Une tempête de neige dans le sud, le jour du Nouvel An, est la recette parfaite pour une catastrophe. Après deux incidents dévastateurs, Kirk attend qu’un troisième désastre se produise lorsque, tout naturellement, deux chats errants arrivent sur son palier durant la tempête et décident de faire comme chez eux dans sa maison. Kirk et son grand cœur les laissent rester, même s’il y a décidément quelque chose de bizarre avec ces nouveaux félins bien trop amicaux.
À l’abri du mauvais temps et remplis de thon, Dolf et Tal sont contents d’être blottis dans la maison de Kirk. Mais ensuite, leur humain se rend à l’extérieur à la recherche de bûches pour la cheminée et fait une chute violente qui le laisse inconscient. Les deux chats n’ont plus d’autres choix que de révéler leur identité.
Kirk se réveille et découvre que les deux chats sont en réalité Dolf et Tal ; deux chats métamorphes qui sont ses partenaires destinés. Faire partie d’un trio félin est déjà suffisamment difficile à encaisser pour Kirk, mais il apprend rapidement qu’ils viennent d’un clan qui ne croit pas que les humains et les métamorphes devraient se mélanger. Kirk a conscience que ces deux chats sont sur le point de faire basculer sa vie. Cependant, il ne sait pas que les vraies difficultés se trouvent devant lui.
A cool morning, a yard full of birds, and a kitty on a mission. What more could a werecat want? Beta Heller Wirth has it all, except a mate—a shifter mate, that is. The last thing he wants is one of those dangerous humans who kill without remorse. Heller knows about that firsthand. So what does the goddess Bast do? She gives Heller exactly what he does not want—a human: business owner Lawson Dupre.
Lawson hasn’t a clue what just happened in his car detail shop. One minute a cute client is about to pass out, and then he perks up and starts flirting. Next thing, he runs out the door like the hounds of hell are after him. Learning that Heller is a werecat doesn’t freak out Lawson. He happens to be one of those rare humans who knows paranormals exists. He even lives with one. Watch the fur fly as Heller and Lawson battle hurt feelings, misguided beliefs, and a power shift in Heller’s clowder.
easygoing werecat with a love of snarky T-shirts who would be perfectly happy
with a human mate. Is that what the goddess Bast gives him? Of course not.
Instead she gifts him with Marshell, a Vetala: a snakelike nonshifter who
drinks blood to survive. A man who’s just as toppy as Remi—and even more
powerful than the West Falls Clowder’s Alpha and heir apparent.
whether he can handle the fates’ choice, hunters attack Marshell. In an
explosion of passion, Remi and Marshell mate and Remi declares Marshell his.
Now they have to figure out how to make their relationship work as they dance
around each other.
turmoil, and Remi’s acceptance of Marshell rocks the very foundation of the
insular group. The consequences will be far-reaching. And if that isn’t problem
enough, the situation with the hunters is far from resolved… as the appearance
of an Alpha werewolf proves.
“Place called Seafood Palace,” Lawson said. “Name might be a little cheesy, but
the food’s to die for.”
We were still on the back road that led to the main street when I noticed
lights coming up behind us—coming up fast. It could be a cop, except I didn’t
see any flashing lights. I didn’t like it.
“Yeah, yeah, I see it. Man, they’re flying.” Lawson kept glancing in the
rearview mirror. “You buckled up?”
“Yes. You?” I checked just in case as I turned around to look out the back
“Always. Damn, Marshell, I don’t like this.” Lawson gripped the steering wheel.
“They’re still in my lane. Shit, they’re cutting it close.”
I noticed Lawson moved his truck closer to the shoulder and slow down. I had a
bad, bad feeling about this. If this was that fucking werewolf, I was going to
rip his throat out if I got my hands on him. My heart rate spiked as I watched
the lights getting closer. They now were practically on top of us and didn’t
look like they were going around.
“Fucking hell, get ready, Lawson. They’re going to—” The headlights clipped us.
Metal screeched, and I grabbed the dash.
We lurched forward with a snap, and I damn near bit my tongue off. My neck
screamed, and the seatbelt tightened against me as we fishtailed. Fuck ripping
the were’s throat out. I was going to rip his head off. If Lawson got hurt,
Heller would likely rip my head off.
“Aw fuck!” Lawson fought the wheel, cussing a blue streak as his hands flew
over it. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re coming again, the fuckers. Brace yourself!”
“Son of a bitch!” This was no kid who’d lost control or some drunk out riding
Whoever was behind us had used the pit maneuver. Cops often used it to shut
down car chases. Had the were been a cop at some point? Maybe he still was?
Then I forgot everything as the other vehicle rammed us again. This time
Lawson’s truck spun completely around, and the smell of burning rubber hit me
like a ton of bricks.
Lights, trees, and smoke from the tires sped past us in a crazy twirling mass.
The truck slowed noticeably, then stopped. My gums tingled as my fangs dropped,
and my vision dramatically sharpened, which meant my eyes had changed to that
Lawson’s fear soaked the truck, and that pumped my adrenaline even higher.
Whoever had scared Lawson so badly was going to die a slow death by my hand.
The other vehicle, nothing more than a flash of black, pulled in front of us,
blocking our way. I snarled at it.
“You okay?” I yelled at Lawson, keeping an eye on the other vehicle. Lawson’s
truck lights shined on the Crown Victoria. Two shadowy figures moved in the cab
of the car. Two? That’s odd.
“I’m fine! Shit, Marshell. What are we going to do?”
“You still carrying that knife?”
“Good. Get it. Now!” The attackers leaped from the vehicle.
Had the werewolf brought backup? One figure was smaller than the other one, but
that didn’t mean much to a shifter. That attacker approached Lawson’s side of
the vehicle and struck the window with a baton.
A baton? Oh hell.
“Oh fuck,” Lawson yelled as glass shattered.
The window broke with one hit.
“Godda—” Lawson unbuckled his seatbelt, jerking away from the hands that came
at him through the broken window.
A purely human scent flooded Lawson’s truck cab.
Roaring in anger, I flung my door open and jumped out. This wasn’t the werewolf
who’d been stalking me. He wouldn’t be using a specially made baton with a cap
on the end to break windows. He’d just yank the door off the truck or put his
fist through it to get in.
M.A. Church is a true Southern belle who spent many years in the elementary education sector. Now she spends her days lost in fantasy worlds, arguing with hardheaded aliens on far-off planets, herding her numerous shifters, or trying to tempt her country boys away from their fishing poles. It’s a full time job, but hey, someone’s gotta do it!
When not writing, she’s on the back porch tending to the demanding wildlife around the pond in the backyard. The ducks are very outspoken. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, and they have two grown children.
She was a finalist in the 2013 Rainbow Awards, runner up in the 2015 Rainbow Awards, and is a member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.