Cursed (The Order of the Wolf)

by Angela Addams

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Moon Kissed:

  Wolfe squeezed out of the booth, growling as his knees hit the bottom of the table. It was a blessing and a curse being so large. On one hand, it meant a heated glance got the job done in most cases. On the other, it meant low ceilings and too-small furniture were a common occurrence. Once free, he tossed money on the table and followed Taylor and his men from the pub.

  Along the way, he glanced at the corner. The girl was gone.

  Damn it to hell.

  His lack of a sex life hadn’t bothered him before, but it did now. It had been decades since he’d been interested in any female and even longer since he’d had a decent fuck. He hated dredging up memories of Deidre Varmour, but he couldn’t always control his mind or emotions. His hackles rose in disgust. The bitch had used magic to bewitch him, wanting him as a pawn in her personal fucking vendetta.

  The experience had almost ruined him.

  People had talked and he’d been a laughingstock. Worse? His wolf had been duped by magic, believing it had found its mate. Once the cobwebs had cleared, he’d felt like a total tool. He hadn’t had much use for females after that, swearing them off permanently. Perhaps it was best the mystery woman was gone. He’d likely take his contempt for one female out on another who’d done nothing wrong.

  “We’ll take the lead,” one of the vampyren announced, moving in front of Taylor and striding to the entrance. The human exited the building with the remaining leeches directly on his heels. They were all business, scanning the area as they opened the door.

  The crisp autumn air swept into the building, the delectable scent of jambalaya and red beans making Wolfe’s stomach rumble. Dinner was next on the agenda. Most definitely. Nothing took care of a werewolf’s hunger like fresh biscuits, refried beans and rice and a side of gumbo. He hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy a proper meal prior to his journey to the pub.

  Alcohol on an empty stomach was just asking for trouble.

  The vampyren in front of him came to an abrupt halt. Wolfe stopped thinking about his ravenous appetite and peered over the heads of the guards. A small black shape appeared, blocking the progression of the group.

  “I suggest you move,” a soft feminine voice warned.

  Her request was met by the threatening baritone of the vampyren in front. “Move me.”

  A wet gurgle, bubbly and out of place, followed. Wolfe watched in disbelief as the vampyren’s head wobbled and detached from its shoulders. Taylor pressed against Wolfe as the remaining guards flew from the building and went on the offensive.

  Growling thickly and shoving him away, Wolfe demanded, “What the fuck?”

  “It’s her.” Taylor’s fear was apparent in his face and voice. “I told you the bitch would be here. She’s not smart enough to leave well enough alone.”

  Wolfe watched the small figure spin and duck, dodging blows and kicks from the vampyren. He stilled, taken off guard when he recognized her. Son of a bitch. The female from the bar. Her skill at physical combat was impeccable, her speed uncanny and definitely not human. The daggers in her grasp were like an extension of her hands, delivering deep slices that sent blood into the air in a vivid red spray.

  “If you want peace with Lucius”—Taylor wheezed like a ninny who’d cashed his last check—“stop her.”

  “Why should I?” Wolfe’s gaze followed the girl as she moved with a grace that belied her nature. She was too damn fast to be mortal. He turned to Taylor with a sarcastic sneer. “You’ll be too dead to tattle.”

  “Fool,” Taylor snarled and pressed his back into the door, obviously wanting to escape. “My death is how he’ll know. If I don’t return, he’ll take it as a declaration of war. He’ll come here. He’ll expect you to answer for my death. You invited me here. I traveled as a display of goodwill. Mark my words. You’ll pay.”

  “Your king doesn’t want to fuck with the lycae. He knows better.”

  “Adam Trevlian doesn’t need another burden on his back. We didn’t come here because you fear our kind. We came here because we’re an obstacle you can’t cross. Think with your head, not your morality.”

  Wolfe’s vision shifted, allowing him to see in wolf clarity.

  Taylor had stopped sneering and backed away, but not before Wolfe delivered a hearty blow to his nose. The bones beneath his knuckles gave way with a satisfying crunch. Taylor’s pitiful cry was muffled by the hand he pressed to his injury. Blood trickled through his fingers.

  “You’re right. It’s an obstacle Adam doesn’t need. But don’t threaten me or mine. You might get what you want, but you won’t leave happy.”

  Wolfe turned and watched as a vampyren moved closer to his opponent and the female seized the opportunity, pushing into his body with her smaller one. Her fingers gripped his jaw and she forced his head up and back. The dagger in her hand severed tissue and muscle with practiced ease, nearly decapitating the vampire. She released her foe and went back to work.

  The two remaining vampyren went for guns hidden under their jackets. In a blink, she slid her daggers into sheaths at her sides and retrieved the weapons tucked against her ribs. She fired her sidearms, leaning forward for better aim. Bullets whizzed past her as the vampyren returned fire and she ducked behind an alley. In a breath, she reappeared with fresh clips and resumed shooting her weapons.

  “What the hell is she?” he whispered.

  Taylor removed a handkerchief from his pocket. “She’s an outcast, unwanted by either of her races, living off the lives of others. She’s of no concern to you. Do what I’ve asked. No one will miss her.”

  Wolfe’s jaw ticced and he stared at the vampyren servant. “She moves like a vampire and fights like the Thymeria.”

  “That’s probably because she was a member of the Thymeria human faction, but that was years ago. As for being vampire—”

  Wolfe stopped listening, forced to intercept the oncoming female in question. The remaining vampyren were down and squirming weakly atop the blocked concrete. She was focused on one person—one he didn’t particularly care for, himself.

  Taylor.

  Damn it.

  Subduing an unwilling female wasn’t how he envisioned his first night back in New Orleans. He had wanted to relax with decent food and even better music. Not engage in a scuffle with a tiny girl who’d just put the beat down on four vampyren.

  Should be thanking her for the community fucking service.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he snarled at Taylor and took a step forward.

  If the beautiful female was intimidated by his much larger size, it didn’t show. She never slowed, releasing the magazine in her sidearm with a flick of her thumb, sending it dancing along the asphalt. Her free hand wound behind her back and returned with a fully loaded clip. She slammed the ammunition into the gun and locked it in place with her palm.

  She moved forward and he finally got a glimpse of her eyes. Her irises were a deep-hued blue, as dark and vast as the clearest midnight sky. And the determination glimmering inside those devastating, beautiful orbs was unshakable.

  “Out of my way, lycae.”

  Her soft voice was like velvet rubbing against his spine, causing his skin to ripple in pleasure. The hair on his arms lifted, the wolf inside him stirring to life, an inner key sliding into a lock. The bones in his body seemed to thrum. Something that had been dormant his entire life took hold. How could he have been so blind in the past? The way he’d felt for Deidre hadn’t even come close to this level of recognition. He shook his head and faced the furious female who had the voice of a siren, the face of an angel and the body of a goddess.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Of course you can,” she purred and lifted the gun.

  Christ, but she’s ballsy.

  One murderous mission. One killer case of PMS. Who said “the curse” was a myth?

  Hunting Medusa

  © 2014 Elizabeth Andrews

  The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1

>   Ever since the original Medusa ticked off Athena by bragging about her beauty, her cursed daughters have been paying for that mistake. To this day, successive Medusas play cat and mouse with the descendants of Perseus, known as the Harvesters.

  When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.

  Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together.

  Though their attraction is combustible, her impending PMS (Pre Magical-Curse Syndrome) puts a real damper on any chance of a relationship. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester tracking Andi, and they must cooperate to stay at least one step ahead of a ruthless killer before they can have any future, together or apart.

  Warning: A hunter who’s fallen for the woman he’s bound to kill, a Medusa who must trust him with her life, and a magical curse only love can break.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Hunting Medusa:

  “Time for bed.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

  Kallan gave her a bland smile. “Time for bed.” He guided her out of the bathroom and steered her into the next doorway, flipping on the light as they went. Her bedroom.

  The bed loomed large in the middle of the space, reminding him uncomfortably of being pressed up against her back in the dark kitchen.

  She balked, then stumbled when he gave her arm a gentle yank. “I am not sleeping with you.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking you.” He pushed her toward the bed.

  She tried to dig her feet in, but she didn’t get any traction with her boots on the hardwood and skidded into his side.

  He nudged her onto the edge of the bed. “Boots.”

  She stared up at him, appalled, for a long moment. “You are insane.”

  One of his eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “You really don’t have a choice, Medusa.” He sat down and caught one of her knees, lifting her leg to untie the shoe and push it off.

  She struggled against him, making him grunt when she elbowed one of the slash marks on his arm.

  He wrestled her other shoe off and then dragged her onto the bed before stretching out beside her.

  She sat up, tugging on her arm. She could go nowhere so it was a futile effort.

  Kallan smiled at her. “It’s been a long night. Lie down.”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  He laughed. She never stopped. “I think that’s my job, my Medusa.”

  “I’m not your Medusa. I’m not your anything. My name is Andi.”

  He put his free hand behind his head and studied her for a long moment. “Andrea Rosakis. I know your name.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I don’t think we’ll discuss that. But I suppose I should inquire as to whether there are any weapons in your nightstand I need to worry about tonight.”

  Her look of disbelief made him sit up. He crawled over her, then straddled her and tried not to think about the position while he used his free hand to pull open the drawer. A flashlight, hefty enough to bash him in the head. He tossed it away so it clattered across the floor and landed near the closet. A tattered book. He flipped it over to look at the cover. A romance novel—the half-naked hero on the cover ravishing the slightly more dressed woman in his arms. The worst she could do with that was give him some paper cuts. Or another painful erection.

  Kallan cleared his throat and dropped the book back into the drawer, where there were still some scattered papers, a pen—which he threw in the direction of the flashlight—a black satin sleep mask, and way in the back… He closed his fingers around something more substantial than the pen.

  A vibrator, he discovered when he pulled it out of the drawer.

  He shot her a quizzical glance and found her face averted, but not enough that he couldn’t see the hot color staining her cheeks. He glanced back at the toy, imagining her using it despite his best intentions. He could understand a woman like the Medusa having the same needs as other women. But why wouldn’t she indulge them with a flesh and blood man? She only suffered the effects of the curse for a few days each month. He flipped the tiny switch on the bottom of the vibrator, and the thing hummed to life.

  Under him, she stiffened, turning her face further away.

  He shut it off and dropped it back into the drawer. “Well, I don’t think I’d consider that a weapon,” he said lightly. He was suddenly aware of how close she was again, her breasts a scant inch from his belly, her thighs pressed tight between his knees. Her scent teased his nose—something with wildflowers and herbs. He sniffed. Basil, maybe. And sandalwood. Something else. He resisted the urge to lean nearer to find out what and climbed off her, ignoring his body’s protest. It had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his own needs if he couldn’t control these urges around the Medusa for even an hour.

  “Lie down.”

  When she didn’t immediately obey him, he gave her a gentle push until her head hit the pillow. She glared up at him, her cheeks still bright pink.

  “You’re going to need your rest. We have work to do tomorrow,” he said.

  She averted her gaze.

  He had to find out if any of the lore talked about the amulet being embedded in the Medusa’s skin. And if so, why hadn’t he seen it before now? Why had no one mentioned it?

  He stretched out beside her once more. “I hope you have something in the refrigerator for breakfast.” He hadn’t planned on spending the night, after all.

  “You don’t really think I’m feeding you, do you?” Horror and anger mingled in her tone.

  He didn’t look at her, though he really wanted to see her expression. “I have two good hands. I can feed myself. I’m just hoping you have breakfast food here for me to do that with.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  He grinned, restraining the laugh that tried to work up from his chest. His Medusa was a lot of fun. A lot more fun than anyone he’d encountered in a long, long time.

  She huffed and shifted. “Unbelievable,” she repeated, under her breath this time. She inched away from him on the mattress—cautiously, slowly—then lay still for a long moment.

  Andi tugged uselessly at her wrist, but his arm didn’t move from his side. “Hey, Harvester.”

  The obnoxious grin slid off his face. “Stop calling me that.”

  “It’s your name.”

  He glared at her, then folded his arms over his chest, dragging hers along and forcing her to half roll toward him again.

  She yanked away but he put his other hand over her wrist.

  “Go to sleep.”

  She shot him a disbelieving glance. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to sleeping in handcuffs. Or with all the lights on. And I’m not tired.” That last sounded rather childish, she admitted to herself, but the man had nerve.

  He observed her for a long moment, until she wanted to squirm under his scrutiny. Then another slow grin started at one corner of his mouth, gradually curving his full lower lip all the way to the opposite corner. “I bet I can fix that.”

  “I don’t think so.” She leaned as far away as her trapped arm allowed.

  He moved fast, flipping her on top of him before she realized his intent.

  Andi blinked, then felt her heart pound faster. The Harvester had muscles on his muscles.

  Not the best time to be noticing that, perhaps.

  She watched him warily as he shifted under her, settled her close, then stretched their cuffed wrists away from their sides. She put her free hand on his shoulder and pushed herself up a little. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting you tired.” His other hand slid up her spine to the nape of her
neck, where his fingers started massaging the tight muscles.

  “Stop it.” She shifted her head to one side, then the other, but his strong fingers continued exactly what they’d been doing. She frowned down at him.

  He smiled innocently.

  “That doesn’t work for me.” It did feel good, though. Not that she’d tell him.

  Kallan’s bright gaze slid down from her eyes to her mouth, almost like an actual touch on her lips.

  She swallowed. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Too late,” he murmured, using his grip at her nape to bring her closer.

  Andi sucked in a startled breath when he brushed his mouth along hers. “You’re sick.”

  It was his turn to blink. “What?”

  “You’re here to kill me, right?”

  His brows dipped into a frown.

  “You’re not supposed to be…screwing me too.” She blushed.

  His frown disappeared. “I’m not trying to screw you. Just kiss you, Andrea.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Well, that makes it much easier,” he said softly, lifting his head to catch her lips.

  His kiss wasn’t what she’d expected. Not that she’d been imagining it. Not really. His lips were warm and soft on hers, not demanding or ruthless—although she was certain he possessed both qualities, and probably far worse, knowing his gene pool. His kiss was more an exploration. A gentle caress.

  And for a moment, she decided, she could enjoy it. It had been a very long time since a man had kissed her.

  Cursed

  Angela Addams

  Her biggest mistake comes with fangs…and a nose for tracking her down.

  The Order of the Wolf, Book 1

  Wherever there’s a lying, cheating scumbag who’s broken a woman’s heart, Vengeance Dealer Darcy Wells is there. So what if she isn’t the most skilled witch around? She’s only using one spell, which leaves the hapless male suffering tormenting lust for one woman. Her.

  The beautiful part? This curse comes equipped with a blinding agent, allowing her a clean getaway. Unrequited lust, coming right up! As far as Darcy is concerned, it’s justice served. Her next target: Raven Glock, rock band bassist and drop-dead-gorgeous sex god.