Black Dog Rising
Kat Caulberg
Published by: Soul Mate Publishing
Publication date: July 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Since arriving in England, nothing has made sense for Emma Aubrey. Forced to flee her ex-boyfriend and the vengeful ghost of his dead wife, she seeks refuge in Ninestone Downs, a sleepy country village where people still whisper of fairies and a hellish phantom canine prowls its streets.

Toby Deering has no more room in his life for the paranormal. He’s got secrets of his own, including a four-hundred-year-old curse and a past he can’t escape. The last thing he wants is a quirky American woman on his doorstep in desperate need of shelter, or the accidental touch that awakens a bond between them neither can ignore.

But ancient forces are stirring. When Emma finds herself the target of a shadowy stalker, will her bond with Toby be enough to withstand the evil Fae Court and the hellhound on her heels?

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

The trill of a penny whistle tugged Emma to an avenue winding away from the heart of the village. The buildings grew smaller as she reached the stream marking the town’s boundary. It fed the river she and Toby crossed earlier, a medieval stone bridge bowed over its banks. Beyond lay the fen. The Nine Sisters stood at the edge of one of those watery coils where drier land took over, forever imprisoned.

She slowed.

With no lights on the fen to soften the darkness, there was no way to determine solid ground from the wet, marshy soil snaking for miles into the country. Wandering out into the fields would be dangerous, even deadly. She turned to leave.

A fiddle wept in the night. The sound came from the route toward the standing stones, binding Emma to her need to find it. The tune dipped low, pulling at the invisible link. Her feet moved, taking her with them, each soft step issuing a warning against going further. Something was wrong, she knew, but the music cajoled, it coaxed, and although she wrapped a hand around the pillar beside the bridge to stop herself, the music sweet-talked her into letting go.

She would follow and happily be lost.

The beast growled before she saw it. Slinking from a patch of darkness, a blocky figure materialized on the opposite side of the stream. Its shoulders reached as high as the sides of the bridge, making it taller than Emma’s hip. The stench of sulfur crawled over the water and scraped at her hindbrain.

Claws clicked on clunch stone, leading up to legs seemingly too spindly to sustain the weight of the beast’s shaggy body. A chain dangled from its neck. Doglike, it pinned its ears to its skull and sniffed the wind.

Suspended in blackness darker than the rest, two bright, red eyes burning with infernal light flicked open.

She clamped a hand to her mouth too late to stop her shriek. This was no shade, no outline, no trick of the night. The thing standing before her was real. A name circled her brain, seeking exit.

“Shuck,” she croaked.

The beast stretched its mouth and grinned.

Long, tapered needles glistened in crimson gums. Emma’s blood ran cold. It had heard her. It had understood. In a corner of her mind, a rational voice broke through her terror, whispering warnings. If she ran, it would follow. Not just follow, but chase, track, hunt, destroy.

She stretched her hands to show she held no weapons and was no threat to it, although what threat could she present to a creature crafted of midnight and hellfire? The thing was a demon.

A demon that saved a man from a flock of runaway sheep, a second inner voice piped up. One that might have just saved Shane. Maybe. Or maybe it’d been unsuccessful in its bid for an evening snack.

“Sit,” Emma whimpered. “Stay.”

Author Bio:

For as long as she can remember, Kat Caulberg has been obsessed with history and the paranormal. Somewhat to the dismay of her parents, her interests led her into both museums and graveyards as a child, a trend which has continued into her adulthood. This has influenced her reading tastes and her writing, whether it be a good ghost story, thrilling tales of time-travel, or devouring endless volumes of ancient warfare.

She signed a contract with Soul Mate Publishing in 2018 for her first novel, Three Star Island, a time-travel story set in 1721. She enjoys writing strong, quirky heroines, and has a weakness for cheeky heroes who have as much compassion as they have flaws.

Kat currently lives in North Carolina with her Englishman and a few cats.

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Date Published: 8/17/2020

Publisher: Entangled Publushing, LLC

Set in an uncomfortably familiar future…

We built a wall to keep the dangers of the world out...but was it actually meant to keep us in?

Your every word is monitored. Your every movement watched.

If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.

And if you stay within the wall, the Loyalist Party will protect you.

Gideon Frome knows that safety is an illusion. Ten years ago, his perfect life was shattered, and he left Washington DC in disgrace, sentenced to serve on The Wall. He may be back, lauded as a hero, but he knows he’s only traded one prison for another, assigned a position to the infamous Secret Service.

Kate Buchanan uses her illegal predictive engine to monitor the “chatter,” flagging perceived threats to America. When the program suggests that nuclear war is imminent, and people around her start to die, Kate can no longer hide. She needs help, and it comes from the most unlikely place—Gideon Frome, a ghost from her past.

The American people thought they were safe, but it’s becoming shockingly clear that the price of safety is too high. And somehow, together, Kate and Gideon must tear down the walls that keep their country a prisoner.

About the Author

After a number of years wandering the world in search of adventure, N.J. Croft finally settled on a farm in the mountains and now lives off-grid, growing almonds, drinking cold beer, taking in stray dogs, and writing stories where the stakes are huge and absolutely anything can happen.

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The Quality of Mercy by Malia Zaidi

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The Blood King
Abigail Owen
(Inferno Rising #2)
Published by: Entangled: Amara
Publication date: August 25th 2020
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Ruthless dragon king Ladon Ormarr must keep his throne at all costs. And now, with war on the horizon, he’ll need a miracle. Luckily, the fates have dropped Skylar Amon right into his lap.

Except he may have met his match.

The feisty Amon sister has no fear — of him or any other dragon shifter — is brash, doesn’t stick to protocols, and regularly offends his warriors and advisers.

Skylar also has no intention of sticking around. She doesn’t believe in the whole destined mates thing and believes all dragon kings to be dangerous. But if it means taking out the High King who murdered her parents, she’ll put up with Ladon… temporarily.

But the fates have other plans. And when Skylar disappears in the middle of a battle, Ladon will burn down the world to find her.

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EXCERPT:

Skylar remained where she was on the floor, rubbing at her throat and glaring at the others with those bright, watercolor blue eyes. At least her skin had turned less sallow. Seconds ago, her pallor had him…concerned.

Ladon did his best to push adrenaline, along with the burning need to claim her immediately, down deep in his gut, though it tested the limits of his control. He gave the members of his guard—his closest friends—as well as the advisors who made up his Curia Regis, a sharp nod and waited in silence while they filed out.

Brand sat, too, saying nothing, probably sensing the dangerous edge on which Ladon’s emotions balanced.

“Damage my future mate like that again, and I’ll rip your arms out of their sockets.” The warning slid from Ladon. He couldn’t have held it back even if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to.

Still on the floor, Skylar’s back stiffened. “I’m not your future anything, asshole.”

“Not helping,” Kasia said pointedly, adding a glare at him for effect.

Shit. Where’d his control go? He’d just been telling himself to cool it with the claiming language. Ladon clamped down on more words.

Kasia held out her hands and pulled Skylar to her feet, allowing Ladon a view of Skylar’s face. His body tensed in reaction. Now that he had a chance to study her, he couldn’t deny her beauty. Darker and sharper than her sister, those glacial eyes a striking contrast to her midnight hair, her skin a darker shade than Kasia’s paleness, and those lips…

Kasia focused on her sister, her gaze settling. “I love you, but you got this totally wrong.”

Given her attitude so far, Ladon waited for an immediate rejection, but Skylar didn’t speak for a long beat, searching Kasia’s eyes. “My sources informed me that a rogue dragon kidnapped you and dragged you here to mate you to a king. Brand is the rightful King of the Gold Throne, right? He killed Uther, and apparently at least some gold dragons now bear Brand’s mark on their hands, which makes him king. A king you’re mated to. Am I wrong?”

Kasia sent a smiling glance at Brand. “You got it mostly right, but what you missed was that I didn’t mate the king I was intended to.”

Skylar turned those ice-blue eyes on Ladon. As realization dawned, her lips quirked. “What happened, big boy? Couldn’t close the deal?”

Ladon held her glance with an unaffected stare, hiding his reaction. Why the hell was her insulting him so amusing?

Author Bio:

Award-winning paranormal romance author, Abigail Owen, grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. She attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.

No matter the genre, she loves to write witty, feisty heroines, sexy heroes who deserve them, and a cast of lovable characters to surround them (and maybe get their own stories). She currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own personal hero, her husband, and their two children, who are growing up way too fast.

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Playing with Fire
R.J. Blain
(Magical Romantic Comedies #1)
Publication date: January 30th 2017
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

What do you get when you mix gorgons, an incubus, and the Calamity Queen? Trouble, and lots of it.

For Bailey, catering to the magical is a tough gig on a good day, but she has few other options. She can either keep spiking drinks with pixie dust to keep the locals happy, or spend the rest of her life cleaning up some of the world’s nastiest magical substances.

Years after helping Police Chief Samuel Quinn escape an unhappy marriage, Bailey is once again entangled in his personal affairs. To make matters worse, Quinn’s ex-wife is angling for revenge, tossing Bailey into the deep end along with her sexiest enemy.

Warning: This novel contains excessive humor, action, excitement, adventure, magic, romance, and bodies. Proceed with caution.

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EXCERPT:

No one in their right mind would ever license me as a private investigator, but that didn’t stop people from coming to me when they needed something found. Fortunately, I liked my job as the only human barista at Faery Fortunes Coffee and Book Shop. Most came for a cup of joe and left too buzzed to read a thing, but who was I to complain? People paid top dollar for their pixie dust infused latte, and they tipped me well not to judge them.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t so fond of Chief Quinn. When he walked through the door, bad things usually happened to someone—me. For him to come in five minutes after opening, long before the sun even thought about rising, he needed something, and it wasn’t a cup of coffee. Why couldn’t he want coffee? I could deal with making him a drink, and I’d double his dose of pixie dust to keep him happy.

I gave the espresso machine a defiant swipe of my cleaning cloth before stepping to the counter to deal with Manhattan’s Most Wanted Bachelor. Without my help, he’d still be married, too.

What a way to start the day.

And to think people wondered why I refused to help find anything for anyone anymore. The reason stood across the counter from me. Chief Samuel Quinn, aged thirty, hotter than sin, and my heaven and hell rolled together in one smoking tall, dark, and handsome package, hated me for good reason. It was his fault, too. He had been the one to ask me for help finding his wife. I had found her all right, right in the middle of teaching a college stud the nuances of the reverse cowgirl.

If no one asked me to find something or someone again for the rest of my life, I’d be a very happy woman.

“Chief Quinn, what a pleasant surprise,” I lied. “Can I get you something? A dark roast, cream, no sugar, light on the dust?”

Why couldn’t I have been blessed with forgetfulness? I knew my worst nightmare’s favorite drink, and I had to make it for him first thing in the morning. Of course I knew it. He came in at least three times a week to torment me. Screw it. Who was I kidding? Instead of the coffee, he could take me instead. If I had to put up with the hassle of dealing with him, why couldn’t I enjoy it, too?

“Cream, no dust, and make it a large, Bailey.”

Alarm bells tinkled in my head. Since when did Chief Quinn address me by my first name? On a good day, he snapped my last name like he worried it would contaminate him. “Of course, sir.”

The faster I made his coffee, the sooner he’d go away. I’d love every second I spent watching him go. In less than a minute, I had his drink ready, and to lower the risk of him spending any extra time with me, I chirped, “It’s on me today, Chief Quinn. Have yourself a nice morning.”

If it meant we parted without incident, it’d be well worth the five bucks.

He saluted me with his cup, flashed a hint of a smile, and walked out the door. Facing him was hell, but I glimpsed the heavens when he left, and if my panties hadn’t caught on fire under my jeans, I’d be very, very surprised.

Author Bio:

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

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Scandal’s Promise
Pamela Gibson
Publication date: August 19th 2020
Genres: Adult, Historical Romance

Haunted by questions and her own insecurities, Lady Emily Sinclair longs to discover why her betrothed abandoned her and married another. Seven years have passed, but the pain of his betrayal still lingers, buried beneath layers of humiliation and mistrust. When he returns after the Napoleonic Wars, she vows to avoid him. If only her foolish heart felt the same.

Broken and addicted to his medication, widower Andrew Quimby, Lord Cardmore, rattles around his ancient manor, oblivious to his deteriorating health and state of mind. When he learns the woman he was forced to abandon remains unmarried, he vows to try to win her back, even if it means returning to a society he despises.

But Andrew soon discovers he has a secret enemy. Threatening notes appear and sinister accidents put those in his inner circle in danger. Can he overcome his demons in time to keep them safe or will everyone and everything he loves disappear forever.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

A tiny birdlike woman with sharp features stared at him from across the room. Her bonnet and outwear lay neatly on a chair. Next to it was the heavy woolen coat and hat of the young boy with frightened eyes who clutched her hand.

Andrew’s breath hitched as he looked at the child. Blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears, peeked up at him from a narrow face with a defiant chin. His guinea-gold tousled hair was cut short and his clothes were fashionable, albeit wrinkled.

The woman raised her head and glared at him. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I realize the hour is late. My name is Bricker. I was told to deliver Master George to you and then be on my way. I’ve taken a room in the village coaching house for the night, and I will return to London in the morning.”

Andrew forced himself to meet her gaze and speak in a calm voice while turmoil swirled in his gut.

“You can’t leave him here.”

“I can and I will.”

“Why now?”

“My employer’s wife has passed on, and he has no interest in the child. Madame was the one who insisted on providing the boy with a home. Master George was the only link she had with her daughter.”

“And you?”

“I’ve been his nurse since his birth at his grandparents’ London home.”

“If you are leaving, who will care for him?”

“With all due respect, that’s your problem, my lord.”

She turned to the child who began to sob. He buried his face in her skirts and fisted his small hands in the folds, his back shaking.

Her body vibrated with hatred. “See what you’ve done. You’ve upset him. He’s only six years old and not accustomed to cold toffs like you.”

Andrew stiffened, repressing the urge to curse. Instead he modulated his tone. “He cannot stay. I have no staff, no nursery. There’s nothing here for him to wear or play with. You must leave and take him back to where you came from.”

“His valise is outside in the hall. It has his belongings. He hasn’t much. As you would know if you’d deigned to take an interest in him.”

He supposed the verbal blow was deserved, despite the circumstances now confronting him, but his patience was at an end.

What the bloody hell am I to do with a child?

“You’re right. I know nothing about children. You can see he’s distressed. Can you not stay? I can pay you.” Panic gripped his throat, threatening to strangle him.

“I have another post. And now I must take my leave. ’Tis cold and wet, and I long for my bed.”

“Don’t go,” implored Andrew. “He’s crying. What does he need?”

“Give him a bit of soup and a bed. He’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

She disengaged the boy’s hands and bent down to face him. “You mustn’t cry, Master George. This is your home now. I’m sure his lordship must have a horse or two in his stables. You’ll see what a fine house this is when morning comes.”

The woman led the boy to a spindly chair and seated him. The child hid his face in his hands and wailed like his heart was broken. With a final pat, she put on her coat and hat and strode toward the door. “My hired conveyance is waiting. I’ll see myself out.” Footsteps echoed in the hall, fading as the woman reached the outer door.

Ralston stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes wide. The child’s wailing increased, and Andrew cringed. How was he to stop the noise? His valet hovered near the doorway. “Lester. Bring the new housemaid. I believe her name is Matilda. She should be in Mrs. Evans’s quarters or nearby.”

“Very good, milord.”

Ralston, who’d been silent during the drama seemed to recover from his stupor and frowned. “Do you even know who this is?”

“Sadly, I do.”

“Do you mind enlightening me? I admit, this is more entertainment than I’ve had in a decade.”

“His name is George.”

“I believe I got that.”

“He is—he is my son.”

Ralston fell into a nearby chair. “I’m astonished. I’d heard Caroline died in childbirth, but I thought the child was stillborn.”

“He’s very much alive, as you can see. And hear.”

Author Bio:

Author of eight books on California history and fifteen romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last three years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of Ralph, the Rescue Cat. If you want to learn more about her activities go to https://www.pamelagibsonwrites.com and sign up for her quarterly newsletter and occasional blog. Or follow her in these places:

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Titanlord: A Thousand Ashes
M.G. Darwish
(Titanlord, #2)
Publication date: October 14th 2020
Genres: Adult, Fantasy

No one thought the Gods would descend. Plucked from his reality, Griffyn never thought that the Gods would be so terrified of him even when a Titan stood before them. The Red Hand entrusted him with the only sword that allows him to fight back: the Masamune.

Now that the Gods have sworn to eliminate humanity, the Empire has fallen, ravished and turned to dust. The Magmars are no more, and he alone holds the key to salvation.

He has endured many losses, but will he succumb and accept his fate? Or will he rise from beneath a thousand ashes?

To win, he must quell the Titans within him and tame them. But every time he uses their power, he risks losing himself.

Book 2 of the Titanlord Series. A direct sequel to Titanlord: of Death & Sacrifice.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Serenity waited across the mainland. On a small island that housed no cultures nor wildlife, sat a man gazing at the lonely stars above. He wore a white tunic and dark leather pants. He seemed lost in his thoughts, until he heard footsteps that disturbed his peace and quiet.

“Colossal?” asked the intruder.

The man didn’t budge, as if he hadn’t noticed.

“It has begun. It is your duty as a knight to—”

“Why?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why is it that you disturb my peace, even in Hollow Land.”

“You know why,” the stranger said as he stepped closer to him. “Do you know why it is called Hollow Land?” he asked, but the knight wouldn’t budge, let alone answer such questions. “It is said that an old Titan fell in love with a mortal, and upon her death, he came here. It was a utopia, filled with civilization, and he—”

“Pierced the ground with his palm, eradicating all life,” The man finished for him, irritation dripping in his voice.

“So, you are a student of history.”

“What do you want, Ceris?” the Knight finally asked. “Really, no tricks, and none of your damned puzzles.”

Ceris took a moment to gather his thoughts. His black robe danced against the winds passing them by. “The world is ending…”

“So?”

“You helped prevent Armageddon before, why not join hands now and strike as one?”

The Knight took a deep sigh. “Humans are foul, and all of them show their true selves, come the right moment. Dwellers, Titans or Gods, they are no different. All desire destruction.”

“What about you, the Great Colossal?”

“That is not my name.”

Ceris shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, but now, if you two meet there is a chance to end the plague before it begins.”

“And then what? Save the world again? So that the cycle repeats and another comes to strike at humanity once more when we are all returned to dust?” Colossal said as he got up and turned to face Ceris. “Tell me, old friend, why should I save a world I no longer have stakes in?”

“You don’t know if he will turn or not.”

“Just like I didn’t know that the seal would break, that the Gods would descend, and that Dwellers would stalk the lands? Spare me your moralizing. What I saw was not a prediction, it was reality.”

“Then change it, by all the Gods and Titans alike, by the Creator, change our reality. Help deliver us from the darkness before it plunges everyone into the pits…”

Colossal took a good look into his eyes. “The world can be damned,” he said before he took a pause.

“Then we are doomed with it.”

“Let the darkness come, for if I am too weak to help deliver light then, woe unto me.”

Ceris stepped closer towards him and gently touched his shoulder. “Do you remember, during the war, what you said when you decided to follow me?”

Colossal laid silent.

“You said ‘until I shape my perspective of the world and what this all means, I’ll follow the one man whose vision always transcended others.’ Do you remember when you said that?”

“The war is over.”

“No, old friend, the war merely paused, and now, it returns.”

Author Bio:

M.G. Darwish is an award nominated author who writes dark, twisted and action-packed fiction. He tries his best not to base his characters on anyone he knows in real life to avoid that extra weird conversation about how they were brutalized and killed in the book. Oh and he’s terrified of a penguin uprising more than ghosts and demons.

He is best known for his Secret of the Moonlight which was featured on Wattpad.

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A Chip on Her Shoulder
R.J. Blain
(Magical Romantic Comedies #11)
Publication date: September 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

After a deal with loan sharks sours, Darlene’s brother is permanently transformed into a chipmunk. Not one to accept impossibility as a good excuse for failure, she’s determined to rescue her brother and secure revenge against those who’d poisoned him with grade-a transformatives.

If she wants to perform a miracle, she’ll need to join forces with a divine, but the man upstairs and his angels refuse to help.

None of the other so-called benevolent divines are willing to help her, either.

Running out of time and options, Darlene prepares to storm the gates of hell for her brother.

She never expected to fall in love with the Devil.

Warning: this novel contains a woman with a chip on her shoulder, humor, and one hell of a hero. Proceed with caution.

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EXCERPT:

Rather than try to talk my brother out of the money he rightfully owed them, the local mafia’s loan sharks opted for a more permanent solution to their problem. They transformed my asshole brother, Jonas, into a chipmunk and saddled me with the bill.

My brother had lost his human life for five thousand dollars.

What a waste.

Since that wasn’t bad enough, the goons my brother had pissed off forced me to watch the entire process, which involved forcing him to drink a vial of clear fluid. The transformation took a matter of minutes, and he started screaming within seconds of consuming their concoction.

It took until he’d shrunk to half his true size to stop screaming, and he squealed instead.

Shapeshifting hurt like hell; I went through the gruesome process every few days, when my thin, human skin drove me to the brink of madness. Some days, I took on my more hybrid form, sporting a tail and my feline ears. Sometimes, I tossed in a light coat of spotted fur to ease my discomfort. Sometimes, I kept the thin, human skin to pretend I fit in with the rest of the neighborhood, hiding my tail and ears beneath my clothes. One day I’d give up on hiding my true nature. Every rare now and again, my hybrid transformation came with a full coat of fur, my ears, and my beautiful tail, something I loved.

My light coat was a mockery of my full glory, and one day, I’d master my magic so I decided which parts of me had light fur, no fur, or a thick coat best suited for wintry mountains.

My spots were my best assets, and I loved each and every one of them. Life would be so much better when I could wear my spots whenever I wanted.

When the mood struck me, the night was young, and the weather was cool, I ran as a snow leopard, displaying every one of my spots and hunting through suburbia for prey, typically one of the more annoying squirrels or rabbits to menace my garden.

I’d be hunting for bigger prey soon enough, and I kept my expression cold and calm. Warning my prey I would be coming for them wouldn’t do.

A wise huntress gave no warning before the ambush, and I would use every opportunity to crush the entire mafia. Unlike the local law enforcement, who played by civilized rules, there would be nothing civilized about me.

They had destroyed my family, so I would destroy their family. No, I would do far worse than merely destroy their family. I would destroy their ambition while I was at it. When I finished with them, ruin and suffering would be all I left in my wake.

Sometimes, I was not a very good person. Actually, no. Most of the time I was not a very good person.

I’d learned early on being good left me taken advantage of, alone, and miserable. When I did good, I did it because I wanted to, expecting nothing in return, for I’d learned that lesson well enough.

What went around rarely came around, and I’d gained nothing from any of the good I’d done in my life.

I kept my breaths slow and even, waiting while doing my best to detach myself from the reality of my situation. Panic would win me nothing, neither would fear. Patience might win me a lot, depending on what I learned in the next few minutes.

One of the thugs, someone who’d gotten into a fight with a fire and lost, held a rather nasty gun to my head to make sure I behaved.

I behaved, but only because we had one rule in our household of two: survival came first. Once I survived my current mess, I would add a new rule to our household of one and a rodent: revenge would come eventually.

I couldn’t win against eight men who’d cut their teeth on violence, not even if I transformed and put my sharp claws to good use. Not yet. I’d keep my claws a secret for a little while longer, and when I brought them out, I would shred their entire outfit.

Revenge would be mine, and I would enjoy obtaining it.

Revenge wouldn’t save my brother. If I had fought against the mafia he’d tangoed with, I couldn’t have saved him anyway. They likely would have killed us both. I’d find some way to do the impossible and restore my brother somehow. The man my brother had been was gone, replaced by a chipmunk with a rodent’s puny little brain.

No, he was still my brother, but he possessed a rodent’s puny little brain. He might remember me. He might even be able to understand English and allow me to keep him outside of a cage.

Maybe.

That stung.

My brother was an asshole. He probably deserved some form of punishment at the hands of the mafia, but he was my asshole brother, and nobody beat him other than me.

I would make that our third household rule, and I would adhere to it.

I took my time memorizing the faces of those who’d pay for their crimes. Their scars would make them easy to identify. I wouldn’t forget their scars, I wouldn’t forget their faces, and I gave it a week for me to learn their names.

Then the fun would truly begin.

They weren’t the only ones who could get their hands on transformative drugs. It just cost a little money or having the right ingredients available. I could get the money, and I could go where the rare ingredients grew.

So hellbent on revenge, I barely remembered the conversation leading up to my brother’s transformation into a rather small rodent. I remembered the part about the money, where they wanted me to bring it and when, but the rest remained a blur.

I needed to memorize their scarred faces so I could do what an Esmaranda woman did when she got mad.

I’d get even, and I’d charge interest.

My mother, may her soul rest in peace, had taught me that from the day I’d busted out of maternal prison and escaped her womb.

Picking my brother up by his furry little tail, the lead asshole, who had a rather ugly scar over his nose where someone had failed to slice his skull in half, tossed him my way. I forgot about the gun pointed at me, scrambling to catch my brother so he wouldn’t escape. He squealed and squeaked protests before biting the hell out of my hand.

What an utter asshole. I prevented him from running away and losing all chance of becoming human again, and he bit me? When I refused to let my brother go, he took another chomp out of the fleshy part of my hand connecting my index finger and thumb.

I bled.

The mafia goons laughed, and then they left.

They’d pay for that, too.

Come hell or high water, they’d pay.

Author Bio:

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

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