Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 512
October 9, 2011
Sunday Report Card
Not a whole lot of progress to report on works that are overdue. Bad author me! However, I have just returned from two back-to-back trips that have served to refill my very dry well.
From ranchy, fun Romanticon in Ohio (think sexy cover models and face time with one of my publishers), to my trip to Eurkeka Springs (haunted house, wildlife refuge and meeting Rambo's daddy), I have motivation now to get my ass in gear, and more new stories stirring inside my head.
Today, I'm making the five-hour trip back home. I'll be doing something productive with that long drive—listening to Tony Robbins' tapes to keep my mind in the right place. Come tomorrow, it'll be head down as I wrap up the old stuff and push forward with the new.
October 8, 2011
In the refuge…
I'm just posting a quick photo. There are several of us from the Diamond State Romance Authors RWA chapter who are attending the Ozark Writers Conference. We decided to skip the conference accomodations in favor of something more adventurous. We're staying at the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge. They take in large cats, mostly, from around the country who have been raised by stupid owners who thought having a tiger or lion in their back yard was a good idea.
These cats aren't suitable for zoos, or for being rehabilitated for return to the wild, and a place like this is their last hope before extermination. We're so impressed with what the refuge is doing, that our group is planning something to support their efforts—but more about that later.
I took tons of pictures and will share more once I get home. Here's one for now.
Note: Check out Shayla Kersten's blog today. She has more photos posted!
October 7, 2011
Eureka!
I'm here in Eureka Springs for the Ozark Writers Conference. Sis and I arrived last night and stayed in the Crescent Hotel. Two other friends, Brinda B. and Cyndi d'Alba were there as well. We had a formal five-course meal in the dining room—Lord, I'd forgotten how fabulous foie gras tastes! Anyway, we went on the ghost tour. I took tons of pictures, plenty with orbs and a few suspicious shadows, but nothing as creepy as my first visit here in June. I really think the ghosts were attracted to the 7-year-old then.
Today, we're representing our RWA chapter and Rose's Colored Glasses. When we arrived, they didn't have a table for our stuff. My karma is just shit lately. Any suggesions from y'all for how to scrub it clean?
This morning David Morell (the Rambo creator) spoke. He had some very good advice, first and foremost being, "Become a first-rate version of yourself, not a second-rate version of someone else." That's so freaking true.
Remember, I have two contests running. Be sure to check out yesterday's post for details!
October 6, 2011
While I'm away… TWO NEW CONTESTS!
I'm out the door again. This time, I'm heading to the Ozark Writers Conference in Eureka Springs. And you know me, it's a mash-up of work and play. Tonight, I'll hang out with friends at The Crescent Hotel. It's that haunted hotel I had so much fun at when I visited in June. Then Friday, we all move to a B&B inside a big cat refuge. Nothing like sitting in a hot tub while listening to the lions roar. I know I'll be thinking that I'm sitting in a slow-cooker and I'll be nice and tender when Leo the Lion breaks through the fence. Anyway, I'll post while I'm gone—I hope. Depends on Internet connection. With my luck lately, I'll have to drive to a McDonald's to get connection. Anyway, here's the crass author promo…
I have two new contests!
1) Romanticon Grab Bag #2 Contest
What can you win?
A prize pack of signed cover flats, pens, bookmarks, trading cards, pens, etc. Plus, I'll be sure to send along some of my own "stuff"!
What do you have to do?
Post comments on my blog and or my Facebook page. Every comment you make will count as one entry. How easy is that? This contest ends next Tuesday, October 11th!
2) The Promo Ho Contest
What can you win?
I'm giving away two $25.00 Amazon.com gift certificates.
What do you have to do to enter?
See the covers below? These books are in sore need of online reviews by readers. So I'm offering a tempting bribe. You know there won't be as many entries for this contest as for the Grab Bag contest, so you stand a better chance of winning! And wouldn't you like to have some cash to spend on new books? And who knows? Maybe you already have these stories sitting on your TBR pile. Time to move them to the top!
Give an honest review for one of these stories on one of the online bookstores. Send me the link at del…@delilahdevlin.com. It can be the same review on three different sites, but send me three separate messages with the different links. Doesn't matter if the review is on Samhain's or Ellora's Cave's website, Amazon or Nook—send me the link to the review. Easy as that. And if you've already posted a review, it counts too. Send me the link! This contest ends October 25th!
October 5, 2011
Guest Blogger: Jodi Redford
The winner of the first grab bag of prizes from Romanticon is… Okay, so let me tell you what's in the bag first. Or maybe, I should start by telling you that the bag itself is quite a prize. Because I didn't get to sign books at Romanticon, I spent my time getting signatures from every single author there. Yup, the bag is cram-packed with signatures from the wonderful authors at Ellora's Cave. Inside the bag, there are signed cover flats, pens, bookmarks, a trading card storage box, trading cards, pens, etc. Plus, I'll be sure to send along some of my own "stuff". The winner will enjoy combing through this big bag of cool junk and maybe be inspired to check out authors like Ann Jacobs, Koko Brown, Desiree Holt, Kaily Hart, Kathy Kulig, Kimberly Killion, Cerise DeLand, Delphine Dryden, Christine d'Abo, and many more. Okay, no more teasing. The winner of this grab bag of prizes is…Wendy Gregory! Wendy, congrats and email me!
Back to Jodi Redford…
First of all, I want to thank the fabulous Delilah for letting me come on her blog today. Seeing how she's one of my fave authors, this is a major fan-girl moment for me. Once I got over the exuberant squee-fest going on in my head, I realized I actually had to decide on a subject for my post. So with no hesitation, my mind automatically veered toward my favorite topic—shape-shifters. Or more to the point, super sexy shape-shifters. It's no secret that I have a love affair with paranormal romances, and the primal and often lusty shifter heroes—and heroines—who populate these magical, fantastical worlds. But what exactly is it about these characters that I and others find so appealing? Is it the wild, animalistic traits that encompass a shape-shifter's persona that we're drawn to? I can't speak for everyone, but I find that whole growly, alpha thing immensely sexy, be it a werewolf, were-tiger, or dragon.
It was my quest to find the ultimate of alpha shape-shifters that led me to my most recent hero, Max Truitt, from Maximum Witch. When I first told friends and family I was going to write a shark hero, they thought I'd finally, officially lost it. A shark…hero? It was crazy. Insane. Even for me. Who in their right mind would think a shark could be heroic, much less sexy? Well, me, for one. Although the being in my right mind part might be debatable. Regardless, the more I thought about it, the more I loved the idea of Max. There's something incredibly sexy and dangerous about a hero who could eat you for dinner—pun intended. The fun part about writing his character was taking his inner shark traits and twisting them for a sexier purpose than hunting down swimmers for an afternoon snack. For instance, Max shows an equal determination to make a meal out of the heroine, Willa, in this little snippet.
Who says getting eaten by a shark is a bad thing?
That Old Black Magic, Book 3
Willa Jameson is having one whopper of an identity crisis. Odd memory flashes that aren't hers. A sultry voice in her head that's obsessed with sex. Even weirder, she finds herself in the jaws of a rogue leviathan, dragged to the bottom of the ocean—and rescued by a hunky…shark?
The last thing Sheriff Max Truitt expects to find on his daily, deep-Atlantic patrol is a human—especially one who breathes underwater. Compelled to take her home, he waits for the beauty to wake up and reveal her name. Instead he's treated to a punch in the nose, then a sexy romp hot enough to boil water.
The next morning, embarrassed by the sizzling, scandalous things the voice in her head drove her to do, Willa slips away. But if there's one thing a determined shark excels at, it's tracking his favorite meal.
Solving the mystery that is Willa is no simple task. When they finally unlock a dangerous secret hidden deep in her subconscious, it drives a wedge between them…and puts them in a desperate race against an evil that seeks to rain down a watery Armageddon on all mankind.
Product Warnings: This book does not contain sex with a puffer fish. There's not even sex with a seahorse. However, there's plenty of smoking-hot lovin' with a shark. And even a steamy M/F/M threesome. So slap on your snorkels and swim fins, things are about to get wet and wild.
Max released his belt and lowered the volume on the radio before turning toward her. She figured her face must have displayed her sizable panic as he leaned close, invading her personal space. His nearness forced her to tip her head sideways, making her glasses slip. He removed them and set them on the front dash. A purposeful gleam lit his eyes as his focus dipped to her mouth. She swallowed. "Max—"
His hand cupped the nape of her neck, lightly stroking. "There's no way you didn't think I was going to kiss you."
"B-but you already did."
"That was nothing. This time it's serious." And with that preemptive warning, he claimed her mouth, his tongue easily coaxing past the barrier of her lips and meeting hers in a hot glide. There was no hesitation or fumbling in his kiss. Only the skilled determination of a male intent on making her melt into a quivering puddle of desperation. He sucked on her bottom lip, his teeth scraping gently.
Panting, she sank her nails into the softness of Max's T-shirt, fascinated by the marked contrast to the hard muscles hidden beneath. "I—I meant it when I said I'm not falling into your bed."
"Then take me home to yours." His bristly jaw scuffed softly along her chin as he dipped his head and sucked the side of her neck. Sharp, pleasurable tingles burst beneath her skin, pebbling her nipples and throbbing within her clit. She squirmed and trembled, her body pulling tight. It was no mystery to her that the sensitive area Max had zeroed in on happened to be one of the most erogenous zones of her body, but how the hell did he know it?
"I…I—" She almost passed out from the devastating pleasure of Max's mouth when his suction intensified. Her aching clit felt like it was going to explode. "Oh goddess."
His thumb flicked over her distended nipple, using the friction of her blouse and bra to drive her higher. He lifted his head. "I want to make you come. Over and over. With my tongue, fingers, my cock. Until you lose count of the number of orgasms you've had. Say you want that too."
"Max…" Her plea turned into an embarrassing mewl as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and index finger. She grabbed onto him, trying to drag him closer and increase the teasingly light pressure on her breast, but the bastard refused to budge.
"If you don't tell me now, Willa, so help me I'll stop. It's all of you or nothing."
Jodi's Bio At the ripe age of seven, Jodi Redford penned her first epic, complete with stick figure illustrations. Sadly, her drawing skills haven't improved much, but her love of fantasy worlds never went away. These days she writes about fairies, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures, only with considerably more heat. She has won numerous contests, including The Golden Pen and Launching a Star. When not writing or working the day job, she enjoys gardening and way too many reality television shows. Currently residing in Michigan with her husband and overgrown lapdog, she is a member of RWA national and Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America. She loves to hear from readers. You can email her at jodiredford@jodiredford.com and visit her online at www.jodiredford.com.
October 4, 2011
ENSLAVED BY A VIKING is here!
Today's the last time to enter the contest to win the grab bag of promo stuff, much of it signed, that I picked up at Romanticon! Post a comment to win!
I'm back at home now—but just for a couple of days. Thursday, I'll head off to north Arkansas for the Ozark Writers Conference. I have sooooo much work to do before I go, including getting the word out about this book. If you have time, please click on the cover and head to Amazon. "Tag" it and "like" it—those things don't cost a thing to do and you'd be helping other readers find the book. Thanks for all your support and good luck in the drawing!
His suffering….
Though proud and strong, Eirik, heir to the Ulfhednars kingdom, found himself seduced and taken from his homeworld by a bounty-hunting vixen, who sold him into slavery. Purchased by a wealthy, Consortium-backed brothel, he is kept at a heavily guarded and secure breeding facility, where he is forced to feed the lustful whims of Helios's elite at night. He bides his time, waiting for a chance to escape and get his revenge on the woman who betrayed him…
Her satisfaction….
Once a sex thrall, Fatin earned her freedom through service. Now, as a bounty hunter, she is determined to earn enough to buy her sister's papers from the same brothel she escaped. For this, she abducts a brutishly handsome, breed-worthy specimen from the Viking planet and delivers him to auction. But her desire for justice and his desire for freedom may consume both of them in a passion neither wanted—or can resist.
October 3, 2011
1 Day to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)
Today, I'll be flying back to Arkansas. Romanticon is over. I had a great time hanging out with my sister, daughter and friends. But I'm ready to be home.
Yesterday was more restful than I expected. For whatever reason, the powers that be didn't think I'd be there for the big booksigning event, so there wasn't a place for me. That's the third time this has happened to me this year. I can't figure out where I earned that kind of karma, but a couple of you will benefit from my bad luck. I went up and down the line of authors there—and I think there were around 60 of them—to get signatures on cover flats and the conference book bag. I have tons of things to fill two bags actually. I'll give the first one the day after tomorrow—keep posting!!
I also picked up some interesting jewelry for giveaways. So stay tuned. In the meantime, I have one more little excerpt. A nasty one, since I don't think you'll believe me that it's sexy. 
If you're not over 18, don't read another word! Our hero and heroine are still in the brothel, being forced into "entertaining" the guests.
* * * * *
The whore-mistress stepped between them, her face red and her eyes glittering. "Finish it." She dug a finger under his chin to lift his glance. "You really don't have a choice."
Shaking now with fury, he ground out, "I am not an animal."
"Don't pretend you're anything but what you are. A barbarian. The women you will serve want nothing less than every bit of your strength."
"Do they wish to be raped?"
She gave a feminine snort. "It's not rape. They want to be overcome. To be forced, yes. But they surrender to your mastery of their own free will. Do not disappoint us. There are far worse things that can befall you if you're stubborn."
Her gaze whipped to Fatin. "You wish an agreement. I won't even consider it unless you prove the men you brought me are every bit as feral and savage as you promised."
Fatin's gaze held his for a long, tense moment before falling away. With slow moves, she opened the buckle of the belt at her waist, then peeled down the slide to loosen her trousers again.
Standing, she toed off her boots, pushed down her trousers, and slid off her socks off until her lower half was nude. Then she slowly eased down the torn shirt still hanging from her shoulders, baring the rest of her body.
Arousal crept across his skin. She was every bit as lovely as the day she'd knelt beside the fire pit in the mining camp. Bronze skin. Large brown nipples on her small, rounded breasts. Her nude pussy shone with dampness.
And this time, Eirik didn't need a burst of electrical current to cause his cock to swell.
Fatin took a seat on the chaise and turned, lying lengthwise on the wide, bench-like bed.
The loin skirt loosened at his side, and he glanced down at a plump Helio woman who gave him a shy grin and swept away the linen garment.
"Let me serve you, Viking."
He grunted, bemused at the woman's eagerness to assist a slave, but he shook himself and dropped a knee onto the bench, flattened his hands on the mattress on either side of Fatin's shoulders, and climbed over her.
The crowd shuffled, whispers sliding around them, but all his attention remained on the woman trapped beneath him.
He thrust a knee between her legs, and she resisted for a moment, clamping them together tightly, her chin beginning to wobble.
When her eyes filled, he wondered if she cried from embarrassment or regret. He hoped she regretted every moment and every action that had brought her to this. She deserved to never feel a moment's peace for her crimes.
And yet, when he lowered his body over hers, the softness of her skin and her feminine frame eased some of the anger flowing through him. Again, he found himself wanting to go gently. He lowered his face toward hers, focusing on her mouth.
Fatin's dark eyes held his gaze. "You can pretend," she whispered. "Let them think you will woo them. You will earn their adoration."
"I don't want your adoration. I don't want theirs."
"Think, Viking." With shaking fingers, she loosened the band that held his hair and spread it over his shoulders. Low murmurs of appreciation echoed in the chamber. "I know you want your freedom. Do whatever you must to earn it."
He didn't want to hear her advice, didn't want to think about the way her voice thickened as he gave her more of his weight, the way her soft body yielded. "What acts would interest them?" he asked, pretending to play along while he tried to master the desire raging through him.
"A man who finds pleasure in tasting every corner of a woman's body will be coveted above all."
Eirik slid his lips over her cheek, inhaling her spicy scent, and then roamed lower, gliding over the delicate collarbone to the tops of her small breasts. "Like this?" he asked, pretense quickly becoming true desire as his tongue stroked her warm skin.
Her fingers dug into his scalp, and she tried to center his mouth over one straining breast.
But he nipped the tender underside and nuzzled into the fragrant crease.
Her nipples were erect, the tips quivering with her ragged breaths. "Don't be too gentle or tease too long."
"Do you want the savage again? Is that what will fire your blood?"
She yanked his hair and pulled his head closer. As she locked her gaze with his, her eyes narrowed to furious slits. "I did what I had to do," she whispered harshly. "You don't understand."
He felt her hands soften in his hair, her fingers tunnel through the strands. "Soon, you will tell me what drove you to this. But, sweet Fatin, for now, you will serve my pleasure." He grabbed her hand and forced it between their bodies, pushing it down toward his cock. "I want your mouth on me, working me like a whore."
He jerked back and knelt in the center of the chaise, then grabbed her braid and wound it around his fist.
Her face tightened, her lips lifting in a snarl, but there was no one willing to rush to her aid as he forced her down. "Use your teeth on me, and I will beat you."
Knowing the scene he must create, he pushed her face against his cock, pinched her chin to open her mouth, then shoved the tip between her lips.
Her body quivered; her teeth clamped around him.
At the sensation, he held his breath, cupped her jaw, and feathered a thumb along her lower lip.
She was tempted to deliver a bite—he could read her intent in the flare of anger in her dark eyes. Instead, her tongue touched him, then swept over the plush cap. A thin moan vibrated around him.
He slowly stroked forward, testing her, ready to pull free if she tried to harm him, but her lips wrapped around the sharp edges of her teeth and began to suction, her eyes closing as she pulled and sucked.
Eirik's head fell back, his eyes wide wide-open and trained on the ceiling above them. On the gilt-covered plaster, on the whirling wooden blades of the fan.
She was skilled, the suctioning strong and rhythmic, tugging his arousal into a blazing heat that had him thrusting into her mouth, past her wicked tongue, to butt against the back of her throat.
Again, he looked down to watch her mouth consume him.
Her eyes opened, glancing up. Something sparkled, a hint of challenge, and she swallowed around him, the deep, intimate kiss massaging the crown;, then her throat eased open for him to slide even deeper.
A whore's trick. He'd do well to remember Fatin had secrets. If she pleasured him, the act was to fulfill her own agenda. Nothing more, he reminded himself.
Watching the billow and hollow of her cheeks as she worked him, his focus narrowed on the sensations, on the tension building in his balls.
Her teeth strafed him, and he pulled her hair, pushing her off his cock.
Eyes flashing, she straightened, wiping the back of her hand across her swollen mouth.
Eirik breathed slowly, taking in the restlessness of the crowd around them, the breathless silence of the women. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the faces of the men—hard, savagely tense. They wanted him to punish her.
And punish her he would, but not in any way that would leave him feeling empty at the end. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her toward him, over his lap.
"Viking!"
With one arm anchoring her over his knees, he raised his hand and slapped her bare bottom, the sound loud and shocking in the quiet.
A giggle erupted, followed by murmurs rising, blending. The sounds of deeper rumbles from the men, hard chuckles at his manner of domination, fueled his anger. He spanked her soft, rounded bottom until his palm burned and her bronze skin grew pink. Realizing how aroused he was becoming as he spanked her, disgust twisted inside and he shoved her off his lap.
Tumbling onto her knees, she looked upward, glaring, her chest quivering on choked gasps.
Yet when he reached for her again, she melted against him. He took her down to the chaise, climbing over her, and slid his legs between hers, angling his cock to thrust against her wet folds.
He slid as smooth as a knife through butter into her body, lost in the wet heat, in the womanly warmth that surrounded him. Wet lips trailed along his cheek, and he turned to rub his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue inside for a deeper taste.
But she welcomed him there, stroking her tongue over his, then sucking it as she began to undulate beneath him, encouraging him to drive deeper into her body.
Pushing off the sofa, he braced his weight on his arms and gave her long strokes that exposed the length of his cock to the watchers. Again, and again he drove deep, his movements languid but strong. Her channel warmed around him, melting, moisture easing his way through the tight confines.
Her vagina was a perfect glove. Hot, moist, rippling along his shaft.
He shifted, bringing in his knees. He thrust a hand beneath her and lifted her as he sat back on his haunches and kept her impaled there, their bodies facing each other.
Her expression was questioning, her eyes wide and searching. Eirik didn't know what she saw, but her chin firmed; her fingers dug into his shoulders. She lifted herself, then slammed down his cock, the shock of her violence spurring his own as he pounded upward to meet her rough strokes.
The crowd around them grew silent, seemed to breathe as one, but Eirik pushed aside the thought of them watching, judging. He didn't care anymore, couldn't think beyond the moment of enjoying her sweet body.
Fucking Fatin with an audience wasn't any different from the hundreds of other public sessions he'd reveled in at home. All that was missing was the sound of familiar voices calling out lewd suggestions, spurring him on by inciting his competitive nature to be the best, the strongest, last the longest, drive the hardest. Sex was often just another sport, another way for men to prove their prowess.
He thrust and burrowed, screwed in circles, then thrust hard toward her core again, gauging by her breaths and the convulsions rippling up and down her channel just how far along she was.
In this circumstance, he shouldn't care whether she came, but he was hard-wired to succeed. Always standing in the shadow of his brother, he'd had a tough standard to meet—in warfare, in governance, and in lovemaking.
He slammed upward, forcing a hiss from Fatin, which pulled him back to the present.
Angry color flooded her cheeks. "Just finish it," she whispered.
October 2, 2011
2 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)
Don't forget to comment for a chance to win a grab bag of prizes from Romanticon!
Romanticon has been a blast—especially seeing all the little dramas and debaucheries through my daughter's eyes. Sis was her dance partner, which saved my feet—thanks, Myla! Today's the booksigning. I hope to see some of you there. You don't have to buy a book to say hello!
Here's another excerpt from Enslaved by a Viking. Forgive Eirik for being a little rough when he first gets his hands on Fatin. A man's dignity can only stand so much. Click on the cover to order it now! Oh, and I changed the countdown number. I really don't know what day it is. 
* * * * *
"Have you ever seen the like, Calliope?"
The awe-filled tone of the woman beside her made Fatin pause.
"I must have the dark one. Did you see him at the auction? His cock is twice the size of my husband's."
The women giggled and moved away, seeking a word with Aliyah while they pointed toward the dark one, Eirik.
Fatin didn't want to care that the man they bargained to have had been the one she'd been most reluctant to steal.
From the first moment she'd heard his name spoken by the mining camp supervisor on New Iceland, she'd fixed her sights on the Ulfhednar heir, even knowing that kidnapping one of the ruling class was a capital offense. The temptation had been too great. A chance to exploit his plight and the unsavory practice of sexual slavery was more than she'd hoped for.
Why had he kept his identity a secret for so long? Did he fear he'd be killed the moment he did expose the crime? The excuse was plausible. Still, she didn't think much frightened the man who'd surprised and enthralled her at every turn. Perhaps he hoped to escape and avoid the humiliation of having been bested by a woman, a situation made all the worse by his gentle treatment of her.
She'd posed as a contracted sex-thrall at the remote mining camp. As soon as he'd entered the small, curtained sleep chamber she'd been assigned to await his pleasure, he'd been eager to take her. Moments after yanking closed the curtain, he'd slid away the blanket she'd used to hide her naked form. As any man presented with a whore for his use, he'd begun without any thought except for his own pleasure.
However, once he'd plunged inside her, and she'd gasped, shocked by the fierceness of his invasion and the size of his sex, he'd gentled his assault, taking the time and care to pull her into an arousal so strong, she'd felt a moment's regret about causing him harm.
"What is your name?" he'd murmured against her lips as she'd straddled him while he sat at the edge of his sleeping bench.
"Fatin," she'd whispered, meeting his gaze, liking the heat banked in his blue eyes.
His chest had expanded, pressing against her swollen nipples. "You please me," he'd said, in his deep, rumbling baritone.
She'd felt a twinge of conscience, knowing what she would do.
Then, he'd said, "I'll see you're well compensated."
She'd bitten her lower lip to still her disappointment. For just a moment, she'd thought he'd seen her as more than just a whore. Her glance fell away to hide the anger welling up inside her.
With a callused finger, he'd nudged up her face. She'd tilted it, meeting his kiss, her eyes never closing.
He'd gently suckled her lower lip, seducing rather than forcing her cooperation.
So many thoughts had swirled inside her head. Regrets that she hadn't met him under other circumstances because she would have liked to know whether he would have treated her any differently. Fear, because he was brawnier than any of the others she'd captured and could easily overcome her if she didn't catch him unawares. And gods, how he filled her.
With her channel stretching to accommodate his girth, her breath had seeped into his mouth. She'd loosed a sigh and then a delicate moan that seemed to increase the tension in his body.
He'd pushed back her hair, cupped her head in one large palm, and tipped her face higher still to deepen the kiss.
As she rose and sank on his cock, she'd panted and shivered.
Eirik had growled deep inside his chest, sounding every inch the barbarian he was. She'd given him a little half-smile while her womb quickened, then shook back her hair.
He'd gripped her hips hard, urging her to rise and fall faster.
Her orgasm had caught her by surprise, flaring outward from her pussy, causing her belly to tremble, her hips to buck. Ripples had slid along her channel to caress his thick length.
"How you please me, darkling," he'd whispered.
She'd been impaled on his cock, a powerful orgasm unlike anything she'd ever experienced before rippling through her, when she'd plunged the needle into his neck and activated the locator for her men to find and transport her from the planet's surface to the ship's hold.
How embarrassing that had been—their molecules reassembling on the cargo floor, their groins still intimately connected. His cock had slid from inside her, and she'd had to force steel into a body gone liquid and pliant. In that moment, she'd hated him for making her doubt herself, for making her feel as though she'd committed a great sin.
He was just a man. Led by his bollocks. Like all the other captives she'd ensnared.
And yet, she'd visited his cage often to ensure he'd survived and to ogle and admire his large frame. His fury with her hadn't lessened her interest even a little bit.
Only to herself, and reluctantly, would she admit that she was obsessed with the fierce giant, although he was likely angry enough to kill her if she came within reach. Even now, she sought glimpses of him through the crowd, her gaze eating up every inch of his tall, muscled physique.
"There you are," came a soft, drawling voice.
Fatin jerked toward Aliyah, who watched her with her avid black gaze.
A dark brow rose. "The women already clamor for first rights. But I think you've earned your choice. Would you like to start the games?"
Heat filling her cheeks, Fatin shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be the center of the spectacle soon to occur.
"Come," Aliyah said, her long-fingered hand wrapping around Fatin's wrist to pull her through the crowd. "You don't have to pay. Consider this a bonus for your hard work."
"You've already been very generous, mistress," Fatin gritted out between her teeth, dragging her feet.
"I saw the way you looked at that dark-haired barbarian. Your eyes ate him up. And the way he looked at you during the auction—" Aliyah broke off and laughed, fanning herself with her free hand. "His 'attention' was all for you, my dear."
The crowd parted, making a path that led straight to the Vikings lined up at the front of the room. Every hard, male gaze homed in on her approach.
Panic surging through her body, Fatin dug in her heels and tried to break free of Aliyah's grip, but the whore-mistress was surprisingly strong. Fatin was unwilling to use any fighting moves she'd learned to harm the woman. Too much rode on Aliyah's continued goodwill.
"Really, mistress," Fatin said breathlessly as they neared the edge of the crowd, "I'm very happy to stand back and let another have the first taste."
"I wouldn't hear of it." Aliyah drew back her arm and flung Fatin forward.
Fatin spun toward the Vikings. The one standing next to Eirik opened his arms, and she landed against his naked chest.
Laughter surrounded them—high-pitched gales from the women, low, edgy chuckles from the men—but not a hint of humor softened the tall blond Viking's taut features. His hazel eyes narrowed, and those tree-trunk arms of his banded around her ribs to give her a crushing embrace.
She remembered how Hakon had insisted that she strip in a cold, narrow passage inside the Berserkirs' keep, shortly after she'd "accidently" bumped into him. His gaze had hungrily raked her frame, his features growing frighteningly intense as she'd peeled away the layers of her clothing.
Again, as before, she shivered at the way his features sharpened with deadly intent.
Unable to catch her breath, she felt her face heat, her lungs burn. Pressed so close, his hardening ridge digging into her belly, she wondered if he'd simply keep squeezing until he snapped her back or smothered her. Was the thought of killing her really so arousing? "Bastard!"
"Hakon . . ." Eirik's voice cut through the tension with a note of warning.
The tall barbarian grunted, and then abruptly opened his arms.
She stumbled backward, catching herself before she fell in a heap at his feet.
Eirik's hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, tightening like a manacle. The crowd around them grew silent. Perhaps they'd already heard the tale of the men's capture and knew she was the one responsible. Like the ruthless, bloody games they enjoyed watching in the arena, did they hope to see her pulled apart?
The moment stretched. Fatin swallowed hard; her gaze locked with Eirik's icy stare.
His grip didn't tighten, but it didn't ease either. With his fierce, glittering stare drilling into hers, he dragged down his arm, forcing her closer.
And even though she resisted, stiffening her body in rejection and scuffing her boots on the marble, he pulled her inexorably closer.
When her breasts touched his chest, his strong arms clamped around her. Again, she fought for breath, but this time her inability to draw air into her lungs wasn't entirely due to how hard his arms constricted.
Eirik's cold blue gaze swept her face. A tight, cruel smile curved his lips. "Fatin," he growled, "at last . . ."
She tossed back her hair. "At last? You sound so satisfied," she whispered harshly, pretending she wasn't nearly fainting from lack of oxygen and because he was the one holding her so tightly. "You seem so eager to hold me close. I thought you would have felt well rid of me. Yet, here we are."
"You underestimate my desire," he said, his voice grinding as deliciously as his cock did against her belly.
His head bent over hers, forcing hers back. To anyone watching, theirs would appear to be a lover's eager embrace.
"You may have him, Fatin," Aliyah said, her lilting voice sounding distant. "A demonstration of your acquisition's prowess is in order."
A demonstration. Her throat closed as burning panic burbled up. Something of her fear must have entered her expression.
The corners of his lips curled higher. "You may have me," he whispered. "Here? Now? Do you tremble because they will see or because I am the one who will thunder inside you?"
He couldn't have used coarser words and made her feel any more uneasy. The picture he painted in her mind, of a storm unleashed, made her knees weaken.
The arm banding her back caught her before she slid downward. His eyelids drifted down to narrowed slits while his gaze remained locked with hers. "We have unfinished business, sweet Fatin."
October 1, 2011
3 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)
OMGah!—yes, I'm channeling Jessica Simpson—I have Internet! And it's fast! It's only because EVERYONE's downstairs dancing with the Cavemen. Yeah, it's actually Friday night right now, but since I had connection, for once, I'm not wasting it.
I'm having a wonderful time. My daughter's downstairs, pretty, and you know the guys are enjoying that—I don't expect to see her until much later. My sister's probably right up there on the dance floor with her, grinding on a Caveman. However, I shall remain virtuous. I have work to do. 
Copyedits are due for Five Ways to Sunday.
I'm here with another excerpt, trying to whet your appetite for the book coming October 4th. One click on the cover will take you to Amazon.com where you can purchase your copy while it's still being offered at a reduced price. And yes, it's print and full length, and the sexiest thing you're gonna read this Fall.
* * * * *
It was a long-standing joke among Ulfhednar warriors that when they perished on a battlefield, they would tell the Valkyries who came to deliver them to Odin's hall that they'd prefer the fiery underworld of Muspellheim. For Icelanders had lived so long on their frozen world that searing heat seemed a more fitting paradise.
However, Eirik Ulfhednar knew the truth. The realm of fire wasn't a mythical land. Due to one fateful error, he'd landed there, and the sultry heat of this godless place wasn't anything to be envied.
Despite the fans circling high above the garishly appointed salon, the temperature of the room where he stood was sweltering, the air stifling and thick in his lungs. Sweat gathered on his forehead and glazed his bare chest.
For the first time, he was thankful for the inadequate and embarrassing clothing he'd been given. The linen garment draping his hips allowed air to cool his nether regions.
However, the fabric was so thin he might as well have stood naked before those gathered to examine the new arrivals—or "offerings," as the whore-mistress called them. A term that somehow made him and the men standing in a straight rank behind him seem less human, more like a feast spread out on a banquet table to be devoured. A feast of twenty rugged Icelanders—all with their long hair slicked back in queues behind their heads, their muscular bodies oiled and perfumed like women, and wearing the same transparent swath of fabric about their hips and silver cuffs around their wrists that proclaimed them the lowest order of slaves—sex-thralls.
Every trace of their proud heritage had been erased except for their large, rugged builds—the very qualities that had precipitated their capture and enslavement.
"I count only two guards inside this room," Hakon murmured beside him, lifting his chin to point toward the tall wooden doors at the entrance of to the salon.
Called Hakon the Bold on their former world, Eirik's new comrade was just another of the captives being paraded to satisfy the lusty appetites of the Heliopolite elite. All female, thank the stars.
Eirik gave an equally subtle nod toward the windows overlooking the landscaped grounds. Lush green grass, oases of tall flowers and leafy trees, couldn't hide the armed guards patrolling openly around the facility's perimeter. "I've counted six soldiers so far. Armed with stunners. We haven't shields to protect us should we try to make a break. They could take us all."
Hakon grunted. "But we have hostages. Or are you too squeamish to harm women?"
Eirik gave him a narrowed glare. "I wouldn't hesitate, not for a second, to do what I must to secure our freedom."
His companion's casual shrug belied his sharp scrutiny. "I thought I should ask, given how eagerly your body reacts to the vicious bitch that brought us here."
Not accustomed to having his motives questioned, Eirik bristled. "If I grow hard in Fatin's presence," he bit out, "it's because I envision all the ways I will make her suffer."
Hakon chuckled. Suspicion cleared from his face. "Good to know you will not shed a tear over her death."
However, as furious as Eirik was with the woman they discussed, the thought of standing over her lifeless body gave him a moment's pause. His chest tightened uncomfortably.
Perhaps he felt a connection to her because of the way they'd met. She'd been a gift from the men operating his family mine, a companion to warm his bed while he visited. Due to the hesitant way she'd mounted his body, he'd thought her young and untried. That first impression had been obliterated by what had happened next. He'd felt the prick of the needle she'd used to subdue him, experienced his body disintegrating into molecules as he'd been transported to a ship orbiting his planet. When he'd next awoken, he found himself caged inside the hold of a cargo ship bound for Helios, the Outlanders' home planet.
Even enduring the humiliating auction had done little to blunt his desire for the woman. He just wanted to punish her, he told himself. To visit untold demeaning acts upon her supple body. Only then would his thirst for revenge be quenched. His hesitation to end her life existed only because he didn't want her suffering to end too quickly.
"I think I could take the first thirty or so," Hakon murmured dryly beside him, eyeing the throng entering the room.
"But will you fuck them or beat them to death?" Eirik muttered, watching eyeing the scores of wide-eyed, feverishly animated women streaming inside like water breaking through a dam. The doors had just been opened, admitting the first customers.
Hakon snorted, his chin jutting upward. "I've never struck a female, but I am sorely tempted now," he said, his tone filled with disgust. "I'm a Berserkir, not a sex-thrall."
Not for the first time, Eirik reflected on the fact that he'd grown close in a very short time to the cousin of the enemy king. They'd raised swords against each other in "friendly" skirmishes back on their home world. Neighbors, Berserkir and Ulfhednar had warred for centuries, but now they were bound by their shared plight. And although he Eirik was the only Ulfhednar in their midst, all the assembled Icelanders turned to him for leadership. He was, after all, a Wolfskin prince, the fiercest clan among the Icelanders and brother to the legendary Black Wolf.
Too restless to stand still, Hakon rubbed his chest and grimaced. "Do you think it is true?"
"What?" Eirik ground out, only part of his attention on the conversation as he studied the curvaceous crowd filling the large room, wondering how many he would be expected to pleasure.
"Do you think our hair will never grow back? I'm as smooth as a woman."
Eirik grunted. He'd been every bit as dismayed as Hakon to awaken and discover his current smooth-skinned state. "My friend, I think that's the least of the indignities we will suffer."
The Norsemen were lined up in the center of the salon. Because they were close in stature and musculature, Hakon and he had been placed just in front of the line of new offerings. The most valuable prizes among the men who'd been procured for this event.
"Hymir's bollocks!" Hakon whispered furiously.
Eirik glanced down to where Hakon stared and noted that his companion's cock tented the linen, a fact that had the women strolling by to examine them tittering.
Hakon shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. "I can't help it. I haven't enjoyed a release since that white-coated witch Miriam milked me like a dairy cow aboard the frigate before we arrived on this frigging planet. After she finished, I thought my manhood would remain shriveled forever."
The scientist hadn't come near Eirik, but only because another cold bitch had seen to stealing his semen to test its potency. Eirik searched the throng of robed women, wondering if the heartless bounty hunter would dare show herself today.
Still, as furious as he was with Fatin, Eirik's own man-staff thickened at the memory of her mouth tugging at his sex to coax him into spilling his precious seed.
The last time he'd seen her had been two days ago when she'd stood beside him on the stage erected in the arena and whipped away his clothing to display his attributes to the bidders gathered there.
Dark eyes flashing with triumph, she'd been beautiful.
He'd been furious, blood pounding at his temples and racing south to harden his cock. He'd glared daggers her way, promising her silently that one day she would know the same humiliation. That one day she would be at his mercy, and he'd show just as much of that tender emotion as she'd spared him.
"Do you think they did more than remove our hair?" Hakon whispered.
Rage made Eirik tremble anew at the thought of how he'd awoken that morning, feeling sluggish from the remnants of the drug that had been slipped into his food, his entire body denuded of his its manly fur, his arse sore. He'd wondered if he'd been taken in his sleep, raped by some unknown person, and for those first waking moments, he'd felt a searing despair.
Everything else he possessed had been stolen—his clothing, his rank, his standing among his people. Had they also taken his pride?
But he'd been assured by the female technician who'd loosened the bindings around his wrists and feet securing him to a gurney that he'd only been examined to assure his health. Had the pink-cheeked woman read his dismay? He was accustomed to hiding his emotions. The shame of her recognizing his weakness had hardened his resolve.
He was Eirik, heir to the Wolfskin kingdom of Thorshavn, and he'd not remain a slave for long.
"We could take them," Hakon repeated in a whisper. "There are only the two guards, and we could use the women as a shield when we rush the gates. You only have to say the word and the men will follow your lead."
Eirik nodded, his gaze sweeping the room again, looking for clues as to how their Helio captors intended to keep the Vikings subdued. The room was large and airy with rich red- and brown- upholstered sofas and thick carpets strewn on top of smooth gold marble floors. The large windows were unbarred and opened to display the grassy lawn surrounding the facility. Cool air spilled from vents in the ceiling and was pushed downward by the whirring blades of the fans.
Cool enough to suit the Heliopolites who were accustomed to the heat of their planet. Not for the Vikings who were fresh from New Iceland, a cold, ice-bound world.
Hakon was right. There were only two armed guards. How did they intend to force the Norsemen to do their will? "We wait," he whispered. "Something isn't right."
Hakon growled beside him, but nodded. "Do we cooperate? Do we let them command us like thralls?"
"For now. Use them as they intend to use us. Find your pleasure, but keep your eyes and ears open. We must discover how they intend to keep us confined."
"Yes, milord," Hakon gritted out, clearly unhappy at having to wait.
Eirik gave him a sharp glare. "I've said it before. Don't call me that. And don't use my name. I do not want them discovering too soon who I am."
"Do you think they would kill you rather than letting anyone know they kidnapped a noble?"
"I don't know, but it's possible. The offense is punishable by death among the Consortium worlds. To be safe, for now, simply call me Wolf."
Hakon chuckled. "A slur the men will have no trouble remembering."
"Ugly Bearshirt," Eirik rumbled, suppressing a grin. He panned the room again, and then caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar slender figure. His entire body tensed. His fists curled at his sides.
That his cock stirred right along with the rest of him reflected only his zeal to exact revenge.
The crowd of painted and perfumed women swelled, drawing closer, and then parted. Now he saw her clearly.
Fatin, the bounty hunter. Fatin, the procurer. An enigma he hoped was more than the sum of her beautiful parts. He wanted a worthy adversary upon which to concentrate his anger.
4 Days to get ENSLAVED! (Contest!)
OMGah!—yes, I'm channeling Jessica Simpson—I have Internet! And it's fast! It's only because EVERYONE's downstairs dancing with the Cavemen. Yeah, it's actually Friday night right now, but since I had connection, for once, I'm not wasting it.
I'm having a wonderful time. My daughter's downstairs, pretty, and you know the guys are enjoying that—I don't expect to see her until much later. My sister's probably right up there on the dance floor with her, grinding on a Caveman. However, I shall remain virtuous. I have work to do. Copyedits are due for Five Ways to Sunday.
I'm here with another excerpt, trying to whet your appetite for the book coming October 4th. One click on the cover will take you to Amazon.com where you can purchase your copy while it's still being offered at a reduced price. And yes, it's print and full length, and the sexiest thing you're gonna read this Fall.
* * * * *
It was a long-standing joke among Ulfhednar warriors that when they perished on a battlefield, they would tell the Valkyries who came to deliver them to Odin's hall that they'd prefer the fiery underworld of Muspellheim. For Icelanders had lived so long on their frozen world that searing heat seemed a more fitting paradise.
However, Eirik Ulfhednar knew the truth. The realm of fire wasn't a mythical land. Due to one fateful error, he'd landed there, and the sultry heat of this godless place wasn't anything to be envied.
Despite the fans circling high above the garishly appointed salon, the temperature of the room where he stood was sweltering, the air stifling and thick in his lungs. Sweat gathered on his forehead and glazed his bare chest.
For the first time, he was thankful for the inadequate and embarrassing clothing he'd been given. The linen garment draping his hips allowed air to cool his nether regions.
However, the fabric was so thin he might as well have stood naked before those gathered to examine the new arrivals—or "offerings," as the whore-mistress called them. A term that somehow made him and the men standing in a straight rank behind him seem less human, more like a feast spread out on a banquet table to be devoured. A feast of twenty rugged Icelanders—all with their long hair slicked back in queues behind their heads, their muscular bodies oiled and perfumed like women, and wearing the same transparent swath of fabric about their hips and silver cuffs around their wrists that proclaimed them the lowest order of slaves—sex-thralls.
Every trace of their proud heritage had been erased except for their large, rugged builds—the very qualities that had precipitated their capture and enslavement.
"I count only two guards inside this room," Hakon murmured beside him, lifting his chin to point toward the tall wooden doors at the entrance of to the salon.
Called Hakon the Bold on their former world, Eirik's new comrade was just another of the captives being paraded to satisfy the lusty appetites of the Heliopolite elite. All female, thank the stars.
Eirik gave an equally subtle nod toward the windows overlooking the landscaped grounds. Lush green grass, oases of tall flowers and leafy trees, couldn't hide the armed guards patrolling openly around the facility's perimeter. "I've counted six soldiers so far. Armed with stunners. We haven't shields to protect us should we try to make a break. They could take us all."
Hakon grunted. "But we have hostages. Or are you too squeamish to harm women?"
Eirik gave him a narrowed glare. "I wouldn't hesitate, not for a second, to do what I must to secure our freedom."
His companion's casual shrug belied his sharp scrutiny. "I thought I should ask, given how eagerly your body reacts to the vicious bitch that brought us here."
Not accustomed to having his motives questioned, Eirik bristled. "If I grow hard in Fatin's presence," he bit out, "it's because I envision all the ways I will make her suffer."
Hakon chuckled. Suspicion cleared from his face. "Good to know you will not shed a tear over her death."
However, as furious as Eirik was with the woman they discussed, the thought of standing over her lifeless body gave him a moment's pause. His chest tightened uncomfortably.
Perhaps he felt a connection to her because of the way they'd met. She'd been a gift from the men operating his family mine, a companion to warm his bed while he visited. Due to the hesitant way she'd mounted his body, he'd thought her young and untried. That first impression had been obliterated by what had happened next. He'd felt the prick of the needle she'd used to subdue him, experienced his body disintegrating into molecules as he'd been transported to a ship orbiting his planet. When he'd next awoken, he found himself caged inside the hold of a cargo ship bound for Helios, the Outlanders' home planet.
Even enduring the humiliating auction had done little to blunt his desire for the woman. He just wanted to punish her, he told himself. To visit untold demeaning acts upon her supple body. Only then would his thirst for revenge be quenched. His hesitation to end her life existed only because he didn't want her suffering to end too quickly.
"I think I could take the first thirty or so," Hakon murmured dryly beside him, eyeing the throng entering the room.
"But will you fuck them or beat them to death?" Eirik muttered, watching eyeing the scores of wide-eyed, feverishly animated women streaming inside like water breaking through a dam. The doors had just been opened, admitting the first customers.
Hakon snorted, his chin jutting upward. "I've never struck a female, but I am sorely tempted now," he said, his tone filled with disgust. "I'm a Berserkir, not a sex-thrall."
Not for the first time, Eirik reflected on the fact that he'd grown close in a very short time to the cousin of the enemy king. They'd raised swords against each other in "friendly" skirmishes back on their home world. Neighbors, Berserkir and Ulfhednar had warred for centuries, but now they were bound by their shared plight. And although he Eirik was the only Ulfhednar in their midst, all the assembled Icelanders turned to him for leadership. He was, after all, a Wolfskin prince, the fiercest clan among the Icelanders and brother to the legendary Black Wolf.
Too restless to stand still, Hakon rubbed his chest and grimaced. "Do you think it is true?"
"What?" Eirik ground out, only part of his attention on the conversation as he studied the curvaceous crowd filling the large room, wondering how many he would be expected to pleasure.
"Do you think our hair will never grow back? I'm as smooth as a woman."
Eirik grunted. He'd been every bit as dismayed as Hakon to awaken and discover his current smooth-skinned state. "My friend, I think that's the least of the indignities we will suffer."
The Norsemen were lined up in the center of the salon. Because they were close in stature and musculature, Hakon and he had been placed just in front of the line of new offerings. The most valuable prizes among the men who'd been procured for this event.
"Hymir's bollocks!" Hakon whispered furiously.
Eirik glanced down to where Hakon stared and noted that his companion's cock tented the linen, a fact that had the women strolling by to examine them tittering.
Hakon shrugged, a blush staining his cheeks. "I can't help it. I haven't enjoyed a release since that white-coated witch Miriam milked me like a dairy cow aboard the frigate before we arrived on this frigging planet. After she finished, I thought my manhood would remain shriveled forever."
The scientist hadn't come near Eirik, but only because another cold bitch had seen to stealing his semen to test its potency. Eirik searched the throng of robed women, wondering if the heartless bounty hunter would dare show herself today.
Still, as furious as he was with Fatin, Eirik's own man-staff thickened at the memory of her mouth tugging at his sex to coax him into spilling his precious seed.
The last time he'd seen her had been two days ago when she'd stood beside him on the stage erected in the arena and whipped away his clothing to display his attributes to the bidders gathered there.
Dark eyes flashing with triumph, she'd been beautiful.
He'd been furious, blood pounding at his temples and racing south to harden his cock. He'd glared daggers her way, promising her silently that one day she would know the same humiliation. That one day she would be at his mercy, and he'd show just as much of that tender emotion as she'd spared him.
"Do you think they did more than remove our hair?" Hakon whispered.
Rage made Eirik tremble anew at the thought of how he'd awoken that morning, feeling sluggish from the remnants of the drug that had been slipped into his food, his entire body denuded of his its manly fur, his arse sore. He'd wondered if he'd been taken in his sleep, raped by some unknown person, and for those first waking moments, he'd felt a searing despair.
Everything else he possessed had been stolen—his clothing, his rank, his standing among his people. Had they also taken his pride?
But he'd been assured by the female technician who'd loosened the bindings around his wrists and feet securing him to a gurney that he'd only been examined to assure his health. Had the pink-cheeked woman read his dismay? He was accustomed to hiding his emotions. The shame of her recognizing his weakness had hardened his resolve.
He was Eirik, heir to the Wolfskin kingdom of Thorshavn, and he'd not remain a slave for long.
"We could take them," Hakon repeated in a whisper. "There are only the two guards, and we could use the women as a shield when we rush the gates. You only have to say the word and the men will follow your lead."
Eirik nodded, his gaze sweeping the room again, looking for clues as to how their Helio captors intended to keep the Vikings subdued. The room was large and airy with rich red- and brown- upholstered sofas and thick carpets strewn on top of smooth gold marble floors. The large windows were unbarred and opened to display the grassy lawn surrounding the facility. Cool air spilled from vents in the ceiling and was pushed downward by the whirring blades of the fans.
Cool enough to suit the Heliopolites who were accustomed to the heat of their planet. Not for the Vikings who were fresh from New Iceland, a cold, ice-bound world.
Hakon was right. There were only two armed guards. How did they intend to force the Norsemen to do their will? "We wait," he whispered. "Something isn't right."
Hakon growled beside him, but nodded. "Do we cooperate? Do we let them command us like thralls?"
"For now. Use them as they intend to use us. Find your pleasure, but keep your eyes and ears open. We must discover how they intend to keep us confined."
"Yes, milord," Hakon gritted out, clearly unhappy at having to wait.
Eirik gave him a sharp glare. "I've said it before. Don't call me that. And don't use my name. I do not want them discovering too soon who I am."
"Do you think they would kill you rather than letting anyone know they kidnapped a noble?"
"I don't know, but it's possible. The offense is punishable by death among the Consortium worlds. To be safe, for now, simply call me Wolf."
Hakon chuckled. "A slur the men will have no trouble remembering."
"Ugly Bearshirt," Eirik rumbled, suppressing a grin. He panned the room again, and then caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar slender figure. His entire body tensed. His fists curled at his sides.
That his cock stirred right along with the rest of him reflected only his zeal to exact revenge.
The crowd of painted and perfumed women swelled, drawing closer, and then parted. Now he saw her clearly.
Fatin, the bounty hunter. Fatin, the procurer. An enigma he hoped was more than the sum of her beautiful parts. He wanted a worthy adversary upon which to concentrate his anger.
