I’ve been waiting for this forever and it’s here!
Well. Not here here but still.
Till Surrender, my Paranormal/fantasy MM mash-up, is slowly making its way onto third party shelves after being sold exclusively by the publisher for the past three months.
Still debating if you should buy? No worries, I’m always up for a test drive. The first chapter of all my books are available for your reading pleasure off my website. Read it and I hope you like it enough to buy it.
A taste is below…
The key to his salvation is the one person he’s destined to love…and betray.
Tattooed half-breed, Takayo ‘Saint’ St. John, kills for the PSC with single-minded efficiency. He’s never questioned or failed his assignments…until he stares into the cornflower blue eyes of Ryken Valte, the man whose life he’s infiltrated under false pretenses. Harsh words and a cold shoulder isn’t enough to keep the distance between them, but Saint’s mission hangs over his head. His job is to kill the brother of the man he loves and he sees no way out of his predicament.
Ryken melts under the intense attraction between him and Saint, but the man keeps pushing him away, denying their connection. Ryken would give up everything, do anything to have Saint at his side and in his bed, but secrets bigger than them make it impossible. Ryken yearns for Saint’s surrender, but he’ll get more than he bargained for when dark forces neither comprehends return with a vengeance.
Five and a half hours later, Saint still hadn’t got any sleep, but he’d managed to rub a nut off in the shower. Not quite the same as a warm, wet mouth swallowing him, but he could hold on—barely, till he found a willing partner.
As the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, he stretched his legs out on the seat in front of him and read through the folder Remi had given him. He grinned when he saw his name remained the same. He didn’t technically exist, so they’d given him a brand new, and very violent background. Not too dissimilar from his real life, but the fake Takayo St John was all about honour and morality. Fighting for the greater good.
Ugh. Saint wanted to hurl. He already hated the new him. It was the perfect bait, though, to reel in the humans intent on making a move on the Council. He flipped back to the pages about his target.
Tall and lean, the fair-headed former professor of literature looked older than his thirty-eight years. He’d turned activist against all Para citizens after his wife and child were killed by leopard shifters.
Literally torn apart.
Saint winced at the gruesome pictures. Since his loss, the professor had become outspoken about his hatred for Paras, amassing a pretty considerable following. Before now, no one in the paranormal community had taken him seriously, deeming him harmless and grieving. Something had definitely changed. What though? That info wasn’t in the file, but several attempts had been made on Valte’s life. The man was in desperate need of a bodyguard, and who better to fill the role but fake Saint?
He’d be embedded with Nathan at his Texas compound until Remi gave him the go-ahead to off the professor. Saint didn’t do up close and personal, though there was a first time for everything. As a half-breed—part Para, part human—no one would have an idea a Para was in their midst unless Saint wanted them to. Unlike full-blooded Paras, he could pass for human any day of the week.
He paused at a photo of Nathan Valte with a younger man by his side. The other man’s face was averted, his attention off camera, but he’d been graced with the same light colouring, slight build and fair hair as the professor. If Remi’s info was anything to go by, this would be the professor’s baby brother, ten years younger, Ryken.
Saint stared at the younger Valte, wishing he could see his face clearly. A sense of familiarity flooded him as he practically willed the man to turn around, look into the camera. Stupid. Did he know Ryken Valte? Should he? His gut told him yes. Saint caressed the man’s face in the photo and the tattoos on his chest, arm and back came alive—writhing, burning his skin with each stroke of his finger.
“Fuck.” Sweat popped out on Saint’s brow. He flung the folder across the plane’s cabin and staggered to his feet. What the hell?