Losing It: A Collection of VCards by Julia Crane, Stacey Wallace Benefiel, Alexia Purdy, Ednah Walters, Bethany Lopez, A. O. Peart, Nikki Jefford, Tish Thawer, Amy Miles, Heather Hildenbrand, Kristina Circelli, S. M. Boyce, K. A. Last, Melissa Haag, S. T. Bende, Tamara Rose Blodgett, Helen Boswell, Julie Prestsater, Misty Provencher, Ginger Scott, Milda Harris, M. R. Polish Read Free Book Online Page A

all the things.
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    Books by Stacey Wallace Benefiel:
     
    YA Paranormal Romance
    Glimpse
    Glimmer
    Glow
    Zellie Wells trilogy
     
    YA Sci-fi Romance
    Found
    Frayed
    Fearless
    Penny Black trilogy
     
    NA Urban Fantasy Romance
    Day of Sacrifice
    Rebellion
    Dormant
    Takeover
    Dissent
    Unfavorable
    Day of Sacrifice Omnibus
     
    NA Contemporary Romance
    Crossing
    Diving In
    My Remedy
     
    Contemporary Erotic Romance
    (Stacey Wallace Benefiel writing as Reina Stowe)
    Open Me
    Twenty Questions
    Cheating Hearts
    The First Time
    Crazy On You
    Flinging In the New Year
    Upton All Night (The Complete Series)
     

 
    One Hour
    By Heather Hildenbrand
     
    An interquel between Blood Rule , book 4 in the Dirty Blood series, and book 5, the final installment coming spring 2015.
     
    Seventeen year-old, Tara Godfrey, is being held prisoner for being a Dirty Blood (half Werewolf, half Hunter) and undergoing various tortures in order to understand her biology, among other secrets.
     
    ***
     
     
    Loneliness was a worse pain than any agony their shiny instruments had inflicted.
    It’d been eight weeks since Gordon Steppe had made me his prisoner. Eight weeks since I’d last felt the mental bond I’d shared with my hybrid Werewolf pack.  Eight weeks since I’d last saw my friends, George or Victoria or Logan or … Wes. I didn’t know what had happened to them. The last glimpse I caught of them was their bent-over forms, sick from Gordon’s poison, as Gordon’s goons surrounded them in that dirty warehouse.
    Since then, I barely knew what had happened to me.
    Some days I did, but most days were too blurry to get a clear understanding of what it all meant. I did know one thing without question: Gordon, the leader of CHAS, the Committee for Hunter Affairs and Security, was using me. Some days he used me as a punching bag. But, mostly, he used me as a human (or almost human since I was half Hunter, half Werewolf) pincushion. I’d been stuck with needles, both injecting and retrieving various solutions into and out of my body. I’d been strapped to heart monitors, brain scans, body scans, and all manner of verbal and ocular testing. Something they’d given me made it impossible to shift into my wolf.
    I’d fought back for the first week or so but then the reality of my situation hit home. After over a week of being hit and shoved and poked and prodded—and not rescued—I’d had to admit this was my life now.
    And I’d sucked it up. But then the loneliness hit.
    I hadn’t spoken with anyone besides my doctor and Steppe in six weeks.
    My throat hurt from not speaking. My head hurt from not reading others’ thoughts. I’d take another eight weeks of medical torture if it meant an hour alone with someone I cared about. Although I ached for Wes, I’d take Cambria or Grandma or Fee. I might even take my mother at this point.
    With that in mind, I curled up into my dirty mattress and drifted off…
    The room was hazy with smoke of some kind—fog, maybe? It had no smell, and I didn’t feel the urge to cough as it infiltrated my throat and lungs. Strange. I took a step, the sensation startling me as I realized my bare toes were suddenly buried in thick carpet instead of padding along on cold cement. I looked down.
    A rug, thick and rich and the color of bark, stretched out into the foggy cloud hanging over everything. I took another step. My hand brushed something soft and I jerked back, squinting to see through the white haze. A burgundy quilt … a bed. What the heck?
    This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Was Steppe messing with me somehow? He’d been trying so hard to get into my head, maybe he’d finally succeeded.
    “Who’s there?” The voice was gravelly, the words slow. Wary but lazy from sleep. I took another step because, dream or not, terrified or not, I’d know that voice anywhere.
    “Wes?” I whispered.
    “Tara?” The drowsiness was gone, replaced by hope and