by BETH KERY
“You gave me my soul,” he whispered gruffly into the darkness.
“No, Saint.” She threaded her fingers through his soft, tousled hair and pulled him down to her. “You earned it.”
About the Author
Beth Kery loves a sexy romance and a good story, whether it be of the contemporary, paranormal or historical variety. She grew up in a huge house built in the nineteenth century where she cultivated her love of mystery and the paranormal. When she wasn’t hunting for secret passageways and ghosts with her friends, she was gobbling up fantasy and romance novels along with any other books she could get her hands on. Currently she juggles the demands of her careers, her love of the city and the arts and a busy family life. Her writing today reflects her passion for all of the above. To learn more about Beth Kery, please visit www.bethkery.com, send an email to [email protected] or join her Yahoo group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Beth, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/totalexposure
Look for these titles by Beth Kery
Now Available:
Take a Stranger No More
Holiday Bound
They’ve been hiding from the past. Now it’s time to fight for their future.
Sanctuary Unbound
© 2010 Moira Rogers
Red Rock Pass, Book 4
New England is ideal for vampire Adam Dubois. His cozy home in the Great North Woods reminds him of a happier time when werewolves and witches were stuff of legends, and he was a simple lumberjack.
Hiding from past failures has worked for over eighty years, but a life debt owed to the Red Rock alpha has forced him to leave his retreat—and come face to face with a woman who challenges and tempts him on every level.
Hiding secrets is a lonely business, and Cindy Shepherd is lonely with a capital L. Red Rock isn’t exactly crawling with available men, but her interest in the mystery-shrouded new vampire in town seems mutual. After all, it’s only sex—there’s no danger he’ll dig deep enough to unleash the demons of her past.
Casual flirtation turns deadly serious when Adam discovers that the vampire plaguing Red Rock is using his mistakes as a road map. When it comes to his life, he knows Cindy has his back. But in order to secure the future, they both must trust each other with more—even if it means sacrificing themselves to save everything they hold dear.
Warning: This book contains epic werewolf battles, mystical vampire blood bonds, unexpected sex on the kitchen floor and a dangerous attraction between a secret-burdened werewolf and a vampire lumberjack.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sanctuary Unbound:
“You’re like a mule.” Even as she rasped out the words, she lifted her hands to frame his cheeks. “When I start calling you stubborn, you know you have a real problem.”
“I’m old enough to be set in my ways. I earned every damn scrap of stubborn I have.” He turned his head and kissed her thumb. “All of it, honey.”
He was fascinating, and he scared the hell out of her. “Last chance, Adam,” she whispered. “Don’t you want to go?”
“Fuck, no.”
Fighting the inevitable was exhausting, so Cindy let go and touched her mouth to his. She meant it to be a slow exploration, but her hands shook as she rested them on his shoulders. Arousal coursed through her, hotter and faster than anything she could have expected, and she quickly deepened the kiss.
His fingers thrust into her hair, holding her head still as his tongue stroked over hers. She had to get closer, so she angled her leg over his and slid into his lap.
He stared up at her from glazed, hungry eyes. “We doing this for the right reasons?”
She’d already lost track. “What are the right reasons?”
“Because we’re so hot for each other that we can’t stop ourselves.”
“I didn’t think there was ever a question about that.” Cindy shifted in his lap, easing her hips against his. He was hard between her legs, solid and hot, and he groaned as she rocked down against him.
His hands fisted in her hair, tilted her head back until his lips brushed her throat. “Best reason in the world, then.”
The simple touch streaked hot pleasure through her. “Does lazing about in bed like rich people include torrid sexual encounters?”
“Even if it didn’t, I don’t mind a little revisionist history.” His tongue dragged across the skin over her pounding pulse, and dark, hot magic twisted tight between them. “The past isn’t as pretty as people like to pretend these days.”
“Nostalgia’s easier.” Certainly easier than trying to maintain a conversation while he licked her throat. “Adam.”
“Cindy.” Another lick, a little faster. Rougher.
“You’re a tease.” She turned her head and bit his earlobe, almost hard enough to hurt.
“Am I?” He braced his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back against the rumpled blankets. “Seems to me I’m plenty willing to follow through.”
“So the unresolved sexual tension is my fault?” Playing around felt good, almost as good as having him lean over her with the promise of such heat in his eyes.
“Or we’re just both responsible adults in the middle of a crisis.” His fingers trailed down her body, teasing at her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. “Mostly responsible, anyway.”
Cindy moaned, feeling less responsible by the second. She needed his hands on her bare skin, so she dragged the thin cotton up and over her head. The fabric had barely cleared her hands when he rewarded her, cupping her flesh with warm, work-roughened hands.
There was no stifling the cry that rose in her throat. She wanted him too much, and denial had driven her almost to the point of pain. “Don’t stop touching me this time. Please.”
“We don’t have time for me to take you like I want.” His voice was as harsh as his fingers were gentle, a delicious contrast. “But I’m not leaving this bed until I see you come.”
Cindy trapped his hands against her skin. “Don’t jinx us like that. We have time, plenty of it.”
“Shh.” He lifted his hands, moving hers easily enough. They ended up trapped against the bed as he leaned down and let his breath feather over one tight nipple. “Stop thinking so much.”
She strained toward his mouth, caught between another whimper and a laugh. “It’s what I do.”
“Not anymore,” he whispered, then closed his lips around her.
Everything in her zeroed in on that single touch, focused on the hot pull of his mouth and the way he slicked his tongue, rough and wet, over her nipple. She forgot to think, forgot everything except how to moan his name.
He groaned and lifted his head, eyes blazing. “My name sounds good on your lips.”
She yanked her hands free and pulled his mouth to hers. There was no finesse in it, no careful caresses specifically crafted to make him want her more. All she could manage was need, and she poured it into every second of the kiss.
What she got back was passion, pure and simple. He tilted his head and pressed closer, his deliberation fading. Pain lanced through the pleasure as her tongue snagged on the tip of a fang, and Adam stiffened at the hint of coppery blood.
He lifted his head, breathing ragged. “Sorry, that wasn’t—not on purpose.”
“I know.” Cindy rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth until she felt the tiny wound close.
“I’m not in control. I’m not—” He laughed and shook his head before leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “I know you don’t want blood and sex to get confused. I’ll try harder.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She gripped the front of his shirt and kissed him firmly. “As long as you want the sex more, I mean. Of course you want my—my blood.” It felt odd to say, and even odder to be fine with it.
“No.” Adam caught her hands again, this time pressing them to the bed on either side of her head. “I want you. The blood is a means to an end, Cindy. Sometimes it’s to give me strength, and sometimes…”
He nipped h
er lower lip and she felt the tiniest prick before his tongue slid over the spot. Magic roared to life and heat crashed into her as he kissed her again, and this time she felt each hard thrust of his tongue as a hot, tugging pull deep inside her.
Cindy had already come to associate it with him, the dizzying combination of too much and not enough, and she bucked under him. His grip on her wrists held, somehow soothing the most primitive, animal part of her. Adam was strong, commanding, and she wanted him.
She relaxed without thinking then, pulled her mouth from his and bared her throat.
A wolf might have taken that invitation and bitten her, leaving a very human mark that served an instinctive purpose. Instead Adam licked her pulse and settled his body over hers, his hips cradled between her thighs so his first rocking grind let her feel the hard length of his erection through their jeans.
The sensation wrenched a cry and a shudder from her. “Adam.” She needed him closer, his skin against hers. Him inside her.
“Don’t move your hands,” he whispered, then slipped away, leaving a blazing trail of hot, wet kisses along her body as he went. Down, down until his breath blew hot against the skin just above her jeans and his fingers tugged at the button.
When it comes down to love or duty, pick a side—and pray your heart survives.
Death, the Vamp and his Brother
© 2009 Lexxie Couper
Death exists for one purpose and one purpose only: to sever the life-threads of the living. She does her job with pride and an unwavering commitment. Nothing ruffles her. Until she encounters Patrick Watkins. The Australian lifeguard pushes all her buttons—and makes her tailbone itch like crazy. And when her tailbone itches, it means trouble is brewing. Big trouble.
Ven’s gut tells him that Death is taking aim at his kid brother. He should know—he died and was turned vampire while trying to prevent another failed murder-attempt eighteen years ago. Patrick is meant to do something important in the world, and Ven will do anything to keep him safe. Even take on Death herself. In more ways than one.
As far as Patrick’s concerned, the whole thing is a load of bull. But what if everything Death tells him turns out to be true? How is he expected to save mankind from the worst fate of all—the Apocalypse? Especially when all he can think about is how quickly he’s falling in love with the most feared Horseman of them all…
Warning: This book contains enough heresy to shame the Devil, more scorching sex than one person can handle, Oh, and lots of Australian colloquialism. A bloody lot of Australian colloquialism.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Death, the Vamp and his Brother:
Fred walked away from the lifeguard, the stiletto heels of her boots not even remotely sinking into the soft white sand. The coastal breeze caressed her face and arms and she pulled in a long breath, enjoying its heat even as the blazing midday sun sucked the moisture from the flesh of the humans—oblivious to her existence—around her. Summer in Australia. Hot. Hotter. Hottest. She was glad she’d ditched the stifling cloak.
Adjusting the sunglasses on her face, she sidestepped a teenage couple making out on a beach towel, casting them a detached yet curious look. He would live for another sixty-five years before dying in a car accident, she would die in five years of advanced skin cancer. Fred tsked, noting the gleaming oil smeared over the girl’s bare flesh. As if humans didn’t have enough to deal with in their short time, they had to go and seek her out any chance they could, all in the name of beauty.
She shook her head, following the waterline away from the commotion still unfolding behind her. The paramedics would not revive the drowned man, no matter how skilled or tenacious they were. All she’d left them was an empty skin-wrapped lump of meat and bones.
The icy tingle in the pit of her belly she experienced after every claiming whispered through her, feeding her magic. It nourished her power, sated the demon within. Today however, it also felt wrong. Not because the soul she’d removed from the mortal coil—Richard Michael Peabody—was a closet pedophile who deserved to die. That very morning he’d raped—for the tenth time—his six-year-old niece while his twin sister attended a doctor’s appointment. Fred felt no remorse for Peabody. The human male deserved to have his life extinguished. He most definitely deserved the eternal damnation awaiting him. When it came to mortal monsters like Peabody, Fred enjoyed her job. But today, even with the tingle in her core and the sure knowledge of just punishment about to be met, she felt conflicted.
Every soul she claimed, every life thread she severed she did with pride. Her purpose was ultimate. Life could not exist without Death. If she didn’t do what she did, humanity would pay the price. That didn’t mean however, that she was emotionless. She felt no pity for Peabody, really, who would? But she couldn’t help feel sorry for the lifeguard who’d tried so hard to save him.
She’d seen many EMOs at work, but none were as aggressively determined to thwart her work as the lifeguard. It was as though the very idea of losing Peabody assaulted him. Wounded him. Raw energy had poured from him in intoxicating waves as he’d fought to save the vile man’s life, almost as powerful and energizing as the sun above.
Uninvited, an image of the lifeguard filled Fred’s head and she pulled in a soft, appreciative breath. Now there was a tenacious son of a bitch. Not just tenacious, but damn fine to look at as well. Tall, lean and sinewy with smooth skin kissed bronze by the sun and shaggy blonde hair bleached golden by its solar rays. His eyes were a fierce, piercing green, his nose strong and hawkish, his lips totally kissable even when clenched together in stubborn denial.
A soft beat pulsed between Fred’s thighs and she took another swift breath, surprised at the reaction. It had been a long time since she’d been aroused by a mortal. The last—an arrogant but brilliant Roman general with a nose just like her lifeguard and a succinct way with words—had dumped her for a snooty Egyptian queen with an asp fetish.
She turned her mind back to the Australian, remembering the way he looked as he ran from the sea with water streaming over his lean, muscular body, the sun highlighting broad, strong shoulders, snug blue swimming shorts hugging narrow hips. It was a good memory. A potent memory.
The heat between Fred’s thighs pulsed again and, despite the warm breezes blowing across the ocean, her nipples pinched into tight peaks. Something about the lifeguard intrigued her. Not just his fierce battle to deny her, but something else. Something different.
She strode along the sand, a detached, professional part of her mind marking those around her for their time, and thought of Peabody’s failed rescue. Like the lifeguard, something about it had felt…what? Wrong? No, wrong wasn’t the correct word, especially to describe the lifeguard. Yummy. That was a good word to describe the lean Australian with the messy blonde hair. Sexy as sin another one. Well, another three, actually. Unusual however, was the word she was looking for to describe his rescue attempt.
But why?
What was it about the sequence of events?
The lifeguard works on the drowning man’s body, pounding against the man’s fleshy chest with his palms, the sun turning his smooth muscular back to a bronzed sheen. The subtle heat of the day kisses her arms and neck and cheeks as she watches him battle the inevitable. The sound of the pedophile’s perverted, weakening heartbeat vibrates through her core, feeding the familiar tingle in her gut as she prepares to sever his life thread… She leans over the lifeguard to touch Peabody and the salty bite of the lifeguard’s sweat threads into her being like mist. She turns her head, for some reason wanting to see his eyes, wanting see if they burn with the same fierce determination she feels radiating from him. She looks at him…and he looks at her, his soft breath fanning her face.
Fred froze, the sounds of the beach—seagulls screeching, swimmers splashing, people laughing—sucked away by stunned shock.
He looked at her.
He could see her.
That’s impossible, Fred. The living can’t see you until the very moment you c
laim them. Not unless you choose for them to do so and you sure as hell didn’t choose for this guy to see you today.
But he had seen her. He’d looked straight at her, and it was only now, with the post- claiming buzz fading to a soft tingle, that she realized it. He’d seen her.
How in all the levels of hell could he see you?
No, he couldn’t. The living didn’t see her. She prevented it. The Powers prevented it.
Wishful thinking? Maybe your starved libido is making you see things?
Before she could stop herself, she turned and gave the lifeguard a long, hard inspection from across the sand.
He sat beside Peabody’s inert body, head buried in his hands, broad shoulders slumped. She’d seen this very pose before. The position of a defeated human. But unlike others in this situation, anger radiated from the man. Anger. Not misery, or self-centered contemplation. Anger. Simmering, tangible anger.
Fred cocked an eyebrow, her sex squeezing in base appreciation. Who are you, Mr. Tall, Bronzed and Brooding?
Stare locked on the increasingly intriguing man, she tapped into the List of the Living threaded into her very existence, seeking the answer.
But all that surfaced from the never-ending database was a name and date of birth. Patrick Anthony Watkins. Born February 29th 1972.
Fred frowned. “That can’t be right. Where’s his date of death?”
From the moment of conception, the time and cause of death of every living creature with a soul was predetermined. The Order of Actuality demanded it. From the smallest baby to the leader of the free world, their lifespan was locked in a fixed time frame, imprinted on their very genetic fiber.
All, it seemed, except Patrick Watkins. Which made him a…
Fred narrowed her eyes, regarding him across the busy beach. The sun beat down on those around her, drawing moisture from their pores, turning the heavily populated strip of sand to a wavering shimmer of silver light and color, yet Patrick Watkins remained sharp in clarity. Just Patrick. Filling her vision and her core.