The Man of Her Dreams: A Sexy Shifter story.

by Robie Madison

  He held out his hand. “It is time, sweetheart.”

  “And I told you. I’m not meeting the Overlord, or whatever you call him, dressed like this.”

  “You look fair beautiful.”

  He’d dressed her in a sheath of brown jewel-tones that shimmered and caught the light in her eyes, making them sparkle. ’Twas his opinion she’d never looked better and since he’d never have another chance to see her in the garb of the Tylwyth Teg, he’d indulged his fancy. His own leggings were black and he hadn’t failed to notice her admiration.

  “I look ridiculous. I want my clothes back.”

  ’Twas a definite certainty life would never be dull with her. He waved his hand and gave her her clothes back.

  Still mumbling, she put her hand in his and together they walked to the front door of his house. He hesitated before commanding it to open, uncertain what form he would take when he crossed over the threshold. He did not want to be a horse again for however long he might live.

  Arawn stood in front of the door. This day the Overlord’s eyes were black, rather than the opaque cloud of a seer. ’Twas a sign he came to pass a judgment that all had best heed. Beside Owain, Megan gasped and her grip tightened on his hand. He squeezed back attempting to reassure her, but the truth was his own heart pounded against his ribs and a band tightened painfully around his chest.

  Ignoring him Arawn turned to Megan. “You are unwilling to remain in our realm.”

  The words were more statement than question, but Owain doubted Megan would notice the difference.

  “I…I…” Megan tried to pull her hand away, but Owain hung on. “Yes.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she refused to look at him.

  Arawn lifted his right hand. “Then you no longer belong here. I will return you to your time and the place where you left.”

  Knowing full well that Megan would not let the Overlord’s words pass without an argument, Owain stepped forward, blocking her view. Arawn crossed his arms and stood there waiting. For him.

  Now that the moment was upon him, Owain didn’t hesitate. He was the one who’d been cursed. Not Margaret, though she had suffered for his foolishness and not Megan. Each woman had made her choice—difficult though that choice had been—to remain in the mortal realm. Despite, or maybe because of, their love, they’d also been honest with him.

  Last night Megan’s declaration of love might have ended his dual existence. But, for the curse to truly be broken, he had to make a choice. For once he had to be honest—with Megan and with himself.

  “I will go with her,” he said.

  The Overlord’s face remained impassive. “You would go as a mortal, full, never to be a member of the Tylwyth Teg again.”

  “No,” Megan shouted from behind him. “Owain you can’t—”

  He rounded on his stubborn sweetheart. “I can and I will. Did I not tell you I would live in the mortal realm with you?”

  She nodded, her eyes still wide with shock at his announcement.

  “I love you, Megan Jones. What is all of this—” he swept his hand to encompass the room, “—if I cannot share my life with you?”

  Owain swore he heard a gruff laugh behind him and the words “So be it,” but in the end he couldn’t be sure. He was too busy fighting a raging current that tumbled him left and right. He’d long since lost hold of Megan and his worry over her made him fight all the harder. But ’twas useless for the current battered against him all the more.

  And then it was over as swiftly as it had started and he fell, headlong, onto the grassy bank of the Conwy. He knew immediately that was where he was because he spied the trees, his pile of clothes, and the curve in the river’s bend.

  As a water horse his journeys between the mortal and fairy realms had been swift and sure. He lifted a hand and gazed on it. He felt no power coursing through his veins simply the none-too-steady beat of his heart. He pushed himself to a sitting position and saw Megan lying beside him. Her eyes were open and she was watching him. He rolled, covering her with his body and kissed her soundly on the lips.

  “I am a mortal.”

  Her eyes shone with tears, telling him she knew what he was really saying. The enchantment was over—he no longer had to live in her dreams. She reached up and brushed her hand through his hair.

  “You are also naked, again,” she said, attempting to hide the start of a smile.

  “Get used to it, sweetheart.”

  About the Author

  Award winning author Robie Madison loves visiting mystical places and learning about other cultures and people. She’s spent several years living abroad, allowing her to study human nature in a variety of settings and circumstances. These years also included a few wild exploits of her own. Multi-published, she uses her knowledge to enhance her stories. When not traveling or planning her next trip, Robie creates characters that can do the adventuring for her. She can also be found teaching writing courses online.

  Please visit Robie Madison at www.robiemadison.com or send her an email at robiemadison@rogers.com.

  The fur’s about to fly…

  Serengeti Heat

  © 2009 Vivi Andrews

  A Shifting Dreams Story.

  Ava Minor is done being the good girl. As the smallest and weakest in a pride of shapeshifting lions where size and strength rule, she’s never had any choice but to toe the line. Now, with sexy, nomadic alpha Landon King winning control of the pride, she grabs her one chance to let her inner feline out to play.

  Landon would rather focus on reforming the antiquated traditions of his new pride than taking a mate…until the rebellious Ava crosses his path. All his noble intentions go up in flames, incinerated by the heat she exudes—especially when he realizes she’s in heat.

  Ava, knowing she isn’t mate material, is determined to revel in one wild night before she’s sent back to her place in the pride pecking order.

  Except Landon has no intention of letting his daring, seductive lioness go…

  Warning: This book contains sizzling heat, adult language, no-holds-barred cat fights, and hot shifter lovin’ with an alpha male who takes inspired leadership all the way to the bedroom.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Serengeti Heat:

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she snapped, her voice brittle as she stared straight ahead out the window.

  “Think again, sweetheart. As far as you’re concerned, I’m judge, jury and executioner. So start talking.”

  She shifted against the door again and Landon took a deep breath, thinking to reassure himself that there was no tang of fear in her scent, but instead his head was swamped by a rush of heat. His hands tightened convulsively on the steering wheel. There was no fear in her scent. Only lust, thick and heady. He’d thought it would diminish once he got her away from her cowboy toy, but the close proximity inside the jeep made her scent even stronger. He was drowning in it. And hard enough to pound spikes.

  “You’re not talking…” he growled, the promise of a threat creeping into his voice.

  “I could declare myself a nomad,” she said defiantly. “Then you wouldn’t have any rights over me.”

  Landon laughed sharply, incapable of actual humor in his current state, but bitterly amused. “Shall I call your brothers or would you rather tell them you’ve decided to go off the reservation yourself?”

  She hissed a curse under her breath.

  “I don’t hear an explanation, Ava.”

  She turned to him sharply, blinking in surprise. “You know my name?”

  “Of course I know your name,” he snapped, made defensive by the fact that he wouldn’t have known it if the cowboy hadn’t said it in front of him. He’d known she was one of his pride by the scent of her and a vague sense of familiarity, but twenty minutes ago he wouldn’t have known her from Eve among the lionesses in his pride.

  He’d only known to dangle her brothers over her as a threat because he’d heard those brothers, four of his most effective en
forcers, talking about their kid sister more than once. “Little Ava” was nothing like her hulking brothers. She was tiny, almost frail for a lioness. She couldn’t possibly be fully grown, could she? Though in that outfit, she looked plenty grown-up.

  “Your brothers are going to have kittens when they see you dressed like that.”

  “I just wanted to have a good time. Is that against the law?”

  “Yes.” The answer shot out of his mouth before his brain caught up. Technically, fun was not illegal either among the humans or the pride, but Landon would happily fabricate a law if it kept her ass out of that bar for the rest of her natural life.

  She snorted, unimpressed by his heavy-handed answer. “My, my. Aren’t we king of the double standard?” she purred, the sarcasm coating her words like molasses. “And what were you doing at such a notorious meat market, my liege?”

  Landon hissed, spinning the wheel to take the turn onto the ranch road and nearly throwing the jeep into the ditch in the process. He got a little yelp of surprise out of her this time, but she quickly contained herself, silent and stoic as the jeep bounced painfully along the rutted dirt track.

  She was right. He had gone to the Bar Nothing to find a nice, malleable human piece of ass and get laid. Ever since he’d won the challenge to take over the Alpha position in the pride three months ago, every lioness on the ranch had been waving her tail under his nose, angling to get her paws on the position of his mate. The female he picked would lead the Hunt. She would rule the pack in his absence and preside over the other females. She would be the strongest, the fastest. The best genetic material to pass on to his cubs.

  He knew he needed to pick soon. The pride was unstable without an Alpha female in place as his mate. But he wasn’t ready to choose just yet. He and his sister had been nomads before he had challenged for control of the Three Rocks Pride. He didn’t know the pack and its social undercurrents as well as he needed to before he elevated one of the lionesses to be his mate.

  He’d slept with a few of them—he was a cat, after all, and there was only so much teasing he could take—but he’d been careful not to lead any of them to believe that their efforts in his bed had pushed them to the front of the line for his consort. Tonight, he’d just wanted to relax. A simple, easy romp with a woman who didn’t have political gain on her mind. Just sex. No obeisance to the big strong Alpha, and no machinations to become his queen.

  Ava had shot his plans for the evening straight to hell.

  “No response?” the assassin in question purred acidly. “Afraid you’ll have to apologize for dragging me out of there?”

  “I’m not the one who’s going to be sorry if you don’t stop baiting me, little girl.”

  She didn’t back down from the threat. Her body angled toward him on the seat and she snarled, “If you can go out looking for a piece of ass whenever you feel like it, then so can I.”

  Landon slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The jeep fishtailed and the brakes shrieked, bouncing and jolting them to a sudden stop. He cut the engine and crawled across the stick shift, caging her between his arms and the door. He loomed over her, his animal nature lapping up the flash of wariness in her pale gray eyes.

  “Did you honestly think some human would be able to satisfy you?” he growled low, pressing in on her with his heat.

  Her eyes widened, the expression in them suddenly raw and vulnerable, exposed.

  “You should have just come to me if you needed to be fucked.”

  Anger burned away the vulnerability in her eyes. “Fuck you, you arrogant prick.”

  Landon laughed darkly. “All you had to do was ask.”

  Brotherly love? Oh hell no…

  Kiss and Kin

  © 2009 Kinsey W. Holley

  A Shifter Dreams Story.

  On the surface, court reporter Lark Manning looks like the luckiest girl in the world, blessed with great friends and a wonderful family. Underneath, she harbors a hopelessly unrequited love for the sexy werewolf everyone thinks of as her cousin. Taran rarely notices her except to condescend or lecture. He’s treated her the same way since she was eight years old, and there’s no reason to think he’ll ever change.

  Taran Lloyd, a detective in the Houston Police Department’s Shifters Investigations Unit (SIU), lives for those rare moments he gets to spend around Lark, torturing himself with what he can’t have. Kin only by marriage, she thinks of him as her big brother. He couldn’t bear her pity—or her disgust—if she learned he wants her for his mate.

  When weres from a rival pack attack her, Lark screams out the first name that comes to mind—Taran. Only this sexy alpha can keep her safe until they find out who wants her dead, and why. But keeping her safe means keeping her close. And the closer they get, the harder it gets for these not-really-cousins to honor their commitment to keep their paws off.

  Warning: Contains a heroine with the world’s worst poker face, a hero with more honor than sense, and explicit shifter sex that makes you wish werewolves really were part of the gene pool.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Kiss and Kin:

  Lark inspected her reflection in her antique full-length mirror. Applying final touches to her makeup, she pursed her lips and smudged her gloss just a bit. She pulled her auburn chestnut hair into a carefully messy chignon, touchable stray wisps framing her face the way Taran liked it.

  Dressed in a purple lace bra, boyshorts and four-inch stilettos, she struck a little pose. Which dress to wear?

  They both showed off her legs. The chic black cocktail number featured a fun little twirly skit, and she fancied herself a fun twirly kind of girl. On the other hand, she liked to look like a bad girl sometimes, which she did in the lavender sheath with the plunging neckline and the slit up to mid thigh.

  She held up each dress beneath her chin, one at a time, and eyed herself critically. Lavender, black. Lavender, black.

  She heard Taran getting ready in the bathroom, but when he suddenly appeared behind her—a werewolf could move so swiftly and silently it seemed he teleported—he wore nothing but skin. Taking a hanger in each hand, he tossed the dresses aside. He laid a large, warm hand on her stomach and pulled her tightly against him while his other hand cupped her breast. His thumb rubbed circles around her nipple through the thin lace.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled softly. His stubble tickled her neck as he nuzzled. It made her laugh.

  He rolled her nipple between two fingers and she sighed, reaching back to run her fingers through his dark gold hair. His other hand now cupped her mound, barely touching, and she ground her hips, silently urging him to press harder. He chuckled.

  “I’m trying to choose a dress,” she smiled. “Which do you like?”

  “Neither,” he replied. “I vote for naked.” He nipped her shoulder and slid his hand inside the boyshorts.

  Their gazes met in the mirror, the only way she could maintain eye contact with him. Lust glittered in his eyes, making them shine like emeralds. Her dark blue eyes melted in submission. In heels, she stood almost as tall as he did, but she looked petite against his much larger body.

  “I can’t go to dinner like this, and neither can you,” she murmured.

  “True.” He ran his tongue lightly down the back of her neck. “Anthony’s has a dress code. Reservations at eight, right?”

  “Yes.” She shivered.

  She gasped as his middle finger sank into her folds and stroked.

  “So…” he smiled against her neck, “…I’ve got ten minutes to make you come. I can do that with one arm tied behind your back.”

  He took his hand out of her panties, spun her around and pinned one of her arms behind her. She moaned in anticipation as his mouth came down on hers, and she woke up.

  Damn it. Shit. Damn, damn, damn, shit.

  Lark rolled over and slammed her head into the pillow.

  She couldn’t even manage a decent sex dream about him—she always woke up when it got to the good part. Her
subconscious just rolled its eyes and said, “This is too farfetched for me to handle, kiddo. Dream about someone in your league—like George Clooney, maybe. He’ll ask you out before Taran notices you’re grown, much less shows any interest.”

  She showered, trying not to think about Taran as she did it.

  ***

  Detective Taran Lloyd yawned with boredom as he stood by the bar and observed the patrons of Le Monde on a typical Saturday night. A pricey club, it attracted an affluent crowd, and a mixed one: humans, werewolves and other shifters, people who looked a little more than a little fae. The only thing they had in common was a willingness to pay five bucks for a bottle of domestic beer and seven for well drinks—or the ability to find someone who would do it for them.

  He grimaced. He’d like a drink himself, but regulations prohibited drinking on duty.

  The intimate nightclub featured wood-paneled walls, polished hardwood floors and a lot of recessed lighting. Music loud enough to dance but not too loud to talk, waitresses pretty but not too sexy, bartenders fast but friendly—if not for the fact that three women reported missing this month were last seen here, it would’ve been a great place to bring a date.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d gone on a date.

  “Detective?” Daniel Denardo, the HPD Shifter Investigations Unit’s rookie, interrupted Taran’s musings.

  “Yeah, Danny?”

  “What are we supposed to look for here?”

  Taran smiled wryly. “If we get lucky, some guy will pick up a chick, throw her over his shoulder and run out, and we’ll arrest him. But I don’t think we’ll get lucky. So we hang around and watch, talk to people, ask if anyone saw the women, noticed unusual behavior, that sort of thing. I’d rather no one know we’re cops yet.”

  As soon as he said it, he noticed Lark across the room at a banquette with another woman and four slimy-looking wolves in suits. Taran automatically considered any guy with Lark slimy-looking. These wolves looked like Eurotrash. Eastern European wolves ran drugs and weapons in and out of the country, and SIU suspected they’d expanded into the sex trade. Rich European werewolves frequented Le Monde. Apparently Lark did, too.