Excerpt from WERE THE HELL? by Berengaria Brown

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Blurb:
Septimus has to learn why no female weres have been born into his pack. When he walks into the meeting room he smells his mate. A male.
 
Genre/Theme:
M/M Romance, Magic, Werewolves

Copyright © Berengaria Brown, 2016

Septimus had sometimes wondered if he’d only ever been sexually attracted to other males because there were so few younger females in his pack, and the few there were didn’t light his fire. But the minute he walked into the meeting room with the weres from the Forest Hill pack, he knew he was genuinely, one hundred percent gay. He could smell his mate.

His cock stood up and fought to get out of his jeans, stretching the fabric so tight that he was going to have blue balls for a week. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck were also standing straight up. His skin tingled, electrified with sexual arousal. And the scent of his mate was overpowering him, dragging him into the room with almost physical force.

His nose led him unerringly to his mate—a tall, lean man of about thirty, with tanned brown skin, dark brown hair, and liquid chocolate eyes. Those eyes were staring at him, and the man’s strong nose was flared, smelling his scent. From the huge bulge in his pale cargo pants, the man was every bit as aware of him as he was of Mr. Tall, Tan, and Delectable.

As Septimus walked across the room, his cock leading the way, the man moved to meet him. Their gazes were locked, and Septimus was totally oblivious to everyone else in the room and the task he’d been sent to do. He was about to put out his hand when the other man reached him and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him in for a hard, body-blending hug.

“I’m Dai. We’re mates.” The words were harsh, bitten off, said almost as a challenge.

“Septimus. I know.”

The Alpha of the Forest Hill pack stood just a few feet away. He coughed, cleared his throat, then said, “Gentlemen, let’s get this meeting underway. Dai, you should sit next to Septimus, not in your usual place.”

So even the Alpha smelled their attraction. That certainly proved he was not being misled by his cock.

Excerpt from SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION by Nicole Austin

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Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb:
Maddy’s secret fantasies about Jake burn hotter than a wildfire but she’s not his type. With the help of his fellow firefighters, Jake intends to stoke the flames and prove to Maddy she’s the only one for him. 
*This previously published title has been revised and reedited*
 
Genre/Theme:
Foursome, Mild BDSM, Firefighter, Friends to Lovers

Copyright © Nicole Austin, 2016

Chapter One

“Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasies.”

The words were breathed in a dark, husky tone against Maddy’s ear. Warm breath caressed her neck, raising the fine hairs at her nape and sending chills coursing down her spine.

She didn’t have to turn around, knowing instantly to whom that sexy baritone voice belonged. How she would love to provide explicit, graphic details of her most intimate fantasies for him. Or better yet, maybe they could act them out.

“Come on. Tell me, babe. What is it? Being bound to the bed, or maybe oiled up on a Slip N’ Slide? Do you dream of sweet love making, or hard fucking? One lover or several?”

Icy shivers prickled along her skin. Just the sound of his voice, his erotic words, had her nipples puckered and pressing against the bodice of her little black dress. She’d worn it in hopes of catching his eye. Not that he would ever notice Maddy as a woman. His buddy, sure. A woman, never. He loved to tease her and she knew his words were all in jest. Weren’t they?

“How much have you had to drink tonight, Jake?” she questioned, then gasped as he licked a hot, wet path along the ultra-sensitive skin behind her ear.

“Stop it,” Maddy squealed in protest. Of course, stopping him was the last thing she wanted to do. But giving in meant risking both heart and soul. She couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected by this man, the only one who really mattered.

Jake Cruise had been her best friend and neighbor since college. They had shared everything. Well, almost everything. She couldn’t share her true desires with him, could she? As if he’d ever want to have sex with her. He was such a tease.

Maddy gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? Of course she couldn’t tell Jake how much she wanted him. It would ruin their friendship. He’d think she was a freak if she shared her dark fantasies.

“Come on, Maddy. Tell me.” A pleading tone filled his voice.

“I don’t have dark fantasies, Jake. You know I’m a good girl.”

Yeah, right! Liar, liar, pants on fire!

If Jake didn’t stop whispering in her ear, Maddy’s panties just might catch on fire. Heat surged through her blood, pooling in her swollen labia. Her panties were soaked with her creamy juices. At least she was in the right place to have the fire put out if she spontaneously combusted. Half the guys from the firehouse were scattered throughout the rowdy pub.

The train of her naughty thoughts was out of control. If she were the devout good girl her parents wanted her to be, Maddy would be spending a lot of time in the confessional, saying tons of Hail Marys. It certainly was a good thing her thoughts remained private. If anyone in her family knew the things that ran through her mind she’d be labeled a bad girl. Wicked. She was not a bad girl. She just had some debauched thoughts once in a while.

I am a good girl!

Well, most of the time. She’d been raised to be a good little Catholic girl. It was just her base carnal cravings that made her feel like a bad girl. Maddy had done everything she could to keep them suppressed. Good, intelligent girls just didn’t think about the things that haunted her mind late at night, many of them involving Jake and a few of their closest friends dominating her sexually.

Truth be told, Maddy had been in lust with Jake since the first time she had laid eyes on him across their quiet street. Standing in his driveway, he’d been wearing only a pair of red swim trunks while washing his pride and joy, a shiny blue convertible Corvette. Jesus, the man made her sweat. He’d looked like a shiny, bronzed god standing there, caressed by golden rays of sunlight.

If only I was his idea of a goddess.

But she was so not his type. Jake went for the blonde Barbie dolls with large breasts, impossibly thin waists, long legs, and low IQs. Maddy was far, far removed from that image. Her hair was shoulder length, fiery red and extremely curly. Her breasts, while pert and firm, barely filled out a C cup. She wore a curvy size fourteen, considered her legs to be only average, and held a Ph.D. Although she knew men thought her pretty, she could never measure up to one of the beauties that usually captured Jake’s attention.

“Come on, Red. You can tell your ol’ friend Jake.”

I want you, Jake. I fantasize about you all night, every damn night. Hard, fast, and dangerously wild fucking. I want you to take control, and lavish me with more pleasure than I can handle.

Excerpt from IMMORTAL HUNTERS by Suz deMello

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Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb: Vampire Rama avoids attention by working nights as a private investigator. No one cares if some bad guys disappear on her shift. Then Detective John van Helsing shows up. Bearing the name of the vamps’ greatest foe, he interferes in her case and in her life. Friend, lover or enemy?

Genre/Theme:
Contemporary, Paranormal, Vampire

Copyright © Suz deMello, 2016

Chapter One

Being a vampire can suck… Oops, sorry about the bad pun. Well, it’s true, it can bite… Yikes, there I go again. What I mean to say is that it has its ups and downs. I’m virtually immortal, which is pretty cool. My hair and nails don’t grow, but when I awaken, they’ve been restored to the state they were in when I became undead. It’s inconvenient, since I grew up in a shithole with no running water. A mani-pedi was not merely unavailable but unimaginable. I was an unkempt mess when I was changed, so every evening when I awaken, I devote an hour or two to personal grooming. My long black hair is a no-brainer. Up it goes into a French twist or a braid. Nails are more difficult.

So there I was one night on surveillance, tucked into the comfy front seat of my undistinguished Camry in a dark corner of Santa Martina, contemplating the choices I faced—Mango Madness or Ruby Delite? Through my increasingly foggy windshield, I occasionally cast a glance at the crappy apartment half a block away where I’d run my quarry to ground. Soon I’d take him, after the lights were doused and he’d fallen asleep.

I work for a private investigation firm, and my boss understands my rules. First of all, ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. Second, night jobs only.

And if a bad guy or two—or three or five or seven—disappears during my shifts, nobody really cares. Operating in Santa Martina is especially convenient due to its location, the northern California coast. Offshore lies a marine mammal sanctuary. Because of the plethora of seals and otters, lots of great whites come to call. The occasional surfer gets chomped. Bodies disappear, or they may wash up on shore, drained of blood.

Get the picture?

As I was saying, there I was one night, picking at a chipped edge of the Ruby Delite flaking off my left index fingernail when someone tapped on my window.

I could see a uniform, so I unrolled. “What’s up, officer?” I asked in a pleasant tone. No sense offending local law enforcement, you know.

“We’ll have to ask you to move along, ma’am,” he said, an officer at his most officious.

We? I looked beyond the uniform and there he was—a suit. An undercover dick on my turf.

In gray pinstripes, he would have been as inconspicuous as I if it hadn’t been for his cornpone, white bread, wheat-fed wholesome handsomeness. Blue-eyed and blond, he would have screamed “farm boy” in TV Land, but in California most farm workers are Hispanic or Asian immigrants.

“Well, if it isn’t John-Boy Walton,” I drawled.

He drew closer, no doubt taking in my black hair, black eyes, black leather, red slash of a mouth and white, white skin. ”Well, if it isn’t Ms. Goth Barbie,” he drawled. Back atcha, honey.

I couldn’t stifle my smile. I like a man with a quick tongue—they have more than one use. “It’s Hestia, actually. Hestia White.”

“Hestia? The Greek goddess of hearth and home? That’s incongruous.”

My smile broadened. I knew few men with “incongruous” in their vocabularies, and fewer still who knew the meaning of the name I cynically used. I liked him. Shame I had to run him off.

He leaned against my door panel, ignoring the condensation wetting his elegant gray pinstriped sleeve. “Well, Ms. Hestia White, you do need to move on out. Police business.”

I lounged back in my seat. “But I kinda like it here.”

“Why? This isn’t the nicest part of Santa Martina. Completely lacks the charm of the marina or the nightlife in downtown.”

I looked into his blue, blue eyes. “I prefer down and dirty.”

He met my gaze without faltering. “I could arrest you for loitering.” He leaned closer, partway into my window. “Take you in. Lock you up.”

“Ooh, handcuffs.” I shivered theatrically.

“Actually, Ms. White, we’re on the job.” His voice had gone crisp and businesslike.

“Actually, Detective Whoever, so am I.” I flipped open my wallet to flash my P.I. license.

His eyes widened. “How come I’ve never heard of you?”

I shrugged. “I keep a low profile. Safer that way. Hey, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours?”

I’d teased out a reluctant smile, one that reached deep inside to heat me from my brain to my box. Yes, that box. I was surprised. Mortals don’t usually turn me on.

He reached for his wallet to show me his shield and I.D. John van Helsing. A tremor ran through me, ruffling the tiny hairs on my nape and my arms. Was it chance that this detective bore the name of the most famous enemy of my kind?

“John-Boy,” I said with phony delight.

Excerpt from THE REVENANT'S DESIRE by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Naughty Haunts

Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb:
A once-a-year visit to her lover may be enough to hold his demons at bay, but it can’t cure Alana’s loneliness on the other 364 days of the year. 

Genre/Theme:
Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter, Speculative Fiction

Copyright © Charlotte Boyett-Compo, 2016

Chapter One

Spanish moss hung from the darkened shoulders of the live oaks like the scraggly haircuts of withered old men. It swung violently in the wind and dripped icy water upon on the woman darting through the grove. Lightning stitched through the sodden midnight sky and lit the overhead branches in a strange, eerie blue-gray light. Underfoot, the ground was slippery and pitted with mud puddles from the rain. The air was filled with the scent of decaying leaves and something more sinister. The smell pebbled her skin with chill bumps, caused her shoulders to tense beneath the heavy raincoat she wore. She dared not stop but could not prevent herself from whipping her head around from time to time to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

Her destination was the Thibodeaux Plantation a half mile beyond. There—within the decaying walls of the old mansion and away from prying eyes—she would meet her lover. The portal would open at midnight and last until first light. It was imperative she get there on time, for her moments with him only came once a year on All Hallow’s Eve. Then that doorway between the realms opened. When specters and haunts and all manner of supernatural beings could cross over. Some good; most bad. To those who feared the spectral visitors, her lover was considered among the latter. There were among the human population a few who would destroy him if they could, so making sure no one was trailing her was vitally important.

She stopped to catch her breath and to surreptitiously look around her for just such a person. Drawing the raincoat tighter around her neck, clamping her teeth together to prevent them from chattering from the cold, she pressed against the rough bark of an oak tree and peered through the downpour. Nothing moved and she heard nothing save the falling of the rain upon the saturated ground. Nevertheless she held still to survey the forest surrounding her—keeping her ears cocked for any sound that did not belong. She kept her eyes peeled for any movement among the skeletal bones of the dark trees. Once satisfied she was alone in her trek, she pushed away from the tree to set out again—lowering her head against the cold invasion of the raindrops.

As she neared the boundary where forest gave way to a clearing dotted with overgrown weeds and crumbling outbuildings, she could hear the Kinchafoonee Creek rushing over downed trees and rocks. The smell of the water was pungent and brought with it that evil stench that had been plaguing her since she first entered the pine grove. She frowned deeply at that scent, for it spoke of things she hoped she would not encounter this night. Things best left buried deep beneath the Georgia red clay. In the distance, a lone hound bayed dissonantly and the hair on her arms stirred.

The portal was opening as the clock ticked toward the witching hour. Things were beginning to slip through. They would be floating around the old plantation house. Lurking among the pines. Slithering over the wet ground to ooze their way into the rotting foundation. Wafting through the cracks in the windows and flowing down the crumbling chimneys. Clawing at the floorboards.

Suddenly, lightning shrieked like a banshee across the firmament. The sky pulsed ghostly gray in its wake and the ground shook as the bolt struck somewhere to the south of where she ran. Something had come out of the clouds. She sensed it, felt a spectral finger scrape down her spine and knew she had to hurry.

He would be there waiting for her with his arms open wide. He would keep the evil that now shadowed her at bay.

Tripping over the uneven ground—her fingers growing numb from clutching so fiercely at the closing of her raincoat—she could not stop the whimper of fear from escaping her throat. The malevolence was quick on her heels and closing fast. She had to reach the relative safety of the plantation before it reached out its wicked talons to grab her.

Hurry, Alana.

It was his soft, deep voice she heard in her mind. She could feel his worry, his unease.

Quickly, my love. He is gaining on you!

“Who is he? What is he?” she asked aloud as thunder rolled brutally overhead.

Evil incarnate came the answer.

 

Excerpt from COASTAL GHOST by Katherine Kingston

Naughty Haunts

Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb:
A sunny beach house isn’t the usual place to find a ghost, but the one that haunts Mary’s rental house has a mission and a plan. 

Genre/Theme:
Contemporary, Paranormal, Ghosts

Copyright © Katherine Kingston, 2016

Chapter One

Mary Sullivan stared at the bathroom faucet that had just come off in her hand. “I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “I wonder if lemon laws apply to beach house rentals? This place is falling apart.” So far her efforts at quiet contemplation time had been thwarted by broken door hinges, a non-functioning stove, and a coffeemaker that insisted on blowing the breaker each time she plugged it in. Now a broken faucet.

“This place is cursed,” she told the rental agent who answered her call. “Every day something else breaks!”

The agent was apologetic and promised to let the owner know about the issues as well as sending someone out to fix the faucet right away.

She’d just hung up when a soft, female voice came from an empty corner of the room. “It isn’t really.”

“What the hell? Who’s there?” She looked around but didn’t see anyone else in the room. No one else should be there since she’d rented the place for herself alone.

“It’s just me.”

Was that a bit of fog in the far corner of the room? Weird, but the voice seemed to be coming from that direction.

“Is this a joke? Or a prank?” She had no idea who could be messing with her, though. Only her mother knew she was here, and wacky as Mom might be, this wasn’t her style.

“Not a joke,” the disembodied voice answered. “And the place isn’t really cursed. There’s a reason for all the problems. I just can’t tell you what it is yet.”

Danged if the fog didn’t appear to be moving a bit, swirling gently.

“Not all that helpful,” Mary said.

“It is, though. You’ll see.”

“Not if it means sticking around here.”

“Please, don’t go. It’s all right. Truly.”

Mary sucked in a breath. “On top of everything else, now I’ve either got a ghost, a prank, or a figment of my imagination haunting me. Why would I want to stay?”

“If I promise that nothing more will go wrong, will you stay?”

Excerpt from THE GHOSTS AT SUBSTATION #69 by Berengaria Brown

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Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb:
A woman fleeing her abusive partner. Her high school sweetheart who wants to rescue her. And two ghosts.

Genre/Theme:
Paranormal, Ghosts

Copyright © Berengaria Brown, 2016

“You shouldn’t be here, Doug. If Lowell sees you he’ll kill you. I’m not exaggerating. He has an entire closet full of guns.” Fern shivered. Lowell had shown her those guns any number of times, usually when she’d annoyed him and he wanted her to do better next time.

“He’s more likely to kill you. I’ve seen the bruises on your face. And during summer you didn’t once wear shorts. You used to wear shorts all the time. I’ve always loved watching you in those shorts. I bet your legs were bruised and that’s why you kept your jeans on.”

Fern shook her head. “I’m stupid. I make a lot of mistakes. Go away before Lowell gets back. Please. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“See. That proves he’s bashing you. Real men don’t hit their women even if they do make mistakes. Anyway, I watched him go in the bar on Main Street. He’ll be there drinking with his buddies until midnight. This is your chance to get away, Fern. You have to leave him now before he breaks your bones and really hurts you bad. Come on. Come with me now.”

Fern wanted to. She wanted to so much she sank to the floor and shook even harder. But it wasn’t possible.

“He’s taken my ID, my driver’s license, my Social Security card, my passport. If I run away I’ll have no way of proving who I am and getting a job. I can’t leave him.”

“Of course you can leave him. You aren’t married to him, and even if you were, it’s illegal for him to take your ID from you. We’ll get it back or get you new ID. Whatever works. Just come with me, now, please. While Lowell is gone. This is our chance to be together again. I’ve never stopped loving you, never. I want to look after you. I want to wash all the bad times away and make your life full of happiness again.”

Fern sat on the floor shaking her head, tears trickling from her eyes. She’d been so stupid, so very, very stupid, to go with Lowell, to believe him. She’d been infatuated with the older man. Blinded by his nice new car, his beautiful home, his managerial position at the local bank. At first he’d showered her with pretty things, taken her to the best restaurants, been happy with her. But before long she’d started making mistakes, making him angry with her incompetence. But the more he got angry, the stupider she became, until all she did was get everything wrong. Doug would hate her too.

“It’s no use, Doug. I’m so stupid. I do everything wrong. I’m always making mistakes. You’d hate me in a few weeks, too.”

“No I won’t. I’ve loved you since the eighth grade. I’ll never stop loving you. And you aren’t stupid. You graduated school in the top ten in our class. Please come with me. Please let me look after you. I’ll protect you. I know where you can hide from Lowell until we get your paperwork sorted out. I’ll bring you food and everything you need until I can look after you in public. I want everyone to know I still love you and that you’re mine now.”

“You want me?”

“Of course I want you, Fern. I’ve always wanted you.”

“Even though—”

“Don’t keep saying you’re stupid. You’re not stupid. Once you’re away from Lowell you’ll get your confidence back and everything will be all right.”

Fern wanted everything to be all right again. She knew she’d never be happy with Lowell. That she’d never live up to his standards and demands of her. She’d known that months ago. If she was hidden so he couldn’t find her, if the police made him give back her ID, maybe it would be okay. She wanted so much to be with Doug again. He’d never made her unhappy the way she was now. Even when they’d argued he’d always forgiven her and he’d never once hit her or threatened her. She wasn’t stupid around Doug and even when things went wrong he was much more likely to laugh and joke about it than complain.

“I don’t know. I want to, but...” She slumped against the wall. “I already told you he took the door key with him. I can’t get out. The door is deadlocked.”

“What about this window we’re talking through? Can’t you open it and climb out? Or even break it.”

“He’ll be so angry if I’m not here when he gets back. That’s why he locks me inside. So I’ll be here for him.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, too. What if there was a fire? You’d have to get out then. Do any of the windows open?”

“Only the one in the bathroom.”

“Can you climb out of it? Or just break this one.”

“Let me look.” The bathroom window was high, but Fern had always been good at gym class. She stood on the side of the tub and pushed the window open as wide as it would go, then she gripped the windowsill and chinned herself up. There wasn’t enough room to turn around and exit feet first, so she slid through head first, but Doug caught her and lowered her to the ground.

“Let’s go. My car is just around the corner.”

“Where is this hiding place?”

“You’ll love it. It’s the disused electricity substation. Substation #69.

Fern hardly dared hope everything would be okay again, but she went with Doug, loving his warm arm tightly around her, his strong body beside hers. Already she felt safer than she had in months.

Excerpt from WHERE OR WHEN by Francesca Hawley

Naughty Haunts

Eleven Spooky Love Stories

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Blurb:
Bardic witch and famous singer Frank Jasper has been Sharon Beryl’s dream lover for years. When she wins a date with him, she is thrilled. Can their mutual desire become reality, or will it remain forever a dream?

Genre/Theme:
BBW, Paranormal, Contemporary, Witchcraft

Copyright © Francesca Hawley, 2016

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks to your generous donations we met our goal tonight. We’ll be able to fund two Honor Flights very soon.”

Everyone cheered. After all, this was the real purpose of the party.

“And now, that moment you’ve all been waiting for. Frank, please draw the name of our lucky winner.”

He reached in the bowl and stirred the tickets thoroughly before finally drawing one. “And my companion for the evening is…” he paused dramatically and looked out into the crowd with a grin. Then he looked down at the ticket and read, “Sharon Beryl. Are you here sweetheart?”

Shar froze while Jess squealed, jumping up and down. Everyone, including Frank thought Jess was the winner.

“Well, come on up.” He waved to her. Jess shook her head and grabbed Shar’s arm, dragging her toward the well-guarded staircase on the far right side of the stage. The guards tried to stop her, but Jess yelled.

“This is Sharon, you twit. Not me.” Jess turned and hugged her. “You won. You won!”

“But, how?” Sharon could barely talk; she was so shocked.

“I bought a lot of tickets and put your name on them. Now go on and have fun.” Then Jess leaned close to whisper, “And tell me if he kisses as good as he looks.”

The guards escorted her up onto the stage and Frank crossed to her.

“Sharon?” he asked softly. She nodded. He took her hand and drew her forward to a padded stool that now sat center stage. She awkwardly climbed up on it and settled her skirt, so she was modestly covered.

“This one’s for you, sweetheart.”

The band began to play and he looked into her eyes to sing, Where or When. One of her favorite classic ballads. She stared into his dark eyes and he smiled at her. Leaning close, he cupped her cheek in his hand as he sang to the howls and catcalls of the audience. She barely noticed them as she felt the warmth of his hand.

His touch zinged through her, strangely familiar. Just as she recognized his scent. He finished the song with a kiss on her cheek, but she got a weird feeling he’d wanted to kiss her lips. She had to be making it up. Wishful thinking again. Still, she got to see the rest of the concert from the best seat in the house.

He sang more standards that she loved, and he surprised her by making her part of the show. He continued to serenade her at times, and every time he winked at her she grinned like a silly love-struck girl. Before long, her cheeks hurt from all the smiling. She looked out into the crowd and found Jess, who waved. She laughed, then turned back to watch Frank.

During a band interlude, he pulled her off the stool and danced with her. When he started to sing again, she would have returned to the stool but he held her close. Normally, she was a total klutz, but in Frank’s arms she moved with grace. Maybe he knew how to lead, or maybe she was just floating on air. Whatever the reason, they moved like they’d been born to dance together. This couldn’t be happening to her. Yet it was. If only for one night, Frank Jasper was hers.