A quick excerpt from Variance: The Countdown – Urban Fantasy

The Countdown is available now at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid

Hot alpha males, evil shapeshifters, strong women, and the fight to save the world. Variance: The Countdown is available now at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid

If you enjoy shapeshifters, danger, kick-ass heroines and hot alpha heroes, intrigue and suspense, check out the first book of the Variance series!

**Currently #4 on the Best Seller’s list at Whiskey Creek Press Torrid!** 
What do you get when you mix:

A sadistic Sarion shapeshifting prince, determined to steal a woman to breed…


A yummy alpha male hell-bent on saving the one woman destined to be his mate


A kick-ass heroine who takes matters into her own hands…and then cuts it off?

You get the perfect blend of passion, suspense, murder, desire, mystery and mahem! The Countdown has begun. In order to save Wynne from the evil Sarion, Brent must put his own life in danger to save his mate.

But can he convince Wynne that she is his mate? Can he save her from the hoards of shape-shifting monsters who are after her?

The sound of glass breaking jolted Wynne out of a sound sleep. Her heart leapt up into her throat, lodging there until she remembered that breathing sometimes required effort. She listened, trying to figure out where the sound had come from, and heard quiet cursing coming from the bathroom next door to her bedroom. It was Brent.

Wynne opened the door to her bedroom, cringing as the hinges squeaked. Damn, I have to remember to oil those! Tiptoeing down the hallway, the light coming from behind the partially opened bathroom door spilled out like fresh milk from a dropped carton. The cursing coming from inside, however, had obviously spoiled.

“Brent, are you ok?” She asked quietly.

She heard more cursing, as well as something heavy falling against the door slamming it shut.

“Hey, are you ok? Do I need to call someone?”

“No, I’m fine. Do you have any tweezers anywhere?”

“Tweezers? What do you want with tweezers? Are you going to pluck your eyebrows?” She laughed.

“No, I need something to get this glass out of my foot; I can’t get a good hold of it with my fingers.”

“Glass? What did you do? What happened? Open that door and let me in there, I know some first aid, and I can help.” Wynne tried the door, which was unlocked, but blocked by an immovable object.

“Brent, open this door right now! You might be here to fight the bad guys, but this is my house and what goes on inside it is my business!” Wynne yelled at the closed door, willing it telepathically to open. Yet again, the abilities she didn’t have failed. The door remained closed.

“Please?” She tried again.

The door opened slowly, and Wynne gasped at the amount of blood on the floor and counter in the bathroom.

“Sorry about the mess; I’ll clean it up in a bit.”

“Brent, what happened?”

“Your damned cat, that’s what happened!” He complained, pressing a cloth against the bottom of his foot.

“George? What did George have to do with your foot? Don’t tell me he tried to bite it off? I’ve had to talk with him before about eating strange men.”

“He got in my way, yowling at me in the kitchen. I tripped over him, and dropped the glass I was carrying. Some of it ended up in my foot when I tried to keep my balance and not fall on your idiotic cat! Lucky for him, I think I missed him for the most part.”

Wynne’s eyes got huge as she ran out of the bathroom towards the kitchen, calling George’s name and leaving the bleeding man cursing contrary women and their cats.

“HEY! What about me?” He yelled after her.

Wynne came back down the hallway from the kitchen, carrying an indignant George upside down in her arms, crooning to him with baby talk.

“What a poor kitty you are. Did that bad man hurt you? Is my little Georgie-worgie ok? He just doesn’t understand that you like your midnight snack, does he? He comes into your house and tromps all over you. Did you get any glass in your feet, Sweetie? Oh, what a poor kitty.”

“Oh my God, you’ve got to be kidding! Here I am, almost bleeding to death all over your floor because of that damned animal, and you’re worried that he might be hurt?”

“Well, of course. I didn’t know how badly you might have injured him when you tripped on him. Obviously you only care for your own well-being, but George here only has me to count on, and care for him if he gets hurt.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense, at least on your part. Can you help me get this glass out of my foot now that you’ve assured yourself that George still has a couple of lives left to him? I’ve only got the one, and I’d hate to bleed it out all over your pretty white bathroom floor here.

Wynne watched the blood soaking into the cloth he had placed on his foot, and put George down after petting him one last time. She washed her hands, and retrieved the tweezers from the drawer. She noticed something else, now that she wasn’t occupied with saving her cat’s life.

Brent’s pants were undone. Not just the button at the top of the jeans, but all the way undone, and slipping low on his hips. He was shirtless, and the muscles that his shirt had hinted at before stood out in stark definition under the harsh bathroom light. His chest hair spread across the muscles, and led down his stomach, pointing the way down into his loosened jeans. All the way towards what looked to be a huge surprise.

With a gulp, she redirected her eyes and thoughts, looking for antiseptic and bandages.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital for this, Brent? I know first aid, but if you need stitches, I’m just not the sewing type.”

“No, it’s not that bad, and if I can just get the glass out of it, I think it should be fine. If it needs stitches, we’ll take care of that then.”

Wynne bent down, taking the bloodied cloth off his foot. “Can you bend it up here a little bit so I can see underneath it?”

He lifted his foot, crossing it over his other leg so she could reach the bottom of it. She poured some warm water over it to wash away the blood, catching it in a small basin she set underneath. Looking at the cut, Wynne saw a small slice, with a piece of glass embedded in it. She poured disinfectant into the wound and over the tweezers, and then dug into his foot to grab hold of the glass.

“Stop jumping, will you? How am I supposed to get hold of it if you keep moving?”

“I didn’t ask you to do surgery on me, woman. Especially not without anesthesia! What are you using, anyways? A pry bar?” Brent jumped again as she hit a tender spot.

“Oh, stop being such a baby! Goodness sakes, for such a big, strong man, you don’t have much tolerance for pain, do you?” She glanced up at him, her gaze only going so far as his undone pants. They’d slipped just a little lower while she had been working.

Brent cleared his throat loudly. Her gaze jumped up to his face, and the smirk there mortified her. Oh great, just what I wanted to be caught staring at!

Wynne firmly grasped it and pulled, watching it slide out slowly, the fluids welling up at the tip. It was longer than she thought. And much wider at the base than what it first appeared to be.

“Finally! I thought you’d never get it out of there. It was really starting to hurt” he complained at her tardiness.

“If you hadn’t kept distracting me, I would have pulled it out much sooner.”

Wynne dropped the piece of glass she’d pulled out of his foot and after putting antiseptic on it, she placed a bandage over the top, finishing up her sojourn into the First Aid field for the night. “There you go, you’re as good as new, and it doesn’t look as if you’ll need stitches. Try not to step on any more glass tonight, will you?”