They had taken out many Coven witches. But not enough. Not nearly enough.
The Coven sought out witches, giving them the option to join their ranks or die. Helena had
chosen death when the Hunter appeared in the Witch’s Grove and freed her.
Many, many other witches had also preferred death over joining the Coven. But the vast
majority joined the Coven because they didn’t want to die.
While Helena wanted to fight the Coven, she knew she couldn’t do it by herself. And no witch
would join her, for they mistrusted as deeply as she did, fearing that it was a ploy by the Coven
to get them out of hiding.
That left Helena only two options. Continue on her own.
Or find the Hunters.
She dropped her forehead to her knees. Her eyes closed as she let her memories take her back
to happier times. Of a time when life had been simpler, a time when she hadn’t feared anything
or anyone.
The jingle of a bridle snapped her head up. She blinked, only vaguely realizing that while she
had been deep in her memories, she had fallen asleep. She had no idea how long she slept. It
was still light out, but the heavy clouds and thick trees made it difficult to tell where the sun
was in the sky.
She leaned back against the trunk of the tree and listened for another sound. For endless
moments, there was nothing. Just the silence of a winter wood. She was beginning to think
she’d imagined the jangle when she heard a horse blow out a breath.
Cautiously, Helena peered around the tree and saw two men setting up camp about a hundred
yards from her. She sighed in frustration and turned away. Now, she’d have to hear them
talking all night.
She closed her eyes again and tried to sleep, but despite her eyes hurting from lack of rest, she
couldn’t. It wasn’t long before the crackle of a fire reached her. Helena was able to ignore the
thought of the warmth right until she smelled something cooking.
Her mouth watered, and her stomach grumbled just thinking about food. The last thing she had
eaten was a piece of stale bread she’d stolen the night before. The fact that she could solve her
problems with magic but didn’t dare for fear of alerting the Coven made it even more difficult
to bear.
The hours stretched by as the sun set and darkness fell over the land like a thick blanket. And
the snow continued to fall. The men laughed and talked and ate as if they didn’t have a care in
the world.

Helena dozed, but every little sound the men made woke her. She was attempting to find a
more comfortable position when a woman’s voice reached her. She stilled, trying to hear the
conversation.
When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Helena leaned around the tree to take a look. Her blood
went cold when she saw the yellow-orange magic moving from the witch’s palm towards the
men.
One lay unmoving, but the other was handing over all his possessions while gazing at the witch
as if she were an angel come down from Heaven.
There was no way Helena could sit there and allow the witch to get away with such behavior. It
didn’t matter if the woman was part of the Coven or not. Just because she had magic did not
mean she could use it in such a fashion.
Helena rose and walked around the tree. As she did, she felt the rush of her magic run through
her body. Her strides were long, her gaze locked on the witch.
As soon as Helena was close enough, she let the purple coils of her magic fly from one palm.
Before they could strike, the witch leaned out of the way. The woman forgot the men as she
shifted her attention to Helena.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” the witch demanded.
Helena lowered the hood of her cloak. “Not a whit.”
“I’m part of the Coven. You will bow before me. Now.”
There was a smile on Helena’s face as she said, “Make me.”
The witch peeled back her lips. The yellow-orange magic flew straight at Helena. With a wave of
her hand, Helena blocked one blast, but the other slashed her across her upper left arm.
Helena ignored the pain as she lunged over one of the men and sent more coils of power
toward the witch. And, once more, they were evaded.
When Helena was struck once again with the magic, she clenched her teeth and focused
everything she had on the witch. This time, when her blast went for the woman, it sank into the
witch’s skin. She began to thrash and scream as she was burned from the inside out.
The witch turned to ash before she hit the ground. Helena then faced the men to find both of
them watching her with fear in their eyes. She grabbed what remained of their meal and
stalked off.

His Girl Next Door by Khardine Gray Genre: Contemporary Romance

No strings attached fun… What could possibly go wrong? Nothing. It was fun. Fun… Hot, sexual, steamy fun with the uber gorgeous single dad next door? Yes, please. Look at him. Who would say no to him with his perfect body, perfect everything, and those piercing green eyes? Not me. Fun What else could it be? I was only going to be in town for eight months and I was here for business. Business, business, definitely not pleasure. But all work and no play has never been a good thing in anyone’s book. Fun would be easy. No strings attached. It would be goodbye at the end. I would go back to L.A and he would stay here. No problem, no drama, no stress. It felt easy when Ryan came to me with the idea. It felt easy as I played the game and went through the motions. It felt easy because I had a line I always drew under relationships. A line I never crossed. But… then he unlocked something inside me. Something I hid away from the world. No strings attached fun… what could possibly go wrong? I thought nothing then everything became a complicated, sexy mess… Goodreads * Amazon

Khardine Gray is a contemporary romance author who lives in England with her husband, two kids, and three crazy ferrets. She is well traveled, cultured, and a woman with a passion for dancing and ice skating. When not writing you can catch her shopping, indulging on pizza and hot chocolate, or hanging out with her family and friends. No need to spend money on an airline ticket. Simply pick up one of Khardine’s books to become immersed in the fascinating stories and characters she creates. Website * Newsletter * Facebook * Facebook Group * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads

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Amber I didn’t expect to fall in lust. He’s gorgeous, that is all I know. He wears a uniform and the guy is quite simply drop- dead, freakin’ gorgeous. I’m leaning, back to the wall, arms folded beneath my skimpy black bra. Ahead of me, Billy sits dead as the proverbial in his seat, in a lap-dance booth. In my side vision, Amy stands in the corridor a few booths down; she’s, blubbering loudly, her barely-dressed body shuddering like she’s freezing or something. Trey, the most rule-bound security guy in Las Vegas, tries to comfort her in that clumsy, inept way of his – at times it can be endearing, but tonight it comes off as just plain creepy. The lighting is low, the air – warm and stuffy – reeks of cheap perfume, expensive aftershave and a rank undertow of male sweat. The other dancers and their guys have exited in favor of the bar. The DJ chooses this moment to play a little Nicki Minaj, as if to put a seal on the fire coursing through my veins. Barbie Tingz thuds out through the cheap speaker system; that’s me, that’s us, that’s what they all think of us as we stand tall and shake our bare asses in gossamer-thin G-strings and stripper heels, wasp-waisted like plastic dolls. The paramedic is not about to give up on poor, dead Billy, yet even I can see there’s no breath, and could hazard a good guess at no accompanying heartbeat, either. Billy-boy is just a limp body and a drool-smeared face. The eyes are a sure giveaway, they always are, wide open and blank like that, fixed on something unseen in the middle distance; there will be no reviving him. The paramedic grabs Billy’s shoulders, then pulls back, changing his mind. He glances around. “A little help would be nice.” Trey frees himself from Amy. “Allow me.” Together they ease poor ol’ dead Billy off his seat and lay him out on the floor on his back. His head flops limply to the side, as if he were inspecting the sticky carpet. Management, in the form of Jane, storms through the heavy black door to hurry things along. She wants Billy gone. She wants the pathetic, blubbering Amy gone. There are fifty dancers on the floor needing to use these booths to service paying clientele; a cadaver is never going to be good for business. Hot Foxies is caring like that. I quickly lose interest in Amy, Billy, the hustle, the lost income, in fact, in the club altogether. My gaze is fixed on the shape of the paramedic’s back and that cute butt that is fortuitously angled straight at me, those taut glutes contracting and releasing as he pumps Billy’s chest.