Boys of Wynter Spicy Paranormal Romance Bundle

This series is not your typical paranormal—it’s darker, wilder and sexier.

For thousands of years, Boys of Wynter have guarded the mortal world against the wraiths and demons who lurk aimlessly in the desolate shadows outside the underworld. The Boys have a reputation and they didn't earn that unsavory notoriety by being gentlemen.

Stryker (Book 1):

Tasked with guarding the mortal world from the monsters beyond, Stryker is one of the most fearless and dangerous men to walk the earth. Years of excruciating training and work have left him both physically and emotionally hardened. When Stryker's work leads him to a desolate cabin in the tundra, he finds a woman who may finally be able to break through the wall around his heart. A woman who brings forth the true meaning of soul mate. A creature with an aura that could drive a man to madness.

Banished to an existence of solitude, Willow's entire world is upended when Stryker falls into her life. The imposing, tattooed stranger discovers her innocence and unleashes her true seductive power. Their intense physical attraction and instant connection awaken Willow to a whole new world of possible pleasures and pains. But just as fate threw them together, it could cruelly tear them apart.

Maximus (Book 2):

Maximus:I was Maximus, the asshole the Wynter Fare had nicknamed Ironheart because I rarely woke up without at least two women naked in my bed. Only now I'd found a woman I couldn't even work up the courage to kiss from fear that it would break my iron heart into a million pieces.

Rikki:The tough and massive blond warrior had unknowingly captured my full attention. After watching from a distance for months, I finally had him up close and personal, and he stole my breath away.His masculine appeal was irrefutable, but could I trust the man with my family's secret?

Chapter 1: Stryker

The skin pulled tight on my face and Rogue's black hooves left the ground. The horse's massive body twisted and contorted into the shiny steel chassis of my motorcycle. The mane and tail disappeared. My gloved hands tightened as the leather reins turned to handlebars. 

I'd passed through. The bitter, rank wisps of bubbling yellow sulfur from the fields of Wynter gone, replaced by the pungent scent of pine from the surrounding forest. The mournful howls that always followed me into Cliffmoor had dissolved and the ghostly hisses of owls rained down on me from the ragged tops of the trees. For me, the transition from the fringes of the underworld to the place I called home, the fog-choked coastal town of Cliffmoor, brought sharp pain, an explosion in my chest and head. But the searing pain was short-lived and not nearly as unbearable as the howls and moans of the dying wraiths and misguided souls I'd left behind. They followed me, always. But I'd learned to ignore them, otherwise I'd be fucked.

Barq's flaring, red nostrils shifted into one gleaming headlight as Maximus passed through. "Look the fuck out, I'm back!" Maximus thundered as the bike wheels landed on the pine littered ground. Haunting moans didn't follow Maximus out of Wynter. He claimed that the only sound he heard on his out was Jimmy Page pounding out Led Zeppelin tunes on his Les Paul. 

Maximus gripped the handlebars of his chopper. Thin lines of blood trickled down his giant arm in perfect unison as if choreographed. It was rare for any of us to leave a night of work without less skin and blood than we started.  

Wilder came roaring through last. His thick leather gun belt still hung loosely across his bare chest as the transformation from wolf to man completed. His bike, like Chino, the red roan stallion he rode, was fast and loud. The motor rumbled like a dragon in heat, sending a half dozen slick black ravens from the tree branches. A beautiful female voice whispering dirty words in his ear, that was what Wilder claimed to hear on his way through. Since he always came through with the same satisfied smile, as if plump lips were wrapped around his cock, I figured it must be true. I could never understand why the fuck my passage to the real world was dark and painful.  

We stopped the bikes and watched as the ripped shreds of gray matter sealed back up, closing Wynter off from the mortal world. Other men spent their work shifts on shipping docks or construction sites. We spent ours in Wynter, the stretch of space between life and death. No one knew who came up with the name, but it stuck, misleading as it was. Behind the splintered, tenuous curtain that separated the real world and the nightmare world there was no landscape of snowy hills and cozy cottages dotting the vast, crystal white horizon. There were no snowmen or kids sledding in thick red mittens and woolen scarves. The Wynter that lay just past the jowly, carnivorous mouth of the underworld was a place so thick with mist and sour with decomposition that there was no way to know where the atmosphere ended and solid land began. The liquid air that pooled in the atmosphere was molten hot, making the place an inferno, where one wrong turn or misstep could bleach the skin off your back. Wynter was a place filled with sorrow, desolation and beings so drenched in evil that anyone who ventured past the clawed shadows fringing its clammy borders would quickly beg for a merciful death rather than stay a second longer. 

No one survived passage through Wynter except those born to patrol it. That was us, the Boys of Wynter, Maximus, Wilder, me and Flint, who was back in Cliffmoor recovering from a broken leg. There were others too, others like us who had been tossed into servitude by fathers who chose wealth and power over their sons. 

Stolen from our cribs as sacrificial firstborns to become part of the Wynter pack, we'd spent our first eleven years with Nessa, the old woman charged with the task of raising stolen sons. Those eleven years were filled with adventure, homegrown affection and a sense that the world was filled with light. But that idyllic life in Nessa's cottage on Oldfall Island ended abruptly one night when were ripped from our warm beds by the Wynter trainers. We were thrown instantly into a life that was so far removed from our early years that it would have been less stark if we'd just been murdered in our beds. Those lucky enough to survive the brutal, harsh training grew into men, fearless and powerful beasts cursed with both lycanthropy and mortality.  For thousands of years, Boys of Wynter have guarded the mortal world against the wraiths and demons who lurk aimlessly in the desolate shadows outside the underworld.

"Don't know about you two assholes, but I'm heading straight to the Seven Sins for a bottle of whiskey and, if the plan in my head works out, a royal good fuck with Dancy and Mirra," Maximus crowed as he turned back to his handlebars. 

"You mean your cock," Wilder muttered as he shoved his black boot onto the foot peg.

Maximus shifted on his motorcycle. The chrome and black chassis creaked under his weight. We were all bigger than the average motherfucker, but Maximus took size to a whole new record. With his sharp black eyes and dark fiery blond hair shaved short at the sides and left long down the center, I'd seen wraiths take one look at him and rather than wait to be obliterated just swallow their unwanted fate and disappear into the underworld, preferring the pits of hell to a run in with the menacing giant. Human reaction was even more intense. Even Wilder seemed to regret his comment as Maximus lifted his dark blond brow at Wilder. 

"Why the hell are you talking about my cock?"

"You mean if the plan in your cock works out. You said head but I think you meant cock. Your head rarely has anything to do with your decisions." Wilder was normally the guy with the sealed shut mouth. He only commented when he thought it was worth the effort, but we'd had a long shift of destroying wraiths and he was obviously feeling a little punch drunk. 

I was right there with him. After one full midnight to midnight shift, we were free for a day while another pack slipped into Wynter for their patrol. And it always took a full day to recover. 

I glanced down at my shredded skin. My last chase of the night had been a screamer, a pink eyed wraith with a shriek that nearly split my head in two, especially in wolf form when my hearing was ten times as sensitive as in human form. I'd been shaking off the effects of a screech that was explosive enough to mess with my brain cells when the slimy creature scratched my chest with its hooked claws. Fortunately, we healed fast, faster than the average human. We could die just like any mortal, but we didn't go easy. 

I twisted the throttle and the motor stuttered beneath me. "Yeah, let's go. I'm ready to drown myself in some whiskey and Wynter Fare pussy too." The Wynter Fare were the group of luscious and infinitely horny women who were disciplined and successful in their careers, but who liked to have wild, no strings attached fun in their time off. Much like rich rock star groupies following their favorite band's summer tour, the Wynter Fare hung out in the Seven Sins waiting for the Boys of Wynter. To the Wynter Fare we were members of a dangerous, rebellious motorcycle club, who spent long nights wreaking havoc. They had no clue that we were wreaking havoc in the underworld. They were, without a doubt, the finest perk that came with an otherwise hellish job. 

As I leaned down over my bike, a small crackling sound raced up my bare back. I knew what it was without turning. Wynter wraiths had an odor that was unmatched on earth. You could be standing five hundred yards away, and the smell would still seep into your skin and invade every cell causing a brutal assault on all your senses. 

The three of us dropped our boots to the ground and stood over our bikes. We twisted back to watch the creature flutter along the pine littered floor of the forest, pretending as if it belonged in this world. Every forest critter within twenty feet scattered. Even the trail of ants marching beneath the dead leaves picked up their regiment and scurried away fast. The odor emanating out from beneath its tattered black cloak was not as foul as most, which meant it was young or a wraith new to the ravages of Wynter. 

"Now how the fuck did that measly piece of shit sneak out?" Maximus growled louder than he should have. I lifted my hand too late to stop him. The wraith's yellow eyes zeroed in on its audience. But even standing in the glowering shadow of three Boys of Wynter, freshly bloodied and streaked with sweat from a night of wraith hunting, the creature howled with a bone chilling laugh.

"Well, fuck," Wilder muttered. "There goes the whiskey and the blow job, and I was hoping to have them both at the same fucking time."

I spoke to my pack mates, all the while keeping my eyes on the misshapen beast as it danced from clawed foot to clawed foot, avoiding the stinging burn of the pine sap. The human world was a harsh, brutal place for a Wynter wraith, but that never kept them from sneaking through the filmy screen of plasma when given a chance. 

"This was my fault. I was on watch as we pushed through to this dimension." I still hadn't taken my eyes off the wraith, and it looked more than ready for a chase. It just waited for the hunter to make the first move. And that hunter was me. "It's small. I'll take care of it. Just remember to leave a bottle for me."

"Are you fucking crazy, Stryker?" Wilder shook his head. "In human form? And without Rogue? Not a good idea."

"It's small and out of its element out here in the forest," I argued. "The thing is already withering away just from swallowing the fresh air. It'll take me ten minutes. Go on. I'll see you at the bar."

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