Ten minutes later, with Anna’s directions firmly implanted in his brain, Dante raced outside to his truck. He slammed his door just as Theo hopped into the passenger seat. They exchanged a silent look before Dante keyed the ignition and stepped on the gas.
“Lilly’s been out there all night, coz.”
Dante fought back a bitter surge of bile. “I’m more than aware of that.”
“If that drug Anna gave Lilly remained in her system, she might not have survived the elements.”
“Lilly is tough. She wouldn’t let the cold get the last word on her.” Jesus, he hoped he was right. There was no way he could survive losing his mate.
They remained ominously quiet during the agonizingly long trip to Woodcreek Road. The snow that’d fallen overnight had already obscured most of the tire tracks Anna had left behind the day before. Coasting to a halt at the dead end, he rammed the gears into park and jumped from the vehicle. He bellowed “Lilly!” at the top of his lungs and waited—his heart in his esophagus—for her response.
It didn’t come.
He kicked his boots off and wrestled from his jacket. Shifting into his wolf would be the fastest and most proficient way of tracking his mate. He glanced toward Theo. “I’ll send out an alert once I’ve found her.” Safe and sound. He refused to give credence to any other outcome.
His expression somber, Theo nodded. “I’ll bring your clothes with me.”
Within seconds Dante was naked, and he crouched onto the balls of his feet. The change came over him in a flash, and he released a determined howl as he leapt over the steep embankment.
She had to be alive. Because the alternative would fucking rip him apart.
No matter how much she tried to ignore the chill creeping into her bones, Lilly couldn’t get her teeth to stop chattering. She dozed fitfully in and out of consciousness. She knew with all certainty that the next time she closed her eyes, she’d likely not open them again. Ever.
If she’d had her choices of ways to die, hypothermia wouldn’t be top of the list. The cold had never been her best friend. She’d give anything to be lying in front of a warm fire right now. Her mind immediately rewound to the other night, when she and Dante had made love on the rug in her living room. The firelight had danced across his face, making him even more beautiful than usual. It’d revealed the love in his eyes as he’d pledged to try everything in his power to make their marriage work.
God, she wished she was in his arms right now. That any minute she’d wake up and find out this was all just some psychotic nightmare. It was too bad she didn’t have the strength to pinch herself and find out if her fruitless imaginings might be real.
Not that it mattered. They weren’t.
How much longer before her body gave up the fight? Not long, from the feel of it. Her eyelids heavy, she drifted toward promised eternal sleep. Within the murky depths of her dwindling consciousness, a furious bark sounded. She struggled to determine why it seemed familiar before she admitted defeat and floated toward slumber.
The bark issued again. This time louder. Closer.
Her eyes fluttered open as the bite marks on her neck tingled.
Dante.
She fought to lift her head from the snow but barely raised her cheek. Her mate was here. He’d come for her.
Wait, this had to be a hallucination. The hypothermia was taking its final toll.
A heart-wrenching howl pierced the air. No, there was no possibility that was anything but real. She licked her dry, cracked lips and tried to call out. The only noise that escaped her mouth was a weak croak.
A lengthy silence descended, followed by a suffocating sense of defeat. Dante had left the area. With her buried underground, there was no way he’d be able to find her.
He’d been so close. The knowledge of that was enough to bring moisture to her tired eyes.
A loose drift of snow pelted down on top of her head. Was it snowing again? She’d be buried alive. Blinking, she tilted her face upward—and met glowing amber eyes. She and Dante stared at each other. Lowering his muzzle, he puffed out a breath of air and began pawing furiously at the snow and dirt blocking the entrance to the hole.
Within minutes, he’d dug his way down to her. Elation and joy filled the chambers of her heart as he morphed into his human form and gathered her into his arms. His shaking fingers combed through her hair. “Lilly, baby, Christ.”
Her limbs were too cold and sluggish to move, so she only snuggled against him. “You came for me.”
“You’re my mate, pussycat. I’d die before letting something happen to you.”
Sleep beckoned her with tempting promise, but she resisted its lure this time. She had to. The calling in her heart needed to be heard. “W-wolfman?”
Dante cuddled her tight to his big frame, his welcome heat slowly creeping into her bones and warming her from the inside out. “What, baby?”
“I—I’m madly, utterly and r-ridiculously in love with you too. I—I want the r-real thing.”
He stroked her cheek and offered her the most tender kiss known to wolf kind. Or cat kind. “I’m going to spend the rest of my days on this earth making you blissfully happy, Lilly. You have my sworn promise on that.”
She inched closer and brushed her lips over his. Maybe they’d have to spend all of those days figuring out how the real thing worked, but as long as they did it together, there was no way they could go wrong.
About the Author
At the ripe age of seven, Jodi Redford penned her first epic, complete with stick figure illustrations. Sadly, her drawing skills haven’t improved much, but her love of fantasy worlds never went away. These days she writes about fairies, ghosts and other supernatural creatures, only with considerably more heat.
She has won numerous contests, including The Golden Pen and Launching a Star.
When not writing or working the day job, she enjoys gardening and way too many reality television shows.
Currently residing in Michigan with her husband and overgrown lapdog, she is a member of RWA national and Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America.
She loves to hear from readers. You can email her at jodiredford@jodiredford.com and visit her online at www.jodiredford.com.
Look for these titles by Jodi Redford
Now Available:
Taking Liberty
Light My Fire
Vanessa Unveiled
The Naughty List
That Old Black Magic
That Voodoo You Do
The Seven Year Witch
Maximum Witch
Getting Familiar With Your Demon
Thieves of Aurion
Lover Enslaved
Coming Soon:
Breaking Bad
He should push her away…but he’d rather have his wicked way with her.
Getting Familiar With Your Demon
© 2012 Jodi Redford
That Old Black Magic, Book 4
After too many years learning death from the inside out as the familiar of a voodoo queen, soul collector Samael Gorasola betrayed his boss, which landed him on demon death row.
He should have known not even his punishment would come easy, but the deal he’s offered to escape his fate stinks. Become the indentured servant to his despised enemy? No thanks, he’d rather be six feet under. With that in mind, he picks a deadly fight with two demon hunters, only to be rescued by one misguided, deliciously innocent white witch.
Marabella hasn’t a clue what possessed her to help Sam, particularly since he’s not the least bit grateful. She blames it on her overwhelming attraction to the dark, dangerous demon, and her exasperating quest to rid herself of the stubborn curse that guards her virginity. If the guild finds out, though, she can kiss her white-witch status goodbye.
A kiss is exactly what she gets, followed by a consuming hunger that breaks down all heavenly and earthly barriers…and leaves Sam saddled with the one thing he never wanted, a conscience, and a connection to Marabella that puts her soul on the line.
Warning: This book contains torturous use of disco music, one sinfully sexy demon who revels in being bad, a virgin witch whose innocence runs more than skin deep, and plenty of wicked, forbidden sex with explosive side effects—literally.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Getting Familiar With Your Demon:
I can’t believe I’m going through with this. Even if she really wasn’t. But in the end, she still had to endure an evening with a demon who possessed a caveman mentality and a one-track mind. A demon she just happened to have a raging case of horniness for.
Yeah, this couldn’t end badly. Not at all.
Dragging in a shaky breath, Marabella pulled into the parking garage down from Bella’s Boutique and cut the engine. She removed the keys from the ignition and prayed Sam wouldn’t comment on the constant jingling the keys made as they dangled from her trembling fingers. He joined her outside the vehicle, and after crossing the deserted boulevard, they walked the short distance to her storefront.
She attempted to jam the key into the lock, but her overworked nerves made the task impossible. Without saying a word, Sam gently nudged her aside and freed the bolt. She didn’t fail to notice the sardonic tilt of his mouth as she muttered a “Thanks” and pushed past him. The tumblers clicked, announcing Sam had secured the lock. She reached for the light switch, but he took her hand and led her away from the door. Her heart beating a chaotic mambo, she trailed along, trying not to focus on the fact he seemed to have a definite destination in mind. They pulled to a stop in the entry leading to the French Bohemian bedroom tableau, and her pulse ratcheted up several notches. She stared at the daybed before jerking her gaze to Sam. Immense heat simmered in his sin-filled eyes.
She blurted the first thing that popped into her mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of her more intelligent responses. “The bed is only for display.”
Another flash of sardonic humor flickered across Sam’s face. “What kind of saleswoman would you be if you didn’t test out the merchandise?”
“I…” Ah damn. Her tongue-tied state increased a thousandfold when Sam’s hands planted on either side of her head, effectively boxing her against the wall. The way he was looking at her—as if he were mentally devouring her—caused her pulse to stutter. Sure, there’d been plenty of men who’d gazed at her with lust before the curse ultimately knocked them on their asses. Even so, those occasions didn’t hold a candle to the barely restrained hunger riding Sam’s gorgeous features.
She licked her lips and watched his pupils dilate as he tracked the motion of her tongue. “I—I don’t know.” She winced at her breathless stammer, feeling worse than a gawky moron.
Sam’s head descended until they were practically nose to nose. She stared into his eyes, mesmerized by the intensity in their depths. His irises were so dark, she’d at first assumed they were completely black, but up close, she saw they were actually a deep midnight blue.
“We can’t have you selling a bed you haven’t stamped a personal testimony on. What if the springs squeak?” His whiskey-smooth voice held an unmistakable hint of tease.
Before her brain produced a not entirely idiotic response, Sam’s mouth claimed hers. The same electric jolt of desire and apprehension she’d experienced in the ballroom slammed into her with renewed force. A moan slipped free before she could cage it. The sound must have encouraged Sam, because he re-angled his approach, his tongue delving past her lips as if it had every right to do so. She truly wished with every fiber in her being that it didn’t, but the heady pleasure Sam was delivering told a different story.
As if her arms possessed a will of their own, they circled his neck, her fingers threading through the thick softness of his hair. A part of her screamed in warning, reminding her she wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. It was one thing to convince Sam she wanted to rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him. She wasn’t supposed to actually want to do it.
It proved nearly impossible to keep that thought on track as Sam’s tongue glided along hers. Retreating slightly, he explored the edges of her teeth before he sucked on her bottom lip and started his lush oral treatment all over again. By the time he pulled back, her mouth felt swollen and thoroughly ravished. Her breath puffed in shallow, staccato bursts, and the soaked crotch of her panties clung to her throbbing flesh in damning proof of her insatiable desire for him.
Passion and fear warred inside her. She wanted—no, craved—the wet, slick rasp of Sam’s tongue on her everywhere. Her mouth, her breasts and painfully hard nipples. Her pussy. Oh goddess. She especially hungered to feel him there. And that was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Sam’s mouth abandoned hers and slid to the slope of her neck. His beard scruff tickled her skin, inciting a host of goose bumps. He scored his teeth along the pulse point beneath her ear before sucking the tender spot. A responding beat echoed in her clit, and she whimpered. Without warning he swept her into his arms. She clung to him, as much startled by the action as his obvious strength.
Before she even thought to protest, Sam strode the short distance to the daybed and tossed her into the middle of it. Decorative throw pillows tumbled to the ground as he stretched over her. Their bodies aligned in the most delicious way. She struggled to ignore that reality, but Sam seemed determined to prove exactly how traitorous her body could be. He cupped her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her Greek goddess gown, and she arched into him, her nipples obediently pebbling under his touch. His husky chuckle mocked her. Swirling his tongue in the sensitive hollow beneath her ear, he rolled his fingertips over her nipples. She nearly shot out of her skin.
“You’re incredibly responsive considering I haven’t even gotten you naked yet.” There was no mistaking the intent in his voice. Giving a low, sexy growl, he bunched the skirt of her costume in his hands and whisked it upward. Before she’d snapped to her senses, he’d tugged the dress completely off her, leaving her with only a skimpy G-string and matching bra to hide her from his hot, hungry gaze.
Milky moonlight poured through the window, revealing Sam’s unabashed stare as it roved her body, lingering everywhere, but especially on the faint shadow of her pubic hair beneath the sheer white mesh of her panties. Her hands automatically moved to cover her groin, and he used the opportunity to free the front clasp of her bra with a deft flick of his wrist. He separated the nylon cups and stared at her breasts.
Her heart hammered, making her dizzy. She’d never been this naked with a man. The realization was both exciting and scary. She attempted to shield her exposed flesh again, but Sam gripped her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head.
Straddling her thighs, he lifted onto his knees and reached for something overhead. She craned her neck to see what he was up to and frowned when he snagged one of the tasseled curtain tiebacks draped over the folding silk screen tucked behind the daybed. Recalling the imprisoned state of her wrists, her eyes widened. No. He wouldn’t.
The wicked sparkle in his eyes quickly shot a hole in that pathetic theory. She jerked against his hold, earning his devilish chuckle. He braced her hands on the daybed’s brass rail and looped the tieback’s velvet cord around her joined wrists, securing them to the cold metal bar as easily as if she’d been a steer at a roping contest. Not exactly the most flattering way to picture herself, to be sure. “S-Sam, let me out of this, damn it.”
“No.”
“Please?” Soon as she was free, she’d kick his ass for making her beg.
“I’m not spending all night fielding your coy hiding games. For shit’s sake, you act like you’re a damn virgin or something.”
She glared at him. “Maybe I am.”
“Yeah, likely story, baby.”
She opened her mouth in order to correct him of his misassumption, but the words dried in her throat as Sam stripped out of his shirt. She’d seen him bare-chested before. It made absolutely no sense why her nipples should still tingle at the close-up view of the sleek, sculpted contours of his muscular torso and chiseled six-pack. Swallowing with great difficulty, she watched his hand trail in a lazy fashion down his washboard abs, following the thin peppering of silky hair that arrowed toward the waistband of his jeans. He released the buckle on his belt and withdrew the leather strap from the loops. His motions deliberate and slightly menacing, he anchored the belt around the top rail of the daybed.
Catching her wary look, he offered a smile that’d make a crocodile nervous. “Might need it later.”
What the hell have I agreed to?
The only good Secret is a buried Secret.
Deep Dark Secret
© 2012 Sierra Dean
Secret McQueen, Book 3
Secret McQueen has hunted vampires, werewolves, and every conceivable supernatural menace-to-society. Seen it all? Not even close. When the queen of the were-ocelots comes to her for help finding a missing girl, the half-vampire/half-werewolf soon realizes how much she has to learn about the things that go bump in the night.
The case of the missing cat is one thing. Pile it up with her new duties as a Tribunal Leader, her tenuous position as mate to the king of the Eastern werewolves, and a slew of new (and unwelcome) supernatural abilities, and Secret is once again in familiar territory. Way over her head. But for this multitasking half-breed, it’s business as unusual.
What knocks her for a loop, though, isn’t her lover’s intoxicating kiss. It’s the missing memories rushing at her from out of nowhere, signaling a rapidly approaching fork in her destiny. Her choice will affect not only her life, but her love.
Warning this book contains a werewolf king with wandering hands, a creepy English professor with nefarious plans, and one hell of an unexpected gala evening at Columbia.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Deep Dark Secret:
One of the perks of dating a billionaire was access to the most unprecedented views of the city.
I love New York more than any place in the world. Everything from the dirty sidewalks of Chinatown to the clean white lines of the Museum of Modern Art warmed my heart and made me smile. It was a city I normally saw from the ground floor looking up, so when I got to look at it from eighty floors overhead, it was like being in heaven and gazing down at the earth.
Having never seen the city in daylight, I wondered if it could match the magic of a Manhattan night. With all the lights and the sinewy lines of white and red traffic, could it possibly look as beautiful in the sun?
Lucas’s reflection in the window gave away his approach, but I acted surprised when he came up behind me and handed me a glass of red wine.
“I love this room.” Since Lucas and I had begun dating last year, I’d had a chance to see every room in his three-story penthouse in Rain Hotel. The massive lounge on the third floor was by far my favorite. The couches were black microsuede, and there was a stocked bar on the back wall. But it was the view I liked best. A full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows provided a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city.
When the lights in the room were turned off, it was like nothing stood between us and the city.
Wait, when did he turn the lights off?
Warm breath puffed against my neck, reigniting the shivers I’d felt at dinner. His nose traced the line of my jaw, his mouth skimming against my throat making goose bumps explode all over my body. When Lucas looped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him, the heat of his body was surprising. Since I was always an average temperature, the presence of a werewolf was like standing next to an open flame. I was used to Desmond, but Lucas felt different somehow.
He nipped my earlobe, and I took a big swallow of the wine he’d given me.
“This is great. Cabernet?” The moment I said it I knew I was babbling like an idiot. Of course it wasn’t a cabernet; I could have figured that out on my own just from the taste.
“Pinot noir,” he whispered against my skin. The name of a wine had never sounded so sensual.
Damn my fickle libido. A familiar hot tingle was stealing through me, turning to molten heat under the surface of my skin. Everywhere he touched me—and his hands were roaming now—felt like I was being burned. Only it wasn’t unpleasant. It was never unpleasant when Lucas touched me.
Which was why I tried to avoid it.
I understood perfectly well that my soul-bond with him made me respond to him as a mate. But I was living with Desmond, Iloved Desmond, and where I came from it meant something to be in love. The problem with the bond was that my metaphysical connection to Lucas was actually stronger than my connection to Desmond. So although my emotional attachment to the wolf lieutenant was deeper, my bond to Lucas was almost overpowering. It had overshadowed the secondary bond altogether the first time I met the two of them.
When I was in close quarters with Lucas—with his hands all over me and his voice so intoxicating in my ear—the bond fought to squash reason. Sure, you love Desmond, it said, but this is right too.
According to Lucas it was right for me to love them both. But I think he still wanted me to love him more. And I think it was driving him crazy knowing I was having sex with Desmond but still hadn’t shared that part of myself with him. Most men would be pretty frustrated waiting almost a year to bed their girlfriend. I can’t imagine it made it easier to know I was getting satisfaction somewhere else, while Lucas got none.
At least I hoped he wasn’t finding his satisfaction somewhere else.
The thread of possessive jealousy in that thought fed the building desire, and when Lucas kissed my shoulder blade, I shuddered.
“Lucas…”
He found the hem of my shirt, his smooth palms ducking under the loose cotton. Skin-to-skin contact was too much. I let out a gasp, startled by the burst of liquid heat rippling outwards from his fingers.
“We can—”
“Shhh,” he urged, inching closer, pushing us nearer to the window. I put a palm up, still holding the wineglass in my other hand, and the coolness of the window made the fiery presence of his body that much hotter.
He was taller than me by a head, so he was forced to stoop as he kissed me. I think the extra distance between our upper bodies was the only thing keeping me sane. Then my shirt was up as high as my bra, and sanity was a fleeting memory.
I turned towards him and met his wandering mouth with a scorching kiss. Pressed against him like this I couldn’t ignore his growing hardness, and my mind swam with the possibilities. I growled into his mouth, biting his lower lip, and he responded by edging his knee in between my legs. Knowing Lucas’s make-out style as well as I did, he was on the verge of picking me up. I guess tall guys don’t love getting a crick in their neck when they have short girlfriends.
I saved him the trouble and shoved him backwards. He fell off the raised platform by the windows and onto one of the large couches, but a firm grip on my shirt meant he took me with him. Lucas landed on his back, and I was straddling him, still holding a half-full glass of wine, which I’d miraculously saved on our way down.
I sipped the drink and tried to act nonchalant, but he was using his new position to his advantage. Lifting me so I was poised over his hips instead of his stomach, he let out a groan as I shifted my balance.
“Sorry,” I whispered, putting my glass down on the coffee table.
“I’ll show you sorry,” he growled, seizing a handful of my hair and pulling me closer, kissing me with naked, ferocious hunger that brought the heat between us to a fever pitch. He tugged at my shirt and instructed, “Off.”
I complied, tugging the shirt over my head and tossing it away. It caught the wineglass, knocking the drink over and sopping up the remains. Well, at least I’d ruined a shirt with something other than blood for once. Ignoring the mess, I returned my attention to Lucas, licking his jaw. His stubble made it feel like I was licking sandpaper, but the sensation wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
The distinctive flavor of cinnamon unique to him flooded my mouth, and combined with the remnants of the pinot noir, it was a heady, dark blend that made me think of Middle Eastern spice bazaars and old spells Grandmere warned me about.
He spread his wide palms across my stomach, moving them upwards until he was cupping my breasts. A masculine smirk played at his lips, and he got harder, his erection straining against the thin knit of my black tights. My yellow eyelet skirt had already been bunched around my hips.
When he reached to unclasp my bra, I froze. The new tension was obvious to him, because he stopped immediately, his hands coming back around to the front like he was saying, Here they are. No funny business, I promise.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“It’s okay.” His voice was raspy and thick with lust.
“It’s just that—”
“Secret, I get it.” His hands fell to my thighs and, as if acting of their own volition, slid under my skirt. When I didn’t stop him, he moved closer to my inner thigh, and one thumb grazed the damp fabric between my legs.
I groaned.
“Let me…” He stroked a little harder, a little faster, until my breath became low, husky panting and I was rocking my hips to meet the frenzied gestures of his fingers. “Let me do something.”
“We can’t—”
“Not that,” he promised before I could voice my hesitance. “Will you trust me? I want to do something to you, Secret.”
He stopped stroking me, and I mewled in protest, my hands clenching the front of his shirt. I didn’t remember grabbing him. Lucas sat up, his mouth hovering over my breast a moment before he licked one taut nipple through the lace of my bra.
“Oh, yes. Yes, whatever you’re going to do just do it already.”
He can be a slave to his past…or allow her love to free him.
Evermine
© 2012 Hailey Edwards
Daughters of Askara, Book 2
There’s such a thing as too much change. Emma’s sister is mated. Revolution is brewing in her home realm. The last straw: her would-be mate is back from the dead and back under her skin—yet when it comes to the last five years, he’s not talking.
Desperate for a chance to start her own life, she answers the queen’s call to ensure equality for all of Askara’s newly freed slaves. It’s the perfect opportunity to escape a heartbreak in the making named Harper.
Harper loses a piece of his fractured soul when Emma walks away. His lies were meant to protect her from torturous years that drove him to the point of madness. Instead, when he comes to her a year later to help avert a crisis in a freed-slave community, the wedge those lies drove between them is firmly in place.
As their new lives collide with old wounds, they race to stop a threat that could not only destroy the queen, but send Harper back to the hell he escaped. Emma must decide if the man she still loves deserves equal rights to her heart.
Warning this title contains torn pants, ripped gowns, and sand in uncomfortable places. It also includes one overcompensating villain, one gnarly priest, and two battered hearts willing to give this thing called love one last chance.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Evermine:
Harper walked a circuit of the guest bedroom. Night sounds poured through the open window, carried on an arid breeze. He paused when the curtains rustled and the soap-clean scent of Emma teased him to lift the fabric, inhale her fragrance and wish for things best forgotten.
Dillon lay on a cot, staring at the ceiling. “You’ll wear tracks in the floor.”
“I have a lot on my mind.” He stepped away from temptation.
“I don’t supposed this ‘a lot’ has blonde curls and a temper?” He sat upright. “She could have at least been born with red hair.” He scowled. “A warning label would be appreciated.”
“She wasn’t feeling well.” The excuse came easy. It was one he’d made often after finding out about Emma’s caffeine addiction the hard way. Seeing her doubled over and gagging on her bedroom floor brought his first night in the earthen colony rushing back in perfect detail.
His bittersweet homecoming had served as a wakeup call when he snuck from Clayton and Maddie’s guestroom to find Emma and made a chilling discovery. He’d found her, all right, crawling on her hands and knees on the floor of her diner. Shattered coffeepots had driven glass into her palms. Mud-brown sludge had smeared her mouth, her chin. Her eyes had gone glassy.
He’d seen enough courtesans crazed with their drug of choice not to recognize her symptoms. She’d purged her stomach across his lap, then curled up against his chest and slept as if she hadn’t closed her eyes in all the time he’d been gone. Other memories drifted into his conscience, but he choked them, stuffed them back into the hellish box where they belonged.
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