​Olivia Donnelly never meant to fall in love with a hot, sexy vampire. But she did and, against all reason, now she’s been turned herself and is fast learning there’s more to William Macauley’s world than meets the eye. As Olivia struggles to adapt to her new life, an old madness – long dormant in their bloodline – re-emerges, bringing with it an unexplained power that courses through her veins unchecked. Faced with danger from old enemies, William and Olivia are forced to battle not only her internal demons, but other vampires that threaten their very lives. Can their immortal love conquer all, or will it lead to their destruction?


Buy Links 1: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01DC6BHDM
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29610380-keeper-of-my-soul

​ They drove past several men loitering in doorways or smoking outside of a pub, but nothing in their demeanor gave him pause. He didn’t approve of these types of men, but he wouldn’t condemn them either for the lives they had been born into but had failed to leave behind.
He maneuvered the car off the main street to roam darker, more secluded alleyways in search of the perfect opportunity. After driving in silence for several minutes, he turned them toward the deserted docklands area. Crawling stealthily up and down the relatively peaceful streets for a good hour, William considered moving their hunt elsewhere when he heard a faint scream off in the distance, one that wouldn’t have been discernible to the human ear.
The adrenaline rushed through Olivia’s alert body as William pulled the car over and stopped the engine.
“You heard that, yes?”
She swallowed, her venom flowing in anticipation of what her body knew was to come. “Yes.”
“I can’t tell how many. Three, maybe four. I wanted your first hunt to have as few distractions as possible. Fewer men would certainly be easier, but it won’t be difficult by any means. I could easily take on more, and wouldn’t be surprised to see you able to as well. That said, I leave the decision entirely up to you.”
While Olivia searched her mind for answer to his unspoken question – could she handle it? –
they heard the scream again. Somewhere, maybe a thousand yards away, a group of thugs joyful in their violence. Olivia pictured the scene, focused her senses on the more muted sounds, listened for anything that would give her a reason to act – or not. There was definitely the sound of fists hitting exposed flesh. Cries of pain. Then laughter.
An older man was being beaten, she was sure, but she didn’t know anything about him. Maybe he deserved his violent punishment, but then again, maybe he didn’t. If he was blameless – innocent – she couldn’t let the assault continue unabated. In a split second, she decided the man needed her to intercede on his behalf, and then something deep inside of her quieted, the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach going silent.
William watched Olivia zero in on the sounds ahead. She closed her eyes, took two deep breaths, and went completely still. Moments later she cocked her head to the right and twitched her eyebrows ever so slightly, a scowl crossing her face. He could see she had picked up on both the verbal confrontation as well as the inner monologues of the ruffians, was searching their private thoughts for vindication for what he already knew was to come. Three, maybe four seconds later she heard what she was looking for. Olivia opened her eyes, exited the car soundlessly, and silently prowled the street, all lithe feline grace.
Olivia hadn’t spoken a word to William before taking her leave. She was sure he knew her intentions and that he’d be by her side in seconds should she require him. She was gratified to see her intuition hadn’t been wrong. This was her hunt and he wouldn’t interfere unless she needed him to, but he wouldn’t let her experience it for the first time alone. Nearing the group of men, William receded into the shadows, on watch, his senses alert should Olivia need his assistance.
As she moved closer to the group she could hear the old man begging for his life, his cries becoming weaker and feebler with each menacing kick that was landed to his body. The situation was as she feared – it was a senseless act of violence, the old man having done nothing to deserve the pain he was being forced to endure. The realization made her angry and a deathly calm descended. This was the justification she needed to spill their blood.
She approached the group soundlessly. “Hello, gentleman.”
The scumbag closest to her jumped in surprise at the interruption. Had he spared her more than a momentary glance he would have seen more than a harmless red-haired woman standing behind him. Instead, he barely looked her way before turning his back on her to cheer his friends on in their mistreatment of the man who now lay prone on the cold asphalt, his body unmoving.
“Please stop kicking that poor man,” she requested in vain, knowing that even as she spoke her words fell on deaf ears. There would be no stopping their assault now that they had experienced their own version of blood lust.
“Whaya looking at brasser?” hollered another, stopping his attack long enough to look her body up and down lecherously.
I’ll give the feckin cunt a ride. Olivia heard the words pass through his mind as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. He would never get close enough to try. She’d given them their one chance to comply with her directive. Hell, she had even been polite! Now she could drain them dry and not feel a second of remorse.
When she didn’t respond, he screamed louder, “Feck off ye geebag!” as he kicked the dying man again, harder, while staring straight at her. It was then that Olivia realized she had arrived too late to save their victim as he was no longer moving or reacting to the assault being wrought on his body. She listened for his heartbeat but knew it had already died. The assholes assaulting him hadn’t even noticed. That made her even angrier.
So be it.
Olivia closed her eyes, took a deep breath to settle her mind, let her power unfurl, and then she struck.
William had never seen anything like it. Olivia appeared for all the world a lethal killing machine and yet she was also full of grace and beauty, her body moving in perfect harmony with her mind as she glided from one action to the next. When she stopped moving, the man closest to her lay where he had stood, his neck broken, spinal cord severed, the bloody stump attached to his body by a single ligament. His cohort’s form was strewn next to him, heart ripped out of his chest, blood splattered over the front of his white polyester tracksuit.
Meanwhile, the third thug – the one who had dealt the blow that had killed the old man – pulled out a large knife to defend himself against her deadly onslaught, but she was too quick, too determined to see the act through to the end. Unlike his friends, he had seen her coming, had witnessed her monstrosity unleashed, and as he stared at her bared fangs, Olivia’s eyes came alive with excitement over his paltry effort to defend himself. In less than a second she had him in her arms, neck stretched taut to the point of breaking. He had been unable to even attempt to use the blade against her. The man whined and begged Olivia to spare his life as he blathered on about his mum and sister and a whole host of nonsense she hadn’t cared to hear.
William watched her close her eyes against the noise and he knew it was her attempt to block out the sound of his obsequious sniveling. Briefly, he remembered back to a time when he’d had to consciously do the same.
“You left me no choice,” she said, bracing herself for a wave of shame and disgust that never came. She captured the man’s gaze to ensure that in those few seconds before death he knew exactly who – what – had delivered retribution for his many crimes. By then he had ceased his whimpering and his eyes had gone vacant in fear.
She smiled cynically down at him and he pissed himself in response. “Oh god,” he whined as Olivia plunged her fangs into his neck, brutally ripping into the sweat soaked skin surrounding the arterial vein. The blood rushed into her mouth, a sloppy stream of hot, warm liquid that coated her throat as it worked its way into her body. She closed her mind to the force of his thoughts, twenty years of memories, as she drank him in. While she needed his blood flowing inside of her she did not need the knowledge of his life. She knew everything she needed to: he was a murderer and she was there to put an end to him. When his heart stopped beating and his blood ceased to flow, she threw his body to the side of the road like the garbage he had been.
Olivia’s eyes dispassionately moved over the men she had killed. She had left the castle tonight resolved to feed – yes, to kill even – but she hadn’t intended to leave a slew of maimed and mutilated bodies in her wake. Clearly the power thrumming inside her veins had had other ideas.
Olivia couldn’t recall specifically what had been going through her head while she had been bloodily plowing her way through the men. Her mind had made its decision and then her body had followed suit, reacting almost of its own accord to the blatant disregard the men had shown both their victim and her presence.
She remembered asking them to stop hurting him but they had refused. That hadn’t been surprising. In fact, it had been expected. What had surprised her, however, was hearing the man in the red hoodie consider forcing himself on her once they finished roughing up the old man. They had had some beef with him but she was just a random woman who’d crossed their path. That his thoughts would immediately go to rape said enough about him and the company he kept to let her know they couldn’t continue living. It was then that the monster that dwelled within her had taken over and she unleased her rage on them.
Olivia heard a subtle shift behind her and instinctively turned to attack. A human eye would never have been able to see her body make its move, but the man who stood before her was no human.
William.
Olivia’s body was primed for a fight, her mind filled with the thrill of the kill, but at seeing her maker – the man who was her eternal lover – standing immobile before her she dropped her hands to her side and relaxed her posture. Despite the overwhelming energy coursing through her and the fight or flight response that firmly held her in its thrall, somewhere in the back of her mind Olivia knew he would not hurt her, that William was not her foe.
Never.
Likewise, she knew she could not hurt him.
William reached his hand out for Olivia to take. He was in awe of the speed with which she had moved and her deadly poise, but he didn’t want to risk her turning that lethal grace on him. He could see from the unholy light that filled her eyes she remained in the grips of something quite beyond a blood fever. He knew the symptoms well as he had often enough been a slave to it himself, but what he saw now went far beyond anything he had ever experienced.
“Olivia.”
She stared at him for several long seconds, her body deathly still, and then the pulsing brilliance of her eyes began to fade to their normal emerald green. She blinked once and tilted her head, a slight shift to the right, and he saw from the recognition that crossed her face she had regained control of her faculties. Olivia turned in a wide circle, her hands hanging limp at her sides, as she took in her surroundings.
“Oh my god, I’m a monster.” The admission was spoken on a stifled sob.
“Yes, you are,” William agreed, a sad smile shaping his lips. “We both are.”

​Rebecca read her first novel when she was just four years old and has been hooked on books ever since. When she wasn't writing her own stories, she was sneaking copies of her mom's paperbacks to read late into the night. Fast forward a few years later, she graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in Journalism. After a stint working in radio, she embarked on a career in technology public relations in Silicon Valley, representing some of the country's hottest start-ups and publicly traded companies. After more than a decade in the business, she began writing full time, and has now published both contemporary and paranormal romance novels. When not creating fictional worlds inhabited by strong women and dashing heroes, she is reading about them, planning her next vacation, trying out new recipes, or drinking a dram of whiskey. Rebecca lives with her husband in Dublin, Ireland.


Website: http://www.rebeccancaudill.com
Facebook Link: https://www.facebook.com/rebeccancaudill
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/rebecca_caudill

​Getting on the cheerleading squad is hard enough without a psycho on the loose...

For Harrow High freshman Dakota Densford, life should be easy. All she has to worry about is talking to cute boys and remembering her locker combination. But when cheerleading tryouts draw near, she learns the cards are stacked against her—spots on the varsity team are limited. Dakota faces her competition head-on, but when her life is threatened, that takes the competition to a whole new level.

High school is never easy, and freshman year is off to a rough start…

Between Dakota’s uniform being ripped up and masked vandals trashing another girl’s house, everyone is suspect. To complicate matters further, Dakota has a thing for Andy McGraw, but she finds him locking lips with another girl.

The harassment continues, and when Dakota finds suspicious flyers inside her best friend’s locker, she doesn’t know what to think. The principal’s unfeeling, overachiever daughter, Brittani Barlow, will do anything to secure her place on the team. But Dakota’s neighbor, on the other hand, definitely fits the profile of a sociopath.

Cheerleading has become a game of life or death.


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​Prologue
The Sociopath
Do you want to know what death smells like? What it really smells like?
Take a pound of raw meat—I recommend ground chuck. Stick it in a vacuum-sealed container. Place the container in the fridge and leave it there. A few months later, take it out.
Remove the lid.
Nothing can prepare you for the brick wall that smacks your face, filling every orifice of your body simultaneously.
That smell…not only will it blow you away, but smells like that, they stick with you.
Lifeless meat in a tight, confined space produces a smell sharp enough to burn the lashes off your eyelids.
So, for the rest of the day you’ll be moving along…and then some small thing reminds you— little Tommy’s Happy Meal or a dump truck rolling by on garbage day—and your nose twitches, remembers, and the hairs inside your nostrils stiffen. Your throat tickles in the back, bile rising, and your belly rolls uncomfortably. You try to push the thought aside, to forget that smell, but…you can’t.
Like I said, smells stick with you. Even months—maybe years—later, you’ll be walking along, minding your own business, when something—anything, really—reminds you of that smell.
I know what death smells like…
The house is empty, silent. The quiet consumes me, a welcoming blanket…a sign that it’s finally time.
The mini-fridge was my grandma’s idea. A teenager now, she thought I deserved my own little space for drinks and snacks.
I squatted down in front of it, listening to its hum. My heart pumped, excitement building.
Today was the day.
It’d been nearly six months now since I started my little “experiment.” I’d kept a journal, taking notes on my observations regarding the specimen. A disciplined endeavor.
I’d done a lot of monitoring, but today was the day to really observe, up close and personal.
I opened the fridge, enjoying the sticky “smooch” sound of the rubber seals on each side separating. A couple cans of soda sat on the top shelf. Generic cola, probably expired. On the bottom was my Tupperware container, its red cap securely fastened in place. Keeping all the smells inside…
Carefully, I slid the container off the shelf, carrying it to the center of my bedroom floor, tiptoeing like a gymnast on a balance beam. I plopped on my belly, burning my bare knees across the carpet. I pressed my face to the plastic, looking inside like it was a tiny window. I made a funny face, pressing my lips to the side and blowing, exposing my teeth.
Two eyes, wide and frozenly frightened, stared back at me through the plastic container. The eyeballs mushy now, there were tiny bits and pieces of egg-white eyeball chunks floating in the fluids surrounding its face. The once shiny black coat faded now to a murky brown color.
Excitedly, I lifted the lid. Taking in the smells of death. “Meow.” I grinned at my stinky friend.
It was a smell I’d never forget…hopefully.

​Besides my family, my greatest love in life is books. Reading them, writing them, holding them, smelling them…well, you get the idea. I've always loved to read and never considered myself a "writer" until a few years ago when I couldn't find a book to read and decided to try writing my own story. With a background in psychology, I've always been a little obsessed with the darker areas of the mind and social problems so I try to channel all of that into my writing.  I'm the author of the Flocksdale Files trilogy, the Horror High series, Grayson's Ridge, and This Is Not About Love. I reside in Floyds Knobs, Indiana with my husband, children, and massive collection of books.


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A year after the tragic death of his close friend and fellow assassin, Ethan Halstead is ready to take up his sniper rifle once more. But his first assignment is nothing he ever expected. Ethan must hunt and retrieve a beautiful, spirited, alluring werewolf.

Knowing no other way to escape an arranged marriage, Fraya flees from her pack. As she contemplates slipping across the border and heading to South America, she is captured by a dangerously seductive vampire who plans on escorting her back to her family. Even as Fraya vows to make Ethan’s mission as difficult as possible, she can’t resist the riotous desire he sparks within her.

But Ethan isn’t the only predator that peruses Fraya. A powerful rival pack’s alpha wants to make her his mate. Will Ethan be able to keep Fraya safe and return her to her pack? Or will he surrender to temptation and claim Fraya as his own? ​

​Chapter One
Lightning splintered the sky. Thunder shook the earth beneath his feet. Damp heat thickened the air. Any moment, the winds would kick up and the red hued clouds would release a torrent of rain.

Ethan loved summer storms and treasured Arizona for its monsoon season. It was only during the madness of the storm that he found peace. In those rare, precious moments, the world reflected the chaos that roiled inside him and he felt… as if he belonged.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and savored the soothing scent of the desert. To his disappointment, he would not be able to appreciate the beauty of nature’s fury. Clearing his mind, Ethan unleashed his senses. His mark was close. He could feel her. Crossing the street, he headed for the quaint coffee shop he frequently sped past. She was here, which meant he could call an end to this pointless job.

Ethan was an assassin, not a damn babysitter. He was an expert tracker and sniper, yet the Under Realm Syndicate had him chasing after a spoiled little she-wolf. He had been tasked with fetching the runaway and returning her to her pack – a complete waste of his time and talents. He couldn’t believe he had let Cole talk him into this. The fact was this case should’ve never made the list. Why the Syndicate decided to get involved was beyond his understanding. This wasn’t a kidnapping or a hostage situation. The female wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat to the human world or Under Realm society.

His annoyed growl blended with the booming thunder. Cole had insisted Ethan accept this assignment, “You should be grateful the Syndicate is willing to give you a second chance. You’ve been out of practice.”

Who could argue with that logic? Ethan had been off the map for a year. Most within the Syndicate believed he had been killed on his last mission.

I should have been. Shaking his head, he dispelled the thought. He refused to take sober trips down memory lane. He needed to focus on his task.

The aroma of freshly ground coffee was overwhelming. Ethan reigned in his supernatural senses as he stepped inside the shop. The door closed and the torrential rain began to fall. He did a quick, nonchalant sweep of the café, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze. Eye contact encouraged conversation, and he was here on business not pleasure. He would grab the werewolf, take her back home, and detain her until he could make arrangements with her father. Simple.

Ethan walked to the counter. After the blonde and brunette baristas finished arguing over who would help him, he ordered and received a black coffee. The cup had both girl’s names and numbers written on it. He thanked them with a smile. They batted their lashes and insisted he stop by a college party later that night.
Ethan’s shoulders shook with a light laugh. Naïve mortals.

Turning, he headed up the winding iron staircase that led to the second floor loft area. The walls were made almost entirely of glass, providing a glorious view of the storm. Students sat at the tables working on their laptops while groups lounged on the sofas discussing the world of social media.

The delicate scent of wildflowers drifted through the air, drawing his sharp gaze to the far corner. There was nothing remarkable about her presence. She appeared to fit in perfectly with the scene, as if she were just another co-ed. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a crimson sweatshirt. She sat with her feet tucked under her crisscrossed. Leaning over the table, her long dark brown hair tumbled forward, blocking his view of her face. Ethan noted the worn, tattered condition of the book she read. Her frame was small. She seemed fragile, but he knew better. She was strong, fast, and intelligent. His mark appeared to be ‘normal’ by human standards, but she was the wolf he was looking for.

Hoping everything would go smoothly, he advanced. This was a delicate situation. The female could freak out on him. She could cause a scene, and he loathed drama just as much as he loathed this particular job. It was not a search and rescue mission. No, it was a track-down-a-spoiled-brat-and-take-her-home mission. A simpleton could do it. Why it had to be done was beyond him. At twenty-four, she was an adult. She had a degree in biology and was a werewolf; she was more than capable of taking care of herself.

Who cares? Grab the girl and go.

Ethan quickly reminded himself of the two basic rules: never become personally involved with your mark and strike first, ask questions later – if you cared about asking question at all.

As he approached the woman, he felt a slight tremor in the air. A warning? A threat? Someone was watching them. He set his senses loose once more, scanning the café for the source of the violent energy, but it had vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.

The girl must have felt the glimmer of danger. Her gaze snapped up and met his. Her warm, honey colored eyes were round with surprise. Her tempting red lips parted with a silent gasp. Ethan froze. She was… more than beautiful.

She blinked up at him. Her gaze innocently seductive, her mouth violently tempting, and her wild flower scent was overwhelming. His body reacted instantly. It had been years since he’d felt such a strong, instant attraction.

He watched her lick her lips; lust shot through him like a lightning strike. Oh, yes. The wolf was alluring and, to his surprise, he was disappointed that she was his mark.
“Hi,” she said with a nervous lilt to her voice.
Ethan mentally shook himself and crossed over to stand at the chair opposite her. “Hi,” he replied.

Thunder rumbled; the force shook the glass walls. The girl flinched and her gaze fell from his. For a soundless moment, she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her head tilted down. The mortals gasped and laughed as another boom shook the windows.
“You may sit,” she said, her voice low, barely audible.

 Ethan could smell the fear that sparked within her. Was she frightened of the storm, or what possibly lurked outside? An overwhelming sense of protectiveness settled over him and he frowned. He didn’t like it. He wasn’t the protective type. He was a killer not a savior.
Focus and get this over with.
“Not a fan of thunderstorms?” he asked as he claimed the chair.

She straightened and fixed her gaze on him once more. Her expression was bland, her cute stubborn chin titled up, her shoulders back. She looked regal and refined. Every bit the aristocrat she was.
“I’m accustomed to snow storms.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Minnesota,” she answered with a hint of hesitation.
He smiled and was shocked he didn’t have to fake it. “You’re a long way from home.”
She shrugged and returned her attention to her book.

Ethan took a sip of the surprisingly good coffee and relaxed in his seat. He picked up a golf magazine, which rested on the table beside them, and began flipping through the pages. He wasn’t at all interested in golf. Being a vampire, he preferred keeping out of the sun. Although, contrary to popular lore, he wouldn’t burst into flame or turn to ash. He could work on his tan, he just preferred not to.

He casually glanced over at the werewolf and inwardly groaned. She was reading a list of the top ten hot spots in Chile. It appeared she was interested in sunbathing and he couldn’t stop the image of her in a bikini from cropping up in his mind even if he’d wanted to. And he certainly did not want to erase the image.

She sighed, closed the book, and tucked it away in her backpack, which hung off the back of her chair. She took up her latte and settled her gaze on him. Her lips turned up with a sweet smile.
“You don’t strike me as the golfing type.”
He raised a brow and tossed the magazine down on the table between them. “No?”

She shook her head, her long dark curls waving around her shoulders. “Not at all. You look like you’d rather go to a shooting range than work on your golf swing.”
Ethan couldn’t argue with that. He’d had his basement converted into an indoor gun range.
“Very observant,” he said. “What about you? What’s your hobby?”

She bit her bottom lip as she contemplated. Ethan wanted to bite it for her. “Traveling. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. You know, see the world, and experience different cultures.”
“Is that what your trip to Arizona is all about?” he asked.
“More or less,” she answered with a shrug.
“Well, South America is beautiful.”
Her eyes grew wide. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. Excitement laced her voice, “You’ve been?”

Ethan shifted closer and reached for her hand. The air trembled with another flicker of danger just before the lights went out. Darkness flooded the café.

His mark shoved away from the table, snatched her backpack, and darted toward the stairs. Ethan was right behind her. The mortals grumbled complaints, some laughed, while others stumbled through the dark.

She was about to reach the exit when the door flew open, crashing against the wall. Humans screamed and shouted in alarm. The girl froze, and Ethan cursed. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one searching for her. He could sense the alpha’s presence and, judging by his target’s reaction, so could she.

Ethan grabbed her wrist. She swung around. Her fist raised, her honey colored eyes glowed, and her fangs bared. Shadows of a wolf’s fierce visage flickered over the fine features of her face. Her fierce growl vibrated her entire body. Ethan ignored the warning and tugged on her arm, pulling her toward the emergency exit at the back of the coffee shop.
He pushed the door open. His mark tried to twist free of his hold, but he held her firm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded, her voice roughened by her partial transformation.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.”
She growled and fought harder. He wasn’t surprised by her strength and knew she was still holding back. So was he.
Pushing her now soaked and tangled hair from her face, she snarled, “What’s going on?”
“I thought it was obvious,” he said.
“That you’re attempting to kidnap me?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. That you have an alpha hunting your ass.”

Her stare was one of confusion, awe, and horror. She stopped, and he paused. Literally dragging her across the street would draw unwanted attention. He reluctantly released her wrist. She was soft and warm while he was hard and cold. A frown creased his brow when the sharp sense of loss pricked his long dead heart. On some level, he’d enjoyed the feel of her.
She blinked up at him. Her large, honey eyes sparkled with fear. “W-what did you say?”
His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “I’ll explain. For now, come with me.”
She shook her head.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot for any sign of the alpha. He could sense the wolf was close.
“We don’t have much time. We need to go.”
The woman fell back a step and Ethan’s body tensed. His instincts flared. She retreated another step. Would she run? A part of him wished she would. He loved the chase. The hunt. His heart began to pound, his pupils dilated, and his fangs began to sharpen, all in anticipation.
“Don’t,” he warned.

​LINK TO FIRST 3 Chapters
http://amandajgreene.blogspot.com/2015/04/extended-excerpt-surrender-to-chase.html

​Amanda J. Greene is a paranormal romance author. When she is not writing, she can be found playing the role of a university student who also works full time. She lives in Southern California with her very supportive husband and their two dogs. Doing all the above and being a military wife is not easy, but rewarding! Of course, she accomplishes everything with a strong cup of coffee in her hand.
Amanda is also an associate reviewer on The Book Nympho.


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Surrender to the Chase is $0.99 until May 31! Get your copy while you can! 

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​From orphan at fourteen to immortal royalty at nineteen, how the heck did that happen?

Nineteen-year-old Lissa witnessed the brutal murder of her parents by blood-thirsty vampires at the tender age of fourteen. She would have suffered the same unpleasant fate had tall, dark, and mysterious stranger Max not intervened. Every night since Lissa, along with an elite group of fighters, trains and patrols the mostly abandoned streets around the city of Buffalo, NY. They quietly thwart the dastardly plans of rogue vampires and cursed shifters in an attempt to protect mankind.

Having been told that all shifters are evil, Lissa is taken by surprise when she learns that there are good ones in the world - the Guardians. And she's bonded with one of them, an ultra-rare occurrence amongst Guardians in recent years and unheard of between a Guardian and a mortal. When a typically fatal injury threatens to end her, her bond-mate throws caution to the wind and uses his own blood to save her. The consequences could be disastrous when Lissa wakes up to find she is no longer human, and not only a shifter herself but the shifter queen.

​On Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/Legend-Born-Champions-Night-Book-ebook/dp/B01D6D8040/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1460693181&sr=8-1&keywords=a+legend+is+born+by+tl+phillips
On Barnesandnoble.com at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-legend-is-born-tl-phillips/1123485501?ean=2940152899696
On Smashwords at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/619927

​I was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to touch her, to take her in my arms and hold her. I closed the gap between us in three steps. I never meant for her to worry about me. It was my job to protect them. I let my head fall beside hers until my lips were next to her ear and inhaled her sweet scent. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you.”
My lips brushed across her earlobe, and her body shuddered. I should have pulled away, put some distance between us and regained my composure. However, the scent of her shampoo mixed with her desire kept me planted there, our bodies hovering against each other without touching.
Her voice was low and husky, barely a whisper. “Max...”
I brushed my lips across the scar along her jaw, our hearts racing in our chests. Before I realized what was happening, my lips were pressing down on hers unleashing years of pent-up desire. Her body arched forward, encouraging me to continue. I wove my fingers through her hair as I cradled the back of her head in my palm, leaving her no room to back away from me.
My free hand trailed the soft, creamy flesh on her arm, leaving a sea of goose bumps in its wake. Lissa's body relaxed into mine with a muffled moan as I traced her perfect lips with my tongue. Her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling us closer together. I deepened the kiss. Excitement pulsed through my body as I instinctively guided us to her bed.
She felt so good in my arms, like she was made to be there. I gently pulled her down onto the bed on top of me, never letting our lips lose contact. My breath caught in my chest as she took control of the kiss. She ran her fingers through my hair and moaned with pleasure as she thrust her tongue deeper into my mouth.
I ran my hands down her back, encircling her in my arms. A jolt of electricity shot through me as my hand brushed across the exposed flesh of the small of her back, and I froze. In all my years, never had I experienced anything like it. My mother used to tell me that I would know when I found my one.
From the way her body fit perfectly against mine to its reaction to my touch, I knew she was the one. My mate. My only thought after that was making her mine. I needed her more than she could ever imagine.
It was that blinding, deafening, all-consuming kind of need that only comes along once in a lifetime. The fire raged deep in my soul. Burning me to the bone with the knowledge that if I didn't claim her at that moment, it would kill me for sure.

​T.L. Phillips is a 30-something stay-at-home caretaker that loves to curl up with her cat and a great book. As a writer, she strives to tell compelling stories that readers will enjoy curling up with. When she’s not occupied with the myriad of tasks above, she’s an avid gamer with a love for all things crafty from crocheting to wood-burning and all things in between.