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Wolf
Born
Underground Heat
Book 2
By Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Liquid
Silver Books
Published: August 26, 2013
Genre: Paranormal
Romance
In a futuristic world where shifters keep their friends close and
their enemies closer, passion flares hot and sweet.
Book Description:
In a futuristic
California that’s almost out of resources, Max leads a double life. A Russian
wolf-shifter, he heads up the State of California as its governor—and the
shifter underground. He took on the governorship to help his people. Threatened
with genocide, many shifters have gone into hiding. Some blame Max and the
underground for their plight, rather than the governmental edict that’s meant
death for so many.
Audrey works for Max.
Unlike most humans with low levels of shifter blood who bless their lucky stars
they avoided the purge, she wants to be a shifter. If she could find a way to
finesse it, she’d quit her job in a heartbeat and go to work helping the
shifter underground. The only sticking point is Max. She’s been half in love
with him forever.
Against a dog-eat-dog
political backdrop where no one knows who their allies are, Max and Audrey spar
with one another. Max fears she’s part of the group trying to kill him. Audrey
has no idea about Max’s double identity and worries she won’t be able to walk
away from their fiery attraction to help the underground.
After a second attempt
on his life, Max faces critical choices. Should he follow his head or his
heart?
Excerpt:
…Loren
double parked the electric car outside the restaurant and shadowed them inside,
along with the redheaded guard. “Looks pretty good.” Loren eyed the private,
sound-shielded room. “I’ll be right outside, and John will be here, too, just
as soon as he takes care of the car.”
“Once
reinforcements arrive, feel free to go hunt for your men,” Max said. “You must
be worried about them.”
“Thanks,
boss. I am. Go sit down. I’ll scare up a waiter to at least get you a bottle of
wine or something. John’s going off-shift in an hour, so there will be two new
guards outside when you’re done eating.”
“Thanks
for letting me know.” Max pulled the door shut and walked to the table. Audrey
had already seated herself and was sorting through the stack of papers,
arranging them into piles. “It’s all right if you don’t work for a few
moments,” he said, taking a seat across from her.
“It’s
better if I have something to, uh, take my mind off what happened. You asked if
I’d gotten a chance to practice with the gun. The answer is yes. My brother
sort of smuggled me into the cop shop gun range in the middle of the night a
couple of times. But I’ve never been around anybody who was dead.” Her voice
cracked. He saw her swallow hard. Max’s estimation of her edged up a few
notches. Audrey was one tough cookie, even though she might not realize it.
Most women would have dissolved into hysterics.
“You
did fine. Good thinking to be in front of the elevator door with your gun.”
“Really?”
She met his gaze with lovely hazel eyes that were shading toward green at the
moment and rested her chin on an upraised hand. “I wasn’t certain what to do. I
thought I should call the elevator back, but I didn’t want to subvert whatever
you were doing. Then I wondered if I should take the stairs to a lower floor,
but that wouldn’t have helped if you were still in the elevator… Ach.” She
rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’m babbling.”
“You
did fine,” he repeated just as the door opened, and a waiter swooped in with a
silver bucket holding a wine bottle and two glasses.
“Good
evening, sir and madam.” The waiter bowed slightly. He was in his fifties with
a bald head and merry blue eyes. “The gentleman outside thought you could do
with a spot of something relaxing. How does a cabernet strike you? If you’d
rather have something different, I haven’t opened it yet.”
“I’m
sure it will be fine.” Max held out a hand for the bottle and inspected the
label. “What’s on the menu tonight?”
The
waiter rattled off a series of dishes while he opened the wine. Max glanced at
Audrey. “What sounds good to you?”
She
smiled warmly. “I’m used to whatever my ration coupons will buy. If it’s not
too expensive, I’d love to have a steak.”
“How
would madam like it cooked?” the waiter inquired, arching a brow. He poured a
jot of wine into a glass and handed it to Max.
“Rare.”
“Salad
and rice or potatoes?”
“Salad
and potatoes, please.”
“I’ll
have the same,” Max cut in and took a sip of what was a very good wine. Rich
and oaky, it had an enticing bouquet. “The wine is perfect,” he told the
waiter, who immediately poured some into a glass for Audrey and added more to
Max’s.
“This
is really quite wonderful,” Audrey said once the waiter left. “Everything. Not
just the wine. I can’t remember the last time I ate out at anything but one of
those diners where I flash my wrist computer at the glass cases, and it debits
credits from my account.”
“Enjoy
it.” Max smiled. “You deserve to be pampered after what happened. I can still
barely believe…” His voice trailed off. He needed to be careful not to say too
much. “Um, what’s in those documents that’s so important?”
She
leaned toward him. Her scent was even more intoxicating than the wine. He
caught himself inhaling deeply and pulled away, aware of a pressure against his
trousers where he was suddenly hard.
Audrey
wriggled in her seat. She bit her lower lip and blew out a tense breath.
Finally, she lowered her voice and murmured, “I probably shouldn’t do this, but
I need to be honest with you. It’s all in my employment records anyway, but
since I was here long before you were governor, well, you may not have looked
at them… Cripes! I’m blathering like an idiot.”
“Whatever
it is, just go ahead and tell me.” Max felt oddly protective toward her, though
he didn’t understand quite why. Worse, the moment his cock had gotten hard, his
wolf had begun a steady patter of lewd side remarks that made Max want to
throttle him.
“There’s
no easy way to do this,” she went on, her knuckles so white against the
wineglass, Max hoped it wouldn’t shatter from the pressure. “If you decide I
can’t work for you afterward, well…” she set down the stemware and spread her
hands in front of her. “Not much I can do about it. I have shifter blood.
Roughly 35 percent. Some of my relatives have been killed in this purge, so I’m
not the most ardent supporter of the governmental edicts to round up shifters
and imprison them.”
She
sucked in a ragged breath and raised her gaze so she looked right at him. A
combination of defiance and pleading etched fine lines around her eyes.
“Miss
Westen. Audrey. I’m not going to fire you. It’s all right. Thank you, for
trusting me.” Deep inside, Max felt the wolf push him to say more, to tell her
about the serum. To offer it up, for God’s sake. He resisted. “You told me that
for a reason. I assume it’s related to the documents. Could you walk me through
what’s in them?”
She
nodded. “Sure. It’s intel about something called the shifter underground.” Her
eyes flashed. “Frankly, now that I know about them, I’m on their side, but
don’t worry, I wouldn’t ever say that publicly.”
Max
listened as she relayed the story he’d lived for the past couple of days.
Everything was there, including the serum that pushed cops with a low
percentage of shifter blood into full-blown shifters. Before the series of
intravenous infusions that law enforcement had forced on their elite tracker
task forces, a person needed 50 percent shifter blood to morph into their bond
animal. After the infusions, 10 percent was sufficient. Max had gotten
unutterably excited by the prospect of thousands of new shifters to swell their
ranks and perhaps turn the tide of the war in their favor.
Another
set of nationwide reports detailed those same cops betraying their oaths and
going rogue. Predictions about anarchy ran wild. By the time Audrey was
finished, Max was ecstatic, but he couldn’t let it show. Everything he’d
assumed would happen was playing itself out like a well-oiled machine. He
couldn’t wait to let the underground know.
“Well?”
Audrey raised her gaze from the stack of papers and gathered them together.
“Interesting
material. I understand why it was classified top secret.” Max tried for a
neutral expression. Just because she’d confided in him was no reason to let his
guard down.
The
door to their private dining room opened. The waiter pushed a cart laden with
wonderful smelling dishes. Max’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten since
breakfast, and it was pushing nine at night. For the moment, his sexual hunger
receded, and he tucked into a succulent, barely cooked piece of meat.
“Where
do they get this?” she asked, cutting into her steak and chewing slowly. “None
of the shops where I exchange my ration coupons ever have anything but ground
or processed meat products.”
“There’s
a black market,” he replied around a mouthful of salad.
Her
brows drew together. “So it’s real,” she muttered. “I never paid much attention.”
Her mouth curved into a smile. She set down her fork and knife. “It’s so good,
I feel like I should save what’s left and take it home. I’ve already eaten far
more than I usually do.”
“I
can ask the waiter to box it up for you.”
“That
would be wonderful. Thank you.” She glanced at him shyly through long, dusky
lashes. “You’ve taken the worst day of my life and turned it into something
special.”
He
wanted to move to her side of the table and gather her into his arms. Not only
was Audrey one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen, she was level-headed
and seemingly oblivious to how gorgeous she was. Max put himself on a tight
leash. He had bigger problems to attend to than his non-existent love life. At
least so far, Audrey hadn’t asked about O’Hare’s accusations in the elevator. Christ! Maybe she thought he was tossing the
shifter epithet at her.
Max
nodded to himself. It made sense. Likely, that was why she’d fessed up about
her shifter blood.
“Penny
for your thoughts, boss?” She focused her alluring hazel gaze on him. In the
low light, her eyes held a violet cast.
“Nothing.
Are you about ready to head home?”
She
nodded. “I suppose we should. Tomorrow morning will come around early.”
He
laughed. “Right you are, Miss Westen. It always does. It’s all right with me if
you take a few hours off—”
She
waved him to silence. “Nothing happening at home. The neighborhood’s gone to
hell. I can’t even go out for a walk anymore. All I do is sit barricaded behind
a bunch of deadbolts.”
Part
of him wanted to bring her home with him, to his uptown mansion where she’d
have gated grounds to roam. He cleared his throat before something untoward
slipped out. “Let me find the waiter.” He realized he was still hard and pulled
his jacket around to shield the evidence as best he could.
As
if the waiter had been waiting right outside and could read his mind, the door
opened before Max had gotten up. “Would sir and madam like anything else? A
touch of dessert perhaps?”
“You
can box up the rest of the lady’s meal,” Max said. “You wouldn’t happen to have
that delectable chocolate mousse?”
The
waiter’s mouth formed an apologetic moue. “Not tonight, sir. We have lemon
cheesecake, a cheese and fruit plate with brandy, or ice cream.”
“Does
any of that sound good?” Max glanced at Audrey. Her eyes were wide with
delight.
“Oooooh,
it all sounds wonderful. I can’t even remember the last time I had real ice
cream. That frozen crap they sell nowadays doesn’t even have any dairy products
in it.”
“Could
you bring us a sampler plate with a little of everything?” Max asked.
“Of
course. Coming right up.” The waiter snatched their plates and left.
“Not
that I wouldn’t love something sweet,” she said a bit wistfully, “but I thought
we’d decided it was late and—”
Max
kicked himself. They had decided
that—sort of. He was enjoying himself, and he didn’t want the evening to end,
but that wasn’t the sort of thing he could—or should—say to his secretary. He
shrugged. “You seem to finally be relaxing. After what happened at the office,
you deserve a little R and R. You really can come in an hour or two later
tomorrow.”
Her
gaze softened. “Thank you.”
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a
clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent.
Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and,
of course, writing. A lifelong
aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years
ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and
anthologies. Several paranormal romance novellas are available in e-format.
Three novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and Psyche's Promise are
small press publications available in e-format and paperback. Look for three
more urban fantasy novels coming this summer and fall: To Tame a Highland
Dragon, Earth’s Requiem and Earth’s Blood.
A husband, grown
children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
The Psychology of Character Development
Since psychology is a comfort zone for me, it seems logical to blog about the psychology of character development. Have you ever wondered why some fictional characters feel so real it seems you could easily know them, while others feel wooden and contrived? Or worse, when an author builds a character who feels real up until they suddenly don't because of some event that simply jars your sensibilities; and you toss the book aside feeling cheated. Or, when you get partway through a book and all the characters feel alike? Or, they're two dimensional and it's difficult to understand why they're doing what they are. And you find yourself paging backwards to see if you missed something. Of course that's much harder to do with e-readers.
I'm sure all authors address character development a bit differently. Truth be told, I wish I could because the way my characters come to life is intrusive. Once "born", they run about in my head like little mad things. If I try to make them do something they don't like, they let me know about it in no uncertain terms. That's why I'm an "organic" writer. I've tried outlining my material and found it to be a waste of time when my protagonist simply thumbs her nose at me if I push her in a direction she doesn't want to go. Patiently explaining about the plot has proven meaningless. Besides, people think I've gone bonkers when they see me having conversations with myself!
Before I started writing fiction, I didn't understand this at all. Years ago when I read an interview by Diana Gabaldon when she complained about her protag, Clare Randall, simply refusing to cooperate, I just rolled my eyes. Now I understand perfectly. Apologies, Diana!
I suppose most of my books begin in my head with a protagonist. Once I have the protag, I need to figure out which setting would work best for them. Is it modern day America? Or do they live in a high fantasy world, or a science fiction one? They usually let me know right away if I've gotten it wrong. If I’m going for high fantasy where I need to do extensive world-building, I usually try to have at least some of that mapped out first. Maybe it’s a built-in deficit, but I find I cannot build both worlds and characters at the same time. The credibility of my story suffers if I try.
Characters are just like us--except they're larger than life. What that means is, while you and I might think about an unusual act of heroism, my characters will actually do it. Oh, they'll be plenty scared; but they'll mow right ahead in spite of it. When you think about it, a working definition of courage or heroism is action in the face of fear. If I have a character in a situation that would scare me, of course it scares them too. Unless the character is a sociopath. They aren't particularly sensitive to the feelings that plague the rest of us. Things like compassion, fear, honor, etc. Sociopaths manipulate others and are able to do so without much in the way of emotional fallout . . . at least to themselves. Everyone around them suffers terribly.
So long as we're on the topic of sociopaths, the very best books have well-drawn, three dimensional antagonists as well as strong protags. Without digging too terribly deeply, I can generally find something in any antagonist to at least try to link to a reader's sensibilities. Humans usually have mixed feelings about lots of things. It's important for characters to be able to see things from more than one point of view as well. That's one of the tools an author has to make characters feel believable.
While it’s fun to go to the movies and watch superheroes mow through one catastrophe after the next, guns blazing, readers want fictional characters they can relate to. From a reader perspective, which characters work best for you? Who have some of your favorites been and why?
Thanks Ann for a great excerpt post, I'm always interested to know what is in you author's minds.
Thanks so much for hosting me, Itara. It's a pleasure to be here. I'm so glad you found my guest post thought provoking.
ReplyDeleteYes thank you I loved it. It's interesting to me how authors bring characters to life.
DeleteYou're welcome, Heidi. Thanks so much for stopping by.
ReplyDeleteI loved her post. I always try to connect with characters and I'm happy when I find the "aha" moment, that's when I know I understood their point of view.
ReplyDelete