After sorceress Alexandra tries to kill her insane father, her fae uncle expels her from the Otherworld in an attempt to keep her safe. Living among humans, she keeps her connection with the supernatural by working for vampires and werewolves.
When she stumbles upon a hurt werewolf pup her efforts to heal him inadvertently break the bonds tying the young lycan to the pack, making her his new alpha.
This is the least of Alexandra’s worries though, for back in the Otherworld her father has not forgotten her. He dispatches an assassin to kill her. But just who is this mysterious foe, and what will their arrival mean not only to Alexandra but to the delicate balance of the world?
Nature of the Beast is the first book in the Tangled Bonds series.
Don’t miss the March Sale! All Wayward Ink Titles titles are 35% off on the WIP website and 30% off on AllRomance. The 30% discount also applies to all Amazon websites for Nature of the Beast on the first few days after release.
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CJ4RVYW/
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01CJ4RVYW/
Amazon AU: http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01CJ4RVYW/
Amazon DE: http://www.amazon.de/dp/B01CJ4RVYW/
I had several orders to fill, but I couldn’t concentrate. The potion business didn’t pay much, but as it was only a ruse, I didn’t care.
Cleaning up other peoples’, or in my case other immortals’, screw-ups paid a whole lot more. It also took a lot out of me, but, hey, a girl’s gotta live, and since selling my body held no appeal, that was my only option. So I made bodies and any traces of magic reckless immortals left behind disappear, and tried to stay out of the line of fire. Of course, working closely with vampires and werewolves didn’t make the job easy. On the other hand, I was lucky to be working mostly with their kind. I shuddered to think how much more difficult it would be with demons or fae as customers. Good thing they were used to cleaning their own messes.
Eventually, I gave up pretending to work and went outside. The hot air of the afternoon hit me hard and I breathed it in in long, deep gulps. It tasted foul and oppressing on my tongue, reminding me again how much I hated the heat. Not even the clean mountain air could make it palatable. And no matter how far I was from civilization, I could still feel it around me, smelling like sickness and decay. It was such a far cry from the crisp air of the Otherworld. There everything was sharper, fresher. The forests were always green, and the grass smelled like spring. I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality. What was of the point dreaming of what you couldn’t have?
I filled my lungs and the foul smell hit me again. My nose curled in distaste, my stomach convulsing. I dry swallowed, trying to get rid of the awful taste, and cursed myself for dwelling in old memories. That had to be the reason everything seemed worse today.
Sun washed over me as I stepped into the backyard. Closing my eyes, I basked in its glow. As much as I hated summer, I loved the sun. Yet another contrast of my personality. But then again, what would you expect when I was made out of contrasts from the beginning? Fae’s blood mixed with human, demon and angel, animal and water; those conflicting elements meant to give me access to all these worlds tended to battle inside me. It didn’t work out for my maker as well as he’d hoped, but, as the saying went, you can’t have it all.
About the author
Born in Romania, land of the Iele and Vlad the Impaler, AIMEE BRISSAY has spent all her life surrounded by books. She has ridden side by side with d’Artagnan and The Three Musketeers to retrieve the Queen’s diamonds, set sail on the Erasmus in search of the Japans, fell in love with Rhett Butler and roamed the Wild West along Old Shatterhand. She has walked on the footsteps of the Olympian Gods and searched for Zalmoxis’ sanctuary in the Carpathians. In her mind, she’s never been the damsel in distress but rather the knight in shiny armor fighting for a cause.
With a background like this, turning to writing was no surprise.
Aimee discovered erotica early on in life and has never looked back. Now she can write anywhere, even in a crowded room or a busy subway station, but she loves solitude.
When she’s not at her evil day job, she can be found writing or playing with her cat. She welcomes messages from readers and promises to answer all of them as soon as possible.
Aimee Brissay can be found at: