US Navy SEALs feature a trident on their insignia, totally unaware the Ruler of the Seven Seas, Poseidon, has his own SEAL team. Trident Maritime Investigations uses a copy of the Titan’s lethal trident on the company logo, and employs shape-shifting dolphins, seals, merfolk, and even dragons to bring to justice those foolhardy enough to commit a crime in the depths or on the surface of the god’s realm.
Aurelia Argento, daughter of a former Queen of the Sirens and a Finfolk Sorcerer, is a TMI agent on the trail of a gang of eco-terrorists who attempted to pollute the sapphire blue waters of the Blue Grotto, almost within sight of TMI’s Naples headquarters. This is one mission Aurelia is eager to accept so she can avenge her brother Auric, who was killed on the Blue Grotto mission. The only downside is having to work with the humans who call themselves SEALs, even though, unlike herself, they can’t shape-shift into one.
The pain of getting shot is nothing compared to being ripped away from your soulmate.
When Calder Reade, a USN Corpsman, gets shot in the ER of a twenty-first century hospital and wakes up in nineteenth century England, he has no choice but to make the best of it. And the best of it is meeting and falling in love with Angeline Avery.
In a weird twist of fate, Calder loses Angeline to a riding accident, and, heartbroken, joins the Royal Navy where he is, once again, wounded. This time he wakes up right back where he started, and staring into the eyes of an ICU nurse, a woman he never dared hope to see again. And one he hopes will allow him to convince her he’s loved her for over two hundred years before she dials the hospital code for bring a straight-jacket to the ICU, STAT.
Chief Petty Officer Calder Reade, a Special Amphibious Reconnaissance Corpsman thinks he was sent back to 19th century England to be a physician. But what if he’s wrong? If not a physician, then what? Perhaps the sorceress grandmother of the Chinese apothecary he just met will have the answer
Fall Back is Book 1 in the Golden Hours series. It can be read as a standalone.
Wren lifted a single teardrop from his face to study it. He didn’t know what made him let the water works loose. Liar, liar, pants on fire his inner child chided. His eyes were leaking because he was confused and, okay, he was afraid. He yearned for what he suspected he would never achieve. He wanted a lasting relationship with Geordy. He wanted the idyllic family life Geordy had with the Campbells, and he wanted to be loved for himself, for being Wren and not a Marine Raider, not a mixed martial arts fighter, not a bladed weapons expert, just plain Wren who loved William Shakespeare, cuddles, and a keen wit to return his teases. He cried because he truly didn’t believe those things were written in his stars.
When her sailboat is chased by Chinese pirates into the Japanese equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle, American volcanologist, Gem Ishiwara, puts up a good fight. Good but hopeless, until she is rescued by what her eyes tell her are red dragons, and her brain tells her is an impossibility.
Her brain wins with an expedient Ctrl/Alt/Delete. She wakes to discover aliens really are on earth, they’ve been here for far longer than anyone ever imagined, and they are very, very interested in her.
Tricked into giving his word by a dishonorable man’s maneuvering, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi, Viceroy of Transylvania, is honor-bound to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He’s also required to gather to the bosom of his family the man’s widow, and mother of his intended, who despises him. The silly creature believes he’s a revenant, a vampire bent on making her daughter one as well, and she vows to see him staked and in his grave before she gives her daughter to him. But the prince isn’t soulless or undead, nor does he drain humans of blood. No, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi is a very different creature altogether.
As he paces the corridors of his dark castle, awaiting the arrival of the artist hired to paint miniatures of himself and his bride-to-be, he prays to the ancient gods to help him figure a way to break his promise without losing his honor.
The gods respond to his plea, sending Baroness Beatrix Celine Baranyi, a most unusual artist who carries a saber, rides as if she were a mythical minotaur, and dresses as a Csiko, a Hungarian cowboy. Solving the riddle of the gods’ reply before he binds himself to a woman he’ll never love will take all of his considerable powers.
Rosilyn Hugh de Lassy, a former Special Operator and now sole owner and operator of De Lassy Inquiries, can proudly trace his family tree back to the Normans who helped William the Conqueror win at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Like his Norman ancestors, if Ross wanted something he went after it, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard to get it.
When Nels Rainer Kirkegaard, possessor of a PhD in History, talented artist and skilled wood-worker, inherits his grandfather’s furniture business, he is surprised by the stipulation he has one year to sow some wild oats before assuming the leadership of the company. In a chance encounter in a Washington, DC pub, Norman and Viking meet, and Ross surprises himself by hiring Nels to help him renovate the rundown monstrosity he intends to turn into office and living quarters.
When Nels’ silver blonde hair and Arctic blue eyes make him the target of a sex slave ring, Ross is compelled to rescue him. He is very good at finding things, and no self-respecting Special Forces operator would leave a friend behind. However, while searching for clues to discover where his handyman was taken, Ross finds one of Nels’ pen and ink sketches, and realizes the Dane could become more to him than just a friend. Ross has a major decision to make when he finds Nels. Should he, like his Norman ancestors, pay the Danegeld and live in harmony with the Viking or refuse and live at war with himself?
You would think a Native American, who could track a piss ant through a meadow covered in heavy grass, wouldn’t get lost. But he was lost. Orion Brown, son of a full-blood Lakota Sioux was lost, but not in any geographical location. Orion was lost within himself. The deaths of five of Gunnery Sergeant Orion Brown’s men in combat in Afghanistan, and their battle buddies crying on his shoulder, had put him into unknown territory. Oh, he’d remained strong for the Marines who survived. He bucked them up to resume combat without their battle buddies guarding their sixes, but it had cost him. His stronger than strong routine had earned him an honorable discharge from the Marine Corps, panic attacks, and the inability to touch or be touched by other human beings without having a nuclear nervous meltdown.
His assigned VA shrink was a joke. Well, the man himself wasn’t a joke. He was sincere, he gave the impression he cared, and he listened when he grudgingly shared some of his feelings, but if he mentioned “survivor’s guilt” just one more time, Orion would show him just how much damage a Marine could do to office furniture. The doc just didn’t get it. He was damned if he tried to open up and interact with the people around him, and he was equally screwed if he let anyone throw an arm over his shoulder or kiss his cheek or slap him on the back. The first induced no feeling at all, as in semi-frozen stiff on a morgue slab, and the second induced panic attacks of epic proportions. He was rapidly being torn apart by the dichotomy of reactions.
A slip of a finger on his PC keyboard, offered salvation. The BDSM site wanted to know if he was a Dominant or a submissive. He almost didn’t fill out the personal questionnaire, but overhearing the prevailing opinion of him from two of his students in the Marine Special Operations Tracking/Counter-tracking Course he taught, convinced him he needed to go beyond conventional medical practice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have an extremely sexy Mistress paddling his backside if he was brought back to the land of the normal.
But the Great Spirit was not inclined to grant him normal. Irony of ironies, there was no female Dominant at the local dungeon strong enough to keep him from topping her. Instead, he was assigned to Dai Waleska. A six foot, two-inch Japanese-American Kung Fu Master. Now the overriding question was, was it worth submitting to another man’s physical, and possibly sexual, domination for a chance at getting back on a normal track. Which was more important? Dominance and submission to conquer his frozen core and panic attacks, or maintaining a macho Marine image that would more than likely end with him gargling with a Glock somewhere down a very short road?