Paranormal Romance Excerpts

Paranormal Romance Excerpts

These paranormal romance excerpts are all ones I had permission to post when we were Books That Hook. I am just moving them to our new website. Enjoy!

Excerpt from EDEN’S DELIVERANCE by Rhenna Morgan

Warning: adult content. Click the button below if you are over 18 to read the excerpt.

Eden's Deliverance

Buy EDEN’S DELIVERANCE on Amazon

Warmth and a soft tickle skated along Brenna’s jawline. Lips, the same full, delicious ones she’d craved since Ludan had kissed her, the scruff of his beard leaving the same unforgettable impact as his mouth. His wavy hair slid through her fingers, a weighted silk that teased her forearms. He slanted his mouth across hers and licked inside.
Perfect. The slide of his tongue, his taste, the way he groaned into the kiss and sent perfect trills coursing down her spine. Nothing on earth was better.
He lifted his head. His ice-blue eyes glowed with need and so much passion it resonated in her soul. “This is what you want.”
Odd. It was Ludan’s voice, but her own was superimposed with it. And it wasn’t a question, but a statement.
Candles surrounded them, and a scarlet satin comforter stretched beneath them.
Not real.
“This is what you want,” Ludan said again, ghosting his knuckles along her collarbone and slipping his fingers beneath the neckline of her nightshirt.
Her heart leapt at the touch, his caress only hinting in the direction of her breast, but drawing her nipples to hard points. “Yes.”
He smiled and lowered his gaze, a long lock of hair falling over his forehead. “So beautiful.”
Cool air assaulted her flesh, sending goose bumps along her torso. Her nightshirt was gone, whisked away by her dreams.
Inch by inch, he trailed his fingertips down her sternum, his expression so reverent and caring she was afraid to move.
He cupped one breast, and she arched into the contact, too overwhelmed with the sensation to do anything but close her eyes and surrender to its magic. She tightened her grip on the back of his head, urging him closer. “Ludan, please.” She didn’t know what it was she needed, only that she did, and badly.
“Shhh.” He dipped his head and smoothed his lips along the path his fingers had taken.
More.
Over and over, the word echoed through her head. Nothing else mattered except the feel of him against her. His weight, the warmth of his skin, and the safety of his arms. She closed her eyes and splayed her hands across his wide shoulders. So much strength. Power as rigidly contained as the man. “Ludan.”
One of his big hands cupped her shoulders, and his lips disappeared.
She squeezed her eyes and willed them back. “Ludan, please.”
He spoke again, but this time it was different. Farther away and muffled. “Brenna.”
No.
She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow. No, no, no. She couldn’t lose him. Not again. She hadn’t done anything wrong this time. Had she?
The hand at her shoulder tightened. “Brenna, wake up.”
Heat registered beside her. Not the kind from her dream, but real. Tangible, deliciously masculine heat and muscle.
Her eyes snapped open.
Ludan lay propped on one elbow beside her, the other hand holding her shoulder as she’d felt in her dream. In the daylight, his form was intimidating, but in the night’s shadows, he was downright scary. “You okay?”
Not really. Sweat misted her skin, and her heart jack-rabbited in an out-of-control rhythm. The covers were too heavy, pressing against her tight breasts. She shifted her legs and nearly moaned at the throbbing pulse between them. “I’m fine.”
The comment earned her a sharp frown. He relinquished his hold and leaned back far enough that the bay’s moonlight brought him out of shadow. At some point after she’d fallen asleep, he’d removed his T-shirt, leaving his perfect body on prime display. “You didn’t sound fine.”
She pushed upright and leaned against the headboard, careful to hide her aching nipples with the sheet. Looking at him only made the ache worse. In that moment, she’d give a lot to let her fingers have free rein. “It was just a dream,” she whispered.
He stared at her, then lowered his gaze to her clenched fists in the sheets. “You’re afraid.”
“No.” It came out too fast, and his eyes snapped to hers. “I mean, it was an intense dream, but not something I’m afraid of.”
An odd look flittered across his face, caution or suspicion. “Tell me.”
This is what you want.
Clearly, her subconscious wasn’t in the mood to mess around. And while she’d happily go there in dreams every night, she wasn’t so sure Ludan would appreciate the concept of them together as much as she did. Especially after what had happened last time.
“I…” What could she say? “I’m not sure it’s something you’d want to hear. It was personal.”
His eyes narrowed. “Personal, as in…”
“Personal.” She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “It was about the two of us.”
His head snapped back, and his breathing accelerated. He clenched the sheet at his waist, and his nostrils flared. “What about us?”
A strange yet not unpleasant sensation swirled low in her belly, and the pulse between her legs ramped to blistering demand. She could keep the dream to herself. Never say a thing and let it slide.
Or she could take a chance.
She licked her lower lip. “We were intimate.”


Excerpt from OTHERWORLD CHALLENGER by Jane Godman

Otherworld Challenger

Buy OTHERWORLD CHALLENGER on Amazon

“I’ll do it.”

The words had the same effect on the assembled company as a volley of bullets fired into the ornate ceiling of the vast banquet hall. Every head turned in the direction of the man who had uttered them. Lounging back on two legs of his chair, his broad shoulders against the wall and his booted feet on the round meeting table, he returned their stares with his customary nonchalance and continued munching on an apple.

“You can’t seriously be prepared to listen to him. He’d sell his grandmother to the imps if the price was right.” The words burst from Vashti’s lips before she could stop them.

“The Crown Princess Vashti is reminded of the Alliance’s fundamental principle of respect for all species.” The condemnatory voice of the clerk echoed around the room. “Moreover, all speakers must first be approved by Merlin Caledonius, Leader of the Council.”

Vashti felt a blush of embarrassment turn the heat of rage already burning her cheeks a darker shade of red. It didn’t help that he was openly smirking at her humiliation. “I withdraw my remark.” She spoke the words stiffly.

“Thank you.” Merlin Caledonius, or Cal as he preferred to be known, inclined his head in her direction before turning to address Jethro de Loix. “What will you do exactly?”

“Exactly what you want. Find the true King of the Faeries and bring him back here to challenge Moncoya for the crown.”

A murmur of interest rippled around the table and Vashti smothered her derisive exclamation by turning it into a cough. Couldn’t any of them see Jethro de Loix for the maverick he was? Even the way he was dressed flouted convention. Everyone else around the table respected the formality of the occasion. Not Jethro. His white-linen shirt was unbuttoned a little too far, the waistcoat he wore over it hung casually open. Those long, long legs were encased in a pair of well-worn black jeans and the battered boots that rested on the conference table looked like they had walked the length of Otherworld and back. Perhaps they had. With his overlong jet-black hair tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong and his hawklike profile he was too—her mind searched for a suitable adjective and could only come up with swashbuckling—for this solemn setting.

Jethro bit into the apple again, his teeth startlingly white against the red skin of the fruit.

Several hands were raised around the table and the clerk, a pompous little elf, noted their names in his record book. “Prince Tibor wishes to address the Council meeting.”

The vampire prince rose, bowing his head slightly in Cal’s direction. Vashti could never see Tibor without being struck by two things. His stunning physical beauty and the fact that she had never met anyone who looked less like a vampire. Stella, Cal’s wife, had once remarked that he looked like a fashion model or a Scandinavian soccer player. Vashti, with her limited knowledge of the mortal realm, had no way of knowing what the comment meant, but she didn’t think either option sounded vampire-like.

“Esteemed Council Leader, fellow Council members, our Alliance is a new and fragile one. We have taken the decision to offer our individual dynasties democracy. Our people will soon get to vote for who will lead them and represent them at this table in the future. It was a brave and noble act on our part.” Heads nodded around the table. “We believe our dynasties will vote wisely…”

Do we? Vashti risked a glance around the table. Tibor might be secure in the vampire vote—his loyal followers were not about to overturn centuries of tradition—but there were others whose places at the table were not so secure. Anwyl, the wolf leader, fought a constant battle against Nevan, a ferociously ambitious alpha newcomer who sought to usurp his place as pack leader. And, of course, there was the reason they were all here today. The problem that united them all. Daddy dearest.

“…But there is one dynasty for which we all fear the outcome. If the faeries vote to confirm Moncoya’s place as their leader, Otherworld will descend once more into chaos. My friends, I fear there will be no return to order next time.”

“Garrick wishes to address the meeting.”

The elf leader stood. “You paint a gloomy picture indeed, Prince. Yet did this Council not, at its first meeting, request that Merlin Caledonius issue a warrant for the arrest of Moncoya as a war criminal for acts of barbarity against his own people? There is still time to do that. Then, should he attempt to return and take his place as leader of the faeries, surely his reign would be short lived? Not only would he face imprisonment, if he is found guilty it is likely he would be executed for his crimes. Even Moncoya’s arrogance would not lead him to take such a step.”

Cal cast an apologetic glance in Vashti’s direction. He knew how hard it was for her to listen to accounts of her father’s atrocities and maintain an outwardly impervious manner. “I am reluctant to take such a step at this stage. Although the battle for control of Otherworld drove Moncoya into hiding, it did not topple him from his throne. He is still the King of the Faeries and there are many who wish to see him return openly. If the faeries elect Moncoya as their leader, we will have to tread carefully. The fae population is one of the largest in Otherworld. We cannot risk alienating them by taking an inflammatory action against the leader they choose. If they choose him. Princess Vashti, perhaps you can aid this discussion by telling the Council the mood of your people?”

Cal had warned her in advance that he would ask her this question today. Rising, she was conscious of all eyes upon her. So why did the intense gaze of Jethro de Loix, who wasn’t even part of this Council, bother her more than any other? “I wish I could give my fellow Alliance members a definitive answer to that question. Sadly, I cannot. If the faeries were asked to vote tomorrow, indications are there would be an even split with half voting for Moncoya—” she had schooled herself not to refer to him as ‘my father’ in this setting “—and half evenly split between the other opposition parties.”

Prince Tibor raised his hand. “The princess’s words raise the real possibility of Moncoya taking his seat at this table in the near future.”

The clerk gestured to Anwyl the Wolf. “I will not be part of an Alliance that includes Moncoya.” Several heads around the table nodded in agreement.

So it begins. Moncoya’s return would destroy all the good work they had done. Otherworld would descend once more into the constant battles that had threatened to tear it apart before the Alliance had been formed. Vashti met Cal’s eyes briefly and she knew he was thinking the same thing. “Anwyl, the sentiments you express are the reason why it is so important for us to find the true heir to King Ivo, the faerie leader who was killed by Moncoya in the bloody coup through which he seized power. The current opposition parties, all well-meaning, do not offer the faerie race a viable alternative to Moncoya’s strong rule. King Ivo was deeply loved by his people. If we can produce his heir, I believe that will sway their vote.”

Anwyl, still on his feet, looked skeptical. “What proof do we have that this so-called heir even exists?”

“We have the word of the leader of the Dominion, the fourth choir of angels. We also know that the Goddesses of Fate summoned Princess Vashti’s sister, Tanzi, to them at the palace of Gladsheim recently and spoke to her of the true heir. Our biggest problem lies in the fact that the identity of the heir has been so well hidden he himself is unaware of it. The goddesses told Tanzi that the answer lies on the Isle of Avalon.”

Anwyl’s noble features remained mistrustful. “The Goddesses of Fate delights in interfering.”

The clerk cleared his throat in preparation for another reminder about respect, but Cal spoke before he could intervene. “While that may be true, the goddesses are not able to lie. If we are to find the heir, someone must go to Avalon in search of him. It is a journey that is both perilous and unprecedented. We have only one offer to make the attempt. That offer has come from Jethro.”

Everyone in the room knew Prince Tibor hated Jethro and had sworn to kill him for the perceived crime of stealing the vampire leader’s human servant from him. Even so, the prince’s words, when he turned to speak to the necromancer, were polite. “You would do this? Knowing the dangers, you would be prepared to go to Avalon in search of the faerie heir?”

Jethro’s smile—the piratical one, the one Vashti loathed with every fiber of her being—dawned. “For the right price.”

“And what is that price?” Cal’s voice was razor-sharp. As the Council leader, he was scrupulously fair. He would offer no favors just because Jethro was a fellow necromancer and a close friend.

“One million mortal dollars.”


Excerpt from POSSESSED BY A DARK WARRIOR by Felicity Heaton

Possessed by a Dark Warrior

Buy POSSESSED BY A DARK WARRIOR on Amazon

Out of the gloom, a rich deep violet head emerged, gigantic compared with her in her mortal form.

Bright violet eyes focused on her and the short spines that followed the ridge of bone above them rippled as he snorted, blowing hot air at her and the scent of ash. He growled, a strange disjointed sound that undulated around her, and bared his fangs. They gleamed in the low light, each as long as her arm, as sharp as a blade.

Taryn didn’t dare move.

He snorted again. Scenting her.

She waited, stilled right down to her breathing, willing him to recognise her. She held his gaze, searching it for that glimmer that would tell her that she had succeeded and he knew her. Those enormous violet eyes remained focused and deadly, narrowed on her, showing no sign that he recognised her as his kin.

His blood.

He shifted back a step, his broad wings folding against his back, so the white membrane was barely visible, and shook his head as he clawed at the ground, long talons raking at the black earth.

He was conflicted, unsure of her, but that didn’t mean she was safe. He could eat her in one snap of his jaws.

Taryn risked it and raised her right hand, holding it out to him.

His focus darted to it and his elliptical pupils narrowed into nothing more than vertical slits.

But then they widened again and she swore she saw a glimmer of recognition in them.

He lunged at her and she swiftly rolled out of the path of his strike, narrowly avoiding his bite, and launched onto her feet. So she had been wrong and he didn’t recognise her. She was quick to run with plan B, slashing a claw across her palm and spilling her blood as she turned back towards him.

Tenak went to lunge at her again but stopped dead, snorted and then inhaled deeply, his white chest expanding as he took a full breath down into his lungs. He exhaled hard, the hot fierce blast almost knocking her on her backside again, and then growled, the low rumbling sound encompassing her.

Her cut hand shook so badly it jumped around all over the place. She caught her wrist with her free hand to steady it and raised both towards him, so he could smell her clearly.

This had to work.

She had his attention, and this time she was sure he was beginning to recognise her. It was taking him longer than she had expected, but then she had been gone a while and he was lost to the darkness. It had often taken him some time to recognise her during his fits of madness.

He breathed in again, the nostrils in his beak flaring, and then lowered his head.

Relief swept through her and she bit out a sob, her adrenaline leaving her in an energy-draining rush as Tenak began to shift into his mortal form.

The relief was short-lived as the weight of the sword concealed in the blanket on her back reminded her that she wasn’t out of the woods yet. She still had to convince her brother to spare her life and forgive her, and if he sensed the sword she carried, he would do neither of those things. He would kill her.

She felt sure of that now.

The misguided beliefs that had plagued her during her journey, the lies she had told herself to keep her feet moving forwards, had fallen away now and she could see clearly.

Taryn looked at her twin where he stood before her, deep purple leathers encasing his powerful legs and his bare chest ridged with the honed muscles of a formidable warrior, his face as she remembered it but eyes foreign to her. They resembled hers, violet around the outside of his irises and white around his pupils, but while hers were only tinged with madness, his were wild and crazed.

He had truly lost his mind.

He stalked towards her, standing at least seven inches taller, radiating danger and deadliness that made her want to back away. It was a struggle to hold her ground, but she managed it.

She didn’t manage to hold back the flinch and the gasp when he shot a hand out, grasped the back of her neck and hauled her up to him though, forcing her head back and her eyes up to his.

He snarled through teeth that were still all sharp. “Why have you returned to me… after you left me… left me… alone in this dark world… without you?”

Taryn breathed hard, heart hammering and blood pounding as she shook from head to toe. His claws pressed into the sides of her throat, his grip on her nape fierce and unyielding, and she feared he would break her neck.

Her eyes darted between his, so familiar but so foreign, as if there was something else living inside her brother’s body, a sick beast that had driven the good male out and taken residence within him.

The pressure of his grip increased.

Memories surged.

Cold steel pressing on the back of her neck. Heavy on her wrists. Her ankles.

Tenak blurred in her vision as she went limp, her strength giving out, and she felt his arms around her, supporting her as she collapsed under the weight of her past.

He came back into focus, sharper than ever as her mind crumbled, and gods she hated acting like him, acting mad with a hunger for revenge against the kingdoms, because it came too easy for her and she feared it would swallow her whole and she would truly become like him.

She clawed at his chest, tried to break free of his hold. She needed to fly. He refused to release her and she curled her hands into fists and beat them against his shoulders. She wriggled and his grip on her tightened, sending her deeper under the tide of her memories. Hands on her. Hands.

Touching.

Taryn roared and gave one mighty shove, catching him in the face with her bloodied right palm and his chest with her left. His grip gave out and she stumbled free of his arms, twisting and staggering away from him. She couldn’t breathe.

Cold steel. Heavy. She had to fly.

She clawed at her hair and collapsed to her knees as the black mountains closed in around her like the walls of a cage.

“Sister.” Tenak’s deep voice wobbled in her mind, distorting into that of others.

The males who had purchased her.

Who had tried to break her.

She shook her head and curled over, breathing hard against her knees, fighting back as she tried to claw her way towards the light and shed the grip of the darkness.

“I did not leave you,” she snarled as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto her knees to roll down the black leather. “I was taken.”

“Taken?” he snarled and the darkness in that single word frightened her.

She shrieked as hands caught her and pulled her onto her feet, twisted her to face their owner, and lashed out, clawing at the male. The scent of blood hit her and her fight fled her body, her muscles turning liquid again beneath her flesh. Her brother.

Taryn hurled herself at his chest, buried her face against his neck and shuddered as she sobbed.

He was still for a moment and then his arms carefully closed around her, the touch meant to comfort, but all it did was terrify her.

She broke free again and paced away from him, clawing her hair back from her face as she breathed hard and fast, chanted in her head that it was over. She was safe now. Free.

Free.

She was free.

She needed to fly.

“Who took you from me?”

Who indeed?

She looked back over her shoulder at her brother, recognising him this time. Her precious brother, his face bloodied and chest streaked with crimson that dripped from dark slashes. The darkness in his eyes pleased her now, the hunger to maim and kill—the same darkness and hunger that beat in her heart.

“Slavers,” she whispered, filled with a ridiculous fear they might hear her and come for her again, might find her here.

That fear turned to hope a moment later. She snarled and willed them to try and take her, to come and see what her brother would do to them. He would make them pay. The increasing darkness in his eyes warned that she was speaking her thoughts aloud and they pleased him.

He already wanted to kill those who had hurt her, and she would give him more cause to want their blood on his hands, would weave a lie to draw him to her side.

“They took the sword… I only stole it because I wanted power like you… I was going to use the sword to get it,” she muttered and his face darkened at the mention of the blade she had taken from him. “I wanted to be powerful too. I was going to give it back. I wanted to be like you.”

She fell to her knees again and scratched at the earth, feeling that maybe she was already like him.

Mad.

“I kept track of it… but I lost it… the second male who bought me hid it.”

“Second?” Tenak snarled and came to tower over her again, a formidable sight as his eyes glowed with violet fire. “How many…?”

She was glad he couldn’t finish that sentence, because she was finding it hard to keep the memories at bay enough to spin her web and catch him in it as it was. It wouldn’t take much to push her back over the edge.

“Six,” she whispered and fought the faces of her owners as they came to her, pushing them back down inside her, refusing to look at them or those of the people who had traded her. “There were six before I escaped.”

Escaped.

When the elf was there.

The elf.

She looked down at her dirtied bloodied hands. At claws that had marked him. He would be coming for her. She was sure of that. She was sure that he had been hunting for her since their paths had crossed again three lunar cycles ago.

Taryn lifted her eyes to Tenak’s face and he hunkered down in front of her, his steady violet-to-white gaze so warm and soft, so beautifully familiar and comforting now that she wanted to cry.

She tensed when he reached for her, but then she was in his arms, held gently against his bare chest, his warmth seeping into her, and all she could do was rest there and let him be strong for her.

He growled low in her ear. “I swear… together we shall make all of Hell pay for what they have done to you.”

Gods, that sounded dangerously appealing.

Taryn sat with her head against his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the black mountains in the direction she had come, her bones vibrating with awareness that urged her to move faster, to accelerate her plan.

The elf was coming.

He believed her responsible for stealing the blade and attacking the elf kingdom seven long centuries ago, killing thousands of his kind. He could never feel anything for her other than hatred, and she had been fine with that, because it had meant he would never end up at the mercy of her brother.

But now she had delayed too long and her dragon instincts warned that he was closing in on her, and when that happened, the future would grow clouded and uncertain.

Both for her.

And for the elf.

Her fated male.

Excerpt from Ares by Felicity Heaton

The Frenchman ducked to evade a punch and threw his palm at the larger man. Was he trying to push him over? Megan couldn’t see why he would want to do that and it was the only explanation she could find for him pressing his palm against the man’s chest.

The immense brunet flung his head back and threw his arms out at his sides as he roared in agony at the storm. The lights on the wall of the alley died as his garbled scream filled the night, battling the growling thunder. He fell to his knees and arched backwards, the Frenchman’s hand still pressed against his chest. Orange light shone from the point where they connected, illuminating the blond man’s face as he grinned.

“It was too easy.” He drew his hand back and stared at his fingers.

Something glowed in the centre of his palm, strange light illuminating threads that ran around the back of his hand. He turned his cruel gaze on the large man.

The man collapsed forwards, palms pressing into the wet ground, and the lights on the wall blinked back into life again. His big body heaved as he breathed hard and she frowned as she realised something.

He was shaking.

Flames flickered over the Frenchman’s hand and a fireball grew from the centre of his palm. He aimed it down at the other man.

In an instant, Megan knew what he was going to do and she couldn’t allow it to happen. She couldn’t let this man kill the brunet. She wouldn’t stand for it. Her gaze quickly scanned the dimly lit street and darted back again. One of their guns lay on the wet tarmac only a few feet from her. She reacted on instinct, pushing off the ground and running for it.

She scooped it up.

Raised it.

Fired.

A loud crack like thunder split the silence and she jerked back from the force of the recoil.

The bullet nailed the Frenchman in his right shoulder, knocking him backwards, away from the other man.

An unholy shriek pierced her ears, more like the sound a bird of prey would make rather than a man, and the Frenchman turned his gaze on her. Megan hesitated, fear washing through her stronger than ever and her heart smashing like a jackhammer against her ribs. Eyes that glowed ethereally locked on to her.

What was he?

He raised his hand, the light from the fireball casting dark shadows across his face. She didn’t hesitate. She lifted the heavy silver gun and took aim again.

The fireball exploded from his palm.

The brunet launched to his feet and sprinted straight towards her, racing the twisting golden orb as it grew in size.

Megan stared death in the face, and it was fiery and painful and terrifying, and then there was darkness and heat. The man’s thickly muscled arms wrapped around her and he crushed her against his solid chest, shielding her, his heart pounding against her ear. He jerked forwards and she smelled the heat of the fire, felt the force of it rush past her, and curled into his embrace, waiting for the pain.

Waiting for the end.

Cold rain soaked into her scalp and slid down her face, and she opened her eyes as reality penetrated the haze of her fear and shock that she was alive and unharmed rushed through her.

The man loosened his grip on her and took an unsteady step backwards. He swayed on his feet, his face in shadow, head hung forwards. Smoke curled from his slumped shoulders.

“Need to get my powers back… going to kill the bastard…” he muttered and then his hands settled on her arms, heavy and trembling. His gaze lifted and met hers, red illuminating his irises. “You okay?”

She nodded.

A flicker of a smile curved his lips and then it dropped from his face as his expression went slack. He collapsed to his knees, his head landing on her chest and his grip on her taking her down with him. She hit the tarmac hard, pain shooting up her legs and spine. The man breathed heavily and rolled off her, landing on his front with his cheek pressed into the wet ground.

Megan shook so hard the gun still locked in her fingers rattled.

She stared down the alley to the Frenchman.

Steadily raised the gun and aimed again.

Slowly squeezed the trigger just as her grandfather had taught her.

The man disappeared.

The sound of rain filled the silence.

Megan let the gun fall from her grasp to clatter onto the ground near her thigh. She breathed slowly, her shoulders slumping as her tension melted away, leaving her chilled to her marrow as the adrenaline that had been fuelling her disappeared with it. Her gaze drifted down to the man lying on the cracked tarmac in front of her.

The scorched and smouldering back of his black coat revealed blistered skin beneath.

He had shielded her from the blast, taking the damage for her. She crawled over to him, removed her sodden coat and laid it down on the ground, and carefully eased him onto his back on it. He groaned. She welcomed the small sign of life and looked him over.

The front of his black t-shirt was missing and there was a dark burn mark in the middle of his defined chest, right over his heart. She didn’t know what had happened to him or what the fight had been about, but she knew one thing.

He wasn’t an ordinary person.

He was like her.

Megan gently laid her left palm on his pectorals, over the dark patch, and focused. The man flinched and his eyes slowly opened, coming to meet hers. He stared up at her, his dark gaze relaying his shock. She had always rejected her ability because it made her feel like a freak and an outsider, but she was quick to call it now. The burnt skin on his chest began to heal beneath her hand.

The man opened his mouth and then grimaced, his handsome face contorting viciously as he unleashed an unholy snarl that was more beast than man.

She focused harder, wishing she could do this painlessly. Healing a major wound always caused the injured party pain and it hurt her too. She was doing it as quickly as she could but for some reason, he was slow to heal and she was already beginning to feel the effects of using her gift.

Megan drew her hand away, revealing smooth unmarked skin. She stroked it and looked down at his face, checking on him. Rain poured down on them. It chilled her but he still felt warm beneath her fingers. She shifted her hand to his cheek and cupped it.

“Can you hear me?” She frowned when he failed to respond and she patted his cheek, hoping to rouse him. She didn’t want him to pass out and she could feel that he was barely holding on to consciousness. Fat drops saturated her clothing. They rolled down his face and soaked into his overlong dark hair. She picked the strands from his face and willed him to respond to her. “Please hear me. Move if you can. Do something to let me know.”

His eyelids fluttered and he moaned.

“I’ll try to heal your other wounds, but it might hurt. Just hold on, okay?” She waited long seconds before his mouth twisted into a grimace and he frowned. Her stomach rolled in time with the distant thunder. She had to heal his back for him, no matter how much it drained her or how much it hurt him, but she didn’t want to risk making him lose consciousness.

The voice of reason said that what she had to do was call an ambulance and then the police. She couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand if she told them the truth. The other man had powers, and he wanted to kill this one.

This man had protected her but the police wouldn’t care. They would throw him in jail for being a part of the fight and the other man would get away with everything.

She looked down at his face, absorbing how beautiful he was, strong and masculine, like a warrior. A fine layer of stubble coated his straight jaw and the slight crook in his nose told her he had broken it more than once. He was a fighter, and he had risked his life to protect her and now she would repay him by healing his wounds and taking care of him.

His lips parted.

Strange words fell from them, a language she didn’t understand, and pain speared her skull in time with each one. She snatched her hands away from him and covered her ears.

Her eyes widened as he stopped speaking and silence fell.

Darkness swirled in front of her, obliterating her view of the other end of the alley. She moved closer to the man, afraid it was the other one come to finish them off, and grabbed the gun.

Ribbons of black smoke separated to reveal two tall handsome men, both clad head-to-toe in dark colours and sporting black long coats like the one her protector wore.

Megan stared up at them, her fingers clasping the gun. She raised it and aimed, darting between the two newcomers, and breathed slowly to steady her nerves and her hands. Neither of them acknowledged her. They approached and she switched aim between them, and her fear began to get the better of her again.

She glanced at the man resting against her and resolve flowed through her. He had protected her and now it was her turn to protect him.

“Keep back,” she warned but they kept advancing.

She aimed at the white-haired one and squeezed the trigger.

Her finger stiffened and palm froze, and her eyes widened when she saw the ice covering the gun. It burned and she dropped it. The ice shattered, scattering across the wet ground and instantly melting.

“What the heck?” She stared at her palm, desperately trying to move her stiff fingers as they burned, numb from cold. Where had that ice come from?

Her eyes snapped to the white-haired man.

Had it come from him?

He towered over her now, his build slimmer than her protector’s was but not as lean as the other man beside him. His pale eyes held hers, glacial and dark.

“Did you do this?” the other, black-haired man snarled in a voice laced with darkness and she made the mistake of looking at him.

He was incredibly handsome but there was endless cold in his dark eyes. A ring of vivid blue encircled his irises and she shrank back, afraid of the sensation of danger that washed over her and told her to run. He might be slimmer than the other two, but he wore an air of lethal darkness, a threat that beat in her blood as though every sense and instinct she had was warning her that he was dangerous and would kill her without hesitation.

The man with softly spiked white hair stepped in front of him, placing himself between them, and turned his head and looked over his shoulder at his comrade.

“A gun did not do this.” He turned his pale eyes on her. “Why did you turn his gun on us?”

The black-haired man moved past his friend, swept both sides of his open long black coat behind his hips to reveal a worn grey-blue shirt and lighter grey scarf, and crouched beside her protector. His black jeans stretched tight over his thighs and she noticed he wore the same leather army boots as her protector, but the ends of his jeans had been loosely tucked into them.

He tunnelled his slender fingers through the long lengths of the top of his hair, pushing it back from the shorn sides and back, and ran dark eyes over him. Fine black eyebrows met hard above blue eyes that seemed strangely bright in the low light, swirling like a stormy sea.

“What happened?” It was the white-haired one who spoke but the question was there in the black-haired man’s eyes too.

“Another man attacked him,” she said, and then added, “and he protected me, so I protected him.”

She was still intent on protecting him. They didn’t seem like a danger to him, showed no sign of attacking, but if they made a wrong move, she was going to grab the gun again and use it this time.

They both stared at her and then exchanged a glance that told her the man wasn’t in the habit of risking his life to protect people.

The white-haired one moved forwards and frowned down at her protector too. “We must get him to safety. Take his arm but be careful. We should be safe while he is unconscious, but it is hard to tell.”

“You can’t move him!” Megan snapped.

Neither man looked at her.

She was getting tired of this.

She grabbed the gun and turned it on them again. She wouldn’t drop it this time, no matter what happened. The white-haired man pinned cold blue eyes on her and reached towards her, his black leather gloves glistening with what looked like frost in the dim alley lights.

Her protector jolted to his feet so quickly that the black-haired one fell on his backside.

“Don’t touch her,” the brunet growled and grabbed the white-haired man’s wrist, yanking his arm away from her.

He instantly turned to the other man. “Something is wrong.”

The black-haired man looked at the hand her protector had locked around his friend’s wrist, shock rippling across his face. “No heat?”

Megan got to her feet and steadied her gun with her other hand, aiming it back at the white-haired man. “Let him go.”

He gave her a pointed look. Yes, she was aware that her protector was the one manhandling him, but she didn’t care. She had to protect him.

The brunet growled something foul at him and swayed on his feet. He shoved the white-haired one away and stumbled towards her. “Must go… got to go.”

Megan dropped the gun again and caught him as he collapsed, taking her back down to the ground. She kneeled with him leaning in to her, his head on her shoulder and arms limp beside her hips. Her fingers touched the wrecked back of his black coat and the blistered skin there. It began to heal and she focused, trying to soothe his pain for him as he breathed heavily in her arms.

The two men stared at her.

The white-haired one spoke first.

“Change of plans. We take her with us. We need to know what she saw and she might prove useful.” He turned to the man standing a few feet behind him. “Esher, bring the female.”

The man called Esher cast him a dark unforgiving look and the strange glow around his pupils brightened but turned a deeper shade of blue, veering towards stormy grey. “You better not be serious.”

The white-haired man nodded.

Esher’s expression blackened into a scowl. “You are one cold bastard at times.”

The other one smiled and shrugged.

Was the man cold because he wanted to bring her, like a captive, or because he had told Esher to handle her?

She could sense his reluctance, a palpable disgust that he didn’t bother to hide as he rounded her and grabbed her upper arm. He towered over her, far slimmer than the man slumped against her but just as lethal in appearance.

The white-haired one pulled her protector to his feet and settled his arm around his shoulders, supporting him. Esher dragged her onto her feet too, the force behind his actions almost tearing her arm from the socket.

He tossed her a grim look.

Megan opened her mouth to unleash the scream burning up her throat.

Everything spun around her.


Excerpt from The Good, the Bad, and the Vampire by Sara Humphreys

Trixie couldn’t remember the last time she went to a little girl’s birthday party but it certainly wasn’t since becoming a vampire.

Olivia and Doug might have been two of the world’s most powerful vampires, but they had also become the first vampire parents in recorded history. Today was their daughter Emily’s second birthday and they were throwing her a big old party, complete with birthday cake and balloons.

Trixie had gone back and forth all day long about whether or not to attend.

Being around little Emily was bittersweet on a regular day and the birthday celebration would only heighten Trixie’s struggle. But choosing not to go would have been selfish. Trixie’s personal drama wasn’t Emily’s fault, and she didn’t want to disappoint the adorable little redheaded cherub. Not only that, Emily was Olivia’s daughter and since Olivia was Trixie’s maker, that made her family.

Not showing up would have been rotten.

Olivia would have understood if Trixie bailed out; she knew her better than anyone else. But Olivia’s Bloodmate, Doug, wouldn’t understand her absence from such a celebrated event. Neither would the other members of the coven.

Nope. Trixie decided to do what she always did. She’d put on a smile, make a wise-ass comment or two, and act like nothing and nobody bothered her.

A familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts as she strode down the stone hallways of the Presidium’s underground facility, buried deep beneath Fort Tryon Park and The Cloisters in New York City, “Well, smack my ass and call me Sally.”

The deep southern drawl echoed around her, stopping Trixie dead in her tracks. A shiver of lust whispered beneath her skin as it usually did whenever he was nearby, but she swiftly shoved it aside.

“Okay, Sally.” Trixie rolled her shoulder and fought the buzz of attraction. “But you can smack your own ass.”

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” The rumbling baritone of his voice soaked with that southern twang, drifted over her shoulder but she didn’t spare him a glance. Trixie continued toward Olivia and Doug’s apartment door, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. “Don’t I even get a hello?”

“Hello, Dakota,” she said, with a roll of her eyes.

Coming to this little gathering for Emily was difficult enough and his arrival only ratcheted her anxiety up a notch. Damn it. Why wasn’t he out on patrol? Over the past few months, the cocky and admittedly gorgeous sentry, had become more and more present in her little corner of the universe.

Trixie fiddled with the box in her hands, the one she’d wrapped carefully with the pink and white skull and crossbones paper. She didn’t even bother to put a card with it. Everyone would know who’d brought it. She was the only coven member with bright pink hair and a penchant for skulls and crossbones, after all.

“That your present for little Emily?” He asked. “You wrapped it real nice.”

He got closer by the second.

“No,” Trixie snorted. “I just like carrying around a gift wrapped box for the hell of it. You know, for shits and giggles.”

She was being a snot but she couldn’t help herself.

Trixie kept her gaze pinned to the mammoth mahogany door at the end of the hallway and tried not to notice that he’d sidled up next to her, his stride matching hers.

Dakota Shelton, the newest sentry for the Presidium, the vampire government, was not an easy man to ignore.

His six foot two inch broad shouldered frame towered over her easily but there was something else about him that set her on edge. It was the way he carried himself. He moved effortlessly and casually, as if he was just the good-old boy from Texas he claimed to be.

But Trixie knew better.


Excerpt from His Witch to Keep by Zoe Forward

“You can’t keep your gun. I don’t want you shooting someone tonight. I will be the only one killing.” His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush to his body again. He backed her against the edge of the conference table and slid the hem of her dress upward, his fingers trailing along the inside of her thigh. She bit back a groan at the erotic sensations. His eyes smoldered with answering heat. She rolled her pelvis against his arousal. He sucked in a sudden breath. With one swift move he unlatched her holster. His fingers disappeared. He stepped away.

“Fine.” Disappointment flared. She detested his control when her heart was racing and her body begged for his continued touch. The fact she couldn’t handle him like she could everyone else in her life pissed her off. Only this man could shake her.


Honorable Mentions

These are books we did some sort of feature for, such as a cover reveal or spotlight, but we are not moving to this new blog. I wanted to at least mention these books, so you can see what other titles we have featured in the past.

Be Witched boxed set

Feel the Burn by G.A. Aiken

Rise of the Fae by Rebekah R. Ganiere

Taming Beastie by Sedona Venez

Wicked Edge by Rebecca Zanetti


We hope you enjoyed these paranormal romance excerpts. To see more about paranormal romance on BTH Reviews you can visit the paranormal romance page. Or, if you’re in the mood to read more excerpts, you can see our other pages: suspense excerpts, fantasy excerpts, and science fiction excerpts.

 

Comments are closed