There are few things worse than being on the Arcane Bureau of Investigation’s naughty list.
To keep myself out of hot water, I’ve made a deal with the devil—using my skills as a grave talker to help the ABI solve some very cold cases.
But there is something mighty amiss in this task—especially when quite a few of these cases lead me right back to my home town of Haunted Peak and the secrets buried there.
“Out less than a minute and already talking to spirits and punching ghosts. Way to go, Adler.”
That smooth voice did not belong to my best friend, J. Oh, no. I wasn’t that lucky. The big hunk of man-meat Siobhan had been talking about was not my partner, but the death mage ABI agent who’d simultaneously saved my bacon and torched it.
I swung my head to face Bishop La Roux, straightening my shoulders like I was going to have to punch him, too.
Dressed in a criminally hot pair of jeans and a T-shirt that should be illegal in at least five states, Bishop held out a bag with a very familiar logo on it like he was warding off a lion. Ignoring his messy hair and scruffy beard, I met his coal-dark eyes with suspicion. But instead of punching him like I had Hildy, I snatched the Si Señor bag from his hands, opened it, and dug in. The prison fare was a step above cat food, in my opinion, and just the thought of that yummy bit of heaven made my mouth water.
“Good to see tacos still work,” he said, chuckling. “You need a ride home?”
The last time he’d needed to bribe me, he’d done it with these tacos. Good god in heaven, I was a pushover. I ignored the ridiculously hot man in favor of unwrapping a taco one-handed and shoving an end in my mouth. My teeth crunched into the blissfully crispy half-steak, half-pork taco, and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Maybe,” I said around a mouthful of food. If he were any other man, I might have felt weird about my rudeness, but just like Hildy, Bishop was on thin ice. Though, tacos were an excellent way to strengthen his footing.
That taco was gone in another two bites, and I swallowed the yumminess before continuing, “How’d you hear about me getting out? Even I didn’t know until today.”
Bishop gave me a sly smile. “A little birdy told me.”
“I suppose you could give me a ride if you don’t have anything better to do,” I conceded, my tone only mildly petulant.
“No, Adler,” Bishop said, his voice a hell of a lot closer than it had been a few seconds ago. I whipped my head back to find him solidly in my space. “I don’t have anywhere else I want to be.”
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.
Title: The Dark Arts Author: Kitty Thomas Genre: Dark Contemporary Romance
The Complete Duet
The Con Artist:
Art. Obsession. Twisted possession.
When starving artist Saskia Roth meets Lachlan Niche, a local art collector and tech tycoon, she has no idea how her life is about to change. One act of desperation, one con gone wrong, and she finds herself at the mercy of a powerful man she fears and despises–or so she thinks.
As her desire for him grows, life as his captive becomes something more… something that could both transform her and destroy her.
The Escape Artist:
Claire was held captive for 43 days by a man who did unspeakable things to her.
Three years after her escape, she gets her revenge. The only problem is, she’s got the wrong man.
God help her if he escapes.
(Includes Saskia and Lachlan’s complete HEA from The Con Artist)
Claire pushed the memories away, gripping the leather arm rests, willing her heartbeat and breathing to calm. That was him. She had him in a cell. That was the guy. He had a scar where she’d cut him. How could he lie to her with such a straight face when they both knew he had that scar and how he’d gotten it?
Because he’s a sociopath, Claire. He isn’t like normal people.
She couldn’t let herself forget that—what he was. She couldn’t let herself be tricked by the beautiful monster into setting him free and losing her own life. She got up and went to the kitchen, taking another bottle of beer from the fridge. This one she drank all the way down until a light pleasant buzz of calm skated across her skin. She took a long, steadying breath and grabbed the broom and dustbin.
When she returned to the cell, at least the arrogance had left his face. Maybe he was starting to understand his situation, that the tables had turned and he was now at her mercy. Let him lie about things, as long as she could wipe the smug smile off his face.
She silently swept up the shards of the beer bottle. The last thing she needed was for him to have a weapon. That had been his mistake with her after all.
“You can still let me go,” he said. His voice was so gentle and soothing. Calm and reasonable.
He’d never spoken to her like that in the basement. Of course not, he’d had the power then. He has to placate you now.
Claire just laughed. “Right. I’m going to let you go so you can hurt me again. Am I supposed to believe you’re reformed? After me, you stopped torturing and killing women? You realized the error of your ways?”
“What’s your name?” he asked, changing tactics. “My name…”
“Shut UP! If you speak your name I’ll kill you. I swear to fuck I will. I NEVER want to hear your fucking name. EVER. Don’t you try to humanize yourself. You’re a fucking monster, and you know it!”
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, holding his hands up in surrender.
No he wasn’t, he was placating her.
“What’s your name, then?” he said, trying again.
“You know my fucking name. You used to hiss it in my ear while you were…” she trailed off, unable to say the words. She turned away from him and took a deep breath, quickly wiping the tears that threatened to spill over. She was not going to cry in front of him anymore. She’d cried all the tears for him she would cry.
She had the power now. Not him. NOT him. But she was shaking. She could feel the light tremors in her arms. He must be able to see them. He was the one chained up, and he was going to break her again.
Never.
“It’s okay if you don’t have it in you to hurt me. I don’t think you’re that kind of person,” he said gently.
“Just shut the fuck up!” she screamed. “I should starve you, just like you starved me for the tiniest act of defiance.” She turned back to finish sweeping the stray shards into the dustpan.
“Look at me,” he said.
It was a fucking command. He thought he could order her around when he was the prisoner? But she turned and looked at him.
“I would never starve you. Ever,” he said, holding her gaze in his.
He’d already starved her, and they both knew it. These head games… she had to regroup her strategy or he was going to get inside her head and mess with it. If she lost her nerve… if he got free again, he’d kill her this time. She was already in too deep. She had to get her shit together and finish this. It was the only choice.
KITTY THOMAS writes dark stories that play with power and have unconventional HEAs. She began publishing in early 2010 with her bestselling COMFORT FOOD and is considered one of the original authors of the dark romance subgenre.
To find out FIRST when a new book comes out, subscribe to Kitty’s New Release List: KITTYTHOMAS.COM
Title: Tristan Author: Jennie Lynn Roberts Series: The Hawks #1 Genre: Fantasy Romance
His redemption might be her downfall…
Tristan has nothing left to lose. His best friend’s betrayal cost him everything. Now, he’s going to take it back. All he has to do to get the Hawks reinstated to their rightful position at the palace is track down the traitor’s younger sister and turn her over for execution. But Nim’s not the girl Tristan left behind years ago; she’s a stubborn, loyal, beautiful woman, and he can’t stop himself from wanting her.
Nim fled with nothing when the king’s favorite came for her. All she has left is the conviction that her brother is innocent—and her determination to free him. She’ll do anything…even if it means convincing Tristan to help her. But the man he’s become is a far cry from the boy she fell in love with so long ago. He’s formidably stern and deeply untrusting. She’ll just have to hope he still has a heart under that battle-scarred exterior.
When love and duty collide, will Tristan follow his orders or follow his heart?
Tristan, book 1 in The Hawks series, is a sexy, steamy, adult fantasy romance full of swords, shifters (kind of), and tons of action. But fair warning: This book is intended only for readers who love slow burn romance, fast-paced adventure, soul mates and found family—and characters who curse when they fight for survival. If that’s you, happy reading.
They’d been on the road for an hour, with the men bantering in low voices—mostly Mathos telling rude jokes and Tor trying to make him shut up—when something made Tristan focus on Nim.
At first, he wasn’t sure what he’d noticed. She had become more slumped during the afternoon, her head bowed. But something had made her seem even less steady. A spike of concern from his beast made him nudge Altair closer.
A moment before he reached her, she started to slide. Her body simply tipped to the side and she lost balance in a smooth, helpless glide toward the distant ground.
He pushed himself forward and over in one rapid swoop, leaning precariously in his saddle to scoop her up. She startled awake, half held in his arms, her body stretched between the two horses with her foot tangled in the stirrup.
He had her at a horrible angle, but he held her tight, forcing the horses close together as Rafael dashed forward and freed her.
Finally, she was loose and he could settle back into his saddle, heart still beating hard from the sudden burst of fear and speed, and the effort of holding her safe across the two horses.
He held her firmly in his arms as she stared up at him, shocked into wakefulness, silver-flecked blue eyes wide and startled, and he forced himself to curb his first impulse—to shout at her for riding half asleep, for frightening him like that—and managed a surly grunt instead. She felt his ire anyway, because her eyes narrowed, and she immediately started to twist and squirm to be put down.
He clamped his arms around her and gave her his most ferocious glare, but all she did was roll her eyes and redouble her effort. Gods, if she didn’t stop wiggling that rounded leather-clad bottom in his lap, they were both going to have a problem.
He frowned at her. “Will you kindly stop.”
“No. I want to get off.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why? So you can go to sleep in the saddle again?”
She turned to stare at him, nose in the air. “That was a mistake. I’m awake now.”
He turned and looked at Rafe, who gave him a quick shake of his head. As he’d suspected. “No. It’s not safe. You’ll just go back to sleep. You can ride with me, or you can walk.”
She huffed out an enraged breath. “You are so bloody frustrating! You know walking would take too long!”
His lips twitch as he suppressed the desire to grin. No one else ever challenged him.
She sighed again and then changed tack. “Anyway, it would be bad for your horse to carry the extra weight.”
He considered the massive stallion and the tiny woman in his arms and surprised them both by grinning. “He’s a warhorse. I think he can manage an hour or two.”
She mumbled something vicious under her breath, but she turned and lifted her leg over the high front saddle horn, then wiggled that torturous bottom closer so that they fitted together.
He gritted his teeth and took a few deep breaths, grateful that his heavy leather breeches would disguise just how much she was affecting him.
Slowly, she started to relax between his arms. The stiffness of her spine softened, and she leaned her back against him, her head tucked under his chin. The men’s voices lowered, as if they too wanted her to rest as they rode on through the weak afternoon sunshine.
He noticed the moment that her weight fell completely against him, but he was reassured by the slow rise and fall of her chest as she nestled against him. His beast stirred again, filled with a deep sense of connection. She was so beautiful. And the first woman that he and his beast had ever agreed on wanting. He felt it down to the most primal parts of himself, how right it was to hold her in his arms. How badly he needed to protect her and keep her close.
Jennie Lynn Roberts believes that every strong, kickass heroine should have control of her own story, a swoony hero to support her at every turn, and a guaranteed happily ever after. Because that doesn’t always happen in real life, she began creating her own worlds that work just the way they should. And she hasn’t looked back since.
Jennie would rather be writing than doing anything else—except for spending time with her gorgeous family, of course. But when she isn’t building vibrant new worlds, she can be found nattering with friends, baking up a storm, or strolling in the woods around her home in England.
If you want to talk books, romance, movies, reluctant heroes, or just about anything else with Jennie, feel free to contact her atwww.jennielynnroberts.com. But be prepared to settle in for a long chat if you bring up shifters, vampires, Star Wars, or The Princess Bride….
