Eve Langlais ~ New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of romance, fantasy and more.
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Taming My Human

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Book Cover: Taming My Human
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Part of the The Dragocracy Chronicles series:
  • Training My Human
  • Serving My Dragon
  • Taming My Human

Can a loner be the hero they need?

Being a grumpy ex-soldier means I like being alone. What better place for solitude, far from home and bad memories, than a remote chalet in Italy? Peace and quiet, just what I need to write my next book. You know what they say about best laid plans, right? Somehow I end sheltering a single mom on the run with her kid—and a talking lizard.

How the hell did that happen?

Guess being ornery doesn’t mean I lack a heart because I end up offering them refuge.

Nicky and her toddler, escaping an abusive situation and looking for a fresh start.

Percy, the reptile who turns out to be a dragon and needs constant feeding and protection.

For some reason, they trust me. Me, the man who can’t even sleep through the night.

Then again, who else better to safeguard than a man who’s not afraid to act? I might have retired from action, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to track down the enemy and make them pay.

If you dare to threaten those I care about, I promise, it will be the last thing you do.

* * *


Lucky me, I’ve found not one but two humans to serve me. Although the big male will take some taming before he shows me the proper respect. But I think he’ll be worth the effort. After all, when I need him most, he risks his life without hesitation. As he should. Because after all, there is no one more important than me.



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Available on: 2026-01-08
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
dark humor, killer hero, Paranormal Romance, single mom
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Abaddon’s narrow gaze fixed with irritation on the gray-haired man hunched over his computer. Name of Malone, the doctor had mistakenly thought he could control and even experiment on dragons. The nerve! He’d since been taught the error of his ways and now found himself a prisoner.

A prisoner that still lacked respect.

Despite being captured and forced to work for Abaddon—the greatest dragon in the world—the wretched scientist persisted in being surly, uncooperative, and just plain annoying.

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For example, despite Abaddon’s demand for a full list of volcanoes that had been tampered with—unnaturally forced to erupt—Malone avoided giving a direct reply. Instead, he posed his own question. “Why would you want to know about the cones that failed to react to the protocol?” In other words, volcanoes that didn’t blow their top. Malone also fell back on, “Why waste your time checking out the places that didn’t produce a dragon?”

Because Abaddon wanted to be sure no eggs had hatched. The fact Malone and his subordinates hadn’t detected a dragon at these supposed failed attempts didn’t mean one of his kind hadn’t emerged from its shell. And even if the suspected dragon hadn’t matured, Abaddon still wanted it. A collection of potential rivals had some appeal.

“Stop being difficult and hand over the locations of the volcanoes you tampered with,” Abaddon commanded.

“Or what? Kill me and you won’t get any answers.”

Nostrils steamed as irritation boiled within, fueling a belly full of flames. How easy it would be to incinerate Malone into a smoldering pile of ash. However, Abaddon had to restrain himself because, while annoying, the man with the silvery temples held a veritable treasure trove of knowledge in his head. Pity cracking open his skull and slurping his brains wouldn’t transfer that information. It had been tried to no avail in the past.

“You seem to forget I can make your life unpleasant,” Abaddon pointed out.

“It already is, so you can stop with the threats. Why don’t you go bother Leo? He’s the one who paid for the operation,” a surly Malone reminded without even turning to look at him. Such disregard for Abaddon’s royal presence.

Ah yes, Leo. A man who’d initially been partnered with Malone in their quest for hatching dragons. He’d since been shown the error of his ways. Once Leo met Abaddon—and narrowly missed being turned into a crispy kebab—he couldn’t fawn hard enough, or as Abaddon’s first servant, Pip, liked to say, “He’s got his nose shoved so deep up your ass, it’s a wonder he can breathe.”

She did have a point, even if her delivery lacked eloquence. Leo worshipped dragons. Would do anything to serve, including signing over his home, property, and wealth. Because of Leo’s bestowal, Abaddon now owned a sizeable hoard, even if he couldn’t actually touch it. The modern world relied quite a bit on virtual currency, as opposed to more concrete items like the gold and jewels dragons usually preferred.

“You know very well Leo can’t access the files since you slapped a password on them,” Abaddon grumbled. The man had appeared shocked—and cursed quite a bit—when he tried to show Abaddon all he and Malone had discovered only to find himself locked out.

“Did I?” Malone quipped, his tone slightly mocking.

Teeth gnashing did little to stem Abaddon’s irritation. “One day, I’m going to forget the fact you’re a brilliant scientist and eat you.”

The comment finally had Malone half turning to offer a hate-filled glare. “I hope you choke on my bones when you do.”

Given the fruitlessness of the conversation, Abaddon left Malone chained to his desk—quite literally, since the man couldn’t be trusted. There’d been incidents, such as the time he tried to flood the habitat which, due to some built-in safety protocols, would have forced open all the doors.

The untrustworthy doctor would be unshackled and removed from the lab around dinnertime, when Maddox or Pip would relocate him for the rest of the night to his cell, a simple room with only the basics. Cruel? Not really, given Malone had initially planned to imprison Abaddon and experiment on him.

Again, Abaddon couldn’t believe the utter gall of a human thinking they could poke and prod a dragon by force. Meanwhile, had Malone politely asked and explained he wanted tissue samples and measurements to better understand a dragon’s greatness, Abaddon might have agreed. After all, he, too, was curious about what particular characteristics were unique to his kind.

As Abaddon trudged from the lab on four mighty paws, his girth barely fitting through the door frame, he ran into Pip. Dear, sweet Pip. His very first servant. A human woman in her third decade with silvery hair and artwork inked all over her body. She could be mouthy, but he forgave it because she always spoke honestly and had proven herself loyal.

“Hey, Big Fella,” she said, greeting him with his new nickname since he’d finally grown sizeable enough that using the word “little” would have been an insult. “Glad I found you. You’ve got someone waiting to chat on video.”

“Who?” he asked with casual nonchalance even as excitement filled him. He only ever received calls from one particular individual.

“It’s your girlfriend,” Pip sang, giving him a wink.

“Pollita is not my girlfriend,” Abaddon huffed. Although, she was currently the top contender for future maternal progenitor when he decided to fertilize some eggs. She was also the only other dragon in existence, that he knew of, and she currently lived in South America, a whole continent away. Not that distance mattered. Already he could fly vast stretches without rest.

Soon, very soon, they would meet in the flesh.

“Whatever you say,” Pip chirped. “Anyhow, your not-girlfriend is on the big screen by your chaise.”

“I guess I should see what she wants,” was his nonchalant reply as he made his way over to said seat. Abaddon’s current location, an underground complex of vast size, had been originally meant to serve as a luxury prison—the luxurious part being against Malone’s wishes. The scientist had thought a simple large cell with restraints would be suitable, but Leo, who’d long loved and been obsessed with dragons, insisted on a more lavish space. Since Abaddon had captured Malone and converted Leo, it turned out the underground installation actually suited him better than the main floor of the ranch house overhead. The massive dome with branching chambers held everything Abaddon could need. Aerial perches. A stocked pond big enough for a growing dragon to float. Furniture meant to hold his increasing girth. Overhead, bay doors could slide open, allowing him to leave and stretch his wings in flight. It also gave him the opportunity to hunt. The land all around held abundant wildlife as well as herds of goats, cattle, and sheep.

Not wanting to appear too eager, Abaddon took his time strutting to the well-stuffed chair that offered a comfortable seat for a dragon his size. Almost as big as a bull, he’d been eating well since his hatching. Even better of late, now that he could truly hunt larger specimens. As a result, he’d been shedding often as his flesh expanded.

Upon seating himself on what he liked to think of as his throne, Abaddon allowed his gaze to settle on the large, suspended screen displaying the female, Pollita. She appeared quite fetching, her growth not as drastic as his—a female trait—but she’d been maturing. Just look at those sexy nubs pushing up from the crown of her head.

“Hey, Abba,” she crooned upon seeing him. It should be noted, only she got away with that ridiculous shortening of his chosen name.

“I assume there is a reason for your call.” Dragons didn’t play around with words like humans and tended to jump right to the point.

“I was bored,” she admitted. “It’s been storming the past few days.”

“Afraid to get wet?” he teased.

“More like everything yummy is hiding. The only good thing about this weather is I’ve been charging up on all the lovely lightning bolts,” she admitted. While Abaddon possessed the gift of fire—the kind that could melt almost anything—Pollita inherited that of electricity.

“It’s still cold here. The snow’s now several feet deep all over.” Apparently, winter would last a few more months. Just his luck to be hatched in a country that spent half the year suffering from frigid temperatures.

“I can’t wait to visit you. I’m so tired of doing nothing.”

“Dragons aren’t supposed to do anything. That’s what servants are for,” he reminded.

“My humans have been catering to my every need. Even the ones I didn’t know I had. It’s making me feel quite useless,” she grumbled.

Abaddon masked his expression to hide his jealousy. His own retinue remained rather sparse given the fact Pip thought they needed to be discreet about who learned about his existence. Pollita, on the other claw, had lucked out. Her first servant, a Peruvian named Mathias, came with a rather large family who’d been eager to pledge devotion to Pollita. “What is it exactly you wish to do?”

“Something. Anything!” Pollita exclaimed. “I want a meaningful task. Something that will advance us towards our goal of world domination.” A feat all dragons strove for.

“We’ve already begun the steps,” he reminded. They’d been investing their wealth in something called stocks, a way to apparently gain control of human industries. With enough ownership came power, with power came influence, with influence came the eventual revelation that dragons existed. Once that secret was unveiled, they would begin the conversion of the population from obeying human mismanaged governments to dragon rule. Or as he liked to call it, Dragocracy.

“I know we have, but it’s such a slow and utterly dull process,” she lamented, pouting prettily, not something he was used to seeing from the usually happy dragoness.

His muzzle pursed. “You haven’t shed recently.” He pinpointed the real reason for her discontent. Hormones.

“No, I haven’t,” she sulked. “I don’t understand. I’ve been eating so well and yet it’s been weeks since my last molt.”

“It’s coming,” he promised. “Females have ever been slower to grow.”

“So unfair,” Pollita grumbled. “Here you are, hatched after me, and yet look at you. Much larger already.”

She’d noticed? He casually expanded his chest. “Your growth will come.”

A sigh huffed from her, the heat of it momentarily misting the camera. “I know. I’m just impatient. On to other matters. Have you had any luck with the locations of the other eggs from our spawning?”

According to Leo, who’d uncovered some ancients scrolls, their maternal progenitor had allowed a human scribe to note where she’d dropped her eggs. Although “note” was being generous. The clues left behind were vague, saying things such as “where the mountains rise and touch the clouds” and “overlook a lake with serpentine creatures”. It didn’t help that it had been eons since those references had been penned and the landscapes that once might have seemed distinctive had changed.

“Leo’s been working on the clues and has come up with some possible locations.”

“As have my servants,” Pollita interjected. “But we won’t know if their theories are correct until we find an actual egg.”

“Hence why I’ve begun a subtle effort to recruit people to scout those locations.” So subtle, Abaddon didn’t have anyone yet, but he wasn’t about to let Pollita know that he’d been lax about forming a scouting team.

“You really think a human can tell a dragon egg from a regular rock?” she scoffed.

“Probably not. Most likely, once I get to be a proper size, I shall go hunt for them myself.”

“Destroy the competition before it hatches. A wise plan of action if this were another time. Given the way humans have exploded population-wise, we might need allies.”

“Allies that will later require elimination if we’re to rule the world,” Abaddon countered.

“Are you scared of competition?” Pollita purred.

“No,” he blurted. As if he’d lose.

“What of the scientist Malone? Have you eaten him yet for being insubordinate?”

“He lives. For the moment. He thinks himself clever for refusing to divulge which volcanoes he attempted to ignite. However, Pip has a hacker who’s been working on his encrypted files. Once they’re cracked, we will know everything.”

“Do you think we’re the only ones who hatched through his machinations?” she asked.

“He seems to think those other attempts failed.” But then again, Malone had also thought Pollita dead, and look how wrong he’d been about that.

“My servant, Juan, has been using his connections to get a list of all the volcanoes that erupted in the past few years. Of those documented, six were unexpected and could have been induced by your Malone.”

“If you want to send me what he’s found, I can have Leo compare those locations to see if by any chance their descriptions match our clues.”

“Excellent idea,” Pollita stated, and he almost preened at the praise. “I’ve also had some of my other servants combing the internet for any stories of mysterious flying creatures or an uptick in the loss of herds in areas of eruption.”

“Good thinking,” he complimented. Beautiful and smart.

Pollita half turned as if she heard something. “Time for me to go. They just rang the dinner bell.”

“Before you do…” He lowered his voice. “I figure another few months and I’ll be able to plot a course to visit. That is, if you would like to meet still.”

Her teeth gleamed as she replied, “I would like that very much, Abba.”

It took all his fortitude to remain stoic rather than give in to giddiness. “Like you, I must go now. Important matters to attend.”

They ended the call and he allowed himself a loud bugle of excitement.

“Someone’s happy,” Pip noted, having returned.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he fibbed even as he fairly vibrated with anticipation. “Open the doors. I need to hunt.” And feed. And grow. Because a certain female dragon waited for him.

Best he cement that alliance before she discovered he’d told a lie. Despite him asking her to send a list of activated volcanoes her servant had sniffed out, he already knew of them. One in particular happened to be a name Leo recognized. “I remember Mount Amiata. It was the first one we tried to erupt, only nothing really happened other than heightened underground seismic activity. Malone was so pissed.”

Leo and Malone had assumed that the lack of the top blown off the mountain meant their attempt to hatch a dragon failed. After all, increased magma wouldn’t matter if the egg wasn’t anywhere near a lava flow. But… what if an egg did crack and its occupant perished because it never found its way to the surface? Or worse, what if it built up its strength while remaining hidden inside the mountain?

There could be another male out there who would become competition for Pollita’s attention. The very thought had him steaming.

She’s mine. Because dragons didn’t share.

Chapter 1

The curser blinked repeatedly and I wanted to punch it. I didn’t appreciate the way it kept mocking my inability to type anything of worth.

My editor expected a finished manuscript before the end of the month. In her defense, I’d had two years to write it. Two years of struggling to find the words. It didn’t help I’d spent most of them drunk. The bottle became my best friend after my wife left me for another dude, but even more traumatizing, she took my dog, Buster. I still missed that big goof even as I stalked her social media and saw him living his best life, playing fetch.

With another man.

The betrayal bit deep.

To escape it all, and with my deadline rapidly approaching, I’d recently fled the USA and temporarily relocated to a spot close to Mount Amiata in Italy. Drastic, I know, but my editor had a friend with a friend whose cousin owned a chalet that wasn’t usually rented in the winter since its remote location made it difficult to reach once the snow started falling.

The privacy—and absence of triggering memories, such as the couch where Buster and I used to snuggle—suited my needs even if I didn’t have use of the extra bedrooms it came with. Situated a fair distance up a mountain and reached by a sketchy, narrow, single-lane road, the chalet possessed a basic kitchen, which matched my cooking skill. The living room with a fireplace meant exercise in the form of splitting logs—and yeah, I’d been swinging that ax plenty since I’d kicked myself off the booze. And when I worked myself sore, there was a hot tub for soaking while enjoying the view. No neighbors equaled no distractions. As for my liver? It got a break since the nearest bar required me to drive. Even I knew better than to drink and drive, because despite my shitshow of a life, I didn’t want to die.

Should have been the perfect place to put my fingers to the typing grindstone.

Nope.

I fucking hated it. Never thought myself a social guy until I literally had no one to talk to. It should be noted that when I lived in the city, I rarely spoke to anyone, but I could have. If I’d wanted to.

And here I was, procrastinating again. I stared at the screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard, once more cursing myself for choosing to become a writer. At the time, recovering from being injured in the line of duty—with a leg that never fully healed from the shrapnel despite the surgeries and rehab—I needed something to keep my mind busy. It had been my therapist who’d suggested I begin journaling as a way to work through what I’d experienced. I thought it dumb, and yet, I tried it, writing down what I remembered but from the perspective of a third party, as if I watched what had happened from the outside. It didn’t help the nightmares, but I found myself enjoying the soothing nature of putting into words some of the things I experienced. Given the private nature of a journal, I spilled every thought and emotion into it, never expecting anyone to read it.

My now ex-wife stole what I wrote and sent it in to an editor she knew. When she told me, I was pissed. So very, very pissed, until the publishing house made me an offer with a crazy number of zeroes attached. For a guy struggling to maintain a household and his dignity on a disability check, the contract they offered felt like winning the lottery. That first book made me enough I forgave my ex and embarked on a new career.

Five years later and I could claim without arrogance that I was good at it. Who knew my gritty times in the field and trenches would have an audience? Avid readers were patiently—and not-so-patiently, according to various DMs and emails—waiting for the next book in my ongoing series, Sniper Behind the Lines, featuring a better version of my ornery ass, Brett Maverick. Given I couldn’t talk about most of my missions without being arrested for treason, I had to make changes to ensure the stories were fictional. However, I knew enough and had seen enough that scenarios proved easy—usually—to develop. Then there were the sensory details I could relate. How the grit of the Middle East clung to the skin and tongue, the feel and weight of the rifle, the way I’d sink into a trance as I lined up a shot, the adrenaline of battle. According to reviews, I knew how to suck a reader in and make them feel as if they were actually there.

Seeing as how my last two novels hit the bestseller lists, the pressure mounted to produce a sequel that wouldn’t suck. Hard to do when I just wanted to wallow in my misery.

My high school sweetheart, who’d seen me through all the physio sessions and held me when I woke shouting from nightmares, suddenly decided—after I found fame and fortune—that she wanted a different man. One without a bum leg. One who liked to dance. A guy who could give her kids. In other words, someone who wasn’t broken.

I shoved away from the desk as self-pity overwhelmed.

Fuck me. I wanted a drink so bad, but I’d intentionally left booze off my weekly deliveries, and the two times I’d gone to town I’d avoided the temptation to buy a bottle. Because one bottle led to two, and next thing I knew I’d find myself pissing in the most inappropriate places. Apartment building vestibule. My own fucking shoe by my front door.

Not cool.

Despite that, I craved the mindlessness that came from lots of alcohol. Maybe a dip in the hot tub would relax my ass. I needed to clear my head so the words could flow.

Throwing on a robe, with my feet loosely shoved into my boots, I headed out to the deck with its awesome view of Mount Amiata. Located in the Tuscany region, the long dormant volcano was a popular spot for hiking in the spring, summer, and fall, and skiing in the winter. A winter that started out slow until after the New Year. Within the last week, a layer of snow had fallen and covered everything in a blanket of white. Pretty but cold. With its arrival, just about every rental and hotel in the area was about to get booked solid. I didn’t have to worry, though. I had this place for as long as I needed since the owner didn’t usually rent during the winter months because of the difficulty getting to and from the chalet.

Given I didn’t have to worry about being seen, I stripped naked and sank into the hot tub, my muscles immediately relaxing in the bubbling, hot water. Sigh. I did enjoy this particular amenity. It eased the almost constant ache in my leg. It had me thinking of buying one for my place. The house I’d gotten to keep in the divorce. The place that killed me with memories every time I walked in the door.

I really should sell. Get myself some place new. One bedroom, since there would be no kids. Or maybe two, so I had a place to put my hot tub and sauna. I’d have asked my therapist what he thought, only I didn’t trust him anymore since he’d gotten together with my ex.

He’d almost died for it. I’d had the doctor in my scope’s sights a few nights as I lay on the roof of the building adjacent to his condo. My finger had tensed on the trigger, but in the end, I couldn’t kill Gary. Yeah, he was banging Elodie. Yeah, he was the one Buster now pissed on in excitement when he got home from work. But what would killing Gary do? It wouldn’t change the fact Elodie didn’t want my broken ass and I couldn’t exactly keep Buster with me in a jail cell.

I’d ended up being the bigger man. I let him live. And got drunk to numb the pain. A pain that never ended. Or was it the loneliness killing me? Either way, I would never escape. My leg would never fully heal, couldn’t with the missing chunk. As for ever finding love again? Why bother even trying when Elodie, a woman I’d loved for seven years, left because I wasn’t man enough anymore?

God, I wanted a drink.

No drink. Think of your abused liver.

Fuck my liver.

You need a clear head to write.

Fuck the story.

You’ll be fucked if you don’t turn it in.

I had two months. If I could do even a measly thousand words a day, I’d have a manuscript. Now, I just needed an idea. Something to lighten the darkness that kept creeping into the few chapters I’d struggled to spit out already.

What could I do to my hero, Brett, to give the book the flair I was known for? As one reviewer put it: For such a serious subject matter, Mr. Milner manages to inject a lighthearted repartee that keeps it from being depressing. Funny how I could that in books, just not real life.

My head tilted back, my eyes closed, and I relaxed. Until I heard a splash.

What the fuck?

I jolted upright and stared at the bubbling water. I was alone, so what fell in the tub? No trees overhung the spot, so not a nut or branch. I stood to look, but the frothing from the jets made it impossible to see anything below the surface. A press of a button and the motor went quiet, the only sound the occasional pop as the wood that kept the tub warm burned. The liquid settled and the lights on the inside of the tub showed me who’d jumped in.

Or should I say, what?

As if sensing my regard, the cat-sized creature rose from the bottom, the top of its head emerging first, then its big eyes, followed by its snout. Definitely a reptile. I might have thought I hallucinated, only I remained sober. No drugs for the pain. No booze. Nothing to explain the lizard eyeing me with a hint of caution. Had my drinking finally caught up to me and addled my mind?

I blinked but the lizard remained. I rubbed my hand over my bristled jaw. “Well, fuck.”

What to do?

Nothing. I wasn’t about to wrestle a reptile that size while naked.

I exited the tub and grabbed my terrycloth robe. As I wrapped it around my shoulders and slid my feet into my boots, I glanced at my scaly guest floating in the hot water. “Enjoy. I’m going back to work.”

Because miracles of all miracles, I had an idea. My hero, Brett, was about to get himself a reptilian sidekick.

COLLAPSE
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My Boyfriend Marks Trees

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Book Cover: My Boyfriend Marks Trees
Find a StoreApple BooksGooglePlayBarnes and NobleKoboAmazon/KindleAudiobook
Part of the A Moonstruck Mating series:
  • My Girlfriend is a Werewolf
  • My Boyfriend Marks Trees
  • My Boyfriend Bites
  • A Moonstruck Mating Books 1 – 3

For her, he’ll wear a leash.


Ares never planned on settling down, not with his secret. How can he explain why he turns furry on the full moon and likes to mark his territory? But he changes his mind when he meets Charlotte and her daughter at an outdoor market.

It’s Christmas time, and this single mom is just making ends meet however she is less than impressed when a handsome stranger tracks her down to share some holiday cheer. A good thing this tenacious wolf isn’t easily deterred. Ares sets out to win the heart of the woman who makes him want to howl.

Only, she’s not interested in a relationship.

Turns out Charlotte has her own secrets, and when her past comes hunting and threatening, Ares will do anything to keep them safe.
But when the snowflakes settle, will Charlotte be able to accept a man with wolfish charm?

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Published: 2024-11-28
Cover Artists:
Atra Luna's Book Cover and Logo Art
Genres:
fated mates, Holiday Romance, Holiday Romance, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, single mom, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Skree!

The brown squirrel with a white streak on top of his head—which Ares and his siblings had nicknamed Skippy—had plenty to say about Ares sawing the tree.

So did his wolf.

One bite and it will be quiet.

His reply to his furry other half? You know how I feel about ingesting raw meat in this form.

I’ve seen how you eat your steak.

Difference is steak isn’t covered in hair and is delicious.

On that, at least they agreed.

“Sorry, little fellow, but this sucker is slated for the market,” Ares told Skippy. The entire field had been originally started by his dad more than two decades ago. When his father passed, Ares took over the planning and maintenance of the fir, spruce, and pine trees that people coveted for the holiday season.

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The worst part of the squirrel’s harangue? It didn’t even have a nest in that particular fir. None in the other three it freaked out about, either. It would seem Skippy had claimed the entire field as his own.

Ares crouched and continued sawing.

Grack. The agitated squirrel yelled before it dumped snow on Ares’ exposed neck.

“Bloody hell!” He rolled to his back and gave it a glare. The critter didn’t seem impressed, as it continued to harangue him.

Bullied by a rodent. The humiliation, his wolf lamented.

Honestly, more annoying than embarrassing. Ares bared his teeth and growled.

The squirrel proceeded to let loose a stream of pee, and Ares only barely managed to avoid getting drenched.

“Keep it up and I will eat you,” Ares warned. The squirrel gave him the critter equivalent of a “fuck you” and leaped to another tree, one better suited for the creature since it hadn’t yet reached the proper size for selling and Ares had no plans to take it down yet.

Once more, Ares crouched under the lowest boughs and finished cutting. Then, because there lurked a little boy inside him, he yelled, “Timber!” as it fell onto the frozen ground, puffing the thin layer of snow.

He got caught. His younger sister, Selene—who could sneak like nobody’s business—chirped, “For a second, I thought you might start singing that Timber song by Pitbull and Ke$ha.”

“Never. You know I don’t do that modern-pop shit,” he grumbled.

“Or Christmas music or anything with a fun rhythm,” his sister complained.

“I like the classics.” The classics being Kiss, Led Zeppelin, and AC/DC. He’d grown up listening to it because of his dad and found it more satisfying than anything put out today.

“You’re like an old man stuck in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Not old, more like an enjoyer of the classics.”

“No wonder you’re still single. Maybe you should try hitting up the retirement homes. I’m sure someone there will appreciate your taste in music.”

“Ha. Ha. So funny. What’s up? Did you need something?”

“More like wondering if you need a hand at the market?” she asked.

“Depends. Are you going to complain it’s cold and wander off buying everything in sight while I do the work?”

Selene’s cheek dimpled as she smiled. “Probably. But I wanted to be polite and offer.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just about done loading the truck, and the site is already prepped.”

“Sounds like Skippy is not happy with you,” Selene remarked as the squirrel dangled from a branch and shook a fist while chattering.

“Skippy needs to find another grove of trees to claim.”

Selene giggled. “I think it’s a game to him. Every year, you two have the same fight.”

They did. And every year his wolf wanted to eat Skippy. It should be noted, on the full moon, when he did run on four feet and in fur, his wolf didn’t come near Skippy’s field, nor did he eat squirrels, although he did like chasing them up trees.

“You and Mom ready for your trip?”

“Yes!” Selene clapped her mittened hands. “The countdown is on. You sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Ares had scored a last-minute cruise deal for his mom and sister that he informed them about early since it was their Christmas present.

“But you’ll be all alone for the holidays.” Selene’s perpetual smile drooped.

“Hardly alone. Athena will be around, and I’ve got an invite to spend Christmas Eve and Day with the Kennedys.” Athena’s new boyfriend, Derek, came with a set of grandparents that, while slightly crazy—and no he didn’t exaggerate, they had a full-on apocalypse-ready bunker and enough ammo to start a war—were actually pretty fun to be around.

Good treats, was his wolf’s addition.

“I’m a little jealous. Grams is probably going to have the best feast.” Selene rolled her eyes and smacked her lips. “Those sugar tarts she sent over were divine.”

“I wouldn’t know. You ate them all.”

“You snooze, you lose,” she sang.

“You ate all twelve before I even got home from work,” he complained.

“Oops. Anyhow, since you don’t want my help, I’m going to pop out for a bit. Got a few bunnies to deliver.” His sister raised rabbits both for chasing and selling to restaurants. Mom was the honey and pie queen, whereas Ares, who worked as a mechanic, spent his spare time crafting cheese and growing Christmas trees. Only Athena chose a job that didn’t involve the farm, working as a lab tech.

With a cheerful wave, Selene skipped off, a happy woman despite the recent trauma of being kidnapped by a mad doctor who wanted to announce to the world the fact they were werewolves—as in, all three siblings changed on the full moon into four-legged furry beasts.

A good thing Selene came out of it unscathed, or Ares would have found a way to kill the doctor a second time. Don’t mess with his family.

Ares twined the last tree before loading it with the others. He’d have to hustle. The market would be opening shortly. At least he didn’t have too far to go. Arnprior and the church hosting the holiday fair was just a short ride away from the family farm in Calabogie.

The parking area bustled with some vendors setting up outdoors, while others were inside the church with their tables. Ares had a section already roped off, and it didn’t take long to throw up his sign, Christmas Trees for Sale, with the pricing by height. Then he lay the bound trees against the sawhorses he’d set up the day before. In the past, Ares used to allow people to come and choose their own tree at the farm. However, there’d been too many incidents with idiots who didn’t listen to instructions and proved scary with an axe. Much better to provide them ready to go at the market. The quick and easy cash was for spoiling his mother and sisters. A little extra would come in handy as well, given Athena looked to be expecting a child with her firefighter boyfriend. Not that she’d announced it, but Ares smelled the change in her during their last moon run.

As Ares whirled from his leaning stack to grab another tree, he startled at the sight of a little girl eyeballing him, her cheeks rosy and framed by a woolen red hat. Her matching mittens clashed with her light blue snowsuit.

“Hi,” chirped the kid.

“Hey.”

“Your trees are squished,” she observed.

“They’ll fluff out nice once we undo the twine.”

The child cocked her head. “Mama says real trees are messy.”

“Sometimes, but they sure smell good.” Good enough he’d apparently pissed on them when he was little with no regard for the fact they sat in the living room. Drove his mom nuts, whereas dad always laughed and claimed, “Boy’s just marking his territory.”

“Greta, you better not be bugging that man,” a woman called out as she bustled over, her bright pink earmuffs holding back her dirty-blonde hair. She had smooth features, pink lips that matched her rosy cheeks, and bright brown eyes. Nice figure, too, the jeans hugging a curvy frame.

Mmm, she smells nice. His wolf approved.

“He has real trees, Mommy.” Greta pointed. “They’re squishy now, but he says they smell good and get fluffy. Can we have one?”

“We can’t get a tree this year, munchkin.”

The tyke’s lips turned down. “I know. ‘Cause we need food and not fri-vol-ussy things.”

Ares found himself tightening as the child inadvertently revealed the real reason they didn’t have one.

“One day, I’ll get you the biggest tree you ever saw,” the woman murmured as she crouched by the child.

“Okay.” Greta didn’t have a tantrum like some kids. She took it like a champ.

Mom leaned close to whisper, “I saw a snowman wandering.”

“Snowmen can’t walk,” snorted the kid.

“Well, this one is, and he has candy canes!”

“Oooh.” Greta glanced left and right before spotting the suited character. “I see him!” She bolted for the snowman with candy.

The woman rose. “Sorry if she disturbed you.”

“Nah, she was fine. Cute kid.”

Fine pup, wolf agreed.

“Precocious with no filter, you mean.”

His lips curved. “She is. She mentioned you guys don’t have a tree. Why don’t you take one, on the house?”

She eyed him, her expression suspicious at the offer. “I don’t need your charity.”

“Hardly charity. I already know I won’t sell all of these. Therefore, you taking one now saves me carting it back to my place.”

Her lips pursed. “While your offer is kind, I’m afraid I don’t have a way to get it to our place. But thank you.”

With that, the pretty woman turned, that sweet ass of hers mesmerizing—good enough to bite—and headed after her daughter.

Ares found himself glancing at the woman often as she strolled the Christmas market, not buying anything but managing to give her kid a fun afternoon that included face painting, a visit from Santa, and, of course, a fistful of candy canes. He even spotted her walking away, holding the tyke’s hand as they sang carols, not heading for a car but moving out of sight on foot. Probably lived in the area.

When Ares closed up, toting five trees back onto the trailer he’d used to haul them, he noticed a red mitten lying on the ground. A woolen one he recognized with a name stitched inside.

Greta Dawson.

The kid would need it with snow in the forecast and mom tight on dough.

With a tree over his shoulder, and the mitten in hand giving him a scent, he retraced their footsteps. He almost missed the turn onto a side street. His wolf didn’t, though.

They went that way.

He pivoted and kept strolling, wondering what he’d say. After all, she’d probably wonder how he found her. He couldn’t exactly say he had a super sense of smell. What would sound plausible, instead? It hit him then. He’d seen her filling out a giveaway ballot with the lady who knitted stuffed animals. With the last name on the mitten, he could have easily matched them up.

Excuse found just in time as his wolf huffed, Here.

The townhome, which probably had seen better years since it had been built fifty years ago, looked tidy compared to its neighbors. The walkway clear of snow and ice. A wreath, which had obviously been made by a child using colored construction paper, hung on the door. The front window glowed, highlighting the hand-drawn picture of Santa—with a toothy smile a wolf would envy—taped in it.

Ares knocked and stood waiting, slightly nervous. Blame the fact he’d never done anything so bold before, but he couldn’t help himself. He could claim he did a good deed returning the mitten, but in truth, he kind of wanted to see the kid’s mom again.

When the door flung open, the woman exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”

Ares held up the mitten. “I found this.”

Before the woman could reply, there was a blood-curdling scream from inside.

The woman turned and bolted inside the house.

Save the pup!

Ares didn’t think. He dumped the tree and followed.

Chapter 2

“What is it?” Charlotte yelled as she rushed to find her daughter. Greta stood on a kitchen chair and pointed.

“Ugly bug!”

“Seriously?” huffed Charlotte, only to recoil as she caught sight of it. The bug truly was a hideous thing with many legs and waving antennas. And it moved fast.

“Kill it!” screamed Greta. “It’s getting away.”

Charlotte hesitated. The idea of squishing it with her sock-covered foot had her cringing.

It scuttled in Charlotte’s direction, and she yelped before leaping onto a chair.

The bug knew it had them cornered and stopped between the chairs, wiggling all its nasty body parts.

Stomp. The Christmas tree man, who’d somehow managed to find her, took care of the bug, then apologized. “Sorry for barging in with my boots. I heard the kid freaking and didn’t think. Just kind of acted.”

Before Charlotte could order him out of her home, Greta literally threw herself at the man, who luckily caught her. Greta wrapped her legs around his torso and hugged him around the neck, crooning, “My hero!”

“Uh…” Tree Man stood there awkwardly, looking unsure of what to do.

“Greta, get down. You can’t just maul people. Remember, we talked about personal space,” Charlotte chided.

Her daughter leaned her head on his shoulder. “But he saved me and he smells good.”

“Greta!” She injected a warning tone.

Did munchkin listen? “He doesn’t mind, do you?” Greta turned her gazillion-watt gaze on him, and no surprise, he couldn’t escape the cuteness, as evidenced by the smile he returned to her.

“It’s fine. I’ve carried much heavier, and I’m always happy to rescue ladies in need.”

“Ladies.” Greta giggled. “I’m a little girl.”

“Yes, you are. And I think you forgot this.” He still held the red mitten, which Charlotte had thought lost since they arrived home with only one.

“Ooh. Thank you.” Greta snatched it and waved. “See, Mama, not lost.”

She rolled her eyes. “You got lucky. Now say thank you to the man and goodbye, as I’m sure he’s got somewhere else to be.”

“Does he have to go?” asked Greta, using her best pleading voice and big, big eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on intruding. Just delivering the mitten and one other thing.”

“What other thing?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.

“I brought you one of the leftover trees.”

Again, Charlotte had no time to reply because Greta squealed. “A tree! A real one! For me?”

“Yes, for you.” He laughed. “If you give me a second, I’ll bring it in.”

“I don’t know if you should,” Charlotte stiffly replied. “I don’t have anything for it.” Not a pot, or a stand, or even decorations.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.” He winked at Greta. “You let me know where I’m putting it.”

Pretty much anywhere, seeing as how they lacked furniture, the love seat in the living room being the only thing of size. Their small television sat on a battered dresser she’d grabbed from the curb on garbage day. Charlotte kept meaning to paint it.

Greta bounced and clapped in the small entryway. “Oh, Mama. Look. A tree. A real one. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

While Charlotte hated charity, and the fact this stranger had somehow found them, she wasn’t about to crush her daughter’s happiness. Time enough to put this man in his place. And if he tried anything… She wore a switchblade on her beltloop for a reason.

A woman couldn’t be too careful. Having been a survivor of violence, and hating that helpless feeling, she’d taken self-defense classes. She also went on YouTube and studied how to fight with more than just her fists. Because if he ever found her, she needed every advantage she could get.

“Where am I putting it, little princess?” asked the man as he returned with a tree much bigger than the scraggly remnant she’d expected.

“Right there. In front of the window.” Greta pointed.

“A most excellent spot. Let me park it here for a second, though, while I grab the stand. I’ll be a few minutes. It’s in my truck parked at the church.”

He must have jogged there and back because it took him less than five minutes to arrive with the stand. It proved to be a metal basin placed within a cube built of two-by-fours.

“How fortuitous you had all those things in your truck,” Charlotte drawled, not hiding her suspicion he’d carefully plotted his invasion of her home.

“Some people like the idea of a tree but don’t have the stuff to put it up. So I always make sure I’ve got a few stands and buckets just in case,” he tossed over his shoulder as he planted the tree in the contraption. “Fill the basin with water to keep it lasting longer. If it gets dry, the needles will start falling.”

“I’ll get some water!” Greta ran to the kitchen.

It gave Charlotte a chance to ask questions. “Exactly how did you find us?” Because she was unlisted for a reason.

“Once I found the mitten, Carrie, the lady doing the giveaway for a stuffie, kindly let me sift through the ballots to see if I could match the name. Didn’t find a Greta Dawson, but there was a Charlotte Dawson.”

A plausible explanation and more trouble than she’d have expected a man to go through just to return a mitten. What did he really want?

Greta returned with a bowl full of water, which slopped despite her careful steps. Charlotte used her socks to mop the spill rather than leave him alone in the room with her daughter.

The tree man helped Greta pour it in. “Okay, stand back now.” He pulled a knife, and Charlotte stiffened. The guy grinned at Greta. “Ready for the fluff?”

“Yesss.” Greta rocked on her heels with excitement.

The knife slashed the twine, and while it wasn’t a window-smashing event like seen in movies, the tree definitely exploded, branches springing out, bulking the tree.

“Oooh.” Greta’s eyes went wide, and Charlotte wished she could have been the one to bring wonder to her face. They just couldn’t afford anything more than rent and food right now. Given she couldn’t afford daycare, she could only work while Greta went to school or when the elderly neighbor next door watched Greta in exchange for Charlotte cleaning her house. She’d been scrimping just to make sure she even had a present for Greta on Christmas morning.

When they’d fled, it had been with nothing to their name. Charlotte hadn’t dared to hit her place to pack a suitcase of clothes. She’d left her furniture and life behind. Hightailed it clear across the country, from the Rockies to Ontario. She might have gone farther, only she had limited cash left by that point. Only enough to put down a first and last months’ rent. Hence why they stayed on the outskirts of Ottawa, in a small town called Arnprior, where a person who wasn’t too picky could rent a place that only took two weeks of pay to cover. The other two weeks went to food, which had gotten astronomical in price, plus essentials like clothes for a growing kid and a small emergency fund in case they had to run again.

Greta chatted with the man as he showed her how to fluff the branches. It was when he asked for paper and scissors, which sent Greta scurrying, that Charlotte crossed her arms and said, “What are you doing?”

“Bringing joy?” he offered with a crooked grin.

“Seriously?” She arched a brow. “Exactly what is your game? I have nothing to give you.”

“Not asking for anything.”

“I’m not putting out either. So if you’re expecting any favors because of that”—she pointed to the tree—“then you’ll be disappointed.”

His lips pursed. “I’m not that kind of man. Listen, I know this might be hard to believe, but I genuinely just wanted to spread some happiness. It’s how I was raised.” He stood and held out his hand. “It occurs to me that we’ve never properly met. I’m Ares McMurray, and before you think I’m lying or a serial killer, here’s my card.” He handed over a black-embossed business card with the title Ares Artisanal Cheese, a website address, and a phone number.

“You make cheese?” She couldn’t help sounding a little incredulous.

“Yeah. The best you’ve ever had,” he boasted. “But since it’s not exactly bringing in the big bucks, I also work at a garage.”

“How do I know this is real?”

“Google it. I’m legit. If you want, you can call my mom and sisters too. They’ll vouch for me.”

Greta returned, waving paper and scissors, the paper technically already used; one side had flyer info on it. Charlotte’s work had printed too many for a sale they were having, and rather than dump them in the garbage, she’d brought them home for arts and crafts.

“I gots it!” Greta squealed. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“Well, this tree is kind of naked, little princess. What do you say we give it some snowflakes?”

“Yesss.” Greta plopped down and watched as Ares joined her, showing her how to fold the paper accordion-style before trimming bits and pieces and then expanding it with a “Ta-da!”

“Pretty.” Greta fluttered it to the tree and draped it. “Let’s make another.”

“Your turn.” He guided Greta without touching, which Charlotte appreciated, and soon her munchkin had her own snowflakes on the tree.

It led to Charlotte murmuring, “I think we have some popcorn we can string too.” Might as well join in since the tree was staying.

An hour later and the tree had paper snowflakes, macaroni and popcorn garland, and Greta’s prized knock-off Cinderella princess sitting at the very top, courtesy of Ares, who finagled a way for her to stay up there. It was just missing lights, and her work had those for five bucks a strand. She’d just skip buying meat for a few days.

Greta rubbed her tummy. “I’m hungry, Mama.”

The late afternoon had turned into dinnertime, and Charlotte gnawed her lower lip because the right thing to do would be to invite Ares to stay for dinner, only the leftover casserole was barely enough for two.

“Why don’t you wash up, munchkin, and Mama will fix something.”

As Greta skipped out of the room, Charlotte’s cheeks heated as she mumbled, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t done groceries and—”

“No need to apologize or explain. I know I’ve overstayed my welcome, or should I say, barging in? You’ve got a sweet kid.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for not poking me with your knife. I know I kind of took you by surprise.”

Her eyes widened. So he’d noticed it. “Thank you for not being a psychopath.”

His lips curved. “Just a weird dude who sells Christmas trees and makes cheese. I should get going now. Mom’s usually got dinner on the table by six-thirty, and it will take at least a half-hour to get home.”

“You live with your mom?” It came out a little judgey.

“Me and my baby sister. We don’t like Mom being alone, especially since the farm always needs something done. My older sister, Athena, moved out, but she comes by often.”

A man close to his family. Sweet and rare these days.

Greta skipped back in and saw Ares putting on his coat. “You’re leaving?” Her lips turned down.

“Yeah. But I had a fun time. Thanks for letting me help decorate your tree.”

“You’re welcome. When are you coming back?”

“I’m not sure, princess. I think that will depend on your mom.”

Charlotte hadn’t been interested in any man since the sour experience with Greta’s dad, so it surprised when she muttered, “Maybe he can come back for dinner another time.”

The smile he beamed her way almost impregnated her. Her ovaries certainly did a little jiggle. Jeezus, no way was he single. Or if he was, definitely a player.

“I would love to come back for a visit. ‘Til next time, little princess.”

Greta threw herself at his legs and squeezed. “Bye, Ares.”

Charlotte saw him to the door and murmured, “Have a good evening.”

“You too, Charly.”

Wait, Charly?

She was still blinking at the nickname as he crossed the street to a pickup truck. Stared at his ass in his snug jeans and wondered why a man like him would even be interested.

At twenty-five, with a six-year-old, and a few pounds too many—"you fat cunt, you disgust me”—she had no illusions about how men saw her. Maybe he really just was a nice guy trying to spread joy.

Not that it mattered. She’d most likely never see him again. Still, she didn’t toss his card but stuck it to the fridge. After all, she did love cheese.

COLLAPSE
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Totally understandable because he can’t promise he won’t run off and do something stupid. He is, after all, a Jones boy, and Dumbass is their middle name.

Can a mixed-up man make a proud kitty love him again?

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Coming home doesn’t always solve things…but it does pave the way for second chances.

Take one deadly bite and, bam, a man’s life is changed forever, or so Caleb discovers when a loss of control leads to him joining the military and leaving everything behind.

Time goes by…years spent silent and alone, cut off from those he loves. Until it’s time to come back, a scarred veteran, in many ways broken and looking for a meaning to his life. Perhaps it's not too late to right some wrongs. Make amends. Kiss a certain pair of sweet lips one more time.

If only Renny would damned well let him.

It doesn’t take Caleb long to realize Renny’s just the thing this croc needs to bring him back to life. Yet, what if he loses control again? He doesn’t want to take nibbling on her thighs to a whole new level.

Too bad, he can’t stay away, especially not when he discovers her secret. Add in a strange creature stalking the townsfolk and there is no way he’s leaving her alone.

Years ago it just about killed him to leave, but Caleb’s a changed man now. A darker kind of animal, and this retired soldier is ready to kill so he can stay.

Welcome to Bitten Point, where the swamp doesn't just keep its secrets, it sometimes eats them.

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Published: 2015-12-03
Genres:
Paranormal Romance, Point Series, Shapeshifter Romance, single mom
Tags:
english
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