WOLF’S SONG
A Black Hills Wolves story
By Taryn Kincaid
BLURB:
Ten years ago, visions of death and the babble of
lupine voices in his head, drove lone wolf Brick Northridge to challenge his
cruel and greedy pack alpha. Beaten by the alpha’s thugs and banished from the
pack, Brick lives a life of seclusion in a mountain cabin in the Black Hills.
Born into a rival clan of feline shifters, skinwalker
Summer McCoy, in her guise as a raven, watches Brick from afar, giving him back
a reason to live through her sweet songs and special gifts.
But when her clan attempts to tear them apart and
threatens the pack that banished Brick so many years before, will their love be
strong enough to withstand the forces bent on their destruction?
EXCERPT
1 (G-rated):
Summer McCoy perched in the uppermost
branches of her special Ponderosa pine,
in raven guise, engaging in her
favorite pastime, spying on the
lone wolf chopping wood below. Two days’ worth of
whiskers shadowed his rigid jaw. She
loved when he forgot—or didn’t bother—to shave. Scruffy stubble suited him.
The sun beat
down on the back of
his bronzed neck and shone on
his hair, the color of roasted coffee, a shade lighter than the dark shadow that charcoaled his face.
She
fluffed her feathers in anticipation. Take your shirt off, Brick.She’d heard the
giant werebear, Gee,
call him that name a decade ago. He’d made some
joke about a wall and the hardness of the male’s head. But Brick
hadn’t laughed back then. Not ever.
He’d fascinated her from
the moment he’d arrived
in the glade, bruised and battered. Once she’d learned his
name, she’d treasured it, taking pleasure
from repeating it often. Secretly, of course. Unwrapping the
syllable frequently to admire its radiance in the privacy of her tree house, the way a
woman wearing pearls against her warm skin enhanced their luminosity and iridescence.
Now, as if he’d heard
her silent urging, he complied
with her plea, shrugging
out of the plaid flannel and flinging it onto a
tree stump. Her beak
opened as she sucked
in breath. Sweat glistened on his torso, glazing rippling pecs and abs, shoulders
broad enough to span the Badlands.
A huge, incredible specimen of masculinity. Thick biceps
flexed as he wielded the
ax. Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s
wings. Heat licked her.
EXCERPT
2:
She did not move, except to lower her raised arm from its frozen
position. “Why do you call me that…? Annabel Lee?”
“I don’t have another name.”
“Summer,” she said. “I’m Summer.”
Yeah. Def. When the berries plumped sweetest. “Suits you.” His
raging arousal made the words hoarse and jagged. Too harsh for this gentle
female. “Turn,” he murmured. “I want to see your face.” A low growl escaped him
before he could bite it back. “Your breasts.”
She turned then, slowly through the water, rounding to face him.
He sucked in his breath, his heart slamming against his chest. She
was stunning and glorious. The beads of water rolling down her golden body
sparkled in the sun. She glistened. All natural. No makeup. No artifice.
Everything a female should be. And more. Much more.
Another pheromone cloud engulfed him. Her eyes went large and
rounded, as if she guessed she’d zapped him with her hormonal lures, but
couldn’t help emitting her sex juice any more than he could. Her nose twitched
and she sighed, as if enveloped in a vat of melted chocolate, or whatever the
fuck his own mating scent smelled like. He could only hope he gave off an aroma
as rich and delicious as she did.
He struggled to control the raw savagery of his attraction and had
to tear his eyes from her face. But her breasts…God, her breasts. Full and
high, the exact size to fill his large hands, rose tips jutting toward him. He
remembered how she’d touched herself, how much he’d wanted to replace her hands
with his. Hell. He wanted to bury his face between those breasts, lapping at
her, licking and sucking, take each one into his mouth, between his lips,
grazing the pointed nipples with his teeth until he tore moans of delight from
her.
His throat closed, his tongue swelling, filling his suddenly dry
mouth, cutting off his ability to utter either animal sounds or inane words.
After a beat or two of silence, she glanced away.
“What do you think?” Not shy exactly. Expectant. An undercurrent of
doubt laced her question, as if she could not bear to disappoint him, and did
not know what to make of his continued speechlessness.
“Perfect.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ah, Christ. You’re perfect.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are to me.”
AUTHOR BIO:
Taryn Kincaid is a former award-winning reporter
and columnist, covering everything from fires and homicides, to corrupt
politicians and hero dogs. Nowadays, she haunts courthouses (in least
paranormal way).
She is the author of the Sleepy Hollow series--LIGHTNING,THUNDER,FROST,HEAT WAVE and IN FROM THE COLD -- sexy paranormal romances for Decadent Publishing's popular 1Night Stand series; BLIZZARD, a short erotic romance for Decadent's The Edge line; HEALING HEARTS, a Regency romance from Carina Press, and SLEEPY HOLLOW DREAMS, an erotic paranormal romance from The Wild Rose Press. Books 1-4 of her Sleepy Hollow series, plus Blizzard, have been compiled in the SLEEPY HOLLOW edition, available in paperback and digital formats.
Coming January 30, 2015, WOLF’S SONG, a sexy paranormal romance for Decadent Publishing's new Black Hills Wolves shifter line. And coming February 24, 2015 from Fated Desires Publishing, IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT, a contemporary foodie romance.
Visit Taryn at her website http://tarynkincaid.com, or her blog http://dreamvoyagers.blogspot.com, as well as Twitter, Facebook and Goodreads.
AUTHOR LINKS:
