Epilogue
Months later, Matt and I picked out a spot in Martha’s Vineyard for our wedding. It would’ve been sooner, but my father demanded he be allowed some time to get to know his future son-in-law. It only took a few weeks for my father to start treating him like a second son. Although Dad had issues with him being a werewolf, he knew Matt would never forsake me. I was his for life. Of course, Parry gave us hell. He remembered my string of insults and that was what mattered. Forget that I saved his sorry ass when I should’ve killed him for accusing me of stealing his wolf. Still, our days were numbered in Boston because Matt had defied his Alpha by choosing to take a hybrid for his mate. We didn’t care. Matt and I had plans for our future and they didn’t include the Boston Pack as long as they continued to threaten me for being a half breed. I promised Matt if they ever came near me or my family and friends that I’d go through with my plan of setting their den on fire. For once, my lovely mate didn’t object.
We tackled a lot of things like most newlyweds…and flipped a lot of coins to kill off the arguments. The biggest one turned out to be where we’d live. In the end, the living arrangements worked out better than I had thought by moving where Matt’s pack wouldn’t find us. The peace ended three months later. With numerous phone threats, wolf piss at our door, and Parry’s thugs following me on the streets, the Pack Alpha bastard made it clear what he thought of me. Sadly, it came to a head when a dozen of Parry’s pack members checked into my bed and breakfast while I was away on a business trip, and trashed their rooms to the tune of ten thousand dollars in damage. Matt had to choose between his pack and me. Luckily, my husband was smart enough to come to that conclusion without my having to point out the obvious. It would take some time, but eventually, we’d find a place safe to live, love and raise a family. Until then, we traded in Matt’s SUV for a different model Parry’s people wouldn’t recognize, stockpiled our money and kept emergency suitcases packed in case we needed to make a quick getaway. It was only a matter of time before Parry would try to kill me and reclaim his wolf by force. Our only hope was to find a safe haven where Parry couldn’t touch us. A place like that had to exist. If necessary, I’d spend the rest of my life searching. After all, our hopes for having children depended upon it. About the Author
Paranormal author Marcia Colette is always hard at work on her next novel…assuming her day job doesn’t get in the way.
Ever since her first book opened to fantastic reviews and became a Fictionwise bestseller, she hasn’t looked back. She can’t write a story unless there are paranormal aspects or a certain level of creepiness involved. When not crafting novels with twisted plots and supernatural thrills, she’s diving into her massive DVD collection. Marcia is a member of the Horror Writers Association, Paranormal Mystery Writers and Romance Writers of America.
The best place to find her is at http://marciacolette.wordpress.com where she loves connecting with readers and other writers. Conferences/conventions where sci-fi, fantasy and horror reign supreme are a good bet too, along with the occasional romance conference.
To learn more about Marcia Colette and her other works, please visit her at www.marciacolette.com. To find her destiny, she must trust him with her life…and her heart.
Crux
© 2009 Moira Rogers
Southern Arcana, Book 1
Jackson Holt makes a decent living as a private investigator in New Orleans, home of one of the largest underground supernatural populations in the United States. He and his partners have never met a case they couldn’t crack…until a local bar owner asks him to do a little digging on her newest hire. New Orleans is the fourth destination in as many months for Mackenzie Brooks, a woman on the run from a deranged stalker. After all, any man who shows up on her doorstep claiming to be her destined lover has more than a few screws loose. But crazy doesn’t explain why he always finds her no matter how far she runs.
When her well-meaning boss puts a PI on her case, Mackenzie comes face to face with the incredible truth: magic is real, and whatever spell has kept her hidden and separate from the paranormal world is rapidly deteriorating.
With time running out, she has no choice but to trust Jackson as he struggles to uncover the truth of her past—and her destiny.
Warning: This book contains devious schemes, epic battles, forbidden love between a shapeshifter and a spellcaster, nosy secondary characters, furniture-endangering sex and a woman fighting to choose her own destiny.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Crux:
Mackenzie resisted the urge to change positions again. It didn’t help. Instead she wrapped her hands around the strap of her bag and stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Jackson. Every time she did, the arousal that had been on low simmer all afternoon burst into full-on desire, and she could barely keep her hands to herself.
Even thinking about touching him made primal satisfaction unfurl slowly inside her. She stubbornly headed it off. “Can you explain this to me again?” she asked in a low voice, wrapping her fingers more tightly around her bag. “Maybe thinking will help. Or distract me.”
“Explain what?” His eyes didn’t leave the road. “The ants in your pants?”
She let out a strangled laugh. “That’s one way to put it. You said Alec thinks it’s some…spell or something?”
“Well, no. The spell would be what normally keeps you from getting this way.” He checked his mirror and signaled to pass. “It’s some sort of shapeshifter thing. The animal has to get out. When she doesn’t, you get restless.” He arched an eyebrow. “Sometimes really restless, I guess.”
Mackenzie groaned as she slid lower in the seat and closed her eyes. Every instinct in her body screamed for action. Her vivid imagination provided endless scenarios for how she could soothe the hot need twisting her into knots. The scene unfolded behind her eyelids like an erotic movie—pulling off the road, finding someplace secluded… She could almost smell the clean scent of his skin, could imagine how it would feel under her lips when she slid into his lap and nuzzled her face into his neck. The earlier fantasies of long, hot lovemaking vanished. The frantic need inside her would be satisfied by nothing less than equally frantic sex. She wanted his hands and mouth on her skin, wanted to feel him writhing helplessly beneath her as she moved above him, driving them both into limp exhaustion. A tiny whimper escaped as she fought back the image of his face, eyes hazy with pleasure and lips forming her name as she rode him to completion in the front seat of the car. “Oh, God. You have no idea how restless.”
He shot her a sharp look. “I suppose I… Hey, how about some music?” He cranked up the volume on the radio, and a song with a low, throbbing beat spilled out of the speakers. He stared straight ahead as he stabbed a button with his finger, changing the station to one featuring talk radio. Mackenzie stared out the window into the night and took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you—I mean, it’s a bit of an odd proposition, but would you consider—” She snarled. “The sexual frustration is going to kill me.”
Jackson reached for his phone, hit a button and slapped it to his ear. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, it’s me. Look, about what you said… Yeah, what can she do about that? You know, that won’t—” He paused, obviously listening. “Yeah. Oh no, uh-uh. Okay, yeah. Later.” He snapped the phone closed.
“Sorry, no sex. The bottom line is that you could die, and that would suck. You also can’t take care of it yourself, because you could weaken the spell even further.”
A tiny part of her curled in on itself in embarrassment when she realized Jackson and Alec had just had a discussion about whether or not she could masturbate. The rest of her just wondered if she could talk Jackson into taking the chance that she might not die.
“Jesus Christ.” She closed her eyes again. “Can we pull over at the next town, maybe get some food? The close quarters aren’t helping.”
“Absolutely,” he said immediately. “I think food is a great idea. We can walk around and stretch our legs too. Terrific idea, Mackenzie.”
“Terrific idea,” she agreed faintly. Except we’re not even halfway there and I’m already losing my mind. It was going to be a very long night.
The diner was small and cozy, and looked to cater mostly to truckers. Their waitress showed them to a booth without a word, setting two menus down before returning unprompted with a pot of coffee.
Mackenzie glanced at it, but caffeine wasn’t something she needed to add to her system. “Have you got any milkshakes?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure, honey. Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Vanilla, please.” She glanced across the booth at Jackson. “You drinking coffee?”
“Yeah. Got a lot of driving to do if we want to make it to Boca anytime soon.” He favored the waitress with a smile as he turned over his mug. “Fill ’er up, darlin’, and I’ll have an omelet as big as my head, with bacon, peppers and cheese, please.”
The waitress’s bored expression melted into an answering smile as she filled Jackson’s cup, Mackenzie apparently forgotten. She seemed terribly impressed by Jackson’s easy smile, and set aside the coffee pot as she jotted down his order. “Anything else with that, sweetheart? Sausage? Pancakes? We got some of the best muffins in the state here, if I do say so myself. Bake ’em fresh every night.”
“He said he wants an omelet.” At first, Mackenzie didn’t even realize she’d spoken. Her voice barely sounded like her own, low and dangerous with a hint of menace. Color flooded her cheeks, and she avoided Jackson’s eyes, wishing she could sink into the booth and disappear. Jackson choked on his coffee, but recovered quickly enough to throw his head back with a laugh.
“Now, now, sweet tart, I’ll stick to my low-carb diet, but the nice lady’s just doing her job.” His smile turned sheepish. “That’s what I get for marrying a health nut, I guess.”
The woman turned back to Mackenzie, her expression cool. “And what would you like with your milkshake, ma’am?”
The urge to snarl at her again was so overwhelming Mackenzie dug her teeth into her lip and flashed Jackson a pleading look.
“She’ll have a couple of those muffins,” he said quickly. “Damn hypocrite’s what she is, huh?”
As soon as the waitress retreated, Mackenzie folded her arms on the table and dropped her forehead to rest on them. “What in hell is happening to me?” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer. The intense desire to slide across the table and rub herself against Jackson to warn off the waitress was too disturbing for words.
“Well, you seem to be getting possessive there, darlin’.”
She raised her head and glared at him. “No, really?”
“Look.” He leaned forward earnestly. “This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you, but it’s going to be one hell of a long trip if we can’t come to some kind of understanding about what I can and can’t ignore. The wiggling around on the car seat like a cat in heat? I can ignore it. But I can’t let you make some poor waitress’s life miserable just because I’m a charming bastard. She can’t help that.”
A powerful need to strangle him replaced the urge to climb into his lap. Her scowl deepened as she inched out of the booth. “I’m going to the restroom.” Maybe to run my head under some cold water.
Jackson unlocked Mackenzie’s door and swiped a hand across his forehead. They’d managed to finish dinner without further incident, and he had to credit his purposefully conceited comments with distracting Mackenzie enough to make it possible. “Watch the muffins,” he told her as she climbed into the car. The look she gave him as she deliberately threw the muffins roughly into the backseat was hot and challenging, but at least it wasn’t inviting. She seemed capable of switching back and forth between lust and rage with startling speed, but she’d been having a lot more success controlling the anger. Thank God for that. Jackson rounded the car and opened his own door. It would be a lot easier to deal with her hating his guts than to smack her hands away from the button-fly of his jeans when she started feeling randy again. “All right, buckle up. Miles to go and all.”
She took another of those deep breaths that seemed to be the only thing holding her together. “Damn it, I’m hungry.” She twisted in her seat and reached for the bag of muffins. Her shirt rode up when she stretched out her arm, revealing the smooth skin of her side and stomach. By some stroke of bad luck—or her own subconscious design—it happened just as she brushed against his arm.
Mackenzie froze, her skin still pressed to his, and moaned, low and needy and desperate. “I want you so badly.”
He snatched his hand away and slammed his forehead on the steering wheel. “Okay, woman. You have got to have a little pity on me, here. Fucking around in the backseat could kill you.”
She crowded against him suddenly, her body soft and her breath hot against his ear. “Right now I feel like not fucking around is killing me too.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, she ran her tongue lightly along the shell of his ear.
Jesus God. He flattened himself back against the car door and batted her away. “Am I going to have to put you under?” he demanded.
For a moment—just a moment—something flashed in her eyes. The Mackenzie he’d been slowly getting to know stared back at him, and she looked terrified. Her fingers curled in his shirt. “Help me,” she half-sobbed. “I don’t want to—I can’t—”
He framed her face with his hands, breathed a word against her forehead and she shuddered. The spell took effect, but not nearly as quickly as it should have. It seemed as if it had quieted the frantic battle inside her without putting her to sleep. Her blue eyes slowly cleared, and the hands clutching at his chest relaxed.
“Thank you.” The words were a barely audible whisper, and her eyes fluttered shut. When they opened again she looked dazed, as if her body was fighting sleep and losing. She leaned closer, her lips touching his cheek and then sliding to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she breathed again. She kissed him. It wasn’t frantic or desperate or aggressive like her earlier advances had been. Her lips were warm and soft, her kiss heartbreakingly gentle.
He relaxed into the caress, but she sagged against him, dragging him back to reality. Kissing her while she was in this condition was no better than doing so while she was drugged, so he pulled his mouth from hers and moved her back onto the passenger seat. “Sweet dreams, Kenzie.” He pulled the seatbelt across her body and fastened it. After another moment’s thought, he reclined the seat and brushed her hair from her face.
His phone rang, startling him, and he fumbled for his headset. “Hello?”
A rich voice filled his ear. “I know you’ve got a good reason for leaving fifteen frantic messages on my voicemail and scaring the living daylights out of me, don’t you, Jack?”
“Damn straight I do, Mahalia.” Jackson started the car and spared Mackenzie’s sleeping form another glance. “I’ve got a cougar trying to climb in my pants.”
“Is that some sort of clever euphemism?”
“I wish to hell it was, May.” He gritted his teeth as he pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m on the way to your place right now. Tell me you’ve got some experience with spells meant to keep the animal at bay.”
“Some, but not much. You’re coming to Boca Raton?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a woman here who’s in a bad way. Some extremely well-connected asshole has been stalking her across the country, trying to convince her to have his babies. She’s never shifted, and now she’s getting…frustrated. Besides which, there’s something weird about her parents and a deadly house fire that maybe wasn’t deadly at all…” He trailed off and exhaled roughly. “It’s a fuckin’ mess, May, pardon my French.”
“A house fire?” Jackson could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “What was the name? Do you remember?”
“Evans. Why, does it ring a bell?”
She didn’t answer. “Get here as fast as you can,” she commanded. “I’m calling Steven.”
“Hang on just a minute,” Jackson protested. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t have time to explain, Jack. Just get your ass down here.”
She hung up, leaving Jackson perplexed and frightened. Any situation that could put that edge of fear in Mahalia Tate’s voice was serious enough to make a grown man piss his pants.
One choice means heartbreak. The other, death.
Run Wolf
© 2009 Keith Melton
Nightfall Wolf Clans, Book 1
Leah Kendrick is guilty of only one crime: loving her human mate, Tom, enough to give him the gift of The Bite. The Pack council is merciless, and the punishment swift. In an instant everything she’s ever known is ripped away, and they’re turned out into the long winter with nothing. No money, no car, and no protection from a variety of creatures who’d like nothing more than to take down a lone wolf. Friendless and broke, they form a daring plan to take back what’s theirs and chase safety north. But the Pack has other ideas. And with time running out it’s about to call their bluff…
Warning: Contains savage werewolf combat, defiant love, graphic violence/language/sex, kangaroo trials and unrepentant criminal havoc.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Run, Wolf:
We drove in silence, Tom at the wheel, on our way to steal back the money the pack had stolen from me. The weight of the quiet seemed to crush down around me in the truck, as if I were a mile underwater instead of driving through Somerville toward Cambridge. We headed south down narrow Prospect Street with its triple-decker houses that pushed right up against the road, looking faded and a little tired in the midday sun.
The shotgun lay beneath a blanket near my feet on the passenger side. Unloaded, but I was careful not to touch it. Respectful. Under my coat, I wore a polyester summer robe and nothing beneath it, in anticipation of the Change. I’d wrapped myself in one of those space-age thermal blankets that looked like a big sheet of aluminum foil and cranked the heater to keep my legs from freezing. The office was a rundown one-story brick-fronted building. A wide, plate-glass display window took up most of the scarred façade, but I couldn’t see inside through the bleary glass because of the blinds. A sign that said Chockley Real Estate Management had been painted on the glass, though the letters were now nicked and chipped. Weeds grew out front, poking up through cracks in the sidewalk. The street was mostly empty, with only a few cars parked here and there. Frost still lingered in the shadows where the sun hadn’t reached. Tom pulled the truck over to the curb just before the front of the building, trying to keep our getaway vehicle as close as possible and still stay out of the view of anyone who might be inside.
He looked at me. His eyes were steady, no trace of any fear, just a clear focus. “Ready?”
I nodded. My heart was beating—not fast—but with a strange weighted force so I could feel the thump reverberate through my chest and into my throat. I just wanted to get this done so we could go. Could go somewhere and live in safety. Not so goddamn much to ask. Tom reached down and gently lifted the shotgun. He loaded it with shells, one after another, and then he pumped a round into the chamber. The sound was all business, a dead-serious click-clack that raised goose bumps on my skin, despite the fact that I knew the gun would be largely useless. My eyes strayed to the small, corded leather bag tossed in the console’s drink holder. That was what would make the difference. My mother’s sterling-silver shrimp ring was wrapped inside. I’d put it there with salad tongs first thing this morning, and I had the wounds to show for it. When I’d been unwrapping it, I’d brushed a little too close to the silver and my left hand had a line of blisters along my index finger that would be a long time healing. I could still feel the dull throb of pain. Tom set the shotgun across his lap and lifted the bag, his face a mask of disgust at the feel of the silver’s hateful aura. The ring seemed to send out a pulse—like a woofer pushing air for bass—that repelled us both. He slipped the leather bag over his head, careful to have it lay against the outside of his jacket. It was vital that the werewolves be able to smell the silver—just enough to make them unsure if the shotgun was loaded with silver pellets.
Tom looked at me and nodded. I shrugged off my coat and the silver gray blanket, pulled the door handle and stepped out onto the street. I kept my arms wrapped about me, though it did little to fight the cold. A powerful yearning swept through me to Change immediately and revel in the warmth of my fur, but I fought the urge. I couldn’t shift until I was inside, otherwise the world would be treated to the first armed robbery that started with a naked woman on the sidewalk, and ended with something sporting a sharper set of teeth.
We hurried toward the glass door. Tom kept the shotgun as concealed as he could by his jacket. I clutched the robe around me, but the cold bit right through it and the cement froze my bare heels. My heart kept up that heavy thud.
Tom reached out and pulled the door open. A hot sizzle of adrenaline pumped into my veins, and an electronic sensor sang out an artificially cheery deeeng dong. The woman at the high counter looked up at us as we pushed inside. I recognized her immediately. Her name was Nora something. She’d been here the first time I’d come with Hannah to sign up for my car loan. Her eyes widened and her hand paused, hanging in the air only a few inches from a beige mug giving off the smell of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
Tom swung the shotgun up and stared at her along the iron sights. “Don’t twitch.” He pushed deeper into the office and I shadowed him. “Can you smell the silver?”
Nora’s lips pulled back from her teeth in a disgusted grimace. “Yes.”
“This is loaded with silver buckshot. Don’t make me use it.”
Nora’s gaze jumped to me. I could see the emotions in them—the hate, the offense that I’d do something like this. The smile I gave her dripped all kinds of nasty.
“Leah,” Tom said. His voice was so calm it even helped settle me down some. “Do it.”
I shrugged out of the robe, letting it puddle around my feet. Doubt flashed across Nora’s face as I stood there naked. I closed my eyes, reached deep inside of myself, touched the wolf and Changed. Pain. A tractor-trailer’s worth and more. It burst within me like an explosion, as heat and jagged agony ripped through me. My bones broke, realigned; muscles tore, re-knitted; tendons snapped, reattached. Fur pushed from my skin. I felt my mouth tearing away from my face, my cheek and jawbones shattering as it stretched into a muzzle and filled with deadly fangs. The suffering stopped all at once, as completely as if it had never been. I stood there as wolfbreed, feeling the strength coiling through my muscles, reveling in how alive the world smelled, how crisp and deep the sounds were now. I leapt forward, and I loved the powerful spring and release of my leg muscles as they launched me toward the counter. When I landed on it, a brass nameplate and a fake spider plant crashed to the floor. I crouched down, my arms dangling between my legs with my long claws curving out of my fingers. The snarling growl I gave Nora was low, but she flinched backward all the same.
“This isn’t—” Nora began.
“Is there anyone else here?” Tom kept the shotgun aimed at her. Nora shook her head. Her hair brushed against her face, lagging a half second behind the motion of her head. I lifted my muzzle, sniffing, tasting the air.
“She’s lying.” I sent my thought to Tom across our Bond. I could smell another werewolf in the back offices. The scent was faint but undeniable.
“I know,” he sent back. Then aloud to Nora: “Get him out here. Now!”
Fear scent began to bleed out of Nora’s pores. I could smell it mixed with fresh sweat. “I don’t know what—”
I growled again, giving a menacing glimpse of teeth. Nora glanced at me, and then looked back toward the offices. I smelled the Change as the were behind the door shifted into wolfbreed.
“He’s gonna fight,” I sent. “We don’t have much time. They’ve already alerted the pack.” We’d anticipated their communication across the Bond. If we moved fast, we’d be long gone before any help arrived. The more savage part of me felt regret. Already my heart rate had slowed and my wolfbreed body felt limber, powerful, almost aching for a contest. The wolf urge to battle seethed in my muscles, but I kept it on a double-wrapped chain.
The other werewolf hammered out from the back room, sending the cheap, hollow door splintering off its hinges with a massive hole dead center. He leapt into the hallway, his eyes blazing amber, fangs bared. I’d seen him before, I recognized that bark-colored fur and that swath of black beneath his chin. His smell was familiar, but I couldn’t remember that damn name.
“Handle him,” Tom sent. He kept the shotgun on Nora, whose gaze remained flat and far away. I recognized the look. She was talking across the Bond to the entire pack. The brown wolfbreed dropped down on all fours and shot out of the hallway. My claws dug into the fake panel counter as I gathered myself and launched at him. Tom never moved the barrel of the shotgun—
never even glanced at the oncoming snarling freight train of fur and fangs.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
It’s all about the story…
Action/Adventure
Fantasy
Historical
Horror
Mainstream
Mystery/Suspense
Non-Fiction
Paranormal
Red Hots!
Romance
Science Fiction
Western
Young Adult