Random Paranormal Tales of 2025
The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Summary:
Alpha Kissed #4
Nothing is simple when you’re dating a single father.
I told myself after my alpha passed away that I might not ever find another. I would raise my son Dane the best I knew how and, when, years later, our family and friends were still acting as if I should mourn forever, I decided to move from The Netherlands to start over in the United States. My little guy deserved a bright future where he wasn’t constantly being asked if he missed a dad he didn’t even remember.
I didn’t do it with the intent of finding another alpha. After all, most omegas were lucky to find one to fall in love with, and I’d had mine. But when I saw Link, I knew he was mine. My true mate.
The moment Gustav walked into the room, and I took in his scent, my heart knew he was mine and there would never be another for me. It was perfect. Except his son disliked me on sight. Now I have no idea how to move on with my mate when someone so important to him disapproves. But I’m not going to give up. I’ve found not only my omega, but my family, my future. One I hope we can all share.
The Alpha’s Santa-Kissed Omega is a MM, Mpreg, non-shifter holiday romance with a strong, kind alpha, an intelligent loving omega, an adorable little boy who isn’t sure about his new situation, and a baby on the way.
Original Review January 2025:
I want to take a second to thank the author for the Netherlands connection, my great grandfather came to America with his parents and siblings in 1910 and I really found the holiday traditions interesting. I also found Link trying to connect with Gustav's son, Dane, through the traditions a lovely little touch.
I won't say too much so as not to spoil anything. I know some don't like an insta-love romance, they don't find them believable but I can attest to the fact that they are very real as my grandparents were just that: insta-love that lasted 48 years until my grandfather passed. Of course when dealing with fated mates tropes, why wouldn't insta-love be involved? Long as the author writes it well it's one of my favorite tropes and Lorelei M Hart definitely writes it well.
When children are involved in the story it can be hard to do them justice, to get the balance right between sugary sweet and obnoxious brat. Dane is a well balanced little boy who is sweet as can be except when it comes to the new man in his daddy's life. The author does a wonderful job when it comes to that balance as well as both Gustav and Link's responses to his moments of defiance. You just want to wrap all three up in huge Mama Bear Hugs to let them know how well they are all handling everything and to let them know it's okay for time to be given to getting all the emotional pieces to fit.
This is only the second story in the author's Alpha Kissed series but I know it won't be my last, a true holiday gem.
Summary:
Arcane Havoc #1
Gabriel Wolfebrier believes his honor is forever tarnished. For the first fifteen years of his resurrected life, he did whatever his necromancer told him. They were friends. Family. So, Gabriel asked no questions as he helped bury dead sorcerers he was told were enemies. Too late, Gabriel learns he’s been duped. But somehow, he is offered a second chance.
Born with the mark of a skull on his hand, Eric Marwood has special talents. Unlike other necromancers, he can speak to the dead and help them find their way home. He is dedicated to two things—nurturing his skills and dreaming of a life with Gabriel. But not everyone reveres his gifts, and destiny-touched men and women like him are hunted.
The Marwoods consider Gabriel one of their own, but his past is a heavy burden he cannot forget. Which is why it annoys him each time he notices how beautiful Eric is or how much fun they have together aiding ghosts.
Sex is the only way to find a soulmate in their world, and Eric is determined to seduce Gabriel. As for Gabriel, he is desperate to ignore his own urges. Life has a funny way of changing in an instant, and neither man truly knows what the future holds.
Summary:
Newly turned vampire Jesse Hunt has been spotted by two werewolves! Should he:
-Run
-Fight
-Ask for noms
Barrett Walker, alpha of the local pack, has two options upon meeting the starving but sweet Jesse! Should he:
-Hand him over to the local vampire clan
-Adopt him
Barrett’s in favor of adoption but can adoption include smexy bite bite times too?
Tags:
Who’s on ship building duty this time?, Coconut water is banned, eating shouldn’t be this complicated, Jesse.exe is constantly crashing, werewolves court differently than vampires, who knew, Unholy Trifecta crossover, Ross crossover, Cinnamon rolls deserve all the love, Hacker besties, Full moon shenanigans, Found family for the win, Pillow gifts make me squeeee
Summary:
TIN #1.5
RATING:
TIN #1.5
Reaper. Fang. Caine…
An alias for each life lived.
Government operative turned assassin, Wolf, had lived in the shadows until a secret cabal forced him into the light. The last thing Wolf needed was a confrontation with what—and who—he’d left behind. Now there’s no going back.
Agent. Torturer. Killer…
An identity fueled by pain.
Growing a conscience had not been part of the plan, but what did Wolf expect after letting certain annoying do-gooders into his life? If having to endure a season of Christmas cheer wasn’t bad enough, Wolf accepts an invitation to spend the blasted holiday with the biggest do-gooder of all, Sean Belmonte, his dead partner’s brother.
Sean has no idea what prompted him to ask the mysterious Englishman over for Christmas, but as soon as the handsome wolf Therian walks through his door, Sean is captivated. He’s never met anyone like Caine. The more time they spend together, the more obvious their attraction becomes. Can Sean get Caine to let down his guard? One thing’s for sure. It’ll be a Christmas neither of them will soon forget.
Original Audiobook Review October 2025:
I can't think of anything new to add that isn't in my original review. The narration brings Wolf to life making him even more memorable than he has always been. I still feel him and Sean couldn't be more opposite and yet, they not only work they make each other better. This may be a Xmas novella in the author's THIRDS/TIN universe, there is everything that the Therian world is known for: action, suspense, romance, and humor, the fact that it's a holiday set tale is just icing on the cake. '
Original Review August 2024:
How did I not know this was a Xmas read? I read the blurb and still that little holiday setting tidbit completely went over my head. Not that it makes any real difference it's just I would have read it in time to post during Xmas in July😉.
I'm not going to say "I forgot how intriguing and fun Wolf could be" because even though my initial read was awhile back I've listened to the audio since but truth be told even if I hadn't listened to the audiobook I would still remember Wolf. He's not a character easily forgotten.
Sean Belmonte, well let's be brutally honest, he couldn't be any more opposite to Wolf if he tried, polar opposites doesn't even nick the tip of the iceberg. Some might say Wolf doesn't deserve to find happiness after what he did to Dexter waybackwhen but Dex seems to accept it so I can too.
Speaking of Dex. That phone call, brief maybe not even 2 or 3 pages long is a perfect example of where Dex and Wolf are in their connection, and dare I say showing fringes of friendship? Had Sean and Wolf not had the chemistry they do, that phone call would have still made reading Cold Light of Day a necessity. But of course, Sean and Wolf do have that smoldering, awkwardly flirting chemistry so the phone call and growing friendship of Dex and Wolf is just icing on the cake . . . or as Dex would like: a bowl of cheesy snacks followed by a dessert bowl of gummy bears.
Don't take the holiday timeframe to think this is all sugary sweet. Sure there is holiday fun but there is also everything that Charlie Cochet's THIRDS/TIN Therian Human world is known for: danger, action, and just the good old fashioned all around mayhem. Does Sean fit in this world? Maybe not at first glance but I think with Wolf at his side, he'll be navigating it like a pro before too long😉.
The path to temptation is paved with a hellish amount of paperwork. Soul acquisition is a drag, but if Abaddon doesn’t catch up on his quota, he could be demoted to scooping poop for the Hounds of Hell. With a deadline hanging over him, he heads for the Bible Belt, looking for the perfect combination of sweetness and challenge.
Seth is a blind musician, part of a traveling tent revival. He’s cute, mystically talented, and quotes the Bible at every turn. His soul is pure enough to fill Abaddon’s quota for months to come, and Abaddon is determined to claim it.
The problem? There’s the revival foreman who watches Abaddon’s every move. Then there’s the mystery of Seth’s many unusual talents. Lastly, there’s Abaddon himself. He’s beginning to like Seth a bit too much. Maybe Seth deserves something better than damnation.
But Hell’s agenda isn’t negotiable, and time is running out. If Abaddon doesn’t play his cards right, he could condemn both of them to the worst fate of all—an eternity apart.
Warning: Contains a Bible-quoting twink and an irreverent devil. Also, snakes. Lots and lots of snakes.
This title was previously published by Samhain. It has been re-edited, but the content is unchanged.
The Alpha's Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Gustav Van Dijk
“Papa, I’m scared.”
The words made my heavy heart even more laden. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see my not-quite five-year old in his booster seat, looking out the window. His little cheeks were pale, and his eyelids fluttered, a sure sign he was about to cry. Dane, named after my omega who died giving birth to him, was not responding as well as I’d hoped to our move to the United States.
With the holidays coming soon, I’d decided to wait until January to enroll him in kindergarten, and my own schedule with my new company would be light until then. However, I did need to work online a few hours each afternoon and couldn’t do that easily with a fretful preschooler. Also, my son might adjust better if he made some friends. But I’d seen no other children playing near our rental house, so how?
We’d been strolling down Main Street the day before when we came upon a window covered in gift wrap and a big bow. Dane’s mood lifted and he bounced, asking, “Papa, is that a present?”
A chuckle preceded a pair of men emerging from the store, arms around one another’s waists. “It is indeed, little man,” said one of them. “A surprise present for the town, to be revealed next Saturday. I’m Liam by the way and this is my candy shop, Sugar.” He shook my hand then waved toward the other man. “And this is Edison, my mate.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I replied. “I am Gustav, Gus for short, and this is my son, Dane. So a surprise, huh?”
“We like to do a special window for each holiday, make it really special.”
The other man, Edison, rolled his eyes. “My mate has a flair for the dramatic, but he does run the very best candy store in town.”
“Edison!” protested Liam. “It’s the only candy store in town.”
His mate poked him in the ribs. “It’s the best in the country, but you already know that, and I refuse to contribute to your ego.” A twinkle in his eye offset his words. “Would it be all right to give your son a little something from the store?”
Dane’s smile stretched his chubby cheeks. Since it was the first sign of his happy self I’d seen in weeks, I nodded. “I guess so, if he promises to eat all his broccoli at dinner.”
“Papa, I love the little trees,” Dane protested. “Maybe you should make me eat lima beans instead.” He squinted his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “They’re yucky.”
Liam reached behind him into the store. “I think your son is quite the honest fellow.” He drew out a Santa Claus sucker, dark chocolate with a red suit and white beard. “Here you go!”
“It’s like Sinterklaas.” Dane closed his little fist around the stick and beamed at his new friend. “Thank you, candy-store man.”
“That’s Mr. Liam,” I chided softly.
“Thank you, Mr. Liam,” he echoed. “I promise to eat my broccoli—even if it’s lima beans.”
“You’re welcome,” the man said. “Now, I don’t offer this often, but would you like just the teensiest peek at our window?”
“Or even a bigger one!” Dane thrust out his chest.
Edison tilted his head. “I don’t know, Liam. Do you think he can keep a secret?”
“I can, I can!” my son shouted. “I never even told Daddy I broke his cup.”
A brief silence stretched before the two men burst into laughter.
“Dane!” I chided. “We’ll have to talk about that later. But I think you’ve made your point.
“Okay, little man.” Liam led him into the store and stopped right inside. He tugged back a red velvet curtain and let Dane duck his head under for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, that’s it.”
Dane backed out and straightened, his cheeks flushed, mouth in an O. “I won’t tell anybody! Not even my papa.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Liam beat me to it. “I think we all agree you shouldn’t have secrets from your papa, so you can tell him, but only in very private, okay? We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
Dane’s head bobbed. “Okay, Mr. Liam. And thank you for the candy and the secret.”
“Do I detect an accent?” Liam asked. “You aren’t from Holland, are you?” Although nearly everyone learned English in school back home, we by no means sounded like we were born in the USA.
“Exactly right. We just arrived last week.”
“Staying long?”
I flicked a glance at my son, who was busy ripping the plastic off his Santa sucker. “Permanently, if all goes well. I accepted a job here.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer coding.”
“Wow. And why did you choose to come here? I’m sure with your skills you can work almost anywhere.”
I hesitated, and he blushed. “What an ass. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine.” I didn’t mind answering. Dane had failed at plastic removal, and Edison was now assisting, so I took a step away and the other alpha followed. I lowered my voice. “I was widowed a couple of years ago, and I wanted a change of scenery. Dane barely remembers his other dad, but everywhere we went, people brought him up and it wasn’t good for either of us. So...when this opportunity came along, I decided to give it a shot.”
“Have any friends here in town?” he asked, without the sympathetic tone I’d learned to hate.
“No, not yet.”
“You do now.” He gave me a pat on the arm. “Come by and visit anytime.”
“That means a lot.”
“That’s okay. We have a family ourselves, three and growing. We’ll have to do a playdate.”
“That would be wonderful. Hey, since you are also a dad...do you know of a good babysitter? I need someone for a few hours in the afternoons.”
“Better than that.” He called to his omega, “Edison, do you have any openings at My Brother, My Sister for the afternoon program?”
He did. And Dane had been wildly excited for the past two days, but nerves had gotten hold of him once he was actually on the way.
I braced myself for what was to come.
Touched by Destiny by Jessamyn Kingley
Chapter 1
Thirty-three years ago
The breeze swept Gabriel Wolfebrier’s overly long blond hair from his face, but he barely noticed. Purposefully, he put one foot in front of the other. The stitches below his clavicle pinched, as did the ones stretched across his shoulder blade, making him grimace. The bullet that had ripped through his flesh a few days ago would leave him with scars. It was a small price to pay for trying to save a child. Gabriel wouldn’t have changed anything about his actions, even though he now knew the boy had been dead before Gabriel was shot.
He was squeezing his eyes shut kept the tears at bay, but Gabriel would eventually have to deal with reality and the way his life had changed. An unfamiliar sound reached his ears, followed by a string of curses. Several feet away, a cop was trying to coax a cuffed man out from the back of his cruiser. It was a scenario that mirrored Gabriel’s own experience, as he’d recently been arrested for murdering the man who’d given him life. That man had been his family and best friend for the past fifteen years.
“Mr. Wolfebrier,” a stranger called out. His black hair shone in the bright sunlight, and his dark suit fit so perfectly it had to be custom made. He stood in front of a gleaming stretch limousine, and it was clear this was the man who’d paid for his bail.
Unlike the police officer carting his swearing companion into the police station, this man wasn’t human. Magic had a rhythm, and there was more for Gabriel’s senses to latch onto. The sorcerer had a soulmate—one with a bond strong enough that it wrapped his essence so tightly with another’s that any non-human could detect it.
“Who are you?” Gabriel asked gruffly once he was three feet from the exquisitely attired man. Although Gabriel was dressed in a scratchy jumpsuit since they’d taken his own clothing as evidence, he refused to feel shabby. His former benefactor had dressed impeccably, and it had effectively hidden the evil that resided in him. People saw a rich man with a friendly smile and offered him their trust. Gabriel wished he hadn’t been one of the many tricked by the asshole.
“I’m Clark Marwood,” the sorcerer replied as if Gabriel should recognize the name. He did not. “If you will do me the honor of stepping inside the car with me, I’ll gladly explain why I’m here.”
“And you paid to spring me out of jail, Mr. Marwood?”
“Exactly. Please call me Clark.”
“I didn’t ask for your help, and I refuse to dance to your tune just because you chose to throw your money around.”
“Consider it a loan. Once Samael Wolfebrier’s assets are distributed, you’ll be a very wealthy man. You can pay me back if you wish, though it isn’t required.”
“How do you know about Samael’s will?”
Clark smiled wolfishly. “I make it my business to know a great many things. Please, we’ll talk more, but it’s probably best if we have some privacy.”
“Fine, but I can’t pay you back. They aren’t going to give me Samael’s money. I’ll probably spend a couple of decades behind bars for his murder.”
With nothing but an enigmatic smile, Clark motioned toward the open door next to him. Gabriel nearly shrugged, but thankfully remembered the torn flesh and broken bones mending above his sling. As carefully as he could, Gabriel lowered his six-foot-two-inch frame into the vehicle and found himself in the company of another stranger. Like Clark Marwood, she was a sorcerer, dressed elegantly in dark clothing, and had a blue gaze ripe with intelligence.
“Hello, Gabriel, I’m Rosalind,” the blond woman said as Clark followed Gabriel into the limousine and took her hand. They wore matching silver rings on their left hands. Marriages weren’t unusual among the few sorcerers Gabriel had met, and it was the easiest way to explain a soulmate to a human.
“Gabe. Everyone calls me Gabe.”
“The archangel Gabriel was a protector and defender. I have a feeling you have much in common with him,” Rosalind replied.
“I was unaware sorcerers believed in human religions.”
“I don’t,” Rosalind remarked as the car pulled away from the curb. “But I made a study of it some centuries ago, and I learned a great deal. Religion aside, I like the sound of the name Gabriel. Do you mind if I call you that?”
There was kindness in her smile and in her soulmate’s, and even as Gabriel scolded himself for being stupid enough to climb into a limousine with two complete strangers, he shook his head. Trusting the wrong person was the story of Gabriel’s life now, and he was furious with himself for not questioning anything—he’d taken Samael’s word that the bodies they’d buried in the dead of night were people threatening the existence of necromancers and the people they resurrected. Not once had it occurred to Gabriel that those poor souls were innocents.
“Can I offer you some water?” Clark asked. “Or we could stop somewhere to get you some food. You must be hungry.”
“I’m fine,” Gabriel replied, steadfastly ignoring the rumble in his belly contradicting his words. “Tell me what you want.”
“You’re an inspirit,” Rosalind said. “As necromancers, it’s our duty to care for inspirits. But I doubt that is enough reason for you, and you’d be right. We have a proposition for you.”
“Inspirit. I haven’t heard that word in years,” Gabriel mused.
“Samael resurrected you, correct? What did he call you if not an inspirit?” Clark asked.
“We rarely spoke of my resurrection; it was fifteen years ago. Humans are everywhere. We can’t hide what we are if we talk about it constantly, so neither Samael nor I gave it much thought.”
“And he provided you with documentation to convince any nosy humans you were his brother?”
“Yes, but you know I’m not. Samael gave me life, and I believed my purpose was to keep him safe. He convinced me necromancers are in constant danger, and I believed him. I learned a few days ago that he left a great deal out of the story.”
Clark leaned forward, and his blue gaze locked on Gabriel’s face. “You understand now that Samael was a persecutor and not the hunted?”
“I learned it by accident,” Gabriel confirmed, barely above a husky whisper. “That boy. The one who died. His parents forced their way into the mansion. They begged me to listen. I didn’t want to. Their child is destiny-touched. Was destiny-touched. Samael dedicated his life to hunting those granted special gifts and killing them. I thought he was protecting necromancers, but I was wrong.”
“I can’t tell you how many necromancers live,” Clark remarked. “We purposely refrain from being organized. The last thing we want is to bring attention to ourselves. We’ve thrived because humans believe we’re just like them. Little do they know that sorcerers and inspirits live among them. Some necromancers are born with a skull mark on their left hand. They are among the most gifted of us. My mother was one of the few. Rosalind’s father was another.”
“Unfortunately, few of them survive,” Rosalind added. “Our people fear them. Necromancers like Samael believe the destiny-touched will reveal us to humans. Tales are told of us being used for science or murdered en masse. Samael and his ilk will go to whatever lengths necessary to rid the world of the destiny-touched.”
“So, what? You’re pissed that I tried to save one? That my interference nearly allowed one to survive another day, putting your precious existence and way of life in danger?”
Rosalind shook her head vigorously. “No, you misunderstand. We abhor people like Samael. Our parents are dead. Both of us were raised by uninterested, distant family members because someone like Samael hunted the ones who gave us life. It’s said that the destiny-touched occur more often in certain families.”
“Rosalind and I met a century ago, but we fear having children of our own. I couldn’t bear it if I were one of the lucky parents to have a destiny-touched child and someone like Samael murdered them.”
“But you’re a protector, Gabriel,” Rosalind insisted. “We want your help. As an inspirit, you were granted life and know what a gift it is. We have used our wealth and advantages to care for our inspirits, but what we need is a defender. Someone we can count on to see to the security of our future children.”
“I’m going to jail,” Gabriel sputtered.
“I have a team of lawyers who will ensure that doesn’t happen,” Clark replied.
“The cops know I killed him.”
“You flung yourself in front of the child and took a bullet meant for him,” Rosalind said. Gabriel had no clue how these Marwoods knew so much, but she was right.
“And I shot Samael.”
“In self-defense,” Clark asserted.
“The humans refuse to believe I acted alone.”
“Your bullet hit him directly in the heart, despite the fact that you were heading to the ground as you fired,” Clark stated. “Did Samael give you that gift? To never miss?”
Gabriel nodded. “No matter what I do, my aim never falters. I didn’t even realize I was being groomed…slowly programmed to do whatever Samael told me.”
“Samael Wolfebrier lived a long time and went through many aliases. He was a prolific necromancer, and many inspirits died along the way. It was easy enough for him to sacrifice whoever he resurrected to protect his own hide. Samael was a sniveling, horrible coward, and the world is better off without him.”
“Until a few days ago, I loved him as family,” Gabriel replied, his lips trembling as he fought off the desire to cry. For all the evil Gabriel hadn’t understood lived in Samael’s dark heart, he’d been his closest friend and confidante.
“I’m sorry he deceived you,” Rosalind said quietly. “And I understand you mourn him. The man you thought you knew.”
Gabriel closed his eyes, and a parade of the dead he’d helped bury trampled through his mind. “How many destiny-touched are dead because of him?”
“To know the number wouldn’t serve you now. He’s dead and no longer able to hunt.”
“Tell me how many he’s killed since my resurrection,” Gabriel insisted. Were there more than the ones Gabriel had helped bury? How staggering was the number of people Samael had murdered in his lifetime? And the biggest question, how would Gabriel ever set aside his own guilt about how he’d aided a serial killer?
“No,” Rosalind said. “You are innocent like they were. That is all you need to know. If you want to avenge the boy, I beg of you to consider our offer. We will ensure you need for nothing and get whatever training you desire. Like Samael, we’d love for you to be part of our family, to help protect us and aid us in whatever the future brings.”
“You’ve created this idea of me as a guardian of sorts. I don’t know if I can be that man.”
“Gabriel, you can be anything you want,” Rosalind countered. “You will carry the scars of that day both physically and mentally for however long your lifespan lasts. It’s up to you to decide if you want to dwell on what Samael hid from you, or if you want to stand in defiance of everything he stood for. There are destiny-touched necromancers still living and those not yet born. What I’m asking is if you’ll protect them from the Samaels of the world.”
“You don’t fear them?” Gabriel asked belligerently. “Isn’t there a part of you that would sacrifice whatever necessary to keep your existence hidden from humans? You’ve probably moved and changed your name countless times to keep everyone from learning you’re immortal. After you’ve gone to such lengths to protect yourself, wouldn’t you, too, remove anything that could rob you of everything you’ve worked for?”
Clark smiled. “I’m over a thousand years old. I’ve gone through so many aliases I’ve forgotten some along the way, and yes, I move every couple of decades so no one figures out I’m not aging. Like many ancient necromancers, I’ve built wealth. It’s easy to call myself something new and move to a different house. Rosalind and I love a good adventure, but our magic isn’t vast. We don’t have any inspirits as strong as you. As for the destiny-touched, they offer us no danger. They are feared because they’re different. Freaks. Outcasts. Misunderstood. From what little we’ve learned of them, they rarely make it to adulthood, so we don’t even fully understand what they’re capable of. We want to know everything about them. They are part of our race, and because we must hide, we lose so much to history. Like the inspirits granted life by necromancers, it’s our job to protect our heritage—not destroy it.”
Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was the medications taking the edge off his pain or if he was losing his mind, but Clark and Rosalind sounded sincere. And protecting the destiny-touched might somehow allow Gabriel to pay back the necromancers for the fifteen years he’d blithely trusted Samael. Gabriel had had his head in the clouds while the murderous bastard had ended the lives of countless necromancers because Samael was a scared, evil fuck. And Gabriel had been his goon—ready and willing to help him hide his crimes. Clark and Rosalind wanted to believe Gabriel was virtuous, but nothing could be further from the truth.
“Are you sure you can get me out of a prison sentence?”
“We’ll ensure that you’ve already spent your last night in a cell even if you refuse our offer,” Clark confirmed. “You’re an inspirit and are already healing faster than a human. Your blood tests are also raising questions. I’ll hush them.”
“I want Samael’s money.”
“And you deserve it,” Rosalind said. “It’ll give you independence too. The last thing we want is for you to feel beholden to us. Our lawyers will ensure Samael’s will is honored.”
Gabriel would be insanely wealthy, and he’d devote substantial funds to aid the destiny-touched. It was the least he could do, and if Rosalind and Clark Marwood added one of the gifted to their own family, Gabriel would stop at nothing to keep them safe. How else could he pay back the innocent for the crimes he’d helped hide? His resurrection had been carried out so Samael could have the perfect guard—a broad-shouldered goon with flawless aim. It was time to use the few skills he’d acquired in his life for good.
“I accept your offer,” Gabriel replied quietly.
Rosalind smiled brightly. “Welcome to our family, Gabriel. You won’t regret this. I promise.”
He wanted to believe her, so he smiled back even as a strange feeling crept up his neck. What the hell had he just gotten himself into?
Adopt a Vampire by AJ Sherwood
1
When people got out of work late, they usually focused on getting home, what to have for a quick dinner, and how fast they could get into comfy sweats. I wasn’t any different, although my dinner options were extremely limited thanks to my diet. I hated diets. I especially hated them when they didn’t come with an option tag. At least it was Thursday, so I only had to survive one more day of work this week before I could become a couch potato.
My mind focused on my (lack of) dinner plans, I didn’t immediately notice the two guys across the street from my downtown office building. I probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all, but since the change six years ago, my senses were now a lot keener than the average human’s. When the dry Arizona breeze swept my direction, it brought their scent with it, and I froze, keys in hand, halfway reaching for the car door.
What…was that? It smelled like fur and human and iron-rich blood.
They’d caught some hint of me, too, as they were standing very still and watching me with unnatural focus. I swallowed hard and stared back, not sure what to make of this. They were the first supernatural beings I’d seen in six years, and I had no experience whatsoever with weres. At least, judging from the smell, I assumed them to be a were-something. Werewolves, werepanthers—something warm-blooded and furry.
Oh boy. What should I do, here? I’d chosen Arizona on purpose, Flagstaff in particular, as I hadn’t wanted to get involved with the supernatural world. The one brush I’d had with it six years ago had done enough damage physically and mentally, so I didn’t really want to mix with it again. I’d lived here peacefully for six years without any run-ins, so I didn’t know how to take the appearance of these two. Were they just passing through?
As if to answer my question, they looked either direction, then crossed the somewhat busy street, moving a touch faster than a human could manage at a speed walk, only slowing when they reached the sidewalk on my side. I turned to track them, dropping my briefcase and keys on the hood of my car to free up my hands. I had no idea if my weakened state could compete with two weres at full strength. Somehow, I doubted it. I wasn’t exactly in peak physical condition these days.
Stopping five feet away, the taller one with two-toned hair informed me flatly, “This is our territory. You can tell Oscar to keep to his own land.”
Despite fear causing my heart to beat a staccato against my ribs, I cocked my head. Interesting. Had he mistaken me for someone else? “I’m sorry…who?”
They blinked at me.
I stared back. Did I need to run for my life or…?
“Oscar,” the other one said, his dark brows drawing together as if he wasn’t sure whether to be confused or angry I was pulling his leg. “You know.”
“Ah, no. Really don’t,” I assured him sincerely. I assumed Oscar was another vampire they knew, maybe someone powerful? I knew zilch about vampire politics and society, so I could only hazard a guess. “I’m not affiliated with any group or family or whatever you call them. Are you two living here? In Flagstaff, I mean.”
They stared at me some more.
I stared back, not sure what they’d found so discombobulating. Was it my question of where they lived? I mean, it was a common question with humans, but maybe it was taboo in the supernatural world?
“You’re a vampire,” Two Tone said slowly, head canting in obvious confusion, “and you don’t know who Oscar is.”
I gave him my best disarming smile, the one I gave little old ladies. See? I’m harmless, so please do not squish me. “Yeah, sorry, no idea. I take it me being here is some sort of territorial no-no?”
The shorter one shifted forward as I spoke, and his slender frame displayed a more relaxed stance now, his gaze blatantly sizing me up. I knew what I looked like to him—dark hair, pale skin, painfully thin body that even my nice navy suit couldn’t disguise. I wasn’t the amazingly beautiful vampire from the movies and books, just an average guy who didn’t look like Frankenstein’s monster. Obviously, I wasn’t egging for a fight or accustomed to them. He didn’t look hostile, just thoughtful, which made my own guard lower. Maybe not all supernaturals were scary assholes? “It would be, if you were one of Oscar’s. So if you’re not his, which clan do you belong to?”
Yeah, I was not about to just hand out my life story without some information in return, but these two weren’t looking quite as lethal as before, their metaphorical hackles subsiding a little, so I chose to take a risk. It was either that, or waste my one chance to learn how to survive in this new world, ’cause clearly I was sucking at it. So yea, maybe a little conversation here wouldn’t hurt anything. “Tell you what, let’s just do full introductions all around, shall we? I’m Jesse, and you are?”
“Cesar,” the man with two-toned hair responded with a respectful look in his eye, as if he appreciated the gesture of civility. “This is my cousin, Luis. We’re from Walker Pack.”
“Nice to meet you,” I greeted and hoped that stayed true. “To answer, I’m not from a, uh, group. I’ve only met one other vampire, the one who turned me, and I haven’t seen him in six years.”
They slowly blinked, then looked at each other like I’d announced the moon really was made of cheese. It lasted only a second before Cesar looked me over from head to toe again, and this time his expression turned puzzled with concern. “You’re not a rogue.”
That much, at least, I knew something about. “No.”
“The vamp who turned you, he was?”
“Yeah. It’s how I know what you mean.” I shrugged, not having anything else to say without a lot of swearing being involved. The vampire who’d turned me had never outright said he was a rogue, but the way he’d appeared and then disappeared from my life had pretty much connected the dots. “But how can you tell?”
“You’re not well fed,” Cesar answered bluntly, and he closed the rest of the distance between us, standing in a more conversational range. “Listen, Jesse. This is not a good position for you to be in. We’ve got three groups edging in on this territory, and one of them’s a vampire clan. If you don’t align with Oscar’s people pretty quickly, someone might mistake you as a rogue, and they’ll tear your head off before you can get a hello out. We only hesitated because you weren’t doing anything hostile, and we didn’t want to start trouble.”
Hence they’d tried warning me off first. Got it. “I don’t like the idea of just waltzing up to their territory and introducing myself. For one thing, I don’t even know where they are.” Not to mention they might not exactly be the friendly type.
“Yeah, that’s not a good idea,” he said, scratching the scruff on his chin. “Tell you what. Let me call my alpha, see if we can get you under our protection until we can reach Oscar. I don’t want you to be accidentally killed and them getting in a huff about a vampire dying on our turf.”
I could see how that would start a war, even if I wasn’t one of theirs. Still… “Look, just so we’re clear, I don’t want to actually be part of any vampire cult or what have you. It’s not my idea of a good time, having someone be master over me. I only want to meet them, ask a few questions.”
They gave me the “he’s strange” look again. I got that look a lot, so it didn’t really phase me anymore.
“Jesse”—Luis couldn’t be much older than me, but still he spoke as if trying to explain something to a child—“you really can’t afford to be out here on your own. I know you’ve managed for a while, so you think you can keep going, but we’ve got some pretty heavy hitters moving in. It’s a miracle you haven’t been caught between two sides already. And really? You’re too weak to survive the fallout if you did. You look like I can break you over my knee.”
Ruefully, I had to admit he had a point. According to movies and lore, vampires were supposed to be ridiculously strong, and the first year after turning, I was. I could bench press five hundred pounds and do ridiculous leaps and feats of strength normally reserved for Olympic athletes. After that, though, I’d been in a steady decline. I’d tried to offset it by eating everything I could think of to stay healthy, but I’d only suffered excruciating stomach pain for my attempts. Seemed the stories had one thing right—a vampire fed best fresh from a human.
And I refused to.
I paused, thinking hard and fast. Should I go along with this? They had good points, and I didn’t like the idea of being caught in a clash of supernaturals who would certainly be stronger than me. Still, I’d avoided trouble for six years. I could always find a new job and move. It wasn’t like I had vital reasons for staying in Arizona.
Then again, would it hurt to at least meet their alpha? Learn more about werewolves and the supernatural world? Really, I couldn’t avoid future trouble without more information than I currently had. Frankly, right now I knew basically nada. “All right. I at least would like to talk to him.”
Relieved, Cesar instantly fished his cell out of his pocket and speed-dialed someone. They picked up on the third ring, and I could clearly hear both sides of the conversation from where I stood. “Barrett, its Cesar. We have an interesting problem. There’s a vamp living here in Flagstaff, but he’s not one of Oscar’s.”
“Rogue?” a smooth tenor voice demanded from the other side.
“No way he is. He’s actually quite polite, introduced himself and everything.” Cesar shot me a grin. “Says he was turned six years ago by a rogue, and we’re the first supernaturals he’s seen since.”
“Shit. Poor kid.”
I rolled my eyes a little at his assumption. At thirty-three, I couldn’t be considered a kid by anyone’s standards.
“Look, Barrett, he’s…not in good shape. I don’t think he’ll survive much longer out here. Can we bring him in until we tell Oscar about him?”
“An abandoned vampire out on his own for six years? Of course he’s not in good shape. Shit, just by being loose, he can start a war without meaning to. Yeah, bring him in—”
Now I balked. “Wait, wait! You want me to go stay in werewolf territory?”
I got “duh” looks from two people and probably a third, not that I could see through the phone screen.
I glared right back at them. “You seriously expect me to take the word of three people I’ve barely met and follow you home? Honey bunches of nope, that is not happening.”
“Jesse,” Luis said, trying to reason with me in that slightly condescending tone parents used for unreasonable kids, “you really can’t stay out here. You would be much safer at home with us—”
“It’s like that T-shirt,” I grumbled rhetorically to the mild evening air. “You have to show me the candy first, then I get into the van. I’m not stupid.”
From the alpha on the line, there was a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Well, at least he saw where I was coming from.
“I don’t know you,” I told them both bluntly, crossing my arms. “I only have your word things are going to get crazy.”
“Cesar,” the alpha started, “he does have a point, and he’s right to be wary. Where are you three?”
“Downtown, near the courthouse.”
“All right. Ask him if he’s comfortable meeting me at Sweet Aroma Café.”
The café was literally a block down and one of the few places I could order coconut water straight and not get weird looks from the staff. “That’s fine.”
He’d obviously heard me as he said, “Give me twenty minutes.”
Cesar hung up and pocketed the phone, giving me a sideways look. “Don’t we need to feed you first?”
I stretched my mouth out in a simulacrum of a grin. “Don’t worry. I don’t snack on people.”
Barrett the Alpha looked like a model. He had a lean build, and while not the bulky type, he clearly possessed a sculpted physique. Even while sitting down, his exposed forearms displayed a ripple of muscle beneath his deep bronze skin, and he radiated authority to the point of being nearly overpowering. Damn, if strength determined the alpha in a werewolf pack, then he was very obviously the guaranteed winner.
His black hair had been cut in a short buzz on the sides, with slightly more length on top. I wanted to put him in his forties, just from the fine lines around his eyes and mouth and the general air of maturity about him, but I had no idea if my guess was accurate. Did werewolves age slower than humans?
I’d arrived at the outdoor table where the three weres sat amidst my assessment and slowly sank into the only available seat. Since I’d been warily watching the alpha now sitting across from me, it was hard to miss his dark brown eyes taking me in and the brief flash of a frown before his expression turned into something more professional. “I’m Barrett Walker. You’ve already met Luis and Cesar.”
“Jesse Hunt,” I said, offering a hand. He hesitated a second, surprised at the gesture, then slowly took it, his calloused hand folding over mine. I could feel the strength behind his grip. I had no idea what he actually did for a living, but it must have required that strength, as dust and mortar of some sort were smudged in various places. Stonemason, maybe? He smelled of stone, powder, sweat, and sunshine, a not unpleasant concoction.
“Well, Jesse, I have to say I didn’t expect to casually sit down to dine with a vampire when I got up this morning.” He gave me a quick smile, a lopsided expression that relayed dry humor. “Tell me, how long have you been in Flagstaff?”
“About six years,” I admitted. “I tried to stay where I was before…well, before.” I didn’t know how to say this with people all around us, so I lowered my voice a smidge to avoid being overheard. “But it didn’t work out well. I wasn’t at work for a few days, and when I went back, too many people caught on to me acting different, more withdrawn, and thought I was on drugs. I eventually had to move, and my maker had briefly mentioned that most supernats didn’t like to live in the desert, so I came to Arizona. It’s worked out pretty well the past six years.”
“We’re expanding territory because we’ve basically overpopulated the other favorite places to live,” Barrett admitted openly. “And not everyone dislikes the desert. In this case, it works out well for your people, and for mine, so long as we have large empty places to run around. We’ve got a group of witches who are budging in here, and it’s causing some conflict because we didn’t expect them. Honestly, they’re the ones I’m worried about the most where you’re concerned. They’ve got some hotheads.”
I grimaced. He didn’t have to tell me that. It was a group of witches that led to me being turned in the first place. “How many?”
He caught my uneasy reaction but didn’t comment. “We can’t get a fixed number on them, which is part of the problem. They stuck to the southwest part of town for the first few months, but now they’re flexing and pushing, and we see them up here sometimes too.” He adjusted his forearms against the tabletop, making the glass shift in its metal frame. “Oscar’s people aren’t settled yet, not really, so they’re still trying out areas and figuring out which spots they’re going to fight to keep. We’ve been here longest, as we moved in eight months ago.”
“So this is all very new.” I sat back, frowning. That did make sense. No wonder I hadn’t seen anyone before now, if they’d started on the outskirts of town and were feeling their way toward the center. I lived and worked downtown, so of course I hadn’t been in anyone’s sight yet, but that changed as of today. If I had run across another vampire, or one of those witches, would I have ended up at this outdoor table in front of the café? Or would I be fighting for my life right now?
Probably the latter.
“Jesse, I have to ask some questions.” Barrett looked at me carefully, as if trying to gauge my reaction.
“I’ve got some too,” I admitted steadily. A little game of quid pro quo seemed appropriate for this setting. “Since you’ve been explaining a lot, you start.”
He very obviously phrased the question in his head before speaking it. “How are you surviving?”
A very wise question, if he still considered bringing me into his territory a good idea. “Coconut water.”
Barrett winced.
I felt defensive for some reason and snipped at him, “What was I supposed to do? I’m not feeding from people. Coconut water is very similar to blood. More acidic and without all the same nutrients, sure, but close enough to keep me alive. I tried eating raw steak and other foods, to offset things, but for some reason my system didn’t like it. So now I’m on a permanent liquid diet.”
“Damn,” Cesar muttered to himself, sitting on Barrett’s right side. “No wonder you’re stick-thin.”
I glared at him mutinously. I wasn’t on this extreme diet because I wanted to be. Human food literally did nothing for me. It tasted fine, I could eat and enjoy it, but my body always rebelled soon after, which led to hours in pain and still feeling weak. I could eat all day and starve. The coconut water was the only thing I’d found I could subsist on. “My turn for a question, I think. You said Oscar is new to the area. What’s he like?”
“Not much known about him,” Barrett admitted, still watching me with open pity. “He’s not actually a clan master, you understand, but a lieutenant for one. Oscar’s here with about twenty others, and I think they’re just placeholders more than anything else. A way for his master to expand territory while it’s still open to be claimed. I’ve met Oscar exactly twice, and he’s amiable enough if you’re polite and open to negotiation. Or at least, he didn’t act like a complete asshole. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a jerk, but all vampires are jerks to weres. It’s a superiority thing, but you likely won’t have an issue with him. His master is Nash, one of the oldest vamps, and he’s up in Vancouver.”
This surprised me, but I didn’t know why. Vancouver, as a city, wasn’t that old. I guess I expected him to say an older place, like Boston or something. “So this is more like a branch office.”
“Something like that, yeah. Look, I know you’re not keen on mixing with vamps, the only time you did it led to this”—he gave me a general wave of the hand to indicate all my vampiricalness—“but not all of them are bad. I can at least vouch for Oscar. He isn’t a bad guy. If we explain the situation to him, at the very least he’ll ensure you’re within the clan’s boundaries and aren’t hassled.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” I stared Barrett down as he faltered. “Look, I’m not used to having someone to answer to. I’m not saying I want to go hog wild, here, but I have a feeling joining a vampire group is like joining the army. Forever. Not my cup of tea.”
“It’s more like being part of a large community,” Luis said, correcting me. He leaned back in his chair, comfortably sitting to keep us both in view as he talked. “Only the top vamp leaders will order you around, and they rarely do this. I mean, Nash’s clan—clan is the official term for vampires—is huge, almost a thousand people. There’s no way he has time to order every single person around.”
Said like that, it did ease my fears. Clan, huh? He said it wasn’t like the military, but I wondered if it might be something more like a family? I hadn’t had one of those in a long time and my heart ached at the thought of getting to have one again. It hadn’t been fun living on my own for a long stretch of time, and the novelty wore off in the first six months. I still didn’t know these people, so I didn’t have any intention of just jumping into matters, but I didn’t mind at least meeting them. If nothing else, I had a lot of questions I wanted answered about being a vampire. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to at least talk to them.”
“I really, really don’t want anyone to mistake you as a rogue,” Barrett informed me with transparent sincerity. “It will cause all sorts of issues for us, and you seem like a nice guy. It’ll be a pity to see you hurt. Let’s at least notify Oscar you’re here so mistakes won’t be made, yeah? And come home with me for the evening, stay with us until someone from the clan can come meet you. It’ll be a lot safer, and I won’t have a nervous breakdown that way.” Barrett shot me a cheeky grin before adding, “And before you protest, just know I’m Cuban, and we love hosting people. Not to mention most of my pack treats my house like their own, anyway. I promise, you won’t be a burden, and I can guarantee my people will treat you well.”
Strangely, I believed him. Over the course of our conversation, my guard had slipped, and I didn’t fear for my safety at all. Which…uh, why?
Instincts, I’m asking a question, here. Would love a response, please and thank you. This man could break me like a toothpick.
Of course, part of me still hesitated because going home with three relative strangers seemed like a poor life decision, but truthfully, they could force me into a car if they wanted to. Barrett alone could do so with one arm. I also got this sincere vibe from him, or maybe it was his body language. He’d been very open with me, and it made me want to respond in kind. I just didn’t think I was in danger with him. Call me crazy, but my instincts insisted I was safe as houses. He’d politely asked, he had good reasons, and it wouldn’t kill me to spend a few hours at his house cooling my heels. “If we don’t get an answer by nine, I’ll return to my place. I’m right off this square, so it’s not like I’m openly in someone else’s territory, right?”
“Just ours,” he assured me with a grin. “And yeah, that’s fine. But still, I think Oscar will answer pretty quickly. I’ll be surprised if this takes more than two hours to resolve.”
“Come home and let us feed you, yeah?” Cesar invited with a waggle of his brows. “I’ll let you snack on me.”
I frowned at him. “No, thank you.”
Not expecting my response, he pulled his head back. “Why not? Seriously, you’re a vamp, what do you have against blood?”
“You smell like wet dog,” I retorted. “No way.”
Barrett threw his head back and howled a laugh.
Cold Light of Day by Charlie Cochet
“It’s the holidays!”
“And this is why you gag them,” Wolf muttered. He secured the suppressor to his Beretta, pausing halfway to rub his temple. That paracetamol had done fuck all for his headache.
“Where’s your festive spirit?”
Then there was this arsehole. Did the man ever stop whinging? “Do I look like Father Christmas to you?”
Dark eyes stared blankly at him. “Who?”
Bloody Yanks. Wolf placed his gun on the steel table to his left, then rubbed his temples again, hoping to ease the pulsing ache. “Santa Claus.”
“Then why didn’t you say that?”
Unbelievable. Wolf spun with a growl. “Because it’s the same fucking thing, you arse!”
“Jeez, okay. You don’t need to bite my head off.”
Tod was rather mouthy for someone Gaffer-taped to a steel chair, his wrists and ankles additionally restrained with Therian-strength zip ties. The Human wasn’t going anywhere. Not that it was needed. Even if he let the Human go, catching him would be simple, but Wolf wasn’t in the mood to deal with nonsense.
“You’re in no position to try my patience, Tod.” This wasn’t how Wolf had planned to spend his evening, arguing semantics with filth.
“Just saying. Maybe if you embraced the spirit of the season, you might feel more inclined to extend some goodwill toward your fellow man.”
This was a first. Usually, his targets pleaded or tried to bargain with him. They didn’t lecture him on how to be a better person. Either way, Tod was the last person who should bring up goodwill.
“Is that so? You mean the way you extended your greedy little hand toward your fellow man? You know what I’m talking about.”
Tod shrugged, his lips pulling into a smirk. “’Tis the season to give.”
“Allow me to impart some wisdom to you.” Wolf grabbed his gun off the table and the spare chair he’d placed in front of Tod. Unbuttoning his Ralph Lauren suit jacket, Wolf took a seat. “This so-called festive season you keep going on about is nothing more than a load of corporate bollocks created to encourage the gullible masses to spend more money than they have in an attempt to garner fleeting affection from so-called loved ones.
“These same gits put themselves through hell to visit relatives they don’t want to see but do so out of guilt and misguided obligation. Added to the stress and mounting debt are the copious amounts of food and alcohol consumed over several weeks leading to a laughable New Year’s resolution of losing weight in time for beach season. And don’t get me started on the music. The same bloody songs playing over and over. It’s enough to drive a man mad.” If he heard “Do They Know It’s Christmas” one more time…
“Wow. That’s… wow. The Grinch could take lessons from you.”
Wolf fired a shot into Tod’s right kneecap.
The man’s howls filled the empty storage unit, going on for much longer than necessary. Wolf brushed some lint off his trousers while he waited for Tod to stop being so dramatic.
“You shot me,” Tod spat. “You motherfucking-son-of-a-bitch British bastard!”
“Now, Tod, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m simply doing my job. Nothing personal.” Wolf pursed his lips. “It is a little personal.” He did rather enjoy making scum like Tod suffer. They were always so damned cocky, believing themselves invincible. Making them squirm and beg for mercy was quite the treat.
Tod’s bottom lip wobbled. “I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”
“Quite all right. She’s an insufferable bitch, so no offense taken. I’m referring to what you’re spending your ill-gotten gains on that I find offensive.” Astonishing how the Tods of the world believed they would never get caught. That justice—whether karmic or through some law enforcement agency—wouldn’t find them. In the end, they all paid. And Wolf? Sometimes the wheels of justice moved a little too slow for his taste.
“I… what?” Tod stared at Wolf, his beady near-black eyes rather unsettling. “Listen, whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it! Triple it!”
Wolf hummed. “The thing is, zero tripled is still zero, Tod.”
“Wait, you’re not being paid for this?”
Poor Tod. He seemed very confused. As if he’d never come across someone he couldn’t bribe. “You see, the pretty man who called in this favor now owes me a favor, and that’s worth far more than whatever dollar amount you throw at me. It didn’t work with your friends and won’t work now. Honestly, I would have taken the job without him owing me, but that’s our little secret.”
Now Tod looked scared.
Good.
“Friends?” Tod asked, voice shaky.
Wolf crossed one leg over the other, the barrel of his suppressor aimed at Tod’s chest. “Oh yes. All were tragically found dead. Dangerous business you’ve gotten yourself into.”
A few months ago, TIN arrested a small group of wealthy Humans during an undercover operation. To no one’s surprise, several of the Humans made deals with TIN to save their own arses. Little did the bastards know the TIN operative who’d exposed them for the monsters they were, had a thing about justice.
Sweat dripped down Tod’s face, his skin growing pale from blood loss. His brows drew together. “They’re Therians. Why do you care?”
After removing one of his black gloves, Wolf peeled off the small flesh-colored adhesive to reveal his wolf Therian classification tattoo. Tod’s eyes were all but ready to pop out of his skull. Finally, the real fun could begin.
“You’re a Therian!”
“Well done,” Wolf said brightly, placing the adhesive in his suit pocket before tugging his glove back on.
“But… your eyes…”
“Special lenses. They’re not exactly available at your local chemist. Try to keep up, Tod.”
“I don’t regret it,” Tod snarled. “You Therians are animals. Humans are the superior species, and if we don’t put you in your place—”
Wolf fired at Tod’s left kneecap, unfazed by the man’s howls, curses, and screams.
“You piece of shit! You’re nothing without a master. Running around wagging your tail for the highest bidder. You’re a rabid dog that should be put—”
A bullet to the head shut Tod up for good.
“I don’t like to be called a rabid dog.” With a sigh, Wolf sat back in his chair. Not how he’d expected his evening to go. It hadn’t always been like this.
Once upon a time, before the world revealed its depravity, he’d loved Christmas. His family always managed to make a ghastly spectacle of it—just another way to flaunt their wealth—but the days he spent with his little brother had made it all worthwhile. Said brother was only a year younger than him, but he’d always been so much younger in Wolf’s eyes. It was his inherent gentleness.
Wolf couldn’t help his fond smile. He did love the little shite quite fiercely. “So soft-hearted,” he muttered. Hudson had been that way since he was a lad. Always striving to help and do what was right. From a young age, he’d been a fierce defender for good. The smile slipped from Wolf’s face. Those days were long gone—no sense dwelling on the past.
He stood and buttoned his suit jacket, removed the suppressor from his gun, and tucked it inside its holster, followed by his gun. He pulled the burner phone from his pocket and hit the speed-dial button. Wadsworth answered on the first ring.
“Yes, sir?”
“It’s done.”
“Shall I send the Housekeeper in?”
“Yes.” Wolf dropped his gloves into the small incinerator by the door of the false wall. He checked the surveillance camera he’d installed when he’d set up the unit, one of the hundreds he rented across the States, all paid for through aliases and dummy corporations, sound-proofed and impeccably clean. He didn’t use them for long, switching them after a certain period. Thankfully America had thousands upon thousands of storage facilities.
“Very well. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“No. Thank you, Wadsworth.”
“Always a pleasure, sir. And thank you for the Christmas bonus, sir.”
“You’re welcome.”
Wolf took exceptional care of those in his employ. They had been with him since the beginning, a carefully curated list of professionals who would walk through fire for him. Loyalty was a commodity not easily obtained, but that was what happened when you made yourself indispensable to someone. If you made a deal with the devil, you shouldn’t be surprised when betrayal landed you in hell.
A car with dark tinted windows waited for him outside the facility, engine running. Wolf thanked the driver, who’d stepped out to open the back door for him. Once the door was closed behind him, the car was off, and in less than an hour, he stood in the spacious lift heading up to his luxury flat. It made him smile every time. His former agency had no idea he was right under their noses. Manhattan provided the perfect anonymity he required yet allowed him to remain close to the only person in his life who mattered. Well, perhaps not the only person, but he wasn’t about to follow that particularly troubling train of thought.
The building might have top-notch security, but when one was wanted by several intelligence agencies worldwide, it was in one’s best interest to err on the side of caution, hence the tweaks he’d made to his flat’s security system.
Lights on and flat secure, he loosened his tie on the way to his bedroom. Inside the expansive walk-in closet, he unfastened his Rolex, then placed it in the velvet-lined drawer along with the others. Connecting his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, he brought up his favorite music app and pressed Play. David Bowie’s “Ashes to Ashes” filled the room as he undressed. He put his shoes away in their spot before hanging up his suit to send out for cleaning.
Once everything was in its place, he stepped into his posh shower and enjoyed the hot spray hitting his shoulders and relaxing his muscles. He washed his hair and finished up, then shut off the water. Hair toweled dry, he returned to his bedroom in the nude and began his evening ritual of laying out a pair of boxer briefs, pajama bottoms, and a V-neck T-shirt as he air-dried. Nothing worse than getting dressed while still wet.
Once dressed, he made his way into the living room. As much as he enjoyed cooking—taking comfort in the process—he was far too uninspired to cook anything tonight. When he was younger, he baked biscuits with his little brother. Hudson had a serious biscuit obsession. To this day, his brother hoarded biscuits the way felids coveted boxes.
Placing his order with one of his favorite local restaurants, he headed over to his settee, loving the feel of the soft plush rug against his bare feet. He dropped down onto the cushion and turned on the telly. After flipping through the channels for several seconds, he groaned. He should have known better. Nothing but Christmas drivel. Reluctantly he picked one of the many ridiculous movies.
Thankfully, his alarm went off, informing him it was time for his most sacrosanct of duties. Nothing was executed with more solemnity. He picked up his cell phone and tapped at the screen to enter his security credentials. A few taps later and he held the phone to his ear. As with every other instance, he wasn’t disappointed by the smooth yet cautious response.
“Hello?”
“What are you wearing?” Wolf asked, his voice husky with a hint of humor.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Few things in life brought him joy like the blond man on the other end of the phone did. A grumpy growl resonated in the background, making Wolf smile. And then there was Dex’s husband, Sloane—a lethal, broody jaguar Therian, who Wolf loved to torment.
“What do you want?” Dex hissed.
Dexter J. Daley was unlike any man Wolf had ever known in his life, and Wolf had met all kinds of Humans and Therians. He’d met Dex under unique circumstances, and to this day, Wolf was glad he hadn’t killed Dex.
“Is that any way to talk to the fellow who took care of your little problem?”
A silent pause. “It’s over?” Dex asked quietly.
“For now. I think we both know it’s not truly over.”
Dex let out a heavy sigh. “I know.”
Damned if You Do by Marie Sexton
Chapter One
The Devil Went Down to Kentucky
Abaddon knew the memo from Satan was coming. Still, his heart sank a bit when the mail clerk stopped at his cubicle.
“Special notice from the boss himself,” Damien said, waving the typed page in front of Abaddon’s nose. “Somebody finally noticed you hadn’t recruited a soul in months.”
Abaddon snatched the memo out of Damien’s hand and turned away. Damien was hoping to be promoted from the mailroom to actual soul acquisition soon, so of course he was anxious to see Abaddon fail. He was greedy, conniving, manipulative…
Well, he was a devil, after all. Nobody in Hell was exactly altruistic.
Abaddon waited until Damien moved on to the next cubicle before reading the memo.
To: Abaddon #325.63.7924.5
From: Satan, Prince of Darkness, Son of Perdition, Father of Lies, etc.
Re: Failure to meet soul quota
It has come to our attention that you have not met your soul quota for the month. This is your third consecutive offense. You are hereby placed on formal probation. Failure to meet the quota within the next two weeks will result in demotion and immediate revocation of Earth-traveling privileges.
Also: get a haircut.
Of course it wasn’t signed. It’d merely been rubber-stamped by one of Satan’s many secretaries.
“It finally came, huh?”
This time when Abaddon looked up, he found Baphomet leaning over his cubicle wall. He breathed a sigh of relief. Baphomet was his only real friend—or as close as one could get in Hell, at any rate. “I have two weeks to make good, or I’ll be demoted.”
“What are you going to do?”
Abaddon shrugged, glancing around at the rows and rows of cubicles. They stretched as far as the eye could see. Anybody who lost their soul in a wager or an ill-taken deal with a devil wound up here. There were no computers, but plenty of old-fashioned manual typewriters—always with stuck keys and worn-out ribbons—and a never-ending stream of forms to be filled be out in triplicate and filed away. Soul acquisition came with a mountain of paperwork. And the memos! They never stopped coming, and each one seemed designed to stamp out any bit of pleasure one might find at work. No smoking. No chewing gum. No plants on the desk. No magazine cutouts on the walls. No gossiping. No friendly chatter. No laughing.
Absolutely no fun.
There were no breaks, no vacation days, and no overtime. And no matter what anybody put in the break room refrigerator, it always disappeared by lunchtime.
“How bad can a demotion be?” Abaddon asked. “I mean, at least it’d be a change of scenery, and they save all the nasty stuff for dire sins, right? Murder, rape, child abuse—”
“You won’t spend an eternity being drowned in the River Styx—” the thought of drowning always made Abaddon shudder, but Baphomet went on as if he hadn’t noticed, “—but there are still plenty of things worse than soul acquisition. There’s laying asphalt around the Lake of Fire, hauling rocks out of the Great Abyss, poop-scooping for the Hounds of Hell, selling flashlights without batteries in the Outer Darkness. And those are just the jobs in the underworld. There are plenty of places they could send you up top too. Mowing lawns in Louisiana in mid-August, cleaning hotel rooms in Vegas, emptying bedpans in a celebrity rehab facility in Hollywood. There’s retail work, fast food franchises, lunchroom duty, janitorial work—”
“Okay, okay!” Abaddon laughed, holding up a hand to staunch the flow of words. He hated soul acquisition even more than he hated paperwork, but he didn’t feel like listening to Baphomet nag him for two weeks straight. And revocation of his Earth-traveling privileges would be a bit of a bummer. “I get it. Better to go find a soul than risk demotion.”
“With the hole you’re in, it’ll take more than one.”
“If I stick to boring, pedestrian souls, sure. But not if I find one that’s extraordinary.”
Baphomet shook his head. “You’re the lousiest devil I’ve ever met.”
That was true, largely because tricking mortals out of their souls was damned depressing. But a nagging conscience wasn’t the type of thing a devil could admit to, so Abaddon just smiled and said, “Hey, some of us prefer quality over quantity.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. As always, his inbox was overflowing. His outbox was eternally empty, no matter how many forms he filed into it. “So where should I start?”
That was the real question. It had to be somewhere people were desperate, but still had faith in a vengeful, Old Testament-style God. The suburbs were out—the few suburbanites who still believed in God tended toward a more liberal dogma, and no matter how bad the middle class thought they had it, they were never willing to risk their souls. And some souls were worth more than others. People already bound for Hell were worthless. It had to be somebody who was more good than bad, and it had to be somebody with fair reason to refuse the deal. Sure, you could trade a few sandwiches for the soul of a homeless man, or save a dying child in exchange for his mother’s soul, but those were cheap tricks, even in Satan’s book. Better to bank on greed, pride, and gluttony than on selfless love or true down-and-out desperation.
“Professional athletes are always a good bet,” Baphomet suggested.
Abaddon shook his head. “They’ve never been to my taste.”
“Are you kidding? They’re like barbecue potato chips. So good, you can’t eat just one.”
“No thanks.”
“How about New York?” Baphomet glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention to them before perching on the edge of Abaddon’s desk. It was risky being too friendly. They’d have to feign a tremendous argument later where the managers could easily overhear. Maybe even throw a couple of punches. Otherwise, one of them was bound to get transferred to a cubicle far, far away. “It’s Fashion Week. Models are always easy pickings.”
“There’ll be a hundred devils there already.” And models were such a bore, about as satisfying as an unflavored rice cake. “How about D.C.?”
“A politician’s soul isn’t worth the paperwork that comes with it. Besides, we already own them all.”
“All of them?”
“Ninety percent of the lobbyists, plus every congressman, senator, and president since the fifties.” Baphomet shrugged. “Except Carter.”
“Really?”
“Why do you think he only got one term?”
“Huh.” Abaddon scratched his chin, thinking. “Okay, Washington’s out. How about Vegas?”
“You hate the desert.”
“Dubai?”
“Desert.”
Abaddon sighed and let his heels fall to the floor. “Then I guess there’s only one place left to go.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Holy Land.”
Baphomet blinked in confusion. “Israel?”
“Not that one.”
“Oh. The amusement park. Good thinking.”
Now it was Abaddon’s turn to be confused. He might have thought Baphomet was pulling his leg, but his fellow devil didn’t have much of a sense of humor. “There’s a Holy Land amusement park?”
“You bet. Re-enactments of the Sermon on the Mount and the crucifixion daily.”
“That’s insane.”
“Actually, I think they take Sundays off.”
“Still insane.”
“It’s in Orlando.”
“Of course it is.” Abaddon shook his head and pushed to his feet. “I’m not going to Orlando, either.”
“Then where are you going?”
“Where money is scarce and faith is abundant.” Abaddon clapped his hand on Baphomet’s shoulder. “To the Bible Belt, my friend. Where else?”
* * * * *
Once he’d decided on a place, there wasn’t any reason to dally. He waited only for Baphomet to be on his way—they yelled a few obscenities at each other first, just in case—then dove into the abyss that resided between Hell and the mortal plane, drifting toward the southeastern United States.
Mississippi was always good, and Georgia, as were certain parts of the Appalachians. He stretched out with his soul sense, feeling and tasting for a particular flavor. He liked his souls devout. No Unitarians for him. Hardly any flavor there at all. He found Mormons a bit salty, and Catholics too bitter, but Southern Baptists were like butterscotch, Methodists like caramel, and a Pentecostal—oh, those were his favorite—their souls tasted like pink cotton candy, sticky and sugary sweet.
Minors didn’t count. Acquisitions had to be of the age of consent in whatever country or state in which they presided. Youth was usually more valuable than maturity, but an imminent death was worth far more than a long-range gamble. The devil who’d landed Fidel Castro back in the fifties thought he’d done well, but six decades later, his credit wasn’t so good.
The trick was to find that perfect balance of innocence, naivety, and impending doom. A devout, dying, twenty-year-old who was willing to trade his soul for one last roll in the hay with the girl of his dreams? That was the ultimate score. The grand prize. The devil’s Holy Grail, so to speak. One soul like that could get a devil promoted to a corner office. Maybe even a cushy pad in one of Hell’s suburbs. Sure, you were guaranteed a neighbor who mowed his lawn at dawn, and the HOA was a bitch, but it was still better than the tenement Abaddon lived in.
Stop dreaming and focus! Meet your quota first, then worry about the suburbs!
He needed somebody innocent. Somebody pure. Somebody special. He reached further with his mental feelers, crawling through trailer parks, office buildings, and penthouse apartments. He crept into the woods, up the hills, and dipped into hollows. And then—
“Holy shit!”
There was a soul, in one of the poorer counties of Kentucky. Not just any soul, either, but one that shone like the sun, calling to him from the Earthly plane like a lighthouse in the dark. A soul so pure, it made Abaddon’s mouth water and his pulse race. Oh, this one was young, but legal, sweeter than honey on his tongue.
He stayed hidden in the abyss, but moved his mental view closer for a better look.
It was a young man, alone in the woods with a violin. Just sitting on a stump in a small clearing, playing a concerto to the forest. Maybe twenty-two, wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, with a knit scarf looped around his neck. His eyes were closed as his fingers and bow moved on the strings.
All alone, in the woods.
It was almost too perfect to be true.
Abaddon took a breath, gathering himself—
And in the blink of an eye, he leapt from the abyss and manifested in a physical body only a few yards away from the boy. He had a couple of forms to choose between, everything from human to full-blown, nightmare-inspiring demon, but this time, he chose to be seen as nothing more than a man in his early thirties. The horns and tail could always appear later, if he needed them, but he’d found that popping into view with them on was a bit more than most mortals could take.
The musician played on, unaware he was no longer alone. For a moment, Abaddon only listened. It was Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3, and the boy was clearly talented. His fingers never missed a chord. The music rang strong and true through the forest, as perfect as the sunlight streaming through the trees.
Abaddon looked around, trying to figure out where the boy could have come from. They were several miles from the nearest town. He didn’t see a car, but the foliage was thick. It was entirely possible there was a farmhouse or a trailhead only a hundred yards away.
He focused again on the boy, letting his soul sense loose to crawl over him, tasting and testing. His pulse once again quickened. His fingertips tingled. A sudden warmth blossomed in his groin and Abaddon’s breath caught in his throat. It was the soul hunger, and it was a rush like no other. Abaddon had never tried drugs—or if he had, he’d forgotten—but he imagined this taut eagerness must be what some addicts felt as they carefully pushed their cocaine into perfect white lines. This wonderful anticipation, so similar to arousal, must be what junkies felt as they lowered their face to the mirror. In all his years of soul acquisition, he couldn’t remember a single one that triggered his hunger as much as this one.
He took a single step forward in his eagerness.
The bow screeched harshly across the strings as the boy lowered his instrument. “Who’s there?” He didn’t look around though. He sat ramrod straight on the stump, his head cocked. The sunlight played over close-cropped, black hair. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry,” Abaddon said, his heart pounding. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The boy turned his way, but his eyes never found focus. “Do I know you?”
“No. I heard you playing.”
“Oh.” The boy’s shoulders lost their rigidity, and he smiled. “Peace and love to you, brother. Are you here for the revival? It won’t start for another hour or two.”
Understanding dawned. A revival. Now that the music had stopped, Abaddon could hear voices calling to each other somewhere past the trees. The sound of hammers on metal echoed through the woods along with the distinct crack of heavy canvas flapping in the breeze. It was one of the many reasons he loved the Bible Belt.
“You’re part of the revival?”
“I play in the band.”
“Of course. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Seth. What’s yours?”
“It’s Abaddon.”
The boy laughed. “Sure it is. Did my brother send you?”
Even now that they were talking, the boy never looked right at him. Instead, he seemed to stare at some distant point off to Abaddon’s left, and Abaddon felt a surge of inspiration.
“Are you blind?”
“Yes.”
“Since birth?”
“No. The Lord saw fit to take my sight three years ago, on the day of my nineteenth birthday.”
Abaddon smiled. Oh, how he loved the devout. “And what did you do to deserve that? Masturbation? Fornication?”
“Nothing like that.” Seth didn’t even bother to blush. “It wasn’t punishment.”
“Really? I thought blindness was one of His favorite ways to smite the unfaithful or the unworthy.”
“Not always.”
“A test, then? Like Job?”
“No. Merely another part of my journey in His honor. ‘I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.’”
“God and His riddles. What the hell does that even mean?”
Seth simply smiled again, tilting his head like a playful puppy. “Is your name really Abaddon?”
“It is.”
“‘And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon—’”
“‘—but in the Greek tongue, hath the name Apollyon.’”
“So you’re the devil?”
He could tell Seth still thought it was nothing more than a joke, but he answered earnestly. “I am.”
“Are you here for my soul?”
Abaddon’s heart missed a beat. He said again, “I am.”
“Ah. Well, I’m afraid it’s not for sale. My soul belongs to God.”
Abaddon had never met God, but he had a feeling He wouldn’t appreciate Seth the way he did. Surely a soul so sweet would be wasted on Heaven. “How about a trade then? There must be something you’d like in exchange.”
“Nope. God provides everything I need.” Seth stood and tucked his violin under one arm. “I hope you’ll excuse me. The Reverend will wonder where I’ve gone. I need to—”
“How about your sight? Certainly you’d like to see again?”
Seth froze, his smile becoming uncertain. He tugged on the scarf, bringing it higher around his neck, as if it might protect him.
Abaddon squirmed, inching closer in anticipation. “What do you say? Your soul in exchange for your vision?”
Seth’s brow wrinkled. “You’re very strange, you know. Most people don’t tease me about being blind.”
“I’m not teasing. It’s a legitimate offer.”
“You’ll fix my eyes in exchange for my mortal soul?”
“Exactly.”
Seth shook his head, seeming a bit more sure of himself again. “The Lord will restore my vision in His own time.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I do.”
Even Abaddon’s devilish senses detected no hint of doubt. This boy was a rare breed—a true believer. No wonder he made Abaddon’s blood race. “There must be something you want. Maybe a young lady whose attention you’d like?”
Seth shook his head again. “No.”
“Fame? Fortune? Those are all things I can do.”
“I’m not interested, but thank you, Mr. Abaddon. I have to go now. Peace and love—”
“How about a wager then?” Abaddon asked, desperate to keep Seth from leaving. “A contest.”
Seth turned toward him again, his interest piqued. “What kind of contest?”
Abaddon’s eyes fell on the violin. “Music. One song each. Best player wins.”
“On the fiddle, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Seth was still smiling, still thinking it was in jest. “And if you win, you get my soul?”
It didn’t necessarily matter that the boy thought it was all a joke. The rules there were imprecise, and Abaddon’s soul hunger made him reckless. Seth’s soul was the most tantalizing thing he’d ever tasted. Being this close to him was maddening, like the mirage of water teasing a parched man in the desert. Seth would be worth a hundred supermodels, or a thousand politicians in D.C. He’d be enough to satisfy Abaddon’s quota for months. Maybe as much as a year.
Abaddon had to have him, no matter what the cost. “Precisely.”
“And what if I win?”
“I’ll give you a violin of gold.”
“A—a what?” Seth stammered, laughing.
“A golden vio—er, fiddle. Whatever you want to call it. One made of pure gold.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious.” But his answer only made Seth laugh harder, and Abaddon felt disconcerted for the first time in years. “What’s so funny?”
Seth’s amusement didn’t wane. “Oh-ho, that’s a good one!” he choked, still laughing. “A golden fiddle! What good would that be?”
“W-well, I don’t know. Isn’t that the standard trade in these types of bargains?”
That only made Seth laugh harder and Abaddon stood there, feeling more foolish than he had in ages until Seth’s mirth finally subsided.
“Oh man, that’s funny,” Seth said at last as he fought to catch his breath. He wiped tears from his sightless eyes. “A golden fiddle. What in the world would I do with that?”
“I don’t know. You could play it, or—”
“You can’t be serious. Do you know anything about stringed instruments?”
“Well, I—”
“A fiddle is a work of art, cut from living wood and carefully molded to allow for the perfect resonance of sound through the chamber. It has to vibrate and echo. A golden fiddle would sound terrible. Not to mention the neck would bend the first time I bore down on it. And what about the strings? Are they gold too? Because they’d break the minute the bow touched them. Unless the bow’s gold too. In which case…” He chuckled again, thinking about it, and Abaddon feared he was about to collapse into uncontrolled giggling again. “Oh boy, that’d really be something, wouldn’t it?”
Abaddon didn’t see anything funny about the situation. In fact, he was a bit annoyed at how easily Seth dismissed the offer. He might have resorted to the horns and tail and maybe even a damn pitchfork, if Seth hadn’t been blind. “But—but that’s the bargain! That’s the standard trade—”
“I think I’ll pass, Mr. Abaddon. Thanks anyway. And thanks for the laugh too. I needed that.”
He turned to go, and Abaddon scrambled for an answer. He had to think of something! Seth didn’t want the instrument. But he wasn’t opposed to the contest. That was the key.
“What then?” Abaddon called to Seth’s back. “What would you take in wager against your soul?”
Seth turned around, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Abaddon moved closer as he debated, close enough to catch a whiff of that cotton-candy and honey sweetness that made his legs feel like rubber. He longed to reach out and touch him, if only for a minute.
“It seems to me,” Seth said at last, “the only fair exchange would be like for like. One soul for another.”
Abaddon balked. In all his years filing paperwork, he’d never once heard of a devil gambling his soul. After all, a devil didn’t have a soul to give. “I lost my soul a long time ago. I can’t—”
“Come to the revival. That’s all I ask. Listen to my brother speak.”
Could it really be that easy? “If I win, you forfeit your soul. And if you win, I come to your little pow-wow? That’s your proposal?”
“Exactly. ‘For I know the plans I have for you, declareth the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. For I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation.’”
Now it was Abaddon’s turn to laugh. “You’re all over the place now. Those verses aren’t even in the same chapter.”
Seth only smiled. “Do we have a deal or not?”
“Oh, yes,” Abaddon said, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. “We definitely have a deal.”
Lorelei M HartLorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
Jessamyn Kingley has published over thirty titles and refuses to pick a favorite among them. With an extraordinary passion for her characters, Jessamyn eagerly adds new tales to her D’Vaire series and avidly re-reads them whenever her schedule allows. Jessamyn shares a home in Nevada with her husband and their three spoiled cats. When she is not writing or adding new ideas to her thick stack of beloved notebooks, she is gaming with family and friends.
AJ Sherwood believes in happily ever afters, magic, dragons, good men, and dark chocolate. She often dreams at night of delectable men doing sexy things with each other. In between writing multiple books (often at the same time) she pets her cats, plays with her dogs, and attempts insane things like aerial yoga.
She currently resides in Tennessee with aforementioned cats, dogs, and her editor/best friend/sister/partner in crime.
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!
Marie SextonMarie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Jessamyn Kingley
AJ Sherwood
NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE / CHIRP
Charlie Cochet
EMAIL: charlie@charliecochet.com
Gary Furlong(Narrator)
Marie Sexton
The Alphas Santa-Kissed Omega by Lorelei M Hart
Touched by Destiny by Jessamyn Kingley
Adopt a Vampire by AJ Sherwood
Cold Light of Day by Charlie Cochet
Damned if You Do by Marie Sexton
No comments:
Post a Comment