Category Archives: Prologue
CHAPTER REVEAL ~ The Rebound by Winter Renshaw
The last time I saw Nevada Kane, I was seventeen and he was loading his things into the back of his truck, about to embark on a fourteen-hour drive to the only college that offered him a full ride to play basketball.
I told him I’d wait for him. He promised to do the same.
But life happened. I broke my promise long before he ever broke his. And not because I wanted to.
We never saw each other again …
Until ten years later when Nevada unexpectedly returned to our hometown after an abrupt retirement from his professional basketball career.
Suddenly he was everywhere, always staring through me with that brooding gaze, never returning my smiles or “hellos.”
Over the years, I’d heard that he’d changed. And that despite his multi-million dollar contracts and rampant success, life hadn’t been so kind to him.
He was a widower.
And a single father.
And rumor had it, he’d spent his last ten years trying to forget me, refusing to so much as breathe my name … hating me.
But just like a rebound, he’s back.
And I have to believe everything happens for a reason.
Prologue
Yardley Devereaux {Ten Years Ago}
He sent my letter back.
I re-read my words, imagining the way they must have made him feel.
Nevada,
I’m writing because you haven’t been taking my calls or answering my texts. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, so I thought you should hear it straight from me…
I’ve broken my promise.
But you should know that I never wanted to hurt you, none of this was planned, and I still love you more than anything I’ve ever loved in this world.
This is something I had to do. And I think if you’ll let me, I can explain in a way that makes sense and doesn’t completely obliterate the beauty of what we had.
Please don’t hate me, Nevada.
Please let me explain.
Please answer your phone.
I love you. So much.
Your dove,
Yardley
The paper is torn at the top, as if he was about to rip it to shreds but changed his mind, and on the back of my letter, in bold, black marker, is a message of his own.
NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN. Chapter OneYardley Devereaux, age 16
Yardley Devereaux {Ten Years Ago}
He sent my letter back.
I re-read my words, imagining the way they must have made him feel.
Nevada,
I’m writing because you haven’t been taking my calls or answering my texts. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, so I thought you should hear it straight from me…
I’ve broken my promise.
But you should know that I never wanted to hurt you, none of this was planned, and I still love you more than anything I’ve ever loved in this world.
This is something I had to do. And I think if you’ll let me, I can explain in a way that makes sense and doesn’t completely obliterate the beauty of what we had.
Please don’t hate me, Nevada.
Please let me explain.
Please answer your phone.
I love you. So much.
Your dove,
Yardley
The paper is torn at the top, as if he was about to rip it to shreds but changed his mind, and on the back of my letter, in bold, black marker, is a message of his own.
NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN. Chapter OneYardley Devereaux, age 16
I don’t belong here.
I realize being the new kid makes people give you a second look, but I don’t think it should give them permission to stare at you like you have a second head growing out of your nose. Or a monstrous zit on your chin. Or a period stain on your pants.
At this point it’s all the same.
Not to mention, I don’t think anyone can prepare you for what it feels like to eat lunch alone, like some social reject.
The smell of burnt tater tots makes my stomach churn, and the milk on my tray expires today. I’m pretty sure the “chicken patty on a bun” they gave me is nothing more than pink slime baked to a rock-hard consistency. I’m unwilling to risk chipping a tooth, so I refuse to try it.
Checking my watch for the millionth time, I calculate approximately 3 1/2 hours left until I can go home and tell my parents what an amazing first day I had. That’s what they want to hear anyway. Dad moved us here from California with the promise that we were going to be richer than sin, whatever that means. But if Missouri is such a gold mine then why doesn’t the rest of the world move here? So far, Lambs Grove looks like the kind of place you’d see in some independent film about a mother trying to solve her son’s murder with the help of a crooked police department, starring Jake Gyllenhaal, JK Simmons, and Frances McDormand.
Okay, I’m probably being dramatic.
But this place is pretty lame. I miss the ocean. I miss the constant sunshine and the steady stream of seventy-five degree days. I miss the swaying palm trees.
I miss my friends.
Forcing your kid to move away from the town they’ve grown up in their entire life—in the middle of their sophomore—year is cruel. I don’t care how rich dad says we’re going to get, I’d have rather stayed in Del Mar, driven a rusting Honda, and paid my own way through a technical college if it had meant we didn’t have to move.
And can we talk about my name for a second? Yardley. Everyone here has normal names. Alyssa. Monica. Taylor. Heather. Courtney. If I have to spell my name for someone one more time I’m going to scream. My mom wanted my name to be special and different because apparently she thinks I’m special and different, but naming your daughter Yardley doesn’t make her special. It just makes it so she’ll never find her name on a souvenir license plate.
I’d go by my middle name if it weren’t equally as bad, but choosing between Yardley and Dove is akin to picking your own poison.
Yardley Dove Devereaux.
My parents are cruel.
I rest my case.
I pop a cold tater tot into my mouth and force myself to chew. I’ll be damned if I’m that girl sitting in third block with a stomach growling so loud it drowns out the teacher. I don’t need more people staring.
Pulling my notebook from my messenger bag, I pretend to focus on homework despite the fact that it’s the first day of spring semester and none of my teachers have assigned anything yet, but it’s better than sitting here staring at the block walls of the cafeteria like some loser.
Pressing my pen into the paper, I begin to write:
Monday, January 7, 2008
This day sucks.
The school sucks.
This town sucks.
These people suck.
After a minute, I toss my pen aside and exhale.
“What about me? Do I suck?” A pastel peach lunch tray plops down beside me followed by a raven-haired boy with eyes like honey and a heartbreaker’s smile. My heart flutters in my chest. He’s gorgeous. And I have no idea why he’s sitting next to me. “Nevada.”
“No. California. I’m from Del Mar,” I say, clearing my throat and sitting up straight.
The boy laughs through his perfectly straight nose.
I can’t take my eyes off his dimpled smirk. He can’t take his eyes off me.
“My name,” he says. “It’s Nevada. Like the state. And you are?”
“New,” I say.
He laughs at me again, eyes rolling. “Obviously. What’s your name?”
My cheeks warm. Apparently, I can’t human today. “Yardley.”
“Yardley from California.” He says my name like he’s trying to memorize it as he studies me. I squirm, wanting to know what he’s thinking and why he’s gazing at me like I’m some kind of magnificent creature and not some circus sideshow new girl freak. “What brings you here?”
He pops one of my tator tots between his full lips, grinning while he chews.
Nevada doesn’t look like the boys where I’m from. He doesn’t sound like them either. He isn’t sun kissed with windswept surfer hair. His features are darker, more mysterious. One look at this tall drink of water and I know he’s wise beyond his years. Mischievous and charismatic but also personable.
He’s … everything.
And he’s everything I never expected to come across in a town like this.
A group of girls at the table behind us gape and gawk, whispering and nudging each other. It occurs to me then that this might be a set-up, that this beautiful boy might be talking to this awkward new girl as a dare.
“Ignore them,” he says when he follows my gaze toward the plastic cheerleader squad sitting a few feet away. “They’re just jealous.”
I lift a brow. “Of what?”
He smirks, laughing at me like I’m supposed to ‘get it.’
“What?” I ask. If this is a joke, I want to be in on it. I refuse to add butt-of-the-joke to the list of reasons why this day can go to hell.
“They’re jealous because they think I’m about to ask you out,” he says, licking his lips. Nevada hasn’t taken his eyes off me since the moment he sat down.
“Should I go inform them that they have absolutely no reason to shoot daggers our way?”
His expression fades. “Why would you say that?”
“Because …” I laugh. “You’re not about to ask me out.”
“I’m not?”
I peel my gaze off of him and glance down at my untouched lunch. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why am I doing what? Talking to you? Trying to get the courage to ask you on a date?”
I glance up, studying his golden gaze and trying to determine if he’s being completely serious right now.
“You’ve never seen me before in your life and then you just … plop down next to me and ask me on a date?” I shake my head before rising. If I have to dump my tray and hide in the bathroom until the bell rings, then so be it.
“Where are you going?”
My lips part. “I … I don’t know. I …”
Nevada reaches for me, wrapping his hand around my wrist in a silent plea for me to stay. “Do you have a boyfriend back in California? Is that what this is about?”
“What? No.” This guy is relentless.
“Then go on a date with me,” he says, rising. “Friday.”
“Why?”
His expression fades. “Why?”
The bell rings. Thank God.
“I was new once. So I get it,” he says, fighting another dimpled smirk. God, I could never get tired of looking at a face like his. “And, uh … I think you’re, like, really fucking hot.”
Biting my lower lip and trying my damnedest to keep a straight face, I decide I won’t be won over that easily. It takes a lot more than a sexy smile, some kind words, and a curious glint in his sunset eyes. If he truly wants me … if this isn’t a joke and he honestly thinks I’m “really fucking hot,” he’s going to have to prove it.
“Bye, Nevada,” I say, gathering my things and disappearing into a crowd of students veering toward two giant trash cans.
I don’t wait for him to respond and I don’t turn around, but I feel him watching me—if that’s even possible. There’s this electric energy pulsing through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I’m not sure if it’s excitement or anticipation or the promise of hope … but I can’t deny that it’s real and it’s there.
Making my way to the second floor of Lambs Grove High, I find my English Lit classroom and settle into a seat in the back.
For the tiniest sliver of a second, I imagine the two of us together. We’re laughing and happy and so in love that it physically hurts—the kind of thing I’ve never had with anyone else.
The tardy bell rings and a few more students shuffle in. My teacher takes roll call before beginning his lecture, but I don’t hear any of it.
I can’t stop thinking about that beautiful boy.
Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.
And if you’d like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here
Author Links
Share this:
RE-RELEASE ~ The Witch’s Savior by Bethany Frost
The Witch’s Savior is LIVE!
The Witch’s Savior
Bethany Frost
Release Date: 11/5/17
Blurb:
Trinity, high priestess of the Starlight Coven, is being threatened by an evil warlock. Feeling a constant threat on her life, she finds herself taking drastic measures. Just when she thinks she has dodged a bullet, she meets a sexy British witch. Faced with new feelings for this hot stranger and a constant worry for danger, she has to face the inevitable. Her friends worry, her family has no clue, and in this, she is on her own. Has she finally escaped evil or has evil changed the game?
Tobias is after the witch that stole from his family. Thrown into unknown territory on a mission, he is determined to succeed. When he first meets a beautiful witch, he has no problem following through with his orders. When he has to start fighting his growing affection for her, is where the issues begin. Facing her isn’t the only problem now. Between his family and her friends, there seems to be more to the story than what he has been told. When he starts questioning himself, he gets faced with the ultimate battle; is he fighting evil or will evil cost him everything?
Excerpt:
Prologue
Ever since I was a small child, I knew that there was something different about me. I was always a little strange—stranger than the kids I knew at least. Most people can remember snippets of their child-hood, but I could remember being different since I
could understand adult talk. If I was sad, it would rain. If I was mad, there would be a lightning storm. If I was happy, it would be sunny. Most people would think that my mood would reflect the weather, but I knew that the weather would reflect my mood. I would beg my mom and aunt to explain what was wrong, but they would just tell
me that I’m special and one day I would understand.
I started talking to my aunt about these oddities of mine again around the age of ten. Her reasoning? Apparently I’m a witch. Not like broom-flying, green witch from Wizard of Oz, but a person possessing magical abilities. So I started looking into paganism, concentrating on Wicca. However, that is not where my story begins. It started with this dream I had my second year of college. It wasn’t a dream so much as an out-of-body experience. I saw a man’s face, brown hair and eyes like obsidian.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said to me. Now I know that this sounds like voices in my head, but I swear I’m not insane. In fact when he spoke to me in a deep voice, I believed that it was just a dream, so I rolled with it.
“Who are you?” I asked, wondering if he could see my face too. He wasn’t far from me, but he was far enough away that I couldn’t touch him. It wasn’t some kind of floating head, but his head was the only thing I could make out.
“You can call me Brian. I had to make sure that your powers were mature enough to handle astral projection. You are growing strong.” My aunt had mentioned astral projection. I had tried it once with some of my fellow Wiccans, but it was difficult. You had to clear your mind, which was hard for me. I had only accomplished the task
once or twice, and it was going into a different dorm room while someone was sleeping, not a completely different plane.
“What do you want?” I asked, wondering how this person even knew me to begin with.
“I want to help you. I would like to meet up with you in reality. How about the quad tomorrow night?” he offered. Now I understand the whole don’t meet strangers, but when you’re a practicing witch, strange is usually quite normal. He didn’t even wait for my answer before I was thrust back into my body. Needless to say I was intrigued. I had immediately rushed to my best friend to tell her of the dream. She was a little more hesitant than I was. She ended up talking me out of meeting him. Who knew what this guy was like? Even magical beings could be psycho killers. So after a few days, I had done my meditation, and before I knew it, I was staring back at Brian again. This time he didn’t look kind and inviting, but pissed off and even a little evil.
“You don’t know what you have done by not meeting me, little witch.” He seethed. Boy, he was mad, and I was even gladder that my friend had talked me out of it.
“Why do I have the feeling that what you said about ‘helping me’ was a bunch of bull crap?” I asked, knowing that he couldn’t hurt me on an astral plane. He laughed maniacally. It was like a laugh the evil scientist in old movies would make.
“You had better hope that I never find you, little witch. If I do, I’ll suck all those powers right out of your pretty little body,” he said, and I could feel the truth and terror fill me. Luckily when you get stressed or tense in a trance-like state, you immediately get thrown out of the astral plane. So I did what any smart witch would do. I put a curse on myself. A curse to hide my full powers and to hide my aura. A curse to help hide me from Brian. A curse that turns out didn’t work as well as I thought.
My name is Trinity Star Silvers . . . and this is where my story begins.
About the Author:
Bethany lives in Kansas with her former military husband, turned railroader, two dogs and a cat. She is a writer by day, and a worker by night. She is working on her teaching certification, learning American Sign Language, and a keeper of many hobbies.
Growing up in Phoenix, New York, Bethany was constantly writing. Whether it was for class or fun, she was always creating stories. She started off writing fanfiction, and after being pushed by her loved ones, finally finished writing her first novel. She is immensely proud to have finished “The Witch’s Savior”, and even more proud to have finished an Anthology piece as well. She is so happy to be meeting so many wonderful people in the writing community, and enjoys sharing and receiving knowledge with the people she meets.
When she is not writing or working, Bethany enjoys spending time with her family. She could have never gotten to where she is now if it was not for her family and friends; all of whom helped in some way to create each novel.
Connect with Bethany:
Share this:
CHAPTER REVEAL & GIVEAWAY ~ Sick Fux by Tillie Cole.
When Ellis Earnshaw and Heathan James met as children, they couldn’t have been more different. Ellis was loud and beautiful – all blond hair, bright laughs and smiles. Heathan was dark and brooding, and obsessed with watching things die.
The pair forged an unlikely friendship, unique and strange. Until they were ripped apart by the sick cruelty of others, separated for years, both locked in a perpetual hell.
Eleven years later, Heathan is back for his girl. Back from a place from which he thought there was no return. Back to seek revenge on those who wronged them.
Time has made Heathan’s soul darker, polluted with hatred and the thirst for blood.
Time has made Ellis a shell of her former self, a little girl lost in the vastness of her pain.
As Heathan pulls Ellis out of her mental prison, reviving the essence of who she once was, down the rabbit hole they will go.
With malice in their hearts and vengeance in their veins, they will seek out the ones who hurt and destroyed them.
One at a time.
Each one more deadly than the last.
Tick Tock.
Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for ages 18 and over.
Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for ages 18 and over.
Prologue
The first time I met Heathan James he was picking the wings off a butterfly. When I asked him why, he turned his light gray eyes my way and said, “Because I want to watch it die.”
I watched as his gaze rolled back to the squirming wingless insect in his hand. Watched his lips part as the sad creature withered and died in his palm. A long, soft breath escaped his parted lips, and a victorious smile tugged on his mouth.
I once heard of the theory that the simple flutter of a butterfly’s wings, a tiny perturbation, that merest whisper of movement in the air, could start the process of building something much bigger; a tornado, devastating thousands. A tsunami crushing iron-heavy waves onto sandy shores, obliterating everything in its path.
As I looked back on the moment we met, this introduction to Heathan James, the man who became my entire world, the pulsing marrow in my bones, I wondered if his deadly act of ripping the wings from the bright blue-and-black butterfly started such a perturbation in our lives. Not a tsunami or a tornado caused by a simple flutter, but something much darker and more sinister, caused by stripping a beautiful creature of its ability to fly, to thrive. A path of destruction no one saw coming; the sweetest, most violent deaths carried out with the gentlest of smiles on our faces and the utmost hell in our hearts.
Heathan James was never the light in my life, but instead a heavy eclipse, blotting out the sun and anything bright, bringing with him endless, eternal night and murderous tar-black blood pumping through my veins.
Heathan James was the genesis of my soul’s reawakening . . . a soul not meant for peace, but one handcrafted for death and murder and blood and bones . . .
Soulmates forged in fire, under the watchful gaze of Satan’s mocking eyes.
Heathan.
Ellis.
Just a couple of sick fux . . .
The first time I met Heathan James he was picking the wings off a butterfly. When I asked him why, he turned his light gray eyes my way and said, “Because I want to watch it die.”
I watched as his gaze rolled back to the squirming wingless insect in his hand. Watched his lips part as the sad creature withered and died in his palm. A long, soft breath escaped his parted lips, and a victorious smile tugged on his mouth.
I once heard of the theory that the simple flutter of a butterfly’s wings, a tiny perturbation, that merest whisper of movement in the air, could start the process of building something much bigger; a tornado, devastating thousands. A tsunami crushing iron-heavy waves onto sandy shores, obliterating everything in its path.
As I looked back on the moment we met, this introduction to Heathan James, the man who became my entire world, the pulsing marrow in my bones, I wondered if his deadly act of ripping the wings from the bright blue-and-black butterfly started such a perturbation in our lives. Not a tsunami or a tornado caused by a simple flutter, but something much darker and more sinister, caused by stripping a beautiful creature of its ability to fly, to thrive. A path of destruction no one saw coming; the sweetest, most violent deaths carried out with the gentlest of smiles on our faces and the utmost hell in our hearts.
Heathan James was never the light in my life, but instead a heavy eclipse, blotting out the sun and anything bright, bringing with him endless, eternal night and murderous tar-black blood pumping through my veins.
Heathan James was the genesis of my soul’s reawakening . . . a soul not meant for peace, but one handcrafted for death and murder and blood and bones . . .
Soulmates forged in fire, under the watchful gaze of Satan’s mocking eyes.
Heathan.
Ellis.
Just a couple of sick fux . . .
Signed Copy of Sick Fux, $50 Gift Card to Amazon or iTunes, and Book Swag
Open Internationally
Open Internationally
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.
Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.
Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.
When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
Author Links
Share this:
COVER & EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Wrangled by Love (The Cowboy Way Series #1) by Barb Shuler
Wrangled By Love
The Cowboy Way Series; Book 1
by Barb Shuler
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design by: MadHat Books
Tate
I could rope a calf before I could walk. Ranching is in my blood, my heart, and fills my soul. My family and I work for everything we have. But money only goes so far – sweat goes farther. My life has taken many paths. It’s made me grow up and deal with things that others only fear. My daughter is my life. No one could ever compare to that love – or so I thought. That was until this little city gal fell into our laps.
She stole my breath. Stole my thoughts, and stole my heart.
Georgie
Georgia was home until I lost everything. I had no one, so I packed up and hit the road. My dog was my only companion and for a time that was all right. Fate had other ideas though. My path brought me to Wyoming. Sprawling grasslands, wildlife and cold. I was surrounded.
My heart warmed when we got a good look at a certain cowboy. He was a brother, son and a father. He chased my blues away. Made me smile and put his heart on the line with mine.
He is my one and only. My forever.
Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
Three years ago I started off on a new adventure in this crazy unpredictable world. One that took me to new places in life – naturally – as well as emotionally and physically. Why make changes to a life that was wrapped in gold paper and sealed with a silver money clip? Many reasons. The biggest of them all was that I felt stunted as a person. I couldn’t be me without hurting feelings or letting down the people that I loved. Or so I thought. I was stuck in a dead end, nine to five job that I grew to absolutely hate. I stayed because I made a commitment that I didn’t want to break… but even good things come to an end.
I wasn’t a fan of living off my family’s money, though it was there for me. My PaPa always wanted to take care of me. He’d always say, “No granddaughter of mine will ever want or need for anything.” I loved that man more than the air I breathe now, but I couldn’t get lost in the cloud of money. I wanted a life of my own. I had to prove to him and myself that I could take care of me.
God love him, he let me do things my way once he understood what I wanted in life. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to be the responsible woman he had raised me to be. My grandfather was the man in my life from the time I was a small child. After my parents had me their lives were cut short by tragedy. My mother let her depression over take her mind and ended her struggles with a bottle of pills and a bottle of gin. My father, distraught that his one true love had left him, suffered for years. His depression never seemed to get better. One day when I was about four he just up and disappeared. His body was found years later by hikers. We still don’t know exactly what happened to him. My father was an avid outdoorsman. There was no way it was an accident, whatever it was.
It was just me and PaPa from then on. I don’t really remember much of my father. I have vague memories, but that’s it, other than the pictures I carry with me of him, and my mother and me as a newborn. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on my PaPa until the man I idolized most in my life was taken from me. He had a long, and happy life. He took his last breaths with me at his bedside retelling stories of my favorite memories of us. We had family there, but no one mattered except my PaPa. That night I vowed to change my life. I was going to be happy doing things I wanted to do. I just had to figure out how to go about doing it.
Deciding I needed a clean slate, I sold my house and set a lease with the Historical Society to use my PaPa’s home on the tours of homes – which was a way to preserve it and keep everything just as it was. His maids and butler, who my PaPa had with him for as long as I could remember, were staying on to help keep the home up. Their monthly pay was sent automatically to them through the lawyers, as was anything else home related. It was a way to make sure I always had a place to call home. My heart would always be where my PaPa was.
After weeks of thinking, planning and sorting out my life, I cashed in the savings bonds my PaPa left me and anything else that didn’t hold sentimental value from my belongings. My friend – Kaitlyn – would check in on things for me as well while I was gone. I had my bills (phone, insurance, life insurance and my two credit cards) all set up to do autopayments, so nothing important would be in the mail anyhow. It didn’t take long to decide what went, so I packed my SUV with what I had to have, such as clothes, my german shepherd dog, Tango, and small things that I could never part with and I was ready. As soon as I had cash in hand – via my bank card – I headed off on the adventure of a lifetime. I had a road map, a GPS app on my smartphone, and a helluva lot of time to kill.
No one expects to be this lucky at the age of twenty-nine. I didn’t have to work. I didn’t have to be accountable to anyone, or anything. I was free. I was a bird in the wind that could soar as high or low as she wanted. I took advantage of the freedom. I searched small towns for trinkets. I went to movies and plays in the larger metropolitan cities. I ate at restaurants mere tables away from movie stars and famous ball players. Was I impressed? Eh, not really, people are people. They wanted their freedom and alone time as much as I did. Anyone I passed got a smile and that was about it.
After a few months of said adventure I knew I was in heaven. I had the freedom of the road, and was able to do what I wanted, when I wanted. Who knew being my own boss would be so freeing. Thanks to my PaPa I had more money than I would ever need, so I was definitely taking advantage of it. I was going to discover who I was. Or I wouldn’t. As long as I had wheels under me, food in my tummy and my bank card, I was golden.
That was what I had always said, until an accident in the backwoods of some small, indistinguishable town led me to stumble into the man that would change things for me. An accident changes things for you. Makes you rethink things. But it can also set you off on a new path. My path led me to the infuriatingly, super sexy cowboy that made my anger rise, my lady bits throb, and my heart skip a beat at his smile. And that was after he yelled at me. I yelled back, but really… It was all for show. I think.
That man not only put me on the fence about the truth behind his actions, he cracked my heart wide open. He showed me what I was missing in life – he showed me what it was to be me. To be loved and desired in ways I could have only imagined. I was free to be what he desired. I was free to be the woman that set him free as well. Together we had it all, even our start was not so easy.
Life is never easy, though. Life is a rollercoaster and I’m here with my arms up, a laugh bubbling inside me, and the man that now owns my heart and soul at my side.
Chapter One
Road Tripping
Georgie
“Tango, stop, lift and pee already, would ya?” I called out to my German Shepherd as he sniffed around the empty lot behind the gas station. I was off the road for a few minutes to pee, get some gas and hopefully find a little off the road eating place. I was starving. But, first things first. I needed him to pee, so I could go in and pee. How hard was it to hike a leg? Or cop a squat? Jesus. I was squirming now more than before. I needed to go and he was taking forever. I was not about to leave him out here in bumfuck egypt alone. He wouldn’t go to a stranger, far from it, but I wasn’t chasing him, or taking the risk of him chasing someone off and getting shot or hit by a car.
“TANGO! Dude, hurry your furry butt up!”
I saw a man pumping gas at the other pump give me a look and I smiled at him. I wanted to roll my eyes but I stopped myself, only barely. Finally, after what seemed like four days of waiting, Tango cocked his leg up, peed and then had to do that damn, macho man ‘I peed here so it’s mine’ dance where he kicked his back legs up and growled.
“I swear on all that’s holy I will make you sleep outside if you don’t get over here,” I muttered as the man getting gas eyed me. Maybe he thought I was talking to myself. Possibly. Sorry, mister. I ain’t crazy yet. I smiled at my thoughts. My gaze went back to the older man at the pump. He seemed to take notice when Tango ran around the building and back to me. He sat with a hand signal and I gave him a treat. That was how he was trained after all. He went, he got a treat. It’s not that he was spoiled or anything. No, never.
“Good dog, Tango. Now, load up. Momma has to pee, and pay for the gas before this fella calls the cops ‘cause he thinks I’m gonna run off on him.” I pushed his muzzle away from my face when he decided I needed a slobbery lick on the cheek. “Not now, Romeo,” I said, laughing as I pushed him back into the SUV, shut the door and gave him the signal to stay through the opened window. I jogged across the parking lot. I hurried into the store and back to the bathrooms.
When I came out I smiled at the man behind the counter before grabbing a bag of Doritos, a Dr Pepper and of course, two big bottles of water for Tango. I paid for everything, gas included, and headed back out after a not so nice chat with the clerk. Men are idiots. But I did finally get him to tell me that all that was close by in the way of food stops was a burger place. I’ll pass on that. Tango and greasy stuff was a no go. The dog had enough gas issues as it was. I swear, sometimes it was like he’d had something crawl up in him and die. He was stealthy about it too. He was secretly trying to kill me with toxic fumes. I just knew it.
As I walked back to my vehicle I noticed there was a new truck parked across from me. I watched the two men as I opened the back door to grab Tango’s bucket. Hey, it’s a road trip and he’s messy. Least with a bucket and the three towels on his seat my seats won’t get ruined. He could drink in peace and I wouldn’t get a slobbery water bath, again.
“Hey, sexy, that your dog there?” I sighed and turned, slamming the door a little harder than I needed to. I glanced at the men then to Tango. He was alert, ears pricked up and his shoulders tight. I shook my head as I moved to open the driver’s door, making sure I blocked Tango’s exit. He was very protective of me after all. He had been since my PaPa got him for me. That had been two years ago. Tango was one of the last birthday presents I got from my PaPa. He gave me someone to love, a protector and a friend all in one.
“Nah man, he like, totally came with the car,” I said in my best Valley girl impression. Ugh, that made my own head hurt.
“I think she’s a bit of a smartass, man,” the one ass said to his friend.
“Watch it, bro. Dogs bite,” the other one said. I was guessing it was to warn his friend, who had taken a few steps around his truck.
“He’d bite me?”
“Yerp, like you were a nice juicy steak.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything to ya, sexy.”
“You’re annoying me, isn’t that enough? I asked, sardonically.
“Oh, we got a feisty one, Jet,” the idiot in the truck said.
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Why can’t I shoot stupid people?” I muttered as climbed up in the seat and shut the door. Tango licked my hand as I patted his shoulder. “Easy, big fella. Ignore them. Apparently they don’t get enough oxygen up here. It makes them stupider than a bag full of rocks.”
I started the SUV, pulled out of the space, and flipped the two idiots a one finger salute before pulling out of the station’s parking lot onto the road. We were somewhere in Colorado. I was following I-25 up and heading into Wyoming. I’d rented a cabin, one that I’d found online of all places, for a few weeks. Summer was finally here and I wanted to take advantage of the beauty of a wide open space. Plus, Tango and I needed a little time off the road. This leg had us on the road for two long weeks now. We’d just muddled along after leaving Tennessee, only stopped whenever and wherever. Minus the potty breaks. We stopped for those and to stretch our legs every two hours. Too much sitting could cause health problems.
I’d picked up the trailer behind us at some place in Kansas. It’s got a small kitchen area with a stove and table, a tiny bathroom and a bed. So I bought it. I don’t use the bathroom, though because, well I’m not cleaning that. Even I have my limits. I stop us at places that have wash houses, or at cheap motels. It’s worth the time to shower and refresh. I’m not sleeping on funky sheets, though. So the trailer it is.
Flipping on my signal, I merged back into the I-25 traffic and set the cruise control. As Tango laid down he put his head on my lap and I scrubbed my fingers over his ears. His whine made me laugh.
“We’ll eat in a couple of hours. Once we cross the border we’ll only have a few hours more. Then it’s a hot bath for me and a new place for you to mark as yours,” I said, for my benefit too. I loved the freedom of the open road, but it would have been slightly more entertaining with someone else to talk to that could actually return my words with more than barks, growls or toxic fog inducing farts.
~~~~
A few hours later, both Tango and I were spread out on a picnic blanket on the grass of a roadside picnic site. The sun was beaming down on us and the cool air brushed against my exposed skin like a sensual caress. It was heaven. The countryside we’d traveled through so far was beautiful and peaceful. We were going to enjoy our time here. I just knew it.
“Tango, let’s go,” I said, standing. I grabbed the blanket up, folding it as I walked. Looking back, I grinned. Tango had the draw string bag with what was left of our lunch, and our trash in his mouth. “No slobbering this time, pup, ‘cause that’s just gross, Kay?” Maybe I was losing it, ‘cause that made me laugh. Yeah, I really needed someone to chat with besides my pup. I could always call Kaitlyn, but she’d try to convince me to come back home and I just wasn’t doing that. There was nothing there for me. My parents had been gone since I was a baby, I knew nothing of them other than that they loved me. All I’d had was my PaPa and now that he was gone, I had nothing. Kaitlyn was a friend, yes, but she also one of the reasons I left Brant & Sons. It was a small family owned insurance company. Mr. Brant was a sweet man. His sons, though, were two dickwads who thought they were some gift from God and that every woman should kneel down and worship them. Kaitlyn was all for quickies in the back office, the bathroom or anything else they asked, but not me.
Jefferson and Carlisle Brant were both disgusting human beings. Period. I learned that the day I was hired as Mr. Brant’s new administrative assistant. See, Oliver Brant was an upstanding, kind hearted man. I liked him, a lot. Too bad his sons missed that boat. Though, I’ve met their mother and she’s not much better. Oliver married and mated with the she beast, who was a decade – at least – younger than himself and that’s where the twin hellspawns came from. Shuddering, I shut the back door to the SUV and sighed. Maybe if things were different and I wasn’t the ‘ice queen’ as they called me, I would have stayed. But as it was, I wouldn’t let myself be used like some whore. I loved myself a helluva lot more than that.
I shifted myself so I could give Tango the “go pee” hand signal, which was just me pointing. He didn’t need it twice. I looked at my watch and smiled. Two hours, I think that’s all it takes for us to get to the place…. crap, I forgot the name. Moving to the passenger side of my vehicle I opened the door, pulled out the notebook where I kept everything and found the reservations page. Yeah, I was a little OCD but I wasn’t stupid enough to not keep up with my spending and contacts along the way.
“Ah, there it is,” I said, sliding as I slid my finger down the page. “Abernathy Cannon Ranch.” Closing my book I stretched, turned and whistled for Tango. He rounded the car and was up in the seat before I had time to really blink. “I’m gonna put a bell on you. Whatcha think about that?” I scrubbed my hands along his neck and scratched behind his ears.
“Ready to go?” With a lick to my face and a bark that made my ears ring, I shook my head, shut his door and ran around to get in. Within fifteen minutes we were back on the road, and hopefully we’d be crossing the border in an hour or so. That all depended on traffic. I sang along to the radio, ignoring the GPS app on my phone that kept cutting in and out. I wasn’t stressing over any of this. I just wanted to enjoy the ride, and with Jason Aldean singing along with me, my day was going great.
An hour and fifty six minutes later we were making a wide turn onto the dirt road the GPS indicated. There wasn’t much around, just mountains, grasslands and cattle. Or at least I thought they were cattle. The sun was starting to get lower and I was exhausted. My body was not sure what time zone we were in anymore so I stopped trying to sleep on a schedule. It was all too much to keep track of. I followed the road, going slower than normal since I wasn’t sure where I was.
Ten minutes later we were rounding a curvy part of the road when something stormed out in front of us. I shrieked and slammed on the brakes, throwing myself against the steering wheel and swerving off the road. Tango was growling and barking, but what caught my attention was the sound of metal shrieking, another engine roaring, and then silence.
***all titles are available on Kindle Unlimited
My Own Nightmare
Somewhere I Belong
Shatter Me Whole
~ Meet Barb Shuler ~
I’m a Carolina Girl by right and a Texan by birth. Best of both worlds. I have the brass sass to keep up with my Texas sized temper. Living and working in both states i’ve learned a lot about hard work, adapting to your surroundings and making the best of the path that you have been led down. My grandma Dollie once told me I would know what I was meant to do when it happened. She was right, as always.
As with most book lovers, I am an avid reader. Reading has always been a hobby – a passion, really and a way to get lost in other people’s lives, their drama and other worlds. It’s a private movie in your imagination that you get to cast and navigate through, at your own pace. Reading helps to expand the perimeters of one’s mind. That is what got me into writing. Writing has been something that I have done since I was a kid. If I had paper, I was writing. Nine out of ten times it made no sense but what are words if they are not to be used to your advantage? Words are a part of us all. Why not use them, right?
During the day I work as a ‘desk jockey’ and help the residents of my county navigate themselves around our little, but not too little country town. By night I am either blogging with my best friends, doing PA work for some of my favorite authors or fighting with the voices in my head. They can be stubborn at times. It’s a blessing and I am cherishing every moment. Tomorrow is never guaranteed so I want to make sure I live the day as fully as possible. For what is my creation, can become someone else’s treasure.
~ Connect with Barb here ~
Email : Newsletter : Website : Author Blog : Facebook : Twitter : Instagram : Goodreads : Amazon Author Page
Want to be a Misfit? Oh yes, you do!
My group will get teasers, excerpts and all the behind the scenes things of my writings before anyone else gets them.
Share this:
CHAPTER REVEAL ~ Blood Sacrifice (Kyn series #2) by Mina Carter
Coming June 13th
Whatever else he was, she had to admit he had guts. She wouldn’t want to be shut up in a room with an angry Kyn either. While his pixie heritage might have protected him from being turned into a vampire, it did bugger all to protect him from being dead.
The only vampire warioress in existence Vixen has spent most of her life proving herself in a man’s world, but she’s never been able to squash some very feminine thoughts where fellow warrior Kalen is concerned. Kalen however, has sworn off love, preferring to deal in lust instead.
But a passionate encounter blows their carefully constructed indifference to each other and when Vixen is kidnapped will they be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to give their love a chance?
The only vampire warioress in existence Vixen has spent most of her life proving herself in a man’s world, but she’s never been able to squash some very feminine thoughts where fellow warrior Kalen is concerned. Kalen however, has sworn off love, preferring to deal in lust instead.
But a passionate encounter blows their carefully constructed indifference to each other and when Vixen is kidnapped will they be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice to give their love a chance?
Prologue
He fucking hated balls. Pain in the ass court functions filled with simpering nobles who couldn’t find their asses with both hands and a map. He especially hated balls where he stood on the sidelines as his lady wife danced with every one of the assholes besides him.
It had pissed him off so much, he’d taken her dance card and changed a few names to his… only she’d fucked off, leaving the ball before their first dance to come home.
Kalen Sauveterre stormed through the door to his wife’s rooms, his mood so foul that the wood crashed into the wall and rebounded, just barely avoiding hitting him as he strode through it.
“Astra! Where the hell are you?” he growled, finding the sitting area empty. Before he could walk into her bedroom, she appeared in the doorway, a vision of slender loveliness in pink silk, her almost-white blonde hair a cloud around her shoulders.
For a moment he allowed his gaze to wash over her. He tried to conjure some of the emotions he’d once felt for her—the feelings he’d had when they’d married and before they’d had Naeva—but there was nothing. No feeling, no emotion, no nothing. It had all been leeched away in the months of arguments since their daughter’s birth. Months in which it seemed he could do nothing right, in which it seemed Astra would rather he didn’t exist, never mind not touch her.
“What do you want, Kalen?” she pouted, the sulky expression covering what he could have sworn was panic. He had to be wrong though… what did she have to panic about?
“What was that about? Leaving like that?” he demanded, keeping his hands in closed fists at his sides. Anything to keep the rage boiling in his veins to himself so as not to scare her. Astra was a noblewoman, not a warrior like he was, and he knew the darker side of his nature scared her. So he tried to minimize her exposure to it.
She shrugged, her expression becoming even more moody, which pissed him off and he stepped forward.
“For fuck’s sake, Astra, you know better than to travel alone. What if the rogues had caught you? One driver isn’t enough to protect you.”
“Oh god, this again?” She sneered dismissively, looking down her nose at him. Somehow, even though he was noble-born and she wasn’t, she always made him feel he was beneath her because he was a warrior. “The way you talk, you’d think there were rogues hiding around every damn corner. You’re paranoid, Kalen. You should go and get your head checked.”
He bit back his growl, just the corner of his lip twitching as he kept his reply to himself. If she knew what he and the other warriors faced every night on patrol, it would scare the ever-loving crap out of her and every other civilian. The fact that they lived practically cheek to cheek with the scourge that preyed on their race… they’d go running in fear and never leave their fortified houses.
“So why did you leave?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation back on topic before she could get onto the subject of his supposed paranoia.
He knew what she was getting at… that he was mad, or slipping into blood-rage. All male kyn were at risk, but warriors, given they were so close to the rogue vampires they hunted, were even more so. If she could get him diagnosed as blood-mad, she could live the life she’d always wanted… that of a noble lady… but without the pesky encumbrance of an actual husband. He was fairly sure she prayed each night when he went out on patrol, not for his safe return like most women would have, but for the rogues to kill him and make her into a widow.
“I was bored,” she said with a sniff, not moving from the door.
His eyes narrowed as he registered her stance. It almost seemed as though she was guarding the door. But from what? Him? He almost snorted at the thought. He hadn’t been invited to her bed for months, forced to feed from one of the blood-women supplied to the warriors. It wasn’t the same as being balls and fang-deep in his beloved wife, though… a pale imitation of the bond he’d thought he had with Astra.
“Bored? You missed our dances. I would have made sure you weren’t bored.”
He stepped to the side nonchalantly, testing her reactions. She moved subtly to block him. Yeah, she didn’t want him getting into her bedroom. Why? He took a slow breath, tasting the air for any hint of a male in the room behind her, but it came up clean. The only two scents in here were his and hers.
She sniffed, leaning against the doorframe to study her nails. “Really? You bore me all the time, Kalen. I’m afraid I prefer the more…” her gaze raked over his tall form, the court clothes not able to disguise his warrior’s physique. “Intellectual man, shall we say? Not a dinosaur of a warrior.”
Anger boiled over, the snarl escaping Kalen’s lips before he could stop it. “Really? Well, tough shit. I’m still your husband, rather than one of those limp-wristed assholes.”
“Yeah, you are.” She picked at one of her nails. “For now.”
The red at the corners of his vision crept inward. “For now? What the fuck does that mean?”
In a surge of movement, he pushed past her and into the bedroom beyond, her slender frame no match for his warrior’s bulk. Instantly his gaze fell on the open trunk by the bed, half filled with her dresses.
“You’re leaving me?” he demanded, turning on her. Fury filtered through his veins, deepening his voice and making his jaw ache as his fangs tried to descend.
“You can go,” he said, accepting the inevitable. They’d been over for months, but he’d refused to accept it. “But you’re not taking Naeva. My daughter stays with me.”
He stared her down, resolute on the fact he would keep their baby. She was the one good thing that had come out of their marriage and he would ensure that she was cared for and raised as befit her station as a kyn noble.
Astra laughed, one eyebrow raised. “Ohh, you poor darling,” her voice dropped to saccharine venom. “You really think a savage of a warrior could have sired a child, let alone a daughter? No, Kalen, you didn’t. She’s not yours. She never was.”
Chapter One
He fucking hated balls. Pain in the ass court functions filled with simpering nobles who couldn’t find their asses with both hands and a map. He especially hated balls where he stood on the sidelines as his lady wife danced with every one of the assholes besides him.
It had pissed him off so much, he’d taken her dance card and changed a few names to his… only she’d fucked off, leaving the ball before their first dance to come home.
Kalen Sauveterre stormed through the door to his wife’s rooms, his mood so foul that the wood crashed into the wall and rebounded, just barely avoiding hitting him as he strode through it.
“Astra! Where the hell are you?” he growled, finding the sitting area empty. Before he could walk into her bedroom, she appeared in the doorway, a vision of slender loveliness in pink silk, her almost-white blonde hair a cloud around her shoulders.
For a moment he allowed his gaze to wash over her. He tried to conjure some of the emotions he’d once felt for her—the feelings he’d had when they’d married and before they’d had Naeva—but there was nothing. No feeling, no emotion, no nothing. It had all been leeched away in the months of arguments since their daughter’s birth. Months in which it seemed he could do nothing right, in which it seemed Astra would rather he didn’t exist, never mind not touch her.
“What do you want, Kalen?” she pouted, the sulky expression covering what he could have sworn was panic. He had to be wrong though… what did she have to panic about?
“What was that about? Leaving like that?” he demanded, keeping his hands in closed fists at his sides. Anything to keep the rage boiling in his veins to himself so as not to scare her. Astra was a noblewoman, not a warrior like he was, and he knew the darker side of his nature scared her. So he tried to minimize her exposure to it.
She shrugged, her expression becoming even more moody, which pissed him off and he stepped forward.
“For fuck’s sake, Astra, you know better than to travel alone. What if the rogues had caught you? One driver isn’t enough to protect you.”
“Oh god, this again?” She sneered dismissively, looking down her nose at him. Somehow, even though he was noble-born and she wasn’t, she always made him feel he was beneath her because he was a warrior. “The way you talk, you’d think there were rogues hiding around every damn corner. You’re paranoid, Kalen. You should go and get your head checked.”
He bit back his growl, just the corner of his lip twitching as he kept his reply to himself. If she knew what he and the other warriors faced every night on patrol, it would scare the ever-loving crap out of her and every other civilian. The fact that they lived practically cheek to cheek with the scourge that preyed on their race… they’d go running in fear and never leave their fortified houses.
“So why did you leave?” he asked, trying to bring the conversation back on topic before she could get onto the subject of his supposed paranoia.
He knew what she was getting at… that he was mad, or slipping into blood-rage. All male kyn were at risk, but warriors, given they were so close to the rogue vampires they hunted, were even more so. If she could get him diagnosed as blood-mad, she could live the life she’d always wanted… that of a noble lady… but without the pesky encumbrance of an actual husband. He was fairly sure she prayed each night when he went out on patrol, not for his safe return like most women would have, but for the rogues to kill him and make her into a widow.
“I was bored,” she said with a sniff, not moving from the door.
His eyes narrowed as he registered her stance. It almost seemed as though she was guarding the door. But from what? Him? He almost snorted at the thought. He hadn’t been invited to her bed for months, forced to feed from one of the blood-women supplied to the warriors. It wasn’t the same as being balls and fang-deep in his beloved wife, though… a pale imitation of the bond he’d thought he had with Astra.
“Bored? You missed our dances. I would have made sure you weren’t bored.”
He stepped to the side nonchalantly, testing her reactions. She moved subtly to block him. Yeah, she didn’t want him getting into her bedroom. Why? He took a slow breath, tasting the air for any hint of a male in the room behind her, but it came up clean. The only two scents in here were his and hers.
She sniffed, leaning against the doorframe to study her nails. “Really? You bore me all the time, Kalen. I’m afraid I prefer the more…” her gaze raked over his tall form, the court clothes not able to disguise his warrior’s physique. “Intellectual man, shall we say? Not a dinosaur of a warrior.”
Anger boiled over, the snarl escaping Kalen’s lips before he could stop it. “Really? Well, tough shit. I’m still your husband, rather than one of those limp-wristed assholes.”
“Yeah, you are.” She picked at one of her nails. “For now.”
The red at the corners of his vision crept inward. “For now? What the fuck does that mean?”
In a surge of movement, he pushed past her and into the bedroom beyond, her slender frame no match for his warrior’s bulk. Instantly his gaze fell on the open trunk by the bed, half filled with her dresses.
“You’re leaving me?” he demanded, turning on her. Fury filtered through his veins, deepening his voice and making his jaw ache as his fangs tried to descend.
“You can go,” he said, accepting the inevitable. They’d been over for months, but he’d refused to accept it. “But you’re not taking Naeva. My daughter stays with me.”
He stared her down, resolute on the fact he would keep their baby. She was the one good thing that had come out of their marriage and he would ensure that she was cared for and raised as befit her station as a kyn noble.
Astra laughed, one eyebrow raised. “Ohh, you poor darling,” her voice dropped to saccharine venom. “You really think a savage of a warrior could have sired a child, let alone a daughter? No, Kalen, you didn’t. She’s not yours. She never was.”
Chapter One
Men were assholes, pure and simple.
Vixen grunted, flat on her back on the weight bench, and shoved the barbell up as though she were a pneumatic lifting machine in overdrive. Anything to avoid answering the smug piece of shit male posing on the other side of the gym.
“Com’on, blondie,” Kalen Sauveterre smirked, flexing his arms and looking over his shoulder at her. “You know you wanna take a peek.”
Vixen just grunted and threw an extra couple of plates onto the barbell before sliding under it again. Kalen was a perpetual pain in her ass. All. The. Time. The blond, muscled, handsome poster boy for the kyn warrior “brotherhood,” he’d been on her case since the moment she’d joined their ranks.
She’d been so pleased and triumphant the day she’d walked in here, right into the warriors’ training compound like she owned the place. And that day, she’d thought she did. After years, the elder council had finally conceded that, even though she was female, she had been born with the warriors’ marks over her face and body, which meant she belonged with the other warriors, fighting the rogues. Had she been male, she’d have been accepted without question and sent to the training compound when she’d come of age instead of having to fight for years to be recognized.
She’d thought her fight was over once she’d walked through those doors. It hadn’t been. Instead, she’d just faced a new fight… to gain the trust and respect of the males she worked with. Males just as strong and fast as she was. They weren’t the scrawny men she was used to who hid behind words, but big, brawny warriors. Men she finally had to look up to rather than down on.
And they weren’t impressed about having a woman amongst them for the first time. Most had given her a wide berth, silently weighing her up and trying to avoid being partnered with her. This had meant she’d spent the first month as a warrior tagging along with another pair until finally one, Feral, had thrown her weapons at her and told her she’d better not get him or herself killed. Since that day, she and the big, shaven-headed warrior had been patrol partners, and the rest of the warriors had followed in accepting her.
All besides Kalen Sauveterre. As blue-blooded as their warrior king, Marak, he was the son of a lord and heir to a noble title. Like her, he was an anomaly. Warriors’ marks rarely showed up amongst the nobility, but that didn’t seem to matter to him, or create a sense of kinship. Instead, he’d taken to needling her from the moment she’d arrived.
The normal shit-talking crap she’d have knocked seven shades of shit out of any other guy for. Trying that with a warrior though was a sure-fire way to, if not get her ass handed to her on a plate, at least get herself a going over that would make hunting the rogues uncomfortable for a while as she healed. The normal crap most men spouted about her—being too weak or that women shouldn’t be warriors—didn’t bother her.
Kalen’s flirty, snarky comments did.
They reached in and got right under her armor. She was used to being the outcast and men seeing her as a freak… usually only talking to her on a dare or to find out what being with a warrior would be like… so there was no way that a male like Sauveterre, with his impeccable breeding and good looks, would be interested in her.
“Blondie?” He never used her name. Fuck knew why. “It’s not nice to ignore a guy. Don’t you know we have delicate egos?”
She almost snorted at that. If Kalen’s ego was delicate enough to be damaged by her ignoring him, he’d have been done for years ago.
“Leave her alone, K,” a deep voice growled, a shadow falling over Vixen as the newcomer blotted out the light. “Can’t you see she’s busy working out. Which you should be doing, instead of posing in that mirror.”
She squinted up to find Marak, their monarch, looking down at her. Like her, he was an oddity, born both the heir to the throne and a warrior, his marks dark against his skin as he stood by the bench, spotting her until she’d finished her set.
“You shouldn’t let him needle you. He’s just looking for a reaction,” Marak said gruffly, hands under the bar to help her get the last inch as her muscles screamed blue murder at her.
“Yeah. Because he’s an asshole.”
She ignored the snort from the other side of the room, deliberately not watching as Kalen sauntered past them on the way to the showers.
“Not arguing with you on that one.” The corner of Marak’s lip quirked as he racked the bar and offered her a hand to help her up. “Vixen, I need a favor.”
She paused, hand halfway to her water bottle, and looked up at him. Not only was Marak the leader of the warrior brotherhood, but he was also the kyn monarch. He didn’t need to ask. He could just order her and they both knew it. So the fact he was asking… that was big.
“Sure. What do you need?” She grabbed her water bottle, slugging some back as she wiped the back of her neck with the small towel she always brought into the gym to wipe herself and the benches down. She hated to get onto a sticky bench and refused to leave them that way, unlike some heathens who used the place. Men were utter pigs.
Marak looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot before he realized she was watching him and his expression smoothed out. “Well, the wedding next week? You’ll be there?”
She grinned instantly. All the warriors knew that Marak had finally found his bond-mate, and about the merry dance she’d led him on. It was practically legend, or would be soon.
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Will you be a bridesmaid?”
Every cell in Vixen’s body froze.
“Beg pardon?” She laughed a little, wariness filling her voice. “It sounded like you just asked me to be a bridesmaid…”
Marak folded his arms over his broad chest. “I did.”
She blinked. “Err… have you looked at me recently? Not being funny, sire, but I’m not exactly bridesmaid material. And besides, shouldn’t that be Maria’s decision?”
The big kyn shook his head and then paused, frowning. “Well, yes, traditionally, but I said I wanted to ensure her safety and would arrange a bodyguard.”
Vixen’s eyes widened with surprise. “And you escaped with your life?”
She couldn’t imagine the determined queen-to-be, a woman who, despite being only half-kyn, had been determined to take on the rogues before Marak had claimed her as his own, being told anything, much less what bridesmaids she would have.
Marak snorted, amusement flaring in his eyes. “Persuasion, you could say—”
She held her hand up suddenly, cutting him off. “Yeah, that’s all I need to know about that.”
There was a snigger from the other side of the room and she tensed, thinking Kalen had come back. Instead, familiar grunts and groans joined the sound of a weight machine getting pummelled. Feral, her patrol partner, seemed to be working off some aggression.
“Yeah, no problem.” She couldn’t help her smile at the relief that spread over Marak’s face.
“Thanks, Vix. You’re a lifesaver,” he said. “I know it’s just from the Ravensford estate and she’ll be escorted by the Ravensford knights all the way… but you know what knights are like. I’ll be far happier knowing there’s at least one of my guys in there too.”
She was forced to bite back her smile as a sense of pride filled her. He’d called her one of “his guys,” not “the female warrior.” She had to agree with his point about knights, though. There was a definite and centuries-old rivalry between the two branches.
All warriors trained hard to keep up their speed and reactions, constantly learning and practicing new forms. It was necessary, a matter of survival. Rogue vampires were fast as hell, and thanks to the madness in their veins, stronger than their kyn counterparts. A slow warrior was a dead warrior.
It wasn’t the same with knights, though, not that Vixen had seen. Once you were a knight, sword across the shoulders and all that, you were always a knight. No one took that away from you, even when you got too old and slow to raise the sword.
“I was going to stick Feral in a dress just for the hell of it, but he’d only sulk.” Marak’s expression turned wicked, his chatter revealing how nervous he was. Marak had never been chatty. He was more the silent, brooding type. Until he’d met Maria. Vixen liked the change. It suited him.
She chuckled. “No, he’d definitely sulk. Then I’d have to put up with his moods for weeks. Where do I have to be and when?”
***
She looked like a damn gorilla in a dress.
Vixen looked down at herself and suppressed a grimace. Primed and preened to within an inch of her life, she didn’t even recognize herself in the mirror. Normally she made sure her face was clean and her hair was tied back, so to see herself made up with her blonde hair caught up in a stylish mess of curls on top of her head was startling.
Her lips formed a soft pout, and she watched in fascination as the reflection mimicked her. No, it had to be a mistake. The slender beauty in the mirror couldn’t be her. There had to be an enchantment spell on the mirror… She leaned forward to study her face, finding the tiny scar at the corner of her lips that hadn’t quite been covered with makeup. She couldn’t get over how amazing her eyes looked… like a cat’s, all mysterious and exotic.
She blinked and leaned back, careful not to move her feet. Her normal leathers had been replaced with a fitted sheath dress and skyscraper heels. She took a tiny step to the side and instantly had to readjust her balance. A groan left her lips. There was no way she was walking in the things without face-planting.
She cast a glance over her shoulder and studied the other bridesmaids surreptitiously. They giggled as they helped each other get ready, obviously close friends. Tiny and dark-haired, they were all seneschal girls. Maria, the bride had been born half-kyn, so she’d refused to adhere to tradition and have kyn noblewomen from the main families as her attendants. Instead, she’d chosen from the seneschal families. Vixen had to admit it was a clever move, even if she herself stuck out like a sore thumb.
Even worse, the dress was pink. Of course it was. It even had a large bow right on her ass. She grumbled to herself, twisting and turning to look at her backside in the mirror. They might as well have slapped a “wide load” sticker on her.
She suppressed a sigh. She’d never feared anything. She was Vixen, big, scary kyn warrior. She spent her nights hunting and killing rogue vampires, and she was damn good at it. Just last week her patrol had topped the leader board for the most kills for the third week in a row.
What was being a bridesmaid compared to that? A dress, some flowers and following the bride up the aisle to make sure she didn’t break a nail. It couldn’t be that hard, right?
Wrong, dead wrong. Moments to go and she shook with nerves, panic rising. She looked ridiculous. She’d thought she was clever, avoiding the dress fittings for training. Boring as they’d been, the reason behind them was now crystal clear.
Her dress didn’t fit.
The pink silk was stretched tightly across her bust, so tight she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t take a deep breath, in case the delicate lacings across her back—already stretched to the limit—ripped. The dressmaker was no help. Annoyed at having to work without a dress fitting, she’d ordered Vixen not to breathe. Vixen didn’t know if that was to not breathe deeply, or not breathe at all. Not breathing was the best option. The neckline was so low one movement the wrong way and her breasts would spill out over the top.
She cursed under her breath as she looked around the small antechamber. Just off the main hall of the court where the ceremony was to take place, it followed the rest of the building in its style. Heavy wood paneling covered half the walls while ornamental plaster carvings covered the rest. The symbols of ancient kyn families surrounded them as the bride prepared to walk up the aisle. Like a lot of vampire buildings, there wasn’t even a damn window she could wriggle out.
As soon as the idea of escape occurred, she dismissed it. She couldn’t run out on the wedding of the king. It just wasn’t done. She didn’t give a damn about protocol, but if she didn’t show, Marak would track her down and bust her ass for it.
She straightened her back. She was a kyn warrior, and warriors did not run from anything. She didn’t run from anything. Even if her knees shook under her skirt.
“Now… you look amazing.”
As if Vixen’s thoughts had conjured her up, Maria appeared at her elbow like a genie out of a bottle. A genie in a full wedding gown with veil and tiara.
“Me?”
Vixen resisted the urge to tug on the dress again as she turned to face the bride. Yanking it up until it felt more secure reduced the risk of her breasts falling out, but it meant the spilt up her thigh would rise indecently high. Pulling it down to solve that gave her the fall-out problem again. Catch-22.
“I don’t. I look ridiculous.” She gave in to temptation and went through the whole pull up, pull down routine again. “Like a damn gorilla in a dress.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t look like a gorilla at all. You’re stunning.” Maria’s gaze made a quick assessment of Vixen’s dress. Slim-fitting, it molded to every curve she had. A fact she was uncomfortably aware of.
She wore tight clothing on patrol, but that was work gear. Somehow, skin-tight leather pants with a skinny-fit tee didn’t seem quite as bad as her cleavage, or the entire length of her leg on display.
“You can see my underwear,” Vixen muttered, tugging at the dress again, nearer to a panic attack than she’d ever been in her life.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s perfectly decent. You’re just used to hiding yourself away down in the compound… Leave it. You’ll crease the silk.” Maria swatted at Vixen’s hands, her impatience obvious.
Perhaps she could still make a break for it, Vixen pondered as the bride moved off to speak to another bridesmaid. Already, Maria had adopted the role of hostess, a skill she’d need as Marak’s queen. Hope filled Vixen—Maria would understand…
Nope. She steeled herself, forcing her spine to straighten. She was a warrior, not used to being pulled about and tarted up as she had been this morning, by beauticians and hairdressers, but she would do this.
“Feral would still have looked better in this.”
She was careful to keep her muttering under her breath. Kyn hearing was acute. The last thing she needed was everyone to find out she felt like a complete and utter idiot.
“What was that?” Maria appeared at Vixen’s side again, but her attention was diverted as the door opened and a tall figure appeared.
In a heartbeat, Vixen was all attention, her body tensed and readied for an attack. She knew how much some people wanted to make sure this wedding didn’t go through, for Marak not to marry. As she recognized the man who stepped into the room, she relaxed marginally, silent understanding passing between warrior and knight.
“Are you ready, sweetheart? They’re all waiting for you out there… Marak’s like a cat on a hot tin roof.” Garen Ravensford crossed the room to his daughter, and Vixen could see the pride sparkling in his eyes as he took in her appearance. “You look wonderful, honey. Beautiful. Just like your mother did. She would have been so proud of you.”
Vixen turned away with a lump in her throat, uncomfortable at trespassing on a tender moment between father and daughter. Despite having fallen in love with a human, Garen had stood by her and the two half-kyn daughters she’d borne him. It was an old scandal—one of the most eligible lords in the court had married a human for love. It had nearly cost Garen his title. A match between a kyn and a human? Unheard of.
If she had been converted, it would have been a different matter. Occasionally though some humans couldn’t be converted. No one knew why. The scientists thought it might have to do with a strain of paranormal DNA in their genetic makeup, something not human in their family tree, that stopped the conversion. Regardless of the pressure on him, Garen stood by his mortal wife until she died, and Vixen admired him for that.
Her own father had been a different matter. He’d seen the warriors’ marks across the face and body of his newborn daughter and had walked out, leaving Vixen and her mother to fend for themselves.
“Yes, I’m ready… is everyone else? Do y’all have your bouquets?” Maria asked, twisting and turning to check as Garen lifted her veil to draw it down over her face. Vixen lifted her bouquet and waggled it in with the rest, adding her voice to the chorus from the assembled bridesmaids.
The panic left Maria’s face as her father drew her hand onto his arm and led her toward the door. The bridesmaids fell into the order they’d had drilled into them by the wedding coordinator and followed her. Vixen brought up the rear, her hand closing around the handle of her bouquet and the stiletto hidden there. Just in case. Bridesmaid for the day, protector for life.
The moment of truth was upon her. Vixen took a deep breath before stepping through the door. All eyes in the hall swung toward them. Vixen bit the inside of her lip, wishing she was somewhere—anywhere—other than here. If a rogue burst into the hall right now, she’d kiss it, before kicking its ass.
Feral should’ve worn the dress. She fixed her gaze on Maria’s slender figure, concentrated on putting one step in front of the other, and ignored the crowded room around her as she followed the queen-to-be up the aisle.
Mina was born and raised in the East Farthing of Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England) and spend her childhood learning all the sorts of things generally required of a professional adventurer. Able to ride, box, shoot, make and read maps, make chainmail and use a broadsword (with varying degrees of efficiency) she was disgusted to find that adventuring is not considered a suitable occupation these days.
So, instead of slaying dragons and hunting vampires and the like, Mina spends her days writing about hot shifters, government conspiracies and vampire lords with more than their fair share of RAWR. Turns out wanna-be adventurers have quite the turn of imagination after all…
(But she keeps that sword sharp, just in case the writing career is just a dream and she really *is* an adventurer.)
The boring part: A full time author and cover artist, Mina can usually be found hunched over a keyboard or graphics tablet, frantically trying to get the images and words in her head out and onto the screen before they drive her mad. She’s addicted to coffee and would like to be addicted to chocolate, but unfortunately chocolate dislikes her.
Author Links
Book Loving Pixies 