He feared no man, no foe, no obstacle or challenge . . .
Burdened by the weight of his secrets and his father’s sins, the need for redemption pulls Cale Terriot from his duty to his clan and the arms of his new mate into deadly intrigues in a rival territory. His dangerous masquerade in a high-stakes Shifter fight club is about to be exposed to those who would show no mercy – if he can survive in the ring.
How to protect a prince turned king made pawn?
Fearing she’ll lose her soulmate to the darkness he carries inside, Kendra Terriot, newly made queen in the Shape-shifter House of Terriot, must provide him with an heir in order to save his life . . . and his soul. But first she must risk all to coax him back from the edge of violence inherited with his crown.
Can her love tear him from an unbreakable vow that can only end in death?
You’ve met (or should meet!) Turow Terriot and his fatal attraction Sylvia in my newest “By Moonlight” release Unleashed by Shadows. They’ll have a story of their own, Prince of Honor, in 2016. Take a stoic, dutiful prince in the shapeshifter House of Terriot whose job is transporting a willful schemer bent on destroying their clan to her probable doom, add in a past encounter neither has been able to forget, and let the clash of wills begin . . . then imagine them in a mall . . . handcuffed. This is how it would look in my W-I-P:
Unleashed in the Mall
He sidestepped a double-decker stroller before it hamstrung him. Without so much as a “Sorry” or “Excuse me,” its harried driver continued to cut through the mob, both children wailing like sirens, as if helming a snowplow. The evasive move put him in the path of a family of four, their faces hidden behind boxed entertainment components. The edge of the flat screen clipped his arm, earning a, “Hey, watch where you’re going,” growl from behind the carton as if the fault was his. Out of self-preservation, Turow gripped the slender cuffed wrist of the woman beside him and hauled her out of the rapid current.
“Has everyone gone crazy?”
Her serene smile coaxed up a bad, bad feeling. “Don’t you know what day it is?”
“Friday?” He followed her nod toward the banners strung from pillars to posts and draped in every storefront window.
Black Friday? Was it some terrorist threat? An end of the world scenario that sent average citizens into a looting frenzy? He started a visual search for the nearest exit.
“It’s the biggest shopping day of the year,” she explained like parent to clueless child.
He blinked. Shopping? What respectable business would knowingly encourage this stampede of wild-eyed lunatics? What kind of fool would risk life and limb, he wondered rubbing at his elbow, in the name of a price drop? A person could get swept away in the turbulent stream of bodies!
An ugly suspicion reared its head. “You knew about this. Did you think you could escape me in the confusion?”
She rattled the short chain linking them together. “Not likely, unless you’re foolish enough to let me check out the sale on power tools. It wasn’t my idea to be abducted and dragged across country to my execution during a major holiday.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He started to tug but unexpectedly, she stood firm. “No! Not until I get a change of clothes. You promised, Turow. You promised I wouldn’t have to face my accusers in borrowed sweat pants and gel shoes from a gas station.” As his features settled into uncompromising lines, anguish dampened her uplifted gaze. “You promised you wouldn’t shame me.”
That soft, snagging whisper from such a strong female undid all his best and smartest intentions.
“One store. Grab and go.” Her relief making it worth the price he’d probably have to pay for leniency, Turow nodded to the large chain store across the crowded mall. “There. Stay close.”
His compliance returned her sharp edges. “Like I have a choice?”
Tucking her into the tight curl of his arm, Turow waded into the flow of foot traffic, battling against momentum that threatening to sweep them away. Dodging carelessly swung baskets and wheeled totes, he got them safely to the other side where the current slowed into a log jam of humanity inside the glaringly bright store. He froze, so out of his comfort zone he might as well have landed on another planet. Planet Estrogen, overrun by its rabid female populace.
At every counter, every rack, every kiosk, they swarmed like angry fire ants, grabbing, elbowing, wrestling for pieces of merchandise as if the fate of their colony depended on claiming that particular Michael Kors bag. Seeing his helplessness, Sylvia took charge, shoving him in front of her like a 6’2 battering ram of hard muscle, clearing the way to the designer section.
“I thought you said clothes?” He recoiled from an abrupt collision with a display of wispy demi-bras. She reached past him, rummaging through the alphabet of sizes until arriving at an impressive double digit. Images of her cupped and upthrust in those next to nothings had him struggling against a totally different surge.
With the tease of underwire and black lace pushed at him for safekeeping, Sylvia turned to a rack of matching panties. Briefs to thongs. His mouth went dry and palms grew damp as she snapped, “You know perfectly well that I have nothing on under these monstrosities I’m wearing. I’d just as soon your whole family not be privy to that fact.”
He did know. And knowing was now more than half his internal battle.
Deciding on a tiny scrap of fabric, she tucked the hanger hook between his shirt buttons and towed him on toward less coma-inducing garments. He glanced down and stumbled in sticker shock.
“This thing costs more than every pair of jockeys and socks I’ve worn over my entire lifetime!”
“They’re half price and a steal. Aren’t you carrying your princely House of Terriot gold card?” Her retort offered no warning as she suddenly turned on him with a cat-in-tasty-cream smile and sizzling double entendre. “Remember, you get what you pay for.”
The approach of a battle weary sales clerk broke the heightened tension between them as she asked, “Can I help you find something?”
Turow swallowed hard. His sanity would be nice. What was he thinking? What was he thinking with? Sylvia Terriot had been entrusted into his care by his king. His objective was to get her securely to their mountain compound to face justice for her crimes, not horizontal in the closest hotel room.
As if unaware of his moral dilemma, Sylvia passed the clerk her choice of drool-worthy undergarments, a pair of slim black jeans, and a stretchy red top that took no imagination at all to envision hugged about her tempting curves. “I’d like to try these on.”
Seeing the clerk’s gaze widened as it followed the chain from her cuffed wrist to his, Sylvia laughed, unconcerned, then leaned in close to whisper, “Consider it like one of those bungie cord things that parents use to keep track of their children in crowds.” She winked, letting a sultry glance slide up Turow’s inseam and torso to flirt with his round-eyed stare. “Only for consenting adults.”
Forget the hotel room.
The dressing room would do.
Meet Nancy Gideon!
Nancy Gideon is the author of over 54 novels ranging from historical and contemporary suspense to paranormal with even a couple of horror screenplays thrown in. When not at the keyboard or working full time as a legal assistant, she can be found feeding her addictions for Netflix and all things fur, feather and fin. For more on Nancy, her backlist of titles and the “By Moonlight” series visit nancygideon.com.
- Masked by Moonlight
- Chased by Moonlight
- Captured by Moonlight
- Bound By Moonlight
- Hunter of Shadows
- Seeker of Shadows
- Betrayed by Shadows
- Prince of Shadows
- Remembered by Moonlight
- Unleashed by Shadows
- Prince of Honor (2016)
Touched by Midnight
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