Check out this wonderful series from M.A. Church.
Book 1 of Fur, Fangs, and Felines
A snowstorm in the South—on New Year’s Eve—is a perfect recipe for a catastrophe. After two soul-crushing bad breaks, Kirk’s waiting for disaster number three to strike when, naturally, two stray cats arrive on his doorstep during the storm and decide to make themselves at home. Tenderhearted Kirk lets them stay even though there’s something decidedly odd about his overly friendly felines.
Out of the punishing weather and full of tuna, Dolf and Tal are happy to be snug in Kirk’s house. But then their human goes outside for firewood and suffers a nasty fall that leaves him unconscious. Now the two cats have no choice but to reveal themselves.
Kirk wakes up to find the two kitties are actually Dolf and Tal. They’re cat shifters—and his destined mates. Being part of a feline threesome is enough for Kirk to grapple with, but soon he learns they come from a clowder that doesn’t believe humans and shifters should mix. Kirk knew those two cats would be trouble. Little does he know the real trouble lies ahead.
Book 2 of Fur, Fangs, and Felines
A cool morning, a yard full of birds, and a kitty on a mission. What more could a werecat want? Beta Heller Wirth has it all, except a mate—a shifter mate, that is. The last thing he wants is one of those dangerous humans who kill without remorse. Heller knows about that firsthand. So what does the goddess Bast do? She gives Heller exactly what he does not want—a human: business owner Lawson Dupre.
Lawson hasn’t a clue what just happened in his car detail shop. One minute a cute client is about to pass out, and then he perks up and starts flirting. Next thing, he runs out the door like the hounds of hell are after him. Learning that Heller is a werecat doesn’t freak out Lawson. He happens to be one of those rare humans who knows paranormals exists. He even lives with one. Watch the fur fly as Heller and Lawson battle hurt feelings, misguided beliefs, and a power shift in Heller’s clowder.
Book 3 of Fur, Fangs, and Felines
Can two very different men find the love they need to survive?
Remi Ginn’s an easygoing werecat with a love of snarky T-shirts who would be perfectly happy with a human mate. Is that what the goddess Bast gives him? Of course not. Instead she gifts him with Marshell, a Vetala: a snakelike nonshifter who drinks blood to survive. A man who’s just as toppy as Remi—and even more powerful than the West Falls Clowder’s Alpha and heir apparent.
While Remi decides whether he can handle the fates’ choice, hunters attack Marshell. In an explosion of passion, Remi and Marshell mate and Remi declares Marshell his. Now they have to figure out how to make their relationship work as they dance around each other.
The clowder is in turmoil, and Remi’s acceptance of Marshell rocks the very foundation of the insular group. The consequences will be far-reaching. And if that isn’t problem enough, the situation with the hunters is far from resolved… as the appearance of an Alpha werewolf proves.
Find at: Dreamspinner
Check out this excerpt from It Takes Two To Tango
“So where are we going?”
“Place called Seafood Palace,” Lawson said. “Name might be a little cheesy, but the food’s to die for.”
We were still on the back road that led to the main street when I noticed lights coming up behind us—coming up fast. It could be a cop, except I didn’t see any flashing lights. I didn’t like it.
“Yeah, yeah, I see it. Man, they’re flying.” Lawson kept glancing in the rearview mirror. “You buckled up?”
“Yes. You?” I checked just in case as I turned around to look out the back window.
“Always. Damn, Marshell, I don’t like this.” Lawson gripped the steering wheel. “They’re still in my lane. Shit, they’re cutting it close.”
I noticed Lawson moved his truck closer to the shoulder and slow down. I had a bad, bad feeling about this. If this was that fucking werewolf, I was going to rip his throat out if I got my hands on him. My heart rate spiked as I watched the lights getting closer. They now were practically on top of us and didn’t look like they were going around.
“Fucking hell, get ready, Lawson. They’re going to—” The headlights clipped us. Metal screeched, and I grabbed the dash.
We lurched forward with a snap, and I damn near bit my tongue off. My neck screamed, and the seatbelt tightened against me as we fishtailed. Fuck ripping the were’s throat out. I was going to rip his head off. If Lawson got hurt, Heller would likely rip my head off.
“Aw fuck!” Lawson fought the wheel, cussing a blue streak as his hands flew over it. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re coming again, the fuckers. Brace yourself!”
“Son of a bitch!” This was no kid who’d lost control or some drunk out riding around.
Whoever was behind us had used the pit maneuver. Cops often used it to shut down car chases. Had the were been a cop at some point? Maybe he still was? Then I forgot everything as the other vehicle rammed us again. This time Lawson’s truck spun completely around, and the smell of burning rubber hit me like a ton of bricks.
Lights, trees, and smoke from the tires sped past us in a crazy twirling mass. The truck slowed noticeably, then stopped. My gums tingled as my fangs dropped, and my vision dramatically sharpened, which meant my eyes had changed to that eerie blue.
Lawson’s fear soaked the truck, and that pumped my adrenaline even higher. Whoever had scared Lawson so badly was going to die a slow death by my hand. The other vehicle, nothing more than a flash of black, pulled in front of us, blocking our way. I snarled at it.
“You okay?” I yelled at Lawson, keeping an eye on the other vehicle. Lawson’s truck lights shined on the Crown Victoria. Two shadowy figures moved in the cab of the car. Two? That’s odd.
“I’m fine! Shit, Marshell. What are we going to do?”
“You still carrying that knife?”
“Good. Get it. Now!” The attackers leaped from the vehicle.
Had the werewolf brought backup? One figure was smaller than the other one, but that didn’t mean much to a shifter. That attacker approached Lawson’s side of the vehicle and struck the window with a baton.
A baton? Oh hell.
“Oh fuck,” Lawson yelled as glass shattered.
The window broke with one hit.
“Godda—” Lawson unbuckled his seatbelt, jerking away from the hands that came at him through the broken window.
A purely human scent flooded Lawson’s truck cab.
Roaring in anger, I flung my door open and jumped out. This wasn’t the werewolf who’d been stalking me. He wouldn’t be using a specially made baton with a cap on the end to break windows. He’d just yank the door off the truck or put his fist through it to get in.
M.A. Church is a true Southern belle who spent many years in the elementary education sector. Now she spends her days lost in fantasy worlds, arguing with hardheaded aliens on far-off planets, herding her numerous shifters, or trying to tempt her country boys away from their fishing poles. It’s a full time job, but hey, someone’s gotta do it!
When not writing, she’s on the back porch tending to the demanding wildlife around the pond in the backyard. The ducks are very outspoken. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, and they have two grown children.
She was a finalist in the 2013 Rainbow Awards, runner up in the 2015 Rainbow Awards, and is a member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.