Lola Taylor's Blog, page 6

Free Fiction Friday: Ritual Chapter 4

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 4 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

Another warning… This chapter is red-hot. I wouldn’t read it on a work computer or device, if you know what I mean.

Free Fiction Friday: Ritual chapter 3

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 3 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

Verika had been awake for the past hour and a half, as soon as she’d felt her mate’s terror. She hadn’t told him about that side-effect of their bond, that she could feel not only his thoughts but his emotions while both waking and dreaming. If he knew, she was positive he would never fall asleep again.

When she’d first stirred, his skin had been awash in a cool sheen of sweat. His fingers were curved and twitching, as if he were in his wolf form and lashing out at some unseen monster. The instant she saw him in pain, trapped in a nightmare where she couldn’t reach him, she’d summoned a simple healing spell to help soothe him. A lot of massage therapists she knew who dabbled in the magical arts also used this very same spell to help their clients relax. She’d closed her eyes and imagined his face, of a gentle land of sloping green hills kissed by sunshine. In the dream, she’d summoned a soft breeze to whisk his worries and fears away, stroking his face lovingly until he’d at last fallen asleep.

The touch of dark magic in the dream bothered her. It would have slipped by her notice if she hadn’t felt it tug at her own magic.

Mistress Black had been there, inside her mate’s head. The possessive urge to rip her to shreds, to claw her beautiful face apart, surged up inside her as her inner wolf growled. The closer she drew to her first Change, the more wolf-like traits she displayed. Catching herself staring at the swelling moon, a sharper sense of smell, hearing things from far away, much farther than the human ear could hear. It was frightening at first, she had to admit. Now, she’d overcome the scary stage and was onto the curious phase. She wondered what all she could do with her new form, if she would retain any of her magical abilities.

And whether or not she could use said abilities to track down Mistress Black and end her before something terrible happened.

Whatever had pulled at her own magic in the dream faded away. Unable to locate the source, Verika opened her eyes in the real world with a sigh of disappointment.

She glanced at her mate—and smiled. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw her mate now lay at peace, a blissful smile on his face. Sometimes she would sit and watch him, struck speechless by the gorgeous man who was destined to be hers. How kind fate had been indeed.

Her eyes roved over the hills and slopes of his chest, crowned in a patch of dark hair between his pecs. Though lax, his thick arms were corded with muscles honed from years of fighting. Scars crisscrossed his flesh, the wickedest of which slashed over his abdomen. She’d wondered where he’d gotten it, had even asked about some of the others. Brawling, mostly, or “getting some sense knocked into him,” as he’d said.

But he had yet to tell her about that large scar, the one that looked like it had cut so deep he should have been dead.

A shiver raced over her flesh, and she rubbed her arms. How close had Elijah come to greeting death that day? How many more times would they face down the grim reaper before they were allowed to be together?

If they were allowed.

No. She wouldn’t allow herself to think such thoughts.

Rising and squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the windows, she flicked her wrist. The gauze curtains instantly thickened and turned to black, shutting out any hint of light and darkening the room.

At least Elijah wouldn’t wake now. Truth was, he was probably so exhausted the light wouldn’t have been a problem. But it had concerned her, and she couldn’t quite let go of the need to fuss over her mate.

And, if she were being honest, she’d admit she’d grown rather fond of the darkness these past few weeks. And it wasn’t just because her inner wolf was growing stronger. She’d always been drawn to the night, even as a child. For all its pretty colors and warmth, a trickle of sunlight couldn’t hold a candle to the frosty beauty of a star-swept sky awash in soft, silvery moonlight. Night time had always seemed more peaceful to her—and her powers had felt stronger. Especially now that her Dark Gift had awakened, seemingly restless after years of suppression.

She nibbled her lip as she wandered over to the bathroom to pour herself a hot bath. It wasn’t that her powers were out of control. Not yet. Though if they kept growing at the pace they were, she feared she may someday be unable to contain them.

And then who—or what—would she turn into?

Casting aside her silk nightgown, she lowered herself into the steaming water, sinking lower and lower until it rose to her chin. The warmth burned and prickled at first, her skin was so cold. Tiny ripples raced across the pool’s surface as her body trembled, fighting to warm itself. Within a few minutes, her muscles unwound and the surface stilled.

Yet the chill—the fear she’d tried so desperately to suppress—remained rooted in her bones.

Every witch had grown up with “ghost stories,” tales of blood and death swapped over pillow fights and flashlights at slumber parties. Most spoke of the worst of their kind, those dark women and men who’d been granted powers from the devil himself. Or so the legends said.

They destroyed towns, burned families alive in their homes while their screams and pleas filled the smoky air.

Devoured children and fashioned necklaces out of their bones.

Verika stared at the murky water, a dead weight settling in her chest.

There was no such thing as a good Black Witch or Warlock. That’s what everyone said, what everyone believed because they’d been taught it from a young age and had probably never questioned those beliefs because they’d never met a Black Witch or Warlock. She’d met plenty of witches and warlocks of the other magical houses, and, especially being a cop, or rather “ex cop,” she knew all too well that the soul of the magic depended on the heart of the user. There had been plenty of Blue, and even White, Witches and Warlocks who were as corrupt as they came. Even the gentler houses weren’t immune to defilement.

“You always have choices,” Satine had taught her. “The choice to be good, or to be bad. All you have to do is decide.”

Decide. Such a simple thing to do, that could determine your entire future. But what Verika had wondered as she’d gorged herself on the pain and suffering of Gerard, the man who’d killed her mentor in cold blood, was if they were really so different.

She’d enjoyed it, killing him. Or rather, her magic had, but weren’t they becoming one and the same? Every night, she could feel her magic’s inky threads lazily weaving their way throughout her blood, bonding with her. Making her feel stronger, in both body, mind, and soul. Her endurance, she’d noted during their woodland treks, had grown exponentially. Eyesight, taste, and sound had also sharpened, though she couldn’t be sure if that was due to her impending Change or another magical enhancement.

She knew witches and warlocks changed when coming into their powers. With deep longing, she’d watched her childhood friends receive their gifts, coming into their own, and couldn’t wait until it was at last her turn.

And waited, and waited. Day by day, that burning hope diminished, growing smaller and smaller until she almost couldn’t remember what she’d been excited for, save for the bitter taste of disappointment that reminded her she was different.

Oh, how right and wrong she’d been.

Leaning forward, she stared at her reflection in the pool, at the green eyes so full of light and goodness. Elegant, mystical markings inked her neck, back, and shoulders, curving gracefully down onto her chest where they stopped just above her breasts. Her body had changed so much. Getting out of the office had done her physique good. Her arms and legs seemed more defined, and she swore her waist line had shrunk.

She smiled. The secret to weight loss? Running for your life.

She had changed even more. She’d sworn never to date another werewolf, and here she was mated to one.

One who made her want to be the best damn witch and woman she could be.

She was good, deep, deep down. Not completely. No one was. People were varying shades of gray, some darker than others.

You always have choices.

“I choose to be good,” she whispered to herself. “No matter what, I’ll keep running towards the light.”

She wasn’t sure who she was promising, herself or Satine. Either way, promises held power. Resolve. She needed that, needed the surety of that commitment burning in her soul if things went wrong.

Which, she had a feeling, was going to happen eventually, given the circumstances.

After lounging in the bathtub until her skin pruned, she toweled off and threw on a black silk robe she’d found in the enormous closet. Sher was almost afraid to put it on. The label bore the logo of some designer she’d never heard of, but it sounded fancy. The robe was thick and finely sewn, with small pockets on the front, and buttery soft. Her skin practically purred with satisfaction as the expensive material brushed over it. The cost of that single bath robe—a freaking bath robe, for crying out loud!—probably cost more than her entire wardrobe put together.

Still… it was nice to wear something so pricey. Probably one of the few chances she’d get in her life to indulge in a little finery.

Threading her fingers through her hair to untangle it, she patted off the excess water, letting it hang freely over her shoulder to air dry. She’d never been fond of hair dryers. They always seemed to make her hair extra frizzy, and God knew she could use all the help she could get taming it.

After brushing her teeth and applying a silky, jasmine-scented moisturizer to her face that she’d found in the cabinet, she padded out to the bedroom when a soft knock came at the door.

Careful not to make a sound to disturb her mate, who still slumbered with a smile on his face, she opened the door—

And went rigid all over.

Alara Crescent blinked, but other than that there was no other sign of surprise on her lovely face.

The two women stared at one another, the silence heavy.

Alara recovered first. “Hello,” she said, the word sounding strained. Cold. As if all her pretty manners had kicked in and made her attempt to be polite.

“Hello,” Verika answered quietly.

More silence.

Alara’s eyes flitted past her, flicking toward the bed. “Gage is on his way. He should be here within an hour. I was coming to wake you up, but I see you’re already awake.” A pointed look to Elijah.

“I’ll wake him up soon,” Verika promised, crossing her arms. Under that woman’s imperial stare, she felt naked.

Alara didn’t respond, instead assessing Verika with a critical eye. As if sizing her up. She’d seen that look before, usually when one werewolf came across another.

Let the proverbial pissing contest begin.

“Was there something I could help you with?” Verika at last asked when the silence became uncomfortable.

Alara pursed her lips. “I don’t sense it.”

A blink. “What?”

“Your magic… it’s gone silent.” The subtle shudder didn’t escape Verika’s notice. “Is hiding your signature another one of your powers?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t even realized she’d been doing anything. Which made her giddy as hell. For weeks now, she’d been focusing on masking hers and Elijah’s signatures, so as to stay better hidden from other paranormals. And, namely, to stay under Mistress Black’s radar. At first, it had been hard to focus on hiding a part of herself. But with practice, it had gotten easier. Apparently to the point where Verika didn’t much have to concentrate on it.

“I’ve been practicing,” she said lamely. Conversation—people, in general—had never been one of her strong suits.

“So I see.” Alara sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Look, we should talk. When you get dressed, come find me. I’ll be in the garden out back. There’s a pea gravel pathway off the veranda. At the fork, take a left. You’ll come across a stone angel.”

Giving an awkward but tight smile, Alara turned and left Verika standing in the doorway.

We should talk.

Oh, God. Verika didn’t need to be psychic to know what about. She was Alara’s mate’s ex-girlfriend, after all. Plus, her magic was one of the most feared in the land. Alara probably thought she was evil, maybe even try to go Buffy on her.

Your imagination is running away with you again.

Shaking her head free of such nonsense, she shut the door, raided the closet, and two minutes later emerged wearing black leggings, a black, long-sleeved tunic top, and… her mud-spattered, run-down boots. Realizing they were going to be in the woods for a while, she’d bought them from an outlet mall store soon as she had the chance. Though once sleek and shiny, they were now coated in a thin layer of mud.

No matter. An easy fix.

With a snap of her fingers, the mud vanished.

“Where are you going?”

Verika turned to see her mate rising from the bed with a yawn. “Gage will be here within the hour, presumably to see us,” she said. To see you. Nervous energy crackled through their bond. On instinct, she sent soothing energy back, calming her mate. “Alara asked me to meet her in the garden to talk.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“I think staying here and ignoring her invitation would be worse.” Kissing him, she left him to get ready, regrettably declining his offer for a joint-shower, and made her way downstairs.

The house was huge but not overly complicated. She wandered until she’d found the back of the house, and said veranda Alara had spoken of, well aware of the fact eyes watched her warily and people went out of their way to avoid directly crossing paths with her. A maid spotted her, gasped, and scurried off in the opposite direction as fast as her feet would carry her. Never in her life would Verika think she’d instill that kind of terror in people. It would almost be comical, had it not been a grim reminder of how terrible her power could be.

Two guards were posted at the doors leading to the veranda. Neither made to stop her as she swept past, though she felt their inner wolves’ hackles raise.

And the wolf spirit inside of her growled back.

She shoved it down. She’d heard from werewolf friends that “the inner beast form” could be a little dominant at times. Some people gave in to it altogether, Shifting and never returning to their human forms. Which, Verika thought, didn’t sound so damn bad right now. A drama free life… oh, if only.

Keep dreaming, girl.

She thought she had an advantage to keeping her inner wolf in check, since she was used to dealing with her powers. Well, at least for a month. When she’d been a dabbler, a clever little witch who happened to be good at spells, curses, you name it, she hadn’t had to worry much about power supervision. Now, with this darkness inside her swirling, changing, and growing, every day was a constant battle to keep it in check.

Sunlight hit her face as she stepped out onto the pea gravel pathway Alara had spoken of. The gravel was a nice beige color that complimented the vibrant brick-red tiles of the veranda floor. The air was perfumed with the sharp musk of roses and the sweeter tones of lavender. The air had that cool crispness to it that she’d always loved about fall. Unfortunately, it also had a smattering of dust, thanks to the surrounding forest shucking their leaves. Her nose began to tingle.

Verika admired the garden as she walked. It was immaculately kept, with tall hedgerows dotted in petite white flowers lining the path. At the fork, Verika took a left as instructed, and she found herself in a rose garden. White, yellow, red, pink, burgundy, blue, orange…the full blossoms danced in the chilled fall breeze, reminding her of home and her mother’s love for flowers.

A pang of homesickness went through her. It had crossed her mind more than once that she might not ever get to hug her mother or father again before this all played out.

Don’t think like that. You’ll make it. You all will.

At least, she hoped so. Prayed so.

After a few winding turns of lovely rose, lavender, and baby’s breath flower beds, the stone angel came into view. Centered in a courtyard of pearly tiles, the angel looked down on the earth with a benevolent smile, her long hair flowing over enormous tucked in wings. Her dress looked like that of a goddess, flowing to the pool of water at her feet and disappearing beneath the gentle waves of the fountain. Three pea gravel paths adjoined the courtyard, leading off to different flower gardens, it looked like.

The courtyard itself was surrounded in lilies; wild, tall blossoms of vibrant orange and pink that rose to Verika’s hips, and pastel-colored pink and white water lilies floating in the fountain. Which, she noted upon inspection, was filled with koi, their orange, white, and black scales shimmering in the sunshine speckling the water.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?”

Verika jumped and whirled, a little yelp flying out her mouth. She’d been so focused on the beauty around her that she hadn’t felt Alara’s signature until now.

Reckless.

Silently chastising herself, she smiled sheepishly at Alara as heat crept into her cheeks. “Yeah. Like your own secret garden.”

Alara sat on a wide stone bench adjacent from the fountain. She patted the seat next to her.

“It is,” Alara said as Verika stiffly walked over and sat down, keeping a good foot between them. “I come here often when I need to think. Or be alone. Usually with a journal in tow.” A smile.

Verika hesitantly smiled back, fidgeting with her hands on her lap. “I can’t blame you. It’s nice.” She winced. Why was it that everything that came out of her mouth sounded lame? At least where the werewolf princess was involved.

A moment of silence passed, filled with the music of the babbling fountain. “I don’t expect us to be best friends,” Alara said at last, eyes fixed on the angel. “But I want us to at least make an attempt at liking each other. Our mates will need our strength. And if we’re quarreling over things that happened in the past, we can’t give them our full support for the battle that is to come.”

Verika’s lips turned up slightly. “You remind me of Elijah. He likes to get right to the point.”

Alara barked a laugh. “Probably because I’ve been hanging out with Nik for too long. I never used to be so blunt.” She blinked suddenly, the laughter dying on her face as she looked at Verika in question.

“It’s okay,” Verika said, waving her hands. “I don’t mind you talking about him.” She smiled ruefully. “I have my own wolf now.”

Alara’s shoulders relaxed, and she looked again at the fountain. “I never thought I would find a love so pure as this,” she said quietly, as if afraid to speak about it for fear it would vanish. “I always thought my father would marry me to some nobleman for power, money, influence, whatever suited him best, the mate’s-bond be damned. To have found Nik… I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Verika smiled. “He needs someone like you. Someone strong yet patient. I can already tell you’re rubbing off on him. He seems more stable. In the office while he was questioning us, I could tell by the way he looked at you how much you mean to him. You steady him.”

Alara’s eyes turned shiny. Blinking, she quickly looked away, though her nails dug into the bench. “I’m… sorry I was so cold to you.” A long sigh. “I knew how much you meant to him—still mean to him—and it intimidated me. Like I could never measure up, somehow.”

Verika was about to insist that was ridiculous, but instead said, “If it’s any consolation, you’re pretty intimidating yourself.”

“How so?”

“Well, you have this whole princess thing working for you. You’re poised, regal. Things that look goofy on me, even when I’m trying.”

Alara pursed her lips. “I suppose that’s one thing that hasn’t worn off in my time away from Court. Poise was something my mother and etiquette instructors drilled into me from the time I was old enough to walk.”

Verika tensed. Uh oh. Was it a sore subject? Crap. She was having a hard time reading this woman.

Talking about anything princessy makes Alara a dour wolf—got it. Add that to the list of topics to avoid.

She didn’t mind. She was used to having to tiptoe around certain topics with certain people. Some people didn’t mind opening up about things, but others were more sensitive. Clearly, Alara didn’t think fondly of her time at Court.

Or of her family, it seemed.

Verika inwardly frowned. What kind of a family life did Alara have growing up? Something told her they didn’t have many—if any—family nights, where everyone would get together and play board games or charades. She imagined cold, imperial parents who saw not a little girl but an heir to carry on their legacy, to ensure power remained within their line. It made her sad to think someone could grow up with such a distant family when Verika’s childhood had been filled with memories of baking cookies with her mother, watching football with her father, and magic lessons spent with the ever-patient Satine.

Verika winced, thinking about her.

“What’s wrong?” Alara asked, watching her carefully.

Double-crap. She hadn’t realized she’d outwardly winced. Alara had a way of frazzling her—and making her feel like a clumsy country bumpkin. “My mentor was murdered,” she blurted.

Alara’s eyes widened in shock.

“It was by a werewolf,” Verika went on quickly. “A man named Gerard.”

Verika swore the other wolf’s spine snapped straight and she stopped breathing altogether. “Where did you see him?” Desperate, demanding.

“In Florida,” Verika said leaning back slightly as Alara leaned in. “He kidnapped my parents and tried to kill Elijah.”

“What happened to him?”

Uh oh. Now it was her turn for a topic she wanted to avoid.

When it became clear Alara wasn’t going to drop it, she simply told the truth. Filled with dread, that Alara would look upon her with loathing for the murderer she was, Verika braced herself.

“I killed him,” she whispered.

A dark, lovely smile seeped across Alara’s mouth as she gazed at Verika with cold satisfaction. “Verika, I believe you just became my favorite witch.”

Free Fiction Friday – Ritual chapter 2

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

I recommend starting with Chapter 1.

CHAPTER 2 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

She was both beautiful and terrifying, and made him feel small and frail despite how petite she was. Her elegant body lounged over the chaise, those long, pale legs partially covered in draped scarlet silk. The inky dress flowed over her body, hugging every curve and leaving little to the imagination.

To think he’d once found her beauty irresistible made him want to vomit.

The room was Persian elegance; ornate lamps of turquoise- and amber-colored glass holding twinkling tea lights, intricately woven tapestries and rugs, and velvet, tasseled pillows of rich jewel tones piled near the chaise.

Mistress Black always had possessed a flair for the exotic.

She looked up at him beneath thick, dark lashes, those ruby lips of hers parting into a warm smile. Her dark-chocolatey hair hung partially over her shoulder, drawing attention to the plump breasts she had no problem displaying. Her eyes raked him down and up, and he suddenly felt naked despite his pants and shirt.

Mistress Black pursed her lips. With a snap of her fingers, his clothes vanished, and balmy air rushed in to kiss his bared skin.

He resisted the urge to turn around or cover himself from her slimy gaze. He would spite her violation of his privacy with defiance. Holding his chin high, he set his jaw and stared back at her without blinking as she took him in.

“That’s better,” she said, her gaze lingering on his broad, chiseled chest before lifting to his face. “I’ve missed the view.”

“Well, now you’ve seen it. Give me back my clothes.”

“So demanding, not to mention rude. I thought I taught you better manners than that, my pet.”

“I’m not your fucking pet.”

She laughed. “Of course you are. You always will be, Elijah, for you bear my mark.”

As soon as she spoke about it, the seal flared brilliant red. He hissed and gritted his teeth against the pain. It felt like someone had taken a brand to his back and was pressing it against his skin.

When his knees didn’t buckle, Mistress Black’s smile vanished, replaced by an icy glare. Her eyes flashed brilliant crimson.

The pain intensified, a thousand fiery hooks digging into his flesh, setting his bloodstream on fire. He roared, his back arching as his knees started to buckle. Righting himself, he forced his legs to hold. His chest heaved with the effort to withstand the pain, and he glared right back at the bitch of a witch before him.

He chuckled. “That all you got? You’re losing your touch.”

Bracing himself for her to lash out, he blinked in surprise when the pain disappeared, as did the fury and fire in her eyes. She gazed at him, the remnants of that too-sweet smile on her lips. In a blink, his clothes were back.

He staggered backward at the ozone-like stench of magic, terror catapulting his heart into his throat.

“Still afraid of magic, are we? That must be a problem in the bedroom.” She rose and walked over to the short, ornate table sitting a few feet away. Folding herself onto one of the plush pillows, she began pouring a drink from a crystal tankard that had materialized out of thin air.

He grew tenser as he stared at the tankard.

It’s not real.

His palms felt clammy.

“Sit.” A soft command from a master to her pet.

When he didn’t move, she arched a brow. “What are you waiting for?”

“You didn’t say please.”

A slow smile spread on those full lips. “Please,” she purred, stretching the word out.

Her sinful voice crawled over his skin like oil, making him shudder. He could try to wake himself up, get the fuck out of here before—

“Actually, you can’t,” she said.

He startled. “Excuse me?”

“I’m inside your head, remember?” She tapped her temple with a scarlet nail for emphasis. “I can hear your thoughts. In this dream world, I am your ruler. You won’t be leaving until I say you can go. I suggest you sit down so we may discuss some business.”

Not seeing that he had much of a choice, he forced himself to walk over to the table and sit down. The pillow was comfortable—damn comfortable, if he was being honest—but he sat as if he had a stick shoved up his ass.

Ready to move, prepared to defend himself if need be it. In another lifetime, he might have appreciated Mistress Black’s penchant for the unpredictable. It had made her exciting, fun.

What a god-damned idiot he had been.

Live and learn… or die, in this case. Maybe. Probably.

Inevitably.

She hummed to herself as she poured a second glass, some sorrowful tune he didn’t recognize. The lyrics most likely contained something about killing and broken hearts. Those sorts of things tickled her funny bone.

“Let me see,” she murmured, setting the glass in front of him and tapping a nail against that pouty bottom lip. “You prefer your wine dry.”

Before he could answer, she waved a hand over his glass. “Shiraz,” she said, lifting her glass and smelling it. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure. “It’s supposed to have Persian roots, or so I’m told. I know you’ll appreciate the flavor.”

He didn’t want any of her damn wine.

When he didn’t move to drink, her knuckles began turning white around the glass, which had cracked beneath her grip.

Fine, fine. To spare the glasses’ life… Lifting the glass, he sniffed. A rich aroma of smoke, spices, and fruit lifted to his nose, sharp and sweet at once. Taking a sip of the red liquid, he let the wine swirl over his tongue, washing his pallet in the colorful flavors of blackberry, cloves, thyme, oak, and smoke. “It’s good,” he admitted.

“Isn’t it, though? It goes great with gouda cheese, in my opinion.” She pushed forward a little silver platter of perfectly cut cheese squares he hadn’t noticed before.

“You didn’t bring me here for a wine and cheese party.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t. That’s something I liked about you. No bullshit. You like to get right to the point.”

He raised a brow, a silent “get on with it.”

Pursing her lips, she tempered her glare. “I was wondering when you’re coming home.”

He laughed. “That’s easy to answer—never.”

“But you’ll have to come home sometime. What are you going to do about the infection?”

“Infection?”

“Oh, well it might not have been long enough for it to set in. You haven’t been feeling nauseous lately? Sudden wooziness, insomnia, fevers and fits? That sort of stuff?”

He’d felt under the weather while he and Verika were on the road, but he had dismissed it to a bug.

“So you have felt something,” Mistress Black mused, pressing her palms flat to the table and leaning forward. “Probably thought nothing of it, too, knowing you. But let me warn you, Elijah—the longer you’re away from me, the worse your condition will get.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

She held a hand over her heart. Red light flickered beneath her fingertips, outlining a brand that matched the symbol inked into the flesh upon his back. “I’m talking about our Blood Bond. The tie between our souls.”

“I have nothing in common with you.”

“Oh, but don’t you? You and I are just alike. Two sides of the same coin, as they say.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. Her steady, black gaze bored into his eyes, as if she could see down into his core. “You’re just as broken, your heart just as black. We understand one another on a primeval level few people on this earth ever find.”

“Bullshit.” He shot to his feet, staggering away from the table as spots fired before his eyes. Horror made his heart hammer. It had to be a lie, a filthy, disgusting lie. Anything that came out of that woman’s mouth generally was. She thrived on others’ misery. “There is no bond between us. It’s just a mark, nothing more. And somehow, some way, no matter what it takes, I’m going to break it.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Elijah. I never tire of hearing your passion for defying me. It’s refreshing.” She sighed and stood, a single, fluid motion. Like a snake uncoiling before preparing to strike. “Here’s the deal, pet. That bond ensures you’ll return to me. There is no way for you to break it.”

“But you can.”

She smiled. “Perhaps. For a price.”

Of course. “And what would that be?”

“I’ll break your mark if you bring me Verika.”

The sweet, smoky aftertaste of the wine turned to ash on his tongue. It took him a moment to find his voice. No sense in denying he was with Verika. Mistress Black had found out somehow, probably through a spell or that accursed scrying glass of hers. Most likely, she knew he had Marked Verika, too.

That she could be used against him, to hurt him. For fun, to serve a purpose, it didn’t matter. Inflicting pain was a sport for her.

“Why do you want her?” Elijah rasped.

“Because she’s my daughter.”

Time stopped. Like, literally, freaking stopped.

He thought of Verika, of the goodness shining through her gaze, the kindness in her gestures. There was no resemblance to the creature before him. No, the witch before him was so cold, cruel, and twisted, she might as well have been a demon. Though no physical resemblance lay there, he also knew Mistress Black was using a borrowed body.

What did her true form look like? Would she have hair of fire, or eyes the color of spring grass?

Their magical affinity was the only thing they had in common. Black Magic was a rare gift, as was White. Both were also usually hereditary.

Though everything in him screamed that there was no way in hell this thing had spawned his sweet Verika, he couldn’t deny the potential truth laced in those three words.

She’s my daughter.

Verika had few good memories of her mother. Some weird details stood out—like how she’d earned her unique name—but most of her childhood was hazy. The spell that had been used to bind her powers had also impacted her memories, she’d assumed.

Mistress Black had to be delusional. Or screwing with him.

Still… what if?

The witch and the wolf stared at one another, the tension thickening until it made the air damn near unbreathable. “That’s impossible,” he finally whispered.

“It is, actually. I just wanted to see the look on your face.”

Fucking bitch.

Snarling, he lunged forward, fangs bared, claws extended. Her pale throat looked like a great place to put them.

Before he’d drawn close, she flicked her hand in a careless gesture. His body launched off the floor, thrown backward by an invisible force that felt like an over-sized baseball bat had smacked him along his frontside. He landed on the chaise, toppling it over and sprawling out onto the carpeted floor.

Groaning, he sat up. His ribs hurt, most likely bruised.

Could she fuck up his body by hurting him in a dream? Seemed like the kind of thing she’d find a way to do.

“When will you ever learn? I suppose that wicked scar stretching across your abdomen didn’t teach you anything.”

While it looked cool as shit, that scar was a reminder of the day he’d gotten it into his head to attack her while her back was turned. It had been shortly after she’d hypnotized him to make him think he was hunting down the wolf who’d turned him and his brothers, and instead found himself dripping in the blood of an innocent White Witch when Mistress Black had lifted the hypnosis. Enraged hadn’t come close to describing how he’d felt.

He’d never despised anyone more in his life than he did her. Needing to let the anger and sorrow out somehow before it ruptured inside of him, he’d gone after her.

And had found a blade embedded in his stomach. “Let this be a warning to you—never sneak up on a witch. Especially one as dangerous as me.”

She easily could have gutted him. Maybe that had been the point all along, to get her to kill him to end his misery and disgust at what he’d just done to that poor girl.

But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d lanced the blade across his abs, cutting deep but not too deep. Scoring his skin with yet another mark of her dominance, much like a wolf marking her territory.

Her property.

Elijah started to rise with a grunt when she placed a stiletto-clad foot on his chest and pressed down. The tiny heel dug into his sternum, but he refused to wince. Staring up at her, he bore her weight with a clenched jaw.

“Stubborn to the bitter end, Elijah?” She propped a hand up on her hip, gazing down at him, her dark eyes glittering. “You’re saying you would rather meet a miserable end than to reunite me with my kin?”

“What do you mean ‘your kin’?”

“Promise you won’t bite?” A growl was his response. Seemed good enough for her, because a moment later she lifted her foot and the stabbing pain in his chest subsided. Coughing, he rose to his feet as she sauntered away to pour herself another glass of wine, those hips making the crimson fabric of her dress swish and sway.

Mistress Black took a gulp of her wine, not looking at him. Her eyes lingered on the wall, a far-away look on her face. “Verika may not be my daughter, but we are of the same blood. She’s descended from me.”

“How do you know this?”

“Like calls to like,” she sang, tearing her gaze off the wall with a blink and smiling at him. “I just know.”

More mystical bullshit, most likely. She was toying with him. Had to be.

But what if she wasn’t? What if his precious Verika truly was related to the most terrible witch the Underworld had ever seen?

He’d allow himself to contemplate that later. Right now, he needed all his senses sharp, in case this monster tried anything.

Like killing him in his sleep, literally. Though that seemed a bit far-fetched. If she were going to kill him, he’d already be dead. Killing was something she wasted no time with. Once she’d made up her mind to do away with someone, she got right to it, by any means necessary.

Not to mention there was the Blood Mark. She couldn’t very well kill him without removing it first, or she’d risk harming herself in the process.

He suddenly appreciated the mark more. Pain in his ass though it was, it could very well be the only thing keeping him alive right now. A bargaining chip, to be used at a later time perhaps, when he’d poured over every possible way to best exploit it.

More on that later.

Focus.

“What do you want with Verika?” he asked.

Mistress Black swished the wine in her glass for a beat. “To help her. To guide and shepherd her. Her power is vast. Too great for one person to figure out on her own. When I first came into my powers… what I endured…” She shuddered. “I won’t subject another Black Witch to that.”

“So you expect me to believe you’re doing this out of kindness?”

“You know me better than that.” A cunning smile. “There are other chips at play.”

“Such as?”

“A good player knows never to reveal her hand.”

“As it were…” he murmured. “And if I refuse to give her up?”

“It won’t matter. She’ll find me, one way or another. Oh, wipe that doubtful look off your face. You really think a wolf, an outlaw, might I add, with nothing to his name except a list of people who want to put a knife in his back, can make someone like her happy? One of the most powerful witches the world has ever seen?”

He shifted his weight. Yeah, he knew he had little to offer Verika, but he’d never had it spelled out so bluntly.

“Her powers will grow,” Mistress Black said in a quiet voice that seemed to boom with power, despite its volume. She took a step closer, and then another and another as she spoke. Those wicked eyes of hers held his, a dark promise of things to come. “She’ll have so much power, she’ll struggle to know what to do with all of it. To contain and master it. No one will understand her. The world will loathe her, as it has been known to do those blessed with the Dark Gift since the dawn of time. She’ll need me because no one else in the world will get her like I do. And when she’s ready, I’ll be waiting.” She was standing before him now, head tilted back to stare up into his eyes. A triumphant smile had already wriggled its way onto her lips.

Cocky bitch. She thought she’d already won.

“I’ll never let you take her,” Elijah promised.

Mistress Black leaned forward, her lips an inch away from his. “You won’t have a choice.”

With the warmth of her breath caressing his skin, she suddenly wheeled about and walked away. “I’ll give you some time to think on it. If you ever need to find me, just touch your Blood Mark, close your eyes, and think of me. I’ll hear you and answer.” She picked up her glass of wine and curled up on the chaise. “But don’t take too long to decide, my dear. I hear the effects of the Blood Mark are most unpleasant, once the sickness is in full swing. Adieu.”

With a snap of her fingers, the floor opened up beneath Elijah, and he tumbled into darkness.

Falling, turning head over heel into endless night while Mistress Black’s chuckle echoed all around in the frigid air.

The stink of magic clung to his nostrils, coating his throat and choking him. He clutched at his neck, drowning on the scent of magic. Every horrible thing he’d been forced to do, or that had been done to him, crashed through his mind’s eye.

Hell. This had to be hell.

Serpentine bodies moved through the darkness, slithering and hissing as they watched him fall with eyes of burning hellfire. Purple lightning crackled along their bodies.

Magic. They were made of Black Magic, just like those serpents Verika had summoned back at her parents’ place.

Fear spiking, he Shifted his hands into paws, his sharp claws poised to shred flesh.

One of the snakes lunged for him, much faster than it should be with its enormous body. Elijah looked straight down into its throat, lashing out. His claws found purchase, shredding through scales and muscles and tendons.

The snake roared in fury, screaming as the other hissed, encircling him as he fell. Elijah cursed, unable to find purchase in this nightmare. It was an open pit, ready to swallow him whole. Black blood and gore dripped from his claws, splattering onto his face as he tumbled.

The snakes suddenly conjoined and morphed into a young woman, a White Witch, her white gown stained with blood. The fabric had been shredded, as had the flesh beneath. With tearful eyes, she begged Elijah to spare her.

“Please… please, don’t kill me…”

His claws abruptly Changed back to fingernails as shock jolted the wolf right out of him. He stared, shaking his head. “No… no, I didn’t mean to…”

Her fear fell off her face, turning to cold malice. “Yes, you did. You enjoyed killing me.”

“No!” he shouted. “It’s not true! I’m not a murderer, she made me do it!”

“Liar.”

“No… No, get back!”

“Liar,” the girl said, drawing closer. Her face had changed into that of Mistress Black’s.

“Liar.”

Verika now stood before him, eyes glowing green, hair lifting around her face in a cloud of crimson. Her power crackled around her. A dark voice chuckled, and perfectly manicured hands curled around Verika’s shoulders. Mistress Black peeked from behind Verika, whom she clasped like a doll.

A possession.

“Told you so,” she whispered, smiling.

Elijah reached for Verika, swimming through the darkness. Mistress Black was pulling her farther away.

Verika! he cried out through their bond.

Sweet sunlight broke through the darkness, warming him and chasing the writhing shadows away. They hissed, recoiling as a rush of spring air enveloped him, slowing his fall. His chest heaved as the thick tartness of magic cleared his throat, and he was able to breathe again. The darkness around him gave way to brilliant sunshine and a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it.

He landed on a bed of grass beneath a massive oak, its shade dappling his face, the verdant leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.

A soft hand with delicate, feminine fingers stroked his cheek. “Sleep, beloved. I’ll keep the darkness at bay.”

A wave of drowsiness hit him, ushering him under. He started to smile. Ah, there it was—relief. A feeling of complete and utter safety washed over him, and his tensed, battle-ready body at last relaxed.

As his eyelids fluttered shut, he caught a glimpse of red hair and sparkling green eyes filled with eternal love.

Free Fiction Friday: Ritual Chapter 1

Every Friday until the book’s release, I’ll post a chapter. Enjoy! If you would like to be notified of the book’s release, please sign up for my new release newsletter. =)

Synopsis

Elijah Johnson never thought he’d see one, let alone both, of his brothers again. If only it were a happy reunion, but that bullshit is usually reserved for fairy tales and soap operas. One brother is lukewarm and civil while the other wants to knock his block off. Not that Elijah can blame them. He’s feeling pretty rotten about everything, and is starting to question whether staying away was the right choice…

Verika Tate, whoops, “Johnson,” is growing into her powers at an alarming rate, but she’s not about to tell her mate that. He has enough on his plate as is, namely convincing his brothers to join him on an epic quest to finally vanquish Mistress Black.

As the two of them struggle to find their place in the Underworld, the strength of their bond will be tested—especially as Mistress Black draws closer, determined to convert Verika over to her side and use her to destroy everything in her path.

Can true love survive in a world wrought with war and treachery?

The climactic ending to the Blood Moon Rising series.

CHAPTER 1 (Warning! There are spoilers. I recommend reading the books in order, starting with Fever, which is currently free! Also, please keep in mind this is the raw manuscript, meaning it hasn’t been glossed over by an editor yet. Some things may change slightly upon final publication. =)

Elijah took a bite of the lukewarm soup, wincing as pain threaded along his jaw. Nik had left a nice-sized knot there. He’d be lucky if he could chew right for a week.

He smiled a little. Hits like a Johnson, all right. Looked like Elijah’s instruction on fighting techniques wasn’t completely lost on his younger brother.

The two of them used to spare and wrestle in their backyard when they were kids. Elijah even got it in his head to open up a neighborhood fight club and charge spectators money. He set up all the matches himself, even made a ring out of some rope and old gym mats he’d found in a Dumpster. His “concessions” had consisted of microwavable popcorn and beer from his father’s stash. For a thirteen-year-old, the money had been pretty good. The ring lasted about a year before other kids’ parents caught on and all but broke down their door, cussing and yelling at their dad. He’d beaten Elijah hard that night. Which was fine by him. At least he hadn’t gone after Nik or little Gage.

Verika sat beside him at the small dinette set in their private suite. The place was luxurious, with five-hundred-count-this and designer-brand-that. He’d half-expected Nik’s taste to drift toward the Wal-mart or Goodwill chic, but hell, people’s tastes changed.

He had changed.

Verika clenched and flexed her fingers, a nervous habit, he’d noted. Worry wrinkled her lovely features, those green eyes of hers bright as she looked at his jaw. “Do you want me to heal it?”

His heart skipped a beat with fear, which he shoved back down.

Verika’s eyes widened. She swallowed hard and looked down, staring at the halfway eaten soup bowl.

Shit. He hadn’t been quick enough to hide his reaction. Yeah, he was still scared of magic. Dealing with that bogeyman would take a whole lotta therapy and a whole lotta time.

He grasped her hand and squeezed. “I’m so—”

“Shssh.” She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head, those red curls he loved so much bouncing around. A smile lit her face. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn’t have pressed you. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Bullshit.” He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her close to kiss her forehead. “You’re amazing.”

A pretty blush colored her cheeks. He’d never get tired of making her blush, of hearing how her heart sped up ever so slightly every time he touched her.

Glad to know he wasn’t alone in that respect. The warm glow that overtook him each time he looked at her overshadowed any lingering fear he had about magic.

Or her ability to wield it.

His throat tightened slightly, and he cursed, letting his hands drop from her face. Fuck it all. He wasn’t about to let some trauma determine how he felt about his mate. Clearly, fate wanted him to get over his old wounds, to heal and move forward with his life. Otherwise, why make him mate the very creature he was terrified of?

Though it was a bitch to clutch the spoon because of his hand hurting so much—hey, clobbering people was hard work—Elijah hurried up and ate the rest of the soup. It was good. The chef here was almost as good as Mistress Black’s had been.

He shuddered. That bitch had a taste for good food, and had hired only the best chefs. Sometimes, she’d fly in cooks from California, New York, all over, really. He swore some of the meals he’d eaten had cost more than the house he and his brothers had grown up in. Hell, probably the farm and all its acreage too. He just knew it was a whole lotta money, which he’d never seen much of. Not legally, anyway. Not until he’d decided to turn over a new leaf, and look where that’d gotten him?

Verika watched him in silence while he finished eating. The worry never left her eyes.

“I’m fine,” he said, er, mumbled. Moving his jaw hurt, but he was used to it. He’d been busted up worse. Actually, he’d suspected Nik had taken it easy on him.

Which meant there might be a ray of hope he could fix things with him.

The thought made his heart speed up, he wanted it so badly.

A family. His family.

Yes, he was determined to create another with Verika. Maybe even have pups someday, if Verika was up to it. They hadn’t gotten that far yet, though he sure as hell hoped she was all right with it. She hadn’t mentioned being on birth control, and they’d made love under the stars a few times now on their way here. All the “au naturale” way, since werewolves, witches, and most paranormal creatures were immune to STD’s.

If he had pups, he wanted—needed—his brothers to be involved in their lives. To tell them embarrassing stories about their old man when he was a kid. To look after them and Verika should anything happen to him.

Ever since they’d mated, he’d had this ominous feeling hanging over his head. Like all this happiness was a dream that was going to be ripped away by Mistress Black when she found him. And since Verika hadn’t had any luck yet lifting the seal that bound him to Mistress Black, he knew it was only a matter of time before that happened.

“Elijah?” A hand rested on his arm. “Are you all right? You’ve been drumming your fingers harder and harder… and you’ve bent the spoon.”

“Huh?” He looked down. Sure enough, the metal spoon was now crooked, courtesy of his thumb. And his fingertips actually hurt from tapping them on the table. “Sorry,” he said, bending the spoon back into shape before setting it down in the empty bowl and pushing it aside. “I get like that when I’m thinking.”

“They must not have been good thoughts.”

He smiled, hoping it reached his eyes so it would hide the shadow of doubt there. “Some were good. I was thinking of us.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” He pulled her onto his lap, her back to his chest, and pushed aside her hair so he could kiss her neck. He loved the spot just below her ear. It always made her shiver when he planted his lips there. “I was thinking about how damn sexy you look naked.”

She snorted and gave him a playful shove. “Scoundrel. What would my parents think knowing I’ve been traipsing the countryside alone with a man I’m not married to?”

He stiffened. “Are they that upti—er—traditional?” His “Johnson bluntness” was something he was trying hard to work on, too. Gage always had been the most considerate and tactful speaker of the three of them. Most of the time, whatever flew out of Nik’s and Elijah’s mouths was the first thing on their minds. Sometimes to the detriment of whomever they were speaking to. Verika was still very fond of her adoptive parents, despite her father pointing a gun at Elijah and all but running him out of their house. And for her sake, Elijah was damn well going to make an effort to try not to insult them.

Verika winced. “Papa is, for sure. He grew up in a very strict, conservative military family who were devote Christians. Mama is a Christian, too, but I think her parents weren’t quite as strict as Papa’s. I think that’s why she has a bit of a hidden wild side.”

Elijah thought back to when he’d stepped out of the shower and Mrs. Tate’s gaze had swept his very naked body down and up again without shame. “Yeah, I kind of got that vibe.”

Verika groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me of the shower debacle. That was mortifying.” One of the weird quirks of their mate-bond was that they could share images with one another. A few memories had leaked into Verika’s mind and vice-versa, the shower scene being one of them. Elijah knew it wasn’t an uncommon quirk, especially if one or both parties had some magical ability.

“Come on.” Elijah kissed her hands. “You have to admit it was funny as hell.”

“Nothing about my mother seeing you butt-naked and liking it will ever be funny to me.” With the mood officially killed, she stood up stretched her arms above her head. A yawn followed. “We should get to bed. It’s nearly dawn.”

He’d figured as much, even without looking at his watch. The light behind the curtains was growing brighter.

After they’d both showered and crawled into bed—holy fuck, it was nice to sleep on a mattress that didn’t feel like it was made of straw—it took Elijah another half hour to finally pass out. His brain kept working, turning over every worry and finding no ways of resolving them.

Getting rid of his Blood Magic mark.

Overcoming his fear of magic.

Overcoming his anxiety around Verika when she went all badass Black Witch on people.

Patching things up between him and his brothers.

Killing Mistress Black.

Saving the Underworld and, hell, probably the whole world in the process.

Damn.

When his brain couldn’t think anymore—because let’s admit it, saving the world is damn exhausting—he at last succumbed to sleep.

And immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw who was waiting for him inside the cage of his nightmares.

 

 

Read the first part for free

For twenty-five-year-old Amy Miles, moving into her craptastic new apartment was like winning the lottery.

Here, she could start over.

No more nightmares. No more drama. No constantly looking over her shoulder waiting for the Boogeyman to strike.

No, she was done with all that. She was going to be a normal girl, dammit.

Then Scott Meyers saunters into her life.

Her apartment building manager couldn’t have been any hotter—or any more of a pain in her ass. Despite his sharp tongue, she finds herself lusting over him. The attraction soon starts to boil over into something much deeper, something that threatens to rip open the scars on her heart that she’s so desperately tried to heal.

Product Information

Series: Shatter

Genre: Erotic romance/contemporary romance/romantic suspense/BBW

Age: 18+ for language and frequent sexy scenes

Number in series: 1 of 3

Length: full-length novella

Language: English

Formats: eBook

NOTE TO READERS: This is a serial, so the story unfolds across multiple volumes (three in this case). Each part is not a standalone story. There are also cliffhangers.

READ THE EBOOK (free read!)

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EXCERPT

Chapter 1

THE APARTMENT WAS a piece of shit. Anyone could see that.

But to Amy, it felt like seven hundred square feet of awesome.

It was new. Not “new, new.” Nothing in this place screamed “updated!” It was “new” in the sense that she blissfully didn’t recognize a damned thing in here: from the ramshackle, bright-green shag carpet, to the peeling, flowery wallpaper from the seventies. Every leaky faucet, every spider web covered nook, hell, even the old, dusty sofa that the last occupant had neglected to move, was alien to her.

And that was what made it so wonderful. Here, she could truly forget about all the heartaches, lies, and bullshit that had come before now. She was officially rebooting her life, and she was going to enjoy every damned minute of it.

With a lightness in her step that had been absent for years, she grabbed her first box of belongings and hauled it into her new digs.

Yeah, that whole thing about the apartment being cleaned before she moved in totally hadn’t happened. Dust poofed up in the wake of her steps as she set her stuff down on the countertop, which also was covered in a light sheen of the gray fluff. Her sister would die in here. She was, literally, allergic to everything; cats, dogs, people. They’d both inherited some of their aloofness with the real world from their hopelessly starry-eyed, creativity-imbued mother.

Amy wished she could book a one-way ticket to La-La Land. She’d totally live there if she could.

Wishful thinking, she thought, eyeing the rectangular room. The kitchen, if you could even call it that, sat off in one corner, with a bar overlooking the living room. A dining hovel—she called it a “hovel” because it wasn’t nearly big enough to be considered a room—adjoined the kitchen. The only way it was marked off was by a block of mismatched tiles.

Classy.

At the opposite end of the living room was a small bathroom, let her stress small, and a bedroom that reminded her of her college cell, er, “dorm.” The weirdest thing about the apartment was that the bedroom had a cement floor. That’s right—cement. Like a jail.

And yet, she was stupidly grinning from ear to ear.

Who cared if it wasn’t the most glamorous apartment in the city? It was hers, dammit, and she was going to own it. Starting with ripping down this dingy-ass wallpaper and slapping up some bright yellow paint.

No more reminders of her past. No more wallowing in self-pity, and regret, and “God, why was I so stupid?”

If people could win an Academy Award for being a dumbass, she’d have stolen the vote. Her bestie, Becca, told her, “It’s okay, doll, people make mistakes when they’re in love.”

But love didn’t just make people blind—it made them dumb.

She gritted her teeth, determination lighting a fire deep inside her.

She wouldn’t fail at this. She could be on her own and enjoy it again.

Just as much as she had before all that crazy shit happened two years ago. Thinking about it made her shiver, made her glance over her shoulder twice.

She was alone. There was something strangely comforting in that.

Her shoulders relaxed. See? Things are already getting back to normal.

She’d dreamed of a life where she wouldn’t be afraid of her own shadow. She’d been there once, long before she’d met Michael, but she couldn’t remember much of her pre-Michael life. Like her art, her life had gone through phases: pre-Michael, Michael, and post-Michael.

Post-Michael had been a bitch for about a year. Then she’d hit her stride and something miraculous had started to happen—she’d begun to grow, slowly stitching her life back together. One morning, she woke up earlier, and didn’t wallow in bed all day. One trip to the grocery store, one smile at a stranger.

The first night she wasn’t afraid to sleep in a dark room alone. Granted, she’d had a night light, but still. It was progress.

And the warm glow inside of her told her things were only going to get better.

The apartment was a turning point in her life. She could feel the pull of destiny, almost as if it were a tangible force.

Her life was about to change, and it was going to be epic.

It took all afternoon to haul her stuff in, mainly because she was doing it alone. Her sister and mom lived in another state, and Becca was still at the school sorting out some drama involving her little brother, though Becca was supposed to meet her later to work out.

Ugh, couldn’t she count the five flights of stairs she’d climbed over and over as a work-out? The independence rah-rah train was grand until times like this, when you realized how fabulous movers would have been. If she could have afforded them, that is. Thanks to utilities deposits, plus the deposit and first month’s rent she owed on this place, her bank account was getting pretty parched for cash.

Tired but not wanting to waste any time, she spritzed the wallpaper and peeled it off before sanding the walls down and thoroughly cleaning them. She didn’t even want to think about all the black crap that came off on the towels.

Yeah, this place definitely hadn’t been cleaned. It broke her heart in a way, dumb as it sounded. Nobody had cared enough about this apartment to spruce it up. It was abandoned, just like she’d been after the incident that had nearly destroyed her. People tended to avoid negative things, and she’d been positively toxic. When she’d eventually tired of gargling her own negative thoughts and self-destructive behavior, she’d caved and seen a therapist on her mother’s tab.

It had helped in more ways than one, mainly because she had someone to talk to. It was so much easier to spill your guts to a stranger than to your best friend, because you didn’t give a damn what they thought. Besides, this stranger was paid to be non-judgmental. Win, win.

Amy had already picked out the paint for the walls the afternoon she’d signed the lease, and got busy outlining the walls in green tape and throwing down massive drapes so the paint wouldn’t get on the floor. She turned on the little stereo she’d brought to a local rock station. Rolling up her sleeves, she slapped on some fresh rubber gloves, grabbed the roller brush, and went to town.

For a few blissful minutes, she allowed herself to forget how she’d ended up here. It was just her, her paint high, and the sound of her voice belting out the lyrics to one 80’s rock tune after another.

She’d almost forgotten where she was when the radio abruptly snapped off. The silence slapped her back to her senses, seeming louder by its abrupt termination.

Yelping, Amy whirled, slinging paint all over the floor. She swore, brandishing the brush handle in front of her like some kind of cheap silver staff. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she lifted her head—and stared.

The man standing behind her kitchen counter was hot, at least from the torso up, because that’s all she could see. The black T-shirt clung to his chest, revealing carefully refined muscles she’d love to run her hands over just to see if they were really as hard as they looked. Veins threaded along each arm, both of which were also impressively chiseled. The guy obviously took working out seriously, unlike she did.

She was a “work out only when I feel motivated” kind of girl, despite her best attempts at staying fit. This or that got in the way, mostly herself, and she’d just never stuck with it.

If this gorgeous piece of man candy was at the gym, however, she might have to reconsider her routine. She could definitely find an excuse to get out of bed to look at that.

The power cord for her radio dangled from his hand.

Her eyes rose to his neck, slowly drinking him in. If a man was delectable, she’d be eating him right up. Her nipples went erect, and warmth rushed between her thighs, along with a dampness that soaked her panties. Sexual fantasies played out in her head, mainly where he said, “I’ve been waiting my entire life for a woman like you,” swept her up in his arms, and made love to her on the countertop.

Holy shit, her hormones were out of control. It was a miracle she wasn’t panting. She seriously needed to consider getting a better vibrator.

Then her eyes traveled up to his face.

He was gorgeous in every sense of the word. From the straight set of his nose to the slight dimple in his chin, he was H-O-T. Stubble shadowed his jawline, somehow making his full, sensual lips seem more pronounced.

Or maybe it was the flames leaping in his eyes as he pinned her with an incinerating glare.

It would have been hot if she hadn’t been so terrified. She gulped. Uh, oh.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if counting down. When he opened his eyes, a startling blue she could see from ten feet away, he looked no less pissed off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.

READ THE EBOOK (free read!)

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The Shatter Series gets new covers!

You may have seen the new covers for my Her Dark Desire series. Once again, the talented Kitten of Deranged Doctor Design has designed four beautiful new covers for my contemporary romance series, Shatter! (Click on the images below to enlarge.)

I also wanted to take this time to announce that the Shatter series will be available at other retailers for one more week. Then I’m going to enroll it in Kindle Unlimited over at Amazon. And, as a lot of you know, being a part of KU means those books have to be exclusive to Amazon. They won’t be on there forever–just for a 3-month run. So I wanted to give everyone who doesn’t read on a Kindle a chance to snap them up before they’re gone. Part I, Risks, is free, too!

Thanks for your support! Happy reading. =)

Cover Reveal! Ritual (Blood Moon Rising #6)

(click on the photo to enlarge it) Woo-hoo! Here’s the cover and *synopsis for final volume of the Blood Moon Rising series! We’re almost there guys! Don’t forget to sign-up for my free new release newsletter to be notified of its release!

Elijah Johnson never thought he’d see one, let alone both, of his brothers again. If only it were a happy reunion, but that bullshit is usually reserved for fairy tales and soap operas. One brother is lukewarm and civil while the other wants to knock his block off. Not that Elijah can blame them. He’s feeling pretty rotten about everything, and is starting to question whether staying away was the right choice…

Verika Tate, whoops, “Johnson,” is growing into her powers at an alarming rate, but she’s not about to tell her mate that. He has enough on his plate as is, namely convincing his brothers to join him on an epic quest to finally vanquish Mistress Black.

As the two of them struggle to find their place in the Underworld, the strength of their bond will be tested—especially as Mistress Black draws closer, determined to convert Verika over to her side and use her to destroy everything in her path.

Can true love survive in a world wrought with war and treachery?

The climactic ending to the Blood Moon Rising series.

*synopsis may change slightly for final publication

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Her Dark Desires gets new book covers!

Courtesy of the fabulous and talented Kitten of Deranged Doctor Design. =) (Click on the image to enlarge it.) What do you think? Personally, I feel they are a HUGE improvement over my humble attempts. The first book is free, BTW, if you want to read it! It’s a flirtier series than Blood Moon Rising. Still plenty of hot romance and action. If you’re looking for something quick and fun, this is your series.

Read the first book for free

Boy meets girl. Then things get hot…

Sally the succubus sucks at her job, no pun intended. Being a former secretary with no love life to speak of doesn’t exactly give her much experience in the “Hot Seductress” department. So when her Master says she’s not meeting her monthly soul-corrupting quota, he does what any loving boss would do – he sends her to Elysian, a reform school for the “wicked at heart.” Determined to prove she’s not terrible at her job, Sally sets out to become the best succubus she can be. And with her long-time crush Hector, the Underworld’s most infamous incubus, as her teacher, Sally’s even more anxious to prove her mettle.

Too bad no one told her that people have been mysteriously disappearing from Elysian, only to show up as mutilated corpses a few days later. Then she might not have been so eager to go, man candy or not.

When the killer targets Sally, it’s up to Hector and her to put a stop to the evil force once and for all. But doing so may cost them their hearts – and their souls.

Fast, fun, and flirty, Carnal is a steamy paranormal romance that’s sure to leave you aching for more.

READ THE EBOOK (free read!)

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*more retailers coming soon

 

PRODUCT INFORMATION

Series: Her Dark Desires

Genre: Erotic romance/paranormal romance/romantic suspense

Age: 18+ for language and frequent sexy scenes

Number in series: 1 of 3

Length: full-length novel

Language: English

Formats: eBook

 

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

 

BEING A SUCCUBUS, YOU see a lot of weird shit. People have needs, after all. Fetishes. But this one took the cake.

“Um-kay,” I said, observing the brown, furry costume. “Let me get this straight: you want me to dress up as a dog and take it in the backdoor while you howl or something?”

Norman stomped his foot. “No! I didn’t say you were a dog! You’re going to be a Level 15 Nomad Warrior Princess, and I’m going to be the rugged Level 30 Hunter who saves your village from the Orc attack!”

I stared at him. “And… I’m repaying you with hot sex?”

“Not just any sex,” Norman said, rubbing his grubby fingers together. Cheeto cheese flaked off his fingertips onto the already grimy floor. His tiny apartment looked like it had never seen a vacuum or furniture polish. “It’s the sacred mating ritual of the Nomad clans. And you have to use the language of the Northern Dragonlord Nomads.”

I raised my brows. “So I’m a princess, I can swing a sword, and I have a pet dragon? I’m down with that.”

Norman sneered at me. “Are you making fun of me? I developed this game! It’s up for Game of the Year, I’ll have you-”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just, um, different, that’s all. I’ve never, uh, had to be a sword-wielding, dragon-taming, warrior princess slut.”

He laughed but ended up snorting. With his pudgy face and upturned nose, I almost expected him to oink too. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe this is really happening. My dream come true! I could never get my past girlfriends to play along.”

“No shit?” I said with a little laugh.

“So,” he said, running his tongue along his fat lips. “Shall I help you change?”

It took some serious willpower not to gag on the fumes wafting out of his mouth. Had he brushed his teeth this week?

“Um, would you, er, like that?” I reluctantly asked.

He reached down his pants and rubbed his crotch, getting a dreamy-eyed look on his face. “I’ve never seen a naked woman in person before. All I’ve had are pictures and Angelina.”

“Jolie?”

Norman rolled his eyes. “No, Jolie is in the corner. I only have her on Wednesday nights, and only if I defeat the Dungeon Master. Angelina takes care of me every other time.”

I looked where he was pointing. A collection of obviously worn sock puppet dolls, complete with huge tits, sat in the corner. I didn’t want to think about where the stains came from.

I nodded, as if I wasn’t grossed out. “I see.”

“So can you really shape-shift?” Norman asked. “My dungeon-raid buddy, Danny, told me Vixens are really werewolves.”

“Succubi, to be exact,” I said. “And yes, we can, um, shape-shift.” I mumbled that last part, pretending to be acutely interested in the cherry soda on his cluttered desk.

Norman’s face lit up with glee. “I’m in Heaven! I get such a boner whenever I see Lilith that I end up nearly tearing Angelina apart just trying to get rid of it.”

“Wait, who’s Lilith?”

“She’s the henchwoman you have to defeat in the last level of the Ice Palace. She’s so fucking hot! Her tits are the size of -”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, deciding to cut him off. Something told me I’d be here all night if he got chatty about his games. “So, shall I put on some music and get this party started?”

“Oh! I like music!”

You’d think the way he was clapping his hands together, I was his mother, and I’d just told him we could go to the candy shop. Then again, this experience probably was going to be like a candy shop for a guy like Norman.

“All right then,” I said, spinning around and trying to locate a free outlet to plug in my portable stereo. “I’ll just plug this in, and we’ll- SHIT!” Something caught my six-inch stilettos and sent me flying into his entertainment center. My lip lit up with pain, and I banged my head on the wood on the way down. The warm tang of blood in my mouth alerted me I had either busted out a tooth or split my lip. “Son of a -”

“Are you okay? Oh.”

I looked up. Norman’s eyes were glued to my rear, which was still stuck up in the air.

And very bare.

Who needed to wear panties when they were just going to get ripped off? Victoria’s Secret was expensive to replace, not to mention I’d lost a lot of favorites from my lingerie collection that way.

Norman’s mouth formed an “O” shape, and his hand worked inside his pants with growing fervor.

I sighed. Screw the stereo. I was getting out of here ASAP.

Straightening, I composed myself with a smile and yanked my shirt off, leaving me standing in my bra. “Why don’t we get right to the point? I don’t want to waste any more of your-”

“Can I play with them?” Norman was staring straight at my breasts. His request was whispered, as if he were asking to hold the Holy Grail and not my boobs.

Gritting my teeth, I said, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Can you make them, you know, bigger? Yours aren’t very big.”

My smile hitched. Now he was in bitchslap territory. “Of course,” I drawled with fake enthusiasm. “Whatever you’d like, sir. You’re the one paying for my hour.”

I closed my eyes and tried to picture my boobs growing bigger. Nerves made my stomach flop. Come on, Sally. You’ve got this shape-shifting thing down. The tiger incident was just one time. That man didn’t really want to have kids anyway, right? My skin tingled as my body took another form, feeling ticklish rather than unpleasant.

“Ugh! What the hell is that?”

My eyes flashed open. I looked down. My breasts had apparently merged into one giant uni-boob. “Um,” I said, feeling my heart rate notch up, “just give me a moment. I’ll fix it.”

“Sick!”

Ignoring Norman’s commentary as best I could, I closed my eyes and refocused my shape-shifting efforts.

Norman burst out laughing.

“What now?” I growled, opening my eyes. My boobs were back to normal. Well, sort of. There were two of them anyway, only one was a heck of a lot bigger than the other.

Norman fell to the ground and rolled around, clutching his gut and farting between laughs. “You’re horrible! A succubus who isn’t sexy? I never would have thought of it!”

“Shut up!” I snapped, then held my tongue. If Elias had heard I was mouthing off to a client, I’d be toast for sure. But if I came back without absorbing any energy, he’d know something had gone wrong anyway.

Damn. It. All.

Closing my eyes, I concentrated one last time. This time, Norman went silent. I peeked a look at my breasts. They were equally sized, impressive double D’s large enough to make a porn star jealous.

I sighed with relief. That was cl-

Norman pounced on me, knocking me to the ground. He buried his face in my boobs, squeezing them hard.

“Ouch!” I snapped. “That hurts!”

“They’re so soft!” he squealed, licking them and leaving behind a long trail of drool. “I want to bite your nipple.”

“No, no, no!” I said, smacking his mouth away. At his hurt look, I ran a hand through my long, black hair and said, “Look, I’m sorry. But rule number one of handling a woman is to be gentle. I know Angelina and Jolie can take a lot of abuse, but they’re made out of cloth, so they don’t care how you treat them.”

Norman nodded, eyes glued to my humongous breasts. “Gentle. I can be very gentle…” The last few words were muffled as he smothered himself in my boobs.

The skin along my chest and arms tingled as his soul began seeping into me. I sighed. It’d been a while since I’d had such a pure soul. Norman might be a creep, but he was harmless.

After a few more minutes of sucking on my boobs so hard I was sure to have bruises, I pried him off and said, “Why don’t we do your skit? You were really looking forward to that.”

I could only imagine the energy boost this guy would give me, if he made it that long. The sweeter the soul, the harsher first contact with a succubus or incubus was.

And Norman’s soul was ripe for the picking.

Norman stood and swayed. I steadied him as he reached for the costume. “Yeah,” he slurred, his eyes fluttering shut, “I’ll just, um, get that fer yeh…”

He fell face-first on the bed, knocking over the partially finished popcorn bowl and sending kernels flying everywhere.

I stood there, staring at my fast-asleep client. “Seriously?”

When it became clear he wasn’t waking up anytime soon, I threw my hands up in the air with an exasperated growl, grabbed my stuff, and left.

“What a bust,” I grumbled, shoulders downtrodden as I walked down the stairs and out the side door. The cool Kansas air helped rejuvenate me as I walked toward my little used Honda Civic.

I loved fall, because it meant I got to wear cute sweaters and jackets. Plus, the foliage was so pretty, being dyed colors of gold, red, and orange this time of year.

Being a Sunday, near midnight, there wasn’t a soul in sight. The sky was overcast, leaving the dim streetlamps as the only source of light, and the air was an odd mixture of garbage and dust.

I smiled. Smells like Athens, Kansas.

The sound of my heels striking concrete echoed off the buildings around me as I walked, the only sound breaking the comfortable silence, save for the city background noise. Even though Athens was located only ten miles outside of Kansas City, it was about a third of the size and subsequently, tended to shut down around nine p.m. Or after church on a Sunday, usually around seven p.m.

The events – or lack thereof – from this week poured through my mind, fueling my agitation.

This was only the second client I’d had this week, and neither had resulted in sex. While succubi could pull energy through any means of contact, direct penetration was the best method for claiming the most soul the quickest.

I narrowed my eyes. This was also the second time this week I’d been told I wasn’t sexy. Actually, that was kind of a recurring theme with my feedback. I was taking strides to improve that, but nothing seemed to be working so far.

“Not sexy my ass,” I grumbled. “I can be sexy. I can be a freaking smoke machine!”

Wham!

I’d turned the corner without looking where I was going and plowed into what appeared to be a garbage bag, sitting right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Luckily, I was able to reclaim my balance, and I whirled around to look for the offending object. “What the hell?”

I stopped. The bag was gone.

Confused, I looked around. Nope, still no bag.

“Wow,” a voice behind me said. “Did I luck out.”

Gasping, I turned to find a man at least six feet tall looking down on me with a hungry leer. But being cornered by a strange man in an abandoned alley wasn’t what worried me.

It was the fangs hanging over his bottom lip that sent my heart racing.

Frantically, I reached into my purse, groping for my key chain which held my Silver Mist bottle. Instead of pepper spray, paranormals carried Silver Mist, which was basically fine silver particles that would burn the shit out of a were or vamp.

The vampire walked toward me, one slow, deliberate step at a time. With his scraggly hair, long, unkempt beard, and dirty clothes, he looked and smelled more like a bum than one of the aristocratic undead.

That didn’t make him any less dangerous. If anything, it made him twice as much of a threat.

“You’re pretty,” he said, that creepy grin inching up his face. “And you smell good. Like sex and cotton candy.”

Huh. Well, that was a new one. Since succubi were masters of attraction, our scents could also attract victims. Our bodies would take on the smell of our prey’s favorite smells. Curiously, it was vampires who smelled sex the most, regardless of whether they were male or female.

I swallowed hard, backing away at a steady clip and searching my peripheral vision for exits. The alley didn’t seem this long when I was walking down it a moment ago. And where was my damn spray?

The vampire licked his lips, his eyes glowing fiery red. “Just a bite,” he moaned, hands making to grab me. “I’m so hungry. Mice and stray cats don’t have much blood to offer.”

My fight-or-flight instinct kicked into high throttle. Dropping the stereo, I wheeled about and took off at a dead sprint, running as fast as my heels could carry me. It was a miracle I didn’t sprain my ankle.

The sweet promise of a frequented intersection loomed a few feet away.

Almost. There.

There was a whoosh behind me, trailed by the sound of flapping clothing overhead, right before the vampire landed in front of me, silent as death.

I drew up short, heart beating wildly inside my chest. If I tried going around him, he’d simply snatch me up before I could blink. Vampires had superior speed, outmatched only by demons and angels.

I didn’t dare turn around to glimpse the alley behind me, because I knew the minute I turned my back I’d be dead. There wasn’t a prayer’s chance of outrunning him. And sure, I could try to shape-shift, but I was incompetent when I was calm. As a nervous wreck, I’d be drained before I could summon enough concentration to attempt a transformation.

Weighing my options and knowing I was running out of time, my hand shot into my purse. There! Seizing the can, I’d just hauled the capsule out of my bag when the vamp surged forward, grabbed my throat, and slammed me into the side of the building.

READ THE EBOOK (free read!)

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*more retailers coming soon

Read it now

The first book, Fever, is currently free!

When the Blood Moon rises, the wolves come out to play… and find their mates.

Synopsis (Contains spoilers for previous books in series)

Though several weeks have passed since her family’s murder, werewolf queen Alara Crescent can’t seem to let go of the pain. It’s festered inside of her like a disease, twisting her thoughts until the only thing she can seem to think about is revenge. It doesn’t help that her dead sister keeps visiting her in her dreams, warning her of an approaching threat that could tear her new pack apart…

Nik knows his mate has changed. Gone is the unsure-of-herself princess, replaced by a werewolf queen with an appetite for blood. Not that he, of all people, can’t appreciate that, but he wants his mate back.

When a doppelgänger stumbles into a pack celebration, Nik and Alara know it’s more than a coincidence. Doppelgängers are bad luck, rumored to make people insane with rage and bloodthirst, on top of being creepy as hell. But no sweat for Nik and Alara. They think they have the problem—aka, “one unwelcome body-snatcher”—taken care of when they send the doppelgänger away with the D.P.I., but their problems are only just beginning. One by one, their pack members fall prey to something sinister, and Alara’s own demons become restless, turning her into a deadly vixen that could rival the vilest and most dangerous denizens of the Underworld. She wants answers to her family’s senseless murders—now.

And she’ll do anything to get them.

Will Nik be able to break the curse of the doppelgänger in time to save his mate before her soul is lost to the darkness forever?

Product Information

Series: Blood Moon Rising

Genre: Erotic romance/paranormal romance/romantic suspense/BBW

Age: 18+ for language and sexy scenes

Number in series: 5 of 6

Length: full-length novel

Language: English

Formats: eBook

BUY THE EBOOK  *more retailers coming soon

Amazon || Amazon UK || Amazon CA || Amazon AU || Apple || Barnes & Noble || Kobo || Smashwords || Scrib || Page Foundry || All Romance

 

EXCERPT (SPOILER ALERT: Please do not continue if you haven’t read Fever, which is free, BTW! You also might not want to read it on a work computer.