by Mary Hughes
Coming April 28, 2015
Heart Mates
© 2015 Mary Hughes
Pull of the Moon, Book 1
Shifters and witches? Forbidden on pain of death. Might as well stick a fork in a light socket. Yet those are the kind of sparks witch princess Sophia Blue feels when she meets wolf shifter Noah in her aunt’s bookstore.
But Sophia is stuck. Her aunt is missing and Noah, the last person to see her, is Sophia’s only hope. If not for that and her aunt’s new, cute little doggie, Sophia would run as far as she could from the sexy, hard-hewn alpha.
Noah’s stuck too. Before disappearing, the aunt hit him with a hex gone horribly wrong—he’s the doggie. By day he’s fifteen pounds of yippity-yip, and with five anti-alpha wolves nipping at his heels, that’s deadly dangerous. Only Sophia can help him, but she has lost her magic.
Then an evil mage from Sophia’s past shows up with murder on his mind, and all Noah’s instincts shout to protect the woman his misguided heart thinks is his mate.
Warning: Sinfully sexy alpha thrown together with a hot witch in a small town. Sass, sparkle, a meddling aunt, snafus, growling, fighting, and oh yeah, sex. Might want to get up to date on your shots.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Heart Mates:
Sophia, looking for her missing aunt, seeks alpha wolf Noah at beta Mason’s garage.
Any words forming in her brain never made it to her mouth as his lips claimed hers.
Male. Exciting. He dazzled all her senses, the scent of crisp cotton and fresh outdoors, the taste of dark and wild magic. His lips caressed her, soft and sweet, while the spear of his tongue blazed. Her sighs were underscored by his pleased growls.
Awash in him, her heart thudded and her blood sang. Bursts of pleasure sparkled like firecrackers. She lifted on her toes for more.
His kiss slanted and deepened, the wild taking of the wolf but also the mastery of the man, one who knew how to give a woman what she wanted. Her mouth opened and his tongue plunged. His fingers threaded in her hair to pull her closer. Their bodies melded like two candles dripping hot wax.
Mason cleared his throat.
Noah stiffened. Lifted his head with a soft sigh.
Without the liquid caress of his hot, expert mouth, Sophia’s sanity returned. What had she done? Witch and shifter…no, not, never. She gathered enough tattered willpower to step out of his arms.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice was breathy. Damn singing hormones. She tried again. “I’m sorry that happened.”
He stepped back too. “Why?” He crossed his arms, his biceps and pecs bulging. “I’m not.”
She swallowed her tongue, totally forgetting why she should be sorry. Oh yeah, shifter/witch taboo—but he wouldn’t know she was a witch. And even if he did, he wouldn’t care. Most shifters pretended the Witches’ Council didn’t exist.
“Hey,” Mason said. “I didn’t want you two to stop. I just wanted to let you know that if you’re going to get friendly—” Mason’s grin was so big Sophia wanted to punch him, “—I’m heading out now. There’s a couch in the office. Lock up when you’re done.” He lumbered off.
“Stars,” she said. “What was that all about?”
“He’s encouraging me to find a wife.” Noah grimaced.
Noah wasn’t mated. Yes. No. None of her business.
But poor Noah. He had his own Aunt Linda, nagging for the pitter-patter of little paws. Although with the confident way he stood there, bigger and badder than anything, it was hard to feel too sorry.
Noah thrust his hands in his pockets. It framed all that was glorious. “I should go too.”
“Wait. I wanted to talk with you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Um, well, the reason I wanted to talk with you is…” What had she wanted to ask? Are you dating? What’s your phone number? What size condom do you wear? She rubbed her eyes. “My aunt. Linda.” She dropped her hand and met his silver gaze. “I think you were the last person to see her. Do you know where she went?”
“I’m sorry, no. She left the bookstore when I did, but she didn’t share her plans with me.”
Disappointment gnawed Sophia’s gut. “Can you at least tell me if she was okay?”
“Yes.” His response was immediate and reassuring. “Don’t worry about your aunt. She was fine. A little flustered, but fine.”
He’d seen her worry and didn’t hesitate to comfort her. He must be a very good alpha.
“I’m relieved to hear it. What about that boy my aunt called you in for? Was he still in the store at that point?”
“Marlowe? The boy is my responsibility. I can assure you he will be punished and your aunt reimbursed. In fact, if you want to get repairs going, I’ll personally vouch for the funds.”
“Thank you.” All that muscle, and responsible too. Some little she-wolf was going to be very lucky someday. “But that’s not what I meant. I’d like to talk with him. Do you know where he lives?”
Something shuttered in Noah’s gaze. “The boy left before I did. He knows nothing.” The reply had “back off” stamped all over it.
As if that would stop her. She gave a mental shrug. She’d have to get the boy’s address another way. “I’d better get back to the bookstore. If you think of anything, come see me, okay? The sign will be Closed, but I’ll be there.”
“You and me. Alone.” His molten gaze ran over her, chasing a shiver from her head to her toes and back again, lingering on her lips so long she had to work not to lick them. Finally he said, “Let me get this straight. You want me, a stranger, to come to the bookstore, where we’ll be alone—after what just happened between us?”
Put like that, reinforced by his hot all-over gaze, it sounded like an invitation to ravish her. “Uh…yes?”
He shook his head, more disbelief than a no. “You’re temptation on a stick. I’m not quite that masochistic.”
“Me? Have you been chewing Viagra?” She considered herself, banker chic in navy-blue pants suit, pumps and pearls. “I’m no cover model.”
“I’ve never cared for eau de airbrush. Believe me, your real beauty is far more alluring.” His eyes fired white-hot on her, a beastly hunger that was pure wolf.
That look promised instant ravaging. Hot, hard, animal sex.
She swallowed all the way to where she was wet. She wasn’t completely certain she’d stop him.
Only her light can burn away his shadows.
Assassins Bite
© 2014 Mary Hughes
Biting Love, Book 8
On her first night as a police officer, Sunny Ruffles takes down three felons…only to be attacked by a gang of vampires who are a whole new level of hurt.
Then a mysterious shadow man intervenes, saving Sunny before he disappears. She runs after him, telling herself her pursuit has nothing to do with his sharp, stubbled jaw, his powerful shoulders, or his sexy-as-hell, kissable lips.
Rescuing the humans makes Aiden Blackthorne late for a critical meeting with the vampire Nosferatu’s daughter. Yet clompy, bumbling Sunny draws him back like wild honey. He kisses her, and he’s almost got her down to her underwear when a bomb meant for him explodes.
The last thing Aiden wants is to drag Sunny into his hellish conflict with Nosferatu. But Aiden’s a loner whose only friend has mysteriously disappeared, and the woman who smells and tastes like his mate is the only backup he has left. He’ll need her, everything he is, everything he was—and everything he might have been—to defeat his evil master and claim the love he never dared hope to have.
Warning: This book contains shadowy assassins shooping off vampire heads, cops bumbling in at the worst of times, and opposites attracting, colliding, and exploding in lust—a.k.a., explicit fighting, humor, and sex.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Assassins Bite:
I cleared my throat and widened my stance and thought tough cop thoughts. “What aren’t you telling me? Exactly how do you know Mace and his vampires—?”
“Yo
u didn’t see vampires,” Blackthorne said.
Already irritated with myself, that echoey voice rubbed me into sharp annoyance. I stomped into his personal space, slapped fists to my hips and glared up at him. “Do not tell me what I did or did not see.”
“Not vampires—”
“Shut. Up.”
He reared back with a frown. “You can’t tell me to shut up.”
“Who’s the cop here?” I scowled up.
He scowled down. “Who’s the midget here?”
“Why you…” I grabbed his ears to bring his head to my level and stun him speechless with my cop glare, a cross between Medusa and an ocular fist that I’d seen Elena do and practiced daily in the mirror until I knocked myself out with it.
But somehow when his face got within reach of my mouth I leaned up and he leaned down—and we fused lips. My tongue pried and he opened, and I was plunging as deep as I could get into hot male heaven. He tasted of espresso edged with cinnamon and danger; his scent enveloping me was just as spicy.
He groaned. His arms came around me, pulling me flush to him. I clutched his biceps, warm satin-covered rocks, and moaned into his mouth. As if it was a cue he crushed me to him, his embrace hot as a woodburner and his torso as hard as his biceps. Even through the thick wool of my cop carapace I felt every ridge of him.
I twined arms around his neck and pressed into him in return. I was shivery hot and melding with him instinctively, writhing and rubbing against him with primal need.
My undulating must have been another signal, because he began to take the lead. His tongue thrust powerfully into my mouth. I groaned and a ripple of sheer need ran the length of my body. I opened wider for him; his tongue filled me again and again.
That driving power was how he’d make love. At the thought, my sex drenched.
“Mmm. Your scent drives me wild.” He cupped the back of my head, holding me in position for deeper, more exotic tonguing and biting and licking. I whimpered. His passion was a direct wire from my mouth to my sex—one he lit like a fuse. Every flick of his tongue was a hot lick to my rising clit. Every thrust inside my mouth was a powerful surge into me. Every bite shivered along my skin and every suck was as if he had me on my back with my thighs clenching his head.
He slid a hand between us. It rubbed my uniform jacket against the tips of my breasts. The jacket was new, wool and too small, and I felt it even through shirt and bra. My nipples, already awake, sang out like they were joining the choir eternal.
I gasped, grabbed his ears and tried to tongue his tonsils. My leg lifted, instinctively trying to assume the position. I was small but forceful and usually ended up on top, but he was so tall I couldn’t rub my tortured bits against his unless he helped or I climbed him like a tree. If he would just slip his hands under my derriere and lift…
He had other things in mind. He undid every brass button on my jacket then shoved it aggressively off my shoulders. My arms fell from his neck and the jacket hit the pavement with a whump-clang. I barely cared, because he kept kissing and sucking as he worked at my blouse, flipping open buttons so fast one or two went plink onto the pavement.
The instant the shirt was open, he palmed both breasts through my lacy bra, with a sound like a hungry beast coming home to a hot plentiful dinner. I thrilled. My breasts surged into his hands with nearly the same sound. I dug fingernails into his scalp and rubbed my tits into his palms, his skin so hot, his hands so big and rough and exciting.
I was about to pull him somewhere secluded, like the cruiser’s backseat—some part of me knew Jonesy wasn’t due to wake for at least another five minutes—when an explosion rocked us both.
