Archives for posts with tag: #kindledeal
Truth or Dare, the first in a new series, Playing with Fire, by Anne Conley!
Cover Art: James Price with AEP Designs
Cover Model: Stanley Fields
Photographer: Jeffrey Todd Photography
Publish Date: August 21st, 2018

When a child’s game goes delightfully wrong, Jude finds himself rethinking his current status quo and begins looking to Annette to make sense of his own life.

Annette is trying not to get distracted by the sexy firefighter, but when her artistic retreat begins in disaster, Jude’s playing the hero she can’t ignore. Suddenly, her artwork is completely changed with Jude’s exquisite lines transforming her landscapes.

Up until now, their life was like a notebook full of doodles, but it’s turning into a full-fledged art showing, and neither of them know how to deal with the embers of desire when they ignite into flames.

 

Excerpt:

Jude let out a hiss of air, probably because the paint was cold, but it made his nipples stand out, a stark relief against the flat disks on his chest. She traced the ridges of his abdomen with strokes of color that stood out against his tanned skin.
 
The bristles of the brush loved Jude’s skin, flattening and molding to it, leaving color in their wake. It was glorious, the way her hand was working the brush.
 
His jeans hung low, and Annette held her breath as she outlined the line that went down the outside of the abdominal ridges, leading into the miraculous “V” that ended with the jutting 
bulge in his jeans. Jude was holding his breath too.
 
Moving back up his body, she painted his collarbone, his neck, his Adam’s apple, then stood back and looked at him, trying to imprint the picture in her mind. Grabbing her sketchbook to ground herself, Annette quickly drew the lines, transposing them from Jude to paper so she could look at them later.
 
And remember.
 
His eyes were dark and intense, like a caged beast was inside him desperate to be let loose. Not finished with her work for the day, she tried to ignore that thought.
 
Vague impressions of Drake and his intentions for her show made her focus enough on her work to make sure she utilized the light while she could.
 
She made a quick sketch of Jude’s torso lines and looked at him again. He hadn’t moved and was still looking at her intently. A shudder of need slammed into her, but she still required something more.
 
Annette looked at him, trying to be dispassionate as she thought about what it was she needed.
 
She needed him to move a little bit so she could get the lines in motion.
 
“Can you hold onto that beam above you?” His golden eyes looked up to the beam in question, a good two feet above his head.
 
“Sure.”
 
Her breath hitched as he jumped straight up in the air and grasped the beam, his muscles popping with the exertion.
 
Those were lines a girl could dream about.
 
“Perfect,” she breathed as she reached for a chair to stand on and continue painting him.
 
The muscle around his armpit was bulging out roundly, so she started there. God, his arms were phenomenal. She loaded up her brush and went to work, tracing the routes of the veins on his forearms as his hands gripped the beam. His biceps were bigger here, more defined from this position, so she re-marked them in a darker shade of the flame color she’d mixed up.
 
His jeans sunk lower on his hips, so she was able to trace this “V” a little further down, gulping at the top of the nest of curls peeking from his jeans. The curve of his ass showed as she went around to the back of him.
 
“How long can you hang there?” She really wanted to get his back. It was amazing, the muscles a brilliant topography of the human body.
 
“As long as you need me to, sweetheart.” He wasn’t breathless at all, so she took his word for it.
 
After a quick sketch of the lines on his front, she went around to the back and started painting it.
 
Annette hadn’t done many portraits and hadn’t had much of an interest in sketching the human body. It was mostly because she went to college in east Texas, and the nude model they’d had for the one lesson had been a woman.
 
She may have to rethink the human anatomy.
TruthorDare_all9
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IF YOU CAN STAND THE HEAT, THERE’S A HOT SINGLE DAD IN THE KITCHEN.

Plus One_Cover

TITLE: Plus One
AUTHOR: Mae Wood
COVER DESIGN: Alyssa Garcia | Uplifting Designs

BLURB

If you can stand the heat, there’s a hot single dad in the kitchen.

At not-quite forty and with his son in his last year of high school, Bert’s going to be dining alone.

His restaurant’s wine rep has a few ideas on how he might sate all of his appetites.

He hasn’t been buying what she’s been selling, but she’s only in Memphis for a few months before moving back home to California.

Besides, it’s not like he’s going to fall in love for the first time in his life or anything crazy like that, right?

Plus One is a steamy standalone novel.

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PURCHASE LINKS

Free with Kindle Unlimited | 99c for a Limited Time

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON CA | AMAZON AU
AMAZON UNIVERSAL

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PRAISE FOR PLUS ONE

“I can go on and on about this book. The writing was so witty and all the food and wine references just made me want to hop on a plane and go taste some good southern food.”—After Dark Book Lovers

“…if you like Single Dads, good food, all the wine, and fitness coupled with stellar writing and extremely well-developed characters, then PLUS ONE IS THE BOOK FOR YOU. So, go ahead, one click it and enjoy.”—Y’all This Book

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BONUS SCENE

“Angostura bitters,” he said over his shoulder. “There was a shortage a few years a back, so I started making my own bitters.” I trailed him around the restaurant’s kitchen, a puppy in pursuit of a treat.

Ostensibly, I was here on a sales call, making my rounds at the downtown Memphis restaurants. Selling wine, taking orders, and moving on to the next restaurant or bar. But when Pig and Barley popped up on my iPad for today’s call list, I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t help but dig around in my closet. No company-logo’ed polo shirt today.

Boobs.

And leg.

A hint of lace.

I knew what he’d order.

And knew I’d take it.

Curving his tall frame over a chopping board, another vintage concert T-shirt thin with age stretched across his powerful shoulders, he crushed a star anise with the flat blade of a knife. The meat of his left palm quickly smacking the heavy blade he held still with his right hand. And I jumped. He’d never spanked me, and I’d never wanted it. Never wanted to play that way until now.

“Do you like Absinthe? Or Sambuca?” he asked, the smell of soft black licorice wafting from the crushed pod. “Because I’m going for a stripped-down version with this infusion and will then play around with it to make a bitter I can use in cocktails.”

Flipping the knife over in his palm, he used the back to scrape the crushed pod into a glass jar filled with a clear liquid.

“Vodka? Everclear?” I guessed.

“No. Good ol’ Tennessee moonshine. Don’t ask where I got it.”

“So many, many good things in Tennessee.”

He wiped his hands and knife on a neatly folded white towel and placed the knife to the side of the cutting board, parallel and just so. His deliberate moves were instinctual when he sought out pleasure, whether from his food, his cocktails, or from me.

“So this is a sales call?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Drennan,” he said with a smile while he folded his arms across his chest, drawing out my name like I was a naughty child. The three birds on his forearm fluttered from the muscle movement, and my hand ached to touch his inked flesh. “Who else are you calling on today?”

“Flight and a few other places.”

“Tight schedule?” he asked.

“I could work you in,” I replied, taking a step toward him and walking my fingertips along the top of the shiny steel work surface, trying to be cool while the heat built inside of me. Fighting to keep my itchy fingers to myself.

“Oh, you’ll make room.”

“Here?” I whispered, looking into his chocolate and caramel eyes. Even though it was the two of us in the kitchen, the restaurant’s general manager was working in the broom closet of an office just a few feet away.

“Uhm, did I not hear you say hi to Patti on your way back here? And she’s interviewing a couple potential new servers,” he said, quickly flicking his wrist to glance at his heavy silver dive watch, “about now, I think.”

I ran through options, scenarios, my brain fizzing from the thought of sliding my skin against his. “Just how big is the back seat in your monster of an SUV?”

“It’s still got my bike in in from yesterday. But hold on,” he said.

He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and tapped on the screen. I stepped closer to him, sliding my hands to my waist and then up, pressing my breasts together. His eyes fell on my cleavage, and his Adam’s apple worked in appreciation, his lips softening with want while his jaw tightened with need.

“Man, don’t ask any questions. Just say that I can borrow a conference room. I’ll be there in three minutes.” One hand shoved the phone back into his jeans and the other grabbed one of mine, lacing our fingers together, and he pulled me through the kitchen and the restaurant and onto the street.

“Conference room?” I asked, my legs spinning to match his long stride and quick pace as he tugged me down the bustling sidewalk.

“Yeah, be cool, okay?”

A few blocks later he blew through a glass door into a simple lobby. The Brannon Company shone in bold brass letters behind the receptionist desk.

“Mr. Forsythe?” asked a thin brunette from behind her big bangs.

“Jenny, right? Trip said—“

“Yes, sir. We’ve got a conference room ready. Will anyone else be joining you?

He’s taking me to his friend’s office to fuck? At ten a.m. on a Monday?

“Just us,” he said, not loosening his grip on my hand.

Jenny’s eyes moved to me. Taking me in from head to the tips of my nude heels and I felt my boldness begin to slip. I turned to Bert, to gauge his reaction. Yeah. No shame. His eyes fixed on the elevator bank ahead of us. The temperature of our frantic walk over pressed beneath this cool facade.

With a nod at me, Jenny led the way to the conference room. Keeping up the charade that we were here on some sort of business, I sank into an overstuffed chair at the large oak table, my back to the wall of windows. I grabbed a notepad and pen from the table and began doodling.

“If you need anything, Mr. Forsythe, please call reception and ask for me.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” he said.

“Of course. Have a good meeting,” she replied. When the heavy door to the conference room clicked shut behind her, my laughter burst to the surface.

“You cool with this?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting in amusement, as he tugged his shirt over his head, exposing his lean body with Ganesh inked in black wrapping around his right side.

“Depends,” I answered, not looking up from my notes. “What did you have in mind?”

“What did you have in mind when you decided to wear that to my restaurant?”

“Wear what?” I said, tilting my head and slowly blinking my big blue eyes at him.

“Come on, Dren,” he begged, the exasperation at my little game eating away at his patience.

“That,” I said, using the pen to point to the hard ridge in his jeans. “I was planning on coming on that.”

“Were you now?” he said, the irritation vanished.

“Yes, in fact, here’s the agenda,” I said, tossing the notepad toward him where it landed on the table.

“Are you serious?” He blinked at me and I again looked away, enjoying playing coy for once.

“We’ve got like ten minutes tops before Trip breaks this up.”

“Well, I suggest we move right to the action items, then,” I said, pointing at the paper.

His eyes rolled to the ceiling before he snatched up the notepad. “This is a drawing of a dick.”

“Yeah, I know. The agenda’s really meaty,” I said, examining the pen I twirled between my fingers.

“Ten. Minutes,” he repeated, a solid tap on the notepad punctuating each word.

“Do I hear a motion from the floor? I bet they says things like that in here, don’t they?” I said, finally turning my attention to him.

“The only motion I want from you is your ass out of that chair.”

“All in favor?” I asked, scanning the empty room for a response.

“Christ,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face and rounding the table toward me. “I’m in favor. Let’s get down to business.”

The chair spun and he leaned down in front of me, his hands dipping into my hair to bracket my head. “You want my dick?” he whispered in my ear, the scruff on his face abrading my cheek.

I nodded as best I could in response, my teeth tugging on my lip as I let loose a soft whimper of need.

My hands explored the muscles of his shoulders. My fingernails dug in, biting flesh, and my answer to his question escaping me in a slow hiss of desire. His belt and fly open, I leaned forward to shove his jeans and boxers over his hips, so I could get my hands on his bare ass. I loved the way the heels of my hands fit into the indentations at his hips while my fingers grasped firm muscle.

His hands shoved up my skirt, running his hands along the tops of my thighs with a friction that made me melt. Thumbs stroked in tandem at the hinge of my hips and I went to open for him, but was bound by the chair’s arms.

He pressed my hips into the chair. “Patience, patience.”

“Ten minutes,” I bit out.

“He’s not going to open the door,” he replied, his warm hands sliding between my exposed ass and the chair to scoop me up and place me on the cool tabletop. “No one is. We could have this room all day. But I want you now.”

His hands returned to reach underneath my skirt, and my panties were yanked down. I could feel soft pops as his impatient fingers shredded the lace. “Sorry,” he muttered into my neck.

“Only apologize if you stop,” I replied.

“Quick pause okay? Not a stop.” He backed up, fished a condom out of his wallet and returned to me suited up. Strong and hard and proud. I pulled my feet to rest on the table and dropped my knees open for him. Opened for all of the city of Memphis beyond the wall of windows that was behind him.

Shameless for him.

Ready for him.

Needy for him.

I reached for him and, with a push, he found me. His hands once again gripping my ass and lifting me, holding me close, as he continued to thrust from below. “Drennan, Drennan, Drennan.” I knew this chant, mumbled against my lips and neck. The simple incantation of my name so filled with need and promise. The words that reduced the world to me and him. To this moment.

Coolness the length of my back snapped me out of the trance. “The window?”

“You want that?” he asked, nuzzling his scruff along my jaw. “I’ll put it on the agenda for our next meeting. But I don’t trust any glass for how hard I’m going to pound into you.”

Then I heard it—a door, banging on its hinges. “You’re not going to get invited back,” I said.

“Like I give a fuck. Come back to me. Here. Now.” My fingers tugged at his hair, fusing his mouth with mine.

A deep dive and rock against my clit and I was gone again. So gone for this man.

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ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE PIG & BARLEY SERIES

RISKING RUIN

Risking Ruin

BORROWING TROUBLE

Borrowing Trouble

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mae Wood is a mommy, bookworm, and lawyer (in that order).

A while ago Mae decided that she needed to give up the fear that she couldn’t write “great literature” and write what she wants to read.

And she wants romance. And laughter.

She wants heroines who are brave. Brave enough to be themselves and brave enough to fall in love.

She wants men who are strong and kind.

Mae lives in the Southeastern United States.

AUTHOR LINKS

FACEBOOK | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE | READER’S GROUP

Plus One_Full

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THEY CALL ME CRAZY
by Kelly Stone Gamble

99cents October 4-7

Synopsis: 

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This was one of my favorite reads ever. So this is just a super quick post to share that it’s on sale, temporarily.
Today, it’s on #sale for .99!
#witches #paranormal #scifi #anthology #fantasy #halloween
Get it here:

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000447_00008]

Focussing hard, he gently pushed down on the door lever, popping it open with a soft click and letting a crack of light through. From where he stood, he could make out a small child laid on the bed, still as death, tubes all over his body leading to complicated-looking machines. Ryder closed his eyes shut for a second, needing to stop himself from running away from the private room. It hurt his heart to see the pitiful boy lying there with pale skin, no flush of youth colouring his cheeks. A woman was seated by the boy’s side on a green plastic chair, but Ryder couldn’t see her face. A cloud of blond hair, tousled and long, fell down her back in waves, over the summery, bohemian dress she wore long to her ankles. Her hand was closed around the child’s, and Ryder could hear the sniffles of her preventing herself from crying.
As he hovered in the doorway, she spoke softly to the boy. “Oh, Thomas. Come back to me.” Her voice cracked on a sob, and a tissue was produced from her other hand, wrinkled from earlier use. “I need you, little man. You’re all I really have in the world. The most important person in my life.” Her golden head bent, and she whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
I can’t hang about eavesdropping. Time to get on with it. Clearing his throat loudly, almost dramatically so, Ryder swept the door open in a rush and stepped into the room, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Wait—what the hell are you doing? She can’t see you anyway. For a second, the cardinal rule floated around his head, but he brushed it away angrily.
The woman looked up towards him with glassy green eyes, her anguish reflected in their depths, and she sniffed loudly as she forced a smile onto her face. Hurriedly scrubbing at her face, she gave a hollow laugh. “Sorry, doctor, I didn’t see you there. Don’t mind me.”
Doctor? Oh, shit…she can see me. What the hell? Frozen to the spot, Ryder opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish gasping for air. His pulse became a livewire again, drying his throat with panic. The woman continued staring at him questioningly without looking away, raising her eyebrows and offering a sad smile when he didn’t make any sound. Snapping his mouth closed, Ryder managed a wry smile, brightly replying, “Please, it’s fine. It’s okay to be upset.” I don’t understand this. How can she see me? Greek has some explaining to do. I can’t take the boy while she’s here though. Hell, maybe I can console her a bit. Ankou and Morrigan wouldn’t mind that, right?
“Maybe, but I know I need to keep my spirits up, too.” Rising up sharply, the woman held a hand out, scrunching the worn tissue tightly in her other hand like a comfort blanket. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. New, yes? I’m Elizabeth Davies, Thomas’ mother.”
“I’m, er…Doctor Thompson. Yeah, I’m new. I’m…sorry about your little boy.” Thank fuck I’ve got a common surname.
Elizabeth cocked her head, shrugging her shoulders. “Thanks. He’s going to be okay though. I know it.” Another nervous laugh. “I know you guys say otherwise, but…I know my little man. He doesn’t give up without a fight.” She gazed down at the still child for a moment, her lip wobbling, before she burst into tears once more.
“Oh! Mrs Davies, please sit down,” Ryder gushed, racing to her side. Forgetting for a second that he had to concentrate his energies, his hand slipped through the small of her back, but she didn’t seem to notice. Charging himself, he placed his hand around her shoulders, helping her sit down as he moved his palm to rub small circles on her back. Crouching down, he smiled up into her tear-streaked face, suddenly taken by how much more beautiful she was up close. Tiny freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and her lips were so pink they were almost blushing. “You’re right,” he agreed vehemently. Regardless of his mission, he had to give her some hope. At least at this moment. It wouldn’t be right to take that away from her. “It doesn’t matter what we say. We’re often wrong, you know.”
“Yeah?” Elizabeth asked, hope lighting her features for a moment.
Reaching over to squeeze her hand, Ryder whispered, “Yeah. So you hang onto that. Thomas will wake up, you’ll see.” What the fuck are you doing, Ryder? Grim Reaper, remember? You’re meant to take him to the Otherworld, not tell her he might wake up. He gazed up at the hope shining in her eyes, and he collapsed under her stare. Fuck it. Maybe he will wake up. Maybe Ankou and Morrigan are wrong about him. Ryder glanced around the room, frowning as he noted a ghostly figure of the little boy wasn’t anywhere in the room. After all…he’s not floating around like Abigail was. Shit, that’s it. He’s not going to die. Surely. It was the only explanation. Why else wouldn’t he be here? Although in his heart of hearts, Ryder knew it probably meant nothing, he couldn’t take Thomas away from Elizabeth just yet. Not when she was so broken. He knew how it felt.

Available now – and for #FREE !

Amazon U.S.
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Amazon U.K.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Reapers-Deliverance-Book-Grim-Alliance-ebook/dp/B00LG3BIGK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445919685&sr=8-1&keywords=B00LG3BIGK

Amazon Canada:
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This book is available for #free – why not check it out?

Amazon U.S.
http://amzn.to/1OSYkUi

Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vigilante-Shadows-Scarlet-Rain-Book-ebook/dp/B00AFHIO06/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445896908&sr=8-1&keywords=B00AFHIO06

Amazon Canada:
http://www.amazon.ca/Vigilante-Shadows-Scarlet-Rain-Book-ebook/dp/B00AFHIO06/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445896941&sr=8-1&keywords=B00AFHIO06

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The fire crackled loudly, and popped as a log fell down into the coals. The room was in total darkness except for the warm light from the fire. A black leather chair was in front, high-backed and shining in the light. A deep, smooth voice sounded from it, calling for someone.
“William! Bring me that map! I need to work out where our little friend is going. I have an idea, but it never hurts to be sure.”
There was a hurried movement from the end of the room as someone inclined their head, and then slid out through the door. The figure in the chair shifted, clearing their throat.
A hand appeared over the arm of the chair, a refined, strong hand. It looked as though it belonged to a man. A man who had never done a day’s work in his life—a rich man.
The flickering light of the fireplace revealed other areas of the room. Tall mahogany bookcases lined the walls, filled with rich literature of every kind, on every subject. There was a large painting hanging above the fireplace, in a classical style. It showed a young man, dressed in the costume of the aristocracy in seventeenth-century England. His face was handsome, and yet had an undeniably cruel look about it. The fireplace was carved out of almost black marble, glinting in the fading and rising light.
The figure sighed contentedly, and stretched in the chair, making the fabric squeak with the sudden movement. The figure that had rapidly disappeared through the main door reappeared again, holding a rolled up map in their hands.
They passed the map to the person in the chair, inclining their head once more as they did so. The figure grabbed the map, almost snatching it. After a few seconds of silence, the figure spoke, in his suave rich voice.
“So, it would appear he is coming to us—up to his beloved Scotland. To his home, I’ll wager. I wonder who the woman is that has made him return to us?”
“Sir…if I may be so bold…even if he comes up here, I don’t think you’ll have much chance of getting him to do as you wish. After all, he believes-“ The figure, timidly speaking, was cut off by the rich-voiced stranger in the armchair.
“Are you arguing with me?” The figure spoke quietly, but the voice dripped with venom. As he spoke, the flames from the fire burst upwards, as though also fanned by his fury.
“N..no, Sir, I would not dream of-“
“Because you know how I deal with insubordinates, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I beg your pardon, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes. I do believe that is the problem. You weren’t thinking.” The fingers of the hand drummed a steady rhythm. The man who had brought in the map swallowed nervously.
“But I do think-“
The figure never got to finish their sentence. The stranger in the chair moved his hand, as though directing something invisible towards the figure. A great flame shot out from the fire, following the path of the stranger’s hand, and flew onto the timid figure.
He screamed in agony, rolling in pain on the carpet, somehow not setting fire to anything else. The flames grew and licked at him, turning his skin black and cracked, his mouth still open in an endless scream. He became more frantic as the flames grew hungrier, flapping at himself wildly, trying to beat the flames off. After a few minutes, the figure slowed his movements, eventually ceasing effort altogether.
The figure in the armchair beckoned to the flames, which leapt from the charred servant lying on the floor in a terrified pose…one he would forever be trapped in. The flames lingered on the stranger’s wrist for a second, wrapping around it as though it were a snake. The figure in the chair spoke to it softly, lovingly, as a mother would her child. The flames licked at him for a second, before leaping back into the fire.
“I hate backchat,” the figure murmured to himself, his voice smoothly ringing around the room.

VigilanteofShadowsBookCover

This is a #free ebook, available here:

Amazon U.S. :
http://amzn.to/1OSX6Z4

Amazon UK
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Conner-Athol-Trilogy-Book-1-ebook/dp/B007VZO792/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445896404&sr=8-1&keywords=B007VZO792

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Watching Erin slowly make her way through the dark living room with Rob leaning heavily against her shoulder, Conner went over the mental list of things he needed in his head. “Passports, money…we don’t need anything else, I hope,” he muttered to himself, darting his eyes about for anything else he could have missed. Seeing in the dark was easy, listening for any tiny noise was not. He didn’t have any idea where the wolves had gone, no idea why they were here.
He walked through into the kitchen, swinging the bag up on his shoulder. He was about to open the front door, when a sudden waft of metallic blood around him hit his nostrils. Mouth welling with saliva, he muttered, “No, Conner.” His hands trembled like an alcoholic’s. Swallowing, he tried to ignore the coffee table in the living room, slathered in blood and chunks of the other wolf’s flesh. He closed his eyes, savouring the scent that sang to him in tones only heard by the few.
As if hypnotised, Conner dropped the bag from his shoulder, staggering towards the bloodied room. The memories of that nectar. Before he knew what he was doing, Conner let his hand go out to the large pool of liquid dripping from the edge of the dark wood, almost as though his hand was possessed by someone other than himself.
Conner let his fingertips lovingly trace a circle in the blood. Lifting his hand to his face, he stared half in lust, half in disgust at the redness on his fingertips. “Hello, old friend,” he murmured. Without thinking for a second further, he thrust them into his mouth, sucking the blood off with a licentious moan. His eyes slammed shut with the force of the ecstasy he felt. The metallic sweetness had a shocking effect to his senses. He felt stronger, more powerful, more alive, more like himself. His canines slid out. I need more. So long since I’ve had this…
Almost driven by an unseen force, he leaned down and licked the small table with abandon. Conner moaned in rapture as he tasted the life-giving liquid, growling in response to the wolf inside him, urging him on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a moonbeam falling across the werewolf’s hand, still sprawled on the floor where he had left it. Curled in its grasp was a rolled curl of paper. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Conner stooped and retrieved it, unfurling the short letter with trepidation.
Bring her home. Bring our Queen home.
Conner snapped to his senses with a jolt.
He heard the clunk of Erin’s car doors closing, and the sound made him realise what the hell he was doing. He hurriedly wiped off the corners of his mouth with the thumb of his shaking hand, wiping it on the back of his jeans. Leaning away from his temptation, he steadied himself. What have I done? He took a deep breath and stepped quickly to the back door.
Part of him felt disgusted at what he had just done, but part of him felt elated, and loved the old, powerful, familiar rush of power surging through his body, awakening the wolf inside.
He hoped it wouldn’t last.

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