Guest Blogger Desiree Holt

A huge thank you to Alexandra O’Hurley for having me as a guest on her blog and helping me celebrate the release today! of Night Seekers Book Three: Lust Undone. Leave me a comment and you could win a book.

Night Seekers

The Chupacabra has been a legend for decades, stretching from South America to North America, sighted in many place. Ranchers swore they’d killed it only to have it turn out to be a mutated goat or coyote. And the killing spree continued—animals and humans alike. Was it a wolf because of the way the bodies were mutilated? Or a vampire, because each body and three puncture wounds at the neck and was drained of blood? Each time someone was sure he had killed the beast it turned out to be a false alarm, because the killings continued. And the legend continued to grow.

When billionaire Jason Stafford’s wife and daughter were killed by the legendary bloodthirsty Chupacabra and none of the state or federal agencies could trace the half man/half animal, he funded his own team. He chose carefully from the best law enforcement agencies as well as the private sector across the country. Six of the eight selected are shifters themselves, each representing a wolf pack whose members had fallen prey to killers. Each one of them had also been affected by the beast and so had personal reasons to find and kill it. Known simply as The Night Seekers (because they hunt most effectively at night), they work from an isolated ranch property in Texas, with all the latest high tech equipment and any other resources they might need. Their only mission: find and stop the Chupacabra, the bloodthirsty animal who not only kills but literally destroys his victims with his teeth and nails, and has given rise to so many legends.

Book Three: Lust Undone

Returning to her home state of Maine to investigate a possible Chupacabra killing, Sophia Black meets Clint Beltaire, lean, dark and sexy. From the moment she meets him the heat between them is incendiary, the sex erotic and the pleasure beyond her imagination. Clint takes her in ways that fulfill all of her fantasies and teaches her ways to please him. The Maine air might be cold but in Sophia’s motel room it’s beyond boiling. Clint works to help her with her case, using his knowledge of the area in which he grew up. And as they learn each others secrets it’s obvious to both of them that they are meant to be together. Mated.

Prologue

“I’d like to propose a toast.”

Craig Stafford raised his champagne flute and looked at the people gathered around him.

“We look entirely too somber for a wedding party.”

“You’re right.” Logan Tanner, former Montana deputy sheriff, chimed in. “This is an important occasion and we should be celebrating it.”

“To Chloe and Mark.” Craig smiled at the couple standing near him. “Sunshine in darkness. May you have a long and happy life together.”

The others echoed him and then lifted their glasses to drink to Mark Guitron and Chloe Hansen. Mark’s arm was tight around the shoulders of his very new bride, the gesture both loving and protective.

This very specialized group of people called Night Seekers were all standing on the patio of Desolation Ranch,. Set up as their headquarters, the ranch had been purchased by Stafford, the reclusive billionaire who was dedicating his life to the eradication of the Chupacabra. The devil beast.

El Chupacabra!

The name of the creature inspired a combination of rage and frustration in every one of the eight members of the Night Seekers. Each of them had lost at least one person close to them to the beast who killed in a horrendous way. Victims’ throats were punctured, blood drained and internal organs ripped from their bodies.

Twice now, in two different locations in Texas, the members of the team had thought they’d killed the Chupacabra, only to have a report of new killings pop up not long after that.

Each time the team was sure it had killed the murderous creation, Stafford maneuvered to get the body whisked away to his secret lab. There his scientists did their best to identify where this abomination had derived from. For years, before Stafford became involved, other scientists had operated on the theory that it was the result of two distinct species mating. Now they were slowly coming to the realization that, while that may have been the origin, it was much more than that. Possibly even the result of human genetic engineering.

There was no readily identifiable DNA. And circumstance had led them to also believe the creature was some sort of shifter, able to assume other forms, not just human.

The legend of the Chupacabra was one that had been handed down for decades, the stories stretching from South America to North America. Sightings were recorded in many places and it had been written about and speculated over extensively. Sophia Black, former detective with the Maine State Police, had read all about the ranchers who swore they’d killed it only to have it turn out to be a mutated goat or coyote.

But the killing spree continued—animals and humans alike. Was it a wild animal of some sort because of the way the bodies were mutilated, sliced open with the entrails pulled out? Or a vampire, as some thought, because each body had three puncture wounds at the neck and was drained of blood? Talk about your way-out-there theories. And each time someone was sure the beast had been killed it turned out to be a false alarm, just as it had for the Night Seekers in Maverick and Zapata counties in Texas. Because the killings continued and the bodies piled up.

And the legend continued to grow.

Every member of the team was frustrated by the inability to track the beast to its actual lair. Since the Night Seekers had been formed there had been nine more killings—three in Georgia and six in Texas. A depressing thought for everyone. Twice now they’d thought they’d had it, only to learn it was still loose. Or another one like it. And that was an even scarier thought. That someone, somewhere, was breeding these creatures who could assume different shapes at will.

If there was a bright spot in all the pain, it was the knowledge that on the first Night Seeker mission, in Maverick County, former FBI agent Jonah Grey had found Dakota Furcal, now Dakota Grey. An herbalist, among the things she grew were the special herbs that six members of the group needed to maintain their genetic balance. The six who themselves were shapeshifters. Wolves.

The most recent mission had brought Chloe and Mark together and she had returned to the ranch with him when he finished in Zapata County.

The event tonight should have been a joyous one. Weddings were supposed to be a time of festivity and filled with merriment. But an underlying sense of anguish gripped everyone and unfortunately took the edge off the celebration. Subdued the happiness.

Mark Guitron and Chloe Hansen stood in the fading sunlight accepting the good wishes of their teammates.

It wasn’t difficult, however, to read the sadness in Chloe’s eyes. Despite the best efforts of the team her friend Melinda was still missing. Her disappearance in Zapata County in Southwest Texas on the Mexican border had been too coincidentally close to new Chupacabra killings not to tie them together.

While no one except Chloe wanted to say it out loud, they all suspected that if humans were behind the latest evolution of the devil beast they had captured Melinda for their own devious purposes. That her fate might be worse than death.

Stafford, standing to one side of the patio, put down his empty champagne flute. Everyone knew the story of his wife and child, killed by the Chupacabra when they were all vacationing in Mexico. Now he dedicated his life and his billions to wiping the beast off the face of the earth. Night Seekers had been his idea. All the members, from various states and various law enforcement agencies, had been specifically chosen by him.

“I hate to bring this up at a wedding party,” he began, “but I think we need to put something on the table that everyone’s thinking and no one wants to say.”

“I’ll say it.” Chloe removed her hand from her husband’s arm and stepped forward. “It’s my wedding—well, Mark’s and mine—and my friend everyone’s thinking about.” She glanced over her shoulder at Mark who smiled and stepped up beside her. He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side.

“Everyone’s thinking it,” she repeated, “and so am I. It’s obvious there are more of these creatures out there than anyone ever suspected. So either they’re cross-breeding with other species or someone’s screwing around with genetics. And Melinda’s been taken to wherever this hellhole is.”

“I think we’re all aware,” Craig agreed, “that we’re seeking something far beyond what we originally thought when we started this project. It’s not only impossible for one creature to be in so many far flung places, but we’ve killed two and yet the destruction still continues.”

“I can’t imagine what kind of deranged human being would breed creatures like this.” Logan Tanner, the former Montana sheriff, had seen more of the Chupacabra death trail when Craig sent him to check out bodies in Georgia. The horrific pictures he’d brought back were now scanned into the main file on the computer. “And to what purpose?”

“To kill,” Craig said. “To destroy. Think of the power someone would have if they had an army of these devil beasts.”

Jonah Grey swallowed the last of his champagne. Next to him stood his wife, Dakota. Now he linked his fingers with hers.

“Those of us who are shifters know that around the world there are others like us who live only for power and control, and are driven by a blood lust. It’s obvious one of them has decided to harness that power and enhance it.”

“Are you sure it’s a shifter?” Chloe asked.

Jonah nodded. “I’d say that odds are weighted in that direction. A shifter who knows the power he or she controls would want to crossbreed and enhance it. With an army of shifter killers at his or her disposal that person could wreak havoc on society.”

“You’d be amazed at what some people will do,” Logan agreed. “Or maybe not. In Montana we had a bunch of what you’d call mountain men. Guys who lived at the back of beyond and thought civilization was a dirty word. Three brothers, for example, used to kidnap people and take them up on the mountain they owned and chase them for sport. With rifles. And kill them.”

Ric Garza, the de facto leader of Night Seekers, refilled his champagne flute. “So it seems someone’s decided to create their own wild animals. Shifters, maybe with human DNA if they can achieve it. And what? Turn them loose?”

Craig shook his head. “Sell them. Look at any of your Third World countries with vicious dictators. Think what they could do with a pack of these devil beasts to exert control over the people. And if they can assume not just human form but that of domestic animals, people would never know when there was one in their midst.”

Everyone stood quietly absorbing the enormity of that statement. The silence was broken only when a cell phone played The Maine Stein Song. Sophia Black’s phone. A former investigator with the Maine State Police, she used the state song as her ringtone. Everyone looked at her as she pulled it from the pocket of her slacks and pressed Talk.

“This is Sophia.”

They all watched as she listened, the color slowly leeching from her face. Her twin nephews had been killed by El Chupacabra and she was viciously dedicated to its eradication. She’d been one of the first to be convinced that, rather than migrating to other states from Texas and the South American countries there were indeed more than one of the creatures. Now, with the increased number of killings all over the country, the entire team was convinced.

“All right. I’ll get back to you shortly.” She disconnected the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket. She looked around at everyone. “That was my sister, Rebecca. Sorry to break up the party but there’s been another killing. Up in the woods in Northern Maine. And as before, no one there seems to have a clue what they’re dealing with.”

“There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate when we bring this to an end,” Mark said.

“And when we find Melinda,” Chloe added. “I’m for anything that brings us a step closer.”

“Then let’s go into the command center,” Craig said, “and see what we have.”

Buy it here: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9352-lust-undone.aspx

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Thanks for coming to join us here today Desiree, and good luck with your new release!

Guest Blogger - Delilah Hunt

Join me as I welcome Delilah Hunt, author of hot interracial romance, among them, the bestselling
Tempting Mr. Parker

Hi Delilah - It's great to have you as a guest. Congratulations on the successes from Tempting Mr. Parker! I know you have a couple of new releases coming out the next two months...talk about working to the bone!

Thank you. Yes, I have a very short piece, Dragon's Lair in a series called Hot Flash from Changeling Press and another one in the works from Evernight Publishing.

Can you tell us a little about Dragon's Lair?

Dragon's Lair is a steamy encounter between an Amazon warrior and a Dragon shifter. Darius is a lonely guy and Taryn basically draws him out of his cave and spices things up.

You also have another work, Riding the Storm, coming out next month - any hints you can give us on that?

Yes. I'm so excited about it and can't wait for the release date in April. This is another erotic interracial romance. It features a widower, Matthew who ends up impregnating a friend of his, Zara and the hot sex and romance that ensues afterward!

Being a mom is hard work - when do you find the time to write? (BTW - those babies are A-DOR-A-BLE!)

Thanks, they get it from me. Just kidding...maybe not. It is extremely hard and it's become harder and harder because my two year [old] is bent on total destruction and the four year old doesn't help either. I usually plot the chapter I plan to write during the daytime and type it out in the night when everyone is sleeping. I do miss sleep these days however.


So what's next?


I am working on a F/M/M/M novella at the moment and the moment that is completed, it's on to whatever else my muse pushes towards me.

For more on Delilah's upcoming release Riding the Storm - click here!

Delilah Hunt Loves Romance

www.delilahhunt.com

Guest Blogger - Seleste deLaney

Welcome Guest Blogger Seleste deLaney. Her recent release Badlands, a steampunk novel, is out now.

Buy Badlands HERE

Not Your Typical Heroine

There are a lot of things readers seem to expect in romance novels, from the initial spark between the hero and heroine to the happily-ever-after ending. In some things, I have no problem sticking to what works, but I’m definitely more of a happy-for-now girl (and sometimes a happy-enough-for-now girl). And in others…let’s just say I’m not your typical romance author.
One thing people have issue with is sex, particularly who the heroine has sex with. The hero? He can get away with stuff upon occasion, but the heroine is to have sex with the hero. Period. Exclamation point. Some other punctuation I can’t think of here that drives it home that this is the way it’s done.

Yeah. I’m so not that girl. I, quite simply, don’t buy that there’s only one way, especially with regard to sex.

I try really hard when writing to make my characters three-dimensional. Love them or hate them, I want my characters to feel real to the reader. The problem with that is real people don’t perfectly align with what is expected of a hero or heroine—especially not a romance hero or heroine. Let’s face it, we’re okay with them being flawed, but not if it affects the romance angle. And all too often sex is equated with romance.

Excuse me while I laugh a little bit.

I don’t know about you, but looking at my life, a lot of sex in it has had little to nothing to do with romance. Love more often than not, but romance?

Don’t get me wrong, there are certain types of heroines (and heroes) who sex=romance works for, but not all of them. Let’s take Ever (the heroine of my new steampunk/alt-history romance Badlands) for example. At the beginning of the story, she’s pretty close to being a man-hater. She respects them only for their strength. As for love and romance? She thinks it’s a waste of time (and that’s the nicest thing she thinks about it). Sex for her is all about the physical.
Of course, it is a romance, so through the course of the story, she’s forced to grow and reexamine many of her beliefs. She has to change. But when you throw a character like her in a romance novel, she isn’t going to behave like a picture perfect heroine prior to that growth. And, tell the truth, would you really want her to?

Here’s a little taste of Ever and Badlands:

The tent flap swished open and Ever shielded her eyes from the glare. Her second-in-command eased inside. “We’re behind schedule, Catherine. Where have you been?”

Stripping out of the simple tunic and pants the border guards wore in the desert, the curvy brunette shrugged. “Jaye announced her engagement. It was all I could do to get the other women back to their tents to change.” She raised a brow as she looked at Ever. “I’m surprised she gave the news without you there.”

“Jaye knows I do not approve.” “Of men or marriage?” Ever’s fingers deftly slid buttons through the decorative loops on her jacket. “I have never discouraged the pursuit of sex. Without some release, we’d all go mad.” She twisted her long hair up and pinned it. “Marriage is another matter entirely. A distraction.”

Catherine’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Queen Lavinia has brought us the closest thing to peace the Badlands has seen since the Union first began sending prisoners into exile. If any of us are to find happiness, now is the time.”

“That you equate men with happiness proves you don’t understand anything.” She shrugged off Catherine’s grip.

“Not all men who live here are criminals.”

With one hand on the flap, Ever paused. “That is only because we do not provide them the opportunity.”

Seleste deLaney writes from a nicely decorated cave in Michigan that houses two wild dogs who are at their calmest when she’s in her own made-up worlds. She can be found all over the internet. Be sure to visit her at her blog, friend her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter. Be careful though, sometimes once you get her talking, she’s a bit of a pain to shut up.

Guest Blogger - Carolyn Rosewood

Welcome Carolyn Rosewood, who is here today to pimp her newest release which is out TODAY!

HAUNTED HEART

SEXY ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

CAROLYN ROSEWOOD

Etopia Press

Rowena Sommers thought moving back home to restore her beloved Aunt’s home was the key to starting over. Van Whitney thought taking the job would keep his business afloat. When a ghost hunter tries to convince Rowena the home is haunted, can these two escape the past and find a future together?

EXCERPT:

She didn’t need Hollywood, or Brett Fontaine.

Rowena Sommers stuffed the latest issue of Celebrity back in the magazine rack, glancing around the Pilot gas station to see if anyone was watching. She sipped her coffee, fuming over the slant of the article.

Contrary to what the reporter said, her relationship with bad-boy leading man Brett Fontaine was in trouble long before she filed a libel suit against him for leaking her personal e-mails to the tabloids. The dumb-ass reporter should have checked the back issues, like the ones with candid photos of Brett and his female costars, taken every time he went on location. They ran right next to the stories with headlines like: Who’s Keeping Rowena Company While Brett Romps in Australia?

A woman in denim cutoffs and an Ohio State T-shirt plucked a copy of the magazine from the rack and glanced sideways, her eyes wide. “This is you. On the cover.”

Rowena studied the picture, taken on the steps of the Van Nuys courthouse three weeks ago. The day she won her lawsuit against Brett. The same day she found out her great-aunt Lunette had died. She’d trade twice the settlement amount to hear Aunt Loony’s voice again. “Yes. That’s me.”

Rowena took another sip of coffee as she tried to formulate an answer that didn’t involve telling this woman where she could stuff that magazine. Her cell chirped. Saved by the ring tone.

“I have to take this. Excuse me.” She headed for the counter as she opened the phone with her free hand. “Tricia, impeccable timing, as always. You just saved me from an inquisitive fan.”

“And judging by the sarcasm in your voice, I’m guessing you’ve seen this week’s Celebrity?”

She glanced back toward the magazine rack, where the woman and a teen dressed like Lady Gaga were reading the article out loud. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. And as if this day could get any worse, I’m forced to drink gas station coffee.”

Tricia laughed. “No Starbucks in Creek Ridge, Ohio?”

Her best friend’s voice reached across the miles, tugging at her heart. Had it been a huge mistake leaving LA? “God, I hope there’s still a Starbucks here.” She took another sip. “This is actually better than the brown goo they tried to serve me at the Holiday Inn Express this morning.”

“Have you been to Aunt Loony’s house yet?” asked Tricia.

Rowena swiped her credit card through the machine. “On my way now. I’ll call and let you know what the contractor said.”

Ohio State and Lady Gaga moved behind her in line, still talking about the article. Rowena’s fingers trembled as she put the card back in her wallet. She pushed past them without a glance. As she opened the door to the parking lot she heard one of them mutter something, but only caught the words “Hollywood” and “bitch.”

Wonderful. Back in town less than twenty-four hours and already someone thought she had an attitude. So much for believing the gossip wouldn’t follow her home.

She waited until she pulled out of the parking lot in her brand-spanking-new Infinity SUV before screaming. Dialing her iPod menu to Led Zeppelin, she turned up the volume, loud. Angry, frustrated, rebellious. Perfect.

The readers of Celebrity weren’t interested in the story behind the lawsuit. They didn’t care about the string of bullshit promises Brett had made. Or the callous way in which he’d trashed her costume design career and her industry contacts with a few keystrokes, all because she’d dared to issue him an ultimatum.

They only cared about two things: reading her personal e-mails, and how much money the Superior Court of Los Angeles had ordered him to pay her because of what he’d done.

They didn’t care why she was in Ohio, or that Aunt Loony was dead. Brett’s money wouldn’t bring her back. Fun and zany, she’d been dubbed Aunt Loony by Rowena’s father when he was a teen, and she’d loved Rowena and her five siblings as if they were her own.

Fresh grief mixed with anticipation. Willow Lane was less than two miles away. Would she be able to handle walking through Aunt Loony’s house, knowing she’d never see her warm smile again?

Spotting a cop parked in front of a strip mall, she braked. Just for good measure, she turned down the volume on Jimmy Page and Robert Plant. She could see the headlines now: Rowena Sommers Arrested for Speeding in Hometown!

The memories overwhelmed her when she turned onto Willow Lane. She’d spent almost as much time on this street as her own, two blocks over. It hadn’t changed in ten years. The oak tree in front of Traci Westphall’s house, where she used to hide from her older sister Emma, still had dead branches along one side. Two doors down, she half expected Bud Williams to materialize in his driveway, sweeping up leaves and twigs while he muttered about the damn, dirty trees.

The scent of roses, lavender, and freshly cut grass filled the air. May sunshine shimmered on the pavement. The smells evoked memories of the end of each school year, when the magic of summer stretched out endlessly. Summer vacation meant going barefoot, walking down by the railroad tracks, and staying outside after dark to catch lightning bugs.

She was home, ready to be part of this town again. To be with people who made her feel safe, wanted, and who didn’t measure their lives by the latest Nielson ratings or market shares.

But would they welcome her? Or had they read the tabloids while laughing at the girl voted Most Likely to Trip Over Her Own Shoelaces? She’d tripped all right, landing smack in the belly of the gossip machine.

The imposing Queen Anne at the end of the street, just before the entrance to Oak Park, rose into view. Despite the faded siding and missing shutters, the grandeur of the home still took her breath away. As her eyes settled on the four-story tower, she remembered summer nights in the second-floor bedroom, wishing she could live with Aunt Loony. Her own room, with no Emma harassing her or parents screaming at one of her brothers.

She slowed the car, turning off her iPod. Letting her gaze travel up to the top floor of the tower—the lookout point—she recalled her big brother Jake and his friends pretending they were pirates. Part of the game included the ability to see all the way to Cleveland, where ships from exotic places like Spain or China would pull into port, stuffed with treasure beyond imagination. She was usually stuck playing the kidnapped damsel in distress or a cabin boy. They’d ignored Emma when she repeatedly pointed out Lake Erie had never been plagued by pirates, nor had treasure ships sailed on the Great Lakes.

The trim lawn and pristine flower beds brought a smile to her face. Her little brother had actually kept a promise. If a contractor showed up, he’d have kept two. For Mike, that would be a record.

She raised her eyes to heaven. “Thank you for the house, Aunt Loony. I promise to take good care of it.” She could almost hear Aunt Loony’s hearty laugh and see the twinkle in her green eyes.

Her smile faded at the sight of a silver Mercedes parked in the driveway. If that belonged to the contractor, she was about to get ripped off.

She parked the SUV in front, then caught the hem of her favorite summer skirt in the door as she tried to make a graceful exit. She glanced toward the Mercedes. Too late. The driver’s side door was already open. Classy way to make a first impression, Rowena.

In the towering maple on the front lawn, a pair of robins started to chirp, probably about her clumsiness. She released her skirt then took a deep breath, turning to look at the man leaning against the Mercedes. Her mouth fell open as she scanned his face. It couldn’t be…

Vance Whitney—everyone calls me Van—belonged to the perfect, popular crowd of cheerleaders and jocks that had made her existence at Creek Ridge High a lesson in insignificance.

He crossed muscled arms over a forest green polo shirt that set off his luminous blue eyes, even at this distance. Broad shoulders tapered to a trim waist, and the khakis he wore accentuated his long legs. The same confident grin she remembered spread across his tanned face.

This is the contractor Mike called? No way. Not happening.

No matter how hot he still looked.