By Anna Kyle
Book One of the Wolf King series
*285 pages / 85,000 words
Cass Nolan has been forced to avoid the burn of human touch for her whole life, drawing comfort instead from her dreams of a silver wolf—her protector, her friend. When her stalking nightmares return, her imaginary dead sister’s ghost tells her to run, Cass knows she should listen, but the sinfully hot stranger she just hired to work on her ranch has her mind buzzing with possibilities. Not only does her skin accept Nathan’s touch, it demands it. Cass must make a decision—run again and hope she saves the people who have become her family, or stand and fight. Question is, will it be with Nathan or against him?
Nathan Rivers’ life is consumed by his quest to find the Omega wolf responsible for killing his brother, but when the trail leads him to Cass and her merry band of shapeshifters, his wolf wants only to claim her for himself. When evidence begins piling up that Cass is the Omega he’s been seeking, things become complicated—especially since someone else wants her dead. Saving her life might mean sacrificing his own, but it may be worth it to save the woman he can’t keep from reaching for.
Omega Rising is available in trade paperback and ebook via Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-a-Million, Kobo, World Weaver Press, iBookstore, IndieBound and OmniLit, and for wholesale through Ingram.
Anna Kyle is the author of the Wolf King series at World Weaver Press – Omega Rising and Skye Falling – and author of Coming Up Roses, a short story appearing in Rough Edges, a cowboy romance anthology at Pen & King Publishing. She wrote her first story at age 12 on an old manual typewriter, and though the technology has changed, she hasn’t stopped since. She lives in the Midwest surrounded by family and friends and dogs and horses. They’ve forgiven her (mostly) when they appear in her stories. She reads everything she can get her hands on, but romances, especially paranormals, are her favorite. Vampires, humans, Fae, shapeshifters, or demons, it doesn’t matter—Anna’s heart goes pitter-pat for the Happily Ever After. Hot heroes + strong, funny heroines = awesome.
Twitter: Anna Kyle @SandsOfTime5050
Top Ten Reasons Authors Need Dogs
- You are #1 on the NYT and USA Bestsellers lists, the top banana, the cat’s meow (maybe not that one) with your dog. Always. Except on the 4th of July. Even your #1 status cannot compare to the safety behind the toilet. But still, other than that, it’s nice to be #1.
- Dogs are a built-in procrastination life hack. Walk the dog. Wash the dog. Nap with dog. Feed the dog. All good reasons to avoid writing.
- Dog walks and dog parks force introverted authors into the sunshine, all pale and blinking at the brightness, to soak up some much needed vitamin D. Although they long for the dimness of their office lit only by the computer’s glow, their need to talk about their dog with anyone who will listen trumps the need to be left alone.
- Yes, you are #1 but authors still pick up doggie poop, mop the floor when dogs barf, scrub rugs that have been peed on, or worse, loose-stooled upon. So dogs keep authors humble. Here’s a typical author-dog conversation. Dog: “Hey, can’t you see I’m walking way around this spot, clearly and carefully avoiding looking at said spot. Clean up that mess I made, will you? It’s gross.” Author: “Bad dog. JK. Who’s a good dog? You are, yes you are.”
- As must be clear from #4, authors with dogs stay fit from the nonstop cleaning and repair of household destruction.
- Let’s face it. Dogs are funny goofballs. Authors need funny goofballs around when that rejection comes in. They also happy-dance with you around the living room when the request for a full hits your inbox.
- In addition to writing books, authors must also constantly be “expanding their brand” or “growing their platform.” Two words: Dog pictures. Dogs are tailor-made for bumping up an author’s analytics. Get a shot of your dog on its back, paws folded adorably, dozing with a copy of your book, or even better, my new book OMEGA RISING OUT NOW YES RIGHT NOW, open on his chest. Maybe even wearing reading glasses. Yes. Bam. Your phone will shake itself off the coffee table with at least ten notifications. But don’t do it until I do it first. DIBS. If you ignore my dibs call, at least @ me so I can see it.
- Your dog loves your latest manuscript even if you’re pretty sure that this latest draft is a steaming pile of garbage. All that crisp paper so neatly arranged flaps so enticingly as he rips it to shreds. Your manuscript is an irresistible temptation to his taste buds. Garbage is pretty tasty too, thinks your dog.
- Authors spend a lot of time sitting and staring, usually in front of a computer. Dogs think you’re just figuring out when to go outside and play. Here’s a game authors play with their dogs. Scoot your chair back suddenly, half rise out of your chair. Watch your dogs blast out of the room to the back door. Sit back down. Repeat as needed, because they fall for it at least ten times in a row. Exercise and laughter. Priceless.
- Dogs are love.
He gestured toward the desk again, his eyebrows lifting at her obvious reluctance. Well it could only take a few seconds or so to place a bandage and he smelled so damn good. She settled herself on the desk and held out her hand. He was so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body warming her skin. His thumb smoothed the edges of the criss-cross bandage while his other hand held hers loosely. Cass tensed, ready to yank her hand away. Nathan looked at her, questioning, she guessed, how she got the scrape.
“Misjudged the wall.” Her voice was unsteady as she tried to ignore the shooting tingly little sparks fanning out from his touch. His large tanned hand enveloped hers loosely, turning it over to trace her palm. Cass’s apprehension grew and she braced for the inevitable burn, her brain automatically rifling through the best maneuvers to pull herself free. The clunky phone on her desk could be a weapon and the letter opener was lying within easy distance. A bonk on the head or stab in the throat, if her gut had massively misjudged his character, would gain her freedom.
His hold didn’t tighten. Five seconds, ten, still nothing. Fifteen, twenty. She wanted him to let go yet clung to the warmth and texture of his skin. Her breath came faster but it wasn’t nerves alone. His finger traced a small cut on the pad of her ring finger and he looked up again.
“Pa-paper cut.” He grabbed an antiseptic square, tore it open with his teeth to keep his hold on her hand. Soon that cut was cleaned and covered. Her insides shivered as his hand glided over her forearm, pushing up the sleeve of her hoodie. Her skin soaked in the roughness of his palm and reached for the heat in his touch. Ninety seconds. She stared at his large, tanned hand stroking her pale forearm, the pure pleasure of it making her light-headed.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured as he continued his exploration, finding a larger angry red line with bruising around it. He traced it gently.
“Mr. Clean,” Cass said, her voice husky. “He’s an asshole.”
Nathan chuckled, the sound raspy as if he hadn’t found much amusing for a long time. Cass stared, transfixed. He was already the best looking man she’d ever seen, but with the smile softening his features for a moment he was devastating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes positively kissable. Her heart flipped in her chest.
He pressed his lips against her palm, taking a deep, ragged breath. His nose and lips were hot and she waited, quivering in anticipation.