Dark Fantasy, Interracial Romance
Date Published: June 21, 2025
Fleeing the shame of being rejected in favor of an Omega, Jackson Southerly, alpha wolf, has run away to one of his family's ski resorts.
Fleeing the shame of being left at the altar, Sioux Brown has traded in her tickets to the Bahamas and run away to the snowy slopes of Colorado, where she plans to lick her wounds in solitude.
The snow in their hearts melts as they share the deserted lobby in the dark of night, but will their growing attraction survive the light of day?
EXCERPT
"Mmmm…" Sioux Brown awoke cocooned in a nest of warm blankets. She arched her back, bare skin sliding smoothly on silken sheets, stretching pleasantly flaccid muscles in a languid morning ritual.
"Good morning, doll."
"Aarrghhhhhh!" The slow, gravel and silk voice acted like a bucket of ice water on her drowsing mind. With a scream shrill enough to shatter glass, she ripped her way out of sheets, blankets and quilts. Heart pounding, pulse skittering out of sync, she leaped free of the bed and promptly tripped on a trailing corner of the top comforter. She landed on her butt, still yelling.
"Holy ambulance sirens, Sioux. You're going to bring security down on us! Please! Stop while I still have eardrums." A sleepy white man sat up in the disarray of blankets, hands clapped over his ears.
Sioux gulped, stopping only long enough to gather more breath. She screamed again, but couldn't decide if it was from fear or excitement. Because really, if the man was going to hurt her, it seemed he'd had all night to do it. Even frightened half out of her chocolate skin, Sioux couldn't help noticing juicy details.
There was a hunky, hairy, naked white man in her bed. His dense swirls of chest hair almost hid flat brown nipples and he sported a six-pack she could quench her thirst with all day long. His thick mop of tangled black hair fell over a broad brow that narrowed into a striking craggy face. Not handsome per se, yet not butt-ugly, either… interesting. Nice mouth too.
He sat up, knees apart, the edge of the sheet covering his assets from the hips down. It was thin enough she could see the shadow of his muscular legs, as well as the outline -- the huge outline of what promised to be a monster cock jutting between his thighs.
Sioux stopped screaming long enough to demand, "Who are you and what are you doing in my bed?"
The man sighed. "See, I was afraid of this. Something told me you didn't drink often, and couldn't be held responsible for your decisions."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know nothing about my drinking habits."
"I know you got plastered on two baby drinks." He smiled at her, displaying a cute dimple in his left cheek. "'Course, I might be wrong. Maybe it wasn't the drink that had you acting the way you did last night. Maybe it was me. One can live in hope…"
About the Author
A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and another...
Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.
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