My husband is a food nazi. That is the nicest thing I can say about his little problem. The man will blow his wad weekly on shit that any dietican would groan at. Chips, ice cream, fried everything. He won't eat lettuce unless it is hidden under a McBurger. Still, it's not really his tastes that concern me. It's his obsession with what is his. We share everything. It is one of the fine print things that is written on the back of every marriage license, but when it comes to food, my husband ha...

Chapter One The Chase Elohir’s heart was pounding as he hurdled over a fallen tree. He could still hear the booming voices of the men behind him. Fast on his heels. He could hear the thunder of horses hooves. The cacophony of the assembly behind him, broke through the woods, and echoed off the still silence of the trees. If he hadn’t known precisely where they were were he might have thought they were ahead of him, or even all around him. Their voices were everywhere, bellowing human voices r...

Angud “Our day has finally come brother.” Oveila mused, as she dragged the long trained fur across the bedchamber.. “It feels like a lifetime has been erased with the passing of the old man’s reign.” A look of satisfaction crossed Oveila’s wickedly beautiful features. “Soon everything we have waited for will come to pass.” Angud nodded assent although he remained silent. It was always best to let Oveila talk. She was much wiser than he, that he was sure of, and besides it made him feel good ...

Chapter 3 Rylee had a case file that was as thick as a dictionary under one arm, and a cup of coffee that was leaking, in spite of the lid. The strap of her purse dangled in the crook of her other arm, weighing her down in a way that she could not appreciate. She was grateful that she had chosen black slacks at the last moment, as the hot, wet sensation of spilled coffee was radiating from both legs. She wasn’t normally late. As a rule, she hated tardiness, in herself and especially in others...

I burn like a over-dried twig with too many crusted leaves; twisted and frail.... I ache like a piece of twine that has been twisted too tightly The air I breathe like a wet rag..Sodden...dank....cold... This cocoon of flesh torments me: I want to claw off every piece of my skin, snap my tendons, burst my veins and break my bones... Can't fight, can't win...Like a cornered deer... A snared fox....A caged sparrow.... My heart is fluttering, pumping, hurting.... Nothing eases the constant assa...

Chapter 3 Rylee had a case file that was as thick as a dictionary under one arm, a cup of coffee that was leaking, in spite of the lid and her purse in the other. She was grateful that she had chosen black slacks at the last moment, as the hot, wet sensation of spilled coffee was radiating from both legs. She wasn’t normally late. As a rule, she hated tardiness, in herself and especially in others. But she had become distracted when she started pouring over the case file she had brought home ...

My husband is a food nazi. That is the nicest thing I can say about his little problem. The man will blow his wad weekly on shit that any dietican would groan at. Chips, ice cream, fried everything. He won't eat lettuce unless it is hidden under a McBurger. Still, it's not really his tastes that concern me..It's his obsession with what is his. We share everything..It is one of the fine print things that is written on the back of every marriage license, but when it comes to food..My husband ha...

Chapter 1 In most parts of the world, you can find two types of dog people. The kind that love their dogs and allow them to lick their faces, and the kind that love their dogs, but prefer that they kept their slobber to themselves. It occurred to Rylee Ericsson that she was most definitely the second type, as she cringed at the wetness on her cheek. She also discovered, on this morning of revelations, that there was a huge gap between being almost awake and mostly asleep. One felt a lot bett...