Wilder’s Mate by Moira Rogers
Wilder Harding is a bloodhound, created by the Guild to hunt down and kill vampires on America’s frontier. His enhanced abilities come with a high price: on the full moon, he becomes capable of savagery beyond telling, while the new moon brings a sexual hunger that borders on madness.
Rescuing a weapons inventor from undead kidnappers is just another assignment, though one with an added complication–keeping his hands off the man’s pretty young apprentice, who insists on tagging along.
At odds with polite society, Satira’s only constant has been the aging weapons inventor who treats her like a daughter. She isn’t going to trust Wilder with Nathaniel’s life, not when the Guild might decide the old man isn’t worth saving. Besides, if there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that brains are more important than brawn.
As the search stretches far longer than Wilder planned, he finds himself fighting against time. If Satira is still at his side when the new moon comes, nothing will stop him from claiming her. Worse, she seems all too willing. If their passion unlocks the beast inside, no one will be safe. Not even the man they’re fighting to save.
Warning: This book contains a crude, gun-slinging, vampire-hunting hero who howls at the full moon and a smart, stubborn heroine who invents mad-scientist weapons. Also included: wild frontier adventures, brothels, danger, betrayal and a good dose of wicked loving in an alternate Wild West.
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Chapter One
Satira would have been on a horse and halfway into the sunset by now if the lift from the laboratory hadn’t broken.
Steam from a broken pipe billowed up from beneath the lift’s cab, heating the metal walls until sweat slicked her skin and curled wild strands of her hair. The furnace that powered the lift would burn through its fuel before dark, but that wouldn’t help her now. Not with the temperature rising and the new bloodhound due within the hour.
At least she had her tool belt. Satira pried the last corner free from the panel covering the lift’s controls and sent it clattering to the ground. The floor was hot enough now to be uncomfortable, even through the thick soles of her boots. She dug her teeth into her lower lip and eyed the tangle of copper wires, wishing she’d paid more attention the last time Nathaniel had tried to teach her how their elevator worked.
There’s more to life than weapons, my girl. How many times had he said those words, his gentle old voice chiding and fond at the same time? Nathaniel wasn’t content with life as a Guild inventor. He wanted to bring modern comforts to the wild plains, as if people who dared live along the border had time to worry about steam-powered carriages and flying machines when vampires stole through the night.
They might not care, but Nathaniel did. He cared hard, about damn near everybody, and it made it awful hard not to care right back. Especially when she shifted aside the bulk of the conductors and found a tiny diagram, etched in Nathaniel’s precise hand.
One phrase jumped out. Pressurized doors. Satira followed the diagram back to the coil that held the doors closed while the lift was in motion. A little more work with her screwturner revealed a tiny lever, and she whispered her thanks to her ever-organized mentor as she flipped the switch.
With the pressure released, the doors responded to the spring wedged between them and popped open, letting in a welcome burst of cool air. Satira dragged in a deep, grateful breath, then let it out on a curse when she realized the doors had opened with the lift trapped between floors.
Worse, she was staring at an expensive, dainty pair of heeled satin slippers. “Oh, damn.”
Ophelia was too ladylike to kneel, but she did bend at the waist, tendrils of her long blonde hair spilling down over her shoulders. “Surely you’re not doing what I think you’re doing, Satira.”
The floor sat just below eye level. Satira scooped up the saddlebag she’d filled with weapons and ammunition and hoisted it up, her arms straining under its considerable weight. “Can you help me with this?”
Her friend took the bag. “I’m not giving it back.”
“Ophelia.” Satira tucked the screwturner back into her belt and lifted her foot, balancing it precariously on the low railing inside the lift’s carriage. “At least help me get out? The floor’s getting hot from all the steam.”
“Reason enough to confine oneself to taking the stairs, is it not?”
Ophelia had never considered Nathaniel’s inventions to be particularly reliable. Perhaps her concerns held merit, if one broken pipe could wreak such terror. Satira caught the edge of the floor and struggled to lift herself up without touching the too-hot walls. “Next time I’m sure I will. Please, Ophelia?”
It wasn’t her friend’s soft hand that reached down and gripped hers. It was a strong hand, tanned and rough, followed by an even rougher voice. “You must be Nate’s little one.”
Damn it all. The bloodhound was early.
He dragged her up to the floor as if she weighed nothing, deftly maneuvering her body so she didn’t bump her head or scrape her skin on the hot metal. After he set her on her feet, he stepped back to study her through narrowed eyes. “Why are you dressed like a boy?”
If she’d had any feminine pride left, it would have withered under that assessing gaze. He was dark and forbidding, a large man wrapped in the savagery of a hound. Some hid their other natures well, but this one… Satira met his eyes, and a beast stared back.
Not a man to be trifled with, which made the reply that tumbled free reckless. “Why are you dressed like a man?”
But he only raised one eyebrow in a slow arch. “You’re not going to fool anyone with that getup. You’ve got tits.”
Ophelia smothered a noise that had to be a laugh, so Satira crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her traitorous friend. “You could have warned me he’d arrived.”
“You didn’t exactly ask, did you?”
No, she hadn’t, not that asking would have done any good. Ophelia would be pleased by the arrival of the one man who could lay waste to Satira’s desperate plan–if she let him.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Squaring her shoulders, she met the man’s gaze again. “Are you here to go after Nathaniel?”
For some reason, the corner of his mouth twitched. “Let me guess. You want to go with me.”
The sorry bastard was laughing at her. Pride turned her spine to steel as she dropped her arms. Let him stare at her breasts until his eyeballs fell out. “Yes. I know more about Nathaniel’s weapons than anyone else alive. And I can use every damn one of them.”
“I reckon that’s so.” He nodded quickly, just a little, almost as if the gesture had been meant only for himself. “You do what I say when I say it. Got that?”
She’d expected more argument. Bluster, maybe, or to be told to put on a dress and mind her tongue. A fatal mistake, because it meant she still judged him as a man. She knew better than to ascribe a man’s motives to a bloodhound.
Agreeing to obey one’s orders implicitly was another mistake, but one not so easily avoided. Tense seconds ticked by as she listened to the blood pounding in her ears and wondered if she was foolhardy enough to step across that line, to trigger that savage instinct that would put her completely at a beast’s mercy.
Maybe not, if she hadn’t owed Nathaniel everything. For the man who’d all but raised her, she would risk her very life. “What you say, when you say it.”
He watched her as if he could read her thoughts. For a moment, she thought he might still say no, but he only held out his hand once again. “My name is Wilder.”
Ophelia watched them both with raised eyebrows and stunned disbelief that would surely break at any moment. Before her friend could protest, Satira reached out and grasped the hound’s hand, any self-consciousness about the work-roughened shape of her hands swallowed by the firm grasp of his callused fingers. “Satira,” she whispered. “I’m Nathaniel’s apprentice.”
Wilder released her. “I know who you are. You’ve got ten minutes to gather whatever you need, or I’m leaving without you.” He tipped his hat to Ophelia as he turned. “Ma’am.”
She stared after him. “He’s letting you go with him.”
There wasn’t time. Satira closed her fingers around Ophelia’s wrist and dragged her toward the broad staircase that led to the second floor and her suite. “Because I’ll be useful. Nathaniel is famous. Infamous. We have the best tools for fighting vampires.”
“That man is the best tool for fighting vampires,” she argued. “You won’t be back before the new moon. Do you have any idea what that means, Tira?”
Satira stumbled over the first step, but caught her balance with one hand on the banister. “I lived under a bloodhound’s roof. Levi might have been old–” The past tense tripped her up for a moment, swept her away on a wave of grief, but she forced it down. Levi had been old, for a hound. His death was sad, but not unexpected. “I know about full moons and new moons. I’m not a fool.”
“So what are you going to do when he starts humping your leg?”
“Ophelia!”
Her friend snorted. “It’s a perfectly valid question.”
They reached the landing, but there wasn’t time to pause and argue the point. Wilder would leave without her, and his mission from the Guild had to be to keep their new technology from falling into vampire hands. She was the only person left who truly needed Nathaniel alive.
She turned toward her rooms, dragging Ophelia behind her. “I’m not a virgin, and I’m not puritanical. I’ve bedded hounds before.”
“Not during the new moon.” Ophelia yanked at Satira’s hand, forcing her to stop. “Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.”
Her friend’s blue eyes held nothing but desperate worry and too much experience for her tender years. Ophelia never pretended that life as a whore was anything but dangerous, an unglamorous profession that might earn you coin enough to make a life for yourself–if you could hold it together.
Satira’s mother had held it together. Long enough to attract the eye of the bloodhound who bedded her every new moon, more regular than any clock. The beast inside turned men into monsters with the full moon, but a different sort of savagery came to light when the moon fell dark. Sexual hunger. Feral need.
Ophelia would know the answer to the only question Satira dared ask. “Is it violent?” Surely not. Impossible to imagine Levi laying a violent hand on her mother. And yet…
“No, not exactly. Not like–” Ophelia bit her lip. “The physical demands are almost the least of it. Do you understand what I mean?”
Warmth filled her cheeks as she remembered the last bloodhound to take her to bed. A cocky young stranger, new to his power and full of himself and life. He’d still had an edge, an intensity that expressed itself with dark looks and teasing games. He’d plied her with dominance and control until she was ready to sob from the relief pleasure brought.
Her knees hadn’t worked right for days, and he’d been barely more than a boy. The man waiting downstairs was anything but. “I–I think so.”
“I hope so.”
“I suppose we’ll see.” When they were far enough from town, she’d simply ask him. It wasn’t as if he’d proven himself eager to curtail coarse language in her presence. If letting a handsome man between her thighs was the only way to save the man who’d raised her, she’d consider it a fair price.
She might even enjoy it. If that made her as much of a whore as her mother or Ophelia, her closest friend… Well, she’d been called worse.
At least she couldn’t be called a coward.
* * *
The girl came running out of Nate’s house with two bags and a harried look on her face. She’d taken more than the time he’d allotted her, and he would have left, had he not already chosen and prepared a mount for her.
He jerked his head toward the horse. “Saddled this one for you. What’s all that?”
Color rose in her pale cheeks. “The things I need to keep myself alive against a vampire.”
“You lame your horse before we find Nate and it won’t matter,” he admonished. “Keep it light.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch away, just turned her back on him to see to her bags as she muttered something that was probably meant to be too low for him to hear. “We’re not all carrying around fifty pounds of muscle and twenty pounds of ego.”
He wasn’t about to let her get away with it. “Which is why you have to do as I say. It’s up to me and my muscle to keep you alive. All the newfangled shit in your bag there isn’t going to get that done.”
“So you’re one of those hounds.” Disapproval dripped from the words, but she dragged open one bag and began to discard things. One or two items she clipped to the wide belt buckled around her hips. “You’re not interested in anything we have?”
“What?” The words startled him, because he’d been wondering how the hell she’d expected anyone to look at her and see a boy just because she’d put on a pair of trousers. “Weapons, you mean?”
Stiff pride filled her eyes as she pulled a heavy gun out of the bag, hefting it with two hands. “Nathaniel is the best there is. I brought this to show you, but if you don’t want it…”
It looked like an automatic-fire revolving rifle, its oversized cylinder chambered with glass rounds that glinted brightly even in the afternoon sunlight. Wilder drew his horse closer to her and reached for the firearm. “What’s in the rounds?”
She lifted it higher, and a frown formed between her brows when he picked it up in one hand. “A chemical compound. There are two chambers, and the chemicals mix when the glass breaks to create a focused burst of light. If you hit a vampire in the right place, one will take him down.”
“Which place is the right one?”
“The head. Maybe the neck or gut. The chest, if the heart is already exposed.”
He nodded his understanding and offered her a smile. “All right. This newfangled shit might keep you alive.”
She swung the bags across her horse’s back, and one small hand fell to the pistol holstered at her hip, fingers brushing it for an instant before she scrambled up onto her horse. “Mine’s a modified six-shooter, but the ammunition works the same way, and I’m a fair shot. I wasn’t planning on getting myself killed.”
He was starting to see that, and it made him feel like a jackass for assuming she couldn’t take care of herself. “Sorry.”
Surprise widened her green eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe the word had crossed his lips. She tightened her fingers around her reins and nodded her acknowledgement. “Nate and Levi all but raised me. Levi wasn’t tender with anyone’s feelings, especially if he thought flattery might put someone in harm’s way, so I’m plenty aware of my physical limitations.”
From where he sat, it didn’t look like she had any. “You don’t have to be at a disadvantage when it comes to fighting. Bigger usually means slower. Use that.”
“Nathaniel always told me to use my head.” She guided her horse forward, riding like it was second nature. “I’ll do whatever you tell me when it comes to a fight. I only want to bring him home.”
“Then we just might have a chance.” He nudged his horse and headed for the edge of town. “Where are you from? Nate never said.”
Something about that made her laugh. “Of course not. I’ve lived in this town all my life.”
“Local girl, huh?”
“Something like that. How do you know Nathaniel? I know bloodhounds come to visit him sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve seen you.”
Nathaniel had been one of the first people he’d met when he’d started hunting. “Levi trained me. Back when he still lived up north.”
“Almost eleven years ago.” The number came so fast it had to have been burned in her memory. “Levi was…fond of my mother. We came to live with him not long after he arrived.”
There was only one woman Levi had ever valued enough to keep near. “Ada was your mother?”
Satira stiffened so fast her horse sidled before she tightened her hands on the reins. “Yes.”
Another thing Nate had never mentioned. “Levi talked about her sometimes. He…” He’d loved her, as much as he’d been able. “Yes, he was fond of her.”
“Yes, he was.” Her voice held tension, and loss. “He didn’t have to take us in. He didn’t have to give me a home when she died.”
The old man hadn’t often spoken of things like sentiment. “You were family.”
Her lips twitched. “I was Ada’s girl, and as welcome most days as a stone in his shoe.”
Levi hadn’t been a particularly warm man, but he was ruthlessly practical. “He may not have been handing over pretty words and hugs, but he provided for you. With a man like that, it’s all the same.”
“He never saw much use for pretty words and hugs.” A brief hesitation, and Wilder picked up the rapid beat of her heart, fast and nervous enough to belie her calm expression. “If you brought me with you intending to have a warm body during the new moon, I’m not unwilling.”
Wilder’s jaw clenched. She didn’t think much of him, if she thought he’d plan to take that sort of liberty without asking. “Takes a damn sight more than ‘not unwilling’ to heat my blood, girl.” He grinned because he knew it would fluster her. “I like my women enthusiastic.”
Color rose in her cheeks, but her eyes glinted with stubborn challenge. “It’s a wonder you find any, unless you take care not to speak to them first.”
“Funny,” he murmured. “I’ve never had a problem, discussion or no.”
“I was wrong. Thirty pounds of ego, and I pity your poor horse.”
Wilder laughed. “He’s accustomed to my insufferable bullshit.”
“I suppose he would have to be. Do you think we’ll be able to rescue Nathaniel and return before the new moon, then?”
Despite her light tone, she was eyeing him with unmistakable interest. Perhaps her questions about the moon phase had less to do with her low opinion of him and more with her own curiosity. “If not, I’ll make arrangements,” he told her.
“I see.” She rubbed the palm of one hand against her dusty trousers, a nervous gesture that matched the quick way her gaze jumped away from him to her horse’s ear. “I’ve never crossed the border before. Nathaniel took me out to the Deadlands a few times when I was younger…”
“But not after you…blossomed?” It was the most polite way he could think of to refer to her considerable curves.
Satira looked like she wanted to cross her arms over her chest again, but she only shrugged. “He said it wasn’t a good place for a young woman.”
Wilder had seen women traded and sold there, either as whores or meals, and not enough of them had been willing participants in the transactions. “He’s right.”
“I know. I’ll do what I have to do, just like anyone.”
She would have run off, unaccompanied. She’d planned on it. The knowledge made Wilder’s gloved fingers tighten around his horse’s reins. “Remember what you agreed to, honey. What I say, when I say it.”
“I remember.” And she sounded grumpy about it too.
The afternoon sun gilded her pale skin, and a hint of breeze ruffled the golden strands of hair that curled around her face. She’d burn without a hat or bonnet, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate him pointing it out.
They made it out of town before she spoke again, glancing at him with both eyebrows raised. “The plan isn’t to walk the horses the entire way, is it? I can handle a hard ride.”
Leading words, ones she’d meant to make him think of fucking. Of sweat and bare skin and the delicious, wet grip of an eager cunt around his cock. “Hope to hell that’s true, sweetheart.”
He urged his horse into a gallop without turning or waiting to see if she could keep up. If she wanted to play dirty, so could he.
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Erik, a BDSM master Syria met at a bondage exhibition, offers her an opportunity to join his life of beauty, wealth and power as his personal escort and exhibitionist. But on Christmas Eve, Syria will have to choose between a life of luxury sans love, and the Santa stripper who just may hold her heart.
THE BILLIONAIRE’S ULTIMATUM by Cerys du Lys
Falling in love wasn’t part of Jessika’s job description. Nor was being asked by billionaire CEO Asher Landseer to become an egg donor and surrogate for his infertile wife. All Jessika wants to do is help, but is she setting herself up for heartbreak in the process?
Close Up and Personal by JS Taylor
Actress and director. The stage is set for passion…
Drama-school graduate Isabella Green wants to be a script-writer. But when she meets famous director James Berkeley, she’s tempted into the glamorous world of acting.
Behind the camera, the mysterious Berkeley commands discipline at all times. But Isabella soon discovers his dominant male tendencies also extend into the dressing room.
Suddenly Isabella is discovering a side of herself she never knew existed. But she is also learning more about the alluring James Berkeley. Is his desperate past something she can help heal? Or will the flames of passion consume them both when the cameras start rolling?
Lights, camera, action…
Close Up and Personal strips down to zero dollars over Christmas – 24th-28th December – get yours free!
Three Happy Endings (Secrets, Surprises and Submission: Three Passionate Romances from New York Times Bestselling Author) by Opal Carew
“TOP 15 B&N BESTSELLER (THREE)
TOP 100 E ROMANCE ON AMAZON (THREE)
Three men are better than one…
Secrets, surprises, and submission – three torrid tales of triple passion!
THREE
Hot steamy dreams… a sexy stranger… and his two brothers… all add up to a sexy adventure she’ll never forget.
Lori’s steamy dreams about a hot hard stranger are hitting fever pitch. She needs way more than eye contact and a smile across a crowded subway station. An instant connection sizzled between them and now Lori, who’s never believed in love at first sight, is its helpless victim.
When Lori goes to her best friend’s cabin for the weekend to spend time with Marie, her new husband and his brothers, she’s surprised to wind up face-to-face with her fantasy stranger. But he’s Marie’s husband!
When she meets his brothers, however, she finds that there just might be a way to make her dream come true.
Now Lori is experiencing her wildest fantasy yet, three ultra-sexy men all focused on her. But she wants more than a steamy dream brought to life. Because she’s in love. But can her sexy stranger return her love?
Note: This intriguing short story is scorching hot, with more than one handsome hunk to bring your wildest fantasies to life. Consider yourself warned!
THREE MEN AND A BRIDE
What do you do when you can’t stop lusting after your new husband’s two gorgeous brothers?
Can Marie successfully suppress her fantasies of the three brothers making wild, luxuriant love to her, or will she have to endanger her happy marriage by admitting her feelings to her husband, Drake?
Although this is the second story in the erotic THREE series, this steamy read is the prequel to Three. You can enjoy Three Men and a Bride on it’s own, or after you have read THREE.
THREE SECRETS
Keeping one secret is intriguing. Two is naughty. Three… deserves to be punished.
Sharing secrets has never been so exhilarating…
When they met in Paris, Nicole and Abel enjoyed a sensual, romantic two month fling. The last thing Nicole wanted was to fall head over heels for this sweet, loving man, because she knew he would never accept the truth about her. Unfortunately, the heart wants what it wants, and hers wanted Abel. But Nicole was not one to be controlled by anyone or anything, so once they returned home, she walked away.
When the pain of losing Abel became too much, Nicole finally decided to share her secret with him. Little did she know he had a secret of his own.
Will Abel’s secret extinguish Nicole’s craving for him once and for all? Will Nicole’s revelation bring Abel to his knees?
This is a collection of super hot short stories.
Length: 25,500 words
Plus excerpts from The Office Slave (Volume 1 of The Office Slave Series) and His To Possess (about billionaires, bikers and bad boys all rolled into one).”
Seasons of Love by Annette Evans
Delve into this collection of six romantic short stories that are perfect for any season.
Second Chance: After a tragic childhood, Miranda Larsen cuts herself off emotionally, but can Tom Wilson break through the wall that Miranda has built around herself?
The Good Guy: Josie spent her childhood summers with best friends Trey Wheeler and Adam O’Brien until the death of her grandparents. When she moves back to town all grown up, who will she choose — Trey or Adam?
The Rancher & the Lass: Holden Campbell promised Bridget Monaghan’s father that he would take care of her if anything ever happened to him. But how can a man tame a fiery Irish redhead especially in the wild west of 1885?
The Road Home: Sara Damalio returns home after eight long years and encounters a modern day hero in Dean Merritt. But how will Sara react when she finds out who Dean really is?
Never Too Late: Denise Emerson has spent the last twenty years married to George, but yearning for Mark Patterson. Will a chance encounter with Mark end Denise’s marriage or strengthen it?
Love & Football: Sofia Grimaldi is still mourning her dead fiancé when she meets the handsome Erik Collins. Can a winning season carry the Baltimore Ravens to a Super Bowl victory and bring Sofia and Erik together?
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