By R.S. Emeline
By R.S. Emeline
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Purchase Link: smashwords
Alexis MacGuire is just like other college students. She goes to class, eats pizza, and holds down a job. The difference is, her job could get her killed.
As the unluckiest member of a family of elite assassins, she spends her spare time jetting from one country to another neutralizing scum the government doesn’t want to be attached to--often in unconventional and unplanned ways.
When she receives an email exposing the secrets of her last job she enters into a game of cat and mouse with someone known only as the Hunter. With the help of her brother, her best friend, and an FBI agent who makes her heart skip beats, she must find the Hunter before he destroys everything and everyone she loves.
I was close to where the car was hidden, and I could see the flames rising in the dark behind me. Lights strobed from the emergency vehicles, as they tried to control the blaze. I took a deep breath and walked into the clearing where the car was parked and looked around. No car.
“What the Hell!” I stomped my foot on the ground and let out a feral growl.
All the markers were where they were supposed to be. White paint on the ground. Black X on the tree. Empty dirt road. I checked the time. If I didn't get back to my hotel in the next hour I wouldn’t make my flight.
I looked down at the ring I wore on my right hand. Two simple silver bands surrounded a Celtic design wrapped around my finger entwined with a shamrock and a blood red stone in the center. Each person in my family had a similar ring. Each designed the same, only the stone was different. We never took them off, because to take them off could mean our deaths.
The rings were our safety nets. The one way we could protect ourselves when an assignment didn’t go right, when we were in danger, or in my case when I was stranded because some little punk ass stole my car. I twisted the Celtic band, enabled the tracking device and notified my brother of the S.O.S. With a sigh, I climbed into the tree and waited to be rescued. Again.
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Tavin Chauncy thinks he has his work cut out for him when a fellow Marine gets arrested for assault. He soon realizes that it's nothing compared to the way his life gets flipped upside down when a mysterious woman appears in the middle of his living room during a rare desert storm.
Mist rolled through the loft like ghosts. It covered the floor and crept along the furniture, silent, and gray. The temperature dropped in the room, and a shiver crawled up his spine. He looked up and watched the writhing mass wrap itself around his body. "What the hell?" He quit his search for candles and grabbed his Maglite out of the drawer, switching it on.
The beam bounced back and forth, blocked by the thickness of the mist. A low level hum broke through the shifting wall, and energy tingled through his body. His hair stood on end as electricity sparked around him. His heart beat loudly in his chest, and his pulse quickened with each second. He'd spent days living in cramped quarters under harsh conditions in the warzones of Iraq and Afghanistan, the sound of gunshots, mortar fire, and explosions haunted him in his dreams, but until that moment he'd never wanted to run.
In spite of that, or maybe because of that, he calmed his racing heart, straightened his shoulders, and prepared for battle.
Wind blew around him, but barely shifted the veil covering his vision. Sparks of light flashed from the center of the brume like a mystical strobe light and he saw a flash of movement in the distance; nothing more than a shadow--a hint of something. His eyes strained to make out familiar objects around him as he slowly maneuvered toward the growing cloud.
He understood on a base level that whatever was happening inside the mist wouldn't--couldn't--be stopped with gunpowder and lead, but his hand still reached reflexively for the weapon he carried during combat.
Just as quickly as the eerie fog rolled in, it thinned out and faded.
Then he blinked again. He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. Maybe he'd hit his head when the power went out, and he was unconscious on the floor. Maybe he was dreaming, because in reality strange mists didn't roll into living rooms, and mystical lights didn't flash from inside them.
Reality also didn't leave naked women standing in his living room where his cat used to be.
R.S. Emeline grew up in the sogginess of Washington State where she nurtured her love of writing with dark teenage poetry. Today she spends her time in the perpetual dryness and sun of the California desert. She lives there with her husband, the Marine; her niece, the Artist; her daughter, the Munchkin; and two animals--King Furry and Mistress Meow-- who are the true rulers of the roost.
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