Teeth hitting, tongues warring, and their breath mingling together, desperate and needy, she couldn’t stop it.
“I need to feel you,” he begged against her lips.
 She could have cried from the desperation thick in his voice. Wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling his hips into her, she clung to his body in every way she could. In less than four hours he’d be gone. She molded her body to his, keeping every sliver of skin she could connected to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she broke the kiss, and hid her face in the crook of his neck. She breathed him in, sun, mint, and the tiniest hint of cigarette smoke. She always hated the smell of smoke, but on him, mixed with the smell of mint and a scent inherently him, it was mouth watering.
Their bodies moved together as one. Her hands roamed over his back, memorizing every muscle and curve of him. His forehead rested against hers, and she noticed moisture on his cheek, although she didn’t know if it came from her eyes or his.
Baylee pushed on his chest. When he moved back, she moved as well, shifting them, him sitting and her perched in his lap. With her legs around his waist, she writhed against him. She wanted to look into his eyes, fearing if she did, she’d never stop crying. His head rested on her shoulder as she whispered soft words of love in his ear.
When she had an orgasm, it rocked her soul, right down to the very core of her. Her body shook against his. She pulled back slightly, she wanted to see his face when she brought him to bliss. When she looked at him, she couldn’t stop the sob from leaving her. His eyes, bright all the time, shimmered. His chin quivered, but the look of absolute terror there in the depths of his gaze broke her.
“Nash…” She couldn’t say anything else, couldn’t speak past the emotion lodged in her throat.
“Baylee, please tell me you know how much I love you…please.”
She put her hands on both sides of his face, using her left thumb to wipe away the tear slipping from his eye.
“I know, Nash, I know it with everything inside. You love me.”
They still moved together, still worshiped the other’s body until his pace became erratic. When he came, he gripped her hips too tightly. She didn’t give a word of complaint. She held onto him, running her fingers through his hair, trying to hold him together with all the strength she had.
“I love you, baby girl. Don’t ever forget.”
“I love you too.”
Nash carried her to the shower where she washed his body, and he washed hers. She stopped crying, but it took all of her strength to do it. They finished showering, and she went to the kitchen to make breakfast while he finished getting ready. At a sound behind her, she turned and saw him standing there. She gasped and nearly fell down. Standing in the doorway in his combat uniform, her husband, the most amazing thing she had ever seen. She wanted to have her way with him. At the same time, she wanted to hide him away and never let him leave.
Baylee ran across the room and threw herself into his arms, unable to stop the flow of tears from falling. She tried hard to be strong for him, to be as calm as she could, knowing it’d be hard enough for him to leave. She couldn’t stand the thought of him being in a war zone, being in the blistering dessert, being shot at, or anything else along those lines.
“Promise me you will come back. Lie if you have to. Right now, I need you to say the words,” she begged against his neck.
She could feel him choking back his emotion. She could feel his pain radiating off of him in waves.
“I promise,” he whispered into her ear, as if unable to say anymore.
They ate breakfast, neither of them able to say much. Ethan, Jolie, and Jamie went with them on the silent drive to the airport. Once parked, Nash grabbed his duffle bag from the trunk of Jolie’s car, and they all walked inside.
Baylee wanted there to be a line, wanted it to be crowded to give her more time with him. Back to holding it all in, she fought to be strong for him. Her strength ebbed away with ever step they took towards security. Her grip of his hand must have been painful, but she couldn’t loosen it though.
She looked at her watch, seeing he had to go. Looking around, she noticed many of the people watching them, some with smiles and looks of understanding, while others wore looks of appreciation toward Nash. Being proud of him, proud to be his wife, didn’t make it easier to let go of his hand.
When they reached the security gates, she could go no further. The time had come where she would say goodbye to him. Not see him, touch him, or feel him for the next seven months. Baylee stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.
He put his hands on her face looking deep into her eyes and spoke in a soft voice. “I’m coming home to you, baby girl. Seven months, we can do this.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. When he hugged her, he stood up straight, lifting her feet from the ground. She wrapped her legs around him, not caring in the least who saw. She kissed his cheeks, both his eyes, and finally his lips, letting her tongue slip into his mouth. The kiss was heated and completely inappropriate for public. She didn’t care.
“I love you, Nash Jenson.”

I live in the Philippines.

I started blogging last May 2011. I was quite amazed by the people who blogs about books so I decided to try it. I realized how hard it is and committed those book bloggers must be to make their blogs that good.

I have so many favorite authors. It's hard to choose but I'll name a few. I love Mary Ting, Nalini Singh, Julie Garwood, Judith McNaught, Amy Plum and many more. It's really hard to pick just one author because they're all different from each other.

The very first novel I've ever read was C.S. Adler's "Magic of the Glits". I was pretty young then. I think I was only 9 or 10 when I read it after that I've been a book lover.

This is a question that I'm really having a hard time to answer. I've been sitting here for 15 minutes and I'm just thinking on what to answer but my mind just can't see myself sticking to one genre to read for the rest of my life. It's like being sentenced to prison for the rest of my life which scares the hell out of me. So, I'm not gonna choose one! Hahaha.. I just can't.

There's a lot of books/series I would like to see on the big screen. The first that comes into my mind is Nalini Singh's Guild Hunter Series which I think deserves to be seen on the big screen. I also thought Amy Plum's "Revenants Series" would be really good. And lastly, I think Mary Ting's "Crossroads Saga"  would be nice too.

Awwww.. do I have to choose just one?? I love the Archangel Raphael from the Guild Hunter Series. Yup! I want the great Archangel!  If he's real I'll probably stalk him.

This is hard. I don't know what you meant by unknown authors but I'll just give you my favorites. I'll probably bring "Fifty Shades of Grey" by E.L. James and the Guild Hunter Series books by Nalini Singh.

Amy Plum's "Die For Me" .  I actually send Amy a message and I told her how much her book affected me, that the way she wrote about the feelings of grief  is so real to me. I was so happy when she replied back. I was actually ecstatic.

There  are a couple of books but I don't really want to write it here. It's just that as much as I could I don't want to do a review on books I didn't enjoy.

1. Where are you from?
2. What is the first ever book you've ever read?
3. What is your favorite past time besides reading and blogging?
4. What is your most difficult read? 
5. What is that one book you can never forget and why?
6. What is the last book that has made you cry? Like really cry with rolls of tissues wasted.
7. What is the hardest part in book blogging?
8. One book that  you wished you've never ever read?
9. If you're going to hell, who would you take with you?
10. If you're going to heaven, who would you take with you?
11. If you have the power to make one character inside a book real for one day, who would it be and why?

Tight guy friends, and the girl who comes between them.
By

Cat Kalen

Back in my teen years I’ve watched many boys come between two best girl friends. This, of course, always puts a strain on the best friend relationship. Typically, come Saturday night one girl is left home alone because the other wants to hang out with her new boyfriend.
I always thought girls were the more emotional ones of the two sexes, and because of this I always thought of this situation as a ‘girl’ thing.

Do boys get upset when a girl comes along and gets between them and their best guy friend, their buddy, their video game partner? I never thought so, because I never thought guys cared about things like that. Then again how would I know? I’m a girl, and grew up in a household with two older sisters. I never really knew how ‘boys’ thought, felt or reacted.

It was only recently, after watching my own teen daughter come between two guys that I’ve learned how wrong I was about boys and their feelings.

Let’s call my daughter’s boyfriend Jack. Well, Jack has a best friend and we’ll call him Tom. Jack and Tom are tight, and even in the high school year book they were voted as cutest couple. They Skype every night and chat to each other while playing video games until the wee hours of the morning. Now Tom DOES have a girlfriend and he’s been going out with her for over two years. But when my daughter started dating Jack, Tom was very, very upset. It seemed to me Tom wanted both his girlfriend and his best guy friend all to himself and didn’t like the idea of sharing.

So what did Tom do?

Tom started saying nasty things about my daughter, texting nasty messages for all to see. Clearly he’s trying to break the two up.

My daughter is not a fan of Tom, naturally, but how is she supposed to handle this situation? Or, is it hers to handle? Perhaps Jack should be the one to put a stop to Tom’s antics.

For all you boys out there, what are your thoughts on the subject?

In my book Pride’s Run, Pride, who is a very strong and assertive shifter, has the opposite problem. She has two alpha males who hate each other, (because they are both vying for her attention) and all the while she’s trying to get them to work together for a greater cause. If they don’t, it could be the downfall for all and a life of captivity.

California Wine Country
August 23rd, six days until full moon

The click of the lock at the top of the stairwell is my only indication that morning is upon me. My ears perk up and I listen for the coming footfalls. The weight on the stairs combined with the creaking of each wooden step will let me know which handler has come for us this time, which unlucky puppet has drawn the short end of the straw and is stuck with letting the dogs out, or in this case, the werewolves.

Sure, he’ll come sauntering down the stairs sporting a brave face and looking at me with cold, dark eyes meant to intimidate. But the wolf inside me can smell his inner fear. Despite the fact that I’m the one caged, underneath the handler’s cool, superficial shell he’s the one who’s truly afraid.

A long column of light filters down the stairs and I blink my eyes into focus as the bright rays infiltrate the pitch black cellar. I don’t really need to blink. Not with my exceptional vision. But I do it anyway because sometimes I simply like to pretend I’m a normal seventeen year old girl, one who can’t see in the dark. It’s nonsense, I know. I’m not fooling anyone. Least of all myself.

The door yawns wider and before the first heavy boot, soiled with old blood that he’ll pass off as wine stains, hits the top step, my senses go on high alert. I never know what morning will bring—or who will bring it.

A breeze rushes down the stairs ahead of the handler, carrying the aroma of the grand estate with it. I push past the metallic scent of dried blood to catch traces of grape juice in the air, a common smell on the majestic vineyard—that and illegal drugs, the estate’s real source of income. Going beyond those familiar fragrances, I breathe deeper and get hints of fresh bread baking in the upstairs kitchen. It must be Thursday. Mica, the estate’s cook, always bakes on Thursday.

In my human form I roll onto my side and lean toward the smell. Wistfully, my tongue darts out and brushes over my bottom lip. There is something about that scent that always entices me and before I can help it I envision myself eating a warm slice covered in rich creamy butter, crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside.

My nostrils widen, but I know the bread isn’t meant for me and not even one delicious crumb will pass over my dry lips. Not unless Mica sneaks it to me. As much as I’d love to taste her offerings I don’t like it when she takes chances for me. Disobedience is far too risky for the aging housekeeper. Despite that, my stomach growls in response to the aroma and I fight off the cravings. I can’t hope for bread when it’s unlikely that I’ll even be given a scrap of food today, especially if I can’t please him.

My master.

A boot hits the second step—the handlers always descend slowly—and as I stretch my legs out on my dusty mattress I hear the waking groans of Jace and Clover stirring in their own cages beside me. I glance their way, and that’s when my attention falls on the one empty cage in the cellar. My mother’s den. I breathe deep and fight off a pang of sadness that I cannot afford to feel.

I turn away from the empty cage and stare at the gray cement walls. I can’t bear to look at her den any longer. It only reminds me of how they killed her and how all the pups were forced to watch—to learn that disobedience comes with a price. Guilt and sorrow eat at me to think that she’d died trying to free me.

When step number five creaks, I diligently try to shake off the memories. The handler is close which means I can’t think about my mother right now. I push all thoughts of her aside, knowing that right now I have to think about my father and what he taught me before the master killed him. Never let them see your fear.

I harden myself.

Prepare.

Before my master’s puppet even reaches the bottom step, I know it’s the one they call Lawrence, the handler I hate the most. The one with a weak mind, strong back, teeth like baked beans and beady eyes that fit his ugly rat face.

He likes to call me kitten. I have a few choice names that I’d like to call him in return, but I always bite the inside of my cheek to resist the urge. Partly because I’d be whipped and partly because Miss Kara educated me and taught me all about manners. I realize that an educated wolf with manners might sound laughable. In my line of work, however, education and manners are as lethal as a bear trap to those I hunt. That’s how I lure my marks, how I bait my prey. A pretty face and good grace go a long way for a trained killer like me.

My glance wanders to my leg, the one peeking out from beneath my ratty blanket, and my eyes are drawn to the long jagged scar tracking the length of my calf. I grimace. Even with my education and manners, I never forget what I really am. I’m never allowed to.

“Hey kitten,” Lawrence says. Most would think the nickname is a play on my birth name, Pride. But I know it’s the handler’s way of cutting me down, to find control where he feels none. My parents called me Pride because I was their pride and joy. Lions live in a pride and since lions are cats…

He tosses a collar and chain into my cage. “Leash up.”

I take note of the gun in his holster before my glance locks on his. As I give him a good hard stare, he flinches. The movement is slight, but I notice it. Dressed in my knee length nightgown, long hair loose around my shoulders, I might look like an average seventeen year old girl—harmless and innocent—but we all know I’m not.

Even though Lawrence keeps his face blank and stares down at me with those dark eyes of his, he reeks of terror. The scent is like a mixture of hot sweat and rotting compost. Oh, it’s not pretty by any means. Nevertheless, the werewolf slumbering restlessly inside me feeds off his fear, thrives on it, so I inhale and draw it deep into my lungs.

Without taking my eyes off his, I take my time to leash up. My movements are slow and deliberate as I position the collar. Metal grinds metal and the sound cuts the silence as I secure it around my neck. The handler winces. So do the older, more obedient wolves that I bunk with.

Jace cuts me a glance, chocolate eyes now milky from old age warn me to behave. I realize he’s doing it for my own good, but this morning I’m cold and hungry and in no mood for Lawrence’s insults. Clover makes a noise to draw the handler’s attention away from me, and all sets of eyes shift to her.

As Clover tries to pacify Lawrence, averting her gaze in a show of respect and making small talk about the weather, Lawrence opens my mother’s former cage and pulls out her cot. He gives it a good hard shake and the breeze stirs the dust on the unfinished boards masquerading as our ceiling. The particles dance in the stairwell light before falling to the cold, cement floor.

When Lawrence tosses the cot into a corner I stiffen. It can only mean one thing. My mother has been gone for a little over a year now, and I know the master rarely keeps a cell empty for long, which makes me wonder when and how he’s going to fill it?

Who will he breed?

I cringe at the thought of bringing puppies into this world, but know it’s not something I have to worry about. The master would never breed a wolf like me. My mother always said I was a survivor, the only pup in a litter of three to make it, but hey, a runt is a runt. Thanks to Darwin and his theory of ‘natural selection’ a runt is a heritable trait that a pack can do without. When it comes to canine reproduction, only one motto dictates: runts need not apply.

Deep in the bowels of the estate’s basement, the master keeps other wolves, separating the strong and young from one another. I’m smart enough to understand that he distances us so we can’t conspire against him or speak telepathically. Wolves can only use telepathy when in animal form, however. Well, most wolves that is. Oddly enough, I along with Stone, an alpha wolf two years my senior are able to communicate while in our human forms.

Sometimes the master does in-house breeding, sometimes he sends us out to one of his associates—other drug-lords who also harbor werewolves. It’s like he’s running a regular old puppy mill in here. Except his puppies kill for him. Which begs the question, what does my master have in store for me today?