of the lifestyle.

But when the two weeks are up Amber has to decide if what’s developed between her and Rio is real or if she will turn her back on it, afraid to risk her heart again.

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An Excerpt From: TRAINING AMBER Copyright © DESIREE HOLT, 2012 All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. Chapter One “Man, is it always this hot in Texas?”   Amber McCloud stowed her suitcase in the trunk of Molly Trajan’s candy-apple-red Mustang and slid into the front seat, positioning the air-conditioning vents so they blew directly on her damp skin.   Molly laughed as she pulled out into the flow of exiting traffic. “Honey, you’re spoiled by all that chilled air up north. If you’re going to be here for a couple of weeks you need to toughen up.”   Amber fanned herself. “Maybe I should have planned this visit for the winter.” She glanced sideways at her friend. “Molly, I want to be very clear about something. I really, really appreciate you letting me dump myself on you while I try to put myself back together. I need the distance from New York and…and…everything else.”   Molly reached over and squeezed her arm. “What are friends for? Sweetie, we’ve known each other for twenty-seven years, ever since freshman year in college. I would be highly offended if you chose someone else.” She paused. “Besides, been there, done that. So it’s all good.”   “Does Nick… Did you tell him what’s going on?”   Amber was totally aware of how ecstatic Molly was in her second marriage, with the man of her dreams. A younger man who adored her. All the things that were missing in her first marriage, she’d found with Nick, and more.   “Only the basics,” Molly said.   Amber bit her lip. “I just don’t want him to look at me with the awful, pitying look I was getting from our so-called friends in New York.”   Molly snorted. “Let me tell you, pity is the last thing you’ll see. If I let him off the leash he’d be on the next plane east to beat the shit out of Dennis McCloud. Believe me, he thinks men like that are scum.”   Amber wouldn’t have minded getting in a few licks herself. After fifteen years of marriage Dennis had somehow woken up one day and decided she was too flawed, too shopworn, too—whatever. He needed a re-engineered model to present the right image to his high-profile clients and the moneyed crowd they ran with.   Oh, he didn’t want much. A boob job. A butt lift. A facelift. Her teeth capped. Something that would take twenty years off her age.   “Nearly all your friends have done it,” he pointed out in a reasonable voice. “They understand what’s important.”   At first she’d been so shocked she hadn’t known what to say. She hadn’t even pointed out to him that the women in their crowd were hardly her friends. In fact, if she was truthful, she couldn’t think of one real friend she’d made since moving to the city. Most of her girl talk was via telephone with Molly.   Eventually she sank into a fit of depression until anger finally took over.   “Maybe you should get yourself someone already young enough for your specifications,” she spat at him.   Which was exactly what he did after a thoroughly nasty divorce.   Now Amber was trying to pick up the pieces of her life and stitch back together her shattered self-esteem. Not only was Molly her oldest and closest friend but she’d been through the same thing herself. And come out of it a real winner. She needed Molly’s humor and common sense and cheerleading. And the isolation of her home to hide from the world while she got her act together.   “I don’t want to make any kind of plans,” she said now. “Just take it day by day. All right?” “Sure, honey. But you know Nick and I both work from home, right?”   Nick was a highly sought-after architect and Molly had found a new career in interior design. They often worked together on projects.   “Yes, but you meet clients in the office space you share in downtown San Antonio. Right?” She didn’t think she could handle strangers being around all the time.   “Yes, of course. It’s all good. Except…” She paused.   Amber’s stomach tightened. “Except what? What’s going on, Molly?”   “I know I told you about the cocktail party we’re having, right? Tomorrow night?”   Damn! She’d forgotten all about that.   “No problem. I’ll just take myself off to the movies. Or something.” The very last thing she needed was a bunch of people staring at her with curiosity and asking questions she didn’t want to answer.   “Up to you,” Molly said, “but I’ll stick my two cents in here. It might do you some good to mingle with people who don’t know your history. People you can just be yourself with. You can’t hide from the world forever.”   “I know, I know.” Amber sighed. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes behind the big sunglasses. “I just don’t think I’m ready to face anyone yet. You can’t imagine what it was like in the city, running into people who knew the story. Or worse, those who didn’t know and asked rude questions.”   “Oh,” Molly scoffed, “I do know. Believe me.” Then her voice turned sly. “But you know, Amber, I forced myself to go to a Fourth of July picnic when I didn’t even want to leave the house. If I hadn’t I would never have met Nick.”   Amber shook her head. “I’m not interested and not looking. Can we just leave it at that?” “Sure, sweetie.” Then she chuckled. “For now, anyway.”   Before long they exited the Interstate Highway and rode in comfortable silence along the two-lane country road. They passed through the tiny commercial section of Limerock, an exclusive Hill Country community, then they were navigating the long driveway that led to the Trajans’ magnificent glass and limestone house.   “Wow!” Amber stared, drinking in the gorgeous structure before Molly hit a button and they pulled into the wide garage.   “Exactly the way I felt the first time I saw it.” She laughed softly. “But here’s the best part of it.” She pointed through the windshield.   Standing in an open doorway that led to the house was a man Amber could only call sex on a stick. Nick Trajan was well over six feet, lean and dark with thick, wavy black hair. His soft linen shirt and jeans outlined a graceful, athletic body. He opened Amber’s door, helped her out of the car and greeted her with a warm smile.   “Welcome to Casa Trajan,” he said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek.   Amber couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Thank you. And thanks for letting me intrude on you this way.”   “Not a problem. I’m happy to have one of Molly’s friends here for a visit. She’s been really looking forward to this.”   “Well, I appreciate it. I just want you to know.”   Molly had exited the car and come to stand next to her husband. “Only the guest gets a kiss?” she teased.   Nick’s voice deepened. “You know better than that.”   He pulled his wife close to him. Watching the kiss he gave her made heat surge through Amber’s body. An unfamiliar pulse throbbed deep in her cunt and her nipples tingled. Holy cow! And she wasn’t even the one being kissed!   Nick laughed softly when he finally broke the kiss. “You’ll have to forgive us, Amber. I have a feeling when I’m ninety my wife will still have this incendiary effect on me.”   A sharp bolt of jealousy speared through Amber, one she immediately tried to suppress. She was happy for her friend, delighted that her life was so on track. But somehow it only underscored the disaster that was her own life at the moment.   She turned away and went to retrieve her suitcase, but Nick was there before she could press the trunk release.   “I’ll get that. You go on inside with Molly. I’ll bet you could use a nice chilled glass of wine about now.”   Amber forced a polite smile. “That sounds nice.”   “Come on.” Molly linked her arm through Amber’s. “It’s a good thing I have my husband to remind me of my manners. Let me show you to your room. You can take a quick shower while I get the wine and some cheese and crackers. Don’t worry. All is good.” LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK

A SATAN CAROL by Alan Steven Kessler

A SATAN CAROL by Alan S. Kessler

Nostalgic for the Inquisition and plague, Satan feels neglected by the modern world that no longer cares about heresy or blames him for disease and death. He plans to create a new genesis, a place where people will love him. For that, his son needs just the right soul.

Moving through time from Ireland during the famine year 1848 to Massachusetts, 2028, and a parallel dimension, Satan tries to create a place where people will love him. This requires Katie, age 14, to give her baby's soul to the devil's son.

A Satan Carol is a horror story with a message for those who want to understand God's apparent absence as the intersection of freewill and choice. It is a story with religious themes written for a secular reader. It is, in the end, a tale about family values even if they originate in hell.

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An Excerpt from: A Satan Carol
Copyright © 2011 Alan S. Kessler

All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.

“First, though, you need a little perspective. We have to go back to the beginning when, as I’ve already told you, I was God’s favorite. Know what happened to me? Forget what you’ve heard or read about my fall from grace. That’s all propaganda. Jesus won and winners perpetuate their own myths. If the Moabites had a bible, would Moses be the hero? Here’s the real story. I got screwed! My younger brother is a brown-noser. He told Dad he liked the idea of free will for men. I said it was a lot of crap. How can you expect a dog to obey if you let it run wild to shit all over the house? For being honest, I was cast out. Jesus got a really neat holiday with colored lights, songs, and puppies in bows; I get blamed for everything that goes wrong and the only ones who celebrate my birth are a few old hags dancing naked in the woods around a stump. Take my word for it, Orem, that’s not a pretty sight. These women might be smart, they all have PhDs in English literature from Michigan, but I’m like most guys, I prefer dumb blondes with big tits.

“I’ll bet you’re thirsty.”

Legs crossed, reclining in the air, Mr. Green sipped a tall, frosted glass of lemonade. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

“So this is where I am,” Orem said, his dry lips cracked and bleeding, “in the world you created. Hell.”

Mr. Green jumped down, his face on fire. By crushing his drink he made Orem feel he’d just swallowed glass.

“You think this is Hell? Death is oblivion! Hell doesn’t have people! It’s a pit holding a few souls, the universe’s worst, and I’m their fucking keeper! ShinyLand 7 is infinitely better. But it’s not my design, you insulting son-of-a-bitch! The people here did this to themselves! They made the choices! Talking to you is like talking to a two-year old. Want to take a nap? Should I get you some cookies and milk? OK, I’ll explain it to you, step by step. I would love a world all bright and blue, the kind Dad gave to Christ. But God didn’t help me find one. He doesn’t even speak to me. I had to do everything myself. ShinyLand 7 is a shit hole, the location’s terrible, but it’s a place I can fix up and call home.

“Who really knows why some people get the blessing and others the curse?” Wanting him to understand, Mr. Green increased Orem’s pain. “Dad loves the story about Jacob tricking Isaac into blessing him instead of Esau. God can be old fashioned, very Old Testament, if you know what I mean. OK, maybe I was a little rebellious, all children are, except Jesus, but it’s not easy when your father doesn’t love you. You try and try; nothing is ever good enough. I disappointed my Dad. Pal isn’t exactly the kind of child I wanted either but here’s the difference between God and me: I didn’t abandon my son just because he’s different. You work with what you have. Take this place. Like I said, it’s not exactly the Garden of Eden, but it could be worse. The other ShinyLands burned to a crisp. I’m grateful to have Pal. I’m explaining the world to him and my wife is doing her part to make sure he understands. We hire good help. Pal’s education is a team effort. Occasionally, one of our staff dies or gets eaten. That’s not my fault. I’m just a parent trying to do the best I can for my son. He’s walking now and more alert. I told you I have a plan for him. As a Christ-like man, you’ll appreciate it. It’s all about the soul.”

Orem’s forehead and palms bled.

“It’s open kimono time.” Mr. Green stood sexless and naked, his small head with its jolly face resting on an enormous belly covered in front with a thousand, green, spider-like legs growing from sores of bubbling pus. In back, hands burrowing through scaly flesh dangled long strands of eyeballs twitching and spinning in torment. “I don’t often reveal myself. People find it disturbing. But I know you value the truth.”

The presence of the devil’s inner self overwhelmed Orem in a spiritual and physical, dark poison. He saw himself inside out. Blood dripped hot and sulfuric on his gray heart perforated by worms. Little men without eyes or mouths, their faces twisted flesh, hung upside down from his melting bones.


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WHATEVER THE PRICE by Jules Bennett

WHATEVER THE PRICE by Jules Bennett

Baby makes three?

 

As Hollywood's hottest director, Anthony Price is used to getting what he wants. But life hands him a brand-new script when he gains custody of his orphaned niece. Now he needs his wife more than ever—only, Charlotte moved out three months ago. To win her back, he just has to prove he's ready to put family before his career.

 

Charlotte doesn't know if sudden fatherhood will change Anthony's priorities, but she can't turn her back on an innocent baby—or the husband she still desires. Is a happy ending too much to hope for?

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Excerpts

From the book
...

Her eyes darted from her soon-to-be ex-husband down to the sleeping baby in his arms. "Anthony?"

Charlotte Price stared at her estranged husband--the one man she loved with every fiber of her being, the one man she was now looking to divorce. But what he held in his arms pulled her attention even more.

Not a what...a who.

A hotshot Hollywood director, Anthony Price didn't look too comfortable with the bundle wrapped in a pink, silky blanket, a swirl of black hair dotting the top of her head.

And speaking of hair, Anthony's stood on end. The top three buttons of his royal-blue dress shirt were undone, and was that.. oh, yeah, that was spit-up. The milky-white substance spread across the top of one broad shoulder, and she'd bet it had traveled down his back, as well. If she weren't so shocked she'd laugh at the irony of this entire situation.

Her husband holding a child. She'd always wanted to have a child with him...but he'd never been ready.

"Rachel's daughter," he said in a gravelly voice.

Rachel. Anthony's sister who had suddenly died in a car crash less than a week ago, leaving behind an eight-month-old little girl.

An ache spread through her as she eyed the precious child, and Charlotte opened the door to her best friend's apartment just a bit wider. "Bring her in and lay her down."

Charlotte showed him through the apartment she'd been staying in while her friend was off traveling, taking her dream vacation. Charlotte had packed only her most favorite clothes and other essentials, unsure of when she'd have a place of her own. She was getting the alone time she needed to think things through. But she kept coming to the same conclusion as far as her marriage was concerned.

Their life together was over. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she wanted Anthony to love her the way she deserved, it just wasn't meant to be.

And now that he was here, she couldn't help but wonder why he'd come to her. Did she dare hope he wanted to work things out now? Was he willing to try the therapist she'd suggested?

She'd moved out in June, and now nearly three months of awkward calls, not to mention the one time a month ago he'd come for a visit to talk and they'd foolishly ended up in bed, was about to come to an abrupt halt. Communication had always been a major issue in the nine years of their marriage. The sex, however, had never been a problem because most of the times they were alone, they were naked.

But talking was inevitable--over more than just his surprise bundle. She had an appointment on Friday to file for divorce.

"I'm afraid to lay her down. She cried all the way here," Anthony told her, panic lacing his voice. "I gave her a bottle and she threw up all over me, then cried some more. A three-hour car ride and she didn't fall asleep until about ten minutes ago."

More than comfortable with babies of all ages, Charlotte gently slid her hands between her husband's hard body and the soft bundle. With care she laid the baby down in an oversized armchair, tucking her back against the cushion so she couldn't move too much. Then Charlotte grabbed a velvety throw pillow and laid it beside the baby so she wouldn't roll off.

With questions mounting in her mind, Charlotte motioned for Anthony to step into the kitchen, where she could still keep an eye on the child over the wide granite bar that separated the two rooms.

"What is going on, Anthony?" she demanded in a harsh whisper as soon as he came to stand beside her.

"You have to help with Lily."

Help with Lily?

"Oh,...

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WHERE THERE'S A WILL by Karen Kelley

WHERE THERE'S A WILL by Karen Kelley

Her Fantasies Were Wild But Buried Deep...

Haley Tillman works hard at being a good girl, hiding her rich fantasy life in the pages of her diary. But being good doesn't seem to get her anywhere with men, and her confidence is on a downward spiral. She's ready to try something altogether different, but hasn't a clue where to start. In a moment of desperation, she prays for a miracle...

He Might Take Her Beyond Them...

Ryder is the perfect combination of powerful angel plus normal hot–blooded man. Crossing into the mortal world could cost him his existence. But mortals are like a potent drug to Ryder, and Hayley is quickly becoming his drug of choice...

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

"Please, Lord, you have to send me a miracle. A man, in case you want specifics."

Haley Tillman really needed to get laid before she incinerated. If a man looked cross-eyed at her, the only thing left would be a pile of smoking ashes.

Just one little bitty miracle. Was that too much to ask?

She was thoughtful for a moment, then decided she'd better revise her prayer. Once, she'd asked for a stuffed bunny rabbit. The next day her dad took her to the taxidermist to pick up Fifi, the family dog that had died two weeks before, or as Haley preferred to call the beast when no one was around, The Tasmanian Terror. The mongrel was more her mother's pet. Her father had had the miniscule creature stuffed.

There was also a sale on stuffed rabbits. She hated the glass-eyed zombie rabbit and hid the nasty looking creature in the back of her closet. There was no escape from Fifi, though. Her mother placed the silent menace in the living room where everyone could see the dog.

So maybe a prayer revision might be in order. "Not just any man. I want a really hot, drool-worthy, sexy man." That still wasn't good enough. "No, he has to be more than a normal man. He has to stand above mere mortals. No more dweebs, losers, or rejects." She figured it wouldn't hurt to ask for the best.

And no more crying jags like the one last night just because she'd been stood up. She threw the cover back and grabbed her black-rimmed glasses off the nightstand before heading toward the bathroom.

A miracle would be nice. She snorted. As if a miracle was ever going to happen. She was pretty sure hot and sexy would never make it to her front door. Her almost date hadn't been drool-worthy. She supposed Ben wasn't bad looking, in a GQ, polished sort of way.

Haley sighed. Being stood up was nothing new. Anyone with a little bit of sense would be used to it by now, but not her. Okay, so maybe she sort of expected it because she'd cornered him. She did not wear desperation well.

"Ben could've said no," she mumbled as she walked inside the bathroom and flipped on the light. Her coworker from the bank owed her. Haley had worked all week crunching numbers for him.

She casually glanced toward the mirror and saw an apparition.

Her heart pounded inside her chest. She stumbled back, bumping into the bathtub. Before she toppled inside, she slapped a hand on the toilet seat and regained her balance.

As her pulse slowed to a more normal rate, she cautiously scanned the tiny room. She was the only one there. Her imagination was getting the best of her. That's all it could be. Over-tired, stressed, of course she was seeing things. She came to her feet, nerves stretched taut. Her stomach rumbled.

Please don't be the ghost of Nanny.

She loved Nanny, but her grandmother was gone, and though Haley had lots of fond memories, she wanted her to stay gone.

She was still trembling when her gaze landed on the mirror. She jumped, heart pounding again until she realized it was only her reflection that stared back. Fantastic, she'd scared herself. This had to be an all-time low.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them again. Mornings were not good. She should drape black silk over her mirrors until she at least had her first pot of coffee. Not that she was monstrously hideous, but she was no beauty queen, either.

She had her father's looks. Her father was tall. Haley was five feet seven inches. She also had her father's dull, dishwater blonde hair. Her hair had turned bright orange when she attempted to color it in the eighth grade. She decided dull blonde was better. Her boobs were too big, too, but they matched her hips.

All the magazines she read said you had to like at least one thing about yourself. Her legs were nice and long. When she wasn't tripping over her feet, she was fairly satisfied with them. Except her life was never going to change. And miracles? She stopped believing in miracles a long time ago.

She brushed her teeth, then dragged a comb through her tangled hair so it didn't look quite so much like a rat's nest. There was a half gallon of ice cream in the kitchen freezer. It wouldn't be too difficult to eat herself into sugar oblivion. She could bring new meaning to the phrase death by chocolate. What would her sister say? Rachael never, absolutely never, let sugar cross her lips, and she always said Haley was killing herself. Right now, she didn't really care.

The buzz from her doorbell blasted through the tiny two-bedroom house that she'd inherited from Nanny, effectively drawing her away from her dreary thoughts. Bummer. She'd already started planning her funeral. She sighed. It was way too early for doorbells.

She grabbed her faded pink terry-cloth robe off the hook on the door and pulled it on over her green froggy flannel pajamas and left the bathroom. The doorbell buzzed again.

"Okay, okay," she mumbled.

Once she stood at the front door, she peered through the peephole her father had installed for safety, as if anyone would ever break into her house. What would they steal? Her hand-me-down furniture?

She blinked. No one there. Were they hiding?

Hmm, serial killer lurking outside her door? Would that count as a date? Nope, they didn't have murders in Hattersville. Nothing, absolutely nothing, ever happened in the small town. She shook her head and opened the door a crack, making sure the chain was secure.

"Hello?"

A man stepped into her line of vision. Haley's mouth dropped open. Good Lord! This had to be the guy who invented tall, dark, and sexy! Her thighs quivered.

At least six feet one inch of pure testosterone stood on her porch. He had the dark good looks of a male stripper, only with clothes on. The stranger removed his black Stetson, slowly dragging his fingers through thick, coal-black hair. His deep blue eyes held her gaze before sliding down her body as if he could see more than the sliver revealed from the slightly open door.

Warm tingles spread over her like a Texas wildfire in the middle of summer. She could barely draw in a breath as her gaze moved past broad shoulders and a black Western shirt that hugged his scrumptious muscles. Then her eyes slipped right down to the low-slung jeans riding his hips, past muscled thighs, all the way to his scuffed black boots.

Oh, Lord, her every fantasy stood on her front porch!

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

I want him! She felt like a kid in a candy store with lots of money to spend. Mommy, Mommy, can I have the hot sexy cowboy? Pleeeeeeeeease!

If only it was that easy. No way would she ever have the opportunity to have sex with someone who looked like him. What was he doing at her door, anyway? Lost?

"Haley, right?" he asked with a slow drawl that made her body tremble with need.

How did he know her name? She grasped the door a little harder. He smiled as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her world began to tilt. She remembered that breathing might not be a bad thing so she drew in a deep breath. "What?" the word warbled out. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Do you need directions or something?"

"You're Haley."

She nodded.

He smiled wider, showing perfectly straight white teeth. "Mind if I come in?"

Her fantasy of this cowboy's naked body pressed against her naked body shattered like rocks hitting a mirror. Oh, this guy was good, real good, but she wasn't born yesterday. He'd obviously seen her name on the mailbox out front. She raised her chin. "I don't need a vacuum.
I have all the pots and pans I will ever use-including waterless cookware. There's a complete set of encyclopedias on my e-reader and I have a double-barrel shotgun for protection. Now, do you want to tell me why you're ringing my doorbell at this time of morning?"

"You prayed for a miracle. I'm the answer to your prayer." He rested his hand on her grandmother's white rocking chair. Her rocker had always sat in that same spot on the porch for as long as Haley could remember. The cowboy lightly set the chair in motion. Back and forth, back and forth, his thumb lightly caressing the weathered wood.

Wow, her prayer had really been answered? The man upstairs had given her more than she'd asked for. She reached up to smooth her hair about the same time reality set in. Had she lost her mind?

"Go away!" She slammed the door shut. Her pulse raced so fast Haley thought her heart would jump out of her chest. At this rate she was going to have a heart attack before she turned twenty-seven! Who was he? Definitely the wrong house. Shoot, the wrong town. No one who looked like him lived in Hattersville. Definitely a salesman. As if she needed another vacuum cleaner. Three were quite enough. Another magazine subscription might have been nice. One could never have enough magazines.

But wouldn't it have been nice if he was sent in answer to a prayer? How had he known she'd prayed for a miracle? Not that it mattered since she'd slammed the door in his face.

Oh, hell!

What was she thinking? Haley smoothed her hands down the sides of her robe, took a deep breath, and started to open the door. She remembered at the last minute to remove her glasses and stick them in her pocket. Rachael had said they made her appear to be more professional. Haley thought the glasses made her look like Buddy Holly. She wore them out of habit rather than a need to see. She pasted a smile on her face and opened the door as much as the chain would allow.

The cowboy wasn't there.

Had she only imagined him, too? She closed the door enough so that she could slide off the chain. Her smile was still firmly in place when she opened the door again. Nothing. Only old Mrs. Monroe watering her lawn across the street. She looked up and waved as her crotchety husband came around the corner of the house, getting a face full of water. Mrs. Monroe quickly dropped the hose.

"Damn, thought we'd finally got some rain," he sputtere...

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PITCH PERFECT by LuAnn McLane

PITCH PERFECT by LuAnn McLane

A Cricket Creek Novel

Cricket Creek, Kentucky, is a sweet river town known for its theater, shopping, and cuisine. But tough times are crushing tourism - until a hard-swinging baseball team and three hometown heroes begins to revitalize the community one inning at a time….

Determined to prove her independence, Mia Monroe is no longer Daddy’s little rich girl. Buying an old car with the last of her money, she sets out for who knows where… until her clunker clunks out in Cricket Creek. With no plan and no credit cards, Mia has to find more resilience than she’s ever never needed before. And a little help from an attractive new acquaintance wouldn’t hurt…

As first baseman for the Cricket Creek Cougars, Cameron Patrick has two jobs: win games and stay out of trouble. If he can do both, he might just make it back to the minor leagues. He knows Mia is trouble from the moment she catches his eye - but he can’t stop looking. And maybe her kind of trouble is exactly what he needs.

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Excerpt:

“Oh no, not now!” Mia scowled at the red check engine light and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Come on, I filled you with premium gas you old clunker. What more do you want from me?” she grumbled but when the light flickered and then went out she managed a slight smile.  “That’s more like it.” She patted the battered dashboard making the miniature hula dancer swing her ample hips. “Okay, I take the old clunker part back,” Mia added in a soothing tone and then settled back against the worn seat.

An only child raised by a long string of disinterested au pairs, Mia Monroe was no stranger to talking to herself or to inanimate objects. Since she had often been left alone to entertain herself, Mia’s possessions became treasured friends and admittedly were probably one of the reasons that as an adult she had become a shopaholic. “Dad just doesn’t understand.” She sighed and glanced over at her shiny black Prada purse that appeared ridiculously out of place perched on the worn cloth seat that must of have been red at one time but had faded to a dusty rose. The lack of credit cards inside of her matching wallet made her shiver even though the battered Camry’s air conditioner had failed her two states ago. “Shopping is my therapy,” she explained defensively.

Mia flipped her long platinum blonde hair over her shoulder only to have the warm wind from the open window blow it right back across her face momentarily blocking her view of the road. She swerved into the right lane drawing the deep angry honk of a massive truck.

“Sorry!” Mia winced as she jerked the car back into her own lane. The hula dancer’s hips bounced like crazy and Mia giggled in spite of her dire circumstances. She decided that when she purchased a new car the happy hula chick was coming with her. Oh and she would purchase a brand new car with her very own hard earned money. “And I’ll pull up that circular drive and park it right at my father’s front door!” she announced to the hula dancer who wiggled her head as if in disagreement. “Oh don’t go shaking that head of yours. I will if it’s the last thing I ever do!” Of course Mia didn’t have anything ironed out like where she would live or a really super job lined up or anything of that nature. Minor details, she thought with a lift of one shoulder but then frowned when she recalled her last conversation with her dad. “You’ll be back by the end of the summer,” Mia mocked in her father’s deep tone of voice. “Labor Day,” he had added, “Something you’ve never had to do.”

“Ha!” Mia said and smacked the steering wheel hard enough to make her hand smart. “I have… skills! And just who does he think is going to plan his lavish parties at his house? Huh? Entertain his clients?” She flipped one hand in the air and swerved again. “And just who will find impossible to get Cubs and Bulls tickets to seal the deal?” She gave her hair another toss only to have it fly back once more across her face. She gave it an impatient swipe but several strands clung to her lip gloss. “I was his personal assistant and did it for free!” she grumbled. “He’ll never be able to replace me. I have connections all over Chicago.” She glanced at the hula dancer. “So what if I ran up a few credit cards? Bought a few things here and there and well… everywhere? I’m helping the economy right? ” She waved her French tipped fingers back and forth and the sunshine glinted off her diamond tennis bracelet.

When the hula dancer stared back at her with accusing brown eyes Mia sighed. “O-kaaaay, so I abused the credit cards a tiny bit. Traveled a little too much in the company jet.” She lifted one slim shoulder. “But that jab about me never having a real job was uncalled for. And my fine arts degree is not worthless! I worked hard for my father. He just didn’t appreciate my efforts.” She pressed her lips together in an effort not to cry. “I should have been on the official payroll!” she sputtered but it wasn’t that tired old argument about her working that had driven Mia away from her home and out into the cold, cruel world without credit cards or her baby blue Mercedes coupe. It was overhearing her father negotiating a ruthless business deal that had turned her blood cold. When her father had calmly explained that deals like these had paid for Mia’s lavish lifestyle she’d hotly declared that she no longer wanted his money and would fend for herself from this day forward!

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DRAGON'S MOON by Lucy Monroe

DRAGON'S MOON by Lucy Monroe

Children of the Moon Book Four

Bestselling author Lucy Monroe returns to her “stunningly sexy” paranormal world where one woman has but one choice for her people’s salvation—her sworn enemy...

 

When Eirik, the only living dragon shifter, and prince of the Ean, killed her brother, Ciara was left alone to face her prophetic dreams. Now, in order to find the wolves’ sacred stone and save all the Chrechte from destruction, she needs her enemy’s help.

 

Eirik was only protecting the children of his people, but that day in the forest left a mark on him as well. Controlling his dragon’s fire is the most difficult thing he’s ever done—until he and Ciara are forced to face not only their shared tumultuous past, but a hallowed bond stronger than they realize. As avowed enemies and predestined mates, their quest ushers them into a world of great danger, and a passion hotter than the dragon’s fire.

 

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Excerpt

Her legs dangling over the stone edge, Ciara waited atop the lower bailey tower. One of two in the lower half of the wall surrounding the Sinclair fortress, it was the perfect vantage point for her first glimpse of the newcomers that would join her adopted clan. She was not supposed to be here, but it was a favored spot for her to find both privacy and peace. Most of the clan had gathered in the lower bailey both yesterday and today for the same purpose, but Ciara did not like the crush of so many around her. There was no crowd now. The humans and other Chrechte had gone home, disappointed once again when night fell with no sign of the newcomers. But Ciara waited as the moon rose, unable to return to the keep — her need to see these new clanspeople too strong to deny. As a member of the Faol, she had been told those coming were Chrechte; she strongly suspected they were Éan. Her dreams were not all nightmares and she had seen the birds in the sky shifting back to human form and donning the plaid of the Sinclair. Were these Chrechte refugees like her, looking for a new life among the Sinclair? Ciara hadn’t actually been looking toward anything when she came to live with Laird Talorc and his lady, Abigail. Numb with grief after her mother’s death so close on top of her dear brother Galen’s grisly demise, Ciara had simply done as she was told. Laird Barr had informed her she needed a new life without so many memories around her and Ciara had accepted his instruction in action, if not in her heart. She’d come to live among his former clan, the Sinclairs, without a single argument. What had there been to argue? Ciara had no family any longer, no loved ones to hold her among the Donegal. She had spent the past seven years doing her best to serve her new clan, though her old one would not recognize her. Gone was the stubborn girl who loved her family and people with every passionate fiber of her heart. Ciara did her best to feel as little as possible; she had no desire to love with a devotion that could so easily destroy her again. Laird Barr’s hope that she might forget painful memories more easily away from all that was familiar had proven fruitless, but she did not blame his plan. The memories were burned into Ciara’s mind with a dragon’s flame; it was impossible for her to ever forget or feel completely safe again. That fateful day in the forest and what followed lived inside her in a maelstrom of grief, awe, confusion, disbelief and sometimes utter terror. Not that she ever let these feelings come fully to the surface, but Ciara often woke in the night to her brother’s final scream, only to realize it had been her own. She dreamt of blood soaked walls and a waxen faced woman searching their cottage for son and husband that would never again be there. Ciara was grateful for the stone walls that kept her nightmares private, but she was even more thankful that far from forcing Ciara to marry when she came of age, Laird Talorc and his second, Niall, frightened off any prospective suitors. Chrechte and human alike. Laird Talorc and Abigail treated Ciara like a cherished member of the family, to be protected and watched over. She knew they thought she was broken. Too broken to be forced to mate. She did and said nothing to dissuade them of that belief. She wanted no true family to lose again; she had no desire to ever marry or have children that could be taken from her by that undefeatable enemy, death. She hoped she never met her mate, or that he was already committed to another. Helping to care for Abigail and Talorc’s twins, now in their fourth summer, was difficult enough. The boys did their best to worm their way into Ciara’s heart. It took all her stubborn resolve not to let herself love them. And deep inside, in a place she refused to acknowledge, she feared she already did...even more than she feared the dragon that had killed her brother. Shaking off her thoughts, she peered through the moonlit night, seeking out her first glimpse of the Éan soon to join their clan. She wasn’t supposed to know about the Éan at all. No one, but a select few were. And Ciara, better than most, understood why. However, it was not her fault she knew many things she should not. Even without the eavesdropping. Her dreams and visions had grown more frequent since she had seen the scarlet dragon breathing fire from the sky. And of late, the Faolchú Chridhe called to her even more insistently than her dead brother’s screams and mother’s spilled blood. Ciara rarely slept, and when she did sleep it was to dream, each dream growing more fraught with urgency than the last. She could not eat because that urgency followed her into wakefulness, making her stomach tight and filling her with dread she did not understand. Ciara did not know what to do. Perhaps it was time to tell another soul about the existence of the wolves’ stone. Would that knowledge be safer in Laird Talorc’s hands than it had been in Galen’s? Pain sliced through Ciara at the probability it would. Galen had wanted the power of the stone to destroy the Éan. Laird Talorc would want it to help them. In her silent, stealthy wanderings around the keep, Ciara had heard enough to know this to be true. She knew Talorc was aware of her presence. He was a wolf with a wolf’s senses, but he never scolded her. Maybe he knew she had no one to tell the secrets she overheard. The faint sounds of multiple horses had Ciara looking up and dismissing all thought of secrets and the Faolchú Chridhe for now. A group of perhaps twenty people riding on horseback came into view. She watched intently as they rode closer and closer to the fortress without being challenged. It had to be the Éan. They got close enough, that with her wolf’s eyesight, she could tell that some wore plaids, while others wore clothing made of tanned hides and fur. The huge warrior that led them wore what looked like a kilt made of leather, wide cuffs at his wrist of the same and a strap around his bicep that held a wicked looking knife. He wore his long sword in another scabbard on his back, the hilt sticking up over his left shoulder. The leather strap holding it in place bisected his otherwise naked chest — a chest devoid of hair but rippling with muscle. A medallion of some kind glinted in the moonlight, hanging from a leather cord around his neck. He wore no boots, but sandals that wrapped around and laced at his ankles. They almost looked like what the Roman soldiers of ancient times had worn. She’d seen drawings carved into cave walls in her search with her brother for the Faolchú Chridhe. Was this warrior Éan? He was bigger than those he rode with, at least a head taller than any of the other men. Giant, she would guess he stood even taller than the Laird’s second-in-command, Niall, and easily as broad. Ciara had not thought Éan warriors large like that. Certainly they were not in her dreams. The Éan were strong, but in her dreams they were smaller in build to the Faol. Her brother always claimed they were the smallest of the Chrechte peoples too. Galen had said it sneeringly, but being so much smaller than him herself, Ciara had wondered why he found the difference so worthy of disgust. This man was not undersized in any way and he had the regal bearing of a king. How would he tolerate Talorc’s leadership? Would the huge warrior challenge her laird, the man who considered himself her father? Anxiety spiked through her as the new Chrechte moved closer. Mere feet from the drawbridge that was still down on Laird Talorc’s order, the lead warrior’s features became distinct. And all the air in Ciara’s lungs escaped in one long exhale. This man who meant to become a Sinclair was breathtaking, though his expression was as fierce as the glint in his amber eyes. Eyes that glowed with Chrechte power, even in the moonlight. A jawbone that looked hewn from rock was set in stern lines, his neck and shoulders held in arrogant rigidity that warned danger for any who crossed him. Atavistic fear pressed against her solar plexus, making it hard to draw breath. The warrior lifted his head, a gaze even keener than her own honing in on Ciara with unerring accuracy. He should not be able to see her tucked up against the wall as she was, but she knew he did. He did not look away either. Nor could she. Never before had she felt such a connection with another. Her wolf whispered a word she refused to hear, her mind whirling with thoughts she was determined never to have. Unable to break gazes with the warrior and yet unwilling to remain as she was, Ciara surged to her feet. The nights without sleep, the days she had eaten less than enough to sustain a sparrow much les a wolf caught up with her in that one confusing moment. Swaying on her feet, she tilted forward. She jerked back, but overcompensated and one foot slipped out from beneath her. Suddenly, unbelievably, despite her wolf’s grace, she pitched forward. She tumbled into the night air, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the stone, one finger connecting. She tried to make it two, to get a better grip, but she could feel her fingertips giving way even as she did so. She refused to let the joints unbend, but she could feel blood welling around cuts in her fingers from the stone. The wetness proved her undoing. No amount of will could force her fingers to hold as the wet blood made them slip and she fell. Her wolf howled as she tried to shift, hoping against all to live. But it was not the hard ground that broke her fall. Sharp talons curled around her body, warm scales that felt like living chainmail pressed against her face and suddenly she was not falling, but flying upward. In the arms of a dragon. That was the last her tormented mind could take. Ciara welcomed the black oblivion as it came. LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK

VIRTUS SAGA: THE PLEDGE by Laura Tolomei

THE PLEDGE by Laura Tolomei

Virtus Saga Book 5

At the end of the road, only one promise–to be as one whilst remaining three.

If this love you can’t do without is another aspect of power, it’s also the most volatile one, never stable, always uncontrollable. It can turn to hate quicker than white Virt becoming black. Virtus

While love and passion rise, enemies and misunderstandings become stronger. While resolves strengthen, the world and its nightmares stand in the way until one thing, and one alone, will save them–the pledge.

And to those who never thought Ylianor would make it in Duncan and Chris's hearts, at least not the way she made it in their bed, here's news for you:

“Princess, for you I have two words alone—thank you.” He uttered them softly. “Thank you for being in my head, in my heart, in my spirit, my life. Thank you for the constant sharing. Thank you for the love and for having believed in it far more than I ever did. Thank you for having waited for me to come round to how immensely I love you. Thank you for putting up with my…insufferable lover, as you call him.” His wide grin took them both in. “Mostly, thank you for always being there as your own woman, never a submissive slave. You are our master, the one who teaches and gives us new strength every time your spirit breathes on us. You are our deep-rotted core, the one without whom we wouldn’t exist or be where we are today. You have made all this possible, so again I can only thank you. I…no…” He glanced at Chris and received a silent go ahead. “We can’t live without you.”

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