Marvelous Monday Reads: Winning the Campaign Manager
Welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads, pumpkins! Today I’m featuring Lucy Felthouse and her hot new paranormal romance novel Winning the Campaign manager. Take it away, Lucy!
Politics has never been so sexy!
Cade Avery is running for a position on his local county council. He’s extremely good at what he does and is a valuable asset to his community. The trouble is, he upsets people, says the wrong things, and rides rough-shod over other people’s plans and ideas. His assistant, Mary, eager to improve Cade’s public image, hires him a campaign manager.
Quentin Rayworth is thrilled to be working with such a formidable public figure. It’ll be a challenge, but he’s confident he can help Cade to win the election, and knows that the achievement will look impressive on his CV.
It’s soon clear that the two men are set to be an excellent team. That is, until Cade’s werewolf makes its intentions known—in Quentin, it has found its mate, and it will not rest until he has claimed him. But can Cade—and his wolf—win over the campaign manager?
Story Excerpt
“You’ve done what?” Cade Avery yelled, fixing his long-time friend and colleague, Mary Summers, with a glare. He slammed his hands down on his desk, making a bunch of pens jump and rattle, and causing water to splash over the side of his glass. “Why the hell would you do such a thing?”
Mary, by now used to Cade’s temper and frequent outbursts, didn’t flinch. Standing firm on the other side of his desk, she calmly stated, “You heard me, Cade. I’ve appointed you a campaign manager. And as for the why, I think it’s pretty damn obvious.”
“Not to me,” he grumbled, snatching a handful of tissues from the box in his top drawer and swiping irritably at the liquid he’d spilled. “Seems like an unnecessary expense.”
With a heavy sigh, Mary replied, “Do you want to win this bloody election or not?”
“Yes, of course I do. What sort of a stupid question is that?”
“Well then, you need a campaign manager. The rest of the team and I already have enough on our plates. We can’t handle that side of things, too. Not to mention the fact that you really need someone with … expertise … in that department. Someone who can boost your public image, make you more likeable … you know, so people will actually vote for you.”
Screwing up the wad of soggy tissue and dumping it in the wastebasket beside him, Cade snapped his gaze to Mary. She stood, the ever-present iPad clutched against her chest, looking as determined and immovable as a five-feet-one, slim thirty-five-year-old was ever going to get.
He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “What’s wrong with my public image?”
Rolling her eyes heavenward, her body tensing, Mary’s cool demeanor actually looked on the verge of cracking. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she looked back at him. “Give me strength, Cade. Are you fucking serious?”
She may have used the deep breath and probably a considerable amount of willpower to dampen down her physical reaction to his question, but her actual words gave her true state of mind away. As a rule, the word “bloody” was as bad as it got for Mary. To have enticed a “fucking” out of her, and within the same conversation, no less, meant she was in real danger of losing her temper with him. And despite her diminutive frame and usually chilled-out personality—especially in comparison with his huge frame and fiery personality—when she did lose it, she was utterly terrifying. Possibly the fact that she rarely got angry was what made it so potent when she did. Mary’s ire could turn even the thickest-skinned person into a blubbering wreck.
“Mary,” he cooed, backtracking quickly, “come on, sit down. Why do you always insist on standing up in here?”
“Because, unless we’re having a meeting, I don’t generally need to stay long. I normally impart my information, you give your feedback, and we get on with our day.” She shifted restlessly and narrowed her eyes. “But today, it seems, you’re having a bit of a brain fart. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
Raising his eyebrows at her increasing irritation, and wondering if there was something going on in her private life that was making her so touchy, he nodded. “Yes, I really think you do.”
A few seconds of silence passed, in which Mary again seemed to be getting a grip on her irritation. She finally said, “All right. But don’t forget; you asked for it.”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing | Amazon | Goodreads | Bookstrand
About the Author
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves and Hiding in Plain Sight. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 160 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter and get a free eBook: http://www.subscribepage.com/lfnewsletter
Lady of Thorns: Many Happy Returns
For those of you who read yesterday’s Mid Week Tease and wanted to know how the rest of that scene turned out, I live to serve. Enjoy!
“Well, it could have been worse, milady,” Jeanette said judiciously, holding up the stained copper silk and studying it. “At least you didn’t make the entire tree blow up.”
“That’s not nearly as helpful as you think it is,” Amelie muttered, getting the last bit of sticky juice out of her hair. She slid under the water in the tub to rinse, shaking her head from side to side to sluice out the suds, then resurfaced. “You should have seen their faces.”
Her maid made a noncommittal noise. “But the apples ripened.”
“Yes, the apples ripened, which means the Harvest Festival is officially underway. Hopefully that will keep Maman satisfied.” Amelie stood up, accepting a bath sheet and wrapping it around herself. “And I can get back to my real work.”
Jeanette helped her out of the tub and shooed her over to the vanity table. “Excuse me for being blunt, milady, but these will be your duties someday. You can’t stay in your office forever.”
Amelie wished she was still young enough to stamp a foot, absurdly petulant as that would be. Instead she dropped onto the padded chair, allowing the maid to work on her hair with a drying cloth. “Perhaps Maman should have made Sibeal her heir after all. She could have blown up the entire square and everyone would have congratulated her.”
“Mayhap, but Lady Sibeal isn’t a Terra magistra,” Jeanette said mildly, pulling out a comb and running it through Amelie’s damp locks. “You are. And frankly you have the better mind for governing a province.”
“So you say. Maman says I’m too cold and analytical.”
The maid sighed. “Her ladyship has a different view from yours on what makes a good countess. It doesn’t meant that hers is the only correct way.”
“Oh, isn’t it?”
Both of them started, turning guiltily towards the tall woman standing at the bedroom door. With her titian hair coiled into an elegant updo, hazel eyes that changed color depending on what she wore, and a form-fitting maroon gown that highlighted both a heavy strand of emeralds and creamy décolletage over the square cut neckline, Henriette le Clerq looked like the harvest personified. “Do go on, Jeanette,” she suggested.
Blushing, Jeanette dropped into a deep curtsey. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean—”
“Of course you did.” Henriette swept closer, holding a piece of rolled-up paper in her slender hands. “And you’re quite right. My daughter’s views are different from my own. When she becomes the Lady, she may rule Lierdhe as she sees fit. In the meantime, however, I am still the Lady of Lierdhe and must do as I deem best for my province and my people, even if that runs counter to my daughter’s views.”
Jeanette bowed her head. “Of course, my lady. I apologize.”
“Mm. You may go.”
The maid bobbed another curtsey and left. “I wish you wouldn’t scold Jeanette, Maman,” Amelie said wearily. “She did nothing to deserve it.”
“Oh, my dear, that wasn’t a scolding,” Henriette said, waving the roll of paper. “That was merely a reminder.” She pursed her lips. “I heard about the little contretemps at the ceremony today. Apple juice everywhere, the mayor said.”
Leave it to her mother to bring that up. Controlling her temper, Amelie picked up the comb Jeanette had dropped and went back to work on her hair. “I was distracted by one of the children. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Henriette said idly. “Practice makes perfect and all that, and it’s not as if I can step down until I know the family line will continue.” Before Amelie could come up with an appropriate reply she continued, “Speaking of that, however, I just received the most wonderful news from your sister.”
“What does Sibeal have to say?”
A beaming smile crossed her mother’s face. “She’s with child. She writes that she should give birth in the spring, and we’re to come to Wolf’s Lair to see the baby.”
For someone who had resisted the match so severely, Amelie thought, her mother certainly seemed happy with it now. It was ironic, considering the chill that had dropped over their own relationship ever since the King of Ypres had ridden to Lierdhe at Amelie’s request to stop the forced wedding of her younger sister Sibeal to Clement Reynard. The wedding had been Henriette’s way of dealing with rising debts from her drought-stricken province; she’d made an arrangement with Gregor Reynard, the Earl of Leuven, for a loan of two million gold soleils to cover seed costs in exchange for one of her daughters marrying the Earl’s heir Clement. When Amelie had broken off the engagement due to Clement’s boorish behavior, the countess had thrust Sibeal into her place, locking Amelie in a mage-warded cell to keep her “out of trouble.”
But King Matthias had put a stop to all that. Now Sibeal was happily married to Duke Tomas Villiers, the man who had ridden at the king’s side to her rescue, and Lierdhe was safe thanks to the earl forgiving half his loan (at sword point, admittedly) and a generous wedding gift of one million soleils from Villiers, the crown, and Prince Marcus of Illium.
Amelie ignored the sharp pang at the thought of Marcus. He’s gone, and that’s all there is to it. “How wonderful. I’ll write to Sibeal tonight.”
“I’ll have the seamstress start on a layette immediately,” Henriette said, pacing now as she tapped the rolled letter against her chin. “White and green, I think, with our sigil worked in silver thread. And some new gowns for Sibeal, of course. And we must have a purse for the child.”
Amelie thought of the ledgers in her office. “Don’t make it too extravagant. This year’s harvest was much better than the last two, but it was hardly a bumper crop.”
Henriette stopped in mid-stride, the doting grandmother-to-be replaced by the shrewd countess. “How bad?”
“Not bad, but the farmers say it won’t be up to the amount we’re used to, either. They estimate we’ve had an eight percent decrease in yield.”
“Drat.” The duchess resumed her pacing, but this time her smile was gone. “I thought the spring rains had taken care of the drought.”
“They eased it, yes, but it will take more than one wet spring to fully heal the land.” Amelie toyed with her comb. “You might want to reconsider my proposal that we send a request to the Aeris chapter house. If we can have a team of their mages generate a steady amount of rain through the winter—”
Henriette shook her head, two delicate curls bouncing with the movement. “The Aeris don’t believe in interfering with natural weather patterns. And even if I could talk them into it, it doesn’t sound as if we have enough money to pay their infernal fees.” Her hazel eyes narrowed in thought. “Besides, we don’t need Aeris help with this. We can install an irrigation system fed directly from the Lier. And our farm workers can create the irrigation channels, with help from us as required.”
Creating a ditch via magic was certainly one of the easier tasks a Terra mage such as her mother or herself could perform. “That would certainly be practical,” Amelie allowed. “But how would we go about planning such a thing, much less installing it?”
“I’ve already contacted the Earl of Bertrix. He’s willing to lend us some engineers for the project.”
Amelie felt her mouth drop open and closed it quickly. “You must be joking. You loathe Stefan Vandenberghe. I’ve heard you call him a dirt-grubbing troglodyte to his face.”
Henriette flicked long fingers. “That was only because he called me a high-handed harridan. But I’ll admit the blasted man is clever when it comes to earthworks. He’s already agreed to help us plan and install an irrigation system for a share in our harvests over the next five years.”
Amelie ran the figures in her head. Much depended on what the earl considered a share, but if Lierdhe’s fields had access to guaranteed water then their house could afford to give up a certain percent of each harvest. And the earl, ruler of a dry and rocky province on the border of Ypres near Munoz, was known for his brilliant aqueducts and other strategies to transfer water across his lands. If anyone could design a functioning irrigation system for the rolling fields of Lierdhe, it was the Earl of Bertrix. “Does that include this harvest as well?”
“No, not until the system has been installed and is working properly. I’ve invited the earl and his entourage to come to the Harvest Ball so that we can discuss terms. You’ll have a full report on this year’s harvest by then, of course.”
The Harvest Ball. Amelie wanted to groan in dismay. In previous years her mother had used the ball to trot potential suitors in front of her like some fairy tale come to stiff, uncomfortable life. She’d been allowed to skip it last year due to her doomed betrothal to Clement, but clearly her mother had the matrimonial bit in her teeth again.
The only boon about that was that Henriette had been forbidden from having any say in Amelie’s future consort, by both royal and magical decree. Lette Melliers, the Terra Grand Magistra of Ypres, was an old friend of her mother’s but hadn’t been happy about Henriette’s actions in the spring. Both King Matthias and Lette had laid down the law; Amelie’s husband would be her choice, and her choice only.
Which meant she would be expected to make an appearance at the ball and view whatever potential suitors could be scrounged up, as well as sit in on the negotiations with Vandenberghe and provide facts and figures as needed. Her head started to hurt at the thought. “I take it we’re lodging Vandenberghe’s people at Ardenhaal?”
Henriette sighed. “Unfortunately. I’ve also asked the king to send that lawyer of his to assist us with the negotiations.”
That came as a surprise. Counselor Alain LaPorte was the lawyer who had advised King Matthias on the unlawfulness of Sibeal’s betrothal agreement. Amelie wondered if her mother was going for some kind of record in personal shocks. “I thought you called him a duplicitous snake.”
“He is. But if I’m to deal with Vandenberghe, I’d prefer to have a duplicitous snake working on my side.” Henriette pointed the rolled-up letter at her. “As you take on more of my duties, you’ll learn that ruling a province isn’t all pretty dresses and balls. You’ll often be called upon to do things that go against your personal preferences.”
Such as marry a rich boor. “Forgive me for not being able to stomach Clement Reynard, Mother,” Amelie said through her teeth. “But if you had gone to the king as I’d begged you—”
Henriette held up a hand. “We don’t need to rehash this, Amelie. The de Clerqs still rule in Lierdhe and Sibeal is happily married with a baby on the way. Things have turned out for the best, which is all I can ask for.”
Which was completely false. Her mother could, and would, ask for the sun and moon on a silver chain if the mood struck her. “If you want me to have the latest figures for the negotiations, I’d best get back to work tomorrow. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Henriette said, attention straying back to the letter in her hand. “I’ll let you get ready for bed. Good night, my dear.”
So much for that. She tried for a polite smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “Good night, Maman.”
The countess swept out of the room. After a moment, Jeanette came back in, one hand behind her back. “Is the coast clear?”
Amelie slumped on her chair. “As clear as it’ll ever be. I’m sorry about her scolding.”
The maid shook her head. “It was my own fault, milady. My mother always said my tongue will get me into trouble one of these days. Now, shall I help you get ready for bed?”
After the disasters of the day, all she wanted was to be left alone. “No. I think I can do that much for myself. But thank you.”
With a surprising hesitancy, Jeanette approached the vanity, bringing out what she had hidden behind her back. “Then I’ll give you this, milady.”
She put down a small plate that held an iced almond cake. Amelie stared at the pastry, her throat tightening. Someone had remembered, after all.
“I—thank you,” she stammered. “That was very kind of you, Jeanette.”
“I know it’s not much, but everyone should have a cake on their birthday.” The maid gave her a sympathetic smile. “Many happy returns, milady, and good night.”
With a quick curtsey she was gone. Blinking back tears, Amelie reached out and broke off a bit of the cake, wondering if its sweetness could offset the sour thing that had become her life.
Happy twentieth birthday to me.
Mid Week Tease: Lady of Thorns #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Hello, lovelies! This week I’m teasing you with the opening to the third book in my Two Thrones series, Lady of Thorns. Please note that this story will NOT be about Danaë and Matthias (their parallel adventure will be in Book 4), but it does feature Lady Amelie le Clerq, the young, prickly Terra magistra and heiress to the Lady of Lierdhe, and the eminently sneaky Counselor Alain LaPorte from Palace of Scoundrels. The best way I can describe it is, imagine Lady Mary Crawley from Season 1 Downton Abbey and Alan Shore from Boston Legal going head to head.
So to speak. Ahem.
And voila, hijinks ensue! Next week I’ll post a snippet of their first love scene together, so stay tuned, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
A crisp autumn wind blew through the village of Greatham, fluttering the leaves of the great apple tree in the square and making it look as if the tree was waving at the gathered villagers. As today was the official beginning of the Harvest Festival, everyone had been fortified with mugs of ale and hot pasties courtesy of the Duchess of Lierdhe while they waited for the day’s main event. A ragged but happy cheer rose when the duchess’s carriage finally rolled into view, the grand vehicle coming to a creaking stop next to a wooden platform where the mayor and other village officials waited for their esteemed visitor.
Lady Amelie le Clerq swallowed hard as she peered out the window of the carriage. She had tried to argue that the village was close enough to walk to from their castle, but Countess Henriette le Clerq, the Lady of Lierdhe and ruler of the province, had decreed that her heir would arrive in a dignified fashion for her first Ripening Ceremony and that was simply that.
Hence the carriage, not to mention the dress. Amelie scowled down at the diaphanous copper silk gown with its golden girdle that was the Lady’s ceremonial garb for this day. On her mother the gown looked both beautiful and dignified. On her…
I look like I’m playing dress-up. She had a woman’s curves, barely, but they weren’t balanced the way her mother’s were. Too much flesh across the hips, not enough across the breasts, and then there was the good hand’s span of exposed ankle between ground and hem. Worse, there was muscle underneath the softness, a result of her daily walks and the occasional stop to help a milkmaid or farm hand with a task. Amelie believed that a better understanding of her people’s daily lives could only aid her when it came time to govern Lierdhe, but her mother had been horrified the day she came home with one arm slimed to the pit from helping out with a difficult foaling.
Despite all that activity, she still had an exasperatingly round face with an upturned crabapple for a nose, as well as the dark eyes and hair that were a legacy from her father’s family. She couldn’t help feeling like a plump, drab wren next to her glorious cardinal of a mother. And now, wearing the Lady’s garb and about to perform her first Ripening Ceremony, she felt like an impostor as well.
Stop being ridiculous. You’re a fully qualified Terra mage and can perform this ceremony in your sleep. She studied the crowd again and tried to will her nervous stomach to calm as she stepped down from the carriage. The surprised faces in the crowd made it clear that not everyone had been informed about the change in the ceremony.
Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the mayor, a stocky man whose bushy eyebrows and red nose gave him a fatherly attitude. He bowed at her approach. “Lady Amelie, welcome,” he boomed. “It’s an honor for our village to host your first Ripening Ceremony.”
Her answering smile felt stiff, but she had no time to come up with something better. “And it is my pleasure to perform this ceremony for Greatham, mayor,” she announced, hoping no one could hear the tremor in her voice. “Shall we begin?”
“Of course.” He snapped his fingers and an official handed him a carved wooden cup full of spring water. “So that our lands may always be nourished and fruitful,” he announced, handing the cup to her.
Amelie had watched her mother perform this ceremony since she was a toddler. At the center of the square, a doubled circle of children ringed the gnarled apple tree. The children would part and pass the Lady through into the center, then begin dancing in a circle while singing a hymn praising Lierdhe’s autumn bounty. The Lady would pour the water onto the roots of the apple tree, symbolically nurturing it, and release the binding spell placed on it after it had bloomed in the spring. Using her Terra magic, she would then coax the tree into bearing fruit within minutes, a visual representation of the province’s fruitfulness.
This year, however, her mother had decreed that Amelie should take on the Ripening Ceremony in Greatham, the village closest to their home of Ardenhaal and the traditional site for opening the Harvest Festival. “You’ll have to do it eventually, and it’s best that you get some experience,” Henriette had said blithely. “Besides, it will be good to let the people see you performing magic, don’t you agree?”
Amelie felt the barb hidden inside her mother’s offer. The Terra magic involved in releasing the binding spell wasn’t difficult. Getting the tree to produce ripe apples at an unnatural speed was more challenging, but not beyond her capabilities. It was doing all of that while wearing a ridiculous scrap of copper silk and being watched by a crowd that made her stomach cramp.
She tried to dredge up some saliva, wondering how horrified the onlookers would be if she took a sip from the cup. You can have all the water you want later. Just get through this now. The older villagers gathered closer, many of the adults holding mugs of ale in one hand and pies or pasties in the other in celebration of the holiday. Under normal circumstances she enjoyed the smell coming from the food and drink, but today it set her already cramping stomach on edge. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to throw up in front of her mother’s subjects. I can do this. I can.
Taking a deep breath, she called, “Children of Greatham, let the Lady pass.”
Two sets of girls, most likely chosen for their good behavior, dropped their linked hands on cue. Amelie stepped past them into the cool shade of the apple tree’s spreading boughs, ignoring the giggles behind her. The tree’s life force reached up to her, a rich golden stream steadying her nerves.
Tipping the cup, she poured the water over the gnarled roots while saying a silent prayer, watching the dry brown earth turn moist and black. Depositing the now-empty cup on the ground, she straightened and looked up at the knobby branches and their clusters of green leaves. Her mage senses perceived the binding spell like a sticky caul that covered the branches, holding back their bounty. The tree ached with the need to bear its fruit, and she could feel that pain deep in her own belly.
Raising her arms, she murmured the releasing spell under her breath. Slowly, the caul began to peel back from the tip of each branch, gathering speed as it reached the trunk and unraveled towards the ground. She took in a deep lungful of air as she waited, noting all the scents; the moist dirt at the bottom of the apple tree’s roots, the dry spice of healthy wood, the odor of sugarplums, milk, and a hint of urine from the children, clean sweat, pasties, and ale from the adults, the pungency of manure and other odors that came from living together in a village, and above it all the smell of plants that knew it was time to give up their gifts and bow to the farmer’s scythe.
Within a minute the tree was free from its binding, a light breeze ruffling the leaves and making it seem like the branches was stretching in relief. Amelie allowed herself a sympathetic sigh. The first part was done. Now came the fiddly bit.
She let her hands drop to her sides, spreading her fingers wide, and lowered her mental shields to the ground under her feet. For her, every contact with the earth felt like a low, thrumming note that ran over her long bones, singing to the part of her soul that connected with her element. Today the earth welcomed her, cradling her in its slow, unstoppable immensity.
It was time. Sinking her mental reach deep into the earth, she drew upon its power, letting it stream up through the soles of her feet, filling her to overflowing. The spell she held in her mind would flow outward onto the dusty grey-brown bark, spreading over the trunk and branches, finding the tiny fertilized buds and prompting them to swell and ripen into red-gold apples. All she had to do was let it go—
An outraged squeal startled her, breaking her concentration. Annoyed, she turned towards the source of the interruption and spotted a tiny girl who was trying to tug her long russet braids out of the grasp of a boy in the outer ring.
He dropped the braids when he saw Amelie’s glare, giving her his best innocent smile. She remembered her male cousins doing the same thing before her Terra power manifested, thinking it was great sport to try and make her cry.
Locking gazes with the boy, she crooked her finger. After a quick check to make sure she wasn’t summoning one of the other children, he came over, hands clasped in front of his holiday smock.
“Yes, Lady Amelie?” he piped, eyes wide and ingenuous.
She leaned over so that they were nose to nose. “If you ever pull a girl’s braid again,” she said quietly, “I’ll turn you into a tree and have you chopped up for firewood. Do you understand?”
She didn’t mean it, of course. For one thing, she wasn’t even sure if it was possible. But the threat was effective. “Y-yes, my lady,” the boy gulped, ingenuousness vaporizing into fear.
“Good. Now get back into the circle.”
He dashed back to his place, and the scent of urine intensified. Drat. She tried to smile at the now-quiet children, but they stared at her as if she was about to turn into a monster and eat them. Double drat and damn for good measure.
With no other option, she turned back to the waiting apple tree and quickly rebuilt the spell. It wasn’t as easy this time and she had to make an effort to smooth the rough edges of the magic. Taking a deep breath, she gestured towards the tree as she released the spell, waiting to see the buds swell into ripe apples.
Nothing happened.
A soft murmur built behind her, and a creaky old man’s voice muttered, “Aye, what’d you expect from t’ Lady of Thorns?”
Amelie’s cheeks prickled in embarrassment at the old nickname. Gritting her teeth, she did her best to ignore the waiting crowd and went through the steps of the spell again, finding the word she’d left out.
The murmuring behind her increased as she rebuilt the spell a third time, casting it at the tree harder than she meant to. The gnarled branches swayed under the impact, their nubs exploding under the force of the magic into apples.
In some cases quite literally exploding, showering the ground with sprays of juice and pulped fruit. The children squealed at the arboreal attack, breaking formation and dashing back to the safety of their parents. A startled Amelie wiped a smear of apple from her cheek before she turned around to face her people.
The expressions on their faces were … memorable. “May Greatham have a fruitful harvest,” she called, wishing she could crawl into a hole and pull it shut behind her.
#
“Well, it could have been worse, milady,” Jeanette said judiciously, holding up the stained copper silk and studying it. “At least you didn’t make the entire tree blow up.”
“That’s not nearly as helpful as you think it is,” Amelie muttered, getting the last bit of sticky juice out of her hair. She slid under the water in the tub to rinse, shaking her head from side to side to sluice out the suds, then resurfaced. “You should have seen their faces.”
Her maid made a noncommittal noise. “But the apples ripened.”
“Yes, the apples ripened, which means the Harvest Festival is officially underway. Hopefully that will keep Mother satisfied.” Amelie stood up, accepting a bath sheet and wrapping it around herself. “And I can get back to my real work.”
Jeanette helped her out of the tub and shooed her over to the vanity table. “Excuse me for being blunt, milady, but these will be your duties someday. You can’t stay in your office forever.”
Amelie wished she was still young enough to stamp a foot, petulant as that would be. Instead she dropped onto the padded stool, allowing the maid to work on her hair with a drying cloth. “Perhaps Mother should have made Sibeal her heir after all. She could have blown up the entire square and everyone would have congratulated her.”
“Mayhap, but Lady Sibeal isn’t a Terra magistra,” Jeanette reminded her, pulling out a comb and running it through Amelie’s damp locks. “You are. And frankly you have the better mind for governing a province.”
“So you say. Mother says I’m too cold and analytical.”
The maid sighed. “Her ladyship has a different view from yours on what makes a good countess. It doesn’t meant that hers is the only correct way.”
“Oh, isn’t it?”
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I have been cleaning ALL THE THINGS
Which is why I haven’t posted since last Friday, sorry about that. The Sister arrived yesterday and I’ve spent the last week digging out this house and making it look like grown-ups live here (because deadlines + five cats = FUR EVERYWHERE). I still have to clean out my office in preparation for the mutual HS friend who will arrive tomorrow for a girl’s weekend, but after that I am DONE, people.
And oh, I am full to overflowing with the need to write. I completely overhauled the first few chapters of Cross Current in my head, worked out a great subplot for Lady of Thorns, rearranged some plot points in Uncertainty Principle, and even roughed out the outline for Shifter Woods: Snarl. Y’all are going to be inundated with new Nicola stories over the next few months, I promise.
Speaking of that, both Degree of Resistance and Shifter Woods: Howl are now off KU and available at all online retailers, so if you prefer .epub files you are good to go.
Fabulous Friday Reads: On The Run
TGIF! Let’s kick off the weekend with Charity West’s new mainstream New Adult novel On The Run, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine online fiction. Take it away, Charity!
With blood-stained hands and a guilty conscience, Raylyn Beechum sets off for parts unknown, on the run from a crime she had to commit in order to save herself. When her car breaks down in the parking lot of a fire station in a small town, her plan is simple: get the car fixed and hit the road as fast as possible. Then Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Yummy saunters over with his bare chest and uniform pants, water dripping off his pecs, and all Raylyn can think is hot damn!
Oliver Gonzalez has always had a hero complex, and a damsel in distress is right up his alley. All of his protective instincts come out when he sees the blood on Raylyn’s hands and the scared look in her eyes. He might not know her story, but he knows he wants to take care of her. Getting her to trust him is easier than he’d thought possible, but he wants more than trust for him to keep her safe. He wants her to trust him with her heart.
Story Excerpt
The hands gripping the steering wheel didn’t look like mine. The skin on the knuckles was bruised and broken. Dried blood was embedded in my cuticles. I’d washed my hands, but apparently not well enough. I’d burned the clothes I’d been wearing, along with the knife I’d used. Some might say that made me guilty, and maybe it did, but I’d learned long ago that the police were of no help. Not where I came from. No matter how many times the scene replayed in my mind, I couldn’t stifle the sobs welling in my throat. I’d taken a life, killed a man. No, not a man. A monster.
My heart crashed against my ribs, and my fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. For years I’d suffered, but I’d had no idea just how far the madness went. If I’d had a clue as to what the man was capable of, I’d have acted sooner. Maybe so many lives wouldn’t have been lost, if I’d found my courage before now. The world should thank me, but I was certain if anyone knew what I’d done, the police would arrest me, and I’d spend the rest of my life in jail. Life wasn’t fair sometimes.
I blew out a breath and tried to redirect my thoughts. Puppies. Bunnies. Fields of flowers. Anything pleasant that could wash away the bad memories. I was starting over, creating a new life. Thanks to Miguel back home, I had everything I needed. I’d planned my escape weeks ago, but it just hadn’t happened quite the way I’d pictured. My new life was going to be fantastic and full of all the things I never had before. I was going to get a job, have a nice place to live, and I was going to get a boyfriend. Not necessarily in that order. I’d covered my tracks pretty well and felt I was safe, as long as I didn’t use my real name.
My car was almost out of gas as I entered a small North Carolina town a little after six in the morning. I’d been on the road for a few hours, and my best bet would be to keep driving until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. I crept through the quiet streets of a town that reminded me of Mayberry, and as I neared a fire station on the corner, my car began to shimmy and sputter. I’d barely pulled into the parking lot before my car coasted to a stop, the engine completely silent. I banged my hands on the steering wheel and uttered a slew of curses. The gas gage mocked me as the needle rested on E.
My gaze lifted and my jaw dropped a little. The fire truck was pulled part of the way out of the bay, and shirtless, sexy hunks were washing it. That was one sure way to make me forget my problems for a little while. One of them stopped to stare, removing his sunglasses and propping them on top of his head. His dusky skin glistened with sweat in the summer heat and I felt my cheeks flush.
Mr. Sexy made his way over to me and my heart raced for a new reason. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been around hot guys before. Just not this hot. He tapped on my window and I rolled it down. He bent and placed his folded arms on the windowsill. His blue gaze was warm as it scanned me. It was several minutes before he said anything.
“Want to pop your hood?” he asked.
“I ran out of gas. If you can tell me where the closest gas station is, I can go fill up a can and I’ll get out of your way.”
His lips twitched with amusement. “Sweetheart, this car isn’t going anywhere, even if you put gas in it. That wasn’t just an ‘I’m out of gas’ rattle. It was a death rattle.”
“Death rattle?”
His gaze focused on my hands and I wanted to hide them. I swallowed hard, wondering what kind of questions he would ask, or if he’d only call the police. My hands tightened on the wheel again and I wished I could throw the car into reverse and get the hell out of town. I didn’t need trouble, and this guy could turn my world upside down, and not in a good way.
“Why don’t you come inside and we’ll get those hands cleaned up a bit?”
“I don’t want any trouble.” I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. Had I made my escape only to be turned in by a good Samaritan now?
He stood and opened the car door, reaching in to gently take my hand. I slid out of the car and tipped my head back to look up at him. He towered over me, making me feel small and helpless, which I hated. I was anything but helpless. He studied my hands before leading me into the fire station. One of the guys looked our way and Mr. Sexy motioned for him to follow us. Inside, I shivered at the air conditioning as he led me down a long hall to a large, open room with sofas and a kitchen area.
“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a barstool.
I eased onto the stool, my feet dangling above the floor.
“My name’s Oliver Gonzalez, and this,” he said, motioning to the other guy, “is Jared Waylon. I’m a fireman and he’s a paramedic. Will you let him check out your hands?”
I nodded hesitantly.
Jared grasped my hands and studied them a moment before looking into my eyes. I could see the questions there, but I wasn’t saying a damn word. After a moment, he began cleaning my hands, which stung like a bitch. He even scrubbed around my nails until my hands were blood-free. He doctored my knuckles and bandaged the worst of it.
“I’m not going to ask how you got these, but if you’re in trouble, I wish you’d tell one of us.”
I trembled.
Mr. Sexy—no, Oliver—placed his hand on my shoulder. “Easy. No one here is going to hurt you. We want to help.”
“We’re going to call a tow for your car,” Jared said. “One of the firemen here has family who own a garage. They’ll give you a good deal. Then we can discuss your options for a place to stay.”
“I don’t have much money.” I hated admitting my lack of funds. “Maybe they’d let me do some work for the repairs and a place to stay?”
Oliver squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s get your car taken care of first. Anything you need out of it?”
“My purse and the bag in the backseat.”
“I’ll get them,” Jared offered. “I’ll have Kaycee call the garage and get a tow truck sent.”
“Kaycee?” I asked.
“Our admin,” Oliver said. “She’s also married to one of the guys on my team.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Kindness shone in Oliver’s eyes as he gazed into mine. “Because I think you need a friend right now. Maybe, when you feel like you can trust me, you’ll tell me about the blood on your hands and what the hell happened to you. Until then, just tell me one thing. Do we need to hide you from the police?”
Where to Buy
About the Author
Charity West is a young adult/new adult romance author who has always had her head in the clouds. She had her first crush when she was four, and it lasted for six years. Then she quickly fell head over heels for another boy, until she had to move away and leave him behind. Jumping from one boy to another, she finally found a keeper when she was twenty, and she’s been married to him ever since.
By the time Charity was twelve, she was sneaking her mother’s Harlequin romances and reading them in secret when she was supposed to be asleep. Teased throughout middle school and high school for the bodice ripper covers on the books she openly read in class, she knew that one day she wanted to write her own happily-ever-afters.
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Sometimes, you have a bad day
Hang tight, people. This is a peek into the insane mix of towering ego and impostor syndrome that is my mind.
If any of you follow me on Twitter, you might have noticed my writing thread of yesterday. Essentially, I had a come-to-Jesus talk with myself WRT Empress of Storms, the success of that title, and the issues I’ve had with the books that followed.
To summarize, my first self-pubbed title, Empress of Storms, did amazingly well. To this day, I honestly don’t know why, nor do I know why it continues to sell at least a copy a day. It just did and does. Which filled me with gratitude because the income made me feel 1) justified in my choice of careers and 2) like I was contributing to the household expenses.
The other novels that followed … did not do amazingly well, and I couldn’t figure out why. In the back of my mind I kept thinking that I must have screwed up somewhere down the line, did something wrong, or pissed off people. Because I clearly did something right with Empress, so that must mean that I did something wrong with the other books. Even though Palace of Scoundels, Degree of Resistance, and the Shifter Woods novellas are good pieces of storytelling if I say so myself, the fact that their sales are meh must mean that I wasn’t diligent enough about promo, or I missed some tricks somewhere along the line. Somehow, I screwed up, and I had to track that down and rectify it or else my career would circle the drain and I’d wind up in a nice refrigerator box under a bridge somewhere in my old age.
And then yesterday, I had an epiphany. Well, no, I had a sobbing fit (stupid hormones, I swear, menopause can get here at any time and I won’t complain) and then I had an epiphany. WRT my promo efforts, I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Let me repeat that for the folks in the cheap seats. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I’d made all the right moves, did due diligence on my editing and covers, sent out ARCs, bought advertising, threw release parties, made appearances, gave out swag, everything I was supposed to do as an indie author. Everything I did for Empress, I did for Palace, Degree, and the Shifter Woods novellas. The truth of the matter was, Empress‘s success … was luck. Sheer dumb luck. I didn’t do anything particularly brilliant or savvy. I had a killer cover (thank you, Jay Aheer) and a story that appealed to NA readers, but the most important thing was that I was simply in the right place at the right time.
Ouch. The truth may set you free, but it will burn like a mother in the process.
And then I lost that sweet spot with the following books because the business moved on, as it does. New authors grabbed the spotlight, established authors brought out new books. It’s how things work in publishing. But losing that sweet spot didn’t mean I did something wrong. In fact, I did everything I was supposed to do. I was not a fake, a phony, a screwup that the reading public had finally cottoned onto. I just wasn’t in the right place at the right time anymore.
I know this sounds crazy, but realizing that was remarkably reassuring. Hitting big with one book and seeing a slump afterwards happens to a lot of writers. This isn’t me being a failure, it’s just the vagaries of the market. And the fact that my sales are slowly picking up again goes to show that people do like my stories (and bless each and every one of you out there who does) and maybe, just maybe, I need to keep writing them and remain stalwart in the face of occasional “long dark teatime of the soul” moments.
So, yeah, that was the backstory on yesterday’s Twitter thread. And while I’m busy cleaning the house today for my sister’s upcoming visit, I’ll be working out dialogue and plot points for Lady of Thorns and Cross Current. Because dammit, I’m a writer and that’s just how I roll in the Shire.
Wicked Wednesday Reads: Lost Faith
Welcome to another edition of Wicked Wednesday Reads, petals! Today I’m here with April Zyon and her smouldering new romance Lost Faith, available from online purveyors of fine romance. Take it away, ma’am!
Gabriella Moreno was just a job, in and out to gain the objective, the death of her father. She turned out to be far more than that to Tobias Casey, however, from the moment he laid his hands on her too hot for words body.
Gabriella had just come home from a two-year stint abroad. The first night home she snuck out, never dreaming for even a moment anyone would be stupid enough to take her. Boy, was she wrong.
Faced with brutal truths, Gabbie followed her gut, and her heart, which, it seemed, all led to one place, Tobias. The heat of her homeland was nothing compared to the touch of this man. In his arms, she found something she had craved all her life, the other half of her soul.
Yet, how can she ignore the fact that the man who owns her heart is also the man who wants to take the last of her family?
Story Excerpt
Another day, another dollar. Only these days, Tobias and his team were getting paid a hell of a lot more than they had been in the military. Now they could set their own fees for doing the jobs that no one else wanted to do, or maybe couldn’t do, since they did on rare occasion work for their government’s shadier sectors. But there was no oversight, no backseat driving, and they paid big to get shit done.
Their current operation was one they’d been working on for nearly three weeks now with no success. The first week had been recon, getting oriented, and making sure they had their exits memorized for when they achieved their strike.
The only thing was, as they’d discovered during week two, the target they were after didn’t ever leave his super secure compound. Not that Tobias could blame the guy. Their target was a dictator, an arms dealer, a drug dealer, and a mass murderer. There were people worldwide hoping that Tobias’ team finally managed to do what no one else had to date.
Now it was week three and they were still watching the compound to figure out their way in. Or as Tobias was beginning to believe would be easier, how to get the asshole to come out. They’d tried forty different ways to infiltrate the compound. None had worked. Which actually made sense, given the target, Juan Moreno, or Senor X as they referred to him over com, had hired himself an ex-Special Forces soldier to be the head of his security. Tran Quan was American born but had ties to the Yakuza. Extra weight to be brought to bear should it be requested.
Taking a small drink from his canteen, Tobias ignored the sweat trickling down his spine. His attention was locked on a small group of vehicles approaching the compound. Binoculars up, he brought the lead car into focus and easily recognized one of Moreno’s drivers. His attention moving to the second car, he was surprised to see Quan in the front passenger seat. The man was normally glued to Moreno’s side so to see him out without Moreno… this was big.
“Ripper, we have four cars approaching the compound. I need to know who exits the second car once they stop inside. Get pictures.”
“Roger that, Rogue.”
Ripper and Cherry were up on the mountain using some seriously high-powered tools to stare down into the compound. Their position was treacherous since they were, literally, dangling off the face of that mountain. One wrong move and they’d be headed straight down toward death.
“They’re turning toward the gate now. Not stopping either, they’ve been waved right through,” Tobias reported. The gates slid shut but not before he spotted a slender leg wearing a dainty shoe at the end slipping out of the door being opened by a guard. Instantly, he felt his gut clench in need to see the body went with that limb.
A soft whistle came through the com. “Damn, she’s fucking hot. Think she’s banging senor X?” Herc asked.
“Too young for him, you oaf,” Cherry said.
“Like that would stop the old fucker. We all know he doesn’t care about age. One of the reasons why we’re here to see him shot,” Herc told her. “Personally, it’s my only reason to see his head explode under the impact of my bullet.”
“Cut the chatter. Tell me you have photos for everyone that came in those vehicles.”
“Confirmed,” Ripper said.
“Good, get your asses down from there. Scout will be here to relieve me soon, then we need to get back and review everything.” Tobias was hopeful that somewhere in those photos he might find a way to pull Moreno away from his security blanket.
Where to Buy
Amazon US | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon AU
About the Author
Having been a lover of the written word all her life April has always wanted to expand her horizons and write something that could be shared with the world. Only one thing held April back, the fact that the letters and numbers mixed and jumbled more often than not. Diagnosed with Dyslexia when she was eight years old April had to work her butt off just to be able to keep up with the other kids in reading and writing, so her love for fictional writing was tossed to the wayside for the moment.
Time marched on, as it always does, and she forgot her childhood dream of becoming an author and instead focused on what she had to – creating a career for herself. As the endless waves of time passed the shores became less rocky and more sandy, a place where she could find an even foot. That and Microsoft invented Word. Hallelujah. This is where April began her journey into the written world, the world that her imagination had been ceaselessly creating for her entire adult life.
Now she has been given a chance to let her literary wings unfold and fly, thanks to the amazing publishers with Evernight Publishing and Secret Cravings Publishing. Now its time to let the dream take flight and watch it soar.
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I’m doing all of the medical adulting
So, since I’m now 50 and my body will start breaking down at any moment, I need to get various preventative care tests done so that my doctor has a baseline of what I looked like when I was still semi-functional (I laugh. That moment passed decades ago).
To this end, in the past week I have had a physical, a Tdap shot, a breast and pelvic exam with Pap smear, a mammogram, and blood/urine workup. The physical/Pap smear came back nominal with a suggestion that I start taking a low-dosage BP med, and I’ll find out about the boob smooshing next week (although I’m not worried — the doc didn’t feel anything during the manual exam and I don’t have a history of breast cancer in my family so I’m probably okay).
As for the blood pull, that was a bit of an adventure since the lab said they didn’t have paperwork for it. Went home because I was fasting and hangry as hell and called the doc’s office: “What? But we sent them the request!” Went back to the lab today: “Nope, we don’t have paperwork for this.” Finally went BACK to the doctor’s office, got them to print out the orders, then hand-carried them over to the lab to get everything kicked off. Oh, and once again I was a phlebotomist’s nightmare. Here are attempts #1 and #2, after 48 oz of water, and with the poor tech muttering, “Man, this vein just does NOT want to cooperate…” I told her the story of the time when I tried to donate blood and how they told me, “Please don’t.”
But that’s all done, which is good. Next up on the “Nic is Old” medical schedule is Baby’s First Colonoscopy (or as I like to call it, the Magical Mystery Tour). As my sister is arriving for a week next Wednesday (read: I have to clean my entire house) and my birthday will be happening soon afterwards, I’ve decided to schedule the Tour after all of that because of, well, the Cleaning Out Procedure. You know what I mean.
Luckily my friend Stretch has had a Tour at the place my doc recommended and she said it was a breeze, so hopefully it will be a matter of the COP, getting into a weird position, dozing thanks to some IV tranqs, and then walking out of there funny. I can live with that.
Happy July! Have a snippet from Lady of Thorns
So I spent the first two days of July working on the first chapter of Lady of Thorns (Two Thrones 3). The plan is to split my time between finishing Cross Current and LoT and have CC off to Evernight by mid-July and LoT up by early August. And if I can maybe get some work in on Shifter Woods: Snarl during then, all the better.
BTW, this all took place while Ramón was using the dining room across from me as a staging area for his desk base construction. Since he works full-time at home now and really needs a better setup in his office, he’s been buying IKEA desk parts for the last two months with a plan to create a U-shaped modular desk with hutches to hold his multiple computers/laptops/monitors/what have you.
Unfortunately for him, this required him first to disimpact his office, which … yeah. Let’s just say that he could probably build a time machine from the bits he keeps in there and leave it at that. Much vacuuming and cursing came from the office wing over the weekend, I can tell you. But the initial construction is done and looks pretty good (he had to call a temporary halt since he’s actually working today and needed his work stuff to be up and running), which means that all the IKEA boxes that have been stacking up since May will soon be broken down and put into recycling, selah.
But going back to Lady of Thorns — want to see an unedited snippet? Please note that this story will NOT be about Danaë and Matthias (their parallel adventure will be in Book 4), but it does feature Lady Amelie LeClerq, the young, prickly Terra magistra and heiress to the Lady of Lierdhe, and the eminently sneaky Counselor Alain LaPorte from Palace of Scoundrels. The best way I can explain it is, imagine Lady Mary Crowley from Season 1 Downton Abbey and Alan Shore from Boston Legal going head to head. So to speak. Ahem. And hijinks ensue!
And, yes, I jumped ahead and wrote one of the love scenes. Some background — Amelie has never fit the Lierdhan standards of beauty. Whereas the average Lierdhan maiden is short and deliciously round in all the right places with masses of curling russet or blonde hair, Amelie is tall, hippy, and small-chested with straight dark hair and eyes, to her mother’s eternal exasperation. In an attempt to shed her prickly, standoffish Lady of Thorns reputation and gain a sense of comfort with her sexuality and self-image, Amelie decides she needs a positive experience in physical intimacy. Since LaPorte is in Lierdhe working with her on a business agreement with another duchy, has a good rep in the area of bow-chicka-bow-bow, and has shown evidence that he finds her attractive, she asks him to help. Her plan is really rather logical. Too bad plans never survive first contact with the enemy.
“You don’t believe that I want to take you to bed, do you?”
Her eyes stung, and she blinked to hold the water at bay. “I believe that you’re willing to adhere to our agreement, which is kind of you.”
“No, it’s not. I’m afraid you’ll find that I’m not a kind man, not in the slightest.” His voice lowered, developing a vibration that went through her like thunder. “The thing is, my lady, a man may lie about his wealth, his occupation, even his family name. But one thing he cannot lie about is when he’s attracted to a woman.”
His hand slipped around hers and drew it down. She knew instinctively what he was doing but still gasped in shock when he pressed her hand against the heavy, warm length in his leggings. The muscles between her legs contracted in a unexpected, greedy clench at the physical proof of his desire.
He folded her fingers around him, keeping her palm pressed against his hardness. “I wanted you from the first moment you walked into the king’s study, travel-stained and exhausted as you were. If we hadn’t had other matters to attend to, I would have pressed my suit then and there.”
Other matters. Namely, the rescue of her younger sister Sibeal from an unwanted wedding ceremony. Amelie could still remember the acrid stench of the privy that had been the only avenue of escape from the mage-proof chamber where her mother had jailed her. With only enough time to crop her hair short and change its color, she had spent a sleepless night riding across country to reach Mons and plead for Matthias’s help.
“I was a fright,” she muttered. “How could you have wanted me?”
“You were stunning. A warrior goddess come to earth to claim fealty from the king.” His hand began to move hers, guiding it up and down the heated ridge. “Although I prefer your own hair color. The blonde didn’t suit you.”
“I meant it as a disguise.” Her thoughts were fragmenting, split apart by the promise of his flesh against her palm. The growing ache between her thighs throbbed, making her wonder what it would be like to feel him inside her, filling her. Would it be as delicious as the gossiping girls promised, or would it be yet another disappointment?
*smacks self on forehead* Wait, I had a release this week, didn’t I?
It probably would be useful if I told you that Shifter Woods: Roar is now widely available at online retailers, huh? I blame exhaustion from repairing and reinstalling the pool pump motor; we spent most of Monday afternoon and evening trying to get it reattached to the pump, to no avail. After getting eaten alive by bugs and retreating inside in disgrace, Ramón did more research on Google and found some tips. The next morning he went out there by himself, and in his own words, “I just slathered everything in lube, and now that I could see what I was doing it popped right in!” Words to live by, folks.
Anyway, the pool pump is now functioning (ironically, the garage door opener failed that night, but more research indicated what was wrong and Himself fixed that as well), the second novella in the Esposito County Shifters series is out and selling nicely, and I’ve gotten a pleasing amount of reviews on it as well, so a huge Cameron thank you to everyone who’s bought a copy and left a review. And if you haven’t, just click on that link up there and it’ll take you to the book page where you can select your choice of ebook retailer. I’m all about making things easy for you.
And because I don’t think I told people about this, Shifter Woods is going to be a four-part novella series. The first two novellas will be followed by Shifter Woods: Snarl, which deals with cougar shifter Andrea Lochter, whose father Jim (the Alpha of their pack and a former Marine) owns a ski lodge on the mountain. When Caleb picks up John Rockwell, one of Jim’s itinerant service buddies, for vagrancy and drops him off at the lodge at Jim’s request, Andrea makes it a point to stay as far away from the homeless wolf shifter as possible. But the pull of a heart’s mate is hard to resist, especially when Andrea and John have to team up for a search and rescue mission involving a little girl.
The fourth novella, Shifter Woods: Scream, is about Deputy Jane Carey, the golden eagle shifter introduced in Howl. When drug dealers somehow “lose” their pet tiger while stopping for food and gas in Esposito County, Jane takes to the air to spot the big cat. But when she learns that the escaped animal is actually tiger shifter and FBI agent Eric Cho, things get particularly sticky, especially when a local zookeeper with a secret of his own gets involved.
Once all the novellas are done, I’ll be combining them at the end of the year into a box set and print version, and at some point early next year I’ll be doing a full-length novel set in Esposito County (first I have to finish the novellas, Cross Current (Olympic Cove 4), Lady of Thorns (Two Thrones 3), Uncertainty Principle (Pacifica Rising 2), Do No Harm, and The Chevalier’s Dilemma). Yeah, the rest of 2017 is gonna be kind of busy.
Nicola Cameron Writes 