Michelle Fox's Blog, page 13

Just 1 More - 5/3/18

I can't resist a great read and my friends always write the best books.
Take a look and see if you find anything you like.



I’m the last Salazar female left on Earth, but I’m still fully human, and I am not a bargaining chip. No way am I marrying my Dad’s business partner’s son, even if Diego does have a megatronic crotch. I’ve got to get away from the habitat. My old fly-only car won’t make it to New York, but it can take me as far the dragon island just offshore...
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A Vampire's Thirst: Nikolai by Marissa Farrar

Russian vampire Nikolai Petrov is forced by his maker to a meeting in a shady nightclub run by werewolves when it hits him—a craving for blood and sex, like nothing he’s ever experienced before—and his darkest vampire desires are unleashed.
But then a delicious scent assaults him. That of his Bloodmate. And she’s in terrible danger.
Nikolai knows he has to find her. If he doesn’t, the Thirst will take hold for good, and the number of deaths will be catastrophic—including his own. But Nikolai isn’t the only one after his Bloodmate. An older vampire has paid to own her, because Nikolai’s Bloodmate isn’t purely human...
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~ EXCERPT ~
CHAPTER 1
“I can’t believe you’re asking this of me.”
Nikolai Petrov stood facing the floor to ceiling windows of his home, gazing out over the London skyline, so he didn’t have to look at the vampire behind him. Before him stretched London’s Docklands, with the Canary Wharf tower rising into the night sky. The winding curve of the River Thames appeared black at this time of night, the only light reflected from the surrounding buildings. This place was nothing like his motherland, Russia, but, after almost fifty years, it was a place he’d come to think of as home.
Nikolai shook his head then turned to his visitor. “You know I like to keep my business clean, Ivan.”
The second vampire was dark compared to his own fair looks, and had been older when he’d been turned, too, in his early thirties rather than late twenties as Nikolai had been. Both men were smartly dressed, though Ivan appeared more ruffled than normal, his tie yanked to one side, the top button of his shirt open. Nikolai’s shirt was also open, and he didn’t wear a tie. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up his forearms, but he’d done this deliberately. Ivan’s dishevelled appearance looked less intentional.
The other vampire’s lips pursed. “You’re making a far bigger deal of this than it really is.”
Nikolai cocked an eyebrow. “Investing three million pounds into my funds is a big deal.”“Bullshit. You deal with bigger funds every day.”“Yeah, and I know exactly where that money is coming from. Don’t try to tell me this money is going to be clean. We both know Deacon Thorn deals in some dodgy shit.”Ivan shrugged. “He used to have the occasional thing on the side, but he’s been moving away from all of that for a long time. His clubs are all legit now, and he wants to continue with everything being legal, which is why he asked me to come to you. I guess he thought you’d understand, what with your background.”Nikolai frowned at him. “And why should he ask you for anything, Ivan? What did you do? What is it you owe him? Is it just about the money? If it’s about money, I have plenty. I’ll just pay whatever you owe.”But Ivan shook his head. “No, it’s not. And he doesn’t only want the money. He wants an investment opportunity, and he likes how everyone knows you’re always above board. That’s why he asked me to come to you.”“I won’t be above board if I start to get involved with that son of a bitch.”Ivan’s dark eyes grew hard. “I’m asking one simple thing from you, Nikolai. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”“Investing millions into my funds is not a simple thing.”“All it would take you is the click of a key on a computer.” His shoulders slumped and his tone changed to pleading. “Just come and meet with him, Nikolai. He’s not as bad as the rumours make out. He’s a businessman, just like you and I.”“He’s a wolf.” Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “That’s never a good thing in my book.”“You should judge people on who they are, not what they are,” Ivan scolded. “People aren’t exactly fond of vampires either, you know.”Nikolai gave a cold laugh. “Well, he fails on both who and what he is.”He turned back to look out at the London skyline. Normally, the expanse of lights brought him some comfort, but tonight he found he could only focus on his reflection staring back at him. Nikolai’s eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost appearing silvery in some light. His dark blond hair was just a shade away from brown. The effect, together with his pale skin, made his reflection look like a ghost, and he found the thought unnerving.Ivan exhaled a frustrated lungful of air. “I hope you’re not saying no to me, Nikolai, not after everything I did for you.”“That was a long time ago.”“And I’ve never asked for a single thing in return. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead, and most of your family would have been wiped out.”“Most of them are gone now anyway,” he growled.“That tends to happen after fifty years walking the earth, but they have descendents, which they wouldn’t have if I’d not stepped in.”Everything Ivan said was the truth. Nikolai had moved to London not long after he’d turned him from human to vampire. He’d had to in order to escape theBratva—the Russian mafia—with which his family had been deeply involved. He was killed by a rival family who had put out a hit on him because they hadn’t liked some of the contacts he was making. They’d shot him and left him for dead in the middle of a frozen alleyway. But a vampire had stumbled across him and had turned him then and there, feeding him from his own veins, and leaving fresh blood drops in the white snow.Ivan turning him meant Nikolai was able to kill the man who had ordered the hit, but knowing what he was, he worried it would come back on his family, so he left Moscow for London. He’d never been back, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss the place with every fibre of his soul. He often wondered what the next generations were doing, if they’d managed to get out of the organised crime business, or if his family’s ancestors were still deeply involved. He hoped they’d made it out, but that was their business now. It wouldn’t do any of them any good for him to re-enter their lives. He’d cause them more trouble than anything else.A low growl of anger rumbled deep in Nikolai’s chest. If it had been anyone else asking this of him, he would have caught them up by the throat and thrown them from his penthouse by now, but this wasn’t anyone. Ivan Sokolov made him who he was today, and he owed him more than just his life.“If you won’t say yes right away, at least come and meet with Deacon. He’ll be able to convince you that he’s genuine about wanting to do business with you.”Nikolai scowled. “I don’t doubt that. It’s the kind of business he wants to do that’s the problem.”“He trusts you, Nikolai. He’s seen you have a head for the market, and he thinks you’re the one who can make his money grow.”“It’s where that money is coming from that concerns me.”Ivan’s lips thinned, his nostrils flaring. “One meeting, Nikolai. That’s all I ask. Surely you can’t refuse me that?”                                                                                         Nikolai clenched his jaw, his fists balled at his sides. Ivan had put him in an impossible place. His maker had never asked for a single thing from him as thanks and had helped him take down the man who’d arranged to end his human life—something that hadn’t been easy when he’d been a new vampire and not yet in control of his bloodlust. Ivan had taught him everything, and he wouldn’t have the life he had now if it hadn’t been for Ivan’s help. He was only asking for a meeting, and then Nikolai could tell the wolf to get lost face-to-face, if that was what he decided. He would be able to take the blame, rather than it falling on Ivan.“Fine,” he relented. “Arrange the meeting.”Ivan’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow night.”Nikolai lifted a finger. “First, one thing. What did you do to give a wolf something to hold over you?”Ivan pulled a face. “I slept with his daughter.”

Rebel Dragon by Anna Lowe

Off to Maui for a relaxing vacation? Hardly. Surfer Jenna Monroe is on the run from a stalker who lusts after her blood. Instead of combing the beach for lost treasures, she’s forced to venture deep into the terrifying world of shape shifters. There, even the good guys are hard to trust — all except for the hot-blooded rebel she can’t get out of her head.
Connor Hoving and his band of Special Forces shifters were planning to leave trouble behind by moving to Maui, but destiny has other ideas. His whole future — and that of his brothers — depends on acing his new job as head of security at an exclusive seaside estate. But Connor can barely get his inner dragon to focus with alluring, off-limits Jenna around. Can this rebel dragon learn to play by the rules when his fated mate’s life is on the line?
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~ EXCERPT 

A bead of sweat built on her brow as Jenna concentrated on the feel of Connor’s body and the angle of the knife. The position of his elbow as he demonstrated the move, and the way the blade turned in her hand. Somehow, sensual and practical became one, and it didn’t matter which was which anymore.“Now push my arm away, and aim here…” he murmured, pointing at a dip in his collarbone.She was tempted to aim her lips there instead, but okay. As long as she got to stay this close to him…Even cold and calculating terms like dig for the clavicular artery or go for the soft tissue of the neck wafted like clouds across the sky of her mind.Connor started changing up his moves, catching her off guard, making the exercise more realistic. Then he pinned her arms behind her back. She wiggled and grunted, struggling to get free.“So, are you ready to give up?” he asked, an inch from her ear.Her blood rushed. “Hell no.”He chuckled. “Good.”He showed her how to break out of that hold, too, which was her favorite move yet. She got to go from having her back held firmly against Connor’s chest to turning to face him from an inch away.“Now, let’s suppose he pushes you to the ground…” Connor said, hooking his foot around hers.She didn’t fall because he lowered her gently and followed her down, pinning her knife hand above her head. His knees came down on either side of her hips, and his bare chest came parallel to hers.Not a single alarm went off in Jenna’s mind, because it wasn’t intimidating at all. Just…good. Solid. Snug and secure. Her body was all achy, though, and her lips yearned for his.“So you need to consider your options,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice.Oh, she was considering her options, all right. Like using her free hand to guide his head down and get those hungry lips within reach.His mouth opened and closed. A bead of sweat slid down his brow. That tic started up in his right cheek exactly as it had the night they’d kissed.“Am I doing this right?” she mumbled, running her free hand along his ribs.Connor closed his eyes and held perfectly still. “Too right,” he rasped.Good. Then she’d do it a little more.“I found a problem,” she whispered, tilting her head so that her hair swung away from her eyes.“What problem?” His gaze dropped to her lips.“What if I don’t want to get free?”His nostrils flared, and he lowered his body until his chest rested on hers. Most of the weight was on his arms, making his biceps bulge.“That is a problem,” he rumbled. “Especially since I don’t want to let you go.”

Wolf Pack Freebie Fest – April 2018

For the first time ever,these shifter readsare F*R*E*E!April 24 – 27REMEMBER!Check prices before you buy.They can change without notice.If you see a book that isn’t fr*ee,please check back lateras price changes may be delayed.

Hailey had unintentionally invited the soul of a dragon into her own for safe keeping. But this was his eviction notice. She wanted him out of her head. Now.
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This isn’t about the Hunger, Rogues, or Magic…it’s more than that…it’s the Goddess’ gift…Rafe’s Soulmate!
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Tragedy made her a shifter hunter. He would die to protect his family’s secrets. When business brings them together in Africa, sparks and claws will fly.
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Khimairans were granted humanity by the gods…with a catch. In order to keep the gift a Khimairan shifter must find their mate or forever lose their humanity, trapped as a beast for all time.
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Gambling with magic, betting on love. A witch on a hit list and a cursed elf in sin city, their hearts and lives on the line.
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Gavin McLoughlin is the strongest, fastest, and most promising Dragoon of his graduation class. He has supportive friends, and the perfect girlfriend. Then one event changes everything, turning his whole life upside down.
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A Wild Wolf, A Sexy As Sin Shifter, A Bond They Couldn’t Deny. Will Jett and Taryn be able to get their happily ever after, or will it be destroyed by their enemy?
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A pair of immortal assassins, whose eternal love is on the rocks, must questions everything they believe true to stop a killer before its too late for his next victim—and their relationship.
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How to steal a dragon prince’s heart? Step one: Enter his lair…
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CLICK HERE  to enter our giveaway!

Just 1 More - 4/19/18

I can't resist a great read and my friends always write the best books.
Take a look and see if you find anything you like.

~


Would you sleep with someone else to save the one you love?
Can you forgive yourself if you don’t?

In this binge-worthy six book bundle, three headstrong women stand toe-to-toe with irresistible shifters and immortal warriors. 265,000 action-packed words filled with love, lust and, betrayal.
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~


Marilyn Carrington has been hurt by everyone who has ever claimed to love her. Now, she only trusts herself and her .45 caliber pistol. When the sexiest man she has ever seen walks into the bar where she works, she stays clear of him, ignoring his advances. But when he takes the hint and leaves her alone, Marilyn finds she doesn’t care about the danger she senses around him; she wants to know the feeling of love again...
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Fragile Gods by Melissa Snark

Sawyer Barrett grew up far from his divine birthright, raised as a hunter of monsters in Phoenix, Arizona. But he failed in his duty as slayer and guardian...
Now he pledges to protect the people he wronged, from enemies lurk on all sides—shape changing shamans, an ancient witch, and the Norse Fates. Ultimately, Sawyer's downfall may come from within, when the woman he's deceived for so long learns the truth about his murderous past...
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~ EXCERPT: CHAPTER 1 ~
Early Saturday Morning 
Blood stained his hands and his soul. Sawyer Barrett gripped the edge of the coarse blanket and scrubbed his callused palms in yet another of countless attempts to wipe them clean. Then, he held his splayed fingers against the fiery halo as dying coals smoldered amongst the blackened ashes. He'd constructed the fire pit out of smooth river rock he'd hauled from the manmade beach along the lakeshore. He blinked to focus his blurry vision, but it did no good.

Dark red, wet gore still clung to his skin—Jasper's blood.

"It's not real. It's been proven that sleep deprivation causes hallucinations. It's a sign of madness." So is talking to yourself. Get a grip, man. Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut and folded his hands on his chest, mirroring a body laid out to rest. And the wistful thought persisted—if only... He never slept anymore. Unrelenting insomnia crushed him in its merciless grip, exacting its mental and physical toll. Right then, he wouldn't have minded dying if it meant eternal slumber. But nothing good, nothing peaceful, awaited him in the afterlife.

Quiet... shush. Sawyer breathed deeply and struggled to clear his troubled thoughts. He needed a few moments of blessed blankness, but his body ached to the bones. Even the hard steel of his shotgun pressed against his side proved distracting. Laboriously, he filtered out the disturbances and built a mental wall brick by brick. His turmoil eased but Lady Sleep spurned him, refusing to take him into her soothing embrace.

As dawn crept closer, hundreds of disagreeably cheerful birds launched into song. As grumpy as a bear, Sawyer turned over with a labored grunt. He might as well get up. He had work waiting for him. Today, he planned to raise the walls on the woodshed he'd spent the past forty-eight hours constructing.

He sat up, pulling on his boots, and settled his shotgun's carry strap across his shoulder. As a matter of habit, he fell into his morning routine: feeding the fire and making coffee. While it brewed, he performed the daily ritual of cleaning and checking his weapons, starting with the matching 9mm pistols he wore in a double shoulder holster. Blades in their scabbards: one secured to each forearm in a quick draw sheath, one on his belt, and tucked into each boot. He strapped a six-piece throwing knife set to his left thigh over his beaten jeans and a concealed revolver on his calf beneath his pant leg.

A soft rustle alerted Sawyer to an intruder behind him. He hesitated, a splitsecond glitch, in the act of reaching for his machete. Cold sweat ran down his back. Conditioned fight instincts kicked in. He dropped his hand to the shotgun and seated his finger on the stout trigger. As he pivoted, he brought the shotgun up, aiming it straight at his dead mother.

"There's no need for that," Sarah Barrett said, and Sawyer flinched. Her voice stung. It summoned painful childhood memories: the soft strains of lullabies and crooned reassurance. Her familiar scent—rose and sandalwood—flooded his nostrils, provoking a paralyzing surge of nostalgia and yearning.

"Mom?" Sawyer staggered. The muzzle of the shotgun dipped and slipped from his fingers. He caught the firearm and jerked it up again, but not at her. His instincts screamed this must be a trick, but he couldn't bring himself to point a loaded weapon at his mother... or her likeness.

"It's really me, Sawyer." Sarah offered a small, sad smile. An ethereal halo suffused her. She was as radiant and beautiful as she'd looked before the chemo treatments had taken their toll.

"It can't be. You're dead." He stepped back.

"Regardless, I'm here." She opened her arms, offering a hug, but left the decision up to him. It took everything he had not to rush to her.

"My mother died." Sawyer clung to the simple, stubborn defense. Inwardly, he fumed. Why did these sort of supernatural shenanigans always strike before he got his first cup of coffee?

"I'm a goddess. Only my mortal incarnation died," Sarah countered with an enigmatic smile. Mistress of Mystery—his mother had a singular talent for making any answer, no matter how obscure or inane, sound reasonable.

"How do I know it's really you?" More than anything, he wanted this to be genuine. Hardened suspicion held him back.

"You don't believe it's me?" Sarah tilted her head. Hurt flitted across her face and she dropped her arms. Guilt dropkicked him in the gut.

"Let's just say this isn't the first time I've met the likeness of a deceased family member at this damn lake. Daniel tried to drown me." Reflexively, he tightened his grip on the gun. It wasn't magical. In his experience, however, a double-barrel shotgun unloaded at point-blank range solved all sorts of threats, mundane and supernatural.

"That wasn't Daniel. Your bother would never hurt you."

"I know that." Sawyer's gut cramped. Daniel's murder had been properly avenged, but Sawyer still lived in the shadow of grief.

"It is offensive that Daniel's likeness was used against you." She stiffened, and her tone acquired a flinty edge. "However, that isn't what truly angers me."

"No?"

"No. It's not. I am incensed that Freya dared demand my son be sacrificed in her name." Wrath burned in Sarah's gaze, but she wore the icy composure of a queen. She ruled her rage, and she was downright terrifying. His doubt regarding the truth of her identity toppled like a row of dominoes.

"Freya did that?" Sawyer asked, knocked off kilter.

"She did exactly that on the night Den Valgte attacked you and your friends."

"I was unconscious." Technically, he'd croaked. In keeping with the complex, contradictory rules that governed his life, he could die. It merely put him out of commission, however, while runic magic healed his injuries. Sawyer could slow or speed the process—to a limited degree—but he couldn't stop it. Unless his heart got destroyed; then he died and stayed dead.

He preferred not to nitpick.

"Freya ordered her priestess to cut out your heart and offer it to her."

He didn't know what to say, so he stood there in shocked silence while the implications sank in. Oh, he'd known something had upset Victoria. This explained everything—why she refused to look him in the eyes. Up until that moment, he'd clung to a shred of doubt. He told himself comforting lies—the Den Valgte attack had exhausted Victoria, and she needed time to recover. The truth was uglier, harder to swallow. Sawyer had dreaded the day Victoria learned about Jasper... and he yearned for it. Ironically, his worst fear remained unaddressed. Had Victoria only spared Sawyer's life because of the promise she'd made to Jake to forego revenge? She must've hungered to avenge the slain boy. Nausea churned in his gut.

"Do you understand what it means when one god is sacrificed to another?" Sarah asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, I get it." He jerked his head in a curt nod. Abruptly, he got good and worried, though not for himself. He released the shotgun.

"It would've destroyed your immortal soul, Sawyer. This offense cannot go unaddressed. Freya must be held accountable. She will pay." Sarah raised her fist like a general about to order an army to war—not a casual analogy for a queen who had the might of Asgard's military at her beck and call.

"Mom, you can't blame Victoria. She refused, or I wouldn't still be standing here. Promise me you won't harm her." He caught Sarah's hand, hoping if he held on tightly enough, it'd drive home the force of his conviction.

Sarah lifted her brow. "Daniel already exacted that promise from me. Who is this woman that matters so much to my sons?"

Mortification turned Sawyer inside out. Sometimes, he forgot Victoria and Daniel had been lovers long before Sawyer entered the picture... Sometimes, he preferred to allow that awareness to lapse because it was easier. Now, beneath his mother's discerning gaze, he was an overturned snail. All his gooey, vulnerable innards exposed... He didn't care for the sensation in the least. But he wouldn't back down, not with Victoria's welfare at stake.

"I care for her and I owe her. Promise me." Sawyer braced himself; he'd use the L-word if he had to. Most people considered Odin to be a harsh and merciless monarch, but the old man had nothing on the queen.

"What do you owe her?" Sarah made the question into a demand.

A terrible tightness constricted his chest so it hurt to breathe. He gathered his strength, pushing against the oppressive weight. Truth must be told. His voice sounded harsh to his own ears. "When Daniel died, I blamed Victoria. I believed she'd murdered him. I went mad with grief and rage, and I wouldn't listen to anyone. Not Dad, not Skinner... My thirst for revenge was vast and all-consuming. I destroyed everything and everyone who got in my way. Innocent people got killed— hunters, wolves... It's a long, complicated saga, and I suspect you already know most of it."

Light glinted in her eyes—confirmation. "All that is settled. Your father has paid the blood price. But that's not what you truly mean when you say you owe her."

"There was a boy, Jasper. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen... He was a member of the Storm Pack and under Victoria's protection. This was after Adair and Katherine died, and she assumed leadership." He glanced over her shoulder, noting the encroaching dawn. Once, he'd thought of Jasper as "the kid he'd shot". Living with—belonging to—the Storm Pack had changed all that.

"I met the young man once when he was a child," Sarah said.

"We picked him up in Albuquerque. Dad wanted to use him as leverage to force Victoria to surrender to us. He wanted to talk to her but I—"

"You needed to kill her."

Sawyer twitched and clenched his jaws. Hearing it that way cut deep, but his mother would forgive his sins whether he warranted it or not. More than anything, he despised the thought of how he'd failed her. He wanted to be good and worthy in her estimation. Not a coward or a child killer.

"Jasper made a break for it and ran. I shot him in the back. Just killed him in cold blood. Silver ammo, point-blank range. He died immediately." He hiccupped, a snotty inhalation.

"Oh, Sawyer..." Sorrow washed over Sarah. She reached for him, perhaps intending to brush her fingers over his cheek. He evaded her touch. He refused to accept her sympathy because he didn't deserve it.

"I have blood on my hands. Do you see?" In desperation, he shoved his redstained, shaking hands into her face.

"Oh, my darling boy, I do see." Sarah looked down, staring, and caught his wrists. Tears shone bright in her eyes. She swiped her fingers across his palms. Where she touched, a pure blue X formed upon the crimson field. Gebo—the rune of love and forgiveness. It shone with sapphire brilliance, but then the hard edges eroded. The sigil fractured; blood filled the cracks. In a blink, it submersed beneath the ocean of blood. Even Frigg with all her immense influence couldn't remove the blight.

"I also perceive your father has awakened the runes within you," Sarah added in the tone she reserved for expressing criticism. She leveled a look that reminded him of the summer he'd stolen the keys to the Chevelle and gotten into a wreck.

"Dad said you wouldn't approve." Perspiration beaded on his upper lip. Agitated, Sawyer scrubbed his hands across his jeans but the ickiness remained.

That earned a frown from his mother... just as Sawyer had expected. His parents subscribed to old-fashioned parenting: the united front, et al. Even the suggestion of division—hence, weakness—displeased Sarah. It wasn't a trick he used but once in a blue moon. Every now and then, however, redirection proved highly effective.

Sarah pursed her lips. "Before we started a mortal family, your father and I agreed our children should live full human lives. Tell me, what else did Jake say?"

"That it was necessary—if we're going to live at all, we have to be able to die." As soon as he spoke, Sawyer regretted his vehemence. He should've softened his tone.

"You agree with your father." Sarah raised her brow in clear skepticism. Hardly surprising—Jake and Sawyer had a grand tradition of discord.

When it'd come to the runes, however, father and son had reached a swift and total accord. To start, Jake had lit the spark, igniting the magic dormant within the souls of Sawyer and his brothers, JD and Gage. Then, like tykes on trikes, they'd received a crash course in Runes 101. The most important takeaway had been the warrior's prowess bind rune, which heightened both physical and mental attributes and facilitated accelerated healing.

Sawyer didn't want to get trapped into playing he said/she said with his parents. From his lifetime of experience, this game never ended well. He would rather bare his soul in the hopes his mother could find some way to help him.

"You want to know the worst of all this—the really fucked-up part that doesn't make any sense no matter how hard I try?" Sawyer asked. "Murdering a kid isn't the worst of it. It's that Jasper's soul was condemned to Niflheimr because he got shot in the back. He died a coward's death."

Niflheimr: a land of mist and ice from which eleven rivers flowed. Home to the dragon Nidhogg; it bordered Helheimr where the goddess Hel ruled over the adjacent lands of the dead. While cold and dark, Helheimr wasn't a punishment, unlike Niflheimr where the damned suffered eternal punishment.

"Jasper's cowardice isn't on you," Sarah shot back.

"The hell it's not." Out of respect, Sawyer tried not to swear in his mother's presence, but this time anger overrode his inhibition. He tore free from her grasp and turned away, raising his fists. He desperately needed to kill something. "Tell me, Mother, what kind of value system punishes a kid for running away? What kind of gods are we?"

A thoughtful silence ensued. Sawyer started to wonder if she'd left but he couldn't quite muster the courage to turn around and face her. After a pronounced delay, Sarah replied in an even tone.

"Children are never sent to Niflheimr," she said. "But those laws were set down in a different era. Then, a sixteen-year-old was considered a man and expected to conduct himself as a warrior. Worth was measured in wisdom, cunning, and courage. I'll concede, many of the ancient edicts for how things are have outlived their usefulness... That isn't a cop out."

Sawyer sealed his lips. She'd beat him to it.

"It's simply how things are," Sarah continued. "I'm sorry. If I could save Jasper, I would do so for your sake, Sawyer. However, it's beyond your father's or my ability to change. Fair or not, it is what it is."

He spun. "You just reduced the hereafter to a platitude."

"If it's any comfort to you, I promise no harm will come to your Victoria by my hand or my deed."

"Thank you."

She nodded.

Overcome with relief and exhaustion, he lacked the strength to stand. He strode over to the stump he used for chopping firewood and sank onto it before his rubbery legs could betray him. He heaved a tired sigh. "Why are you here, Mom?"

"I'm afraid," Sarah said in a trembling voice.

"Afraid." That made him sit up straighter. What could scare his mother? "Of what?"

Sarah clasped her hands together before her heart. "I'm a seer."

He grunted. "More powerful than Dad."

"Your father might disagree." Sarah smiled, but it faded fast. "I have seen your future. I have seen a future where you are trapped in the underworld."

Fear clenched his heart until it struggled to beat. When Frigg prophesied death, be it man or god, the question wasn't if—only when.

"We all die in the end," Sawyer said, striving for composure. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he was compelled to ask. "How will I die?"

"I am unsure..." Sarah frowned and gnawed her lower lip. "I have been unable to perceive your actual death, even though I have tried. When I look, I always see past the crux to the future of your soul."

"Not good, I take it?" Sawyer had a powerful premonition of his own, but he still hung on the hook of anticipation.

"Your soul will be lost to Niflheimr."

Ironic and apropos... Sawyer nodded in glum appreciation. "Maybe Niflheimr is where I belong."

"No! Don't talk like that, Sawyer. I forbid it." She flew across the clearing to grasp his shoulders with inhuman strength.

He gritted his teeth, enduring the pain. "I'm sorry. If it's any comfort, I don't intend to kill myself. What would you have me do?"

Sarah eased off, releasing him. "Come back to Valhalla with me. You'll be safe there where I can protect you."

"No!" Sawyer exploded to his feet.

"Sawyer, please. Daniel is there, as am I. You wouldn't be alone." Sarah paced, wringing her hands. "Now that I've talked to you, I'm more certain than ever. Guilt is destroying you. I fear Niflheimr will become your self-fulfilling prophecy. I've already lost one son to Hel's realm. I cannot lose another."

Baldur the Shining, Baldur the Beloved, had been Frigg's favorite son. To Sawyer, Baldur was just a name—the older brother he'd never met, who'd died centuries before his birth. His parents, however, still grieved for Baldur, their vanquished child.

"I'm not Baldur." Sawyer pressed his lips together to stop from adding, I deserve whatever's coming to me. To say it aloud would be cruel.

"No, you're not," she said, weeping. "For one, Baldur was never thick-headed or stubborn..."

"Now you're channeling Dad." Sawyer grimaced. It pained him to cause his mother grief but... "I can't return to Valhalla with you. I have to stand and fight."

"Now who sounds like his father?" Sarah pinned him with a beseeching stare. "Can you please tell me why?"

"Because..." Sawyer struggled to speak through gritted teeth. Anger overwhelmed and drove him. He fought but the words burst from him. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a coward. I won't run away and hide. I won't ever abandon the people I love!"

His shout blasted over them and on through the clear morning. Abrupt silence followed. Wide-eyed, Sawyer and Sarah stared at one another.

"Is that what you think? That I abandoned you and your brothers?" Sarah blinked, releasing a flood of tears. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

The depths of his resentment shook him to the core. Until he'd said it, he hadn't realized he harbored such a sentiment toward his mother. Sarah Barrett hadn't just gotten sick and passed away. As she'd pointed out so succinctly... she was a goddess. She'd allowed it to happen. She'd refused the magical intervention that would've cured her cancer. In essence, she'd chosen death over her husband and her sons...

Sawyer choked back a sob. He clung to his anger to keep grief at bay. "Dad needed you. Daniel and the twins needed you. I needed you, and you left."

"Oh, my baby. I'm so sorry." Sarah raised her hands to frame his face but didn't touch him. She shed enough tears for them both. "I didn't want to go. Leaving broke my heart, but it had to be done. Your father needed to learn how fragile and precious mortal life truly is. He is about to endure the greatest test he'll ever face."

"Dad is your excuse?" Sawyer barked with harsh laughter. His audacity shocked them both.

Sarah's ire sparked; a fuse with a slow burn. "Mock me, but know this. The fate of Yggdrasil and the Nine Worlds depends on your father."

Mother and son stared at each other. The breeze rattled the trees and an intrepid squirrel skittered boldly through the camp in its quest for pine nuts.

Sawyer hung his head. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you. I'll always forgive you, but it's not my forgiveness you need." Sarah wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes." It shamed him that she even found it necessary to ask. He hugged his mother in return. "I love you."

"I love you, too." After they parted, she made one final plea. "You won't return to Valhalla?"

"I can't. I won't. Dad is counting on me. The twins have already lost so much. There are people here who need me..." He'd sooner hop the express train straight to Niflheimr than run out on Victoria, the Storm Pack, and his family. The prophecy of his death brought everything into sharp focus. "If I'm going to die, I want it to serve a greater purpose."

A sacrifice that mattered.

"Very well, I respect your decision." Shrouded in grief, Sarah squared her shoulders. "If you must follow in your father's footsteps, then do so in style."

"What does that mean?" Sawyer suspected he was a fool to ask.

"I brought you a gift." Unceremoniously, Sarah thrust a solid object, which appeared out of thin air, against Sawyer's chest.

"Uh, thanks. You know my birthday's not till October." He grabbed it on reflex, wrapping his fingers around the smooth edges, and staggered under the impact. Defying appearances, his mother packed quite a punch.

"I know when you were born, Sawyer. I was there. Of all my children, your birth was the most difficult. You were breech." Thunk—the arrow struck the bullseye.

"I'm sorry." Sawyer winced, and delivered a mental slap to the back of his skull. Stupid—he should've known better than to fall into that trap.

"You're forgiven." His mother narrowed her eyes, her smile mean.

"I love you too, Mom," he said, groaning.

With a sigh, he held the gift up for inspection and pulled back in a double take. His goddess mother had brought him a round shield constructed of wood and steel. It measured thirty-six inches in diameter, and must've weighed at least sixty pounds. The hand-hammered center boss served as the hub for a black Helm of Awe upon a field of red. Sawyer had to bite his tongue against the impulse to shout, "It belongs in a museum."

Jokes aside, Sawyer had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. He never fought with a sword or an axe. Daggers and knives, sure, but firearms were his preferred weapons. A clunky, heavy shield would only slow him down in combat.

"Mom, you're aware this is the twenty-first century?"

"Don't get smart with me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Kappiskjǫld was made by Thrust Tusk Ironforge," Sarah explained. "The wood was harvested from a Jötunheimr ironwood and the ore was smelted in the lava pools of Múspellsheimr. It is impervious to both cold and heat."

"Is it magical?" Sawyer's estimate of the artifact rose.

"Not yet."

And sank.

He frowned. "Not yet?"

"Take Kappiskjǫld with you to Arizona when you go."

"When am I going to Arizona?" Sawyer asked. Despite his incredulity, he tucked the warning away in the portion of his mind reserved for serious matters. Only fools and dead men failed to heed Frigg's warnings.

"Do you still have Gnýrhorn?"

"Gnýrhorn?" he echoed with a start of surprise. The tangent threw him for another loop. How had they gotten from Dwarven shields to enchanted ram's horns? 

Gnýrhorn—when blown, the curved ram's horn summoned the Wild Hunt... or so the story went. Sawyer kept the Norse artifact packed away in an old captain's chest that he'd hauled halfway around the country and back. Ironically, but not coincidentally, Gnýrhorn was another gift from his mother, presented to him years ago on the eve of his high school graduation. No one had been more surprised, other than maybe Jake. Just a glance at his old man's face had told Sawyer his father disapproved.

"Where is it?" Sarah demanded.

"It's at the hunter's cabin here in Sierra Pines. Why?"

Sarah gripped his wrist. "You're going to need it soon. Remember, this is important. When you sound Gnýrhorn, stand at the center of a wide road and don't step off."

Sawyer's heart jolted with a heavy thud. "Or?"

"Or the Hunt will consume everyone in its path."

"You said when, not if. Is it a done deal?"

"Nothing is a done deal until you choose." Sarah stiffened. She jerked her head sharply aside, cocked as though listening to something.

"What is it?" Sawyer turned with her. He strained his ears but detected nothing amiss. Only the rustle of leaves and birds in the trees.

"There are strangers in the woods, Sawyer. Your pack is in danger."

Just 1 More - 4/13/18

I can't resist a great read and my friends always write the best books.
Take a look and see if you find anything you like.

~

Shifter Gavin Rowan informed Sydney Amataya that she’s his mate. But that’s not how Sydney operates. If he wants to mate with her, he's going to have to woo her, impress her, wine and dine her. Romance her. She deserves no less, end of the world be damned...
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~


Rowan Gilmore and her mother have spent most of Rowan’s life running -- hiding Rowan's speed, strength and precognitive power. But without knowing why she’s different, why they have to hide, or who from. Rowan’s sick of running scared, but she also harbours a dark power that emerges only when she’s afraid or in danger. A power that can kill indiscriminately...

When she moves to Australia, a street fight reveals Rowan's abilities to a stranger, Fynn. She must decide whether to run again -- or stay and risk discovery by her pursuers. Her mother has found happiness with a new partner and Rowan is reluctant to wreck it. So, after foiling another kidnap attempt, Rowan makes her decision. The time has come to stand her ground.
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~

Family is supposed to love and cherish one another. Sheila never had that growing up. When she became a mother of not just her own child, but her twin sister’s as well, she vows to love them more than she’d ever experienced. When you find love that’s worth fighting for, you grab it and hold on tight. Families don’t always have to be blood, sometimes ones that are chosen are even more special as they are forged in love, instead of duty.

Can Arynn and Sheila along with their two girls finally find peace as a family, or will the darkness from their past destroy the goodness they’re creating?
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Vampire Fugitive by Annie Nicolas

Wanted: Princess Maggie Bence
That’s me -- with a ten-million-dollar bounty on my head. My home was attacked and I escaped, but I don’t know what happened to my family. Every vampire in the world is hunting me. With no money, no passport, and no allies, I stowed away on a ship and landed in New York. Rumors are the overlord of New York is a real sadist. A Nosferatu warrior named Mutt. And he’s the only one who can help me save my family...
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~ EXCERPT ~
Shoes scraping over the asphalt, wind in my long hair, sweat trickling down my spine, lungs burning. There to my left was an outdated brick apartment building that the GPS declared as my destination. I hit the door at full speed and tried the knob, but it didn’t budge.
Locked.
I scanned the names listed by the door. Red, Red, Red. Where was it? There it was. Thankfully, he still lived here. I buzzed for entrance.
The speaker squawked before a gravelly voice answered. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Mutt.” A deep male voice spoke from behind me.
I spun around, stake grasped in both hands. I plunged forward, throwing my weight behind it.
Smooth as silk, he sidestepped out of my way and plucked the stake from my hands. “Careful, you might poke your eye out with that.” He slipped my stake into a holster he wore around his shoulders.
The door buzzed and the vampire held it open for me. “Ladies first.”
“I don’t think so.” My heart hammered so hard I feared it would bruise my ribs. I had led a vampire here. He had taken my only weapon. What now? I really needed a break. It seemed for every step forward I took, fate shoved me back three steps. My eyes burned but I refused to shed a tear. My birth parents were probably dead and my adopted father was missing. Broke, hungry, and…tired of running. “Wait…” I glanced at the speaker. Red had buzzed the vampire in, not me. I hadn’t had a chance to even speak.
The slayer I wanted to meet knew him. When had vampires and slayers become friends? Something was amiss and I had no other choice but to figure it out.
“I’m not going to wait here all night, sugar. Are you coming in or not?”
I passed through the door and climbed to the third floor, dogged by the vampire the whole way.
“Do you have a name?” He walked so close I was surprised he didn’t step on my heels.
“Yes.”
He waited. And waited. “Is it a secret?”
He had no idea. That was good. How could he be involved with the ambush on the dock if he didn’t know who I was? Too many unanswered questions. “Why were you at the harbor tonight?”
“Why were you?”
I ground my teeth. We were going to get nowhere. He didn’t trust me and I couldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. And I really, really wanted to throw him. Right out that window at the top of the stairs...

Just 1 More - 4/5/18

I can't resist a great read and my friends always write the best books.
Take a look and see if you find anything you like.

~

Four dragons, one fate. One soul shattered, four entwined.

Ariana believed she’d been lucky to find love once. No other man could compare to her mate, and his memory lived strong, even after his tragic death.  Whitesong Security became her way of continuing his legacy, fighting for good causes. 

Silent battles rage amongst the shifter elite over artifacts from the war that claimed Ariana’s mate. As more elite shifters make demands for Whitesong’s expertise, Ariana is forced to take a partner. Ariana has three equally skilled applicants to choose from, but each one calls to her dragon and stirs emotions long forgotten. It’s only a matter of time before they win her heart...
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~


Ellie West has always known there was more to her story than being abandoned at birth. A child of the foster-care system, she didn’t get many breaks, but the one thing she can do is sing. It’s her only ticket out of poverty and obscurity. Nothing else matters, not even the nagging sense that she’s different. She's headed for great things. She only needs a chance...
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~

He's controlling, demanding, and superior--which always gets him what he wants. She's bold, fearless and disobedient--which always gets her in trouble.

Captain Skye Daring is a space fighter pilot without equal. Rescuing a foreign werewolf prince and his sister from behind enemy lines should be a breeze. Prince Ral doesn’t take orders from impudent humans. He’s determined to save not only his sister, but all the people they left behind. The only thing in his way is a sexy pilot too stubborn to acknowledge his authority.

Stuck in a crippled ship and hunted by tiger shifters, Skye and Ral must stop fighting each other and battle the enemy -- together. Will the prince and pilot drop their guards long enough to conquer their dislike -- and desire? 
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Rescue Bear: Cortez by J.K. Harper

When Haley's life imploded, first she hid for a long time. Now's she's finally on the upswing again, ready to create a new life for herself and find her balance. Leaving everything behind for a fresh start, she landed in the mountain shifter town of Deep Hollow, home to the Silvertip bear clan. She's never before met a bear shifter. But when she meets mammoth-sized, impossibly attractive Cortez Walker, everything she ever thought she knew about men is turned breathtakingly upside down from his first inviting smile.
Cortez is a thrill-seeker who used to live life on a risky edge. But a terrible accident proved that everything can change in a split second. Haunted by his failure to protect those who needed it, now he struggles to find peace again even as he doubts everything he's ever been able to do. Then he meets Haley. Now he faces the biggest risk of all: opening his heart and claiming her as his mate. He's up to the challenge—but first he'll have to prove he's ready to be her rescue bear.
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~ EXCERPT ~
One pivotal scene could alter the course of Haley Adams' entire life. It needed to be the best damn one she'd ever written.
Fingers poised over the keyboard, immersed in the climax of the book in which the heroine was about to rescue the hero after he'd been cold-cocked by the bad guys when he'd come to rescue her, her pulse thrummed wildly. This was it, the magic was about to happen, she could just feel i—
BAM BAM BAM.
“Shit!” Haley whacked her knee on the underside of the table and almost fell out of her chair.
Someone pounded on the front door so loud it sounded like they were planning to bring the thunder right into the house. Her heart joined her pulse, galloping hard enough she was half afraid it might jump out of her chest. She looked at the big grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. Six-thirty in the morning. Who was out there scaring the crap out of her at freaking six-thirty in the morning? Making her lose focus on the book she had to finish, or else she'd lose the tiny toehold she'd fought so hard to gain during this past year of shitasticness?
A-ha. She remembered now. The property manager had told her he would come over today to fix a slow leaking pipe in the upstairs bathroom. Great. She hadn't thought he'd meant this early. Or that he wouldn't call her first to let her know he was on his way. Sighing as real life took over the made-up-but-oh-so-real-feeling one she'd been working on, she took a quick glance down at her clothes.
Oh, fabulous. She was wearing her favorite ratty orange robe over her fleece jammy bottoms, the red ones that had little purple and black penguins sprinkled all over. Better yet, she also had her big old fuzzy moose slippers, complete with antlers and huge eyes, shoved onto her feet. They were her good luck ones that she liked to wear when she was writing.
Basically, she looked like a disheveled madwoman.
Oh, well. She'd met the guy the day she came to town, when he'd shown her the house she would be sitting for a year while the owners, his parents, traveled around the world. He had struck her as polite, professional, and totally uninterested in her. Which was completely fine by her. After she'd had her entire life blown up last year, men were the last thing on her mind. All she cared about right now was working hard to write the best damned book of her career. It was clear all he cared about was making sure any handiwork that needed to be done to his parents' house while they were gone got taken care of. So neither one of them should care about her hair or her unfortunate choice in sleepwear. Plus, it was six-thirty in the morning. What else should she be wearing?
Automatically smoothing her hands over her hair anyway, she frowned harder as she realized it was in a ridiculously messy bun caught at the nape of her neck. Great. But she shrugged as she went to the door. Writers at work looked scruffy and neglected sometimes. Dude would have to deal.
BAM BAM BAM! She jumped again mid-stride as the pounding sounded once more, even louder. It sounded like it could crack the door in two.
So rude. Now she was just plain irritated. "Hold your horses!" As she yanked open the door, she started to say in a pointed voice, "You know, there's a perfectly good doorbell—oh!” She chopped off her words. “You're not the property manager." She stared at the mountain of a man standing outside the door.
Big, huge mountain man with golden-brown eyes and muscles that bulged out even from beneath his tawny shearling jacket. Hoooly shit. He was really, really big. Light brown hair cropped close, a bristly beard that spread over his lower cheekbones and chin that she really wanted to scrape her fingers through to feel the scratch of it, eyes that gazed steadily at her from beneath a tussle of eyebrows. Jeans that fit him well, scuffed up but nice cowboy boots on his feet, a collared blue checked shirt that opened up just enough at his neck to show skin. Did she mention that he was huge? He took up the entire doorway, which was already supersized. Wow. Bear shifters sure did make for big humans.
He stared back at her, seeming just as surprised to see her. A beat up black toolbox he held in one hand bumped gently against his thigh. There was a moment while they both just looked at one another, Haley's mouth open. Finally he shook his head, still looking at her like she was spotted with purple dots. "Not the property manager, no. I'm his brother. Cortez. He had something come up, couldn't make it. Said there's a leaky pipe that needs fixing?" His voice rumbled through her like dark gravel, shuddering through her body and sending sweet chills dancing up and down her skin that had nothing to do with the cold air outside.