by Bella Jacobs
“Smart man,” I murmur, hiding my grin behind my hand as Penelope collides with the cake, chest first, with a glurp-pop and a wail of misery as overly dramatic as it is satisfying. It’s just cake, for goodness sake. It’s not like I knocked her boobs-first into a vat of boiling oil.
“Oh my God,” Sandra says, giggling beside me. “How did you do that?”
I blink innocently. “Me?”
Sandra’s eyes narrow on my face. “Yes, you. You’ve been different this year, Eliza. The others may not have noticed, but I did. You’re stronger. More grounded. And you’re always smiling like you’ve got this amazing secret rolling around in your head, helping you stay above all the petty shit.”
“Not above it, just…more resilient against it, I guess.” I glance down at Rourke and Leo—who is trying to look disapproving about me using my powers in public after we discussed keeping a low profile, but who is also fighting a smile—and sigh. “Love is even more amazing than the stories, Sandra. I highly recommend it.”
A wistful expression floats across her face. “Yeah? That’s good to hear. I hope I find it someday. Though right now I would settle for a magic carpet to carry me down the stairs. I’m so crazy tired.”
“Then lean on me, sister.”
She lifts her hands and shakes her head, but I insist. “That’s what we’re here for, babe. To help each other and love each other and occasionally knock a bitch into a cake because she’s in serious need of an attitude adjustment.”
Giggling, Sandra says, “I knew it. You’ll have to teach me your trick sometime. I want to be able to knock people into cakes.”
“Maybe someday,” I lie as I help her down the stairs and over to her mom and dad, who are waiting to take her somewhere to get the help she needs.
I can’t give Sandra the power of my Thunder Foot, but I will absolutely be cheering her on every step of her recovery.
“First runner-up looks good on you,” Rourke says, looping an arm around my waist as he, Leo, and I head for the exit, leaving Penelope behind us, still sputtering and weeping and scooping cake out of her cleavage. “You aren’t too disappointed, then?”
I shake my head, taking Leo’s hand. “Nah. I’m just glad it’s over. I’m ready to spend some quality time with people I actually like. And to eat cake that hasn’t had a jerk’s face in it.”
Rourke stifles a laugh. “Oh dear Lord, that was priceless. That wee wretch deserved it, though. That and more.”
“And she didn’t look nearly as lovely in a crown as you do.” Leo squeezes my fingers as we step out into a perfect early summer night, bound for the limo idling at the curb. “Are you ready to be crowned as the first human shiver queen?”
“Yes.” I sigh happily. “And to dance all night.”
“Not all night, I hope,” Rourke says, with a sniff. “I’ve reserved the penthouse at the hotel, and the Pierre prides itself on its obscenely large beds.”
“Obscene, eh?” I smile as Leo opens the limo door.
“Truly appalling,” Rourke assures me, his eyes dancing. “You’d have room for three or four husbands in one of those. If you were of the mind to collect that many.”
“I find the two I’ve got are just fine, thank you,” I say, sliding into the back seat with a furrowed brow. “Though, it’s been so long since I had them both at the same time, I could be wrong. Maybe I could handle three…”
“Over my sun-ravaged corpse,” Leo mutters, gliding in beside me and pulling me into his arms for a deep, hard, absolutely thrilling kiss.
“Move over, you selfish things.” Rourke tumbles in between us, and I giggle as he pulls me into his lap with an enthusiasm that sends us both tumbling to the floor.
I half expect Leo to order us both to behave, but instead, he slams the door, orders the driver to hit it, and rolls onto the spacious floor beside us. He works open the buttons at the side of my gown and Rourke cups my breasts as the fabric falls free. And then Leo’s lips are claiming mine, and my dress has magically vanished, and Rourke’s cock presses between the cheeks of my ass.
Soon, I lose track of who is touching me where, giving myself over to the hot rush of love and lips and teeth and tongue and hands giving and taking pleasure so sweet that by the time I take Leo into my mouth as Rourke pushes into me from behind, I’m lost to pleasure.
Drunk and divine and soaring so high I never want to come down.
But I do. At least for a little while.
Long enough to get dressed in our fancy penthouse suite and attend the ball, escorted by the two most handsome men in the world. We make our promises to our people, renew our vows to each other, and welcome four new baby vamps into our shiver with Strife and Famine hoodie sweatshirts—my idea, and much cozier swag than the drop of blood in a tiny vase that Leo insists we give away as well, as a nod to tradition.
I’m happy for the new vampires, but happy to remain human myself. For now, at least. I like knowing I can be awake when my men can’t, that I can protect them and watch over them and be their eyes and ears until the sun goes down.
And I really do look so much better with a little bit of a tan, a fact Leo confirms as he traces my bikini lines in our suite later, insisting they make me, “even more beautiful.”
“Naked, but better,” Rourke agrees, pressing a kiss to my hip that makes my blood rush.
“And I’d like you both better naked, too,” I say, leading the way to the bedroom with my heart full of love. “Right now.”
I’m still worried about Leerie and the unstable state of our newly combined shivers and global chaos and war and poverty and all the suffering I can’t do a damned thing to fix. But I’m also committed to living every moment of my life to the fullest, hanging on to every beam of light, and holding strong in the darkness.
And orgasms.
I’m committed to having as many of those as possible.
“Five,” I whisper to Leo as he pushes me back onto the bed. “I want five.”
And he and Rourke deliver like whoa, proving that what you actually get can sometimes be even more amazing than what you thought you wanted. Also, that it’s totally true—once you go vamp, you don’t go back.
At least I won’t, not today or tomorrow or any day in the long and lovely future I’ll share with the men I love.
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Keep reading for a sneak peek of
UNLEASHED
a red hot reverse harem romance
out now!
Sneak Peek
ABOUT THE BOOK
One woman on the run. Four dangerously sexy bodyguards. And a war brewing that will change the shifter world forever…
I’m living on borrowed time, fighting for survival against a deadly new virus that has no cure and a cult doing its best to brainwash me. But when a mysterious note shows up on my windowsill one night, its chilling message--Run, Wren--launches me out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Within hours, everything I thought I knew about my life, my family, and my origins is obliterated, and I'm racking up enemies at an alarming rate. Between the cult I've just escaped, a violent shifter faction out for my blood, and an ancient evil who eats "chosen ones" like me for breakfast, my last hope is to join forces with four dangerous-looking men who claim they were sent to guard my life.
Luke, a werewolf with a rap sheet. Creedence, a lynx shifter who never met a mark he couldn’t con. Kite, a bear kin with a mean right hook and heart of gold. And Dust, my childhood best friend and dude voted least likely to be a secret shape-shifting griffin.
But are these men really what they seem?
Or are my alpha guardians hiding a secret agenda of their own?
I’m not sure, but one thing is for certain—choosing the right allies will mean the difference between life and death. For me, and everyone I love.
UNLEASHED is book one in the Dark Moon Shifter’s series. It is a true reverse harem fe
aturing one woman and her four mates.
CHAPTER ONE
Wren
I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t—
Believe.
In ghosts.
Palms sweating and a sour taste rising in my throat, I stand tall, forcing a smile to my face for the next girl in the cafeteria serving line.
She has red hair and moon-glow skin just like Scarlett. But she isn’t Scarlett.
She isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t…
This is just my virus-addled brain playing tricks on me.
I refuse to get my hopes up. I know better. After eight years and a dozen cases of mistaken identity—racing after a woman boarding a train or taking a stranger’s hand at the farmer’s market—I know my sister is never coming back to me.
Scarlett is gone. Forever.
Scarlett is dead, and I don’t believe in ghosts. Only the kooky extremists and the old hippies in our church actually believe in things that go bump in the night and exorcisms and all the rest of the crazy. The rest of the Church of Humanity movement is firmly grounded in reality and helping people come together to make a better world.
Which means not scaring away newbies to the movement by rushing up to hug them like they’re your long-lost best friend.
As the girl slides her tray closer, her blurred features come into sharper focus, revealing a forehead that’s too wide, a nose that’s too sharp, and blue eyes instead of brilliant, glittering green. She isn’t Scarlett, but the sadness dragging at her delicate features reminds me of my sister, and my throat goes tight as I ask her, “Beef stew or veggie?”
“Um…either one is fine, thanks,” she whispers, ducking her head to hide behind a shock of dirty auburn hair. “Whatever.”
“Well, I can’t get enough of the veggie. The tofu has great flavor,” I say gently, “but I’d love for you to choose. I want to make sure you get what you’d like best. Your opinion matters.”
The girl looks up sharply, suspicion blooming in her tired eyes. I smile in response, silently assuring her this isn’t a prank and I’m not being a smartass B-word. I truly care about her opinion and her preferences. I care about her and every teen who comes into the Rainier Beach C of H shelter.
After three years as an assistant coordinator, this is my shelter now. And in my shelter, every soul is precious and valued. Any staff members who thought differently were relocated when I took the reins last August. And I intend to hold on tight to those reins through this relapse and all the pain, dizziness, and exhaustion that goes with it.
I may only be able to work part-time, but the hours that I am here, I’m all in.
When Lance, one of our regulars, sighs heavily behind the new girl and grumbles, “Just pick something already,” I shoot him a gentle, but firm, look and say, “It’s fine, Lance. We’re not in any rush.” I glance back at the girl. “What’s your name, honey?” I just got here an hour ago and haven’t had time to look over the new intake forms.
“Ariel,” she mumbles, glancing nervously between Lance and me.
“Like the mermaid.” I grin. “That was my favorite cartoon when I was little. My sister has pretty red hair like yours, and she would let me brush it while we watched and sang along with all the songs.”
Ariel’s lips curve shyly. “That’s my sister’s favorite princess, too.” She blinks, her smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Or, at least it was. I haven’t seen her in a couple of years. Not since my stepdad kicked me out.”
I want to hurry around the counter, pull her into my arms, and promise her things are going to be better for her from now on. She’s at a Church of Humanity Shelter, not one of the poorly funded nightmares on the east side of town. No one will hurt her here. No one will judge her. It’s finally safe for her to grieve and grow and begin to heal from all the horrible things she’s no doubt been through as a beautiful young girl living on the streets of post-Meltdown Seattle.
But I’ve learned to keep my heart off my sleeve and my touchy-feely hugging instincts in check.
A lot of the kids in my care have yet to learn the difference between touch that offers comfort and touch that makes demands—sometimes ugly demands. Until they make it clear a hug is welcome, I keep my hands to myself.
Instead I lean in and whisper confidentially, “I bet Ariel is still her favorite. Once you go mermaid, you never go back. I still have mermaid pictures on my wall and I’m a grown woman.” I cast a glance at Lance as I add with mock seriousness. “But keep that just between us, okay? Gotta keep my street cred.”
“What street cred?” Lance snorts. “It’s too late, Miss Frame. We all know you’re a hopeless cheese case by now. The secret’s out. Now give the girl some stew before she passes out.” He nudges Ariel’s arm gently with his elbow. “You’re starving, right?”
Ariel laughs softly and nods. “Yeah. I am.” She grins across the counter at me, hope cautiously creeping into her eyes. “I’ll have the beef stew, please. I’m a meat eater in a big way.”
“A girl after my own heart,” Lance booms, making Ariel laugh again as she scoots her tray down toward the dessert station. “Two servings of beef for me, please, Miss F. I’m starving after all that nature exploration shit today.”
“Language,” I admonish, but my heart isn’t in it. Lance came to us an angry street kid with two misdemeanors for drug possession and a history of taking out his frustration with life on smaller teens. After six months, he’s become a kind young man who enjoys helping the newbies at the shelter fit into our rhythms and who volunteers for campus clean up and laundry duty without being asked.
All it took to unlock his heart was for someone to show him how to turn the key. He just needed someone to care about him first, to show him he was worth it, so he could start learning how to love himself and others. It’s simultaneously so simple and so hard, and I’m so, so proud of him.
“You’re doing great, Lance.” I mound his tray with as much stew as I can fit into the main compartment on his plate. “I appreciate the light you shine around here.”
Lance’s cheeks go pink beneath his golden-brown skin as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Miss F, don’t get sappy on me. Trying to play it cool in front of the new girls.”
“You know the policy on inter-shelter dating, Lance,” I remind him, arching a brow.
“Yeah, yeah.” He flashes a bright-white smile over his shoulder as he slides his tray away. “But a guy can dream. I won’t be here forever, you know.”
The words make my chest ache. It’s true. He won’t be here forever. That’s the hardest part of my job—falling in love with these kids and then seeing them go off to foster families, most often never to return.
I don’t blame them for wanting to leave the past in the past and move on with their lives, but that doesn’t keep me from missing them. From wondering where they are and wishing we could stay one big extended family.
But that’s part of my own set of mental glitches—I hate for people to leave. Too many people have left me already. First the biological mother and father I can’t remember, then my best friend, Dust, and finally my sister, the person who meant the most to me in the world. She was my hero, my protector, my playmate, and my confidante. She was everything I wanted to grow up to be, even though she never made it past the age of nineteen.
I’ve been thinking of her more than ever recently.
For a time, years after the fire, I was able to put her out of my mind for days, sometimes even weeks, and go about my life.
But now…
Now my health is failing the same ways hers failed.
Now there are days when I can’t get out of bed, the agony burning through my bones is so bad.
There are moments—flashes of despair—in which I consider taking a few too many steps at the edge of the train platform. I don’t want to die, but I don’t know how much longer I can live with the pain, the weakness, the uncertainty of whether I will ever go back into remission.
The virus my drug-addict bio-mom caught from a dirty needle and passed on to both of her daughters is a Meltdown disease, one of the many exotic new autoimmune viruses that oozed out of the polar ice caps as they melted to near nothingness in the years before I was born. Researchers and scientists are working as fast as they can to find cures for the Devour virus and the other diseases plaguing humanity, but a cure is still decades away.
I won’t live to see it. Not unless there’s a miracle.
There are days when that’s okay with me, when I’m grateful that there will soon be a day when I won’t have to drag my body out of bed, stuff my mouth full of ten different kinds of meds, and fight to pass as a normal, functional adult anymore.
And then there are days like today, when I look out at a cafeteria filled with once hopeless kids, now laughing and chatting and eating with the gusto of healthy people who need fuel for all the big things they’re going to do with their lives, and I pray for another year.
Two.
Three or more—if somehow my body can be convinced to stop attacking itself.
“We good to close the line, boss?” a voice rumbles softly from beside me, making my cheeks heat.
That’s what he does to me, this man who is another reason I would like to stick around a little longer. Long enough to see what having a steady boyfriend might be like, maybe…
Or at least long enough to see if Kite’s kisses are as lovely as the hugs he gives me every evening as we say goodbye and head for our separate train stops.
“Yeah, let’s close up.” I turn, smiling up at him as whips off his hairnet with a relieved sigh, setting his long, glossy black hair free to stream around his broad shoulders. “Aw, poor Kite,” I tease. “I’m telling you, you’re pulling off the hairnet. It’s a solid look for you. You should take a selfie.”