Cliff Blood doesn’t like giant snakes, but a sexy Marshal with fire in his eyes is another story!
Matt Blood’s brother Cliff has arrived on Earth and is working with Bailey’s Bail Bonding. Unfortunately, Matt’s out of town on a case when the feds show up to investigate a bond depositor scam, and Blood’s boss has been implicated. Cliff is on his own finding the real culprit while trying to run interference with sexy Deputy US Marshal Falen Scott. But Marshal Scott has his own secrets — along with a fiery attraction that Cliff seems to share.
4.5 Nymphs from Literary Nymphs Reviews Only! “Forked is the second book in the Blood-Hound series. The exceptionally enjoyable short story plot is packed with plenty of action, a mystery and some very interesting characters. Falen and Cliff’s shared intimacies along with their investigative skills make them an invincible team.”
4 Stars from SensualReads.com! “If you enjoy paranormal adventure at its best, then you will enjoy Blood-Hound 2: Forked. Declan Sands takes the action to a new high with an excellent mystery to ponder and hot sexy men to
A bottle of beer flew past and Clifford Blood ducked. The bottle was snagged out of the air by a long, green appendage covered in suction cups. Blood looked up into the face of the octopus shifter holding the bottle. “Sorry, man.” Each of the shifter’s other seven arms held a drink too. “They always send me for the drinks.” He shook his dark green head, his slightly bulging eyes filled with humor.
Cliff nodded, grinning. “No worries.” He lifted a hand to the bartender as the shifter slithered away.
It was the first time Cliff had come to Luminos, and the club was predictably busy for a Saturday night. Located in a seemingly abandoned warehouse building, the bar was one of the few places the shifter community could let down its hair — or tentacles — and be themselves.
Cliff’s brother Matt had told him it was a great place to hook up because of the ethereal, magic-infused music of the band, The Sirens. It always made the patrons horny. On his own the first Saturday night since he’d arrived on Earth, Cliff had taken Matt up on the suggestion to visit the club.
It also got him away from his creepy new boss at Bailey Bail Bonds for a few hours. While Cliff was really glad Matt had gotten him the job at Bailey, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stick it out for long. Cliff hated snake shifters. As a general rule, they were mean and shifty. And Brent Bailey was $not an exception to that rule.
For the moment, though, Cliff was just grateful for the job.
Months earlier, when Matt’s ship had returned without him, Cliff decided to embark on the unsanctioned journey from Eninac in a rust-bucket of a space vehicle he’d “borrowed” from a crooked space trader. Cliff had refused to believe his only brother was safe until he saw it with his own eyes.
Fortunately he’d managed to locate Matt pretty quickly. $Un$fortunately he couldn’t return to Eninac until they found a way to soothe the authorities about his unsanctioned travel through the highly controlled wormhole between the two planets. Cliff figured the soothing process might take a few years. He needed to keep busy while he waited. Working as a bounty hunter seemed to make a certain kind of sense. It was close enough to his job as a cop on Eninac.
A commotion across the bar drew him out of his thoughts and told him the band was returning. The three-woman band took the stage and, after a few minutes of tuning and prepping, the lead singer, Mollee, started belting out the band’s signature song, “Burst Upon the Rocks,” in her husky, insidious contralto. As the first note slid into the room, everyone stilled. All conversation stopped.
The music wound through the space like a living thing, swelling to fill every nook and cranny and wrapping everything that breathed in its inescapable embrace. Blood sat with his beer clasped in his hand, forgotten, and lost himself in the embrace of the music, allowing Mollee to draw him in, bind his heart and soul, and leave him dull and comatose on the metaphorical rocks.
No one moved when the last note throbbed on the air. Silence presided as the audience shook off the last of the haunting music’s effects. Finally, the crowd rose to its feet in thunderous applause that went on for minutes. The exuberant ovation was fed by the undercurrent of lust the song had launched. All around Cliff, gazes met and heated, flesh pressed against flesh, and silent promises were exchanged through lusty body language.
Cliff’s cell phone vibrated against his hip. He pulled it out and looked at the display, grimacing. No rest for the wicked.