She wasn’t staying, so he had no business going there. It didn’t matter how pretty she was or how good a lay. He held back a wince at the crude thought—wolf or not, she didn’t deserve it, but it was a good reminder to himself. She wasn’t for him. Biology and destiny weren’t things he could argue with or charm into his way of thinking. He could talk his brothers into keeping her until they knew what was going on, but it wasn’t permanent.
He couldn’t forget that even for a second.
He clenched his fists as frustration rocketed through him. What a fucking mess. Why did she have to be a wolf? Their world wouldn’t survive a mating between their species. It was bad enough that Jason had mated with the Alpha wolf’s human stepdaughter, but a leopard and a true wolf? It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen.
Every shifter species could trace its existence to the blessing of a benevolent deity. For leopards, it went back to King Leonidas of Sparta. He’d become legend for his bravery in the face of an onslaught of Persian forces under the command of Xerxes. So impressed with Leonidas’s courageous death, the hunter goddess Artemis had made his sons more than men. The god Zeus, jealous of his daughter’s powerful creations, had made a wereanimal of his own. Wolves. King Lycaon of Arcadia had been the first, and his fifty sons had followed in his footsteps.
Wolves and leopards had scattered to the four corners of the globe, but their war for dominance had never abated, even centuries later. The peace between their two species was tenuous at the best of times. A kidnapped and battered wolf on leopard land wouldn’t help with that, but every instinct demanded Zander keep Lyra safe…and near.
There were no other options.
She ran straight into love’s arms…and he isn’t letting her go a second time.
Passions Recalled
© 2010 Loribelle Hunt
Forbidden Passions, Book 2
When his mate and his father died in a freak accident, Jason Leonidas left home and became a park ranger in the Florida Panhandle. The distance and solitude suit him. After all, the less he cares, the less he hurts.
As a hurricane bears down on the coast, he races to secure and evacuate the park before conditions worsen. Just as that point of no return passes he discovers an injured and unconscious visitor. Celeste Lykaios, his mate…who died over a year ago.
Truth has turned Celeste’s world upside down. Not only did her family lie to Jason about her survival, they lied to her about his abandonment. And the new boyfriend she’d trusted is trying to kill her. Her only hope was to race into the teeth of the storm to find Jason. She almost made it.
As she and Jason unravel the betrayal that split them apart, the ragged strands reconnect, forming a fragile hope that their love can be salvaged. Out in the storm, the killer waits for a chance to make Celeste the stunning finale in a plan to over throw the Lycan alpha…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Passions Recalled:
There were jackhammers in her head. Even moaning hurt. Funny, she didn’t remember partying last night. She frowned, and it made the pain worse. Actually she didn’t remember last night at all. Rolling over, she pressed her forehead into the pillow and was immediately swamped by Jason’s smell. Oh, God. Where was she?
She couldn’t think past the pounding behind her eyes, but when the room shook with a crack of thunder she jerked her head up, wincing for her trouble. She hated storms. There was one window, and outside it a palm tree whipped back and forth.
Definitely not in Kansas anymore. Or Atlanta. Whatever.
Rolling back over, she took stock. Her head hurt like hell, but everything else seemed fine. Only one way to know for sure. Gingerly, she pushed up on her elbows, cursing the pounding headache that spread over her face with the strain. She sat up, gasping, and looked around the room. To call it bare was generous. It contained the bed and a dresser. The walls were empty. There was nothing to identify its owner but the scent of the sheets on which she lay.
But that didn’t make sense. She looked out the window again as another gust of wind buffeted the house. Rain tapped the roof, and she cocked her head, pressing her hand to the side that throbbed the most. The sound echoed loudly in the room, and her headache seemed to pick up the rhythm, pulsing in time to the rain. It was familiar. Tin would be her guess, and that at least helped her narrow down her location to probably somewhere in the South where in recent years tin roofs had become all the rage. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Not the Southwest, so not Jason’s home. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and set her feet firmly on the floor.
And why the hell was she wearing a bikini?
Only one way to find out, Celeste.
She had to venture out of the room, find out where she was and who else was here, if anyone. Her mind refused to accept it might be Jason, even if her body thrummed at the thought. She didn’t dare wish it was so. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jason was over. Jason was the past.
She stood and took a step toward the door, but froze when a black leopard appeared and blocked the space. Her eyes filled with tears.
The first time she’d seen Jason in leopard form, she’d been very confused. His brothers looked like typical leopards in their were forms, tawny and gold with black spots. Jason was dark, his coat black, his spots brown to cream colored. He’d explained that sometimes nature threw a genetic anomaly out there, in the leopard and wereleopard worlds. Melanistic leopards were often born in litters with regularly colored siblings, probably an evolutionary advantage for jungle ranging leopards. All of the big cat species had melanistic or black versions. The same held true for werecats. Black was not a common color to see, but not rare either.
Looking at him now, she remembered the pain of that conversation. His pain. She’d felt his loneliness and had wanted to soothe it. He’d identified himself as the outsider in his family, but she’d seen how much they loved him, how much they needed and respected him. Although, none of that had really mattered to her. She’d thought he was beautiful. She’d loved him beyond reason. She should have known better, she thought bitterly with the benefit of hindsight, but the observation didn’t make one damn bit of difference in her reaction.
He padded closer, stalking, and she clenched her fists. She would not reach out and bury her hands in that fur, would not give in to the tears threatening to fall. The big body pushed against her, his head butting and rubbing against her thigh in a show of affection, and she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. He pushed her until the backs of her knees hit the bed and she sat, giving in to the temptation and sinking her hands in his pelt.
Soft. Silky. So, so dark and lit with light at the same time, like the mysteries of the midnight sky. And definitely Jason.
She was afraid to speak, afraid to shatter the spell. It was the best damned dream she’d had in over a year.
He moved closer, sat on his haunches and rested his front legs along her thighs. Then he licked her, a long swipe of his tongue up the side of her face, over her old scars. The raspy stroke woke memories. This tongue, this man. Months alone and lonely and heartbroken in a hospital bed. Yet she shuddered as her body responded to him, recalled the out of control feeling of being in his arms.
Memory shattered the dream.
Except it wasn’t a dream, was it? She pushed against the cat and scrambled back on the bed. Shifting, the man followed, crawling up her body and pinning her under his weight. A growl rumbled deep in his chest.
“No,” he ordered, refusing to allow her to retreat.
She tried to push him away, but he grabbed her wrists and held them next to her head, while forcing her thighs apart with his knees and settling between them. His erection pushed hard and throbbing against the juncture between her thighs. She grew slick, felt the swelling in her clit and saw by the way his nostrils flared he knew it too.
“So long,” he muttered, before his lips descended on hers.
God help her, she couldn’t resist. She opened her mouth to him, accepted the stroke
of his tongue. His pelvis ground against hers in a matching rhythm, and she was positive the only thing keeping him from plunging into her was the thin fabric of the bikini. It wasn’t much of a barrier, and she wished he’d throw it away. She’d toss it herself if he ever let her wrists go.
The kiss was all too short as he broke the contact and trailed his lips along her jaw, down her neck, and finally closed over the old mark on her shoulder. He nipped it lightly and her back arched, her pussy flooding with cream as an intense orgasm froze her. God, she couldn’t respond to him like this, so quickly, after so many months absence. It was mortifying, and she strained against him. She needed a minute to collect herself, to attempt to build some kind of barrier around her heart. She feared she was too late. Maybe she’d never managed to do it in the first place.
He released her wrists, rolled onto his back and moved up the bed, pulling her across his chest with one arm around her waist. Somehow during the move he removed the bikini bottom. His cock insistently pressed against her center and with his eyes he begged for admittance, but he was leaving the choice to her. How could she resist? Her body had been dead for a year and now it screamed for the fulfillment only he could give her.
Refusing to acknowledge the niggling worry over where he’d been or where she was or even if it was real, she sat up on her knees and moved over his hips. She held her breath, closed her eyes and allowed the fantasy to take over as she took him inside her. Slow. So slowly. If this was a dream she didn’t want to ever wake up.
She felt his hands behind her neck, over her back. Shivered at the sensation of fabric sliding free of her skin. He was finally seated all the way inside her, when his hands closed over her breasts. Her entire system threatened to melt down.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
A Shifter, A Vampire and A Demon walk into a bar…
My Shifter Showmance
© 2010 R.G. Alexander
Shifting Reality, Book 1
Thomas Lyons is your average cat shifter. Cool, seductive…and bored out of his mind. With the new popularity of all things paranormal, he doesn’t see why he should hide anymore. When his half-demon technophile roommate hooks him up with a computer, Thomas starts a blog announcing to the world who and what he is. Oddly enough, the more he shares, the less he’s believed. In fact, people begin thinking it’s a new online series with fantastic effects.
Margo Sheffield doesn’t dance on tables anymore, not since her reckless naïveté cost her so much. These days, her only guilty pleasures are dark chocolate, shoes—and a certain website with a man whose purring voice sends shivers down her spine. When the show, Shifting Reality, offers a week in a haunted Scottish castle with the stars, it seems a far-off dream. But when that dream becomes reality, her boss’s insistence that she mix business with pleasure—or else—is more like a nightmare.
Thomas’s focus on the show is blown by the luscious, camera-shy handful. And Margo can barely think about contracts when she’s surrounded by newlywed ghost hunters, a matchmaking demon and a man whose addictive touch makes her head spin. A showmance is the last thing she needs, but with a sexy cat like Thomas on the prowl…she just can’t resist.
Enjoy the following excerpt for My Shifter Showmance:
“None of that, now, Margo. Not between you and I.”
That was all the warning she got before she was spun around and lifted in the air to settle, breathless, straddling his lap. “Mr. Lyons, I think we should talk about—”
“Hush.” Thomas curled his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to meet his searching lips before she could get another word out. Margo’s last thought was, Oh hell, before the kiss scrambled her brain.
He growled, the pressure of his lips opening hers as he sought entrance. God, his taste. And the way he was kissing her, exactly the way she’d always imagined he would. Greedily, hungrily…perfectly.
Her sex pressed against his thickening erection, and through their clothes she could feel the heat of him. He was blazing. She slid her tongue across his fangs. His body jerked in reaction, and she did it again, loving the fact that she could make him respond to her. Make him as crazy as he was making her from one simple kiss. Who was she trying to fool? She’d been crazy for him since the moment she’d seen the first video. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his arms, wishing she could touch his bare skin, desperate for more contact. Closer. Harder. More.
“Margo, baby…” He’d pulled away. Why had he pulled away? She looked at the agonized need tightening his expression, her brows lowering in confusion when he shook his head. “I never in all my years imagined saying this, but we should stop. We shouldn’t do this here. And if you keep grinding against me, I won’t be able to stop myself from tossing you on this table and taking you right now, in full view of our online audience.”
Audience. The cameras. Hell. Chi and Liam were gone, but Margo knew each room had its own grouping of stationary cameras. She’d been grinding? Mortification stung her cheeks. She imagined the people online watching her behavior, maybe even her coworkers, and she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.
He stood, holding her struggling body easily in his arms and strode swiftly to the kitchen, nodding at the Goth servants before heading into the large pantry room and closing the door.
The lock turned with a click of finality, and Margo bit her lip. Would Darcy fire her for her inappropriate behavior? She huffed out a dark laugh. Her boss would no doubt wholeheartedly approve. As long as it got her those Shifting Reality rights.
He swept his hand out, drawing her gaze to the deep pantry filled with dry goods and empty jars. It was nearly the size of her bedroom in the insanely expensive cubbyhole she called an apartment. And the ceiling was so high, stocked to the rafters, that they actually had a sliding ladder leaning against one of the shelves.
Thomas caressed her jaw with his thumb, bringing her attention back to him. “There’s no sound equipment, no cameras here. Just you and I. Talk to me, Margo, please.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “If I were Saint or Mac, I’d have a way to know what you’re thinking. Know why you look like you regret what just happened.”
“If you were Saint or Mac, I wouldn’t be in this pantry.” She spoke without thinking, flinched as she saw his pleased expression. Shit. Why didn’t she just tell him she only regretted he’d stopped? That she’d wanted to smother herself in chocolate and whipped cream and be his dessert? She sighed. “What I mean is— Hell, I don’t know what I mean. I think we should go to bed. Separately. To separate beds. Alone. We can talk about the reason we both know I’m here in the morning.”
Work, keep saying it, this is for work. Contract not coitus. Contract not coitus.
“I smell you.”
She crossed her arms defensively and looked at him askance. “I’m sorry?”
Thomas shook his head, his eyes going dark as he took a deep, lung filling breath. “Just, now that there’s no distraction, I can really smell you. It’s rich. Spicy and sweet. Like pumpkin mousse or, well, I’ve never smelled anyone quite like you.”
Pumpkin? “You smell nice too. I’m assuming we both shower. What’s your point?” She was being belligerent, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She was having a hard time accepting how easily she’d lost control. The old Margo would no doubt have thrown caution to the wind, damned the cameras and danced for him on the table, perhaps torn off his buttons with her teeth. Which was one of the reasons she’d been buried beneath mountains of to do lists and restrained hairdos for the better part of a decade. The old Margo was nothing but trouble.
So was Thomas Lyons. His pupils had dilated, his strong features had sharpened and his cheeks looked flushed. He looked…feral. Wild. Like he was ready to pick up where they’d just left off, whether she liked it or not. Her slender thread of control began to fray once more. She should leave now. The pantry. The castle. The country.
Thomas blocked her way to the door. Did his fangs look longer? Mor
e intimidating? He towered over her, backing her up until her shoulders hit the ladder. He took her wrists in his hands and lifted her arms over her head. She gripped the rungs of the ladder, clinging instinctively, fascinated by the predatory look in his eyes.
“My point,” his voice was rough, needy, “is that you aren’t going anywhere, kitten. Regardless of what your mind is telling you to regret or run from, your body is speaking loud and clear. And it wants what I want.”
“What?”
Thomas leaned into her, his lips lightly caressing her neck as he whispered, “More.”
Renegade Passions
Loribelle Hunt
No one can outfly the speed of fate.
Forbidden Passions, Book 4
As a member of the elite Messenger Corps, werebird Alexandra “Ajax” Petros is in her element. Under the protection of her people’s steadfast political neutrality, the only thing she can’t outfly are the secrets of her past—and her birthright as destined queen.
Which is exactly what she’s trying to do when she lands, literally, in the arms of a man with claws—and cold, methodical wits—as razor sharp as her own eagle talons.
For Nicodemus Leonidas, information is power. The journey into werebird territory to find out what happened to his father is a calculated risk, but nothing is more dangerous than his and Ajax’s instant, explosive chemistry. In the heat of the moment, he senses the stubbornly independent woman is his mate…and that she’s hiding something.
Evasive maneuvers do Ajax no good. Inexorably, Nico peels away her layers until he holds her very soul in his hands. And when she uncovers a plot to steal her throne, he is the one man with the power to force her to make the one choice she never wanted to face…
Renegade Passions: Forbidden Passions, Book 4 Page 8