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Sunday, 26 October 2014

A Very Sexy Halloween Day One

Welcome to the first day of our awesome Halloween celebration. We have werewolves, vampires and plenty of sexy supernatural stuff going on! Stop by our Facebook page as we'll be doing flash giveaways and sharing teasers from the fab featured authors. Check out the spooooky (ok, sometimes just straight sexy) excerpts and be sure to enter the big rafflecopter below! Pssst Keep an eye out for hidden bats this week. They'll help you win an additional prize at the end of the event!

I gathered up every ounce of strength I could and lifted my head to look down the length of my body. Alex was fucking me with both hands and looking at my splayed body with reverence, the likes of which I’d never seen before.
“I want you.” My lips and throat felt dry. “Only you. Make love to me.” I no longer cared we could be giving the neighbors a show, even though it was the middle of the night.
He crawled up my body without my having to ask twice. I tried to help him undo his jeans, needing him inside me as soon as possible, but my hands felt lax. He was faster; he popped his buttons and freed his cock.
He entered me slowly, ignoring my clutching his buttocks and urging him on. I didn’t want it slow, but not because I couldn’t deal with the feelings I associated with it. I was just so close I thought I’d burst if he didn’t make me come. “Please.”
He wouldn’t be rushed in taking his pleasure or giving me mine. His cock slid in and out of my pussy languidly. My whole body tingled. I mewled and panted and begged, and he still didn’t change his rhythm.
The tension inside me had reached a plateau. I needed something to let it all out. I rocked my hips faster and tried to wedge one hand between our bodies to rub my clit. Alex stopped me, pinning my wrist to the hood of the car. I groaned in frustration.
“I want you to bite me,” he said, draping one of my legs over his arm so he could spread me even wider.
His cock sank deeper than before, rubbing the bundle of nerves inside me with every downstroke, and I no longer cared about right and wrong. I tangled my fingers in his hair and buried my fangs in his throat, coming the instant his blood touched my tongue. The flavors erupting on my taste buds combined with Alex’s cock thrusting in my pussy to flood my pleasure centers with pure bliss. It felt like I was rolling on a cloud of euphoric sensations that never ceased. And I didn’t want them to cease. My body pulsed with more life than I’d felt since before my turning. I wanted Alex to keep fucking me forever while I drank him in.
I had to force myself to let go after a few sips, afraid I’d rip Alex’s flesh, the way I was bucking and quivering. He still kept thrusting, faster and harder, until he suddenly pulled out, and I felt warm, thick liquid coat my lower belly and inner thighs.
I didn’t know why he’d done that until he said, “I want you to smell like me.” 

Mirhana stood over the body, shaking her head. Even with her poisoned-tipped arrows embedded in the creature, and pus dripping from his wounds, the corpse did not stop trying to flee.

For all of Mirhana’s life, the witches had trained her against the undead: deadwalkers, vampyres, wraiths, and more. She knew their sound. Their voices rasped like the wings of beetles. They killed anyone in their path.

She glanced over her shoulder. The man she’d saved from this deadwalker’s clutches lay unmoving beneath the base of a nearby tree, his slain horse beside him.

 Her gaze narrowed on the corpse once more. His hands clawed the dirt as he dragged his mangled body away from her. She unsheathed her sword and stomped her boot down on the back of his neck.

“Tell me, demon.” She dug the tip of her blade into his tattered tunic. “What is your purpose here?”

 “To do the will of my master and none other,” he choked out.

Mirhana sneered. If the creature saw her, he would no doubt tremble at the sight. “Who is your master? Who has summoned you out of your slumber?” When he did not answer her, she dug the blade into his back. “Careful, or I’ll sever your spine with another twist. Would your master appreciate the delay of your crawling? Or will his wrath do more damage than mine?”

The deadwalker’s feeble attempts at escape stopped.

“Good. Now, tell me who sent you.” His silence brought her blade deeper into his decaying flesh. Mirhana wrinkled her nose. The creature reeked of fish guts and sickly sweet rotting meat.

“W-Warloc,” it finally spat.

She frowned. “The land heals,” she said. “All signs show the Warloc’s dead.”

Warloc meant “oath breaker.” For millennia, he’d systematically joined then betrayed covens of witches and wizards across the thirteen kingdoms, turning them over to the witch-burning monks to gain more magic and power.

“So am I. Yet here I am.”

Taken aback at the truth of his words, she pondered their meaning. With the Warloc’s death, these deadwalkers should also be gone, for it had been he that raised and controlled them. But how could the Warloc not be dead?

Her ancestor, Nivel, had told her that the Warloc was killed at Beltane. And the changing state of the kingdoms had been further proof. No more did winter lock them in its frozen embrace, and the blight ravaging the land had disappeared as well.

“Speak truth, the Warloc is dead.”

“His body is no more.” Drool oozed from the creature’s mouth. “But he lives on in another form. His orders filter through his protégé to prepare the way for his return.”

“Tell him to stay dead, where he belongs.”

With one more little grind of Charles Edison’s boot heel, the demon scout’s windpipe would be rendered as functional as a holey vacuum cleaner bag.
The scaly beast writhed under his press, growling and hissing through its short, stubby snout. It whipped its heavy, club shaped tail toward Charles’s jean-clad legs, though the movement was ineffectual. Charles was too strong, and the beast was too tired. Charles had been running the big cat-lizard hybrid in circles all evening, foiling its mission. He didn’t think the scout was after him, but since it had encountered him, it would be sure to pass along a message to the next scout that it’d saw Charles.
Charles didn’t want that.
That scaly little fucker, which had the intelligence of a lesser reptile and the size of a large cat, was bred for one thing only: tracking people. Supernatural people like Charles, mostly. The scouts were single-minded and incapable of independent thought. They just patrolled their territories and passed on information to the next scout at the boundaries. Unmolested, they weren’t dangerous. Most humans weren’t even aware of them because the beasts existed halfway between worlds—man’s, and a realm where only the likes of angels and demons trod.
Left up to its devices, that beast would relay to the father Charles had been tediously ignoring for weeks that Charles was in Montana. He wasn’t supposed to be in Montana. He was supposed to be in his assigned zone down in Arizona and New Mexico, literally fucking the life out of women. He was an incubus—a sex demon. Well, sort of. Like Merlin the wizard had purportedly been, he was a cambion. Half demon. He didn’t have Merlin’s sort of magic, though. He couldn’t conjure spells, like his half-brother Claude, or vanish into thin air, like his half-brother John.
He could seduce women with little effort, drink their resolve as if it were fine wine, leaving them joyless, and tag their souls for Hell. They’d live what was left of their lives as shells of their former selves, and that was allowed because to the people in power, it was all a big game.
But Charles didn’t care anymore. They could play their game, and he refused to be a pawn in it anymore. After a century on the job, he’d quit.
Pop just refused to accept his resignation.
Charles clucked his tongue and freed his knife from the sheath nestled at the small of his back. “Such a fucking waste,” he said, studying the beast’s mottled, iridescent, blue-and-dark-purple flesh. “Beautiful hide. You could have been made into a gorgeous pair of shoes.”
It kicked its rear legs up into the air, arching its spine off the asphalt and writhing ever more under Charles’s boot.
“Or maybe a pair of gloves and a belt.”
His phone vibrated in his back pocket as he mercifully dispatched the scout with a quick swipe of his knife. Though it was dead, it was still dangerous. When scouts died, others would go looking to find out why their psychic circuit had been broken. For a while, the information that scout carried would remain in a sort of stasis, ripe for the picking.
Charles would need to wipe the slate—leave no information there for the taking—so it’d be just like he’d never been spotted. Nor the pretty lady he’d been trailing for a month.
Squatting down, he looked across the truck stop’s dark parking lot and fixed his gaze on his woman.
She may not have known she was his, but she was. That was why he was able to find her.

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