A wolf on the edge, deadly shifter political games, and an unexpected attraction.
Sloane Wyman is haunted by her past and she’ll let nothing get in the way of her future. She’s vowed to defend her pack as long as there is breath in her lungs.
Benedict MacKinnon can’t trust the beast within. Not since it burst forth and nearly cost him everything. But, when his brother and mate are accused of murder, he’s willing to put everything on the line. Benedict must stand before the Supreme Council in their defense, even if it costs him his life and future.
Lying and scheming enemies eager to see him spiral out of control test his resolve at every turn. Sloane, as his back-up, is more of a hindrance than a help thanks to the unwanted primal attraction that leaves his inner wolf rumbling.
As they become targets in a game they don’t know the rules, and the clock ticks down on their deadline, can they outsmart their enemies? Will they allow themselves to unite via the mate bond? Or will their attempts to save those they love meet a bloody end?
A warm breeze coasted across her coat, ruffling the fur and teasing her nose with a scent that was unfamiliar with just a hint of marshmallow and fire. Since tonight was the formal mating ceremony between Kane and Sheridan, several wolves had traveled here from the outer dens to pay their respects and swear their oaths to their second-in-command, the Alpha-Heir and his mate, a tradition of the Pack. Kane had wanted to keep the ceremony simple, especially since it was also the first night they would see if Sheridan could shift, but tradition had to be adhered to. They might be a progressive Pack in many ways, but they followed their history and took comfort in it.
Now, Sloane had to figure out whether the scent she was smelling emanated from one of their own or someone using the influx of strange wolves as a cover to sneak into their borders and create havoc.
She crouched low and stalked across the forest floor, avoiding leaves and twigs where she could, staying silent and cautious while extending her senses to determine whether she was alone or if someone else lurked in the shadows. The moon was full and high in the sky, the bright beams penetrating the forest in areas, like a spotlight on a theater stage, yet leaving shadows and darkness in other spots, easy places for a wolf or other shifter to hide, especially one who might know the area. And, as Sloane had recently discovered to her chagrin, just being a member of the Pack didn’t mean you were a friend.
The bonfire scent teased her nose again and her memory. How the hell did she know it? It wasn’t from an enforcer or one of the soldiers—the only ones who should be out this far this evening. The rest of the Pack should be close to the center of the den or on the hunt, especially in this time of turmoil for their own safety. She paused, crouching next to a copse of oak trees and gazed out over the small watering hole, trying not to remember the last time she had been there, or who she had been with.
The scent faded, and she ventured forward a couple of steps, her gaze scanning the area around her, but there was nothing around. She let out a huff of annoyance and slowly straightened. She must have been mistaken.
At that moment, she was hit from the side by a heavy body that felt like a solid mass of concrete falling on her, knocking her on her side. She rolled as she had been taught, intending to come up fighting, but the wolf followed her down, pinning her to the forest floor. The male wolf pinned her, his mass much bigger and heavier than her, and settled over her.
Then his jaws closed over her throat, and she stilled.
Sabrina Silvers began her writing career dreaming of elves, orcs, and hobbits in the fantasy section of her local library, looking in wardrobes for Narnia and Aslan, and hunting for gnomes in the forest. To her dismay, she never found any of them except between the pages of her books. So, she had to go out and create them for herself, leading to her lifelong love of reading and writing and dreaming about adventures, fantasy creatures and love in fantasy lands! She divides her time between writing sexy contemporary romances under a different pen name, reading, knitting and being owned by a very spoiled cocker spaniel who does not share her love of fantasy creatures.
Leigha — To say my dad is overprotective is too mild a description. Add in all my honorary uncles in the Dixie Reapers MC and going on dates is next to impossible. So when Lyssa invites me to visit her at the Reckless Kings in Tennessee, I jump at the chance. Maybe I can finally experience life a little. I know my family goes after bad men, the kind who hurt women and kids. I never counted on becoming a victim myself. The biker who comes to my rescue is… scary. Hot. And all alpha. He’s exactly what I need!
Cyclops — My stint in the military left me a parting gift. Scar tissue that not only left me blind in that eye, but makes the damn thing look spooky as fuck. I’m used to people staring. Mostly. Then my brothers had to stick me with the road name Cyclops. They’re not funny, even if they think they are. Uncle Sam may no longer find me fit for duty, but it doesn’t mean I’m useless. When I hear a scream, I don’t hesitate. Thought I was saving a girl. Turns out she’s a woman — and one I shouldn’t touch. The daughter of a Dixie Reaper, she’s her daddy’s little angel… and damn if I’m not tempted to lure her to the dark side and get her a little dirty.
WARNING: Cyclops is part of the Reckless Kings MC series. It contains an age-gap relationship of more than 10 years, violence, bad language, and adult situations. Some readers may find the subject matter difficult to read. But there’s a guaranteed happily-ever-after, no cheating, and no cliffhanger!
“Beast knows you’re here with me,” Cyclops said. “I told him I’d take you to my place when we left. That’s, of course, if you want to go there. Or I can lead the way to Beast’s house. Entirely up to you.”
“I’m curious about something,” I said. He motioned for me to continue. “You’ve seen how everyone treats me. Lyssa’s call is the least of it. I’m twenty and they act like I’m a teenager. There’s no freedom for me at home, and it looks like it will be the same here. I’d thought Lyssa would be enough of a buffer I could live a little, even if it was only for a few days.”
“You plan on going home that soon?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I looked down at my coffee for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “I wanted a taste of freedom, the chance to be myself without worrying I’d have a bodyguard breathing down my neck, or half the club trying to scare off men. I haven’t even been here a day and my family keeps texting and calling. Lyssa is checking up on me, and I just…”
“Feel caged?” he asked.
I nodded. “Exactly. It’s like I’m a prisoner. How am I supposed to figure out who I am if no one will let me do anything? I get it. My dad lost his wife long before he met Mom. Add in all the darkness he’s seen as part of the Dixie Reapers, and now he’s terrified something will happen to us. But living in constant fear isn’t living at all.”
He smiled. “Seems like you have it figured out. Mostly. Beast thinks your dad will show up in the next day or so. I’m not sure how much freedom you’ll have when that happens.”
Naturally. I should have known better. The moment my dad found out where I’d gone, he’d probably started planning to come collect me, like a wayward child or pet. If I went back home with him, I’d die a virgin. There was no way he’d let me out of his sight anytime soon. I loved him. More than my next breath. But being Preacher’s daughter had a downside. It meant being smothered with worry and affection. My mom loved how protective my dad was, and I could understand. Being his daughter, it was different.
“Why did you want me to go to your house? If my dad is on his way, I’ll be going back home soon. He won’t let me stay.”
Cyclops folded his arms and studied me. “I think there are a few things for us to discuss. This café isn’t the right place for that type of conversation.”
The butterflies returned, flapping around my stomach. “Something we can’t talk about here?”
He glanced around before meeting my gaze again. “I guess we could, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Do you trust me?”
I nodded. He’d saved me, and even if he hadn’t, since he belonged to the Reckless Kings, that was good enough for me. I knew Beast didn’t keep traitors around, or evil men. Since he’d spoken to Beast, and the President was aware we were at the café together, it had to mean Beast trusted him.
“Then follow me to the compound. We’ll go straight to my house and discuss your options. Beast knows where to find you, and he’ll hold Lyssa back. But, kitten, it’s not a horrible thing to have people love you so much they worry. I know it seems like the end of the world, and I’d imagine it’s more than a little frustrating, but your parents only want to keep you safe. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I know. It’s overwhelming and tiresome, but I understand why they do it. Doesn’t make it any more tolerable.” I smiled. “Lead the way. I’d love to hear those options.”
Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series. When Harley’s writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.
The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.
You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!
Title: Dear Isobel Author: Jinny Alexander Genre: Contemporary Fiction
Two marriages, a bucket full of dreams and a pile of broken hearts.
She’s not sharing her name. She’s been judged enough.
Once, she had it all: a supportive husband, lovely children, and a prestigious career revitalising failing businesses in the wake of Ireland’s recession.
When her friend Isobel suggested she take on a new job in their tiny rural community, she didn’t expect to fall in love.
Now she has become the other woman, the marriage wrecker, the cheat, and the betrayer.
When the illicit relationship ends, she’s stuck between the ruined affair and a crumbling marriage. Jobless and bereft, she must try to salvage what remains.
Will talking to Isobel help pick up the pieces or shatter their lives forever?
My tears anger her, she does not understand them. Nonetheless, it still catches me unawares, almost an entire week later, when I am the recipient of the emotional outburst bleeping into my inbox to inform me that my own emotional outbursts are unwelcome.
Dear Isobel,
Thank you for your emotional outburst to ask me not to have any emotional outbursts. It is good of you, as always, to tell me not to reply, just in case we begin an everlasting text conversation reminding each other not to have emotional outbursts.
Among the many things I cannot comprehend, I cannot comprehend her lack of understanding that this is an emotional time for me, as well as for her. How can she not understand I have lost the family I’ve known for the last four years and that her family have lost me? How can she not understand that for me to leave everything I ever wanted behind me, with the tears I shed on her doorstep, will undoubtedly make me cry and cry and cry? I know I am the cheater and not the cheated, but, at times like this, it still feels as if we have lost the same things, Isobel and me. I can still put myself in her shoes, so why can she no longer fit into mine? Her text is emotional, with misspellings and anger, and I can tell she has been drinking.
Dear Isobel,
You should hide your phone before you open wine.
There is an element of hypocrisy I must admit to, as I send this text with the uncomfortable knowledge that I, too, should hide my own wine, along with my phone.
Dear Isobel,
It is good of you to keep up this regular contact, approximately once weekly, I believe so far, to remind me not to have any contact with you. I appreciate it.
She clearly doesn’t realise I will think of her weekly even without her reminding me not to think of her. Daily, even. Hourly, in fact. I wonder will there ever come a time when she and Charles do not fill my thoughts in all my waking hours?
Dear Isobel,
Why don’t you realise that each time you contact me, it triggers a thousand memories, and I then spend far longer thinking of your husband than I was before your message came through?
Although I was pleased to have seen him, and to have spoken to him, while the girls had their lesson on that dark night, and to have remained calm and civil, I then go to bed thinking of him, and wishing it was not like this. I lie against my own husband—I drape my arms and legs around and across and over him—but it is not him I am thinking of as I fall asleep.
Dear Isobel,
Which of us is Charles thinking of as he lies next to you and falls asleep?
Jinny was first published in Horse and Pony magazine at the age of ten. She’s striving to achieve equal accolade now she’s (allegedly) a grown up. She secured a publishing deal in December 2020 and her first two novels will be released by Creative James Media in 2022.
Jinny teaches English as a foreign language to people all over the world, which gives her an endless source of new inspiration for stories. Her home for now is in rural Ireland, which she shares with her husband and far too many animals. Her two children have grown up and flown the nest – mostly. She quite likes to shut the door on them all and write.
