“I see.” Howard knew that as Coven Master of Eastern Europe, Zoltan was charged with the task of protecting mortals in his jurisdiction. It wasn’t a job he could always do alone, so he often requested help from Angus.
“And then we got an urgent request from President Tucker,” Phil muttered. “And when the government asks for our help, we have to comply.”
Howard nodded. Now that the president knew about vampires and shifters, he and the CIA were likely to make many such requests in the future. “What is it this time?”
“Seven American tourists taken hostage by a drug cartel in Mexico,” Phil explained. “The president asked us to locate them and teleport them out. The only safe way to do it is to have a vampire for each hostage. So that’s seven more Vamps. Carlos went with them as their day guard and translator.”
“Now ye ken why Angus wasna pleased with yer antics,” Dougal said. “He’s short on manpower. He had to call me away from my station in Texas.”
“I understand.” Howard had hoped for a bigger team, but he could manage with only two more. “If you both join us, then we’ll have a team of six. The three of us. A journalist and good friend, Harry Yutu, in Anchorage. And two young were-bears from the island, my twin cousins, Jimmy and Jesse.”
“What’s the plan?” Phil asked.
“We call it Operation Three Little Pigs,” Howard replied. “We’re attacking three of Rhett’s houses. Our first target was one of his fishing cabins. We removed everything from inside, stashed it in our trucks, then huffed and puffed and knocked the walls down. It wasn’t too hard, since it was just a shack.”
“That was yer house of straw?” Dougal asked.
Howard nodded. “Some hungry cubs on The Paw are enjoying the food, and an old woman got a new wood-burning stove she was needing. My grandfather is very happy with his new rod and reel.”
Phil crossed his arms. “You probably left your scent behind. Rhett will know it was you.”
“My cousins left behind some deer and squirrel carcasses. The place will be a magnet for hungry animals. There’ll be a lot of scents there by the time Rhett discovers it.” Howard took a deep breath, then continued, “Last week, we tackled the house of sticks, Rhett’s vacation home on the coast of the Kenai Peninsula. We emptied it so we could give all the stuff to some needy were-bears, then took a few axes to the stilts and watched the house slide down the bluff and break apart on the rocks. Most of it floated out to sea.”
“I like it.” Phil grinned. “And the house of bricks?”
“It’s log and stone, actually. One of Rhett’s main residences.” Howard glanced up at the sky. “We’ll hit tomorrow night when the moon is full, and Rhett and his minions are away from the house on their monthly hunt.”
“He’ll leave behind a few guards,” Phil warned.
“That’s why I wanted more men. If they discover us invading his home, there could be trouble. I was hoping to get a few Vamps on our team so we could use your mind control or at least teleport away if we need to. We could really use your help.” Howard extended a hand, palm down. “What do you say? Are you in?”
Phil gave them a wolfish grin. “Yeah, I’m in.” He slapped a hand on top of Howard’s.
Dougal snorted, then rested his mechanical hand on top of theirs. “Aye, I’m in as well.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Former tap dancer and high-school French teacher, New York Times bestselling author KERRELYN SPARKS has always searched for creative ways to express herself. A prolific reader since childhood, she discovered that writing her own stories provided the ideal way to combine her love of comedy, language, and history. And what a relief that the voices in her head have led to a paycheck instead of a padded room! A native Texan, Kerrelyn lives with her husband and children in the Greater Houston area.
Kerrelyn loves to hear from readers and you can visit her at www.kerrelynsparks.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
By Kerrelyn Sparks
The Forbidden Lady
Wild About You
Wanted: Undead or Alive
Sexiest Vampire Alive
Vampire Mine
Eat Prey Love
The Vampire and the Virgin
Forbidden Nights With a Vampire
Secret Life of a Vampire
All I Want for Christmas Is a Vampire
The Undead Next Door
Be Still My Vampire Heart
Vamps and the City
How to Marry a Millionaire Vampire
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at three brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
MATING SEASON
A CABIN FEVER NOVELLA
By Alice Gaines
NINE LIVES OF AN URBAN PANTHER
By Amanda Arista
LAST VAMP STANDING
By Kristin Miller
An Excerpt from
MATING SEASON
A CABIN FEVER NOVELLA
by Alice Gaines
Gayle and Nolan have been professional rivals for years. But now, stuck together out in the wild, these two scientists will discover that there’s a fine line between feuding and foreplay. The competition really heats up when their research on animal mating habits moves from theory to practice . . .
AN AVON RED NOVELLA
CHAPTER ONE
The four-wheel drive monstrosity came over the crest of the hill with a growl of gears and headed down the path toward the cabin, bringing Gayle Richards’s worst nightmare with it. Professor Nolan Hersch didn’t drive any old SUV to research sites, like normal people did. No, he had to command something hypermacho, a vehicle one might pilot out into the bush to harass lions.
The trees had stopped dripping after the recent early fall rain, but the ground remained damp, and the ferns drooped with moisture. The redwood duff, which in summer had consisted of a fine powder that coated everything that touched the ground, now made an equally fine mud. Hersch’s vehicle followed the path her own tires had made until he pulled up in front of the cabin and turned off the engine.
Dressed in khakis and with his sandy hair attractively tousled, he resembled a big game hunter more than what he was—an evolutionary biologist with an ego almost as big as his reputation. She instinctively took a step backward as he climbed out. She would have wrapped her arms around her ribs, too, but he’d recognize that as a defensive gesture, so she let them hang by her sides.
He gave her his usual killer smile—perfect teeth and all—and extended his hand. “Professor Richards.”
She gave him her own hand and shook firmly. Businesslike. Assertive. “Welcome, Professor Hersch.”
Somehow, despite Northern California’s notorious fog, his arms were tanned and covered with bleached golden hairs that set off the silver band of his heavy watch. His wrist made hers appear tiny as his hand engulfed hers. Appealing and intimidating all at once. When she’d satisfied the bounds of collegiality—and stopped staring at his skin—she pulled back.
“Good of you to have me,” he said. “I enjoyed your last paper.”
Oh he had, had he? Despite the fact that it blew a hole the size of his SUV through his own last journal article? Courtesy would suggest she compliment his work in return. She didn’t.
He put his hands on his hips and glanced up at the cabin, which gave her a view of his Adam’s apple and the gap of his shirt where he’d opened the top two buttons to reveal more tanned skin.
“Good-looking facility,” he said.
“Room for four,” she answered. “Where are the others, by the way?”
“There’s a road washed out back a few miles. I barely made it through,” he said. ??
?Dave and Susan should make it here in a couple of days.”
“Days?” she repeated. She’d arranged for four researchers on this trip. She’d written that specifically into the grant proposal. She might need this man’s collaboration on her research to win herself more visibility in her field and therefore more advancement at her university, but she sure as hell hadn’t arranged a vacation for the two of them. Especially not one that involved watching large animals having sex.
Elk might not be closely related to humans, but the males had penises and they did the deed doggie style, with a lot of grunting and snorting. So no, she hadn’t planned on watching animal porn alone with Nolan Hersch.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a lot of work,” she said. “There’s supposed to be four of us.”
“It’s only a few days,” he said. “The mating season will last longer than that.”
“I know how long mating season is,” she said. “I just didn’t think . . . you and I . . .”
Oh, brother. That wasn’t a sentence she could finish anytime soon, if ever. She wouldn’t tell him about where her mind wandered during his presentations at conferences. She wouldn’t mention her delusions that every time he mentioned receptive females his gaze lingered on her. She wouldn’t share the fact that every time he turned to a chalkboard she rememorized the curve of his ass.
Just because she didn’t bring any of those things up didn’t prevent him from watching her whenever she became uncomfortable in his presence. Like right now. There was that pleasant expression—the half smile—that did little to hide the fact that he was assessing her with as much care as he used in studying his research subjects.
She lifted her chin and smiled right back. “I guess we have enough supplies.”
He gestured with his head toward his SUV. “I have more than enough for myself. We can share.”
“No need. I’m well stocked. Come on inside.” She turned and climbed the stairs to the cabin. Because he still had to unload his things, it would take him a while to follow, and she could catch a breath before having to allow Nolan Hersch into her space. She’d spent the last two days alternating between steeling herself for his arrival and telling herself it was no big deal.
The others were supposed to come with him. His two graduate students would have acted like a buffer, always underfoot, always between them. She wouldn’t have had to imagine him alone in the next bedroom because he’d have a roommate, as would she. And when he spouted some bit of sexist bullshit from his research, she’d have support from at least one other woman. Alone, she’d end up wanting to tear him apart one way or another in an hour. Two, tops.
She went to the kitchen area of the cabin, poured herself a glass of water from the tap, and turned to lean against the counter to drink it. After a minute or two, Hersch entered with more than enough stuff for a season in the field. He needed several trips to haul it all in. Among the boxes and cases stood one of those canvas carriers wine stores sold. The necks of six bottles stuck out the top.
“A treat,” he explained. “You and I can share a bottle before the others get here.”
“I don’t think—”
“Say, that’s a fine genealogy you’ve done.” He walked to the wall where she’d unrolled butcher paper so that she could create a visual display of the relationships among the animals they’d be observing.
He lifted a hand to trace one particular family’s line. “You have three generations here.”
“I’ve been studying these guys for years.”
“So why did you invite me?” he asked.
An innocent question. A logical one. She could lie and tell him that she’d come around to his way of understanding animal sexual behavior. Or she could give him the truth . . . that he was top in the field and papers they did together had an easy shot of getting into the best and most-read journals. She wouldn’t add that spending time with him in the forest was supposed to be chaperoned by the others.
“I thought it was time we collaborated,” she said.
“Instead of yelling at each other at conferences?” His eyes took on the gleam of challenge she’d seen in them so many times. The blue of his irises always seemed to darken, as they did now.
“I don’t yell.”
He made a noise that was half humph and half snort. Maybe more than half snort.
“All right, I raise my voice,” she said. “But your theory ignores the female in the mating equation.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I promise you, I’ve never ignored the female.”
Cute. Double entendre. His typical ploy to make his presentations “sexy.” “But you do. You make it sound as if the cows stand around, grazing, while the bulls do all the work. Fighting with each other. Then she has no choice and the winner climbs on and slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am.”
He laughed. “I don’t think I ever put it quite like that.”
“That’s what you mean.”
“You think I believe that?” he said. “That females have no sex drive at all?”
She glared at him, using every bit of willpower not to grind her teeth. “We’re talking about animals here.”
“I am. What are you talking about?”
“The way you look at things,” she said. “You’re completely androcentric.”
One of his sandy brows quirked upward. “You think I’m fixated on the male point of view and incapable of understanding the female?”
“Something like that.” Damn it all, it hadn’t even taken an hour for him to get under her skin. Not even half an hour.
“And I imagine you’re going to show me how females look at things,” he said.
“Animals.”
“Animals,” he said. “Should be interesting.”
An Excerpt from
NINE LIVES OF AN URBAN PANTHER
by Amanda Arista
Violet Jordan, B movie writer-turned-shapeshifter (and a few other things), is back! She and Chaz are engaged, her pack is finally coming together, and her latest script is a hit. Sounds like the perfect time for the fur to start flying!
CHAPTER ONE
Dear Diary,
Eight months ago, I was attacked in the back alley of my townhouse and rescued by an über-hot guy named Chaz. He told me that there was a prophesy about me and that I might turn into a werepanther. He was right on both counts. Then Spencer, the guy who bit me, tried to convince me to join the dark side. It didn’t work. So he poisoned me and left me for dead. My best friend, Jessa, an undercover fairy princess, saved the day but bonded us together as the dynamic duo for opening and closing the Veil.
Six months ago, in an epic battle for the world, Spencer jumped through the Veil into the Neveranth, and I ended up killing his father. As he lay dying, he gave me the Haverty Legacy and the hellfire that comes with it.
I thought life was going to get better. After four assassination attempts, I finally changed my mind. When the Haverty pack needed a new leader and I was the one holding the Legacy, I quickly found that having loyal followers really helped when the elemental Carlisle started killing his way through all competition for leader of the Dallas Pride. When push came to claw, Carlisle got thrown into mirror jail, and I got crowned as the Prima.
Yep, I think that’s about it. All I have to do is keep sane, even with the prophetic dreams I keep having, run a pack, keep my “real” job, and have some sort of personal life with my shiny fiancé.
Being a queen was exhausting. This was the first of four meetings for the day, the first of three appointments with new pack members, and my second latté with an extra espresso shot.
As I waited at my favorite coffee shop for my caffeine and my ten o’clock appointment, I stretched my neck and slipped off my pointed heels. Cute but deadly. Now that I was a Prima, looking like a leader was starting to get tiring as well. The life
of jeans and tee shirts was behind me. I had to look more responsible now, and my feet were paying the price.
The cool wooden floor soothed the pain burning up my legs and let me relax for just one moment. This place was my second home, and I’d single-handedly brought it back from extinction with a string of new customers by making it the unofficial hotspot for the new Dallas Pride.
Secret club’s got to have a clubhouse, right?
I looked down at my watch, my dreaded new accessory, and played with the charm at my neck. My ten o’clock was late. It had been hell to pin him down for a meeting. He was the last of the new members of my little family that I had to meet with before our first full moon together. I actually had to call his office to get an appointment. Neither of us was very happy about that.
My frustrated thoughts were quickly redirected by the feel of coarse fur brushing up my spine. I turned around to see a tall man enter the coffee shop and pause. His dark suit and briefcase were a stark contrast to the bohemian feel of the café.
He looked around the shabby chic décor, and when his cool blue eyes landed on me, I knew him, even though I’d never seen his human form before. This was my ten o’clock: Peter Delmont, lawyer/wolf.
He wore his power like he wore his sharply tailored suit and slick blonde hair: on the outside, letting everyone know he didn’t mess around. As he crossed the small space in long, purposeful strides, I was frozen in his gaze. The look. The suit. It was damn effective, and for a split second, I almost thought I didn’t have the claws for this one.
He stopped just short of stepping on me, and I had to look up at him. Something that, with my 5’11” frame, I rarely needed to do. He didn’t bother with putting up borders to contain his power, and his scent overwhelmed me. Under the cologne I was sure he wore because it made the women in his office swoon, his power, his wolf, smelled distinctively of leather and sandalwood.