Excerpt from Fate's Bridge

Roman Gschwind lifted the glass of merlot to his lips as he watched the patrons of the seaside bar revel in their full-moon madness. He’d decided a week earlier that Unconventional was not only aptly named, but the strangest club he’d ever visited.

“Another?”

Roman glanced at his youngest brother, Alexi. Why a vampire with Alexi’s lineage would tend bar for a living was beyond reasoning. Their maker, Aldric Gschwind, was one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence. Alexi, like Roman, had amassed a great fortune over the centuries, but unlike Roman, Alexi had turned his back on the money and position that came with being one of only five sons of Aldric. They weren’t a biological family, but Aldric had forever tied them together by gifting them with renewed life as vampires. So, even though Alexi wasn’t technically his brother, in the eyes of other vampires they were both sons of Aldric.

“Roman! Do you want another?” Alexi asked again.

Before Roman could answer, someone slammed against his shoulder. He slowly rose off the stool and turned to face the rude wolf shifter who’d dared touch him.

Alexi jumped over the bar and pushed himself between Roman and the shifter. “He didn’t mean it,” he said in an attempt to soothe Roman’s outrage. “He’s drunk.” He squeezed Roman’s shoulders. “There’s no challenge in taking him on.”

“Get rid of him before I drain him,” Roman growled. He brushed Alexi’s hands off him before taking his seat.

For two weeks he’d bided his time, sipping wine and watching humans and paranormals come and go from the bar, all in an effort to see the surfer that Alexi claimed was Julian reincarnate. It had been nearly one hundred and sixty-three years since he’d last held the only man he’d ever loved, and the mere thought of Julian roaming the beaches of California had prompted Roman to drop everything and fly from his home in New York City to San Diego.

Roman was thrumming his fingers on the bar when Alexi returned. “Tell me again.”

Alexi sighed. “Like I’ve said a hundred times before, I was working the bar when a group of surfers wandered in. The smallest of the group came up and ordered two pitchers of beer and five glasses.” He leaned his forearms on the bar, putting himself closer to Roman. “It was him. His hair was blonder and his skin darker from the sun, but I’m telling you, I’d recognize those amber eyes anywhere, and when he smiled, he had the same dimples as Julian.”

Roman swept his hand in the air behind him. “So, why hasn’t he returned?”

Alexi shook his head. “I don’t know. I did notice someone bothering him last time he was in. Maybe that’s the reason he’s staying away.”

“Who?” Roman stared into the bar’s mirror at the people crowded together behind him.

“I don’t know his name. He was a vamp, but not a regular customer.” Alexi tapped Roman’s empty glass. “Another?”

Roman pursed his lips. “No.” The wine at Unconventional was suitable for their patrons, but Roman was accustomed to much better. “Tell me if you see the vamp again, and get his name.” Whether or not the young surfer was a reincarnation of Julian, it was against their laws to harass humans.

Excerpt from Coming in Third

“Do you think he’ll cooperate?”

Niall stopped. He pressed his body flat against the wall at the sound of his uncle’s voice. He’d planned to go clubbing, confident everyone had already left for the night. Normally by this time they were all off at social events or, as Niall privately called them, ‘sucking up to the queen parties’.

Crap.

“He’ll do what I want. It’s time for him to marry. I’ve even made a list for him to choose from.” His mother’s tone pierced icy shards of disdain through his skin.

“What if he doesn’t like your choices?” his uncle persisted, ever the sly voice of innuendo and scandal. There were weasel shifters less sneaky than Niall’s Uncle Virnen, and none as mean.

“Then I’ll persuade him.” They laughed together, two partners pleased to crush others in their pursuit of common goals.

Niall’s stomach gurgled and swirled in protest as he pulled his magic around him. The hair on his arms and neck rose, reacting to both the dangerous situation and his escapist magic. He raced past the doorway, breath held and nerves clenched to the edge of pain. A single drop of sweat slid down his hairline and worked a straight path down his nose. He twitched.

Fuck.

The rumble of voices concocting evil plans followed him down the hall. He didn’t need to hear any more. He’d known his days were numbered. Mother had planned Niall’s life since she’d first strategized how he should learn to walk. She also choreographed his whippings when she thought he’d twitched a pinky out of line.

Now they’d come up with a way to hold him in the painful, steel bear trap of marriage. Before he could say no, they’d have him shackled and bound. He had no futile belief they’d truly give him any say about anything. They might present him with the illusion of a choice, but reality wouldn’t match the pretty fiction they created to get him to go along.

Tonight he would take control. For once he’d stop letting others run his life and do something for himself. Tomorrow they’d drag him back to his broken life but tonight was his. He’d be caught and punished, but they’d whip him even if he did nothing. His mother’s guards relished the taste of his pain and the marks on his body. More than one had licked at him while he dangled from magic draining manacles, dripping out his life force.

His own guards had broken him out of his last captivity and more than a few of his mother’s guards had met with an unhappy accident.

Burying his past horrors deep, Niall swiped a set of keys from the rack in the garage. The red convertible suited his mood tonight.

Although the queen’s guards saw him leave the estate, no one moved to intervene. His mother must not have sent out word to keep him confined. For once, his luck ran true.

Niall lowered the convertible’s hood. The breeze whipped around him, ruffling his hair and granting him an unprecedented wave of freedom.

What if I just keep driving?

Excerpt from The Unicorn Said Yes

Passing under the neon sign that read ‘Unconventional’, Ivan sighed as he stepped into the bar. As much as he loved his herd, he enjoyed the nights he could go out and not worry about them. His brothers were keeping an eye on the ladies and their children so Ivan could go have a drink or two.

“Hey there, Ivan. Good to see you,” Wilma, the owner of Unconventional, called out from where she stood behind the wooden bar. “You want the usual?”

“Yes please, Wilma.” He got there just as a shot glass of vodka slid down the smooth surface to him. It was followed closely by a bottle of Corona. Ivan snatched both before they could fall off the edge. He saluted her with the vodka then drank it.

He enjoyed the slight burn as it went down and hit his stomach. After taking a sip of his beer, he glanced around to see who else had decided to come for a drink. Ivan saw Angelo and started to walk over to say hi when the most intriguing scent hit him.

Being a unicorn shifter, Ivan would be the first to admit he wasn’t extra sensitive to smells. He was much more a ‘line of sight’ kind of creature, but there was something about this scent that made him hard and took his attention from everything else around him.

Inhaling again, he followed the fragrance through the crowd to one of the corner booths. Ivan spotted the young man sitting there, elbows braced on the table while he stared down at his drink. There was sadness in the tilt of his head and pain in the lift of his shoulders.

“What did that drink do to make you look like that?” he asked as he stopped next to the booth.

The man jerked, almost knocking his drink over. Ivan caught it before it fell off. He set it back in front of the guy.

“I’m Ivan Brusilov. May I sit?” He motioned to the spot next to the enthralling human.

“Umm…sure. I guess.”

He could tell, even through the scent that drew him to the man, that he was human, which was strange to see at a paranormal bar. After dropping down onto the leather bench, he fought the urge to bury his face in the crook of the man’s neck. Fuck! He’d never wanted to do that before.

“Your name is?”

“Oh sorry. I’m Carney Ferguson.” Carney held out his hand for Ivan to shake. “You’re Russian.”

“My family came from Russia,” he admitted. Just because Carney was at Unconventional didn’t mean he knew about paranormals, so Ivan wasn’t about to say he’d brought his herd over after the Bolsheviks had taken over the country. No need for him to know how old Ivan really was. “You sound like your family is Irish.”

Carney smiled slightly. “My father’s side is. My mom’s French.”

Ivan grinned back. “An interesting blending of cultures. I’m all Russian. My parents met back in the old country. Are you here to drown your sorrows—whatever those may be?”

“No. Well, yes. I was going to, but I’ve never drunk before, and after taking a sip of this whiskey, I’ve figured out I don’t like it.” Carney frowned. “I’m not a very good Irishman if I don’t like liquor.”

“I don’t know. I would think you’d hate to be a stereotype,” Ivan teased.

Laughing, Carney nodded. “You’re right. I should probably head home then. My family will wonder where I’ve been.”

Allowing his instinct to override his usual reticent tendencies, he reached out to rest his hand on Carney’s arm. “Please stay. I’ll get you a soda or water. I’d like to hear what kind of sorrows a good-looking man like you would have to drown.”

The blush staining Carney’s cheeks fascinated Ivan. Everything about the man spoke of innocence. Yet Ivan didn’t know how any person—human or paranormal—could still be pure in this modern age.

Touching Carney’s warm skin sent a shot of electricity through him to Ivan’s cock.

Could it be? Is Carney truly a virgin in every sense of the word?

Excerpt from Blood on the Moon

Montague Ramey left the bar Unconventional after beating his friend Ivan Brusilov in a game of pool. He had no idea why he put up with the unicorn. Ivan persisted on calling him Monty no matter how many times Montague insisted that was not his name. Of course, he’d have no excitement if he didn’t have Ivan in his life. Playing pool with his friend was about all the excitement he’d have that week. Maybe he should have had another glass of wine before he left for home. It wasn’t like he was driving. And his house wasn’t that far from the bar. No matter, he had a bottle at home he could dip into. He didn’t have to work at the television station on Saturday. It was his weekend to…do nothing.

God, his life was boring.

It was midnight, the witching hour. He laughed at himself. His coven probably wouldn’t find it funny, but it was made up of a bunch of older ladies who were set in their ways. It was the only coven around, so he made do. His adoptive parents, being fully human, had done what they could to embrace his magical powers. It had come as a surprise when puberty had hit and his body had gone crazy. His parents had searched for a coven close to home, and when they’d found the group of older women, the coven had been happy to take him on as a prodigy.

Once he’d been accepted, his parents had moved to be even closer so he could seek assistance when he had questions about his powers. Puberty was a bitch, and he’d needed the help.

Montague had been fresh blood for the coven, who all had daughters and granddaughters they wanted to marry off to a magical being. It was a small community and they were happy to have him. At first, it had done nothing for his social life—he was introduced to the eligible women—but once the coven had found out he was gay, they’d started looking for a good man for him.

Luckily, there weren’t many gay men around for them to throw his way. He’d joined when he was fifteen, so that could have been very embarrassing and traumatized him for life. They meant well. He knew that.

After his parents died, Montague had taken over the cottage he’d grown up in. It settled his soul, being in the home his mom and dad had loved so much. Sometimes he could feel them surrounding him. One of the perks of being magical.

Montague looked up at the moon and stopped walking. Blood on the moon. That was bad. Very, very bad. Something was about to happen and it wasn’t going to be good. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Montague needed to get home—he’d rather read about the results of the blood moon than be involved in it. He was up for adventure, but he wasn’t crazy. He hurried his pace, making sure to keep an eye on his surroundings.

The best thing for a witch to do was batten down the hatches and wait the night out. Maybe put out some protective spells or something to keep the bad away from them. Being magical drew the attention of the universe, be it good or bad. He should contact the others in his coven, but right now he needed the safety of his home. His coven was probably all asleep by now anyway, so he’d check in tomorrow to make sure they were okay.

Montague all but ran to his little cottage, wasting no more time being outside than he had to. He fumbled with the keys. He would blame it on the drink even if he hadn’t had much—it was more fear than anything else. He’d lost his adoptive parents on a night with a blood moon. His heart ached thinking about not being able to help them on the day they’d died.

Excerpt from a Sliver of Sunset

Angelo took one last long look at the incoming waves then reached for inner strength as he rose from the sand and turned his back. It would be a long time until he felt the embrace of the sea again…if ever. It would about kill him to see the ocean every day and not dive into its cool, welcoming embrace.

Yeah, and it’ll definitely kill me if I do.

Although the last thing he wanted to do was laugh, he snorted. Life was really bizarre sometimes.

“You okay?” His sister Nezetta was hovering as usual. He’d told her he’d be okay going to the doctor by himself this morning, but she’d shown up while it was still dark to go for one last swim together. They’d made sure to come out of the water well before dawn then sat on the beach until it was time to go.

“No. But I will be once I get this inhibitor crap over with.” And the chemo to follow.

They began walking down the Pacific Beach boardwalk, dodging the occasional early morning runner or cyclist, passing a few sleeping homeless people who hadn’t been chased off.

“You want some coffee?” Angelo checked his phone. “Kono’s should be open by now.”

“What I want is for you to stop pretending that this is just some ordinary day.” Nezetta’s voice rose, but rather than angry, she sounded scared.

It was very rare that ocean shifters ever became sick, which is why he’d gotten to such an advanced stage of leukemia before it had been diagnosed. He’d lost weight, fought fatigue and made excuse after excuse for how rundown he felt. It had been so gradual that he’d forgotten that, as a paranormal, he shouldn’t be feeling any of those things.

Angelo stopped and took his sister into his arms. “I’m not pretending. You know I’m not the woe-is-me type. I’m just trying to enjoy the last couple of hours before everything goes…into unknown territory. ’Kay?”

She blew out a huge sigh. “I just wish I’d known how bad things were getting with you earlier. I mean…” Shaking her head, she didn’t bother to continue what they’d both gone over hundreds of times, it seemed.

They started walking again. “Yeah, well. Who knew, right? I’m the only one of us I know who’s even been sick, much less with something that could kill me. But hey, you know I’ve always been different.”

“You’re not that special. Get over yourself, Angel.” It was forced, but Angelo appreciated her effort at banter.

The truth was, she alone had noticed his low energy and change in behavior, but had told him later that she’d chalked it up to Angelo being lazy.

Then he’d come down with pneumonia.

Pneumonia! Like some old, fragile human.

He’d gone to a doctor who treated wereshifters, and she’d treated his illness but, concerned with his overall health, she’d sent a blood sample to a para-friendly lab for a CBC—complete blood count.

Everyone had been incredulous about the pneumonia, but the bigger shock was still to come. The blood test results had proven that his illness wasn’t a random fluke, that his people weren’t immune to human diseases after all. After taking into account the typical differences between normal blood and para blood, it was still impossible to argue with the diagnosis—one of the worst types of leukemia, affecting white and red blood cells as well as platelets.

He’d struggled and finally kicked the lingering pneumonia, but in a few short weeks, his numbers had worsened. The aggressive cancer called for an equally aggressive chemotherapy treatment. But given his shifter side, it would only work if he accepted a course of inhibitors to keep him human for the duration.

Which meant his swim this morning would be his last one for a long time.