Tag Archives: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | April 19, 2024 · 5:00 am

Arcane Kiss Blitz

Alternative Universe, Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Date Published: Apri 12, 2024

Kurt Briggs has a spirit link to a tiger Familiar that gives him superhuman
abilities, but when his father is murdered, the military veteran becomes a
target for terrorist sorcerers. Alone, Kurt finds he’s no match for the
witch and her shape-shifting polar bear. He turns to Arcanist Genevieve
Reyes for help in fighting the killers’ spells.

As Genevieve and Kurt hunt the terrorists, shared danger leads to shared
desire. But they soon realize Kurt’s passion for Gen weakens his control
over his cat. The consequences could be deadly for them both. Genevieve is
attracted to Kurt’s animal sensuality, but she knows she may be in as much
danger from his tiger as she is from the terrorists.

Even if Kurt and Gen manage to stop the terrorists, their evil sorcery may
trigger a witch hunt that could mean the destruction of everyone with
magical Talent — including Kurt and Genevieve.

EXCERPT

The tiger bounded toward him in a blur of striped fur and powerful muscle.
Kurt Briggs braced himself as the big cat reared to thump huge paws down on
his shoulders. Somehow he managed not to fall on his ass, though eight feet
of cat made an awkward dance partner. Rumbling, the beast touched a cool,
damp nose to Kurt’s.

“Hi to you, too, Stoli.” Kurt dug his fingers in thick reddish
gold fur to give his Familiar a scratch.

Golden eyes narrowed in feline ecstasy and Stoli chuffed a greeting. The
tiger dropped to all fours again, and turned toward the lake with a flick of
his striped tail. Kurt strolled after him across the thick grass.

Through the trees ahead Kurt spotted the flickering glint of afternoon
sunlight on water — the spring-fed lake that lay at the heart of Briggs
Feral Sanctuary. Another tiger lounged in the shallows, six hundred pounds
of stripes, attitude and luminous golden eyes.

Dave gave them a lazy blink, indolent as a pasha. And like a pasha, he
apparently had a harem — or at least a gang of devoted fans. Ten female
volunteers clustered just outside the enclosure fence as close as they dared
get. Dressed in shorts, hats and T-shirts with the BFS lion logo, they all
wore grins of anticipation as they waited for him to do something amazing.
Or, knowing Dave, inappropriate.

Stoli catapulted off the bank, sailed through the air, and landed on the
other cat with a huge splash. The volunteers fled the arcing water, yelping
and laughing.

Dave roared, batting at Stoli’s nose with sheathed claws. “Back
off, Tigger! Do I look like fuckin’ Pooh Bear to you?”

Stoli raced off, chuffing like a giggling ten-year-old who’d pranked
his brother. Which was exactly what he was. The two cats had been
littermates before they’d melded with their human partners. Otherwise
they couldn’t have shared an enclosure. Their fights would have been
real.

“You’d better run, asshole! I’ll turn you into a
rug!” Dave flopped back down in the water with a huff of feline
disdain. “The crap I put up with.”

Kurt’s grin faded. Dave did indeed put up with a hell of a lot. A
year ago he’d been Dave Frost, a member of Kurt’s Arcane Corps
unit — a tall, lanky blond with a wicked sense of humor. But that was
before Dave had died, leaving his soul trapped in the body of Smilodon, his
Familiar.

Another man might have surrendered to bitterness and grief for his lost
humanity. Dave taught himself to talk by making the air vibrate with magic
instead of human vocal cords. Now he was building a thriving career as a
YouTube smartass.

“You got me all wet,” a blonde volunteer complained, pretending
to pout as she pulled at her soaked shirt.

The tiger gave her a toothy grin. “My pleasure.”

“Ladies, quit flirting with the wildlife and finish cleaning the
enclosures.” Kurt put a little subsonic rumble in his voice. Dave
wasn’t the only one who could manipulate sound with his magic.
“We don’t want BFS to smell like the world’s biggest
litter box.”

“Killjoy,” Dave complained.

“You heard the man.” Karla Morgen, the volunteer coordinator,
made a shooing gesture at the women. “The poop won’t scoop
itself.”

“You know,” Kurt told Dave as the volunteers scattered,
“you couldn’t be any more a ham if you were Porky
Pig.”

“How else would I bring home the bacon?” Dave flicked a paw,
and an invisible snare drum banged out a rimshot.

Kurt laughed. “You’re getting scary with the magical sound
effects.”

“I live to terrify. Speaking of performances, how many tickets did we
sell last night? Looked like every inch of the arena bleachers had
somebody’s butt on it.”

“Pretty much.” BFS’s Feral 101 show was designed to
educate sanctuary visitors about big cats. They’d livened it up with a
demonstration of Feral abilities, but the material had still been as dry as
sawdust — until Dave had taken the emcee job in his capable paws. “We
brought in five thousand in ticket sales and donations, plus another
thousand for selfies and souvenirs.”

And they needed every dime. Keeping fifty-nine exotic cats fed and healthy
wasn’t something you did on a shoestring.

Dave gave him a smug smile. “I has skillz. I also has half a million
followers.”

“You’re just lucky they don’t know what an asshole you
are.”

“I’m a tiger. We’re supposed to be assholes.”

Movement across the lake drew Kurt’s attention. In the next
enclosure, a lion came to the water’s edge, accompanied by his two
lionesses. Staring at the tigers, the Familiar roared.

About the Author

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight has written and published
more than sixty novels, novellas, and ebooks, including the Mageverse and
Merlin’s Legacy series. With a career spanning more than two decades,
Romantic Times Bookclub Magazine has awarded her their Career Achievement
award in Paranormal Romance, as well as two Reviewers’ Choice awards
for Best Erotic Romance and Best Werewolf Romance.

Angela is currently a writer, editor, and cover artist for Changeling Press
LLC. She also teaches online writing courses. Besides her fiction work,
Angela’s writing career includes a decade as an award-winning South
Carolina newspaper reporter. She lives in South Carolina with her husband,
Michael, a thirty-year police veteran and detective with a local police
department.

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Sleeping Dragon Preorder Blitz

Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Women’s Fiction, LGBTQ

Date Published: April 19, 2024

Youltan lives a life of obligation and service, a slave to the desires of
others, harnessing the strange and powerful chaotic energies known as Ice
Magic. After a final betrayal by the people he protects, he finds himself
transported to the one being who holds the key to his freedom.

The wards tattooed across Garyn’s back ensure his total compliance,
trapping him in his own form of slavery, until one of the traitorous Mages,
the kind that devised this tortuous penance, is placed in his prison. Now
manipulating his way to freedom rules the sex-shifting dragon’s mind.

Garyn never expects Youltan to willingly sacrifice so much for a person he
barely knows. Nor does he expect to find the a core of passionate heat that
exists deep within Youltan’s soul. The fight for survival takes on new
dimensions and strains the very threads of their honor and morality.

But what would you expect….when you prod a Sleeping Dragon?

EXCERPT

Feet braced apart, arms extended to their maximum length, he stood and
waited. There was nothing in his mind; his world was a blank slate, waiting
to be filled, waiting for the agonizing pleasure… and the horrific
pain.

Slowly, it began, drawing its energy from the very earth on which he stood.
Pulsing writhing ropes of energy, of magic, of power, twined around
themselves as they sought a rod, a bearer for their might.

Around his ankles they looped, slowly, like some starving creature seeking
sustenance. And what they found seemed to please them, for they began to
roll up the length of his body. Faster and faster they twined, their colors
the brilliant blue that exists in the heart of every fire, the icy white of
the coldest glacier, a sharp glaze of power blinding all who dared watch
this spectacle.

Up around his knees they crept, gaining confidence and speed with every
second. On and on, around his waist, over his chest, across his shoulders
until his head jerked back as if snapped by some unknown entity.

Blood-red lips parted, a scream locked within a frozen throat, and a fall
of silver white hair blew madly around his form in a wind created by power
and magic. Bright lavender eyes snapped open to reveal luminescent sparks of
pure white that illuminated those strange orbs, the eyes of an alien-one,
and the eyes of the demented.

Then the power seemed to lash out at its conduit, raising him to his toes
as wave after wave of pure energy penetrated his body, gained a purpose,
grew in its strength.

His body arched, his arms flying above his head as the sheer strength of
the thing that possessed him brought him to his toes, building and building
until his whole person was one shining, glowing being that seemed almost too
beautiful to view, yet too sinister and compelling to look away from.

Suddenly, a cry erupted from his throat, loud, agonized. The cry echoed
over the land as the very earth began to quake beneath his feet.

His piercing scream startled the onlookers, the curious who had gathered to
view this unusual feat, to watch what both heaven and hell had wrought and
then left to travel this land that they called their own.

But they were too stunned to look away, transfixed.

As he continued to scream, cry after cry of ecstatic pain, the energy that
converged on his body began to coagulate, to meld into one large beam of
power.

Still screaming, he forced his arms toward the pulsing dome that surrounded
the land, the thing that honor and history demanded he tend to, no matter
the cost.

His sudden silence was almost as unnerving as his screams had been, as the
world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as the tension built around
the young man, as the very gods seemed to tremble in fear.

Then, as the tension built to a plateau, then nothing. Soon the people
began to breathe easy, thinking the show was over, then one final
high-pitched scream exploded from his mouth.

And with that cry, a monstrous beam of light and power leapt from his body.
Blue, silver, white, it all mended and swirled as warring colors shot from
his body, his eyes, his mouth, following its given path, striking the
shields with an audible crash that almost sounded like the shrieking cry of
pure crystal shattering.

His body gave way in the face of such a massive energy burst, but the power
would not let his body fall. It supported him, swirled around him almost
lovingly, then began to drain the very life force from his body.

Head tossed back to its farthest, hair whipping around that face, obscuring
its near beauty from the frightened yet silent watchers, his body bowed and
his knees bent as he fought to retain some of himself from the hungry
energies that sought to leach his very essence from his body.

Trembling and panting, he whimpered once as the beam began to lose its
brilliant illumination, then faded altogether, growing weaker and weaker as
the conduit struggled to reclaim part of himself from the massive outpouring
of power.

Then, suddenly, almost as if it had never been, the beam of light
dispersed, exploded into a million glittering sparkles, before disappearing
cleanly from sight.

With a groan, the conduit dropped to his knees, his body falling backwards
as all the energy seemed to leave with the passing of the beam.

He knelt there, supple body bent backwards, breath struggling in his chest,
as his strange, lavender eyes drifted shut.

Then, as he took his first full breath, the watchers were amazed to see a
shadowy mist exhaled into the brilliant heat of the day, a breath that
seemed as cold as the arctic islands they once harnessed to create that
shield that protected them from the evils of the outside world.

Then his whole body began to spasm.

About the Author

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning
author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually
confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to
pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do
more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and
world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts,
an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing
cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied
legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female
characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and
multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Toran Teaser Tuesday

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novella

(Unbound, Book 7)

Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Publication Date: ‎
January 19, 2024

Publisher: ‎Changeling Press LLC

Toran Bladewielder’s life was upended when a battle injury forced him
to leave his order — the Holy Defenders of the Gods. It is upended again
when he catches a thief pilfering food from the warehouse he is guarding.
Although the miscreant turns out to be a beautiful woman, his duty is to
hand her over to the authorities.

But when he discovers she is a slave who escaped from a ship in the harbor,
his sense of right and wrong urges him to hide her.

Desperate to maintain her freedom, Farah will do anything escape the
clutches of her cruel master — even seduce a man whose sexual innocence and
moral decency are clear to her.

But as she angles to keep Toran on her side, their relationship heats up.
Neither expected to ever find love, yet the intensity between them builds —
until Lord Camari’s men find Farah and drag her back to him for
punishment. Can Toran rescue her, and is there any way for these unlikely
lovers can forge a lasting relationship?

EXCERPT

Toran Unbound

Rebecca York

Toran Bladewielder lurked in the darkness of the warehouse, determined to
catch the thief who had been stealing foodstuffs from recent shipments.
Repressing a wince of pain, he leaned back against the building’s
rough stone wall to ease the ache in his leg. Six months ago, he had been a
Holy Defender — a member of the religious order which preserved the
authority of the gods. Then in a battle far from home, he had been struck
down by a blow from an infidel.

The injury to his leg had made him unfit for military service, and he had
been unceremoniously shipped back to his home monastery. There he had been
given a choice — accept the menial jobs of tending the garden and preparing
food for his brothers — or leave the order. After the exhilaration of
battle, he was unable to envision a life of such work. With a heavy heart,
he had chosen to renounce his vows.

For months he had felt like a brigantine without a rudder, adrift on an
unknown sea, until his old schoolmate Gareth Lamb had offered him a
guard’s job in one of the Glencarn warehouses that he and Prince
Gawain owned. It was a far cry from his former holy mission, but at least it
was work that could utilize some of his fighting skills.

When he wasn’t at his post, he was working to strengthen his ruined
leg. The combination kept him from tipping over the edge into the black
despair that had threatened to swallow him whole.

It had been a routine job — until the last few days. Now he had a real
puzzle to solve. No one had been able to catch the sneak thief helping
himself to a recent shipment of foodstuffs from far off Amorn, although the
evidence of his work was as plain as an open box of dates or an unsealed
amphora. But the knave was well-nigh invisible.

Invisible? Toran snorted. That was mere fantasy, but the lout always seemed
to know when it was safe to strike — leaving only the evidence of his
thievery.

Not tonight. Toran had worked out a plan to capture the culprit. He made
his preparations during the day, then stationed himself in one of the
smaller side rooms of the dockside building.

But the plan had its own disadvantages. After hours of waiting in the
shadows, his bad leg had begun to throb. Soon he would have to shift his
positions, and that would give him away. He clenched his fists, his jaw set
in a hard line as he fought down the pain.

He was about to give up when the sound of soft, stealthy footsteps put him
on alert. Someone had come into the room where Toran had stacked crates of
the cargo that the thief had been plundering. He stayed where he was,
determined to win the upper hand this time. He could not see into the room
where the bait was stacked, but when his keen ears detected the squeak of a
nail being eased from a crate lid, he readied himself to pull on the cord in
his right hand.

To his surprise, he heard a sudden flailing as though his quarry had
somehow realized what was about to happen. But it was already too
late.

The rope released a net that fell from the ceiling over the boxes — and
over the brigand who stood beside them.

The man let out a high-pitched scream, then scrabbled as he tried
desperately to disentangle himself from the web, but the edges were
weighted, making it hard to lift.

Toran sprang from his hiding place and moved across the stone floor as
quickly as he could. But he had been standing in place for too long. His bad
leg gave out, and he ended up going down in a heap. Luckily, the netting
trap gave him the time to crawl forward and come down on top of the
struggling prisoner.

They lay entangled on the cold floor, both breathing hard, the miscreant
trying desperately to get away, and Toran just as determined to hold onto
his captive. As the man thrashed about, Toran felt spindly arms and legs, a
slender back, and a mass of soft hair. An unusual combination, he thought as
he pulled the webbing tight, gathering it around the prisoner as though he
were securing a wild animal in a net.

“Stop struggling or you will hurt yourself,” he advised.

The words were met with a stout kick to his bad leg that might have hurt if
the netting hadn’t truncated the blow.

It was too dark in the warehouse to see the struggling form. Ignoring his
throbbing knee, Toran gathered up net and captive and dragged them across
the floor and through the cargo door onto the riverside wharf where he had
left a lantern burning on a hook.

At this hour of the night, there was no one else about. As he dragged his
bundle, he added to his impressions of the thief. This was no full-grown
man. It must be a youth — mayhap a desperate street urchin who was using
the shipments as a source of food. Still, stealing was stealing, and it must
stop.

Angry that the exertion had him breathing hard, Toran grabbed the prisoner
by the hair and turned him to his back so that he was suddenly looking down
into frightened green eyes. They were the first thing he saw, but he quickly
took in more details. Wild dark hair framing a delicate face. A small nose,
a slender neck. His gaze traveled farther downward, seeing ragged clothing
of a cut he did not recognize. Not pants below the dirty shirt, but skirts.
As a former holy brother, he had little experience with skirts or anything
else to do with the female sex. Quickly his gaze traveled upward again,
seeing twin mounds pushing up at the chest. This was no slender lad. It was
a girl.

“Blood of the gods,” he croaked. “Who are
you?”

She looked away. “Nobody.” Her voice was soft and strangely
accented.

“A thief,” he answered his own question. “Look at
me.”

Slowly she turned her face back toward his, and he saw the look of
devastation in her eyes.

“Let me go and you will never see me again,” she
whispered.

“I cannot. You have stolen from a royal warehouse, and I must turn
you over to the prince’s guards.”

He saw her lips tremble. “I did it to keep myself alive.”

“Who are you?” he asked again.

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author Rebecca York began her
career as a journalist writing articles for newspapers and magazines, but
after several years decided to try writing fiction. She’s a highly
successful author of over 50 romantic suspense and paranormal novels and is
the head of the Columbia Writers Workshop. Her many awards include two Rita
finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times:
for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. Her Peregrine
Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense
Series. She collects rocks, and enjoys cooking, walking, reading, gardening,
travel, and Mozart operas.

Author Contact Links

Author’s Website

Author on Twitter

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Tagged as Paranormal Women's Fiction, Rebecca York, Toran

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | January 2, 2024 · 5:00 am

Lord of Dreams Teaser Tuesday

Night Lords, Book 2

Paranormal Women’s Fiction

Date Published: January 5, 2024

Psychotherapist Thea’s instinct to help urges her to reach out to the
man who haunts her dreams. When they finally touch, she finds herself drawn
into his arms.

He’s the Lord of Dreams, and together they help him heal from a past
disaster. But can she learn to get over her own fear of attachment and give
herself to him?

Publisher’s Warning: Includes discussion of teen suicide that may be
a trigger for some readers.

EXCERPT

Thea Jamison went to the break room and filled a mug with the vile elixir
that came out of the coffee pot. After loading it with sugar, she leaned
against the counter and choked some down.

Something was happening to her patients — all of them simultaneously. It
was common for neurotics to report nightmares. Not so common for all of them
to discuss bad dreams on every visit. Unless they’d gotten together
and planned a conspiracy to make her crazy by copying each other, something
else was going on.

She had half an hour free before her next session, so she stayed where she
was and tried to make sense of something they never taught her in her Ph.D.
program. She was still lost in thought when a colleague walked in and went
straight for the coffee pot.

“You look pensive,” Bob Monroe, Ph.D., one of the founders of
the Bellville Clinic said.

“Something’s off…” She hesitated. “Some kind
of shared neurosis in my patients, but not like anything I’ve ever
read about.”

Bob stopped in the act of filling his mug. His expression grew serious, his
eyebrows nearly meeting. “What shared neurosis?”

“All my patients are reporting nightmares. All of them, every single
night,” she said. “Some are afraid to go to sleep.”

He studied her until she could almost hear wheels spinning in his head.
“All the same content?”

“No, they vary, but they’re persistent,” she answered.
“Do you think they could be pulling a prank of some kind?”

“Only if my patients are in on the joke.”

She could only gape at him. “Yours, too?”

“Yup. I heard that some of our other clinicians’ patients were
reporting bad dreams, but I didn’t pay too much
attention.”

“Oh, shit.” Maybe she should mention to Bob that she’d
been having a strange recurring dream as well. Not a nightmare, but odd.
Every night a man would appear as she slept. Ghostly figures flitted around
him. No threat to her, but he struggled against them. When he grasped one,
others would swarm, and he’d seem to choke until he fought them off.
And from time to time, he’d glance at her and beg her with his eyes.
He needed something, and he seemed to think she could give it to him.

“You got quiet all of a sudden,” Bob said. “Was it
something I said?”

Not this again. Not this morning, please. With Bob’s healthy ego, the
man couldn’t believe she’d broken up with him. She never should
have dated someone senior to her, anyway. Luckily, she’d gotten out
before she got too involved.

“Not at all, Bob. I’m just worried about the
patients.”

“All work and no play, Thea.” Bob’s ego again. He’d
gotten over Thea well enough to date others. But he couldn’t make
himself believe a lover had rejected him.

“I just don’t want to get involved with anyone…
ever.” She’d had enough abandonment for one life and
didn’t plan to put her heart in danger again.

“If you really mean that, you should work on it,” he said.
“It’s not healthy.”

“I do not want to discuss this, especially at work.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “I give up.”

If only that were true. She drank the last of the coffee she could stand,
turned, and dumped the poison into the sink. “Maybe we should get
everyone together and see how widespread this phenomenon is. We could treat
it as some kind of mass hysteria.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “And if it holds up, we could
write an article for one of the journals.”

Maybe he could name a syndrome after himself and get it in the DSM. Bob was
an excellent therapist, but he had a tendency toward self-promotion. Oh,
hell, a journal article would be a good idea.

Just then, Phyllis Conroy, MSW, joined them. “You two seem pretty
intense. Is anything going on?”

“Have you noticed anything interesting about your clients?” Bob
asked.

“Odd you should mention it,” Phyllis answered. “I have.
They’re all reporting bad dreams… every last one of
them.”

Thea and Bob exchanged a look.

“We’ll ask the entire team if this is happening with their
people, too,” Bob said. “If it is, I’ll call a few other
clinics to see if they’re experiencing the same
phenomenon.”

“What if they are?” Thea said.

“Then something horrible is going on with psychiatric patients
everywhere,” Bob said. “It’ll be a public health
crisis.”

Phyllis frowned. “Are you two serious?”

“Afraid so,” Bob said. “I’ll call a staff meeting
so we can discuss this.”

He put down his cup and left the break room.

“What could cause something like this?” Phyllis said.

Thea shrugged. “Beats me. A virus of some kind? Something in the
water?”

Whatever it was, it was connected to the man in her dreams. She had no way
of knowing that, of course, but the man had started coming to her about the
same time as her patients began reporting nightmares. And the knowledge she
was connected to him… maybe to help him… came through
clearly.

“Water pollution hardly seems likely,” Phyllis said.

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“I sure don’t,” Phyllis answered.

Thea had practiced directing her own dreams with some success. If she could
connect with the man, he might have an answer for what was happening here. A
far-out plan, but it was worth a try.

About the Author

Alice Gaines lives in the San Francisco Bay Area in a fixer-upper house she
never fixed up. Aside from writing and reading hot, hot romance, she loves
cooking, knitting and crocheting, and her church. She has a pet corn snake
named Casper. She’s insanely passionate about the funky soul band, Tower of
Power.

You can write to Alice at authoralicegaines@gmail.com. You can see
information about new releases at www.alicegaines.blogspot.com. Sign up for
her newsletter. From time to time, she raffles off her handcrafted items to
her readers.

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | August 15, 2023 · 5:00 am

The Big Blue Teaser Tuesday

(Protect & Serve)

Paranormal Women’s Fiction, Shifters, Suspense

Date Published: August 18, 2023

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Tundra’s a polar bear shifter with a hankering for some Big Blue.

Polar bear shifters are rare these days, and most of them keep a low
profile. Tundra knows the rules, but tonight she needs to get laid, and it
will take a strong man to satisfy her.

Alex’s buddies call him Big Blue, and they’re closer to the
truth than most of them know, but he does his best to hide his true nature
— trolls have a nasty reputation in this brave new world.

The very first time Tundra sees Blue, she knows she had to have him. What
she doesn’t realize is that she’ll never want to let him go. So
when Alex goes to confront the head of a vicious cabal, Tundra follows to
make sure he doesn’t get hurt. After all, even a troll’s hide
isn’t as thick as a polar bear’s.

EXCERPT

I stalked across the bar and hauled myself up onto one of the few empty
barstools. It looked like the entire neighborhood had decided to drown their
sorrows at the same time. At least that meant there was a good selection of
men available. Good thing, because right now I was feeling hornier than a
werewolf during the full moon, and pissed enough not to be too picky about
whom I chose to spend the night with. Talks with my self-appointed guardian
Tyrone always had this effect on me. Make that monologues. I don’t think I’d
managed to get in more than two words during the entire fiasco.

I waved my hand to catch Sam’s attention, and motioned him to bring me a
drink. Sam had been bartending at Joe’s Bar long enough to know what I
wanted. I swiveled the chair and surveyed the room, considering my options.
The three guys at the pool table weren’t bad looking, and there were a few
likely candidates at a table in the far corner, but they all looked just a
tad too civilized for my taste tonight. I was in the mood for something
wild.

A gust of wind drew my attention to the door. The man who entered sent heat
curling deep in my gut. Civilized was the last word that came to mind. Hard.
Wild. Uncivilized. Yeah, those described him to a T.

A riot of dark hair curled all the way to the blue uniform stretched tight
across his huge shoulders. He reminded me of the football players at the
inner city stadiums, wide and covered with thick ropes of muscle. A tingle
of anticipation raced through me. His dark eyes swept the room with cynical
disinterest as he shouldered his way through the noisy crowd, and I found
myself holding my breath as I waited for him to notice me.

“He’s trouble, Tundra. Don’t even think about it.” Sam slapped
the beer down in front of me, breaking the spell.

“You know him?” I ignored the bartender’s frown. I was way past
needing someone to vet my dates. “I don’t remember seeing him in here
before.”

Sam nodded. “Alex is a loner, a beat cop down at the precinct. He
doesn’t come in here often. Last time he did, it took me two days to clean
up the mess.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice so I had to strain
to hear his words. “I heard a rumor that there’s a troll somewhere in
his family tree, and I’m inclined to believe it.”

“Really.” I swept my tongue across my suddenly dry lips as I
watched the slide of tight material over his ass. “That could make
things very… interesting.” Sam snorted and shook his head as I took a
long pull on my drink. “That’s one word for it. Don’t say I didn’t warn
you!”

I laughed, throwing him a saucy grin as I slid off the barstool.
“Warning duly noted. Wish me luck!” Turning my back on his
disapproving frown, I wound my way through the dense crowd toward my
target.

He’d taken a seat at a small table and was watching the trio at the pool
table mangle a simple game of spots and stripes. One of the scantily clad
waitresses swooped in to deposit a drink in front of him, bending forward so
far that I fully expected her ample bosoms to fall out of the low-cut bodice
of her dress. She had better not be under the impression that she stood a
chance with him, because I was more than willing to get into a fight
tonight. A little pre-coitus bloodshed would be just a bonus.

The man tossed some credits at her, and she flounced away to take orders
from another table. I found myself feeling mildly disappointed. I hadn’t
been in a good fight in at least two moons. Wouldn’t hurt to get in a little
practice.

Reaching my destination, I pulled out the other chair at the table and sat
down beside my target. I took my time assessing him close up, letting my
gaze wander from the tips of his serviceable boots and up his muscular legs
to the impressive bulge at his groin. Looked like I wouldn’t have to work
too hard to get what I wanted.

I took another gulp of my beer and considered the vast expanse of his
chest, barely covered by the tight uniform. A unicorn tattoo on his biceps
seemed incongruous with the rough attitude, and being my usual tactful self,
I decided not to mention it.

Yeah, right. Me? Tactful? “So what’s with the prissy little
horse?” I nodded at the tattoo. “Lose a bet or
something?”

I found myself staring into the darkest eyes I’d ever encountered; pools of
liquid heat. For a moment, I thought I’d blown my chance of playing ride-em
cowboy with him, but then the corners of his eyes crinkled and he let out a
bellow of real, straight-from-the-gut laughter. It made him look even
hotter, which I hadn’t thought possible. My libido kicked into high gear,
and I could feel the liquid heat gathering at the apex of my thighs. Idly, I
wondered if he’d go for the direct approach and save us both some time. I
decided not to risk it.

“The prissy little horse has a certain sentimental value that I only
share with close friends.” The man’s eyes swept over me with obvious
interest. “Do I know you?”

I decided to play it cool and mysterious. Who knows? It worked on those old
video flicks they showed on public TV. “Not yet, but the night is
young.” Okay, that just sounded stupid. I smiled in what I hoped was a
seductive manner. “My name is Tundra.”

A slow, sexy smile turned his face into an open invitation — one I had
every intention of accepting. When he spoke, his voice had the smooth, deep
inflection of a very old bottle of expensive whiskey. “That’s a very
unusual name. Nice to meet you, Tundra.”

He held his hand out and I stared at it like an idiot. He wanted to shake
hands? Not exactly what I’d envisioned, but hey, it was a start. I took his
hand and shook it. It was big. Real big. Heat crawled up my spine as I
imagined it caressing my breasts. Or sliding across my naked ass. “Nice
to meet you too…” I arched my eyebrow as it occurred to me I had no
idea what his name was.

The smile widened. “Alex. But most people just call me Big
Blue.”

I took a long drink, letting the silence stretch out. “Big Blue. How
interesting. Referring to your uniform, I assume?”

He chuckled. “Well, that would be the Blue part.”

“And the Big?” It took all my self-control to keep my gaze from
straying to that thick bulge at his groin.

He kept eye contact, the grin on his face taking on a mischievous look as
he reached for my hand and drew it slowly toward his lap. He didn’t say
anything else. He didn’t have to. Under my questing fingers, that huge lump
grew even bigger. Big Blue indeed! “Oh my.”

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little
rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and
too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act
normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008,
and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage
Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first
submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a
variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys
spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not
playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming,
playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, & TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Tagged as Anne Kane, Paranormal Women's Fiction, SHIFTERS, Suspense, The Big Blue

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