Dance on the Wilde Side: Cannon Pack, Book 2 Read online

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Biting Nixie:

  “We might as well go, Nixie. Since the bands can’t audition tonight.”

  “Yeah, but when? I need to audition the bands like yesterday. The festival’s less than two weeks away!”

  “You’ll find a time, I’m sure.” Julian dragged me out the door of the Kosmopolitisch. The moonlight etched his flared nostrils and sharp eyes.

  “What,” I said as he dragged me down the street.

  His eyes were so intense they must have pierced every shadow. When he answered, he sounded distracted. “What, what?”

  “You’re doing your Elmer Fudd imitation. Do you think the lights-out wasn’t because Cary didn’t pay his electric bills?”

  His eyes closed briefly, as if in pain. “Do you ever speak a known language? Sanskrit, perhaps?”

  “Look, it’s a simple enough question—”

  I was interrupted by another streetlamp blowing a bulb. The sharp pop made me jump. “What is it with these cheap-ass lights? Or did Meiers Corners forget to pay its electric bill, too?”

  Julian’s fingers tightened on my elbow. “Don’t blame the city.” The hunter face was back in spades. His eyes were bright violet and he was working his jaw like he tasted something nasty. “Apparently some people don’t know a warning when they hear it.”

  Four figures swirled out of the dark. Three long coats and a suit.

  Julian inclined his head toward them. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice dark and thorny.

  If I thought by his calm nod he was being all friendly, that dangerous tone would have clued me otherwise. That, and the fact that he was grinding my elbow into powder with his tight grip.

  “Emerson.” The lead suit greeted him cautiously.

  “Did you deliver my message to your bosses already?” Julian was the epitome of cool. He could have been at a Victorian tea party, asking “one lump or two”.

  The suit shrugged. “We phoned it in.”

  “It doesn’t have the same impact if they didn’t see my…little gift.”

  “We took a picture.” One of the leathercoats held up a cell phone.

  At least Julian wasn’t so digitally challenged that he didn’t recognize a camera phone. “Ah. And their response?”

  The suit shrugged again. “You die.”

  “So you waited until I was alone.”

  “Hey,” I objected.

  “Yes.” The suit smiled. And his canines were really long.

  I leaned closer to Julian. “Four of them, two of us,” I said under my breath. “We’ll have a better chance with a plan. You take the toothy Lupin, I’ll take the left coat.” But as I started to move, something tugged my head forward, and the lights went out.

  I was suddenly blind. Couldn’t see a damn thing.

  Fighting down panic, I realized something covered my head. Something clingy and soft. At least I hadn’t had a stroke. Struggling with the thing, I realized it was some sort of cloth. A sack? A hood?

  Growling and snarling slashed the air around me. It sounded like a pack of ravenous dogs. I had to do something. But how could I fight without my sight?

  A couple quick little snicks were followed by a deeper ka-click.

  And I realized I could fight—with my ears! I swung both fists. Hit nothing.

  In front of me came a sound uncomfortably like meat tearing. I flailed at it, again swiping air.

  And then came that terrible, awful sound I hoped never to hear again. Wet plopping. Blood, spattering onto the pavement.

  Inside my restraint, I gasped for breath. I had to see! I reached for my face but a roar startled me into falling on my ass. The voice was Julian—if Julian had eaten a lion. What the hell was going on? Frantically, I tore at the cloth over my face. It wouldn’t come off.

  My fingers hit some lumps in the stuff. Gathers, like a tie in a channel of cloth.

  It was my hoodie! My own freaking hoodie. I traced down until I found the laces. They were knotted tight.

  Blindly I picked at the knot. Around me were sounds of a fierce fight. Four against one. I could only imagine the beating poor paper-pushing Julian was taking. If only I could help! The knot loosened but refused to come free. In impotent fury I jerked at the hood, as if I could rip it open. The cloth remained stubbornly whole.

  The sound of fighting died away. What was going on now? Was Julian down? Was he…no, he couldn’t be dead. Julian Emerson, Super Suitguy, was too damn arrogant to be dead.

  But it was so silent. What else was I to think? And what would happen to me if Julian was…down?

  Hands came around my waist. I went ballistic, hitting and scratching with no finesse at all. Strong fingers grabbed my wrists, restraining me. Arms wrapped around me like steel bands. Lifted me. Caught me tight to an immense chest. My legs curled automatically around a lean waist.

  My fight died. Strong fingers, steely arms, concrete wall chest. I recognized these body parts. And the oh-so-lean waist. Panic flamed into instant desire. I tightened my legs, snuggling my crotch up good and close.

  Well, hello. Someone was very glad to see me.

  “Nixie.” Julian’s voice. But not his usual cultured drawl. No, this voice was tight and strained. The kind of voice you got when all your blood drained from your vocal cords to your baseball-bat-sized cock. Ooh, he really did carry foot-long things in his clothes. I rubbed my hips against Mr. Big Gavel. That drew more blood down. “Nixie,” he said again, even more strained. I found I liked Julian’s voice all stiff and growly.

  “Stop that. I’m trying to untie your hood.”

  Damn. Aroused, but in control of himself. How disappointing.

  In my dark cave, I blinked. Disappointing? No way. I was not disappointed that Julian Emerson, stodgy old hoag, was not interested in me. Well, feeling his big nightstick flex, maybe he was interested. But not enough to be out of control about it. And that was a good thing, right?

  Except I was burning up. That thick rod pulsing against my crotch, the smell of fighting male, the feel of his hard body under me… I was wet enough to grease a Cadillac. So when my hoodie came loose, I took one look at his beautiful, dark-bronze mouth and kissed him good.

  He tasted like war. Like fast rides with a powerful motorcycle between my thighs. Like getting drunk on expensive champagne. I ran my tongue over his lips and drank.

  Julian’s hands, in the process of putting me down, stopped. Came back around me. Crushed me to him.

  His mouth opened against mine. With a raw groan, he kissed me back.

  OMG. Julian hadn’t spent all his time studying law in law school. His tongue slid between my lips, stroking my skin like wet silk. He tasted me as a man savors the last pressing of summer grapes. Suckled my lower lip like it was sweet, heavy, and ripe.

  And as Julian kissed, his hands, those square competent hands, were oh so busy. One slid up and under my shirt. The other stole down the back of my pants.

  That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Tonight I was wearing ruffled spandex over jeans cut to my ass over a French thong. But Julian wove his fingers over and under, smooth as a wet dream. Stroked my buttocks. Found that really sweet spot right at the base of my spine. Brushed the downy hairs until my bottom was wide awake and clamoring for more.

  My brain filled with images. Me lying on my back, six-feet plus of male over me, all lean muscle and hot satin skin. Blue eyes clouded with desire as he did the passion pushups. Julian would be tender and attentive. Conscientious. Sober. Staid. Deadly dull.

  We would have vaginal sex in the missionary position.

  Would he even take off his tie?

  Lust turned off like a light. I pulled away.

  Julian didn’t put me down immediately. He lifted his head, looked at me. Intently, as if he could read why I’d cooled in my eyes. It was weird. His hand was still down the back of my pants. I was still breathing heavily. I could feel my lips, still wet and buzzing. But Ms. Malebox no longer wanted any deliveries.

  I expect
ed Julian to be angry. I expected him to accuse me of being a cock tease or worse. After all, I had started it. And pulsing against my crotch was an erection as big and swollen as a Usinger sausage. It had to be painful.

  But Julian only continued to stare into my eyes. Deeply, as if he could read my thoughts.

  And maybe he could, because slowly he bent his head. He pressed warm lips to my neck. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue came out and tasted me.

  Not a little lick or tickle. No, a full, curling hot swipe. Intimate. Wet. Sinfully erotic. And just a little bit kinky.

  That hot lick was not staid at all. My motor revved back up, going directly into third gear. I clutched Julian’s shoulders. Hard muscle met my fingers. I closed my eyes and enjoyed.

  The tongue grew bolder, tracing the line of my throbbing pulse. It slicked over my skin, steamy and questing. Hot male battle-scent spiced the air. Julian’s fingers threaded into my hair, pulled my head aside to give him greater access to my neck. His mouth opened over my skin. Fiery breath lanced me.

  Oh, please, I thought. Give me the sharp edge of sex. Bite me.

  The ultimate battle is waged with one’s heart.

  Going the Distance

  © 2009 Mandy M. Roth

  Paranormal Deathmatch, Book 1

  Extreme fighting champion Quinn Padgett once had it all. Fame, fortune, freedom. One fateful night it was all stripped away, and for two years the alpha male has endured a torturous life, doing the bidding of a madman in a different kind of ring. The Deathmatch, where the only rule is kill or be killed.

  It’s as primal as it gets, and Quinn must draw on all his werewolf instincts to survive. Especially with Carri. Her very presence brings him to his knees, demanding he do all to protect her.

  Carri had no idea how close danger lurked until she witnessed her boyfriend’s sick idea of “entertainment”. Now all she wants is to get away from the bastards who are hell-bent on ridding the world of that which they do not understand. But her boyfriend’s reach is long—and brutal. Quinn is her only hope. And the only man who awakens a fire within her, body and soul.

  As Quinn and Carri go on the run in a fight for their lives, they find themselves engaged in an even deeper and more dangerous battle—a battle of the heart.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Going the Distance:

  His heart raced. “No.”

  It couldn’t be.

  She was dead.

  Quinn looked harder at the woman, inhaling deeper. There was no denying it. She was the same woman he’d sensed two years prior. She was Carri. The one he’d run to, trying to save only to find himself at the hands of madmen. The very woman he’d sampled paradise with, her kiss divine. A piece of him had died that day. He’d assumed she was gone, her body rejecting the healing agents in his saliva and blood. That’s what his captors had told him. They’d taunted him again and again, reminding him that his attempt at being a humanitarian had fallen flat—leaving a woman to suffer a horrible death at the hospital. When he’d learned of her passing, Quinn stopped planning an escape and resigned himself to his fate. Having her with him, in the warehouse, alive and well rekindled his quest for freedom, for her.

  The rush of lust left him wishing he had a free hand to adjust himself. His cock throbbed. No other woman had ever made his body answer so quickly, so intensely with nothing more than a stare. It was as if everyone but her ceased to exist for a fraction of a second. His heart thumped madly, his sinewy body eager to be free of his restraints in order to go to her.

  The beauty amongst the enemy.

  The light in the darkness.

  He blinked, coming to his senses. The angry mob around her, pressed in, knocking Carri to and fro before she disappeared under the sea of people. His body responded violently, hardening, going prone, ready for another fight.

  “No!” he roared with the need to protect her at all costs. He’d thought her dead and for twenty-four of the longest months of his life, he’d run the scenario of that night, long ago, through his head. Always wondering what would have happened had he been a few minutes earlier or if he’d have paid attention to his surroundings instead of getting lost in her kisses. Would she have lived? Would they have had the happily ever after so many people preached about?

  When he’d awoken to find himself shackled, he had been taunted about her passing. They’d accused him of allowing her to die. Lies. All lies.

  She’s here and I’ll be dammed if I let her go again.

  Surging forward, Quinn charged the guard as he opened the cage door. He bent his head, going low, using his shoulder to attack the man. The guard fell away and others shouted. All he heard was the soft cry of the female who had captured his attention so long ago and never released it. She was hurt. He could almost feel her pain.

  Mindlessly, Quinn yanked his arms, breaking the shackles and freeing his hands. The silver cuffs remained on his wrists. Links of the broken chain dangled, striking his forearms, burning the skin upon contact.

  Another guard came at him, carrying an electric prod. Quinn flashed a gleaming white smile at the man, already knowing he looked every bit the animal he was capable of being. He let his eyes flicker to that of the wolf’s icy blue. The guard stopped dead in his tracks before making a hasty retreat.

  “That’s right, buddy. Run.”

  Quinn knew others would come. They always did. On borrowed time, he charged forth, thrusting people away as he made a line through the now hysterical crowd, pushing in search of Carri.

  His entire body responded to the scent of her and he knew he was close. She was the same, yet different. If he didn’t know better, Quinn would have said she still held the faintest hint of his scent upon her. He’d shared his blood with her so long ago that it shouldn’t be the case now. He shoved the last remaining human from his path, revealing the woman to him. His gut clenched. She was bloody and broken, as she’d been two years prior. A deafening sound ripped free of him and he bent to scoop her up only to find himself struck from behind. Electricity surged through him, bringing pain with it. His fingers and toes curled as streaking hot, tingling numbness filled him. His jaw set, his teeth grinding.

  He just missed picking her up and fell to a knee before her. He used his body as a shield, keeping her from further harm as he was once again struck with an electric prod. His body was so close to hers yet not touching, preventing the current from passing through him to her. The guards spat hate-filled remarks at him. For once, he felt like everything they accused him of being.

  An animal. A monster.

  The raw need to protect the female below him was all consuming. His mind and body agreed on one vital thing.

  She was not to be harmed.

  An efflux of strength and resolve pushed through him and he struck out blindly, knocking away two attackers with one blow. Still, the onslaught continued. Admitting defeat wasn’t a possibility. He’d been under the thumb of his keepers for almost two years. He knew how they operated, what they did to assure compliance on the part of the animals they housed. They would use Carri against him. They would threaten her to keep him in line and in the end, they would kill her to teach him a lesson.

  “Get him!” one yelled.

  Quinn’s lips curled into a smile. Fangs showed and he permitted a partial change, knowing his eyes would burn with the wolf. Another jolt of electricity passed through him, this time seeming to invigorate him more than anything.

  He spun, lashing out wildly, scoring a direct hit. He caught hold of one of the prods and the victim became the wielder of the weapon. He struck one of the guards, returning the favor. The guard was human and the energy too much for him to handle. Guilt never entered Quinn’s mind even as the scent of charred flesh reached him. He knew they would hurt or possibly kill the woman he fought to protect.

  Someone whistled, catching his attention. He twisted to find a guard standing above Carri, aiming a weapon at her head. Quinn was fast but he wasn’t fast enough to be able to sto
p the guard should he choose to end the woman’s life.

  He put his hands up, stopping his attack almost instantly. He dropped to his knees, signaling surrender.

  The guards converged on him, striking with everything they had. A sick thought occurred to him as he struggled to stay conscious.

  It’s always a woman who brings me to my knees.

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