Ready for another Night Fall tale? Love werewolves? Well, maybe you’ll want to give Long Howl Good Night a try! It’s set in the Night Fall world, but outside my vamp/were timeline, so it works well as a standalone. You honestly don’t have to read any other story in the series to enjoy this. It’s set back on Dark Mountain in North Carolina, a place I visited in Night Fall on Dark Mountain. Fertile were-lassies are rare and highly prized. Therein lies my heroine’s dilemma. She doesn’t want to be wanted for her ovaries alone. Admittedly, the story is a sex-fest. But with handsome, droolworthy were-males, that’s okay, right? Enjoy!
Long Howl Good Night
Werewolf Aila Mack is ready to get her groove on during a full moon. Because she prefers to keep her liaisons strictly about the sex, she’s a part-time were-hooker. She’s had a taste of were-domination, but now prefers to be in charge of her own destiny.
Brothers Kynan and Jack Parker are on a mission. When their Dark Mountain clan finds an agency dealing in female werewolves, they aren’t happy learning that women are selling their bodies to satisfy their monthly howl. However, they have to take action once they discover there’s a fertile female in the agency’s stable. Their species is in dire need of breedable females.
Kynan and Jack are given the job of bringing home their mate, but they quickly discover there’s more going on beneath the surface than simply a stubborn female who refuses to be collared. Aila’s tempted like never before, as the brothers, one gentle and one fiercely intense, peel away the hard shell surrounding her Wolfen heart.
With a shake of her head, Aila Mack tousled her curls then gave her mouth one last swipe of lipstick. Nothing spelled “hooker” quite like cherry-red lipstick and a skirt so short a sneeze would show off the half-moons of her ass.
And that’s exactly what she was—for this weekend, anyway. As tawdry as that sounded, some things couldn’t be left to Mother Nature. Not if she wanted to maintain the life she’d fought so hard to live. Sure, working as an executive assistant to bank manager wasn’t what she’d dreamed of when she was younger, but the job paid her bills, and living hidden among humans kept her free.
She stepped out of her car, tugged down the hem of her black skirt, and vamped to the door of the mountain cabin where she’d been directed by the agency.
Light glared around the edges of the curtains; smoke billowed from the chimney. The remoteness of this particular client didn’t worry her. If things got a little rough, they could easily take the action out of doors.
After shooting one last glance around the moonlit clearing, she took a deep breath and knocked.
The heavy tread of a man’s footsteps sounded on the other side, and the door swung open. Aila glanced up…and up…locking gazes with one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen—not handsome in a pretty-boy way, but his angular, hard-edged features appealed like no other’s she’d ever seen.
Coal-black hair was brushed back from his forehead and fell well past his shoulders. Chilly blue eyes gleamed as his gaze slowly raked her body. A broad, muscular chest above lean hips and powerful thighs made her hopeful that, this time, she’d find her own pleasure in the mating. She was almost envious of the soft chambray shirt and wash-softened blue jeans that hugged his large frame.
He shifted to the side and silently waved her into the room.
I’m ready to write some more witches. Are you ready to read ’em? I had this little series started for Samhain before they closed their doors, and I never got a chance to finish it. I have the first two of five books written. So, if you haven’t already read them, you can start here—well, on September 14th, anyway! Read the opening of this story to get a flavor of my witches.
Once in a Blue Moon
In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives. Five witches… Too many demons to count…
Bryn Cavanaugh and her coven like that the community they live in is isolated thanks to a storm that destroyed the bridge between them and the outside world. Now the state wants the bridge rebuilt. When the construction crew checks into the inn, Bryn begins to suspect something about the crew’s boss isn’t quite…human.
Bridges are Ethan Thorne’s thing–after all, he’s a troll—so building a simple span over a remote canal in backwater Louisiana shouldn’t be this much of a problem. When he follows the pretty little innkeeper to a midnight rendezvous, he discovers why his crew keeps running into trouble. Bryn’s a witch, and her coven is casting spells in the moonlight.
As a troll, Ethan feels the sting of his low place in demon hierarchy. But finding an unprotected coven of witches in the middle of the bayou could lead to all sorts of adventure. And it is better to keep your enemies close…
Bryn Cavanaugh stirred the contents of a large black pot, breathing in the rich aromas scenting the air.
“With your blessings, come weal and bounty,
With our efforts, come fortunes plenty.”
The spell was short and to the point. She doubted the Powers That Be felt slighted. The Beaux Rêve women worked damn hard and never took their blessings for granted.
She dipped a spoon into the broth and tasted it, closing her eyes as she sampled the spicy mix. “Delicious.”
She turned off the flame beneath the large pot of shrimp gumbo she’d begun the night before. For now, it could steep in its fragrant roux. When she returned, she’d light the burner again to let it simmer slowly until it was ready for tonight when her sisters gathered for the evening meal. Satisfied, Bryn left her large, airy kitchen and headed toward the front door of the inn.
Cooking the large stew had been time-consuming. A task that had taken her mind off the trouble that was brewing. Today, the sisters faced enemies, and she was determined to remain calm, study their adversaries and determine their weaknesses while smothering the interlopers with kindness. Her totem was the rabbit, a symbol of abundance and comfort, and her element was the Earth. She would need to channel both to remain steadfast and calm.
She paused to rifle through the stones in the bowl beside the door. Some were polished and some raw crystals. She found her two favorites—a polished amethyst carved into a worry stone with a soft indentation for her finger to rub against when she grew agitated and a piece of raw witch’s amber. One for cleansing her spirit of stress and the other for deflecting negativity. These she’d also need this morning.
She put both in the pocket of her long flowing skirt and stepped off the porch, barefoot today, because she wanted nothing between herself and the Earth. Freshly cut grass tickled her insoles. She smiled, her first in days since news had arrived that outsiders were descending on them.
Looking to her right, she caught sight of Father Guidry watering his small garden beside his tiny clapboard church. She gave him a wave, her silver and beaded bracelets jangling on her arms, but didn’t stop to discuss his plantings. No doubt he’d say this year’s success was due to prayer. Oh, and he’d be right.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d snuck into his garden every night for weeks to pray to the Goddess for her favor. The elderly priest was a kind man, and he tolerated the sisters of the Beaux Rêve coven while continuing to hold out hope they’d see the error of their strange ways.
Tolerance was a blessing, and something the folks of Bonne Nuit, Louisiana, gave in abundance. Sure, they’d been suspicious of the women when they’d first arrived in their tiny hamlet. But the prosperity the women had brought—the jobs and self-sufficiency—had earned them, if not acceptance then at least a place in this isolated community. However, the isolation, something the coven considered their greatest blessing, was now threatened. Progress had arrived.
She stayed in the grass beside the sidewalk, skirting Main Street and walking toward the river where her sisters were gathered. But as she neared the canal, she found they’d been joined by gawkers. Nearly all of Bonne Nuit was there.
Radha and Darcy stood glaring at the gathering on the opposite bank while Aoife and Miren stared at the clouds above them.
“You’re blind,” Miren said. “It’s a scimitar. A reminder we aren’t without weapons for this battle.”
Aoife shook her head, a frown bisecting her pale brows. “It’s the Reaper’s scythe. We’re doomed.”
Bryn rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read portents in clouds. All she had to do was look straight across the divide at the big machinery and the crew of strangers there to operate the earthmovers, crane and dump trucks to know they were in real trouble.
“I take it the injunction was lifted?” she asked the group.
Radha nodded. “Last night. I’m sure they paid a judge to do it in the dark of night. Demons do their best work in the dark.”
Bryn took her gloomy response with a grain of salt. The witches were ever vigilant of demons, but the more likely culprit was simply the state’s schedule for recovery from the last hurricane. The bridge that had connected Bonne Nuit to the rest of the world had been swept away three years ago. Something the town had taken in stride since it was a cyclical occurrence. This part of Jefferson Parish was prone to flooding. And Gus Hearn, a local with a Duck Dynasty beard and an old ferry boat, provided transport across the water when needed.
Gus’s boat was already docked on the opposite bank, and he was loading two vehicles, a green construction-company pickup and a delivery truck bringing supplies to Darcy’s crafters’ cottage.
“We can’t take this lying down,” Darcy said, shaking back her long red hair. “Tonight’s a blue moon.”
Bryn stiffened. “The last time we asked for intervention didn’t turn out so well. Remember, we asked for rain for our summer planting? We got a deluge that nearly wiped out the entire crop. Perhaps we should let things be. They’ll build their bridge, and the Goddess will send another storm.”
Darcy’s frown was fierce. “But strangers will walk amongst us. What if we’re found?”
“So far we’ve been lucky. Blessed,” she said, her tone even and filled with conviction. “But we knew this day would come. We’re stronger now. If demons find us, we’ll simply show them we’ve grown a backbone, and that we don’t need their counsel or their manly protection.”
Darcy shrugged, but her green eyes still flashed with fire. “I don’t think we’ll bring bad luck if we ask for intervention and cast a banishing spell. I vote we meet tonight.”
The others glanced around their circle and slowly raised their hands. Four to one.
Bryn sighed. They had no leader, no high priestess, so majority ruled—a policy they’d adopted the moment they’d fled upper Michigan.
Tonight, they’d meet under the blue moon.
And while she’d scoffed at Miren’s and Aoife’s attempts at aeromancy, she felt a little guilty withholding her own confusing portent that had invaded her dreams the night before. The cloud above them wasn’t shaped like a scimitar or a scythe. If her dream was right, it was a penis. The dream filtered through her mind again…
Moonlight gleamed through curtains. Large, callused hands stroked over her back and buttocks as the man in her bed waited while she sank slowly on his cock.
She’d felt the pressure inside her, smelled his earthy musk. But while moonlight illuminated his brawny frame, his face had remained in shadow.
She’d interpreted the sex as meaning that her privacy was about to be invaded. That she’d be tempted to set aside her vow to remain celibate and autonomous while she constructed a self-sufficient life.
But the intimacy of the dream could also mean she’d been alone long enough. The company of her sisters couldn’t fulfill her innate need as one connected to the circle of life, to Gaia the mother—the need to bear children. Children would ensure their future as a coven.
Perhaps the fact she’d been unable to see his face meant that any man might serve her need. When they’d fled their previous life, they’d foresworn true love because a witch could only know love once in her lifetime. A human male could provide his seed, but only a demon could hold her heart. The danger of mating with a demon, of becoming enslaved to his desires, was too dangerous to her freedom.
Reaching into her pocket to rub the amethyst, she concentrated on her blessings—on her sisters and this quiet place, on all the bounty they had brought to the community with their works. Her finger warmed the stone, and it began to vibrate, sending warmth up her arm and through her shoulder before spreading down into chest.
Calm again, she squared her shoulders and stared across the water at the ferry bringing the first wave of strangers. Perhaps she’d been too quick to paint their arrival as something black and ominous. She’d wait and see. And tonight, when her small coven drew down the moon, she’d offer a small prayer to the Goddess for a sign.
We’ve all heard at least part of the famous quote by John Donne, a English clergyman and poet who lived from 1573-1631.
“No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”
My drakons tend to want to be islands onto themselves. Ezra, the hero of Drakon’s Plunder, even owns a private island where he lives by himself. Being an introvert, I get that. I’m often happier by myself reading, writing, walking, and doing whatever it is a do in the run of a day. But even being an introvert, I know it’s impossible to live in the world without ties. We all have family or friends we’re close too. Maybe not many, but there are those people who have a profound affect on our lives every day.
Sometimes the people who touch our lives aren’t those we’ve actually met. The words of an author can move or inspire us. A painter or artist can create a work that makes us feel some deep emotion or even question the world we live in. An actor or actress on television or the big screen may bring to life a story that stirs us in some unfathomable way. Or perhaps we hear a news account or witness a world event that forever changes us.
The point is, all of us are in this journey called life together. And even a reclusive drakon had ties to the world. (And since he’s been around for about 4000 years, maybe he even met John Donne.)
Blood of the Drakon, Book 3
Life is not going well for archaeologist Sam Bellamy. She’s stuck in the middle of the ocean on a salvage boat with people who want her dead. It wasn’t her gift for being able to sense objects of power that got her here, rather her need to make a secret society called the Knights of the Dragon pay for killing her mentor. Sam doesn’t believe in dragons, but the Knights do, and if she can get one of the sacred artifacts they’re searching for away from them, she’ll consider it payback.
Ezra Easton is content to run his marine salvage company and live alone on his private island. He may be a four-thousand-year-old water drakon, but he’s civilized enough to know just because he pulls an injured woman from the ocean, doesn’t mean he gets to keep her…
When she wakes up, she has a few tall tales to share, and it seems the Knights are after her. But this drakon won’t give up his treasure.
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.
I’m staring at what remains of 2017 and wondering where the hell the time flew! Did the year crawl for you or blur as it flashed by? Seeing as we’re almost to the midpoint, I thought I’d go ahead and post my list of stories I’ve published thus far in 2017, as a reminder—there’s a lot for you to peruse. Granted many of these are “reissued” stories for which I received rights from Ellora’s Cave or Samhain. So, if you’ve been following me a while, you’ve already read them. But there are new stories interspersed…
My personal favorites from among these?
This is the complete list of all my releases, January through June 2017…
Dark Flight, my July release, is set in a dark gritty world. I hesitate to call it a dark romance because that term often suggests non-consent and there is always consent in my stories between the romantic couple (or more). There might be some capture fantasy, as there is in Dark Flight, but everyone involved agrees with any sexy times.
The world of Dark Flight is quite violent, however. It is an outlaw planet filled with the baddies of the universe. My heroes have their own codes but, outside of the settlement, there aren’t many rules. Bad things happen. The hero of Dark Flight enters gladiator-style battles because he enjoys fighting. There’s slavery and killing and, of course, explosions. (I love blowing things up.)
Recently, some writing buddies and I were talking about whether or not there’s a place for romances with dark tones or themes in a world that seems to have become darker. During uncertain times, will readers continue to read dark toned romances?
I think the fact that these are romances with the expected romance endings will ensure a place remains for them. In my stories, there’s always hope. There’s love. There’s family and often babies. (I love babies too – grins).
That makes me feel better about the real world. If my couples (or more) can find love and happiness in their much darker world, we can definitely find it right here on Earth.
My stories are also set on futuristic ships and alien planets. There are fantastic creatures and unusual situations, gorgeous sunsets and unique customs. It’s nice to leave the real world for a while. It is escapism, a little bit of a vacation.
What do you think? Is there a place for dark toned romances in today’s world? Or do you find yourself looking for romances with lighter, humorous tones?
His mission. His challenge. His forever.
Orol, the Refuge’s second-in-command, has been given what he believes is a simple mission—escort two human females to the settlement. The winged warrior arrives at the meeting site to find one of the females missing and the other aiming a gun at his head. To rescue the first, he must capture the second. Once he has Rhea in his talons, however, he realizes he never wants to let her go.
Her enemy. Her captor. Her everything.
Rhea doesn’t trust anyone. She certainly doesn’t follow commands issued by a gorgeous flying male with glittering eyes, a beautiful face, and a seductive touch. Orol is dominant, edged with darkness, and determined to find her sister. Rhea will do anything to prevent that, even if it means playing sensual games of submission with her powerful enemy, seducing him into forgetting everything except her.
Dark Flight is a STAND-ALONE SciFi Romance set in a gritty, dark world.
USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.
Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com
When distilled, a few drops of lavender oil on a pillow aid sleep. Her lavender oil scented candles also sell well. Sometimes Viola uses it to make flavoring sachets, but it also sells well when distilled and marketed as an insect repellant.
Even the fiercest warriors love a rub down with lavender oil. It eases the pain from their aching muscles. Afterwards though, they’re not very keen on the girly smell.
Mint tea is almost everyone’s favorite. Just steep a few mint leaves in boiling water and strain. Not only is the infusion a natural decongestant, but it’s good for the digestion. Best of all, it tastes good.
An infusion of rosemary gives dark hair a wonderful shine. It improves the memory and helps combat muscle pain.
Saffron helps asthma sufferers and loosens phlegm. It also boosts the body’s immune system.
Even Tempest, heroine of Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf, grows these. Sadly, her magic isn’t the greatest and something always goes wrong. Like the time she summoned an ancient Spartan Vampire, or the time her demon death spell tickled her attackers. If her vampire and her werewolf hadn’t joined forces to defeat them, she’d have been real trouble. Such a shame they hate each other.
Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf
After seven centuries, Elias, a former Spartan turned vampire, finds his eternal bride.
Seth, Elias’s werewolf half-brother, scents his mate.
Vampire and werewolf loathe each other. The only thing they agree on is that Tempest is their mate–and they’re not sharing.
A prophecy will force Tempest, a twenty-first-century witch, to choose between them. As the half-brothers vie to win her heart, they teach her about spanking, the way pain heightens pleasure, and the joy of multiple orgasms.
A vampire can’t survive without his fated bride. A werewolf dies if he loses his mate. Their future rests in Tempest’s hands. Which one will she choose?
Note: While loosely linked to the Scattered Siblingsseries, this book may be read as a standalone story
Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.
Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life – or Kryssie – throws at them.
Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand-alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.
Excerpt from Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf
Accepting his offer of coffee had been stupid. She knew that now. Eyes closed, she tried to picture Elias. Major fail. Her confused emotions showed Seth cradling her in his arms. She shouldn’t lust after him, not with Elias waiting for her at home.
Seth’s delicious scent—all fast-flowing rivers overlaid with the scent of ripening corn—pulled her in like a lure. His solid muscles made her want to run her hand down his torso. She loved his dimpled smile and kept stealing glances at his tempting lips. Part of her wanted to taste him right back. Damn it, I’m not a sleep-around kind of girl. With Seth, her wicked intentions punched a hole in her good-girl persona.
Determined to resist him, she shoved at his shoulder. Undeterred, he lowered his head toward hers. She ran her tongue over her lips and puckered up for him. Surely one kiss—one tiny taste—won’t hurt. Leaning toward him, she buried her hands in his curls and tugged him closer. He smiled as he moved in for his kiss, a butterfly caress that whetted her appetite and made her greedy for more. Kissing Seth seemed sensual and abandoned, a taste of forbidden fruit she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to, really. One gentle sweep of his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, inviting him into the damp heat of her mouth. Another moan escaped her, soft, low, and desperate. She needed him inside her, screwing her hard.
Pulling back, he cupped her cheek and gazed down at her face. His intensity, his need, and his determination to claim her showed in his eyes. She’d never felt so alive—and excluding last night—so desperate for sex.
As if in slow motion, he lowered his lips back to hers, plundering her mouth for kisses the way a pirate did treasure, and slid one arm beneath her thighs. He rose to his feet and sat her, legs open, on the table. She supported herself by putting her hands behind her as her legs dangled over the edge.
Seth shoved her skirt up her thighs, stood between her legs, and untied the bow on her blouse. The unadulterated joy in his gaze made her think of a little boy unwrapping a long-awaited Christmas present.
Thank the Goddess I’m wearing my raciest bra and panties. Her pulse rate rocketed as Seth kissed his way down her neck and ran his tongue over her breasts. It felt raspy and rough over her skin.
A needy shiver ran down her spine as he slid her blouse from her shoulders and unfastened her bra. She sat with her skirt pulled over her thighs and her torso bared for Seth’s delight. Forgetting everything except the deliciously sinful man who held her with reverent intent, she curled her arms around his neck. He’d protected her in the parking garage, comforted her, and now his lips dominated her into sweet submission. Head spinning, she clutched at his shoulders. Her pussy filled with her intimate juices, and her nipples stood like scarlet beads atop her generous breasts.
All things Footloose seem to be coming to roost at my house this year. The Kevin Bacon classic debuted in 1984. 12 years old at the time, I remember going to the opening day at a small theater, by myself, wearing white jeans and a multi-colored top. I wasn’t the only teen or pre-teen in the audience, and I wasn’t the only kid who got up to dance during a lot of the scenes.
Looking back on those days, three things stand out—the music, the freedom, and the rising tide of emotional nostalgia for when life was simply a battle between the desire to dance and the desire to keep kids safe. Yes, there’s a lot more to the argument, though admittedly the idea that dancing led to drinking and drugs was always a stretch for me.
Holding Out for a Hero
Let’s get back to the music, Bonnie Tyler’s Holding out for a Hero was a huge part of Footloose. Looking back, I have to wonder at the choice. The song served as the score for the showdown between Ren (Kevin Bacon) and Ariel’s (Lori Singer) abusive boyfriend, Chuck (Jim Youngs). So the song fits that aspect, but the showdown is played out as a glorified game of chicken on tractors.
My 12 year old self thought that was badass, but my 45 year old self looks back and says, “Tractors? Really?” So was the showdown badass because of the tractors or the song?
Of course, flash forward a couple of decades to Shrek 2 and suddenly we have a new version of Holding out for a Hero courtesy of Jennifer Saunders. The music did for Shrek exactly what it did for Footloose, conveyed heroism on our erstwhile heroes whether they fit the “common” conception or not.
The Song Remains the Same
I’m pretty sure what made both scenes badass was the song. And from that point forward, Bonnie Tyler’s song was ever-present in the back of my mind from my first viewing to the present. The song suggested heroism whether you’re talking superheroes, military men, shifters, and more. It can’t come as any surprise that the song would then become background music for every single book I’ve written including When Danger Bites which married military and shifter romance into one novel.
The story is right there in the lyrics:
Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods
Where’s the street-wise Hercules
To fight the rising odds
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed
Late at night toss and turn and dream of what I need
I need a hero
I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
Are you singing it in your head? I know I am. I even cranked up both versions when I began writing this blog. So if you are holding out for a hero, who is strong and fast, and fresh from the fight? I present to you Captain Jax Raymond of Bravo Team WOLF.
Oh and the second Footloose connection? It’s the high school musical for Mini’s junior year. We’re going to be holding out for more than a hero, we’re going to be holding out for a part.
One lucky commentator will win a $10 GC from Amazon, so tell me, what about you? Are you holding out for a hero?
Bravo Team WOLF WHEN DANGER BITES
Buttoned-up Corporal Kaitlyn Amador is dangerous on every level. As a human, she poses a threat to Marine Captain Jax Raymond’s special Force Recon unit. Though the team has a reputation among the other recon units, only their commanding officer knows their secret. As a woman, the danger posed is entirely different. Jax can survive the temptation for only so long before his wolf takes over and pursues what it wants.
Military intelligence specialist Corporal Kaitlyn Amador is the first woman in the Marines to be assigned to a recon team. And everyone’s watching her. Her mission? Not only prove herself worthy of her place in the group, but uncover the mystery of why Bravo Team is so successful. A mission that gets more difficult every time she’s near Jax…
USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime.
From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family.
She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Heather is best known for her 18-book paranormal romance series Wolves of Willow Bend, which begins:
Prequel: Wolf at Law
1: Wolf Bite
2: Caged Wolf
3: Wolf Claim
3.5: Wolf Next Door
4: Rogue Wolf
5: Bayou Wolf
6: Untamed Wolf
Heather’s other fantasy romance series include the paranormal westerns Fevered Hearts starting with Marshal of Hel Dorado, Black Hill Wolves which start with What a Wolf Wants, Witches of Mane Street, Mongrels, and the forthcoming Bravo Team WOLF series.
Her contemporary romance series include: Always a Marine, Going Royal, Elite Warriors, The Love Thieves, beginning with Catch Me and Lone Star Leathernecks, beginning with Semper Fi Cowboy.
Heather is well-represented in fantasy with her superhero series Boomers, a sci-fi western called Space Cowboy Survival Guide, an urban fantasy series called the Chance Monroe Adventures, and a stand-alone ghost novel titled Haunt Me.
Captain Jasper “Jax” Raymond leaned his motorcycle into the turn. The wind ripping past him filled him with a sense of exhilaration, and the engine’s roar satisfied a more primal urge, the growl echoing that of his inner animal. His wolf.
Heading back to base after leave always felt a little like shedding his wild freedom for a leash. Not his favorite analogy. Fortunately, Jax liked the other wolves assigned to his squad.
Training and fighting together had forged them into a cohesive team—a team he ran. At home, he was just a wolf, a member of the pack, a strong dominant with only his family to protect and his alpha to follow. When his alpha had asked Jax to serve and protect the pack, Jax had risen to the occasion. Leading had never been his goal in life, but now on base he was the alpha, and he was responsible for all of them.
As he came out of the curve, he zipped past an SUV on the side of the road. It took his mind a few seconds to process why the car had halted there. The vehicle had a flat tire and sat almost drunkenly in the grass off the blacktopped edge. A woman in full dress uniform had the rear of the SUV open and was reaching inside, presumably for the jack.
Slowing the bike, he checked the road behind him. No oncoming vehicles. He turned the bike around and headed back. No way an officer in Class As should be changing their tire on the side of the road. The fact she was a woman might have played into his desire to render aid, but mainly, he was in jeans and a T-shirt. If anyone should be getting dirty, it was him.
Parking the bike in front of her SUV, he shut off the engine then dismounted. “Afternoon, ma’am.” He kept his tone polite. Uniform or not, he was a big guy, and politeness went a long way to setting strangers at ease.
The officer in question stepped out from behind her SUV and eyed him. His wolf went on point the moment their gazes collided. She was gorgeous. But more, her deep, whiskey-brown eyes had a fierceness to them. His wolf recognized that ferocity, and it filled the man with the need to respond. The point of Class As was to provide a severe, if uniform, look to all officers and enlisted. From her buttoned-up jacket to her formfitting skirt, she proved alluringly female. The dark tan of her skin reminded him of a bronzed statue, but a hell of a lot warmer. Her dark hair held the promise of red where the sun struck it, but she had it all confined into a serviceable bun.
The image of freeing all that hair and satisfying his curiosity about the color and the texture flashed across his mind’s eye. Wolves were tactile creatures, and she was so damn put together. Reminding himself her bun wasn’t a ball of yarn and he wasn’t a cat didn’t a do damn thing for the mental suggestion.
“I’m fine,” she said, her clipped tone perfectly polite. The chill in her voice jerked him out of his gawking. “Thank you for stopping.”
“I’m sure you are…Corporal.” He zeroed in on the bars on her uniform. “It would be a shame to get the uniform messed up, especially since I’m right here, and I’d be happy to change the tire for you.”
Her brows raised a fraction, and the corners of her lips tightened. They were full, pretty lips with only the barest hint of gloss. Maybe she’d licked them? He liked the lower lip; it was plump and completely kissable… Why the fuck am I leering at her like some dumbass?
Yeah, his wolf had rather basic standards.
“I appreciate you making the offer, but I really can handle it.” Dismissal hung in her tone as she returned to the rear of the SUV, but a quick grin softened the sting. “Really, I can…” Were those last three words for him? Or herself?
She paused then blew out a breath.
One part of him said to leave it alone. If she thought she could change the tire without fucking up her uniform, fine. She was a big girl. The rest of him vibrated with the need to overcome her objection and take care of it for her.
The wolf won; it usually did in moments like this. Human or not, she was a Marine. It didn’t matter that he served because his alpha had asked for volunteers, he’d been a Marine for five years, and he had two more years on his contract. He’d always been a wolf, and the wolf would always win.
For all intents and purposes, the Marines were his pack. He wouldn’t leave a packmate to change her own damn tire, would he? Not when he was right there. The big question hovering in the back of his mind as he cleared the rear of her vehicle was, did he make it an order since he outranked her, or did he go for charm?
“You have trouble listening?” she asked him as she pulled the jack out and set it to the side. She had on a pair of work gloves. He admired the choice, but they clashed completely with the uniform and were a hell of a long way out of dress code. If she had the misfortune of encountering a senior officer—like him—she could get in trouble.
“No trouble at all, ma’am.” Hoping a smile and a bit of a coaxing tone would charm her out of her reticence, he grinned. The temperature hovered somewhere in the mid-80s. Perfect for a ride on his bike, even better for hanging out to have a cool drink, but standing there in the sun while she changed the tire would have her sweating through the uniform. “If you’ll forgive me for not just leaving you here on the side of the road, I would be honored to render assistance. My mama would take my head off if I let you tell me no.”
Instead of being impressed, she gave him a sideways glance. “You’re not southern enough to pull off the mama, and I don’t think she would take your head off.”
Jax blinked. It was rare for anyone human to call him on one of his stories. The other wolves could smell a lie, but humans? They generally went with it. His mother had told him once he had a face made for sin and a mouth to go along with it—or at least to get him out of trouble.
Reclaiming the jack, she chuckled, and the sound teased along his spine like a caress. Following her, he wanted to growl when she squatted with care. She wore three-inch heels. Perfectly within regs, but the fact she could squat so gracefully in them did wonders for his libido. “Sorry, friend. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“Huh.” The wolf might want to pet her, but the man liked her. “Fair enough. My mother would kick my ass, though.” And then some. His mother had taught him to hunt—she could track circles around his father.