Open Wounds | Audiobook

COMING SOON SUMMER 2017

Missing Teal and Trent from Inevitable: Love & War? Check out Open Wounds, the second of many standalones. Open Wounds coming to audio soon!

Missing Teal and Trent from Inevitable: Love & War? Check out Rogue in Love, the first of many standalones featuring Trent Reed's new employees!

 #AWWM CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

A Love Against the Odds Novel

If you could see your life from inception to your death, would you change things or would you let your death play out as fate intended?

Abel is in search of only two things. A stable job and a safe place to lay his head at night after a mistake that cost him eighteen months of his life. As if fate had plans made only for him, Abel is offered a complicated job, and a chance to redeem himself to his old boss.

And then he meets her…

And Abel adds another item to his list—Hope.

At twenty-six, Hope has only ever slept with one man, and at her boss’s unsolicited advice, Hope plans to forget the abuse and degradation she suffered at her soon- to- be ex’s hand by seducing and bedding the next man she meets. Only, after Hope finds a promise of death at her doorstep, her plans are derailed and only chance at staying alive rests on the dedication of her new bodyguard and her own sheer will to live the life she deserves.

3 Day Countdown!!

    Trent sat in his truck, just down the street from his home, holding the tiny box in his hand. Deftly he flipped it over and over again with his fingers, watching the burgundy velvet spin. When was the right time to ask a woman to marry you? His fear was that his past would constantly find its way back into his present. Could he drag Teal into muck and mire of his past?

After buying the ring and allowing Katie to fawn over it, he’d spoken to Logan. Though his friend had tried to assuage his concerns, he’d only added to them. Logan’s past was still a major topic of concern with Katie, so much so, they were seeking counseling. Trent couldn’t imagine fucking up Teal’s life so bad she’d need to talk to some doctor about his failures.

Logan had promised they’d both agreed it was necessary, but Trent could hear the disquiet in his best friend’s voice. He feared losing her and his children. And while Logan and Trent faced different demons, both fought a battle in which losing would cost them more than they could afford.

For the first time since he and Teal discussed moving in together, Trent wondered if moving to Vermont might just be the better option. He wondered if he could sacrifice the freedom of living without a mortgage and being his own boss. How selfish was it of him to demand Teal sacrifice her job and security, when he hadn’t considered doing the same? 

Confessions in the Dark 2 Days!

Confessions in the Dark | In the Dark Book 3

AMAZON | ITUNES| BN | KOBO | GOOGLE BOOKS & PLAY BOOKS

SCRIBD 

Ophelia prided herself in not panicking. Her heart might have been in her throat and beating a mile a minute, but she scrolled through the SAT phone with clarity, looking through nameless numbers, hoping to see an SOS number. Unfortunately, there was nothing to clue her in to who she’d be calling if she pressed the send button.

She looked to Irish again. His greying skin signaled she had little, if any, time to act, so she pressed send on the number currently on the screen. There was a beeping noise and then the phone rang.

            He mumbled something incoherent and she crawled over to him, placing her face as close to his as she could. His eyes were still closed, moving franticly beneath the lids. In his weakened state, he feebly tried to move his hand with no success.

            In Gaelic she asked, “How can I help you?” Now she was starting to panic. If anyone found where they were hiding, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to fight them off without risking Irish. In this state, Vasily’s men were sure to kill him.

            His eyes cracked open a sliver and his fangs descended. “I need—” As if all of the strength had been zapped from him, his hand went limp and his head fell back.

            A shout came from behind her and she turned, baring her teeth in a protective stance, but no one was there. The muffled shout came again and she glanced down at the phone. Picking it up, she said, “Yes?”

            A man with a Spanish accent answered. She remembered him, Jax. “What’s wrong?” His voice was calm and soothing, which managed to help calm her as well.

She examined Irish and explained everything she saw, including everything that had happened leading up to this point.

Jax grunted. “Is there an open wound on him anywhere?” Ophelia remembered the scent of blood and burned flesh and answered with confirmation. “Okay, can you get to it?”

She took a deep breath and wedged the SAT phone between her ear and shoulder. Pushing with both hands, she got him to roll onto his back. She opened his leather vest and pulled up his cotton shirt. The scent of blood and decay wafted up from the wound. It seeped and oozed blood and a clear liquid.

Ophelia covered her mouth at the atrocious scent. How was it decaying when it’d only been there for a few hours? “Yes, I see it. It looks bad and it’s bleeding. The blood is really dark though. Do you know what I should do?”

There was a silence, a flurry of curses, and then in a measured tone Jax said, “How do you feel about being bitten?” His voice sounded grim, as if this were the only option and he wasn’t sure she’d agree to it.

She cleared her throat and placed her hand to her neck. Heat flared in her collar and her heart gave an extra few thumps in anticipation. “Will it save him? Is there no other way?”

Jax sighed. “Yes, but you don’t have enough time. If you don’t give him your blood, he will die. He’s been poisoned with liquid silver and Olfbreathe seed is the only other cure. I doubt you’ll find it there. Weather conditions aren’t stable enough to grow it.”

It didn’t take long to make a decision. When everyone else had chalked up her disappearance as dismissal, Irish was the only one who’d wanted to free her from the confines of her place in the pack. “Okay, but how do I get him to bite? He’s not awake.” She eyed him again, searching for signs of life. He was breathing, but that was it.

            “There’s a weapon in his shoe. Use that.”

She searched for the weapon. A trap opened in the bottom of his shoe and she pulled the small blade from inside. Once she was positioned beside him, Ophelia placed his head in her lap and created as small cut on her wrist. Not too close to the artery, but not too far away either. Coaxing his mouth open, she placed her wrist above his mouth and waited—nothing.

            “Jax,” panic laced her voice, “he’s not—”

Before she could finish, Irish’s chest bowed and his fangs clamped down on her skin. At first, she thought to scream, but then his sharp fangs parted her flesh with a delicious burn that made her body sing. A moment later, she opened her eyes to find herself on her back with Irish on top of her.

Her blood dripped from his mouth, his face twisted in a feral grimace. Unsure of whether to push him away, or caress him, she put her hand on his chest and steadied her own breath. He panted above her, body tight and hot. Without thinking, she parted her knees, allowing Irish to settle in deeper. His considerable arousal lay heavy between them, cradled by her warm, soft thighs.

He lowered to her neck, but was stopped by her palm on his chest. He looked at her hand before flicking it away. Ophelia gasped, but didn’t stop his descent. The idea of Irish, fangs deep in her neck, sent excitement shooting through her core. He scraped the tips of his fangs over the delicate hollow of her neck.

She shuddered, and before she knew it, her hand flew to the back of his head and pulled him closer. All she could remember was the feel of his mouth over her wrist, the way it felt as he took her blood; each pull, yanking common sense from her body and replacing it with raw need.  

Confessions in the Dark 3 DAYS!

Preorder your copy TODAY!

 AMAZON | ITUNES| BN | KOBO | GOOGLE BOOKS & PLAY BOOKS

SCRIBD 

     Ophelia rested her head on her knees as she waited for Irish to return. Sounds throughout the cave soothed and relaxed her as much as an orphaned shifter in her position could relax. He’d left to gather water and food since it would take a couple of days for rescue.

     Her eyes fluttered shut as flashes of her time spent in a cage crossed her mind. There was nothing she could do for her people, and briefly, she wanted to give up the throne and run away. But she was stronger than that, much stronger. In fact, of the three packs left, hers was the largest and the fiercest and that was not from sheer luck, but determination and ambition. Maybe now that the packs were so broken up and scattered, she would no longer be expected to follow wolf charmer traditions.

     The scent of grabers, mushrooms, and honeysuckle hit her nose before his voice called to her. She smiled. Perhaps he thought her a vegan, like most wolf charmers.

            “Ophelia.” His tone was searching, even though she knew his vampire traits allowed him night vision.

Heat bloomed in her chest as the warrior moved toward her. His pale skin shone bright with the bit of moonlight entering the cave. He wore the traditional armor of his Scottish heritage; gold-plated straps, carrying massive amounts of weapons and shields. Light reflected off his silver weapons and her gaze flittered to his face as he kneeled in front of her.

Even if she couldn’t scent the rain falling from the sky, Irish’s dampened, blondish-red hair glistened in the light. Water rivulets fell from his short locks, splashing gently onto his collar. Shimmering emerald eyes met hers. Placing the fruits and plants in front of her, he took a deep breath, then moved away.

            “We aren’t close to the coast, so I’ll have to get ye water from the rain,” he said, his accent a little heavier than usual.

She nodded, and wondered if he were like her. She’d taken lessons to hide her German accent, and spoken English as a child, allowing her to perfect even the hardest pronunciations. As a tribe in hiding, they all had to learn how to blend in; until the moment her father decided the woods were the only place they could survive. Just like our ancestors, long ago. To mother earth we go. The thought of him saying this sent a spear through her heart.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Irish was on the other side of the cave, peering out into the night. “Do you hide your accent?” she asked in fluent Gaelic.

He turned, brow raised. Even as serious as their situation was, she noticed the playful glint in his eye. And with that, the damn heat flared in her chest again. She placed her hand over her heart and rubbed the light burning sensation. Glancing away, Ophelia trained her eyes on the berries he’d fetched for her.

            “Aye, and I have to keep it up. I have a mission coming up, so American it is. If you hear me slip, please be sure to punish me any way you see fit.”

She glanced at him and saw his lip quirk up, revealing one sharp, pearly-white fang. Mischief danced in his darkened gaze, causing her heart to thrum against her ribcage. Ophelia was still young and primed for breeding. She shook her head, releasing herself from whatever spell her body had placed her under. Hormones were a bitch.

The moon whispered to her, but she ignored it. “Then I guess I owe you five lashings?” She popped a sweet berry into her mouth and the tart flavor burst on her tongue. She ate another, then another, until all that was left were the vines. Aghast, she looked up. Feral eyes watched her as she frowned. “I’m so sorry.” He’d brought enough for the both of them, yet she’d gluttonously eaten them all.

            His eyes darkened as he moved away from her, toward the mouth of the cave. “I brought all of it for you. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” His words held an ominous chill.

Unsure if she should worry about the tone in his voice, or eat more, Ophelia let her stomach decide and picked up a root he’d laid before her. She examined the root because she was not familiar with it. Its texture was smooth and soft. Upon squeezing it, the spongy substance let loose a few droplets of moisture. His voice rose above the roaring of the rainfall outside.

            “Jachtha root. It only grows in areas with a monsoon season. Since I couldn’t get to the coast, I got a few of those so you don’t dehydrate. Also, the berries have a protein in them that will help you combat the drugs I scent in your system.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the cave wall.

            She squeezed the root over her mouth and drank its juice. “And here I thought you believed me to be one of those vegan charmers.”

With a smile he pushed away from the cave wall and moved toward her. “No, I saw you eat meat when we were at Jax’s place.” She nodded, remembering Avery, Jax’s wife, who cooked the most delicious steaks she’d ever eaten. She picked up a flower that smelled like honeysuckle. “That will help you gain strength back if I happen to need—” His voice went quiet and she glanced back up at him. He was so close now, she got a whiff of blood and flesh.

He must be wounded. “In case you have to what? Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice rising on its own accord. Anger flared in her at whoever it was who’d damaged his creamy white skin. He gave her a forced smile and nodded. “Let me see. I can heal it.” She dropped the root and moved to her knees just as he reared back. Confused, she settled into the ground again and placed her hands in her lap.

            With a wry grin he said, “You can’t heal me. At least, not with your hands.” Shaking his head, he stood and moved away from her. She hated how far away he’d moved, but figured it was probably for the best.

            Picking up the root, she took a bite. “This tastes of the rain,” she muttered absently, remembering then the question she really wanted to ask. “Where are we?” She glanced out at the jungle and moved closer to sniff the air. His hand grasped her upper arm as she moved out closer.

She sniffed again, unable to discern each scent. “I’m not familiar with the essences around us.” The sharp scent of musk and earth she’d never smelled before floated across the breeze, lightly muted by the scent of the rain.

            He released her arm when she moved back into the cave. “You’ve never been here before, and you most likely have never encountered anyone from this island.”

She glanced up at him, his gaze was held steady on her. She assumed she’d been taken to an island. The murky visions she’d had as Vasily’s men pulled her from a boat, to scenes of naked men who looked to be tribesmen, and the scent of sea air, all pointed in that direction.

“So, we are on an island.” She crossed her arms over her chest. The tattered dress she wore barely concealed her skin, and as she stood closer to the moonlight, she was sure she was showing more skin than she wanted.