Mantled in Mist

Riverdale Avenue

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 80,000
0 Ratings (0.0)

In the sixth novel in the Rainbow Award-nominated paranormal M/M SoulShares series, Fiachra Dubhdara is a Fae living a stolen life, in a body that isn’t his own. He’s also the most junior detective on the D.C. Vice squad, assigned the task of infiltrating and shutting down Tiernan Guaire’s Purgatory.

Peri Katsura is the newest and hottest masseur at Lochlann Doran’s Big Boy Massage, inexplicably drawn to the gorgeous cop assigned to bust him but needing to hide a dark secret of his own.

And the owner of Fiachra’s body has a plan to get it back – a plan that may cost Fiachra his SoulShare and close the doors of Purgatory forever. Unless the Marfach gets there first…

Mantled in Mist
0 Ratings (0.0)

Mantled in Mist

Riverdale Avenue

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 80,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Insatiable Designs
Excerpt

Big hands ran lightly up and down Peri’s arms. More touching. More of that indescribable sensation that made him want to laugh and moan and drop to his knees, surrender, lose himself. And that was even before he looked into those amazing blue eyes.

Eyes that really saw him. Eyes that held secrets and wanted to share them. Peri barely suppressed a shiver.

And the man wanted to know his name.

“Peri.” The gentle touch was making him bold. Or stupid. Probably both. “And who are you?”

For a second, he wasn’t sure if the smoking hot blond had heard him; his gaze had dropped, his eyes were on what his hands were doing, and he seemed perfectly happy to go on that way for a while. “Name’s Fiachra,” he murmured at last.

Peri was trying to think of a more intelligent comeback than beautiful name, when Fiachra touched him under his chin with a fingertip, tilted his head up, and looked into his eyes, and he stopped thinking altogether.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Fiachra whispered.

Peri blinked fast, catching the tears before they could do more than make his eyes sting a little. What he was was exotic. He knew it; he’d always known it. He had his Japanese father’s dark almond-shaped eyes, and his father’s glossy black hair, though peroxide and L’Oréal turned it to pale gold. His mother’s Swedish ancestry had lightened his complexion and given him killer cheekbones and a slender body. Fucking beautiful. And fucking untouchable.

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