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Unraveling Winter Launches Today

Y’all, my 14-part series is launching book four tomorrow, and it’s time for you to meet Basil! He is one of my favorites, but I’m a bit biased.  

I’m launching a new book in the series every 28 days in 2022, and the series will be complete on December 31st.

To celebrate cycle five, stay with me because the FIRST HALF of the book is below for you to read!

Read the First Three Chapters Below!

CHAPTER ONE

Winter swirled tequila around in her glass, nails tapping on the side as she waited for alpha number five to show up on her doorstep. A sudden craving for gingerbread men hit her before the doorbell jangled through the empty house.

On the porch stood a slender man with piercing eyes. He smelled of nutmeg and molasses—a scent she remembered from spying on the men when they arrived that first night, seemingly so long ago now. So many versions of Winter ago.

He gave her a small bow with his shoulders. “Winter Jarl, it is a pleasure.”

The drawl in his voice tried to weasel a smile out of her: a clear sign that he came from the southernmost plains of their island.

“My name is Basil.” He elongated his name with an ah and a zill, differentiating it from the spice.

“You’re a soldier, too.” Winter stepped back to invite him inside.

“I am. Although I see less action than you do.” Obvious awareness and approval of her military past.

She nodded, understanding. “You’re in charge.”

His rigid posture gave him away. That and his too-neat clothes, like he wore a uniform. “I am.”

“Well. Not anymore. Not here.”

That made him smile, a challenge issued. 

“I’ll show you to your room while you come to terms with it. This way.” Winter led him up the stairs, a few doors down from hers. When the door swung open, she leaned against the jam.

He paused to look at her, anticipating her words.

“I’m not your maid. Not your mom.” Winter crossed her arms when he blinked at her.

“I certainly hope not.” Basil kept her gaze for another heartbeat. “That would make what I’m here for a bit more awkward.”

Winter lingered as he stepped into the room. Blunt had its place, and she preferred it. He peered back at her, a hint of a smile on his thin lips.

“Kitchen’s stocked, and if you’re partial to spirits, we have a large store of them.” 

Basil nodded. “I might have to investigate.”

Something about him was familiar, more so than how he’d admonished his men on the trek to this mansion nearly four months ago, but she’d figure that out later. Winter didn’t want to give him the wrong impression about her personality, so she slapped the door frame twice as her goodbye, going after the tequila she’d abandoned on the counter. A fresh stock of stuffed potato skins and jalapeño poppers awaited her in the freezer.

The oven beeped, prompting her to put her trays of food inside it, when Basil glided into the kitchen. Big silver-blue eyes took a sweep of the room before landing their attention straight on Winter again. He did nothing to hide how he looked at her, and it raised the hairs along her arms. The attention was different from the cheesy or overpowering kinds she’d experienced before. It just was.

He gestured to the tequila. “Have any lemon or lime to go with that?”

Winter shrugged a single shoulder, swirling her glass and draining her plain, lukewarm alcohol. “I don’t stock the place. Feel free to look for yourself.”

But he didn’t, he examined her instead while she poured another triple.

When she met his gaze, he didn’t flinch or alter.

Was he trying to establish his own kind of dominance or did that come from being in charge?

“When you came here the first time, why were you scolding your men?” That shifted gears in a different direction.

Basil took slow steps around the island and opened the fridge, bending to inspect it for a minute before straightening and focusing on her again. “They’d misbehaved on the first part of our trip, acting like hooligans instead of soldiers and upsetting some of the locals by Lake Anakee. I don’t tolerate unbecoming behavior in public.”

“But in private, it’s perfectly acceptable?”

A crinkle of amusement lined his oversized eyes. “To a degree. I can’t expect them to forgo their natures all the time.”

Winter snorted into her glass. “I’ve not seen many soldiers forgo their natures, period.”

“Many of them don’t.”

“Why are yours expected to be so different?”

“Because they’re mine.”

Defiance lifted her brow at him. What would he expect out of her if she were his?

“They don’t all come out like you naturally, sweetheart.” Lowering his voice softened his accent into a sweet drawl.

A gulp of tequila burned the fluttering it caused under her ribs. Just the barest twinge of delight from his compliment. 

“I don’t intimidate you.” She already knew the answer.

“Not as much as you probably hope.”

She chewed on her lip. “Which means I do. A little.”

“A lot of warnings circulate about you.”

“So I am told.” Turning to the beeping of her timer, Winter pulled her trays of food and dumped them on a platter, sauces on top. With her glass in one hand and the platter in the other, she excused her way past Basil and set herself up on the couch.

Running from this one wouldn’t work the same way. He was used to soldiers with worse mouths than her, worse attitudes, if he was the one in charge. Winter wouldn’t shock him with any of that.He’d spun with her retreat, hands in his pockets as he watched her from in front of the fridge. He had Winter wondering if she’d devour all of the food on her platter with him there before he moved to find his own.

CHAPTER TWO

Winter certainly wanted to seem cold, but she wasn’t quite as feral as her stories depicted. At least not here. Warrior screamed through much of her, the markers of their chief evident in how she held herself and the way she talked. But the beauty of her, clean and calm, didn’t match the wild creature he’d seen from afar while he worked with his men. Both versions of her were remarkable, and Basil wanted to see them mix together in varying degrees—to match the legends with the real thing and get his own taste of her.

Shaking himself free of his reverie, he did find a bottle of lemon juice in the cupboard by the glasses and teas. A few washed sprigs of mint lay in the fridge, so he made himself a cocktail, wishing for club soda to bring it all together.

He should make a request before the next delivery.

Once the ice melted, the mix would be milder and pleasant, so he searched through the rest of the kitchen, settled on a candy bar, and joined Winter on the couch. A war movie played on the screen.

“You don’t see enough of that in real life?”

She shot him a wry look. “I haven’t seen any of it for months now.”

“Stir crazy?”

Winter grunted, and it made him laugh.

“Part of the reason you ran off into it to begin with?”

“Wow, you’re rearing to go.”

“I find it easier to be direct.”

Chewing slowly, she peered sideways as if piecing something together about him. “You remind me of my father.”

“Well, I would say that’s a low blow, but you do know they say you mate someone like your parents.”

That one earned him a smile, a small one.

“But you’re nothing like my mother.”

“I must be like your father, too, then.”

And somehow, they were both laughing.

“You’re not wrong. But you are much prettier.” 

The green of her eyes reminded him of the fields back home, of battlefields before the blood coated them, of the secret and dangerous woods up through the swamps, of all the things mother nature could promise to destroy. Winter was a natural disaster waiting to rage across his heart.

One look from her told him so.

“Your father is a soldier, too?”

“Was. He is the leader of our clan.”

“Authoritative?”

“I did compare him to you, didn’t I?”

She nodded her consent. After the second half of her potato skin disappeared in her mouth, she actually offered him more. “My father’s not all that authoritative. Mom was more so, but still, not really. They were both…very accommodating.”

“You mean, they loved and supported you even when you were unruly.”

Glittering lined her eyes for a few blinks before it passed. “Yeah.”

Basil wanted to brush the hair from her lashes and make her look at him, to reassure her, to kiss her. He laughed at himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d thought of that. Of her that way. Even though none of his men had direct contact with her, a few stories reached him about how the ferocity of her on the field matched her sexuality. 

“You were lucky.”

Her slow breath hit him hard. He’d heard about her mother when it happened because his father had fought beside hers for a long time. Winter’d been young, just breaching puberty, like he’d been when his father trained him that day. How it’d fueled too many lashes when he’d made mistakes. How would you protect your mother with follow through like that?

The fear pushed them both harder.

If it could happen to the chief…

A square of chocolate broke off between his teeth. Winter could defend herself. Her loss saw to it.

The lull between comments let the battle cries on the television echo in the room. 

Did she know the full details of her mother’s death? How she’d been killed in this house by a vampire? She was home when it happened. Did she hear it? See it?

Mint, citrus, and tequila washed the chocolate away.

Or had she woken up only after her father chased the beast away and slaughtered it?

After he’d patched up the poisoned wound that slowly killed him this whole time? 

Amarok had gotten his revenge, had gotten to live to raise Winter, but she’d gotten no such satisfaction. It showed in every detail of her.

And she was going to lose him soon, too.

Winter stood and stomped off to retrieve the tequila, kissing the bottle on her return. He hated reminding her of why she seemed prone to do so. When she sat again, he laid out the end of the conversation, at least for now.

“Growing up, I was often punished for not being good enough, fast enough, smart enough. I had people to protect, and I’d better learn how. Service was expected of me. It was fortunate that I finally succeeded in it.”

Although it hadn’t meant to make her feel better, the sorrow she harbored and aimed at him twisted his gut. But he wanted her to know what he’d come from, how he fought his way to his position, and earned it without the talent she naturally possessed. 

Which wasn’t fair. He still had both of his parents. And his mild mother did show him a version of the love Winter mentioned. A restrained kind that suffered under his father.

“I was a brat.” Her voice came out of nowhere, startling him enough that he bit the inside of his cheek. The small vulnerability in her wrenched his heart. What a striking sight she made with her thigh tucked up against her, chin on her knee.

Basil grabbed one of her hands and rubbed her knuckles between his thumb and pointer, one by one. “I can picture it. Only a brat is that ruthless.”

Winter snorted, but the tiniest smile pressed into her cheek.

“But you should take better care for your hands.” Basil rapped his fingers across hers in mock reprimand. “Do you know how important they are in battle?”

“Yes, sir.” Her tone taunted him in return.

“I don’t like being called sir. I work for a living.”

“Says the man who wrangles warriors.”

“Not just normal soldiers, delinquents.”

Appreciation glittered in her gaze. “All of the unwanted rebels like me.”

“You’re not unwanted. You simply can’t be told what to do. There is a difference.”

“You seem to know a lot about how others see me.” She grunted when he pinched between the pocket of her thumb.

“I hear things.”

“Well, it can’t be that bad.”

“And why is that?” Basil popped her thumb, and her gasp was delectable.

“Because you’re looking at me like that.” Her slow blinks delighted him.

“Like what?”

She answered with another smile.

Releasing her hand, he held his out for her other one, and she gave it to him.

CHAPTER THREE

Kind and amusing, he didn’t try to subdue the heat in his gaze. As much as she wanted to run away, she liked his bluntness. That he had clearly defined opinions and was confident in them.

He had talented hands, too.

“Are you concerned about what people say of you?”

“No.”

The twitch in his forehead wanted to ask, why?

“Most people are idiots.”

His laughter warmed her, and she gasped with the pain of his popping her other thumb. “They are, but that doesn’t stop others from caring.”

“So I hear.” When he reluctantly let go of her hand, Winter leaned forward and grabbed the tequila. 

“You’re far wittier than they say.”

She barely kept the spirits from exploding with her snicker. “Why I always suggest forming your own opinion.” 

“I plan to.”

Why else would he be here? Oh, wait. Too many other reasons to count.

Then, he undressed her with his gaze again, and it made her neck burn. What had the few soldiers she’d tackled off the battlefield said about her to the others? Few of them approached her. She had a habit of ignoring or telling them off and picking out who she wanted to hump. Perks of being the alpha female.

Had she ever passed over Basil? She couldn’t remember being close enough to have him as an option. His intelligence appealed to her though. It aligned with her own.

It was time to flee, her antsy muscles unwilling to cooperate.

Another few pulls on the bottle tipped her to her feet. “I’m running away.”

Basil stood with her, his touch at her elbow.

Part of her wanted to embrace him. The way he looked at her like he respected everything she was.

“Don’t worry. I’m usually gone much faster than this.” And she didn’t object when he lifted her massaged knuckles for a kiss.

“I can’t convince you to stay?”

“It’s only been a couple of hours. You still have plenty of time to woo me.”

That smile melted her in increments.

“But I’m slow to socialize.”

“I know.”

Winter’s fingers flexed with want to grab ahold of him, to show him up and prove him wrong, but she waggled her brows and retreated, lifting the tequila for another drink. 

I hope I didn’t pass you up if I’d had the chance. Not if you looked at me like that.

She backed up, unable to avoid his gaze until she was out of the room. 

How did this Basil unnerve her and comfort her all at once? The need to flee wasn’t him but more of something she expected of herself.

She hid away in the office with a book, reclined on her favorite small couch. The window blew a sweet breeze past her, fluttering at her pages until the calm threatened to send her off to sleep.

Maybe she should balance her tequila with some tea. The boost of caffeine might do her good. When she descended the rear stairs, the rhythmic pounding of bare feet on a mat drew her to the training room she preferred. For once, she caught her new alpha practicing with the staves kept there.

Basil was lean but had long limbs with reach. Strength lent grace to his movements, and the work he put in was evident. Why had she never heard of him like she’d heard of Echo Reyes? Especially if he had an important father who’d known hers?

He executed a move she’d never seen, spinning to sweep with his hand in a direction uncommon to battle. Most didn’t cover the angle. Oh, she needed to learn this one.

The idea of challenging him not far off in her thoughts, she pulled the door open, and he straightened.

“Hey, there, sweetheart.”

“Don’t get used to the endearment.”

“And if it’s already too late?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped into the room. “Teach me that move. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Pride made him glow, and he nodded, not hesitating to instruct through example. “Start like this. No. Front foot pointed forward, and your back angled just so. Yeah. Like that. Weight in your heel for the spin.”

Winter followed through with the steps, trying to make her muscles move like his, but it didn’t feel right.

“No. Swing your hand under. Pull your ribs in. Suck up here.” Basil tapped the hollow under her ribs. Flame flashed through her as she took his instruction. His hand braced her hip. “And tuck.”

His touch left her, and he stood back like an instructor. A true leader to watch her performance. He did remind her of her father.

Winter fell through the motions much easier.

“Better.”

Not perfect. No, it was still foreign. She’d practice it more without him, when she could make more mistakes as she put her own flavor on it. But she didn’t mind making blunders in front of Basil.

She dropped into the move again with his assessment electrifying her skin.

“Head down. Eyes up.”

Twice more through, and she stood. “Show me again.”

He nodded, obliging. Once at regular speed, then again in sections for her to piece together.

They were both breathing heavy by the time she felt comfortable with the contortion of her muscles and how to flex her strength in the right places.

“I see there’s a reason to call you the best.”

Winter snorted, but the pride she usually wore with her skill failed her. “I had an excellent teacher, but it was me who always repeated how I was not good enough, not strong enough, not fast enough.”

The corners of his eyes turned downward. Did he see the self-loathing that came with her fight? To prove herself as a female? That she deserved the respect she demanded? That as dangerous as she was, fear tore through her every time she faced an opponent twice her size?

Confidence and skill didn’t erase that.

Winter inhaled deeply. “I’d like to try with the staff.”

Basil handed her the one in his hand and retreated to the corner to watch.

Fluid with the extension of her limbs, preferring something long and slender and sharp. Every completion tossed her into another, his gaze pumping adrenaline deeper, and she stopped when her lungs cried for more air. Winter wiped the sweat from her brow, tangling her digits in the loose strands of hair.

When she finally met his eyes, unwavering attraction thickened the humidity.

“No notes?” 

That won Winter a lazy smile. “Embarrassingly, I got lost watching you.”

Basil stepped forward, taking the staff from her and leaning close. His gingerbread scent triggered the taste on her tongue. His calloused fingertips pulled a hair from the corner of her mouth and tucked it away from her face.

“I’ve always wanted to see you in action. Up close.”

“And here, you’ve taught me to be more dangerous.”

Oh, his grin layered weakness on top of the shake in her limbs. “Which was my pleasure, believe me.”

Winter matched his excitement. Everyone always wanted to soften, not sharpen her.

His touch lingered by her ear before he retreated and retrieved another weapon from the closet. “Let’s see how you do against a competitor.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to show me up?”

“Oh, sweetheart, no one could show you up.” The desire in his eyes pummeled her.

“Don’t push your luck.”

His laughter propelled her forward, and she led him outside.

They both got one point early in their sparring, but neither of them got a point after that. Evenly matched.

Between timed rounds, he told her about his father, about growing up with the other side of a military family. Each of his siblings underwent training, even the female, but Basil, as the eldest, had no option to defy his father’s desires to make him a soldier. He’d been made to practice for hours every day. To hone his leadership skills by teaching his brothers. To eat himself sick and gain bulk that he struggled to maintain.

Winter appreciated his slender frame, he packed far more strength for his size than some puffy warrior held. Others underestimated him, too. His father was at the top of that list, and it broke her heart.

Amarok believed so much in her—as both the chieftain and her father.

Their practice weapons smacked together, the fight erasing both of their pain.

As haunted as his eyes got when he talked about his father, he seemed fiercely protective of the rest of his family, which wormed under her guard. 

When they didn’t talk, closer to the end, she caught him looking at her like she might shatter. Winter didn’t know how to react to that. More than ever before, she’d been breaking. Funnily enough, he didn’t make her feel like it was a weakness.

More often than not, he looked ready to kiss her.

Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her. 

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir. 
​

Cycle Five: Unraveling Winter

When the second soldier to enter her home is different, Winter finds herself more exposed to him than she plans. She didn’t know she’d enjoy being broken open.

Basil has always wanted a taste of Winter, watching her across the battlefield; once he’s had it, he’s not sure he can walk away. She’s so much more than legend would have him believe.

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

A NEW SHORT STORY | HER SON’S BEST FRIEND

Chapter One

Molly rubbed her forehead and the headache forming there. It’d been a long day, long enough that she’d brought home more takeout than she could eat even though her son would be away for the entire weekend.

Paul arrived right after she’d set everything out on the kitchen counter. That boy had uncanny timing. Or maybe, he’d been waiting for her to come home without Tyler there. Her son’s best friend made a habit of eating dinner at her house. His own parents weren’t prize winners: his mother abandoned him to his alcoholic father when he was eleven.

Following Tyler home one day set them up for the next nine years of family dinners for three instead of two, and Paul was a blessing of a child. He helped without needing to be asked. Always said please and thank you. And he never expected any fuss.

Paul held out a bottle of sparkling grape juice to her before he swooped in for a hug. It was the only thing he asked for, and Molly was happy to give him the love that he seemed to be missing otherwise. It was far too easy to be his surrogate Mom.

“Thanks, honey. How was your day? You had that big exam, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. World History. There were a lot of multiple choice questions, so I did okay. Better than if it’d been fill in the blank.”

Molly groaned in sympathy. “I couldn’t imagine trying to remember all of those dates and names without any prompting whatsoever.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’m glad Professor Linde took it easy on us.”

Patting him on the shoulder, she pointed to the carton of lo mein. “Your favorite.”

Paul’s smile made her happy. He so rarely seemed to offer one up on his own, and he was such a sweet boy. Although he hated being called as much. Suppose being twenty and a sophomore in college meant she should start calling him a sweet man instead, but he’d always be that lonely little boy she’d nurtured alongside her own son.

They made plates of Chinese food. Even when they got take out, they always made plates instead of eating out of cartons. Molly would stand for nothing less, even as they both stood at the counter, side-by-side, to eat it. Paul asked her about her day. Being a manager of a busy office was tiring, but it could have been worse.

Molly liked how Paul talked to her so readily. More easily than Tyler did. 

His brown eyes were soft with heightened emotional intelligence and regular intelligence, and he’d always been able to see things that Molly couldn’t when she talked about her day with him. Or his with her.

When she washed the dishes, he put the cartons away and stood beside her to dry like he’d done since he was eleven. As he polished the last plate, Molly turned to dry off her hands and slipped in the small puddle, ready to land on her ass, but she didn’t.

A strong arm cinched her waist, keeping her upright and pressed into the wide expanse of a chest she hadn’t known was so large or toned, but it spread under her hands as she grabbed onto his shoulders.

They were so close that she couldn’t help but smell the grease on his skin from working on his car that afternoon or the aftershave he’d used to cover it up. Paul held onto her so effortlessly, and his body radiated such heat, Molly felt stuck in place.

Paul audibly slowed his breathing between them, and his warmth filtered into her.

Stubble darkened his jaw and chin, making it rougher than she remembered his skin being.

He reached one hand up to unclasp her hair from the clip that’d let loose half of her hair, and his thumb brushed along the underside of her jaw and neck. Her hair tumbled down her back before he released Molly and handed the clip back to her.

It put space between them, and they both took a deep breath.

Paul cleared his throat. “You’ve had a long day. You should go enjoy a bath and a book.”

Molly laughed, re-securing her hair. “That sounds perfect.”

They lingered near each other for a moment.

“You know Tyler is gone for the weekend, right?” she asked.

He nodded but seemed reluctant.

“What?”

“It’s Dad’s day off, and he already started drinking before I left this afternoon for classes.”

Molly’s hand found his arm again, noticing how big that was, too. “You can stay in Tyler’s room if you want. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. We’ll both clean up, and we can put on a movie afterward, okay?”

Relief smoothed out the tension in his brows and shoulders. He nodded. “Thanks.”

Fleeing to get the few minutes alone she was allowed for the day, the bubble bath was nice, and her muscles were sore and tired.

Her center ached, too, from the fresh feeling of Paul’s arms around her and how he pressed her to his chest. The way his touch made the skin along her neck and scalp tingle.

Molly shook it off. She was reading into things because she’d had a long day. She was exhausted.

An audiobook delighted her as she sank into it, and she did finally relax before the water turned cold.

Chapter Two

In Tyler’s room, Paul borrowed one of his ratty tees and some basketball shorts for after his own shower. His skin burned where Molly’s hands had grabbed onto him. The brief encounter changed something between them.

Did she finally realize that he wasn’t a little boy anymore? Had she noticed the way he always looked at her?

Even when he was twelve, he’d found her attractive. Knew better than to think anything of it, but she’d always been beautiful to him. The mother he wanted, creating a small pocket of love in the world that wanted to snuff him out.

Paul rubbed his forehead. What was he thinking? That his best friend’s mom, his surrogate mom, would reciprocate any of the romantic fantasies that plagued him through puberty? That she wore those tiny little shorts and tops without her bra to entice him?

Fire pummeled him with the kinds of things he wanted to do to Molly.

Things he shouldn’t want to do, but she was only thirty-six to his twenty. She wasn’t married or seeing anyone seriously.

And Paul did want her.

Wanted her so badly that his dick wouldn’t cooperate until he took it in his hand and nutted in the guest bathroom, thinking of Molly’s tight little body and those pale green eyes.

Fuck, he was going to hell.

When he met her down in the kitchen again, she was in those shorts and a tank, her perky breasts drawing his gaze without the bra. The pebble of her nipples under that thin fabric flooded his mouth with saliva. 

Molly clipped her wet hair up as she walked in with a smile, like she was oblivious to the show of skin she gave him or how he had to clench his hands to keep from touching her.

“Did you want popcorn?”

Paul shook his head.

“Chips?”

He gave her a shrug and opened the sparkling grape juice he’d brought. Molly usually kept a beer or two around, but she didn’t openly drink in front of him because of his dad.

She’d like a flute filled with bubbling liquid though, saying it made her feel fancy, so he poured them both a glass as she gathered a bowl of chips and dip. Her smile at the long, glass stems in his hands, lit her up and rekindled the heat he’d been trying to smother earlier.

Paul followed her to the couch.

Molly put on one of the horror movies they usually enjoyed and spread herself out along the cushions. Even though the September heat left the room muggy, she still tucked her toes under his thigh to keep them warm as she always did.

He shouldn’t have expected her to act any different.

As the movie pushed through the initial violence to set up the characters they were meant to root for, Paul had Molly’s foot in his grip. It was so small, like the rest of her, between his big hands.

Pushing both thumbs down the center of her sole made her gasp at the other end of the couch. It wasn’t the first time he’d rubbed her feet, fitting into his kinesiology major and aim to become a physical therapist.

Now, he took his time drawing over the pressure points of each foot, up her ankle, and to her calf. A knot made her suck in a breath and groan, her mouth open and eyes closed against the pain. The look on her face made his cock so fucking hard, and it spurred him on, pressing every tiny knot as he worked himself higher up her body to hear her groan in pain. It could so easily be pleasure.

When he squeezed under her knee, she jerked and looked at him like she might tell him to stop until he dragged a knuckle up the tight line in the back of her thigh.

It shot her body forward, exposing more of her leg for him to dig into. She cried out.

What a taste. Paul wanted to prompt those noises from pleasure instead, but he drank in every little moan and twitch he gained as he worked his way up to the hem of those tiny shorts.

Molly swore.

“We need to get you better shoes if you’re going to have this much tension in your legs.” Now that he had her thigh in his hands, he took full advantage, drawing along her hip and turning her toward him as he leaned into her quads.

Her new gasp lifted her off the cushion, her hand gripping his arms like she might stop him. But the panting coming from her parted lips screamed that she might be as turned on as he was.

When his thumb dipped along her inner thigh, the gap between them closed.

“Paul?”

Tracing the crease of her thigh and hip, Paul distracted her with a hand at the back of her head as he leaned in.

“What are you doing?” Molly’s voice weakened, lowered with nerves and desire. 

“We’re both old enough to know what I’m doing, Molly.”

A strangled noise caught in her throat as he covered her mouth with his. Her fingers tightened around his bicep. After a second of hesitation, Molly kissed him back, opening to him. 

Paul gave up the pretense of rubbing her muscles for innocent reasons and grabbed ahold of her hip and waist and pressed their bodies together. He wanted to do so many things to her, to have her do more to him, to ensure she enjoyed herself so that she’d seek him out next time.

He’d chase after her though. Instigate every little dalliance if she let him.

Kissing down her neck dropped her head back and spread her legs for him to creep between. “God, Molly, if you don’t want this. Say so, and I’ll stop.”

Her hand smoothed up his chest, across his shoulder, and into his hair as he garnished the small kisses along her throat with his teeth.

She made no moves to stop him, so Paul wrapped himself up in her.

Read the rest of Molly’s story here.

Molly got pregnant young, and during her twenty years as a single mom, she raised her son and his best friend to be responsible, respectable men.

But when her son is away for the weekend, Paul spends the night and shows Molly just how grown up he really is.

When her surrogate son makes a move, will she shut him down or give in to his advances?

Dive into this short, hot erotica story now & get some deals from GET THAT BOOK!

RAVAGING Winter Launches Today

Y’all, my 14-part series is launching book four today, and it’s time for you to meet Reyes!

I’m launching a new book in the series every 28 days in 2022, and the series will be complete on December 31st.

To celebrate cycle four, stay with me because the first few chapters of the book is below for you to read!

Read the First Three Chapters Below!

CHAPTER ONE

Shitkickers stomped on the porch, kicking off dirt and grime. No overpowering waves of alpha seeped through the door to wallop Winter, which she took as a good sign. Torrent had been a lot to handle, and she couldn’t do that two months in a row.

A steady rhythmic knock brought Winter to the door, and the man waiting on the other side was clearly a soldier, although he might have fooled a civilian. She’d seen a thousand of them. He nodded to her. “Miss Jarl.”

“Just Jarl. No Miss. Or Winter.”

His deeply tanned skin hid under a kept beard, but heavily lashed eyes conveyed much of his thoughts. He was not impressed with her, and that was more than okay. “Echo Reyes of the Boynjar clan.”

Ah, the shitkickers and soldier made sense. The plains produced most of the armed forces, and they had the biggest numbers. Reyes’s clan also boasted the most temples, too. Winter read about their construction during her studies.

“Room’s this way.” She led him to a downstairs suite, one with tactical advantages that only a warrior could appreciate. The prickling of dread melted away as they walked. Winter could deal with an equal. Maybe this month, she could have easy interactions with Reyes. “I’m not your mom or your maid.”

A nod of understanding, and he walked past her into the room.

She left him to settle in and made herself a cup of tea and tequila. Winter half-hid in the office, door open. It was out of the way, and if he wanted to explore, he could simply pass her by. If he wanted to engage, he could find her.

This quickly became her routine until she grew familiar with the new alpha in the house.

The first few days were an easy transition. When they shared a space, they were polite and efficient. They called each other Reyes and Jarl. They enjoyed similar entertainment. He liked her beer.

It was peaceful, but when the first week lapsed, a tension swam beneath their encounters. Her heat would be overpowering in another week, and they both knew it.

With her rosemary plant ready to harvest, she set to the task and decided to brew beer in the basement. She’d always enjoyed naming and labeling them the most. Besides drinking them, of course.

Shears snipped off the top two-inches of the bush, harvesting only a quarter of it to allow the rest to regrow—to keep it from dying. Father told her about the books Mom kept on her plants, so she’d been slowly devouring them, hoping to make them last but unable to put them down.

The branches smelled earthy and minty. Winter planned to mix agave with the oats for a nice flavor. Simple and safe but fitting.

Gathering her harvest, she turned to find Reyes in the doorway, hands behind his back, at ease. He didn’t retreat when she approached with her spoils, so she showed them to him. “Learning a new skill. I plan to brew beer if you’d like to see how it’s done.”

A shapely brow rose a modicum, the Latin features defyingly sly and charming despite his reserved behavior. “I would enjoy that. I’ve never seen it done.”

Winter attempted a smile, a weak but real one.

He followed her to the basement, not far from his room. The cellar was split—to the right led to the small armory-slash-vault. On the left, they entered the stores: temperature-controlled racks of wine, beer, and liquor. Through the stacks, Winter turned right and led Reyes through another door to the workroom. 

Her new guest took in the place with admiration, and she was glad. Torrent hadn’t made it this far, more interested in the spoils than the work. Although he’d been far more distracted by her body and the forced chill in the storeroom. 

Winter set the bundle of rosemary with the other accent ingredients stored along a short shelf. She grabbed one of the boilers and gestured for him to grab the other. He took silent orders well, understanding far more of her unspoken commands than the other men who’d shared this house with her.

They washed and sanitized the equipment and set the pots on their burners. Next, they crushed the oats to steep the grains with the malt, bringing them to temperature.

“When we take the grain bags out, don’t squeeze. Just let it drip. Tannins.”

Pulling their brew off the heat, they added the malt extracts and returned the mix to boil at varying intervals, adding the rosemary in last. Once it became wort, they dropped chillers into the batches to effectively cool it.

Before it chilled completely, they added the agave to keep the flavor intact. 

“This is pretty much sugar water. Now, we ferment.” Winter showed him how to pour the wort into fermenters, adding water as needed. They shook and splashed and stirred the mix to aerate the wort before adding the yeast.

“Now we seal these babies up and leave them for two weeks.”

Reyes smiled. “I’m glad to get to taste them before I leave.”

It was odd to make a batch with a man other than her father, but the process stayed enjoyable. Winter found it easy to exist beside soldiers. She’d been doing it for so long.

They made lunch together, and the sole tension in the near silence between them came with the looming full moon. When Reyes passed behind her, her skin grew taut. When Winter reached around him for a spatula, his shoulders and back tightened. Once, she caught his nostrils flaring, but neither of them had an overly intense reaction to it.

Thank Asketill for the break.

Sitting on the couch together to eat wasn’t bad, but she caught herself watching him more often, examining the attractiveness of his deep caramel tan, how his hair always mussed across his forehead, and how his thick brows made the orange in his hazel eyes pop. He met her gaze, but she only blinked at him, not abashed about looking. But when his attention lapped her body, heat sank into her middle.

Winter crunched through another jalapeño popper, breaking the tension a few notches—but not completely. There was no way to eliminate it. Nature was a strong motherfucker. Stronger than she’d once imagined.

Once the food disappeared, Winter retreated to her room, and more precisely, her tub. The intensity of her libido didn’t need constant attention to be present. Having a male in close proximity was enough. Although he didn’t seem too interested. As interested as any man might be near a female in heat.

Somehow, having him look at her and looking at him, and sharing a little bit of herself—even if in mostly silence—had dialed up her body’s needs.

Water splashed in the tub, making sharp waves as it rose in a rush. Steam scented with mint and rosemary and salt enveloped Winter, and she groaned when she sank into it.

Relaxation came with submersion, but so did the lewd promises of it cupping her.

Winter’s hands draped over the curves of her own body, wishing she could mimic the feel of a man’s touch—of Torrent’s. Of North’s. Even Thunder as he grew more adept, although she didn’t love him. Love, what a funny word for something that could be everything before something else swept it away. 

Her cycle required someone else to be satisfied. And Winter tried not to beat herself up over it. If she’d learned anything, it was her own lack of power and control over life.

A perverse part of her liked giving up that control, liked being handled.

Maybe, it’d just been Torrent.

Maybe not.

Winter’s hand dipped between her thighs, a gasp sucking into her lungs as her sex came alive. Eyes closed, her hand became Torrent’s, easy to remember with his fresh imprint on her body. She wished her fingers were as blunt as his, rough from constant work, instinctively giving her what she didn’t know pleased her.

Back arching, thighs spreading, rubbing herself only did so much. And she’d been in this tub every day since Torrent left. Winter dipped the phallic sponge into the water, slick with oil as its tip pressed against her folds. 

Tilting her hips opened her to the pressure of the sponge. Filling up swiftly with a single shove, the moan settled in her chest. Thrusting steady and firm gave her more but not enough. 

It took both hands, every button she knew to push, to reach an orgasm.

Winter wasn’t satisfied, burning in her center.

It was enough to make her want to curse the moon and its effect on her.

Drying off, she dressed to fight instead. The lone way she knew to burn off this energy without sex.

CHAPTER TWO

Echo halted as Jarl stomped down the hall in clingy black fabric and padding. She more resembled the warrior that stories depicted her as, although he still wasn’t convinced. Certainly, she was a soldier. Jarl treated him like his brothers did, which made for an easy move into her mansion.

But he hadn’t known what to expect when he came. Warned how she’d eat him alive.

He supposed she would if he acted like every other power-hungry horn dog salivating over the chance to get their hands on her that first day.

Echo’s people believed this was his proper reward for being the most decorated soldier in the plains. Jarl had the most notoriety and more accommodations than he.

How would she look on the battlefield?

He had a hard time imagining it.

Jarl cocked her eyebrow at him. “Care for a fight?”

A tempting offer. Like she plucked his thoughts from the air. In another week, the proximity would be unbearable, especially since she didn’t seem to want him. Not that she’d said otherwise. He couldn’t blame the standoffish nature of her in this situation. She couldn’t want all thirteen of them.

She wasn’t much his type either, which he’d voiced when offered to come here. His clan would be too disappointed if he’d refused, so he took the spot. Would she have found her true love with one of the other alphas from his clan?

The question rattled around him for the last three months. Echo hoped the goddess wouldn’t do that to them.

Echo nodded to Jarl and followed her into the training room she preferred. Small enough for one to train, big enough for two to spar. The mirrors reflected them back at themselves ad nauseam. 

Jarl was a pretty female, almost abnormally so. Attractive in so many ways. He didn’t want a warrior for a mate. He wanted someone who did the things he couldn’t, balanced him out. Echo covered the bloody battles on his own.

Not that he wanted a defenseless mate either.

Jarl opened a closet. “Do you prefer hand-to-hand or weapons?”

Tongue running over his teeth, he watched her cock her hip. Weapons created space. He would prefer that to start with. “Weapons.”

She pulled two staves, offering him one. It held a nice weight and balance. This could easily be used as a real weapon if either of them felt the need to put pressure behind their strikes.

“Three points per round. Only kills count.”

Echo agreed.

She took no stance, but it didn’t fool him. Tension swam through her like magma under a mountain. Anticipation was the one reason he’d countered her first strike.

Jarl was fast. Faster than he’d expected. And strong.

The blow vibrated down his arms. He took another, bracing two hands on his weapon for better control. Her hits were rapid, continuous, and localized. Echo worked to keep up, but the tip of her staff slipped through to slice the base of his spine.

His breath came heavy; warmth forced through his muscles with the extra oxygen. 

Jarl came alive, her eyes full of fire, her wolf on display behind her human guise. This female, he would be afraid to oppose on a battlefield. She waited for him to make a move.

Echo feigned, executed a few taps, and lost his advantage, although it wasn’t really an advantage. Each attempt they made allowed them to learn the other’s tricks. Their weaknesses. He had few, most beaten out of him from decades of training and fighting. Loss taught him more, but he lost less and less. 

How often did Jarl lose?

Echo couldn’t plow through the stalemate. She offered few openings, but he wasn’t quick enough, and she was a small target. How often he underestimated small opponents when war only offered him a handful of them.

Again, she slipped under his stave and sliced an artery. 

“You live up to your legacy.”

“First loss in a while?” The question was neither snotty nor gloating. Somehow, she complimented him.

“Indeed.” Echo shook out his arms and rolled his neck, clearing the bite of lactic build up. 

“Again?” Energy came off her in waves, and Jarl’s hard work showed in the natural lightness to her movements; even after an intense spar, she had stamina to burn. 

He consented to four more rounds, her winning three of five. Echo came away wanting to train with her again. Winter Jarl was her legend and much, much more. 

She replaced the staves and rubbed sweat off her brow, swiping strands of her hair away. “You’re good. No dirty tricks.”

“Better to save those for the real thing.”

Jarl smiled and agreed. “Tea?”

Did he hear a note of respect in the offer?

“Sure.” Echo liked how she didn’t clean herself up before stalking to the kitchen. Sweat stuck his shirt to his torso and dampened his hair. 

Her clothes plastered to her body, too, darkened in places, but her choices in the padded body suit hid a lot of the effects of her strenuous activity. Her scent, however, the mint and rosemary and pine, wafted around him in her wake.

Jarl set the pot on the stove and pulled out the tequila as they waited. She waved it at him, a silent offer.

They matched shots, the burn coating his throat and stomach. Twelve before the whistle relieved them. She poured herself a glass to go with the tea. The alcohol didn’t affect them unless consumed in excess. Most soldiers drank when they had nightmares.

What happened to Jarl that made her kiss that bottle so often?

She’d brewed a fragrant rose, lemon, and cherry, which matched the spirits.

Sipping from her steaming cup, she looked over the rim to catch his gaze. “What?”

Echo shook his head. “Probably nothing you haven’t heard before.”

Her mouth pursed. “Disconnect between me and the stories you’ve heard.”

He nodded.

Jarl’s head dipped, and she stirred more honey into her tea.

“Does it bother you to be so underestimated?”

She laughed, bright and real. “No.”

“Most males would be bothered by it. At least, the ones I know.”

“Does it bother you that I bested you?” Challenge and combat glittered under her lashes.

“A little.”

Smiling, she tapped her spoon and set it aside.

“As you said, I haven’t lost in a while. That always stings.”

Her lips pressed together, and she was far away for a moment. “At least, it didn’t count.”

“I’m sure you’d still have gotten me if it had.” Echo hadn’t meant to admit that, but it’d crossed his mind since her first point at the base of his spine. Every one of the men in his troop would have been angered by the defeat, but she’d have slipped through them all on a battlefield, disbelieving until it was too late.

“Surprise is my secret weapon. I expect you to underestimate me. Females are used to that.”

Jarl might not be the woman of his dreams, but this small conversation—the first one they’d really had—reminded him of how much she would likely teach him about females, and about what he wanted in one.

“Even without the surprise, you would have bested me. Don’t undervalue yourself.”

A slurp cut the serious tension in the room, and Echo was grateful for it. He didn’t often talk about his own weaknesses.

“I’m going for a run. If you feel the need for wind in your fur.” A blow across the top of her cup, and she sucked it down in one long draw.

CHAPTER THREE

Winter shifted into her wolf and trotted outside, Reyes on her heels. Today, she wanted to sprint uphill. Too much energy swam through her veins, and their conversation fueled new proximity attraction. This was why they were only allowed around each other for one entire cycle.

The trees sped by her, branches swiping at her fur, dirt and rock under her paws. The valley forest felt safe. Nostalgic. It’s why she’d built her home in them.

Reyes kept up but didn’t get in her way. He succumbed to rolling down one side of the hill after her, which curved at a sharp bank that you had to catch just right to kick up running again.

Winter slid into it and sprinted off. Reyes didn’t do too badly for his first time.

They circled twice before the energy depleted enough to clear the sexual tension. Yet, his gaze relit a few neurons when she transformed under the deck and sauntered into the house. It was nice to feel appreciated, even if merely for her appearance. 

“See you for chow in fifteen,” she said over her shoulder as she went to rinse the sweat off her skin.

Reyes looked nice naked, too. Hairier than the last three, but the beard indicated as much. Winter liked the hairy chest. It suited him.

Unfortunately, she imagined it the entire time she showered.

When she met him in the kitchen, he’d slicked his wet hair away from his face. His shirt hung open halfway down his chest as if he’d read her mind. He certainly caught her enjoying the view as they shuffled around each other.

Reyes challenged her to pool and darts during dinner. He was adept at pool, better than her. She beat him at darts. They were evenly matched in a lot of ways, which twisted her thoughts back to sex, how much she would enjoy the physicality of it, and how much she needed the satisfaction of a man rather than being left to her own devices as she’d done well enough with for decades.

The change confused her, but so did many other parts of her life.

Tension amplified as they played, the near-full moon rising in the night sky. Their gazes danced along each other when they bent over the table, as they circled one another. The inevitable hanging between them. Still, she avoided touching him. And he, her.

Even when they’d sparred, he’d avoided making contact.

What were his reasons for dancing around her? He was attracted to her, and they weren’t a romantic match, but that wouldn’t stop the other males from trying to get under her sweats. She wore them around him without worry of needing the barrier jeans provided.

“So, you’ve seen two of my preferred hobbies. Tell me about yours. Besides sparring. That’s too obvious.”

Reyes laughed, a smile lingering on his mouth as he sank a striped ball where she leaned on the table.

“I work on the farm when I’m home. I wouldn’t call it a hobby necessarily, but I enjoy tending the animals, running the rigs. It’s peaceful.”

“Males and big machines.” Winter shook her head but enjoyed the way his back expanded when he took another shot. 

He missed.

She bent, but her t-shirt stayed snug against her chest, keeping close to that thin scar across the base of her throat. Winter didn’t need to expose her breasts in day-to-day life. She never did want to gain that kind of attention, unless she did. Then, she would simply take it.

Didn’t need to talk well as a female to get laid. Just grab and go.

The handfuls of times she’s done it, she’d never been told no.

“Are you trying to claim an aversion to big machines?”

Winter shrugged. “Depends on what they’re for. I’m more prone to sharp things.”

“I know a thing or two about growing plants—flowers and herbs—if you need help with your new hobby.”

A blush filled her cheeks as she sank a ball. Would Torrent send her one?

“I might.” She rounded the table. “I seem to get a new one each month.”

Did he catch her hint? 

Winter sank another ball, catching up. When she met his gaze, he didn’t so much as acknowledge the implication as he saw her for a moment. What did he see?

This time, he didn’t move when she neared him, brushed by to attempt another shot, and failed. Heat radiated off of him, close enough that the anticipation of his touch lingered on her skin. 

Reyes slipped behind her, tobacco and rose made for an attractive scent as he eased by.

This dance burned along her spine. 

“What kind of farm did you grow up on?”

“A ranch, actually. A little bigger than a family farm. Lots of animals. Lots of land to graze. Lots of crops to feed them and us.”

“Did you ride bulls?”

“I have, but I prefer horses.” A quirk of his mouth signaled his humor. “Have you?”

Feeling a little foolish, Winter ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head.

“Did you want to?”

 A real grin filled her face at the prospect. After each of the men stayed with her, she would go visit them, see each of the villages and get to know a little more about the clans. Could she really ride one?

“Have you ever seen one before? A real one?” he asked.

“No.”

“They’re a lot bigger than you think.”

“I can handle big.”

Reyes’s eyebrow shot up with her intended challenge before he landed two more balls in their pockets, leaving him with the eight-ball. Winter still had two balls on the table. 

He circled again, squeezing against her.

A pause invited her hand to the triangle of flesh and hair exposed by his open shirt. The barest touch rained tension between them, but when she retreated, Reyes did as well.

“Eight in the side pocket.” He pointed with his stick. A stroke. A shot. Another win.

He didn’t gloat, although he did seem satisfied. 

“Another?” She waved her empty bottle and gestured to his.

“Yeah.”

Winter walked to the kitchen, but Reyes followed, waiting in the entryway and watching her grab a couple bottles off the bottom shelf. The chill made her nipples hard, and he certainly noticed.

Their fingers brushed as she handed him the bottle. Twice in a couple minutes.

A large, large part of her wanted to grab either side of his shirt and yank him against her.

He looked at her like he wouldn’t mind if she did.

She took a long pull from her beer instead. “Darts or pool?”

“Darts. When you win, I can challenge you to pool once more and not feel so bad when I beat you.”

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

“Perhaps, I’m simply a fan of playing fair.”

Winter neared him again to slowly pass by. Reyes’s nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated. Would they both behave themselves through the night? 

His presence and nearness clung to the back of her as the darts thunked into the board. She waited at the end of the pool table as he shot, but now she was so aware of him, of the power in his body and heat in his gaze; Winter struggled to see anything else.

It didn’t distract her enough to lose the game.

They matched smiles, and he returned the darts to the tin under the board.

Winter waited for the challenge, but his approach amped her awareness up a notch, and he stopped so close, his chest taking up her vision. She swallowed hard and settled herself. Damn it, she’d done this for the last three months, and he certainly wasn’t demanding of her in any real way.

His hands seared her hips, squeezing and lifting her to the edge of the pool table. He pressed between her thighs but didn’t press into her.

Winter pulled at the button under the triangle of his tan flesh and dark hair, and it popped, spreading more skin between them.

Reyes’s grip squeezed her waist, but he waited.

She traced the line between his chest muscles, sending air into both of their lungs.

“Winter?”

The first time he’d used her name. It screamed of intimacy. She bit her lip.

“Echo,” she said in response, finally peering into his orange-hazel eyes.

Large, rough hands traced her cheek, tucked hair behind her ear, and lifted her chin a couple of fractions. Soft energy zapped her as his mouth descended onto hers; they needed this gentility before all hell broke loose. Echo’s caress dipped down her throat, skipping down around her back as his other tightened around her waist.

Winter’s grip wrapped in his hair, and her legs curled around him a little more.

His hot mouth tasted of beer and dark spice, and he kissed her slow.

It made her insides quiver with anticipation.

When he released her, he didn’t retreat. Tension swam between them, a nice, manageable kind.

“How about another round of pool?” Echo took a step back, becoming Reyes again.

Cold settled Winter’s hormones. “You rack. I’ll break.”

Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her. 

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir. 
​

Cycle Four: Ravaging Winter

In need of a break, Winter finds peace with the fellow soldier sharing her space, but she doesn’t expect to have chemistry with Reyes.

Echo Reyes isn’t here to find a mate; his clan simply wants to reward him for his dedication. He’s surprised to find Winter as enticing as he does. More so, he looks forward to seeing her power.

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

A NEW SHORT STORY | convince HER

Magenta checked the chicken as it finished stewing on the stove. She would break it apart right before she added the dumplings, but since it couldn’t over cook at the stage it was in, Magenta left it until Malcolm came home.

Which should be soon. Most nights, she timed it just right so that her husband could come home and have a beer before they sat down to dinner.

A knock at the door startled her, and her heart raced when she opened it to Gavin in his suit from work and an ominous-looking briefcase. His boyish smile did its best to melt her insides and soak her panties.

“Hey, Mags. Malcolm got stuck at the office.”

“And he sent you here to tell me instead of calling?” Her arms crossed defensively. Malcolm stayed late all the time. It wasn’t a big deal, but usually, he called instead of sending an errand boy. Namely his aggressively perverted best friend.

What was that man planning?

Gavin’s gaze darkened as it dipped along her pants suit from work. It hugged her nicely without being distasteful, and that was never bad for high-end sales. Right this moment, however, it made her feel near naked.

Or maybe that was because Gavin had already seen all of her—touched and kissed and fucked all of her.

The thought blasted through both of their minds. His nostrils flared. “He thought you might want company for dinner.”

Magenta narrowed her eyes at him, unsure just how badly he would behave when left to his own devices. The dirty things he’d whispered to her last time scared her now without her husband there to keep him in line.

But as her heartbeat sped up, her core burned with the desire to be under his control.

Gavin smiled again to disarm her.

“Fine. Come in.” Magenta stepped to the side to let him in and closed the door behind him.

The heat of Gavin met her back before she could turn. His nose edged her ear, and his hot breath cascaded down her bare neck like a caress. 

This was entirely not fair and not safe.

The line of his body barely touched hers, making so many promises for the rest of the night.

When Magenta tried to step around him, he stopped her by pressing them both closer to the door. Her hand went out to brace against it as she tilted her face back to him.

“I have dinner on the stove, and you will not make me burn it.” Somehow, her voice came out huskier than she’d intended. Maybe that was the bulge she could feel between her cheeks.

“What are we having?” He asked against her throat as he nipped at her skin.

“Chicken and dumplings.”

Gavin stepped away, releasing her to the cool air in the entryway. Or was she overheating? It was hard to tell.

Something gentle flitted across his face. “Chicken and dumplings is my favorite.”

What a coincidence.

“Pick out a wine. Unless you have some in that case of yours.” Magenta fled to the kitchen, disguised by her stomping feet. She had her phone in her hand, texting Malcolm on her way.

Did you send Gavin here to entertain me tonight while you’re stuck at work?

Gavin followed, setting the briefcase down on his way.

I did. 

You’re sure I can trust him here without you?

When she lifted the lid, the scent of chicken, vegetables, and spice wafted into the air. It made her stomach rumble.

Gavin sniffed the air appreciatively, too, and he’d transformed into a boy for a moment, that giddy grin making Magenta appreciate his princely looks a bit more.

She shredded the chicken and dropped the dough into the bubbling pot in pieces and recovered it.

A bottle of wine sat on the counter, and Gavin popped the cork to let it breathe.

Don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you if you take good care of him.

Magenta closed her eyes and sucked in a slow, deep breath. She wished he’d consult her about it, but it wasn’t like she would be so disappointed by the end of the evening. She hoped.

“It’ll be another ten minutes.”

He nodded, intent clearly on her.

Magenta swore the temperature in the room went up a few degrees, especially when he took a few careful steps forward.

“I must say that I’ve always been a fan of the outfits you wear to work, around the neighborhood, at home. Fuck, Mags, I like every little form-fitting thing you put on. You can hide all of that skin, but I see every dip and curve of that body.” Gavin breached her personal space, hands on her hips as he pressed her between him and the counter.

Her hands met his chest defensively, and he teased her with his mouth, hovering it close enough for a kiss, for her to taste the mint on his breath.

“The question is now, what do we do with those ten minutes. I have so many options in mind.” His hard length jutted into her hip as he ground them together, but his touch shifted, fingers tracing the curve of her thigh to the juncture of her legs to slide between them. 

A few strokes had her panting, her sex swollen with the want for more. Magenta gripped his shoulders, and Gavin’s smile made her shudder.

“You like that, don’t you, Mags?” He murmured against her ear, mouth dipping to her throat for a taste.

She groaned weakly in response, not wanting to say the words. Not wanting to admit to how much she enjoyed the way he touched her.

Gavin popped the button of her slacks, dropped the zipper, and loosened the fabric enough to slip his fingers underneath to touch her more fully. His fingers grazed her clit, stealing a gasp from her.

She felt him grin against her skin.

Spreading her lips, he stroked her clit again, more fully, and Magenta moaned loudly.

“That’s right. Show me how badly you want me inside of you.”

Her knees spread wider to give him better access without any thought on her part. Magenta was already far too aware of how good he was at this, at playing with her body.

Another stroke made her bite her lip, nails digging into his wide shoulders.

He teased and teased and teased her, his own breathing increasing in her ear before his fingers speared her, curling and tapping with hard thrusts.

Magenta ground out a guttural moan, clamping around him.

“Fuck, yes, Mags. Give me a little taste of what I can expect after dinner. I want to tie you up and make you come and come and come until you can’t handle any more.”

She wanted the pleasure, but the thought of him tying her up when they were alone scared her. Magenta shook her head at him.

“No? No, what? You don’t want to come for me?”

“No restraints.” Her breath was so thick with need and the impending orgasm his fingers pushed her toward. “Not without Malcolm.”

“You don’t trust me?”

Without her husband to keep him in line, she didn’t. Magenta shook her head.

His groan was less pleased, but it didn’t deter him from his present goal. “I guess I’ll have to earn that, won’t I?”

Gavin kissed his way to her mouth, but he wouldn’t give in to the parting of her lips or the tension that made them both want that kind of intimacy.

And she did want it even though she shouldn’t. 

Shifting strategies, he changed the angle of his digits, thumping a spot inside Magenta that had her legs shaking so hard that he had to hold her up. Losing control, her head fell back, and Gavin sank his teeth into the sensitive curve of her neck as she shattered.

It only made him increase his intensity.

Whimpering egged him on, and he slowed when the kitchen timer went off, pulling his hand from her pants, fingers still slick as they passed between his lips for a taste. 

Magenta shuddered, knowing the fantasies that dark look he gave her promised. She couldn’t possibly fathom the things he wanted from her. The things he’d take.

Read the rest of Magenta’s story here.

Magenta’s husband has sent his best friend, Gavin, to keep their dinner date, but she is having a tough time trusting Gavin without her husband there to keep him in line.

Gavin’s mission seems to change once he has Magenta all to himself, showing her that submission doesn’t have to mean pain.

Can he convince her to trust him? More importantly, can she handle being completely under his control?

Dive into this short, hot erotica story now & get some deals from GET THAT BOOK!

UNLEASHING Winter Launches Today

Y’all, my 14-part series is launching book two today, and it’s time for you to meet Torrent!

I’m launching a new book in the series every 28 days in 2022, and the series will be complete on December 31st.

To celebrate cycle three, stay with me because the first few chapters of the book is below for you to read!

Read the First Three Chapters Below!

Chapter One

One day was not long enough to get over North and be ready for someone new to invade her life, her home, and her body. Still, Winter sat on the stairs by the entrance, waiting for the third alpha to arrive. The air stirred before the chimes broke the silence, and her dread amplified as she took slow, measured steps to open the door.

Narrowing her gaze, she faced a dark-haired and sharp-featured man, cheekbones and jaw, and broad shoulders. His nostrils flared, and a wave of dominance raised the hairs on her neck when his hand reached out for hers.

Normally, she would have crossed her arms and ordered him to die under her gaze, but her hand slid into his before she’d finished the thought.

What was this?

Skin tingling under his fingers, he bent as her hand raised to his mouth; surprising blue eyes—dark blue like a stormy ocean—kept her in place.

“Winter, I am Torrent from the Njord clan.”

She strangled her own breath and willed her hand out of his, fortress shoved into place. “Mmm hmm.”

Stalking off regained her power, her control, her authority in this house. She didn’t appreciate how her legs shook as she forced herself to deposit him in his room. The key slid into place and unlocked the door; she left it there for him to take, so she didn’t have to touch him again. 

Torrent paused, watching her retreat, bewilderment furrowing those shapely brows.

Winter didn’t trust her voice to tell him that she wasn’t his mom or his maid, and the way he assessed her screamed of something else completely. She stomped off toward the rear of the house, energy buzzing through her limbs for a fight.

“Winter.”

Her feet stopped on their own, and she cursed him with every word and phrase she knew. Head tilting, she acknowledged him to speak.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Torrent stepped into the room, and she was on her way again at double speed. She wished for a live target, but the only one available would negate the purpose of this exercise. Pulling the real swords from the back cabinets, she stormed outside to set up old wood for her to slice through.

Winter reveled in it, the whoosh of the air from the speed of the metal, the satisfying swiping sound it made when it halved the totems she erected. Sweat gathered along her spine as she demolished every bit of readily available wood, and a few old branches she’d left for too long. A strong alpha. Winter was strong, stronger than any other alpha she’d encountered, which to be fair, wasn’t as many as she thought before.

No one had ever affected her this way.

She didn’t like it.

Thwack.

Another piece of wood split in two.

The image of his wide shoulders and biceps in that long-sleeved shirt and those tight jeans doused her with a deep wave of guilt. He aroused her without her consent, and it wasn’t fair. 

She didn’t even want to be chief.

When his steps crunched behind her, she spun with her sword pointed at his throat, and he stopped with his hands raised in neutrality. A fresh shirt clung to him and provoked too many sexual images, fluttering her eyes closed for a second and letting her suck in the soft winter air. When she opened her eyes, she took in his feet first, bare and wiggling in the mud and grass. He must be from the swamps with the way he enjoyed the feel of the soft brush.

Torrent dropped his hands and glanced again at the blade with a modicum of worry. “I made tea and found some biscuits in the cupboard. I thought you might be hungry.”

Her stomach rumbled in response. She hadn’t eaten much the last few days.

Winter lowered her sword and gestured for him to lead, to give her his back. It meant he either trusted her or wasn’t afraid of her. He couldn’t have formed a solid opinion on either this soon, so it was a test.

He turned and walked back into the house.

Winter followed, bringing the sword, leaving on her grubby clothes, and pulling a bottle of tequila out to drink alongside it. She saddled up to the counter on a stool—not the one she’d seduced North on just a day ago.

A shot burned her throat, then another, before she sniffed the tea Torrent brewed.

He leaned against the opposite side of the island counter and watched her like some circus attraction, sipping his tea as she met his gaze.

His nostrils flared.

Chapter Two

All of that activity didn’t diminish Winter’s appeal, it heightened it. Shooting two half-glasses of tequila without wincing, her bright eyes assessed him, and if he hadn’t been so turned on by her fierce nature, he’d have retreated. Instead, her pheromones bloomed between them and called to his, heating his skin.

No one had ever made him react this way before.

She was not what he’d expected.

Torrent offered her the plate he set the sweet biscuits on.

Wiping her fingers across her shirt, she took one and nibbled. Another shot of tequila, and she sipped her tea. The purse of her mouth, and her throat swallowing scorched his lungs. But she sat silently, likely pinpointing his every weakness and how it was easiest to gut him.

He finally looked away as the pastry returned to her mouth. Too many images pummeling him, stealing blood from his brain to give him a chubby. He pressed it into the cabinet for the distraction.

“Not a fan of small talk, are you?”

The second half of the biscuit disappeared into her mouth, as though she’d just remembered to be hungry. With another swift motion, she drained her tea and stood. “No.”

His heart hammered when she brushed by him to the sink, circled to the fridge for a beer, and reached for one more biscuit before trotting out of the kitchen like she could escape him for the next twenty-eight days.

No one ever wanted to flee from him at home, working with his clan as a group; even as the alpha, they relied on each other to keep everyone safe. Swamps were treacherous alone, and the mines were equally dangerous. What did Winter see that made her want to run from him? What made their alphas clash with each other? 

Or did they amplify each other?

All he knew was that he wanted her under him in the worst way. Wanted to order her to strip free of her clothes and press herself against him.

Wanted her to deny him as much as he wanted her to obey.

Torrent helped himself to her tequila, wincing as it went down.

Already acquainted with the kitchen and his new room, he wandered the main floor, finding the training room she obviously used, the rear parlor where he’d met her father and the other alphas, an empty sunroom with a table of withering plants, and by the back deck stood an armory where Winter stored the sword she’d used. A few extra rooms housed beds, couches, books, tables—rooms for company and work.

A governing household, much different from his home: a small two-room shack built between a few sturdy trees above the swamp. Made it hard to sneak up on him. 

He favored the couch and the TV, surprised when he found Winter there with her beer and wet hair. Her back went rigid when he entered the room, approached from the side. Nostrils flared, her gaze flicked to him before her feet slipped to the floor.

A few steps in prompted her to stand and stomp off in the opposite direction.

“Winter.”

Her step jerked, but she kept walking.

“Stop. Please.”

She teetered to one, shoulders squaring as she peered over her left.

“How do I prove trustworthy if you flee every time I enter the room?”

“Patience and persistence.” Winter stalked off, leaving him alone again.

What did he do? Chase after her or give her space?

Torrent closed his eyes, clenching his hands and imagining them digging into her hips. Instead of following, he dropped in her spot, the warmth of her lingering in the leather cushions, and he scrolled through her TV, seeing what she watched, trying to learn something about her.

She’d already done this twice. And as a soldier, was this her armor for battle? It had to be. Amarok warned them that she was a fierce warrior and had a hard time relating to others. Her friend insinuated that she was this way because she struggled with the grief from missing her mom when they’d talked for a few minutes about their service together. The beta laughed when Amarok ended with, “Don’t get eaten alive,” like he believed it.

Had she destroyed the two alphas before him? Had they earned her trust?

A sharper heat tore through him. They’d certainly fucked. It was part of the transaction, part of the deal, part of the point. How impossible would it be to keep himself in check once the moon filled out?

Why had no one mentioned just how alluring she was? Surely, they both saw how others reacted to her. Or was that just him? His reaction? Instant lust. His body confirmed, making him hard again.

Torrent refocused on the TV, action and horror, thrillers and documentaries, all reaffirming her as the warrior. Like she wouldn’t let herself be anything else.

A sobering thought sank him back. How much did she resent being forced into these new roles?

She must hate all of them for playing their parts in it.

But he also had to admit how tempting the whole thing was. This house, chieftain, and Winter. The alliance would please his family, the entire reason he’d come. Well, not the entire reason, but most of it.

Rubbing his eyes, Torrent gave in and stood. He could run himself in circles all day. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he at least wanted to observe her. How possible was that?

He took the stairs, glancing in the rooms—mostly bedrooms again—when he found her in a large office. Winter sat in front of the windows with her knees up to her chest and a large book propped between her feet. She appeared vulnerable and dainty.

Until he stepped into the room. The ferocity in her green eyes warned him not to underestimate her.

I won’t, vixen. You’re too much woman to underrate.

Her gaze plunked back to her book, ignoring him as he selected his own from the shelf and sat at the opposite end of the room. Persistence and patience. How’s that for you, vixen?

Other than the punctuated page turns, she did a good job of making Torrent feel like he didn’t exist. If only he wasn’t so very aware of her every small movement. He tried not to stare and failed, absently flipping through the history of how their parallel worlds were manufactured, their growth, and their stability and protection.

He saw the resemblance to their chief, and it gladdened him, knowing she would be in charge no matter who she chose as her mate. A fighter. Educated. Strong. Was she compassionate, too?

Finally, after a half hour of his racing heart and traitorous eyes, he gave in to reading the book in his hands. Torrent’s grandmar told him stories of the creation of their lands and how it was divided for the thirteen clans, but she’d blended far more mythology than this. Bare facts, detailed maps, lists, names, timelines. The connections between the two were obvious, but he preferred the versions Mar told him instead.

Winter stirred, closing her book and setting it on an end table before stalking to a shelf. Her fingers tapped the spines as she searched. She moved to the next shelf, closer, tapping. Then, the one beside him, and her peppermint and rosemary scent washed the air, making it hard for him to stay in his seat.

Finally, she pulled a book from the stacks, turning it over in her hands before she acknowledged his presence, holding it out to him. “Better than the one you’ve got now. If you’re actually interested.”

Torrent took it, fingers brushing hers in the exchange.

Her eyes narrowed at it, jaw clenched, vein throbbed.

“Thank you,” he said, unwilling to lose the opportunity to establish some kind of peace between them.

A curt nod and she pivoted to return to her own book.

Restless, she settled on the small couch, cross-legged with the pages open in her lap. Forcing himself to concentrate again took more time than the first. The small tome mixed the lore and the facts in a pleasant and digestible way. It examined each event from varying angles.

Notes scrawled in the margins he flipped through. Were they hers?

Strategies and further connections not mentioned in the text. Questions and theories. The script feminine but scratchy.

Torrent examined her from over the top of the book again.

He wished it told him why his reaction to her was so strong. Why he wanted to use the power he’d never needed to dominate her.

Her book slammed closed, and she huffed it down on the cushion beside her, rising and stomping toward the door. Torrent rushed to follow, catching her in the hall, surprising her, trapping her against the wall between his hands.

He leaned in, and her arms sprang between them, braced against his chest to push him away, yet she didn’t shove. Winter’s lip caught in her teeth, and she stared straight into his eyes. Attraction surfaced, but so did shame and fear. Had she already fallen in love with one of the first two men? Did she hate herself for the physical reaction she had to him?

Thankfully, it was strong enough for them both to feel. It gave him a leg to stand on.

Pressing her hands into his chest, he liberated one and brought it to his lips, delighted by her stilted gasp and the coals it fanned deep in his gut.

“You have a death wish.” Deadpan in her delivery.

It made him smile. “Any male who wishes to court you must.”

Releasing her hands, he retreated a step to give her the space he didn’t want to. He wanted to press harder into her instead, but he could wait. 

He hoped.

Chapter Three

Winter despised how desire sparked against her skin when Torrent touched her. She warred with the want to beat his ass to teach him his place and to distract herself with his body.

When he stepped back without a fight, she gathered every wit she had left and retreated to sulk in her room. 

How could anyone expect her to do this over and over and over again? 

She sank into the window seat as snow flurries flitted by and re-read one of her mother’s letters—the one detailing what happened when the heat took control and the different types of alphas. Mom told her about her reaction to Father but didn’t detail anything too explicitly. Much appreciated.

But she reminded Winter that this type of attraction could be uncontrollable, that some mating pairs made clear roles that pushed the boundaries of trust.

Was Torrent usually domineering? That was customarily Winter’s role. Too scared to let anyone else have control of her. Gaining more power was far easier to deal with than losing it. Torrent seemed to be doing fine with the exchange.

Eyes closed, the residual heat flashed North’s face in her mind instead, what it was like when he gave up control of himself and let his own desires free. A very different kind of power play. Oh, how she’d enjoyed it when he cracked, full of hunger. Yet, he had enough restraint and passion to help her process her own emotions and learn some regulation. 

Slow breaths, like she calmed herself before a battle.

What did she feel? Why? Was the reaction appropriate?

Hot. Angry. Stupid. 

Torrent was not North, but their strong physical reaction made her respond like he was.

No. It made her react more strongly.

She didn’t like it.

It was not practical nor reasonable. But it was how she felt just the same.

Now, what did she do with the knowledge?

Nausea wormed its way into her guts. Too much activity and not enough food. Real food.

It’d been half a day, and Winter had to give herself permission to go talk to this male. Willingly. Pleasantly.

Okay, maybe not pleasantly, but at least with some niceties. North had taught her not to judge others overly so on first glance. It took her more than a week to figure out what she’d seen as pride or arrogance in him was simply fascination and longing.

As much as it pained her, Winter abandoned her window seat and the safety of her room. Odd how it started to seem like hers in these moments. How she missed her little house and the simplicity of that life. A growl stuck in her throat as she slammed the door behind her. Let him know she was coming. Or perhaps, remind him how feral she was when she stopped trying to behave.

An easy default.

She found him in the TV room, adjoining the kitchen, when she grabbed a beer. Not real food, but it at least had carbs she could burn through. His gaze seared along her body as she bent to retrieve the bottle. When she matched him with her own gaze, he didn’t flinch, but he did drop his gaze first, a bit sheepish for sitting in the spot she preferred.

Winter wasn’t there for the shows.

She took the high-backed chair nearest the kitchen and farthest from Torrent without being behind him.

“If you can promise to refrain from the dominant macho bullshit for a little while, I will…talk.”

His nostrils flared, but he met her gaze and held it again before he nodded. Now that he had permission to look at her, he didn’t seem to shy away from it. “I promise to do my best.”

Intensity tightened her shoulders, prickling with warning. “How much restraint do you have?”

His features softened with a partial smile. “Some. I’ve never had complications with my alpha before. Not like this.”

“You’re not doing it on purpose.”

“No.” His fingers threaded together in his lap, projecting an ease that Winter guessed was fake. Thanks, Thunder, for that lesson.

They blinked at each other for a couple of long seconds.

“You are, though,” he said.

“I am, what?” 

“Being dominant on purpose.” Another hint at a smile. Was he teasing her?

“I am dominant.” Which was true, but whatever paranormal alpha thing was happening here made it hard for Winter to hold onto it. She pushed the thoughts of submitting to him away as quickly as they sprung.

He pulled in a slow breath, expanding his chest against his shirt, and he looked away. “I can see that. Was warned.”

“For good reason.”

“Other warnings would have been better.”

Her brow raised. “Like what?”

Torrent flared his nostrils again, a wave of his power crashing into her.

“You’re doing it again.”

“I didn’t start it.” 

Eye contact sank her in the chair, legs coming up around her. Her heart hammered in a disorienting way. “What do you mean?”

His gaze danced along her body. “You’re stimulating.”

A frown pursed her lips around her beer as she drank. Cold hops battled with the heat filling her up. “It usually takes another week for that to kick in.”

He shook his head, fingers squeezing white into his knuckles. Was that what he wished someone had warned him about? How intensely he would be attracted to her?

Did she wish someone had warned her about him, too?

She did.

Or at least saved him for when she could have been ready for it.

She wasn’t.

Her body called to crawl into his lap, but Winter drank her beer instead, letting the silence hang between them. It didn’t bother her not to talk. She’d been trained not to communicate with words. It was too noisy. 

“You have a nice home,” he said, reading her signal to change the subject.

“It’s my father’s.”

A real smile this time, some tension broke in him. “Yours soon enough.”

“I don’t need reminding.” Nor did she want to admit how much it was starting to feel like home again. In small increments. Familiarity and all.

“I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

Winter narrowed her eyes at him. The overriding authority of him physically didn’t match how he talked to her. “No. You didn’t. My home has been in a one-room tree house on the edge of the valley for the last forty years.”

His brows jumped.

“I prefer nature.”

He nodded like he understood. “I’d like to see where you lived if you ever feel comfortable enough to show me.”

Her beer stalled her answer, but he wasn’t expecting one. “What do you do in the swamps?”

“I work with a lot of animals and plants to maintain the ecosystem and to protect my clan from the dangers of the wetlands. Most of my people live on the transition of the forest to the mountains though.” Curiosity glittered in his eyes.

Winter squeezed the neck of her beer. “I know.”

Torrent’s mouth bunched; he started to figure her out. “How could you tell I was different?”

“You don’t reek of metal.” Most of his clan worked with mining and machinery—strong metals and gold, like the ring around his thumb. “You smell like wet dirt.”

He laughed.

It made her want to kiss him.

Her knee squeezed against her chest as she drained her beer, avoiding his intensity.

“You smell of wild herbs and pine.” Intoxicating, said Torrent’s eyes.

Too much.

Winter’s feet met the carpet, and she retreated to the kitchen for food. Hunger made her more susceptible to her emotions, and she needed the strength to tamp them down. Unpacking Zara’s food from the fridge, a slice of ham folded into her mouth on its way to the counter. All the while, Torrent watched her from the couch.

When she pulled two plates from the cupboard, he approached.

Another wave of him pressed against her, and he stood behind her, hands on the counter by her hips, but he didn’t touch her. The line of him was solid against her back. The microwave showed his nose dipping into her hair to smell her. 

Air shifted around her ear and throat, sending a shiver into her core. She suppressed it.

Tension tightened around her as the seconds beat by. Another breath blew along her skin.

And he stepped away.

After a beat, she turned. He’d not retreated far, hand gripped on the sink’s edge a few feet away. Storms built in his eyes—an unsaturated navy sky brightened by lightning. A hurricane raged inside of her as she acknowledged just how much of herself she would lose to him.

Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her. 

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir. 
​

Cycle Three: Unleashing Winter

Heartbreak doesn’t keep the third alpha from infiltrating Winter’s life with his overwhelming pheromones, and her strong reaction challenges her unwavering strength. She never expected this kind of battle for control.

Dominating Winter comes with no warning labels. Everything inside Torrent screams to take hold of Winter, bite her throat, devour her mouth, enter her, claim her, and force her body to submit to him. 

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

A NEW SHORT STORY | SHARE HER

Magenta steadied herself after she checked the roast in the oven. It glistened nicely. If only the rest of her life was as easy as preparing a perfect dinner. She’d gotten the hang of that by the time she’d turned eleven—after her mother abandoned Magenta and her five siblings to be a rockstar in a country halfway around the world.

Somehow, her ability to slip into Mom’s role didn’t deter her own want for children, at least not after she’d met and married Malcolm. He wanted a litter, and she wanted him to be happy.

She had to admit that, now, after years of trying, Magenta wanted kids, too. Wanted to right the wrong done to her so long ago.

But this morning, her pregnancy test was negative, even after the trials she went through to conceive. Magenta gulped back the mixed feelings she had when she thought of it—of how her husband had tied her up, fucked her in front of a room full of strangers, and left them do what they wanted with her body afterward.

She’d come so many times. And so had they.

Still, she was left without a baby.

A strong, warm arm cinched around her waist as the amber scent of her husband enveloped her. His mouth found the side of her neck. “Hello, beautiful wife.”

Magenta wiggled back into him, feeling safe and whole in his arms, with her back to his chest and his breath against her skin. 

His nose traced her pulse. “You smell good.”

She smiled. “That’s the roast.”

After another long whiff of her skin, he shook his head and applied his teeth to her earlobe. “No. That’s you. You make me hungry in so many ways.”

Mmm. Magenta loved it when he was like this, his hips swaying lightly into hers.

“But I hope you have enough food for three because Gavin will be joining us tonight.” Her husband’s hand dropped low between her thighs to cup and gently stroke her. 

Need shot through Magenta, and heat settled low in her center at the implication in his voice. The three of them hadn’t been alone in this house together since her humiliation, but every time she’d caught a glimpse of him otherwise, his gaze burned her up.

His want to fuck her again obvious in the way he trapped her for a second with his intensity.

Magenta sank into Malcolm’s probing fingers, wishing she’d worn a skirt. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea with Gavin coming over.

Malcolm laughed darkly into her hair. “I can’t wait for dessert.”

The implication was clear. She was dessert.

Slowly, he retreated to make drinks, which meant his best friend would be there at any moment.

Magenta steadied herself against the counter and looked at him over her shoulder. That grin sent too much air into her lungs. They were going to tease her with this all throughout dinner.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and pulled the roast out of the oven and set it on the table as Gavin walked in with a bottle of wine and a black box with a shiny black ribbon. 

“For dinner. And for after dinner.” That good-old-boy grin and accompanying wink made her skin hot. “To say thank you for having me.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” Magenta took them from him, and Malcolm appeared at her back, trapping her between them for a moment.

That intensity—the one that said he wanted to fuck her—resurfaced in his blue eyes. He was the opposite of Malcolm, who was tall, dark, and most definitely sexy. Gavin looked like Prince Charming. It’s what made his dark side all the scarier, like it came out of nowhere.

And the two of them together amplified both of their predatory sexualities.

Magenta had always been a strong woman, but this fantasy, one of being shared in such a primal and forceful way, worked for her. Maybe it was just these two, but she felt safe enough to let them take control of her.

Licking her lips, she tightened her grip on the gifts and slid from between them. She placed the box on the counter and opened the bottle of wine. It was a nice, full-bodied red by the smell of it. 

Malcolm and Gavin smiled at her, and she shot her hands out at the table. “Sit. Food is served.”

She waited for them to take their seats at opposite sides of the table. They put her in the middle again, and Magenta settled into the tension they created. Her clothes were too tight as she lowered into her seat.

Both men ate her food with gusto, and she drank most of the wine.

Magenta sipped from her glass every time they made an off-hand comment about sharing. The anticipation was killing her. Finally, when they finished their meal, she unbuttoned the top of her shirt, overheating from the mixture of lust and inebriation. 

Malcolm leaned back, adoration glinting in his eyes as his gaze roamed over her.

Gavin’s look was darker, naughtier.

The combo pushed her to her feet, taking Gavin’s dish and her own to the sink. Malcolm followed her with his, and he pressed her into the counter with a salacious roll of his hips. He breathed down her throat and tipped her head back with a nibble to her ear.

“I want you to go back, crawl between his knees under the table, and take him with your mouth.” Malcolm nudged into her a little harder and kneaded her hips. “And I’ll meet you under there for you to sit on my face.”

Then, it would go from there. Oh god, why did she want this so badly?

Why did he?

She nodded, and her husband retreated, giving her a swift swat on the ass before he turned her to do as he’d instructed.

Biting her lip, she took slow, unsteady steps back to the table and Gavin.

His hand feathered his blonde hair away from his face as he watched her. 

When she braced the side of the table to kneel, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her closer instead, making her step in between his legs and descend slowly, bending to give him a better view down her shirt and leaning her mouth dangerously close to his.

Desire blazed in his eyes, and his lips parted with the want and tease and denial.

A low grumble vibrated in his chest as she sank to the carpet, her fingers digging into his thighs. He was hard and bulging against the front of his slacks, curving up and to the left.

Magenta reached for his fly, and he touched her face, tracing her cheek and lips before his thumb dipped into her mouth, and her tongue peeked out to taste the salt on his skin.

She freed him and pressed her teeth into his flesh. 

He flashed her a grin. “No teeth.”

Narrowing her eyes, she wrapped a hand around his cock and took his thumb fully into her mouth, proud when she didn’t gag.

Read the rest of Magenta’s story here.

After her husband and a group of his friends tie her up and use her body, Magenta is left without what she really wanted—a baby.

Her husband and his best friend intend to make it up to her after a tense dinner together. Sharing her seems to heighten the dominating sexuality in them both.

Will she be able to submit to them so easily this time? More importantly, can she handle the clear intensity and passion that her husband’s best friend shows her?

Dive into this short, hot erotica story now & get some deals from GET THAT BOOK!

Tempting Winter Launches Today

Y’all, my 14-part series is launching book two today, I am so excited for you to meet North! 

I’m launching a new book in the series every 28 days in 2022, and the series will be complete on December 31st.

To celebrate cycle two, stay with me because the FIRST HALF of the book is below for you to read!

Read the First Three Chapters Below!

Chapter One

The bell echoed through the front room, and Winter walked to the door from the kitchen. She opened her father’s house to a tall, lanky Asian man in a suit. His eyes pinched on the outside, and the curve of his manicured brow lifted a micro-movement as he took a sweeping assessment of her.

Winter folded her arms across her T-shirt, frowning at him.

“You must be Winter.” He adjusted the suitcase in his hand, a sleek leather number. 

“Mmm hmm. I’ll show you to your room.” This wasn’t going to be as easy as it was with Thunder. His evaluation was clear enough, but at least he hadn’t hit on her.

Winter tried not to stomp her way to the room opposite of Thunder’s and slid the skeleton key into the lock to release the ancient magic. The golden ribbon dangled stiff between her fingers. When she stepped aside to let him enter, he didn’t pause to address her on his way in.

North’s gaze scrutinized the room in the same way he’d done to her.

“Heads up.” Winter tossed him the key, and he snatched it from the air, eyes widening. “To be clear, I’m a warrior, not a wife or mother.”

She left before he could ask her what she meant and went back to the small lunch she’d picked out of the freshly-stocked kitchen. Shoving leftover pieces of beef and pork in the handmade dinner rolls with a slice of butter made for a nice sandwich or three, which she paired with a beer and tequila and a bag of sour cream and onion chips.

North appeared in the doorway, tentative as if intruding, but the strength of his gaze judged Winter when she shoved half of her sandwich in her mouth. When they shared a beat of acknowledgment, he stepped forward. “I thought I might formally introduce myself. I am North Trygve.”

“I know.” Her curt voice stopped him halfway across the room.

He blinked at her.

She crammed the other half of her sandwich in her mouth and twirled her beer bottle in her hand, considering another. If she continued to drink them at this speed, she’d deplete the stock. Maybe next month, her father could come here and brew a few more batches with her as they caught up.

North watched her swallow and finish her beer.

She gestured around with her bottle’s neck. “Food’s stocked. Help yourself.”

Nothing about this situation was going as North planned, and the work to think through this new circumstance creased his forehead.

Winter cleaned her mess, setting her bottle and plate to dry on the drainer beside the sink.

Before she left him for a second time, North stood close behind her, his vanilla and amber musk overpowering the citrus of soap. “Allow me to express my regret for my obvious intrusion on your life and your home—”

“This is not my home.” Although that felt more like a lie than it used to. Winter made a slow turn to glare at him.

“Regardless, I can tell that I make you uncomfortable, and I do not wish to.” His mouth moved pleasantly as he talked. His alpha was stronger than Thunder’s or more honed, already tapping into the newly awakened part of Winter’s nature.

Tucking his tie closer to his throat tempted Winter. Instead, she crossed her arms between them and narrowed her eyes at his gold tie clip and cufflinks.

He noted the move and retreated a few feet.

Yes, I’m as cold as they say I am, she wanted to tell him, but she’d already proven otherwise. Being able to cut the enemy down without hesitation and avoiding others didn’t make her frigid. She felt every swipe of the blade through another’s flesh.

It was hard not to.

Bracing against his black gaze, she doubted he knew what that was like.

She couldn’t read anything off of him except for his pride and poise, but he was no physical threat. If she was being honest with herself, she hardly noticed anything except for other’s fear and aggression. That’s all her grief allowed.

The silence between them didn’t seem to bother him much. What faults did he find in her? She lifted a brow to ask if he was finished.

He bowed a couple of inches before turning to the fridge and the promises of food it held. The lines of his tailored jacket accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders and the narrow taper to his waist.

Winter left him to his devices and went to read before her training—the best way to stave off her frustrations and hostility.

Chapter Two

Winter was an anomaly. She moved like water, graceful and strong, even though she was small. Fierce and wild but controlled and sharp. Hazel glowed with green, reflecting the trees surrounding her family’s home. Her scent mimicked those woods as well, and North found it intoxicating.

This alpha female was not cold, like her name, but scarcely contained fire. She spat insults like seeds. She stormed through the halls: a natural disaster.

Her curt words and heavy silences surprised him. Females at home did not behave like her, did not tuck themselves away to read books on war or train to kill an enemy. Did not silence themselves nor challenge his gaze with their own command. And Winter held power, more than politics and families and money. 

But when she didn’t think he was looking, she softened, and she was insecure about the thin scar along her throat, which she worked to hide. She cared for the few plants harbored in an unused sunroom. She fumbled her way through several attempts at cooking, and Winter smiled at the delivered treats left at their door. Brought by someone who knew her. Someone she didn’t detest.

North didn’t believe she disliked him. She didn’t know him. The situation she didn’t like. Another oddity. So many females focused on gaining their mates.

When she caught him watching her train, Winter shot him a hot look. A challenge.

He opened the door to her unasked question.

Do you even know how to fight?

He did, but he’d never needed to use it. Not on land. Not against a female. 

North stripped off his jacket and draped it across the bar on the closest mirrored wall. The cuffs of his shirt popped open for him to roll them up. Her gaze followed, dissecting the way his body moved to tear apart his weaknesses.

The short stave spun in her hand, and black hugged her body with extra padding that only accentuated the curviness of her. It drew a light sweat under the nape of his neck.

North thrilled at the anticipation of touching her after a week of distant back and forth exchanges. When he stepped forward for their match, she held another small staff for him and twirled hers with the threat of striking him mercilessly.

Testing the weapon warmed his skin, and air whipped between them. He’d take her cues on how hard to impact, but the thought of hitting her faltered his confidence. He didn’t want to hurt her, even by accident, although the gleam in her eyes said she didn’t have the same qualms about striking him.

Their staves tapped, and they fell into opposing stances.

Winter didn’t drop into a feral crouch like she did in practice. Instead, she stepped lightly, reminding him of how the waves changed when a whirlpool formed. Her legs and feet flexed, prompting him to guard himself.

When he hesitated too long, she struck, and he barely countered, the strength of her blow reverberating through the wood in his hands. Her moves came quick and constant, but her force relaxed enough that each thwack didn’t rattle his bones.

Pain surprised him, shooting air out of his lungs as the butt of her staff snuck under his arm and into his ribs.

Winter retreated to watch him recover, an eyebrow taunting him.

Fingers brushing the forming bruise, he straightened and held his staff before him again. This time, he stepped forward, sweeping her back across the floor with his hefty blows, but she twisted and kicked his feet from under him.

Pride lined her mouth.

North got to his feet, tracing her muscles and movements for a few heartbeats before she shot forward again. He spotted a pattern that he used to his advantage, catching her in the kidneys and doubling her over, but her arm swung down to close that opening and knocked him in the temple.

They both tumbled. 

Gongs clamored in North’s head. 

His hand brushed his hairline and came away with bright red blood.

Winter grunted, and her face appeared large before his. She was close, thrilling him as she pinched his chin. Until she pressed against the forming knot. 

Pain flared.

“Come. I will dress that.” Her grip helped him upright, and the daze wavered his walk. After a few halls and doors, he sat on a cushioned bench in her bathroom.

She cleaned off his face with a wet cloth, and her chilled fingers prodded the tender area around his forehead and temple. Her eyes were softer now but just as attentive before they turned away.

North touched the loose strands of hair around her ear, and she startled, taking his hand and placing it in his lap.

“Hold still. This part stings.”

Another wet swipe burned him, but he forced himself not to writhe.

Winter leaned close, blowing across the side of his face. It eased the bite, and her thumb brushed a salve over the bloody bit, and relief came with it.

“See. Better.”

The muscles along his spine relaxed, and he tucked her hair behind her ear again, tangling with the curls around her neck. North pulled Winter’s mouth to his, delighted by her surprise.

Chapter Three

North became vulnerable when she’d dazed him. What had she been told about seeing people like this? It tempered her, too. And he touched her, gently, picturing someone from home. 

He pulled their mouths together, and the vanilla on his lips surprised her as did the pleasant pressure and the low fluttering it caused.

“I must have hit you harder than I thought.” Winter pulled at his eyes to search for a concussion. She held up three fingers. “How many?”

North smiled and grabbed her hand, dropping it to his lap as his thumb brushed her knuckles. “Three.”

“You hesitated because you did not want to hit a girl.”

“Until you left me an opening.” His eyes squinted at her, shinier.

He’d hit her hard enough to jettison the air from her lungs and cramp her kidneys, but she’d recovered far sooner than he, which meant he hadn’t hit her as hard as he could have.

“Do you think you can stand?” The way he concentrated on her hand worried her, like he saw the stains and dirt and raw edge of her nails. She squeezed his fingers.

North got to his feet with minimal wobbling. Dazed was all. He’d be okay.

She deposited him in front of the TV, taking off his shoes and setting him on the pile of pillows. He smiled again when she patted his knee and checked on his ability to focus.

Winter gathered tea and tequila and a plate of cheese she’d cut up earlier.

His eyes were closed when she returned, so she bumped him gently awake.

“Drink.” The tea was for him. The tequila for her.

“Thank you.” North sipped the tea, glad for the saucer he held beneath it. Or she was thankful because it kept his hands occupied. Who knew what he’d actually been thinking about when he’d kissed her?

Winter nodded and sat in the chair to his right. It gave him free rein of the couch, which was a nicety to begin with, and she could keep an eye on him—at least for the next few hours until she knew she’d not hurt him too badly.

“You are quite kind for a warrior.”

She snorted at him. 

“You said that you were no mother and no wife, so what should I say when you act like one?”

“I was trained for medical emergencies in the field. And whereas I may be generally unpleasant and prone to causing pain, I do not prefer to cause suffering.”

North’s gaze glittered on her with unspoken judgments. “I don’t find you all that unpleasant or painful. I wonder where you gain that perception from.”

Winter narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t comment. She knew herself well enough not to take the bait he laid.

“Suffering, however, seems to be more your forte, but it simply depends on what kind of suffering you inflict.” 

A frown pulled at her mouth, making her drink shots right from the bottle.

North made her feel like she was missing part of the conversation. It would piss her off more if she hadn’t felt that way her whole life—or the part after her mother was gone. Her translator for what people actually wanted.

She could have asked all the questions Winter wanted to know the answer to without offending others, but if Winter wanted to know something, she blurted it out and was left without the answer most of the time.

Why couldn’t others find the virtue in that?

And since she wanted to know, she asked. “Have you ever been in love?”

The abrupt nature of her questions settled along his shoulders and caused a slow blink. He took another sip of his tea before meeting her gaze. “I thought I was once, but no, I have not. Have you?”

That quirked her mouth a little. “No.”

And she didn’t think this experiment would help her find it, but she had enough sense to keep that to herself. Another two gulps from the bottle. She would consume the rest of it before the day ended.

Winter pointed at the small cheese plate. “I want to be sure you can keep something down before I let you fall asleep.”

North obediently took a square and squeezed it between his front teeth. It accentuated the fullness of his lips. He was a pretty man. He watched her watch him, and she remembered the press of his mouth against hers again—soft, warm, sweet. Why did it piss her off so much?

Why had he done it? Her pheromones weren’t that strong yet.

Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her. 

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir. 
​

Cycle Two: Tempting Winter

Winter’s pride keeps her icy as another stranger invades her home, especially when he picks at her confidence. But she’s falsely judged his prejudice.

North never thought of himself as a masochist, but he loves the way only Winter can torture him. His tradition and poise stand no chance against her molten heat.

If you enjoyed Audrey Carlan’s Calendar Girl series, you’ll love Autumn Lishky’s Wooing the Alpha series.

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

FERTILITY FACILITY III: THREE YEARS LATER

“Are you ready to start now?”

Betty swallowed hard, and the movement sent more blood to his already aching cock. Then, she nodded, her thumb tracing his pulse.

How fucking glad he was that this would take longer than one session.

Cillian kissed her again, grabbing her ass and pulling her away from the wall with her still wrapped around him.

Her gasp told him she’d never been carried around like this, not when she was conscious anyway. 

And he was much stronger than he appeared. Needed to be for this job. Not that he’d ever participated in the boyfriend experience for the facility before. He strictly worked in the farm, fucking unconscious women, which were a lot harder to maneuver than one who was awake, one that held onto him, too, one that kissed him back.

He’d never cared until this little ginger woman fell into his rotation. Never had another like her since.

Pressing her into the wall beside the door, he paused them, nose brushing against hers with the want to not let her go for a moment, even though he knew he must. “I have to get us a room and your dose.”

Those lashes fluttered before she peered into his eyes. “Okay.”

Cillian nodded but lingered against her for another few beats before he lowered her to her feet.

Betty teetered and stayed propped by the door as he retreated.

As soon as they were separated, he moved with purpose. Gaining a keycard, dose, and applicator took too fucking long.

He opened the door to Betty pacing in the small meeting room. She stopped midstep, eyes wide, fingers covering her mouth when he stepped inside.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

She shook her head, and a fire renewed inside of him. Taking her hand, he tugged her forward, out of the room, and down the hall to a private bedroom.

It looked like a hotel room with a wide bed, a dresser, a vanity with a mirror, and a small bathroom. Once they stepped inside, tension drenched the space.

“Did you need anything before we start?” Fuck, he just wanted to tear off her clothes and devour her.

She nodded, gesturing vaguely to the bathroom.

“Go. Be quick.” Cillian’s breath was already coming fast with the adrenaline of having wanted this moment for far, far too long.

After a couple of seconds, she jerked into movement, closing herself in the bathroom as he watched. And he stared at the door for a minute before he took the dose from his pocket and placed it on the comforter. It was much less and came in a smaller applicator.

It wasn’t the first thing he wanted to shove inside of her.

Betty opened the door, cheeks pink again, but her confidence seemed to have waned.

Cillian held a hand out to her, and she came to him timidly.

You won ’ t be timid for long, love.

He caressed her cheek and chin and throat before he kissed her again, much more gently now but with no less fervor. Slowly, he lifted the hem of her shirt off her pale stomach, and she tensed.

“Don’t get bashful on me, now, Betty. I’ve already seen every bit of you.”

“Not since…”

“I don’t care about any of the changes.”

Betty sucked in a breath and nodded, letting him pull her shirt over her head. She wore this tiny sheer blue bra that showcased her perky little tits and those hard coral nipples.

He groaned his appreciation as he brushed one with his thumb.

Her quiver made him grin.

Cillian made himself move slowly, touching her thin waist and stomach before popping the button open on her jeans.

Her tiny gasp doused him in flames, and he yanked the tight fabric off her hips.

Delicate fingers gripped his shoulders as he stripped them free of her.

She wore matching panties, and when his fingers slid between her thighs to caress her, he felt how wet she was for him. He touched her more firmly to her whimpering moan.

“Before I administer your dose, I want to put my mouth on you. I didn’t get to taste you last time.”

Betty shivered and clung to him as he boosted her onto the bed. Cillian roamed her body with a hand as he leaned over her, tracing the small differences. A couple of stretchmarks and a few extra pounds didn’t make him want her any less.

She got those having his babies.

And now, she wanted another one. Wanted his child.

Cillian dropped his mouth over her skin, down her chest to envelop her small breast over her bra, and she arched toward him.

He pressed his hips into hers, grinding against the way she squirmed before he released her and kissed a path lower down across her stomach and hips.

Betty’s head was back, her eyes squeezed shut as he breathed against her skin. 

“Fuck, Betty. You are beautiful.”

Her head shot up to meet his gaze, and he dipped cover her sex with his mouth. Brows pinching, her mouth popped open into a small O.

Sucking on her clit through her panties with a bit more force made her fall back again, her legs trembling around his ears.

He peeled the soft fabric from her core and got a real taste—both of her sweet pussy and of her full moan. The deep kind that sent him diving for more.

Read the full story here.

Chasing Winter Launches Today

Y’all. Y’ALL!

My 14-part series is launching book one today, and Oh My Shit! I have been waiting for this. 

A new book is going to launch every 28 days in 2022, and the series will be complete on December 31st.

But first thing is first. 

Meet Winter, the most notorious female warrior of her kind. She’s ruthless and cold and in line to be the next chief.

Having never been interested in romance, she’s forced into a year of relationships with thirteen men. Worse, she has to pick one of them at the end of it to rule with her.

Will everyone survive the coming year? Not if she has anything to say about it.

Read the First Three Chapters Below!

Chapter One

Winter paced the length of her floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft carpet weaving between her toes as she let the air resistance dry her body. The slivered moon made her promises that it could no longer keep as it crept into the sky.

This was the last night in her room for the next year, and she didn’t want to leave it for the mansion her father, the chief, lived in. Winter preferred the edge of wilderness. 

Preferred freedom.

Pride forced her to keep her word, made in adolescence but bound by blood and magic.

Her father was dying, and she was the rightful heir—the only other alpha in their pack. 

A light flicked on in one of the front windows of his house. Winter retreated to dress in her robe before opening the balcony door to let the cold air nip at her skin.

One more night to herself. One more night to be the barrier against danger. One more night to guard her home and her people from within their woods. 

One more night to be Winter.

The robe constrained her already, and she shed it across her camping chair before swinging over the railing. She shifted into her wolf form and hit the forest floor. Leaves crunched as she crashed between the trees.

Her father’s guests were arriving, and she refused to take part in their negotiations over who had the privilege of antagonizing her first. And since she had no say about the details of her circumstances, she wanted to spy on the men as they entered her pack’s grounds.

Watching each wolf with his people told her more about the man than anything he could say to her. She’d been studying them from afar for long enough.

A few of them, she’d gotten to experiment with up close.

Tonight, it served her well.

The winding road up to the manse meant each traveler had to slow his horse—Father didn’t allow cars up on the sacred grounds—and take parts of the trail on foot. Once it reached their little community, the road opened up. One safety precaution amongst many.

Winter found her perch on the crest of the highest hill overlooking the tight curve and waited, nuzzling the ground, nosing twigs and leaves, until their smell reached up into the canopy. A group of five with two horses, three riding and two walking. They smelled of sap and wildfires. Their chatter carried, buoyant and happy. A good sign.

The next was boisterous, and the lead barked orders the entire way. Either his crew didn’t take him seriously, or they were quite chummy. The one after traveled with less noise, and they moved with more purpose, like trained soldiers. 

All appeared normal.

Winter grew bored and restless as the tenth reacted brusquely toward his men. They smelled of gingerbread—dark molasses and nutmeg.

She cataloged each of their scents to memory since their faces blurred in the distance.

One man walked the path alone with a bag over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets. He smelled of eucalyptus. 

Winter teetered off her perch, the agitation forcing her between the trees, up an incline full of sweet, minty brush. 

Crunching brought a new scent, honeysuckle and musk. A tattered brown and white wolf leapt playfully beside her, sending adrenaline through Winter’s legs and pushing her faster. He bounded after her, nipping at her heels and dancing away.

She dove after him when he passed, tumbling him down a shallow hill. Teeth at each other’s throats, they rolled and snipped and nuzzled and darted. When he hunkered low, she recognized his multi-colored eyes. Newt. The only male that hadn’t gone running from her when they were pups. The one who didn’t shy away from her muted friendship as she grew into her alpha genes and trained to be one of the few female warriors of the tribe.

He growled low and barked, beckoning her for another chase back toward their village. She obliged, leaping at him and thundering down the hills. Mountains rose like protective parents around their home, and Newt weaved his way through the trails around their town, avoiding breaking into public space.

He tumbled through a missed step and sprang into her when he regained it. They rolled together. Newt pinned her to the brush he’d fallen into with his teeth at her throat, along the line where the fur split to her scar. The one she had because of him and the armor he’d fastened for her.

It’d been the only thing to keep the sword that slit her throat from lopping off her head. He’d been the one to cut the vampire down and bandage her up after. Carried her back to safety.

She’d have been able to fight again within minutes if that blood-sucking bastard hadn’t tipped his sword with vampire blood. It ate at her throat and vocal cords before they stopped the spreading poison. Winter’s voice grew husky from the damage, which made others more wary of her.

She wriggled under Newt now, squirreling away.

They looped the valley once before settling close to their start by the lone road into their home, panting and catching their breath. Most wolves would cuddle up, but Newt knew better, collapsing a few feet away, head down in submission, chewing on a sweet maple stick.

The twelve males had long assembled in the mansion on the far incline of the mountain, so she had nothing to watch except for the scurrying animals. No other noises or scents or signs lead to anything dangerous lurking in their woods, thick with extra layers of magic to limit any surprises from the parallel paranormal worlds while the thirteen clans gathered.

Boredom arose without the potential peril, making Winter huff at Newt. A low whine gurgled up her throat, and she rolled in the cold needles and evergreen foliage. The new moon would come in one week.

She had to isolate herself in her father’s home for that week. Cleansing herself with the rituals for a mating ceremony, Winter wouldn’t come in contact with anyone for seven days.

Not wanting to submit to the self-isolation before she had to, she didn’t want to spend the night out here with Newt, either. If she was honest with herself, the thought of running through the mountain and swampland tempted her. Winter wanted to leave her home, their island, their world for the human one where she could hide.

But it wasn’t possible. A fantasy.

Her duty was not something she could run away from.

So, back home it was.

Maybe another hot bath, although she’d have plenty of those over the next week.

Winter said goodbye to Newt, who trailed behind her until the minute path altered for him to split off and return to town. She had to shift back to human to climb the ladder to the latched door under her floor. One of her favorite features of the apartment she’d built in a sturdy tree.

Chapter Two

Newt veered away from Winter as she retreated home. Her tension over the meeting at her father—the alpha’s—clearly dampened her verve to hunt and fight. Even in play. How badly didn’t she want to be mated?

She’d never expressed much interest in it over the years they’d fought together. Her sparse set of partners didn’t seem to hold her attention either, including the alphas. It was the reason he veered toward the mansion. Newt helped to care for the chief in his sickness, especially when Winter was away. When Newt joined her, his mother tended the alpha. They would both be in charge of his care for the next year as Winter spent a moon cycle with each of the twelve males. 

The path up the side of the mountain got the best warrior puffing, but Newt circled the drive before approaching the high-arched porch to the front door. He let himself in, knowing they collected in the large back parlor. It was the only place that could comfortably hold twelve wolves and their entourages. He half-heartedly hoped some of them had torn each other apart by now.

But that was mere jealousy, having gained Winter’s cool companionship through years of patience. Having earned her trust by saving her life in battle. She’d returned the favor, and Newt worried over the alphas present.

He worried over his friend.

He worried over the elder alpha, sitting in his chair, sick from a long-suffering wound he’d gotten when he sought vengeance against the vampires for killing his mate—Winter’s mom. No one tested the weakness in his on-coming death. Amarok deserved their honor.

And he received it as a chief who’d endured so long in silence.

Newt was one of the few privy to the real agony the alpha lived with daily, and he bent to tell the chief what he wanted to know. “She’s home.”

Amarok nodded, relaxing an inch and scanning the room. He whispered for some tea—the implied tonic the real desire. Once Newt retreated to get his medicine, the chief rapped his knuckles against the table to gain the room’s attention. 

“I’ve learned what I need to for the night. Retire to your suites, and I will give you my decision in the morning.”

Who would spend the first twenty-eight days with Winter in this house for the chance to be chief by proxy?

The only thing they had to do was woo the most unattainable female amongst their kind.

She’d chew them up, spit them out, and scat on their remains.

The lot grumbled and dispersed as Newt lay the cup of tea on the table before Amarok. “This year has thirteen moon cycles with no remainders, which means a male from our clan will need to accompany her for this test. We have no alpha besides my Winter, so I have decided for you to stay with her, but as you’re a beta, you will have to be last.”

Newt’s heart hammered as he met the chief’s gaze—the same hazel as Winter’s but with more orange flecks than her green. Amarok was serious, his features creased with gentle lines.

“Thank you, sir.” What could he say? That he hadn’t imagined winning her heart many times over the years, but they were stupid, hormonal dreams—replays of the fantasy he had as a teen after she nearly bit his head off in a training session. But why would she choose him after all of this time?

“You deserve the recognition for the sacrifices you’ve made for our family. For me. For Winter. She fights better knowing I am taken care of.” Amarok’s hand squeezed Newt’s arm, strength still pulsing under the frail shake of his limbs. “And you would treat her right. Make her a better woman. A kinder leader.”

“You mean I am the only one in the clan willing to hole up with her for so long.” The humor didn’t match the slow burn sparking low in his chest.

 The chief smiled, reclining in his chair further. “That may be.”

“Drink your tea.” Newt tapped the table beside the cup and saucer. “You’ve got some tough decisions to make before you retire.”

Amarok waved his hand at Newt, pulling a sheet of paper free from his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve already decided. Long before any of them arrived.”

Unfolded, the list wafted to the table: a scribble of names with his at the bottom.

“Pulled their names from a hat. There’s no planning when it comes to earning the love of an alpha female. Too unpredictable.”

Newt shared a knowing laugh with his chief—the man who’d been a second father to him for more than four decades. The best way to describe Winter, in all of her agonizing splendor, was unpredictable. 

Although, volatile made a close second.

Chapter Three

A duffle bag hung over Winter’s shoulder as she stood on the lawn of her father’s mansion. The Jarl estate was grand and intimidating and the place she visited most in her nightmares. Not because of a bad upbringing. Rather her goriest memories infiltrate that peaceful and happy time to punish her further.

Now, this would taint her childhood home, too.

A cart stood proud outside the door—the men from the night before gone, leaving Newt to pack her father up and bring him someplace comfortable as she took over the house.

Feeling selfish, she dropped her bag to the grass and followed Newt inside to help.

He smiled at her, his mismatched eyes teasing her already. “You look—resigned.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” The tall wood and stone walls shrank her back to pre-adolescence when she’d complained of learning to sew and clean and child-rear when all she wanted was to punch and slash and bite.

She hadn’t given them much of a choice in the matter, but those feminine skills were more useful in battle than she’d predicted. Especially the needlework.

“How much more do you have to move?” Winter shook off the sentimentality for her old life.

“A couple bags and a box of his books. We took most of his medical supplies down over the last week.” Newt bent for another set of bags and nodded to the small pile left. “We’ll be sure he’s comfortable down there. You don’t need to worry.”

“I know.” She scooped a box of his books from the floor and followed Newt to the cart. “You were always better at caring for him than I was.”

The side glance he gave her was a familiar one. He may have understood her attitude and sense of humor—most of the time—but he plainly showed when he believed she was being dramatic.

“You have other responsibilities.”

She sighed. A lot more than she wanted, now. She could kill to keep danger from her home and those who could not keep themselves safe. But to make decisions that would affect their everyday lives, to order others to die for her sake? 

Winter shoved the box in behind the luggage and bags Newt arranged. He clasped her elbow, forcing her to bounce between the bright blue and rich brown eyes. “You give a shit, and that’s what makes you a good leader.”

His touch dropped away as if he thought it inappropriate. 

It may have been, but she didn’t mind. He’d never expected anything out of her. It was why she’d grown so comfortable around him.

“Yeah. Thanks.” The intimidating house mocked her. As far as she’d sought to explore the world, she couldn’t resist the way home called to her. It wouldn’t be the same without her parents.

A twinge of pain clawed at her ribs at the memory of her mother. Winter’d left as soon as possible after her death to fight in her first full-fledged war. One of the bloodiest experiences of her career.

Shaking herself out of the past, Winter marched back inside with Newt on her tail.

With the cart finally full, part of her considered asking Newt to stay and share a cup of tea or coffee or tequila. He lingered as if he could tell.

“Anything I can do for you before I go?”

Their gazes locked for too long before he looked away. Winter shook her head. “No. Best not prolong it.”

A nod of submission. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She waited for him to take the cart down the side of the mountain with his best horse. The click clacks bouncing back through the trees, fading to the whispers of the insects before Winter closed herself inside.

Male scents dominated the place, mixing and mingling trails of the men she’d spied on last night. They departed just this morning.

Her father lingered behind. One more meal to share before her cleansing began.

Winter met him in his study, a spread on his small conference table. Silver swallowed his hair, and pain lined his face. “Father.”

Her voice weakened in a way she wished she could have held back.

His eyes softened. “Baby.”

Arms opening, he beckoned her closer for a hug—the only male she’d ever taken comfort from in such a way. No one compared to him, but he insisted on shoving her together with a dozen of them. She lowered herself into his embrace, nuzzling against the musk and cedar aftershave. Behind his scent lifted a tang, like meat left too long in the sun. Still, his warmth as he closed her in his arms eased her, his grip softer than the last time.

Large hands brushed down Winter’s back, calming her want to beg him to stay and not make her do this. What choice did either of them really have?

“I know you’re frightened, which frustrates you.”

Winter huffed at him, but he was right. He knew her too well, even when she tried to hide her real self. Something Newt had homed in on. Had those two been spending too much time together?

“You won’t be able to scare them off like you do the males in town. Not with cold looks or scowls or words.”

“A blade might work.” Winter pulled back, but Amarok collected her in his lap, clearly not ready to let her go yet. She spent so much time away from him.

“Not as well as you might hope.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. A deep fear dug its claws under her belly, identical to when she was a child and afraid he would not come home.

“You will come see me between them. And I don’t expect it necessary, but you don’t hesitate to tell me if one treats you poorly or hurts you. Whether you can take care of yourself or not.”

Winter stiffened. She could take care of herself, spending most of her time around well-trained warriors, fighting with them, killing others, and making the same sick jokes they thought a lady would scoff at.

“You will tell me,” Amarok repeated.

“I will.” 

One final squeeze that lasted more than a few heartbeats, and Amarok released Winter from his lap.

With a sigh, she rounded the table and grabbed the carafe of tea and poured them both a cup, giving her father his with a kiss on the forehead.

“I have the things you’ll need.” He pointed to the other end of the table. “For the next week.”

A plain, cardboard box was taped closed on top. For once, Winter didn’t know what to expect. Mom prepared it for her when she was a little girl—as she’d just begun to blunder boys with the wooden practice swords. How well could her mother have prepared for this?

“Anything you might have for me otherwise?” Like information about the men who would be parading through my life for the next year?

Winter leaned against the table like she’d dragged herself back from a particularly taxing battle. The tea was honey sweet and citrusy.

His hand found hers after his own sip.

“Be open to change.”

Winter couldn’t help but roll her eyes, which only made Amarok laugh.

“But don’t bend so much that you break.”

She met his gaze, the serious alpha from her past returning. “Having a mate is not all fairy tales. It takes hard work. Compromise. From both sides.”

“Not everything is about me. I get it.”

A stronger squeeze of her hand. “Winter.”

“I understand.” Winter stood, kissed his hand, and went to fetch them some lunch and a bottle of whiskey, her father’s favorite. She poured two full shots for herself first before filling glasses for them both. The sandwiches and whiskey brought a smile to her father’s face. “For my nerve.”

“There is no battle scarier than that fought with the heart. And none more ruthless.”

“If you meant to be reassuring, you failed.”

Their shared laughter broke the tension in the room. Until it was time for him to leave.

Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her. 

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir. 
​

Cycle One: Chasing Winter

When Winter’s oath comes due, she isn’t ready to give up her freedom, her body, or her future. Too bad her nature won’t be doing her any favors.

Thunder is young and inexperienced and the first to encounter Winter Jarl’s deadly sexuality. But he’s got a bucket list of positions he wants to take her in, and he’s willing to face her wrath just to check each one off.

If you enjoyed Audrey Carlan’s Calendar Girl series, you’ll love Autumn Lishky’s Wooing the Alpha series.

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

A New Short Story | Andy’s First time

Andy tapped the pen against the clipboard twice as she doubled-checked the boxes she’d marked.

Yes to temporary masks.

No urine or feces.

No guns or knives.

Yes to any form of penetration.

Yes to unsafe sex.

No breathing constriction. 

No drugs and alcohol. 

Yes to belts, ties, crops, and floggers…

She’d checked more yeses than she’d planned, but before she second-guessed herself, Andy signed the box at the bottom and gave her consent.

The receptionist asked her to wait. Her consent wasn’t enough. She had to be checked out by a staff doctor, who was all business as he spread her legs, poked around her pussy, and took swabs. All she wanted him to do was hold her down and fuck her.

A snap of new gloves made her toes curl around the stirrups, and the doctor spread a new glob of lube over his index finger. “I need you to move down a few more inches.”

Andy’s ass hung off the end of the exam table, a draft tightening her taint as his warm hand pushed her knees higher.

The cold jelly rubbed against her rear, popping into her ass and making her shudder. It was enough to make her come.

She pinched her nipples through her sensible top as he wiggled another finger inside of her. But after a little thrusting and tapping, he pulled back out. Her core burned for more.

The doctor wheeled from between her legs. “We’ll call you tomorrow with the results, and they’ll set up a preliminary appointment.”

Sitting up, she gripped the end of the table. One more day of suppressing her need to be submissive; she could manage, even if she didn’t want to. Folding away the stirrups, the doctor walked out of the exam room.

Glancing around the room twice, she straddled the corner of the exam table, rubbing against it until a sharp, brief orgasm pierced through her.

The pleasure pounded in the base of her skull and quieted to a headache as she dressed. It wasn’t enough, and she’d simply have to wait.

***

The phone call came during her lunch hour, and the extra enthusiasm and confidence won her a new client and three new exhibits. And then, she went out to celebrate.

Grabbing her go-bag, packed with an extra set of clothes and the necessities for her business trips, Andy breezed past her employees with a sense of purpose. The clicking of her heels bounced off the office walls and sent goosebumps up her skirt and between her thighs.

Once in her car, she popped open the top two buttons on her shirt and traced the tight flesh between her breasts. Andy couldn’t get to the club fast enough.

She didn’t have to sit long in the waiting room before the receptionist escorted her down a plain-looking hallway and opened the door to a bare hotel room. “Nikola will be in shortly to meet with you.”

Anticipation jarred her at the name, and she nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed to wait. But after a few seconds, Andy was on her feet again, examining the sparse furniture—an armoire, a desk with a mirror, a dresser with a large television, a bathroom, and a closet. In the nightstand drawer were packages of condoms, lube, cock rings, and smaller marital aids.

Andy bit her lip. What other treasures were hidden about the room? It looked so normal.

The mystery of it sent her to the mirror instead. Bra and breasts exposed, she pulled her hair free of its sensible bun. The waves made her more attractive, but she refastened it. What if Nikola wanted to take it down himself?

The door opened as she slipped in the second bobby pin.

Drenched in leather and dark hair slicked away from his face, the man she assumed to be Nikola entered. Their gazes met, and he smiled—small and naughty. He perfectly matched her fantasies.

The door clicked closed behind him, his deadly sway made her grip the edge of the dresser.

“Andrea.” The sound of her name covered in his accent sent her knees wobbly. “I am Nikola.”

“I prefer Andy.” Her voice whispered out of her, timid and almost unrecognizable.

“Andy, then.” Nikola closed the gap between them, took her hands, and tugged her away from the mirror. “We will begin slowly. Get to know each other.”

Did she need to get to know him? The way her pulse ricocheted in her ears and flamed her sex, she just wanted him to take control of her.

Read the rest of this story:

Andy  is sick of being the boss. It leaves her with no time to soothe her frustrations.

When she hears about Club Pleasure, she books an appointment and is surprised by how perfectly Nikola fits her fantasies.

Will she be able to fully give up her control to a stranger or will she leave unsatisfied?

Dive into this short, playful erotica story now & get some deals from GET THAT BOOK!