Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 12

Three days…

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Excerpt

“Can’t you answer that single, simple question?”

Her gaze drifted to my mouth again and my neurons imploded.

Question.

“What question?”

I didn’t realize I’d even asked it out loud.

“I asked if you were going to decide to put me out of my misery if I got too annoying,” she said, hitching up her shoulder, delivering the cold, rational comment like we were discussing whether I’d make soup for dinner.

Discussing her life like it meant next to nothing.

My temper snapped.

Hauling her against me, I grabbed the back of her neck, soft, springy curls meeting my fingers. I spun around, moving on instinct and backing her up until I had her cornered against the wall.

“Don’t you think that’s a fucking dangerous question to ask a man like me?” I put every drop of menace I could into my voice.

Tia let her head fall back against the wall as she gazed into my eyes. “Well, I don’t know yet. You haven’t answered the question. Are you going to get fed up and put me out of my misery…Casper?” She angled her chin. “Come on…my neck’s right there. It can’t be that hard for a man like you to break it. Or maybe you prefer something bloodier. I saw an entire wall of knives. Would you prefer to slit my thr—”

I slammed my mouth down on hers, unable to listen to another word.

She made a noise, caught between satisfaction and dismay as she reached for me. I caught her wrists and pulled them behind her back. Ripping my mouth from hers, I pressed my forehead to hers. “Damn you, Tia.”

“What did I do now?” she asked, rubbing her lips against mine.

What had she done?

The list was endless.

She’d yelled at me.

Attacked me when she’d thought I’d hurt her dog.

She’d begged me not to hurt her dog.

Then she’d attempted to end her life to be kept out of O’Halloran’s hands.

She’d smirked in the face of a racist old prick and challenged him by buying a box of tampons.

She talked to her dog like it was a person.

She’d made me laugh.

Fuck her, she’d made me feel.

And I couldn’t tell her any of that without the risk of exposing far more than I could afford.

Knowing that would be the one thing that damned us both, I did the only thing I could do.

I played dirty.

Grabbing the short, stubby tail of her hair, I tugged it back and exposed the arch of her neck, raking it with my teeth.

A hard shudder racked her body.

I didn’t stop.

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The post Three days… appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

A week away…

Excerpt

“In my line of work, how often do you think I tell
people my name, Tia?” he snapped, irritation coming through loud and clear.

It amused me, satisfied
something in me I hadn’t even known existed and I found myself giving him a
look of wide-eyed confusion and the sort of puzzled smile Bianca liked to give
people when she was about to teach them a lesson in what she called Smart-Ass
101. “I really couldn’t say because I’m not familiar with your line of work, Mr.…?”

He snarled, then abruptly
started to laugh. “You hid that sarcastic bitch very well. Call me Spectre.”

“Is that a first or last
name?”

“Neither.” He shot me a level
look. “And I expect you know it.”

Instead of answering, I
looked back out the window. I did it in time to see a sign, green and white,
marked with the upcoming cities. “Where are we going?”

“I’d rather not tell you
that,” he said softly.

A headache started to pulse
behind my eyes and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“When are you going to let me
call my brother?”

“I have a secure sat phone at
our target destination. I’ll call him from there and you can speak to him
briefly.” He shot me a narrow look before returning his attention back to the
road. “You’re not allowed to give him any information about where we are. I’ll
end the call the second you try.”

“Perhaps you should try
couching that in some other terms, Casper,” I said sharply. “I don’t respond to
not allowed very well.”

He was quiet for a long, long
moment, so long that I shifted in my seat to give him a wary look. He had a
puzzled frown on his face and after a few seconds, he asked, “Why did you call
me Casper?”

“Spectre…ghost.” I waved at
him.

“I’m not following.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? What does
Spectre, or ghost, have to do with the name Casper?”

“Were you dropped onto this
planet by aliens?” I asked. “Or have you never seen cartoons before?”

My first comment had teased
the start of a smile from him, but by the time I finished talking, the smile
had faded. And unless I was mistaken, there was a faint but unmistakable
tension now, in the strong line of his lean shoulders, in the forearms, left
bare by the rolled-up sleeves of a plain denim workshirt.

“My childhood didn’t allow
much time to indulge in cartoons, I’m afraid,” he said.

There were entire untold
stories there, delivered in those simple words, in his bland, emotionless
voice.

But for some reason, they
left a strange ache in my chest. No, I told myself. He can’t make
things in your chest ache, damn it.

“That’s kind of sad. Explains
a lot, though.”

I directed my attention back
to the front window and stared at the filthy back doors of a semitruck.
Somebody had scrawled a giant smiley face through the dirt. Casually, I looked
at the license plate and committed it to memory, then noted the time on the
clock. It wasn’t much of a reference point but if I could get enough licenses
stored in my memory, and a rough idea of the time, I’d have something to give
my brother. I didn’t know how I’d pass the information on, but I’d worry about
that later. Right now, I needed to focus on creating a moving path of
breadcrumbs across the middle of America.

“What does it explain?”

His voice distracted me.
Irritated, I looked away from the green Hyundai I’d picked out even as I’d
tried to more carefully form a plan. Still in its abstract, the idea fell apart
and I scowled at him. “What?”

“The cartoons I’ve never
watched. What does it explain?”

This time there was
something in his voice, an odd, almost wistful sort of curiosity and damn if
that didn’t make that ache in my chest expand. Irritated even more, I crossed
my arms over my chest and glared at the filthy semi with enough intensity that
my will alone should have melted through the steel.

“That’s easy. It explains why
you have more in common with a droid than a person. What kind of kid doesn’t
have time to indulge in cartoons? Was your daddy too busy trying to
build you into the ultimate assassin or something?”

Spectre’s mouth tightened.
“No, Tia. His intentions were to make me into the ultimate monster. That’s even
worse than an assassin.”

The ache in my chest was gone
now, replaced by an awful cold.

I wished I hadn’t flung that last bit out at him. But it was too late to take it back.

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The post A week away… appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

Cover reveal…SPECTRE

Myth. Monster. Mine. 

​​​​​​​Spectre 

​​​​​​​I wasn’t even a man when I took a life for the first time, although you couldn’t say I was a child. If I’d ever had a childhood, it hadn’t lasted long. My father, may he rot in hell, had seen to that. I took his life as well and that, too, happened before I was old enough to be considered a grown man. I never regretted it for a second.

​​​​​​​That path almost led to my own grave, and would have, if I hadn’t stumbled across somebody who was as different from my father as day was from night. Sarge had seen the monster lurking inside, so he took control, gave me guidelines, rules, so I wouldn’t be the monster my father had planned.

​​​​​​​It worked. I restrained the worst of my rage and honed the skills that had been drilled into me—theft, stealth… assassination. The broken child ceased to exist and I became Spectre, an assassin spoken of in whispers, hired to take out the worst of humanity.

​​​​​​​Then I was sent to kill her…and my world came to a screeching halt.

​​​​​​​Tia 

​​​​​​​It’s taken a long time, but I finally had a nice, steady routine. I stopped trying to conform to the neurotypicals of the world and found my own normal.

​​​​​​​Normal went out the window when I walked into my kitchen and found a strange (hot), dangerous looking (so fricking hot) man drugging my new dog. 

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to leap at him like a banshee and attack, but that’s what I did. 

​​​​​​​When my attempt to wreck the vehicle was averted, my kidnapper didn’t hurt or threaten me. In fact, he told me he wanted to protect me. 

​​​​​​​This (hot) guy had to be crazy. But if he was crazy, what did that make me? Because I believed him. More, I found myself seeing something beyond the rigid, blank mask he wore. 

​​​​​​​He kept trying to push me away, but I couldn’t seem to keep my distance. He calls himself a monster…but when I look at him, that isn’t what I see. I just see him…and I know he’s meant to be mine. 

​​​​​​​Warning: This isn’t a snuggly, comfy read. The male MC is a hired killer, while the heroine is neuro-atypical. Some dark material is involved—the hero kidnaps the heroine. There’s also violence when he goes on a rampage against those who put a contract on her. Also references of abuse (not against the heroine). Also very graphic, erotic scenes with minor bondage play.

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Excerpt

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I relaxed in his grip and met his
eyes. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out!” He
half yelled it and as his voice bounced off the walls, his eyes widened, as if
he was shocked by the sound of his own voice.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread
over my lips.

His hands tightened convulsively on
my hips.

“You know…usually in the Stockholm
scenario, it’s the hostage taker who has more control,” I told him. He hadn’t
been entirely wrong earlier. This was a dangerous risk I was taking, but for
different reasons than he’d meant. He wanted me to think he was a threat to me,
that he was dangerous and might harm me.

There was no doubt he was a threat. In some ways, he was the
biggest threat I’d ever known.

But if I did nothing, I ran the risk
of doing myself more harm.

It was the craziest thing and
something that logically shouldn’t make any sense at all.

But looking at him made sense.

Touching him made sense.

Listening to him speak made sense.

Gazes locked, I saw the war waging in
his eyes, followed by the resolution as he made his decision. His rejection cut
all the way to the bone when he jerked his chin toward the ladder.

“Go.” His expression became colder, features
harder, and words more clipped. “Get the fuck out of here unless you’re really
ready to start playing by the rules of this game, Tia. And in case you haven’t
figured it out yet—you’re not ready.”

He practically wrenched himself away
and turned back to the table.

“You’re such a liar,” I said, the
words coming out in harsh, ragged bursts. I leaned in and pressed my mouth to
his back, then traced my lips over the hot, smooth surface of his skin, like
silk stretched over steel. I breathed him in. “I think you are the one who isn’t ready.”

Catching his hips and squeezing, I
pressed myself more fully against him.

A hard shudder racked through him,
then he went still again—that strange, predatory stillness that made the
hindbrain whisper, Be still, freeze,
don’t move, don’t breathe…

Only that message fell on deaf ears.

In the past few minutes, I’d gone and
turned into some brazen, ballsy hellbitch with no limits, no boundaries and no
sense of self-preservation.

Without thinking, I shoved between
him and the table. There was barely enough room and the heat of him scorched
me. Before he could jerk back, I grabbed the cheeks of his ass and hauled him
against me. His cock was a brand against my belly and I moaned as the want
rolled through me.

An answering noise, too animalistic
to describe, emanated from him.

I couldn’t hold him where he didn’t
want to be, and despite his pretenses otherwise, he most definitely wanted to
be right there. He had no willpower when it came to me. There, at least, we
were on equal footing.

His chest crushed into my breasts and
I could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the heavy, hard rush as he struggled
to catch his breath.

Tipping my head back, I stared at
him.

His eyes were too wide, too dark.

“If this is just sex, why are you so
concerned about anything other than fucking me?”

He grabbed my head between his hands,
staring at me wild-eyed.

“Damn you,” he muttered. “Damn you for making me feel.”

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The post Cover reveal…SPECTRE appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

Spectre…available for pre-order!

I haven’t been this excited about a book in ages.

I’m sending the final copies to my distributor and my patrons will be receiving their copies tomorrow.

You can start pre-ordering now…

​​​​​​​Spectre 

Myth. Monster. Mine. 

​​​​​​​Spectre 

​​​​​​​I wasn’t even a man when I took a life for the first time, although you couldn’t say I was a child. If I’d ever had a childhood, it hadn’t lasted long. My father, may he rot in hell, had seen to that. I took his life as well and that, too, happened before I was old enough to be considered a grown man. I never regretted it for a second.

​​​​​​​That path almost led to my own grave, and would have, if I hadn’t stumbled across somebody who was as different from my father as day was from night. Sarge had seen the monster lurking inside, so he took control, gave me guidelines, rules, so I wouldn’t be the monster my father had planned.

​​​​​​​It worked. I restrained the worst of my rage and honed the skills that had been drilled into me—theft, stealth… assassination. The broken child ceased to exist and I became Spectre, an assassin spoken of in whispers, hired to take out the worst of humanity.

​​​​​​​Then I was sent to kill her…and my world came to a screeching halt.

​​​​​​​Tia 

​​​​​​​It’s taken a long time, but I finally had a nice, steady routine. I stopped trying to conform to the neurotypicals of the world and found my own normal.

​​​​​​​Normal went out the window when I walked into my kitchen and found a strange (hot), dangerous looking (so fricking hot) man drugging my new dog. 

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to leap at him like a banshee and attack, but that’s what I did. 

​​​​​​​When my attempt to wreck the vehicle was averted, my kidnapper didn’t hurt or threaten me. In fact, he told me he wanted to protect me. 

​​​​​​​This (hot) guy had to be crazy. But if he was crazy, what did that make me? Because I believed him. More, I found myself seeing something beyond the rigid, blank mask he wore. 

​​​​​​​He kept trying to push me away, but I couldn’t seem to keep my distance. He calls himself a monster…but when I look at him, that isn’t what I see. I just see him…and I know he’s meant to be mine. 

​​​​​​​Warning: This isn’t a snuggly, comfy read. The male MC is a hired killer, while the heroine is neuro-atypical. Some dark material is involved—the hero kidnaps the heroine. There’s also violence when he goes on a rampage against those who put a contract on her. Also references of abuse (not against the heroine). Also very graphic, erotic scenes with minor bondage play.

Buy the Book: Amazon | Kobo | Smashwords

more buy links coming soon

He came inside, bare chested, wearing a pair of cotton pants that rode low on his hips, giving me a view of a flat stomach that looked way too hard, way too muscled, to be real. The delineation of his chest, the sculpted set of his shoulders and arms, his entire body looked like he’d been crafted by a master artist.

I had to lock my jaw to keep it from falling open and if not for the bite of my nails into my palms, I might have forgotten what I wanted to say.

Fortunately, he held up the phone and my memory snapped into place.

“Are you going to let me call my brother?” I demanded, taking a step toward him.

He held out the phone.

I grabbed it.

He tightened his grip on it, not letting me take it out of his hand.

“Let go.”

“In a moment,” he said, voice cool. “Do not give him any indication of where you are.”

I glared.

“Agree or I won’t let you call.”

“How do you know I won’t lie?” I demanded, glaring at him.

“You don’t do it very well,” he commented. “You try, but it’s obvious when you’re not telling the truth. If you agree but plan to pull one over on me, I’ll know. So don’t bother.”

I’d never been good at lying, but it pissed me off that he’d already figured that out. His green eyes cut into me, so penetrating, so compelling, and I jerked my gaze away, unsettled.

His bare chest and those muscles that didn’t even seem real caught my attention. My heart skittered in my chest. Heat crashed through me and even though it wassuch a bad idea, I kept looking…lower…lower, until I found myself staring at amassive erection. The hard, heavy length of his cock pressed against the thin cotton of the heather-gray pants he wore and even as I watched, the damn thing pulsed. I felt an answering pulse in my pussy as a hard burst of air exploded out of me.

“Do you want to call your brother?” he asked, the words rough and raspy, almost foreign.

I jerked my gaze up, cheeks flushed. The blank mask of his face was gone and I found myself staring at a hungry predator. It should have terrified me. I should have backed the hell up, found something, anything to put between us—anything more substantial than the fucking phone he still held out to me.

“Answer the question, Tia.”

“What the flying fuck does it matter to you? What does any of this matter to you?” I shouted.

It was a dare, a challenge. To both of us and I needed some sort of answer before I did something crazy. Like reach out and press my hand to his cock. Just the mental image was enough to have me clenching my thighs in an effort to still that unnerving ache.

“You don’t know me. So you didn’t take the job to kill me. Thank you. You could have gone merrily on your way. What’s the point of any of this?”

I let go of the phone and moved closer, glaring at him.

Something flickered in the depths of those hungry, hungry eyes and I wondered if maybe I had lost my mind completely. He closed his eyes for a brief second, then looked at me, the remote, severe expression firmly back in place. “I’ve already explained. I don’t have any intention of letting Tommy O’Halloran have you killed. If I didn’t take the job, somebody else would have.”

“So? What does that matter to you?” I shoved my chin up and stared at him, frustration, fear, and all the insanely confusing sensations crashing through me so intensely, it made it hard to think. Why did he get to me like this? Why did his response matter?

​​​​​​​I wasn’t even a man when I took a life for the first time, although you couldn’t say I was a child. If I’d ever had a childhood, it hadn’t lasted long. My father, may he rot in hell, had seen to that. I took his life as well and that, too, happened before I was old enough to be considered a grown man. I never regretted it for a second.

​​​​​​​That path almost led to my own grave, and would have, if I hadn’t stumbled across somebody who was as different from my father as day was from night. Sarge had seen the monster lurking inside, so he took control, gave me guidelines, rules, so I wouldn’t be the monster my father had planned.

​​​​​​​It worked. I restrained the worst of my rage and honed the skills that had been drilled into me—theft, stealth… assassination. The broken child ceased to exist and I became Spectre, an assassin spoken of in whispers, hired to take out the worst of humanity.

​​​​​​​Then I was sent to kill her…and my world came to a screeching halt.

​​​​​​​Tia 

​​​​​​​It’s taken a long time, but I finally had a nice, steady routine. I stopped trying to conform to the neurotypicals of the world and found my own normal.

​​​​​​​Normal went out the window when I walked into my kitchen and found a strange (hot), dangerous looking (so fricking hot) man drugging my new dog. 

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to leap at him like a banshee and attack, but that’s what I did. 

​​​​​​​When my attempt to wreck the vehicle was averted, my kidnapper didn’t hurt or threaten me. In fact, he told me he wanted to protect me. 

​​​​​​​This (hot) guy had to be crazy. But if he was crazy, what did that make me? Because I believed him. More, I found myself seeing something beyond the rigid, blank mask he wore. 

​​​​​​​He kept trying to push me away, but I couldn’t seem to keep my distance. He calls himself a monster…but when I look at him, that isn’t what I see. I just see him…and I know he’s meant to be mine. 

​​​​​​​Warning: This isn’t a snuggly, comfy read. The male MC is a hired killer, while the heroine is neuro-atypical. Some dark material is involved—the hero kidnaps the heroine. There’s also violence when he goes on a rampage against those who put a contract on her. Also references of abuse (not against the heroine). Also very graphic, erotic scenes with minor bondage play.

Also!!!

Coming in Last is a Kindle Monthly Deal… only $1.99, and it’s on sale at other venues, too!

Check it out via the universal book link!

The post Spectre…available for pre-order! appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

The only lover…Spectre

Coming soon… want to read it early, maybe have your name included in the book? Visit my Patreon to find out how.

Blurb

Myth. Monster. Mine.

Spectre

I wasn’t even a man when I took a
life for the first time, although you couldn’t say I was a child. If I’d ever
had a childhood, it hadn’t lasted long. My father, may he rot in hell, had seen
to that. I took his life as well and that, too, happened before I was old
enough to be considered a grown man.

I never regretted it for a second.

That path almost led to my own
grave, and would have, if I hadn’t stumbled across somebody who was as
different from my father as day was from night. Sarge had seen the monster
lurking inside, so he took control, gave me guidelines, rules, so I wouldn’t be
the monster my father had planned.

It worked. I restrained the worst of
my rage and honed the skills that had been drilled into me—theft, stealth…
assassination. The broken child ceased to exist and I became Spectre, an
assassin spoken of in whispers, hired to take out the worst of humanity.

Then I was sent to kill her…and
my world came to a screeching halt.

Tia

It’s taken a long time, but I
finally had a nice, steady routine. I stopped trying to conform to the
neurotypicals of the world and found my own normal. 

Normal went out the window when I
walked into my kitchen and found a strange (hot), dangerous
looking (so fricking hot) man drugging my new dog.

It probably wasn’t the smartest
thing to leap at him like a banshee and attack, but that’s what I did.

When my attempt to wreck the vehicle
was averted, my kidnapper didn’t hurt or threaten me. In fact, he told me he
wanted to protect me.

This (hot) guy had to be
crazy. But if he was crazy, what did that make me? Because I believed him.
More, I found myself seeing something beyond the rigid, blank mask he wore. He
kept trying to push me away, but I couldn’t seem to keep my distance. 

He calls himself a monster…but when
I look at him, that isn’t what I see. I just see him…and I know he’s meant to
be mine.

Warning: This isn’t a snuggly, comfy
read. The male MC is a hired killer, while the heroine is neuro-atypical. Some
dark material is involved—the hero kidnaps the heroine. There’s also violence
when he goes on a rampage against those who put a contract on her. Also
references of abuse (not against the heroine). Also very graphic, erotic scenes
with minor bondage play.

Excerpt

“Nobody else
exists now. Just you and me. Do you understand me, Tia?”

“Yes.” The
hot green glitter in his eyes was terrifying, exciting and haunting. I pressed
against him. “I’ll never mention another lover again.”

His eyes
widened. “Tia…”

I bit his
lip.

“You’re
insane,” he breathed.

“You’ve made
me this way. If I mention another lover again, will you spank me?”

“No. I think
I’m going to tie you up and finish fucking that ass just like you’ve begged me
to do.”

I rolled my
eyes, but he had already left the bed and I sat back on my heels, confused. He
disappeared into the closet and reemerged in under a minute, something thin and
black in his hands.

“What is…oh.
You’re serious…?” My gaze darted from the cord in his hands up to his face.

“Unless you
tell me no, right now.”

I stayed
quiet.

“Bend over
then. Show me your ass…prove to me you still want it.”

Shaking now,
I bent over and he came up behind me, using the flat of his hand between my
shoulder blades to push me lower until my cheek was against the bed. He caught
my wrists and dragged them behind my back.

“Since you
seem to enjoy taunting me, I’ll do the same. The first time I tied a woman up,
it was at the brothel in Germany. She kept touching me while I fucked her and I
didn’t want her to. I don’t like being touched—ever. I grabbed her hands
without even thinking about it. This was years ago. She giggled and said
something about how she knew I’d be a rough one. That laugh grated on my ears
and I tuned her out just so I could finish us both off. It was my first trip there
and when I was done, I was disgusted and disappointed.”

He talked as
he worked, pausing from time to time and I’d feel a tug on my wrists.

“The madame
of the house saw me leaving and she knew something was wrong. She takes great
pride in her services and stopped me, asked me to join her for a drink. I did
and when she asked what had displeased me, I told her. She suggested another
girl and that I tie her up. There…you look perfect.”

I tried to
move my wrists. There was enough give for me to wiggle, but there was no way I
could get free.

He fisted
his hand in my hair and pulled me upright, the pressure more intense than it
had been before, but it didn’t hurt.

He bit my
ear, then scored my neck with his teeth.

“Until you,
Tia, I’ve never fucked anybody without tying them up—not since that night. I
bind my partner, bend them over and fuck. Sometimes their pussy, sometimes
their ass. I’m never careless and I take care to give pleasure, although not
because I give a flying fuck if my partner enjoys it. I don’t want to hurt
whoever I’ve selected for the night, but their pleasure isn’t my concern. I
just do it so I can continue to have a wide variety of partners to choose
from.” He rubbed his cock against the seam between my buttocks. “And I don’t
care if it’s a man or a woman. I don’t know if you could consider me bisexual
because sexual attraction doesn’t weigh into my need to silence the screams in
my head. I just request whoever is available and willing to take what I mete
out—being bound, submitting and kneeling so I don’t have to look at them as I
fuck.”

He cupped my
breasts and plumped them together, fingers seeking out my nipples and squeezing
until I gasped.

“Does it bother you hearing that I’ve fucked men as well as women? That I enjoy bending a man over and listening to him groan and gasp as I sink my dick into his ass?”

“Um…” Blood
rushed to my face, turning my skin painfully hot. “No…it doesn’t bother me.”

At least not
the way he thought, but if he didn’t stop talking about sex while I
waited here…

“I do
believe you’re the first person I’ve ever truly felt sexually attracted to.
Everybody else has just been…fuckable. Do you like hearing about past lovers?”

“They
weren’t lovers,” I whispered without thinking. “I’m the only lover you’ve ever
had. Everybody else was just…fuckable.”

He tensed.

I braced
myself for his reaction, mentally and emotionally. He’d push me away again,
treat me to that cold, cool wall of his—

“Yes,” he
whispered against my ear. “You are.”

My mind went blank.

“You’re the only lover I’ve ever had, likely the only one I ever will have.”

Cover, buy links, etc…coming soon.

This is a Patron-funded work.

All patrons receive an unfinished ARC epub copy early, regardless of level of donation.

Donation levels start at $1 and go up. Starting at $10, you can have you name included in the dedications/acknowledgements. One random patron is drawn each book to have their name Tuckerized into the current book.

Additionally…ALL patrons get two freebies upon signing up, INFORMATION, a flash fiction written exclusively for Patreon and…just added…DAMON…a prequel, written for Patrons and previously only available to them or included in a special edition set of Blade Song, the first in my Kit Colbana series.

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The post The only lover…Spectre appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

Lacey’s Game – M/F/M Novella Out Now

It wasn’t a long drive back to Asheville. Maybe an hour. But it seemed to take the entire day. He’d spent that interminably long drive practicing what he’d say.

He’d been an ass. He
was sorry.

They weren’t
exclusive but he’d no right to treat her that way and he was sorry.

And maybe—

His gut knotted up
just thinking about it.

But he needed to do
something.

Besides, sometimes,
when he’d see Lacey at the club, when she was talking to some of the guys she
knew, even though it was just casual, he had these moments where his brain just
wanted to explode. Where he wanted to grab anybody who was even near her and
just pummel them bloody.

Was it a bad thing,
really, to have a real relationship with her?

It would make her
happy. It would maybe fix the awful, ugly rift he’d put between them. And he
wouldn’t have to worry about that cold, nasty dread that was spreading through
him…that feeling that he was losing her.

The lights of
Asheville gleamed ahead and it wasn’t too long before he was able to turn onto
the street of Lush and Lace, the little shop her friend Rocki owned. Lacey
modeled some of the corsets, handled the one-of-a-kind photo shoots for the
store’s popular website and maintained the tech aspects as well, plus worked at
the store three days a week.

Brogan hadn’t been
here more than two or three times, but he knew all about it. Maybe he could
pick a few things out for her. He loved the lingerie they sold, loved seeing it
on her, loved taking it off her.

Checking the time,
he saw it was close to five. The store closed early on Sundays. That was good.
He could ask her on a date. They could go out and he would make it up to
her—hurting her the way he had.

They would talk
and…he would fumble his way through the apology. He sucked at apologies because
he so rarely offered them. Unless the person mattered, he didn’t bother with
them.

And Lacey was the
first person to really matter in a long time.

Not everybody is out
to screw you over…

He just hoped Lacey
had missed him half as much as he’d missed her. It would make it easier to
smooth things over.

He was nervous. It
pissed him off, but there wasn’t much to be done for it. It wasn’t an unusual
thing with Lacey, though. He’d never been on entirely level footing with Lacey.
He’d always felt a little less in control, a little less sure.

It was the main
reason he’d kept her at a distance. Seeing her, though, the thought of it had
always left him excited, hot…more. She did things to him, made him wish for
things.

But it wasn’t ever
like this. He hadn’t ever really worried that he might lose her.

Losing Lacey… That
was just unthinkable.

“Like hell.” He
wasn’t going to lose her. With that in mind, he stormed into the store. They’d
have it out, and they’d do it now.

Shoving open the
door, he had his mouth open to say…something. But it wasn’t Lacey behind the
counter. It was Rocki and she didn’t look at all sick. For a second, he just
stared at her, his mind spinning. And although he already knew, he found
himself asking, “What are you doing here? I thought you were sick.”

“Sick?” Rocki lifted
a brow at him. Her mouth curled in an amused little smirk. “Well, I was feeling
fine, right up until I saw your face, asshole.”

Sighing, he skimmed
a hand back over his naked scalp. “Okay, I deserve that.” Taking a deep breath,
he said, “Lacey told me she was covering for you because you were sick. I’d
asked her to come to the cabin with me. I guess it was too much to ask for her
to just be honest and say she didn’t want to come.”

“You think you
deserve that? You treat her like shit but you deserve honesty from her?
Respect?” Rocki sauntered out from behind the counter. She wore boots, the
heels tall enough to put her eye to eye with him. Her dark-brown eyes glinted
with heat and disgust as she stared at him. “You know, I really don’t get what
she sees in you, you stupid ass.”

“Rocki—”

She shook her head.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. She’s into you—I know that. But I don’t know
why. All you do is hurt her. You’ve done it for the past two years and if she’d
stayed around, you’d keep on doing it.”

He narrowed his eyes
at her. “I don’t hurt her. And what we do is none of your damn business—”

“I said shut up,”
she snarled, leaning in until she was no more than an inch from his face. “You
think I give a damn what the two of you do behind closed doors? She likes her
sex rough. Fine. Yippee. As long as she’s into it and you don’t do anything she
doesn’t want? Have fun.”

She spun away and
stalked toward the counter. There, she turned around
and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, eyeing him as though he were
something she would scrape off the bottom of her boot.

“You hurt her,” she
said again, her voice low, all but vibrating. “All the damn time. Every time I
think the two of you might actually be making a go of it, you do something
stupid and I want to shake her because she just puts up with
it. You were at the club with her the other night—she looked as happy as I’d
ever seen her, and then she goes to the bathroom and within thirty seconds,
that bitch Grace is hanging all over you.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

Rocki shoved off the
counter.

“Didin’t I already tell you to shut the fuck up?” she snapped.
“Do it or I will smash that ugly face of yours in. You come into my store after
breaking my friend’s heart, you will hear what I have to say.”

Brogan blinked,
caught off guard. Rocki had claws—he’d always known that. It was part of why
she and Lacey got along so well. Both of them had a streak of mean a mile wide.
But he hadn’t had too many women threaten to…how did she put it? Yeah, threaten
to smash his face in. Running his tongue across his teeth, he rocked back on
his heels and waited.

“I don’t care if you
two have an open relationship and I don’t care if you and Grace go way back,”
Rocki said, her eyes glinting. “I go way back with Lacey. And you
treated her like shit. I was the one watching her try not to cry after you
humiliated her. So if I want to call you an ass and that woman a bitch, I damn
well will. You don’t deserve Lacey.”

Brogan set his jaw
and shifted his attention past her to stare at the wall. There was an unframed
print mounted there, the woman in a shimmering bronze corset, vivid, red-gold
curls spiraling down her back, her hands gracefully tying the laces. The viewer
couldn’t see the model’s face, but he knew who it was. Lacey. He stared at the
print for a long, long moment before he finally shifted his attention to Rocki
and said gruffly, “I know.”

“You know.” Rocki
arched a brow. She paced forward, that look of acute dislike still on her face.
“So…you wanted to take her to the cabin. You broke her heart. You humiliated
her, and then you called and offered to take her to the cabin. Let me guess,
you thought taking her away for a romantic getaway, fucking her brains out for
a few days would make it all better?”

There really wasn’t
any way to respond to that, Brogan decided. So he stayed silent.

“Nothing to say
now?” Rocki asked mockingly.

“You seem to be dead
set on saying it all.” He rubbed his hands over his face and turned away. He
had to fix this. “Look, I’ve screwed up, a hundred times, a thousand times. But
I do care about her, and I’m going to fix this.”

“Yeah.” She snorted.
“Good luck with that.”

He shot her a dirty
look. “I’m not giving her up.”

“Too late. She’s
given up on you.” A cat’s smile curled her lips.

He opened his mouth
and then just snapped it shut, shaking his head as he headed for the door. He
didn’t have time to play Rocki’s games. He had to find Lacey and start fixing
this. As he hit the door, he paused and looked back.

Rocki stood there,
still watching him with a smirk.

Something about the
look in her eyes should have warned him. But he was so determined to get to
Lacey, he just wasn’t thinking clearly. All he could think about was the fact
that he had to fix this. Had to make Lacey understand that he hadn’t done
anything to hurt her, not intentionally, at least—that he was just screwed up
and he needed time to level out.

She’d
understand…right?

∞ ∞ ∞

Lacey lived in a
redesigned loft across town. It acted as both studio and home. It was
meticulously neat, rarely a thing out of place in his experience. But this
was…unreal. After he’d used his key to let himself in, he found himself
standing in the middle of the main room, staring at…nothing. Her things were
gone. Logically, he knew what that meant. But he wasn’t letting himself admit
it. Not yet. She couldn’t be gone.

No.

He’d only left town
on Friday. He’d been gone two damn nights. Two nights. He couldn’t
have been so fucking stupid as to let her leave him like that.

Except the evidence
was right in front of him.

Right in
front of him…

She was gone.

Hurling his keys
across the empty cavern of a room, he stormed into the kitchen and hit the
lights. The glass-fronted cabinets revealed empty shelves. The refrigerator was
empty. The pantry was empty. The bathroom had none of the numerous soaps and
lotions she loved. Everything was gone. Her bedroom…the same.

Finally, in the
extra bedroom that she rarely used, he lucked out and found some sign of life.
As in boxes. A number of them. Packed up as if ready for storage. The sight of
it was like a fist to his chest.

Stunned, he leaned
against the door frame. She was gone…

Hearing the familiar
sound of a door opening, he turned. Lacey—

Taking off down the
hall, heart racing, he came to an abrupt stop. The man in front of him wasn’t
who he wanted to see. Cole Stanton, Rocki’s fiancé, stood there, his hands in
his pockets and an appraising look on his face.

“She’s not here.”
Cole—the master of understatement.

“I see that,” Brogan
snapped. “Where the hell is she?”

The other man
shrugged. “That’s not for me to say. I just promised to make sure things got
moved into storage. She’s subletting her loft for a while and I need to get
this stuff put away before the new tenant moves in next week.”

New tenant… Brogan’s
stomach dropped to his knees. This…shit. This wasn’t a temporary thing. She
wouldn’t be giving up her place if she was coming back any time soon. “Damn it,
where is she?”

“Why do you care?”

Brogan stalked
across the floor and reached out, fisting his hand in the other man’s shirt. He
hauled him close until just a few breaths separated them. “If you don’t tell me
where she is, I’m going to pummel that pretty face of yours.”

A tight smile curled Cole’s face. “You can try.” Then Cole’s hands shot out and, with surprising ease, he broke Brogan’s hold. After he’d moved a few feet away, he smoothed his polo shirt down and pushed a hand through his hair. Just like that, the pretty boy looked like he was ready to step onto the cover of GQ. “Here’s the deal, Brogan… You want to go a round with me? I’m game. I’d love to hurt you some for what you did to Lacey. But I’m not telling you shit. Go put that fancy-ass security firm of yours to use or figure it out on your own. Lacey left you. You treated her like shit and she needed to be away from you. If you don’t like that, then I suggest you start figuring out what the problem is, fix it and then go after her. Because if you can’t fix it? You don’t deserve her.”

Amazon | BN | Google Play | iBooks | Kobo | Smashwords

The post Lacey’s Game – M/F/M Novella Out Now appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

Vacation!

We’re in Massachusetts and I’m in love.

Dinner the first night

Flowers along in the beach in Dennis Port.

The view from our resort.

Taking it easy the second night. Nalini is keeping me company.

Sunrise…at 4:55 am

Weird wall of art…

Lacey’s Game – Romance Erotica

With a menage twist… coming next week!

Lacey Morgan is fed up and heartbroken. Her boyfriend Brogan is all about control and she’s all about breaking through his barriers. Except she can’t seem to do it. Unwilling to settle for only part of him, she takes off, figuring it’s better that way. After all, half of a relationship is worse than none. She settles in with her best friend, hot and sexy photographer Lou, figuring she’ll lick her wounds and give her heart time to heal.

Finding Lacey gone is a punch to the gut. Finding her with another guy is even worse. She isn’t interested in listening to what he has to say, though. Not unless he’s willing to strip himself bare and give up pieces of himself that died long ago.

Brogan can’t do that. Or so he thinks. Lacey and Lou have other plans, a hot, torrid night, some hot, sexy pictures… Lacey is determined to show Brogan a new way of seeing things.

Excerpt

Lacey stared at the glass in front of them,
voyeuristic almost. If it was anybody but Lou, there was no
way she’d be here. She would have walked out so fast, she might have broken an
ankle.

But this was Lou.

And she needed to be distracted.

“Stop thinking about him,” Lou muttered as he slid
the black leather cuffs around her wrists.

She shot him a look through her lashes. “Who says
I’m thinking about anybody but you?”

“I know you.” Lou sighed, dipped his head and
stroked his lips down the curve of her neck. “Ever think how much easier our
life would have been if you would have just fallen madly in love with me?”

Lacey laughed, arched her neck over. “I did
that…and it was wonderful. Until I realized that you and I are just a little
too much alike and that you’ll never stop playing games.”

“No.” He gave her wrists another tug, checked to
make sure the leather wasn’t biting into her flesh. “I’m all about playing
games and you know it.”

“Yes.” She continued to stare at the reflective
glass in front of them. Normally, her breath might have hitched at the sight.
Lou knew how to set a scene—it was dark in there. Nothing but a chair and the
lights and a single mattress. It had a gritty, almost dirty look to it, but it
wasn’t. Lou was too fastidious for that. It screamed raw and rough, but if she
knew anything about Lou—and she did—the bed would be comfortable, the sheets
would be clean, as would the chair. “What’s with the glass?”

He shrugged, stroking a finger down the front of
her chest.

Lacey shivered. Under his touch, her nipple
puckered and stabbed against the lace of the bra.

Dipping his head, he closed his mouth around it
and she groaned. “It’s going to be wet for your pictures.”

“I want you wet.” He reached under the hem of her
skirt, cupping the heat of her in his hand, grinding the heel of his palm
against her. He was rough and quick and the touch brought a cry to her lips.
“They’re for me anyway. I want you turned-on, ready to fuck…”

Lacey gasped as he pushed a finger inside her.

“Ah…yes. You’re hot. Hot, wet, slick…that’s how I
want you.” She was gasping by the time he lifted his head and she wouldn’t have
minded if he decided to try the bed out.

But instead, he moved away and went to his bag.
She watched as he checked his phone, punched something in.

Scowling, she tugged at the restraints on her
wrists and then glanced around. The scuff of leather on wood had her looking
back up and the sight of the strips dangling from his hand made her belly
twist. Heat drenched her.

“You game?” he asked quietly, lifting the gag.

Gags didn’t always do it for her. Sometimes she
wanted to scream. Sometimes she wanted to be the one asserting the dominance…and
it was a fight to get Lou to let her. When he did, it made it that much
fulfilling.

Today, though, she needed more. A lot more.

“I’m game for whatever the hell you want to do,”
Lacey said, her voice raw and rough. And she’d never meant anything more.

“You sure you mean that?” He shot the phone one
more look and then tossed it over to his stuff, where it landed squarely on the
bag.

“Yes.”

A strange little smile tugged at his lips and he
went to the door, flipped a series of locks.

“Just in case,” he said. “Sometimes I let others
use the studio but I don’t want my shots getting fucked up.”

Somehow, even as he said it, Lacey knew he wasn’t
being straight up with her. But she was too focused on the ball gag he held,
too focused on the distractions she knew he’d provide. So it didn’t matter.
Wasn’t as if she hadn’t ever done shoots around others before.

Even in her tramp wear, it wouldn’t get to her.

He slipped the gag into place and she blinked,
startled. It wasn’t the ball gag she was expecting—it had an open area in the
middle, hollow. He stroked his thumb down her jawline, touched the bottom edge
of the gag.

“We could have fun with this,” he murmured.

Heat gripped her but he didn’t do anything, just
turned away and went to the cameras he’d already set up.

She stared at him. Are we going to have fun?

As though he’d read her mind, he grinned. “Don’t
worry. I plan on having a lot of fun…in a few minutes.”

Amazon | BN | Google Play | iBooks | Kobo | Smashwords

The post Lacey’s Game – Romance Erotica appeared first on SHILOH WALKER.

Myth. Monster. Mine…

Finished up today. Once I get my cover settled and a few more things in place, Patreon supporters will be getting this baby in their hands, weeks before anybody else, even reviewers.

The description in the image pretty much says it all. Raised by his father to be a killer almost from the time he could walk, Spectre never knew anything about emotion, much less romantic or tender ones…until he met her. The woman he was sent to kill.

If you want to get in on the action early, check out my patreon.

The post Myth. Monster. Mine… appeared first on Shiloh Walker.

New Patreon story coming…

Would you like to get in on the action? You get an early digital copy of the book at all levels, plus you have a chance to get Tuckerized…have your name written into the book!

A peek at what my patrons got to see last night.

* * * * *

Now…about this character…

This guy inspired the idea behind the upcoming Patron-funded book, which is tentatively titled Spectre.

I had the idea while presenting my Draw Me A Story workshop at the New Jersey Romance Writers yearly conference some years ago, and I loved the general idea, but never got around to writing it. Something finally sparked and I dusted off the idea and got to work.

The workshop is focused on how writers can use images to find stories or characters and build from there. I’ve had several books that were inspired either by pictures (Beautiful Scars), seeing a book on a shelf (Wrecked) or even hearing a random bit of news (Hunter’s Pride) and I decided to craft a workshop based on visual images and how to look for the story behind the image.

For the workshop, I buy magazines and cut images out, but I also put together a slideshow and buy stock images or clipart to illustrate. This guy had a compelling look and makes you wonder, or he made me wonder, at least.  Is he a hero? A villain? A bit of both? He was part of the ‘example’ I used while describing my process.

I had the participants study his image, then I asked them who/what they saw and give me a little bit of backstory to the character. After a few minutes, I called time, then I looked at the picture and made something up.

He’s not the villain, but he’s not a good guy, either.  He’s an assassin but he has his own set of guidelines. When he’s sent to kill a woman, he knows right away he can’t do it, although it’s not because of her sex. He just knows there’s nothing she’s done to warrant a death sentence. He makes up his mind that he’ll protect her and since doing that will involve taking out the people who hired him, that’s the first thing on the agenda. Falling in love with her was not in the plan, but it happened anyway.

I’ve given the workshop several times since then and that story ida lingered with me, although it evolved and grew over time.

The rough blurb is below. Just a reminder, all patrons who pledge, regardless of level, receive a free download of this book and everybody has the name in the pot for a chance to get written into the book.

Also…thank you. Things got pretty rough for me not long after I started this Patreon and I had to take more time away to deal than I wanted to. Your continued support and understanding means so very much.

Spectre

I wasn’t even a man when I took a life for the first time, although you couldn’t say I was a child. If I’d ever had a childhood, it hadn’t lasted long. My father, may he rot in hell, had seen to that. I took his life as well and that, too, happened before I was old enough to be considered a man grown.

I never regretted it for a second. Why regret following the path he’d put me on…read more at my Patreon.

The post New Patreon story coming… appeared first on Shiloh Walker.