Till Abandon
All the power and killer instinct she possess can't protect her from the claiming of one determined wolf.
They call her ‘The woman in white,' whisper ‘Death-Bringer' with their last breath, but no one knows exactly what she is. Not even Voltaire herself. The deadly magic within her is a living thing, able to crush anyone and everything with a blink. Abandoning the blood-soaked world she's used to, Voltaire seeks out the one constant in her tired life-the green-eyed wolf in her dreams. She's ignored the wolf's call for years, afraid to surrender, but danger haunts her mate. He needs her.
Wolf-shifter Blake Montez is in the middle of a war, battling the usurpers intent on taking over his territory. Unfamiliar magic hums in the air, unnoticed-it seems-by everyone but him. He finds the source already under his nose, in his home. The delicate woman in white knows things no one should know, and the heat simmering between them is unlike anything he's ever felt. His wolf recognises her as his mate, though Blake remains unsure he can trust her.
Voltaire sets out to prove herself with time running out. Enemies are on the prowl, some foreseen, others remaining cloaked in shadow. She and Blake team up, fighting side by side, but in the end Voltaire might be the biggest threat to their love.
Till Surrender
The key to his salvation is the one person he's destined to love…and betray.
Tattooed half-breed Takayo ‘Saint' St John kills for the PSC with single-minded efficiency. He's never questioned or failed his assignments…until he stares into the cornflower-blue eyes of Ryken Valte, the man whose life he's infiltrated under false pretences. Harsh words and a cold shoulder aren't enough to keep the distance between them, but Saint's mission damns him. His job is to kill the brother of the man he loves and he sees no way out of his predicament.
Ryken melts under the intense attraction between him and Saint, but the man keeps pushing him away, denying their connection. Ryken would give up everything, do anything to have Saint at his side and in his bed, but secrets bigger than them make it impossible. Ryken yearns for Saint's surrender, but he'll get more than he bargained for when dark forces neither comprehends return with a vengeance.
General Release Date: 29th October 2012
Till Abandon
"Will you fucking die already?" Voltaire pressed the right heel of her gold Zanotti’s into the bullet hole in the man’s neck. The idiot keeping her from her date struggled—a futile effort, if she did say so herself. His cobalt-blue eyes stared up at her from his position on the floor, pleading for mercy while his body twitched. Wet sounds gurgled in his throat, then he coughed. Dark red blood flew everywhere, dotting the back of her heel and running like a red stream down the corner of his mouth. Pink tears leaked from his eyes.
"Damn it, now look what you’ve done." She lifted her foot off his throat to inspect the damage to her shoe. "I bought these today, specially for this occasion, and you go and fuck them up."
Men. Can’t train them, or horsewhip them in the middle of the street. What the hell is there left to do? Kill ‘em.
She knelt beside the man, who was getting bluer by the minute, and shook her head. "You know, that colour does great things for your skin tone." She grabbed the sleeve of his white shirt and wiped off her heel. Blood pooled under him, sinking into the plush, grey carpet. She glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. He had some fabulous things in this office—she’d take a tour of the house if she wasn’t so damned strapped for time.
Hah, strapped.
A dull buzzing started on the left side of her skull, annoying as a mosquito.
"Will you stop already with the fucking mind control? You’ve been trying it all night, and has it worked?" She lifted an eyebrow and projected her thoughts to him. Obviously not. You pissed off the Council and they’ve marked you for extinction. She bared her teeth. "Unfortunately for you, they gave you to me as a going away gift."
Tugging the bowie knife from her ankle strap, she slashed his throat with a flick of her wrist.
"That’s for taking up so much of my goddamn time."
She fished the disposable cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans and pulled off her black gloves with her teeth. Hitting the redial button, she straightened and stepped delicately over the body on her way to the door.
"Yes?"
"It’s done."
Voltaire paused at the threshold and took one last look over her shoulder to admire her handiwork. Damn, sometimes she astonished even herself. The married father of four hadn’t batted an eye when she’d sent him a drink at the bar then offered herself to him for the night. She gave him bonus points for not taking her to his marital home. Apparently Mr Moneybags kept an apartment downtown for his nightly hook-ups.
Fucking men. Is nothing sacred anymore? Sure, she’d been paid a couple of mil to kill him, but still.
Till Surrender
"No killing the target until you hear from me."
Takayo 'Saint' St John leant back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and raised an eyebrow at his boss. Remi Parascu pushed a folder across the large mahogany desk towards him.
Saint grabbed it and flipped open the brown folder. "Tell me again how I got chosen to babysit a freaking human?"
This wasn't his normal assignment—most of Saint's missions were in—and—out jobs, like the one he'd recently completed in Germany. He hadn't even disembarked the Council's private jet when Remi showed up with this new gig. The Paranormal Security Council—known as the Council—marshalled the different paranormal sects in the US and abroad, providing security for high—ranking Para officials, and making sure Para laws were upheld. When anyone stepped out of line and broke those laws, the PSC also dealt with them. 'Dealing with them', more often than not, meant killing them, and Saint was one—fourth of the team given the termination assignments.
The president of the PSC met his gaze with unblinking eyes. "This is an elite's job and, since Prescott's on another assignment, you're up to bat."
That still left one other person. "And Voltaire?"
The female head of their team known as the Death—Bringer was the deadliest of them all. This job seemed more suited to her. Besides, Saint really wanted to sleep. And get laid. Though not necessarily in that order. It'd been a long—ass minute since he'd had a good dick suck and a balls lick. Fuck, but he was due.
Remi pushed her chair back and got to her feet. The tight grey skirt and blue blouse she wore clung to her lithe frame. Saint didn't have to be into chicks to appreciate her gorgeous feminine form.
"Voltaire's in Colorado."
The words were spoken evenly, but he had a feeling more went on behind Remi's direct stare.
"She's mated with a wolf out there and is apparently still in the honeymoon phase." Remi grimaced.
He chuckled. "Must be one crazy—ass wolf to risk mating with V. She's a live one."
"Yeah, well, at least she hasn't left completely. In fact, she's the one who recommended you for this."
"No shit."
"No shit." A knock came on the door of her office and Remi headed towards it. "Read up on your cover and the target. Wheels up in five hours so I suggest you get that pesky hard-on taken of asap."
Folder in hand, Saint surged to his feet with a grin and snapped a salute. "Yes, boss."
* * * *
Five and a half hours later, Saint still hadn't got any sleep, but he'd managed to rub a nut off in the shower. Not quite the same as a warm, wet mouth swallowing him, but he could hold on—barely, till he found a willing partner.
As the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, he stretched his legs out on the seat in front of him and read through the folder Remi had given him. He grinned when he saw his name remained the same. He didn't technically exist, so they'd given him a brand new, and very violent background. Not too dissimilar from his real life, but the fake Takayo St John was all about honour and morality. Fighting for the greater good.
Ugh. Saint wanted to hurl. He already hated the new him. It was the perfect bait, though, to reel in the humans intent on making a move on the Council. He flipped back to the pages about his target.
Nathan Valte.
Tall and lean, the fair—headed former professor of literature looked older than his thirty—eight years. He'd turned activist against all Para citizens after his wife and child were killed by leopard shifters.
Literally torn apart.
Saint winced at the gruesome pictures. Since his loss, the professor had become outspoken about his hatred for Paras, amassing a pretty considerable following. Before now, no one in the paranormal community had taken him seriously, deeming him harmless and grieving. Something had definitely changed. What though? That info wasn't in the file, but several attempts had been made on Valte's life. The man was in desperate need of a bodyguard, and who better to fill the role but fake Saint?
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