Ice Hunter's Prey
A Raptorial Time Story
By T.J. Killian
Coming July 18, 2008
Cobblestone Press
Heat Rating - erotica/romance - yes, I can establish a romance in
under 15,000 words.

There are some stories that just come to an author; Ice Hunter's Prey
was one of them.

I've always had a love of pitting a feisty modern day woman against a
superiorly alpha male. Even though I write a more `real to life,
modern ingenue' heroine, they always have a facet of strength that
shines through. The desperate circumstances the 14th Century Nordic
Colonists of Greenland faced only spurred me on to see how Amber and
Soren would perform when stuck together.

And perform they did. In a clash of wills they brought not only some
great sexual sizzle but some very human aspects to Ice Hunter's Prey.
It also has a very true-to-life ending, one that might surprise you.

I hope you will stop off at Cobblestone Press on July 18, 2008 and
purchase, Ice Hunter's Prey.



For your enjoyment:
Ice Hunter's Prey

A Raptorial Time Story

Time is a predator, beware that you are not its prey.


Blurb

Neither of them is prepared for the heat they generate.

All Amber Mentor wants is a clean house. She never suspects her idea
to teach her sloppy cousin a lesson will lead her to a different time
- literally.

Soren Elrickson is on the hunt for food, real food. The delectable
treat he finds tangled in a bramble bush won't satisfy his hunger, but
she will serve another purpose. His lust ignites in the same instant
he understands his colony can't support another mouth to feed. He
knows how his helpless find will pay her way - on the flat of her back.

Amber and Soren can't resist each other, but passion doesn't put food
on the table in the unforgiving land of fourteenth-century Greenland.
Soren will have to make a decision, one that may not only compromise
her heart, but her life.

Excerpt

February 1345, Nordic Greenland

Soren Elrickson eyed his quarry. The caribou trudged along the snow
pack. With his arrow nocked and his arm steady, he waited for the
beast to take one more step toward him.
Hunger for real food made him anxious but still, he bided his time. He
willed the caribou to come a foot closer and a step truer on the path
to his supper.

"Help meee!"

Gritting his teeth together, he watched his meal startle then run off.
"A curse upon me and the master of my demise," he muttered, rising to
his impressive height. Unlike many of his contemporaries on the
island, he was still Norse and healthy in appearance, but only because
he was a late addition to the struggling colony. His skills as a
hunter also served him well.

`Twas strange to gaze upon people who hailed from the same land as he
but looked nothing like their forefathers. His shock had quickly worn
off, however, and determination set in. He'd not become like them.
Crippled from years of starvation, emaciated by disease, a faint few
had the strength to tend their livestock. Many had resorted to
literally living with their beasts of burden, or if the worst came
about, they ate from the frozen carcasses of those animals not lucky
enough to find shelter before a hearth.

He wasn't that desperate.

Not yet, at least. The nagging rumble in his stomach reminded him of
what he'd lost—food. Turning toward the cause of the caribou's start,
he scowled at the image set before him.

"Come on, Gina, this isn't funny anymore." The thorn bush's captive
ranted in a language vaguely familiar to him.

"Damn it all straight to hell! Will somebody help me?" Her voice rose
a full octave in direct proportion to what, he assumed, was her
frustration.

Soren chuckled at her predicament, knowing full well her struggles
only trapped her more. Sobering, he scanned the scrub for signs of
another human. Raids were not unheard of this far north. Unlikely, as
the weather worsened, but they did happen. T'was a matter of survival
to steal from those who had more than you did.

He inspected the ground with a slash of his gaze over the pristine
snow. Nothing, not even the tracks of a hare, dented the area. Assured
she was alone, he heaved a sigh. "What do you here?" he asked, pulling
his arrow from the bowstring with a soft thunk of the sinew snapping
back. He returned it to the quiver laying across his back, then looped
his long bow over his shoulder. "Woman, I asked you a question."

Her confused expression deepened his scowl. "Where are you from?" he
demanded. For certain, she dressed like no woman he'd met before. Her
strange leggings were made from cloth foreign to him. The tunic,
impaled with spiny twigs, carried an unrecognizable knit pattern. From
what plant the maker had gained the vibrant hue of purple, he'd no idea.

A deep, guttural growl escaped his throat when she continued to stare
at him with frightened eyes. What did she think he planned to do? Use
her for a target to practice his skill with a bow?
Not in his twenty-seven years of life had he harmed a woman, he would
not start now.

"You insult me," he stated harshly while she slid from the cloth
ensnared in the bush only to tangle her hair all the more. `Twould be
a pity to cut her long, sable locks, but necessary if they were to
make the village before nightfall.

Walking forward, his boots crunching through the thin coating of ice
to find traction in the snow, Soren took her in, ignoring her strange
chemise, but focused on the tight buds of her hardened nipples clearly
visible through the thin fabric. For a change, his brain was not
concerned with the gnawing ache in his stomach but a different hunger,
a base need. The sensation of his manhood filling the crotch of his
leggings brought a smile to his face. He could almost feel her soft
skin beneath his hands, hear her tiny gasps of pleasure in his ears.
Legs clinging to him as he drove into her. Arms wrapped around his
shoulders when he brought her pleasure. Yes. He might have lost
supper, but he'd found her, which in his opinion was nearly as good.

Ice Hunter's Prey: Buy Now