by Vanessa Jaye
I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoy writing them and that the characters and the worlds they inhabit give you a little something to sigh over, to laugh at, to touch your heart, and leave you with some wonderful memories.
Vanessa Jaye.
Find out more about Vanessa at her website, www.vanessajaye.com, and her blog,
http://vanessajaye.blogspot.com/. You can contact her at [email protected], or follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/vanessajay.com, or at Facebook, www.facebook.com/vanessajaye.
Look for these titles by Vanessa Jaye
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Felicity Stripped Bare
She outran her memories. She couldn’t outrun her past.
Legacy Found
© 2011 N.J. Walters
Legacy, Book 3
Shelley is a killer. Never mind that her “crime” freed her from thirty-five years of brutal captivity—the bounty hunters on her trail don’t care. For the first time in her life, she is on her own, free to put the past behind her and explore what it means to be a werewolf.
James Riley is dead tired. After a week untangling legal and financial affairs his brother’s death left behind, he’s feeling every ounce of his new responsibility as Wolf Creek pack alpha. He’s not too tired though, to notice his sexy waitress is a werewolf—one that strangely doesn’t recognize him as one of her own kind.
After his questions rattle her composure and get her fired, Shelley figures the least James can do is drive her to the next town, but he wants more. He wants to take her home. And despite her fear, something inside her is irresistibly drawn to his commanding yet gentle presence.
James is willing to give Shelley all the time she needs to embrace her heritage, her sexuality, and eventually his love. But her past will not be denied...and her secrets demand a price paid in blood.
Warning: This book contains a hunky werewolf, a woman with a secret past, a lost family found, nasty bounty hunters, and lots of steamy hot sex!
Enjoy the following excerpt for Legacy Found:
He paused in the open doorway and removed his sunglasses, tucking them in his shirt pocket as he looked around. The place was crowded, mostly with men, but there were a few women as well. Almost all the tables were filled. The sound of chatter was punctuated with the noise of utensils clanking as they all ate. The coffeepot hissed and the grill sizzled in the kitchen.
Something else permeated the air, but James couldn’t quite place it. Grease, sweat and food all mixed together to dull his preternatural sense of smell. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Several men glanced up from their meals and stared, but most ignored him, too intent on finishing their food and getting back on the road. To a trucker, time was money.
James scanned the room and sauntered over to a vacant booth in the far corner. He slid onto the vinyl bench seat and leaned back, trying to fit his large body comfortably into the space.
From his position, he had an unobstructed view of the room and the front door. There was also a window right beside him, which would allow for a quick escape if necessary.
The diner was surprisingly clean but dull. The paint on the walls was chipped, the linoleum on the floor scarred. And the seat cushions had seen better days. But the table gleamed and the condiment bottles were full. He plucked the menu from behind the shiny napkin dispenser and scanned it.
At the far end of the room, which James assumed led to the kitchen, a swinging door popped open. A woman backed into the room carrying a tray laden with plates. She looked like any waitress anywhere—harried and overworked. He went back to studying the menu, but his gaze was drawn again and again to the woman.
Giving up on the menu, he tossed it down on the table and studied her. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but it was hard to tell. She had the look of someone who’d had a hard life. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, giving her face a pinched appearance.
As he watched, she competently served up the food from her tray, distributing plates to various tables, while nimbly sidestepping the roving hands of one of the truckers. His eyes narrowed as a burly driver patted her butt as she passed by. She jerked, but didn’t stop. Head ducked down, she kept going.
Anger began to burn low in his gut. It was none of his business, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to get involved. Not with paranormal bounty hunters searching for him and his daughter. The last thing he wanted to do was bring attention to himself and, through him, to his pack.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was dressed in a tacky pink polyester uniform that hung on her slender frame. It was hard to tell her shape. It was mostly hidden by the bulky dress, which was zipped up tight to her neck and fell all the way to her knees. Her legs were bare from her knees to her ankles and she wore white socks inside her battered canvas sneakers.
The woman was continually in motion, pouring coffee and serving food. Even though she worked without stopping, there was almost a fragile air about her, as if she’d been ill recently.
He wasn’t sure she’d even seen him, but as soon as her tray was empty, she tucked it under her arm and hurried over to his table. “What can I get you?” She pulled an order pad and pen out of her pocket.
James froze in place. All his senses went on full alert. Her scent was ever so faint, almost as if she were masking it somehow. But it was there. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered. He was so shocked he spoke before he could check his words.
The woman paled and swayed. His hand shot out to steady her, but she quickly pulled away, taking a step backward. “What? What did you say?” Her voice grew steadier with each word she spoke.
The soft tones of her voice skimmed over James like a caress. He was struck with the urge to draw her close to him, lay his head against her stomach and just listen to her talk. But fright still lingered in her dark chocolate-brown eyes in spite of her bravado. Her fingers clenched around the pen she was holding and she took another half-step backward.
She thought she had a life—until being hunted shows her she’s never really lived.
Savage Transformation
© 2010 Lexxie Couper
Savage Australia, Book 2
Jacqueline Huddart has spent her entire adult life on the run. Not from the law, or even a jealous lover. From herself—and what she is. That strategy works for her until a funeral demands she return to home ground, and her best friend disappears. Finding Delainie means Jackie must confront the truth…and accept the help of a mysterious, sexy-as-sin Texan.
Marshall Rourke isn’t the only one flying under the radar. He’s on an off-the-grid quest to track down a rogue ex-partner who hunts paranormal beings for the joy of the kill. Convincing the unexpectedly feisty Jackie to trust him isn’t easy, but there’s no better way to lure the hunter into the open than to dangle as unique a target as Jackie—the last Tasmanian Tiger shifter in existence.
Trouble is, Marshall hadn’t counted on Jackie’s brutal right cross. Or the fact that her simmering sexuality calls to his inner wolf on every imaginable level. And that the killer is about to use their desire to add them both to his trophy case…
Warning: This title contains the following: explicit sex out in the bush, wild shifter sex in an abandoned shack, passionate sex in a hotel shower. Plus a Texan hero with a very big secret, an Australian heroine with an even bigger one, a significant amount of violence and as always, Australian sarcasm.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Savage Transformation:
Her thylacine growled, surging though her being with rapid ease. Snatching back control had been hard. She’d shoved the need to transform down into the pit of her existence and half-walked, half-ran down the hotel’s stairs into the car park, scanning the area for any sign of Delanie.
And now here she was, walking around her best friend’s car, breathing shallow for fear of losing herself to her inner animal when she knew she should be breathing dee
p to detect any hint of Delanie’s location.
Then stop being a chicken shit and do it.
Coming to a standstill, wishing—again—she had her gun, Jackie closed her eyes and pulled in a long, slow breath.
There! Delanie.
Faint, almost dispersed to nothing, but there. To her right. Delanie’s scent tinged with…
She turned, lifting her head slightly and pulling in another breath.
Her heart clenched. Fear. Delanie’s scent was tinged with fear. The acrid kind of a sudden fright.
God, what is going on?
Following the scent, the thylacine inside her itching for release, she moved through the car park. Clapped-out combi-vans stood beside shiny hybrids. Dented station wagons shared the asphalt with lovingly looked-after sedans. Each waited for their owners to return, the setting sun casting their paintwork in a fiery orange glow.
Jackie pulled in another breath, tasting the air. Del had been here.
She narrowed her eyes, approaching a low red convertible. Heat rolled from it in unpleasant waves, the stench of burning motor oil almost choking her. Reaching out, she placed her right palm on the car’s hood. Hot. Hot enough to tell her the engine had only recently been running.
She took another breath, separating the car’s fumes from the delicate scent of her best friend. Delanie’s scent grew stronger here. More concentrated.
Jackie’s chest squeezed tight. It wasn’t just Del’s scent that was more potent here. Her fear tainted the air like a thick mist.
Damnit, Del. What’s going on?
She took another breath. There was more on the air than Delanie’s fear-laced scent. There was something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on. A scent that wasn’t a scent.
That doesn’t make sense, Huddart.
No, it didn’t, but she didn’t know how else to explain it. There was a void to the air, as if something had erased the particles of which it was comprised. Removed them from existence.
Her pulse quickened. Removing something from a crime scene—and worryingly, this is exactly what this seemed to be—meant Delanie wasn’t just missing. She was…
“Taken,” she whispered.
Her stomach rolled and she ran her stare over the red convertible. She could do one of two things. She could call the local police force and report Delanie as missing, and aid them in finding her by following standard police procedure. Or she could track Del herself. Alone.
She straightened, removing her hand from the car and turning into the gentle breeze at her back.
It blew against her face, barely strong enough to move the strands of her hair. Closing her eyes, she drew in another breath, through her mouth as well this time, tasting Delanie on the air. No, it wasn’t just on the air. It was on the ground as well. Whoever had taken Del had left a scent trail on the road.
On purpose?
The question slipped through Jackie’s mind, making her already fast pulse thump faster. Who would do that? Who would take her best friend and leave a scent trail?
She ground her teeth. No one. She was being dramatic. Ridiculous. She had to stop standing here wasting time with stupid notions of malevolent intentions and find Delanie. Find her and then teach the bastard who took her what happens to those who mess with a cop’s best friend.
Heart racing, she began running, nose into the breeze, Del’s scent flowing into her body.
Four blocks passed. Five. Six. The houses flanking her became light industrial buildings and warehouses. And still, Delanie’s scent pulled her forward. Faster. Her inner animal ached for release. Hungered to track, to run…
She ran, her blood roaring in her ears, and skidded to a halt, heels digging into the now gravel road when a man stepped toward her from behind a big black van. A tall man with impossibly broad shoulders and narrow lean hips.
The very man she’d caught looking at her inside the airport terminal yesterday. The same man who’d driven away from the airport car park in a black Audi an hour later.
The same man she’d seen standing under a snow gum at Pyengana’s cemetery.
Cold fury ripped through her. “You’ve been following me.” She bunched her fists by her side and took a step closer to him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. “What the hell have you done with Delanie?”
A tiny dimple creased his left cheek beside lips curled into a small grin, giving Jackie the impression he knew a secret he found entirely humourous. Dark honey-blonde hair fell over his forehead in a tousled mess, brushing straight eyebrows a shade darker. “I have, Detective Huddart. But I’m afraid I haven’t taken your friend.”
He studied her from behind impenetrable black sunglasses, the intensity of his unseen but wholly felt inspection making Jackie want to shiver.
And smash her fist against his far too square jaw.
“I’ve seen you three times in the last twenty four hours and now my best friend is missing.” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. “That’s not coincidence. Who are you and how the hell do you know who I am?”
She could hear her control cracking, hear the violence of her animal’s soul cutting each word she said, but she didn’t care. He—whoever he was—had the advantage over her. She didn’t like that. Not as a cop. Not as an animal. She didn’t like it at all.
He however, seemed unaffected by her obvious aggression. His lips curled into a broader grin. “Marshall Rourke, at your service.”
Jackie didn’t return his smile. “You’re American?”
Long, straight fingers came up to tip an imaginary hat. “Texan, actually, but it’s pretty much the same thing.”
“Enough of the charm, Mr. Rourke.” Jackie snapped. Damn, she wished she had her gun. And her badge. She’d wipe that far-too-sexy grin from his face in two seconds flat. “Time to tell me why you’re following me, how you know who I am and where the hell Del—”
Her best friend’s name slipped from her lips before she could stop it and she bit back a sharp curse. Damn it, cop law 101—don’t give away information not already revealed. She clenched her fists, glaring at Marshall Rourke.
“I know you have no reason to trust me.” He removed his dark sunglasses, and Jackie’s chest squeezed. His eyes were stunning. Piercing light blue the colour of Antarctic ice. “But if you want to see Delanie McKenzie alive again, I recommend you come with me.”
Hunter of the Heart
Vanessa Jaye
His darkest secret could be her only hope.
Tessa Archer is sick of sitting on the sidelines of life, but the man she’s just met on her first Caribbean cruise is way out of her comfort zone. He’s dazzlingly handsome, compelling…and she swears she can hear his voice in her head before he speaks.
When Nathan Barcza touches Tessa’s hand, the jolt of recognition is unmistakable—and impossible. Werewolves mate only once—for life—and his mate was murdered by the creature he hunts, a Pithcus that hides somewhere aboard this ship. This is his final chance for vengeance.
The last thing he can afford is any distraction, but the siren call of Tessa’s open heart is irresistible. It also makes her a target of the creature who’s had a taste of her and wants more. To save her, Nate will have to unleash his last secret in a confrontation with no hope of survival.
For if the Pithcus doesn’t kill him, Nate’s partner is under orders to finish the job…
Warning: Contains a smoldering, sex-on-a-stick werewolf hero afraid to love again and a seriously annoyed heroine who can't figure out how she ended up as an appetizer on what feels like a raw-foods reality horror show. Includes graphic violence, explicit language, smoking-hot sex, squeeze-your-heart emotions and humor.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Hunter of the Heart
Copyright © 2011 by Vanessa Jaye
ISBN: 978-1-60928-546-3
Edited by Heidi Moore
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2011
www.samhainpublishing.com