He put his bandaged hand on my thigh. “Jo, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Running off on your own is going to get you killed. Hell, it almost got you killed once already. Even in Vegas a good player knows when to walk away from the table.”
I pointed at the folded postcard where it lay on one of the side tables. “Then what do I do about that? He sent it to me, Hunter. He didn’t send it to Toronto to wait until we got home. He didn’t send it to you or to David. He sent it to me, here. He knows we’re here and what we’ve been dealing with. It’s immediate and it’s happening now and I have to go.”
“You think it’s got something to do with Dykovski. Which makes it even more dangerous.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I almost lost you two weeks ago, Jo. I don’t want to let you go running into the street to play in traffic.”
“It’s Harris. I owe him at least the opportunity to hear him out.”
“It could be a trap.”
“It could be. But Harris wouldn’t do that to me. To us.”
“Are you that sure?” Hunter stroked my cheek. “What if he’s hooked up with Dykovski? I know he promised you he wouldn’t go back to the dark side, but who knows what’s happened? If he couldn’t hack it out in the real world, it might be damned enticing to flip sides.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted. “But I can’t not go.” I locked eyes with him. “He helped out when he didn’t have to. I trust him not to set me up.”
“So let’s all go. We’ll throw the team onto a bus and chug on out to Buttcheek, Wherever.”
“And make Harris a target for Dykovski,” I shot back. “If Dykovski’s monitoring us through the media, he’s going to follow us out there along with all the news vans. Harris doesn’t have a jammer. If he gets to Harris before we do, jumps ahead of us, the guy’s as good as dead.” I drew a thumb across my throat, the meaning clear. “The more people who go, the more media it attracts. We can’t take that risk, not with Harris or any other supers.”
“Okay.” Hunter stood with a resigned look. “I know when you’re being stubborn. But at least wear my jacket.”
I blinked in confusion as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Not that I don’t mind wearing your shirt when we pause for a snack, but…”
He laughed. “My mission leather, silly.” A few long strides took Hunter to the giant closet where he pulled out a black leather jacket.
In all the confusion and drama I’d forgotten about our new toys. Jessie had jumped through some fancy hoops to give us a practical uniform we could use, body armor being the most important. No one was pulling punches because we had to look pretty for a photo shoot after the fight.
“I can monitor you nonstop.” Hunter nodded towards the small computer tablet lying on the far table. “At least do that much for me. Between the link and the camera, I’ll be able to track what’s going on, and if you need help, we’ll be on the way.” He threw the jacket on the couch beside me. “Give me something here, Jo. Don’t make this into a full-fledged brawl.” He grinned. “I can think of better things to do for our last night in Las Vegas.”
I picked up the jacket. My own had been shredded in the mine collapse that had almost cost me my life and had cost Lamarr his.
“Lost my pants too.”
“Not interested in replacing those.” He advanced on me with a smile, knowing he’d won a concession. “In fact, I like it when you don’t wear any pants at all.”
I fondled the leather for a second before putting it to one side. “How about we call it a win for me and we order up dinner?”
“And what do I get for losing?”
“Anything you want.” I gave him my best come-hither look. “That is, after we eat. I think I’m going to need a lot of energy for tonight.”
He almost broke a leg trying to get to the phone.
Something old, something blue, something deadly…what else is new?
Keeping Secret
© 2012 Sierra Dean
Secret McQueen, Book 4
It’s a nice day for a white wedding. At least that’s what Secret McQueen is hoping for, with her poofy-princess-dress marriage to a werewolf king looming closer and closer by the day. But as ever, nothing can be that easy for a vampire/werewolf hybrid for whom someone still harbors a death wish.
Summoned to the south by her werewolf uncle, who makes no bones about the fact her mate bond with Lucas doesn’t pass muster, Secret learns her furry heritage looks more like a tangled vine than a family tree. Getting her royal uncle’s blessing hinges on finding one of the missing twigs. Even with vampire sentry Holden Chancery at her side, she manages to land up to her neck in a swamp of trouble.
As an assassin’s scope zeroes in, family dramas boil up and a fast-collapsing love square threatens to bury her alive, making it to the church on time could be the least of Secret’s problems.
Warning: Contains a grumpy bride who shouldn’t be wearing wedding white, a motley crew of bridesmaids, a dangerous scenic drive in the woods and a smoking-hot trio of suitors who might be too scorching to touch.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Keeping Secret:
Dominick didn’t like my idea of leaving Lucas to sleep off his drunken stupor on the porch. I didn’t like the idea of sharing a bed with a snoring, drooling mountain of inebriated werewolf. We compromised by dumping him on the couch in front of an imaginary fire. Dominick offered to sleep on the porch swing, which I didn’t love, but I couldn’t talk him out of it.
When I climbed under the duvet, there was still an hour before the early rays of dawn would drag me down into my daylight sleep. I was grateful the design of the cabin meant the bedroom had no windows, but it also made the space a little claustrophobic.
I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to stare at the walls and fantasize they were closing in on me.
A weight sank down beside me on the bed, making the springs groan.
“Managed to find your way off the couch?” I asked.
In response, the duvet lifted and a muscular body slipped against my back, spooning me perfectly. I arched my back towards him, our bodies molding together like they were meant to be paired this way.
“Maybe we left you outside too long,” I said with a smile. “For a werewolf, you’re downright freezing.”
Lips brushed my earlobe, and I could feel the curve of a smile. “Then warm me up,” he replied.
My eyes flew open, and I spun in the bed, still encased in the arms of a man who was decidedly not a werewolf, nor my fiancé.
“Holden, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here?”
“Bathroom window was open.”
Jesus, these wolves certainly trusted the woods around them. Doors and windows left open. I was all for Southern hospitality, but didn’t they know vampires were just lurk—
“Wait a damned second. How did you manage that? Even if it was unlocked, no one invited you in.”
He chuckled. “It’s not anyone’s primary residence. It’s not a home, just a guest suite. The invitation rule only applies to permanent dwellings, not temporary ones. It’s the same reason we can go into hotels. Don’t ask me how the metaphysics works…it just does.”
He clasped his arms around my back and tugged me close. Though he wasn’t hard, I felt the unmistakable pressure of his package through the thin material of my underwear. My brain said, no, no, no, but the hypersensitive parts of me below the waist said, oh, oh, oh.
My vagina was always trying to be my undoing. It only understood pleasure and didn’t tend to care who the penis belonged to.
My brain was a little pickier.
But only a little.
Holden leaned in to steal a kiss. I head-butted him.
“Ow,” he groaned, his hand shooting to his forehead.
“You idiot. Lucas is in the other room, and there is a pack of more than thirty wolves hanging around outside, drunk off their asses. I’m sure they’d love to know a vampire was sneaking in
to the bed of an unsuspecting princess.”
In spite of the pain I’d inflicted—which probably wasn’t too much considering I hadn’t given it my all and his skull was about as fragile as cast iron—he grinned like an idiot when I used the P word on myself.
“My apologies, your most serene princessyness.”
“Don’t be an ass. You were born in England. You of anyone should know the right terminology.” And just like that he’d made me forget I was angry with him. “Seriously, though, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Sig was pretty specific about me not letting you out of my sight.”
“I don’t think he meant it literally.”
“I don’t think Sig understands the finer points of English colloquialisms enough to mean it anything other than literally. For him ‘don’t let her out of your sight’ can only mean one thing.”
Shit.
“Shit.”
“Look,” he said, loosening his hold on me and propping his head on one hand. God he looked delicious with pillow-mussed hair. Also, where was his shirt? “Eyes up here, Princess.”
“Well, stop it with the dramatic pauses and get to your point. I was falling asleep.”
“Sure you were.”
“Moonlight’s ticking away, Chancery.”
He rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue at me. “I’m not trying to ruin your little summit. There’s a pigeonnier near the main house. The windows have been sealed, and it doesn’t look like it’s being used. I can hide there during the day without being exposed. But at night, I need to know where you are.”
“Can you be subtle about it?”
“I’ve been here all night. Has anyone noticed me yet?”
I raised my fist and tapped the wall behind us. “Knock wood.”
“And did anyone notice me follow you here?”
I dropped my hand. “How did you manage that, exactly?”
“I actually didn’t follow the cars.” He tapped my chest. “Good old sentry-warden connection. I could have followed you across the country if I’d needed to.”
“Well let’s hope we never have to test that theory.” I chuckled, but was distracted by the notion that our connection acted like a homing beacon.
Holden smirked then darted in when my guard was low. The kiss started out the way all stolen kisses do, with a brief press of the lips that acts as a beg for forgiveness and request for permission all at once. I was too startled by how he’d gone in a second time that I didn’t immediately push him off.
When I didn’t respond with violence, his lips firmed and forced my mouth to open, his tongue slipping in and curling along my own like a finger beckoning me to come-hither. Once more I arched against him.
Traitorous vagina.
His fingers dug into my hair, pulling my head close and angling my body towards the front of his. My lips felt almost painfully hot where they met his cool ones. When he pulled back, his fangs were exposed and his eyes had gone inky black.
I let out a shuddering sigh and tongued my own canines. Sharp as the devil’s wit.
“That’s not what I meant when I asked if you could be subtle.”
He pecked me on the cheek. “It’s okay. That wasn’t part of my job. Completely pro bono.”
“Oh, so if it’s free, it can be as in-your-face as you want?”
I knew how poor my word choice was when his lips found mine again. He kissed me until I was breathless and panting all at the same time, and when his fang grazed my lip, I didn’t fight it. He lapped at the thin stream of blood and let out a growl that made my insides twang like a plucked guitar string. If I didn’t wise up, I was going to let this go much, much too far.
It had already gone too far.
“You need to go,” I said.
“I do.”
When I opened my eyes, he was gone, but the taste of him lingered on my lips.
I was in serious trouble.
Crazy in the Blood
Lucienne Diver
Hell on Earth. It’s not just an expression anymore.
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, the cultists and her crazy uncle, Tori’s giving up on 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.
eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Crazy in the Blood
Copyright © 2012 by Lucienne Diver
ISBN: 978-1-60928-932-4
Edited by Tera Kleinfelter
Cover by Kanaxa
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2012
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
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