Scare Your Pants Off- Thursday: Warriors and Werewolves

 

scare your pants off week

It’s the fourth day of ‘Scare Your Pants Off’. I hope you have enjoyed the spine tingling excerpts in our gear up for Halloween! Here are the previous days’ posts just in case you missed one: Intro, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

Thanks for stopping by! :)

 

The first excerpt comes from Cara Bristol’s, ‘Warrior’. This is a lovely dark fantasy / erotic romance with horror elements.

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Anika waited until the moon floated high in the sky and the males snored before she slipped out from under her sleep covering. She tugged on her boots and tiptoed through the camp. Since they’d arrived, she’d been unable to slip away alone even once to relieve herself. Someone had always been with her—most often Icor, who dogged her every move, but, if not him, then one of Qalin’s alphas or betas.

She could not do as they did—walk a few steps out of camp and turn her back.

Under lunarlight, she crept into the woods. Every step jarred her full bladder, but she needed to put distance between her and the others, lest they awaken with the same needs and happen upon her.

Behind a stand of trees, within a small clearing ringed by a thicket of brush, she stopped. Urgency growing by the second, she tore at her uniform. The harsh chill bit at her exposed skin, but cold was the least of her concerns. Dropping to a crouch, she released her bladder and sighed in relief as urine spread in a widening, steaming puddle across the frozen ground.

After her bladder emptied, she wiped with a handful of dried grass, then stood and fixed her uniform.

“You are not alpha, you are female!”

Anika whipped around.

Icor circled her, flexing his arms. The violet Parseon moon radiated a strong glow over them both, and Anika watched in horror as recognition dawned. “You! You did this to me,” Icor accused.

For a male who’d moved gingerly, he struck fast. Pain splintered across her cheekbone, knocking her to the ground, and she struck her head against a fallen tree. The moon blinked in and out of focus.

“Drakor!” he spat.

Anika stumbled to her feet, but Icor grabbed her before she could take more than a step, and spun her around. His fist shot out, but she ducked, and it glanced off her temple.

She wrested away, her guerilla training channeling panic into action. With an uppercut, she jabbed under his chin. His feral howl echoed in the night. She aimed again, but he feinted, caught her wrist and, with a wrench, forced her to her knees.

Murder gleamed in his good eye. A thick white substance oozed from the facial abscess.

“It will be my pleasure to see you beg before I kill you,” he snarled, and twisted her left arm. Anika screamed as her shoulder dislocated. The world fogged. Icor slapped her to full consciousness, knocking her onto her side.

She inched her fingers into her boot.

“Get up!” He kicked her ribs.

She closed her hand around the dagger’s hilt.

“Stand up!” Icor hissed.

Her dangling, useless right arm could assist with no purchase, but she used to her injury as a distraction, staggering to her feet while easing the knife from her boot with her right hand. She shielded the weapon behind her thigh then lunged forward and drove it into Icor’s abdomen.

His eye bulged with disbelief, and he gasped. He clutched at her hands, but his strength dwindled with his life force, and she held on. Scarlet froth dribbled from his mouth and red seeped through their fingers, warm against her cold skin. His features went slack, and he pitched forward. She jumped away, yanking out the knife, as Icor fell dead.

Bile clogged her throat. Her breath came in panicked gasps. I have killed someone! She gaped at the bloody knife, at the body. I eliminated a threat, a male who intended to kill me. I had no choice. She dropped the knife and stumbled from the body, a starburst of pain shooting into her shoulder as her left arm swung. She pressed it to her side and moved gingerly to a large tree. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and dove into it shoulder first. With a pop, the ball of her humerus snapped back into its socket.

Anika sank to her knees and vomited.

When the retching ceased, she rose and tested her limb. Her injured arm, though sore, had regained function. Her cheekbone, however, throbbed with greater intensity. Anika fingered her face. Nothing broken. But she would have colorful bruises to explain.

But her biggest problem was how to dispose of Icor’s body.

Under the moonlight, she could see steam rising from the spreading pool beneath the corpse. Once the blood froze, she would be unable to eliminate it. She recalled how Urazi had hidden Grogan in a thicket, and she scanned her environs for the densest clump of brush. There. She wished it were thicker, wished for more time to conceal what she had done, but she needed to act before anyone awakened, noticed their absence, and investigated. Their screams and shouts might have carried. Someone could be looking for them already.

She rolled Icor onto his back to minimize the blood trail, then grasped his ankles, and dragged him into the brush. Next, she piled leaves on top of him and blotted the blood as best she could. Anika gathered tree needles and grasses and scattered them about. Not perfect, but better. Leaving the area, she descended the bank to a half-frozen, sluggish stream.

She rinsed Icor’s blood from her hands and the dagger. Moonlight glinted off the blade. An alpha became a warrior with his first kill. Males recounted that rite of passage with long tales of great pride. Anika felt no triumph, only sickness. But she knew she’d done what she had to to defend herself.

Anika slipped her dagger into her boot, rose to her feet, and headed for camp. She would have to find the privacy to change into a fresh uniform and discard the bloodied one.

Woodsmoke permeated the straggly forest, and through the trees she spied the faint glow from the fire. Sleep would not return this eve; she might as well tend the flame and wait for morning. Hope for the best.

What questions would Icor’s unexpected disappearance raise? Would her traveling companions assume laziness kept him abed when they readied for departure? Would they seek to rouse him to bid him farewell? When they found him gone, would they search? Probably not. But that didn’t mean they might not stumble upon his body. Most of the males relieved themselves just outside the camp perimeter, but other bodily needs might drive them deeper into the wood, and what if she hadn’t camouflaged all the blood? What if animals discovered his corpse before morn and scattered his remains?

Perhaps she should go back and check.

A hand smothered Anika’s mouth, a rough arm clamped her against a hard muscled body, and she was lifted off her feet. She flailed her arms in open air, and screamed, but her cries sounded as mere puffs of sound under the hard, broad palm.

Her captor hauled her back into the wood.

 

Warrior (Breeder 3) blurb

A female fighting for freedom. A male armed with determination. Can they save their people?

As a despotic Qalin marches through Parseon intent on conquering every province, Commander Marlix pledges his sister to another Alpha to protect her. Desperate to decide her own fate, Anika flees and finds refuge with the guerilla resistance movement against Qalin. Marlix’s aide Urazi hunts her down to bring her home to fulfill her duty. But when love blossoms between them, and provinces fall to Qalin, Anika and Urazi realize home has ceased to exist, and they are all that stand between the people of Parseon and the end of the world.

Warrior is the third and final book of the Breeder science fiction romance series, but it can be read as a stand-alone.

Buy Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble 

All Romance eBooks 

*****

The next excerpt is from the heart pounding paranormal romance, ‘Karly’s Wolf’, by Penny Alley.

 

karlys-wolf_are

 

She thought about going back to town, but she didn’t think she could handle another run in with either Colton or Gabe. It was likely neither meant her any harm. Margo knew them and she didn’t think Margo would send people who would hurt her to bring her sandwiches or to keep checking on her, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Her stomach felt so tangled and tight, she thought she might actually throw up, and when her cellphone rang, the sharp tones startled her so badly that she jumped half out of her skin.

 “I forgot the newspaper,” she said, without bothering to check the number. “What should I do? Should I go back and get one? I’m so scared, Beth. The local cops keep talking to me and—”

 “You’re fucked,” Dan growled into her ear, his voice as cold and as sharp as knives.

 Karly’s throat seized so hard she choked. The next thing she knew, the car was fishtailing to a stop in the middle of the narrow dirt road. Without realizing it, she had slammed the brake pedal all the way down to the floor mat.

 She sat behind the steering wheel, shaking hard, staring straight ahead without seeing anything.

 “You want to run from me, baby? Fine, but there’s no place in the world you can hide that I won’t find you. You think you’re scared now? Wait until we’re face-to-face. Serve me fucking divorce papers? No, ma’am. ‘Til death do us part. That’s what you promised, and that’s what I’ll have. In every nuance and meaning of the word now, you…are…fucked.”

 Karly didn’t have to hang up. The connection went dead in her trembling hand.

 Seconds bled into minutes.

 She couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t even breathe.

 She vaguely heard Puppy growl a half second before two hard knuckles tapped the glass right by her head.

 Karly knew she was freaking out even while she did it, screaming and grabbing at the steering wheel. She even dropped her phone. If it weren’t for the seatbelt, she’d have thrown herself into the passenger seat on top of Puppy, grabbing at him for security. Her eyes as huge as dinner plates, she stared at the very powerfully built man bending down to peer in through the window at her. His dark hair was shoulder length; his mustache, neatly trimmed. Tattoos wound up his arm all the way into his short sleeves. His hands were dirty, stained with engine oil. So was his bright orange t-shirt, which sported twin rifles crisscrossing one another and black, jagged letters that read, ‘If you can read this, you’re in range.’

 He was a McQueen. He had to be. Her heart beat so hard, it hurt her ribs and still, when he tapped the window again and pointed ground-ward, she obeyed him, rolling the glass down just a crack.

 Leaning his forearm along the roof of her car, McQueen looked at her. He looked at Puppy, dipped his head slightly to spit on the ground, and then looked back at her again when Puppy rumbled out another rolling growl.

 “You lost?” he asked.

 Karly shivered. Her wild glance darted from him to the dilapidated shacks sitting back from the road, nestled in amongst the shade trees. Two other men were sitting together on the front porch; another leaned against a support post with the long barrel of a rifle slung across his shoulders. Oh God, of all places to stop, she had stopped in front of their house.

 Karly quickly shook her head. “No.”

 “You’re the one moved into Margo’s up the road, that right?”

Puppy bristled, loosing another low growl.

 McQueen looked at him, unfazed. “I heard you, and I’m not talking to you.” He stared at Karly again, then patted the top of her car twice. “Get on then.” He gave a jerk of his head. “My driveway’s not your parking lot.”

 Karly didn’t need to be told twice. He was letting her go and she went, fairly flying the rest of the way home, driving much faster than she should have, much faster than was safe. She managed to stave off tears right up until her small cabin came into view, and then she lost it.

 She couldn’t remember turning the car off and she didn’t get out. She just sat there, bawling and clinging first to the steering wheel and then to Puppy, who nosed his way into her arms and then sat stiff and still in the passenger seat while she leaned into him and gripped him like he was her lifeline. Her tears soaked his fur. Her panicked fingers pulled at his hair. But through it all, he made no move to break away and stayed with her until the storm of panic had subsided and the well of her tears ran dry. Her ragged breaths evened. She came back to herself enough to feel stupid and foolish.

 “Sorry,” she whispered, feeling even more foolish for apologizing to a dog, who couldn’t understand her anyway.

 As she pushed away from him, Puppy leaned over and nuzzled her cheek. The warm rasp of his tongue washed away a lingering tear. He offered no censure. He simply got out of the car when she did and followed her back into the house.

 

Blurb:

On the run from her abusive husband, Karly Whitaker flees across state lines and finally settles in an old mining town called Hollow Hills. Starting over has never been so scary. To make it worse, on her first night in a new place she hits a dog—the biggest, blackest, wolf-like creature she has ever seen. Although he appears more dazed than hurt, Karly takes him home. But while it’s comforting not to be alone, it’s hard to ignore the strange things happening around her. All she wants to do is hide from her husband, Fish and Game won’t leave her alone, her gun-toting neighbor scares her to death, and every morning Puppy vanishes, leaving her to deal with Colton Laurens all on her own. Colton—the dark-haired, honey-eyed Game warden, whose gentlest touch makes her battered heart ache and whose hungry kisses burn her from the inside out. For the first time in her life, Karly knows what it’s like to live unafraid, but with more than ghosts haunting her footsteps, she’s beginning to suspect not everything in Hollow Hills is what it seems…

Karly’s Wolf by Penny Alley, the author also known as Maren Smith.

Buy Link:

Amazon

 

 

Scare Your Pants Off- Wednesday: Shifters and Reapers

scare your pants off week

Welcome back for the third day of the ‘Scare Your Pants Off’ week. You can follow these links to read the intro post and Monday and Tuesday’s posts.

Today, it’s all about the scary shifters and reapers!

Don’t forget to leave a comment to be eligible for free prizes! :)

 

First up is an awesome dark fantasy / paranormal romance, called Hunter’s Moon, by Laura Smith.

Laura smith Hunter's Moon cover

Ripley eased his arm up away from Luna to part the branch covering enough to allow the moonlight to shine down on her.  Her finely arched brows furrowed together and her bow shaped lips pressed together, reflecting her uneasy sleep.  His breath caught again and his gut clenched like he had just been punched.  He had the same reaction when he first saw her.  He almost hadn’t shot the Were in time.

She made a soft sound and let the branch fall back into place to lightly run his fingertip along her temple.  His hand shook at the soft skin and he clenched it into a fist to still the light trembling.

Carefully, so not to disturb her, he leaned away to peel back the collar of his shirt and looked at his shoulder.  It throbbed badly, but didn’t appear to be bleeding.  She had a mean right hook, but not a lot of sense.  He grinned, thinking of the spanking he had given her.  For the first time in long years, he taken his hand to a woman’s backside and had wanted to hold her afterwards.  She hadn’t tried to pull away.  She had accepted his soothing embrace and had wept her apologies, rather fetchingly in his opinion.  He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Oh, the women he’d bought for a night or two had all shed crocodile tears and pouted prettily at him.  But paid companions gave a man what they thought he wanted.  They couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Letting go of his shirt, he gently set his hand down on her hip.  Her breath hitched and she jerked, but she didn’t waken all the way.  With a soft whimper, she settled back into her nightmare.

Ripley lifted his gaze out to the forest.  He could hear the sounds of Were hunting in the distance.  He should be out there as well, hunting them.  He should leave her to Fate and do his job.  Protecting survivors was not a part of it.  In all his years of hunting, he had never come across a survivor before.  Neither his father, nor his uncle, had ever spoken of one.  She might not be the first in history, but she could damn well be the second.

He caressed his thumb along the swell of her buttock.  She made another soft noise.  Her hand moved up to clutch the fabric of his shirt at his chest.

He lowered his head, putting his lips to her ear, and whispered, “Easy.”
She sighed and pressed herself against him, snuggling into the hollow of his injured shoulder.  At last, she slept peacefully.  A small smile curved at the corner of her lips.

“Easy,” he whispered again and closed his eyes against the swell of emotion that rose to overwhelm him.  The weight of the knowledge that the sound of his voice as she slept had chased away her nightmare pushed as painfully on him as her head on his old wound.  At the same time, it filled his heart with such joy, he thought he could take on anything.  He, Ripley Hunter, the boy whose uncle had said would never amount to anything, who had paid for more dates than not, who killed monsters for a living, had the trust of the beautiful woman in his arms to keep her safe while she slept.

A howl split the night air, a sound filled with loneliness and fear.

 Blurb:

Following a family tradition to seek her spirit guide, Luna sets out for an overnight camping trip into the wilds of the Willamette Valley National Forest along the Blue River.  She does not know that the full moon in the sky combined with her chance meeting of the ranger at the trail’s start would alter her life forever.  She will soon learn that werewolves are real and that she is being hunted by them.  Her only chance at survival is a Hunter, come to Blue River to thin down their numbers if not eradicate them.  Fate throws them together and, at first, she is desperate only to stay alive and go home.  But then wants more, she wants to be in the Hunter’s arms and, after feeling the bite of his hand on her backside, over his knee.

Author’s Note This story is dark fantasy.  It contains scenes describing or touching upon the subject of cannibalism, rape, murder, and torture.  If you find any of these subjects questionable, please, do not purchase this book.

Buy Links:

Amazon:

Barnes and Noble:

*****

Next up is a thrilling urban fantasy, called Reap and Repent, by Lisa Medley.

Reap & Repent _lisa medley cover

Excerpt setup: Kylen is a reaper who has been possessed by a demon for the past century. He’s not the guy you want to be alone with.

 

Ruth gathered up her trash and left it on the little tray by the intercom before pulling across the street to Stop & Go to buy a bag of ice. Sliding her key into the trunk latch, she raised the lid and set the ice inside the trunk bed. She scrambled through her random packed groceries. The bagger boy had flung her purchases into the paper bags without any organization. She sorted out the cold items, stuffing them into the cooler. As she emptied the ice from the bag over them, a chill ran up her spine that had nothing to do with her task. She whipped around to find Kylen standing behind her in the parking lot.

She dropped the ice bag and slammed the cooler lid shut. Taking a quick look around the busy lot to see if anyone might be able to come to her rescue, she debated between fight or flight once again as she backed up against the Lincoln. She slid one hand into her shorts pocket, fisting her car keys in the other.

“Busy day?” Kylen asked, grinning. “Where’s your keeper?”

“What are you?” she asked, trying to keep the stutter of her heart from her voice. She didn’t see any point in beating around the bush.

“Well that’s a little rude, isn’t it?” he asked, closing the gap between them. “A customer, of course. Ask anyone here …”

He looked human, but his eyes gave him away…and there was something more, something intangible. But maybe she was the only one who could see that?

That was the question. Since no one was screaming or running in terror, he probably looked nondescript to everyone else, like another customer in the lot. She eased around to the driver’s side, pushing the trunk closed on her way.

“What’s your hurry? We just got started.”

“I don’t want any trouble, Kylen.” Nervous, she scanned the parking lot again for a possible ally. “I have cold stuff in the trunk and errands to run. If you want Deacon, I’m sure you know how to find him.”

“You know my name? How sweet. Then I guess Deacon’s told you about me?” He eased up closer and cocked his head at an odd angle that made his eyes look even creepier…if that were even possible.

“I heard him call you by your name when we were in…down…below,” she said, unable to call it what it was: Purgatory.

He was right in her face now. Uncomfortable and scared, she palmed the knife in her jacket pocket, wondering when and whether she should show it or use it. Kylen slid a dry hand down the side of her cheek and around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to his face. She stiffened and vacillated between stabbing him through her jacket pocket and screaming.

He was so close. She could hurt him at least. Screaming might also be effective, but either of those options would lead to lots of questions, possibly a confrontation with the police, and the rest of the day would be toast. Besides, she had no explanation that would not land her under “observation” for several hours, if not longer.

She released the knife. Instead, she slid her hand into her pants pocket and extracted a handful of salt, hurling it directly into his eyes. He cursed and bellowed like a wounded animal, clawing at his face. She pushed him hard, and he stumbled far enough backward that she was able to get the Lincoln’s big-ass door open and scramble inside. Slamming the door shut, she popped the electric locks. She turned the motor over, slammed the car into Reverse and peeled out of the parking lot and onto Main Street.

ComTel was going to have to wait. She was done. Heading home, she wondered if Kylen had a car or if he could travel like Deacon. One thing was comforting. He probably didn’t know where she lived, or he would already have come by. She hoped his eyes wouldn’t work too well for a while. That much salt in a normal person’s eyes wouldn’t feel all that great, and he was so not normal. In fact, he had seemed particularly averse to it.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel and tried to keep from pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor. She’d had enough fun for one day. She had food, snacks, coffee, the Meridian and Huntsbury papers, and an entertainment magazine…not that she read that trash.

 Blurb:

They see death. Can they share a life?

Ruth Scott can read the energy of every person she meets. Then she meets Deacon Walker. She can see his ice-blue eyes, his black hair, and his gorgeous face. But this beautiful stranger has no aura.

Deacon is just as unsettled by Ruth—and, having spent more than two hundred years ushering souls to Purgatory, Deacon is seldom shocked by anything. As he helps Ruth to understand her true nature, she awakens desires that he decided long ago a Reaper can’t afford.

A demon invasion forces Deacon to confront the darkness in his own past even as he fights to save the human souls he’s charged to protect. When he’s taken captive, his first concern is for Ruth. But Ruth just might be able to save herself—and the Reaper she can’t live without—if she can learn to wield her newfound powers.

Buy Links:

Amazon

B&N

Kobo

 

 

 

Scare Your Pants Off- Tuesday: Haunting Suspense and Zombies

scare your pants off week

Welcome back for day two of the ‘Scare Your Pants Off’ Week. You can follow these links if you want to read the intro, or read the awesome first day’s post.

Don’t forget to leave a comment to get in the prize drawings. :)

 

First up today, is a really thrilling excerpt from Dana Wright’s romantic suspense, Asylum.

 

asylumCover Dana wright

Rachel moved farther down the hall. The peeling wallpaper and damaged wooden panels made her sad. The crumbled bits of tile and broken glass littering the floor kept her alert to where she placed her feet. It was pulling her and she needed someone to center her. Now. She stopped in front of a surgical suite and paused. “Matt?” “I’m here.” She felt his warmth behind her. “What can I do?” “Don’t let go,” Rachel whispered and slipped her hand in his.

Chapter Eleven

Matt watched helplessly as Rachel drew in on herself. She stood stock still, the blood draining from her face leaving her washed out and without color. The air around her began to vibrate and disembodied voices echoed through the air. He yanked his hand out of her grip and stumbled backwards. Rachel moaned and her hands clenched into fists. He blinked and his eyes searched the room for Trevor. He’d stepped out of the room, probably in disgust at watching him hold Rachel’s hand like some kind of idiot. Fine. He would play her game, but only until he had enough rope to hang her with.

“Rachel?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes locked on something ahead of her that only she could see.

Matt stepped closer, but hesitated to touch her. She appeared fragile enough to break. He gingerly reached out and laid his hand on her forehead. She was frigid. Freezing. He drew his hand back with an intake of breath and gritted his teeth. This was odd. He walked around her and scanned the walls and floors. Nothing. No wires, no air drafts.

He wasn’t prepared for this. Matt had never seen any documentation of her lapsing into any kind of fugue state and he’d researched the hell out of this woman. The injury from the last case made it imperative to find out all he was able to about his new “partner” on this case. If he was going into the dark with someone, he was going to make damned well sure who. The fact that she didn’t appear to have any involvements in her life, save for a grandmother she cared for, was an unexpected relief. That still didn’t make her an honest ghost hunter.

Her spark got under his skin. Most women he encountered bowed and scraped to his celebrity status. Rachel didn’t. She was beautiful and smart and right now was scaring the holy fucking hell out of him. Was that the difference here? That she didn’t have Jeannie to act as the buffer from whatever it was she was experi- encing? Was she some kind of psychic too? The thought brought a chill to his skin.

Her lips, now turning blue, moved but there was no sound.

“Rachel?”

Nothing. His guts twisted inside of him.

Matt tipped her chin up to search her eyes. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but as he gazed into the blue depths of her glassy orbs, he felt his perception of reality tilt. Something flickered behind her gaze that drew him down into another time. Another reality. Voices and echoes of the past stormed past his defenses and he found himself standing not in a derelict building, but a busy operating room.

“Nurse. Get me the ether,” a man wearing a white coat and blue face mask demanded, his white eyebrows turned down in irritation.

“Yes, doctor.” The white-capped nurse hurried to do his bidding. She scurried to a counter at the back of the room, dodging three other nurses. The nurse returned quickly with the mask and the bottle.

“You.” He pointed at the youngest of the nurses. A sallow- faced woman with mousy brown hair smoothed her hands along her apron and waited for whatever abuse was about to be heaped at her feet. “Get out of the way. We have a sterilization procedure at one-thirty.” The doctor slid the mask over the woman’s face. “Go ready the patient in 4B. I’ll be with her shortly.”

The female patient strapped to the chair writhed against the restraints, her eyes wide and terrified. Gagged, she tried to speak but only succeeded in letting a line of spittle down her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered and her face went slack as the effects of the chemical took over.

“You have been a very bad girl, Frau Gilbert. Trying to escape when all your husband wanted from you is your obedience. But lucky for you I have the perfect remedy for willful women such as yourself.” The doctor roughly gripped her face and moved it back and forth.

The woman lay still and the doctor removed the mask.

“Tray! Alcohol!” came the next gruff orders and the remaining nurses scattered to acquire said items. Matt blinked, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. His stomach churned with fear and the hair on his arms stood up. He was there. With Rachel. In the past. It was impos- sible. Wasn’t it? Is this how she found the missing boy and all those other people? Living through horrors to find them?

“Oh God,” he whispered, the very real terror sinking in. This was fucking real.

He faced Rachel and still held her face in his hands. Matt moved away, but remembering her warning didn’t break contact. He slid his hand down her shoulder and took her clammy hand in his. Maybe if he continued touching her, it would generate a fit of rage. Something. Anything.

Oh my God. Matt’s stomach curdled and he struggled with the urge to vomit.

“Rachel,” he hissed. “Where are we?”

“They can’t hear us,” she responded, her voice flat. “I’m sorry. I took us back too far. I was thinking of my grandmother and I must have overshot.” She stared hard at the woman in the chair, completely transfixed.

“He’s really going to do it.” Matt’s eyes took in the scene in front of him and he drew his lips back in horror. “He’s going to give her a lobotomy right here.”

Blurb:

The voices of the past are alive behind the iron gates of Bremore Asylum. Can Rachel and Matt deduce its secrets before it’s too late?

When Rachel agrees to take the job investigating the disappearance of a fellow ghost hunter at Bremore Asylum, she is totally unprepared for the sexy and stubborn psychic debunker Matt Rutledge to be a part of the package. Can these two opposing forces find the answers behind the asylum’s crumbling walls before they become the newest victims to the asylum’s grim history?

Buy Links

Amazon

Breathless Press

*****

Next up is an awesomely scary zombie attack from Casey McKay’s, Cursed Waters.

 

Cursed waters Casey M excerpt

She saw the sun trying to break through the clouds, it was late afternoon and they hoped to have the natural light while they searched the island for Seaweed. Trevor fell into step next to her and she felt comforted as he grabbed her hand, twining his fingers with hers. They walked in silence as Trevor swished the plastic whiffle ball bat in front of them like it was a sword. She shook her head, boys and their toys.

They turned left down the next street and Roxy would have shrieked if she had the breath to scream. Two of the slow walkers were standing in their path, and now that they were up close there was no mistaking that they were zombies. Trevor quickly pushed her behind him and out of his way. He took a step forward, wielding the plastic bat in front of him.

“They might not want to hurt us,” she started and one of the zombies growled, making her jump.

Trevor showed no signs of being shaken, physically, but Roxy was standing close enough to him that she could hear him muttering, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Over and over. Roxy stepped to the side, bringing herself into view. These weren’t like the slow walkers she saw this morning who were all dazed and out of it, wandering aimlessly. These two guys were looking right at them. Their clothes were ripped and torn and they were covered in mud. As if they had clawed themselves out of their own graves, she shivered at the thought. Their pale skin held a grayish pallor and their dead eyes made her skin crawl.

Trevor glanced in her direction, “Get back!”

She took a step back and dropped to one knee, placing her back pack in front of her. Roxy rustled through its contents as Trevor assessed the situation, shaking the fearsome plastic toy in the approaching zombie’s faces. She found what she needed and rose back up to her full height, slinging the pack up to her shoulder.

“Stay back, guys. We don’t want any trouble.” Trevor was trying to reason with the zombies, who were advancing on them quickly. Their grunts were getting louder and their slow, jerking movements were making Roxy more than a little nervous. She came up to stand beside Trevor again.

“I said, get back,” he snapped as he glared at her. Then he saw the item in her hand. “What’s that?”

Roxy held up the wooden implement that looked like a giant paddle. “It’s a bread board, I thought it might work a little better than that.” She tilted her head towards the bat.

As they were sizing up each other’s weapons the zombies had gotten much closer. Their attention moved back to their current situation when they heard something between a growl and a moan escape from one of their assailants. Trevor raised his bat up, “I’m serious guys, back the fuck up, or someone’s going to get hurt.”

The zombies hesitated a half step, but then lurched forward. Roxy and Trevor both let out screams as the swung their weapons down. Roxy shrieked louder as her zombie’s head exploded in front of her. She looked to her right to see how Trevor fared, only to find him standing with a bent plastic bat in his hands and a really pissed off zombie staring down at him.

“Duck!” Roxy yelled as she swung at the same time. Trevor crouched down on the ground as her swing connected with the zombie’s head. It exploded on impact, spraying them both in zombie blood. The lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud and Roxy immediately doubled over and started heaving. She felt Trevor’s hands on her shoulders, steadying her as she shook.

“That was awesome!” He sounded ecstatic, Roxy couldn’t muster the energy to get excited about having blood all over her. “You okay? Are you gonna hurl?”

“I’m not cut out for this,” Roxy said as she stood back up, “what the hell is going on?”

 Blurb:

Roxy Wilson is going through the motions. She’s running her deceased grandmother’s psychic readings shop, but she’s not a psychic. Hoping to expand and just become a gift shop, she contacts her ex-boyfriend, Trevor Dale. Only she doesn’t anticipate the feelings she’s still having for him after four years of separation.
Trevor could never get Roxy out of his system, and now with her so close to him again, he’s reluctant to let her go. But a 40 year- old curse involving evil spells and zombies overtaking the small, seaside town of Ocean Pointe may put a stop to any sort of romantic reunion.
Can Roxy and Trevor break the curse and save their town from zombies? Find out in my upcoming release Cursed Waters, out later this month!
Warning: This book contains spankings and anal play between two consenting adults. If you are offended by this subject matter please do not read this.

Buy Link:

Amazon Link

 

 

Scare Your Pants Off- Monday: Demons

scare your pants off week

Welcome to Day 1 of the Scare Your Pants Off – week.

If you haven’t already heard all about the prizes and authors that will be present this week, click here. :) (Don’t forget. The more days you reply, the more chances to win a prize!)

Today’s post has only one excerpt. It’s a horror, fantasy, erotica called The Scholomance, by R. Lee Smith.  This one got my heart racing beautifully!

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r lee smith scholmance cover 2

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There was a door here. At the very end of the hall, flanked by carved pillars and dully-glowing blisters, a door. Similar in many ways to every other door in the lyceum, she supposed, but much larger. Like all the theater doors, its face had been carved in relief to show a demon triumphant over a cluster of writhing, pleading supplicants, yet the supplicants in this case were not naked humans, but demons themselves, of many different kinds. She was pretty sure she recognized the tree-like Zyera among them, and she thought the angular one huddled near the bottom and clawing at his own back might be Horuseps, but for the most part, they were so grotesquely intertwined, she couldn’t make out individuals. All of this held a certain fascination for her but of course, what interested her the most was that the doors were closed at all. The backswept horns of one upturned face made clear handles, but when Mara gave them a cursory tug, they didn’t budge.

Mara put her ear to the door and heard, naturally, her own pulse echoing back from unmoved stone to her own ear. She rubbed her palms briskly on her robe, braced her feet, and gave the horns as powerful a pull as she could manage.

Mara spent a few fruitless minutes searching without expectation for some secret latch or button hidden among the carvings. When she came up empty, as she’d rather thought she would, she found a place on the carved wall where she could lean and brood over the matter.

How likely was it really that this door led anywhere important? Her sense of spatial relationships were badly askew underground, but she knew she was higher than the portcullis where she and the other applicants had been brought in, much higher than the Oubliette, and she thought she was higher than even the Black Door and whatever lay beyond it.

The wall was not as flat as it needed to be. Stone elbows and gyrating hips shoved painfully into her back and kept her neck bent at an awkward angle. When she straightened up, light from the glowing blisters fell across the demon’s mouth, making him seem to sneer at her for giving up. Her own lips twitched sullenly back at it; she stayed.

So there were no mechanical switches…this meant the likelihood of a mechanical lock was also low. There had to be another way in.

On impulse, Mara touched it. Not the handle this time, but the door itself. Her hand traveled up over writhing knots of pleading demons to the Master who stood over them all. She wondered if it was meant to represent whoever was on the other side, the way the other theater doors acted as portraits for those who taught within. If so, this one cut an impressive figure.

It was a man’s shape, essentially. Heavily-built and wrapped in muscles well beyond most male proportions, he posed atop his writhing fellows with one clawed foot digging at someone’s spine, his arms slightly outspread to further emphasize his sheer size and strength, staring straight out and down at her. He had hair and he wore it in a high knot and a long fall that was, like the carvings around him, almost Asian and almost Aztec, but somehow neither one. A short ridge of blunt horns grew in symmetry along his hairline—the smallest perhaps thumb-sized directly over his eyes, growing progressively larger as they wrapped around his head, so that the ones sprouting above his pointed ears swept up and out like daggers. More of these bony nubs grew along his jaw, they outlined his thick neck, jutted from his wrists, ribs, thighs and biceps. The jagged points of larger spikes thrust themselves out from his shoulders, his back, even his hips. He wore some kind of layered skirt or complicated loincloth, baring his powerful body in defiance of any vulnerability, and the belt that cinched it all together was as sharply studded with points as he was. His eyes were deep-set, his mouth somewhat snouted. She couldn’t tell if he were snarling or just grinning, but the effect was not a cheering one, whichever. Like a fun-house portrait, the demon’s gaze had a way of following her as she paced restlessly before it. She couldn’t say there was any malevolence in his expression, but it was disquieting to stand before it and feel, however foolishly, that she was being seen and sneered at.

That notion, illogical as it was, suddenly put her in mind of the Oubliette again, and the tar-thick intelligence which had sealed its doors. After a moment’s thought, she touched the handles here, but didn’t try to pull on them. Instead, she opened her mind to them, sending out thought like a spear, searching for that vital crack in an enemy’s armor. She got no sense of awareness, but there was more to the door than just stone, she was certain of it.

**Open,** she thought.

She felt, or imagined she felt, a subtle vibration under her fingertips, just briefly, pulsing once through the rock and into stillness once more. ‘The mountain’s heart beats only once a year,’ Mara thought vaguely and gave her head a shake to clear it. When she looked up, the demon’s stone face was looking down, his teeth bared in what struck her increasingly as a condescending smile.

Outwardly, Mara did not move, apart from a slight curling of her upper lip, but outward appearances ceased to matter. If Connie herself had walked by, Mara couldn’t have noticed. All her attention drew inward, flexing into focus for one explosive command. She felt it drive out of her with good, righteous force. She felt it slam home and drive itself in deep. ‘Open’ was the word she gave and that word resonated once, just once, seeming to blow itself up into something far bigger than its echo, something ancient and alien of herself.

The doors didn’t budge, not even to hum this time, but Mara, without any hesitation, slipped her hands down to the curved horns of the pleading demon, and pulled them easily apart. She was not surprised. It was impossible that any intelligence could hear that word and not obey. Late that night, she would think this hugely conceited of herself, but at the time, it seemed perfectly reasonable. She pulled the doors open and stood between them and felt, just for a moment, ready to take whatever hidden thing laired within and crush it in her fist.

‘I’m here to find Connie,’ she thought, and that tight, feral sense of triumph faded. Connie. Right. This wasn’t a challenge, but a search. She let go of the doors.

Air breathed over her in one long, slow draft, but only once. It brought with it a musty smell, reminding her in a vague way of attics or basements—a dark place, where forgotten things gathered dust.

Very dark. In the dim glow spilling in from the hall, Mara could make out the pregnant bulge of another lamp on her right, but it wasn’t working at the moment. Moving slowly, testing each step, Mara felt her way through the doors and along the rock wall until her fingers brushed over the waxy lump of the blister-lamp. Light was slow in coming and it guttered badly when it did, but it was illumination enough to make out the next lamp, and the next, until she had awakened all five set in the wide outer ring of this classroom.

Because that was just what this was, another theater. No bigger, and not really more impressive than any of those below her in the lyceum. Disappointed, Mara climbed carefully down the risers to the empty dais, then turned at the bottom and looked up at her footprints in the dust. They were deep, deep enough to cast shadows in the bottom. She was the first person to walk here in years, in centuries maybe.

They’d closed it off for some reason. Maybe the demon who taught here had died, or left the mountain, or moved on to another part of it to work. Strange, that they wouldn’t salvage any of his stuff, she thought, as she ran her eyes over shelves of glass jars and boxes, books and archaic objects, all heavily-grimed with neglect.

This was likely to be her only chance to fully explore a theater. Mara headed for the stair behind the Master’s dais. It was wide, steep, and dropped down into absolute black—too inviting to resist. She had very little light, none at all after she’d rounded the second corner, but she went slow and kept her hands on the wall, hoping at each step to come across one of the blister-lamps.

After an eternity of climbing down in a black spiral, she finally caught a glimmer of light at the bottom. It grew as she approached, enough to make out an open doorway, covered in layers of hanging curtains, no less. They waved in the grip of a cold breeze, spilling out slivers of tantalizing light with each lazy billow of crimson, black, and gold.

‘This is it,’ Mara thought, with no real idea of what ‘it’ was. She crossed the final distance in a few short steps, letting determination lead her when common sense might fear to tread. The curtains were thick and old, but although ragged, they didn’t have that greasy/fuzzy feel of neglected fabric. When she passed between them, they tried to cling to her, and she was compelled to move completely out of their reach, not into daylight, but into a natural light all the same.

The draft, of course. The freshness of the air she breathed. These things had been obvious to her, but the moon held her transfixed. The far wall was open, the whole of it, without a ledge or even a rail to keep idle wanderers from stepping off and into oblivion. Mara went, mindful of the danger, but she had to go. The moon would be no closer, really, for her few extra steps, but she went. She had forgotten it was so beautiful. She had forgotten how the stars would shine. And they were no different here, in the Scholomance’s mountain of secret arts, than they were out the window of her bedroom in her mother’s house. Somehow, that didn’t seem fair.

Nothing happened, nothing changed, but the air grew somehow denser. She wasn’t alone here. She knew she wouldn’t be.

“They told me the time between first-bell and last was daytime,” she said.

Her voice didn’t ring boldly out into the room. The open air pushed it back. The stone walls swallowed it. It was the voice of an insect.

His was far more impressive—deep and rolling, relaxed, even amused, but never human, never that.

“Days are that by which mortals measure time’s passage. For simplicity’s sake, we call it so. As our students seeth not the sky, what harm?”

Mara turned toward him, not fast. He rose from his lazy crouch in the shadows just as slowly, as deliberately. The carving on the door had been a very good likeness after all. His skin was grey and rough even to look at, like living stone, raised and thick where the ivory spikes pierced through. His hair was black and very fine, and waved out behind him in the same breeze that moved the curtains. His eyes glowed green, just a little.

“Shall I disrobe?” he asked, indicating the ornate buckle of his plated belt.

*****

Blurb:

For centuries, there has been a legend of a hidden school where magic is taught by the demons who dwell there to anyone who seeks them out, but they ask a terrible price: Anyone who reaches the door of the Scholomance may enter, but the Devil takes every tenth student who tries to leave.

A hidden school. Demonic masters. An inescapable fate for one out of every ten graduates. But Connie would do anything to have the magic her best friend was born with.

And Mara would do anything to get Connie back.

 

Buy Link:

Amazon

 

Thanks for stopping by!

:)

 

 

Scare Your Pants Off! ( a week of scary excerpts)

scare your pants off week

 

I love Halloween!

A time of letting loose; wearing masks and costumes; showing your true self; eating lots of sugar and dyes; playing tricks on neighbors; or

scaring your friends.

 

 

This week, I will run a series of posts with one theme in mind. To:

 

Scare Your Pants Off!

 

Each post will include a thrilling, dangerous, violent, or scary scene.

(I have hand picked these authors and have read their excerpts, and I can tell you, they got my heart racing! :) )

This includes five days, and nine different authors’ works to share with you:

paranormal, thriller, dark fantasy, spanking paranormal, shapeshifters, urban fantasy, horror, suspense, erotic with horror elements…

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Authors in the lineup are:

R. Lee Smith, Casey McKay, Dana Wright, Lisa Medley, Laura Smith, Cara Bristol, Penny Alley, Kathryn R, Blake and Darling Adams

 

And there will be prizes!

  • Free ebooks (Cara Bristol’s ‘Warrior’, R. Lee Smith’s ‘Scholomance’, Casey McKay’s ‘Cursed Waters’ or reader’s choice, Dana Wright’s ‘Asylum’, Penny Alley’s ‘Karly’s Wolf’ – to name a few)
  • Two $5 Amazon gift cards
  • A $5 Blushing Books Gift Card

Just reply at the end of the posts. Each daily reply gives you an entry. (Five full days of replies = five entries :) )

So, are you ready to get your pants scared off?

The fun starts tomorrow!

Muwahahaha!
(Ok, I scared myself, while looking for scary pictures on Google. So no more pictures.  I am searching for puppies and kittens now. :) )

Scare ya’ on Monday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

His Forever Summer, by Tara Finnegan

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I am so excited to finally read Carla’s story! She was the “bad girl” in many of season one’s stories. I love her character and can’t wait to read her story. :)

Update: Just finished. LOVED it! Will review soon :)

Blurb

His Forever Summer by Tara Finnegan

Carla Methon has tread on a lot of toes, men’s and women’s alike. But no one could be more dissatisfied with Carla than the lady herself. With a compunction to throw herself at every man within a three mile radius and a serious case of foot in mouth disease, Carla knows she is in desperate need of being taken in hand before she does any more damage to her reputation.  Kieran O’Brien needs to escape a broken relationship and he invites himself to spend a summer with his brother in Corbin’s Bend. But Kieran is a totally unsuspecting vanilla with no idea of the ethos of the community he is about to enter.  The pair strike up an unlikely friendship of vanilla and spice, with one stipulation – it is only a summer fling. By the time Kieran boards his flight to return to Ireland he wishes his summer could last forever. Can he find the courage, not only to admit the extent of his feelings, but to take on the role Carla so desperately needs him to be?

Excerpt

“What the heck? Do you realise it’s six thirty? I only just got to sleep,” Carla snapped at Kieran as he barged through the front door.

“Sorry, this couldn’t wait. I can’t let you go through with it. I won’t let you do it. I’ve been awake all night thinking about it. It’s crazy.”

“You can’t stop me! It’s got nothing to do with you, Kieran. I need to face my demons, and be punished for it, and unless you’re going to man up and do the punishing, then I suggest you get the hell out and let me make my own decisions,” Carla snapped with exasperation. She saw his brain catch up with her words.

“And if I punish you, you’ll cancel?”

“Christ, Kieran, I was joking. It’s called sarcasm. We both know you wouldn’t be able to see it through.”

“But if I could?”

“Fine, if you could, and if you could do it properly, then yes, I’ll cancel.” She didn’t for one minute believe there was any likelihood of her not making her appointment.

“So, what exactly do I need to do?” he asked.

“Fuck, you want the step by step guide?”

“How the hell else am I supposed to do it? Or make it mean anything.”

“Shit, you’re serious. Um, okay. I suppose first you need to talk to me about what it is I’ve done. Get me to confess it. Then spank me for each thing, I guess. Maybe pausing in between. Look I don’t really know. I’ve only ever had this done once, when I was young. Every other time it was erotic. But I think you need to be disapproving, authoritative. I doubt you can do that! It’s a crazy idea.” Kieran flinched and she knew she had stung his manhood, although she didn’t mean to. She was just being straight. Her foot in mouth disease was playing up again.

“Let me worry about how I behave! We’re here to discuss how you have behaved. For now I need the practicalities. Like what I’m supposed to use, how many times I’m supposed to hit you. How I know if I’m going too far, or even if I’m not doing it enough. You know what, you go and wait in your room, and give me a key. I’m going to talk to Jim. I’ll get more sense out of him.” Without waiting for a reply, he was gone, snatching her door-keys from inside the front door.

Shit, she’d gone and done it now. If he was going to punish her, then he was going to want to know why. She’d have to tell him everything. Carla cringed at the thought of the conversation that was going on between Kieran and Jim right at that moment.

 

Buy Links

Amazon

 Blushing Books

Barnes and Noble

 

Author Links

Facebook         https://www.facebook.com/TaraFinneganRomance?ref=hl

Twitter               https://twitter.com/TaraFinnegan6

Amazon            http://www.amazon.com/Tara-Finnegan/e/B00CQ7L6G2/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1413586965&sr=8-1

 

Author Bio:

The accidental writer, that’s me! A lot of writers will tell you that they dreamed of being a writer for years and were making up stories from they were knee high to a grasshopper. And a lot of them loved English class. I dodged all forms of essay (not even bothering to look for an original or plausible excuse) and entertained myself and by poor desk mate during my English classes by very rudely paraphrasing and taking the mickey out of Francis Bacon…yep, looking back, that’s probably when I should have had my first good spanking. If not for wasting my own education, then surely for distracting my misfortunate neighbour. Then I started an affair with my computer, so much so that I nearly had to be surgically removed from it. And what’s an affair without a good measure of hot sex and erotic spanking?

 

Warrior, by Cara Bristol

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I am so excited! Warrior is finally live! I love this series by Cara Bristol, and have already fallen in love with the sexy Urazi (Gawd, the man knows how to fake Alpha!) , and the super awesome, “I wannabe like” Anika. I’d say more, but I want to get back to reading.  So here’s the cool stuff from Cara. :)

Warrior (Breeder 3) blurb

A female fighting for freedom. A male armed with determination. Can they save their people?

As a despotic Qalin marches through Parseon intent on conquering every province, Commander Marlix pledges his sister to another Alpha to protect her. Desperate to decide her own fate, Anika flees and finds refuge with the guerilla resistance movement against Qalin. Marlix’s aide Urazi hunts her down to bring her home to fulfill her duty. But when love blossoms between them, and provinces fall to Qalin, Anika and Urazi realize home has ceased to exist, and they are all that stand between the people of Parseon and the end of the world.

Warrior is the third and final book of the Breeder science fiction romance series, but it can be read as a stand-alone.

 

Warrior (Breeder 3) excerpt – 834 words

“Hold steady. Grip the stock from below with your left hand. Do not get in the way of the bolt.” Grogan stepped so close, his hardened manhood prodded Anika’s left flank. She gritted her teeth, and considered dropping her trigger finger to reach into her boot for Tara’s knitting needle.

Yes. Hold steady now, Grogan.

“Line your target between the crosshairs.”

Target in sight. Anika closed her left eye and peered through the scope with her right at the life-size outline of a male sketched in soot on an unrolled parchment scroll tacked to a tree fifty meters away. Focused on the round smudge, center torso.

Grogan pressed his stiffened manhood into the crease of her buttocks. “Squeeze…the trigger.”

Anika superimposed her instructor’s likeness onto the faceless target and discharged the bolt. The string recoiled with a pop and released the arrow. With satisfying thunk, it embedded in the target. Lowering her weapon, Anika stepped out of range of the alpha and strode to examine the result.

Right through the heart.

“Fair. For a female,” Grogan judged.

She compared her results—dead center—with Grogan’s. He’d missed the middle completely, hitting outside the outline. Perhaps the weight of his erection had unbalanced his shot.

She marched to the starting line with Grogan dogging her heels, flinging advice as wild as his aim. She shot better than every male of the Resistance, but walked a precarious path, awakening each morn to wonder if this would be the day she would fall prey to her compatriots. To Grogan, who had singled her out for special training.

But joining the Guerilla Resistance against Qalin and Artom was preferable to facing what lay outside the camp. Anika shuddered.

After leaving Marlix’s abode, she’d roamed the countryside for a week before she’d straggled into the militia group attempting to defeat Qalin and Artom. Their secret weapon?

Breeders. No one would suspect a female of being an armed fighter.

But her instructor saw no reason to abandon the old use for females. Thus far she’d dodged him, but her luck and his patience could not last much longer.

“Many females can hit the target, but few have the strength you do to cock the bowstring. You are the best female shooter by far,” Grogan conceded, his praise falling short of recognizing her true ability.

“You have trained enough for one day. Let us retire to the camp,” Grogan said. “You may bring me the midday meal.” He peered at the sky. The star of Parseon hovered overhead, its heat barely reaching the atmosphere to edge the temperature over freezing. But the chill provided an excuse to layer on multiple articles of clothing. The inconvenience of removal had saved her on more than one occasion. Still, a clothing barrier offered scant protection. Some males—Grogan—viewed impediments as a challenge.

“I feel as though I need more practice.” She peered at him from beneath downcast lashes and slumped her shoulders in a pretense of self-effacement. “May I please try one more time?”

Usually the number of people milling around afforded opportunity to avoid or divert him.

But, today, the alphas had formed two teams and split up, one group hunting for small game, another sent on reconnaissance. The females had been ordered to forage for whatever they could find to replenish the dwindling food stores. Only she—by Grogan’s command—remained in camp.

She jabbed the crossbow nose onto the ground and stepped on the metal cocking stirrup.

“You have practiced enough for one day.” Temper edged his voice.

Anika pulled back the bowstring until it locked, extracted a bolt from the quiver, and slipped it into the flight groove. Cocked and loaded, the crossbow had to be fired, for it was too dangerous to leave a loaded weapon lying about. A bump or a jolt could discharge the projectile. She raised the crossbow to shoulder height, slipped her finger off the metal guard, and caressed the trigger.

“Did you hear what I said?” Grogan’s tone sharpened. “Look at me when I speak to you!”

She snapped a sharp pivot. Through the scope, the crosshairs formed a perfect X on his chest.

His eyes bulged in alarm, and he stumbled over his feet.

Even Grogan could not fail to hit a target at such close range.

“I heard what you said,” Anika replied before turning to the parchment target and pulling the trigger. Th-th-thunk! Her bolt landed next to the previous one. Dead center. Again. She lowered the weapon.

Grogan seized her arm in a bruising grip and yanked her around to face him. “Never point a loaded weapon at me! Do you understand?” He shook her.

Anika took stock of her instructor’s reddening complexion, the slight tremor of his body, the decreased bulge in his uniform pants. Satisfaction swelled, but she bowed her head. “I apologize, alpha. When you ordered me to look at you, I had no thought but to obey.”

Stars exploded under the impact of his fist.

 

Buy Links:

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon AU

Barnes & Noble 

All Romance eBooks 

 

Author Links:

Cara Bristol’s web site/ blog

Amazon author page

Facebook page

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Cara Bristol bio

Cara Bristol continues to evolve, adding new subgenres of erotic romance to her repertoire. She has written spanking romance, contemporary romance, paranormal, and science fiction romance. No matter what the genre, one thing remains constant: her emphasis on character-driven seriously hot erotic stories with sizzling chemistry between the hero and heroine. Cara has lived many places in the United States, but currently lives in Missouri with her husband. She has two grown stepkids. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading and traveling.

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