Excerpt:
Éva woke, her heart feeling heavy once she
looked around and
saw nothing in the early hours of the new day.
She shot up, blinked, shook her head and saw
all was as it
should be. Lying back down, she closed her eyes, saw wild red
hair as bright as
a flame, heard female laughter and then, nothing.
Her breathing slowed and the next thing she
knew, she saw an
image that made her gasp. Her tall stranger made himself visible
in broad
daylight. His waist length hair had been stained with blood.
His tattered shirt had a hole in it, blood
oozed from a
gaping wound in his chest. He met her gaze, his eyes piercing
hers, begging for
help.
She tried to rush to him, but found herself
unable to move.
She screamed.
He lifted his head, reached into the pocket
of his trousers
and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. Sliding them on, he met her
stare once
again. She knew the look, predatory victory.
Then his features seemed to disappear.
Others walked past them, more wolves, more
humans. They all
ignored the dying wolf on the ground before her.
The scenery changed.
He stood tall, shotgun in hand. “You’re next,
wolf.”
She tried to scream again but no sound came
out.
He pointed the gun at her, cocked it
Blood pumped through her body, her brain
yelled at her to
move, do something. Anything. She remained frozen. Her heart
pounded furiously,
her mind continued barking commands at her, but then the world
went blank at
the sound of a click.
She jolted awake, found her fingers clutching
Janika, only
stopping when she heard him whimper.
“Francba.”
She let
go of his thigh, patted the spot to check for wounds. Finding
none, she
realized her hands were clammy, her skin, cold.
Except she wasn’t back in her bedroom, she’d
been in a
village somewhere remote and the stranger still stood, gun
pointed at her.
“You’re next.”
She cocked a brow. Oh, now she could move.
What the hell was
going on? “What do you mean, wolf? I’m next? And why did you
call me a wolf?”
Rich, dark laughter poured from her
assailant.
Except he was back on the ground again. What
the fuck was
going on?
The stranger lifted his head and smiled.
“You’re more than
you think, Éva.”
His deep voice rasped and rumbled through
her. He coughed
and spat blood. Yet he smiled. Intuitively, she knew that smile
was for her,
wasn’t threatening. Nothing seemed to make sense.
“You know my name? What is going on? What do
you mean?”
Éva’s shoulders tightened. She tried again to move but couldn’t.
Panic set in.
Her head pounded, words she’d never heard echoing loudly in her
head by voices
she couldn’t place. A man, two women, screaming at her to use
her power to save
the stranger, bring him back and take this hunter out quickly
before he killed
her.
The assailant took a step closer. “I’ll be
the one to
eliminate all the wolves in this wretched world.”
It took her a long second to realize the
trick being played
on her. Two beings, one definitely a wolf, the other?
Who the hell knew?
The gray cloak he wore bore familiarity. The
gun, larger
than life now, pointed straight at her chest.
Éva struggled to breathe, pull air into her
lungs and move
but her limbs refused to obey her commands. She shut her eyes,
pulled magic
into her body and waited for it to gather in strength.
A heavy fog settled around her, blacking out
her magic.
Something was definitely wrong. That had never happened before.
She made an effort to use the wind to
dissipate the fog but
nothing happened.
Her eyes flew open and she saw the final
outcome. Her last
words, “Oh my goddess, no!” echoed loudly
--
~~
Have you been kissed by the Hungarian Fertility Goddess?
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Excerpt:
She pulled out a pack
of matches, removed one, lit it, and set it in the matchbox so
it would ignite
the rest of the pack. Then she tossed it on the
cotton cloth she’d used as a lean-to cover, and watched it
catch.
Black smoke rose up
from the fire, adding the smell of burnt clothing to the humid
air and making
Megan’s nose twitch.
A cool breeze blew by
her again, making her shiver.
She spun around
and found herself face to face with Aliyah.
The tall, slender
Noble looked regal as ever. High cheek bones, a long, Greek
nose, and pale skin
that stood out against the black of her robe. Her eyes burned
lime green,
exactly like Les’s, only both her
eyes held that
color, not just the one. Dark hair hung straight down the
sides of her face,
drawing attention to her rather ample chest and slender
hips, if one followed
the lines of her body.
“Going somewhere, Czigany?”
Megan shuddered. How
she hated her birth name with a
passion. “No.” She
shook her head. “Destroying evidence for my cover story.”
Aliyah’s eyebrow rose.
“Cover story?”
“Yes. You want the
books in possession by the Opeth Pack, I’m going to get in and
get them with
minimal causalities.”
Aliyah nodded. “Good.
Good. What cover story are you trying to sell?”
As if it wasn’t
obvious. “Escaped prisoner.”
The Noble put a hand
to her chin, closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes, yes I can see
that. Banged up,
abused somewhat, tired. Am I right?”
Megan nodded.
“But you’re going to
heal before you cross the distance to the village, are you
not?”
Megan shook her head.
Hopefully she wouldn’t heal, but her strength compared to
other wolves remained
higher thanks to training. “No, my Mistress.”
“I should hope
not.” The Noble stepped closer, reaching one wispy arm
out toward Megan. “Because if you fail, I cannot express to
you our
disappointment in you.”
Again, Megan nodded.
“I understand, my Mistress.”
“Good.” Aliyah gripped
Megan’s chin, her eyes becoming clouded
with a
malicious look she got when she wanted to play with her
toys, “Because I
wouldn’t want you to feel my disappointment.”
“No Mistress.” Megan
struggled to stand, feeling power leave her from the Noble
draining her.
“Never.” Terror settled in the pit
of her stomach, a
roiling sensation that caused her nerves to be on alert for
whatever was
coming.
“Good. I’m glad we
understand each other. And to help you,” Aliyah pulled her
hand back, a ball of
light forming around her fingers, “I’ll give you this
gift.”
Before Megan could
defend against the hit, energy slammed into her, knocking her
back against the
tree she’d banged her head on earlier.
A moment later, Megan
forced herself to her feet, aware she’d overstepped protocol,
but unable to
care. She needed to find her
strength.
“You’re doing it
again, Czigany.”
“Not on purpose
Mistress. A solider cannot be kept down until…” She coughed
blood and wiped her
mouth. She probably had internal bruising that would slow the
healing process
for sure. Hell, she’d probably
broken a rib or two by
now.
“Until said soldier is
dead. You remember that and don’t die on us, okay? I’d hate to
lose my pretty,
little pet.”
Before Megan could
respond, she fell to her knees and coughed up more blood. Her
vision blurred,
body ached. Yeah, the wounds would
definitely heal
slowly. If she wasn’t mistaken, she probably needed a pack
healer to aid in
fixing her wounds.
Her lungs burned from
the pain and a sharp jolt jabbed
her, affirming
that she had probably broken a rib, and it nearly
punctured a lung.
Megan looked up, tears
in her eyes, blood dripping down her face, and she found no
sight of Aliyah.
Good.
One more coughing fit
forced out more blood than Megan thought she could lose from
her system, but
she forced herself to stand, using
the nearby tree
for help. With her vision still cloudy, she forced one foot
in front of the
other until she stumbled over loose branches and almost fell
into the
smoldering ashes from the fire she’d lit.
She could do this. She
could free herself.
Even death had
to be better than being enslaved by the Nobles.
The first rays of
sunlight appeared, lighting up the forest where Megan had made
her camp. Time
to move.
Taking only what would
make her look like a refugee, Megan horded the few knives she
knew had fresh blood on the blades,
sheathing them in her boots
while she struggled to make her way toward the Opeth Pack
village. If she
approached the women, probably not the redhead standing next
to the Alpha, she
looked too cunning, but maybe one of the younger
women, she could convince them she was running from the
Hunters.
They had been spotted
in this territory. Six months back they came looking for Opeth
Pack wolves, but
Les’s magic drove them away.
She followed them on
the off chance they’d lead her to something
interesting, but they merely harassed another village of
wolves before being
run off.
Megan then made the
decision to return to the Nobles with what information she
had.
The Opeth Pack had
been successful in finding more members. This wasn’t good for the Nobles, not that Megan really
cared. She simply
wanted out. Her only play had been to work with them for her
freedom.
Stumbling through the
forest took forever, and she’d tripped more than her fair
share of times,
landing on her face and grunting each
time she forced
herself back to her feet. If the warm drums could pound and
she could hear
them, she could march to her destination.
By the time she made
it to the clearing outside the village, she’d been covered in
more than blood.
Dirt and grass stained her clothing,
making her smell
more like forest than anything else. Yes, they’d pick up her
lupine scent; that
much was obvious. But nothing else would be easily
discernable amongst the
blood and damage from her self-inflicted wounds.
Breathing had grown
more difficult, and by the time she made her way to
the entrance of the village, she barely registered the wood
and stucco houses
with their antique look.
“Hello? Hey you there!
Are you—oh my goddess, you’re hurt!”
Megan looked up,
gripped her thighs to force herself
upright, and her
stomach lurched when she saw who headed her way. Oh no. No,
this wasn’t good.
Not her.
Not…
Vision faded, came
back, and Megan found herself falling to her knees before two
pairs of hands
grabbed her and hoisted her up to
her feet.
“Be careful with her
please. She’s wounded.”
The voice sounded so
sweet, so much like heaven, Megan could easily get lost in her
words. “Keep
talking, please.”
“What? You can talk?
You’re in terrible shape. Don’t talk. Conserve your strength,
honey. We’re going to treat you
right away.”
Megan thought she
nodded, couldn’t remember. In fact, the lead weight of her
body made her head
feel heavy, her heart more so by the presence of that
beautiful woman she’d
spotted yesterday.
Soft hands held her firmly until she felt herself being pushed
down onto
something flat and somewhat hard.
“Don’t move, baby.
We’re going to take care of you. Right Sziga?”
About the Author:
Sascha,
who was proclaimed by the publishing industry as The Gentleman Playboy
of Romance, started writing seventeen years ago. His erotic romances
have been listed under Night Owl Romance’s and Road to Romance’s
Recommended read lists, and he’s been nominated for a CAPA by The
Romance Studio. Recently, Torn to Pieces was a USA TODAY Recommended
Read.
Sascha is a trained and experienced public speaker,
and enjoys giving talks and teaching, particularly on aspects of
romance, erotic romance, and writing. He was the former host of The
Unnamed Romance Show on Radio Dentata, and is fond of doing guest spots
and interviews, on both traditional radio and podcasts.
Sascha
writes for WolfPack Publishing, Assent Publishing, Red Sage, Secret
Cravings Publishing, Sizzler Editions, Totally Bound, and Decadent
Publishing.
and/or
https://www.facebook.com/saschaillyvich?fref=ufi
