Gryffin Strain: His Female The human Chiarra is on the run. When she manages to cross the dangerous maelstrom, seeking refuge among the fascinating Gryffin, she never expects to become the prize in a vicious contest between two magnificent males. Determined to save the girl from certain death, Jarrk fights for the right to claim her— only to be shamed in front of his people by the hostile, arrogant little human. Thus ensues a battle of wills between the two—a struggle born of pride, prejudice and misconception—fired by a dangerous, unwanted attraction that cannot be denied. By the time Chiarra's past catches up to her, Jarrk has developed a taste for all this sensual creature can offer him—and claimed Chiarra as his own. He'll kill the man who dares to touch his female. Now they are on the run, but a Gryffin and human together make a conspicuous pair. Though they might outwit the men who seek Chiarra's life, they'll never outrun the huge reward offered for her capture. Only a combination of human ingenuity and animal instinct will save them—only with unconditional trust can they find the true promise of love. |
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| Cover Art by Syneca |
Excerpt Chiarra watched the golden Gryffin as his fist shot out to swipe viciously at his opponent. On his head, a ruff of spiky hair rose in angry menace. The silver male was fast, agile. As he threw himself backward, Chiarra noted at least a glimmer of intelligence in his eyes. She didn’t hold out much hope for either of them, however. Gryffins were nothing more than animals—at least that’s what she’d been taught and there was no evidence here to convince her otherwise. Jerking against strong hands that gripped her, Chiarra sneered at what she considered pure, ugly, male barbarism. She couldn’t help but see her position as a lose/lose situation. The two males circled each other, hand hackles raised, barbs out, as they fought for the right to include her in their fold. The creatures’ upper bodies glimmered with a sheen of sweat as they paced out a circle on the trampled grass, each of them searching for the opening that would assure success, each of them reluctant to commit to an action that would threaten failure. Chiarra’s eyes followed the silver male. Although the Gryffin had had openings, opportunities to injure, he hadn’t immediately pressed his advantage. Instead, he appeared to hold in rein a leashed power not yet released. His behavior implied he would not be satisfied with injury and waited his opportunity to destroy. As though he had a strategy. Now she frowned at the man. Male! Male, she corrected herself, quickly. Barbs thrust forward on a huge fist, Grat made his next lunge. Jarrk’s head snapped back as he took the barbs high on his cheek, felt Grat’s barbs tear into his skin. As he slanted toward the ground, Jarrk punched the top of his left hand with his right fist. A jet of blue liquid shot into Grat’s eyes and the Gryffin howled. Jarrk’s hand snaked around Grat’s neck and pulled the heavier Gryffin earthward with him as a twisting motion put Jarrk on top. With his knee between Grat’s shoulder blades and a fist in his hair, Jarrk yanked his head back and pressed his barbs tight against Grat’s scalp at the base of his ruff. There were a few panting seconds as Grat glared up at Chiarra with violence. “Take the bitch!” As Jarrk released Grat, Chiarra watched the golden Gryffin hop to his feet, swift to demonstrate his defeat as merely temporary. With curled lip, Chiarra snorted at what she considered a pathetic display of male assertiveness. Or re-assertiveness, in Grat’s case. She returned her attention to the champion. When he slid her a look from under white eyelashes, she hurried to meet it with a haughty stare meant to inform the Gryffin she was nobody’s prize. She expected gloating satisfaction from the male. Instead, she was surprised to find his expression held only relief. She gritted her teeth. Evidently, the creature considered her a prize of some importance. As Jarrk started toward her, the hands that had gripped her pushed her forward to face her new master. She elbowed herself free, wiping her hands distastefully on the simple linen wrap that hugged her hips. When the silver Gryffin stopped in front of her, she glared into his neon eyes and spat full in his face. Coldly, she watched his reaction as his eyes jerked to hers with a flash of pain, pain that had been entirely absent—earlier— when Grat ripped into his face. Grat let out a hoot of derision. “Thanks for sparing me that, Jarrk! Take the girl and welcome to her.” Chiarra watched her spittle sag on the Gryffin’s cheek to mix with the blood he’d shed for her. His gaze darkened as he raised a hand to wipe his face. “You’ll live to regret that,” he told her, just before he turned and walked away. |
| Other Books in the Gryffin Strain Series |
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madison hayes
Gryffin Strain: His Female
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