The heated glimmer in her eyes making him infinitely nervous and aroused, Avi lifted onto her knees and tiptoed her fingers along the creamy-smooth expanse of her thighs. Hypnotized, he watched the slow crawl of her hemline ascending toward her hips. The black lace triangle of her panties popped into view, and his shaky exhalation snuck loose before he could rope it into submission. Damn. He was a fucking sucker for sexy underthings.
Then again, he was a fucking sucker when it came to Avi. Period.
“Do you like what you see?” She leaned forward until her lips grazed his earlobe. “Or should I give you something even better to watch?”
His brain screamed one answer while his cock piped in with an entirely different response. Not trusting the words that might jog loose of his mouth, he swallowed hard. This close, he could smell the sweet heat of her. Beneath the luscious floral essence, he easily detected the feminine musk of her arousal. It was driving him out of his mind. He longed to hike her up into his arms and bury his head between her legs, fill his nose with the heady intoxication of her pussy, right before he filled her with his tongue.
She leaned back, awarding him some room to enjoy the show. He knew he was in some serious trouble the instant she hesitantly stroked over the fabric covering her crotch. She was soaked. The slick, succulent sound taunting him verified it. No need for him to see or feel her wet, velvety flesh firsthand.
But he wanted to.
Dear gods, how he wanted to.
Hell on Earth. It’s not just an expression anymore.
Crazy in the Blood
© 2012 Lucienne Diver
Latter-Day Olympians, Book 2
It’s an ill wind that carries bad news, and Tori’s just had a double load of it blow through her door.
Just a few weeks after she prevented some rogue gods from blowing L.A. into the ocean, more dead bodies are turning up near the leftover crater. Bodies that have been shredded by something too big to be…shall we say, of this world? Worse, Uncle Christos has disappeared after stumbling onto a deadly cult masquerading as the Back to Earth movement.
The connection: Dionysus. Yes, that Dionysus. He’s resurrected his bloody fertility rite, complete with frenzied female groupies who tear men limb from limb. And he’s lured Demeter, goddess of the harvest, over to his side by finding a way to get her daughter away from Hades for good.
Predictably, Hades isn’t about to let her go without a fight. Unless Tori finds a way to bring her back, he’ll abandon the gates of Tartarus. At which time all hell will, literally, break loose.
Between saving the world, the woman, and cultists and her crazy uncle? So much for getting to the beach before all the good spots are taken…
Warning: The wine country is going through a heat wave of epic proportions, and it's not all about the weather. Beware steamy gods with seduction on their minds or brimstone in their blood.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Crazy in the Blood:
I opened my eyes to the face of an angel—the fallen variety. The kind designed to lead others into temptation and have them thank him for it. Repeatedly. To make matters worse, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his weight slanting the mattress so that my body seemed inclined to slide toward his.
Apollo’s golden hair was wild, like the corona of the sun, like it would look after someone had run their fingers through it, clutching his head to their breast or…elsewhere…urging him not to stop. My mind supplied an image of me in that position, Apollo above me, gazing down with those impossible turquoise eyes turbulent with emotion…
I shut it down, closed my eyes and focused on breathing. In and out. No, that was bad. Just…bad.
“Move away,” I said through gritted teeth.
Apollo shifted fractionally, but I could feel him staring at me still. My body cried out for contact, but I ruthlessly ignored it, even though every single cell seemed to strain toward Apollo. I felt alive. More than alive. Manically, enthusiastically, quite definitely, hyper-alive. Full of light and energy. My eyes snapped open at the realization of just what had to be heightening all my experiences.
As my gaze met Apollo’s, I struggled to find a well of anger to tamp down my libido and was surprised not to have to look too hard, though I must have known on some level that this was what would happen if Apollo rode to my rescue. Some part of me must have decided deep down that I could die another day but not while the family was counting on me to track Uncle Christos and not while there were new murders, massacres really, begging to be solved. I didn’t have the luxury of the moral high ground. No, as much as I wanted to blast Apollo with both barrels of my wrath, I was the one to blame here. I had to take responsibility.
Still, my “thank you” tasted like ashes on my tongue.
“Stop. Your effusion is just embarrassing,” Apollo said, brushing aside a sweat-soaked lock of hair obscuring my vision. The jolt it sent straight to my heart made me cranky.
I touched the back of my hand to my mouth and it came away wet. “Drool, eh? Sex-y.”
“Very funny.”
“I feel funny.” I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was just too intimate. His eyes were aqua and glowed like the sun reflecting off the Mediterranean. They made me think of skinny dipping and the power of the surf, surging. I cut that thought to the quick. “Seriously, though, thanks for coming,” I said reluctantly. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“What, and miss the chance to make you beholden to me?”
“Think again, buddy. In my book, this just makes us even.”
Apollo tapped a finger on his lip, pretending to consider, but not putting much effort into making it look sincere. “Really? By my count, that makes twice I’ve saved your life and you’ve—oh wait, you have yet to reciprocate.”
“Damn you and your scorekeeping. Tell you what, you let me know when you’re going to throw yourself in front of a train, and I’ll be there to stop you. No, really.” Two could play at sincerity.
Apollo’s eyes rolled upward as if he could spot the heights of Olympus right through my ceiling. “It doesn’t work like that.”
I sighed. “Fine.” I looked down to be sure I was decently clothed, unlike the last time I’d woken in a bed with Apollo, and started to rise. Apollo looked regretful, but didn’t try to keep me there.
I was pleased that all my parts seemed to be in working order. It was the first day in what seemed like forever without the shakes. I didn’t have to pretend I was fine. I wanted to give a rebel yell, but that would be undignified. And heavens, having built up my skid row junkie image, I didn’t want to blow it all in one fell swoop. “I need to wash the stink off, and I need food, not necessarily in that order. The least I can do is offer you something.”
I wandered into the kitchen and started opening and closing cupboards, as if elves might have stocked them while I was out. “Um, how about omelets? As long as you don’t like anything in them. More like scrambled eggs, really. Or, I make a mean cinnamon toast.”
He followed me in and lounged against my cabinets. He looked good standing there, and my brain tried to remind me that bedrooms weren’t the only places for fun and games, but those thoughts were by now used to being ignored.
“I’m not hungry, thank you,” Apollo announced as he watched me play at domestication. “I left a…supply…for you in your refrigerator. I suppose you’ll have to let me know when you need more.”
“So, what’s the catch here? What do I owe you?” Rather than look at him, I went about getting the fixings for scrambled eggs and toast. Normally I’d opt for cereal or a Power Bar rather than actual home cooking, but I felt the need for something hot and filling. Besides, I was bursting with excess energy I needed to channel.
“Dump your detective.”
Armed with a tub of butter and a spatula, I whirled on him. “Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean you get to dictate how I live it.”
“Are you yet on a first name basis?”
“Yes.” Most of the time. I dropped everything on the
counter and attacked the butter with a vengeance, tossing a glop into my pan and barely waiting for it to heat before adding the eggs. “Anyway, it’s none of your business.”
“He’s not for you. I have seen—”
“What do you know about the dead bodies on top of Mount Lee?” I asked suddenly. I didn’t want to know my future…or Nick’s. I’d read enough of the myths to learn that knowing the future often led people to play right into their doom. The whole self-fulfilling prophecy bit. The only thing to do with that power was mark it “return to sender”.
“The ones in the news?”
“I sure hope there aren’t any others.” I chopped the eggs to within an inch of their lives before sliding them onto a plate and carrying my feast to the table. Apollo sat down across from me. It was such a strange homey scene with the morning light streaming through the windows. All we needed were steaming mugs of coffee and newspapers to help us ignore each other.
“They are related to the earlier trouble?” Apollo asked.
I froze, first bite nearly to my lips. “Trouble? No euphemisms before coffee. Anyway, I think they are. There’s the location for one. Plus, the remains of all the bodies would barely fill a chum bucket, so I’m doubtful it was your average man off the street who whacked ’em. Oh, and the Feds asked me some pretty oddball questions. Wanted to know about biological warfare.”
Apollo’s face went all over strange before tightening into a mask.
I swallowed the bite in my mouth. “What? Does that mean something to you?”
“Maybe. Can you tell me any more about the attack?”
“Not…really.” Not except for that strange dream with the gnashing teeth and slashing claws, the details of which were already slipping away from me. And anyway, it was just a dream. A vivid, terrifying, heart-pounding dream, but still. Unless…
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he wheedled.
I eyed him. “I’ve seen yours.”
When it comes to love between a medusa and a Vampyre, it’s every man, woman, and snake for themselves.
Devil’s Gate
© 2012 Thea Harrison
A Novella of the Elder Races
As a coroner, medusa Seremela Telemar has always felt more comfortable chatting over a dead body than over drinks. But when her wild niece, Vetta, runs off to Devil’s Gate, a lawless town that has sprung up overnight in a modern-day gold rush, she knows she has to extricate her before the rebellious girl gets into real trouble. Though she’s confident in her head snakes’ ability to defend her against attackers, Seremela is still a bit nervous about braving this modern-day Wild West by herself.
Vampyre Duncan Turner is not about to let his new co-worker go into that chaos alone. His Vampyric power and lawyer smarts make him the perfect ally, and the fact that he already had his eye on Seremela for more…personal reasons, doesn’t hurt matters. Any romantic thoughts pull up short, however, when they arrive at Devil’s Gate and learn Vetta is set to hang by morning.
Warning: Contains mother effin’ snakes in planes, cars, tents, and beds. Luckily, our hot Vampyre hero doesn’t mind them one bit…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Devil’s Gate:
Seremela Telemar leaned against the frame of the open balcony doors in her high-rise apartment and looked out at the ocean view. Tropical humidity licked her skin. As soon as she had gotten home, she had opened up the balcony doors, stripped off her work clothes and put on denim shorts and a tank top.
The weather in Miami was playing the blues. Like the singer Nina Simone’s voice, it had a dark, sultry vibe with a bitter edge and an unexpected snap. Massive knots of moody clouds obscured the sun as they roiled over turbulent water, and heavy rain lashed down in vertical sheets. All that was needed was a world-weary man in a Bogart suit, fingering ivory piano keys in an abandoned hotel as he waited for a hurricane.
One of her head snakes slipped over her shoulder and rose to look at her, its jeweled gaze curious. It tasted the storm-laden air with a slender tongue. She put a forefinger underneath its jaw and nudged it gently. It slid closer and rested its tiny cheek against hers. In another mood, she might have smiled, but not this morning.
Was she really going to do this again?
Yes. Yes, she was.
She sighed, turned on her cell phone and hit speed dial. She held it up to her ear. A strained feminine voice on the other end said, “Serrie?”
“Yes,” she said to her sister, Camilla. “I’ll go get her.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” Camilla said fervently.
“I do not believe the gods are whom you should be thanking,” said Seremela.
“Of course not!” Camilla said. “Thank you, Serrie! You know how much this means to me. Vetta won’t mind me at all anymore—she never listens to anything I say, and I know what would happen if I tried to fetch her home myself. It would blow up into everything being my fault again, and the fight would drag on for hours and hours—and Vetta would make it as public as she could just to humiliate me, she knows how much I hate public altercations—”
“Camilla,” Seremela said. Her tone was sharp enough that it cut through Camilla’s babble. The other woman fell silent. She said, “I need for you to listen to me right now.”
“Of course, whatever you need,” Camilla said quickly.
“This is the last time I’m going to be able to drop everything to help fix your problems and your mistakes.”
Camilla’s tone turned cautious. “What do you mean, the last time?”
“I can’t keep putting my life on hold every time something goes wrong for you, or every time you and Vetta have an argument that you can’t resolve. I just started a new, very demanding job. My employers are wonderful people, and they’re really good to me, but there’s only so much I can ask from them. Unlimited time off at a moment’s notice is not one of those things.”
Camilla’s voice turned cold. “She’s your niece. I thought you cared about what happened to her.”
Seremela bit back her anger. Now it was time for the guilt trip, but it was always time for the guilt trip whenever she didn’t do what Camilla wanted her to do, or say what Camilla wanted to hear. Children were rare for all of the Elder Races, and ever since Camilla had managed to carry Vetta to term, she had a skewed perspective on what the world owed her for achieving such a precious miracle.
“Of course I love both of you,” she said. “And I care about what happens to you. That’s why I’m agreeing to make this trip. But she’s your daughter, and I have to agree, Vetta’s out of control. You have to figure out how to work things out with her yourself. You need to get counseling, Camilla, not only for yourself but for Vetta too.”
“I have to go,” Camilla said.
Seremela rolled her eyes. “Sure you do,” she said. She spoke too late, and a dial tone sounded in her ear. Camilla had hung up on her.
She resisted the urge to throw her iPhone. Instead she checked her work email again. Still no response from either of her new employers, Carling or Rune.
To be fair, she had only emailed them a short while ago, when she had gone into the office to ready her desk for a leave of absence. Deep regrets, family emergency, need to take time off work, will be in touch soon, blah blah blah. She had written the same kind of letter so often through the years, she could compose one in her sleep.
How many times had she sacrificed herself on the altar of Camilla’s neediness? She blew out a breath. Too many times to count.
If she expected Camilla to learn to take responsibility for her own life, Seremela had to do the same. She had chosen to enable Camilla’s behavior over the years. Now it was time to focus her energy on building a new life for herself.
After all, that’s what her move to Miami was all about: taking on a new job and doing medical research she really wanted to do, building a new life and exploring new opportunities and horizons. It was not too late for her to break out of her sheltered, academic shell.
The small,
poisonous voice of her Adversary whispered, the only confidence you ever found was in the classroom or the laboratory. When you’re not lecturing over an autopsied body, you turn into a klutzy fool. You haven’t dated in years—actually decades now—and you rarely make new friends. You’re never going to have children of your own, and you’ve grown set in your ways as well. You’re starting a new life with the old you. All your old problems and old weaknesses have come with you, so how can you expect to truly change anything?
She rubbed her forehead tiredly. The medusae believed that each medusa was born with a drop of poison in their souls. The poison turned into the medusa’s Adversary, the dark voice that whispered doubts and fears in one’s own thoughts. The measure of one’s strength was determined by how well one withstood one’s internal Adversary. Seremela tried to overcome that negative voice, but her own Adversary had a lot of ammunition to use against her.
She forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. There was no reason to procrastinate any longer by pretending that she was waiting to hear back from her bosses. Many employers were very understanding about family emergencies—at least the first time. And Carling and Rune were much better than many other employers. They had gone out of their way to show her how much they valued her.
She sighed, tossed her phone onto the coffee table and went to pack a carry-on. Seriously, when she found Vetta, she was going to wring that girl’s neck. That’d solve any potential problems with further confrontation or conflict. It wouldn’t cure Camilla of her neediness or get Seremela a life outside of work, but that was okay, it would make room for taking care of the rest. Lots and lots of lovely room.
A knock sounded on her apartment door. The nictating membrane on her eyes snapped shut in surprise, and she paused, bras clutched in one hand and undies in the other. Dropping the filmy, colorful handfuls of underwear into her open case, she hurried to the door and peered out the peephole.
A dark haired man stood on the other side of her door, looking like he had just stepped out of an issue of GQ magazine. He stood in a casual stance, hands in the pockets of a hand-stitched linen summer suit, the jacket unbuttoned. Every expensive line of the tailored clothes emphasized his lean, well-shaped body. His sleek dark hair, layered in a razor cut, fell on his forehead as though he had just run his fingers through it. His eyes were just as dark as his hair and glittered with intelligence. In contrast his skin was the pale ivory of a man who never saw any sunlight.
Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) Page 31
