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Fashionably Dead Down Under(102)

By:Robyn Peterman

“Are you replacing me?” Hank Wilson had screwed me over once when I was his. He was not going to do it again when I wasn’t.
“Your call,” she said. Dwayne, who was an outstanding shoplifter, covertly took back the remote and flipped over to the food channel. Angela glanced up at the tube and gave Dwayne the evil eye.
“I refuse to watch lesbians fight crime in the eighties. I’ll get hives,” he explained, tilted his head to the right and gave Angela a smile. He was so pretty it was silly. Even my boss had a hard time resisting his charm.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
“Excuse me,” I yelled. “This conversation is about me, not testosterone ridden women cops with bad hair, hives or food. It’s my life we’re talking about here—me, me, me!” My voice had risen to decibels meant to attract stray animals within a ten-mile radius, evidenced by the wincing and ear covering.
“Essie, are you done?” Dwayne asked fearfully.
“Possibly. What did you tell him?” I asked Angela.
“I told him the Council has the last word in all matters. Always. And if he had a problem with it he could take it up with the elders next month when they stay awake long enough to listen to the petitions of their people.”
“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” I squealed. “What did he say?”
“That if we send you down he’ll give you bus money so you can high tail your sorry cowardly butt right back out of town.”
Was she grinning at me and was that little shit, Dwayne jotting the conversation down in the notes section on his phone?
“Let me tell you something,” I ground out between clenched teeth while I confiscated Dwayne’s phone and pocketed it. “I am going to Hung Island, Georgia tomorrow and I will kick his ass. I will find the killer first and than I will castrate the alpha of the Georgia Pack . . . with a dull butter knife.”
Angela laughed and Dwayne jack-knifed over on the couch in a visceral reaction to my plan. I stomped into my bathroom and slammed the door to make my point, then pressed my ear to the door to hear them talk behind my back.
“I’ll bet you five hundred dollars she’s gonna bang him,” Dwayne told Angela.
“I’ll bet you a thousand that you’re right,” shot back.
“You’re on.”
## Look for it Summer 2014 ##
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Excerpt from “The Demon of Synar”
Book One of the Forced To Serve Series
By Donna McDonald
Onboard Liam’s ship and stashed out of sight, Ania felt depression settle on her as she unpacked, putting her meager belongings into the various compartments of the small room Liam had assigned her.
No—stop calling him Liam, she chastised herself. It was Synar or Captain Synar.
Before they had left her parent’s house, he had asked her to refrain from using his given name onboard. Ania saw no reason not to comply with his request regardless of how much it increased the emotional distance between them, or disrespected what they once were to each other.
Her former mate was making it very clear that even though he had helped her, she was no one important in his life. Why hadn’t he just said it straight out to her? It wasn’t like she hadn’t figured out their personal relationship was over.
There was a quiet knock on her door and Ania opened it to find a person she hadn’t expected to see so soon. Given her cool reception so far by the Liberator’s crew, she figured Captain Synar had issued an order for her to be shunned. She hadn’t expected Synar’s best friend to defy him.
“Greetings, Dorian Zade,” Ania said, bowing her head and closing her eyes. “It is a pleasure to see you once more. I saw you in the recovery crew who came to collect me, but you hardly spared me a look. I wasn’t even sure if you were going to be allowed to speak to me.”
“Greetings, Ania Looren, and apologies for my lack of acknowledgment until now. My interest earlier was in Liam and his reactions to what was happening. He was struggling to control—well, it is not my place to explain for him. Forgive me for rambling,” Dorian said, bowing his head, wishing he could embrace her. “I just wanted to see if you were getting settled and ask if you needed anything.”
Shaking her head to answer his question, Ania walked away from the open door to return to her unpacking. Dorian could make his own decision about coming in or not.
“Unless you came to offer me the information Liam seems unwilling to share yet, there is nothing more I need at the moment. My parents cried when I left as if I were dying instead of merely joining Liam—sorry—I mean, Captain Synar, on his ship. Even without my intuition working properly, it is quite obvious that the two of you have kept many secrets from me.”