The Fairy Files

Stuff Your Stockings Blog Hop!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Sat, 17 Dec 2011 20:19:00 +0000

Update: The winner of the giveaway is Jessica K! Congrats! Thanks to everyone who stopped by and commented. You all rock!!

Happy Holidays, everyone, and welcome to the Stuff Your Stockings Christmas blog hop! I love this time of year, and I especially love giving away prezzies!! Up for grabs is a $10 eGiftcard from Samhain Publishing and an autographed Zombie Smuthound totebag from yours truly. All you need to do to enter is leave a comment telling me what you would most like to have stuffed in your stocking this year. Easy peasy. I'll draw a winner at the end of the blog hop and post it here, so be sure and check back to see if you've won.

And while I've got you here, did you know that you can download a FREE copy of That Voodoo You Do from Amazon and Barnes and Noble right now? The freebie is for a limited time, so be sure and grab your copy now.

Don't forget to click on the banner up there to move on to the next stop on the bloghop!

Cat Scratch Fever - ARC review copies & excerpt!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 02:13:00 +0000

I'll be sending out review ARCs for Cat Scratch next month. If you have a review blog, and/or post on GoodReads, Amazon, etc and would be interested in getting on the list for CSF, just shoot me an email here. Not sure if Cat Scratch Fever would be a good fit for you? Then check out the blurb and excerpt below:

Who says a wolf can’t make a pussycat purr?

Perfect timing has never been Lilly Prescott’s long suit. Seconds before a showdown with werewolf Dante Morgan, who owns a property that by rights should belong to her, she goes into heat. Not a simple event for a lynx shifter. No, she’s doomed to weeks of frustration that can only be soothed by frequent rolls in the hay—or her hand. Unfortunately, Dante accidentally witnesses the latter.

Left shaken and highly aroused in the snow, Dante can’t believe he’s attracted to the woman who drives him crazy, and not in a good way. Worse, his father has issued an ultimatum. Marry, or abdicate his place as pack leader. On the other hand, it’s the perfect leverage. Lilly will get her land…in exchange for a wedding ring and all the sexual satisfaction she can handle.

Marry Dante? No doubt he’s a poster boy for Hunks ’R’ Us, but he’s rude, arrogant and Lilly’s sworn enemy. Not to mention the thought of losing her independence is frightening as hell. When they find themselves falling victim to their own charade, though, it’s anything but hell. It’s heaven, and the last thing either of them wants. The real thing.

Warning: This book contains redneck werewolves, inconvenient hormones, and a whole new use for cat toys. Uncontrollable meowing may occur.

Excerpt

Hope Falls—the closest thing resembling a town in this Hicksville, USA wilderness—consisted of a post office, a grocery store and a bowling alley with a bar attached. The one and only time Lilly had ventured inside the bar, she’d witnessed a couple of local boys going at each other with bowling pins, proving once and for all that a fifth of Jim Beam, a full moon and redneck werewolves were a recipe for disaster.

She coasted into the grocery store’s parking lot and took the first cleared parking space she came across. Winding her scarf tight, she dashed toward the sliding doors. Inside the store, the PA system still piped Christmas music. Someone needed to tell the manager it was the freakin’ end of January.

She yanked a shopping cart from the corral—hopefully not the one that’d reveal a squeaky, uncooperative wheel somewhere around aisle four—and made a beeline for the pharmacy. The selection of vitamins and herbal supplements was woefully inadequate, but she managed to find two bottles of black cohosh. It worked for hot flashes—hopefully it’d help with her damn hormones. Of course, her metabolism would easily burn through both bottles by the end of the week. If things went well, she’d be long gone by then, with the deed to sixty prime acres in hand.

This mission meant everything. She’d be contributing to the advancement of the Lynchat Foundation by single-handedly acquiring the property necessary for building their private retreat. Plus, Kinsey would be forced to eat crow and admit sometimes baby sisters knew a thing or two about wheeling and dealing. That alone was worth all those tense, unpleasant encounters with Dante Morgan.

Well, maybe not all of them.

Her cheeks burning, she recalled the unmistakable bulge tenting the fly of Dante’s jeans as he lay sprawled in the snow earlier. Great, heat was the last thing she needed her body manufacturing more of. She clutched the shopping cart’s handle and wheeled around the corner of the aisle. Her cart bumped noses with another cart exiting the canned-goods section.

“They should consider putting traffic signals in this place.” Lilly’s smile froze in place when the opposing cart’s owner leaned into view.

Dante Morgan propped an arm against the end rack of canned tomato sauce, his biceps appearing impossibly huge within the confines of his blue-and-white flannel shirt. His full, masculine lips lifted in a faint grin, bringing attention to the dimple barely discernable beneath his dark, neatly trimmed goatee. “What’s the matter, Lilly? Cat suddenly got your tongue?”

Like she hadn’t heard that one from him a few dozen times before. Digging deep to steady her nerves, she gave him her most haughty expression. “Using the same lame joke more than once is pathetically unimaginative.”

“Oh, I’ve got a ripe imagination. I just don’t waste it on useless small talk.” Dante’s gaze dipped, lingering on the slight thrust of her breasts under the baggy parka, before drifting lower. “Then again, there’re some things I don’t exactly have to imagine.”

Awareness, hot and dizzying, ricocheted through her. Yeah, she’d have to be blind not to acknowledge he was a gorgeous, sin-on-stick male, but she’d never really thought of him in a blatantly sexual way before today. Well…mostly not. The fact he was an egotistical, chauvinistic werewolf with a major alpha complex usually made it easy to overlook his limited charms—namely his hot bod.

So what made today different?

Hormones. Wrinkling her nose in self-disgust, she attempted to edge her cart past Dante’s. He stubbornly remained blocking her, and she shot him a glare. “Do you mind? I’d like to finish my shopping.”

His gaze flicked down to her cart. “You plan on staying long?”

She easily read between the lines. “What you mean is will I hound you to death while I’m here, and do you have any prayer of making a quick getaway? The answer is yes and no. Respectively.”

Irritation mixed with resignation in Dante’s dark eyes. “Don’t waste your breath. I have no intention of selling.”

“Would you stop being so bullheaded? Unloading sixty measly acres won’t kill you.” Cripes, the guy owned close to a thousand. How greedy could one person be?

His eyebrows slashed low. “No, but having a shitload of feminist lynchats invading my land will.”

“Is that your problem? You’re afraid of females?” Lilly knew she was needling the big bad wolf, but she couldn’t help herself.

Dante’s lips curled upward, revealing gleaming white incisors. “You’ve got it wrong, baby. I’m all about the ladies.”

The sight of that wicked, predatory grin almost did Lilly in. A tickle started low in her belly, and she grabbed the nearest bottle of black cohosh and wrestled the lid off. Ignoring Dante’s amused gaze, she popped several of the tablets in her mouth and gulped them down dry. She made a face when the god-awful taste didn’t immediately dissipate. “I’ll stop by your house after I drop off my groceries. We can discuss negotiations then.”

He rumbled a low growl. “We’re not negotiating anything.”

“Look, either you deal with me, or the two-hundred-plus lynchats who’ll descend on your property after I make a few well-placed calls.” Lilly cocked an eyebrow in challenge. “Choice is yours.”

A vein visibly throbbed in Dante’s forehead. “Be there by six, damn it.”

Dante slammed the sack of groceries on the kitchen counter, toppling the salt and pepper shakers in the process. He glanced down and caught Chevy’s eager expression. “Boy, you’ve got some nerve begging for treats after the stunt you pulled this morning.”

Chevy’s tail thumped.

“You really have no shame, do ya?” Snorting, Dante pulled the package of jerky from the sack and ripped it open. The loose floorboard outside the kitchen entrance creaked, and he turned as his cousin Shane sauntered inside the room.

“You talking to that mutt again? Think it’s a sign you need a wife.”

A grunt snuck from Dante. “Jesus, you’re as bad as my father with his unsubtle hints regarding Anna Gifford.” Just mentioning her name was enough to give him heartburn. Anna, eldest daughter of the Gifford pack’s leader, would love nothing more than to sink her claws into him and assert her queenly rights as top alpha bitch. He gave Shane a telling look. “Regardless, we both know as long as my father and Anna keep scaring the competition away, no way a female pack member is gonna touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

“The old man’s still trying to weasel the pack merger, eh?”

“Yep. Not gonna happen though. I’d sooner marry Satan’s daughter.” Dante indulged in a wry grimace. “Hell, what am I saying? Anna is Satan.”

“Amen to that.” Shane shook his head before straddling one of the barstools flanking the granite-topped kitchen island. He snagged an apple from the burlwood bowl and polished the fruit with the tail of his shirt. “Weatherman’s predicting a big storm this weekend. Interested in plowing with me and the crew?”

“Damn, I can’t. Got a meeting down state with my distributors first thing Saturday morning.” Morgan’s Wolf Premium Dog Foods was less than a month away from going global. Even while he was ecstatic over the growth of his company, the frequent trips he’d have to make to Ann Arbor were a whole other matter. Morgan’s Ridge was his home. His sanctuary. The one place where his father’s constant demands couldn’t penetrate. Most of the time.

“Your loss,” Shane said, breaking through Dante’s morose thoughts. “There’s nothing like freezing your balls off in subzero temps while shoveling three feet of snow.”

“Always my favorite pastime.” Dante pulled the remaining items from the grocery sack and lined them on the counter. Chevy’s nose nudged dangerously close to the rib eye wrapped inside the butcher paper, and Dante edged the steak toward safety.

“Grilling tonight? Looks like I stopped by just in time.”

“Sorry, no can do.” Dante ripped open the package of oranges and tumbled the fruit into the bowl so they could make neighborly with the apples. “Lilly Prescott is due to show up in less than an hour. Best if you’re outta here before then.” Didn’t need any witnesses if he gave in to his desire to strangle the pain-in-the-ass hellcat.

A strange gurgle popped from Shane. Dante looked up and noticed his cousin gaping at him.

“You’re having dinner with Lilly?”

The suggestion provoked Dante’s humorless laugh. “I’d rather give myself a root canal. Without Novocain.” He tracked Shane’s gaze to the rib eye resting on the counter. “That’s for me and Chevy. Lilly will only be here long enough to state her case for the thousandth time before I send her packing.” Maybe she’d listen this time and stay gone for good. Shit, a guy could hope.

“Why don’t you just sell the land? It’d keep Lilly and the rest of the lynchats off your back.”

Dante scowled. “Whose side you on?”

“Yours, you stubborn jackass.” Shane ducked when Dante lobbed an orange at his head. The fruit rolled on the tiled floor, and Shane lifted from the barstool with a chuckle. “I better scat before you start throwing cantaloupes or something.”

“Good idea.” Dante’s narrowed gaze centered on his cousin’s retreating back.

“Give Lilly a big ole wet kiss for me.” An obnoxious smooching noise shot from Shane.

Gritting his teeth, Dante eyed the bowl of oranges. Lobbing another was tempting—almost tempting as taking Shane up on his suggestion. Bad fucking idea. His lips didn’t need to be anywhere near Lilly’s mouth. Or any other part of her.

His cock stiffened when he recalled in Technicolor detail the one part of her body that’d been foremost in his thoughts for the past three hours. Without exerting much effort, he conjured the image of her wet, glistening pussy.

Jesus, it’d been too long since he’d gotten laid if he was obsessing about Lilly, of all people. Folding the grocery sack, he stalked into the pantry. After depositing the sack in the recycling bin, he grabbed Chevy’s chow bowl and scooped kibble from the bin. He drizzled gravy on top and left Chevy to gobble up the bounty.

The metallic thunk of the dog bowl banging against the baseboard provided a noisy backdrop as Dante stored the rib eye in the fridge and ambled to the woodstove. He ignited a block of fatwood and tossed a couple logs on the firebrick. Soon the earthy scent of wood smoke filled the room. Turning, he caught Chevy watching him with his big head cocked to the side. “Don’t give me that look. The fire’s not for atmosphere. It’s damn cold in here.”

Chevy’s curled lip resembled a mocking sneer. Grumbling beneath his breath at his astute and judgmental dog, Dante dropped in the chair fronting his workstation and booted his laptop. He pulled up the file with his most recent concoction and scanned the ingredient list for Chevy’s Chicken Chow. “What’d you think of the diced carrots I added to the last batch?”

A low groan snuck from Chevy before he hightailed it from the kitchen with a scurry of clicking claws.

“No carrots.” Dante deleted that item from the list. For the next twenty minutes he immersed himself in the monotonous chore of updating his recipe files. When the doorbell chimed, he actually jumped at the unexpected sound. Scraping back his chair, he strode across the kitchen and living room, stopping just long enough to nudge Chevy away from the front door. He swung it open and blinked at the sight of Lilly standing on the other side, swaddled from neck to mid-calf in an enormous, poofy silver coat. She reminded him of a Mylar balloon…or better yet, the Goodyear Blimp.

She stomped her feet on the porch, either out of impatience or lack of circulation. With Lilly, he was willing to bet on the former. She blew on her fingers and gave him a peevish look. “What’s with the surprised expression? You did say six, right?”

He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s only ten till.”

One blonde eyebrow arched. “Look up anal retentive in the dictionary sometime. Might learn something.”

Gritting his teeth, he toed the door closer to the wall. “Fine, come in.”

“Your grudging hospitality leaves me all warm and fuzzy.”

“You’ve got a few things that leave me all warm and fuzzy too.” The words slipped free before he could lasso them.

Lilly jerked to a halt halfway across the threshold. Her icy blue stare pinned him in place. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Get in before all the hot air escapes.” He waited for her to make an appropriate crack and was slightly disappointed when she didn’t. Her sarcastic tongue was precisely the tool he needed to wipe the image of her tempting body parts out of his head.

She sailed past him, and he caught a whiff of sweet floral, underscored by the faintest hint of the intoxicating musk that’d short-circuited his brain earlier in the woods. His cock stiffened like a divining rod that’d struck pay dirt. He slammed the door shut, rattling the frame. Lilly turned, granting him another imperious lift of her eyebrow.

“Wind caught the door.” Smothering the urge to offer any further lame excuses, he stepped around her.

Fabric rustled behind him as Lilly removed her oversized coat. The imagination she’d accused him of not possessing kicked into overdrive as he pictured her dropping the garment to the floor and standing in his living room wearing nothing but stilettos and a smile.

On second thought, ditch the smile. A snarl was more Lilly’s style.

“I see you still have your Shetland pony.”

He turned and noticed Lilly eyeing Chevy warily. Oblivious of the reaction his enormous size elicited, Chevy continued snuffing Lilly’s ankle with loud, excited snorts. Dante recognized the signs. His dog was two seconds away from making Lilly’s leg his new girlfriend.

“Get your butt in the cage. Now.”

Looking slightly ashamed, Chevy skulked into the kitchen. Despite his annoyance, guilt niggled at Dante. Could he really blame the dog for his natural urges? Dante grimaced. Particularly since he’d been mighty tempted to hump Lilly himself—and not just her leg. Tightening his jaw, he held out a hand. “Here, I’ll hang your coat on the rack.”

Her shocked expression bugged the hell out of him. Christ, it wasn’t like he was some bad-mannered asshole. Yeah, but there were plenty of times you didn’t offer to take her coat, dickhead. He shook off his annoying inner voice. Hell, it shouldn’t be considered bad manners when someone showed up uninvited—like Lilly had insisted on doing in the past. She handed him the coat, and he walked to the antler rack near the front door and draped the garment over one of the points.

“Where do you want to do this?” she asked from behind him.

Something about her perfectly innocent question stirred up all sorts of wicked thoughts. He scrubbed a hand over his goatee. I need to get a fucking grip. “Kitchen.” He didn’t entirely trust Chevy to stay in his cage with the deliciously odiferous Lilly in such close proximity. Still, he trusted himself even less if they sat on the sofa.

Lilly sashayed ahead of him, and his gaze slid down the back of her white sweater, zeroing in on her heart-shaped ass. He knew the enticing sway of her hips wasn’t designed to make his mouth water—but day-um—he loved a female with curves. And Lilly had them in spades. Licking his lips, he followed her into the kitchen. She strode to the dining table and plopped in a chair.

“I’d like to get straight to business, if you don’t mind.” Lilly tucked one knee over the other and pinned him with a stare while he hunkered in the seat adjacent to her.

“Don’t mind at all. In fact, I’ll make it fast and crystal clear for you. I’m not selling.”

Her scowl slipped into place. “You know damn well the sixty acres rightfully belongs to my family.”

“Know what I think?” He leaned back in his seat and casually stacked his arms on his chest. “You’ve got a stick up your butt over the fact your grandfather didn’t know how to play a hand of poker. No one forced him to bet the land.”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “Maybe, but your father had no place egging my grandfather into doing it.”

No. But his father was a bastard that way. Any means to the end Foster Morgan wanted was fair game.

Lilly leaned into the table, drawing his gaze to her chest. “I’ve talked it over with my colleagues. We’re willing to raise our offer by fifty thousand dollars.”

Her words were a hollow drone inside his head. For the life of him, he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the soft breasts showcased above her stacked arms.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Lilly’s sarcasm sailed straight over him.

I wonder if her nipples are the same rosy pink as her—

An outraged gasp broke from Lilly, jarring him from his trance. He lifted his gaze and locked on her sizzling glare.

“Are you ogling my breasts?”

He saw no point in denying the obvious. “Yep.”

His admission seemed to rattle Lilly. It took her a minute to find her tongue. Once she did, her lips pinched together. “What sort of Neanderthal openly stares at a female’s breasts when she’s trying to conduct business with him?”

The kind who’s seen way more than your boobs and can’t get either out of his head. His jaw clenched at the reminder. “Lilly, I’m a male. It’s what we do.”

“You never did it before…” The unspoken part of her accusation hung heavy in the air.

“Honey, we both know the reason why. Don’t blame me because your pretty little sweet spot’s branded in my memory.”

Awareness, hot and thick, shimmered between them. She swallowed, and he tried not to imagine her throat muscles working the length of his cock. “First of all, don’t call me honey. Or sweet thang. Or sugar t*ts. And the various other sexist caveman comments that make me want to hurl. Secondly, I damn well will blame you.” She gave a pronounced tug on her sweater that did nothing to de-emphasize the tempting swells of her breasts. “You had no right to spy on me in a private moment.”

“I wasn’t spying. You were parked on a public road bordering my land. The scene looked suspicious, so I decided to check things out.” He deliberately omitted the part about charging to her rescue. Didn’t need her thinking he gave a damn.

“Exactly how long were you standing there checking things out?”

Long enough. Again, something she didn’t need to be apprised of. “Babe, I’m going to lay it out for you straight. You took the risk. If you don’t want to advertise an entertaining show, keep the self-lovin’ to the bedroom.”

Lilly’s chest lifted with a sharp intake of breath. Damn, was she trying to kill him?

“I wasn’t giving you a show. Furthermore, your logic is ridiculous.”

“It is what it is. Which happens to be right.”

Dante swore he detected steam funneling from the top of Lilly’s head. “Let me see if I’m clear on this. In your book, any private acts carried on outside the sanctity of the bedroom are fair game for prying eyes, even if uninvited?”

Of course he didn’t think that. “Yep.”

He expected her to argue. Or slap him. Storm out of his house, at the very least. Instead, she remained stubbornly planted in place. For several tense, awkward moments they glared each other down. Finally she averted her gaze and blew out a peeved breath. “The least you could do is apologize, you know.”

“For what?”

A dangerous growl crept from her throat. “For spying on me!”

“Aw shit. Are we back to that again?” He tossed up his arms. “Damn it, woman, I told you that wasn’t what I was fuckin’ doing.”

“You could have been a gentleman and left once you realized what was going on.”

Yeah, he could have. Too bad he wasn’t a gentleman. “Will it make you feel better if I apologize?”

She hesitated. “Probably not.”

Hell, he’d never understand the female race. “Then what’s the damn point of me saying it?” He tweaked the bridge of his nose. “It won’t miraculously change what happened. You did what you did, I saw what I saw. Let’s be adults about this and leave it be.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who was caught with their pants down.”

Shit and damnation. This argument was gonna be the death of him. “What do you want me to do? Drop my drawers so we’ll be even?”

She stared at him for a long moment before her lips curved upward in a cagey smile. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay what?”

She nodded toward his lap. “Unzip your jeans, wolfman. Time to settle the score.”

Two new cover reveals!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 20:18:00 +0000

This past week has been all about getting some awesome cover art in my inbox, and now that I've gotten the official approval on them, I get to show them off! YAY!! Both covers are by the uber talented Kanaxa.

First up is the cover for Cat Scratch Fever, my sexy shifter story releasing in April:

Who says a wolf can’t make a pussycat purr?

And here's the cover for Breaking Bad, my contribution to Samhain Publishing's Midnight Justice anthology, releasing in May:

No super deed goes unpunished…

It’s been twenty-five years since the last Light Guardian was wiped out. Or so it’s believed. Ruby Winston is about to blow the lid off that theory, even though it’ll bring every Shadow Czar minion down on her ass.

She’s always known she was different from the rest of the evil-dictators-in-training Winstons. Uncovering the secret half of her gene pool proves it. Now she’s out to bring down her late father’s mind-control soda empire—and break the Shadow Czars’ hold on Earth.

Problem is, becoming a superhero overnight isn’t as easy as it looks.

Teague Younger has his own secrets to keep: his heritage, and his fierce determination to exact revenge on his friend and mentor’s murderer. So far he’s kept his cover—until he’s forced to use his Light Guardian powers to save Ruby from a sticky situation.

Thrust together and on the run, Teague and Ruby form a wary alliance as they desperately fight their circuit-blowing attraction. With an army of Shadow Queen minions hot on their tails, they might have a hard time surviving the night, much less ignoring their hearts.

Warning: This book contains mind-controlling beverages, evil dictators and minions, excessive use of spandex, and enough electrifying sex to melt an ice train.

It's a Naughty and Secret Christmas!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 13:06:00 +0000

Today is an extra special release day, my friends. Not only is The Naughty List officially out, but my fellow Samhain author and good buddy, Sierra Dean, is also celebrating the release of her latest Secret McQueen book, Secret Santa. Folks, if you haven't read Sierra's fabulous and exciting UF series, what in the heck are you waiting for? Run--don't walk--to pick up your copies now!

In the meantime, Sierra and I are celebrating our status as release day buddies by holding a super fantabulously awesome contest where 2--count 'em 2--lucky winners will each win a digital copy of Secret Santa and The Naughty List. So how can you get in on this sweet deal, you ask? Easy peasy. Just answer the questions that Sierra and I have posted on our blogs and you're in the running. One entry per person, but you must send us answers to both of our posts to qualify. Contest open to US and international residents, and ends midnight EST on Wednesday.

Here we go...

In The Naughty List, what was Lacey's consolation prize for chickening out on Ry and Bram's dare to sing "Like a Virgin" during karaoke night? You can find a hint here by clicking on the excerpt section. Once you have your answer, please send it to Sierra at sierradeanbooks@gmail.com. Please note: we will not accept answers in the comments section. To view Sierra's question, please click here. Good luck!

Bewitching Trick-Or-Treat Blog Hop

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Happy Halloween, everyone, and welcome to the Bewitching Trick-or-Treat Blog Hop! I don't know about you, but this is absolutely one of my favorite holidays. I've always been a huge fan of anything paranormal, so it makes sense that this time of year would be right up my alley. There's just something about the general spookiness of the season that gives me the happy shivers. And when else can we dress up and not have folks look at us askance? As a kid, I remember how much fun it was deciding what my costume would be. Most of the time my costumes would be homemade, and I had to be creative with putting them together. Probably my all time favorite was when I was in high school, and decided to go as a mad scientist, and my best friend was my "experiment". I was able to borrow a lab coat from my science teacher and I dumped a whole bottle of baby powder in my hair--which by the way, I don't recommend because it's a bugger to get out and makes you look like you've got a wicked case of dandruff. But I digress.

So on to my contest...

For your chance to win an epically cool Zombie Smuthound tote bag designed by the brilliant Kyla Holt of Kyla Novelista fame that's filled with author swag, candy and an autographed copy of That Voodoo You Do, just leave me a comment with what your favorite Halloween costume of all time would be. Sorry, due to shipping costs, this contest is limited to US and Canda, but any International entrants can enter for a digital copy of That Voodoo You Do. Winner will be picked and posted at end of blog hop, so be sure to include an email address for me to contact you in your comments. Thanks and good luck!

Also, don't forget to click on the Blog Hop graphic to move on to the next stop on the hop!

Getting Familiar With Your Demon--Review ARCs!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 18:10:00 +0000

I'll be sending out review ARCs for Getting Familiar With Your Demon around mid-December. If you have a review blog, and/or post on GoodReads, Amazon, etc and would be interested in getting on the list for GFWYD, just shoot me an email here. Not sure if Getting Familiar With Your Demon is your cup of tea? Then check out the blurb and excerpt snippit below:

That Old Black Magic, Book 4

Coming this February from Samhain Publishing

He should push her away...but he'd rather have his wicked way with her.

After too many years learning death from the inside out as the familiar of a voodoo queen, soul collector Samael Gorasola betrayed his boss, which landed him on demon death row.

He should have known not even his punishment would come easy, but the deal he’s offered to escape his fate stinks. Become the indentured servant to his despised enemy? No thanks, he’d rather be six feet under. With that in mind, he picks a deadly fight with two demon hunters, only to be rescued by one misguided, deliciously innocent white witch.

Marabella hasn’t a clue what possessed her to help Sam, particularly since he’s not the least bit grateful. She blames it on her overwhelming attraction to the dark, dangerous demon, and her exasperating quest to rid herself of the stubborn curse that guards her virginity. If the guild finds out, though, she can kiss her white-witch status goodbye.

A kiss is exactly what she gets, followed by a consuming hunger that breaks down all heavenly and earthly barriers…and leaves Sam saddled with the one thing he never wanted, a conscience, and a connection to Marabella that puts her soul on the line.

Warning: This book contains torturous use of disco music, one sinfully sexy demon who revels in being bad, a virgin witch whose innocence runs more than skin deep, and plenty of wicked, forbidden sex with explosive side effects—literally.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Samael Gorasola grimaced as the blaring strains of It’s Raining Men pounded through the speakers recessed in the walls of his prison cell. There weren’t many things that made him yearn for a quick, merciful death. Not even the three-centuries-old demon currently torturing him. Disco music on the other hand—where was a damn bullet to the brain when he needed one?

Right on cue, Toran joined in on the chorus with a piercing falsetto that was akin to sharp toothpicks jabbing into Sam’s corneas. Sam gritted his teeth. Fucking. Kill. Me. Now.

A series of crackles fizzled and spit through the air, and a second later the charged wires of Toran’s whip snapped across the exposed skin on Sam’s back, sizzling his flesh with white-hot agony. Despite his best efforts to cage it, Sam’s pained roar broke loose. At least the sound momentarily drowned out the horrendous music.

“What’s the matter, Gorasola? Can’t take the heat?” A grating laugh rumbled from the punishment master. Sam didn’t know what he despised more—Toran’s shitty taste in music or incredibly lame sense of humor. The whip whistled across Sam again, almost masking the patronizing drone of Toran’s voice. “I’m going to miss you when you’re dead, Gorasola. Who the hell will give me the same delight in torturing than you?”

“Imagine you’ll find someone.” Damn dickhead.

A heavy clang reverberated, and Sam tensed, thinking it was Toran increasing the whip’s voltage—or worse, cranking up the sound system. Instead, a distinctly feminine cough echoed in the chamber.

“Forgive the interruption, Master Toran.” Pricilla Roundtree’s cold, haughty tone provoked Sam into grinding his molars. Eighteen hours of Toran’s harshest punishment while a continuous loop of It’s Raining Men played in the background held more appeal than a single second spent in Pricilla’s presence. The demon king’s personal secretary was a poisoned thorn in his side. One that refused to be extracted.

“Mistress Roundtree.” Toran’s voice dripped with enough ass-kissing grovel to give Sam a serious case of indigestion.

“I’m here to speak with Samael. Could you give us a moment?”

“Certainly. Do you want me to chain the prisoner to the wall?”

“No, I’ll handle him myself.”

Sam didn’t care for the acid sweetness in Pricilla’s statement—and the notion of her handling any part of him made his flesh crawl—but balking would only earn him another electrified bite from Toran’s whip.

“Very well,” Toran offered reluctantly. “If Gorasola gives you any problem, I’ll be down the hall.”

“I’m sure Samael will be on his best behavior.”

A grunt fell from Toran, more than relaying his thoughts on the idea of Sam being anything less than a troublesome pain in the ass. Heavy footsteps tromped across the stone floor, and a second later the music fell mute. The cell door clanked again, announcing the punishment master’s departure. Pricilla stepped closer, and her heavy, cloying scent of gardenia ambushed him.

“Hello, Samael.” Sharp-tipped fingernails scored the scythe-shaped gun tattooed on Sam’s back, making him flinch. “It’s been a while. Missed me?”

“About as much as I miss that damn disco music.”

A bucket of ice contained more warmth than Pricilla’s laugh. Her fingers dug into him, making him wince. “Is that any way to speak to the individual who holds the deed to your life?”

Every muscle in his body seized. “What?”

“It took some doing, but I persuaded the king to sign your contract over to me rather than execute you.” Pricilla traced the line of his spine before ruffling his hair in a way that was entirely too territorial. “I own you now, Samael.”

To say the thought left him far from warm and fuzzy was a severe understatement. “I’d rather be dead.”

“You wound me with this unprovoked hatred.”

“Unprovoked?” Being flat on his belly atop the metal torture table made him less threatening than a toothless dog. Still, it didn’t muzzle him enough to stop the growl from slipping past his throat. “You went behind my back and revoked my petition to have my contract with Antoinette Delacroix severed, you viperous bitch.”

Pricilla’s clawlike nails dug into his skull, creating a painful sting he couldn’t readily ignore. “Mind your tongue. As for your complaint and petition, I saw no reason for the king to allow it, just because your mistress was a ghost. You’re a demon familiar and a soul collector, Samael. Your duty was clear. If you’d simply done as told instead of taking matters into your own hands, you wouldn’t be where you are now.”

In other words, neck-deep in a pile of shit. Sam’s jaw clenched hard enough to trigger a cramp. Fuck me. Aiding in the permanent demise of Antoinette Delacroix hadn’t been one of his more brilliant moments. But damn if he wouldn’t do it all over again. Eternal punishment was a small price to pay for packing Nettie’s spirit off to hell. Served the damn bitch right after making it her mission in life—and death—to ensure his existence was mired in misery. The past six months were a vacation compared to being under her thumb all those years.

Only now it looked like he’d be under an even worse one. For devil’s sake, would someone damn well kill me already?

The bindings around his right wrist suddenly slackened before releasing him entirely. Rolling onto his side, he glared at Pricilla. She was dressed in a tailored black pantsuit, her only concession to color provided by her scarlet lipstick. Even the coal-dark hair pulled into a rigid bun was in keeping with her all-black ensemble. No doubt she’d chosen the color to match her heart. Assuming she possessed one.

He stretched his fingers, attempting to work out the kinks. “If you expect me to bow at your feet for the honor of being your slave, you’ll have to undo the rest of my manacles.”

Judging from the tightening of her lips, his sarcasm hadn’t missed its target. “I’d start acting more grateful, if I were you. I’m not averse to inviting Toran back in here to give you a proper farewell.”

He was leaving? Now? For the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope flickered within Sam. Five minutes ago, before Pricilla came waltzing in with her pronouncement, the prospect of seeing a world beyond his dank prison cell was an absurd dream. He’d resigned himself to this existence. It’d been easier that way. But now that he was being offered another chance…it seemed too good to be true.

The reminder of the role Pricilla played in his newfound freedom smothered his rising spirits. Of course it was too good to be true. Because he wasn’t really free. Not as long as he was beholden to the damn bitch.

“I see from your scowl you’re not pleased with our arrangement.” Pricilla’s mouth curled upward. If an asp could smile, it’d look exactly like the calculating devil spawn. “No matter. You’re still mine to command. Better get used to it, Samael.”

Command. The damnable word hazed his vision with red. He was tired of doing the bidding of others. Of being nothing more than a fucking errand boy to one asshole after another. It used to mean something, being a soul collector. A title to be proud of. Now his status felt like a noose, vising tighter and tighter.

As if she’d read his torturous thoughts, Pricilla stepped to the other side of the table and ran her fingertips over his tattoo—the official seal of his now-despised title. The coldness of her touch leached into him like a condemnation. “I have great plans in store for you, Samael Gorasola. Just you wait.”

Sneak Peek at Getting Familiar With Your Demon

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 22:13:00 +0000

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, you might have heard me wax poetic about my newest book boyfriend, Sam. Well, now I finally get to share a little bit of him with you! Get your dirty minds out of the gutter, I didn't mean it like that. Alas, I have no cover to show off yet, but word has it that the cover goddess herself, Kanaxa, is working on it as we speak! I will have much squeeing to share with you soon, my pretties. In the meantime, I'll just have to substitute my lovely Alessandro in Sam's place.

                                                       He's a real hardship to look at, eh?



                                          Getting Familiar With Your Demon

                                                          That Old Black Magic, Book 4

                                                 Coming this February from Samhain Publishing

                              He should push her away...but he'd rather have his wicked way with her.

After too many years learning death from the inside out as the familiar of a voodoo queen, soul collector Samael Gorasola betrayed his boss, which landed him on demon death row.

He should have known not even his punishment would come easy, but the deal he’s offered to escape his fate stinks. Become the indentured servant to his despised enemy? No thanks, he’d rather be six feet under. With that in mind, he picks a deadly fight with two demon hunters, only to be rescued by one misguided, deliciously innocent white witch.

Marabella hasn’t a clue what possessed her to help Sam, particularly since he’s not the least bit grateful. She blames it on her overwhelming attraction to the dark, dangerous demon, and her exasperating quest to rid herself of the stubborn curse that guards her virginity. If the guild finds out, though, she can kiss her white-witch status goodbye.

A kiss is exactly what she gets, followed by a consuming hunger that breaks down all heavenly and earthly barriers…and leaves Sam saddled with the one thing he never wanted, a conscience, and a connection to Marabella that puts her soul on the line.

Warning: This book contains torturous use of disco music, one sinfully sexy demon who revels in being bad, a virgin witch whose innocence runs more than skin deep, and plenty of wicked, forbidden sex with explosive side effects—literally.

Excerpt

                                                                              Chapter One

Samael Gorasola grimaced as the blaring strains of It’s Raining Men pounded through the speakers recessed in the walls of his prison cell. There weren’t many things that made him yearn for a quick, merciful death. Not even the three-centuries-old demon currently torturing him. Disco music on the other hand—where was a damn bullet to the brain when he needed one?

Right on cue, Toran joined in on the chorus with a piercing falsetto that was akin to sharp toothpicks jabbing into Sam’s corneas. Sam gritted his teeth. Fucking. Kill. Me. Now.

A series of crackles fizzled and spit through the air, and a second later the charged wires of Toran’s whip snapped across the exposed skin on Sam’s back, sizzling his flesh with white-hot agony. Despite his best efforts to cage it, Sam’s pained roar broke loose. At least the sound momentarily drowned out the horrendous music.

“What’s the matter, Gorasola? Can’t take the heat?” A grating laugh rumbled from the punishment master. Sam didn’t know what he despised more—Toran’s shitty taste in music or incredibly lame sense of humor. The whip whistled across Sam again, almost masking the patronizing drone of Toran’s voice. “I’m going to miss you when you’re dead, Gorasola. Who the hell will give me the same delight in torturing than you?”

“Imagine you’ll find someone.” Damn dickhead.

A heavy clang reverberated, and Sam tensed, thinking it was Toran increasing the whip’s voltage—or worse, cranking up the sound system. Instead, a distinctly feminine cough echoed in the chamber.

“Forgive the interruption, Master Toran.” Pricilla Roundtree’s cold, haughty tone provoked Sam into grinding his molars. Eighteen hours of Toran’s harshest punishment while a continuous loop of It’s Raining Men played in the background held more appeal than a single second spent in Pricilla’s presence. The demon king’s personal secretary was a poisoned thorn in his side. One that refused to be extracted.

“Mistress Roundtree.” Toran’s voice dripped with enough ass-kissing grovel to give Sam a serious case of indigestion.

“I’m here to speak with Samael. Could you give us a moment?”

“Certainly. Do you want me to chain the prisoner to the wall?”

“No, I’ll handle him myself.”

Sam didn’t care for the acid sweetness in Pricilla’s statement—and the notion of her handling any part of him made his flesh crawl—but balking would only earn him another electrified bite from Toran’s whip.

“Very well,” Toran offered reluctantly. “If Gorasola gives you any problem, I’ll be down the hall.”

“I’m sure Samael will be on his best behavior.”

A grunt fell from Toran, more than relaying his thoughts on the idea of Sam being anything less than a troublesome pain in the ass. Heavy footsteps tromped across the stone floor, and a second later the music fell mute. The cell door clanked again, announcing the punishment master’s departure. Pricilla stepped closer, and her heavy, cloying scent of gardenia ambushed him.

“Hello, Samael.” Sharp-tipped fingernails scored the scythe-shaped gun tattooed on Sam’s back, making him flinch. “It’s been a while. Missed me?”

“About as much as I miss that damn disco music.”

A bucket of ice contained more warmth than Pricilla’s laugh. Her fingers dug into him, making him wince. “Is that any way to speak to the individual who holds the deed to your life?”

Every muscle in his body seized. “What?”

“It took some doing, but I persuaded the king to sign your contract over to me rather than execute you.” Pricilla traced the line of his spine before ruffling his hair in a way that was entirely too territorial. “I own you now, Samael.”

To say the thought left him far from warm and fuzzy was a severe understatement. “I’d rather be dead.”

“You wound me with this unprovoked hatred.”

“Unprovoked?” Being flat on his belly atop the metal torture table made him less threatening than a toothless dog. Still, it didn’t muzzle him enough to stop the growl from slipping past his throat. “You went behind my back and revoked my petition to have my contract with Antoinette Delacroix severed, you viperous bitch.”

Pricilla’s clawlike nails dug into his skull, creating a painful sting he couldn’t readily ignore. “Mind your tongue. As for your complaint and petition, I saw no reason for the king to allow it, just because your mistress was a ghost. You’re a demon familiar and a soul collector, Samael. Your duty was clear. If you’d simply done as told instead of taking matters into your own hands, you wouldn’t be where you are now.”

In other words, neck-deep in a pile of shit. Sam’s jaw clenched hard enough to trigger a cramp. Fuck me. Aiding in the permanent demise of Antoinette Delacroix hadn’t been one of his more brilliant moments. But damn if he wouldn’t do it all over again. Eternal punishment was a small price to pay for packing Nettie’s spirit off to hell. Served the damn bitch right after making it her mission in life—and death—to ensure his existence was mired in misery. The past six months were a vacation compared to being under her thumb all those years.

Only now it looked like he’d be under an even worse one. For devil’s sake, would someone damn well kill me already?

The bindings around his right wrist suddenly slackened before releasing him entirely. Rolling onto his side, he glared at Pricilla. She was dressed in a tailored black pantsuit, her only concession to color provided by her scarlet lipstick. Even the coal-dark hair pulled into a rigid bun was in keeping with her all-black ensemble. No doubt she’d chosen the color to match her heart. Assuming she possessed one.

He stretched his fingers, attempting to work out the kinks. “If you expect me to bow at your feet for the honor of being your slave, you’ll have to undo the rest of my manacles.”

Judging from the tightening of her lips, his sarcasm hadn’t missed its target. “I’d start acting more grateful, if I were you. I’m not averse to inviting Toran back in here to give you a proper farewell.”

He was leaving? Now? For the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope flickered within Sam. Five minutes ago, before Pricilla came waltzing in with her pronouncement, the prospect of seeing a world beyond his dank prison cell was an absurd dream. He’d resigned himself to this existence. It’d been easier that way. But now that he was being offered another chance…it seemed too good to be true.

The reminder of the role Pricilla played in his newfound freedom smothered his rising spirits. Of course it was too good to be true. Because he wasn’t really free. Not as long as he was beholden to the damn bitch.

“I see from your scowl you’re not pleased with our arrangement.” Pricilla’s mouth curled upward. If an asp could smile, it’d look exactly like the calculating devil spawn. “No matter. You’re still mine to command. Better get used to it, Samael.”

Command. The damnable word hazed his vision with red. He was tired of doing the bidding of others. Of being nothing more than a fucking errand boy to one asshole after another. It used to mean something, being a soul collector. A title to be proud of. Now his status felt like a noose, vising tighter and tighter.

As if she’d read his torturous thoughts, Pricilla stepped to the other side of the table and ran her fingertips over his tattoo—the official seal of his now-despised title. The coldness of her touch leached into him like a condemnation. “I have great plans in store for you, Samael Gorasola. Just you wait.”

Less than an hour later, Sam walked out of the Demon Detainment Center. Or as he’d fondly come to refer to it the past six months—his shithole away from home. The blazing sun was an assault compared to the weak fluorescent lighting in his cell. He squinted, wishing for his polarized Ray-Bans. His favorite shades conveniently came up missing from the pile of belongings that’d been returned to him at checkout. If he found out which of the guards had filched the sunglasses, someone would be getting the remainder of their meals fed to them through a straw.

He flexed his arm, not quite used to the absence of the manacles and the cuff that’d blocked his ability to transport—just one of the many tools of the trade that came with his soul-collector status. The last thing he’d expected was for Pricilla to allow for the removal of the cuff. Of course, now that he was her damn beck-and-call boy, it wasn’t as if he could take advantage of the situation and pop down to some tropical isle and lay low with a bevy of busty beauties in skimpy bikinis. His luck, Pricilla would call him to her side the minute he started getting cozy with the local scenery. Shit knows it’d been Nettie’s favorite pastime, yanking him around on the invisible leash that’d chained him to her. Safe to say Pricilla would be no better.

He wished like hell he knew what good ole Pris was up to. Why she wanted him badly enough to seize control of his familiar contract. She hadn’t elaborated beyond her cryptic promise in his cell. Not that he’d expected her to. As a general rule, demons weren’t quick to spill their plans. Distrusting assholes, the whole lot of them. Himself included.

Especially himself. Setting his jaw, he mentally flipped the bird to the building behind him before teleporting to the front entry of his Savannah bachelor pad. The small bungalow had always been his private sanctum—the one place where he could kick back and enjoy a little R&R on the rare occasions Antoinette hadn’t dispatched him on a soul hunt.

So he was suitably annoyed when he spotted his cousins—Nikki and Cassidy Lassiter—lounging on his leather sectional, looking very much at home. He took in the scuffed combat boots Nikki had propped on the lacquered coffee table.

A growl crept up his throat. “What the fuck are you doing squatting in my place?”

Both sisters jumped, but it was Nikki who first leapt into a fighting stance. The instant her eyes locked on him, her mouth dropped and she lowered her fists. “Sam?”

“Who the hell else were you expecting? This is my damn house.” His scowl deepened as he noticed the discarded greasy pizza carton and crumpled potato chip bag littering the floor. No doubt both were courtesy of Nikki. She might be one of the best grim reapers in the biz, but she was also a fucking slob. “Nice to see you’ve been partying in my absence.”

Cassidy broke from her stupor and tore across the room before ambushing him with a fierce hug. While the gesture softened his foul mood a fraction, it also reminded him his body hurt like the devil. He winced, something Cass didn’t fail to observe. She pulled back and eyed him, her expression sharp with concern. Usually she was the quieter, gentler Lassiter sibling, but at the moment her fiery gaze nearly matched the color of her hair. “What did those bastards do to you?”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Nikki added in her typical blunt fashion. She strode toward them, the reaper cuffs anchored to her belt loop giving a metallic clank as they bounced against her hip. “Please tell me you got in a few punches of your own, and the asswipe who roughed you up at least looks worse than you do.”

“Yeah, he does,” Sam grunted. “But only because Toran was born ugly.” He extricated himself from Cass’s grasp and limped toward the couch, only to slam to a standstill when he spied the blank section of wall where his fifty-inch flat-screen used to be. “Where the hell is my TV?”

“I moved it into the guestroom.” Nikki shrugged in response to his glower. “I like to watch The Tonight Show, and you didn’t have a set in there.”

His blood pressure spiked into the danger zone. Damn it, he’d just endured six months of torture. Was it too much to ask to come home and not find his private sanctum overtaken by moocher relatives? “Put the TV back.”

Nikki’s forehead scrunched. “How will I keep up on Leno?”

“From your own damn bedroom, that’s how.”

“Sorry, no can do, dude. Cass is on the outs with Pops again, and I’m here for moral support.”

For fuck’s sake. Sam plowed a hand through his hair as his last shred of patience shuttled off to Hawaii. Without him, damn it.

Roughly every other month Cassidy and her dad fought over her adamancy about not joining the family business. At the moment, Sam more than understood her decision to steer clear of soul reaping, but he was too cranky and tired to give much of a shit about her personal problems.

“You’re not living here.” He transferred his glare to Nikki. “That goes double for you, Pig-Pen.”

“Sheesh, getting tortured makes you grouchier than usual.” Nikki cocked her head to the side and considered him. “How did you get out of there, anyway?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If I tell you, will you leave?”

“Mmm, possibly.”

He was desperate enough to take his chances. Five minutes later he’d laid out the gory details of his new unglorified status as Pricilla’s familiar. Cass and Nikki were suitably horrified and sympathetic, but they made no move toward packing their belongings so they could hustle their asses out of his home.

Weary defeat sat heavier than a one-ton boulder in his gut. Shit, he was never going to get rid of them. What was it with females and their incessant desire to make his life a living hell? “I’m going to take a shower.” He shot Nikki a warning stare. “Your ass is grass if my TV isn’t on that wall when I come back out here.”

Nikki only rolled her eyes. His teeth in danger of being ground to dust, he staggered into his bedroom. He was gratified to see it looked exactly the same as he’d left it. He’d half expected to find it redecorated in hot pink and fuchsia, with giant stuffed teddy bears or fucking fluffy purple bunnies strewn on his bed.

Damn women.

He shrugged from his grungy shirt, his bruised and battered muscles screaming a fit. Grimacing, he dropped the filthy garment and started toward the bathroom. He managed two steps across the carpet before his gaze landed on the dresser. Or more to the point, the second drawer down. The one that held the sum total of his life’s greatest achievement. And ultimate downfall.

No matter how hard he struggled to resist the calling, his feet still edged him in the direction of the dresser. He yanked open the drawer and stared at the specially commissioned Smith & Wesson revolver resting on a stack of neatly folded T-shirts.

Lucy.

Some males named their cars or boats. He named his gun. Fingers cramping slightly, he reached for the revolver. His palm absorbed the familiar coldness of the steel. It’d been six months since he’d held Lucy. He’d never gone that long without having her close by. Hell, she’d practically been an extension of his hand for seventy-eight years.

His thumb brushed the smooth wood grain of the handle, relearning its texture. How many damn souls had he confiscated with Lucy’s aid? Too fucking many to count. Most hadn’t meant a damn thing to him, just casualties to his profession. The only one that’d cracked through his dispassionate shell had been Nettie. Oh yeah, taking out that bitch had been sweeter than sweet.

Although he knew the dual barrels were empty, he spun the cylinders open, each hollow click of the revolving chambers increasing the tension in his gut. He still vividly recalled the day the demon council handed him Lucy and he officially received the branding on his back to seal his status. That simplistic tattoo was a pale shadow of the design he wore now—the end result of a drunken whim many moons ago, before his life really went down the shitter. He’d been stupid to think his rebellious decision to cover up the old tat with one of his own doing somehow made him the wielder of his own future. Owner of his own damn body.

What a fucking crock that was. Nothing would change the fact he’d signed over all rights when he’d followed the long-standing Gorasola tradition of becoming soul collectors. The hell of it was that he had been happy in the beginning. As was required of all demon soul collectors, he’d found a voodoo priestess to sanction his status in return for his services as her familiar. Lucinda Delacroix had more than fit the bill, and he’d actually liked her. Enough to even name his damn gun after her, for some asinine, sentimental reason. That was back when he’d been less jaded and cynical. Back before Lucinda’s devil spawn, Nettie, poisoned her mother so she could inherit all of Lucinda’s worldly goods—including Sam. The forty-eight years that followed with Nettie as his mistress were a slow spiral into the endless shit that became his existence, culminating with his present circumstance.

Growling, he slammed the chambers back in place on his revolver and tossed Lucy into the drawer before ramming it shut. First chance he got, he was renaming his damn gun. Chuck, Frank, Melvin. He didn’t give a rat’s ass, as long as it was anything other than another female. He’d learned his lesson dealing with that particular gender. Damn women were nothing but bad news. It certainly didn’t take another six months on execution row to convince him of that sad reality.

Weariness dragging at his limbs, he stripped off the remainder of his clothes and climbed into the shower stall. Hot water pounded his battered body, and he groaned as the heat temporarily banished his aches. Too bad all the other bullshit foisted on him today couldn’t be so easily swirled down the drain.

After cranking off the water, he snagged a towel, dried off and changed into clean jeans and a black T-shirt. He headed into the hallway, fully intending to grab a cold brew from the fridge, but the sound of Nikki and Cass arguing in the kitchen stalled him short. A tidal wave of irritation welled inside him. What was the world coming to that he couldn’t get drunk in the peace and quiet of his own home? Clenching his jaw with enough force to cause a painful spasm, he returned to his room and dug his wallet out of the nightstand drawer. A quick check verified that none of his money was missing. Damn good thing too, because with the mood he was in, there might have been bloodshed if Nikki or Cassidy had absconded with his cash.

After tucking his billfold in his back pocket, he teleported to the rear alley of his favorite watering hole, Champions. The only ones around to witness his sudden appearance were the family of stray cats scrounging in the dumpsters, and they seemed more interested in the discarded scraps than they were in him. He rounded the side of the building and stepped through the entrance. Grungy heavy metal pounded from the jukebox, providing a welcome respite to his ears after the months of crappy disco music he’d endured. He edged through the sea of patrons and slowed to a stop when he spotted Ian and Jasper Quint sitting at the bar.

A sharp spike of frustration slammed him between the shoulder blades. Of all the fucking nights to run into the two biggest pain-in-the-ass demon hunters known to mankind. To make matters worse, the last time he’d crossed paths with the brothers, Jasper managed to stab Sam in the shoulder. The flesh wound hadn’t been anything too serious, but it still chapped Sam’s ass that Jasper got the better of him.

Any other night, he’d love the opportunity to even the score with the Quint brothers and prove once and for all that it’d take a lot more than fancy footwork and a damn KA-BAR blade to take a Gorasola down.

Sam’s gaze tracked to the unmistakable outline of the knife strapped beneath the leg of Jasper’s jeans. Rather than give in to the urge to bid adieu to the bar and the two hunters who’d given him endless grief throughout the years, Sam hesitated, his words from earlier spinning in his head with taunting clarity. For devil’s sake, would someone damn well kill me already?

Sam continued to stare at Jasper’s and Ian’s profiles until a cold, grim purpose spread through his chest. Well shit. Who said there was only one way to skin a cat?

Or kill a demon.

Maximum Witch is now available!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 22:00:00 +0000

It's been a crazy busy week, and during it all I forgot to squee and holler here about Maximum Witch releasing on Tuesday. As they say, better late than never, so...

Yaaaaaaaayyyy!!!!

Now that I've got that out of the way, here's a blurb and sexy little peek at Maximum Witch.

Who says getting eaten by a shark is a bad thing?

That Old Black Magic, Book 3

Willa Jameson is having one whopper of an identity crisis. Odd memory flashes that aren’t hers. A sultry voice in her head that’s obsessed with sex. Even weirder, she finds herself in the jaws of a rogue leviathan, dragged to the bottom of the ocean—and rescued by a hunky…shark?

The last thing Sheriff Max Truitt expects to find on his daily, deep-Atlantic patrol is a human—especially one who breathes underwater. Compelled to take her home, he waits for the beauty to wake up and reveal her name. Instead he’s treated to a punch in the nose, then a sexy romp hot enough to boil water.

The next morning, embarrassed by the sizzling, scandalous things the voice in her head drove her to do, Willa slips away. But if there’s one thing a determined shark excels at, it’s tracking his favorite meal.

Solving the mystery that is Willa is no simple task. When they finally unlock a dangerous secret hidden deep in her subconscious, it drives a wedge between them…and puts them in a desperate race against an evil that seeks to rain down a watery Armageddon on all mankind.

Warning: This book does not contain sex with a puffer fish. There’s not even sex with a seahorse. However, there’s plenty of smoking-hot lovin’ with a shark. And even a steamy M/F/M threesome. So slap on your snorkels and swim fins, things are about to get wet and wild.

Excerpt

She watched Max stride to the pick-up window and collect their sack of food and beverages, her trepidation coiling like a tight spring. Her life was slowly unraveling around her, and she didn’t know how to stop it. How to make things normal again.

It seemed incomprehensible that a little over a week ago none of this had been an issue. Her head had been blessedly void of seductive voices whispering things she didn’t understand. Sure, her job had been stressful as always, but she could handle all of that stuff. It was this total lack of control that was driving her closer and closer to permanent residency in the local loony bin. At first she’d assumed it was a form of early life crisis. Her thirtieth birthday was less than three days away. Not exactly life altering, but the date also marked the anniversary of her parents’ death. More than ever, she felt the fragility of life and how easily it could all be ripped away. It also drove home one indisputable truth—she was more alone than ever.

Max pivoted in her direction, and her heart gave an odd squeeze. He represented hope, the promise of a future that didn’t have to be solitary. But how could she trust her thoughts when they weren’t her own? How could she drag Max into this craziness when she didn’t even want to be there? The best, kindest thing she could do at this point would be to walk away from him and never look back.

Too bad her feet seemed to be cemented in place. Forcing a pained smile, she scooted over on the bench, making room for Max. He sat next to her and handed over her lemonade before fishing her sandwich from the bag. Accepting the package from him, she crumpled back one side of the waxed paper and sank her teeth into the rye and pastrami, a happy groan leaking free. As he’d done last night, Max watched her with unabashed appreciation. She licked the corner of her lip, catching the tangy essence from the dressing. His eyes darkened.

She finished chewing and swallowed. “Aren’t you hungry?”

His focus never veered from her mouth. “Yes. For you.”

Oh boy. “Max, I told you. We can’t—”

“I want to peel your clothes off and lay you out for my own personal all-you-can-eat buffet.”

She gulped and attempted to combat her raging arousal with sarcasm. “That’s a little scary coming from a shark.”

“I can be very good with my teeth when given the proper inspiration.”

“Would you please eat your sandwich and stop staring at me like I’m dessert?” Grumbling, she squeezed her legs together and took a sip from her lemonade. She relaxed a fraction when she detected the crinkling of waxed paper as Max unwrapped his Philly cheese steak.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, until her belly was full and she couldn’t imagine indulging in another bite. But despite having the edge taken off her hunger in one respect, the lusty cravings that kept her on the brink of jumping out of her skin only worsened the longer she was around Max. She harbored no doubts that if she didn’t get some much-needed space between them soon, she would gladly be flat on her back and offering herself to Max for his amorous snacking pleasures.

Crushing the remnants of her meal into a compact ball, she rushed to the nearby trash receptacle and pitched everything inside. Max followed suit and slid his arm around her waist again, snuggling her close until she had no choice but to walk along weakly, drunk and woozy on his delicious pheromones.

He escorted her into the Taurus, even going so far as to lean across her and buckle her seat belt. She gave him a peeved scowl, which he instantly sent packing when he angled his head and kissed her. It was barely a brushing of lips, but it still short-circuited the few functioning brain cells she had left. He straightened, his smile more than relaying the fact that he knew precisely how much he was affecting her—and that he was likely to use the knowledge to his full advantage.

Humming a vaguely familiar tune, Max strode to the passenger side and climbed in. She lasered him with a hot glare. “I am not going to fall into your bed.”

“Okay.”

Okay? That was all he had to say? And why did he have to sound so damn calm and reasonable, as if he was only placating her? “I mean it, Max. Last night was—”

“Mind-blowing.”

She gnawed the inside of her cheek to keep from growling. “I was going to say a one-time deal.”

“I like my description better.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You were saying?” The bastard didn’t sound the least bit contrite.

Despite knowing she would most likely regret looking at him, she did anyway. Oh yeah. Definitely a big mistake. Why did he have to be so yummy? “Are you always this aggravating and single-minded?”

His smoky look provoked decadent shivers across her skin. “I’m not afraid to go after what I want, Willa. If that makes me single-minded, so be it. But you better believe I’m going to do whatever it takes to convince you to let me rock your Kasbah into the next week. Hell, the next lifetime.”

Her breath abandoned her like air from a popped balloon. “It’s very sneaky bringing up Kasbahs at a time like this.”

“I told you. Whatever it takes.”

Goddess, give me strength.

She slammed the gears into reverse and backed out of the parking space. The ride was every bit as excruciating as she’d suspected it would be, made all the worse when the devious radio station decided to start playing Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On”. She recognized it as the song Max had been humming earlier.

I am so screwed. She grimaced. Ugh, bad word choice.

Finally they arrived outside the Alliance headquarters, and she pulled into the small lot, stopping beside Max’s Jeep. She shifted into park but left the engine idling in case a quick getaway was required. Max released his belt and lowered the volume on the radio before turning toward her. She figured her face must have displayed her sizable panic as he leaned close, invading her personal space. His nearness forced her to tip her head sideways, making her glasses slip. He removed them and set them on the front dash. A purposeful gleam lit his eyes as his focus dipped to her mouth. She swallowed. “Max—”

His hand cupped the nape of her neck, lightly stroking. “There’s no way you didn’t think I was going to kiss you.”

“B-but you already did.”

“That was nothing. This time it’s serious.” And with that preemptive warning, he claimed her mouth, his tongue easily coaxing past the barrier of her lips and meeting hers in a hot glide. There was no hesitation or fumbling in his kiss. Only the skilled determination of a male intent on making her melt into a quivering puddle of desperation. He sucked on her bottom lip, his teeth scraping gently.

Panting, she sank her nails into the softness of Max’s T-shirt, fascinated by the marked contrast to the hard muscles hidden beneath. “I—I meant it when I said I’m not falling into your bed.”

“Then take me home to yours.” His bristly jaw scuffed softly along her chin as he dipped his head and sucked the side of her neck. Sharp, pleasurable tingles burst beneath her skin, pebbling her nipples and throbbing within her clit. She squirmed and trembled, her body pulling tight. It was no mystery to her that the sensitive area Max had zeroed in on happened to be one of the most erogenous zones of her body, but how the hell did he know it?

“I…I—” She almost passed out from the devastating pleasure of Max’s mouth when his suction intensified. Her aching clit felt like it was going to explode. “Oh goddess.”

His thumb flicked over her distended nipple, using the friction of her blouse and bra to drive her higher. He lifted his head. “I want to make you come. Over and over. With my tongue, fingers, my cock. Until you lose count of the number of orgasms you’ve had. Say you want that too.”

“Max…” Her plea turned into an embarrassing mewl as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and index finger. She grabbed onto him, trying to drag him closer and increase the teasingly light pressure on her breast, but the bastard refused to budge.

“If you don’t tell me now, Willa, so help me I’ll stop. It’s all of you or nothing.”

She stared into his eyes, looking for evidence that he was bluffing. Passion flushed his face, but his rugged features were set with unmistakable determination.

Oh hell.

Guest post and giveaway with Abbey MacInnis!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Thu, 11 Aug 2011 14:37:00 +0000

Today I'm happy and excited to host my good friend and critique partner, Abbey MacInnis. She's generously allowed me to pick her brain about her latest book and gain a little insight into her writer world. Plus she's even shown up bearing pressies! Not for me, alas. :( Oh well, I still love her. But before we get into the interview portion, how about a peek at the gorgeous cover for Abbey's latest release, His Fifth Avenue Thief?

Two years prior, Irishman Aaron O’Connel took his life from rags to riches. Chance and wits have kept him alive in 1850’S New York City. But no amount of money or success can bring his love Cathlene back from
the dead. When a thief sneaks her way into his mansion, the last woman he expects to find absconding with his belongings is his long lost wife. Abandoned on New York’s shores, a widowed, penniless, and ruined
Cathlene O'Connel was left to fend for herself in an unfamiliar world. Fear and circumstance drove her to a life of thieving in order to survive, but her heart risks the biggest danger of all when Aaron hands
her a scandalous proposition: A son in exchange for her freedom. Now that he has her back, Aaron doesn't intend to let Cathlene slip between his fingers. He'll do whatever it takes to regain her trust and love. But when an enemy from Cathlene's past resurfaces, Aaron not only faces battling for Cathlene's heart, but also her life.

Buy it at: Amazon Smashwords All Romance Ebooks
Visit Abbey at her author website Facebook Twitter Goodreads and follow her on her Blog

Abbey MacInnis is a published author of Contemporary Western romance. Along with Contemporary, she writes Historical, Paranormal and erotic romance. Whether she’s being swept off her feet by a Medieval knight, regency rake, or cowboy or cop, her heroes are always strong men who’ll love their women unconditionally. On most days, Abbey can be found at her computer, penning her latest tale. A tale where love, respect, and passion combine to create a satisfying and happy ending. She invites you to step in to the pages of her romances, to leave your worries behind and get swept up in her world.

Thanks again for being here today Abbey. How about we start off with some official-like author questions. What was your favorite/ least favorite part of writing His Fifth Avenue Thief? Is there a scene that particularly resonates with you?
There wasn't really any particular scene that I didn't enjoy writing. I think my favorite scene was the theater scene, since it's so emotional. I think what's difficult for me when I'm writing an historical is
figuring out what little detail to include and what to leave out. I learned so many cool things while doing the research for this book. But ultimately, I had to ask whether the information will help move the
story forward or not. :)

How much research did you have to do prior to writing this book?
Quite a bit, actually. :) i love that part of the writing process, so to me, it wasn't work.

Is there any routine or writing rituals that you use either while writing or in the plotting process? Any particular things that inspire you?
I'm inspired by many things: music, song lyrics, finding a little factoid while I'm researching that I have to set aside for another project. Before I start a book, I try to have the characters goals, motivations and conflicts established. Othere than that, I let the story go where it will. It can be frustrating, but it's also fun.

Any upcoming projects you'd like to braggity mcbrag on?
Sure. :) Love to. :) My next book I'm aiming to release in late October is a Time Travel Regency called The Soldier's Savior. I always put myself in the position where I need to find out the oddest little things. I'm
researching now when chest tubes were first used and when doctors first inflated lungs. :) I know, I know. Abbey, why so complicated? LOL

Ooh, an Abbey book with a paranormal element? Now you're talking my language. ;) And yay, I even have a sneak peek blurb to show off too! You really know how to make a gal feel special.
Forced to take administrative leave after the sudden death of her fiancé, E.R. resident, Gemma Taylor heads to England where she finds an old diary. Thrust back to 1814, she realizes that the man who discovered her is Lord Alexander Hayworth. His tragic future’s found within the diary’s pages. He’s about to be convicted of murder. Only she holds the key that can save him, but first she must convince Lord Alex to trust her before it’s too late. Alex trusts no one, He has enemies who’d stop at nothing to ruin him, even send a woman to ease their way. When Gemma warns him of his fate, and that of his brother, he doesn’t want to believe her. But he has no choice. Then her predictions come true, and his brother is shot, Alex knows he must rely on Gemma to save both his life and his brother’s. Gemma too, must confront her own demons and find the faith she once had in medicine and save the earl, opening her heart to Alex in the process. With their enemies even more determined to slight them, they have no choice but to remain close and work together. Can Alex and Gemma tempt fate and reverse the events of the past? Or will fate tear them apart forever?

Your upcoming release sounds terrific, Abbey. So inquiring minds want to know. Exactly how awesome is your CP, Jodi Redford? What? That's a totally legit and serious question.
LOL Okay, confession time. :) She's more awesome than I could ever express here. Really, I sometimes don't know what I'd do without her and my other cp, Jane. :) You ladies keep me sane and calm. :) <~~~ Aw, likewise. Though the sane part might be debatable in my case.

Now for some fun stuff that I may or may not blackmail you with later on:
Oh God. :) What have I gotten myself into?

What was the first romance novel that you ever read?
I think it was The Ring by Danielle Steele.

Who's your favorite author?
That's not really a fair question. :) I have so many authors I adore and respect. I started out reading
Danielle Steele, Johanna Lindsey, Irish Johansen, Kay Hooper, Elizabeth
Lowell, Nora Roberts, Karen Moning...too many to name. :)

If you could be stranded on a deserted island with any fictional romance hero, who would it be?
Roarke, the hot hero from the Eve Dallas books without question!!!! He's Irish, and smart, and rich, and Irish, and yummy! :) He's a survivor too, so I'd be alright. :)

If you could meet any famous person(s), from present time or history, who would it be?
Jane Austen, and Colin Firth.

Thanks to Jodi for having me here today. :) I had alot of fun, and if any of you readers want to ask me a question, well, shoot, go for it! :) The next stop on my blog tour is Let's Talk Romance coming up this Sunday. :) http://letstalkromance.wordpress.com/
I'd love to see you there! :)

You're very welcome, Abbey! And come back any time. I'm not just saying that to weasel more compliments out of you, either.

Hey everyone, Abbey is generously offering a $10 Amazon gift card to one lucky reader, so put your fingers to the keys and leave her a question in the comments area. We'll keep the contest open until midnight Sunday to give everyone a chance to enter. Good luck!

Maximum Witch has a cover!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 13:26:00 +0000

This must be the week for getting covers. And let me tell you, they've been truly awesome. Up on the viewing block this time is the cover for my upcoming September release, Maximum Witch. Kanaxa hit this one out of the ball park. Love it!

Who says getting eaten by a shark is a bad thing?

That Old Black Magic, Book 3

Willa Jameson is having one whopper of an identity crisis. Odd memory flashes that aren’t hers. A sultry voice in her head that’s obsessed with sex. Even weirder, she finds herself in the jaws of a rogue leviathan, dragged to the bottom of the ocean—and rescued by a hunky…shark?

The last thing Sheriff Max Truitt expects to find on his daily, deep-Atlantic patrol is a human—especially one who breathes underwater. Compelled to take her home, he waits for the beauty to wake up and reveal her name. Instead he’s treated to a punch in the nose, then a sexy romp hot enough to boil water.

The next morning, embarrassed by the sizzling, scandalous things the voice in her head drove her to do, Willa slips away. But if there’s one thing a determined shark excels at, it’s tracking his favorite meal.

Solving the mystery that is Willa is no simple task. When they finally unlock a dangerous secret hidden deep in her subconscious, it drives a wedge between them…and puts them in a desperate race against an evil that seeks to rain down a watery Armageddon on all mankind.

Warning:This book does not contain sex with a puffer fish. There’s not even sex with a seahorse. However, there’s plenty of smoking-hot lovin’ with a shark. And even a steamy M/F/M threesome. So slap on your snorkels and swim fins, things are about to get wet and wild.

The Naughty List

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 15:40:00 +0000

Okay, so as a few of you might know, I have a super sexy menage coming out at the end of November that has absolutely no--gasp--paranormal or woo woo elements in it. I know, shocking. Who knew my brain could even function without throwing a swearing unicorn or a cross dressing were-aardvark into the mix? But I have to say, The Naughty List was a ton of fun to write and I really ended up falling in love with Lacey, Ry and Bram. So you're probably wondering why I'm being all braggity mcbrag on this particular book today, particularly since it's not releasing until the end of November? Well, it's because I've got cover lovin' to share, of course. ;)

So without further ado, I present in all its smoldering smexiness, The Naughty List:

Making a list, and rocking it...twice.

Perpetual good girl Lacey McGuire has two Christmas wish lists. One suitable for public consumption…and a private one that’s too hot to handle. Right at the top: wild, wicked fantasies about her best buddies and business partners Ryan Hollister and Bram Colton.

Besides the fact they’re both poster boys for Hunks ’R’ Us, they’ve been there for her through thick, thin and the heartbreak of a cheating fiancé. So what if her boys will never know they star in her sexiest daydreams? In her fantasy world, her heart will never get trampled again.

Ry and Bram are pretty sure Lacey never meant to email a list of some of her raunchiest wants. Particularly the one that tightens their shorts—she wants a threesome. With them. Although they’ve loved her for years, they made a pact to keep Lacey off limits in order to protect their friendship. Now all bets are off. And the quest to give her all she wants—and more—is on.

Warning: This book contains a wickedly hot M/F/M ménage that will heat up the holidays. Friends steaming things up in a hot tub. Bondage and blindfolds. Sexy shenanigans at a Christmas tree lot. And maybe even a glimpse of Santa…in a Speedo.

New Contract!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 23:14:00 +0000

It's official! I just signed the contract for Getting Familiar With Your Demon, book 4 in The Old Black Magic series!! I'm still in the process of getting this book wrapped up, so I don't have a blurb or anything to share yet, but so far it looks like I might be getting a February release date for this one. Fingers crossed!

And just because I can't resist letting Sam the demon bask in his celebratory moment. ;)

Seven Year Witch Release Day!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 16:04:00 +0000

Today is the official release day for The Seven Year Witch! I'm so happy and excited to finally have Clarissa and Logan's story out there for the world to see. This book was truly an emotional roller coaster for me to write and it holds a special place in my heart. Because of this being release week, I'm at a few places giving away some pressies. From now through Thursday, you can find me and Logan at Among The Muses, where you can win a $10 gift certificate to Samhain Publishing. Tomorrow I have a Launch Party over at Author Island. I don't have an official link to that yet, or the release party I'll be participating in at The Romance Studio on Thursday, so keep an eye out for those tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's the blurb and a naughty little excerpt.

After this much foreplay, something’s bound to combust.

That Old Black Magic, Book 2

As head mistress of Beaumont coven house, Clarissa Miles has perfected two things: keeping her sister witches from accidently turning innocent bystanders into toads, and resisting the sexy overtures of her familiar, werewolf Logan Scott.

But her resolve is vanishing—fast. Seven years ago she sold her soul to save her father, and that contract is coming due. The allure of spending her last days indulging in some dirty, naked loving is too tempting to resist.

Logan has patiently ridden out the past seven years, content to do Clarissa’s bidding and ignoring his consuming need to mark her as his. Now that the ban on witch/familiar fraternizing has been lifted, he’s off the leash and ready to launch a full-on sensual assault on her defenses. They’re destined mates, and he’ll do whatever it takes to convince her.

It’s delightfully easy to get her in bed. Get at her heart? Not so much. Especially when a deadly predator stakes its claim on her…and Logan faces a battle not only to win her heart, but save her soul.

Product Warnings

This book contains a villain with more personalities than Sybil, a witch in search of redemption and a dirty-talking werewolf hell-bent on claiming his mate in every wicked, sexy way possible. Spontaneous howling may occur.

Logan stepped into the service entrance of Tatum’s and bypassed the kitchen, following the corridor to the main section of the restaurant. He coughed, nearly hacking up a lung as the acrid smoke from what undoubtedly amounted to ten thousand packs of cigarettes ambushed him. His heightened lupine senses always made walking into a bar a dicey prospect.

Steeling himself, he strode toward the jam-packed bar. After elbowing a path through the throng and requesting a beer from the bartender, he moseyed out of the way and scoped the room for an available seat. The majority of tables close to the stage were already taken, but he spotted a vacant booth that still afforded a decent view.

Hoping to sweet talk his way into the primo spot, he swiveled toward the hostess stand, only to slam to a standstill when he spied Clarissa sitting at a table near the back of the dining room. She wasn’t alone. Even while his brain scrambled to process that disturbing revelation, he watched the stranger’s hands bracket Clarissa’s face, right before the guy leaned in and kissed her.

Numb disbelief froze him. What. The. Fuck.

Jealous fury detonated inside him, instantly eradicating every thought but the one screaming in his mind—the fucking asshole had his tongue rammed in Clarissa’s mouth. His woman.

Fists balling in preparation of punching the dickwad’s nose off kilter, Logan growled low in his throat and stalked in Clarissa’s direction. A seat suddenly swerved in front of him, almost jabbing him in the hip. He snarled at the clueless guy straddling the chair before shoving the seat out of the way. Ignoring the guy’s sputtering retort, Logan jerked his focus back to Clarissa. And did a double take.

She was alone.

He took a quick scan of the dining room, not seeing the dickwad anywhere. It was almost as if the dude had vanished into thin air. Another possibility knocked against his consciousness and he grunted. Or maybe I imagined the whole thing. The idea wasn’t completely out in left field. Fuck knows this obsession with Clarissa had messed with his head on more than one occasion. Tunneling a shaky hand through his hair, he continued forward. When he was less than two table lengths away from Clarissa, she looked up and locked stares with him. Every ounce of color leeched from her face. Her gaze darted sideways, toward the back hallway, and he lengthened his stride, fully intending to tackle her if her butt so much as inched off her chair.

Apparently reading his intention, Clarissa muttered beneath her breath. He didn’t need to be a lip reader—or rely on his acute hearing—to make out the words “Fuck me.”

Her irritability, along with her choice of words, stirred the wicked beast within him. Drawing to a halt at her table, he awarded her his best wolfish smile. “Just name the time and place, shug.”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I meant.”

“No? Because I’m thinking that’s precisely what I’d like to do.”

Her cheeks bloomed with a vivid splash of red. “I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”

Clarissa’s testiness only managed to rekindle his anger. “Well, now, I’m real sorry you feel that way, shug. ’Cause the last thing I’d wanna do is piss on whatever urgent plans preempted our dinner tonight.”

“There’s no need to be a prick.” She stood, her eyes narrowing as he strategically blocked her path. “Or make a scene. Please move.”

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Whammy me? Might be kinda hard explainin’ that one to everyone here, darlin’.”

“Logan, please.” Her voice broke on the last word, stunning him. She glanced down, but not before he caught the faint glimmer of moisture in her eyes. The sight hit him like a sucker punch in the gut, making him feel like the prick she’d accused him of being.

If there was one thing guaranteed to shred him to pieces, it was a woman’s tears. Having that woman be Clarissa only made it a thousand times more terrible. “Clarissa…”

Without saying another word, she rushed past him and hurried toward the rear hallway. Even her strongest holding spell wouldn’t have kept him from chasing after her.

He caught up with Clarissa before she could duck out the door or into the ladies’ restroom. Not that either location would have deterred him. He tugged her into his arms, the ferocity of her expression revealing just how much she hated showing the vulnerability hidden beneath that legendary icy exterior she’d perfected. Tucking her against his chest, he nuzzled her forehead. “Rissa, I’m sorry.”

She stiffened. “Please don’t call me that. I—it’s very inappropriate.”

“Hush.” Unable to help himself, he followed the delicate, silky arch of her eyebrow with his lips. She trembled and sighed, making both man and wolf silently growl in triumph at her tiny show of capitulation. Holding her this close was both heaven and hell, a heady torment that teased every single one of his heightened senses. She smelled luscious and feminine, a delicious main course he could easily feast on all day and night. His hands slid down the slopes of her shoulders, a not entirely unconscious marking of his territory.

Her breath stuttered in her throat. “This isn’t the place to be doing this.” She must have caught her slip of words because she jerked her gaze up to his. “I mean we shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

Tuning out her weak protest, he traced her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “That’s where you’re wrong. Right now, I need to kiss you more than I need to breathe. I wanna taste you. Eat you up.” Make you mine. The thought sprang full born from the most primal part of him, where wolf overruled man.

Clarissa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t draw back as his head descended. Their lips met, clung briefly, before he gave in to the fierce hunger burning low in the pit of his gut. Intent on making his possessiveness—and his desire—known, he nudged the hard ridge of his erection between her thighs. “Feel that, baby? That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

He filled his palms with her ass and squeezed, deliberately rolling his hips against hers. Yeah, he was dry humping her against a wall right outside the damn restrooms. But if the frequency of her gasps were any indication, she was enjoying the hell out of it just as much as he was.

His tongue slicked past the nonresistant barrier of her lips, and he relished the soft, breathy moan that escaped Clarissa. She was even more intoxicating than he remembered. Her magic shimmered around them, mingling with his energy and creating a charged buzz that tingled across his skin. He broke off the kiss, his breath ragged against her cheek. “Come home with me.”

She licked her lips. “That would be an epically bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because we both know where it would lead.”

He ducked his head and nibbled a path along her jaw before exploring the soft hollow behind her ear with the tip of his tongue. “If you’re referrin’ to you tied to my bed, then yeah, damn straight.”

Her shallow exhale whispered against the side of his face. “Th-that’s not what I…” She swallowed. “You want to tie me to your bed?”

“More than you could imagine. God knows I’ve imagined it more often than I can count.” He released the tempting swells of her ass and glided his palms up along her hips, taking his time to properly enjoy her lush curves. “You’d be spread-eagled, your whole body tremblin’ and your nipples unbearably tight.”

“W-why would I be trembling?”

He grinned against her neck. “Don’t you also want to know why your nipples are tight?”

“I figured you’d get around to telling me, regardless.”

“Aw, shug, am I that predictable?” Yeah, he was. No way in hell he could temper the urge to tell her everything he wanted to do to her. In precise, Technicolor detail. “You’re tremblin’ because I’m eating your pussy. Lickin’ you inside and out, nice and slow. Savoring you.”

Her pulse skittered beneath his lips. “Logan, please—”

“Yeah, those are exactly the words you keep repeatin’ while my tongue is workin’ your clit and your sweet honey is filling my mouth.” He groaned and shifted, resting his forehead against hers. The fantasy had him hard as granite and desperate to sink into her softness. “Christ. Have mercy on me, Rissa. Say you’ll come home with me.”

ARC contest for The Seven Year Witch

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 18:02:00 +0000

It's just a week away for the release of The Seven Year Witch. Squee!!!! Okay, now that I've got that out of the way...how about a shot at winning an advanced read of Clarissa and Logan's book? Just visit my contest page here for all the details and to enter. But hurry, I'm closing the contest tomorrow at midnight.

And because Logan and I love The Black Keys and this awesome vid...

Win an iPad!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 23 May 2011 20:36:00 +0000

My friends Vivian Arend and the writing duo of Moira Rogers are hosting a great contest this month, where you can win an iPad and tons of great print and digital books. This week Taking Liberty is one of the featured digital books. So get thee over to the contest page and enter! Just click the icon below. Good luck!

Some squee news and mancandy

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Wed, 06 Apr 2011 01:31:00 +0000

Yesterday I received a very awesome email from the Passionate Ink chapter of RWA telling me That Voodoo You Do is a finalist in the Passionate Plume contest. WooHoo!! Here's the very pretty icon I get to toot about:

That Voodoo You Do is in there with some fabulous books, so I'm extremely thrilled and honored to have made the cut.

Okay, enough with the braggin'. I know the promise of mancandy trumps that any day. Going back over some of my previous posts, I realized I never gave the scoop on my hero dudes from the That Old Black Magic series. Bad author! So without further ado, I present:

Logan Scott--the dirty-talkin' werewolf from The Seven Year Witch and That Voodoo You Do

Yeah, like there'd been any chance it'd be anyone other than Joe. Please. He is a werewolf, after all. ;)

Max Truitt--the sexy shark-shifter sheriff from Maximum Witch

I have no idea who the model is. But with abs like that, does it really matter?

Sam--the wicked demon from my current work in progress.

This is Alessandro Terrin, an Italian swimmer. Isn't he beautiful? That back. The incredible tat. That back. His intense eyes. Did I mention his back? Excuse me while I wipe the drool from my monitor.

Updates and a new cover

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 19:07:00 +0000

Yes, I know. I've been severely neglecting my blog lately. Hangs head in shame. Between writing, editing, and the EDJ, things have been CRAZY. So you may have been wondering what's been up with me lately. Well, first of all, my smexy little novella, Vanessa Unveiled released the beginning of February. I even had a very awesome review for it just show up over at The Romance Studio. Here's a link in case you'd like to check it out.

Also, I just finished the 3rd book in the That Old Black Magic series, Maximum Witch. So far, it looks like that one will be releasing sometime in September from Samhain Publishing. Right now I'm working on the fourth book, as well as a Christmas erotic contemporary. Yep, you heard that right. A book from me that will have no weird woo woo in it. We'll see how long I last before going through withdrawals.

After I get those two books finished, I have a ton of projects in the works that I'm hoping to get through this year and early 2012. And yes, I promise that Jace from Light My Fire and Jerrick from Lover Enslaved are both getting their books written in that time frame. :) Thanks to all the readers who've written to me asking about them. I love those guys too, and have exciting things in store for them.

Last, but certainly not least, The Seven Year Witch has a gorgeous cover from the uber talented Kanaxa. Behold:

The girl on the cover was originally one of the possible choices for That Voodoo You Do's cover, but when I saw her I knew immediately she was perfect for Clarissa. And now she is! :)
The Seven Year Witch releases on June 21st, and I can't wait. All of my books hold a special place in my heart, but I have to admit that Clarissa and Logan's love story is one that really ripped my heart out. But in a good way. Here's the blurb:

After this much foreplay, something's bound to combust.

That Old Black Magic, Book 2

As head mistress of Beaumont coven house, Clarissa Miles has perfected two things: keeping her sister witches from accidentally turning innocent bystanders into toads, and resisting the sexy overtures of her familiar, werewolf Logan Scott.

But her resolve is vanishing--fast. Seven years ago she sold her soul to save her father, and that contract is coming due. The allure of spending her last days indulging in some dirty, naked loving is too tempting to resist.

Logan has patiently ridden out the past seven years, content to do Clarissa's bidding and ignoring his consuming need to mark her as is. Now that the ban on witch/familiar fraternizing has been lifted, he's off the leash and ready to launch a full-on sensual assault on her defenses. They're destined mates, and he'll do whatever it takes to convince her.

It's delightfully easy to get her in bed. Get at her heart? Not so much. Especially when a deadly predator stakes its claim on her...and Logan faces a battle not only to win her heart, but save her soul.

Warning: This book contains a villain with more personalities than Sybil, a witch in search of redemption and a dirty-talking werewolf hell-bent on claiming his mate in every wicked, sexy way possible. Spontaneous howling may occur.

I haz new cover!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Thu, 21 Oct 2010 14:32:00 +0000

Yes, Vanessa Unveiled officially has a cover. And I freakin' LOVE it. Courtesy of the insanely talented Kanaxa, I present...

It's release day!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 11:26:00 +0000

Woo Hoo!! That Voodoo You Do is now officially out! I honestly get so excited for every release, to the point of driving my family nuts. I can't imagine ever getting to the point where release day is no big deal, even if I have a hundred books under my belt. Because, ultimately, each book is special in its own way. I wrote Voodoo during a time that was both challenging and frustrating for me. Honestly, there were many, many moments during the process that I worried this book would never see the light of day. But I plowed on, determined that I'd find a way to block out the personal dramas that were sitting on my creativity like a 6 ton elephant. And you know what? I'm glad I kept the faith. Because I love this book. And in the end, that's what makes all those long hours spent plugging away at the computer totally worth it.

In celebration of Voodoo's release, I'm going to be out and about this week, chatting and giving some behind the scenes making of the book. To sweeten the deal, I just might be giving away a little somethin' somethin' along the way too. So today, look for me at Among The Muses. I'll also be in the Samhain Cafe off an on all day. Tomorrow you can find me at Drea Becraft's blog. And Thursday I'm over at Embrace The Shadows. If you have a moment, pop on over and say howdy!

Inspiring the muse

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Sun, 19 Sep 2010 20:22:00 +0000

Eye candy. Yes, my friends, that's what this blog post will be all about. Specifically, the eye candy that we writers often have to wade through on the internet or magazines to inspire our muses to create one of our favorite things in this world. Okay, my favorite thing in this world. Hunky heroes. It used to be that I didn't so much rely on pictures. I just sort of visualized what they looked like in my head and that was that. But all that changed once I became published. Or more specifically, after having to turn in my first cover art request. I quickly found out that providing the artist with an image worked so much better than just giving some vague description that didn't really give them much to work with. And in the process I learned something.

I really am a visual writer. Who would have thunk it? So now I routinely gather up an image of my heroes and heroines right around the time I'm putting together the soundtrack for the book. And it really does help me to get inside that character better.

So I thought I'd post the two hubba hubbas who inspired my naughty pookas in Vanessa Unveiled. Without further ado, I present:

Rand Quinlan

The only thing missing from this guy to make him an absolute Rand look-a-like are the clan tattoos on his shoulder, but other than that...ooh, mama! There's even a beach scene in the book which fits in perfectly with this picture. Of course, the jeans would have to be missing to make it truly authentic. ;)

Braeden Whyndham

In my head, Braeden's hair is a little longer and shaggier than this guy's, but still definitely a dead ringer for my pooka. And those eyes, talk about hot and intense. And the chest and abs aren't too shabby either.

I also have an image of Vanessa too, but lets face it, it's the hunks that you really wanted to check out. Lol. I think later this week I'll do a post with the two hunks that inspired Griff and Logan from That Voodoo You Do. For those of you who watch Supernatural and True Blood, you might recognize some familiar faces.

Labor Day wrap up and a blurb

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 14:17:00 +0000

So its back to work after the long holiday weekend, and I'm ready for Saturday to get here already. Pathetic, I know. I blame it on the grid-locked freeway traffic I was stuck in yesterday afternoon. Six and a half hours for a usually four hour drive. And this was even after the husband and I came up with the brilliant idea to leave early before all the other drivers up north. Yeah, apparently a million plus people had the same brilliant idea. But hey, I did manage to get some writing in over the weekend and even did a winery hop along Michigan's Old Mission Peninsula. Had a really good time (probably too good) sampling all the fabulous wines and eating the most delicious lunch ever at the Boathouse in Bowers Harbor. I've already decided to make another trip up there later this fall when the autumn leaves are at their peak. Now if only I can remember to bring my camera along...

In other news, I have a blurb for Vanessa Unveiled. I'm really, really geeked over how it turned out.

Resisting two magical mischief makers definitely wasn't in the job description.

Vanessa Darby, a bounty hunter and tracker for the Veil Alliance League, figures things can't get any crappier than her car breaking down on a deserted highway. Until the two dimension-hopping renegades she's been assigned to capture lure her to their magical love nest in the woods and entangle her in a web of seduction.

How the hell is she supposed to resist a pair of gorgeous male pookas who have a wicked talent for bringing the sexy?

Rand and Braeden have searched more than three centuries for their one true bond mate. Now that Vanessa's been dropped into their arms, they have no intention of giving her up. Even if it means agreeing to her terms: if they can't persuade her within forty-eight hours that the three of them belong together, they'll give themselves over to the authorities. But convincing a woman who doesn't believe in love, or the concept of forever, is no easy feat. Particularly with one doozy of a dirty secret from their past waiting to trip them up.

Warning:Two hotter-than-should-be-legal pookas sexin' it up with each other and the stubborn woman they love. One magical hotel in the woods that isn't exactly what it seems. And a unicorn who will forever tarnish the image of the species.

Weeee!!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 17:12:00 +0000

I'm a day late in announcing it, but I just contracted a new project with Samhain Publishing. This book is two firsts for me. My first novella, and my first M/M/F. I blame all the scrumptious man candy over on Ava March's blog for inspiring the M/M part. ;) I'm still in the middle of writing the novella, so no blurb as of yet. But I do have a title--a small miracle, seeing as how those often don't come to me until the book is nearly done. Anywho, Vanessa Unveiled features Vanessa, a bounty hunter who goes after Otherworlders that illegally jump the dimensional veil, and Rand and Braeden--the two sexier-than-should-be-legal pookas she's been assigned to bring in. Hot naughtiness ensues when Rand and Braeden turn up the heat in order to convince Vanessa she's their bond mate.

I don't have a release date yet, but word is it'll be coming out sometime in February of 2011. Woo Hoo!

A hot voodoo excerpt

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 22:09:00 +0000

I was skulking the Coming Soon pages over at Samhain--yeah, I know. I'm just a little obsessive about that--and saw That Voodoo You Do not only has its cover up, but also an excerpt. Yay! Here's the link if you'd like to check it out. But in the spirit of sharing, I thought I'd also post a hot little excerpt right here. Hope you enjoy. ;)

That Voodoo You Do
Copyright © 2010 Jodi Redford

“So what’s going on in there?”

Logan propped his elbow against the frame, giving her a close-up view of his barbed-wire tat. Now that she thought about it, the symbolism seemed appropriate. Tangling with the lusty werewolf was bound to leave a few scratches. “Just Clarissa taking care of some coven business. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, darlin’.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That managed to be both evasive and sexist.”

“Damn, and here I wasn’t even tryin’.” He chuckled. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she reached around him for the doorknob. He scooted sideways, forcing her hand to smack into his abdomen instead. His bare, firm-as-marble abdomen. Her fingertips brushed the warm hollow of skin resting just above the low rise of his button fly. Sucking in a sharp breath, she yanked her arm away and shuffled back several steps.

“Don’t stop now. Things were just getting interesting.”

“I, uh, just have to go and…um…yeah.” She spun and stumbled in the direction of the kitchen before she did something really stupid, like follow the silky trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of Logan’s jeans. With her tongue. That thought sent her tripping through the entry of the kitchen. She jerked to a halt when she spotted Griff in front of the stove, stirring the contents of a large stockpot. He was notably shirtless too, which put the mouthwatering expanse of his back on dazzling display. She stared at the muscles shifting beneath all that golden, velvety skin, her suspicions bubbling. It was too damn weird and convenient that both Logan and Griff were standing around half naked all of a sudden. Unless some devious shirt monster was making its rounds in the neighborhood, there was definitely something afoot.

And where was everyone else, anyway? She craned her neck, scoping the dining alcove for signs of Ms. Peach or Gloria.

“Hey, baby. You’re just in time for a taste test.”

She whipped her head around at Griff’s zippy tone. Now she knew something was up. Griff didn’t do chipper, particularly not thirty minutes after snarling at her like a pissed-off Tony the Tiger. “What the hell is going on?”

Griff tried for a guileless look. Oh yeah, he didn’t do innocent well either. “I’m getting lunch ready.”

“Without your shirt on?”

“It’s hot in here.”

Well…that was certainly true. Even without Griff’s muscle-icious torso making her girl parts all warm and tingly, there was no denying the temperature in the kitchen hovered between muggy and melt-your-panties-off miserable.

Griff dug a spoon out of the drawer and ladled some of the sauce he’d been stirring. “Tell me if this needs anything.”

Her intuition warning her to be on the lookout for any sneakiness, she hesitantly crossed to the industrial-sized, stainless-steel stove. She tried to wrestle the spoon from Griff, but he insisted on feeding her the concoction himself. Almost from the instant the tapestry of flavors met her tongue, a seductive ripple of heat unfurled inside her, tightening her nipples beneath the sundress’s snug, smocked bodice. Griff’s thumb traced the outline of her lower lip. Holding her gaze, he lifted his finger and slowly licked it clean. If the humidity didn’t melt the crotch of her panties, Griff demonstrating his perfect oral skills sure as hell would.

“What do you think? A pinch more salt and pepper?”

She stared into Griff’s dark-as-sin pupils. Clearly he was waiting for her to answer, but damn if she could concentrate on anything beyond the flush of arousal making her dizzy with hunger. Only it wasn’t food she was lusting for at the moment. Knees wobbling, she clutched the counter. “W—what’s in that sauce?”

“Butter, egg, milk. The usual Béchamel ingredients.”

Sure, and a liberal dash of horny goat weed and Viagra thrown in for good measure. She had no idea why Griff was trying to get her juiced up for sex. He knew damn well that all he had to do was breathe and she’d gladly tackle him to the floor and ride him until they were both properly yippee-ki-yayed out. Which left only one possibility.

He was about to spring some hellaciously scary sexual request on her. If a midget and a monkey strolled in right now, she was so out of th—

“Looks like the party is revving into high gear.” Logan ambled into the kitchen, his expression wicked and wolfish.

Her focus shifted between the two gorgeous specimens of male flesh on decadent display, and the puzzle pieces began locking together. Oh, sweet Jesus. Her heart frantically tap dancing, she snatched the embroidered dishtowel resting on the counter and blotted her perspiring forehead. Either the heat and the sauce were getting to her, or Griff and Logan. More than likely, all four.

She shot Griff an accusing glare. “Now I get it. You think the three of us having sex will fix everything, and I won’t have to worry about Nettie luring me to the dark side. Did it even occur to you to give me a say in this decision?”

Griff thunked the spoon on the stovetop before giving her his full attention. “Christ, do you honestly think you wouldn’t get a say? Damn it, you know I’d never force you into doing anything you don’t want.”

She plunked one hand on her hip and waved the other hand at the stockpot. “But you weren’t averse to a little cheating, courtesy of your pasta à la sex sauce.”

“I just wanted you to feel more comfortable. Relaxed.”

“Turned on,” she added, arching a brow.

A guilty flush spread from Griff’s jaw to his cheeks. Chuffing a laugh, Logan joined them at the stove. “Catman had good intentions, sugar. The potion in the sauce is designed to loosen inhibitions and supersensitize erogenous zones you didn’t even know you had.” He flicked a glance in Griff’s direction. “Maybe you better give her a demonstration.”

She snorted. “Trust me, he already did.”

Logan’s mouth curled in wicked devilment. “You only got a small taste of the potion’s capabilities. To truly appreciate its gift to the fullest, you need to ingest it in a more…intimate manner.” Before she knew what he was up to, Logan unlaced the ties securing the sundress to her shoulders and pushed the bodice down, exposing her breasts. Gasping, she shot him a startled look. He awarded her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna enjoy this.”

Something warm and sticky stroked her nipples. She jumped at the unexpected sensation, her gaze shooting to Griff’s sauce-coated fingers as they painted her areolas with the creamy substance. He lowered his head and followed the path of his fingers with his tongue, sparking a new conflagration of fire inside her. She shivered and Griff peered up at her, his eyes blazing. Curving an arm around her waist, he stood and claimed her mouth in a hot, devouring kiss. He tasted of Béchamel and exotic spice. Of magic and sex. She wrapped her fingers in his hair, tugging him closer, ravenous for more. Their tongues rasped in a mating dance and she wiggled against him, her nipples aching for the sumptuous devotion of Griff’s mouth.

Logan’s knuckles skated the length of her spine. “Noticing the effects yet?” She mewled a response and he chuckled. “Excellent.” He worked the dress over her hips and the garment floated to her feet. His feather-light touch skimmed above the elastic of her bikini, teasing the dimples near her tailbone. She arched against Logan’s hand, her knees turning to jelly when he palmed her ass and gave it a good squeeze. He snuggled close behind her, so close she easily detected the hard ridge of his erection suggestively rubbing into her. “I’ve got something for ya, darlin’.”

Oh yeah. No mistaking that.

Griff’s mouth trailed to the crook of her neck, and something soft and silky caressed her cheek. She reached for the fabric, but Logan swept it behind her head.

“Not yet. First I want something in return.”

She licked her lips, a hot liquid rush of excitement pulsing low in her belly. “What?”

“A taste.” Logan’s teeth scraped her earlobe, making her breath stutter. He moved lower and tongued the pulse point beneath her ear. “Same as you gave Catman.”

A whimper escaped her and Logan tilted her head, his fingers tunneling in her hair as his lips glided along hers. Sucking her tongue into his mouth, he gave her a sneak peek at the devastation he could wreak on her body. If she let him. The question was, would she?

Some Cover Pimpin'

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 22:07:00 +0000

I just got the final approved cover for That Voodoo You Do and I love it sooooo much that I have to share it with the world! Okay, well...at least with you all. Lol.

I have blurbage!

noreply@blogger.com (Jodi Redford) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 23:29:00 +0000

I just got the final blurb back for That Voodoo You Do and couldn't resist sharing. Oh, and I also have a release date! October 12th. Yay!! Perfect timing for Halloween.

That Voodoo You Do
That Old Black Magic, Book 1

Something dead this way comes...

For ten long years Griffin Trudeau has managed to keep his paws off Jemma Finnegan, best friend and leading star of his kinkiest fantasies. As her appointed cat familiar, indulging those fantasies with the delectable witch is strictly forbidden. But when Jemma shows up at his door with seduction in mind, control goes right out the window.

Too late he realizes making love to Jemma is the trigger that launches a zombie apocalypse.

Jemma's been dealt a double whammy: she's just discovered she's a witch. And Griff's been hiding whiskers and a tail. Oh, and if her life wasn't crazy enough, a dead voodoo queen needs her blood to raise a legion of zombies.

There's one plan that might work to increase Jemma's powers so she can put an end to the looming holocaust. A sexy threesome with Griff and Logan Scott, a werewolf familiar with a history of rubbing Griff's fur the wrong way. A cat and a wolf playing nice, much less sharing? It'll take a miracle.

Warning: A witch, tiger and wolf doing naughty things. A dead voodoo queen doing evil things. And zombies doing zombie things. Get your shovels ready.