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Run for Your Love by Annabeth Leong

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Run For Your LoveBlurb:

Shotguns seem to be everyone’s favorite accessory for the zombie apocalypse, but Zach Paul believes he can survive without hurting anyone—not even the zombies. An elite-level runner, he plans to speed away from every danger. Then Zach meets a woman he can’t bring himself to leave behind, and staying beside her tests all his principles.

Viola Ortiz fought free of her controlling boyfriend just before the zombies came, but now she believes her macho ex is the only one who can protect her. She sets out to reunite with him, only to encounter Zach instead. The tall, lean runner is everything her ex is not, and Viola is shocked to find he turns her on as no man has before. Viola’s ex, however, isn’t willing to let go of her, and soon it’s clear that other survivors are as dangerous as the zombies.

Zach and Viola can run, but they must find safety before they lose their humanity in the struggle to protect their lives and growing love.

 

Excerpt:

It may not have been too crazy for me to think I could keep clear of the zombies in the Quarantined Area. On the news everyone kept saying these are “slow zombies.” They’re dangerous, diseased, and mostly impervious to pain, but not the sort of terrifyingly speedy hunters that have been popular in movies lately. My plan to run in there was risky, but I like to think not completely doomed. I planned around my talents instead of just deciding I’d somehow figure out how to execute a standing long jump of multiple feet once I found myself staring down at concrete two stories below a rooftop. I trusted the only thing I’ve been able to rely on my whole life—my legs.

What I didn’t take into account were bullets—as in projectiles whizzing past my ears as I booked it down the sidewalk. Why the hell does everyone think the zombie apocalypse gives them a license to act like Rambo? I’m not just talking about what happened once zombies actually appeared in the middle of our city, eating brains, shambling, and whatever else they do. I’m talking about all the years of excitement about zombies—Facebook quizzes predicting whether your relationship would survive an outbreak, the sudden popularity of YouTube videos about parkour, and a pervasive cultural obsession with shotguns. I think people watched zombie movies and decided it would be great for the rule of law to break down to the point that they’d be allowed to solve problems by shooting first and asking questions later.

It’s not the most macho position to take, especially not in the neighborhood where I grew up, but I guess it’s clear by now that I’m a pacifist. Some other guy might respond to the looters by taking cover behind an abandoned building and pulling out his own gun to trade shots. That’s not my style.

Instead, I shouted, “What the hell?” and tried to run faster.

Two days into societal breakdown, street cleanliness had already suffered. Trash bags, newspapers, and other detritus littered the road, and I swear the pavement had more cracks than usual. It took all my concentration not to slip or break my ankle.

I don’t have experience dodging bullets, so I wasn’t sure if I’d be harder to hit if I tried to zig-zag or not. Since I didn’t know, I ducked my head, picked up the pace, and hoped for the best.

The guy with the gun shouted, “Drop the backpack!” Apparently, he thought bullets made good punctuation.

“There’s nothing in it!” I screamed back. Which wasn’t strictly true. I didn’t have any money or valuables, which I assumed was what they were looking for. On the other hand, the backpack had everything I thought I needed to survive in the Quarantined Area, so I didn’t want to give it up.

“Like hell it’s empty!” The guy chasing me squeezed off a few more shots.

The fact that he hadn’t managed to hit me yet confirmed one of the points I’d like to make about guns, which is related to a couple of the things I’ve already ranted about. A lot of people think you can just pick up a gun and go to town. That tells me that most people have never actually held a gun, much less fired one.

I’ve been to the shooting range a number of times with my older brother Dominic, and once, before a birthday party he celebrated one year in Vegas, that included firing machine guns. Before I’m accused of hypocrisy, I’ll add that Dominic spent a long time trying to get into the police academy, and I provided moral support while he studied and trained. Anyway, after several good tries, I learned that if you can hold a gun without your hand trembling uncontrollably, you’re doing well. And it takes training before most people can manage to hit, say, the broad side of a barn.

The looter chasing me might think he was tough, but he’d obviously never gotten the chance to practice with a gun. I promised myself I’d say a prayer of thanks as soon as I got out of range of him and his burly friends. I almost looked forward to the zombies at that point—at least I’d understand their motives.

Someone cried out behind me, and I risked a glance over my shoulder. One guy lay on the pavement clutching his ankle, probably a victim of one of the cracks I’d noticed earlier. Two of the others seized the excuse to quit running, squatting beside him clutching their sides, gasping, panting, and coughing. I allowed myself a satisfied smile. The guy with the gun hadn’t tired yet, but he would, as long as he didn’t manage a lucky shot before I finished putting him through his paces.

I lengthened my strides. It felt good to take my body to its limit, to dig as deeply as I could into the inner reserves I’d built up over the years… Right up until I realized I’d forgotten to keep an eye on the littered road.

My foot tangled in a plastic bag, and I went down hard. It was like something out of kindergarten—bloody knees, bloody palms, and pain that brought stinging tears to my eyes. A bullet hit the asphalt a mere foot away from me.

“Let up, man!” I made my voice as threatening as possible, despite my vulnerable position. “I got nothing!”

“Give me the backpack!”

Adrenaline forced me to my feet. I took a deep breath, preparing to push myself back into a run despite the stiffness already settling into my knees.

That wasn’t to be, because my fall had allowed the big guy catch up with me. He may not have known how to use his gun, but he sure as hell knew how to use his hands. He demonstrated on my trachea as soon as he got hold of me.

I hate to say it, but I froze. I thought about trying to stomp on his foot or something, but I didn’t really expect that to work, and I didn’t want to die a traitor to my own pacifist ideals. I helplessly pondered what to do as he squeezed my neck tighter, and I started to feel chilled and light-headed.

That was the first time I saw her, and considering how little oxygen was reaching my brain at that moment, you can probably understand why I thought she was some sort of apparition. She was beautiful. Sexy? Yes. She had the sort of curves that make a man want to spend long afternoons in bed just tracing the shape of them. Lips to match and ringlets of black hair that I immediately wanted to feel across my bare chest. But she was also beautiful in a holy way—some kind of light in the eyes or glow to the skin that reminded me of pictures of La Virgen. She was dressed all in blue too, which contributed to my impression that she wasn’t entirely of this world—my mother taught me that blue is Mary’s color.

Her small, compact body hurtled into me and my captor with force far beyond what I would have expected from her weight. She screamed that he ought to let me go, and his grip loosened, I think because he was so stunned. Neither of us knew where she had come from or what she had to do with me.

Unfortunately, the deranged looter’s first instinct after letting go of me was to go after her, specifically by hooking a finger through one of the big gold hoop earrings she wore. I stretched my own rules a little and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, hoping to distract him enough that my rescuer and I could both escape.

She didn’t have the kind of qualms I did. Out of one pocket, she produced a can of pepper spray and proceeded to administer a healthy dose straight into his eyes. I covered my face in time, but he gave a high-pitched scream and clapped his palms to his cheekbones. The gun hit my foot then the pavement. The woman screamed too, and I wondered if he still had her by the earring.

I dropped to the ground and crawled a few feet away, moving through the pain in my knees and palms. A glance at the woman showed she’d gotten herself free of her opponent’s grip and had grabbed the upper hand by far. She administered a series of precise and painful-looking strikes to his abdomen.

Any second, more of the looters would join this fight. I didn’t feel good about running away when she’d gotten involved in the first place because of me.

Pushing myself to my feet, I went over and grabbed her elbow, wincing when my scrapes contacted her skin. “We have to get out of here,” I told her. “Try to keep up.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t answer me. I took off running, feeling so much adrenaline by then that the pain in my knees didn’t really bother me.

She wasn’t next to me.

I whirled without stopping, in time to see her scoop the looter’s gun off the sidewalk and toss it into a glittery backpack she carried, slung too low to be entirely practical.

I took my own turn rolling my eyes. Just what I needed. Another Rambo wannabe. “Come on!” I shouted.

I have to admit that despite annoying me by going for the gun, she’d impressed me so far. The next thing she did really caught my attention. She grinned at me, as wicked and gleeful as if we’d gone out racing to settle a bet. Then she covered the distance I’d put between us so fast it took me a moment to realize I was being outpaced.

She shot past me and tossed another smile over her shoulder. “You better hurry,” she said, with a Puerto Rican accent and not a trace of effort. “Ahora, chacho. Those guys look mad.”

 

Buy Links:
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Breathless Press

 

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors — dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her titles for Breathless Press include the contemporary werewolf erotic romances Not His Territory and Not the Leader of the Pack, and Run for Your Love, a romance set in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

 

Buy One, Get One Free Offer:

Did you miss Annabeth’s previous titles with Breathless Press? Not to worry. E-mail proof of purchase of Run for Your Love, such as an Amazon receipt, to annabeth dot leong at gmail dot com and let her know your e-book format of choice. Annabeth will buy a copy of her werewolf novella, Not His Territory, for anyone who sends this information before November 12, 2013.

Not the Leader of the Pack by Annabeth Leong

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Not the Leader of the PackBlurb:

Rival alphas Juli Gunby and Neil Statham want to tear each other apart — but will they do it in battle or as mates?

When Juli Gunby left Missoula, Montana, she didn’t intend to come back. Not to her exacting alpha werewolf father, and certainly not to Neil Statham, the beta who rejected Juli’s girlish advances. Her father, as usual, has other ideas, using his dying breath to pass pack leadership to his daughter. Juli resolves to carry out her duty to her father and her pack, but the one man she wants on her side has made himself her enemy.

After years of loyal service to the pack, Neil expects to take over as alpha when his mentor dies. As good as it is to see Juli again, he knows he can’t trust her. After all, she abandoned both him and the pack years ago and never looked back. Neil determines to fight for his rightful position in the pack, even if that means going up against a woman who fills him with an overwhelming urge to mate every time she walks into the room.

Someone needs to lead, and the more Neil and Juli fight, the more they attract interference from those who would control the pack and destroy the ties between them.

Buy Links:

All Romance
Amazon
Amazon UK
Bookstrand
Breathless Press

Excerpt:

“Juli. We’re the only pack members who saw your father pass that ring of leadership to you.” He paused to allow the significance to sink in, the bar noise around them rising to fill his silence. “You have another life in Lewistown. You have a career. You’ve made it clear you’re not interested in this pack. We can say whatever we want about what took place in that room. He could have passed the ring to me as far as anyone else knows. No one would question that.”

He would have kept talking, except that Juli wrenched herself violently out of his grasp at that point. “Not interested in this pack? We can say whatever we want?” He heard her just fine over the music despite the new distance between them. In fact, he worried who else had heard her mention the pack. And who else had seen that furry paw she’d thrust into his face.

They both froze for a second, staring at her latest lapse of control.

“Damn it.” Juli’s curse came out more as a growl than as words.

“We need to get out of here,” Neil said. “You just focus on staying cool.” She knew better than to argue with him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out, leaving their beers behind. They could finish this conversation in his truck.

They ran for the truck like the rest of the world was on fire, and slammed the doors behind them once they got there. Juli writhed in her seat, gasping, her wolf form rippling just on the other side of her skin. Neil panted in response. He didn’t normally have trouble controlling his shift, but with her beside him, so close, too much of him wanted to meet her in a place of complete abandon. He wanted to run with her under the moon, fight her for supremacy until neither cared who wound up on top or on the bottom. Then, with one last vicious pounce, he wanted to surrender to the merging of their bodies. He swallowed hard.

Stats. He ran through the winning World Series teams for the last three decades. He tried to calculate his total career RBIs. The stream of data calmed Neil down. He started the car. “I’m going to drive us somewhere a little more private,” he told Juli. “Just in case.”

“Back to the hospital.”

“You’re in no shape—”

“Back to the hospital.” She showed fangs. Neil didn’t need that so soon after he’d regained his own control. He stopped arguing and pressed the gas. They’d go somewhere. He just needed to be driving so he had something to concentrate on besides the idea of Juli giving herself up to the beast. He needed a really good reason to remain in human form.

The truck’s cab filled with her labored breathing. Neil turned on the radio to distract himself from the sexual images the sound called up for him. He’d always avoided being alone with her, afraid to give even the appearance of impropriety. Right then, Neil wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the trouble he’d saved himself or sorry as hell for what he’d missed. The instinctual attraction he felt for her was off the charts.

He got so caught in his reverie that only Juli tugging at his sleeve alerted him that her struggles had become sobs. “Neil, can you pull over?” Her voice sounded deflated. “I’m sorry I insisted about the hospital. I’m not ready to go back there yet.”

Her obvious misery immediately pierced his sexual fog. Neil pulled the truck into a convenience store parking lot and looked at her. “Do you want a minute? I can go get some water.”

“No, it’s okay.” She hesitated, chewing on her top lip. “I’m obviously way out of control.”

He watched her face carefully. “About what I said in the bar… I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You just think I don’t care about any of this.”

“Well, do you?”

Her head snapped up and a bit of the wolf flickered behind her eyes again. “How can you ask me that?”

Neil blew out a long breath. She wanted him to make his case? He could do that. “You know being pack alpha doesn’t pay. What about your fancy job in Lewistown? The one that was so important you couldn’t come back here to visit your dad?”

She rubbed her eyes. “Can you try to keep the venom out of this, Neil? Jeez, you’re so bitter, you’d think I failed to visit you.” Bingo. But Juli continued speaking, oblivious. “Gabriel’s not going to like it if I resign. He talked a lot about developing new talent when he hired me. But it’s not like the Council can’t run without me. This was my father’s last request. Besides, the pack probably needs me more.”

He swallowed, unable to believe she had the nerve to say these things. “Maybe I’m underestimating how good you are at walking away from things. Foolish of me, since I have personal experience.” Neil shook his head, uncertain if the anger surging through him was directed at himself or at Juli. “The pack needs someone really committed, Juli. Not someone who will leave again the next time it’s convenient.”

She snapped her gaze to his, her eyes widening with understanding. A wave of fear rushed through him. He’d revealed too much of his personal feelings. They needed to decide about the pack first. “You were the one who rejected me, Neil,” Juli said, her voice so soft he almost couldn’t hear her. “All I did was move on.”

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors — dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her titles for Breathless Press include Not His Territory, Not the Leader of the Pack, and a contribution to the Ravaged anthology. She enjoys writing about the tension between passion and control that werewolves embody. Unfortunately, when Annabeth loses control of herself, she does not gain the power to change shape. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong. She loves talking books on Goodreads, too: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5295946.Annabeth_Leong

Buy One, Get One Free Offer:

Not the Leader of the Pack stands alone, but Annabeth has written in its world before. She’d love to share the previous title, Not His Territory, with current readers. If you’d like to participate, e-mail proof of purchase of Not the Leader of the Pack, such as an Amazon receipt, to annabeth dot leong at gmail dot com and let her know your e-book format of choice. Annabeth will buy a copy of Not His Territory for the first 25 people who respond.

Guest Blog: Doris O’Connor

Guest Blogger, , , , , ,

Hello everyone, and thank you KD Grace for hosting me on my blog tour with my Christmas Story, For The Love Of Mutt.

Yesterday I shared how my heroine popped into my head. If you missed it, click here. Today it’s Mutt’s turn. I had come across a picture of a Tamaskan dog ages ago, and at the time I thought to myself, hmm, now that would make a good premise for a shifter.

Photo Courtesy of Tamaskan Dog Register.

They look very much like wolves, as you can see. So much so that it fitted my vague ideas for this story perfectly. What better way to hide in plain sight than as a dog. And not just any dog either.  No, Ethan (Mutt) is at the shelter for reasons of his own. You will have to read the story to find out what those are, but he is so not what he seems.

Join me on tomorrow’s stop, where I’ll share the visual inspiration for Ethan, and he is all kinds of yummy 😉

For now I leave you with a little excerpt of when we first meet Mutt in the story. He’s not very happy as you will see…

Anja’s soft, small hands curled into his fur, her hot tears scalded his skin, and Ethan growled his annoyance. He’d have liked nothing better than to tear that sorry excuse of a human male limb from limb. As satisfying as that would have been, he’d come to his senses mid-leap and angled himself away from the motherfucking bastard, earning himself a humdinger of a kick to his ribs. Temporarily winded, he was spared from further injury by Anja’s intervention and it meant Declan would live—for now. However, if Anja didn’t stop crying soon, Ethan would not be able to hold his wolf side back for long.

The cover of the Tamaskan dog served him well, but he was and always would be a wolf, and as such, every one of his senses had kicked in to protect the fragile woman whose scent had held him in thrall from the first minute she’d stumbled upon him outside the shelter. Hurt after a run-in with a gang of youths whose burglary attempt he’d interrupted, he’d sought shelter in the bin area. Anja had found him when she’d taken the trash out, and her immediate concern for his well-being had broken through all of his defensive walls in an instant.

Mary’s shelter was one of the few that allowed the homeless and their dogs in, but even Mary had balked at the suggestion that Mutt ought to be allowed in without an owner. He should have been offended at being called Mutt, but from Anja’s lips the usually derogative term sounded like a caress and he’d followed her meekly into the warmth of the shelter. He’d lost himself in the expressive jade pools of her feline eyes as she’d run her hands over his sides. She’d tucked the long tresses of her hair behind her ears in an impatient gesture he would always associate with her.

He curled himself around her now, his injured ribs already healing, and inhaled deeply. He would quite happily have stayed like this, but he needed to make sure she was okay. She clearly cared more for that bastard than she’d let on. He nudged his nose into her neck and exhaled. A shudder went through her slender frame and, encouraged by her response, he did it again until she giggled.

“Stop it, Mutt, that tickles.”

He nudged her again and showed his teeth in a wolf-like impression of a grin and her smile deepened.

“You know, sometimes you seem almost human to me, as though you understand exactly what I’m saying to you.”

He yipped once and nodded, making her laugh again. She brushed the remaining traces of her earlier tears off her cheeks and her expression sobered as she ran her hands along his flanks.

“He didn’t hurt you too much, did he? ‘Cause I swear if he did, I’ll knee him in the balls next time I see him. I knew he was a dick, but fuck it, he took that to new heights.”

“He certainly did, my dear.” Mary interrupted Anja’s quiet rant and she got to her feet. “This is none of my business, but a man with a temper like that…well you’re best off without him. I’d hate to see you get hurt, Anja. I mean, I got the impression he was a bit of a snob from what you let slip, but that was unacceptable and he is not welcome here again. We don’t need his sort around here.”

Anja’s short laugh spoke volumes, and Ethan licked her tightly curled fist in an effort to reassure her. She unclenched her hand and patted his head, causing his wolf to grin and lean into her. That animal of his was turning into a right sap, over a human no less.

***

For the Love of MuttBlurb:

A homeless shelter at Christmas may seem an odd place to find one’s soul mate, but love knows no boundaries – or does it?

Anja has grown fond of the wolf like dog hanging around the shelter. With her soon to be ex -boyfriend putting pressure on her, her canine friend proves to be more reliable than any human could ever be. If only he were more than just a dog.

Helping others is not always easy to do, unless Ethan can do so undercover. However, hiding your true self brings problems of its own. Finding a mate had not been in Ethan’s plan of action, but Anja’s easy acceptance of Mutt breaks through all of his defenses.

The problem is he is not what he seems and will his deception by proxy prove the end of them before they even have a chance at love?

 

Buy Link: http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=10&products_id=399&zenid=efqamhvml9jepl8g3mdrd6ffk2#.ULCvlodripA

Pinterest board:

http://pinterest.com/dorisoconnor/for-the-love-of-mutt/

Author Bio:

Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris… at least that’s what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.

There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.

She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.

Find Doris on the web here:

Website  Blog Twitter Facebook Pinterest

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Giveaway

I am giving away two copies of For The Love Of Mutt at the end of my blog tour.  Follow me on every stop and every comment will give you another entry into the draw—easy peazy  J

As well as the two main prices, one random commenter on each stop of my tour will receive an e-copy from my back list. Check it out here. Winners Choice!

Tour Stops Below:

10th December: http://adrianakraft.com/blog

11th December: https://kdgrace.co.uk

12th December: http://www.sizzlinghotbooks.net

13th December: http://smutters.co.uk

14th December: http://wowfromthescarfprincess.blogspot.com/

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Have a blessed festive season all of you!

Putting My Twist on What Makes Werewolves Hot by Annabeth Leong

Guest Blogger, , , , , , , , ,

Many thanks to K.D. Grace for hosting me here today! I’d like to use the space to talk about the process of putting my own stamp on the common trope of the werewolf.

The word “werewolf” conjures images of abandon, freedom, wildness, and ravenous appetites. It’s no difficult task to guess why werewolves have been such popular figures in erotic romance. When I think about what makes shifters hot, it’s that very present beast within.

What makes something popular, however, can also make it daunting. A Google search on “werewolf erotic romance” turned up more than 1.7 million results, for example. How can a writer possibly add something new?

I think the key is to find a personal point of connection.

Untamed, unbuttoned, uninhibited, completely uncivilized passion sounds sexy as hell to me, but I’m not the kind of girl who would have an easy time getting naked in the woods. I’m a rules-follower by nature, inclined to anxiety, and if I found myself in a secluded area with a hot shifter, I’d fritter away my makeout time by constantly checking for approaching park rangers.

This nervousness, it turns out, gave me a way to make werewolves my own.

Any time a paranormal story is set in something like the real world, the first task is to explain why we don’t all hear about werewolves all the time. In Not His Territory, I answered that question by pitting the anxiety I know all too well against the rugged image of a man who can become a beast. My werewolves are locked down by a rigid, legalistic Werewolf Council that spends all its effort checking for the proverbial park ranger.

My werewolves don’t shift because the full moon overcomes them. Instead, they get a “full-moon exemption” from the Council, which allows them to shift one night a month, with a 24-hour window before and after if life circumstances don’t allow observance at the technically correct time. As soon as I stumbled on that sort of detail, my story, conflict, and personal angle on werewolves fell into place for me.

My heroine needs the protection of the law, because she’s being stalked by a rogue werewolf who doesn’t care what rules he has to break to get to her. My hero embodies that law, but chafes from his own struggle against the wild nature he denies.

Writing about werewolves, for me, became a way of exploring obedience to the law. What are its limits? When is it wrong? When should instinct be trusted above reason?

Those questions grabbed me and felt personal to me. They made werewolves and all they represent specific enough for me to get hold of as a writer. And this process made me understand that one of the things I enjoy about reading werewolf story after werewolf story is seeing where other writers find their points of connection in turn.

Excerpt:

“Big Timber’s worse than we thought. I need a pack of enforcers down here. The local alpha’s gone rogue—he’s stalking his ex-wife. And I think he’s also the one who decided to welcome my bus. An unauthorized shifter caught up with me a block from the station and tore me half to shreds. If I hadn’t taken refuge, I’d have been killed.”

No reply came from the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Raul said.

Gabriel answered this time, starting with a long sigh. “I can’t just send enforcers, Raul. You know that. We have to follow procedures. You’re the investigator. Do your job. Bring back evidence, and I’ll get a team down there.”

“I believe in procedures as much as anyone else—”

“Then you understand why it’s vital to follow them. When we let go of proper process, we become beasts. We can’t afford that, no matter the cost.”

“Can you send backup investigators?” Raul tried.

“The rest of the team’s still dealing with that situation in Missoula.”

“This is way more serious. Missoula’s werewolves are only threatening to break council law. I’m sitting on a pile of full-scale violations.”

“The population in Missoula’s larger. It gets priority.”

Raul deliberately relaxed his fingers. He’d pop the phone in half if he didn’t watch out. Already, a fine layer of fur had sprouted on the back of his hand. He’d have to be careful or the claws growing on his feet would rip Chandra’s carpet. Nothing brought out the beast in him more than a good, long talk about “procedures,” no matter how much he believed in the order the council was trying to establish.

“I think we’re in real danger of this pack seceding from governance,” Raul said, hoping a few official-sounding words would get Gabriel’s attention. “They’re already acting like they’re running an independent region. How much longer before they make it official? We need to quash this before they ally with the other rebel packs down in Wyoming.”

“Investigate, Raul, and we will act as quickly as we can.”

Damn. His legs were getting hairy too. Raul took a deep breath, counting slowly as he did. “The ex-wife is in danger, I think. Can I at least send her to Lewistown for protection?”

“Not without evidence.”

“The pack alpha’s claiming her house as his territory against her will. Can that claim even stand?”

“Don’t get involved in anything more than we asked you to, Raul. You can put the information about the ex-wife in your report.” Gabriel’s voice never wavered, remaining as urbane as ever.

At least one person in this conversation is having no trouble holding back his primal nature.

If Raul hadn’t seen the man shift at full moon, he’d wonder if Gabriel was a real werewolf at all.

 

Not His TerritoryBlurb:

After a devastating encounter with an illegally shifted werewolf, a wounded Raul Silva slumps on Chandra Williams’s doorstep, begging for refuge. As an investigator for the legalistic Werewolf Council, Raul’s been sent to look into instability in the local pack. Chandra’s presence makes him want to succeed at his mission for personal — not professional — reasons.

The Werewolf Council disapproves. Chandra is strictly off-limits for Raul according to both the traditions and laws of the werewolves. But after a life devoted to upholding principles, Raul’s instincts and desires are boiling to the surface. Can Raul resist Chandra, or will he break with everything he stands for to pursue a woman who is not his territory?

Available from:
Breathless Press
Amazon UK
Amazon US
All Romance eBooks
BookStrand

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Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors — dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. In addition to Not His Territory, Breathless Press published her werewolf story, “The Arcadian Cure,” in its Ravaged anthology. She particularly enjoys playing off myth, legend, fairy tales, and fantastic history. She believes passionately in freedom of speech, rights for people of all sexual orientations, and freedom of religion. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

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Contest:

Thanks for reading! I’m giving away a PDF copy of Not His Territory to one reader of this post. Simply leave a comment answering the following question:

What do you personally like most about werewolves?

You have until Dec. 3 to respond. Please leave your email address in the BODY of the comment, so I can contact the winner. For more chances to win, check out the other stops on my tour: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/annabeth-leong/