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Enjoy a little snippet of what happens when an Alpha female goes camping:

Monica stepped out of the car and looked around with a scowl.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in a hotel?” She turned to Fionn. He threw his head back and laughed as she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“What’s the matter? Does my big bad Alpha bride not like sleeping in the woods?”

“Oh no, sleeping is fine. It’s the lack of plumbing that I don’t care for.” She turned hopefully, banking on Ellen and Annie to have her back. She was disappointed to see Ellen hiding a laugh behind her hand, and Annie enthusiastically grabbing camping gear out of the car as though she knew what do do with it. Given Annie’s hippie-dippie free-spirited lifestyle, that shouldn’t have been surprising. She’d probably gotten some sort of expert merit badge in following the Grateful Dead a few decades ago.

Taking pity on her, Graham leaned in and whispered in her ear. “They have toilets here. Sinks and showers too.”

“Oh thank the Moon.” Monica sighed with relief as they all burst out laughing.

“Monica, when’s the last time you went camping?” Annie asked.

“You know, back in the old days we didn’t ‘Go camping’, we ‘made camp’ and we had to grow or hunt whatever we ate, and try not to be too far from a fresh water source at any given time. We didn’t carry pistols—” She glanced at Fionn’s sidearm in his underarm holster. “—we carried rifles, and even the little girls knew how to shoot. Our first shift couldn’t come fast enough, because only then would we have teeth and claws to defend ourselves if goddess forbid we were caught by a predator—and I’m not necessarily talking about animals–without a gun.”

Monica watched as her companions’ faces drew grim as their imaginations took over where her words left off. Werewolf women on the American frontiers had lived dangerous, brutal lives. Ensconced in her library apartment with its big screen tv, computers, and elevator, Monica seemed a thoroughly modern woman, but underneath, she was still the same little girl who’d slept with a gun and prayed to the moon goddess for her first shift to hurry up and grant her claws and teeth. And then when her mate had died and she became Ghost-wolf she was just a woman in a human’s weak body, alone with no wolf and no gun, her only protection her faith in Sara’s curious instructions to march ever east and not look back.

 

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt! Remember however that United is still an unedited work in progress and this scene may very well change or even be removed from the final story.

Bianca is the heroine in Amazon, the Ushers book one, and she’s an important secondary character in both United and the third book (which still hasn’t got a working title–we’ll just call it book three). This photo is Bianca as I imagine her, modeled by the lovely Ariel Betancourt, captured by Aimee Benson Photography.

I’ve had a couple of major breakthroughs on my work in progress over the last couple of days. The way I write involves a lot of just getting it out there and then deleting what doesn’t work and keeping what does, rinse, repeat. I’m pretty early on in this first draft, and I’m still getting to know my characters, so things are pretty fluid right now, and a lot of stuff ends up in the trash.

Yesterday, I had an idea form in my mind about a one-legged werewolf, and my villain was born and he is so full of awesome I can’t wait to write his parts of the story.

Today, I realized that the big conflict for my hero was not going to be what happens with the villain.  No, this hero is going to have to work for his happy ever after, but it’s going to be soul work, not leg work.

I love these little moments where someone I’ve been writing opens up to me and becomes a real person to me. It happens with every hero and heroine at some point, and Fionn’s been trying to tell me something for days, but I finally heard it this morning.

Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? The creative process is both frustrating and fulfilling in that way. It’s like opening up a present every time I start typing, and then trying to find a place in my house for it. I got a big box of awesome today, and it might take awhile to figure out where to put it, but it’s going to be worth it.

“Mo. This is really hard for me.”

“As long as it’s hard for me on Monday, I don’t really care.” She teased, and was gratified to hear him laugh.

“Honey… You’re really cute when you’re being funny, but I’m serious about this.”

“I know. I’m sorry, you make me giddy. Angelo is just a friend. We have slept together, but that’s over–you’re my mate, love. Angelo will celebrate for us.”

“He’s a better man than I am.” Fionn’s voice went smoky over the phone line. “Because once I’ve had you in my arms, once you’re wearing my bite, I’ll never let you go.”

“I’d never want you to.” She whispered.

 

“No, Fionn Murphy.” She stood up, tugging him to his feet with her. “You need to know something. I’m your mate. I know what that is, how it feels. You’ve never been mated before. You’ve fucked and played around, but you don’t know what it feels like to kiss your mate. Don’t you want to know? Aren’t you even the littlest bit curious?” She stood up on the tips of her toes, pressing her face to the skin of his throat and inhaling his scent. Oh goddess, he smelled amazing.

“Mo.” He pleaded. She met his eyes and saw in them a hunger that sent echoes of the same through her.

Feeling the heady power of seduction, she leaned forward and deliberately licked from the hollow between his collarbones up to his ear, where she bit, scissoring the lobe between her teeth. She felt the rumble of a growl run through him, and he pushed her away. Her eyes closed, tears forming with a sting behind them.

Then his hands were bracketing her face and his lips crushed down hard on hers. This was not a gentle kiss. Not like the caring caresses Angelo had bestowed on her in an effort to comfort her. No, this kiss was full of anger, lust, and regret. But as his tongue swept through her mouth and his elemental male taste tingled all the way to her toes, she felt her teeth lengthen and she smiled against his lips. Her mate.

His mouth lost a bit of its angry fervor, gained a bit of languor. He swept his tongue through her mouth again as if he wanted to memorize her taste. Her hands fisted in the cotton of his tank top, pinching the nipple ring underneath. His buried into her hair, tugging.  Feeling his teeth with her tongue, she realized they had shifted too.  The knowledge sent a victorious thrill through her.  He knew. He knew, dammit.

He pulled away suddenly, leaving her bereft. She watched as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth in horror. “I’m sorry Mo. I should never—ever—have kissed you in anger.”

“If that’s the only way I can ever have you, I would take it.” She confessed. His eyes closed and a spasm of pain crossed his face.

“You deserve so much better.” He whispered. He ran a gentle hand down the side of her face and grimaced. “I have to go. We can talk, after I get back?”

She nodded. Of course they could talk. All they ever did was talk.