Monday, July 27, 2015

Do you like #sexy #Paranormal Fantasy? The Moon, The Madness, and The Magic by Eliza March

Golden Quill Erotic Romance Finalist 2010

The Moon, The Madness, and The Magic
[Menage and More: Erotic Fantasy Menage a Trois Romance, M/M/F, BDSM, shape-shifters] Fate sealed Rourke and Dane's destiny thirty years ago. Now Celeste, a fae shifter, understands why she's irresistibly drawn to both the Werewolf and the Demon Dragon Shifter. Surely with her succubus nature, she'll be capable of seducing the two alpha men, but will she be able to convince them that sharing her to fulfill the Prophecy would be better than the alternative: chaos, destruction, or death? Why are the men's tastes--in everything from food to sex--changing? Maybe because one is the prince of the wolf pack, and the other is the leader of the Lore, a dreaded Demon Dragon shifter. They have one option--accept their destiny and complete the menage bond or die. ** A Siren Erotic Romance

NEW Excerpt:
There was that scent again. Stronger this time. Celeste took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled. The scent in the air made her insides quake, and her hand trembled as she brushed a stray curl off her face. The heavy pheromones in the air, the ones impacting her approaching heat, filled her, almost overwhelming her good sense. She should have anticipated her reaction, but their powerful impact was greater than she’d expected.

Only a week until Beltane and the full moon closest to the midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice approached. Things would only become more intense.

The buds on the trees warned her. Time grew short, and her new responsibilities weighed more heavily on her each day. Cupping a hand above her brows, she squinted into the bright sun and looked over the landscape to the forest beyond. Nothing. No sinister vibrations emanating from the forest beings—yet.

So much was at stake. So many lives depended on her fulfilling her purpose. This Beltane, her first since reaching her majority, meant she could finally take a mate if she chose. Only in her case, the choice may already have been made for her, according to the Council and the prophecy.

The heavy scent of the male pheromones rode the air currents, winding around Celeste, stimulating her glamour and drawing out her inner radiance. Her secret came dangerously close to the surface, close to being exposed. With a deep breath, she tapped down her glamour.

She should have stayed and dealt with him last night. Instead, she’d run like a coward, fleeing the club even when he’d gone looking for her later. She’d known he was the one when she’d walked in the door and her body had responded so strongly to his scent. She’d been overwhelmed with need. Nothing had ever affected her like he had. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tingled, and her womb wept.

For her, the club would have been too public a place for their first meeting, especially if her control had weakened. Her inner nature might have seduced him on the dance floor and sent the desire spiraling outward to the others in the club. The power of her arousal could have turned the dance floor into an orgy, and the succubus within her was unconcerned about consequences. Her inner essence didn’t care that this would be her first time.

Get over it. First time or not, what difference would it make? It’s not like this was going to be a love-match. Why was she romanticizing this inevitable event?

Pleasurable male laughter rumbled up like distant thunder from the tennis courts below. With a sigh of resignation, she walked to the corner of her veranda for a better view and discretely watched the friendly competition while she thoughtfully considered her approach.

Where should she start? Their banter filtered through her thoughts. She wondered how the horrible tragedy of fate had brought them all together as her gaze drank in the one called Rourke—his rugged good looks, his broad shoulders, and the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin. Everything about him fascinated her. What would it be like to touch all that power?

A warm sensation passed through her body. Her insides quivered with need.

Oh, well, even if her mind hadn’t settled on her mission, apparently her body had made a decision last night. In the light of day, she could see more details to confirm how right it was. He was taller than the other, which, to her calculations, would make the one called Rourke about six and a half feet tall or more. His hair looked every bit as dark and long, if not longer. Both men were well tanned or had naturally dark-toned skin. She understood why they could pass for twins. From this distance, the only difference she could see in their coloring was limited to a few premature gray streaks running through Rourke’s temple hair. Distinguished. The sign of a born leader.

As similar as they looked, the Council and Celeste knew they weren’t twins or even brothers. She believed they weren’t aware of that fact yet. If there was a blood link between them at all, no one knew of it. Those fae who remained in the realm around these mountains knew most of the true facts regarding their beginnings. They’d been born within days of each other but not to the same mother. Nor had they been sired by the same father. Yet these two men’s fates had merged thirty years ago on Beltane eve, and so it seemed now with Celeste’s as well.

Explaining to Rourke Grayland who and what he was became her first task, and it was the one she dreaded the most. If the men didn’t know about their past or the responsibilities that loomed before them, how did one go about explaining it? How would she tell a man who had no idea the Lore existed that several days after his birth, his mother had shifted into her animal form in order to hunt and, as a result, was accidently shot by a hunter?

Did she start, “Oh, nice to meet you, Rourke. I’ve heard so much about you. By the way, did you know your mother was a wolf?”

Riiiiight. What seemed like the direct approach would have any sensible man laughing in her face, especially a man who’d spent his life living in the city, insulated against magic and his own kind.

Her hair rose around her like curling rivulets of pale yellow smoke on a breeze. Something would come to her.

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