Diana's Hound: Bloodhounds, Book 4 (19 page)

He drew up short, still, his gaze intense. “
Grace
, tell me.”

She did. “I sat with Doc during the new moon, especially toward the end when his… Well, when his mind started to go. He fretted about Diana. About what it did to her, having such unforgiving needs.” A polite, careful way to describe the sexual madness that claimed a bloodhound when the moon went dark. “He told me the Guild leaders had brought it on themselves, being so impatient to get their hands on a weapon that they accepted reckless side-effects. I thought he was simply a confused, tired old man…”

Archer let out a ragged breath. “What was his name, again?”

No one had used it. Sometimes Grace wondered if most people remembered it. “Thomas Beale.”

Archer repeated it softly and frowned as he shook his head. “I don’t know that name, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have worked for the Guild at some point. Do you think Diana knows for certain?”

“Perhaps.” Leaving the torch lit had been a mistake. Darkness might have been more intimate, but the shadows played across his face in the most intriguing ways. “Diana doesn’t betray confidences. She wouldn’t have told anyone unless she had good reason.”

His brows drew together even more, shadowing his eyes. “Grace.”

Had he caught her admiring him? His voice seemed caught between warning and something lower. Warmer. Her heart thudded too fast. “I’m sorry if I woke you over something trivial.”

He took the torch from her and set it on its end on the low table by the door. The light bounced off the ceiling, reflecting down around them in deep shadows. “You are not sorry.”

Grace curled her fingers toward her palms, desperate not to reach for him. But holding back her body couldn’t stop the words, raw and stripped of even the pretense of respectability. “Celibacy is more easily endured by virgins, I imagine. Three years of it has made me foolish.”

“I could take you.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead. “But I don’t think you really want me to.”

Laughter fought its way past the knot in her throat. “You’re not terribly perceptive when it comes to women, are you?”

“You want me to
now
,” he clarified. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll feel differently.”

It was her turn to frown. “What happens tomorrow morning?”

“You’ll wake up in bed with a broken-down hound and the sun shining through the curtains,” he said simply.

So simple. So sad. She reached out to touch the scar on his cheek, the one barely visible in the shadows, the one she’d memorized already with too many furtive glances. “Undoubtedly the finest sort of man I’ve ever woken up in bed with.”

He cupped the back of her head. “You say that because you don’t know me.” He bent his head as he spoke, until he almost cut off his own words by slanting his mouth over hers.

How long since she’d been kissed? Years, to be sure. Longer still since she’d been kissed by a man who saw
her
, not the role she happened to be playing. Too long since her lips had been claimed with intent and hunger and skill, all firm pressure and warmth and wildness, so overwhelming she barely had the wit to kiss him back.

Archer hitched her up on the table with a growl, knocking over the handtorch. She clutched at his shirt as he leaned over her, deepening the kiss, and only his hand at the back of her head kept it from bumping against the wall.

She’d bedded men. Bad men, criminal men, but never a bloodhound. Exhilaration flooded her, edged with the tiniest thread of fear. He surrounded her, covered her, a beast in the shape of a man, and as careful as he was, there was no mistaking the proprietary command in the grip of his hands.

She was meant to melt. To yield. And even as her body obediently did the former, sheer madness drove her to deny him surrender. She closed her teeth on his lower lip instead, licked it and loved the taste of coffee for the first time.

He groaned and nudged her chin with his thumb, demanding access. Entrance. Grace gave it to him, parting her lips as she slid her hands up to tangle in his shaggy blond hair.

He settled between her thighs, and his erection pressed against her belly through their clothes. A moment later, he dragged his mouth to her cheek. “Yes or no, Grace? All you have to do is pick one.”

Cat got your tongue?

Wolf Nip

© 2013 Vivian Arend

Granite Lake Wolves, Book 6

Tessa Williams is looking to make her mark outside the family business, and the unusual landlocked paddle wheeler she spots in Haines, Alaska, strikes her as the perfect location. Only the owner is being difficult, refusing to sell. Still, she’s sure that replacing her written queries with a little in-person charm is all she’ll need to shortly have her Eco-tour B&B on the road to success.

Local wolf-slash-owner of said vessel, Mark Weaver, isn’t hanging on to the landmark building out of spite. There are more reasons for holding back the sale than are easily explained on paper. A face-to-face meeting to resolve the matter only confounds it—when Mark recognizes Tessa as his mate.
 

But she’s a cat...and cats don’t do insta-mates.

The sexual attraction between them isn’t in question, just everything else. He wants her. She wants
twue wuv
. His wolf can’t figure out what the holdup is. Her cat thinks the entire situation, and the pack, are rather amusing.

Somewhere in here is the beginning of a beautiful relationship—if they don’t drive each other mad.

Warning: One hyper cat, one laid-back wolf. Inappropriate use of permanent markers, and a heaping side dish of cat/dog jokes. Shenanigans (read: nookie) in front of a roaring fire. Spiced liberally with sarcasm. Enjoy!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Wolf Nip:

It took a moment to spot his mystery woman. She wasn’t where Mark had expected. For some reason she’d crawled on top of her car hood and was up on her tiptoes examining his house.

He’d never had a peeping tom like this one. He stepped across the lawn space. “Hello. Can I help you?”

She landed on her heels, her brilliant smile dazzling him. Bright green eyes snapped to meet his and somewhere deep inside his wolf rumbled awake.

“Are you Mark Weaver?”

“I am.”

She clasped her hands together and bounced, literally, setting the entire car into motion. “Awesome. I’m Tessa, and I’m so glad to meet you.”

Tessa. The name didn’t register, but he automatically accepted her outstretched hand intent on helping her down off the hood.

Only instinct kept him vertical as she jumped lightly and landed beside him. The rest of him was a bundle of unplanned reactions, his wolf lurching to the surface and damn near howling in delight. The wind caught her hair again, ruffling it around her face. The breeze also brought her scent to him, and his mouth watered.

His body grew tight with need. His legs quivered.

“Ahem.”

Mark jerked to attention. Tessa stood in front of him, her fingers caught in his, their bodies nearly touching. Sometime in the past ten seconds, he’d lowered his head toward her neck and taken a good long sniff.

It was like shooting a bottle of moonshine except the hangover kick arrived simultaneously with the pleasure buzz.

“Mark, if you don’t mind, I need my hand back.” She grasped him around the wrist and tugged herself free from his clasp.

Embarrassed and yet excited at the same time, Mark let her go and forced himself to stand in place rather than crowd forward. There had to be a protocol he wasn’t aware of that explained how you were supposed to react upon meeting your mate for the first time.

Mate
. Yeah, his once-and-forever, fated-and-soon-to-be-mated woman. Once he found out a few minor details, like who she was, they could get down to the important stuff. Like him carrying her inside, finding a bed.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and batted her lashes, and his heart raced.
Patience, Mark. Patience…

“Tessa. What brings you to Haines?”

“I’m here—”

He meant to give her time to answer. Meant to ask her in. Meant to do all sorts of things, actually, but what he did was lose control. He closed the distance between them, cupped his hand around the back of her neck and dragged them together so he could kiss her.

Whatever she planned on telling him was lost as his lips covered hers.

The taste of her? Ambrosia. The feel of her against his body? He’d died and gone to heaven. She nestled in tighter and her breasts rubbed his chest. His wolf nudged him harder, and he was powerless to resist the command, tangling their tongues until air became a dire need.

But the idea of stopping was unthinkable.

His wolf wanted more. Forget making it into the house and a bedroom, the beast wanted him to pick her up and wrap her legs around his waist. Lean her back over the car hood and take her right there. Strip her down and wallow in her scent and sex it up until they were both too sated to move.

Mark’s human side figured most of that was dandy as well. He was far enough gone in lust that even the sex-in-public bit didn’t sound like
too
bad of an idea.

Two cool hands cupped his burning-hot cheeks as Tessa managed to disengage their lips and wiggle away until her face returned to view. She was smiling, but confusion clouded her pretty eyes. “Hi. I think we should start this again. I’m Tessa Williams. I sent you a proposal to buy your house.”

Shock was a good mood killer. Icy-cold restraint returned. “You’re T. Williams?”

She wiggled out of his clutches and straightened her sweater. “I am. It’s a beautiful place. We’ll need to make a few changes though, but if you don’t mind me looking around, I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement.”

Mark pulled his mouth shut.
This
was the person who wanted to purchase his home? “You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“I was too eager to see the place to hang out in Whitehorse overnight. We can wait until the scheduled time for the meeting if that’s better for you.” Tessa pulled out a small mirror and lipstick, and touched up her lips with a fiery red colour he was tempted to lean over and lick off. He battled his wolf into submission. Stubborn beast didn’t want to talk. Wanted to take.

Mark got the sentiment, but… “We can discuss the house in a minute. First…”

His wolf poked him again, and this time he wasn’t too distracted by lust to get the message. He took another breath, running his gaze over her entire body. Analyzing the way she stood, the way she’d moved.

Tessa crossed her arms in front of her, which only framed those flawless breasts a little more. “Yes?”

“I’m a wolf.”

She nodded slowly. “I figured that out about two seconds after we met. And this is important…why?”

“You’re a cat.”

A cute pout appeared on her succulent lips. “You have issues with that?”

Mark shook his head even as he wondered how in the world this was going to work out. “You’re perfect.”

Light laughter escaped her. “Thank you, but I’m not sure what brought that on.”

Good grief. If she’d been a wolf, he wouldn’t need to have this conversation. They would have met and known they were the one for each other. As it was, his wolf continued to do the lupine equivalent of pacing, and it was a pretty damn uncomfortable sensation.

There must be more logical ways to approach this, but his logic meter had gone out of whack at the first sniff. The words blurted from him like homing missiles.

“My wolf says you’re my mate.”

Tessa’s eyes widened. “Oh, really?”

He nodded. “That’s why I kind of attacked you back there. The kiss and all.”

“Okay, I wondered about that.” Tessa glanced him over then shrugged. “Well, that’s interesting. So, do you want to meet regarding my proposal now, or tomorrow?”

Confusion swirled with need, making his brain foggy. “That’s interesting? That’s all you’ve got to say about me telling you we’re mates?”

Diana’s Hound

Moira Rogers

The female of the species is more deadly...

Bloodhounds, Book 4

Nate Powell lived one full life as a world-class inventor before a disaster born of magic and science returned him to his prime—and turned him into a half-vampire, half-bloodhound abomination.

He’s finally stopped yearning for death, but he’s a long way from being excited about life—even if his newly virile body is
very
excited by the latest arrival to Iron Creek.

Diana is another creature that shouldn’t exist—a female bloodhound. While the males of Iron Creek accept her as a fellow warrior, Nate seems torn between a desire to study her and a need to protect her. Diana’s urges are a lot more carnal.

When they learn that a rogue hound is selling women across the border, Diana and Nate are chosen to infiltrate the vampires’ capital city. Before long, their inner bloodhounds feel the mating pull—and a hound never outlives their mate for long. In a fight to keep each other alive, they could both end up worse than dead.