Thursday, December 31, 2015

Raven Pirate Assassin by Landra Graf. A Beyond Fairytales Novel


Once Upon A Time... 

Sorella Corvino lost her brother to The Cursed years ago. Sorella is so determined to find him, she'll make any deal, rescue the outcasts and those like him, and risk flying into any port to rescue him. When her latest pirate efforts partner her with a bounty hunter who's too charming, sexy, and handsome for his own good, she knows she's in trouble. 

Ian Marshall no longer believes in fairy tales…

Disowned and a marked criminal in the United States, this merchant turned bounty hunter, is one bounty away from freedom; and freedom's price is handing over one person to the most cutthroat gang in the world, The Cursed. Yet, he can't get to them without Sorella's help. Too bad she's gorgeous, aggravating, and a little trigger happy.

As the attraction mounts, the danger grows and the pair find themselves invading a skin trader den, the ballrooms of dictator-ruled Germany, and fighting battles in the sky in the hopes of getting everything they want. Only thing they didn't plan on... falling in love.



“I already paid off the police, at least for the moment. Until your cousin offers them more.” The words rolled off her tongue matter-of-factly as if this sort of situation occurred every day. His pants tightened at her words. A woman who feared nothing, who didn’t believe in danger.

“Very generous of you.”

“Hmm?” She stopped playing with her balisong knife and looked at him.

He came toward her, arms open, expecting her to move away from the door and put distance between them. She didn’t. “You protected me at your own expense.”

“I thought you might take my generosity as replacement for me losing the bet.”

Less than six inches separated their bodies. The pulse point at her neck fluttered, her breath shallow. Her knife stilled in her hand, closed, but ready to deploy. She waited for him to make a move.

The distinct possibility existed he’d be dead in the next minute, but her lips were deep red, like cherries he’d eaten in late summer. To leave them untouched would be a crime. “You thought wrong.”

He leaned in. She gasped, and then he kissed her.

She’d been kissed before, but it had merely been her parents’ chaste touches to her cheeks or forehead, and, once, her fiancé had brushed her lips with his. Otherwise, she had remained untouched until now. As he touched the tip of his tongue to her closed mouth, a sinful sensation swamped her body. Gooseflesh broke out underneath her clothes, and little hairs stood up on the back of her neck.

Sorella grabbed the lapels of his coat and opened her mouth. Something carnal took over, an instinct to engage his tongue in some primitive dance. If this was considered uncivilized, she’d gladly abandon society and all its norms.

As fast as the moment began, it ended, and Ian pulled back a few inches. “You taste amazing.”

He did, too; like peppermint, and…. “You taste familiar.” 

Not as if she’d tasted him before, but somehow the aromatic tang of his mouth and the scent of his breath on an exhale resonated within her. She’d bottle it if she knew how.

 “Kiss me again.”

“As my captain commands.”


Buy Links:

Amazon -

All Romance Ebooks -

Barnes and Noble -

Goodreads -


Author Bio: 

Landra Graf consumes at least one book a day, and has always been a sucker for stories where true love conquers all. She believes in the power of the written word, and the joy such words can bring. In between spending time with her family and having book adventures, she writes romance with the goal of giving everyone, fictional or not, their own happily ever after.


Author Links: 







Sunday, December 13, 2015

Coming Soon- Paranormal Werewolf Romance- by Clare Dargin. Wolf's Blade- The Paladins, Book 1

Wolf's Blade 
The Paladins Book 1
by Clare Dargin

Liquid Silver Books

Contemporary, Erotic, Shifter, 
Werewolf, Paranormal, Romance

Available December 28, 2015-  You can Pre-Order your copy here:  Buy Link


Blurb:  Samantha Dixon rescues a wounded wolf shifter in the woods near her home … and unwittingly gets drawn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a murderer. Callum Blake is on the trail of an evil man who would be king of all wolf kind, no matter the cost … it’s up to Callum to stop him. 

How can Callum fulfill his duty to protect his pack and save the woman who is destined to be his mate? 

Filled with passion, action, and suspense, Wolf’s Blade is Book 1 of Clare Dargin’s new paranormal romance series, The Paladins.


Coming Soon with Liquid Silver Books!  Buy Link:

Friday, November 6, 2015

A Little Yule Magick by Skye Ritchey


Sygin and Boyd are adept mages, looking forward to their winter break. Being alone in the big manor for Yule is their most cherished tradition. But a series of mishaps may keep them from their celebratory festivities.


Boyd Lagassi shifted his position and dragged Sygin Ball up to straddle his thighs. "I want your famous fried honeycakes." His mouth closed over her nipple and he flicked his tongue back and forth.

Sygin moaned low in her throat. "Famous only because it's one of the few things I can make and not screw up." She rocked forward, lifting her hips and pushing backwards onto his hard shaft.

Boyd closed his eyes, relishing her warm heat. "And it's tradition. Five years and counting." He flexed his thighs then relaxed and let Sygin control the pace.

She kicked up the speed, her hands planted firmly on his chest. He opened his eyes, loving to watch her. Her passion for him took his breath away, her expressive face showing every nuance, her gaze going darker, the green irises going from a soft leafy color to a deep pine shade.

Her hips rolled back and forth, her breaths coming in short little bursts. Not long now, for either of them. Boyd slid his hands down to cup her ass, urging her forward. Her fingers curled into her palms, the knuckles grazing his skin, rasping against his flesh. He welcomed the mild discomfort, needing the edge to hold off, wanting his release to follow hers.

Sygin's head dropped back and her internal muscles tightened around his cock. She gasped then groaned. Boyd thrust upward, bumping hard against her clit and she cried out, the orgasm washing over her, sending a shudder through her body. Boyd let go, sliding over the brink. His hands grasped Sygin's hips, fingers digging into the soft spot above her pelvic bone. He came, his head thrashing on the pillow. Sygin collapsed atop his chest, her forehead resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Can we skip class today and just stay in bed?"

He chuckled. "Something tells me if we don't show up, we'll have the entire student population knocking on our door."


Buy Link:


Author Bio:

Currently a writer and editor by trade, Skye Ritchey, also writing as ML Skye and Skylin O'Thomas, can usually be found on IM or browsing the web while the TV plays in the background. She credits her parents for developing her fascination with 'what if' scenarios.

Growing up, she watched a mish mash of science fiction, westerns, and military dramas and read about other worlds and distant times along with contemporary romance… thanks to her mom's reading group—a wild, wacky bunch with diverse tastes that never failed to entertain.

She started writing short stories in grade school, switched to poetry in high school, and got sidetracked by a myriad of jobs and starting a family. But the writing called again and now she gravitates toward the genres she grew up loving, combining them with sensual and erotic romance set in different times and places. Meeting her husband on a blind date—after swearing she'd never go on one—Skye decided to never again say never.

'What if' couldn't exist if she did.

She resides in Ohio with her husband and children.






Saturday, October 3, 2015

Sated by Lucy Felthouse- She is Caught Between A #Werewolf and A #Vampire And She Loves It- #Erotic #Contemporary #MFM #Paranormal

A human, a vampire and a werewolf walked into a bar. Sexy is what happens next.


Since getting together with her vampire boyfriend, Ace, Aneesa is enjoying a sex life she could never have with a human. Ace has skill, strength, stamina…and is massively adventurous. Aneesa is checking things off her sexual bucket list at a rate of knots. However, she hasn’t even come close to experiencing the ultimate item on her list. So when Ace beats her to it, proposing a threesome with his werewolf friend, Barton, Aneesa’s definitely up for it.

Barton is attractive, smart and sexy—almost too good to be true, in fact. Aneesa decides not to jump straight into things, but makes sure it’s what she truly wants. However, it turns out Barton’s not so easily dissuaded.

Will Aneesa get the ultimate erotic experience she’s desired for so long? Will she be truly sated, or is the plan doomed to failure?




A human, a vampire and a werewolf walked into a bar. Sounds like the start of a bad joke. I can assure you it isn’t. And telling you that, actually, the human and the vampire walked into the bar together, and found the werewolf already there, probably doesn’t make it sound any better. Well tough, because that’s the way it went down.

Ace and I met at a Halloween fancy dress party. I know, I know—cliché of clichés. And yes, he was dressed as a vampire—Albeit a horrendously exaggerated one—all slicked-back hair, über pale skin and visible fangs. In real life, he actually looks no different to you or I. Okay, he is a bit pale. But at the time, I’d laughed at him and asked if he thought vampires weren’t a bit overdone—it was when Twilight was at the height of its popularity—all angsty teens and stalkerish behavior.

He’d laughed right back, a joyous, melodious sound that had heat pooling in my groin—then as suddenly as it had arrived, his mirth disappeared. Then he’d said, “Overdone or not, we’re here to stay. And I don’t fucking sparkle.”

My heart had been pounding, and my mouth had gone dry. Somehow, I’d known he wasn’t joking. And, although my conscious brain had shut down, my subconscious had had my back, because I’d heard myself say, “Well, thank fuck for that, because I’ve never been a fan of glitter.”

He’d laughed again, the sound tugging at my very core. And—apologies for yet another cliché—we’ve been together ever since.

Several years later and we’re still as madly in love as ever, and still fucking like rabbits. Sex with a vampire is everything you’d expect it to be—energetic, powerful, finessed, mind-blowing and packed with stamina. Providing you can keep up, that is.

In addition to our unquenchable lust for each other, Ace and I have engaged in bondage, sex toys, spanking, anal, pegging—almost an A to Z of things to do in bed. Some we’ve tried and discarded, others have been a regular part of our sexual repertoire.

And yet, our latest adventure was the most exciting yet. You see, after mine and Ace’s initial meeting, I was given an almighty education in everything it meant to be a vampire. Myths were dispelled, other beliefs were confirmed—he definitely didn’t sparkle—and yet more things I’d never even thought of were seared into my brain.

So when Ace announced he had a friend who was a werewolf, I didn’t even bat an eyelid. It was the follow up information that surprised me.

“He wants to what?” The tone of my voice by the end of the sentence was so high that probably only dogs could hear me. And yet it was genuine surprise, rather than disapproval, that fuelled my reaction.

Raising his eyebrows, Ace gave me that sexy smirk that always gets my blood pounding through my veins and my pussy aching to be filled. “You heard me, Aneesa. My friend Barton would like to screw you. With me present, of course, and actively taking part.”

“A th-threesome?” I stumbled over the word—not because I was horrified. Quite the opposite, in fact. Being fucked by two hot guys at once had long been on my sexual bucket list—a list that, since meeting Ace, had had items checked off it at a rate of knots. I was going to have to start thinking of some more shit to put on it. I was way too young to have completed my bucket list—sexual or not—for Christ’s sake!


Buy links: 

Add to Goodreads: 



Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of sub genres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes.


Find out more at

Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Monday, August 3, 2015

Scent of a Wolf by Draven St. James


Jace Shaw is one of the few survivors of an extraordinary, rare wolf pack. He spends his days on the run and his nights in another world with a man he's only dreamed about. To sleep is to feel his dream man's hands on his body and hear his wicked whispered words. But when the sun rises reality crashes in: the evil that destroyed his birth pack hunts his kind down in search of a way to control their power.

Merek Wahya is an alpha dealing with all the issues of being newly appointed, but they all fall away when he closes his eyes at night. Then, a man with moonlit hair and mercury eyes crawls into bed with him. When he wakes it's to a painful arousal no one can satisfy. When Merek's wolf catches Jace's scent he knows he's found his mate, and he soon learns their nocturnal meetings were only foreplay. The joy of this discovery is shadowed by the trouble that follows Jace. Merek's mate is embroiled in a battle between two ancient packs, a war Merek must now fight. If he fails he could lose Jace forever.




Jace’s scent hit Merek like a pile of bricks. The familiar scent called out to him. He took a deep breath, and there it was—Jace’s sweet and earthy smell. His mate. Here in the real world. There was no doubt about it. Merek’s wolf perked its ears up and stood waiting to change beneath the shifting sands of his skin.

He’s here.

With that thought panic slammed into him. His heart pounded a savage beat as the urge to get to his mate swept through him. He rose. His form changed even as he prowled forward, away from the meeting hall and in the direction of Emma’s cottage.

“Merek?” Sean asked, apparently confused by his sudden movement. “Wha—”

“My mate.” Merek growled and quickly shifted into the form of a midnight-black wolf.

He advanced through the underbrush, Sean following close behind in wolf form, scarcely a consideration. The only thing that remained of their human forms was a pile of ruined clothes.

The pull to get to his mate made the distance seem never ending, although it only took about five minutes to reach the clearing just beyond the tree line from Emma’s house. Two dead half-shifted weres lay in the center. A third were—a large, mangy gray—slammed the body of a man against the base of a tree. Merek felt the pain of that impact as if it were his body.

He snarled a sound full of fury and looked over at Sean. Their gazes briefly locked. Sean’s were alight with the strength to battle.

Merek and Sean burst into the clearing. The action was enough of a distraction to cause the gray wolf to turn before he could deal a killing blow to Merek’s unconscious mate.

Sean leaped at the gray as Merek advanced toward his mate, who was slumped on the ground. Jace’s body was sleek and elongated in a partial transformation. Before Merek’s eyes, the exposed claws on his mate’s feet and hands drew in. The long, toned muscles of his body retracted into his human form. His figure was pale in the moonlight, but streaks of blood marred its perfection. The slender lines of his body denoted strength and stealth. Merek knew those skills alone were what had kept Jace alive. His mate was naked save for the silver hair that flowed around his shoulders and concealed his face beneath its weight.

Merek howled into the night. He crouched closer and nuzzled the pale silver hair from Jace’s face—the soft lips, the bottom fuller than the top, square jawline with the dimple on his chin, and his aquiline nose. Altogether, they made up the man in Merek’s dreams. His mate. A mate who was bleeding from gouges on his chest and stomach. He had bruises already forming around his neck, but what worried Merek most was the blood that was changing his beautiful silver locks to a bright red.

In mere seconds Merek shifted back to human form. Naked, he knelt over his mate. With trembling hands he checked Jace’s pulse. It rebounded faintly against his fingertips. Breathing deeply to keep the pain at bay, he managed to lift the heavy weight of his mate’s body and bolted as fast as he could to Emma’s house.
It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to be naked for the first time with his mate. He would have preferred much different circumstances. Non-life-threatening circumstances. Before he reached for the doorknob, the door flew open to reveal a panic-stricken Emma.

She stepped aside, and he stalked through the door. He laid his mate on the couch in the living room and stared down at him with something akin to wonder.

“Tell me you can fix him.” His voice was a hoarse rasp as if he’d been screaming. He wanted to let loose a pained howl. He wanted the world to know how unfair it was he hadn’t been able to protect his mate. He didn’t want to feel the fear and helplessness that covered him now.

Not even standing in Emma’s domain, filled with light and decorated in shades of emerald and amber, could he find comfort. All he wanted was for his mate to wake up so he could see Jace’s silver eyes sparkling with life.

Emma knelt next to Jace and threaded her fingers through the silver fall of his hair. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Merek was shocked when the soft locks wound around Emma’s hand. Merek had thought the magical hair was a trick of his imagination played out in his dreams. Then again, he’d thought Jace was a dream, but here he was, in the flesh.

Emma’s eyes opened, tears cresting in them.

“Oh, Jace, sweet child, what have you gone and done now?”

Adult Excerpt:


Merek pinned Jace’s wrists to the ground. The man loomed close, his muscular frame pressing against Jace’s so he touched all the right spots. Jace squirmed in a halfhearted effort to get free even as his body screamed at him to yield to the pleasure that Merek could provide.

Merek leaned down to whisper, “You’re always so damned difficult.”

The moon shone down, filtering through the webwork of trees that canopied their nocturnal wicked activities. In the pale silver light, he could see Merek’s face. It was composed of sharp angles, a prominent nose, chiseled jaw, and a sensual mouth. That mouth never failed to make Jace’s cock twitch. Merek’s face was almost always partially shaded by the long locks of black hair that flowed down to touch his broad shoulders. Hair so dark it refracted light in shades of blue—an eerie color reflected in his eyes. They were the palest blue Jace had ever seen. The eyes of a wolf, and he growled like one too.

Letting the primitive nature of their wolves loose in the magnificent embrace of the wilderness was instinctive. The smell of damp grass and pine trees wafted around them. But beneath that scent was Merek’s—rich, primal, and addictive.

Jace strove to stop his grin as he bucked his hips in an attempt to get Merek off him. The man was too strong for his own good. The move only resulted in Merek chuckling and adjusting to hold both of Jace’s wrists in one hand. The other he used to lightly caress Jace’s cheek and jawline. Merek brushed his thumb over Jace’s bottom lip, causing a shudder to flow through Jace. He knew just what those hands were capable of.

No matter how hard he fought himself, he couldn’t help but tilt his neck into the soft touch. Merek gave him a sensual smile.

Jace tried to twist away again, to get the upper hand, but to no avail. Merek trailed his hand lower, and Jace arched into the gentle touch. The man was doing his best to destroy Jace’s control, and it was so tempting to catapult to the carnal command.

“Just one word, Jace, and I’ll give you everything.”

Merek leisurely traced his fingertips down Jace’s naked chest, along the hard muscles of his stomach, and stopped at the waist of Jace’s low-riding jeans. Jace curved into the touch. Desperate for Merek to go lower.

“Submit to me.”

* * * *

Jace Shaw sat up sharply in bed. The image of sweat-slicked bodies and the sound of throaty growls saturated his mind. The sex-laden dreams had his heart pounding with lust and his cock pulsing with raw need. Rampant desire raged through him so intensely he could barely catch his breath.

All because of some hot mountain of a man whose wolf seemed determined to dominate him. He could easily overpower Jace. He was more muscled and towered over Jace’s five-eleven frame by at least half a foot, and that was in human form. Yet Jace had never been intimidated by or afraid of him. It was through their dreams he had eventually found out the man’s name was Merek.

Every one-night stand he had to assuage the fire Merek inspired failed miserably. All the men had lacked in some way. He had tried to drown his sexual appetite in men who mirrored the man he wanted so badly to fuck. He’d screwed men from the East Coast to the West Coast, but not one of them had lasted more than the a few hours he’d rented the hotel room for. None of them tempted the wild nature of his wolf. At the end of the night, he was left with the sick feeling he had in some way betrayed Merek.

Merek hadn’t always been so rough and hard. They had grown and matured together over the years. Merek’s dark features had developed into granite lines. His body had become sculpted muscles built by hard work. It wasn’t until the past couple of years that the interaction had become two-sided. Before, it had always been as though Jace were a ghost on the sidelines…watching.

Merek hadn’t shown any sign he even knew Jace existed, with one exception. Merek stopped cutting his hair the day Jace’s parents were killed. The day Jace’s safe world came crashing down. The moment when he had been forced to grow up, learn how to survive, and how to fight those who would continue to hunt what remained of his family. That had been his new reality.

But now, despite the fear and insecurity that followed him, there wasn’t a night when he didn’t end up tangled in sweaty sheets with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous playing opposite him in some Kama Sutra porn marathon.


Buy Links:


Author Links:






Friday, July 24, 2015

A Haunted Romance by Sindra Van Yssel


Chelsea moves out to her deceased aunt’s house in the country for some peace and quiet. It seems like the perfect spot for a mystery writer to hole up and be away from people. She doesn’t believe her brother’s claim that her aunt’s old house is haunted, it’s just in need of some good care. With two helpful and handsome neighbors in Trent and Dalton, she thinks she’s in pretty good shape, even if the two men don’t get along very well. But there’s something going wrong in the house -- strange sounds, slamming doors, falling objects. She’s got a mystery of her own to solve, and she’s determined not to leave until she solves it -- and until she figures out if the man who pleases her body is worthy of her heart as well.

When she finds the erotic writings of Minerva, a frustrated resident of the house from a century ago, she thinks she has an idea of who might be haunting the house, but why is the ghost so dangerous? And which of her neighbors can she trust?


Chelsea Krakowski drove her yellow Volkswagen Jetta up the steep and muddy gravel driveway. She sighed with relief once she reached the end of it and parked. Her Aunt Pat’s old house loomed off to the right, built two stories tall despite the expanse of the land, the paint peeling from its wooden shingles. On the driver’s side, thick green brush grew wild wherever the rocky hillside had allowed it purchase, a marked contrast with the deep red of the leaves that were still on the trees.

She’d been warned the house was not in the best of shape. Then again, her sister-in-law, Jacey, had even claimed the place was haunted. Under the terms of her aunt’s will, the house would have belonged to her brother if he had lived there for one year. Arnold and Jacey had lasted a week and come running back to the suburbs, at which point, by the will, the house became Chelsea’s, but it had been several months before she’d been able to get the key and the deed. After Jacey’s story about the ghost, dutifully backed up by Arnold and both of their “high-spirited” children, Chelsea figured they’d have told her pretty much anything to dissuade her from taking possession. But she didn’t need to live in the house to own it; Pat’s will didn’t have any such provision for the property once it reverted to her. She could even sell it if she wanted to, but she had looked forward to the idea of living in a pastoral setting, writing in blessed solitude.

She was beginning to have second thoughts.

She stepped out of the car, breathed in the fresh air, and the second thoughts were briefly dispelled. She grabbed her jacket from the shotgun seat. It was cooler out in the foothills of the Blue Ridge than it was in the DC suburbs, just enough so to make a difference. Still, it was a relatively warm day for early November, a nice break after a couple of days of cold rain.

She tromped around to the back of the house and surveyed her property. What once had been Pat’s farm had a year’s growth of weeds on it. She could still make out the depressions marking the place where rows of crops--corn, soy?--once stood. She had no idea. She didn’t know much about farming. She did know she’d inherited a hell of a backyard to mow. She’d have to get one of those tractor mowers or pay someone to take care of it for her once she’d gotten rid of the weeds and planted grass seed. There was a shed too to investigate later. What looked like it might be a bed frame leaned against it. Jacey had told her the shed was full of black widows and brown recluses, but then again Jacey had told her the house was haunted.

Chelsea walked back to the front, congratulating herself on having had the good foresight to wear hiking boots instead of her usual tennis shoes, even though they looked particularly clunky with her midlength blue flower print dress. Jeans would have been more practical, but she hated how she looked in jeans, and she wanted to make a good first impression with the neighbors. She needn’t have worried. From out back, she could see a few neighboring farms built on the flat, and any neighboring dwellings were blocked from view by trees. Privacy, just like she wanted.

She noticed with slight annoyance the splatters of mud on the recently washed Jetta and marched up the steps with determination. She wasn’t backing down just because of a few inconveniences. She’d drink sweet tea during the day on the big front porch, typing away on her laptop, and celebrate the better days with a peach julep in the evening.

They creaked. Loudly. But the porch itself was solid enough. It just needed a fresh coat of white paint. The house was old, she knew, built sometime in the nineteenth century. The porch was made of wood and fit nicely, but she presumed it wasn’t that old. How long did a wooden porch last? She’d find out the house’s history if she could. Those kinds of things fascinated her. Maybe there was a local paper with a back file to go through, or perhaps it would take a trip to the county historical society.

She tried the key in the lock, and it didn’t fit. For a moment she thought perhaps Arnold had given her the wrong key on purpose, but then she remembered she had two, and one of them supposedly went to the shed out back. She tried the other one. It turned perfectly.

It looked gloomy inside, but with the curtains shut and no lights on, that wasn’t too surprising. She walked inside and over to the large window in front and pulled open the curtains, strands of dust from them falling onto her hair and shoulders. She coughed a couple times and then smiled. The window let in a fair amount of natural light, enough to read by if she put a couch near it.

She scanned the room. It was completely bare. The floors were good--solid oak, she thought--and the inside walls were hard plaster. But the terms of the will had been quite clear--“the house and everything in it”--and somehow she rather doubted that Aunt Pat had lived her life completely without furniture. Given that the windows were in good shape, and a thief probably wouldn’t bother to lock the door behind himself, it seemed her brother and his wife had taken the chance to make some quick money.

This was the first time she’d been to her aunt’s house; her parents had never gone to visit, although she’d been taken to other relatives more distant both in relation and geography. Chelsea felt bad she hadn’t gone once she’d become an adult either. She’d met her aunt three times--twice at family reunions, and once at Chelsea’s own wedding. The last event was the only one she was sure Pat had been invited to--and what a disaster that had been. Actually the wedding had gone off without a hitch; the disaster was the next ten months until the divorce. Ralph had a law degree and had actually attempted to get alimony from her when they broke up, as if he couldn’t earn plenty if he’d been willing to work. She earned enough money from writing the Cat Connors mysteries to support herself but not any extra to spare for a lazy ex-husband.

He hadn’t even been any good in bed. He’d been good-looking and charming, and that was about it.

Something smelled up ahead, and she had a bad feeling about it. Sure enough, it was coming from the kitchen. An open pizza box sat on top of the range. It had probably been there for months. Ugh. She looked for the light switch and flicked it on. To her surprise, the bulb lit up nicely. She’d called ahead to get the electricity turned on, but given the living room, she’d half expected to find the bulbs missing or burned out. At least one worked. There weren’t a ton of insects running around either, although a little blur of white scurried for cover in a crack between the oven and the wall. She’d take mice over cockroaches any day. Hopefully she could find some humane traps in the local hardware store, wherever that was.

She decided she wasn’t feeling quite up to checking out the refrigerator. She had the essentials--milk, cheese, butter--on ice in her car, and they’d certainly last a few more hours out there.

The lack of furniture in the living room had surprised her to the point where she hadn’t really felt like she was inside. A sequence of muddy boot tracks on her oak floor showed her otherwise. She took the boots off in the kitchen and decided the tile was actually a better place for them than inside the front doorway. She’d walk them over when she went back to the car to get her stuff. Her thick socks, she decided, would be enough to protect her from any surprises the rest of Aunt Pat’s house held.

My house.

Well, my house wouldn’t have an old pizza lying around.

She grabbed the box, wondering how much of a meal had been left for the mice by her relatives, and half crushed, half folded it into a shape that would fit in the trash can.

Opening the trash can was a mistake; it smelled worse than the pizza box. But there was a plastic bag in it, so Chelsea pinched the bag closed over the box and tied it shut. Behind the kitchen was a little pantry, thankfully devoid of ancient food, and through that was a back door. She opened the back door and tossed the bag out of the house into the weeds. She’d have to find out when garbage got picked up--they did pick up garbage out here, didn’t they? She couldn’t see any larger, outdoor trash cans, but she’d do some searching later. Right now, that bag needed to be out of the house because a gas mask was not one of the things she’d packed her Jetta full of.

Shutting the door between her and the bag, she took a deep breath. The air definitely wasn’t fresh, but it was at least marginally better. As much as her instincts told her otherwise, she knew the bag wasn’t going to march right back into the house on its own, so she opened the pantry door again. The place needed to air out, badly. The mustiness was getting to her.

She opened the front door too.

Ah. Much better.

There was one other room to explore on the first level. The dining room table, a bare butcher-block kind of affair, was still there. It bore a few stains, and the corners were rounded more from wear than design, but it had thick legs and looked very sturdy. It must weigh a ton, thought Chelsea. And probably has no resale value, which was why it was still there. Nonetheless it was very serviceable and would even look nice once she had a tablecloth on it. There was a cabinet for dishes as well--empty, no big surprise there. Some built-in shelves that might have held knickknacks were bare. She didn’t know whether Aunt Pat’s things had been sold off or simply dumped to be replaced with Jacey’s stuff when her brother’s family had moved in. She shrugged. Her aunt had always been a bit of a mystery, and Chelsea would have liked to have known more.

A loud thump and a crash interrupted Chelsea’s thoughts. The sound came from upstairs. What or who was making that kind of noise?

She froze, unsure of what to do next. Cat Connors would never have hesitated, she thought.

Against her better judgment, Chelsea went to investigate. She’d have called someone to go with her if she’d known anyone, but since the house clearly hadn’t been entered for a while, she decided she’d be safe enough alone, even though she didn’t feel safe.

The upper floor had some furniture, although there wasn’t a bed in any of the bedrooms so her sleeping bag was definitely going to come in handy. Even if there’d been a bed, she wouldn’t have used it with all the dust. Her allergies were going to be in enough trouble as it was, until she got Pat's house cleaned up. Some of the plaster in what had probably been the children’s room for a week looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if that was exactly what had happened. Chunks of white were still on the floor, along with a fine white dust. She didn’t see anything that would explain the crash, however, until she got to the master bedroom.

A canvas in a dark wooden frame lay facedown on the floor. A tarnished wire was strung across the back, and a hook was in the wall above it. Why it had chosen to fall down right when she was in the house, she didn’t know. Maybe something she had done downstairs had shaken the walls just enough. She shrugged. That didn’t make sense to her, but she didn’t have a better explanation.

She bent down to pick it up when she noticed something else. The dust was disturbed on the floor in a little line leading from the closet door, which was ajar. More mice? There weren’t little footprints, though, and the tracks looked really fresh. More like something had been dragged. Something, say, the thickness of the picture frame.

Chelsea gave a nervous chuckle, which she cut off when the laugh sounded a bit too eerie in the silence. There were no footprints of a picture frame dragger. Cat would know just what to make of it, but she wasn’t Cat. She propped the picture up against the plaster wall, took a look, and raised her eyebrows.

The picture was done in the pre-Raphaelite style. The lush greenery of an idyllic garden surrounded two women, both of whom were naked, although their arms and the scenery were strategically placed to avoid the glimpse of a nipple. One of the women was sitting on a marble bench, her body twisted to look at the other, who was standing behind a wall that came to her waist, leaning forward so that her lips almost touched the lips of the other woman. It was well done--and the sort of thing that would offend the hell out of her homophobic brother Arnold, who was convinced that every time a woman held hands with another they were lesbians and needed to get a room. If he’d sold the living room furniture, he certainly could have found a market for the painting. She couldn’t imagine him leaving it hanging in the bedroom.

She lifted it up and put it back in place. A little bit of nudging and the hook in the wall found a worn spot in the wire where it balanced just right. Brother or no brother, the picture certainly belonged there. Had it been her aunt’s? It wasn’t really Chelsea’s sort of thing, but if it were Pat’s, she’d leave it there for a while.

There was a sound below that echoed--she couldn’t quite make out what it was. She listened. This time it was clearer; a man yelling, “Hello.” She hurried downstairs.

She didn’t know what the man was doing there, but his shoulders sure did fill the doorway nicely. She stared at him for a while, taking in random details. Tanned skin. Long, silky dark brown hair well past his shoulders. No man should have hair like that. But he most definitely wasn’t a girl. The top two buttons on his brown flannel shirt were unbuttoned, and his cuffs were rolled up above his elbows. His hands were big. His forearms were thick. She decided she better say something when she found herself wondering if he was big and thick all over.

“Hello?” It turned into a question because she’d totally lost track of what she should say.

“Trent Johnston, ma’am.” His voice was slow and twangy. To her ear he did sound a bit thick, and not in the way she’d briefly fantasized about. He didn’t enter but did put out his hand, which meant that she had to get off the stairs and cross the living room floor. He just held it there until she was ready to take it and give it a shake. He had a good, firm handshake--he didn’t baby her hand but didn’t move any bones around inside it either.

“Chelsea Krakowski,” she told him.

He nodded, apparently satisfied to hear the name. “Pat’s niece.” Pat was her mother’s older sister and had never married, so she had been a Palmer, but Chelsea shared her brother’s last name. She doubted Pat had ever mentioned her name, so that must be how he figured it out. The fact that he was on a first-name basis with her aunt caught her interest, though.

“I was just checkin’ up. I was afraid you were a squatter. Glad to see you belong.” His gaze swept the living room and then looked back up at her. “You’ve got mud on her floor.”

My floor, she thought, but she didn’t really feel it. “Yeah. I’m going to clean it up real soon, I just--well, there was this smell coming from the kitchen, and I kinda forgot myself.”

Trent raised a thick eyebrow. She could never do that--her eyebrows insisted on moving up or down in concert. She found it vaguely annoying. Who was he to judge, anyway? But she really did feel dreadfully sloppy not to have taken her boots off. All Jacey’s talk about hauntings and spiders, and Arnold’s comments about dangerously bad construction had made her feel less like she was entering a house and more like she was exploring. One didn’t go around exploring in one’s socks.

“Mind if I come in?”

She hesitated. It seemed inhospitable to say no. Back home she’d never have let a strange man get her alone in her apartment, but if he posed a threat, she was already in trouble. The house was shielded from the road, and he could walk in whether she said yes or no if he really wanted to.


He took his boots off first, left them outside. He peeled off his socks too and stuffed them inside the boots.

“You’ll want a mat inside, because your shoes are gonna get muddy a lot.”

She’d figured that out. “Well.”

He looked around. “Pat’s nephew took the furniture?”

“My brother. Yes, I think so. Just some of it.”

“She had nice stuff in her living room, real fine. I think it was mostly Joann’s doing. She liked everything to be nice for guests.”

Joann. The woman who lived with Pat, as she was called in family conversation when anyone talked about her at all. Chelsea had wondered before, but seeing the picture upstairs made her think that Joann had probably been a bit more than just a housemate. “You knew my aunt well?”

Trent shrugged. “I knew ’em, I guess, as well as anyone. They kept to themselves mostly, but they’d have me over for dinner now and then when they wanted some extra help in the yard or somethin’. The last year Pat needed help keepin’ the garden goin’ out back, but she wouldn’t take as much help as she needed. Joann was a bit more practical.” He looked at her, looking a bit uncertain for the first time since she’d seen him. “No offense meant,” he added. He sounded sincere, which in her experience wasn’t usual when people said that.

Chelsea shook her head. “None taken. I never got to meet Joann, and I didn’t know Aunt Pat all that well. It’s...nice to hear from someone who knew them.”

“She hoped you’d come visit someday.”

Chelsea remembered when she was twelve and the one family reunion. Her mother clearly wanted her to have nothing to do with Pat, so of course she’d hung out with her every chance she could. Pat had told her she could come visit any time she wanted, but it hadn’t been true because her mother wouldn’t let her. When she’d gotten older, she’d written letters a few times every year, but Pat had never made the invitation again. The last few years, she’d only managed a Christmas card. She’d pretty much given up writing anyone real letters. Everyone had e-mail.

Perhaps after all the family rejection, the one invitation had been as much as Pat had been up to offering. Shit.

“You look like I just shot your dog. I’m sorry.” He closed the distance between them, putting his hand on her shoulder. He smelled like earth and man, heavy but not unpleasant. Chelsea almost leaned up against him.

He took his hand away. “Your aunt thought the world of you.”

For what? A few letters? Had she been that lonely? Apart from Joann. That last year alone must have been incredibly rough on her.

“She was pretty cool,” Chelsea said. It wasn’t much of a eulogy, but she meant it.

Trent chuckled. “Yeah, she was at that. You have any other questions, just ask ’em, and I’ll be glad to answer.”

She felt like a bitch for asking what she wanted to know. She had no right, really, to expect anything from Aunt Pat, certainly not her house. But it had bugged her for a year. “Why’d she leave the house to my brother first?”

Trent looked at her for a moment and then finally shrugged. “Pat thought the house was haunted and that the ghost would give him a good scare. I’m afraid she didn’t much care for anyone in her family but you. She was a good woman, but...she’d been nursing a desire for revenge for a long time. People are complex.”

Chelsea’s mind whirled. She quickly revised her opinion of Trent--he wasn’t the country bumpkin she thought he was. People are complex indeed. The rest he’d said was hard to take in too, but she finally settled on one thought. “She thought the house was haunted?”


“But you don’t.”

Trent smiled. “I never saw any sign of it. Pat said she had the ghost housebroken, and she’d kinda smile. Joann believed in it too. They didn’t make up stuff, as a rule. But ghosts?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I try not to have opinions on stuff I don’t know nothin’ about.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Chelsea stated. And they certainly don’t drag paintings across the floor.

Trent just looked at her for a moment, letting her statement hang in the air. When he finally spoke, he changed the subject. “You’ll need some help out back. If it’s okay with you, I’ll come by tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Um, sure. And thank you. I’m, um, not much of a cook, but I’ll manage something.”

“Need help unloading your car?”

She didn’t really want him to leave. The place seemed warmer with him there, or maybe it was just her who felt warmer. Definitely safer, although Cat Connors never needed a man for anything but a little relief, and it was pretty silly to be scared of a house. “No, um, I’m good.”

He stepped back on the porch. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Chelsea.”

“Nice to meet you too, Trent.”

She watched, feeling a bit awkward, as he pulled his socks and boots back on. He nodded to her once more and turned to go to his truck. His jeans were tight, faded, and worn.

Nice ass, thought Chelsea.

She had some towels out in her car in one of the boxes she’d brought. Cleaning up the mess she’d made was her next priority, and then she’d move her stuff in and make the place more like home.

She’d cleaned up the mud, placed fresh towels in the bathroom, unrolled her sleeping bag in the master bedroom, tossed her suitcase in next to it, shelved a box full of books in the room with the broken plaster, and set up her laptop on an ancient and battered rolltop desk there when she heard a knock. She resolved to sweep in the morning and hoped her sinuses didn’t suffer too much for the procrastination.

She hurried down the stairs.

The man in her doorway this time was thinner than the first one but just as well built. Where Trent was round muscles, this guy was sleek lines. Short hair, almost a buzz cut. Square jaw. Black jeans, newish, and a deep green quick-dry shirt that hugged his torso.

There was a box of chocolates in his hand.

“Good evening, neighbor!”

Was it evening already? It was getting a little dark out--she’d turned the lights on upstairs without really realizing why. Her tummy rumbled to remind her that it was indeed evening, and the cooler and the microwave still hadn’t been brought in. Maybe she’d just eat chocolate.


“I’m Dalton Cornick. I’m just down the road. Thought I’d welcome you to Selby.” He looked around. “Looks like you just got here.”

“Yep, just moved in today. Um, I’m Chelsea Krakowski.”

“Ah. I met your brother.” His voice was flat, carefully neutral.

“I’m sorry,” she said and laughed.

Dalton chuckled politely, then handed her the box of chocolates. “Well, I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, you’re not disturbing me. And, um, thanks for the sweets. That’s very thoughtful.”

“All part of being a good neighbor. Listen, if you need any help with anything--I know the house has been abandoned for a while, isn’t in the best of shape. I’m handy with plastering, electrical, plumbing. You name it.” He handed her a card with his number on it.

“Well, so far so good,” said Chelsea. The toilet flushed, the sink ran hot and cold and didn’t leak, and her laptop was charging nicely upstairs. Turning the utilities on ahead of time had worked pretty well.

“A few more months and you’d have had problems with pipes freezing and bursting.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt to check them over.”

Dalton sure didn’t sound much like Trent. He sounded, well, more like someone from the city. Maybe he’d been in the army once upon the time, with that haircut. An accent could change with some world travel.

“I’ll run water everywhere,” Chelsea said and then remembered something her dad always did. “And I’ll find the shutoff valves for the pipes that go outside for the hoses.”

Dalton nodded. “I can do that for you if you like.”

Chelsea thought of something else. “And there is a wall that’s a bit messed up, upstairs.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

Dalton was very hard to read. His expression gave nothing away. She wasn’t sure whether that was more annoying than being able to twitch just one eyebrow up or not. If he was offering to do work, however, and she was going to take him up on it, letting him take a look seemed like the right thing to do.

The room with the divot out of the plaster was the same one she’d set her laptop up in. It would make a nice study. In her condo, she did most of her work in the living room, which was great, but it was too easy to decide to crash out on the couch or watch television when she felt uninspired. The upstairs room looked like it had good light, and she intended to keep it free from distractions.

“You have some books in already,” he noted, nodding at the shelves. She’d vainly brought up a collection of her own books, thinking it would make her feel at home. She had Elements of Style and an unabridged dictionary, as well as a few romances and mysteries that were on her to be read list.

“And a computer. Computers are great.” He went over and looked at the wounded wall. “I can fix that. Will take maybe a week after that before I can paint it. You like the color of this room?”

The walls were mauve. “Not especially.”

“What color would you like it?”

“I can handle the painting,” Chelsea said with a smile. I’m not completely helpless.

Dalton shrugged. “Suit yourself. I can be over tomorrow sometime to fix your wall. The sooner I patch it, the sooner you can paint.”

Tomorrow. Trent was coming over tomorrow. Part of her thought it would be awfully nice to have Trent all to herself. For that matter, Dalton was something of a looker too, even if a bit distant. Distance could change. Staggering them had its possibilities.

She shook her head. She hadn’t had sex in a long time, and now she was planning to screw half the town? It was probably safest to have both men around at the same time, actually. “Tomorrow would be good.”

“I’ll come over after lunch, then?”


He smiled. “Excellent.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn’t make any move to go.

In the awkward silence, her tummy reminded her uncomfortably that she was hungry. She could offer him one of her microwave meals, but she only had enough to last her for a couple days, and she didn’t even know where the grocery store was yet. There was so much to do.

The silence was broken by a shriek.


Buy Link- 

Loose ID:

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Julian's Forever by AJ Jarrett. A Warriors of the Light Novel


Daniel Young is battling terminal cancer and using what time he has left to find answers to who killed his best friend, no matter what danger it puts him in. With nothing left to live for what does Daniel have to lose?

Julian Salva joined the Warriors of the Light to help put a stop to the evil trying to take over the world and to find his nephew. Never in a million years did he expect to meet a fearless human on his latest mission. The man infuriates Julian with his lack of caution and inability to follow an order. For reasons unknown to Julian he’s falling for the human. If only Daniel was his mate.

Nothing is ever as it seems but there’s no time to find out all the answers. With Daniel’s life hanging in the balance Julian will risk everything for a man he barely knows. Julian prays that this time, time is on his side.


Daniel pulled away and Julian arched an eyebrow in question. “Are you okay?” Julian really wanted this, wanted to have Daniel squirming underneath him in pleasure, but he wouldn’t force the man.

“Yeah, I just…” Daniel popped the button on Julian’s pants and pulled down the zipper, parting the material. “I want to taste you.”

Julian nodded his head, at a loss for words. He wanted that, too.

Daniel went to his knees and, with cool, nimble fingers, pulled down Julian’s pants, taking his boxer briefs along with them. His hard cock sprang forth, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

“God, you’re big everywhere.” Daniel smiled up at him.

“Are you complaining, my little human?” Julian ran his hand over Daniel’s hair, the soft, brown strands tickling against his palm.

“Nope.” Daniel stuck out his tongue and licked over the weeping head. He closed his eyes and hummed, as if savoring Julian’s flavor. “I can’t wait to feel this”—Daniel fisted his hand around Julian’s hard shaft and stroked up then back down the thick length—“in my mouth, then in my ass.”

Julian groaned as he stared down at Daniel tonguing his cock. His breath whooshed out of his lungs as Daniel’s mouth engulfed his veiny length, swallowing him down only about halfway. Julian was impressed. His nine-inch cock wasn’t easy for most men to take. Besides being long, he was also thick, like a beer can. Julian couldn’t wait to feel Daniel stretched tight around him, begging for more.

Daniel hollowed out his cheeks and sucked down even more of Julian’s cock. The wet, hot suction was becoming too much. His orgasm swam right at the surface, threatening to explode if he allowed Daniel to continue his oral exploration.

Julian ran his hand through Daniel’s shaggy brown hair, then fisted his fingers, pulling Daniel’s head back. Big blue eyes stared up at him. Julian gasped at the sight of the pure innocence in those swimming pools of sapphire with the pink lips stretched thin around his arousal. Julian couldn’t wait another moment. He used his other hand to grab under Daniel’s arm, pulling him to his feet. He dove in for a greedy kiss, forcing his tongue past the seam, tasting himself on Daniel’s tongue.

“We can do slow later,” Julian said as he pulled away.

“Yeah, slow later,” Daniel repeated, as if in a trance.

Julian grinned down at Daniel, then gave a light shove to his shoulder. Daniel fell backward, and when his back hit the mattress, he went for the fastening on his jeans, yanking then downward. Julian admired his excitement.

Once Daniel’s clothes had all been removed, Julian stared down in awe of this human. Daniel may have been thin, but his body consisted of lean, corded muscle that wrapped around his short frame. The pale skin made Julian’s mouth water, and he wanted to lick every inch of the man.

Julian shucked off his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He spread Daniel’s legs further apart, then crawled up on the bed. He ran his hands up Daniel’s thighs, and goose bumps pebbled the hairless skin. Daniel’s eager cock stood straight into the air, jerking with every move of Julian’s hand. Julian loved how responsive Daniel was to him. It really was a shame they weren’t mates.

“So beautiful.” Julian bent down and kissed the inside of Daniel’s thigh, moving upward to bury his nose into his ball sack. The strong, bitter smell that seemed to surround Daniel was strong there, but so was his sweaty skin. Julian flicked out his tongue to tease and taste. “And so delicious.”

“Oh god!” Daniel cried out, his back arching as Julian licked a path up his straining length.

Julian smiled around the cock in his mouth and went down deeper. Daniel’s cock wasn’t nearly as long as his own, and it was easy for Julian to swallow his lover whole. The tangy, salty pre-cum flowed from the tip, making Julian hunger for even move.

Julian let his drool slide down Daniel’s shaft to drip down to his balls. Julian swiped up the wetness and used it to tease at Daniel’s clenching hole. The rippled flesh pulsed against Julian’s finger. Julian sat back and pushed Daniel’s left leg up and toward his chest, opening him up. In between the white, hairless crack sat the most gorgeous pink pucker Julian had ever seen, Small and a light, pale rose. Julian looked up at Daniel as he pushed his finger past the outer ring.

“Fuck,” Daniel groaned, his neck arching as his body tightened around the invasion.

“So tight.” Julian pushed in further, the smooth channel sucking him in further. Julian began fucking his finger in and out of Daniel’s tight heat.

“It’s been a while.” Daniel smiled up at Julian as he reached for his cock and pumped his fist on the bright red shaft.

“No touching.” Julian pulled Daniel’s hand off his cock and moved his hand to the side. “I want you so turned on you’re begging for my cock.” Julian added a second finger and Daniel whimpered.

“You keep doing that, it won’t be much longer.” Daniel lifted his other leg, grabbing underneath his knees, then spreading his thighs apart. “Please, Julian. Fuck me hard.”

“God damn.” Julian yanked his fingers free from Daniel’s ass. He spit in his hand and rubbed the wetness over his sensitive cock. He was wound so tight he damn near came in his hand.

Julian walked forward on his knees and placed the swollen tip of his cock at Daniel’s stretched opening. He stared down into Daniel’s eyes as he pressed forward. Daniel’s face scrunched up in pain and his chest heaved up and down. Julian reached out to stroke Daniel’s prick with his other hand. With Daniel distracted with the pleasure of Julian’s hand on his cock, Julian inched in further, not stopping until his balls were pressed up against Daniel’s ass.