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Tag Archives: urban fantasy

How Did I Start on This Path? – A Guest Post from Carrie Whitethorne/Shae Banks

Hi, I’m Carrie. I publish under two pseudonyms, Carrie Whitethorne, for my paranormal and urban fantasy romance, and Shae Banks for my more contemporary work.

I wasn’t always a writer. I was supposed to be a nurse. Instead I took a completely different path.

I followed my heart. How many eighteen-year-old girls do that and it ends in disaster?

I could have become a statistic. Instead, after weathering the storms that come with ten years of marriage, we were stronger than ever. Decisions were made, I become a mother, and every hard lesson I learned over the years turned out to be a training exercise for some of the most difficult days of my life.

Fast forward a few more years and my children were going to school, one of them against all odds, and after a minor incident one morning I found myself sitting at the laptop, writing.

It poured from me. I didn’t have the first clue how to write a novel. I’d always been an avid reader, but I wasn’t a writer. The short stories I wrote as a child were just something I did to pass the time. I didn’t have the experience or the ability.

Then, late 2016, I read an article about self publishing on Amazon.

By this time I had two books written, a third in progress, just sitting on my laptop and thought “what the hell? Even if I don’t sell any at least I can say I published a book,” and so the Riftkeepers series was born.

It’s been three years. I’m a USA Today Bestselling Author. I have the bug and I couldn’t stop writing now if I tried.

I have two completed series spanning nine books under Carrie Whitethorne’s belt and a third publishing later this year.

Shae banks has two books published over two series and I’m enjoying the new venture as much as I did the first time.

It hasn’t been an easy road, but the experience has been worth every trial.

I have my first signing in Sheffield (UK) this June. I’ll be fan girling all over the place, but I don’t care. This is me being where I never thought I could be.

I don’t want to be anywhere else.

***** 

Carrie Whitethorne

RiftkeepersRiftkeepers: https://amzn.to/2KpOjTK

One night stands are all fun and games until you discover you’re pregnant.

With twins.

Having no idea where the father of her children was, Charlotte raised them alone, dealing with the trials of parenthood as best she could.
When strange events bring her face to face with Callan McAidh, the man she hasn’t seen since that fateful night, she has no option but to tell him who the little girl at her side is.

To her surprise, he wants to meet his children.

But Charlotte isn’t the only one with revelations to share, and when Callan shows her what he is, she is thrust into a world she could never image existed- much less have come from herself.

But as well as the magic and wonder of the Fae realm, Charlotte discovers there are darker forces at work. Forces that know who, and what, she is.

Can Charlotte protect her family from this enemy while holding on to the love of her life?

This Paranormal Romance Saga will keep you on the edge of your seat as you follow Charlotte’s evolution from struggling single mother to Fae Princess in this story of family, friendship, and love.

Discover how one person can make such a difference to so many, and how a single decision can affect the lives of people you have never met.

*****

Three Tricksters: https://amzn.to/2If8JwJ

Trickster’s Hunt

Eat, win, get paid, go home.

That was the plan.

I wasn’t looking for guys.

Okay that’s a lie, it’s been a long six months, but I didn’t expect Silas, Rhett, and Amos to turn up.

I don’t believe that stuff just happens.

I didn’t believe in genies, either, until the three of them started disappearing and reappearing at will.

The truth is I wouldn’t be here without them. But sometimes you don’t always appreciate what you have while it’s right in front of you with all that bronze skin and hard abs. There’s something uniquely hot about a guy dressed as a Middle Eastern assassin defending you against an Egyptian God. I have three.

Silas has sworn to protect me. Amos, too.

Rhett… well he can please his miserable self. But they all think I’m someone important. Someone impossible.

They want to stay close.

I can see a number of benefits to having them around but do I really want three genies following my every move?

*****

Trickster’s Guard

Being a Goddess isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I never said I was perfect. Far from it. And when I sent them away it proved it.

Now my mistakes have caught up with me and I’m wishing I’d done things differently.

Rhett, Amos, and Silas are doing everything they can to uncover the mysteries surrounding our attraction and my role in all of this, but it takes time.

Time we don’t have with a god hunting me down.

Faced with the prospect of losing everyone I love, it’s time for me to step up.

I hold the power to balance the universe.

I just hope I can work out how to access it before we’re found and destroyed.

*****

Trickster’s Consort

Despite the best efforts of the djinn to keep me hidden, Set found me.

I sent him home with a knife in his face.

Does he think he can break into my home, kill my best friend, and get away with it?

Maybe the old me would have let that slide, but I’m not her any more.

I’m not who he thinks I am, either.

I’m something different.

With Amos, Rhett, and Silas at my side I’m going to Duat.

I’m taking back what’s mine.

I’ll make him pay for every life he’s taken. Even if that means razing his world to the ground.

But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

*****

Shae Banks

Things We Lost: https://amzn.to/2X5aFLY

For Nathalie Johnson, securing a new job closer to home is a cause for celebration. On a night out with a friend she runs into the very last person in the world she expects to see…

Jason Locksley.

He was her everything, until he took off to university without so much as a goodbye thirteen years before.

He broke her heart.

Despite her attempts to evade him, Jason is persistent and manages to talk her into coffee.

Coffee leads to dinner. And the rest, she thought, would be history. But walking away from Jason is harder than she ever thought it could be, and despite her trepidation, he wins his second chance.

Thirteen years is a long time, and people change.

Both have broken marriages behind them, and while much is shared, there are many things left unsaid.

Will a misunderstanding cause irreparable damage?

*****

Discarded: https://amzn.to/2uXcbUa

Working two jobs just to stay afloat, Bekah Daniels is short on time. Any she does have she devotes to her boyfriend, Johnathan.
But when he abandons her over the holidays, Bekah finally sees where his priorities will always lie.

With his wife.

Despite her efforts to break it off, Johnathan won’t let go, and when he becomes aggressive she finds friendship and refuge with her boss, millionaire chef Callum Lowell.

Their friendship takes a surprising turn, and Bekah soon finds herself not only on his books but in his bed.

When Bekah wants to further their relationship Callum has a condition; she has to hand herself over to him entirely, purging Johnathan from her mind and body.

Can she submit to Callum after all she’s been through, or is he asking too much?

*****

You can follow either of my pen names here:

Carrie Whitethorne:
http://www.carriewhitethorne.com
https://www.facebook.com/Whitethornebooks/
https://www.bookbub.com/profile/carrie-whitethorne
https://facebook.com/groups/138915443519708

Shae Banks:
http://www.shaebanks.com
https://www.facebook.com/Shaebanksromance/

‪You can get a free ebook by visiting my websites.

Mystic Realms – A Limited-Edition Collection of Paranormal & Urban Fantasy Romances

Mystic RealmsWhat goes bump in the night? What causes you a fright? While the answers for each may vary, I promise that these stories will not leave you wary.

From vampires and demons to shifters and creatures that you’d never suspect, this set will leave you breathless in the best possible ways.

So, don’t be afraid. Come, step inside our realm. Allow the mysticism of romance in many shapes and forms fall over you like a veil of sweet, soothing, spine tingling comfort.

We promise…you won’t be sorry.

Purchase Links:  Amazon   iBooks   Kobo   Nook

Featured Stories

Secrets of the Hollows (Book 2) by Nicole Morgan

What’s a girl to do once she falls in love with a demon?

Fallen by Tamsin Baker

Gabriel thought he’d do anything to earn his way back into Heaven. He was wrong.

Cursed by Tracy Goodwin

Forbidden love. Dangerous prophecies. Limitless power. Fate is a witch.

Avenging Aingeal (Protectors of the Earth 1) by Lynn Crain

Bound by vengeance, she is humanity’s one hope…

Her Fate, His Mate (Wolves of Windsor Woods) by Krista Ames

Can she accept all he is and all he stands for?

Sleeping in the Dragon’s Den by Lexi Thorne

His Hungry Dragon My Curious Desire
His Tattoo Curse My Wet Dreams

Dark Side of the Moon by Laura Baumbach

Vampire rentboy vs. the world.

Angel Vindicated by Viola Estrella

Some sins are hard to avoid…

A Wolf’s Touch by Christine Donovan

Can she love him–wolf and all?

Dr. Magic (Vampire Island, Book 1) by Jo Grafford

One more dance with the devil…

Dark Heat by Jan Springer

Betrayed by her two forced mates, she hides within Vampira.

Torkel by Mardi Maxwell

Love unites them in the mists of time.

Silent Storm by Sadie Carter

Sometimes the monster is the good guy…

Tangled Sin by Georgia Lyn Hunter

She was the light in his eternal darkness…

Seduction’s Scent by C.I. Black

Giving in to temptation threatens everything.

Ghost Mate by D. Anne Paris

She was going to kill him even though he was already dead.

Living on the Edge (Clan Book 1) by Laverne Thompson

Mate wanted. Dead or alive.

The Warrior’s Curse by M. Elliott & T. Eden

What comes next may be the end of it all.

Three Days From Hell by Dariel Raye

Can a permanent resident of Third Hell be trusted?

Just Tell Me What You Want by Tina Donahue

Her wishes will leave him breathless…

GIVEAWAY

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Out Now! Buried Pleasures (Medusa’s Consortium series book 3) by K D Grace (@kd_grace) #newrelease #urbanfantasy #uf

Buried PleasuresBlurb:

When Samantha Black shares her sandwich with a dog, his owner, Jon—a homeless man living in the Las Vegas storm tunnels—gives her a poker chip worth a fortune from the exclusive casino, Buried Pleasures. All Sam has to do is cash it in. Sam is in Vegas for one reason only—to get her friend, Evie Holt, away from sinister magician, Darian Fox, who holds her prisoner in an effort to force Sam to perform at his club, Illusions. A neon circus tent of strange and mystical acts, Illusions is one of the biggest draws in Vegas, and he’s hell-bent on including Sam in his disturbing plans.

The shadowy Magda Gardener will do anything to keep Sam from cashing in that chip. She knows that Buried Pleasures is the gate to Hades and cashing in the chip is a one-way ticket across the River Styx, which runs beneath the storm tunnels of Vegas. Jon is really Jack Graves, owner of Buried Pleasures, and Graves is really the god of death, himself, and if things aren’t already confusing enough, he and Magda know what Sam doesn’t. Sam is the last siren. That her song can kill is only the beginning of her story. Jon wants her safe on his side of the River, protected from Fox’s hideous magic. But even Death fears Magda Gardener, who is none other than Medusa, and the gorgon has her own agenda. If Sam is to understand her heritage and win the battle against Darian Fox, not only will she have to trust her heart to Death, but they’ll both have to work for the gorgon, whose connection with Sam runs deeper than any of them could imagine.

Buy links:

Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/buriedpleasures

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/buried-pleasures-k-d-grace/1127222027?ean=2940154583531

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/buried-pleasures/id1295660281?mt=11

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/buried-pleasures-1

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/753121?ref=cw1985

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36401609-buried-pleasures

*****

Rated R

Excerpt: So much more than La Petit Mort

With a soft clink, Fox dropped the key in a small ceramic bowl on the dresser, not bothering to lock the door behind him. There was no need now.

He heard the rustle of bedding and a soft female moan before his eyes fully adjusted to the gloom. Then he saw the shape of her, duvet thrown back in spite of the chill, the pale silk of the negligee rising and falling with her anxious breathing. He always asked that they be clothed in white silk. Occasionally there was blood, and the red of blood against white silk made the experience more formal somehow, and it always felt like such an occasion should be formal.

As he became used to the gloom, he could see that she had been well-groomed for the occasion, fully made-up and hair freshly coifed, just as he had requested. It was a condition that wasn’t strictly necessary, but made the whole experience seem a little more ceremonial, a little more festive. After all, presentation was a key ingredient in every good restaurant, wasn’t it? Why should his situation be any different?

“Gabriella, you look exquisite tonight, my darling. I can’t tell you how much I’ve anticipated being with you, having you here in my bed.” He removed his jacket and hung it carefully over a cedar hanger on the back of the door. “Did I not promise you that the time would come when I would invite you into my own home, into my own bed?”

Of course it wasn’t his own bed. He never took them to his bed. He had several other rooms in several other places where he took from them what he needed, though this one was special. This one was for feasting. He carefully undressed by the side of the bed where she would be able to admire his every move. She moaned softly and writhed, not taking her eyes off him, needing him almost as much as he needed her. Almost.

At his leisure, he took in the curves that were still luscious enough to be tempting—the rise of nipples, the dilation of pupils, the rhythmic shifting of hips, all of which he could now make out. Ripe fruit, he thought. She was ripe fruit. The experience was always most ecstatic, always most satisfying, when his chosen had not yet passed her peak, when he had not used her so much that her looks had suffered, nor her hunger for him weakened. He needed her hunger as much as he needed her beauty. The two always went hand in hand. He needed her hunger to be her driving force, driving her to him over and over again, until all strength was gone. Most often he controlled his hunger, careful not to allow himself more than what was necessary to survive and thrive.

Tonight, however, he was drained and starving from effort and exhaustion, but from excitement as well, from the knowing that Samantha Black was capable of so much more than even he had anticipated. Tonight he would take deeply from the ripest fruit, take as though it were the first and the last fullness of summer, and Gabriella was just at that point of fullness.

“I’m going to make love to you, darling.” He didn’t even try to disguise his hunger. Anxious anticipation was as much a part of the ritual as savoring the moment, and he wanted her to know how much he hungered for her, how much he needed her. “I’m going to make you come as you have never come before, my sweetheart.” He slid onto the bed next to her, his left hand stroking her soft, dark hair, his right cupping himself, making himself ready. “Would you like that, Gabriella? I know you would, I know how impatient you’ve been.”

There was a soft whimper, and the woman shifted her hips and threw back her head with a little gasp as he slid a thumb across her heavy bottom lip. He was hard, always hard when he hungered. It was a part of the ritual, a part of the consuming, a part of fulfilling his need.

Carefully he slipped down the straps of the negligee so that he could admire the fullness of her breasts. Yes, presentation was so important — ripe cherry nipples against silken white fabric, so succulent, so ready. Her skin was the color of expensive mocha, and for a moment, he took in the feast for the eyes waiting for him. Then he cupped her sex, and she arched up, her eyelids fluttering beneath lush, dark lashes so perfectly made up, so perfectly prepared to meet her lover.

La petite mort,” he said. “It’s what we all long for, isn’t it, my sweetheart, over and over and over again, we long for it. It’s what we dream about in the darkest hours of the night. It’s what we wake up longing for, goose fleshed, slick and heavy with need from those elusive dreams of perfect love, perfect union, perfect dissolving of the self into the other. Oh, my beauty,” he slid a hand between her thighs, and her tongue flicked over her lip in concentration, in anticipation, “I’ve kept you waiting too long. I do apologize. La petite mort is a small gift for a long wait. So tonight, my dearest girl, I shall give you something far grander than the little death. And our joining, our perfect dissolving into one another, will be beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

He positioned himself above her and she opened to him, rising up to meet him in gasps and groans and whimpers that neared desperation. Oh yes, he would give her so much more than la petite mort, and then, in the instant when her body dissolved in pleasure, he would take it all back, all of it and so much more.

There was breath and then there was blood, and there was the life force coursing through the beautiful Gabriella. That life force entered his body through sex, through making love. And truly he did make love, for the gift that the lovely creature writhing beneath him, no longer strong enough to keep her legs grasped around his waist, was giving him was worthy of lovemaking. The taking of the life force in such a way was sex raised above and beyond ecstasy. He seldom partook to the end. He usually made it last for months, sometimes even years, depending on how powerful the life force was.

But Gabriella had no particular power, nothing but her exquisite beauty to linger on. He saw such as her as fast food, really, a needed energy boost in desperate times, and this was one of those times. Her sacrifice would ensure that he was focused and ready for whatever obstacles Graves could throw in his way where Samantha Black was concerned, because he would have her. He had to have her.

The woman beneath him shuddered with release, and he took her mouth more fully, swallowing back the harshness of her breath to blend with his own, teasing him to join in her ecstasy. She would climax over and over, and that would be her final memory. She would come to her death in rapturous pleasure, and she would not even feel that moment when all of her breath, all of her life force, all of her power, passed to him, and the darkness took her.

Her eyelids fluttered again and again, for now she truly had not the energy left for more than the flutter of eyelids above huge, dark eyes. Even the quiver low in her loins had transferred itself to him, and he felt her orgasms as though they were his own, as though through the breath, through the coupling, he had become her and she him. He had taken her into himself as she had him into her, so open, so inviting, so willing.

“You see,” he whispered against the seashell hollow of her unhearing ear, “I have given you so much more than la petite mort, just as I promised, darling. So much more for both of us.”

*****

Author Bio:

Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right. It really IS all about sex—sex and love—and that is an absolute writer’s playground.

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. Her creativity is directly proportional to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology, which inspires many of her stories. She enjoys time in the gym, where she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. Her first love is writing, but she loves reading and watching birds. She adores anything that gets her outdoors.

K D’s novels and other works are published by Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Accent Press, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, and others. She also writes romance under the name Grace Marshall.

Find K D Here:                                                                  

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/

http://www.thebritbabes.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/kdnewsletter

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Out Now—New Urban Fantasy Novel, Blindsided, by K D Grace (@kd_grace)

BlindsidedBlurb:

Book two in the Medusa’s Consortium series.

In New York City, away from those she loves, living with the enigmatic vampire, Desiree Fielding, Susan Innes struggles to come to terms with life as a vampire whose body serves as the prison for a deadly demon.

When Reese Chambers arrives unexpectedly from England, desperate for her help, she discovers that Alonso Darlington, his lover and her maker, has been taken captive and Reese has been warned to tell no one but her. Before the two can make a plan, Susan receives her own message from a man calling himself just Cyrus. He not only holds her maker prisoner, but also her lover, the angel Michael. If she wishes to see either of them alive, she’ll come to him and not tell Magda Gardener, the woman they all work for and fear.

With no help coming from Magda or her Consortium, Susan and Reese must turn to the Guardian – the terrifying demon now imprisoned in her body. He alone can help them, but how can she possibly trust him after all he’s done?

Available from:
Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/blindsidedmc
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2x7nAUk
iBooks: http://apple.co/2xstDT8
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2wpvd8O
Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2y8RB2I

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36233244-blindsided

*****

Excerpt:

It was a dark place where she found him, with walls so high only a small patch of starlight was visible above, but she was a vampire now. She didn’t need the light, and he, well he had never needed the light, had he? He stood naked with his back to her. He was broad of shoulder. There were white scars like latticework across muscles stretched taut over his shoulder blades. At first she thought they were from a whip, but as she drew nearer, she saw that they were more geometric in form, as though perhaps they were some sort of ancient ceremonial writing. She traced the shapes of them with the tips of her fingers, and his muscles rippled with the sensation. With a start she realized she’d never seen his body before.

“That is because I have none,” came his reply. “Only in dreams can I wear the flesh of my choosing.”

“You’ve worn flesh often enough. I would have thought it was always of your choosing,” she said, making no effort to hide her bitterness.

“It was not my own, though. That pleasure, I have never known.”

“Only in dreams, you say. Then this is a dream.”

“You know that it is.” He didn’t turn to face her but leaned toward her, and she slipped her arms around him and rested her head on the flat of his back. His belly tensed at the touch of her hands, and he caught his breath in a soft moan. “Touch is what I longed for most,” he said. “I thought the lack of it would drive me insane while I languished in my previous prison. But here, with you, I’m closer to touch than I would have thought possible. I do not mind it, you know. It is no hardship to be nestled inside you, close to your heart.”

She released him and took in their surroundings once more. “This is the place I’ve created for you?”

He pulled her arms back around him and sighed with contentment as she laid her head against him once more. “This is how I have decorated. The place you created for me was only the shape of myself, both boundless and infinitesimal. Oh, it did not matter. I could see through your eyes, feel through your flesh, even though it no longer lived as it once did, even though you never spoke to me. I hoped that someday you would.”

“And when I refuse, you come uninvited into my dreams?”

“All dreams are uninvited, Susan, and perhaps this time it is you who have come uninvited into my dream.”

She thought about that for a moment. Was it even possible to visit the dreams of a demon? Did demons even have dreams?

“Susan?”

“Yes?”

“If I had come to you more gently, if I had courted you and companioned you and been patient with you in the ways of your world, would you have loved me?”

“You never gave me that chance.”

*****

About K D Grace/Grace Marshall

Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right. It really IS all about sex—sex and love—and that is an absolute writer’s playground.

When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. Her creativity is directly proportional to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology, which inspires many of her stories. She enjoys time in the gym, where she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. Her first love is writing, but she loves reading and watching birds. She adores anything that gets her outdoors.

K D’s novels and other works are published by Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Accent Press, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, and others. She also writes romance under the name Grace Marshall.

Find K D Here:                    

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/

http://www.thebritbabes.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/kdnewsletter

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Lich Queen by Naomi Clark (@naomi_jay)

Lich QueenThanks for having me today! I’m so excited to be sharing my new release, LICH QUEEN, book three in the Blood Canticles series. Anyone who had to deal with me while I was writing this book (friends, family, co-workers) will know I was completely obsessed with it. I love writing Dawn, and her story has so many elements I just love writing in general – ghosts, private eyes, and creepy shenanigans! And anyone who had to deal with me while I was waiting to hear if the book had been accepted, knows I was a total bundle of nerves the whole time (my fiancé is a patient man). For some reason I was convinced I’d get a “no” on this one. Don’t ask me why. It just seemed like maybe Dawn’s story, which gets bleak, might not be a good fit.

But it’s not just bleak! Like the other Blood Canticles books, there’s friendship, mystery, action, and a lot of coffee. If you like your urban fantasy filled with those things (and a side order of zombies, vampires, and demons), you’re going to love LICH QUEEN just as much as I do 😉

You can find the complete Blood Canticles series, in reading order, at my blog here – http://naomiclarkwrites.blogspot.co.uk/p/blood-canticles.html

*****

Blurb

Magic has ruined Detective Dawn Hardy’s life.

Her partner is dead, her career is on the rocks, and Dawn fears she herself may no longer be human.

While she struggles with the aftermath of a vampire attack, dead bodies are going missing around Fort Rosser. A demonic plot is brewing, and Dawn and her friends may be the only ones who can stop it. If they can stop fighting each other. And if Dawn can conquer the growing darkness inside herself.

Vampires and demons were just the beginning.

*****

Excerpt

They had to press themselves to the wall to get around the zombie. Dawn kept her gun trained on it the whole time, just in case, but it didn’t so much as twitch. It felt like stopping it had been too easy. Her nerves were singing by the time they reached the landing. Another dark hallway stretched out before them, dented metal doors on either side. Dawn noticed with a chill that a lot of the doors looked like the damage had come from the inside.

“There’s an open unit up ahead,” she told Rhys, watching Eddie drift along, leaving a trail of caramel-tobacco in his wake. “They let some of the less dangerous patients mix freely during the day.”

They’d been in there, on that long-ago murder investigation. It was a big enough room, still lined with basic tables and chairs where patients could sit and read, or play card games, or just … sit. It was a favorite spot for urban explorers to visit, because the masonry was still pretty sound, but the room itself was a wreck, offering the right balance of damage and security for would-be YouTube stars.

“Bet you ten dollars that’s where she is, then,” Rhys said. “I can feel it. You?”

Was she supposed to? Seeing ghosts was bad enough, Eddie excluded. She didn’t want to start ‘feeling’ zombies. She shook her head, focusing on Eddie again.

Sure enough, he stopped by the door to the open unit. Those demonic symbols were gouged into the door, deeply scarring the metal. Her pulse raced as adrenaline flooded her. She could hear something on the other side of the door – a muffled mix of footsteps and low, strained voices. She adjusted her grip on her gun, palms sweaty. She carried a standard-issue Glock, six rounds. It had always felt like enough before tonight. Now she was down to three.

“Any last minute advice on dealing with the undead?” she whispered to Rhys.

“Don’t,” he said.

She wished he didn’t think he was so funny. Eddie beckoned her to the door, giving her a look she knew well. Caution, mixed with determination. She didn’t need to hear him speak to know what he was thinking. Go time, Dawn.

She nodded at him.

Isaiah’s mocking laughter filled her head.

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair…

“So cliché,” she said, earning a strange look from Rhys. She answered him with a smile that felt unpleasant. “Go time,” she said, and eased the door open.

*****

Buy Links

Evernight – https://tinyurl.com/y7l47fjm

Amazon US – https://tinyurl.com/y8e23v5x

Amazon UK – https://tinyurl.com/yboy3zu8

*****

About the Author

Naomi likes writing, perfume, fancy tea, and unfathomable monsters from the dark spaces between the stars, not necessarily in that order. She has been writing stories ever since she learned how to write, but is still trying to master the art of biography writing. When she’s not dealing with werewolves, demons, or sea monsters, she’s hanging out with her cat and probably watching a documentary about Bigfoot. If the cat isn’t available, she’s with her fiancé watching cookery shows and silently plotting her next book.

Find me online:

Blog – http://naomiclarkwrites.blogspot.co.uk/

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/naomijclark/

Twitter – @naomi_jay

Welcome to the Blood Series by Elizabeth Morgan

EM_Blood Series_FB

Scottish Werewolves: freaky Vampires and a Slayer with a bad addiction and an insane legacy. Add a big dose of sarcasm, sizzling chemistry; a lot of silver and a ton of blood and . . . Welcome to the Blood Series.

They’re back! The Blood Series has been revamped and repackaged and is available to buy now!

Note: She-Wolf and Cranberry Blood are both previously published titles, but have been polished, improved, and have even had scenes added for their re-release. Both books as well as all that will follow will be self-published.

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She-WolfShe-Wolf

Blood Series Prequel

Blurb:

Dealing with the Rogue Werewolves terrorizing his Pack? Simple.

Trying to convince his mate he does want to be with her? Bloody impossible.

Owen MacLaren is the Alpha’s son and the Pack’s second, and he has never been one to let anything get to him. So when a bunch of Rogues begin purposely dumping mutilated bodies around the Pack Keep, he is more than ready to deal with the Werewolves responsible.

But one night off and a trip to a local strip joint for a colleague’s stag night changes things, and Owen soon discovers he isn’t immune to everything . . . .

Being an independent Loup and travelling the world? Easy.

Having to come home and face the Werewolf who broke her young heart? Challenging.

After five years away, Clare Walker finds herself back home in Scotland, working in a strip club. The tips are decent, and she gets to dance, but it isn’t a place she thought she would ever be, let alone Owen, her Pack second and the mate she has always desired.

Although Owen is determined to prove he wants to be with Clare, things can’t go smoothly between them, not when they have past issues to sort out and a bunch of unusual ‘Rogues’ to deal with.

This title contains explicit language, violence, and graphic sex.

Buy Links:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463701
Barnes&Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/she-wolf-elizabeth-morgan/1120057363?ean=2940046079852
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00MT091TK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00MT091TK&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MT091TK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00MT091TK&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelt-20&linkId=SZ2B27QAEB3Q54AN

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Excerpt:

The music ended. The two women grabbed their clothes and headed backstage, hips swinging, as one and five pound notes hung out over the edge of their thongs.

“Give it up for Jenny and Jean, our tantalizing duo,” said an invisible male, his gruff voice echoing throughout the club.

“Christ, they’ve got a voice-over.”

“Oh aye, this is a real classy joint.” Luke knocked back his beer.

“Better than some places,” Karl said.

“And now, gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to the newest Lollypop.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” I stifled my amusement with another swig of beer.

“The feral goddess with the wildest moves…. The one, the only, She-Wolf.”

“This should be interesting.” Martin grinned, slinging his right arm over the back of his chair and making himself comfortable.
A familiar guitar riff began leaking through the speakers as the stage lights turned from hot white to dusky blue. The guitar riff kicked in.

“Follow You Home” a song by my favourite band, Nickleback.

“At least she’s got good taste in music,” I murmured to no one in particular while rolling the neck of my beer bottle between my hands.

The red velvet curtains parted and the verse started. A black iron chair slid along the stage and then stopped, perfectly in the middle. The female strolled out of the shadows, one long leg in front of the other, smoking her cigarette. She wore a large black hoodie, dark denim hot pants, and black leather knee-high boots.

The prickling sensation sharpened along my spine, causing me to shiver.

“Weird fucking costume for a stripper,” Martin said.

Her long black hair hung back in a high ponytail. Black and silver eye shadow framed her eyes, the blended shades bold against her smooth, pale skin.

Smoke rolled along the stage as she stopped before the chair. At the sound of the singer’s voice, she flicked her cigarette to the side and stretched both her arms above her head. She then bent forward until she pressed her hands flat on the stage.

“What is this shit? Bloody keep fit?” Martin grunted.

“Take your fucking clothes off,” Karl shouted.

She pulled herself up slowly, and as the bass guitar kicked in, her body swayed to the right and she fell straight into a spin, which seemed to last forever.

“Looks like the stripper knows ballet,” Robert said.

“Fuck the stripper.” Luke laughed. “How d’ya know that’s ballet she’s doing?”

“My little sister has studied it for years,” Robert said, his focus glued to the stage.

The woman dropped into splits. After a moment, she brought around her right leg from behind to join her left, and then fell backward. She pushed herself off the floor, then jumped up and landed on her feet. A wicked grin curled the corners of her mouth as she rolled down the zip of her hoodie, exposing inch by inch of creamy, pale flesh.

The familiar sweet scent touched my nose once more, growing more potent with each second, battling against the other smells to stand apart.  With a deep breath, I dragged the stuffy air of the club deep into my lungs, cancelling out each odour until all that remained was the aroma of . . . flowers? Not the sickly fragrance of floral perfume, but actual flowers.

Her hips began to sway as she shrugged off the hoodie and let it fall. The curve of her waist, and the sight of her supple breasts in her black lace bra, made my mouth dry. I knocked back the rest of my beer, hoping like hell it would help my sudden thirst.

The pale blue light caught the shimmer of her glitter-dusted skin as she brought up her right arm and then placed her hand behind her head.

Sizzling heat spread through my entire body as the distinct taste of wild flowers and sea salt exploded on my tongue. The bittersweet mixture filled me, conjuring images of the meadows bordering my father’s manor; of a young girl laughing as I chased her across the grounds, the scent of the sea wafting from her blonde hair.

My Wolf groaned. My blood heated.

“Great breasts,” Luke said.

“That’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Karl leaned forward and banged his fists on the table. He threw back his head and howled. Any other moment, I would have found such a reaction hilarious, but I couldn’t pull my focus from the woman on the stage; couldn’t move due to the heavy beat of my heart banging against my ribcage. I knew that scent, would know it anywhere.
She made a slow turn as she loosened her ponytail and shook her head. Her hair streamed down her back like a glossy black waterfall. She finished her spin, then her focus landed on me, and the air caught in my throat.

Clare.

Her body went rigid. Her sultry gaze hardened as she stared at me.

Clare Walker. I’d know those moonlit eyes anywhere.

What in God’s name is she doing working in a fucking strip club?

Straightening, I tensed as my wolf skimmed the surface. My energy pulsed as his focus zoned in on her. A moment was all it took. My Wolf settled. Satisfaction hummed through me. Acceptance.

What the fuck?

Her jaw tensed, chin tilted up as she stared us both down for a single moment, before she ran and grabbed hold of the stage pole on the right. Her feet left the floor as she wrapped her legs around the brass and spun.

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, but the tension didn’t drain from my body.

Her feet hit the floor, the pole between her perfect thighs. She pulled herself upwards, rubbing herself against the warm metal.
Every drop of blood in my body headed south.

She swung round and pressed her back against the pole. Her hands traveled down her breasts, then her stomach, to stop at the waist of her hot pants.

My jeans suddenly felt too tight, and the sound of my heartbeat drowned out the loud music.

She slid her hot pants down her thighs and….

The neck of the beer bottle broke in my hands.

“You okay?” Robert looked at the bottle.

I let my gaze slip down to the broken glass and grunted. “Oops.”

Throwing the shards on the table, my attention turned back to Clare. She crouched before a group of men pushed up against the stage. Fire licked through me at the sight of them slipping notes into her cleavage and the band of her knickers, their fingers skimming her milky flesh. The sight caused a strangled snarl to break from my throat.

Easy boy, this is Clare. It’s just Clare.

My Wolf began to pace, hackles rising, the urge to beat the shit out of them and protect her overwhelming me. No man had any right to touch her. I didn’t want any other man to touch her, let alone look at her, and the sudden realization scared the hell out of me.

She stood and danced away from them. Every move she made was graceful; each step seemed to have a meaning. Touched by the fake moonlight, her body shimmered with sweat and sparkling body dust. She looked exotic, feral. She was Loup-garou. She was mine.

No. Not mine. She’s not mine. It’s fucking Clare, for Christ’s sake!

That simple fact didn’t stop the images filling my mind—images of her writhing across the damp earth of the forest floor, the light of the moon bathing her pale flesh. I’d explore every curve and crevice with my fingers and tongue until she begged me to mark her. Claim her.

Those wants alone had me hard as a rock, and on the border of having a panic attack.

Fuck, this is bad. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain. Margaret Thatcher dancing naked in the rain . . . .

Hiding my hands under the table, I pulled the small shard of glass from my right palm, ignoring the tingle of my flesh pulling together and closing the small wound.

Five years since I had last seen her. She’d been nineteen and preparing to go to London to live with her mother while she studied dance at university. By the look of her body, she had studied damn hard.

My fingers sank into my thighs as she curled around the left brass pole.

Last time I had seen her, she wore dungarees she could hardly fill. Now, her body looked athletic, but she had more curves than a damn racetrack.

She turned her back to the audience. My focus slipped to the four, tattooed paw prints climbing up her right hip. I couldn’t stop the smile forming on my lips, nor stop the thought of tracing those delicate designs with my tongue.

She stepped up on the chair and spun again.

“I think I’ve found my lap dancer.” Karl’s words came out slurred.

The urge to punch his head through the wall rushed through me.

Clare dropped onto the chair. Her knees spread wide, showing the audience the soft junction of her milky thighs.

I swallowed the groan lodged in my throat. The zip of my jeans was two seconds away from splitting.

Applause roared throughout the room as she struck her final pose and the music ended. Tension wound through my entire body, and I had to fight to stay in my chair as a string of crude comments left the mouths of the majority of men around me.

She grabbed her clothes and made her way off stage. The hypnotic sway of her hips, and the sight of her perky arse sitting in those lace panties, struck as painfully uncomfortable. The blood in my veins burned; the tension in my muscles pulsed.

She disappeared from view.

What was this insane, ecstatic joy that she hadn’t removed her underwear in front of these perverted bastards about? All I knew was that if she had, I would have had to kill everyone.

Not good, Owen.

The sweet smell of her sweat had mixed with her natural aroma which now seemed to cling to my nostrils, teasing me. I wanted to find her, rip those knickers off her with my teeth, and bury my head between her thighs until she came apart on my tongue.

Not fucking good at all.

Deep breath. What I needed to do was calm the fuck down and then talk to her. And I really needed to talk to her. This was Clare, for fuck’s sake. I had watched her grow up. This was wrong. So fucking wrong.

The metal frame of the chair dented under the pressure of my fingertips as the others continued to talk about her.

What the fuck was she doing here, anyway? Taking her clothes off and dancing in a shitty strip joint?

She was supposed to be performing on cruise ships. In clothing.

Her life is not my business. It’s not my business. At least it wasn’t, until now.

“So, Owen, you having a lap dance or-or not?” Karl burped, then knocked down the rest of his beer “Going to be a bit fuck-king boring sitting ’ere on your own. Maybe we can find you a nice blonde.”

Fuck it! I needed to speak to her.

~ * ~

Cranberry BloodCranberry Blood
Blood Series: Book One

Blurb:

Killing Vampires? Easy.

Tracking someone? Simple.

Helping, and protecting a Vampire slayer . . . . Bloody hard work!

Thirteen years ago, Brendan Daniels made a deal with a psychic. In exchange for information on the whereabouts of a Rogue Werewolf, he promised to help and protect Sofia’s granddaughter. Unfortunately, he had no idea what he was letting himself, or his Pack, in for.

Nothing about Heather is simple, from her weird dietary needs to her life’s mission. The girl can handle herself, but the promise to protect her soon becomes a need, and one he can’t fully understand.

Vampire Slayer.
Born Infected.
Addicted to blood . . . but not by choice.

Heather Ryan is the current Slayer in a long family line. Like all before her, she has spent her life searching for her ancestor, Marko Pavel, the Vampire her family has sworn to kill. If that isn’t complicated enough, she is also a born “Infected”, and to keep her from becoming insane or giving in to her darker side, she is on a very strict diet.

Now that her Grandmother Sofia has passed, it is up to Heather to take the family legacy into her own hands. Or at least, it would have been…if her Grandmother hadn’t sent a Werewolf to help her.

What is the irritating Brendan supposed to help her with? Sofia never told either of them. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for Heather and Brendan to find out that the Vampires have big plans, and that the Leeches have waited a long time for them both.

This title contains explicit language, violence, and some scenes of a sexual nature.

Buy Links:

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463706
Barnes&Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cranberry-blood-elizabeth-morgan/1112119033?ean=2940046079869
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00MXDVWDQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00MXDVWDQ&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelthouse-21
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MXDVWDQ/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00MXDVWDQ&linkCode=as2&tag=lucyfelt-20&linkId=CQDU4R7DSSLXHE64

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Excerpt:

Lights spluttered above me, fighting with some relentless attempt to come back on, even though the battle appeared hopeless.
It is hopeless.
I’m trapped.

Fresh waves of pain rippled around my skull and down my spine as I fought to see everything around me, but thick grey smoke flooded the corridors. It crawled down my throat; the taste and feel of ash coated my tongue, making me gag. The need to cough kept grabbing me while ash blocked my nose and stung my watering eyes. My head throbbed, pressure in my skull tightened, as I fought hard to keep my eyes open.

There has to be a way out.

My eyesight had clouded from the smoke; my nostrils burned with it.

The awareness under my skin blazed as hot as the fire that currently threatened to bring the entire structure down on my head, but I had to walk down here; every impulse in my body forced me forward. I had no idea what I hoped to find, but I knew in my gut that I could get out.

My right hand hit the uneven wall before me; my heart sank as I stood before the dead end.

My lungs burned as the smoke continued to consume my body.

I wasn’t supposed to die down here.
Chapter One

~ Heather ~

Air scorched my throat as my body jerked into consciousness. Eyes wide and unfocused, I shot into a sitting position, fisting my hands against my chest as I fought to breathe. My heart hammered, each beat loud and clear as it thumped in my ears. My gaze darted around the room. Relief settled over me like a gentle summer’s breeze as each small familiarity of my bedroom filtered into my jumbled mind: the tall, old mahogany wardrobe to the right side; the window, where light desperately tried to seep through the blinds; and lastly, across from the foot of my bed, the vanity table in the same dark shade of wood. Everything exactly where it should be, including me, in my bed, exactly where I should be.

I inhaled, the simple motion causing a stitch to run up my sides, but I ignored it. Sinking against my pillows, I rested my head against the wooden bed frame and closed my eyes. One breath, two, three; my heart steadied back into its usual rhythm. I rubbed my hands across my face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had broken over my skin. On my exhale, the quietness of the room embraced me. The usual knots in my stomach started to tighten as the confusion of the recurring dream faded. I forced my mind to reach out and grab the escaping images, but, as always, reality quickly settled in and made my vision nothing more than a blank canvas.

Dull throbbing picked up at my temples. Shit. A sigh escaped me. Not again.

I threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed, suddenly aware of something gripping the skin of my stomach and back.

“What the—?” The raised hem of my black vest allowed a glimpse at the white bandage strapped around my torso. “How the hell did that get there?”

Shuffling steps took me over to the mirror on the vanity table where I studied the clean dressing that clung to my washed-out skin.
Brow furrowed, I stared at the white patch. “Okay. I really don’t remember hurting myself, let alone bandaging myself up.” My focus snapped to a smaller bandage, taped on the left side of my forehead. I studied my half-naked reflection with confusion. My already pale, peach skin looked pasty white, my golden curls nothing more than flat frizz. The throb in my temples increased as I forced my mind to conjure some memory of what had happened last night.

Blurred snippets of my most recent trip to London skipped through my brain. Standing on the roof across the way from some club . . . . Then nothing but blank.

I grabbed my comb and sat down on the edge of the bed, a hiss escaping my lips as pain shot up my left side. I took a deep breath and began to pull the comb through my matted hair, clenching my teeth as agony bit at my skull with each sharp tug. My mind continued to sift through snips of the night: going out to look for Carlson, finding him with Antonio. They had followed three drunken women from a club and dragged them into a loading bay behind one of the larger shops. Me following them and helping the three women get away . . . . At least, I think I did.

But what happened after that? More blankness. Damn.

Hair pulled over one shoulder; I plaited the limp mass and then placed the comb on the vanity table. My forehead began to tighten, and the painful awareness of the familiar thirst that started to crawl up my dry throat assailed my system. My stomach gurgled.
God, I feel rough. I needed food and my mixture, followed by a long, hot shower.

Rolling my head in a circle, I listened to the small pops of tense muscles as I walked to the head of the bed and reached behind the pillows for my sword. My hand met the mattress. My heart stopped. I threw the pillow aside.

Where the hell is my sword?

A strange reckoning tickled below the surface of my skin as my gaze tripped over the room. Something isn’t right.

I walked around my bed to my wardrobe and pulled out a pair of black jogging pants. My focus landed on my sheathed sword, which leant against the white wall behind the bedside table. I slipped into the garment and grabbed my sword, unsheathing the blade as I tiptoed to my bedroom door.

The leather sheath got tossed on my messy bed and the door eased open. Daylight flooded through the slim stairwell window, lighting up the narrow, cream-coloured hallway.

I walked over to the next door and opened it gently; the familiar smell of my Grandmother’s musky perfume hit me as I stepped into the room. I lowered my sword since no one stood there, but my feet refused to move. Her furniture sat where the pieces always had been. The purple bedding laid neatly, not a crease in sight. A layer of dust covered her bedside table. The faintest trace of her scent still lingered. A ball of grief swelled in my chest, lodging tightly between my throat and heart.

I hadn’t taken a single step in here for over a month. She would have wanted me to clean, to open the window and air out the room, but I honestly couldn’t bear the thought of dusting her away just yet.

I backed out of the room and shut the door, letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

I’m finally going crazy. Somehow, I got myself home; it doesn’t really matter how. Maybe I came in, sorted myself out, and then passed out in bed? I must have. What other explanation could there be?

With a sigh, I walked across the landing to the bathroom door. The throb in my temples increased. My muscles felt tighter than a bowstring. A shower and something to eat and drink; these should do the trick. Then maybe my brain would decide to start working, and I could fill in the blanks.

The scent of wet dog flew into my face once across the bathroom threshold. My clothes from last night sat in a shredded pile on the black marble floor, along with my set of daggers. The first aid kit lay open in the sink.

A deep inhale revealed more; combined with the smell of dog, the bathroom held traces of blood. My blood.

I stepped into the room and peered into the waste-bin to see a large amount of dried, red cotton wool.

“I don’t remember doing this.” My eyes bugged at the mess.

Surely, I would remember doing this? Why the hell do I smell dog? Another inhale. And pine?

Something really didn’t feel right. I had never been so bad that I couldn’t remember what had happened on a hunt, and by the looks of things, I’d been in real bad shape.

Back into the hall and to creep quietly down the stairs. The odour of dog grew with each step, the smell of coffee and bacon gradually joining in. My stomach clenched at the familiarity of walking down these stairs every morning to find my grandmother happily cooking breakfast in our kitchen. Minus the smell of animal, though.

I couldn’t believe she’d died almost six weeks ago. God, I miss her.

As I stepped into the lower hall, a glance out of the side window showed my black Range Rover sitting in front of the house, between the front door/porch and the closed, wrought iron security gate. A long, silver scratch marred the paintwork on the bonnet. Antonio’s face flashed through my mind.

I remembered stumbling back to the car to find him there, waiting for me. The bastard had dragged his filthy claw along my Rover. That son-of-a-bitch!

I killed him, though. I think. He lunged and . . . . I looked down at my left arm. Two pale lines slashed across my skin. He’d stumbled and caught me on the arm, but I got him in the neck . . . .

The sudden sound of rustling paper snapped me from my thoughts. Tension grabbed me, the awareness crackling beneath the surface of my skin.

Someone is in my house.

Stepping through the open living room door, a new scent invaded my nostrils. Tangy, manufactured, like expensive cologne. An unfamiliar, black travel bag sat tucked away between the red leather sofa and the TV stand. The papers rustled again. I moved lightly toward the archway that lead into the dining room, my sword still gripped comfortably in my right hand.

“Your breakfast is getting cold, Heather. I suggest you stop trying to sneak in here and just come in so that we can get this over and done with,” said the deep male voice of whoever was in my kitchen.

What the hell is going on? Who is he? Why is he in my house? How does he know my name? And why the hell has he cooked me breakfast?

I took a deep breath, and then exhaled before slowly walking through the archway into the empty dining room. When I turned my head to the left, I saw a strange man seated at my kitchen breakfast bar. He sat casually, in jeans and a forest green T-shirt that clung to his broad, sculpted back and defined biceps. The sun flooded into the kitchen through the side window and glinted off his copper-blond hair, which brushed his shoulders.

“Are you going to come into the room or stand there drooling all day?” He turned a page of his newspaper. I couldn’t place his accent, nor the sleepy twang that couldn’t quite form at the edge of his words.

I inhaled again; nothing new amongst the scent of dog, pine, bacon, and coffee, which meant he wasn’t a Vampire. Leeches smelled like mouldy, wet earth; not an overpowering smell, but hidden underneath the products they wore. Not that a Vampire could get in here, anyway. They could only come in with a personal invite, and since they all wanted me dead . . . . No matter what state I’d been in last night, I wouldn’t have invited one in. So, who the hell is this guy?

I walked toward him, my sword glinting in the sunlight, the hilt gripped firmly in both hands. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I stopped three feet behind him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Wrong answer.” The tip of my sword found the firm space between his shoulder blades. “I said, who the hell are you and what—”

“Killing me isn’t going to help.” He turned another page of his paper.

“I disagree. I think killing the stranger who broke into my house is a very good idea.”

“I did not break in,” he replied calmly. “My name is Brendan Daniels and I’m actually here to help you.”

I snorted. “Like I believe that.”

“It’s the truth. Besides, if I really wanted to hurt you, I would have. I also wouldn’t have left your weapons with you.”

“Well, you’re obviously an eejit.”

He laughed. “You have serious trust issues.”

“Trust issues? Says the complete stranger who broke into my house and—”

“I used your house keys. They were in your jacket pocket,” he said. “And yes, trust issues, says the stranger. The stranger who promises he isn’t here to hurt you.”

“Just because you say you’re not here to hurt me doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”

“True. But why go to the trouble of killing you when I could have left you lying in the car park the other night and let the seven greedy Leeches looking for you find you and bleed you dry?”

My stomach turned as memories of my outing slammed clearly into my brain. I had walked into a trap, so set on finding Carlson that the need to kill the bastard once and for all had blocked all sense and reason. Twelve lower generation Vampires had been waiting on the rooftops surrounding the loading bay. Carlson and Antonio wouldn’t stop talking, so I backed out of the area, and that’s when I saw them all. Their blood-red eyes watched my every move as their mouths hung wide, displaying their fangs.

“I have waited so long for this moment,” Carlson had said.

So had I.

My grandmother never told me where to find him. She wouldn’t let me kill him even though he deserved my sword through his neck more than any other Vampire.

They obviously found out Gran had died and simply waited for me to come out and play. I went, and they had been waiting for me, and like some amateur, I walked right into their trap. I killed two Vampires in order to get out of the loading bay, and then I had the other ten, along with Carlson and Antonio, chasing me through the dark and empty back streets of London. I tried to lead them somewhere humans wouldn’t find us; much good it did me.

But none of that explained who this guy was or why the hell he’d made himself at home in my kitchen.

“So you were there?”

“That much is obvious. Who do you think brought you home?”

“How did you even know where I live?”

“You have sat-nav in your Rover. And, like I said, I’m here to help.” He slid off the stool; the tip of my sword grazed his green T-shirt.

I clenched my teeth. “Why help me? You don’t even know me.”

He finally turned to face me. He’d pulled back his copper-blond hair, allowing me to see his face fully. A broad nose accompanied by high cheekbones and a tall forehead set off the deepest green eyes I’d ever seen. A fine layer of copper stubble outlined his square jaw and surrounded thick, peach lips.

His emerald eyes sparkled as I met his gaze.

“True, but I helped you because I thought it would be in your best interest to get you back to the safety of your own house.”
He thought it would be in my best interest? Who the hell does this guy think he is, a knight in shining armour? He looks like a friggin’ Ken doll, for Christ’s sake, and . . . . Wait a damn minute. “Seven Vampires?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Before, you said seven Vampires? There were twelve left.”

“Well, you eventually killed the Italian one before collapsing in front of your car, leaving eleven. The blond one who couldn’t decide whether he wanted to eat you or screw you—”

“Carlson.” I shuddered at the memory of him pinning my body to the rough concrete road. His thighs clamped my legs shut as he lapped at the blood trickling down my forehead . . . .

“Well, turns out he, as well as three of the others, actually needed their heads to fight back, but the rest of them ran off, and since my priority is you—”

“You’re the one who knocked Carlson off me?”

Memories exploded and rolled around my mind like storm clouds. Carlson had slid his talons into my waist, knocking me to the pavement and causing me to cut my forehead. He had pinned me between the ground and his growing erection while he demanded I beg him to change me. A few cheap insults and shoving some silver in his ribcage was enough to piss him off—as if I would want to be blood-bonded to the bastard who’d helped destroy my mother and father. On my refusal, he’d bared his fangs; about to feed from me…then the next thing I knew, he was gone. Once I got to my feet, I saw four decomposing bodies on the ground, only yards away from where I, myself, had almost bled to death.

“Yes.” He picked up a glass of orange juice and took a mouthful.

“Carlson is dead?”

He gulped. “Well, last time I checked, decapitation usually does the trick. So, yeah.”

A strange relief flooded me. My hands began to tremble. I tightened my grip, trying to keep a firm hold on my sword. “Are you a hundred and ten percent sure he’s dead?”

“A hundred and forty-six percent sure.”

I couldn’t believe it. Carlson, dead. Well, in the sense that he wouldn’t be prowling the streets or feeding ever again. He was actually gone. I suddenly didn’t know whether to hug this strange man, or kill him for taking away my opportunity to kill the monster that’d infected my mother. “Why did you kill him?”

He laughed. “Well, I was considering letting him and the rest of his friends eat you, but then that wouldn’t have made me a very good guardian, now, would it?”

~ * ~

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Morgan is a multi-published author of urban fantasy, paranormal, erotic horror, f/f, and contemporary; all with a degree of romance, a dose of action and a hit of sarcasm, sizzle or blood, but you can be sure that no matter what the genre, Elizabeth always manages to give a unique and often humorous spin to her stories.

Like her tagline says; A pick ‘n’ mix genre author. “I’m not greedy. I just like variety.”

And that she does, author of erotic ménage horror, Creak, paranormal erotic horror and UK, US & Australian Amazon best seller (Gay/Lesbian, Fiction, Lesbian), On the Rocks, erotic romance, US, UK & Spanish Amazon bestseller (Erotica Short Story) Truth or Dare? And sweet contemporary romance, UK & US Amazon bestseller (British/Drama & Plays) Stepping Stones.

She also has her hand in self-publishing. Look out for more information on her upcoming releases at her website: www.e-morgan.com

Away from the computer, Elizabeth can be found in the garden trying hard not to kill her plants, dancing around her little cottage with the radio on while she cleans, watching movies or good television programmes – Dr Who? Atlantis? The Musketeers? Heck, yes! – Or curled up with her two cats reading a book.

For more information on Elizabeth’s work, published and upcoming, head on over to her site:

Website:www.e-morgan.com
Blog:
www.xxxxmyworldxxxx.blogspot.com
Twitter: @
EMorgan2010
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/ElizabethMorgan
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.morgan.944
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/elizabethm2012/boards/
Blog: (Shared with Dianna Hardy):
http://notjustastiffupperlip.blogspot.co.uk/

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Blood Series Blog Tour

August
18th – Bex ‘n’ Books:-
http://bexnbooks.blogspot.com
19th – All Things Romance: http://lynnareynolds.wordpress.com
20th – Dianna Hardy: http://www.diannahardy.com
21st – Mina Carter: http://mina-carter.com/blog/
22nd – Jens Reading Obsession: http://jensreadingobsession.wordpress.com/
23rd – Kiru Taye: http://kirutayewrites.blogspot.co.uk/
24th – Book Reviews by Lynn: http://bookreviewsbylynn.blogspot.co.uk/
25th – Release Day:
My World: http://www.xxxxmyworldxxxx.blogspot.co.uk/
NJASUL: http://www.notjustastiffupperlip.blogspot.co.uk/
Love Bites & Silk: http://www.lovebitesandsilk.co.uk/
26th – Krista Ames: http://www.apassionforromance.blogspot.co.uk/
27th – Zee Monodee: http://zeemonodee.blogspot.co.uk/p/welcome.html
28th – Doris O’Connor: http://thetardisscribbles.blogspot.co.uk/
29th – Evocative Book Reviews: http://evocativebookreviews.com
30th – Lucy Felthouse: https://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/
31st – Ms. ME28 Reviews: http://msme28reviews.blogspot.com

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