Dragon Fever
Rachel knew it was wrong to stay with Asher, but every time she tried to talk herself into leaving,
she couldn’t manage it. She was comfortable with his strong arms around her. He made her feel
sheltered and secure.
Odd since he was the thing she was supposed to be afraid of.
How had it happened? How had she found herself in his bed? There had been a brief
second when she saw his dragon tattoo where she recalled what her goal was. Then she
promptly forgot all about it when he kissed her again.
She didn’t want to admit it, especially not to herself, but she had a feeling she experienced
her first run-in with desire. And it had been glorious.
That could be the only reason. Why else couldn’t she keep her hands off him or her clothes
on? What other reason was there for her to keep kissing him? Or for her to want him to make
love to her? Or to forget about protection?
“It wasn’t just the desire, it was the absolute pleasure she found in his arms. The
man––dragon––must be a master. Then again, if she’d been around since the beginning of
time, she’d be a master at sex too.
The suite was quiet as Asher slept. A part of her had actually wondered if the Dragon Kings
did sleep, but she had her answer. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
She was up to her neck in this shit. And that’s what it was. Shit.
Not once had she ever used her body for a story. Though, technically, she hadn’t actually
used her body. It had been freely given because there had been no way she was walking away
from such amazing kisses.
He wasn’t supposed to be this wonderful. He was gallant and charming and a true
gentleman. It was an act. She needed to remember that. It was all just an act so that the Dragon
Kings could continue on as they always had.

The Darkest Captive
Like you don’t know. If ever Galen had created a woman from scratch, he would have used
Legion as the template. She had the dangerous curves of a femme fatale, topped off with a silky
waterfall of dark blonde curls his hands itched to fist. Black spiky lashes framed eyes the color
of whiskey—eyes just as intoxicating. Lush red lips tempted all who gazed upon them, silently
promising to escort sinners to heaven.
Her personality only added to her appeal. With a tantalizing vicious streak, an affinity for
anything princess, surprising strengths, and agonizing vulnerabilities, she suited needs Galen
had never known he’d had.
He needed to get her into his bed. Gentleman extraordinaire, he would only keep her there a
few months. Maybe a few years. A mere blip when you were immortal. After he’d touched and
tasted every inch of her, taken her in every position imaginable, and brought her to climax, oh,
about a thousand times, her effect on him would be neutralized, probably, and he could focus
his energy on war. So simple. So easy.
But first, he had to save her life.

Haunted House
It had to be a prank.
A prank, a prank, a prank…
But it wasn’t. She had just leaned against the wall, and it had proven to be false with
perhaps two feet behind it. And there, shoved against the old brick and structural beams held up
by the jagged structure of the real wall, was the skeleton.
People had warned her. Most of them would be laughing as they considered the tales of the
Brim House to be nothing but urban legends created with the use of a wee bit of history. A
woman had died in the original home that had stood here during the infamous witch trials. She
hadn’t been executed, but she had suffered so seriously from malnutrition and disease while
being held in the crowded jail that she had just made it home after her relatives painfully
scraped together the money to pay her jail fees, only to die shortly after.
Then, there had been the murder. A family member, luring an old enemy to the house…
So many tales.
Some true. Some purely fabricated.
Well, this—this skull and these bones—they were old. Very old, she thought. Because it was
all held together with jagged brick and the remnants of whatever the person had been wearing.
She couldn’t even tell if they had been male or female—not even in the strange glaring light and
shadow of the flashlight. She played the light beyond the eerie skull and bone and rotting bits of
fabric on the thing and showed that more lay behind it, buried behind what no one had
apparently known was a false wall.
The beams were old, lines of time etched into them. Perhaps old building markers, splinters
of wood jaggedly sticking here and there on…no. Please, no.
More? Dear God, she could see…flesh.

Tempted by Midnight
His vision honed in on that thin scarlet ribbon, everything Breed in him responding with keen,
inhuman interest. The fact that she was a Breedmate made her blood an exponentially greater
temptation to one of his kind.
Melena’s blood carried the subtle fragrance of caramel and something sweeter still…dark
cherries, Lazaro decided, his lungs soaking in a deeper breath even though it was torment to his
senses.
His fangs punched out of his gums, throbbing against the firmly closed line of his lips. His
vision sharpened some more, his irises throwing off a rising amber glow that bathed her
paleness in warmer light. His own skin prickled with the sudden surge of heat in his veins.
If Melena opened her eyes now, she’d see him fully transformed to the bloodthirsty,
otherworldly being he truly was.
If she opened her pretty, bright green eyes, she would know that his desire for her didn’t
stop at just her blood. He didn’t want to think what kind of base creature he was that he could
feel lust and hunger for a bruised, bloodied woman who’d just lost her father and nearly her own
life too.
The truth was, he’d felt these same urges back on the yacht too. He hadn’t wanted to admit
it then either.
For all he knew, she could belong to another Breed male. Hell, she could already be blood-
bonded to someone, a thought that should’ve relieved him rather than put a rankle in his brow. It
would be pointless to let himself wonder, then or now. He wasn’t about to act on either of his
unwanted needs. Least of all with a woman bearing the Breedmate mark.
Since Ellie’s death, he’d found other women to service him when required. Humans who
understood the limits of his interest. More importantly, humans he could feed from without the
shackle of a blood bond.
Instead here he was, shackled to the rescue and safekeeping of a woman he didn’t fully
trust and had no right to desire.