Ménage Amour:
Erotic Paranormal Ménage a Quatre Romance
M/F/M/M, shape-shifters, light spanking, HEA
Every full moon the “powers that be” choose someone from the visitors of the museum. This someone, known as the mystic walker, will be the hero/heroine of the novel. The “powers” select someone they feel deserves a second chance, or just a chance to follow their destiny. Minerva, the curator and caretaker of the museum meets the chosen mystic walker. Through the magic that has been entrusted to her, Minerva supplies them with the opportunity to change their lives. Each book in the series is vastly different from the others.
What does a museum in NYC have to do with three shape shifting wolves in California? Jacob, Milo and Sven are about to find out.BLURB:
Carolyn, lonely and heartbroken after being dumped by yet another boyfriend who told her she needs to loosen up in bed, escapes her empty apartment. On the night of a full moon she visits Minerva’s Mystic Museum.
Minerva recognizes her pain and provides her with the opportunity to change her life. The full moon has chosen Carolyn as a mystic walker.
Carolyn’s dormant sexuality is awakened by three handsome shape-shifters. Jacob, caring and nurturing, lures her into his world. Milo, impetuous and rough, awakens unknown desire. Sven, cold and reserved, tests her mettle. Will she choose to walk on the wild side with the wolf pack and become their female? Will she be able to convince Sven that she is worthy and should be given the opportunity to join the pack? Will Sven’s fear of losing another mate destroy the future of the pack? Or will Carolyn choose to return to the normal life she’d come to see as her due?
EXCERPT:
Carolyn walked up the steps to the museum. People brushed by her. Some bumped her shoulder. She’d left her apartment to avoid being alone. She’d walked without a destination, walking just to walk. Her mind still reeled after being dumped by yet another boyfriend. A month had passed, and Randy’s cruel words still rang in her head. “Loosen up, Carolyn. Christ, do you even like sex? Making love to you is frustrating. It’s emasculating. How can I feel like a man if I can’t make you feel like a woman?” He’d left her that night. He’d gathered his things and walked out of her life.
Randy wasn’t the first man that had called her frigid. She was afraid he wouldn’t be the last. She liked sex well enough. A man wouldn’t respect her if she acted on the primal urges she sometimes felt. A normal woman didn’t feel the hunger she experienced. It took all her control to keep it at bay, so she appeared cold and lifeless.
She was a nurse in the ER room. She’d seen too much of what uncontrolled urges and emotions could do. Gunshot wounds, stab wounds, concussions from a bashed-in scull. Uncontrolled urges caused trouble.
She pulled the imitation fur collar of her coat tighter around her throat. She raised her chin and tilted her neck so she could look at the sign above the door. Minerva’s Mystic Museum, it proclaimed. I’ve never noticed this was a museum. It’s as good a place as any.
The room she entered was quite large, but the subtle lighting made it feel much smaller and intimate. Pictures hung on some of the walls. Beautiful murals were painted on others. Seating was provided here and there for the patron’s viewing ease. A musky yet relaxing aroma permeated the air, strong but not overpowering. Soft music and sometimes chimes filled the space with a comfortable, warm vibration.
Her body began to release tension she hadn’t known she held. She felt very tired. She sat on a bench in front of a mural. The weight of her troubles filled her heart.
She was alone in this world. Work had become all she had. She worked so many hours she was always exhausted. The ER life was taking its toll on her. She was ready for a change. She needed something a little less stressful. In a moment of desperation she’d made a decision to change her life. She’d given her notice at work. Today had been her last day.
She’d just focused on the mural in front of her when a woman stepped into her line of vision. The woman was tall with long black hair. Carolyn glanced up at the woman.
“I am Minerva, curator of this museum.” Her slim hands were clasped in front of her. “May I sit down?” she asked motioning to the bench.
Carolyn moved over. “Yes, please do.”
Minerva gracefully lowered herself onto the seat beside her. Carolyn’s attention returned to the mural.
“It’s called Howling at the Moon. It’s one of my favorites,” Minerva said.
“He seems so lonely,” Carolyn said. Her gaze fixed on the mural.
“Yes, he does.” Minerva looked at Carolyn intently.
“I know how he feels,” Carolyn sighed. She fought back the tears that threatened to unleash themselves.
“I believe you do.” Minerva put her hand on Carolyn’s shoulder.
Carolyn looked into Minerva’s eyes. Those dark orbs searched her soul. She couldn’t look away. It was as if Minerva was looking for something buried deep inside of her. After what seemed an eternity, Minerva smiled and stood.
“You have the power to change your loneliness.” Minerva placed her hand on Carolyn’s heart. “Trust what you feel in here. Your love, in all its manifestations, is a good thing. Safe journey. May the goddess grant your hearts true desire.”
Minerva moved away and she returned her attention to the mural before her. The scene it depicted tore at her heart.
The full moon hung in a cloudless starry night sky. The moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow. The artist must have been sitting on a rise or a hill on this side of the valley depicted in the work of art before her. A wolf sat howling at the moon from its place on the mountain ledge. Trees blanketed the mountain. The mountain rolled down and changed into the low hills of the valley where the trees thinned. The valley changed into a meadow covering the lower portion of the mural.
The artist created the impression of the distance between the mountain tree line and the meadow. She watched the wolf turn its head. She felt as if it was looking at her. She held her breath, mesmerized by the sight. Her heart began to pound. Blood rushed through her body. She could feel each pulse of her heart. She felt a connection with that wild beast beyond anything she’d ever experienced. The wolf turned and disappeared from the scene in front of her. She released her breath. Her heart cried out, mourning his loss. She slowly searched the landscape. Her nostrils flared, she could almost smell the night air, could almost smell him. Where had the wolf gone? Was he as lonely as the mural depicted him to be? A moment later the wolf appeared at the tree line in the valley.
She watched the beautiful beast leave the dark safety of the Evergreen trees. Its body grew larger with each step. It was huge, and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Fifty yards from her, near the murals edge, she watched it morph from a wolf into a man. The man stood there as naked as the day he was born. His muscled body bathed in moonlight. His golden eyes bore into her soul. He stretched out his arm and opened his hand. “Come,” he said.
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