Just to prove I haven’t forgotten Linc or any of my beloved Wing Slayer Hunters, here’s a snippet from Linc’s life last time I saw him…

Linc Dillinger hadn’t even washed the sweat of his latest kill off him when he lifted the woman—

Kelly? Molly? Didn’t matter.

–against the wall, spread her thighs and positioned his aching c*ck to her entrance. She was wet, ready, and yet he stopped and forced himself to look at her, to see her.

He used these women to fight back the blood curse, to keep the animal in him caged. He’d damn well give them the courtesy of acknowledging them as more than a warm, willing body. So he looked into her dilated, desperate eyes.

And for that second, he felt almost human. But then the curse came roaring back, swamping him in a tidal wave of fierce craving.

Do you miss him?

(And no, I don’t have any news, sorry!)

Note:This is also posted on MurderSheWrites today.

This sneak peek is  straight from my files, before copy edits and final tweaking.  NIGHT MAGIC is out March 22nd, but I thought it’d be fun to tease a little bit.

The Birth of a Siren

Twenty Three Years, Eleven Months and Two Weeks Ago

The phoenix soared across the sky, his blue and purple wings sweeping up and down. He was waiting.

Then he heard it, the Siren’s cry that signaled the first breath of life in the newborn. It was a sound of such aching beauty it drenched his eyes with tears, and reverberated down his feathers, muscles and bones until it filled his soul.

It was too much. Each time, it was always too much.

He erupted into flames, the heat bursting from his very cells in an agonizing explosion. The fire snapped and roared, eating his feathers, melting his muscles and pulverizing his bones in endless torture.

Ending only when he was reduced to ash, burned and gone.

Until he was called by the siren to rise from the flames once more.

Chapter One

Days Remaining on Handfast Contract: Fourteen

Ailish Donovan was home for the family reunion from hell.

She stood at the French doors of the small house she’d rented as the sun sank into the horizon. It had been nearly eight years since she’d seen a sunset, or anything else. As a witch she was connected to the earth elements that fed her powers, so she could feel the day slipping away and the long fingers of darkness spreading across Glassbreakers, California. The darkness fed her mood, her tightly controlled anger, her determination.

Lifting her right hand, she touched the binding around her left wrist. It was about an inch wide with a rounded shape that felt like a snug plastic bracelet but it was indestructible. Once it had been plain rope that had been twisted by dark magic into a handfast binding. Nothing broke through it, no magic, no knife, no bolt cutters, not even fire. She’d tried every possible way, but nothing worked.

Thanks to her mother betraying and tricking her, she was handfasted to the demon Asmodeus. If the handfast was completed, Ailish would become a demon witch. Asmodeus would own her soul in exchange for dark powers. No way was she giving her soul to a demon. She had no intention of spending eternity in the Underworld as a demon minion.

All this added up to Ailish being one pissed off witch. But she’d learned how to channel her anger into action and she’d trained her body into a weapon. She was one of the top professional women kickboxers in the country. Being blind got her noticed, but her skills, speed and power won her titles.

And now she’d come home, back to where it all started eight years ago, to win the most crucial battle of her life…

This is a moody excerpt,  deep in Sutton’s head.  It’s a partial scene, just a clip, and it’s one of my favorite scenes with Sutton.  It’s unedited, right from my manuscript.  Carla is inside Sutton’s house, doing something he considers dangerous, and he’s outside, trying to stay as far away from her, while making sure she’s safe.

SOUL MAGIC

Copyright Jennifer Lyon 2009.

In Stores October 27, 2009

He’d been alone since he was seventeen.

He watched as another wave swelled and lifted higher and higher, then broke. Like the curse inside him that was swelling and unfurling more each day.

When would he break?

His uncle had been thirty-one when he broke. His dad had been thirty-seven when he knew he was on the verge of breaking and ended his own life in a fiery plane crash.

Sutton was thirty-two.

He closed his eyes, trying to draw in the tang of the ocean and wash out his memories.

Instead she filled his mind. Carla. Long white-blond hair, searing eyes with the colors of green, yellow and brown, her incredible body…it was an unendurable torture to want her so badly and know he couldn’t have her.

He dreamed of making love to her, of bringing her to his bed, stripping her of her clothes, looking, touching and tasting his fill. Then filling her with his cock, joining with her as deep as she could take him. Her sweet moans making his balls ache…

Then her screams ripped the dream into a nightmare. He saw the silver knife stabbing her, butchering her.

It was his knife, Sutton was sure of it. He was going rogue, inch by inch, day by day. The nightmare of killing her was becoming more frequent, more violent, until he’d awoken, covered in sweat and the gut cramping fear that he’d killed her.

His dad had known when he’d broken, when the curse had him, and he’d done the right thing.

Sutton knew Carla was the witch who could break him.

How much longer before he broke completely? Not yet, not today, he decided. Not as long as he still cared that she was putting herself in danger from the rogues by hypnotizing the woman who’d shot him.

Not today, but tomorrow? He didn’t know.