Welcome to a some cool fun for a hot Sunday. To celebrate the release of Blind Heat, the second book in my Pantherian Passions series, I've set up a little game related to the story.
Our hero, Marcus St. Germaine has a habit he hasn't been able to kick. At the start of Blind Heat he gives into temptation and this time it gets him into trouble. I'll be sharing the first chapter in blog posts throughout the day. At the end of each post, I'll show you a picture and tell you the name of the blog where it's hidden. Simply email Master Bond ( the kinky French Chef from The Dungeon Gourmet) lemarquis.debond on gmail.com telling him where you found the picture. For every correct answer you send in, you'll get your name in the hat. The prize is your choice of my backlist:
The Tiger's Tale (First book in the Pantherian Passions Series)
The Dungeon Gourmet
Snatch Me
I'll announce the winner Monday morning on the Words, Women, Wisdom blog.
Happy Hunting and good luck. I'll be checking back throughout the day, so if you have questions, leave them in the comments and I'll be along shortly with an answer.
Blind Heat: Excerpt7
The runner slowed and then stopped a few feet from him. His body taught, ready to dash for it, he watched her. She was dressed in black running tights and a long-sleeved gray shirt. No hat, scarf, gloves. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and her cheeks were flushed from her run. He could hear the up-kick in her heartbeat, already fast because of the exertion.
She murmured, squinted and he guessed she was trying to decide if she really saw what her eyes were telling her she saw. He could only guess, because her thoughts remained shielded. A skill rare in humans and usually exhibited only by those who’d suffered such great trauma that they had mastered the trick of concealing their own thoughts from themselves, locking away ugly memories. He wondered what evil had touched one so young. He doubted she was twenty-five years.
She took a step closer, her heart revved up another notch, her breath fast little puffs in the frosty air. “Not real,” she was muttering, “a new sculpture. Heck of a place to put it.”
She took another step toward him, her hand outstretched. Hella, thank the mother of all, stayed quiet.
A curious vibration washed over Marcus, a soft lulling hum, almost a purring that seeped through his skin and into his bones. He wanted to be closer to her, lose himself in that delicious sensation. His eyelids snapped up and he gave her a thorough look, the light was coming up. Dark hair, fair skin, green eyes. She was definitely not his kind. Even if he overlooked that a female, unescorted, wouldn’t be in a human-controlled territory−Pantherians didn’t have green eyes. His senses were so skewed by his depleted energy he couldn’t trust what they told him.
As much as he wanted to feel those slender fingers run through his fur, as much as he longed to roll onto his back and have her scratch his belly, he had to discourage her from touching—discovering the nose her fingers reached to touch was cool and wet and attached to a living, breathing leopard.
He resisted her pull with a rise in his own energy, his body fading as the vibration quickened and he was gone from her sight, fading away with the rising sun. He didn’t have the energy to shift, so he had to hope fading away would be enough. He hoped she would move on quickly, staying in the shifting plane was like holding your breath under water. He might be able to hold himself shapeless longer than the average Pantherian, but in his exhausted state he felt as if his mind was losing its cohesiveness, the essence of who he was separating and scattering like air from a balloon. How far could bits of himself scatter before they were too far apart to reunite?
While he was formless, he had no hearing or sight. Those features required ears and eyes. He waited, knowing time was running out for both him and Hella. When he couldn’t hold it a nanosecond longer, he reformed. The force of his return scattered snow in plumes of powder. He sucked air into hungry lungs and braced himself for a female’s scream. Silence.
The world around him snapped into focus. The woman was gone, back the way she had come. The sound of another runner, male, approaching from the opposite direction had him cursing. He dove for Hella, but she was gone, along with her towel and the borrowed scrubs. The woman must have taken her, and tracks to the hiding place bore that out. Marcus’ weary brain scrambled for a plan.
The man was getting closer, his thoughts−easily read−centered on beating a buddy a few yards behind him. Marcus didn’t have the strength to stand. Frustration rumbling in his chest, he had to abandon Hella and crawl on his belly into the underbrush.
I made this one easy. It's on one of my Pinterest boards. Just follow the link and email the name of the board it's posted to. Thanks for playing!
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