​attack.

Wait! What? Terrorists? What had she gotten herself into? Kandi wasn’t a superhero. She couldn’t bend steel with her bare hands, and she wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet. She’s Doctor Doolittle. She talks to the animals and occasionally the dead.

​Dad’s and Harry’s faces hardened into grim masks as three big, dirty bikers armed with sawed-off shotguns charged into the restaurant. They smelled like they hadn’t bathed in the last six years. Their badly stained tee-shirts were crawling with flies.
 
 The two older bikers stormed up to the cashier. The third biker stood guard at the door and grinned like a fool when he spotted my parents. “Santa’s got a hot elf.”
 
“Get under the table, Margaret.”
 
“What? Why?” Mom was clueless as usual.
 
“The place is being robbed by some very naughty men,” I answered.
 
Mom shook her head sadly. “Naughty boys don’t get Christmas cookies.” She scrambled under the table and pulled out her cellphone. “Maybe some Christmas music would help.”
 
Harry shot her a narrow, sidelong glance of disbelief.
 
Dad took the phone away from her.
 
I linked with Tinkerbell. “Diversion.”
 
She gave me a doggie grin, slid down my leg and commando crawled under the tables.
 
Evidently the lookout had been smoking way too much wacky tobaccky because it took him a good minute to shout, “Get your hands up and don’t move.”
 
Dad, Hank and I raised our hands.
 
Mom giggled.
 
My eyes widened in surprise when I noticed the other two bikers were busily stuffing their faces with chips and salsa. Guess they had the munchies.
 
Harry whispered, “Ya think they forgot they’re robbing the place?”
 
My dad shrugged.
 
The minute the chips were gone, the head doofus yelled, “Give me the fucking money or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

The terrified cashier fumbled with the drawer.
 
“Now Tinkerbell.”
 
The Yorkie let out a ferocious growl.
 
The lookout just blinked.
 
“One more time Tinkerbell.”
 
The Yorkie did her best impression of a rabid coyote.
 
The lookout gave a startled yelp, opened the door and peered out. “Ain’t no bears in Phoenix, is there?”
 
A feral grin curved my father’s mouth as he grabbed the glass salt and pepper shakers off the table and threw them in quick succession.
 
Thunk! Thunk! The shakers nailed the two older bikers in the head, and they toppled over like poleaxed steers.
 
“Hey! You can’t do that!” The lookout swung his shotgun toward us.
 
Tinkerbell jumped up and latched onto his balls. Grrr. Grrr. Grrr.
 
“Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee! Aiieeeee!” The lookout did a funky, chicken dance and fired wildly. Several big holes appeared in the wall.

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​

can satisfy.
​
But there are grave consequences for the mortal and divine when they consort with one another, and the gods will have their sacrifice.
​

​Your eyes snapped open and you glanced around the room—a slow, cautious sweep, searching the darkened corners to find my specter. From the way your gaze remained unfocused, I concluded your gift of sight had faded. Selfishly, I hoped you could still hear me.

“Henri?” you asked with perfect pronunciation. Your voice was low and tentative; the first syllable was deep, a man’s voice, while the second lifted like that of a child. Your body, too, seemed suspended between boy and manhood with long gangly legs and knobby knees. Your face was sharp and pointed, eyes still stunningly beautiful, and your curls were looser but no less alluring. You were the picture of Ephebian beauty, and it stirred something inside me I thought I’d extinguished long ago.

“You called me?” I asked.

You smiled shyly and sat back on your heels while pushing the sweat-dampened curls off your forehead. It seemed you’d been scrying for quite some time. Your eyes were a bit glassy, presumably from the cannabis you’d used to reach a trance-like state.

“I did.” You licked your full lips and dipped your head so that your face fell into shadow.

“Lift your chin so I can see you.” Even though it mattered little for my perception, I wanted the light on your face. A small indulgence.

You did as commanded, raising your head and steeling your gaze like a young soldier staring down his first battlefield. You reminded me so much of…

I shouldn’t make those comparisons. Too painful. Too dangerous.

“Tell me your full name,” I said.

“Orlando Bell.”

“Orlando Bell,” I repeated as my spirit stretched to dial in on our location. I was dismayed to find you still within my territory. Had Santiago been lying? Had you been under my nose this whole time?

“How have you been?” I asked.

“I’ve been… good.” A flicker of unease crossed your expression. It reminded me of when I’d asked you about Roger, and you didn’t want to tell me. A mixture of sorrow and shame.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” I said with as much empathy as the cold tone of my spirit being could muster. If only we could share this encounter as two bodies.

You dropped your head again and changed positions so that your legs were crossed in front of you while staring at the mirror on the ground. The candlelight flickered in your amber eyes, and I memorized the shape of your face, sharp shoulders, slender limbs, your silent way of contemplation. Even in your youth, you possessed a quiet elegance that would inspire painters of old to beg for your pose.

“I’ve been calling you,” you said.

“I’m here now,” I said as reassurance, “and I’m listening.”

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​

​Liz walked across the wrap-around porch. Rotten wood sagged under her feet. She peered through the bullseye glass sidelights. The knobby circles, muddied by layers of dirt, distorted the view of the central staircase that ascended into nothingness.

Her hands fumbled with excitement as she struggled with the old brass lock. The double doors creaked apart. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. Looking past the neglect, she blew the fly carcasses away and caressed the wainscoting with the touch of a woman in love. A sense of déjà vu, a chill, a fleeting vision of the house bustling with activity vanished into the silence.

She wiped her palms on her sweatpants and opened the mullioned windows, banging until her wrists hurt, to loosen the swollen wooden sashes. The water had been turned on as promised, but the tap in the kitchen burst out in spurts, so rusty it appeared tinged with blood. Liz left it running so it would clear.

There was so much to do to make things comfortable, but purposeful activity and moving forward made her feel at home. Her footsteps echoed like leaden boots on the bare wood floors. A dust ball under an end table turned out to be the remains of a rat, eye sockets empty, teeth visible in a jawbone, desiccated fur barely holding onto the long tail. Bile rose into her throat.

After a fruitless search for a dustpan and broom, she fashioned a rodent scooper from a piece of cardboard and a newspaper dated January 26, 1991. Holding it at arm’s length, Liz jiggled open the back door and thanked God it wasn’t swollen shut.

She stepped onto the porch and tossed the whole thing into the yard. The rat broke into two pieces as it bounced off the chest of a man coming up the path through the pine grove.

He watched it fall to the ground, brushed off his shirt, and shook his head. “Now there’s a brave lady,” he said with a heavy Cape Cod accent. “Not only doesn’t she scream for help when she sees a mouse, she heaves it at the fella who’s got the nerve to come walking up to her back door unannounced.”

“I’m so sorry, sir!” Liz looked up as he ascended the rickety steps. About six feet, the same height as Gerry, he sported a neatly trimmed gray moustache and beard. His voice was more lilting than his broad chest and arms suggested. Muscles bulged under a ‘Yankees Suck!’ tee shirt. His eyes, framed by delicate laugh lines, were the same shade of blue as the sky.

“You must be from New York.” He removed his Red Sox cap. “The ladies from down there don’t put up with anything.”

“It was a rat, and I wanted to get rid of it. And I’m from Boston. Liz Levine.” She extended her palm.

He grabbed it in a gentle, but firm handshake and winked. “And I didn’t even ask which hand you used to pick up the rat.” He backed down the stairs and kicked the carcass under the privet hedge bordering a broken picket fence.

“Now it’s fertilizer. Mike Keeny. I live up Stony Brook Road and came to see who bought the house. I’ve had my eye on it for a while, but the cost of real estate in Brewster is sky high, and this place needs some restoration.”

His gracious humor eased Liz’s mortification. “So you appreciate historical property, Mr. Keeny.”
​
“They don’t build them like this anymore. And it’s Mike. My mother called me Michael, and only the nuns and priests called me Mr. Keeny.” His voice deepened, and he paused, as if being drawn back into memories of happier times.

​The Beast had taken over again, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Ethan’s thumb brushed the back of the slender hand in his. He’d overpower The Beast’s compulsion if he could, but it was no use. For the last year, he’d tried everything he could think of to stop that monster, and nothing ever did any good. The evil inside him had become too strong. A bitter taste coated his tongue, and self-disgust soured his stomach. He’d been reduced to becoming a fucking minion to a parasite.
 
He glanced back. But why a woman this time? The Beast had never preyed upon a woman before. Then again, through the monster’s eyes, her aura glowed brighter than any he’d seen. The amount of psychic energy within her had to be phenomenal.
 
Shit. The Beast just had to choose this particular woman, didn’t he? When Ethan had first spotted her, he’d read the pain in her eyes, something he could relate to. No, he saw more—spirit. Nothing could defeat this girl, not totally. She was the first to catch his interest in a long, long time—he struggled to swallow past the knot of remorse in his throat—and now he was going to destroy her life.
 
The buzz of the crowd grew louder with each minute as midnight approached. Despite the mass of people around them, his senses centered on this one woman. He detected the faint smell of vanilla on her skin and the whisper of her every breath.
 
Ethan led her down a hall he knew too well. His chest ached with The Beast’s need for her energy, a need that grew stronger with each step. He opened a door and entered a storage room, drawing the girl in the teal dress with him. Shelves with boxes of glasses, paper towels, and cleansers lined three walls. A stack of chairs and a stool filled the cramped space, along with the usual mops and brooms.
 
“What’s your name?” she muttered as he flicked on the overhead light and closed the door.
 
He did a double take, and hope cut through the dread. No one under The Beast’s trance had spoken to him before. He took in her pale-gray eyes. They had the vacant look he’d become accustomed to. Damn. His hope dimmed. “My name’s Ethan.”

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​Silen turned around, presenting an expanse of pale flesh and lovely plump ass cheeks. He reached back, positioned and then slowly lowered.

The tip of the golden cock poked against Silen’s ass. Repeatedly. Was the young man new to such a position? He lowered his hips and adjusted his feet, struggling.

Midae felt an odd sensation. It was … pity. He sighed and pushed Silen’s hand away. Midae grabbed his own cock, something he hadn’t done since the curse. Even when he took a piss, he let someone else hold it. He had no desire to feel the cold gold in his hands. For once, he made an exception. Midae placed a hand on Silen’s hip. “Lower slowly,” he said gently. When Silen shifted, Midae tugged on his hip. His cock tip pierced the barrier, and Silen cried out.

A virgin then.

Midae had tried them before without luck, but the stimulation had left him frustrated for days. He gripped both of Silen’s hips and gently pushed at his knees with his legs. They parted a bit, and more of Midae’s cock sank into Silen’s tight hole. He eased the other man up to relieve the pressure. Midae always believed that virgins should be treated gently. Maybe because he was so brutalized his first time. This was not the time to think about that. Midae led Silen back down. A few inches sliding into the tight, warm ass. Bloody hell, so warm. Midae closed his eyes and savored the feeling. He tugged on Silen’s hips, sending his cock a bit deeper. This actually felt … good. Midae’s eyes sprang open. Holding onto that short thread of hope he glanced down to see the gold at the base of his dick was less shiny. Almost, it was almost dull. The edges crumbled, and pieces drifted down to his thighs. “It’s … it’s working.” The words were thick on his tongue. An impossible dream that he thought would never come true. “You’re breaking the curse!”

Silen was gasping as he glanced back with wide eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his lower lip red from the attention.

The. Curse. Was. Actually. Breaking! Midae wanted to scream it from every balcony of the castle. He could feel again, and it was… Midae moaned. He forced Silen down more on his cock. That feeling, that need, was finally conquerable. He was going to burst in seconds.

There was a large crash.
​
At first Midae thought it was the curse dissolving or his heart bursting. No, the wall before them exploded. It sent the throne flying backwards. Silen rolled over Midae’s head. Just like that hope was lost, and the battle was on.

Welcome to Paranormal Romance week!
We're celebrating all things fanged, spelled and shifted.

We want to thank all the authors that have joined us 
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Prize One:

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​1. Donation: Add your book to one of the book bundles that we’ll be giving away to readers. It’s a great way to get your name in front of potential fans. This can be an Ebook or a print book. When a winner is picked, we’ll email you with their information. 
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We'd like to thank all the authors that participated in I HEART Romance Week!
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​but since you're all here for the winners list....

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WINNERS: If you haven't been contacted by October 14th please email us at thetbrpile(at)gmail.com . We will be sending all the emails out today and tomorrow but we do give the authors a week to contact you. By all means, if you don't hear from anyone by then email us!

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​Heath has always considered Leah off limits, a forbidden temptation he shouldn't want and can never have. But when he sees her at Jake's wedding ceremony, he's so overwhelmed he makes a move against his better judgment.

Still, his insecurities ultimately get the best of him. He believes she deserves more than a battle-weary Marine who suffers from combat nightmares.

Leah has a secret that will change their lives forever, but can Heath conquer his demons so they can make a way forward together--or will he abandon her when she needs him the most?

​After they entered the small banquet room that held five tables done up with white table cloths and white napkins at each chair, Heath slammed the banquet doors closed and had her backed up against the nearest cherry wood paneled wall before she knew what was happening. He crushed his lips against hers, his tongue demanding entry. She was surprised she was so turned on by his alpha display.

She happily acquiesced, and Heath took possession of her mouth. His tongue relentlessly tangled with hers until she became so drunk with lust her knees nearly gave out. She held him around the neck and felt him slide his hands down from her waist and grip her ass cheeks and squeeze. He ground his rock-hard dick against her stomach, and her pussy contracted. One of them groaned, she wasn’t sure who, before they ended their kiss, both panting.

He touched his forehead to hers and held her tight. “You drive me fucking crazy, Leah.”

She couldn’t help but smile. He drove her crazy, too, in every dirty, sexy, lustful way possible. “What’s going on with you? Us?”

He sighed and let her go. He stepped back slightly and took her hands away from around his neck, holding them gently in his. She immediately regretted asking him anything. She wanted him close. Needed him close. She ached for him, had for years.

He shook his head seemingly conflicted. “I’m not entirely sure, but I know I want you, Leah. So much I ache with it. But I know I shouldn’t and I’m not sure what the fuck to do about it and it’s pissing me off.”

Her heart soared. The man she’d loved her entire life was admitting to wanting her. Though not a declaration of love, she knew he cared about her. She also knew better than to gush about her undying love right now.

She looked up into his sorrowful but caring gaze. She didn’t want him to have any doubts regarding the two of them together. She knew deep in her heart they belonged together. She was certain that with a little time he would come to know and believe it, too. Although she didn’t want to, she needed to take things slow. Ease him into the idea of the two of them together.

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