Title: Blessed Hearts
Author: SF Benson
Genre: NA Paranormal Romance
Cover Design: Funky Book Designs
Editor: Tia Silverthorne Bach
Blurb:
He went to Hell…for her.Cash Martin, tattoo artist and incubus, doesn’t do relationships. Late night debauchery with as many females as he can muster suits him just fine. He’s following the golden rule: incubi don’t fall in love.
Until her.
Qadira, fifth daughter of Al-Qadir, is a djinniyah on the run from an arranged marriage. She’s passing through town when she runs into the one creature she abhors—an incubus. When someone starts mutilating humans in Falls Creek, suspicion falls on Qadira. Cash provides an alibi and a spark is ignited. The situation becomes complicated when he must travel to Hell to rescue her.
Cash may have put his soul on the line for Qadira, but will he give her his heart?
Blessed Hearts is a New Adult standalone in the Hearts Duology.
Excerpt:
I’m focused on the device in my hand rather than watching where I’m going. Halfway to the door, I collide into a warm body.“Be careful,” a heavily accented female voice yells.
“Sorry,” I stammer out and glance up from the screen.
The most gorgeous female I’ve ever seen stands before me. Her curvy figure is clad in red leather—zippered jacket, pants, and spiky-heeled boots. Her crimson, full lips turn down, and a pair of coffee brown eyes rake over me. My dick stands at attention while my mouth hangs open.
She hollers, “Move out of my way.”
Normally, I’d deliver a smart-ass comment, but the words get stuck on the tip of my tongue. This creature renders me speechless. The golden aura surrounding her, though, baffles me.
What the hell is she?
Perfection. That’s what.
She rolls her eyes and pushes past me. My gaze follows her as she cuts a path through the room. The buzzing phone in my hand grabs my attention again. I connect and head for the lot.
“It’s about damned time,” Edwina snaps.
“Sorry, Edie.” I shout above the music. “I’m at the Wild Stallion. Job done?”
“Yes.” Edwina takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “If the Mazrels are responsible, ya need to have a serious talk with ‘em.”
“Why?” I pace in a small spot to the right of the door. My fingers itch to grip a cigarette.
“Cash, this wasn’t normal. The girls were drained along with…”
“What, Edie?” I lower my voice. “What happened?”
“The beast ripped their necks out,” she mutters. My stomach flips. The need for a drink replaces the urge for a smoke. “You sure?”
“Have I ever lied to ya?” Her voice cracks. Edwina Devereaux is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. “Did you pick up a trace or imprint?”
“Yeah. And ya not gonna like it, dawlin’.”
I drop my head back and look at the sky. “What is it?”
“Werewolf.” “So, you’re saying a were did this and not the Mazrels?”
“Unsure. If a were is responsible, he’s no longer in the area. His imprint was cold.”
“Then it’s a rogue?” Maybe I should speak with Brady Romero, Alpha for the Romero werewolves and Council rep for the Falls Creek weres. He might have an idea.
“Good chance.” Edwina pauses for a beat. “Just talk to the boys. Have ‘em lie low. If Council suspects ‘em, ya will have some trouble. I’ll check in with Brady for ya, too.”
Perfect. She saves me a conversation I’d rather not have. Brady and I have never had a confrontation. Don’t want to start now. “Thanks for the heads up, Edie.”
Before I disconnect, the being in red passes by me. She’s walking from the club in a hurry. “Edie, could a shapeshifter be behind this instead of a werewolf?”
“I guess that’s possible.” Her voice brightens. “Ya got something?”
“Naw. Just curious ‘bout something.” My gaze follows the fast-moving creature. No way will I catch her on foot. “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
“I’m counting on it, cher.” I end the call and send a text to Rocco.
Cash Martin: Meet you in Falls Creek. Something’s come up.
Rocco Surnan: Sure, it has. Handle your business, bro.
Cash Martin: Night.
I pocket the device. The thought of cornering the female in a dark alley makes my pulse quicken. Something foreign and somewhat comforting tugs at me. Whatever it is calls a part of me, and I can’t fight it. I run for my bike.
This is nonsense. I’m just curious.
I cast aside the sensation and crank up my bike. It’s time to find out what the mystery female is up to.
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About the Author
SF Benson, a native of Michigan, resides in Georgia with her husband, a human daughter, and a couple of miniature fur kids (two female short-haired guinea pigs). At one time, she wrangled a household which included three Samoyeds, saltwater fish, a hamster, and three guinea pigs. When she’s not busy playing Doctor Doolittle, she enjoys answering the question “what if” by writing mostly Dystopian/science fiction and paranormal stories for young adults and new adults. And if a spare moment happens, she morphs into a bookworm and devours a few books simultaneously. Find her online at:
Guarding a secret and playing with fire has never been a good combination.
