by Renee Rose & Lee Savino
March 29, 2022
Alpha’s Fire, an all-new steamy and action-packed paranormal romance in USA Today bestselling authors Renee Ross and Lee Savino, is available now!
I’ve waited 1000 years for my mate. If she rejects me, I’ll burn down the world.
She woke the dragon.
Every maiden dreams of being rescued by a handsome prince from a deadly dragon. But I am the prince and the dragon.
Ancient courtship rituals demand I steal my bride away. Imprison her in my high tower. Show her my treasures, my vast lands and armies.
I’ve done all that, and she still refuses me. She says she can’t see herself with a man who still thinks Istanbul is Constantinople.
I must woo her, and I don’t know how. But beneath my beating human heart, a dragon sleeps. And when he wakes, no one can stop him from destroying the world.
No one but her.
Grab your copy today!
Add Alpha’s Fire to Goodreads
Start the series of standalones today for ¢99!
Alpha’s Moon
"I’ve waited 1000 years for my mate. If she rejects me, I’ll burn down the world"
I mean with a tagline like that, wow, freaking meow!!!!! SOLD. I loved this one from start to finish. Has to be my new favorite series for 2022. What a dragon, what a world, what a story!
This was a non-stop reread through and through for me, maybe I didn't even take a bathroom break while reading. TMI? Oh well! I was enraptured, engulfed, involved with every beat of my vampire's heart. LOVED the main characters, from head to dragon toe. Alpha's Fire is everything hot and heavy that you dream for, no that you would die for, in a PNR. (Maybe I'm being dramatic) The point is, this is one for the ages and could have been 100 more pages.
The balance and care taken with this story was so thought-out, very well-matched as a couple to each having their own strengths. I'm giving away nothing and everything all the same time with this review. Overall, I can't recommend this one highly enough. It fires on all cylinders and is worth the time and enjoyment of reading.
Getting 5 Sheep
KD
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Tabitha, age 18
The chilly air nips my skin, bared by my tank top. An hour into my hike, I’ve already shed my jacket—I’m a strange combination of cold and sweaty. Weird, but it feels good.
There’s snow on the peaks towering ahead of me. It’s spring here, but snow still lingers in the long shadows of the thickly clustered pines.
This early in the morning, my breath puffs as I trek across a frozen field where a few yellow wildflowers poke their heads up over the matted grass. I’m the only tourist crazy enough to be hiking so early in the season. I haven’t seen anyone on the trail. The mountains of northern Italy are technically the Alps, but the locals call them I Dolomiti. The hike I chose isn’t as challenging as the ones that would carry me up the tallest peak, but my thighs burn from the steady incline. It’s still better than swaying down a catwalk in five-inch heels and a weird poofy dress that left most of my back and butt uncovered. When I was a model, I’d do anything for fashion but no longer. This model has officially quit the circuit.
“I don't understand,” my mother wailed when I called to tell her. “You were doing so well. You were making such great contacts.” In mom-speak, that meant I was meeting men. Rich men who’d love to have a model on their arm. The sort of man my mom hoped would sweep me off my feet and give me a diamond ring and marriage proposal or at least a diamond watch and an extended stay in his private penthouse. Maybe even a car and a few trips to the Riviera or Seychelles.
The type of man my mother always chased after.
I didn’t tell her that it was my date with exactly that kind of man that broke me. I was at another boring after-party on the arm of a short stock broker named Paul. Perfectly nice guy, but just because I'm a model and his head barely clears my shoulder doesn't mean that he has the right to put his hand on my ass.
I’ve stomped across the meadow and up the trail that’s disappearing between the blue-gray pines before I realize I’m muttering under my breath. A bird trills on an evergreen branch above my head, and my rage disappears.
I take a moment to clear my lungs. The air is fresh and better than any expensive cologne. The water flowing from a mountain stream is pure snowmelt and probably tastes like heaven. Tiny purple flowers peek up from the cracks in the gray rocks, and the bird above my head warbles like his sex life depends on it.
I’m far from the fashion circuit in Milan. No more crowded events that overwhelm my senses. No more clashing auras or toxic energies leaving me with a headache, desperate to get away. No more handsy businessmen who treat me like a cigar–a possession, an indulgence, a prop.
No more sharing an apartment with six other half-starved young people whose daily food intake adds up to barely half a sandwich. The first thing I did after I told my agent I quit was eat a giant bowl of cheesy pasta.
Right now, my backpack is full of the best provisions: good cheese, a local red wine, and several packs of biscotti.
I may have disappointed my mother, but I feel better than I have in a year. Like a weight lifted off my chest.
It’s been almost three months since I quit and started wandering like a vagabond. I spent a little of my fashion week earnings on a pair of hiking boots and a backpack. The rest of my nest egg has gone to reserving the little mountain huts called rifugios and a nice rental near Lake Como where I stayed while waiting for the snow to melt.
The plan is to hike Alta Via 1 and beyond. Spend the summer in the mountains. And after that, who knows? I’m eighteen, and I can do anything. This spring is the start of my new life.
Fifteen minutes of climbing, and my thighs are shaking, but it’s all worth it when I round the corner and come across a magical mountain lake. The water is a brilliant teal, an ethereal color as bright and shocking as a Lilly Pullitzer jumper.
I can’t resist going to the edge and dipping my hand in, but instead of bracing cold, the water is warm as a freshly drawn bath. In the middle of the lake, steam’s rising off the surface.
Is this a hot spring? If so, my guidebook didn’t mention it.
I drop my jacket and my pack. Facing the clear pool, I feel extra grimy. I’m so tempted to strip everything off and jump in.
But I'm not alone.
There's a man in the pool. His dark head is even with a rocky outcropping, which is why I didn't see him before.
Once I see him, I can’t look away. He’s not swimming, but walking in the shallows. Water streams off his sculpted shoulders, lapping lovingly at his massive pectoral muscles.
A few more steps towards the shore, and water flows away from his diamond-hard abs, cut and sculpted with the precision of a shower, not a grower. Except actually... He is a grower. Because the longer I stare at his cock, the bigger it gets. “Holy hell,” I mutter. This wild man in the wilderness with a beard like John the Baptist is making me hotter and wetter between my legs than I've ever been. Maybe I’m just in a dry spell.
PROLOGUE
Tabitha, age 18
The chilly air nips my skin, bared by my tank top. An hour into my hike, I’ve already shed my jacket—I’m a strange combination of cold and sweaty. Weird, but it feels good.
There’s snow on the peaks towering ahead of me. It’s spring here, but snow still lingers in the long shadows of the thickly clustered pines.
This early in the morning, my breath puffs as I trek across a frozen field where a few yellow wildflowers poke their heads up over the matted grass. I’m the only tourist crazy enough to be hiking so early in the season. I haven’t seen anyone on the trail. The mountains of northern Italy are technically the Alps, but the locals call them I Dolomiti. The hike I chose isn’t as challenging as the ones that would carry me up the tallest peak, but my thighs burn from the steady incline. It’s still better than swaying down a catwalk in five-inch heels and a weird poofy dress that left most of my back and butt uncovered. When I was a model, I’d do anything for fashion but no longer. This model has officially quit the circuit.
“I don't understand,” my mother wailed when I called to tell her. “You were doing so well. You were making such great contacts.” In mom-speak, that meant I was meeting men. Rich men who’d love to have a model on their arm. The sort of man my mom hoped would sweep me off my feet and give me a diamond ring and marriage proposal or at least a diamond watch and an extended stay in his private penthouse. Maybe even a car and a few trips to the Riviera or Seychelles.
The type of man my mother always chased after.
I didn’t tell her that it was my date with exactly that kind of man that broke me. I was at another boring after-party on the arm of a short stock broker named Paul. Perfectly nice guy, but just because I'm a model and his head barely clears my shoulder doesn't mean that he has the right to put his hand on my ass.
I’ve stomped across the meadow and up the trail that’s disappearing between the blue-gray pines before I realize I’m muttering under my breath. A bird trills on an evergreen branch above my head, and my rage disappears.
I take a moment to clear my lungs. The air is fresh and better than any expensive cologne. The water flowing from a mountain stream is pure snowmelt and probably tastes like heaven. Tiny purple flowers peek up from the cracks in the gray rocks, and the bird above my head warbles like his sex life depends on it.
I’m far from the fashion circuit in Milan. No more crowded events that overwhelm my senses. No more clashing auras or toxic energies leaving me with a headache, desperate to get away. No more handsy businessmen who treat me like a cigar–a possession, an indulgence, a prop.
No more sharing an apartment with six other half-starved young people whose daily food intake adds up to barely half a sandwich. The first thing I did after I told my agent I quit was eat a giant bowl of cheesy pasta.
Right now, my backpack is full of the best provisions: good cheese, a local red wine, and several packs of biscotti.
I may have disappointed my mother, but I feel better than I have in a year. Like a weight lifted off my chest.
It’s been almost three months since I quit and started wandering like a vagabond. I spent a little of my fashion week earnings on a pair of hiking boots and a backpack. The rest of my nest egg has gone to reserving the little mountain huts called rifugios and a nice rental near Lake Como where I stayed while waiting for the snow to melt.
The plan is to hike Alta Via 1 and beyond. Spend the summer in the mountains. And after that, who knows? I’m eighteen, and I can do anything. This spring is the start of my new life.
Fifteen minutes of climbing, and my thighs are shaking, but it’s all worth it when I round the corner and come across a magical mountain lake. The water is a brilliant teal, an ethereal color as bright and shocking as a Lilly Pullitzer jumper.
I can’t resist going to the edge and dipping my hand in, but instead of bracing cold, the water is warm as a freshly drawn bath. In the middle of the lake, steam’s rising off the surface.
Is this a hot spring? If so, my guidebook didn’t mention it.
I drop my jacket and my pack. Facing the clear pool, I feel extra grimy. I’m so tempted to strip everything off and jump in.
But I'm not alone.
There's a man in the pool. His dark head is even with a rocky outcropping, which is why I didn't see him before.
Once I see him, I can’t look away. He’s not swimming, but walking in the shallows. Water streams off his sculpted shoulders, lapping lovingly at his massive pectoral muscles.
A few more steps towards the shore, and water flows away from his diamond-hard abs, cut and sculpted with the precision of a shower, not a grower. Except actually... He is a grower. Because the longer I stare at his cock, the bigger it gets. “Holy hell,” I mutter. This wild man in the wilderness with a beard like John the Baptist is making me hotter and wetter between my legs than I've ever been. Maybe I’m just in a dry spell.
Website-FB-Instagram
Amazon-Goodreads-TikTok
USA Today Bestselling Author Renee Rose loves a dominant, dirty-talking alpha hero! She’s sold over a million copies of steamy romance with varying levels of kink. Her books have been featured in USA Today’s Happily Ever After and Popsugar. Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won Spunky and Sassy’s Favorite Sci-Fi and Anthology author, and Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance. She’s hit the USA Today list ten times with her Chicago Bratva, Bad Boy Alpha, Wolf Ranch books, and various anthologies.
Lee Savino has grandiose goals but most days can’t find her wallet or her keys so she just stays at home and writes. While she was studying creative writing at Hollins University, her first manuscript won the Hollins Fiction Prize.
He lives in the USA with her awesome family You can find her on Facebook in the Goddess Group (which you totally should join).
