by Moira Rogers
Some of the tension dissolved as Seamus laughed. “A pretty lady? Never.”
“Behave,” Joan murmured, and the slightly exasperated tone sent Adam spinning back to the past. Not to the painful memories of when it had all gone wrong, but to the good times. Long nights around a family-sized table he’d put together himself, with Joan presiding at the head, wreathed more often than not in blushes and stern disapproval every time the conversation had grown ribald.
He doubted she was a prim little innocent now, not after nearly a century of marriage to a barely-reformed blackguard like Seamus Whelan, but she could still make a man feel like a misbehaving schoolboy with a stern look. She held the look for a moment, then dissolved into laughter. “I don’t get nearly as much practice as I used to. Now that I’m a great-grandmother, people have started guarding their tongue around me. I hope you’ll all be amazingly inappropriate.”
Adam felt his own smile form, wide and easy and free of lingering sadness as he hooked an arm around Cindy’s waist and pulled her close. “What do you think? Is anyone likely to say anything remotely appropriate to her the entire time she’s here?”
“Only if Seamus and Gavin glower at them.” Cindy softened the words with a wink.
“Trouble,” Joan’s husband declared, laughing. “Sure you can handle her?”
“Nope,” Adam replied easily. “But who wants a woman they can handle?”
“No man worth having.” Joan found Adam’s gaze, and he saw his own relief mirrored in her dark brown eyes. They softened, and she tilted her head, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “A long time ago you told me to let Seamus love me.”
The memory came easily enough. Numb with pain, magically drained. Seamus and Joan had come to the rescue, covered in blood and radiating the sort of power that only came when two strong people became one mind, one heart.
He’d felt so alone, so damn tired. So confident in his own unworthiness. “I remember. And I remember you asking me a question too.”
“If you’d ever let anyone love you.”
“That’s the one.” He’d lied. At the time he’d told himself he’d done it well, and she’d believed him. Maybe they’d both been fools. “I told you I would. Someday.”
Joan nodded. “Someday was worth the wait, I think.”
“I hope so.” Cindy leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Catch up. I’m going to make coffee, and Seamus is going to help me.”
The man mock-groaned. “But I’m old.”
“And I’m a doctor,” she shot back. “Buck up and come on. You’ll be fine.”
He followed her through the doorway into the kitchen, leaving Adam and Joan alone. “So,” he said as he sank into a chair. “I suppose we have a lot to catch up on.”
“We certainly do. Where do you want to start?”
Gavin’s quiet birthday celebration had turned into an out-and-out shindig. Werewolves and humans filled the bar and spilled out into the warm spring night. The tired old jukebox had been retired for the evening, replaced with a half-dozen strategically placed speakers and an MP3 player, which Adam had declared damnably small and more like magic than any spell Sasha had ever woven.
Sasha herself was enthroned on the dais next to Samantha and Gavin. Dylan had finally been persuaded to leave her side for a laughing dance with Abby, whose smile lit up the room.
Everyone was happy and jovial. Wolves and humans, a witch and one vampire. Red Rock had never seen a celebration like this, but hopefully it would see many, many more.
“I think Seamus is scandalizing Brynn,” Adam murmured from behind Cindy, sliding one arm around her waist. “I bet she didn’t know she could be scandalized.”
It would take some uncouth comments, indeed. Cindy watched as Seamus said something and then chuckled as Brynn blushed redder than Sasha’s hair. “I bet he has some wild stories to tell.”
“I’m guessing so. He and Joan make an odd match. A bootlegger and a teetotaler debutante.” Adam’s lips brushed her ear. “Almost as odd as a vampire lumberjack and a werewolf doctor.”
A thrill of awareness and arousal raced through her. “Around here, odd matches are the rule rather than the exception. No one bats an eye, you know.”
“Think they’d bat an eye if we slipped out of the festivities early?”
Even if they did, Cindy didn’t give a damn, and she told him as much. “Let’s get out of here.”
The music was loud enough to spill out into the still, clear night. Adam held her hand and led her past couples who’d drifted out into the street to dance under the stars. Cindy threw a wave to Mac, who’d fully recovered from his injuries and was enjoying a dance with his wife.
Life is good. It was written in the smiles and laughter of the revelers outside, and it echoed in Cindy’s heart.
Adam pulled her down the street, away from her house, so she dug in her heels and asked, “Where are we going?”
“Not telling.” He grinned and tugged at her hand. “Walk, or do you want to go there over my shoulder?”
“These are my options?”
“Or we can stand in the street arguing about it until someone drags us back to the party.”
“Good point.” She affected a sigh and let him drag her along. “Be gentle with me.”
Adam steered her toward the long path that led up to their new property. “You’re smart. You can figure it out.”
“The house?” Even though Adam had devoted every spare moment to construction, it was still far from done. “What are you plotting?”
“You’ll see” was the only reply.
The woods opened up into a clearing near the top of the hill, where Adam had built their home. Under the silvered light from the moon, the cabin looked like a postcard come to life, an idyllic log cabin set alone in the forest. He guided her up the front steps and inside, then nodded to the hallway that led to the master bedroom in the back.
She held on to his hand, pulling him behind her as she walked down the hall. “Do I need to close my eyes or—oh. Oh God.” She looked around the bedroom in awe. “It’s finished.”
“Just the bedroom…but everyone helped.” He smiled, a little bit rueful. “Mostly so we’d have a place to stay now that your protégé has all but moved in to your old house.”
“He’ll make a good country doctor, once he settles in.” She couldn’t take her eyes from the wide bed that dominated the room, the walls, even the polished hardwood floor.
The walls had been painted dark blue and tan, colors echoed in the curtains and a coverlet that had to be Abby’s handiwork. Framed photos hung around the room, candid shots of Adam and Cindy, proof that Gavin and Sam had helped too. The frames were recognizable as Gavin’s solid, impeccable work, and only Sam could have captured the moments in the photographs.
“I don’t know what to say.” She gave immediate lie to the words by whispering, “I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Joan was right. You’re worth the wait. Worth everything.”
“So are you.” She’d tried to hide from him, to shut him out of her heart, but her struggle had been short-lived and futile. He’d dashed past every defense and taken her heart in his hands, and she realized now that it didn’t matter. He would always protect her, always love her.
That brought a smile to her face as she pushed him toward the bed. “Is there anywhere you need to be anytime soon?”
“No.” He tumbled onto the bed and brought her with him, leaving her sprawled against his chest. “I intend to be right here. With you. Pretty much forever.”
It was a sentiment that was all too easy to return. Easy as breathing, the most satisfying thing she’d ever done. “Forever.”
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn mor
e about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com, or drop them an email at [email protected]. (Disclaimer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
Look for these titles by Moira Rogers
Now Available:
Red Rock Pass
Cry Sanctuary
Sanctuary Lost
Sanctuary’s Price
Southern Arcana
Crux
Crossroads
Coming Soon:
Building Sanctuary
A Safe Harbor
Undertow
Deadlock
He’s only been surviving. Her magic can show him how to live.
Sanctuary’s Price
© 2009 Moira Rogers
Red Rock Pass, Book 3
After a decade under a corrupt alpha’s thumb, Dylan Gennaro is still reeling from the changes in his life: a new home, a new alpha, a pack at war. Even normal things like an ending relationship. Still, when he’s asked to work with an outcast witch, he agrees without hesitation. Maybe by protecting her, he’ll rediscover his own inner strength. If, indeed, it exists.
Sasha Wallace lost her mentor in a vicious attack that left her scarred in spirit as well as body. While she’s grateful for the refuge offered by the Red Rock alpha, it’s tough living with the pack’s suspicion. Even though—or maybe because—she’s willing to use her powers to help them fight their war. Except for Dylan. When she’s finally free to find a new home, he’ll be the only one she regrets leaving behind.
Their attraction is a balm to their wounded hearts, until their journey for knowledge brings them face to face with a terrifying vampire. Neither has the strength for this fight—but if they can let go of their pasts and trust each other, they might just be able to do it. Together.
Warning: Contains dangerous magical binding spells, a flannel-wearing vampire lumberjack, paranormal road-trip hijinks and a quietly brilliant werewolf willing to defy his society and his past to protect the witch he loves.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sanctuary’s Price:
Dylan closed the book with a great deal of care and set it on the mattress before turning to look at her. “Tell me about her.”
“She was my grandmother’s best friend.” Sasha shut her eyes and immediately called up the image of leathery, blue-veined hands sorting herbs and tracing out runes. “My grandmother died when I was ten, and my parents the next year. Car accident.” She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling as she continued. “The court placed me with my other grandmother. My dad’s mom. She spent two years thinking I was crazy or maybe possessed. Maritza was in Italy, but when she found out what had happened… She came and got me.”
The corner of the bed sank slightly and Dylan’s hand slid over hers. “And she taught you magic?”
“Along with my mother and Gram.” She clutched his hand. “But they weren’t very practiced, and there were a lot of things I didn’t know when Maritza took me to Europe.”
“I haven’t met many witches, but you seem pretty strong to me.” He rubbed his thumb over the backs of her fingers in a soft caress that sent a shiver through her. “I can feel you. Your energy, or power, or whatever it is. Like another werewolf.”
“Yeah.” She rolled to her side. He was warmth, a flame, and she was drawn inexorably to him. “It’s the same sort of magic, just working in different ways.”
“Show me how it works. Show me something magical.” His voice had turned decidedly husky.
“Magical? You mean like this?” She watched him as she whispered for darkness and then light. The room dimmed, the lamps flickering and dying. When the room lit again, it was from tiny pinpoints of light that shimmered to life between them and floated up and around the bed.
Dylan stretched out beside her, his hand still curled around hers. The flickering lights cast most of his face in gently changing shadows, but she could see the slow grin that curved his lips.
It was still there when he rolled to face her and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. “Can I kiss you?”
“No.” She leaned over him, her heart thumping painfully, and covered his hand with hers. “Because I’m going to kiss you.”
His breath tickled her cheek as he laughed. “A perfectly acceptable alterna—”
She cut him off with an open-mouthed kiss. It was too hard, too aggressive, and Sasha didn’t give a damn. He’d spent the last week tormenting her with his proximity, his smiles and the heat of his body.
A groan escaped him a moment before his hand slid around her waist. He dragged her tight against his body, so tight there was no question that he was already aroused. His other hand came up to tangle in her wet hair as he parted his lips under hers.
She felt the lights above them explode and drift down in remnants of magic. “I need you.” The words were hungry and muffled, spoken into his mouth. “Dylan.”
“Shh.” His tongue swiped along her lower lip and he nipped lightly at it before rolling them over. She ended up on her back with Dylan over her, his weight braced on his hands. He kissed her gently at first, and then harder as his hips settled over hers.
She tried to remember the last time she’d had sex. It had to have been Spain, the wizard in Madrid she always called when she passed through. The memory slipped through her fingers, hazy and finally driven to obsolescence by Dylan’s tongue slicking over hers. It had been another life, a different woman from the one arching her hips off the bed now.
Dylan lifted his head and nuzzled her cheek. His breath skated over her skin, and he lowered his lips to her ear. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to touch you?” A rock of his hips, and he groaned softly. “I’ve dreamt about it.”
Her entire body tightened in anticipation, and Sasha slipped her hands under the hem of his T-shirt. “What did you dream? Tell me.”
He scraped his teeth over her ear. “I touched you.” He shifted his weight and got one hand to her waist and under her shirt. His mouth left a hot trail of kisses as he traced a path to where her pulse fluttered underneath her skin. She felt the wet warmth of his tongue just before his groan vibrated over her skin. “Tasted you.”
It was positively poetic next to the sweaty, feverish dreams she’d been having. “Mine pretty much revolved around fucking you until neither one of us could move.”
His fingers tightened around her waist, and he closed his teeth on her throat with a low growl.
She half expected to freeze up, for the bite to bring memories of her imprisonment crashing in on her. But it brought only pleasure, the kind that exploded through her in a shower of hot sparks and put her earlier light show to shame. “Yes…”
He licked the spot before moving down her body, dropping a kiss to her collarbone and another to the hollow at the base of her throat. “Tell me,” he murmured against her skin as his lips traced the upper curve of her breast left bare by the thin white tank top. “What were you dreaming about that made you moan in your sleep?”
Sasha was beyond embarrassment, and his words drew only a throaty laugh of amusement. “You heard me, then. I wondered.” His tongue flicked over her skin, and she gasped. “You. Always you, naked beside me. Or—or behind me.”
“Over you, under you…” He caught the neckline of her shirt between his teeth and dragged it down with another playful growl.
The strap of her tank top slid down her arm as he bared her breast, and she dug her nails into his lower back. “Inside me.”
When the past bites, bite back.
Blood and Destiny
© 2010 Kaye Chambers
Ladies of St. George, Book 1
For Destiny St. George, shapeshifting lioness and private investigator, her best friend’s looming wedding is little more than a reminder of her failed relationship with vampire king Marcus Smythe. Tired of being only one of many mistresses—and dinner entrees—she’s stayed away from the vampire scene altogether. Until a missing-person case forces
her to seek his help.
Knowing that pressing Destiny is not the way to convince her to give their relationship another try, Marcus has been waiting her out—and his patience is rewarded when she steps into his nightclub. Now is his chance to lure her back into his arms. This time, he plans to keep her there.
Destiny’s not sure which is worse: working with Marcus, or trying to remember all the reasons she called it off with him. And when it becomes clear the case is an elaborate trap to avenge a millennia-old grudge, she finds herself caught between love and instinct—while the clock ticks down on an innocent victim’s life…
Warning: Vampires determined to take more than a bite out of the heroine. A lioness sure that she’s going to have the last word.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Blood and Destiny:
“Maybe you should go.”
His hands froze over the wine bottle. Without turning, he resumed twisting the corkscrew into the wine cork.
“No car,” he reminded me.
Oh, right. He had sent the driver to find out news of the new vampire in town. Criminy. I latched on to the next solution.
“When did you tell Peter to bring my car home?”
“He’ll bring it after work tonight.”
Which meant not until the wee hours of the morning at best. I watched Marcus pour the rich red wine into the glasses.
“Cab?” I suggested out of desperation.
The look he gave me as he turned to me with the glasses in hand was all the answer I needed. The idea of Marcus in a cab was a little bit ridiculous.
“I’ll grant that it may have been overly optimistic of me to assume I would be invited to stay the night. Nonetheless, you’re stuck with me for the moment. Come, have a glass of wine. Let’s not let my ego ruin this reunion. We can talk a bit and if you’re still anxious for me to leave, I’ll call the driver back.”
