Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 114

Something I’m trying on Goodreads…

If you’re on goodreads, I’m trying something new… it’s an easy way to win a book from me and both current and backlist books will be given away.

Basically, you join the group and whatever book is featured, if you want to win, you add the book to your TBR shelf and then comment on the thread.  If you win, you agree to post a review.  Nice and easy, yes?

If you want to join, it’s here.  It is for 18 and over.  http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/68725-shiloh-walker-book-of-the-month-club

Okay…some news about my news… sold a book! Beautiful Scars..

I mentioned last week that I thought I had news.  I do.  I have news… and I shall tell.

There may be more, I dunno yet… we shall see, but for now…

This is Beautiful Scars, a book I wrote in a mad rush back in December after I saw a picture.  No, I’m not sharing the picture, because that would be spoilers, but I saw a picture and it inspired a book.

This book…

~*~

He could have kept on playing, just for her.  Forever.  He’d forgotten how amazing it was to do this.  Playing for himself was amazing.  Playing for his fans…yeah, he loved that.

But there was something magic about sitting there in the dark and playing for her.

It was almost like he could talk to her through the music, and even though she said nothing back, he could hear her answer just in the way she moved, the way she smiled.

And it had always been like this, he realized.

Chaili seemed to find almost the same pleasure in the music that he did.

That same little smile bowed her pretty mouth up and she swayed, one hand curled around the wine glass, the other tapping out a rhythm on her thigh.

He had an image of catching the hem of her skirt.  Pushing it up. Okay…that wasn’t anything that had happened before tonight.  But he had a feeling he’d be thinking hot and dirty thoughts about her for a long, long time after this. Hell, he was wondering why he hadn’t done it before.

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus back on the music, but he couldn’t block her out.

It was all there, twining through his mind.  The raw, powerful vibe of the music.   The song.  The image of his hands on her thighs.  Pushing that pretty skirt up. Catching the silken hose she wore and dragging them down, her panties…leaving her naked under that skirt.  Then he’d play a little while longer.  Just a little while, as he thought about her being naked under that elegant little white dress.

Get a grip, Marc.  Or you’re going to lose it before you even get started…

Get started.  Shit, was he actually thinking of trying to do this…

Hell, yes.

He must have lost his mind somewhere in the time he’d seen her standing the office of Escortè and when he’d started playing for her back at the party, but he had every intention of having a taste of her.  Just once, he thought.  They were friends, right?  They could have a night of nice, friendly sex and then go back to being friends…

Yes, because that had worked so well before.

Stop it, man.  This isn’t Lily.  It won’t happen that way.  And if you can’t get that through your head, you need to just take her home now, he told himself.

No.  She wasn’t Lily.

And he’d be damned if he took her home just yet.  Unless that was what she wanted.

Clearing his throat, he took the glass of wine from her.  “Ah…are you wanting to head home or you wanna hang around a while?”

She slid him a smile as she took the glass of wine back.  “Hey, you played me one song.  That does not a concert make.”

Hot damn.

“Walking in Memphis?”

She just smiled.

He rolled into it, watching her a little closer this time.  She was watching his hands again.  Her face was flushed, although he didn’t think it was the wine.  He’d had as much as she was and it was just the one bottle.  Couldn’t just be the wine, right?

 

 

She all but groaned as he launched into the one part that got to her, every damn time.

She said, “Tell me are you a Christian child?”

And I said, “Ma’am, I am tonight

His voice dropped, lower, rougher.

A shudder went through her and she grabbed the glass of wine, drank it down.  They’d emptied the bottle and she wished she could blame the heat burning inside her on that, but it wasn’t that.  It was him.  Always him–

“What is it about you and that song?”

As the music faded, she jerked her head up, saw him staring at her.

She tried to shrug.  It wasn’t the song, it was him.  Something about the way he sang it, hell, the way he sang anything…She licked her lips and stared off into the distance, trying to figure out the right way to say something that wasn’t a lie, but didn’t leave her stripped bare.

A harsh groan reached her ears.

Startled, she looked at him, realized he was staring at her mouth.

Two seconds later, he was reaching for her.

Stunned, she couldn’t think. As his lips covered hers, she couldn’t think.

Marc was kissing her.

Damn it.

Marc was kissing her–

Had she drank more wine than she’d thought?

“Open your mouth,” he snarled against her lips, a harsh, urgent command in his voice.  “Give me your mouth.”

Dazed, she did just that, opened for him.

His arms came around her as his tongue stroked across the bottom of her lip, slowly, seductively…teasingly.  Oh, hell.  She was in trouble.  Big, big trouble…

~*~

This is an erotic contemporary romance and now, I can tell you one of the things I’ve been so cryptic about.  :) Grand Central’s Romance imprint Forever Romance has bought it…plus another book (more info on that one later on).  It’s going into their digital line, and might be out in print as well.  Release date not known…I’ll get that info to you once I have yet.  But it’s written. And now?  It’s SOLD!

**Lyrics from Marc Cohn’s Walking in Memphis

I love this scene… (IF YOU SEE HER… Kindle for UK)

I’m working on the edits for the UK version of IF YOU SEE HER…this mostly just included making sure the formatting is okay, but it must be done.

I still love this scene.  :) (FYI, if you haven’t read these books, there is no spoiler here, but please keep in mind, don’t try to read the Ash (link) books out of order…start with IF YOU HEAR HER)

“Is that a polite way of telling me to leave?” Remy said, lifting a golden brow.

Hope swallowed, then bit her lip. “Actually, it wasn’t much of an attempt to be polite—I’ve got some things to do and I’m sure you have better things to do than stand around in here with me.”

“Actually…” he looked down at the glass of tea he held in his hand, stared at it as though he found it fascinating. “Now that you mention it, you’re kind of the reason I came out here.”

“I am?”

Her heart started racing, but this time it was fear. Oh, God.

He’d said she wasn’t going to be arrested, and for some reason, she did believe him. But that didn’t mean he wanted somebody like her hanging around his town.

She had already caused all sorts of trouble or at least, it seemed like it had followed her. Despite the fact that she’d only been in town a few weeks, she already knew the kind of influence the Jennings family had around here. Was he here because…

“Hope?”

Screw that, she thought, turning away from him once more. She poured her own tea and took a sip, slowly, deliberately. You haven’t done anything wrong. This is Law’s home—as long as he says you’re welcome, you don’t have to go anywhere.

“Hey, are you in there?”

Shooting Remy a narrow look over her shoulder, she bit off, “I’m standing right here. Where else would I be?”

Turning around, she lifted her glass to her lips, took another drink of the tea. Her throat was still dry, burning tight, and her heart raced. But she was mad, and getting madder. Fed up, she realized.

It had taken her almost fifteen years to find her stopping point, but damn it, she was sick and tired of being pushed around and if this slick lawyer thought he had any right…

“Why do you suddenly look so pissed off?” Remy asked.

“Why?” Hope asked slowly. She sat the glass down and then folded her arms over her chest, staring at him. “Well, let me see. First I get arrested for something I didn’t do. I get attacked. Nobody believed me when I said I didn’t hurt Law, except Law, of course. Well, Law and a few other people. But that’s beside the point. I didn’t do a damn thing. And now you’re out here harassing me. I didn’t do a damn thing wrong and if you think you can make me leave your precious little town, you can shove it.”

Remy blinked. Then he passed a hand over his face and muttered something too low for her to hear. Finally, he looked back at her and said, “Okay, exactly what have I done that you consider harassment, Hope? And when in the hell did I say anything about you leaving?”

“Well, why else would you be here?” she demanded defensively. Spine rigid, she shoved off the counter and just barely resisted the urge to back away as he took a step toward her. “It’s not like you and Law are best buds or something. Are you?”

“No.” He snorted. “Up until the past few weeks, I could hardly stand him, if you want the honest truth.”

“Well, then.” Hope sniffed. That just proved he was too much an idiot to waste time on anyway. “See? You’re not hanging out here to shoot the breeze with him, so the only other reason you’d be here would be me.”

Remy blew out a slow breath. “I’m following that part of your logic, but I still fail to see why you automatically assume I’m here because I’m trying to run you out of town.”

“What else would it be?” She hunched her shoulders. “Unless you lied about not wanting me arrested. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Remy closed his eyes and tried to figure out if he had ever heard a more convoluted line of thinking.

He was pretty sure he had—after all, he was a lawyer, he’d heard some seriously inventive arguments.

But this…Opening his eyes, he studied her heartshaped face. Without all that hair, she didn’t look so fragile, he realized. Not that she really was, he was coming to realize. A fragile woman would have broken after what had been done to her. No matter what people thought, Hope hadn’t broken. She had been forced to bend, to take unimaginable shit and heartbreak.

But she hadn’t broken.

She had to be one of the strongest women he’d ever met.

Still, just looking at her flooded him with the most insane urges—the need to protect her. The need to touch her. The need to fuck her. The need to see her laugh. To smile…at him.

And she thought he was here because he wanted her out of town? His town? Like he owned the damned ground it was built on?

Shit.

“I’m not here because I’m trying to run you out of town,” he finally said, when he thought he might be able to say it in a somewhat level voice.

With that doubt still glinting in her pale green eyes, she jerked one shoulder in a shrug . “Fine. Then whatever you’re doing here, would you please just get it done? Please? So you can leave?”

Something moved inside him. It might have been anger. Might have been wounded pride. Might have been frustration…or all of the above. “Just get it over with?” he repeated, some of his tension edging into his voice.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Please.”

“So polite. Even when you’re that pissed off at me. Still so polite,” he murmured. “Okay, Hope. I’ll get it over with.”

Then he closed the two feet between them. He wanted to touch her…fuck it, he wanted it so bad, he hurt with it, ached with it, would have gone to his knees and begged if he thought it would have done any good.

Instead, he jammed one hand into a pocket, closed it in a fist.

The other, he used the tip of his finger and used it to lift her chin.

He had just a second to see her eyes flare wide before he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers. Just the lightest brush—hardly enough to even get a taste.

Still, that one taste blistered through him, rushed through him, setting his blood to boil.

He heard her gasp, felt it…and as her lips parted against his, he wanted, desperately to tease that slight opening with his tongue, see if he couldn’t coax her mouth into opening for him, just a little more.

Instead, he whispered against her lips, “I’ve wanted to do that from the first second I laid eyes on you.”

 

 

On being a writer…

I’ve gotten these questions a lot lately, so rather than just trying to parse it out in twitter or facebook or keep answering it on twitter, I’m just going to do it here…and then link here… I’m lazy… and swamped.

These questions often go hand in hand, so I’ll answer them that way.

How long have you been a writer…

Always.  Seriously.  I think I came out of my mother’s womb telling stories.  I’m just a storyteller.  I started actually writing them down in middle school, as far as I can remember, although my mom says it was before that.

I wrote short stories all throughout middle school and got into longer stuff in high school.  I had notebook upon notebook crammed with stories written in horrid purple ink… (yeah, what was I thinking).  Many of them were fantasy, although there was one contemporary young adult that had the hero dying at the end.  Yes, even in high school, I was all about the angst.  In nursing school, there was the start of what might have been a halfway promising romantic suspense, and if I can ever find that one, I might try to rework it and do it again.

Now… when did I start writing professionally?

I sold my first book in late 2002.  By then, I’d written dozens of stories, if not more.  I’d had dozens of rejections. I kept working in nursing even after I’d sold and even though I was able to quit my day job in 2004, I keep my license active because writing isn’t a stable field.

I’m not exaggerating on this and I’m not trying to scare anybody, but just because you’ve sold ten, twenty, thirty, sixty books doesn’t mean you’ll be able to keep on selling. Trust me on this…I speak from experience.  There are no guarantees in life, and especially not in writing, except for this.  It’s hard and signing a contract doesn’t mean it gets easier.

Sooooo…if I haven’t managed to completely scare you…

The next question that generally comes…

How do I become an author?

The answer to this depends…Are you a new writer?  If so…

Read.  Read a lot.  It’s fuel for the brain and if you tend to read the books from the sort of publisher you want to write for, you’ll get an idea what sort of books they are looking for.
If you haven’t written a book, you have to do that first.  And you have to finish it.  If you’re a new writer, the very first thing an editor and an agent need to know is that you can finish a book.  If you have the most amazing, brilliant idea that will leave Nora Roberts, Stephen King and JK Rowling in the dust, but you get half way through and you can’t finish…that idea doesn’t mean much to them.
If you’ve just started writing, then finish that book.  And then…start another.  The fact of the matter is, the first few books almost any writer writes aren’t going to be published. Yes, there are exceptions, but if you focus on being the exception, you may be setting yourself up for a life of disappointment.  Focus on reality.  Writing the first book, and the second, and the third is what improves your craft and gets you to that crucial point… where you have a book that is actually really good.  You find your voice, you figure out what in the hell is show versus tell, you nail down point of view switches and all of that.
If none of that makes sense, you can figure it out just be visiting various writer blogs or forums… Absolute Write is a good writer resource.  PBW/Lynn Viel is a great resource for writers.  Ilona Andrews has some wonderful tips on writing.  And if you don’t know what any of that means, it is absolutely okay.  We all start somewhere.  Just don’t try to start with me, because I’m a lousy teacher…I’m still figuring out what the shorthand is for some of the writer lingo. It would be the blind leading the blind.

Have you been writing for a while but don’t know how to go about getting published?

First things first…be prepared for this one simple thing.  You’ll get rejections. We all do.  I had one book rejected by two different publishers just this year.  My urban fantasy thing that I’m trying so hard to sell isn’t exactly grabbing anybody and it’s probably one of the best things I’ve ever written.  You’ll get rejections.  No matter what.  Be prepared for it, accept it…and whatever you do, don’t have a hissy fit and email the agent/editor back and go off on them.  Your book didn’t grab them.  That doesn’t mean you wrote a bad book.  It doesn’t necessarily mean they didn’t like it.  It means it doesn’t work for them.
If you’re not sure how to go about getting an agent or editor…this is going to vary depending on whether you want to go digital (Ellora’s Cave, Samhain, Carina, etc) or traditional (the big New York houses, Random House, Berkley, Grand Central, etc) that focuses more on print.  Most print houses require that you have an agent.  Very few digital publishers do require this.
If you decide to try digital houses, that’s awesome, but never sign a contract without having it reviewed.  You can get a contract attorney for probably $250.  I know that’s a chunk of change, but not all contracts are created fair and equal and there have been more than a few authors who have huddled in their beds and cried because they signed a bad contract and when things went to hell, they were screwed.
Visit the websites of the houses you want to write for.  Read their work.  Does your work fit them?  IE… if you love to read inspirationals, but you’re writing erotic…you’re going to get a rejection.  That might sound like common sense, but you’d be surprised.  This is why publishers often say in their form letters: “Read our work to get a feel for what we publish.” 
Find out if you need an agent.
If you do, start querying them.  don’t ask me for help on this…I suck at it.  But you can find help for that at places like Absolute Write and many agents have blogs.  Visit them and see what to do and what not to do.  
One thing not to do…go against the guidelines.  If they say no digital submissions… then use snail mail.  If they say don’t send the MS…then DO NOT SEND IT.  This is a sure way to end up in the NO pile.  That might sound harsh, but when you’re getting hundreds (thousands?) of submissions and half of them make it clear they don’t care enough to follow the simple guidelines, then it tells the agent/editor those writers are not taking their writing seriously.  Some writers have this… ah… megalomania thing, almost, where they think creating something means they get special treatment and they needn’t follow guidelines and then they get pissy when they get rejectons.  Yes, we see this happen and no, they aren’t any more special than all the other billions of people out there. They wrote a book and so did I, so did hundreds of thousands of other people.  They want to get published? They have to plod through the steps the same way all of us do.  You stand out by actually following the guidelines, being courteous, being professional.  Well, being an ass will make you stand out, but not the way you want.
Hang out at writer/writing blogs and forums.  That sounds like a cop out but you learn a lot there.
Consider joining RWA-Romance Writers of America.  Whether you’re a romance writer or not, RWA will do more to help grow you as an aspiring writer than just about any other writer organizations out there.  They have online chapters, local chapters, the website, online workshops, etc where you can learn about how to write query, how to pitch your book, etc.  You can learn to network, learn which agents to avoid (yes, they exist), which digital publishers are good to write for (yes, there are some that you want to run screaming from…learn them, know them, so you can hide your lovely writerly goods from them), which print publishers aren’t playing well with their writers (they definitely exist), and too much to list.  Like anything else in life, though, you’ll get out of it what you put into it.

Ok.  See?  This is why this is too complicated to go into via twitter, really even via FB.  You can do it an email, but doing it repeatedly… ah. The brain.  It hurts.  So now it’s immortalized on muh blog.

One thing to keep in mind, above all of this… there is no set path to becoming an author. We all get where we are differently and it’s always a learning journey. It’s a rocky road and it can be fun, but what worked for me isn’t going to work for others. Just like their journey wouldn’t have worked for me. This is one of those things where you kind of have to find your own way.

Hope it helps.

Grimm Tidings…now available

Now available…

“What in the hell do you know about love, you damned iceberg?”

She never even saw him move. One moment, he was three feet away. And then he was only inches away, his long body, so lean and warm, caging hers in against something cool and metal—a car? Truck? She didn’t know, didn’t care. One hand rested by her shoulder. The other cupped her chin. “More than you would think, sweet. Far more than you would think.” Then his mouth was on hers.

 

An iceberg.

She thought he was an iceberg.

Little fool.

Her mouth was still under his, for the briefest moment. He knew it wouldn’t last long, and he intended to make the most of it. She wanted to wither away and die, did she?

Perhaps she needed to see just how much life she still had inside her.

Oh, but she was sweet…he’d known she would be. Her mouth was soft, even though she was still frozen with shock. Soft, and she tasted like soft, warm woman, cherries and Coke… She lived on Cherry Coke, it seemed. He could live on the taste of it on her, he supposed.

Stroking his tongue along the curve of her lower lip, he teased her lips apart, delving inside the second he had an opportunity. He didn’t believe in wasting those.

Her fingers curled into the front of his coat and over the roaring of blood in his ears, he heard the soft, broken sound of her breath…and even sweeter, the erratic beat of her heart. Her body wilted against his—he felt the push of her breasts, the softness of her belly, the long lines of the body she treated so carelessly. There was wanting in her body, needing…she wanted, she needed. Him…she wanted him.

For that moment—he felt it.

And then he felt her fist.

Read another excerpt…

Samhain | Amazon | BN

My new toy…

I have a thing for cameras.  I love taking pictures.  I’ve never bought a camera on impulse, though. Um.  Until now.  It seduced me with it’s mega pixels and special features and shininess.  The Nikon D5100.  Sold in many places, but you can’t have mine…

LOOK!  SEE!  Pretteh picture!

More Grimm-ness…Grimm Tidings

We’re still doing teasers for Tuesday’s release of Grimm Tidings…and we’re getting back on track, back in order.

There was one time when she actually felt part of this new world.

Only one.

And it was when she was fighting.

Cincinnati suited her, because lately, the city was infested with parasei demons and that meant she got to fight a lot and kill a lot. As she cut through a throng of the nasty things, Celine smiled with hot, violent pleasure. Blood stained her hands and she didn’t care. One of them got close—too close—and as a knife cut into her side, her own blood joined the mix. The pain was there, vicious and bright. But she didn’t care.

Now she felt like she was part of this world.

Now she felt real.

Now she felt alive.

And it wasn’t until it ended and she saw that she was bleeding from half a dozen wounds that she even slowed down to breathe. Breathing was overrated in this life anyway. Panting, she turned around, went to say something.

And one of the parasei leaped up.

She saw him and she jerked her knife up. Her hand was slippery, though, too slippery from all of the blood and she wasn’t able to block it well. She lost her grip on her weapon as the parasei laughed, a wild, delighted laugh as he drew in closer.

Celine went down.

Struggling under the man’s weight, she tried to get to another one of her weapons.

Hands closed around her throat.

“Careless little Grimm…”

She sneered at him, still scrabbling for a knife.

He leaned in and licked her cheek. The feel of his tongue sent a shudder of revulsion rushing through her and she swore, a lingering panic rushing in. Those memories, too many of them and too many of them were clear, rose up to taunt her. In the back of her mind, an ugly, depraved scream raged.

“Fear. I taste your fear…”

Hell, she could taste her fear. Taste it, feel it, hear it—

The parasei all but crushed her into the ground and that only made it worse. Sensory memory slammed into her, making it worse—the pain. It had torn through her—ripped her—no, no, no, NO!

She screamed and managed to get a hand free. But before she could make contact, the demon was gone.

Gasping for air, she sat up, scurrying backward as her eyes struggled to adjust and see.

Jacob.

It was Jacob.

A sob escaped her.

The long leather coat he wore whirled around him as he flung the parasei across the alley. Tears blinded her and she scrubbed them away. In the time it took for her to do that, he’d already killed the demon.

Killed it, and was walking toward her, his face tight with fury, his eyes cold.

She closed her eyes.

Here we go again…

It had taken him nine months, but he’d finally gotten the picture. She wasn’t right for this, and now he’d make sure Will got the message.

Good. The sight of his fury, his frustration, was a cold splash of water in her face and she was able to think, able to shove aside the slick, icy panic. He was done with her. Wonderful. He’d dump her on Will and she could tell that bastard a thing or two—

“You won’t be seeing Will any time soon,” Jacob said, and his voice was strangely gentle, considering the fury she’d glimpsed in his eyes. Strange, that. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him angry…

Wait—what? He wasn’t taking her to Will?

“No, sweet, I’m not.”

For a moment, she was too surprised to think. Then, finally, she managed to say, “Haven’t I told you to stay out of my head?”

“I’m not in your head, darling. You just put your thoughts and fears out there for all to see. Me, the demons, everybody. Bloody hell, a mortal with not a drop of empathy could pick up on what you’re feeling. ‘I hate this life, I made a bad choice and I want to undo it—would you please kill me?’”

She stared at him.

Heart still racing from the terror she’d felt earlier, the fear an ugly, slippery tangle in her belly, she shook her head. “I don’t—I’m not—”

“You are.” He held out a hand. “Come. I’ve had enough of this.”

She stared at his hand.

“Enough of what?”

“I said come.”

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him. “I don’t care to be bossed around.”

“Too sodding bad.” He bent down and fisted his hand in her belt, jerking her to her feet.

“What the—you son of a bitch—”

She went to smack his hands away and he caught her wrists. The moment his bare flesh touched hers, the world exploded around her. Stunned, she tore away from him and he let her.

“What…”

The word was lost. The world was lost. She couldn’t hear herself speak. Couldn’t hear herself scream. And scream she did. Long and loud. But the wind tore it away from her, like it never existed.

She was foundering, faltering, falling.

Sucking in her breath, she threw out her hands, desperate for something to cling to.

The only thing she found was Jacob.

He was there.

He was solid.

He was real.

And he was warm, strong.

In the rush of ice and wind and nothing and darkness, he was there, with his arms around her, his mouth by her temple and she thought maybe, just maybe, she heard him speaking. She couldn’t see him, but she knew it was him.

“Jacob?”

And this time, she heard her own voice…and his answer.

“It’s time you see some things clearly, Celine. Well past time.”

Excerpt…

Preorder

Samhain | Amazon | BN

Saturday Snippets…and teasers!

It’s Saturday snippet time… and isn’t that handy… because we’re still doing teasers for Tuesday’s release of Grimm Tidings…we’re bouncing out of order, though.  It’s a love scene today.

Lifting her head, she found herself the object of a pair of narrow, gunmetal gray eyes.

“I think Will sometimes gets too involved in the lives of others,” Jacob said, staring at her over the edge of a glass that looked like it might be crystal.

“Well, I’d agree with you, but you know, he finally listened to reason and sent me here.” Standing, she brushed off the knees of her pants and shoved her hands in her pockets, watching him. If she even got an inkling he was going to try and pull his disappearing act, she was jumping him.

“Reason? If he was listening to reason, you wouldn’t be here.”

Ouch, she thought. Then she frowned, hearing the slight slur in his words.

And the stink in the air—thick with the stink of whiskey. Very, very strong whiskey.

“Are you…” She paused. That was going to sound really stupid. Oh, well. “Are you drunk?”

Jacob tossed back the contents of the glass and then slammed it down, added more from the decanter at his side. With a devilish smile, he filled it and lifted the glass once more. “Do you know, when we first come out of stasis, our metabolism and all the rot is almost like it was when we were human? Which means if I drink enough, and do it fast enough…I can get drunk.” He sighed and lowered his gaze, studying the amber contents of the glass. “Sometimes I miss a good drunk.”

Celine moved toward him. His gaze cut to her. She froze—oh, hell, don’t let him do it again, she thought. But all he did was watch her. As she sank to her knees in front of him, something bright and wild flickered in the depths of his eyes.

“Why are you here, Celine?” he whispered, taking another swig from his glass.

“Because you are.” She reached up and gently took the glass away from him, a little surprised when he let her. “Now I get to ask a question—why are you sitting here getting drunk?”

“Beats sitting here thinking about things I don’t want to think about.” He started to reach up, but then he stopped.

She caught his hand. “You need to know something,” she said quietly, lacing her fingers with his.

Jacob closed his hands, dropping his head back against the heavily padded back of the chair. “I already know more than I care to, thank you,” he groused. “I don’t wish to talk. I want to go back to my drinking.”

“We need to—”

“No.” He opened one eye. And this time, when he lifted a hand, he did touch her. He pushed his fingers into her hair and abruptly, he rose. It should have been awkward, because he didn’t release his hold on her hair and she’d been kneeling in front of him.

But Jacob had more than a few decades behind him to figure out how to move and he managed to do it without tangling their bodies or fumbling around. “I think I’ve changed my mind, love,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to hers. “I’ll be your distraction.”

“My…”

But she didn’t manage to get the words out. Didn’t manage to get another breath, because Jacob stole it. With his tongue in her mouth and his hands stroking over her body, he stole her words and her thoughts. And her strength.

It drained out of her and if he hadn’t been there, that solid, steady length pressing against her body, she would have sagged to the floor.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, clutching him tight. Damn it, if he tried to pull away this time, she was going to hurt him. In so many ways—

 

This was madness.

Sheer madness.

And if his brain wasn’t clouded by liquor, need and that befuddling confusion, he might have been able to stop it. But he couldn’t…just couldn’t. Then there was that terrible ache in his chest. That need for her. That love for her.

But still…

“Celine—”

She reached up and shoved his shirt away, then curled a hand around his neck, tugging his mouth back to hers. “Just kiss me,” she whispered. “You don’t want to talk, so we’ll do that later. Kiss me.”

Talk—

No. He didn’t want to talk.

But this, was this what he needed?

As her fingers stroked his waist and dipped inside his trousers, he thought, Hell, yes. Not like he didn’t already have all these miseries and regrets to live with. What was one more?

He eased back, staring into her eyes. Toying with the hem of her shirt, he said, “You tore my shirt. It seems I should return the favor.”

“Does it?” She lowered her gaze, eyeing the ripped shirt he still wore. She reached up, smoothed the remains of it away from his shoulders. “Yeah. I did pretty much ruin the thing, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” He hooked the front of his hand in the neck of her T-shirt, holding her gaze. “It’s not a favorite of yours, I hope.”

“Well, I never asked if that was yours…”

The sound of fabric ripping loudly echoed through the room. Jacob’s breath hitched in his chest as he found himself staring at the baby-blue lace that cupped her breasts. It was covered with little white polka dots and dotted with flowers. “Now, we can’t tear this,” he murmured, absently stripping the remains of her shirt away.

“Well, I do like the bra.” She reached behind but before she could unhook it, he did it.

Pressing his lips to her shoulder, he tossed the bra aside.

“I should take you to my room,” he whispered.

“I’m fine.” She glanced at the fireplace and smiled. “I like the fire.”

“No.” Dimly, through the lust, through the need, he could still think and he knew he shouldn’t let this happen again. Not unless she was really his. He’d have one memory of her in his bed, though. One memory. Then he’d let her go. Find some way to keep away.

Sweeping her up into his arms, he waited until the room stopped spinning and then he left the library, striding down familiar halls. This had been his home for decades and although he rarely visited, it was still…plain and simply, home.

He’d wanted her in his home.

The sprawling four-poster bed waited for them in the shadows. He didn’t bother with the lights. He didn’t need them to see her and he didn’t want to waste a second. Already he could feel the cloud struggling to clear from his mind and he didn’t want that—didn’t want the responsibility of thinking clearly. Not yet.

He settled them on the bed and grabbed the waist of her jeans, jerking at the button, the zipper, fumbling in his haste. He should just tear the damn material—

“Hey, what’s your hurry?”

Her hands came over his and he looked up, half-mad with his determination to get her naked. “Damn blue jeans. They won’t seem to come off,” he muttered.

“Sure they will.” She unbuttoned them, unzipped them.

A flush settled on his cheeks as she lifted her hips, wiggling a little as she shoved them down. Then it stopped as the blood drained out of his head, straight, straight down…

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Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Rhian Cahill

Eliza Gayle

Mandy M Roth

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

HelenKay Dimon

TJ Michaels

Lauren Dane

Lissa Matthews

Zoe Archer

Grimm Tidings… more teasing…

So Celine’s problem is that she’s stuck in the past… in the worst way.

Her hero understands that. He spent more than a little while dealing with the same problem and he gets it better than most.

She’s too new at what’s she’s doing and too caught up the pain of what happened that she can’t see clearly. She’s in for a rude awakening, though.

Then…

Slowing to a stop at the intersection, Celine swallowed against the tears, the pain, the anger. He wanted a fucking divorce—

It’s never enough to say I’m sorry… It’s never enough to say I care…

Theory of a Deadman. “We’re Not Meant to Be”. Also known as “one of the absolute last songs she needed to hear”.

Cutting her gaze to the radio, she stared at it in disbelief. She couldn’t believe that song was on. Jamming the power button with her finger, she turned the radio off, plunging the car into silence.

A divorce.

Gavin wanted a divorce…

She needed to breathe. Fuck. Usually coming up into the Knobs made it easier for her to think, but she couldn’t think—

A sharp, broken scream cut through the night.

Celine stiffened, slanting her eyes out the passenger window. Squinting her eyes, she searched the night. Dark, so fucking dark—

Just go home. You need to go home and work things out with Gavin, she told herself.

But she heard it again—another scream. Fainter. Weaker. Off in the dark parking lot of a closed bar, she thought she saw shadows…

 

 

The woman had been screaming, all right.

And Celine understood why as the pain tore through every last millimeter of her body—pain unlike anything she’d ever felt.

They held her down with hands so strong and so cruel.

And their eyes—there was a madness in them. Madness, and a lack of…human.

One of them came at her again—she jerked a knee up, even though it hurt so fucking bad to move—

He laughed and backhanded her. She blacked out, and when she woke up, he was already done with her. Numb, she stared at the broken body off to the side. The woman she’d heard screaming. Dead. She’d tried to help…and she was going to die…

“You’re a fun little piece. I don’t think we should kill you yet,” somebody muttered. It was the one she’d tried to rack earlier. He was crouching by her. He reached down, fisted a hand in her hair and jerked her up.

She bit back a scream.

Fought the urge to beg. She had to live, damn it.

She couldn’t die… She had to get back to Gavin… As the man grabbed her breast, she couldn’t stop herself from fighting. Get back to Gavin… That was the one thing in her mind.

Curling her hand into a fist, she struck.

As she punched him in the gut, there was a brilliant flash of light.

It almost blinded her—or it might have been the way the bastard bellowed and punched her in the temple, knocking her to the ground.

Then there was only darkness…

 

 

“Shit.” Mandy stared down at the broken body of the woman at their feet. She was still alive. Barely.

“She shouldn’t be here,” Will muttered, shaking his head.

“Did you see her fighting him?” Mandy knelt down by the woman, grimacing at the blood spilling out from under her head. “She’s bleeding like crazy.”

“She’s dying.”

The woman’s lashes fluttered and Will found himself staring in to desperate eyes.

“Help…”

And then Mandy looked at him. “She’s a fighter, Will.”

Kneeling down, he cupped the woman’s head in his hands. “She can’t survive these wounds,” he said quietly. “And they are too severe for me to heal.”

“Then bring her over.” Mandy stared at him, her eyes pleading. “She fought fucking parasei. They raped her, and she still fought.”

Mandy was his student. She was also his weakness. As she continued to watch him with those pleading eyes, he wavered. The woman was strong. And something had led him here, directly here. There were parasei, and other demons, everywhere.

Perhaps he was here for this woman…

She could handle the journey one had to take to go from human to Grimm. He knew that in a way only he could know.

Shifting his gaze down to her, he pushed into the woman’s fading mind and offered her the choice. He’d never done it with one so close to death, with one who had no idea what he was…what they were.

Even angels make mistakes.

 

 

Now…

“The whole damn city is infested,” Celine muttered as she followed her trainer into a crowded mall south of Cincinnati. It was in Kentucky, and being so close to home made her heart ache.

The good news—judging by how many fricking demons there were, she was going to have her hands too full to think for a while.

“Which is why we are here,” Jacob said, his voice flat, level. Just as always. He was a cool, icy son of a bitch, one who showed absolutely no emotion. Ever. In the past nine months, she’d never once heard him raise his voice, never seen him angry, never seen him laugh, never seen him smile.

Not that I really care, she told herself. But it was hard to get booted to another trainer when she couldn’t piss him off. And she wanted to get booted. Again. And again. Until they gave up on her and let her go.

She never should have agreed to this…

“Watch for groups of them. We need to see who they are targeting,” Jacob said quietly. “And keep yourself cloaked.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, master.” She wasn’t new at this. But she didn’t bother pointing that out because it wouldn’t do any good. Cloaking herself kept her unseen by human—and demon—eyes. Demons. It had only been a few years ago when she hadn’t even known they existed. And now she fought and killed them. Now she was a reluctant guardian angel in a paranormal army.

It was disconcerting, even now, to see the demons. She eyed one that wore the body of a girl who was probably barely out of her teenaged years. She’d have to be adult—or mostly. Stripped of her innocence in some way. Jaded. Demons couldn’t inhabit all bodies. They could only enter with an invitation, although the invitation wasn’t always worded so clearly.

It wasn’t like people would just go, Hello, demon. Yes, you can take over my body, even though it’s going to end up killing me…

It happened slowly. Insidiously. Through random, reckless wishes and careless words and cruelty. That was what drew the demons near. And then seductive whisperings…

Wouldn’t you like to be strong?

Wouldn’t you like to stay young forever?

Wouldn’t you like to fuck like a sex god?

By the time a person realized things weren’t right, it was very often too late. Once a demon had fully settled inside a mortal body, they possessed it, completely. The only way to end a possession was through the death of the mortal coil.

Kids, and a few select other people, were protected against demonic invasions. They still possessed an innocence demons couldn’t break. The stronger-willed were a harder lot for demons to take over as well.

Next to her, Jacob slowed and took a slow study of the crowd. “What do you see?”

“Young people,” Celine murmured, scowling as another demon with a pretty, barely adult face strutted past.

“More than that, please.”

She sighed, skimming a hand back over her hair. “A lot of demons in here—twenty, easy. And almost every one I’ve seen is young. That’s weird.”

“The young don’t keep their innocence the way they used to.”

“They shouldn’t all be young.” She paused as she watched a guy coming out of Hot Topic. He was dressed all in blank, including his lipstick. A girl came up to him. Demon clung to the girl. The boy took one look at her and spun on his wheel, heading the other direction as fast as his long, skinny legs could carry him. Smart boy.

“He sees the demon in her,” Jacob said, noticing her attention on the boy before shifting his elsewhere. “Many do. They don’t fully realize what they see, but they see something. The smart ones steer clear.”

Which means we’ve got a lot of fools around us. Of course, she wasn’t surprised by that.

She knew what a demon dressed in mortal clothing looked like though. She knew it intimately. She’d seen it…felt it. Hurt from it. Died from it.

That madness, that blackness, that evil had been the last thing she’d ever seen…until it was too late.

Too late to go back to her life…too late for everything.

Once more, the fury started to whisper in her blood. And once more, she fed it, nurtured it. “Are we here to walk around or kill things?” she demanded.

“You have no patience.” Jacob continued to walk.

And that was about all the answer she’d get from him too. She thought about just leaving. She could find a few demons of her own to kill. But he was better at it. If she wanted to kill more than one or two at a time, she should stick with him.

Shit.

So she’d stay with him. But she wasn’t playing the good little pupil bit anymore. As her mind started to drift, she let it. It circled, back to the past…back to when her life had been something…more.

 

 

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