Radclyffe - Wild Shores

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Wild Shores

© 2016 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-646-3

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: March 2016

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

By Radclyffe

Romances

Innocent Hearts

Promising Hearts

Love’s Melody Lost

Love’s Tender Warriors

Tomorrow’s Promise

Love’s Masquerade

shadowland

Passion’s Bright Fury

Fated Love

Turn Back Time

When Dreams Tremble

The Lonely Hearts Club

Night Call

Secrets in the Stone

Desire by Starlight

Crossroads

Homestead

Against Doctor’s Orders

Prescription for Love

Honor Series

Above All, Honor

Honor Bound

Love & Honor

Honor Guards

Honor Reclaimed

Honor Under Siege

Word of Honor

Code of Honor

Price of Honor

Justice Series

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Shield of Justice

In Pursuit of Justice

Justice in the Shadows

Justice Served

Justice For All

The Provincetown Tales

Safe Harbor

Beyond the Breakwater

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Storms of Change

Winds of Fortune

Returning Tides

Sheltering Dunes

First Responders Novels

Trauma Alert

Firestorm

Oath of Honor

Taking Fire

Wild Shores

Short Fiction

Collected Stories by Radclyffe

Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace

Radical Encounters

Edited by Radclyffe:

Best Lesbian Romance 2009-2014

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets

Breathless: Tales of Celebration

Women of the Dark Streets

Amore and More: Love Everafter

Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales

By L.L. Raand

Midnight Hunters

The Midnight Hunt

Blood Hunt

Night Hunt

The Lone Hunt

The Magic Hunt

Shadow Hunt

Acknowledgments

When I was small, I wanted to be a cowboy, or an astronaut, or a doctor on horseback. I wasn’t drawn so much to adventure as I was to the idea of getting away to a place where life was what you made it—I never minded being alone, and a few good friends were enough for me when I needed company. I learned to love the “wilds” at an early age, camping every summer with my parents in the Adirondacks in an untamed stretch of mountains before the state park system discovered it. That meant no water except what came from one hand pump carried a bucket at a time down a dirt road, no showers, no toilets (flush or non), and no rules or regulations. The same ten families or so returned every summer to this uncivilized spot on the shores of a chain of lakes to spend a few weeks with nothing to do but fish, read, explore, and escape. This place was a sanctuary all on its own—for the people as well as the wildlife. As I wrote this book, I thought of Putts Pond and how little I appreciated the specialness of the experience at the time, and am ever grateful to my parents for their idea of the perfect vacation. So this one is for them.

Many thanks also go to: senior editor Sandy Lowe for keeping the show running while I write, editor Ruth Sternglantz for keeping an eye on the work as I go, editor Stacia Seaman for finding all the things I missed, Sheri Halal for a super cover, and my first readers Paula, Eva, and Connie for encouragement and inspiration.

And as always, thanks to Lee for every new adventure. Amo te.

Radclyffe, 2016

To Lee, for making life a surprise

Chapter One

Austin was right in the middle of scripting a fight scene between Charos, the demon overlord, and Ciri, the Guild Hunter, when her cell phone vibrated. Wincing, she pulled her attention from the storyboard to check the number, already calculating outcomes. Depending on an assortment of variables, a phone call from Private Number at three a.m. had the potential to shoot the rest of her night and probably the next day all to hell. If she was unlucky, and if she took the call.

Between the third and fourth rings, Austin mentally factored in the likelihood there was a family emergency—low probability, no one in her family blocked their personal numbers, and if her parents or brother were in trouble, one of the others would call—versus an automated or highly motivated human solicitor for lowered credit card rates or zero-interest car loans—a slightly higher possibility, safely ignored—against a callout from the company. While the last would not be unusual, seeing as how disasters invariably happened in the wee hours, she’d just gotten back in-country after handling a high-profile personal injury suit in Malaysia and hadn’t even scheduled the after-action report meeting yet. She couldn’t be that unlucky.

She let the call go to voice mail and inserted a text bubble next to Charos’s sneering, horned head.

Today is the day you die, Guild Hunter.

I’ve heard that before.

She sketched Ciri’s smirking face in profile, the sheathed sword with its magically bejeweled pommel extending from the leather scabbard between her shoulder blades, her signature braid flowing over her shoulder. Red eyes for Charos, along with thin black lips, a scale-covered snout-like face, and curved protruding canines completed the panel.

Her cell danced on the drafting table again and she caught it with her free hand before it toppled to the rough plank floor.

“Germaine,” she said, carefully keeping her irritation from her tone as she penciled out the next sequence.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor,” Eloise’s cultured tones announced.

“You know by now,” Austin said for perhaps the hundredth time, “you can skip the honorific. A doctorate in engineering might make me capable of changing the oil in my car, if I really wanted to, but beyond that, my therapeutic skills are limited.”

“I’m quite sure I’ve heard you referred to as a miracle worker.” Eloise laughed, her melodic voice belying her analytical mind and death-defying efficiency. “I’m afraid we might have a situation that needs your very particular attention.”