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One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
Original Review October 2020:
Lonewolf is a companion piece to the author's Camwolf, having not yet read Camwolf, I was hesitant to read this unsure if Lonewolf would effect the novel but having gotten the rec from a FB M/M book rec group, I was told it wouldn't so I went ahead. So glad I did. Lonewolf is a short intriguing look at how one man becomes a wolf and the anguish he feels when he himself turns Nick(the main character from Camwolf). There really is quite a bit packed into this short story, though it may seem a bit disjointed at times I can't help but wonder if the author didn't intend that to help the reader connect with Carl's emotional state dealing with being a wolf. Wonderful little gem that entertained and definitely intrigued me to add Nick's story, Camwolf to my TBR List.
RATING:
Kingdom Volume 1 by RJ Scott
RATING:
The Werewolf of Grey Lake Inn by Megan Derr
Summary:
Astor is tired—tired of his family and the way they never listen to his advice, and tired of being in love with his agent, Tennyson, who after a one night stand made it clear he preferred to keep things professional. The only thing Astor's not tired of is his job researching haunted inns and hotels to prove just how haunted they're not.
His latest book is about a notorious inn in the middle of nowhere, and a haunting he suspects has more to do with real werewolves than fake ghosts. It will provide fodder for an excellent non-fiction book, the novel he's secretly writing, and be so distracting he'll finally be able to get over Tennyson.
Except when he arrives it's to find that Tennyson is already there, with every intention of keeping Astor company through the holidays.
Original Review October 2018:
This is only the second book of Megan Derr's that I've read but it has cemented my decision to further check out her backlist in the future. Astor is a snarky vampire who investigates and writes books on disproving haunted places, not exactly a character you read every day. Tennyson is his agent who decides to follow along with him on his latest debunking journey into Grey Lake Inn and the surrounding area. I loved the blend of paranormal, lusty romance, and a little history in the form of the story behind the ghost "sightings". The Werewolf of Grey Lake Inn may be short on words and pages but long on delightfully fun entertainment.
RATING:
Hexbreaker by Jordan L Hawk
Original Review October 2016:
The author has done it again! Jordan L Hawk is a master storyteller, the attention to historical detail coupled with paranormal flare, has created another amazing world filled with magic, murder, mystery, and love that has strengthened my respect and overflowed the WOW-ness cup I like to think sits in my library. Hexworld universe may not have quite reached the world of Whyborne & Griffin yet but it is definitely well on it's way. When a series centers on a different pairing for each book, it often takes a couple of chapters for me to get hooked, and Hexbreaker wasn't any different but before I was finished with chapter two, Cicero and Tom had me in a full on can't-put-this-down mode. I am now sitting on pins and needles waiting for the next installment.
RATING:
TIN #1
RATING:
JL Merrow
JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
RJ Scott
Megan Derr
Jordan L Hawk
Charlie Cochet
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
Hexbreaker by Jordan L Hawk
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
Here at Padme's Library I feature all genres but followers have probably noticed that 95% of the posts and 99% of my reviews fall under the LGBT genres, so for this year's Pride Month I am showcasing 20 of my favorite M/M shifter reads in no particular order. All fall under paranormal but have a perfect blend of romance, drama, healing, and heart, creating unforgettable reads.
One Last Note:
Some of those on my list I have read, reread, & even listened/re-listened so I've included the review posted in my latest read/listen. Also, those that are read/re-read as a series the latest review may be an overall series review. If any of the purchase links included here don't work be sure and check the authors' websites/social media for the most recent links as they can change over time for a variety of reasons.
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Lonewolf by JL Merrow
Summary:Sex with a stranger can be riskier than you know… particularly if that stranger turns out to be a werewolf. A companion to — or appetiser for — my novel Camwolf.
Two years ago a casual encounter in Stuttgart left Carl changed forever. He thought he could handle being a werewolf—until he passed the curse on to his English lover, Nick Sewell.
Now Carl's come back to Germany to look for answers from the man who made him a monster. But Stefan's disappeared, and in his place Carl finds Christian, who may have as much to hide as Carl does—or even more.
This is a short story in the same universe as Camwolf, but with different main characters. If you've read the novel you may recall that Nick Sewell was turned into a werewolf three years before the start of Camwolf by his then lover, Carl Fisher. This is Carl's story, and it's a dark little tale.
Lonewolf is a companion piece to the author's Camwolf, having not yet read Camwolf, I was hesitant to read this unsure if Lonewolf would effect the novel but having gotten the rec from a FB M/M book rec group, I was told it wouldn't so I went ahead. So glad I did. Lonewolf is a short intriguing look at how one man becomes a wolf and the anguish he feels when he himself turns Nick(the main character from Camwolf). There really is quite a bit packed into this short story, though it may seem a bit disjointed at times I can't help but wonder if the author didn't intend that to help the reader connect with Carl's emotional state dealing with being a wolf. Wonderful little gem that entertained and definitely intrigued me to add Nick's story, Camwolf to my TBR List.
RATING:
Summary:
Kingdom #1-3
The three books in this volume were previously published titles available separately. There have been no changes to the stories. Previously known as the Supernatural Bounty Hunters series.
The Vampire Contract #1
A vampire guilty of murder on the run from justice to prove his innocence. A werewolf sent to retrieve him with one thought – that only the guilty run.
Vampire Micah Jamieson is found guilty of killing his human husband. He runs from the execution he is facing to get home. He just has to pray he’ll reach home before supernatural law enforcement, in the shape of a Glitnir Court Retriever close in on him.
Wolf shifter and Retriever, Connor Strand easily captures Micah and he’s fully prepared to take the runaway in. But his wolf has other ideas.
Something about Micah challenges Connor and his long held beliefs. What if Micah is actually innocent? Will Connor put to one side his own prejudices, and then risk both his life and career to keep Micah safe?
The Guilty Werewolf #2
Declan Finlay is the best Retriever that Glitnir has.
Well, he is now that Connor Strand has gone rogue.
He is sent to find Connor - the guilty werewolf. But he doubts that his best friend could ever be guilty and he resolves to track him down and find out why he ran with the renegade vampire.
When the Fae Alliance, reporting to Glitnir, demand that he not go alone he is forced to accept the Incubus, Levi Tiernan, an assassin, as his companion on the journey. If Declan doesn't kill Connor, then Levi will.
What happens when old lust and love dictate action and suddenly Declan is questioning everything he loves.
The Warlock’s Secret #3
In a world where magic is rare, Joseph Jamieson is one of the most powerful holders of power. Orophin Tiwele, or Phin to his friends, is the son of the Elf King and has magic of his own. The rules say two supernatural beings with magic cannot be together and Joseph and Phin have lived by that rule despite their attraction to each other.
The resistance is growing larger each day, but traitors threaten everything Joseph has built. He wants peace, but soon comes to realize the way to peace, is through war.
When the only thing that will save lives is Joseph and Phin working together, it becomes impossible to see where magic and passion end and where love could begin.
Original Overall Series Review October 2015:
This is an overall series review as you really can't read just one. Each book may center on a different couple but each is just another piece of the puzzle that is Supernatural Bounty Hunters. The mystery behind the vampire twins, Joseph and Micah, quest for peace leads us on a journey of blood, deceit, death, and love. Another great world created by RJ Scott that brings you a little bit of everything and makes for a great Halloween read. Who am I kidding? It makes for a great read anytime of the year.
New Release Overall Series Review July 2017:
Micah and Connor are definitely a handful which makes them perfect for each other. Declan has met his match in the incubus Levi. Joseph finally gets some happiness if he & Phin finally let each other in. Asherkan & Simeon make for an interesting pair. Can their attraction be enough for Nicholas & Brody to overcome their differences? Reuben and Ethan have been given another chance after nearly a thousand years, but will it turn our any differently the second time around? These leaders and members of the Resistance want to change their corner of the world to make things better for all supernaturals but will they be able to find happiness for themselves along the way?
The series may have been given a new title along with a new presentation but the story arc is just as good as when I originally read it nearly 2 years ago. I loved how each story was another piece of the puzzle, I do love a good puzzle, and when everything and everyone comes together in The Third Kingdom, all the details start to fall into place. The finale is amazing and brings a conclusion that will leave you feeling every emotion out there but completely satisfied when you hit the last page.
Generally, when a series centers on a different couple for each installment I have a hard time connecting with each new one because the first couple reached my heart so completely but RJ Scott has a way about her that it never becomes an issue. I love them all equally. If you are someone who only reads paranormal tales in October as Halloween approaches, be sure to pencil Kingdom in your calendar because it is so worth it but if you are like me and can enjoy them anytime, don't wait another minute to give these guys a read, you won't regret it.
Summary:
Astor is tired—tired of his family and the way they never listen to his advice, and tired of being in love with his agent, Tennyson, who after a one night stand made it clear he preferred to keep things professional. The only thing Astor's not tired of is his job researching haunted inns and hotels to prove just how haunted they're not.
His latest book is about a notorious inn in the middle of nowhere, and a haunting he suspects has more to do with real werewolves than fake ghosts. It will provide fodder for an excellent non-fiction book, the novel he's secretly writing, and be so distracting he'll finally be able to get over Tennyson.
Except when he arrives it's to find that Tennyson is already there, with every intention of keeping Astor company through the holidays.
This is only the second book of Megan Derr's that I've read but it has cemented my decision to further check out her backlist in the future. Astor is a snarky vampire who investigates and writes books on disproving haunted places, not exactly a character you read every day. Tennyson is his agent who decides to follow along with him on his latest debunking journey into Grey Lake Inn and the surrounding area. I loved the blend of paranormal, lusty romance, and a little history in the form of the story behind the ghost "sightings". The Werewolf of Grey Lake Inn may be short on words and pages but long on delightfully fun entertainment.
RATING:
Summary:
Hexworld #1
Will a dark history doom their future together?
New York copper Tom Halloran is a man with a past. If anyone finds out he once ran with the notorious O’Connell tunnel gang, he’ll spend the rest of his life doing hard time behind bars. But Tom’s secret is threatened when a horrible murder on his beat seems to have been caused by the same ancient magic that killed his gang.
Cat shifter Cicero is determined to investigate the disappearance of one friend and the death of another, even though no one else believes the cases are connected. When the trail of his investigation crosses Tom’s, the very bohemian Cicero instinctively recognizes the uncultured Irish patrolman as his witch. Though they’re completely unsuited to one another, Cicero has no choice but to work alongside Tom…all the while fighting against the passion growing within.
Tom knows that taking Cicero as his familiar would only lead to discovery and disaster. Yet as the heat between them builds, Tom’s need for the other man threatens to overcome every rational argument against becoming involved.
But when their investigation uncovers a conspiracy that threatens all of New York, Tom must make the hardest decision of his life: to live a lie and gain his heart’s desire, or to confess the truth and sacrifice it all.
New York copper Tom Halloran is a man with a past. If anyone finds out he once ran with the notorious O’Connell tunnel gang, he’ll spend the rest of his life doing hard time behind bars. But Tom’s secret is threatened when a horrible murder on his beat seems to have been caused by the same ancient magic that killed his gang.
Cat shifter Cicero is determined to investigate the disappearance of one friend and the death of another, even though no one else believes the cases are connected. When the trail of his investigation crosses Tom’s, the very bohemian Cicero instinctively recognizes the uncultured Irish patrolman as his witch. Though they’re completely unsuited to one another, Cicero has no choice but to work alongside Tom…all the while fighting against the passion growing within.
Tom knows that taking Cicero as his familiar would only lead to discovery and disaster. Yet as the heat between them builds, Tom’s need for the other man threatens to overcome every rational argument against becoming involved.
But when their investigation uncovers a conspiracy that threatens all of New York, Tom must make the hardest decision of his life: to live a lie and gain his heart’s desire, or to confess the truth and sacrifice it all.
The author has done it again! Jordan L Hawk is a master storyteller, the attention to historical detail coupled with paranormal flare, has created another amazing world filled with magic, murder, mystery, and love that has strengthened my respect and overflowed the WOW-ness cup I like to think sits in my library. Hexworld universe may not have quite reached the world of Whyborne & Griffin yet but it is definitely well on it's way. When a series centers on a different pairing for each book, it often takes a couple of chapters for me to get hooked, and Hexbreaker wasn't any different but before I was finished with chapter two, Cicero and Tom had me in a full on can't-put-this-down mode. I am now sitting on pins and needles waiting for the next installment.
RATING:
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
Summary:TIN #1
Codename: Chaos.
Former THIRDS agent turned TIN operative Dexter J. Daley is a legend. Just ask him, he’ll tell you. Chaos isn’t so much a codename as it is Dex’s state of being. As a spy for the Therian Intelligence Network, Dex has spent the last four years bringing down the bad guys. Hell, his middle name is literally Justice. But a new mission brings him face-to-face with a different kind of monster, one with a weapon that can alter the course of history. Failure is not an option, but as the mission goes from dangerous to deadly, Dex finds himself up against a far more terrifying force, and this time, there’s no escape.
Codename: Atlas
As former team leader for Destructive Delta and now a TIN operative, Sloane Daley knows what it feels like to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. But no matter the challenge, Sloane knows that together, he and his husband, Dex, can overcome anything. When their latest mission takes a personal turn, Sloane is forced to confront the very thing that created him. Looking back to a past he thought he’d left behind is the least of Sloane’s problems, because the greatest threat he’s about to encounter… is his own husband.
Original Review August 2024:
How? Oh how did I let this sit on my Kindle for nearly 3 years?!?!?!?! Okay so 2021 wasn't the best year in our house and that September saw my mother get out of the hospital after 108 days and as her 24/7 caregiver things were busy. But 3 years?!?!?!?!?! I listen to at least one if not 2 THIRDS books every October so it isn't as if I forgot how brilliant Charlie Cochet's therian/human universe is. Well, 3 years or not, I finally got to the initial entry in the THIRDS sequel series TIN, Gone But Not Forgotten and boy did it justify the adrenaline rush I knew would come.
Dexter J Daley is just as quirky, loveable, and dare I say dangerous as he always has been, more so perhaps. Frankly, I couldn't think of a more fitting code name than Chaos because that is literally what follows in his wake. Meaning to or not, Dex always finds a way to turn his danger magnate personality up a notch. The man is an enigma. Even after all these years and all the tests no one, including his husband Sloane who knows him best and even Dex himself, fully understands or knows just who or what Dex is or capable of. I won't spoil anything but boy are you about to find out.
Speaking of Sloane Daley, his code name Atlas is also 100% fitting. He is carrying so much weight on his shoulders it's hard to imagine just how he stands tall anymore but I guess that goes to show just the kind of man and therian he is. Course, as Dex for a partner both on and off the job, I don't know how he's still sane. Dex would have me going every which way that I wouldn't know my left from my right but I guess that's why they are perfectly suited: they balance each other.
As for Gone But Not Forgotten's case the men and their team find themselves facing might just be one of the hardest yet. They may have had past cases with more mystery, with more who did it questions to solve but I can't think of any that is more physically and emotionally taxing for the pair. There is definitely danger of course but they are trained for that, it's the emotional side that really pulls at both partners. I'm going to stop there before I spoil too much for anyone who is like me and arrived late to the party. Just know that you will be put through the emotional wringer but boy is it worth it!
Dex and Sloane may be the stars of this TIN beginning but we see old and new faces, friends and enemies, humor and suspense, drama and action, and of course lots of heart, warmth and ache. Gone But Not Forgotten is definitely the whole package and I'm not sure when book 2 will be released but I can tell you it won't take 3 years for me to dive in.
Lonewolf by JL Merrow
Carl’s enquiries at Ingolfs, the dingy bar on the edge of Stuttgart’s Altstadt, had got him nowhere. No one could remember seeing Stefan for well over a year—or at least, no one was willing to admit to it. The barman had known something. He’d looked at Carl with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, and smirked when he’d mentioned Stefan. As if the man could see inside him, see the beast barely contained within.
Carl downed the dregs of his Weissbier and slammed the glass back down on the scarred oak table. Time to go home. Or what passed for it while he was chasing ghosts here in Stuttgart. His jaw tightened. ‘Home’ was a meaningless concept anyway these days. Leaving the bar, he turned his steps south, towards the river, and stopped to look out upon the lights of the city reflected in its inky waters. He’d once thought Stuttgart beautiful, and no doubt it still was—to anyone whose memories of the city weren’t tainted by violence and horror.
He should never have left Germany—not without getting the answers he’d come back here, two years later, to seek. But at the time... At the time, all he’d wanted was to get away. Away from this place with its nightmares-made-flesh. Away from the lover who’d proved to be a monster.
Away from the terror that he’d become one himself.
Sometimes, though, there’s just nowhere far enough to run.
Kingdom Volume 1 by RJ Scott
The Vampire Contract #1
“How’s your arm?” Micah finally asked.
Connor glanced down at his arm. He remembered bones snapping and stabbing through his skin, but there was nothing there except faint marks and an ache in his muscles. He stalked towards the vampire and Micah scrambled to stand.
“I’m taking you back,” Connor growled. His claws curved viciously from the tips of his fingers and he flexed his hand. He stepped over the dying fire and then suddenly he stopped. He didn’t mean to. He attempted to force his legs to move in some semblance of walking, but there was nothing. His wolf snarled inside him, forcing its way up and in control and stopping him from moving an inch. His wolf stopped the angry push, forcing him to step back from Micah. Startled, Connor stopped exactly where he was.
“What did you do?” he snarled.
“Nothing.” Micah held out his hands palm up and he looked so damn innocent. “I promise you I didn’t do a thing.”
Connor attempted to move forward again, but the muscles in his legs locked into place like he had walked into a brick wall as his wolf yanked him to a standstill.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Pretty sure your wolf scented me and loved me last night,” Micah teased.
“What?”
“You don’t remember?” Micah asked. “I’m losing my touch.”
Connor lifted a hand and ran it through his unruly shaggy hair and then tugged on it sharply to check he wasn’t dreaming. The prick of pain was enough to convince that instead of working with him, his wolf side was somehow making decisions his conscious human form couldn’t cash.
“I remember…” What did he recall? The fight, the tree, his arm snapping like a twig. That wasn’t right. He peered at his arm, which was break free. Fuck, he must have hit his head damn hard to have blocked out shifting in his sleep. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t remember anything after the tree.”
Micah nodded. “You hit it pretty hard.” He looked guilty and suddenly couldn’t look Connor in the eye. Tapping his own head, he added, “Head first.”
The tension in Connor’s muscles as he leaned into the press-back from the wolf was getting tiring, and with a curse of exasperation he returned to the place he had woken up with the stones and ash of a fire between them and Micah still unable to look him in the eye.
This was the first time he’d really seen what Micah looked like close-up. Shorter than Connor by a small amount with jet-black hair, he looked young.
“I’m sorry I did that,” Micah offered softly. He lifted his chin and looked at Connor directly.
“How did you do it?” Connor asked. He needed to know how for the first time in ten years of retrieval he had been bested. And by a vampire no less.
“Luck,” Micah said quickly.
“You’re lying,” Connor snapped. His wolf agreed. At least this was one thing that could be settled in this unwelcome war of control inside him.
Micah moved quickly into a couple of practiced smooth moves. “There. You see. I know moves.”
Connor watched with amazement at the vampire throwing some kind of half-hearted chop through the air followed up by a stumble and kick.
“Clearly you do,” he said dryly. “But what part of that includes being able to throw me against a tree?”
Micah looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. Evidently he had to decide on what to tell Connor.
“You were hurt. You wouldn’t have known what happened to you,” he finally offered. He shrugged and then looked at Connor directly. “You shifted, you healed.”
Connor sighed. He attempted to move again, but there was no way his wolf was letting him move anything but backwards. Frustrated, he threw his hands up and summarized exactly what he wanted. “Make this easy and come back to Glitnir with me?”
“Yeah, because every vampire wants his head removed from his body with a sharp axe. Forgive me if I’m not seeing the benefits of giving in and going back.”
“You’re a murderer,” Connor spat. “I read you the rules. We’ll never stop hunting you until you’re dead by Court hands or ours.”
“Then you’ll have to kill me,” Micah snapped back. “I didn’t kill Ethan. I wouldn’t kill Ethan.”
The Guilty Werewolf #2
Declan wanted to be out front and ready to track Phin and it sounded like they were saying their goodbyes. He scented the air and made sure he could get enough of Phin’s smell to mean he could halfway track the little guy. Then he shuffled back as quietly as he could, but stopped when he came up against a warm body. Glancing behind him, Levi was right there and Declan glared at him. Without words he declared his irritability with the Fae. Levi merely stared back with stony focus. Declan leaned in to encourage the damn man to move just as a blade passed through the space his head had been. That slight move forward had been enough to save his life.
The knife, small but deadly, embedded itself in the oven unit opposite that he had been using as a mirror. Immediately in defence mode Declan ducked lower and used the mirrored metal to ascertain what the hell was happening. The barman, Abb, stared at the space they were hidden in. No sign of Phin. This was not the optimum place to be holed up in and he glanced behind him to communicate that to his shadow, but there was no sign of Levi.
Great. Declan was pretty exposed here and the freaking incubus had abandoned him. He should have known. All that talk about fighting for tradition and Levi was the first to run when things went south.
Another knife flew too close for comfort, parting his hair and, by the feel of it, drawing blood. Looking at the beautiful, intricate knives told him one thing; the barman was no mild mannered bear shifter who plied you with alcohol, then took your money. He evidently had mad knife throwing skills. Not a good start for Declan in this whole escaping-with-his-life-intact situation.
He heard a thud and cautiously leaned so he could look in the mirrored surface. What he saw had him scrambling to stand. The barman was felled like a tree, dead straight on the floor with his eyes shut and his breathing shallow. Levi loomed over him like some kind of ghostly apparition with wisps of scarlet lingering around him.
“What did you do?” Declan asked.
“Took him out.”
“He’s dead? Did you suck him?”
“I wish you’d stop calling it that.”
“Well, did you?”
“No. Okay? I didn’t take any of his emotions, although I couldn’t help some of the anger that trickled into me.”
Declan blinked at what Levi was saying. Like it didn’t matter the incubus had accidentally taken something from someone.
“Will he get it back?” Declan snapped.
“What?”
“His anger.”
“His anger?” Levi looked confused, then realisation cross his features. “You think when I… That I… It’s not permanent, Declan. Don’t they teach you anything in Fae 101?”
Declan crouched and felt for a pulse, then looked up at Levi. “No killing,” he said. “Not on my watch.”
“Says the animal with teeth and claws,” Levi said dryly.
The Warlock's Secret #3
Phin watched Micah and Connor from the cover of the trees for some time. That was, until Connor sniffed the air and turned his way, then he knew he had to step out.
“What do you want?” he snapped irritably. “I’ve had Declan and Levi tracking me to the west and you two here. I’m not going back to listen to Joseph’s crap anymore.” He exhaled heavily. Why he was being so careful not to use his magic to evade this childish hunting game escaped him. He should just port out of here and find a place where the resistance, the hunters, and most of all Joseph, didn’t get up in his face. It was bad enough he’d had to explain himself to his father after he’d sent Asher home near death.
“It’s Joseph,” Micah said. “He’s missing.”
“He’s probably up a mountain communing with nature,” Phin dismissed. Despite hearing something off in Micah’s voice, he wasn’t getting involved. Joseph had this way of finding trouble, then evading it at the last minute. He’d be fine.
“Tell him,” Connor said firmly.
Phin crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t like Connor’s tone. It suggested Micah was reluctant to tell him something.
“Tell me what?” he asked suspiciously.
Micah sighed. “We need your help. Joseph used magic to create a portal to get inside Glitnir.”
Phin dropped his stance of stubbornness and allowed his shock to come to the forefront. He stepped closer to Micah who, to his credit, didn’t move. “What the hell?” Phin shouted. “You know he shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…” He was lost for words. There was a reason they didn’t use their powers near anything to do with Glitnir. Supernaturals with magic were sought after and placed in hiding for their own protection. No one with the kind of skills inside them that he and Joseph had, would be allowed to be free of Glitnir interference.
“We were in the old library,” Micah said, “and he stayed behind and closed the portal.”
“Why would he do that?” Phin demanded. “Did he want to be trapped? Is he suicidal? Hell Micah. Why didn’t you stop him?” Very real fear built inside him. Joseph was inside Glitnir—and he’d used magic? He wouldn’t wish that combination on anyone if anyone had found out. Why hadn’t Joseph just got out? Where was he? None of this could be good.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Micah snapped. “We were discovered. We barricaded the door, he opened the portal, I went through with Levi, and he shut the connection down so no one could follow us.”
“Why did you even let him go there in the first place?” Phin stood right up in front of Micah and, despite having to look up at the vampire, he had Micah backing a step away.
“No one lets Joseph do anything,” Connor defended. He moved to stand between Phin and Micah and his tone and body language stopped Phin’s growing anger in its tracks.
Micah shook his head. “What’s done is done,” he said. “We need to get him out.”
Phin shook his head. “We can’t. He’s on his own.” Phin watched as Micah and Connor exchanged glances. What now? He knew he should have spent more time wandering the forest and less time leaving trails for Connor and Declan to follow. He’d been having fun playing with the two wolf shifters, but evidently Micah wanted him to get serious.
“We found something,” Micah started.
“A journal,” Connor interrupted.
Micah nodded. “A vampire journal. The one mentioned in the prophesies that say it will come to the twins from the royal line of the Sinclairs—”
Connor interrupted. “The prophesy about how one of them will have magic and that twin will lead an army for change.”
Phin felt like he was watching Micah and Joseph when they were together. Connor and Micah were evidently in synch given they kept finishing each other’s sentences. He held up a hand to stop them doing that back and forth in the explanation.
“Connor, you’d best go and find Declan. I left him circling a chalk pit last I saw him. Bring him and Levi here.”
Connor opened his mouth to protest, but a gentle touch from Micah’s hand on his arm had him stripping, shifting, and running the direction Phin indicated. Suddenly tired and needing to sit, Phin walked to the nearest fallen tree and perched himself on one end. He crossed his legs, then with a wave of his hand, indicated Micah should sit opposite.
Micah didn’t argue and the vampire began to talk as soon as he sat down. “The Journal Of Days was what Joseph was looking for at the Vampire Clan’s Council house. It wasn’t there, but he tracked it to Glitnir.”
“Why do you think this journal is so important?” Phin knew a little about vampire society, and he’d heard the prophesies, otherwise he wouldn’t be here alongside Joseph and Micah in this Underground they’d set up. He just hadn’t thought the journal mentioned in the prophesy would ever be found. Just the mention of Joseph again had fear curling inside him. What the hell made the idiot think going into Glitnir was a good thing.
Micah sighed heavily. “When Glitnir was first created and the vamps, werewolves, and the fae all held council, no one wanted the vampires to be part of it.”
“I recall reading that somewhere.”
“What most supernaturals don’t know is that this journal was a way of the vampires placating the others. The wolves and fae were concerned about the vampires creating a whole race of blood demons tied to them as donors, and about the fact they killed indiscriminately. The Vampire Clans Council agreed to have a book that contained, in detail, the workings of the council. It would automatically mark every action by a vampire and be proof in case the fae and the wolves suspected the vamps were planning to overthrow them and take Glitnir as theirs.”
“Every vampire action?”
Micah sighed. “Anything deemed important. The journal was spelled and locked and it was never to be removed from the vault. In fact it could only be opened by these mythical twins from the prophesies and only at the time of real need. Together.”
The Werewolf of Grey Lake Inn by Megan Derr
“I don’t care what he does for a living,” Astor snapped, taking a right turn a little harder than intended, his driving suffering for his temper. At least he wasn’t on a highway where he’d be surrounded by even more idiots to further fray his temper. He corrected himself, took a deep breath, and resumed yelling at his stupid cousin. Talking or shouting sense into Amanda was an exercise in futility, but still he had to try. “That man is a trial by jury waiting to happen, and you are only proving yourself to be a nitwit—”
He jerked as she slammed her phone down, hanging up on him. Who even used phones that slammed anymore? Switching his to silent, he threw it on the passenger seat in disgust. May whatever deities existed spare him further family aggravation while he was on this trip. He gave it a month before Amanda went running home in tears because her new perfect, wonderful, wealthy lawyer boyfriend turned out to be scum precisely as Astor had tried to tell her. He could spot bad news at a hundred yards, but did anyone listen to him? No.
Disgusted, fed up, and in sore need of a beer, Astor hit the gas and sped up the mountain, moderately soothed by the growl and purr and smooth motion of his bright blue corvette. He could not wait to reach the inn where he would be spending the next month doing research for his new book. He was going to enjoy every second of not having to manage the rampant stupidity afflicting the rest of his family.
Instead he’d be focusing on ghosts and his own rampant stupidity; it would almost be a nice change.
The parking lot was mostly empty when he reached the inn, and Astor felt more than justified in stealing two parking spaces for his car. If there was so much as a scratch on his corvette when he left there, he’d give the inn some real ghosts to worry about. He put the top up on his car and gathered up his jacket, duffle bag, laptop bag, and phone from the passenger seat. He stalked toward the inn—
—And stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on a familiar car. He would know that dark blue BMW anywhere, even pretending for a moment that he didn’t have the license plate memorized. What the hell was Tennyson doing there? He was supposed to be fourteen hours away, at home. Astor had picked the Grey Lake Inn precisely because the ‘prime ghost viewing period’ was during Christmas and so no one would bother to visit him or check up on him. He had planned to bury himself in the mountains for a month to work on two things: his new book, and to stop being in love with his agent.
He should have known that the day would be a wash when he woke up to find that Casper had run away. Stupid, useless, ungrateful feline. Who needed the mouthy, troublemaking ball of fluff anyway? Stifling a sigh because sighing would accomplish nothing, Astor slung his duffle over one shoulder, the laptop bag across the other, and trudged toward the inn.
To give it credit, the inn had a horror movie setting that did not seem overly contrived. If he were not all too aware that ghosts did not exist, Astor would be creeped out by the place. It was, however, damned hard to terrify a man with fangs who drank blood to live and debunked ghost stories for a living. But the place made a good showing, he would concede that. Dark stone and old wood, check. Creeping ivy, check. Wrought iron, check. Nothing else around for miles, check.
He was further impressed there were no tacky signs proclaiming the ghosts, no boards spelling out the long, tedious story. Only a single sign on the far side of the parking lot that marked the beginning of the ‘historic’ trail that led to where the infamous cabin had once been located, close to the lake that gave the inn its name—which itself had been named for the woman who had died there, the woman whose ghost seemed to do a hell of a lot of haunting across the damn mountain.
But trekking around the mountain was the next day’s task. Right then, he was interested only in unpacking and finding a beer. He grimaced as he recalled that for reasons unknown, Tennyson was there. His head throbbed, and Astor sighed before he could catch himself.
Pushing open one of the double doors, he stepped into the lobby and was immediately assaulted by an over-enthusiastic use of potpourri. The entire place smelled like the bastard child of a florist and a perfume shop. The inn’s interior continued the outside theme of ‘vaguely creepy’ and he would definitely acknowledge the atmosphere in his book. Dark wood, dark oriental carpets, lamps and electric candles meant to look like more old-fashioned gas and wax candles.
Hell, as he reached the desk, he saw the place came complete with a sour-faced crone. He only barely avoided wrinkling his nose at the dry-as-dust smell of her blood. He fervently hoped there would be better pickings when he needed to drink.
His thoughts slipped dangerously to Tennyson then, and a night he could never forget no matter how hard he tried.
Biting down, arms dragging Tennyson closer, fisting a hand in Tennyson’s hair as he drank, as Tennyson pounded into him, both of them wanting more and more, never sated—
He cut the memory off, hating himself even as his hand curled around the coin in his pocket. He forced a polite smile as he slid his ID and credit card across the desk. “Good evening. I have a reservation under the name Astor Wheaton.”
Hexbreaker by Jordan L Hawk
One
“Bloody hell, where is Isaac?” Cicero asked. “I’m freezing my arse off out here.”
The clock tower atop the Coven showed half past eleven, which made Isaac half an hour late already. With just a week to go until Christmas, winter had set in with a vengeance: the wind whipped through the hair Cicero had so carefully fixed and turned the tip of his nose to ice. If it started snowing, he was giving up on Isaac and going straight back to the barracks. He was not getting wet for a man who couldn’t be bothered to show up on time.
Even if they had been best friends, once.
“You’re not the only one, cat,” Rook snapped. The cold had reddened his brown cheeks, and he huddled deep into a thick woolen coat. “Why are we out here with you again?”
“Because Isaac wouldn’t have come back here if it wasn’t important,” Cicero replied.
“So important he went to a party first?” Rook’s black eyes flashed with skepticism.
“He said he needed to convince Gerald to come with him—and no, darling, I don’t know why,” Cicero added, before Rook could ask. “It was just a brief note.”
Rook rolled his eyes. “He’s probably passed out drunk.”
Dominic put a soothing hand to Rook’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take crow form and sit on my arm? I’ll hold you in front of me to block the wind.”
“No,” Rook grumbled, bumping Dominic affectionately with his shoulder. “I’ll suffer with you.”
“You mean you can’t complain out loud when you’re in crow form.”
Rook let out a cawing laugh. “That too.”
Cicero looked away from witch and familiar, feeling an unaccustomed twist of bitterness in his gut. Isaac wouldn’t have suggested meeting here, outside the Metropolitan Witch Police Headquarters, without a damned good reason. Perhaps that’s why Isaac was late—he had to nerve himself up to return to the scene of his most painful memory. The place where all his dreams had been wrecked.
The place where he’d smiled at Cicero, years ago—the first person to do so, when Cicero had slunk in through the brass doors, looking for haven. Fur and feathers, he’d been young. Just a scared kitten, really, arching his back at everyone who came too close. Isaac had made him feel welcome. Told him he was safe. That Cicero could stay here until his witch arrived.
Well, his witch was dragging his bloody feet. Too many years had passed, and Chief Ferguson had recently started dropping hints that Cicero had been on the dole long enough. He needed to pay back his debt, pick a witch he thought he could live with, and bond. True, their magic wouldn’t be as strong as with his witch, the one he’d instinctively recognize when they met. But the MWP wanted to get its money’s worth.
And after what had happened with Isaac’s witch…
“Damn it,” Cicero growled, stamping his feet in an attempt to keep them warm. Maybe Isaac couldn’t face coming back here. He might have had a bit too much to drink, trying to gather up his courage, and be lying facedown in Gerald’s apartment right now. While Cicero froze his whiskers off like a fool.
The clock high above chimed the quarter hour. Dominic glanced up at it and winced. “Cicero,” he said carefully, “we could wait inside.”
And make Isaac walk back through those doors alone? Cicero shook his head. “You go on. I’ll—”
The clatter of hooves sounded on the nearly deserted street. Cicero turned expectantly, only to see an MWP police wagon instead of a cab as he’d hoped. To his surprise, the wagon pulled to a halt at the curb in front of them, rather than continue around the side to the yard. “Detective Kopecky?” called the young witch at the reins.
Dominic wasn’t on duty, but that didn’t stop him from trotting down the stairs. “Something I can do for you, MacDougal?”
“Aye—we need a hexman. Figured we wouldn’t get one until the morning, but as you’re here, sir, maybe you could take a look?” MacDougal didn’t wait for an answer, just slid down from the driver’s seat and made for the back of the wagon. “A suspicious death—or it might be. Fellow was having a party in his apartment. Witnesses say he took a hex with his absinthe, then lost his mind and attacked his roommate. The roommate shoved him out the window—self defense for certain, you ought to see the bite marks. Everyone swears the dead man was behaving normally until he activated the hex, so I’d be grateful if you’d take a look and make certain it wasn’t tampered with.”
“Of course,” Dominic said. MacDougal swung open the doors to the wagon, revealing a body beneath a sheet. He reached inside and pulled out a square of paper, which he passed to Dominic.
“This is the hex,” MacDougal said, but his words seemed oddly far away to Cicero. Feeling as though he were in a dream, Cicero walked to the open doors of the wagon.
A party. A dead man. And Isaac late…
His pulse thundered in his ears as he reached in and flipped back the sheet.
Not Isaac—that was his first thought, the initial rush of relief. But relief gave way to sudden dread, because he did recognize the face of the dead man, even with the bruising and blood from the fall.
“It’s Gerald,” he said through numb lips. “Gerald Whistler.”
The other men fell silent. Then Rook let out a hiss. “What was the address?”
There came the rush of wings, Rook taking to the sky. But as Cicero lowered the sheet once again, he knew in his heart that they were already too late.
“It ain’t a fair night for you to be out, Mrs. Zywicki,” Tom chided the old woman hanging rather unsteadily on his arm. The sky spit snow, and the wind moaned down the street: sending the lines of wash in the alleyways flapping, blowing a steady stream of coal smoke from chimneys, and turning Tom’s nose and ears to ice. He huddled deeper into his heavy blue policeman’s coat, grateful for the thick wool.
Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey, as Tom’s Da used to say. The other thing he used to say was to look out for those as needed you, and right now that meant a little old lady who’d had a bit much to drink. Strictly speaking though, helping drunk old ladies make their way home didn’t count as walking his beat. If a roundsman caught Tom, he’d get called in front of the captain.
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, and most likely not the last, neither. “What would you have done, if it had been O’Byrne walking the beat tonight instead of me?” he asked.
“You think I’m drunk,” she grumbled.
“Never,” he declared, even though her breath set his eyes to watering.
“It’s only this cold is no good for my rheumatism,” she said. “I took a hex for it before I went out, but it does nothing. Nothing!”
“Did you buy it from a street vendor, then?” he asked, his heart sinking a bit. Half the time, the sort of cheap hex affordable to tenement residents had never even been near a witch. Most likely the “hex” had been nothing but a pretty design on colored paper.
“Some quack,” she mumbled, waving her hand dismissively. “On the corner, yes. But he knew my cousin, so I thought, why not?”
Tom glanced over his shoulder, glad the door to Mrs. Zywicki’s tenement was near. Maybe if the roundsman caught him, he could claim he was gathering information about a fake hex vendor.
If he did, the captain would just tell him Mrs. Zywicki needed to make her report to the Metropolitan Witch Police instead. The ordinary police force didn’t deal with magic related crimes, even if the magic was fake. Which was one of the reasons Tom had felt safe joining their number.
“Here we are,” Tom said as they stopped in front of the steps leading up to the tenement where Mrs. Zywicki lived. The wind whistled around the tin cornices, an eerie sound like a distant cry of pain. “Can you make it up the stairs?”
“Yes.” She blearily released his arm and patted it. “Thank you, Tom. You are a good boy. Your mother must be proud.”
Tom managed to keep his expression neutral. “She’s been with the Good Lord since before I left Dublin,” he lied. Because he’d never set foot in Dublin, and after everything his family had done…
Well, it didn’t seem likely the Good Lord had looked too kindly on any of them.
“Then I’m sure—” Mrs. Zywicki began.
A scream of agony shattered the cold air like glass. Tom’s hand went to his nightstick, and he spun away from the tenement, heart pounding. Where had it come from?
Another screech, and now a second voice joined the first. Two women, shrieking as if in terror of their lives.
The shadows of the gaslit street seemed to suddenly become menacing. Tom ran across the uneven pavement, splashing through puddles of half-frozen filth. He put his tin whistle to his lips and blew stridently, but this was the middle of his beat. Would any other patrolmen even hear him?
Residents did—windows opened here and there as the curious stuck their heads out, and a man in a dirt-encrusted coat stumbled out of an alleyway, his eyes wide and worried. “Go to the precinct house and get help!” Tom ordered as he ran past.
There—the screams came from inside Barshtein’s Pawn Shop, now tightly locked up for the night. Tom was certain of the lock—he’d tried the door on his first round through the neighborhood, as duty required.
He’d also felt what most couldn’t perceive; the faint vibration of an active hex beneath his fingers. Barshtein used an anti-burglary hex on the doors, to keep out thieves. Tom had done his best to ignore the faint buzz through his fingertips, though, just as he always did.
Now, he seized the door and rattled it. Still locked, and the hex in place.
He pulled an unlocking hex from the bag at his waist and pressed it to the door, just above the latch. “Open!” he said—no fancy activation phrases here, not for police work.
The lock clicked, the physical parts disengaged. Tom kicked the door with all his strength, but the hex was strong, and the door remained stubbornly in its frame, held in place by magic.
The cries grew more frantic by the second. He cast about, but there was no sign of any other officers.
He had to wait for help. Or find a way in through a window—assuming Barshtein hadn’t laid hexes on the glass.
Or use his talent to break the hexes.
The thought rose unbidden from the murky depths where he’d consigned the past. He couldn’t. Hexbreaking was too rare a skill. If anyone found out, they’d want to know why he’d hidden it for all these years.
And what would he say? That it was evil, a curse leading to nothing but misery? That the last time he’d used it, he’d killed his own father?
One of the voices inside the pawn shop fell ominously silent.
Saint Mary, help him—he had to do something. Tom took a deep breath and laid his hand on the lock. God, it had been so long—what if he couldn’t do it any more? What if he had no choice but to stand here and wait for reinforcements, while people who depended on him for protection died just a few feet above his head?
He felt the hex beneath his palm. Like a vibration, or the heartbeat of some tiny animal. Closing his eyes, Tom imagined himself laying an invisible hand on the vibration. Stilling it, the heartbeat dying away.
Nothing. No buzz against his palm now. He’d done it, as natural as breathing.
Tom sent the door slamming back against the wall. The shop was dark, the light from the street blotted out by the shades drawn for the night. The shrieks continued from above, but now they were accompanied by a rhythmic thud, as of a body hitting solid wood with great force.
He groped through the shop, striking his knee against the counter and sending over a small glass display. He knew the layout of the store—Mr. Barshtein was the sort who’d offer a copper a cup of water on a hot day, and never complain when the police came around looking for stolen goods. Tom found the door behind the counter; fortunately, this one wasn’t locked, and he slipped through. A narrow beam of light showed from the top of a flight of stairs on the other side of the tiny back room.
The stairs groaned as he ran up them. “Police!” he bellowed as he flung open the door.
The smell struck him first, like wet, rusted iron. Red streaked the walls and floor of the parlor. A woman’s body lay in front of the stove, unmoving and masked in blood. Tom’s gorge rose at the sight of the savage bite marks on her neck, arms, and face.
A man hurled himself against one of the two doors leading from the parlor. His dressing gown was spattered with blood, his face so streaked with gore Tom barely recognized him.
“Stop!” Tom shouted. “Police!”
Barshtein ceased flinging himself against the door. Instead, he turned to face Tom, an inhuman growl rumbling from deep inside his chest. He looked utterly deranged, lips drawn back from bloody teeth, hands twisted into claws. And his eyes…
The whites had gone completely scarlet, as if every vessel in them had burst at once.
The apartment seemed to waver around Tom. The wallpaper faded, became the rough brick of a tenement. Gaslight changed to fire. His brother’s teeth snapped at him, no recognition in those bloodshot eyes, while Molly screamed at him to break the hex. And all the while, innocent people burned, their cries like something from the very pits of hell.
Tom swung his nightstick with an inarticulate shout. The heavy locust wood smashed into Barshtein’s raised arm. Bone cracked beneath the blow, but Barshtein didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he lunged at Tom. His good hand scrabbled at Tom’s throat, as if he meant to throttle him.
This time the nightstick connected with Barshtein’s skull. The bloody red eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed at Tom’s feet.
Tom stood above the unconscious body, chest heaving. This wasn’t September 15, 1889; it was December 18, 1897. He was Tom Halloran, not Liam O’Connell.
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.
Not again.
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
[Location: Redacted, Spain]
Warrior. Weapon. Hunter.
The names were many, but none changed who he was or what he was inside. Trained in the art of invisibility, master of the hunt, a terrifying force to be reckoned with. His expertise in various forms of lethal combat made him an agent of destruction. By the time his prey discovered his presence, it would be too late.
Silence engulfed him as he lay in wait beneath the water’s surface, his mind and body a study in absolute control, his heartbeat a steady rhythm as he counted the seconds.
It was time.
Slowly he emerged, water sluicing over his bare chest, his muscled body toned and sculpted from years of intense training. Knife between his teeth, he waded through infested waters, aware of the beast floating nearby, eyeing him, hoping to make him its next meal. Gingerly he approached the water’s edge and took his knife in hand, his breath controlled as he crouched low, eyes locked on his quarry.
You’re mine now.
One step closer. Two. Three.
His prey lay motionless, completely unaware.
Four. Five.
“What are you doing?”
He stilled.
“I know you can hear me.”
At the low grumble, Dex straightened, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You’re ruining the moment.”
“Which is?” his quarry murmured, not so much as glancing in Dex’s direction from where he lay, long legs crossed at the ankles and fingers laced on his flat, muscular abdomen. The giant beach umbrella provided shade from the intense heat and glaring sun, his eyes undoubtedly closed behind the dark sunglasses.
“Hunting.”
Blue-green waves crashed gently against the shore, the sand beneath Dex’s feet hot as he crossed the short distance to the sexy Therian stretched out on the blue beach towel.
“Is that what that was? Because from here, it looked like you were swimming around with a cocktail umbrella between your teeth.”
Dex sniffed and lifted his chin. “It’s a knife.”
“And the giant donut float?”
“An alligator ready to attack.”
“You’re adorable.”
Dex chuckled as he dropped to his knees beside Sloane, then straddled his lap. He leaned in for a kiss. “Must be why you married me.”
Sloane slid his hands up Dex’s thighs to rest on his hips. “Someone had to keep you out of trouble.”
“And how’s that working out for you?” Dex teased, smiling against Sloane’s lips.
A laugh rumbled up from Sloane’s expansive chest as he wrapped his strong arms around Dex and brought him in for a deeper kiss. The scent of saltwater, coconut sunscreen, and Sloane made Dex moan. At times he still couldn’t believe he was married to this amazing man. How had it been almost four years already? And how was it possible his husband seemed to get even more handsome with age? Sloane’s pitch-black hair had white strands interspersed, the same white that connected to a neatly trimmed beard on his chiseled jaw. Dex had a few silver strands of his own, but they were harder to see in his dirty-blond hair. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they’d first met.
Dex savored Sloane’s kiss, melting against his sinfully gorgeous body. He was everything to Dex—his partner in crime, his mate, a sleek black jaguar Therian with amber eyes that could reach into the depths of Dex’s soul. They shared a bond most couldn’t fathom, one only those closest to them knew of.
“No, really, what were you doing?” Sloane asked with a hum as Dex trailed kisses down his jawline, ignoring the feel of eyes on them. The beach might be Therian-friendly, but that didn’t mean everyone occupying it was.
“Remember last night when you were galivanting about the city?”
Sloane’s lips lifted at the corners in a smirk. “You mean when I was out working and you stayed in our hotel suite binge-watching old eighties TV shows and eating your weight in desserts?”
“I think what you meant to say was while I was fueling this weapon of mass destruction”—Dex motioned to himself—“and researching undercover techniques.”
“From an old eighties spy show.”
“Hey, that show was based on real spy craft.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“But it could have been.”
“It could have,” Sloane said, then popped a kiss on Dex’s lips. “But it wasn’t.” He smiled at Dex’s pout and tapped his flank. “As much as I love debating the factual validity of your eighties movies and TV shows, I’m thirsty. How about you get me a frosty drink?”
“Already on it, amor de mi vida.”
Sloane hummed.
“Te amo, cariño.” “Te amo, mi conejito.”
“Little bunny? Really?”
Dex booped the tip of Sloane’s nose. “Because you’re so cute and fluffy.”
“Ah, yes. That must be why that guy jumped out of the moving bus we were on last week. Clearly, my fluffy cuteness overwhelmed him.”
Dex laughed as he sat up. “Sit tight, Daddy, while I get you that drink.”
“I’ll just stay here and look pretty, then,” Sloane drawled. “And don’t call me Daddy.”
With a chuckle, Dex stood. He tugged his slip-ons onto his feet and grabbed the button-down flamingo-patterned shirt off his towel, the fabric heavier than it should have been, thanks to the lightweight holster sewn into it and the Sig P365 with suppressor discreetly tucked inside. Shirt on and unbuttoned, he removed his sunglasses from the front breast pocket and slipped those on, then pressed the metal center bridge as he pushed them up his nose. He headed for the plaza and the giant metal sculpture of—he wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Modern art was not his thing. Something to do with swimming.
A cougar Therian pushed a drink cart over to the base of one of the sculpture’s legs. Joining the small line that formed, Dex pulled a couple of Euros out of his pocket, aware of the small tourist group of Therian college kids who stopped to ogle him. They murmured and giggled among themselves. One of the young Therians, a wolf, playfully waved at Dex, who smiled and waved back. The wolf Therian licked his full bottom lip and motioned Dex over.
Dex put his left hand to his heart in apology while showing his wedding ring. The young wolf Therian pouted before the group moved on, laughing and teasing their friend. With a chuckle, Dex stepped forward in line. He finally reached the vendor and smiled.
“Tienes refresco de cereza?”
The cougar Therian shook his head. “No cherry, solo limón.”
“Esta bien. Dos refrescos de limón, por favor.”
The guy reached into a separate compartment on his cart and pulled out two frosty cans of fizzy lemon soda.
“Thanks.” Dex paid and took the cans. He popped open the can that was slightly lighter in color and took a long gulp of the lemon drink as he headed back toward the beach. A quick scan of the ingredients revealed the intel he’d been waiting for. He tossed the can into the trash as the chemicals started melting the aluminum.
A shrill scream pierced the air, and on instinct, Dex ducked and turned while tourists and locals scrambled in panic, several removing their phones—whether to call the authorities or take video was anyone’s guess. The vendor lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head.
Dex’s earpiece came to life, Sloane’s growl on the other end. “What the hell’s going on?”
JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.
She writes (mostly) contemporary gay romance and mysteries, and is frequently accused of humour. Her novel Slam! won the 2013 Rainbow Award for Best LGBT Romantic Comedy, and several of her books have been EPIC Awards finalists, including Muscling Through, Relief Valve (the Plumber's Mate Mysteries) and To Love a Traitor.
JL Merrow is a member of the Romantic Novelists' Association, International Thriller Writers, Verulam Writers and the UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet organising team.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
Megan is a long time resident of m/m fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she's not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her cats, or watch movies (especially all things James Bond). She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all around the internet.
Jordan L HawkJordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
Join Charlie's newsletter and stay up to date with Charlie's latest releases, receive exclusive content, giveaways, and more!
JL Merrow
EMAIL: jl.merrow@gmail.com
RJ Scott
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
Megan Derr
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / BLOG / B&N
EMAIL: meganaderr@gmail.com
Jordan L Hawk
Charlie Cochet
EMAIL: charlie@charliecochet.com
Lonewolf by JL Merrow
Kingdom Volume 1 by RJ Scott
The Werewolf of Grey Lake Inn by Megan Derr
B&N / KOBO / GOOGLE PLAY
Hexbreaker by Jordan L Hawk
Gone But Not Forgotten by Charlie Cochet
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