Just letting you know about a new-old release that’s out tonight! This is a story that appeared in a now defunct publisher’s anthology several years ago. And the story exists in the same universe as Warlord’s Destiny. It’s been reedited, spruced up, and is now ready for prime time…if prime time censors allowed alien naughtiness…

Close Encounter of the Carnal Kind

Etienne Lambert, a Cajun ex-soldier fresh from the horrors of the war in Iraq, discovers that he’s an alien when an alien woman arrives at his door to take him home. When he resists, she kidnaps him. He soon learns he is the last potent male in the royal line of their planets, and it’s his duty to return to sire the next generation of the ruling caste.

Marika is a fightership commander who has succeeded where all the mages, seers, and trackers have failed. She has found her planets’ last hope for salvation! When the future king demands that he start work immediately on the primary mandate of his rule—to sire children—she can’t refuse his command.

Get your copy here!

Enjoy an excerpt…

Etienne leaned forward, cuddling his beer between his hands, letting the silence wrap around his jangled nerves. Here in the swamp, in a hunting cabin filled with happy memories, he hoped to finally shrug off his soul-deep sadness. He loved his brother and family, but he didn’t want to invite them into the dark place he’d been forced inside ever since Tekrit.

Arnaud had left half an hour before, frustrated and hurt. Etienne knew it, but couldn’t reach out to his brother, not yet. Maybe a few more days of staring out at the green, wet world around him would drown the memories of the sun-baked dirt that drank his buddies’ blood like a thirsty sponge.

He needed time to fit back into his old life. He snorted at that thought—like he’d ever really fit in to begin with. Taller by a foot than his brothers and pale-skinned to their olive, he’d often wondered if he hadn’t been traded in the bassinet at birth. And he’d never been satisfied with what life offered him in the bayou—which was why he’d enlisted in the first place.

A twig snapped nearby, and Etienne froze. As if he’d never left Iraq, time slowed, and in one long moment he realized the crickets had stopped their raucous chirping, and the owls no longer called to one another—he had a visitor.

Etienne eased from his chair, ignored the cane, and slid into his cabin. The gun, already loaded with shot to pepper any reporter’s ass, stood next to the door. He reached for it.

Footsteps crunched closer then climbed the wooden steps just as he swung back around with the shotgun cradled in his arms and stepped forward to block his doorway. But the woman who strode toward him wasn’t like any reporter he’d ever seen. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever encountered.

Her smile was tentative as she stopped directly in front of him. Her gaze widened as she stared upward for one long moment. Then she drew in a deep breath, lowered her gaze, and knelt at his feet, pressing her forehead against his thigh.

Etienne felt a frown furrow his forehead, wondering what the hell was going on. He tried to nudge her away, but she grasped his calf and clung, speaking softly, the words guttural and lilting at the same time. Definitely not English. Not like anything he’d ever heard in his travels.

When she rose, her eyes glittered with moisture, which she quickly blinked away. This time the smile she flashed was joyous.

Etienne’s suspicions roused, and he glanced out into the darkness, wondering whether he was the butt of a joke and not liking it one damn bit. Was Arnaud responsible for this?

The woman in front of him was fresh-faced, her expression too open and innocent-looking to be real. His glance raked over her body. She was clothed from her neck to the tops of her shiny brown boots in a skin-hugging material that looked soft as suede leather, as soft and golden-brown as the large eyes she raised to stare up at him.

Color crept over his cheeks as he realized he’d stood frozen in place, transfixed by the woman’s beauty. Beautiful or not, innocent or not, she didn’t belong here. “Cher, you can turn right around and go back where you came from,” he said, the words coming out less harsh than he’d intended.

She smiled and started to speak again, and then rolled her almond-shaped eyes. She lifted her fingers to her ear and tugged at the shiny stud stuck in her left lobe. “Sorry ’bout dat. I forgot to turn on my translator,” she said in a Cajun accent.

Not a reporter, not with that accent. And yet, not from around her by the tone of her skin. Etienne sighed and propped the shotgun beside the door. “All right, who put you up to this? Arnaud?”

She shook her head, which shivered her long, dark hair around her shoulders. “Didn’t Jacques tell you?” she asked, her expression falling. “He was s’posed ta give you a message.”

His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t seen him since I returned. But you can tell him: thank you very much, but I’m not interested—however attractive you are, cher.” He turned to reenter his cabin.

A small, slim hand clamped on his forearm. “But you don’ understand how important dis is—”

Etienne shrugged her off, ignoring the plea in her doe-like eyes. “Look, I’m sure you’re very good at…whatever it is you do—”

“I’m da best!” she said, eagerness shining in her face. “Dat’s why I’m here.”

“Fucking hell! I can’t believe he thought I needed a whore,” Etienne muttered under his breath.

“A whore?” The woman’s face screwed up with a look of confusion. “Wait, I think I’m not translatin’ dat word correctly.”

“This is a joke, right?” Etienne blew out the breath he’d been holding since she appeared. “He sends you in that space costume, and you’re supposed to do what? Give me a ride?” His eyes widened, and he jerked back a little. “You’re not expecting to probe my ass, are you?”

“Only if you won’ surrender your sperm, Sire,” she said, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I can assist you…” Her voice trailed off, and she nibbled at the edge of her full lips.

“I just bet you can,” he murmured, wondering why he was fighting this so hard. The woman was a knockout. She was tall and slim-hipped, with small, round breasts. Any one of his old buddies would have given a month’s pay to slide between her thighs.

As he appraised her attributes, her nipples beaded beneath the soft, thin leather. “Perhaps you need a little foreplay ’fore you gimme your semen?” she asked, with a flirty tilt of her head. She straightened and thrust out her chest, but the effect was robbed of vampdom by her girlish smile. She was one hell of a confusing, yet alluring, package.

Jacques knew what he was doing. If she’d carried the odor of the streets on her, he’d have sent her on her way in a heartbeat.

Etienne felt his anger waver. Her skin was creamy-pale without a hint of tan, her pores so fine he knew her cheeks would be as soft as a baby’s. He wondered if the rest of her would be as soft. This close, he could smell the fragrance clinging to her skin—like almonds mixed with a musky floral scent that tugged at his cock.

The woman shifted on her feet as he stared, and then squared her shoulders. “We’ll never know until we get dis done.” She reached for the fly of his jeans.

“Wait a minute…” His hand closed over hers to halt her.

She looked up, a question in her guileless gaze.

“Where the hell did he find you, sweetheart?” he murmured, staring down at her. A dimple dented one cheek. A damn dimple.

“Oh, I found him.”

Her grin was childlike, and it angered him that she was playing with him. “Was he drunk when you fed him that line about surrendering his semen?”

She tilted her head to the side, her smile faltering. “Line?”

Etienne swore beneath his breath, patience at an end—restraint beyond his control as angry anguish exploded inside him. He gripped her waist hard, pulling her toward him. If his uncle thought a prostitute would prod him from his blue funk, who was he to argue? He certainly hadn’t managed on his own. Maybe this was what he’d waited for…

Her mouth opened around a startled gasp, which he breathed in as he sealed her mouth with his.

But her lips didn’t move beneath his. When he opened his eyes, he found her wide-eyed gaze staring back at him. He pulled his head back. “Kiss me,” he said, his voice gruff. “This is what you came for, isn’t it?”

“I came for your sem—”

He didn’t want to hear her story again and slammed his mouth down to shut her up.

This time she pressed back, sliding her lips beneath his. Her kiss was soft and tentative, drugging to his jaded senses. Her breaths came quick and excited, puffing into his mouth. Despite the fact, or perhaps, because she wasn’t very good at kissing, an electrical charge of heat pulsed throughout his body, tightening his loins.

Etienne groaned and pulled her body flush with his, grinding his cock against the soft cleft he found between her legs.

Her hips jerked then pushed forward, finding his rhythm, sliding her sex against his as she moaned into his mouth.

With her breasts mashed against his chest, his shaft riding her mons, Etienne drank from her lush, feminine mouth. The softness trembling against him soothed and excited his soul. He hadn’t known how badly he needed this—needed her—until this moment. He sank into the kiss, spearing her mouth with his tongue, sweeping inside like his body ached to burrow into her sweet flesh.

But she wasn’t the answer to his problems—she wasn’t even here because she wanted it. Good old Uncle Jacques had sent her.

Etienne realized he was only fighting himself. He’d wanted solitude to lick his wounds, but his family seemed to understand that deep down he needed to be touched.

This woman’s soft hands were as good as any. At least she wouldn’t be expecting him to spill his guts. He broke the kiss and pushed her back. “Go ahead,” he said, releasing her hand. “Take my semen,” he bit out, bitterness licking the embers of his anger into flame once more.

She swallowed, looking a little frightened by his anger. If she was scared, fuck her. This was what she’d been paid to do.

Eyeing him with caution, she flicked open the snap at the waistband of his jeans. Then she drew down his zipper and knelt in front of him to ease his jeans past his hips.

He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so his sex pushed into the widening gap until it sprang free. The warm breeze blowing over his flesh and the woman’s intent stare did the rest. His cock quickly filled and rose.

Etienne sucked in a deep breath and raised his hands to brace himself within the doorframe as the woman bent over him.

She licked her lips. “I’ll make dis quick.”

“Don’t rush on my account.” Now that he’d decided to enjoy his “gift”, he wasn’t in any hurry.

The woman cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and swallowed the head of his cock.

Etienne groaned and his toes curled inside his boots. The sensation of her hot, moist mouth drawing on his sex was so exquisite it hurt.

Her gaze never left his as she drew back and licked around the soft head. The sight of her pink tongue darting out to lap at him tightened his groin. She followed the ridge all the way around then licked down his length, caressing him with firmer strokes as she went.

Etienne gritted his teeth as she took her time, priming him. Her head dipped, and her dark hair shimmered in the moonlight as she worked his flesh.

She returned to the head and suctioned it into her mouth, her eyes closing as her lips drew hard, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. Then her hands glided up his thighs. One cupped his balls, already drawn taut and close to his body. She kneaded them gently with her palm and fingers, rolling and tugging until he pulsed his hips, beginning the drive toward release. The other hand circled the base of his cock and squeezed, twisting up and down his shaft.

A throbbing started in his injured leg, interrupting his upward climb, and he eased his weight to his good leg then clamped one hand on the back of her head to encourage her to take more of him, deeper into her throat.

Her jaw opened wider, and her teeth skimmed his length as he pushed his cock along her tongue until he butted the back of her throat. With his body wound tight as a coil, he closed his eyes and let his head fall backward, groaning as she dipped and bobbed faster—sliding down him, sucking hard on the upstroke. Christ, she had a talented mouth.

Just as he was ready to let her sweep him along in a frenzied tide, the hand cupping his balls slid farther back, her fingers tracing the cleft of his buttocks.

Before he could utter a protest, one finger eased inside his ass, tunneling then manipulating his prostate. With a shout of protest mixed with anguished release, his hips bucked, and his body exploded, come jetting inside the woman’s mouth.

Etienne bit back a curse and pumped twice, weak thrusts now, his body trembling in the aftermath. He curved his fingers around the wooden doorframe and opened his eyes to glare down at the woman. “My ass was off limits.”

Her lips pursed, and she reached for the belt cinching her small waist, pulling a small vial from beneath it.

While he watched, furious, she spat his creamy come into the vial, and then held it aloft and tugged her ear. She murmured something unintelligible, and light glimmered around the small bottle before it flickered and blinked out. When the light disappeared, so did the vial.

Etienne blinked. “What the hell?”

The woman rose and tugged up his pants, but he shoved her hands away and finished the job, tucking his cock inside. All the while, his gaze never left her.

As soon as the snap of his jeans closed, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside the cabin and into full light. “What the hell just happened?”

Her gaze met his, her chin raised in defiance. “I sent your sperm ta my ship. We need ta know if you’re potent.”

“Ship?” His mind skipped over that detail for the moment to return to the one blaring a warning in his mind. “Why the hell do you need to know I’m not shooting blanks?”

“If you’re potent, Sire, I’m here ta take you home.”

Sire? “My home is here. I’m not going anywhere.” He raked his hand through his hair, still rattled at seeing his come disappear into thin air. Perhaps Uncle Jacques hadn’t been drunk after all.

“Sire, if you’re potent, you must return ta fulfill your destiny.”

“And what might that be?” he asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

Her wide-eyed gaze filled with dreamy fervor. “To assume the mantle of kingship and lead our forces in the war against the Gracktiles.”

He snorted, wondering what rabbit hole he’d just fallen into. “Is that all?”

She bit her bottom lip and shrugged. “Oh, and to beget the next generation of our ruling caste…”

Etienne eyed her clothing. A uniform of some sort, no doubt. He noted her poreless skin, her perfect features. Aliens weren’t little and green. They were seductively beautiful. And now they had his come. A flash of some emotion, maybe excitement mixed with a little dread, filled him. He hoped he wasn’t sterile.

Love the feel of this song. Always makes me feel dreamy. Rob Thomas’s voice has always done it for me. And doesn’t he look so much better than he did in his final scene on I, Zombie? Enjoy!

UPDATE: The winners are Roxie, Jackie Wisherd, and Joye!

* * * * *

What a treat to wake up this morning without wondering where I need to be or which kid I need to watch. Not that I don’t love them all, but it’s nice to be back in the saddle (er, in my padded executive chair in front of my desk). October will be busy, busy, busy! I hope I can keep up with the pace I’ve set for myself. If you see me out there tweeting or posting on Facebook, don’t be shy about nagging me to get my stories done! If you checked out yesterday’s post, you know what I’ll be working on. I shared covers for three different stories. Which story are you interested in reading the most?

Comment for a chance to win. There will be three winners!
One will win her choice of a Cowboys on the Edge story!

The other two will get their choice of a short story.
And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!

Controlled Burn

This flame doesn’t need a match…

One high school prank gone wrong shouldn’t define the rest of Carly Lohan’s life. But setting fire to Caldera Canyon isn’t something townsfolk will ever forget. As the last part of her final act of restitution, she’s among the group of volunteers assigned to keep a prescribed burn of underbrush and grass from “running over the rim” into the ranches ringing the park.

Local rancher and volunteer firefighter Jeremiah McCord doesn’t trust the reformed firebug anywhere near the canyon’s controlled burn. Determined to keep her on a short rein, he’s everywhere she is, watching her. His distrust and determination sparks a plan for some sexy revenge—one that will get them both too close to the flames.

Get your copy here!

Carly wasn’t unaccustomed to hard work, but she’d never before used a pitchfork. The cowboy who’d set her on her task had called it a “shit fork”—before clearing his throat and explaining the implement was smaller than a regular pitchfork so that the balls of horse dung didn’t fall between the tines.

After mucking out the stalls, she’d forked a mini-mountain of horse manure and straw into the center of the barn. Now she was pitching load after load into the wheelbarrow so she could wheel it out and add it the larger mountain of dung behind the barn. Dung that was used in Mayra’s garden.

Before today, she’d never given much thought to horses, and she’d never had an aversion to the smell, but a day of forking poop had altered her view forever. Or so she told herself. She knew she must be a sight in her dirty jeans and tee. She’d forgotten to take off her gloves a time or two and used them wipe sweat from her face. Meaning she had to have some smeared on her cheek.

But she didn’t dare stop. Not and have the high-and-mighty Jeremiah shaking his head. The night before, he’d been so sure she’d balk at his list of chores. Little did he know, but she was used to hard work. Her foster families had made sure of it.

Still, she’d never mucked stalls, and the repetitive motions had tightened the muscles at the small of her back, and her upper arms until they felt bruised.  Pausing to stretch, she reached high, letting the hem of her shirt rise. The slight breeze blowing through the open barn doors wafted against her belly and felt almost luxurious.

“Looks like we’ll make a cowboy out of you yet.”

Carly dropped her arms and glanced over her shoulder. She’d missed Jeremiah at breakfast. Mayra told her he’d been up before dawn, as was his custom, to check on the herd. Carly hadn’t seen him since dinner the night before and dreaded their next encounter.

While her mind was made up to detest the man, her fickle body responded with a wave of heat that swept her cheeks and prickled her nipples. No man had a right to look that good when he was that dirty. “The cowboy who showed me how to muck out a stall asked me what I’d done to piss you off.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose. “And what did you say?”

“That I’d burned three hundred acres of hay and an expensive bailer. He said that’d do it.”

He gave his signature grunt.

Even though she’d told herself that morning she must have imagined its appeal, she still felt the pull deep in her core.

“You should take a break,” he said, his voice sounding gruff.

“Why? I’m not done.” Did he think she’d jump at the chance to not finish?

“The sun’s out, and the air’s warm in here, Carly. And it’s time for lunch. Someone else can finish up.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll have to bathe again.”

He came closer and picked a piece of straw from her hair. Then he rubbed her cheek.

An action that shocked her to her toes.

“I think you’ve picked up more than a little dirt,” he murmured.

Because she was nervous with him standing so close, she laughed. “I have shit on my face. You can say it.” She swept a hand toward his own dirty clothing. “I’ve been mucking stalls, what’s your excuse?”

A smile stretched across his face.

The first she’d ever seen. Her stomach flipped.

“I chased a calf into an arroyo. He got separated from his mama. Took some doing to get him up on the horse with me.”

“I’d have loved seeing that.” And she meant it. The thought of him chasing a calf on horseback—well hell, now she was romanticizing the surly cowboy.

One dark brow arched. “You would have loved seeing a calf getting the better of me?”

“Yeah.” Feeling breathless because he was still standing close, she had to remind herself he was only being polite. That he’d likely come to see whether she was still hard at work. She moved away to lean her fork against the barn wall. “I better go shower, or Mayra will light into me.”

“I better hit the shower, too.”

Walking away, Carly pursed her lips and blew out a hot stream of air. Him being civil was tough enough on her libido. Now she had the picture of a naked, wet Jeremiah in her head.

Not wanting to track manure through the house, she took off her boots at the door before entering and making her way up the stairs. She headed straight to the shower with its lovely shower head that poured water like a soft rain over her head and never grew cold no matter how long she stood beneath it.

But eventually, she acknowledged her hunger, turned off the water, and then reached for a big fluffy towel. At that moment, she realized she’d forgotten to bring along clean clothing.

No worries, Jeremiah had likely finished his shower long ago and was already digging into his meal. She opened the door and padded toward her bedroom.

Just as she was reaching for the knob, she saw another door open, just past the staircase.

Jeremiah stepped out into the hallway, his hair wet and looking cool and clean in his chambray shirt and Wranglers.

Before she could push open the door and jump inside, she watched his head turn.

His gaze trailed from her sodden hair, dripping on her shoulders to the towel she’d knotted between her breasts. “See you downstairs,” he said, his voice thick, and then he strode quickly to the staircase and out of her sight.

She opened her door, entered, and then sagged against the cool wood. Would she ever catch a break with the man? First, he’d rubbed horseshit off her face, and then he’d caught her looking like a drowned rat.

She must be the most unappealing woman he’d ever had the misfortune to have under his roof—even if only for a few days. For once, she wished she had something stylish in the closet to pull out and wow him with. Then maybe he’d see her as something other than some white-trash nuisance.

Although she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d deal with anything other than his annoyance and mistrust. Just the thought of him ever showing any masculine interest made her heart stutter and her palms sweat.

No, she was better off to never entertain those thoughts. Jeremiah was way out of her league, and too much history existed between them—all of it bad—to think that a little spark of attraction might catch fire.

Hey there! If you saw my post the other day, you know life’s crazy around here right now. First, the 7-year-old is doing well after her surgery. A metal plate was installed in her leg, a donor fibula replaced the tibia she lost to cancer, and bone material from her pelvis was inserted into the donated bone. We’re hoping it will “take” and grow. She was playing video games hours after the surgery. Nothing keeps her down.

My grandmother is surprising everyone with her recovery after breaking vertebrae in her back. The doctor saw her yesterday and said he’d thought she’d be there longer, but she might be home in a month. She wants to be back sooner.

Today, I’m doing my part, babysitting the little one while my daughter’s at the hospital. I’m not getting much done. I had to wait until she took a nap before I could post this blog. September was a wash, but I’m hoping October will be better. I’ll try to post my monthly recap later.

In the meantime, here’s a reminder that my friend, Lindsay McKenna’s latest romantic suspense released yesterday! Go get your copy!

Unbound Pursuit

Captain Talia Culver risked her heart again for Navy SEAL Wyatt Lockwood. The brave, cocky Texan was worth the risk and Talia couldn’t be happier. Still recovering from injuries she received from her last mission in Afghanistan, Wyatt whisks her away to meet his family on their sprawling Texas ranch. But things don’t go as planned when Wyatt hears the local gossip that his drug dealing ex-friend is out of prison and planning a drug run across the Lockwood ranch. Wyatt wants to enjoy some hard-earned down time with Tal, but he can’t ignore the danger at his backdoor.

As Wyatt plans a dangerous operation to catch the drug dealers, Tal fears she could lose the man she loves.

Get your copy!

Oh, the dark Jean-Louis and the blond Nik.

Both of the leaders of the Kandesky Vampire family are delicious and dishy, but after finishing the ninth book in the saga, SNAP: I, Vampire, I had to take a hiatus to wear my other hat…murder mysteries.

As much as I love the international scope, the incredible wealth and the beyond-sexy vampires in the Kandesky Chronicles, I also love the puzzles and suspense of the world of mystery.

I write the Amy Hobbes Newspaper Mysteries, a series about a small-town newspaper editor who works to understand the “why” behind dead bodies popping up.  This took me—and almost 2,000 others—to New Orleans last week for the granddaddy of all mystery conventions, Bouchercon.

But New Orleans, the home of voodoo, vampires and other undeads. What a draw!

As much as I wanted to sit in cemeteries, search for love potions, spend the night in haunted houses, I was good and focused on mysteries. And was rewarded.

Lee Child, Harlan Coben, Walter Mosley, Alexandra Sokoloff, David Morrell (of Rambo fame), Michael Connelly, C.J. Box, Caro Ramsey, Catriona McPherson, Charlaine Harris. On panels, meeting in the elevators, sitting next to them at dinner. And I can get fan-girl with the best of them.

Lee Child

Whether you’re a writer, wanna-be writer or fan, conventions are a shot of adrenaline. Every fiction genre has them. Sci-fi and fantasy, romance, LGBTQ, thrillers. Throughout the year, fans and authors of these books get together, swap ideas, tell stories, sign books and talk to fans. You’ll come away exhausted but the high will last for days. Pictures of you and your favorite authors, autographed books, programs and announcements, t-shirts, buttons, book bags and books…lots of books.

Unlike other industry get-togethers (the Oscars, Cannes, Grammies), book conventions are places where the authors and the fans come together to celebrate stories, ideas and talk about the written word.

Your feet will hurt, your back will be sore from lugging around a ton of books, but you’ll come away with memories that last…until next year!

I recommend them.

About the Author

Michele Drier was born in Santa Cruz and is a fifth generation Californian. Her Amy Hobbes Newspaper Mysteries are Edited for Death, (called “Riveting and much recommended” by the Midwest Book Review), Labeled for Death and Delta for Death.

Her paranormal romance series, SNAP: The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles, was the best paranormal vampire series of 2014 from Paranormal Romance Guild. The series is SNAP: The World Unfolds, SNAP: New Talent, Plague: A Love Story, Danube: A Tale of Murder, SNAP: Love for Blood, SNAP: Happily Ever After?, SNAP: White Nights,  SNAP: All That Jazz, SNAP: I, Vampire .

Visit her webpage, www.MicheleDrier.com facebook page, http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMicheleDrier or her Amazon author page, http://www.amazon.com/Michele-Drier/e/B005D2YC8G/

EXCERPT

From SNAP: I, Vampire, Book Nine of the Kandesky Vampire Chronicles

CHAPTER ONE

Sandor, the chief demon and our sometimes butler, hit a button on the remote and the interlocking metal shutters slid smoothly down.

I started to say, “Wait…” then remembered.

Jean-Louis and I had been lazing in the big bed, the centerpiece of the room, and watching the faintest pink wash across the top of an Alp. Lolling to watch the sunrise had been a part of my life with this man, signaling the end of our time together until night came again. Now the present slammed back to me. My slip of memory was natural. After all, both of us were sleepy and sex-logged.

“Wait for what?” my love, my husband and now my fellow vampire said, raising one eyebrow, stroking my cheek. “Did you forget?”

I buried my head in his chest. “Um humm…”

He pulled my head up and watched me with those glorious dark blue-verging-on-violet eyes. This time, there was a hint of mirth and a slow smile.

“Quit mumbling. Did you forget?”

I had forgotten. My thirty-two years of waking and watching the sun was pulled from my inherent memory. Only for an instant. Even though we’d been lovers for the better part of three years, now was different. Jean-Louis had wanted to marry me. In my mind, that meant I’d have to let him change me. It wasn’t fair to either of us for me to stay a regular.

A few weeks ago I’d said “yes”. Yes, to marriage and yes to change.

We’d had a lush and beautiful wedding at winter solstice and were on our honeymoon…and I was a vampire.

The sun I worshipped all my life in southern California was now anathema.  Jean-Louis, like all the others in the Kandesky family, spent most of his time working with regulars. He’d adapted an ability to survive small doses of sun, meaning I wasn’t totally cut off from what had been my passion. I’d exchanged passions. He meant more to me than the sun.

The family members used underground garages; heavily-tinted windows in their Mercedes; drapes over windows; dark, dark sunglasses and dinner parties to conduct business. And business was their business. The Kandesky family owned SNAP, the world’s largest and richest celeb gossip news network with TV and magazines that covered the Western Hemisphere and most of the Eastern one, as well.

Now, I was a family member.

Since Jean-Louis and I had been living together, a honeymoon seemed a quaint ritual. He insisted. “You’ve been through mind-shattering changes.” He held my hand, opened it and kissed my palm. “Thank you for saying yes. I want this to be the best for you.”

Then he licked my palm and gently sucked the webbing of my thumb, leering up at me. “Not to mention all the years we’ll have…” The rest of “in bed” was understood.

Winter solstice was the major celebration for the Kandeskys, the longest night of the year. After the ceremony and reception, with close to a thousand guests, Sandor bundled us into a Mercedes for the short trip to an Alp. Not just any Alp, this was in the Bernese Oberland, with Jungfrau barely looming over us. Jean-Louis knew a guy. He always knew a guy. But this guy owned a chalet on one of the lower slopes.

We were helicoptered in and met by two demons and some servants whom Sandor had sent ahead. After the helicopter left, a storm blew in and we had three days cocooned in rustic luxury and warmth.

“You probably didn’t know I controlled the weather,” Jean-Louis said last night and handed me a glass of Bulls Blood, my drink of choice now. “This was to give us a few days with no interruptions.”

“Do you think we’ve had enough?”

His eyes softened. “A millennium with you wouldn’t be enough,” he said, as he kissed me. Our tongues twisted together, heat soared through my body. I felt as though sparks were streaming from my fingers and toes.

“You have a slight glimmer.” He broke the kiss, smiled at me and carried me to the bed where we spent a few hours exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. I loved his long, expressive hands and what he did with them.

His was a well-muscled body, toned by work more than five hundred years ago. Thighs and calves defined from riding horses, back and arms from lifting heavy bales of cloth. Jean-Louis was in his late twenties when Stefan Kandesky turned him, and maintained his young male body. Even his scent, musky male overwritten with a hint of sandalwood soap and shampoo, made me shiver.

Last evening made me so sated and sex-drugged it was an instinctual reaction to try and stop Sandor from closing the shutters. In my haze, I reverted to my previous life as a sun-worshipper.

Once the shutters came down, Jean-Louis turned on a bedside lamp. “We need to talk.”

We need to talk? Wasn’t that supposed to be my line?

“I thought we’d been talking. What about?”

He reached over to pull my head onto his chest, which was sinful. I could feel his voice as well as hear it.

“Our idyll here.”

I tried to sit up, but he held me. “What about it? Aren’t you happy? I thought this was what you wanted.”

He twisted a hand in my hair and raised my face to give me a soft kiss. “I did.  I thought getting us away for a few days on top of an Alp would help you adjust to your new self. I’m surprised you had a flash of your regular life.”

Was he telling me I’d failed some test that I didn’t know was coming? Did he feel my momentarily forgetting was a repudiation of him? Of the Kandeskys?

“No, Maxie. Not that at all.”

Crap, I didn’t think about his non-verbal communication skills. The vampires couldn’t mind-read, exactly, but watched body language, facial expressions and mixed it with a vast collective unconscious. Most times, they used this to communicate with one another. Jean-Louis had been teaching me to control my mind and thoughts, but it seemed I had a way to go.

“Do you want to leave?” In truth, this time was magical and cemented my relationship with Jean-Louis. But I’m a woman of the twenty-first century and need to have adrenaline and stimulation for my mental health.

“I know that, my love. I’ll never be without you, ever. We’ve shut ourselves away for days from our outside lives. I think it’s time we get back.”

Unbound Pursuit — Releasing tomorrow!
$3.99 ebook

Excerpt

“Tal Culver had turned around to watch Mattie Lockwood, who with swift, knowing precision had gone to work dumping the paint-filled water from the thirty jars, washing them, and turning them upside down to dry on tea towels she’d set on the countertop.

The back door opened and closed, getting Tal’s attention. The children could come and go through two different exits. The side door led to the playground. The rear door, near the sink where Mattie worked, was hidden from view by a large mudroom. The hair on the back of her neck rose, instantly making Tal focus her attention on the entrance.

What the hell? Normally that reaction served to warn her that there was danger nearby, and it wasn’t something Tal ignored. She was in Texas. In a kindergarten classroom. Why was she suddenly on high alert?

Mattie heard the door open and close, too. She barely looked up, busily washing out the Mason jars. She didn’t want to be late getting Tal back to the ranch. Her mother was making a special meal of leg of lamb tonight for the family, and she needed to get home to help her with making the salad and the mashed potatoes and gravy. She figured it was the parent of a child who had forgotten something in the classroom coming back to pick it up.

A dark shape appeared at the entrance. Mattie she turned and gasped. The Mason jar in her hand slipped and fell to the floor, shattering.

“Mark!” The word came flying out of her mouth.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared up into his narrowed gold-brown eyes. He wore a black Stetson, a white long-sleeved shirt with a black leather vest over it, jeans, and cowboy boots. His mouth . . . oh, lordy, his mouth . . . she remembered only too well how wonderful he was at kissing her.

She took a step back, her eyes huge as she stared in disbelief at him. He stood motionless, like a tense statue. Mark’s gaze shot to Tal and then back to her.

“Who’s this with you, Mattie?”

She hadn’t heard his voice in four months, that same low, sensual drawl of his that made her melt, made her lower body burn with need of him. Gulping, she jerked a look toward Tal. “That’s Tal Culver, my friend,” she managed to say, choked up. She turned toward him.

“What are you doing here?” Tears clogged her eyes but she refused to let them fall, straightening her spine, throwing back her shoulders, her chin jutting out, anger flowing through her along with her shock.

“I need to talk to you alone,” Mark growled. “Get rid of her?”

Mattie scowled. Anger took over. “Go to hell, Mark!” She jabbed her finger toward the door of the mudroom. “Just get the hell out of my life! How dare you come back into it! You think you can just waltz in here after being gone for months without a word?”

Her voice was shaking, she was so angry and hurt.

And he looked so delicious to her. He was half Chippewa Indian through his mother, who was now dead. He had his mother’s coppery skin, that shining short black hair, those glittering, intelligent wolf eyes, as she used to refer to them, a gold-brown mixture. His mouth thinned, relaxed a little. For a split second, she thought he’d smiled, or that maybe some amusement had flittered across his narrowed, intelligent gaze.

“I’ve been real busy, Mattie. That’s not the welcome I was hoping for.”

She gulped back her tears. “What the hell else did you expect?”

Mark shrugged lazily, lifting one shoulder, keeping his gaze pinned on Tal. The woman seemed like someone he wouldn’t want to mess with. Mark saw the look in her eyes, saw the fine tension in her body, and felt the energy around her. If she wasn’t law enforcement, then she was military. He met her gaze and hardened his look in her direction, willing her to stay right where she was. Missing nothing upon first perusal, Mark could quickly size up another person and know just how dangerous they were. This woman was damned dangerous, even though she wore a camel-colored pantsuit with a bright orange tee beneath it. She wore no makeup, her black hair lying like a shining cloak around her proud shoulders.

His gaze moved back to Mattie. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated.

Snorting vehemently, she snapped, “I want nothing to do with you, Mark!”

His gut clenched, his heart twisting with guilt and need of her. Mark tried to bury the pain he carried deep within him. He watched the flare of righteous anger in her slitted dark green eyes. Reining in the desire for her that was always with him, he rasped, “Okay, then here it is: you tell your father to keep his wranglers out of the northeast corner of your ranch two nights from now.” His voice dropped. “This isn’t a joke. You need to keep everyone out of that area.”

He started to turn, stopped himself, lifting his head, meeting her tear-filled eyes. Less gruffly, the hardness in his gold-brown eyes dissolving, almost turning tender, he said, “Take good care of yourself, Mattie . . .”

Before she could snarl at him, he turned on his heel and was gone. When the door slammed shut, Mattie jumped. She was breathing raggedly, her heart sledgehammering in her chest. Gulping, she looked at Tal.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a trembling tone.

Giving a slight nod, Tal said, “I’m fine. Is he gone?” She gestured with her chin toward where Mark had disappeared.

Turning, Mattie quickly walked out to the mudroom. Peering out the window, she saw nothing but the outskirts of Van Horn. It was as if Mark had never been there. But he had. She had goose bumps across her skin, and she absently rubbed her upper arms, feeling stunned by his sudden and unexpected presence.

She heard Tal get up, the chair scraping back against the tiled floor. Because of her ankle, she couldn’t move quickly, and she hurried back and met her at the sink. “He’s gone.”

“Did you see where he went?”

Shaking her head, she whispered, “No . . . I looked, but he’s like a ghost. Just . . . gone.” Touching her brow, she added apologetically, “I’m so sorry, Tal. You didn’t need this. God, I didn’t need it either.”

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