To my absolute delight, I found out the other day that Banshee Seduction has been nominated for a RONE Award. Such thrilling news.
Voting for the next round starts today and lasts a week, so I'd really appreciate every single vote I get for this, my paranormal dragon shape-shifter story.
If you haven't read it and you'd like to, here's a little taster.
Sweet, shy librarian Ginny has a problem. Whenever passion strikes, so do the weeping, wailing voices in her head. Being half banshee, she’s already run screaming from the underworld and her female relatives, believing love will find a way with patience and faith on planet Earth.
The trouble is, humans just aren’t man enough, and every time Ginny shows interest in a male, she makes him bleed. It’s going to take more than just a simple human being to get past Ginny’s defenses.
Matthew, “The Dane,” fullback for the New York Chameleons, knows the moment he meets the little fireball that she’s his mate. For two hundred years he and his dragon have waited for a female capable of setting their world on fire. Problem is, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop her from going up in flames long enough to prove he’s more than man enough for her screaming banshee.
Will Matt ever be able to convince Ginny she’s his mate? And will Ginny get Matt alone long enough to let him appreciate her pyrotechnics?
“There are no such things as dragons.” She spoke into the silence, and the voices simpered sarcastically in her head.
“No such thing as vampires.”
“Archangels aren’t real.”
If it was all they could contribute, they could just… “Shut up.”
Quiet, sneaky laughter filled her mind in response to her vicious snarl and annoyed the hell out of her.
Resolved, she stood, walked to the curtains and whipped them open, coming face-to-face with the giant dragon through the windowpane. His sea-green eyes, filled with soft appeal, stared straight into hers.
Her hand was on the door before she even consciously thought about it; she clicked the lock and opened the door wide. The dragon lurched, and she skipped back. Squashed Ginny was not on the menu—she hoped. The dragon coughed, and a small ball of fire skimmed over her, heating her flesh as though it had stroked her. Barbecued Ginny might be another matter.
“Ginny.” Voice rusty and coarse, the dragon slavered as its mouth opened, and she was treated to another view of its white, pointy teeth when it tried again. “Ginny. It’s me—Matthew.”
He folded his wings in, took a step forward, and stumbled. No idea what possessed her, she rushed toward him, held up her hand, and placed it on his scaled chest, just to have it skim off again. She looked at her palm. Clear fluid coated it. She leaned in, took a sniff, and the scent of baby oil filled her nostrils.
The dragon form shrugged, hung his head in pitiful shame, and coaxed a small gurgle of laughter from her. If she was dreaming, she might as well have fun. His head came back up; his sea-green gaze pinned her.
“I think someone spiked my drink.”
Sympathy unfurled, and she wiped the baby oil onto her pajama top before raising her hand to stroke his face.
His deep voice grumbled. “I don’t feel so good.”
She took a rapid step back. “You don’t look too good, either. You’re a bit green around the gills.”
He snorted. A tiny flame puffed out of his nostrils. “I’m supposed to be green…and purple.”
She leaned in for a closer look. “You seem more green than purple to me.”
He opened his wings wide, making her move back, shuffled, folded them in, and settled again, a tremor running through his body.
“Ginny, can I stay here?”
How could she resist the appeal in his wide green eyes and the flutter of his exceptionally long black eyelashes? She stepped back and opened the door as far as she could to allow him in. If it was a sugar high causing the monster mirage, then that was okay. Also, a dream was acceptable.
Tempted to dash forward and wrap her arms around him, she watched him duck low and stagger precariously as he crossed over her living room. Dreams shouldn’t be this vivid.
Perhaps she’d had a brain hemorrhage.
Well, who was she to argue with any one of those three scenarios? She had an enormous, beautiful dragon in her apartment, and if she was in a sugar-induced coma, she was going to make the most of it.
“Can I use your bed?” His deep voice boomed in her small lounge.
She flicked her hand in the direction of her bedroom and didn’t know whether to move out of the way or run to help as he swayed, a definite green hue rising up his neck. Figment of her imagination or not, there was no way she was allowing it to turn into a nightmare. She slapped a hand on her waist and shot out a hip, tilting her head to
one side, and just so there was no mistake, she wagged a finger at him like she was telling teenagers to be quiet in the library.
“If you hurl in my apartment, you can clean it up yourself.”
As pathetic and remorseful as he sounded, she wondered if she’d treated the monster too harshly. Sympathy blossomed in her chest. She heaved a sigh and gestured for him to continue.
He weaved his way through the opposite doorway, forced to dip his head low again. She stood motionless while she wondered whether to go after him. A loud whump followed by a resounding crunch decided her as she rushed through to check the damage.
Aghast, she stared at the eleven-foot dragon who’d face-planted her bed, making three of the four legs collapse, and leaving it to sprawl at a drunken angle. The pretty pink daisies adorning her duvet cover looked strangely in keeping with his vibrant green as though the mystical creature had fallen from a book into a field of flowers.
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