Angela Knight's Blog, page 2

An excerpt from Passionate Prisoners!

 

Here's an except from my newest book, Passionate Prisoners, out now. Links below. 

 Handsome warriors butt heads with heroines who don’t back down from anything – especially love.

Blurb:

Stranded: Hawke’s been alone in the alien ‘Goldfish Bowl’ for far too long. When society-girl Alex literally lands in his arms, they both soon realize they can fulfill each other’s every sexual need -- if they can just survive the monsters…  

Chain of Kisses: For years, Prince Admiral Arles of Tor has been obsessed with Gisel Vanda, who jilted him at the altar. When Arles discovers the lovely runaway is now a mercenary space captain, he captures her, determined to get Gisel out of his system. He soon discovers she’s even more intelligent and beautiful than he remembered. Too bad she’s also a political liability he can’t afford…

Armored Hearts: Interstellar mercenary Captain Nick Rand is a vampire on the verge of starvation. He needs a female blood donor. Lieutenant Zara Tahir is a female blood donor in need of a vampire. Zara’s willing to exchange blood for blood -- and maybe kinky games -- with Rand, but he’s still her enemy. Then Rand’s own enemies complicate things…  

Links:   Changeling Press       Amazon       Barnes and Noble      Apple Books      Kobo

She hadn’t seen Roarke in a year.

Oh, there’d been plenty of encounters since then, but all of them had been over the bridge vidscreen during some military game of cat and mouse. Yet even then, with kilometers of space between them, she’d always been too aware of him, the memory of their first meeting vivid in her mind.

Looking back on it, Elise suspected that particular disaster had been another of Admiral Scordillis’ attempts to set her up. A ship’s captain had no business playing spy, yet Scordillis had sent her and Henry Voronnin to the planet Tyus with orders to pose as pirates with a captured cargo to sell. They were supposed to discover who was smuggling supplies to the rebels.

She’d met Roarke in a bar there, of all places. He’d been trying to buy ship’s stores for the Liberator, and someone had directed him to her. At the time, they hadn’t met in battle and Elise was new to the sector, so he’d had no idea who she was.

It had gone well at first. She’d even been attracted to him; Roarke was witty and intelligent, not to mention handsome enough to tempt a neophyte spy to forget her common sense. In fact, when he invited her for a walk on the beach, she’d almost accepted. But in the end, Elise decided not to take the risk, just as Roarke turned down her deliberately exorbitant price for a cargo she didn’t even have.

Still, it had been that invitation that had given her the idea for a moonlight swim late that night. After calling Henry to tell him where she was headed, Elise put on a stringsuit and went down to the beach behind their hotel.

Battling ocean swells for a brisk hour burned away the last of her adrenaline; by the time she emerged from the water, she was nicely tired. Elise dried herself off and wrapped her body in the thick, warm robe she’d brought along. Savoring the glow of heated muscles and pleasant exhaustion, she bent, meaning to pick up the sheathed knife she’d left wrapped in a towel. She was, after all, still in enemy territory.

Elise pulled up short as the wet fabric of her stringsuit dug into her skin. The outfit was nothing more than a set of fine cords which looped around her neck, wove together at strategic points as they descended, and dipped between her thighs to come up behind and tie at the waist. And at the moment the suit seemed to be chafing each and every one of those strategic points. Reaching past the lapels of her robe, she adjusted it to lie where it was supposed to.

“Lisa Morrow?”

She turned, a smile forming at the sound of Roarke’s voice -- a smile that froze across her teeth as she came completely around.

He was holding a beamer pointed between her breasts, the red glow of its charge burning deep in the weapon’s dark barrel.

“You told me you were Lisa Morrow,” Roarke said, his deep voice sounding almost metallic, chill. “But that’s not really your name, is it?”

“What else would it be?” The knife still lay wrapped in the towel at her feet. If she could get to it… Casually, she started to bend over.

“Captain Elise Morrell of the CSS frigate Star Raker. And leave the blade where it is, Captain. I’d hate to shoot you.”

“I’d hate to be shot,” Elise said easily, though her stomach was twisting with the sick realization that everything had just gone straight to hell. “You think I’m CSS?” She shook her head in carefully feigned astonishment. “Captain, I hate those bastards. No way would I work for them.”

“So you said -- just a bit too loudly.” Roarke began to circle around her, keeping his weapon aimed between her breasts as she pivoted with him. “Oh, you’re a good actress; you sounded damn convincing talking about the way they’d screwed you. And that’s what made me wonder, because no real rebel would tell a stranger that much.” He smiled mockingly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Tyus is crawling with spies.”

She tried out an apologetic smile. “I suppose I should be more discreet, but is that really a reason to kill me?”

He snorted. “Give it up, Morrell. I got an anonymous tip half an hour ago telling me exactly who you are. I checked it out with Starforce, and they confirm.” The black eyes chilled. “But even so, I don’t intend to kill you unless you give me no choice. Lie down on the ground. Kick the knife away first.”

Elise shrugged and started to obey, but just at that moment gust of wind grabbed at her robe, dragging it open to reveal her stringsuit-clad body and its nearly naked curves. Roarke’s eyes widened.

She knew an opening when she saw one.

Pivoting her body into a hard, tight kick, she struck his wrist so hard his beamer spun out of his hand. Elise reversed direction, meaning to plow her foot into his jaw on the return stroke, but Roarke wasn’t caught napping twice. He grabbed her ankle and jerked, dumping her on her backside in the sand. Even as he pounced on her, she was launching another attack, punching her palm upward in a strike calculated to drive the bones of his nose into his brain. He jerked his head aside, turning what would have been a lethal blow into one that did nothing more than bloody his mouth. She pulled back for another shot, but he grabbed her hands in both fists and pinned them to the ground. “Surrender, Captain,” he grunted. “You don’t want to go one-on-one with me.”

“I could say the same to you,” Elise growled, fighting to brace a foot against his body and kick him away. As she surged against him, she breathed in his scent; a faint tang of male sweat, a hint of something woodsy that must have been his soap, the trace of Scotch on his breath. She ignored it and tried even harder for the throw, but Roarke applied a counter pressure and kept her down, mashing her breasts into the hard wall of his chest, his powerful thighs imprisoning hers between them.

God, he was strong. Even worse, he had the combat skills to match. There was a host of techniques she knew to flip him clear or strike sensitive nerve groups; punches that could have incapacitated him, kicks that could cripple, but he countered every move she made. With a growl of rage, Elise realized that infuriating male body would prevail; she was just wasting strength she might be able use to escape later. She had no choice but to submit and watch for her chance. Sooner or later his guard would drop.

Feeling her go limp, Roarke nodded in satisfaction. “That’s better.” He pulled back slightly. “You…” His eyes widened.

Following the path of his gaze, Elise gasped.

Her stringsuit had slipped aside in the struggle, revealing the thrust of one nipple. Something about the way the cords pressed against the hard little nub made her breast look more erotically naked than it would have if she’d been nude.

Instinctively, Elise looked up at her captor, who stared back at her with a sort of disgruntled arousal. He liked what he saw, she realized, but he didn’t like liking what he saw.

“At least let me belt my robe closed,” she snapped.

To her surprise, Roarke released her hands and sat back on his heels, still straddling her. Which was when she realized that he had a massive erection.

Without thinking twice, Elise plowed a punch right at that very prominent target.

With a roar of raw fury, Roarke caught her fist just before it struck. He fell on her like the wrath of God, crushing her into the sand, pinning her arms and legs in a wide spread eagle under his powerful body.

Looking up into the rage in his black eyes, Elise felt her mouth go dry. She forced herself to shrug. “I couldn’t help myself.”

A slow, very nasty grin spread across his mouth. “Neither can I.”

Links:   Changeling Press       Amazon       Barnes and Noble      Apple Books      Kobo

 

 

An Excerpt from Forever Kiss

Dear Reader – It's been 17 years since Red Sage published the first book I ever wrote, Forever Kiss. Now Changeling Press is publishing a print and box set version of the book and its novella sequel, "Beth's Kiss." I've updated and rewritten both books to set them in the present day – they were originally set in the early 2000s. I've also added a new cover. The book is out now, including the print version.

Here's the blurb and excerpt:

Forever Kiss: Valerie is haunted by dreams of a man she knows only as Cowboy, her seductive lover. But Cowboy is real. And he’s a vampire. Cade is the only one who can protect Valerie from Ridgemont, his Sire, and he’s determined to do just that -- even if he must kidnap her to keep her safe.

Caught in a web of fear and passion, Valerie and Cade must learn to trust one another, even as Ridgemont stalks their every move. Their only hope of survival is the Forever Kiss.

Beth’s Kiss: Beth’s world comes crashing down when she’s kidnapped by Joaquin, a deadly immortal who means to use her in a plot to kill a pair of handsome vamps. Morgan and Garret are determined to avenge themselves against Joaquin, who murdered the woman they loved.

When they rescue Beth, Morgan and Garret must complete her transformation, saving her from the vampire virus raging through her system. But if Beth is to have a future with her two vampires, they must settle accounts with the ancient, powerful killer and his army of mercenaries.

Buy Links:

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In this excerpt, McKinnon picks Val up at the airport, hoping to protect her from his murderous sire. She believes she's been hired to write a human billionaire's memoirs. She has no idea the ancient intends to transform her into his vampire slave.

As they walked between the rows of parked cars, Val frowned, studying McKinnon intently.

The strap of her laptop was hooked over his broad shoulder, and he’d tucked one suitcase under his left arm while carrying the other in his left hand. Somehow, he managed all three with such easy strength they might as well be empty cardboard boxes.

“I’m curious,” she said. “Just who are you expecting to jump us?”

She thought she glimpsed startled guilt in McKinnon’s eyes before his face went politely blank. “What? What are you talking about?”

Val nodded at his free hand, held loose and empty at his side. “You look like you’re ready to draw down on somebody.”

“Come on, Ms. Chase, you really don’t think I carried a gun into a New York airport?” He gave her that charming grin she was beginning to suspect was a con.

“Did you?”

“Why would I do that?

Val lifted a brow at him. “You’re Ridgemont’s bodyguard, aren’t you?”

He barked out a laugh. “The exact opposite, actually.”

She grinned. “I don’t think so.” When he lifted a brow in question, she explained, “The exact opposite of a bodyguard would be an assassin, right?”

All the humor fled his eyes as his warmly handsome face took on an executioner’s chill. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

Val felt a shiver skate her spine as she remembered her last dream of Cowboy: his eyes glowing red as he buried his fangs in his victim’s throat. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged his impressive shoulders. “Take my word for it, Edward Ridgemont does not need a bodyguard.”

Her instincts began to clamor so loudly, she was tempted to tell him she’d catch a cab. Somehow, she didn’t want to see his reaction to that idea.

What the hell is going on?

They took an elevator up to the third level and got out. Skin crawling, she scanned the garage, lit by the harsh overhead lighting that cast pools of deep shadow. He led her between the rows of cars until he finally pointed an electronic key fob at a black Lexus. The trunk lid popped open obediently, and he began stowing her luggage inside with that same quick, effortless strength she’d noticed before. There were more suitcases in there than just her own, and Val wondered if Ridgemont habitually kept his luggage packed in case he was called out of town.

Finally, McKinnon closed the trunk and moved to open the front passenger door. She hesitated, her stomach jittery, her mouth dry. Imagination, she told herself. Get in the car, you idiot.

“Ms. Chase?” McKinnon turned to loom, his uniformed chest a solid wall of black.

Val licked her lips and stared up into his dark eyes. When she realized she was searching for a scarlet glow, she swore silently at herself and got into the Lexus, impatient with her own neuroses.

A nagging thought struck her as she settled into the butter-soft leather seat. Didn’t people who rode with chauffeurs normally sit in the back of the car?

Glancing behind her, she saw the back seat was full. A battered blue canvas gym bag sat

on the seat, along with… Was that a sheathed sword? And the kite-shaped metal thing standing in the floorboard looked just like a shield. “Does Mr. Ridgemont collect medieval weaponry?”

McKinnon hadn’t yet closed the door. As she watched, frowning, he crouched on the pavement beside her and took her right hand in his, reaching into a back pocket with the other. The glare of the garage security lights cast a harsh glow over the sharp planes of his face, making him appear white and gaunt.

A seventeen-year-old memory rose in her mind.

He hunched on his knees on her bedroom floor, his black eyes burning, empty and feral. He was big, almost as big as the German who’d attacked Mama, but the bones of his face stood out as if hadn’t eaten in weeks. His clothing hung on his body, and he shook in racking quivers. In a voice that barely sounded human, he rasped, “Get out. Run before he makes me kill you.”

He had fangs like a wolf.

She felt a weird plummeting sensation, as if the ground had suddenly dropped out from under her feet. “You’re the third vampire. You’re the one he sent to kill us. You were with them when they murdered my parents.”

He flinched and tensed. As he lifted his head, the shadow of the cap’s brim fell across his nose -- just the way the Stetson’s always had.

“Cowboy, you son of a bitch!” She drove her fist toward his elegant nose with every ounce of her strength.

 

An Excerpt from Forever Kiss

 

Dear Reader:

Forever Kiss was my first novel, though it was the second published. I wrote it all the way back in 2002, so the original version is full of all kinds of dated references.

 So when Changeling Press decided to release a new version of the book, I started updating it and cleaning it up. That meant things like MAC-10s became AR-15s, which in turn meant I had to change the wounds a mercenary's weapon inflicted. If the character had been shot that many times with an AR-15, he'd have much bigger holes in him. 

I also created a new cover and added new scenes, along with heating up some love scenes and punching up dialogue.

Please note that the universe of Forever Kiss is different than the Magerverse. Vampirism is a virus in the Kiss universe instead of  having magical origins, so women can become vampires. 

Here's a little taste...

Blurb: For years, Valerie Chase has been haunted by dreams of a man she knows only as Cowboy. When she was a child, her fantasy Texas Ranger rescued her from the nightmare vampires who murdered her parents. As an adult, she still dreams of him, but now he’s her seductive lover in nights of erotic pleasure. Yet Cowboy is far more than a dream. He’s very real. And he’s a vampire.

For years, Cade McKinnon has protected Valerie from Edward Ridgemont, the sadistic vampire who Turned him. But now, Ridgemont is determined to take her for his own, and Cade is the only one who can protect her. And he means to do just that, even if he must kidnap her to do it.

When Val finds herself abducted by her handsome dream man, she’s horrified to discover he’s one of the vampires she fears. Now, caught in a web of fear and passion, she and Cade must learn to trust each other, even as an immortal monster stalks their every move. Their only hope of survival is the Forever Kiss.

* * *

Val catapulted off the bed expecting to feel Cowboy’s fangs tear into her skin. Her ears still rang with the echo of her own screams. Racing for the bedroom door, she threw it open and flew out into the hall.

Hands clamped around her shoulders. She yelped and swung a wild fist.

“Hey, watch it!”

The cry yanked Val from the dream’s grip. Her eyes focused to find Beth staring at her, dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, fright and annoyance mingling on her young face. “You’re asleep, dammit,” her sister said, giving her shoulders a little shake. “Wake up!”

A dream. It had been a dream. “Cowboy was going to bite me.”

Beth rolled her eyes like the teenager she was. “So what else is new? And since when do you mind?”

Val sagged against the hallway wall as her terror drained away, leaving behind weak knees and a brassy taste in her mouth. “He was a vampire.”

“Oh, babe.” Beth reached out to scoop a lock of hair out of Val’s eyes. “You must be freaked, if you’re seeing Cowboy as monster material. Come on, sweetie, let’s fix some chocolate. I think we need to talk.”

* * *

Cade McKinnon jolted awake, frustrated fists gripping the sheets. The head of his erection brushed his flat belly, and his fangs ached. The room would have appeared pitch-black to human eyes, but his vampire vision easily made out the empty elegance of Ridgemont’s mansion, the polished mahogany and expensive crystal.

Valerie was gone. Not that she’d ever been there to begin with.

And he’d terrified her, dammit. Their last time together shouldn’t have ended in fear, but he’d lost control of both the Hunger and the dream.

Reaching for Valerie’s mind without feeding first had been a mistake, but he’d had to see her, touch her, one final time. Knowing he’d never have another chance, he’d wanted to capture as much of her as he could. Silken skin, long, muscled legs, velvet pink nipples, the dizzying musk of her scent, the hot, salty feast between her thighs.

With a groan of frustrated hunger, Cade rolled onto his belly. Once, twice, again, he ground his hips into the tangled linen sheets, imagining her tight and slick around him. Throwing back his head, he came with a growl, his fingers clamping the soft fabric of the pillow.

Heart pounding, he collapsed, the taste of bitterness and loss in his mouth. Finally, he shook off the depression and rolled out of bed.

It was time to get ready for the last night of his life.

* * *

“He doesn’t even exist,” Val said, hands still shaking faintly as she sliced slivers from a chocolate bar into a saucepan of milk. She and Beth stood in the apartment’s wonderfully normal kitchen with its cheery strawberry wallpaper and cream counter tops. Unfortunately, her vibrating instincts kept insisting Cowboy was somewhere just out of sight, all sex and fangs and menace. She breathed in, trying to settle her jangling nerves with the scent of chocolate and simmering milk. “He’s just the world’s longest running dream. Hell, I lost my job this week -- I have real stuff to be upset about. Why do I feel so damn betrayed?”

“Well, for one thing, your own personal knight in shining armor is not supposed to turn on you.” Beth perched on the counter next to the stove, swinging her tanned legs as she watched the cocoa preparations. “Anyway, I’ll bet you had the nightmare because of the job.”

“Maybe.” Stirring the chocolate, Val studied her sister. Beth was a tall girl, barely eighteen, her elfin face dominated by perceptive brown eyes. A loose red shirt skimmed down her rangy, athletic body to the tops of her thighs. Like almost everything else she owned, the shirt was smudged with oil paint -- peaches, browns, ochers, blues. Matching smears marked her fingers and the bridge of her slim nose. “Working late again?” Val asked. “You getting enough sleep?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother, I’m getting enough sleep. I’ve just got to finish Tommy Wilson’s portrait. I promised Mr. Wilson I’d have it by Mother’s Day, and I’m close to deadline.”

“Well, don’t push too hard while I’m gone.” Val bit her lip, worrying once again whether she was doing the right thing in leaving Beth at home while she went to New York. Taping the interviews for Edward Ridgemont’s memoirs would take a good three weeks. That was a long time to leave the kid alone.

Still, Beth was eighteen. She’d be going off to college soon. Too, Val had never met her new employer. Ridgemont looked clean on paper, but she wanted to get to know him before exposing Beth to his influence.

Frowning, Val dug her fingers into the muscles she could feel contracting into knots in the base of her neck. She’d been making decisions about her sister’s welfare since their grandmother died seven years ago, but the process hadn’t grown any easier. Not that Grandma had been all that involved with Beth’s upbringing even before she died. The nearest bottle had always held far more fascination for her than her murdered son’s children.

“Have Cowboy dreams ever gone bad before?” Beth asked.

She lifted a brow. “You changing the subject?”

“Yes. I’m not going to New York, Val. I’ve got that portrait and a portfolio to finish. So -- Cowboy?”

“No.” She looked down into the melting chocolate slivers swirling around her spoon. “God knows I’ve had plenty of nightmares about vampires, but he’s always been the one saving me in them.”

According to a slew of child psychologists, Val had created Cowboy to protect her from her parents’ murderers -- the killers who became fanged monsters in night terrors she’d been having since age twelve. Yet tonight he’d tried to feed on her himself. She wondered what buzzwords the shrinks would have used for that little twist.

Logically Val knew there was no such things as vampires, any more than Cowboy himself existed. But logic didn’t keep her hands from shaking at the thought of those sharp white teeth. “He. Is. Not. Real,” she gritted, more to herself than her sister.

“Maybe not, but you’ve had him so long, he might as well be.” Beth propped her chin on her fist and smiled slightly. “When I was little, I thought he was real, just from listening to you talk about those dreams.”

“You weren’t alone. I believed in him half the time myself.” Sometimes she still did. Especially when she was impaled on that massive cock. Which definitely wasn’t a thought she had any intention of sharing.

“I was so jealous.” Beth shook her head. “I wanted Cowboy to visit my dreams too.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted him there tonight.” Remembering the seductive tenderness of those big hands, she suppressed a feline smile. Well, maybe at the beginning…

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, right. I see you fighting that grin.”

“Let’s just say his role in my dreams has --” the smile broke free “-- expanded over the years.”

“By a good six inches, I’ll bet.”

“Beth!” Val tried to fake outrage only to break into a wicked grin. “And it’s closer to eight.”

“Ha! Knew it!”

Forever Kiss will be out in late July. I hope you'll check it out!

Angela Knight

Excerpt From Wake Me

 

Dear Reader:

Over the next few months, I’m going to be putting out some of my classic erotic stories in new packages. Next up is Wake Me, a sexy little one-shot novella that should appeal to everyone with a taste for bad boys and wicked romance tropes.

Wedding Photographer Chloe Hart has just been dumped when she receives a mysterious gift: a painting of a handsome knight in a heavy gold frame worked with what appears to be magical sigils. She promptly hangs the painting up in place of her cheating ex-boyfriend‘s portrait.

That night, she has the most delicious dream of Lord Radolf of Varik, the medieval conqueror who has just seized her castle. He seduces her in a red-hot encounter that makes her forget all about ol’ what’s his name. The next night, Radolf is back, this time as the captain of a pirate ship, while she’s a passenger on the ship he’s just boarded. The night after that, he’s a Wild West sheriff.

Night after night, Radolf and Chloe act out some deliciously erotic scene from her favorite guilty-pleasure romance novels. And every single dream seems utterly real, down to the last scent and taste.

What Chloe doesn’t realize is that what’s all fun and games for her is desperately serious for Radolf. He’s been a prisoner for eight hundred years in a castle of a witch, and he can’t escape until he can find a woman who cares enough to free him. Is Chloe that woman?

Even as the two begin to fall in love, a new and horrible fear grips Radolf: what will the witch do to Chloe?

Buy Links:

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In this excerpt, Chloe has her first dream encounter with Radolf, finding herself the lady of the castle the knight has just overrun. Her elderly lady-in-waiting warns her to play nice with the conqueror...

“Heed me well, girl!” She shook an arthritic finger under Chloe’s befuddled nose. “None of your sharp tongue! Make him happy, or…”

“Wait a minute,” Chloe interrupted in growing outrage. “Let me get this straight. You expect me to play hide the broadsword with this guy so he’ll make things easier on everybody else? Forget that. No way am I…”

The man from the painting walked through the castle’s great doors, his chain mail ringing with every long stride. He looked even more stunningly gorgeous in person.

As Chloe gaped, he headed straight for her. His eyes burned hot and hungry, green as emeralds in sunlight, and his smile was raw, distilled sex.

Aimed right at her.

Chloe licked suddenly dry lips and squeaked, “On the other hand, what’s a little self-sacrifice between friends?”

When Radolf of Varik finally stopped to loom over her, her knees went weak. Damn, he was big. His green gaze flicked down to her cleavage in blatant anticipation, then up to her face again. Something in his expression put her in mind of Rhett stalking a particularly fat chipmunk. “Well met, milady.”

She gave him a dazed blink. “Right back atch…”

He went for before she could even get the rest of the sentence out of her mouth.

The kiss was not even remotely foreplay. It was a sex act all by itself, conducted with lips and tongue and teeth as Radolf’s big hands cupped her head and turned it here and there for his leisurely conquest. He bit, he licked, he suckled. He claimed every last millimeter her mouth.

And while he was at it, he made all kinds of feral promises about what he’d do to the rest of her, without ever saying a word beyond soft male growls. He made her feel more thoroughly plundered in five minutes than Chris had managed in six years. By the time he finally put her back down again, she was swaying.

It took her a full thirty seconds to realize she was also trussed like a turkey on a cooking show.

Chloe blinked down at herself in astonishment. Her wrists were tied behind her back and lashed tightly against her body with multiple turns of rope that circled her torso just under her bust. The pose thrust out her breasts, making the hard peaks of her nipples doubly obvious under the thin blue silk of her kirtle. “How the heck did you do that?” she demanded, too surprised for anger.

Radolf gave her a lazy grin. “Magic.”

Buy Links:

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Following Wake Me, I’ll be releasing the very first vampire novel I ever wrote, Forever Kiss, which I wrote in 2000. I’ve been revamping (see what I did there?) the book, taking out references to things like beepers and cleaning up a few other elements to current tastes. Like Wake Me, it will be published by Changeling Press.

Have a great spring. And thank you so much for visiting my blog!

Angela Knight

 

An Excerpt from Infernal Desire

 I've got a fun new book out, completely separate from the Mageverse series I think you'll enjoy. In this one, a half-demon succubus falls for a half-angel demon hunter. She's a normal girl, really, if you ignore the murderous demon father, the horns, the imp best friend...and, oh yeah, the evil tail...

   For the past five years, Zana Alasdair has been obsessed with Rafe Cazadero. Which is an issue, to say the least, because Rafe is a half-angel demon hunter, and Zana is…Well, a demon. Sort of. Anyway, she's a succubus -- a half-human demon who draws magic from the erotic energy she collects making love to mortals . Which means Rafe would probably kill her if he caught her hanging around.

Which is why Pointy doesn't approve of her little crush on the hunter. Pointy is her evil tail, which has a mind of its own, and it's thoroughly convinced Rafe is Bad News.

And Pointy does have a…Well, point. Except if Rafe's not careful, he's going to get himself killed, and that would be a damn shame. Especially since one of those most interested in killing Rafe is Zana's psycho father, Jargoth, a Lord of Hell, who'd also like to kill Zana.

And Zana's been thinking.

Wouldn't it be great if she could talk Rafe and his magic sword into an alliance? She can be pretty persuasive…

Assuming she can persuade her evil tail to be a little less evil…  

 In this scene, Rafe has been bitten by one of Jargoth's demons while trying to save some mortal girls. Zana scoops up his holy sword, using an armored glove, and uses it to slay the demon, then transports him to a protective circle where she can try to treat the demon's poisonous bite. Rafe isn't pleased at being kidnapped. 

Order from:

Amazon   Apple Books  Barnes and Noble  Kobo Changeling Press

Zana

I teleported us to my bubble, a pocket of time and space protected from demons, Hell lords, angels and other undesirables. Rafe materialized spread-eagle in the healing pentagram. He took one look around, realized he was in the center of a working, and tried to leap to his feet. Thanks to the spell, his body refused to obey. Assuming it could, as badly as he was hurt. He swore at me in a torrent of gutter Spanish that made my brows climb.

I eyed him. “Does the Lord know you use language like that?”

He shut up just long enough to give me a vicious glare, panting in pain. I didn’t like his color at all. He was beginning to look distinctly green, and the ragged red wound had darkened to a bruised purple.

I extended a hand to one side and concentrated on what I wanted. The workshop promptly sent a spell book smacking into my palm.

“What in Lucifer’s sweet Hell?” Bazgaz plopped down on my shoulder like a thirty-pound bag of cement. I grunted, staggered, and just managed not to fall on my ass. The imp wasn’t that big, but he was solid -- about two feet tall, with an outsized head, two short horns, enormous red eyes and long, fuzzy ears that made him look like an azure Yoda. A dark blue mohawk jutted between them, running to the base of his skull. His skin was a pale blue that darkened to deep cobalt along his arms and legs. His hands and feet were equipped with retractable claws. Like most Diabol, including me, he had a long, whippy prehensile tail. He also wore a short loin cloth, mostly because I refused to look at his tiny junk.

Baz stared down at Rafe in absolute horror. “That’s a Hunter, Zana! Have you lost your mind? He’s gonna kill us all!” Then he blinked, taking a closer look. “Oh. He’s dying. That’s all right, then. But what are you doing with him?”

“He’s not dying,” I growled, flipping pages.

The imp studied the wound, sniffing the air. “Nope, definitely dying. Smells like Hell drake. Nasty bite. Your boyfriend’s about to be an all-you-can-eat buffet for flies.”

“Damn… you,” Rafe muttered, still struggling to move despite the pentagram’s immobilizing spell.

Bazgaz glanced over his shoulder, where I could feel my tail sketching shapes in the air. I didn’t look around, but I figured Pointy was bitching. Again.

“She is a succubus,” Baz told it. “They take these weird fits about men… Well, yeah, she should have better sense than to chase an angel…”

“Not… not an angel… Neph… Nephilim…” Rafe gasped. Which, I knew, meant he’d had a human mother. Like me. Sort of. “Couldn’t hold me if… if I was angel.”

Pointy jerked around a bit more, but I was frantically reading the index.

There! A treatment for a Hell drake bite. I flipped to the right page and scanned the spell.

Bazgaz leaned down from my shoulder, reading too. My tail curled around to the side, tip pointed at the page as if it, too, were reading. Which, since it didn’t have eyes, was impossible. Probably. Maybe. I think.

“Well, that’s not gonna work.” Baz looked around at Rafe. “Like I said, you’ll be a maggot Burger King in about twenty minutes. No way she can work this spell without ending up char-broiled.” The imp smirked, and Pointy made a gesture that looked downright obscene.

“I didn’t ask for… her… help!” Rafe gasped.

I ignored them, though my stomach sank. Baz had a point. I didn’t even have the materials I’d need. Unless…

I hurried over to Rafe, who glared up at me with his lips curled off his teeth, rage blazing in those stunning gold eyes. I sank to one knee beside the pentagram, pulled my glove off, and extended my palm over his body. His belt smoked at the proximity of my half-demon flesh.

“Yes!” I hissed. Thank Gaia, goddess of Earth, he had what I needed!

I gestured and his armor vanished, leaving him naked -- though for once I was way too preoccupied to notice the view. His utility belt reappeared in my hand.

“Hell… Hellspawn… what are you…”

Ignoring him, I looked down at his chest and swore Baz’s favorite string of filth. Rafe flinched at the demonic curses, but I didn’t much care. The bite looked even worse without armor in the way. Right over his heart gaped the radiating spoke pattern where the drake’s teeth had sunk into flesh. The bite was now black where the teeth had scored, red and gory around the edges. Dark, venomous streaks radiated from it as the poison spread.

If I was going to save him, I had to do it now. There wasn’t time to look for a spell that would be less risky. Hopefully, his Lord wanted him saved. After all, God had kept the Neph alive this long against incredible odds. In fact, He had even allowed my presence. He must have known about me. So this would work. Probably. It had to.

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An Excerpt from my new Box Set, Unmasked

 

Changeling Press has collected a box set of my sexy superhero stories. Several of these have been out of print for years now with other publishers, and one of them was never published at all, so we've collected them all and released them in this nifty box set. Here's an excerpt from the first of them, "Hero Sandwich." 

Hero Sandwich: When Meg Jennings finds herself at the mercy of a pair of kinky heroes, she discovers keeping a wicked secret can be good, dirty fun.

Voodoo: Voodoo is tired of waiting for Lynx. Time to show him everything she can do with her psychic superpowers.

Taming Jack: Lark Anderson is determined to save Deputy Jack Ramsey -- even if it means accepting an inhuman invader.

Natasha and the Android: When Natasha is kidnapped by an android supervillain who wants to find out why humans are so obsessed with sex, she realizes the dark side has a lot more going for it than she thought.

Masks & Mistletoe: From rescuing a ten-year-old from an evil Santa to celebrating a BDSM Christmas, superheroes Lock and Ultra explore discipline, dominance and the kinky way…

Warning: Includes forced seduction and adult kink themes that some readers may find objectionable.

Publisher’s Note: Unmasked (Box Set) contains the previously published novellas Hero Sandwich, Voodoo, Taming Jack, Natasha and the Android, and Masks & Mistletoe.

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Cougar had chosen his vantage point carefully, right on the edge of the rooftop. He figured he’d be silhouetted against the streetlights below.

Easy for anybody flying overhead to spot.

“Think she’ll show?” Lynx asked. The communications unit in Cougar’s mask was so good, it sounded as if his brother was whispering right in his ear.

“Tonight?” Cougar shrugged. “Who knows? Eventually? Yeah, eventually.”

Lynx grunted. “Hope she doesn’t take too long. We’ve got more important things to do.”

“Patience, Grasshopper. She’s had this coming for a while. And I mean to make sure she gets it.”

There was no sound for a moment except the roar of traffic from below. A jet screamed by overhead. Finally, Lynx asked, “Isn’t that a little extreme? I mean, it’s not like she’s Nightwolf. She’s just a photographer.”

“What, you enjoy being a joke on Leno?” The photo in the New York Daily Journal had been taken immediately after last night’s brawl with Battle Ax. Unfortunately, the brotherly arm

Cougar had thrown around Lynx’s shoulders had looked like something entirely different to people who’d been speculating about their sexual preferences for years. Everybody from Jon Stewart to Conan O’Brien had riffed on it.

In the shadows of the building’s rooftop elevator, Lynx shifted his weight, boots scraping on the cement roof. Cougar’s animal-acute hearing picked up the sound clearly. “People have been making those jokes since we started out. Like you always say, that’s what happens when you run around in leather. Paparazzi was only doing her job.”

“That’s not what you said when Jay said we make a cute couple.”

“I was ticked. Look, Cougar, pissing us off isn’t against the law, so we can’t take her to jail. What the hell are we going to do with her once we do catch her?”

Cougar smiled slowly. “I’ll think of something.”

* * *

Years of experience had taught Meg the perfect flying height if she wanted to spot supers in action. Even so, sometimes she circled the city for hours without seeing anything worth shooting.

 

It was the luck of the…

What was that?

She braked into a hover, attention caught by a human shape standing on a rooftop, silhouetted against the lights. The guy was so broad-shouldered he just had to be super-powered. Meg shot down for an invisible fly-by.

He stood with one leg bent, bracing a boot against the low rooftop wall. Soft brown leather armor emphasized his narrow waist and the contrasting width of powerful shoulders. A leather helmet in the shape of a cat’s head covered his face. The cat’s roaring jaws framed his lower face and the grim line of his mouth. She’d always found that mouth perversely sexy.

Cougar.

Meg’s heart began to pound as her instinct to run like hell battled her need for a closer look. New York’s premier hero had fascinated her since she was a scared fifteen-year-old watching him

battle her father. Every time Gerald had reeled under one of those powerful punches, guilt, terror, and hope had warred in her soul. Secretly, she’d dreamed Cougar would rescue her.

And in the end, he’d done just that.

Meg was twenty-three now, and Cougar still starred in her fantasies, though her dreams had taken a distinctly adult turn these days. He was just so… male, so dominant, so hard-edged and grimly handsome. You just knew he’d be the type to go for handcuffs and kinky sex.

She’d even told Richard about those fantasies one night after three glasses of really good champagne. Richard being Richard, he’d offered to rent a costume, but she hadn’t been quite that drunk.

Now there he stood in the flesh. Cougar. All by himself. Not fighting anybody. She could actually get close and just look at him, instead of snapping a shot and fleeing for her life.

Meg drifted down to hover ten feet away. Taking her time, she floated closer, slow enough to avoid creating a rush of air that would betray her to Cougar’s hyper-human senses. He didn’t seem aware of her presence. He just stared down at the street below as though watching something, still as a hunting cat.

Damn, he was big. Had to be six-four at least. Meg was willing to bet his armor wasn’t padded, either. It exposed his arms from shoulders down to the beginning of his clawed gauntlets, and those biceps were mouth-watering. Eyeing the elegant curve of hard, tanned skin, Meg imagined what he’d look like naked, all that glorious brawn on display. His body must be as delicious as Richard’s.

Except Cougar was a good guy. She wasn’t so sure about Richard.

* * *

She was right in front of him. He could smell her. The hint of jasmine in her floral shampoo blended with the rich, complex scent of woman.

Aroused woman.

But good as his feline senses were, Cougar couldn’t see her. She was completely invisible.

Wait for it, he told himself. Let her get closer. He had only one shot at this. If he blew it, she’d make damn sure he never got close again. And he wanted to get very, very close. It was a good thing he wore armor over his groin, or she’d have seen his hungry erection.

Cougar spared a thought for Lynx, ready to pounce from the shadows. They hadn’t dreamed she’d be brazen enough to approach him head-on. He doubted his brother was even aware she was here. The serum they’d taken as teenagers had given Lynx speed and agility instead of acute senses and super-strength.

Cougar breathed in slowly. The light breeze brought more of that wonderful female scent, as though she was coming closer, flying right up to the edge of the roof he stood on.

Wait for it.

* * *

Meg wondered what color his eyes were behind his mask’s opaque eye slits. The only thing she could really see of him was the lower half of his face.

She’d always thought Cougar had a grim, hard mouth, but now she realized his upper lip had a deliciously sensual curve, while the lower pouted ever so slightly. God, she wanted to kiss him.

Why not?

Why not just zip in, steal a kiss, and zoom off before he could grab her? He’d never know who it was. Hell, he might not even be sure what happened.

Her heart thudded an eager adrenalin beat. It was so risky. If he got those big hands on her…

She’d love it.

No, Meg, you would not, she told herself sternly. You’d go to jail.

Well, probably not. It wasn’t against the law to steal a kiss, and he didn’t know she’d been Sneak Thief. Where was the harm? Besides, Cougar might be big and strong, but speed was Lynx’s talent. She was pretty sure she could fly off before he could catch her.

Meg floated closer. One inch. Two. Sloooowly. Holding her breath. She could smell him now, leather and man. His armor was exquisitely made in contrasting shades of warm brown, trimmed in metallic gold. It looked faintly Roman and extremely butch, unlike the spandex many heroes wore. She’d seen it stop bullets, so it had to be made of something more than just leather.

Her gaze focused on his seductive mouth. She licked her lips. Her heartbeat thundered. She was close enough now to reach out and kiss him. Tensing, ready to fly, Meg leaned forward the few inches she’d need to make contact with those velvet lips…

Powerful arms snapped around her like the jaws of a trap springing shut. She slammed against Cougar’s chest so hard the breath left her in a stunned whoof.

As Meg gasped, a white grin spread across the mouth she’d wanted so badly to taste. “You’ve been a bad, bad girl, Paparazzi.”

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you'll check it out!

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Designing the Perfect Romance Cast

I'm teaching a new class beginning Feb. 1, 2021, so I thought I'd share a sample in case other writers would like to sign up. I've been teaching online classes for fifteen years or so now, but this one is brand new, so it's completely new material. I'm really excited about it. 

 You can sign up here. Here are some reviews of my classes.

Designing the Perfect Romance Cast

By Angela Knight

 

I want to thank you for taking my class on designing the perfect romance cast. It’s my objective with this class to give you the tools that can help you become a successful romance writer. The first step is to understand what romance readers are looking for — which is the key to becoming an autobuy.

As someone who made the New York Times list a few times, I’ve given this some thought.

Success for a romance novelist isn't a matter of poetic descriptions of sunsets, great costumes, witty dialogue, pulse-pounding fight scenes, or even toe-curling sex. What matters to romance readers is the answer to one question: “will these two people get their Happy-Ever-After?” The HEA needs to be seriously in doubt all the way through the book. The deck has to be stacked against the couple from page one.

Maybe he's a demon hunter and his seductive lover is a demon. Maybe he’s a widower Earl with four kids and not enough of the ready to maintain his estate, and she’s his penniless governess.

But the problem that ultimately drives the book can't be some purely external problem like money or social status. After all, people married their governesses all the time, so there must be more to it than that.

The real problem must come from insidethe characters — their fears and emotional scars. Maybe the demon believes that despite everything good he does to win the hero's love, he's basically evil, and he can literally never be good enough. His hero knows demons are born deceivers who can never really be trusted.

Perhaps the governess heroine has been sexually harassed by prior employers, and trust doesn't come easily for her. Maybe her Earl has been played by social climbers before.

Those are the kinds of problems that make readers wonder how in the world you're going to get to Happily Ever After.

Luckily, your protagonists have a fabulous matchmaker on their side: the villain.

You read that right. More than any matchmaking Regency mama, a good villain is a romance author’s best friend. Every time your protagonists are ready to throw in the towel on their love, your antagonist does something nasty that drives them back together.

That doesn't mean the antagonist has to be out to destroy the world with a snap of his fingers. He can be your hero's deeply religious father, upset that his gay son is "going to hell." Daddy may try various well-meaning thing to make his son see the light. Things which, of course, backfire. Maybe he gets the hero fired, forcing him to move in with the secondary hero to save money.

Or if things are going well between the couple, Daddy can also do things to break the couple up. It all depends on where you are in the plot. The whole idea is to keep the reader wondering, "There’s no way they’re getting a Happy Ever After given this mess."

And it’s not just the antagonist, either. Every character, from protagonist to walk-on, must serve one of four purposes in every scene in your book:

1.      Increase the stress on the romance by posing either a physical or psychological threat to the relationship.

2.      Make one of the two protagonists more sympathetic through their interaction with them. That can be as dramatic as the protagonist saving the character, or as subtle as the protagonist's showing kindness or affection toward them. (We care about people who care about people.)

3.      Make the protagonist seem more realistic. It's hard to get worked up about the fate of cardboard people. If the character has no parents, boss, friends, or coworkers, the protagonist doesn't seem as real.

Even if the parents are dead, they must at least be mentioned. This is true even in a short story where space is at a premium. The mention of them doesn't have to be detailed, but you need at least a sentence or two about them.

4.      The character can act as a sounding board for the protagonist. Long periods of protagonist introspection are boring. If the protagonist argues their options with their best friend, it a lot more interesting. Especially if said friend thinks the protagonist's plan is nuts and they're going to end up dead.

 

In the next month, I'll elaborate on these ideas in lessons I'll post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you're invited to send me up to 2000 words in a Word file from your current work in progress. That can be scenes, raw ideas, or ideas that you're toying with. I'll give you my feedback in comments in the document. Email it to me and I'll respond privately.

Lessons will include:

1.      Introduction – How a good romance cast functions as a unit.

2.      What’s the big idea? – What kind of story do you want to tell? How do you make sure it would make a good book? Is it novel or novella, and how can you tell?

3.      From Rom-coms to Game of Thrones: What’s the subgenre for this kind of book, and why does it matter? What’s the audience for that subgenre, and what are they looking for?

4.      Brave New Worlds – Designing the story world, even a contemporary.

5.      Imperfect for Each Other -- Creating a heroic couple who’ll drive each other crazy… in and out of bed.

6.      A Match Made in Hell – Creating an antagonist to make your couple’s lives miserable … and keep readers up all night turning pages.

7.      Sidekicks – Supporting characters who bring your protagonists to life and make them question what the hell they’re doing.

8.      Henchmen – The importance of a good flunky with bad intentions.

9.      Perfect Pitch – How to give each character a realistic “voice.”

10.   Snark, Sarcasm and malice – Using humor to make readers laugh … or scare the daylights out of them.

11.  A Good Row – Writing a knock-down-drag-argument without making your characters sound like jerks.

12.  All Together Now – How to put everybody through their paces on the page.

 

I'm really looking forward to this class. I always learn a lot from teaching, and I find it helps my own writing. I hope it will help yours too.

Now, are there any questions?

Angela Knight

An Excerpt from Master of Desire

I've been very busy writing this summer. First up is Master of Desire, the next book in my Mageverse series, out now.

For half-Sidhe billionaire Conal Donovan, rich people problems include an ex who’s an evil Fairy goddess named Siobhan. When Siobhan sends a team of werewolf terrorists to kidnap and torture him, he’s rescued by Helena Baker, African American, former FBI agent, and wolf-shifter. But Conal’s not out of the woods, because Siobhan has sworn to kill him, his sisters, and all his Sidhe friends. He and Helena decide the only way to protect the innocent is to focus Siobhan’s vicious jealousy on them by pretending to be lovers.

Helena Baker’s best friend is a gun inhabited by a retired death god, so she can handle werewolves. She’s less sure about the handsome white guy with the talking phoenix and the relentless commitment to protecting his sisters. Especially considering that she’s in her Burning Moon -- the werewolf version of heat. Her pheromones make Conal just as interested in her as she is in him. But is their growing love real? And what will happen when the hormones wear off?

Love really shouldn’t be this complicated.

Buy Links: Amazon    Apple   Kobo   Changeling Press  (B&N Link coming soon.)

In this excerpt, Helena fights for her werewolf life as Conal tries to escape from the chair his werewolf kidnappers have chained him to. He's covered in werewolf bites, and suffering from blood loss.

***

Conal convulsed as the werewolves closed in on his would-be rescuer. His chains rattled. Any full-blooded Sidhe would have made short work of them -- the supposed fairy allergy to cold iron was a myth -- but he just didn’t have that much power. Twisting his wrists, he groped for the link he’d been trying to burn through. Torture made it tough to cast spells.

Blood loss, shock and pain had taken a toll on his abilities, but the sight of the female werewolf going down under her attackers sent a wave of blessed adrenaline through his body. Magic flared between his fingertips, and Conal gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain the shield that protected his skin as the link blazed hot, then finally parted.

Conal wrenched with the last dregs of his strength. Metal rattled as the ends of the chain dropped to the floor. Panting, he struggled to unwrap the loops. Finally the last of them fell away, and he heaved out of the chair. The room spun, but he steadied himself, tried to take a step… and fell on his face. He’d forgotten the chains binding his ankles to the chair legs. The impact jarred his savaged chest and belly, sending black spots dancing in front of his eyes. The darkness closed in…

Liam Neeson yelled in his ear, “Get up, boy, before they kill her!”

“The… fuck?” Blearily, he managed to open his eyes and turn his head toward the sound.

A shotgun lay on the floor about a yard away. “I said, get up!” the voice bellowed, coming from the weapon. Must be using the same speech spell as Essus. It still sounded like the Taken guy. The light finally dawned. That’s not an actor, that’s Maeve’s pet death god. Which meant his werewolf rescuer was Helena Baker.

“Pick me up!” the gun demanded. “The geas only lets me use my power if someone’s touching me.”

Which suggested Maeve didn’t trust the fucker. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but Conal didn’t care. Even as another blazing wave of pain slashed his shredded belly, he groped for the gun with a shaking hand. Managed to grab Liam’s fat barrel. It felt hot under his fingers. “My ankles are still chained.”

Magic swirled around his legs. “Not anymore.”

His feet fell away from the chair, which now lay toppled across his butt. He kicked it away, gasping as agony ripped through him. “Can you heal me?”

“What part of ‘death god’ don’t you get?”

Dammit. He gathered his strength and forced himself to hands and knees. Teeth gritted, he braced his hand on the fallen chair and managed to stagger upright, dragging the gun with him. Remembered an unpleasant rumor. “Don’t kill me.”

“Fine! Just save Helena!” Was that fear in the god’s voice?

Steadying himself, Conal raised the weapon. Christ, Liam was heavy. One of the kidnappers, red as an Irish Setter, staggered back from the knot of battling werewolves, clutching a sliced throat. Conal fired, bracing himself against the shotgun’s ferocious kick. It almost knocked him on his ass, but the red werewolf’s head exploded.

One down. He shifted his aim to the snarling, writhing dog pile, all claws, curses, and snapping teeth. Helena had black fur, but there were at least two that color…

“Don’t fire,” Liam snarled. “You’ll hit her.”

“Can’t you guide the damn bullet?”

“That’s not how it works. The geas won’t let me hit anything but what you aim at. Can you use a sword?”

His lips peeled off bloody, sticky teeth. “Hell, yes.”

Magic lit his senses, burning his hands as the shotgun became a two-handed great sword that was even heavier.

“Demon winds, you’re weak.” Liam sounded thoroughly disgusted.

“Just spent an hour being tortured,” Conal snapped back, angry shame storming through him. Fucking Siobhan.

“Fine! Here.” Magic burned his hands with cold fire. A heartbeat later, energy roared through his veins, blasting his spent body with a berserker’s strength. “It won’t last, so get to work.”

“Yes!” Conal swung the big blade up and charged, glorying in the surge of power, hungry for revenge. He wished he’d had Darkbane when these fuckers gated in, but the magical weapon had been in his bedroom. It might as well have been in New York.

He spun, building momentum, and chopped the sword into the nearest furry back with a triumphant bellow. The wolf screamed and twisted, one clawed hand darting toward Conal’s face. He ducked the swipe, simultaneously twisting the blade and jerking it free. The wolf yelped, high with anguish, and light blazed around him. When the glow vanished, he’d transformed into a timber wolf the size of a pony.

He’d also healed. The wolf whirled to race away, but Conal spun the sword and decapitated him. “Who’s a pussy now, Fido fucker?”

Another pair of yellow eyes flashed in his direction, and that wolf charged. Conal pivoted smoothly aside, swinging the sword two-handed, Derek Jeter going for a homer. The monster tried to dodge, but the blade sank into furry ribs. Howling, Conal levered the weapon up through the werewolf’s torso with all his berserker’s strength. The wolf clawed his forearms, raking furrows Conal barely felt as he twisted the blade free. The monster crumpled in a dying heap.

“Got the heart,” Liam told him. “Good work.”

Conal glanced down at his bloody arms, at his savaged stomach, and the analytical part of his brain wondered how the god was keeping him on his feet.  Then he decided he didn’t give a damn. Helena had done something permanent to one of her last three attackers. The fucker was down on the ground, writhing, beginning to glow. About to transform and heal again. Oh, hell, no.

Conal headed for Helena and her final two foes, swinging Liam at the downed wolf as he passed. Bone crunched, blood flew and the magical glow vanished with the monster’s death.

“You have a nasty streak,” the god observed. “I approve.”

“Five years with Siobhan makes you mean.” He freed the blade with an easy twist of his wrist. Blood pattered on the floor. Fido’s? Eh, could be mine.

One of Helena’s attackers sensed him coming and leaped away. Conal’s sword stroke missed, but a whisker swirled through the air, neatly severed. Liam was sharp. I do love a good blade. Conal coiled, his hands flexing on the sword hilt. The nearest wolf turned to snarl, lips peeled back from fangs the length of daggers.

Conal felt… odd, despite the singing power, almost floating. Blood loss.

“Demon winds, you’re dying on your feet,” Liam said. “Hell with it, let’s shoot him.” In the next instant the sword was a shotgun again. Even as the wolf leaped for him, Conal found the trigger and fired.

The blast as the wolf’s torso exploded knocked Conal off his feet. He lay stunned, vaguely embarrassed.

“You’re done,” Liam told him. “Throw me to Helena.”

But if I do that, I’m going to die, Conal thought muzzily. Oh, fuck it. He managed to sit up even as the world spun. “Helena!” And he threw the shotgun.

She caught Liam out of the air, whirled, and fired, all one smooth motion. As if from a distance, Conal heard the blast as the last wolf’s head exploded.

The world rolled sideways and went out.

* * *

Helena panted, every nerve in her body ablaze with pain. She hadn’t dared shift during the fight, since there were too fucking many of them. And she’d paid the price. She felt like hamburger after a trip through a meat grinder. Probably looked it, too.

Drawing on her magic, she transformed. Human again, she bent, panting as she braced Liam’s shotgun butt on the floor like a cane. God, that’s better. But not by much. The shift had returned her clothing and healed her injuries, but it had done fuck all for the exhaustion of using so much magic on Mortal Earth.

Lifting her head, she looked around for Conal. He lay ten feet away, covered in even more blood than when she’d dived over the balcony rail. Crap. She lifted Liam and hurried toward him. The closer she got, the worse he looked. “Is he still alive?”

“Barely,” Liam growled. “I’m calling Maeve.”

“What about the geas?”

“Siobhan’s cretins are dead, so the spell isn’t in effect.” Thoughtfully, he added, “Conal acquitted himself rather well. Vicious fighter. I’d figured he’d be a pampered little halfer.”

“Racist.” Helena dropped to her knees beside the Changeling. What she could see of his face was paper pale beneath the blood. The werewolves had mauled him like a dog pack. He had bites and raking claw wounds to his chest, belly, face, legs and arms. “How in the hell was he fighting?”

“Berserker spell. Too bad I can’t do that on you.”

“If you could, I wouldn’t be magic resistant, and you’d have killed me by now. Did you call Maeve? He’s covered in blood.”

“I did, and not all of it’s his.”

Conal’s lids lifted and he looked up at her feverishly. They stared at each other for a long, spinning moment. God, his eyes… The violet irises pulled you in, made you want to watch all those shifting shades of blue and purple.

“I’m Helena Baker. Maeve sent me.”

“I know.” A lunatic grin broke across his face. There was blood on his teeth. “Marry me,” he gasped. Then his eyes rolled up, and he passed out.

She blinked down at him, nonplussed.

“Well,” Liam drawled. “He does have good taste, though as proposals do go, that one could have used some work.”

She felt the fireworks burst of an opening dimensional gate. “Conal!” Maeve cried, striding across the room, Essus clinging to one shoulder.

The phoenix eagle’s wings beat in agitation. His feathers were glowing, dangerously close to bursting into flame. “Maeve, he’s dying…”

“Not for long.” Maeve dropped to one knee and extended a hand over the Changeling’s bloody chest. Magic poured from her long fingers.

Helena’s nose stung with the scent of ozone as the Mother of Fairies set to work healing each of the Changeling’s wounds, her swirling power making his entire body glow. “Do you think he’s been infected?” Any human bitten that many times would shortly turn furry. Merlin’s Curse was catching.

Maeve shook her head, bells and charms tinkling in her hair. “No, he has enough Sidhe blood to block the spell.”

“Oh, good.” It would suck for the poor bastard to survive all this, only to die from the Bite. Twenty percent of Direkind didn’t survive their first transformation -- their magic escaped their control and incinerated them. Not that the first shift was a party even for the lucky eighty percent. Helena grimaced, remembering her own.

By the time the Mother sat back on her heels with a sigh of satisfaction, Conal was healed and whole. Even the blood was gone, leaving no sign whatsoever of the horrific torture he’d suffered, beyond those gore-splattered jeans. He was otherwise naked, elegant chiseled torso bare, with long legs, ridiculously broad shoulders and powerful arms -- the kind of body designed for combat and seduction.

He stirred with a groan of relief as his lids fluttered and lifted. His face was as ridiculously beautiful as his body. Thick dark brows drew attention to those arresting violet eyes and the kind of sculpted, aggressively masculine features you usually saw only on busts of Roman generals. Long dark hair spilled around his head, revealing ears that swept into elegant points. Changelings so obviously Sidhe usually employed some magical tatt to keep a human disguise going even while they were asleep or unconscious. Probably that sigil on his left pectoral, judging by the magic it radiated. Being a werewolf, Helena saw him as he was. It was a damn nice view…

Her libido picked that moment to wake up and start rumbling, nipples tightening, heat gathering in her pussy. Oh, shut up. He’s not going to be interested in me. He’s seen my inner Big Bad Wolf.

Healed or not, it took Conal a minute to start tracking. He blinked up at them in confusion, before he sucked in a gasp and jolted into a sitting position, looking wildly around.

“All is well,” Maeve told him, catching a bare shoulder to gently urge him back down before he could leap away. “Those who hurt you are dead, thanks to my wolf.”

“Actually, he got some of them himself,” Helena said. She’d seen him swinging that great sword like Arthur in a snit. “Good job with Liam, by the way.”

When she’d first glimpsed him with the shotgun, her first thought was Oh, shit. Helena was the only one who could handle Liam without risking a self-inflicted bullet. Apparently, the death god had behaved himself -- for once.

Unlike the werewolves. Grimacing, Helena glanced around at the chaos and blood splatter that reminded her too much of her own crime scene. Her stomach lurched, and she quickly returned her attention to Conal.

He was looking around at the carnage with a shell-shocked expression. Probably having a horrific flashback of his own.

Impulsively, she laid a hand on his shoulder. Conal jerked, staring at her before he visibly forced himself to relax and give her a smile. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

She smiled back, making it as kind as she could. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a hell of a day.” But at least you’re not going to turn furry.

Being a monster was nobody’s idea of fun.

 ***

I hope you'll check it out!

Buy Links: Amazon    Apple   Kobo   Changeling Press  (B&N Link coming soon.)

An excerpt of Master of Honor

They've got a second chance. But can love - and trust - rise again from the ashes of honor?Blurb – A month ago, Cheryl Parker thought she was an ordinary woman – a nurse, a mother, a woman whose lover had walked out. Now she’s gained incredible power thanks to an alien spirit who has made her immortal. She looks twenty again. And her ex is back.It’s not unusual to discover an old lover kept secrets. Ulf’s secret is that he’s an immortal vampire Knight of the Round Table.The good news is, he still loves Cheryl. The bad news is, he thinks the creature inhabiting her is a potential threat to humanity. The worst news is, there is a threat – and it could well kill them all. Ulf wants nothing more than to be with Cheryl again. The problem is her magic resembles that of a dragon who tried to set a small town ablaze. And she knows more about the creature than she’s saying.Even as passion rekindles between them, Cheryl and Ulf must overcome years of lies and mistrust. Otherwise they’re doomed -- and so is everyone else.Because the creature stalking them is something worse than a dragon. Much, much worse.Master of Honor will be released April 3 at the retail price of $4.99. It will be released at the Changeling website in all formats  March 27 at the reduced price at $4.24.Pre-order Links:Amazon       Barnes and Noble       Apple iBooks          Kobo Charleston, SC, 1981Ulf couldn’t get that last image of Grigori Kuznetsov out of his head. Bloody. Broken. Dead.Two KGB agents had hurled the young engineer out a tenth-story window after a brutal beating. Payback for smuggling blueprints for a Soviet fighter jet to the CIA. Since Ulf had been the one to convince Grigori to pass the information to the Americans, he felt responsible -- especially given that he’d been comatose in the Daysleep when the KGB kicked in the engineer’s door. Yeah, he’d hunted down those responsible and exacted his revenge, but it was a little Goddamn late at that point. I’m getting sick of watching innocents pay the price for my heroics. He grimaced, hearing the bitter self-pity in the thought. No wonder Arthur had told him to take a month off.” You need a break, Ulf. You’re so burned out, you’re one long ash.”So here he was. Charleston. The lovely South Carolina town had always called to him, with its art, architecture and beautiful beaches. Maybe it could help him rediscover his commitment to humanity’s survival. Though some humans really need killing. With extreme prejudice and suitably agonized screams.Brooding, Ulf turned down King Street, though he had no interest in quaint shops or art galleries. Hunger gnawed at him, making the roots of his fangs sting. A block ahead, he spotted a red neon sign. Scarlett’s. Probably a bar. Just the thing -- he needed to get laid. Or failing that, a good fight would blunt the edge of his frustration…“Dixon, you’re drunk.” It was the tone that caught Ulf’s attention. Tense, alarmed, tightly controlled. “You need to leave now.”“Now, don’t be like that. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.” The reply sounded alcohol-slurred and nasty.Eyes narrowing, Ulf glanced around, homing in on the source of the voices. They were so muffled, a mortal wouldn’t have heard anything at all.“I’m going to call the cops if you don’t get out.”“Baby, all I want is a little kiss…”A scuffle, a soft, outraged cry, ugly laughter.“Get off me!”There. The shop across the street. Granger’s Books. A plate glass window displayed a poster of a shirtless man with long blond hair walking out of the ocean. Between the poster and the shelves beyond it, Ulf couldn’t see who was doing what inside. He crossed the street at a jog, ignoring the squeal of brakes and the blare of a horn. Jerking the bookstore door open, he stalked inside.“Dixon, you prick, I said no!”Ulf’s upper jaw ached. He clamped his mouth shut, knowing his fangs had emerged in his rage. He paced through the shop, spotting a man’s dark head over a set of bookshelves in the back. The drunk seemed to be wrestling with someone too short to show above the shelves. Ulf stormed down the aisle and rounded the bookshelf.Just as the woman tore herself out of the beefy young man’s arms, snatched up the carpet sweeper lying on the floor, and drove its business end into her attacker’s crotch. The guy bent double with a howl, grabbing himself, and she slammed the sweeper into his jaw.With a muffled grunt, he toppled to hit the carpeted floor with a thud. The bastard sprawled there on his back, unmoving, eyes rolled back.Ulf stopped, nonplussed, staring down at Dixon. The prick was barely out of his teens, with the broad, beefy musculature of a college football player and short-cropped brown hair. He wore a pink knit shirt with a tiny alligator on it, a pair of hunter green chinos, and brown leather Docksiders.Eighties fashion could be eye-watering.“When I say no, I mean no, asshole!” the girl snapped, glaring. Her victim didn’t stir, beyond the blood rolling from a cut on his swelling lower lip.“Would you like me to take out the trash for you?” Ulf asked, suddenly finding himself in a much better mood.Her head snapped up. She stared warily at him a moment, hazel eyes narrow, sensual mouth in a tight line. “No, but if you’ll hang around to keep an eye on this jerk while I call the cops, I’d appreciate it.” She curled a lip at her would-be attacker. “I’m filing charges. I hope they kick him out of school.”Ulf grinned. “Good for you.”“He thinks he’s entitled to anything he wants because he can throw a ball. Sorry, dickhead, no.” She wheeled and stalked toward the checkout counter, grabbed the big black rotary phone sitting there, and dragged it closer.Ulf walked over, leaned a hip on the counter and watched her dial. When the dispatcher came on, she told him what had happened in a few clipped, crisp sentences, then gave the store’s address.Damn, she was pretty. She wore her dark hair quite short on the sides, but long enough on top to curl down over big hazel eyes. Her face was delicately boned, with an angular jaw and a long, narrow nose. That soft mouth looked so deliciously full and pink, he instantly wanted a taste.Her loose black T-shirt tucked into tight jeans, cinched by a wide, chunky belt. The jeans’ rolled cuffs displayed high-top black sneakers. Dozens of bracelets clicked on her narrow wrists, some leather, others metal.Hanging up the phone, she caught him staring. Her return gaze was justifiably wary, given that he towered over her. “Thanks for charging to the rescue.” Her voice was low and pleasantly sexy.“You’re welcome, though you obviously didn’t need saving. I’m impressed.” Ulf nodded at the bruiser, who groaned, stirring. “He must outweigh you by seventy pounds.”“Yeah, but he’s also drunk and stupid.”Dixon stirred and opened his eyes. “Heeeyyyy,” he slurred. “Hey, wha’ happen’d?”“He’s a football player for some college, which he evidently thinks should impress me. Told me what position, but I wasn’t paying attention.” She extended a hand to Ulf. “Cheryl Parker.”“My head hurts,” Dixon moaned.“Good.” Ulf returned the shake, suppressing the urge to kiss her hand instead. Mortals didn’t do that anymore. Her palm felt small and warm in his. “Paul Rogers,” he said, giving the name on his false identification for this trip.“Ooow! My balls! What did you do to my balls?”“You had it coming,” Ulf told him, releasing her regretfully without looking away from those entrancing hazel eyes. “And you’re lucky she got to you first.”“Somebody call the amb’lance. I think I got a concussion. And my balls are swelling.”Ulf’s gaze fell on a paperback lying open face-down on the counter. Diverted, he lifted his brows. “The Return of the King?”“I love Tolkien. I was just thinking before I was so rudely interrupted…” She aimed a pretty sneer at Dixon. “that Samwise is the real hero of the book.”Ulf had read The Lord of the Rings trilogy back in the 1950s, but he remembered it vividly. “Well, he did keep Frodo in one piece.” Since Ulf had the same kind of relationship with Arthur Pendragon, he’d always approved of Sam.“Exactly!” Cheryl met his eyes and smiled. The bright joy of it pierced his cynical depression like a shaft of sunlight.That was when Sir Baldulf, vampire Knight of the Round Table, started falling for the mortal girl who didn’t need saving.“Hey. Hey? Anybody got a bag of frozen peas?” 
I hope you've enjoyed this! I hope you'll take a look. Angela Knight

A New Mageverse book is out!

Dear Readers – The next book of the Mageverse series is out now! I hope you’ll take a look.  After combat news cameraman Adam Parker covers a Times Square attack by blue- skinned aliens that costs hundreds of lives, the invaders try to kidnap him. Fortunately, the attempt is foiled by a sword-swinging Knight of the Round Table and his witch partner. But when the vampire knight removes his helmet, Adam realizes Sir Baldulf is the father who abandoned him and his mother when he was ten.
Ulf swears he and Opal Cassidy are Adam’s only hope of survival. Otherwise the aliens will keep coming after him. Furious, Adam wants nothing to do with either of them -- especially after Opal uses her magic to force him to run from the aliens instead of doing his job.
Opal has been ordered to seduce Adam and transform him into a vampire. Still grieving for a previous partner after more than a decade, the witch wants nothing to do with the handsome, cynical mortal. But orders are orders, so seduction it is.
Despite Adam’s bitterness and her grief, the two discover they have red-hot sexual chemistry. As the stakes climb and passion turns to love, Opal and Adam realize that if they don’t take a chance on each other, humanity will pay the price.
Order links: Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo Apple Changeling Press
Here’s the Excerpt:
 “Okay, fine.” He stepped over to her. She controlled the impulse to retreat. “But if we’re going to do this, I want to call the shots.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean I take the lead this time instead of you pulling my strings.”
Opal met his gaze and blew out a breath. Tried not to think about Joaquin. “All right.”
She waited for the kiss, but it didn’t come. Instead Adam just stared into her eyes. Opal shifted uncomfortably, but she had discipline, by God, and so she made herself wait.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Leave it all to me.”
“Fine,” she said, and started to cross her arms. Realizing that was self-defeating, she dropped them again and forced herself to meet his eyes. Found herself staring. Joaquin’s had been a warm, velvet brown, but Adam’s were a vibrant turquoise. He really was ridiculously handsome, with that straight nose, high cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed honey beard framing his jaw line. His hair was the most gorgeous she’d ever seen on a man, a hundred shades from rich brown to gold to sun-kissed honey. And yet she’d never seen him use the hair, never caught him shaking it out or arranging it to draw a woman’s eye. “Doesn’t that mane get in the way?”
“Sometimes.” He reached for hers, combed his fingers through her curls, caught one, drew it out, watched it bounce back. “Does yours?”
“I keep it braided when I fight.” Her voice sounded a little rough, and she had to stop and clear her throat. “And I wear a helmet.”
“It’s soft,” he breathed. He released the curl, let his hand drift to her lower lip to brush his thumb delicately across its curve. She was surprised at how rough and calloused his skin was. Somehow she’d thought his hands would be soft. Licking her lips, she realized he tasted faintly salty.
Opal stared up into his eyes and had the sudden sensation that she was falling, as if her entire consciousness was being pulled up into those amazing eyes. Looking closer, she saw there were thin threads of gold in his irises, and she wondered if that was an illusion created by the hair.
This close, she could feel the magical buzz of the Gift deep in his cells. She couldn’t smell him the way vampires could scent a Latent, but she’d have known he was Ulf’s son just from the contours of his face. His lips were a little fuller than his father’s, though, with more of a curve to the upper lip. And there was something in the shape of his eyes that wasn’t quite the same. It made her wonder what his mother looked like.
Adam bent his head. He did it slowly, giving her plenty of time to retreat. Asking permission. She didn’t retreat, of course. It was only as his lips touched hers that she realized duty had nothing to do with her willingness.
She wanted to know how he tasted.
Thanks! Let me know what you think.
Angela