UPDATE: The winners are…Colleen, Debra and Katherine!
*~*~*

Before I wrote bounty hunters, I wrote about vampires…

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Answer me this for a chance to win your choice from among my many Night Fall titles!

Bounty Hunters or Vamps and Werewolves?

Truly, Madly…Deadly

Just this once…

On the trail of a serial killer, vampire Quentin Albermarle is mistaken for the killer by a police special task force. Once the smoke clears, Quentin finds himself in a delicious position—atop one of the unit’s crack officers, Darcy Henry. In need of Quentin’s access to the vampire sub-culture, the task force leadership invites Quentin to join the crime unit as a special advisor, much to the chagrin of the men in the unit, and especially, of Darcy.

Caught between opposing forces, vampire and hunter…

A no-nonsense cop with no time for romance, Darcy suddenly finds herself embroiled in a steamy love triangle between her mortal partner, Joe, and the handsome vampire. Going from abstinence to wantonness, she is unable to resist the two men’s relentless seduction or her own sensual curiosity about a vampire’s special “kiss”.

A hunger like no other…

When the real killer threatens the life of someone close to her, Darcy makes a choice that forever binds the three of them together.

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Night Fall Series

“He’s coming in. Get ready.”

Joe’s voice jerked Darcy Henry to wakefulness. Berating herself for dozing off during a stakeout, she fumbled for the switch on her night vision goggles. Instantly, the landscape before her was awash in shades of luminescent green. She scanned the water’s edge. The crests of the ebbing tides rolled onto the beach, unbroken by any sign of “Bat-boy.” Had she already missed her opportunity?

“Where do you see him?” she whispered into her headset, glad the roar of the incoming surf masked their voices.

“Ten o’clock. Get cocked.”

She reached for her crossbow, drew back the linen cord with both hands, and latched it in the spring clip. Then she slid a steel-tipped arrow onto the track. Sighting down the shaft, she braced the bow in her left palm and dug her elbow into the sand. With the stock snug against her shoulder, she slid her right forefinger around the trigger and turned her sights back to the water’s edge—just in time to see a tall figure stride out of the surf.

He fit the description she’d purchased from the barman at the “blood bank” of the new vamp in town. Only, the barman hadn’t filled in all the details. Darcy stiffened against her body’s sudden surge of attraction and firmly reminded herself the vamp’s body was like any other man’s. Yeah, right.

Her gaze flickered over him, inventorying his characteristics—for my After Action Report, of course. Broad-shouldered, leanly muscled, just over six feet tall. Blond, she could tell, despite the fact his hair was plastered to his head. Handsome, too, with broad, prominent cheekbones, a longish straight nose, and lips that appeared permanently curved in a smirk.

Unable to resist the temptation, she adjusted the lenses of her goggles to zoom, and her gaze slipped lower. His package was as fine arriving as his ass had been going into the water. His long, uncircumcised cock dangled between his legs. Something else not mentioned in the barman’s description—and definitely not something that would make it into her AAR.

“Hold up!” Impatience clipped Joe’s words. “A civilian’s in your line of sight.”

Darcy lowered the bow, cursing under her breath. “Where? And how the hell did we miss that?” she whispered angrily.

“She had to have been here when we arrived,” Joe replied. “If I hadn’t seen her hand rise above the dune…”

Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. A vampire spotted on Vero Beach just happened to meet the description of a suspected killer they’d circulated that day.

This night’s stakeout might be a bust, after all. They’d have to track him to his lair and try to take him out while he slept. Dusting a sleeping vampire never sat well with Darcy. Too unsportsmanlike. Asleep, even a probable serial killer like this one who wore an innocent face.

She burrowed deeper into the wet sand at the bottom of her shallow foxhole, prepared to wait it out. This time she wouldn’t doze, no matter how balmy the November night grew. Too many late nights and too little sleep were taking their toll on the whole team. Instead, she concentrated on how uncomfortable she was with damp sand working its way into her clothing and the smell of rotting seaweed all around her.

Having a target to observe helped. Hopefully, the vamp wouldn’t make a meal of his host and force Darcy to intervene. Hand-to-hand with a vamp was a last resort. Humans almost always lost to their superior strength, no matter how many degrees of black belt one had earned.

Joe let out a low whistle. “Damn! How’d a ghoul like that get such a fine piece of ass?”

A woman sat up near the top of a dune, her arms outstretched, revealing a slender back, rounded hips and a cascade of long, dark hair.

The vamp went down on his knees and leaned over her.

Darcy tensed, ready to spring to the woman’s rescue at the first sign of fangs.

Instead, the woman’s back arched to offer her breasts to her lover. His mouth closed over a beaded tip, and the woman’s loud groan of approval was discernible over the rumble of the incoming tide.

Joe’s soft laughter sounded in Darcy’s ear. “Better take notes, Darse. See what you’re missing?”

Darcy knew better than to answer her partner. Any response would only add fodder to the ribbing she’d receive at the Special Unit’s morning briefing. Her lack of social life was already a favorite topic. As it was, she was glad the guys weren’t wired in to her goggles.

Joe’s fed the monitor in the van parked farther down the beach.

Maybe she’d get even luckier and the vamp would move his tryst indoors.

Instead, he released the woman’s breast. With his hands braced on either side of her, the tops of his shoulders rippling as he “walked” down her body, he circled his head as he kissed a path across her belly. Then he moved lower.

Darcy squirmed. When was the last time a man had buried his face in her pussy? God, had it really been three years since Manny transferred to Miami-Dade?

The woman’s hips lifted, and her hands dug into the sand. His face reached the juncture of her thighs, and she shouted and thrashed her head from side to side.

Darcy wished she could roll to her back and give the couple their moments of privacy—and herself a reprieve from an unwanted rush of desire. Tight as a spring, the yearning wound inside her belly. She was helpless to stop the flush of heat that swept from her face to her breasts, and thankful for the darkness so no one on her team would see her blushing.

When she saw the suspected vampire rise to kneel between the woman’s legs, Darcy’s heart thudded dully in her chest and increased in tempo. His cock fell onto the woman’s belly, engorged and enormous, just before he hooked his arms beneath her knees and lifted her buttocks off the sand.

The woman reached for his cock and guided it to her pussy.

Then his hips slammed forward, hard.

The woman arched into the sand and shouted again.

No man had ever made Darcy shout, a thought that niggled her feminine pride while it aroused her curiosity—although, with his super-sized hardware, the shout might not have been one of ecstasy. The thought cheered her for the moment, until she noted the woman slamming her hips upward to meet the vamp’s thrusts.

From Darcy’s angle, she had a perfect view of the long, gliding action of his hips as he pumped into the woman’s body. Darcy’s legs widened, and she dug her knees into the sand, shifting her hips to relieve the itch between her legs.

“I’ll bet you twenty she comes before he does,” Max’s voice broke in.

“You’re on,” said Joe. “What man wouldn’t come all over a woman like that?”

“Ahem. Just a little reminder, guys,” Darcy said, hoping to cut off this particular line of conversation. “Captain will be reviewing this feed, too. Joe, you better not have on your zoom.”

Soft chuckles sounded from the guys, but they soon quieted and hunkered down to wait—and watch.

Darcy’s attention returned to the couple farther down the beach.

The woman’s legs straightened, her toes pointing toward the moon, and her long moans indicated she was fast approaching the big O. The vampire ground his hips into hers, and the woman screeched.

Joe groaned.

“You owe me twenty,” Max said.

“Damn,” Phil whispered. “Wonder if the wifey will be up for a little tickle in the morning.”

“I’m telling Bets you called her that.” Darcy’s mouth was so dry the words almost cracked.

The woman’s legs jerked up and down.

The vamp flung back his head and thrust faster. Suddenly, he stopped, his nose lifting into the breeze.

Realizing the wind had shifted, Darcy hugged the sand and held her breath.

The vamp turned his head and stared straight at her.

Darcy froze, hoping he hadn’t really seen her. But a grin stretched across his face.

“Fuck, Darcy!” Joe shouted into her headset. “You’re made. Get out.”

Darcy couldn’t risk a shot with the woman downrange. She ditched her crossbow, ripped off her goggles, and sprang from the foxhole. Running straight for the road a hundred yards in front of her, Darcy felt the world slow. Her feet mired in the sand. Her heart drummed loudly in her ears.

Then she heard bare feet pounding in the sand and knew he was gaining.

“I’ll try to get off a shot,” Joe said, his breaths coming short and fast, “but he’s moving in on you. Pick up your feet. You’re running like a damn girl.”

Anger and a spurt of adrenaline increased her pace. She leapt over a hummock of tall sawgrass and hoped it scraped his balls. The road was fifty yards away. The headlights of the approaching van swept the beach in front of her.

“He’s too close. I can’t get off a shot,” Joe said. “Hold him off. I’m coming.”

Twenty-five yards and uphill now, she strained, her boots sinking ankle-deep as she climbed a dune. She reached the top, and then her feet left the ground as a heavy weight knocked her through the air.

They rolled to the bottom of the dune in a jumble of twisting limbs. When they stopped, his long, hard body stretched over hers, anchoring her to the ground.

Darcy opened her eyes, expecting a vampire’s mask and a row of jagged teeth. Instead, the vamp’s handsome face hovered only inches from her own. She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “A she-cop. A dangerous species, indeed.”

“You’re English,” she blurted. Something else not in the report. Was he even a vampire? Despite the layer of clothing separating their skins, Darcy burned from his heat. She struggled against his restraint.

He stretched and hooked his ankles around hers, and his hands held hers easily to the ground above her head.

Finally defeated, she let her head fall back in the sand. “So, how’d you know I was there?” she asked, already knowing the truth, but needing to distract him. His teeth were too close for comfort.

His face lowered, and he sniffed along her neck and the collar of her shirt. “My dear, I could smell your arousal. Delicious.”

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Ever since I was a kid, I have loved music. I remember having a radio in my room and being amazed at the new songs I heard. I noticed how each song told a story with not only words but rhythm and instruments as well. When I got a tape player, I listened to “Africa” by Toto over and over. It’s still one of my favorite songs. More than anything else ever has, the notes of a song can soothe me when I’m upset. A good, fast-paced song can energize me when I need to get things done. I can turn up the volume and sing when I’m alone, especially when I’m driving down the road. The energy of a crowd at a concert can be inspiring. The connection to everyone around me singing the same song is incredible and beautifully impermanent.

The soothing power of music is an important part of Tiger’s Last Chance. In the story, Sean Whitman had a rough childhood and endured a brutal interrogation that tore apart his life and career, but he survived. In spite of everything he endured, his empathy for others never faltered. But he’s not perfect either. He is a recovering alcoholic and music is his lifeline when things get too intense for him to bear.

The song “Ball and Chain” by Social Distortion is playing in his truck in the first chapter of the story because that song kept popping up in my head as I wrote his character. For Sean, music is the temporary armor that gave him strength and peace while he healed. I think music is a temporary armor for many people. The rhythm and sound give us joy and comfort in the darkest times.

Tiger’s Last Chance

While working a case, Sean Whitman is tortured for information, drugged, and bitten against his will by a shapeshifter. The fallout leaves him jobless, friendless, and dumped by his girlfriend. Needing a fresh start, he leaves town and opens a private investigation business. Learning to live life sober isn’t easy, but he makes it to the two-year mark.

When Detective Nikki Jackson with the Great Oaks, Virginia Police Department calls him, accusing him of breaking into his ex-girlfriend’s house, Sean can’t help but like the sound of her voice, despite her ridiculous accusations. He’s shocked when she calls him back with an apology then asks for his help as a consultant on a case. On the phone, her sweet, slightly Southern voice captivates him. In person, she’s unlike any other woman he’s encountered, and nearly impossible to resist. But could the sexy detective ever want a man like him?

After Nikki’s last dating disaster, the mountain lion shifter has sworn off men. Then she meets Sean, and with every second she spends around the tall, dark-eyed man, her resolve crumbles. But for some reason, despite the undeniable attraction between them, Sean seems determined to push her away.

An investigation into missing refugees leaves Nikki with more questions than answers. Her refusal to let the matter drop leads her to the discovery of a radical political group’s horrifying plot for dominance. Traitors are embedded within the very organizations meant to keep shifters safe. As the list of people she can trust dwindles, Nikki calls on Sean to help her unravel a web of deceit.

As Nikki and Sean fight for survival, his fear of losing her could become a reality. Will he get one last chance to show her he loves her?

Buy Links:
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/b088p6mydb
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/b088p6mydb
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tigers-last-chance-christina-lynn-lambert/1137033221
iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/tigers-last-chance/id1513644203
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/tiger-s-last-chance
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1022227

Excerpt from Tiger’s Last Chance…

For the briefest moment, Nikki felt the depth to which Sean might be capable of pushing her. His kiss was crushing and brutal. His tongue pushed past her lips and his grip in her hair tightened. If desire were a vine, it would have wrapped itself around her veins and encased her heart. The heat between them flooded her. There was a sweetness, too, in his kiss, and the sweetness made her burn hotter.

A polite cough from inside the waiting car put a quick end to things. Sean pulled away and met her gaze. No words, but she got the message. She wasn’t alone. Comfort and friendship; he’d probably meant the kiss to comfort her and had gotten carried away in the heat of the moment. He’d carried her away with him, and she wanted to take him so much further into the unknown.

With each second, each step towards the waiting car, she tried to find reasons and more reasons to ignore her growing attraction to Sean. The number one reason to forget about the kiss they’d shared—relationships were trouble. She had plenty of other amazing things in her life, including her career, her volunteer work, and her band, even though the band rarely played anywhere because the members had trouble aligning their schedules. She didn’t need a man. Besides, he was probably still messed up over Sydney. Also, he was a regular. Or mostly regular. Not to mention he lived over a thousand miles away in Texas. She should tell him the kiss was a mistake. One look at him and she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. The kiss they shared had been anything but a mistake.

Author Social Media Links:
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Why do we love a romance series?

Personally, I think it’s the familiarity of going back to visit places and people who are as recognizable to us as our next-door neighbors and friends. Being able to immerse ourselves in a world where we know bad things can and do happen, but there will be retribution and a happily ever after at the end. Sometimes when the world’s gone crazy, it’s a nice escape to visit one of these make-believe worlds.

Like most readers, I have my favorite writers and series. The In Death series by J.D. Robb, which follows Detective Eve Dallas and is already at 50 books and counting, just keeps getting better. Any Shelly Laurenston series is going to be unique, action-packed, and fun. The Guild Hunters by Nalini Singh is paranormal romance at its best. J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood world keeps growing and expanding, taking us deeper into their lives. When I pick up a book by one of these authors, I know I’m going to be treated to a wonderful read. Some series are finite—a trilogy or quartet—while others go on indefinitely. It depends on the author and the world they are creating.

The same reasons I love to read series are also the same reasons I love to write them. In fact, I can’t seem to not write them. Every time I start to write a book, before I’m finished it, I’m already thinking about one or more of the other characters, and I know they have to have their story told. The Blood of the Drakon series was supposed to be four books but ended up being seven. I figured the Salvation Pack would be five books. It ended at nine. As long as the characters keep talking, I’ll keep listening and writing down their stories.

The Forgotten Brotherhood is my latest series. This is a truly diverse group of characters. It’s been challenging, maddening, and downright fun at times to watch their stories unfold. Now BURNING ASH, book three of the Forgotten Brotherhood series, is on the way. I have four planned, but I’m already thinking about a possible book five. Who knows what will happen? That’s the fun of writing a series.

Burning Ash
Forgotten Brotherhood, Book 3

No one is more surprised than Asher, one of the oldest vampires on Earth, that he’s attracted to vamp hunter Jo Radcliffe. She’s smart, a talented slayer, and she’s gorgeous. Something about her pulls at him, like no one ever has before. For a man, whose name strikes fear in everyone––this is something new and intriguing. And quite possibly deadly, if she discovers his secret.

Jo has two things in common with the handsome Asher––they are both slayers and someone is messing with them in a very-much-trying-to-kill-them way. She’s not so happy about joining forces with a dude she doesn’t know. But he’s sexy as hell and really good at his job as one of the Forgotten Brotherhood, whose business it is to execute misbehaving paranormals.

She knows she’s bait in a larger plot to harm Asher and the Brotherhood. And there is nothing he won’t do, no line he won’t cross, to keep her safe––which may be the weakness that destroys them both.

Pre-order now!
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08FGV7C9Q/
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About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: http://www.njwalters.com
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Life brings challenges. We all know that, right? As we find ourselves doing battle with a terrible virus that has swept the globe, it’s caused many of us to wake up and realize what’s truly important in life. Family and friends top that list. Without them, we struggle. I know that too well. A few years ago, I found myself floundering. Some big life things hit me, and I lost my love of writing. I even lost my passion for reading. I’ve always been a reader, and yet, I didn’t care about those fictional worlds anymore. Then the dreaded menopause monster kicked me while I was down, sucking the life right out of me. I honestly thought my writing days were over and that sent me into a downward spiral. After all, without writing, what am I? All those story ideas in my head, those characters talking to me every day had suddenly gone silent.

Writer’s block is the official term. Honestly, it was so much more than that.

I felt as if I had nothing that I could call my own. It’s a terribly dark place to be. The people in my life tried to help, but it’s a solitary journey, to tell the truth. It wasn’t until my health started to suffer, that I realized I needed to take control. I started with exercise, which inevitably led to eating better. My mood improved, and the mental fog began to clear. The story ideas started trickling in. Yes! Before I knew it, I was writing and reading again. I’m thankful for authors like Shannon McKenna, Laurann Dohner, Delilah Devlin, Nalini Singh, and Lucy Monroe for getting me through the darkest days. Their stories kept me sane.

And since August of last year, I’ve managed to release six brand new books. I’m proud of that accomplishment, but it’s only a drop in the bucket. My writer’s brain never sleeps now. And you won’t hear me complaining, lol. I’ve started a new steamy contemporary romance series titled, Men of Silverlake. The first three books are available for purchase: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B086XCR45Z And I’ve dipped my toes into the paranormal romance genre. I’m having such fun, too! The first two books in my Zenarian series can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B084VLYQKT

Dyre: Zenarians, Book 3 (Coming Soon)

She will test his allegiance…

As the leader of the red guard, Dyre is aware that most Zenarians fear him. He’s often been forced to use that fear to uphold the six laws and protect the Zenarian race. With the rebel faction increasing their numbers every day, all his focus is centered on securing the mountain they call home from any and all threat. When he spots a human female much too close to their border, Dyre quickly captures her. His intention to interrogate the pretty brunette goes up in smoke the instant his wings encircle her small, curvy body. She stirs his creature. When Dyre notices the cuts and bruises littering her fair skin, he breaks protocol and brings her home.

Jade is on the run from the law. Or more accurately, the law according to Granger Wasser. As sheriff of Macone County, Granger has appointed himself judge and jury and everyone in town is too afraid to oppose him. When Jade turns down his marriage proposal, it sets off a chain reaction that forces her to flee to parts unknown. Imagine her surprise when she runs smack into a crimson-winged alien! His gentle touches ignite her blood and Jade wants nothing more than to surrender to the wildfire brewing between them. Still, Dyre is a man. And trusting a man is how she ended up falling down the rabbit hole to begin with.

Read more about the Zenarian race here: https://www.annerainey.com/zenarians-series

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Happy reading,
Anne Rainey

Whether you’re a reader or a writer, we all meet under the covers in one way or another for our fictional rush. Striving to escape from the daily routines and meet under the book covers. And we all remember what book changed you or made a difference compared to so many others. The golden rush.

We all remember the moment when we went from being a curious person to a true reader or fan of an author. For me, I was in my late teens and it was Lynsay Sands with the Argeneau series. My first introduction into the paranormal romance. Before this I was used to reading Stephen King and Anne Rice, the books on my parents bookshelves. After reading the Argeneau series, it didn’t matter what the book cover looked like. I knew what to expect when I picked it up, and I couldn’t get enough of it. It was everything I wanted to escape to, the vacation I dreamed of, the romantic world of vampires and their mates! The golden rush happened. I’ve since became a fan of the genre all together. I didn’t chose paranormal romance, it chose me.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cameryne Kayne, an indie paranormal romance author of the Crestemere series. I’ve recently debuted the first edition to my series, Becklan’s Doll. Now available at barnesandnoble.com. As a writer, I try to incorporate some of my best experiences over the years from many great stories. The stories we need a week to let the ending settle in our minds because they were just that good! I’ll be honest, some of the best stories I’ve read in the past, I don’t remember what the title was or the book cover. But the stories stick with us. Then there are book covers we can never forget. I still can’t look at an apple the same without being instantly reminded of Edward Cullen from the Twilight series.

Tell me what book or author was your golden rush! I’d love to hear about it!

https://ckayne.org/2020/07/17/becklans-doll-the-first-3-chapters/

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www.ckayne.org

“Animal parenting is an unconditional commitment to an imperfect being.”
  Ane Ryan Walker

Before the quarantine began, my DH and I decided our RV adventures were over. We had traveled, volunteered, saw all the sights on our “bucket list” save one, and opted to retire permanently to the country.

If you followed my blog, you know I’m a dog person. I believe there is an inordinate amount of love and gratitude to be had from a rescue dog.

It was time to search for my new canine companion, a furry friend who would keep me company on lonely days and fill my retirement years with cute anecdotes with which I could amuse my friends. Despite the quarantine, dogs were still available for adoption. There is never a shortage of pups looking for their forever home.

Anyone who has ever rescued an animal will be the first to say there is no greater love than that of the animal on their way to the pound when you take ’em home forever.

I searched for months, pouring over the available canines within 100 miles of my house. Finally, after years of travel, I found myself with a generous piece of property, with a huge fenced in yard where a new puppy could play and still be safe.

Haunting the rescue sites, I determined the dog for me was older than 6 months but less than 2 years, who might still be trainable and who had a real shot at bonding with me and my DH. I set the criteria for my search based on Jake, my all-time favorite rescue.

Jake was just, well…unique.  He’d been abandoned in a very cruel fashion by his original owner who’d had a locator chip implanted, because he thought the dog was valuable.  But when Jake showed he had a mind of his own, the guy dropped the dog off in the sticks.  When the rescue people took him in, Jake was in sad shape. Bony, hostile, and aggressive, he fought with everyone about everything. Showing each and every handler he still had a mind of his own.

Handsome and charming, Jake was adopted on five separate occasions, only to be brought back to the temporary family each time.  Jake was touted to all potential rescuers as a lab and shepherd mix. But, in reality, he was the dog nobody wanted.

Except for me.

I did everything I could think of (and afford) to help Jake acclimate to our home,  We bought him the top-of-the-line dog bed cushion, specifically designed for large breed dogs to ease arthritic pains.

He ate two of them.

“He just won’t listen to me,” my DH complained.  “I like to take him for a walk, and he tries to eat people.”

“Who does he try to eat?”  I was, of course, concerned since there were a lot of young children in our neighborhood,

“Everybody.”

“Everybody?” I was a little bit skeptical since I also walked Jake once a day, and what he lacked in obedience he made up for in enthusiasm.

“Well, not everybody, but he’d eat the pizza delivery guy if I let him.”  My DH was attempting to leave the room, a clear sign he didn’t want to discuss the matter.

“Honey…” He never let me finish.

“He doesn’t want to eat the guy from the Chinese food place, but have you noticed we aren’t getting much mail.”

I was happy with less mail… Fewer bills was my thought.

These behaviors are most likely the reason we got four serious calls from the rescue agency, asking if we were keeping Jake. I found these phone calls more than a little disturbing, but I assumed it was because Jake had a mind of his own.

So, I sent Jake to board for six weeks with a world-renowned dog trainer. And, no I cannot tell you who it is. I promised never to share his name or shame with anyone.

You can see his picture on my blog page and trust me, the pic doesn’t do him justice.  He is, in short, a very handsome devil.  Also, he’s a Devil Dog.  With a mind of his own.

I thought once he’d been with us for over two years that we’d established a truce of sorts.  Or that at least there were some ground rules I could count on.  He sat when I told him, stayed when given the command, and didn’t try to get in my lap anymore; I mean, who wants an 85 lb. dog in their lap?

But he would occasionally show me how he’d endured on the streets and kept his dignity by drinking whatever I liked to drink when I got home from work. Usually, it’s ice water.

Typically, I don’t drink alcohol, but sometimes, you just need one stiff drink to bring you down from a super stressful day.  What’s better than adult beverages?

Nothing.

I had to believe Jake would second that opinion. Once, I’d walked away from the drink, and minutes later, I heard a strange noise coming from the other room.  A mysterious slurping sound.  I ran back to the living room, and there Jake is, drinking my bourbon and diet coke.  Now, I am a seriously unhappy camper.

“Get down!” I yelled, while he raised his head and smiled a little doggy smile.

He did not get down.

“Bad dog!”  I yelled.  He looked behind him to see who I was yelling at, and then he finished the drink, poised the glass on his nose, and jumped on the ottoman.

Now about two months before, we’d installed laminate floors in the main living areas of our house.  Do you know what happens when an 85 Lb. dog jumps on an ottoman on a slick surface?  Oh yes, they both slid thirty feet into the next room.

Sadly, the next room was a dining room with a glass on glass pedestal table capable of seating twelve.

And then, Jake decided he liked the new game.  So, he jumped down and slid—just the dog, wearing a tallboy cut crystal glass on his snout this time—nails scratching the floor, around the all-glass dining room table.  Then he let me chase him back into the living room where he mounted an assault on the ottoman once more.

I’d foolishly pushed it back into place while chasing the dog. When he finished sliding into the next room, he jumped up on the couch and began attacking the cushions.  He dropped the glass and grabbed a cushion and started shaking his head back and forth.  When he finally released it, it sailed over the couch, hitting me in the head.

Then he crouched down, challenging me to play.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in the mood.

I’d still had a tough day at work, and now, I was one cocktail short.

But he was a great dog, and I’m a soft touch, so I’d almost forgiven him when he started…well, there’s no way to say it politely…farting.  Which smelled like bourbon.  Now, before you get your shorts in a wad and scream animal cruelty, let me ask you something.

How would you have gotten a cocktail from an 85 lb. street savvy hound? (With very big teeth) Jake liked the drink, and the little romp in the parlor wore him out, so wanting to add insult to injury, he laid down, feet up, right there on the seat where I’d planned to relax, and promptly started snoring.

I think I finally understand why a world-renowned dog trainer asked me to take him home, three weeks before his training sessions were complete.  Jake has a mind of his own.

And the truth of the matter is, no other dog will ever replace him.

The only mistake today’s rescue people make is not offering me a solid black dog with a big toothy smile, and a mind of his own. So needless to say, the search continues for a canine companion.

Since, clearly, no one could ever replace Jake.

About the Author

Ane Ryan Walker is an author and adventurer who believes in Angels, Demons, Witches and Magic. She recently settled in Alabama, after traveling the country with her husband and living fulltime in her RV. Ane is a member of Womens Fiction Writers Association, Sisters in Crime, and former member of Romance Writers of America©.

Born and raised in the great northeast, she writes a fictional series Survivors of Salem, about the descendants of witches who survived the Salem Witch Trials. She is also currently working on books about fulltime RVing.

In addition to Return to Angels Cove, look for the second book in the Survivors of Salem, The Covenant.

Setting, for me, is where every book begins.

Yes, I love getting to know the characters that slip out of the shadows at the back of mind where they’ve been living, sometimes for decades without my being aware of them. I enjoy the plotting process which consists of waking up in the middle of the night to mull over possibilities, running down roads both promising and dead-end, and throwing possibilities into a Word program called “Notes”, but I have to have a strong picture in my mind of where everything happens before I can write the first word.

I love going for solitary drives accompanied by Neil Diamond going full blast while the world around me becomes part of me. I’m a mountain gal born and bred. I don’t understand cities. They don’t speak to me. But give me the wilderness and I come alive.

That’s true even when I’m writing erotica.

Case in point, I’m in the process of releasing two self-published books. Cry of the Wolves will hit the virtual shelves on the 29th. I haven’t set on a release date for the companion novella Call of the Wolves, sometime in July.

The two connected stories came to me unbidden. I had no idea that’s what would happen when I went for a hike near Crater Lake at a place known as The Gorge. The Rogue River of southern Oregon flows through The Gorge, or rather it fights to. As I explain in the forward for the two Wolves stories, an ancient volcanic eruption sent molten lava to the Rogue. At one spot, the river was squeezed into a narrow channel. Every spring during snow runoff, the river screams and boils as it struggles through the lava.

That’s where I found my characters. Each in their own way, they listened to and watched the ageless battle between rock and water. That wild place impacted them as deeply as it did me and gave rise to the ghost wolves. I’m including a couple of pictures I took. I just wish readers could feel the spray and sense the ground shivering.

A big part of the writing business consists of getting the word out, which is what I’m doing right now via a couple of projects designed to try to garner reviews.

In case you’re interested in getting your hands on some free ARC (advanced reader copies) in exchange for a voluntary review, I recommend becoming a member of Book Sirens, https://booksirens.com/advanced-reader-copies, and/or The Hidden Gems, https://www.hiddengemsbooks.com/.