#BookTour “Chasing Winter (Wooing the Alpha, Book 1)” by Autumn Lishky

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Paranormal Romance/Erotica

 

Date Published: 01-01-2022

Publisher: Dirty Little Love, LLC

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Thirteen Clans. Thirteen Males. One prize.

Winter Jarl is the most notorious female warrior of her species. Her father is chief, and he’s dying, so he’s cashed in on a promise she made long ago: he’s setting her up with an alpha from each of the thirteen clans before she takes over his position.

Sentenced to a year of isolation, she will spend twenty-eight-days alone with each man. By the end of it, Winter must choose one to stand beside her.

The challenge? She must be in love to produce an heir.

 

Cycle One: Chasing Winter

When Winter’s oath comes due, she isn’t ready to give up her freedom, her body, or her future. Too bad her nature won’t be doing her any favors.

Thunder is young and inexperienced and the first to encounter Winter Jarl’s deadly sexuality. But he’s got a bucket list of positions he wants to take her in, and he’s willing to face her wrath just to check each one off.

If you enjoyed Audrey Carlan’s Calendar Girl series, you’ll love Autumn Lishky’s Wooing the Alpha series.

Jump into this intense paranormal erotica now and see who you want to win Winter’s heart.

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EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

Winter paced the length of her floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft carpet weaving between her toes as she let the air resistance dry her body. The slivered moon made her promises that it could no longer keep as it crept into the sky.

This was the last night in her room for the next year, and she didn’t want to leave it for the mansion her father, the chief, lived in. Winter preferred the edge of wilderness.

Preferred freedom.

Pride forced her to keep her word, made in adolescence but bound by blood and magic.

Her father was dying, and she was the rightful heir—the only other alpha in their pack.

A light flicked on in one of the front windows of his house. Winter retreated to dress in her robe before opening the balcony door to let the cold air nip at her skin.

One more night to herself. One more night to be the barrier against danger. One more night to guard her home and her people from within their woods.

One more night to be Winter.

The robe constrained her already, and she shed it across her camping chair before swinging over the railing. She shifted into her wolf form and hit the forest floor. Leaves crunched as she crashed between the trees.

Her father’s guests were arriving, and she refused to take part in their negotiations over who had the privilege of antagonizing her first. And since she had no say about the details of her circumstances, she wanted to spy on the men as they entered her pack’s grounds.

Watching each wolf with his people told her more about the man than anything he could say to her. She’d been studying them from afar for long enough.

A few of them, she’d gotten to experiment with up close.

Tonight, it served her well.

The winding road up to the manse meant each traveler had to slow his horse—Father didn’t allow cars up on the sacred grounds—and take parts of the trail on foot. Once it reached their little community, the road opened up. One safety precaution amongst many.

Winter found her perch on the crest of the highest hill overlooking the tight curve and waited, nuzzling the ground, nosing twigs and leaves, until their smell reached up into the canopy. A group of five with two horses, three riding and two walking. They smelled of sap and wildfires. Their chatter carried, buoyant and happy. A good sign.

The next was boisterous, and the lead barked orders the entire way. Either his crew didn’t take him seriously, or they were quite chummy. The one after traveled with less noise, and they moved with more purpose, like trained soldiers.

All appeared normal.

Winter grew bored and restless as the tenth reacted brusquely toward his men. They smelled of gingerbread—dark molasses and nutmeg.

She cataloged each of their scents to memory since their faces blurred in the distance.

One man walked the path alone with a bag over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets. He smelled of eucalyptus.

Winter teetered off her perch, the agitation forcing her between the trees, up an incline full of sweet, minty brush.

Crunching brought a new scent, honeysuckle and musk. A tattered brown and white wolf leapt playfully beside her, sending adrenaline through Winter’s legs and pushing her faster. He bounded after her, nipping at her heels and dancing away.

She dove after him when he passed, tumbling him down a shallow hill. Teeth at each other’s throats, they rolled and snipped and nuzzled and darted. When he hunkered low, she recognized his multi-colored eyes. Newt. The only male that hadn’t gone running from her when they were pups. The one who didn’t shy away from her muted friendship as she grew into her alpha genes and trained to be one of the few female warriors of the tribe.

He growled low and barked, beckoning her for another chase back toward their village. She obliged, leaping at him and thundering down the hills. Mountains rose like protective parents around their home, and Newt weaved his way through the trails around their town, avoiding breaking into public space.

He tumbled through a missed step and sprang into her when he regained it. They rolled together. Newt pinned her to the brush he’d fallen into with his teeth at her throat, along the line where the fur split to her scar. The one she had because of him and the armor he’d fastened for her.

It’d been the only thing to keep the sword that slit her throat from lopping off her head. He’d been the one to cut the vampire down and bandage her up after. Carried her back to safety.

She’d have been able to fight again within minutes if that blood-sucking bastard hadn’t tipped his sword with vampire blood. It ate at her throat and vocal cords before they stopped the spreading poison. Winter’s voice grew husky from the damage, which made others more wary of her.

She wriggled under Newt now, squirreling away.

They looped the valley once before settling close to their start by the lone road into their home, panting and catching their breath. Most wolves would cuddle up, but Newt knew better, collapsing a few feet away, head down in submission, chewing on a sweet maple stick.

The twelve males had long assembled in the mansion on the far incline of the mountain, so she had nothing to watch except for the scurrying animals. No other noises or scents or signs lead to anything dangerous lurking in their woods, thick with extra layers of magic to limit any surprises from the parallel paranormal worlds while the thirteen clans gathered.

Boredom arose without the potential peril, making Winter huff at Newt. A low whine gurgled up her throat, and she rolled in the cold needles and evergreen foliage. The new moon would come in one week.

She had to isolate herself in her father’s home for that week. Cleansing herself with the rituals for a mating ceremony, Winter wouldn’t come in contact with anyone for seven days.

Not wanting to submit to the self-isolation before she had to, she didn’t want to spend the night out here with Newt, either. If she was honest with herself, the thought of running through the mountain and swampland tempted her. Winter wanted to leave her home, their island, their world for the human one where she could hide.

But it wasn’t possible. A fantasy.

Her duty was not something she could run away from.

So, back home it was.

Maybe another hot bath, although she’d have plenty of those over the next week.

Winter said goodbye to Newt, who trailed behind her until the minute path altered for him to split off and return to town. She had to shift back to human to climb the ladder to the latched door under her floor. One of her favorite features of the apartment she’d built in a sturdy tree.

CHAPTER TWO

Newt veered away from Winter as she retreated home. Her tension over the meeting at her father—the alpha’s—clearly dampened her verve to hunt and fight. Even in play. How badly didn’t she want to be mated?

She’d never expressed much interest in it over the years they’d fought together. Her sparse set of partners didn’t seem to hold her attention either, including the alphas. It was the reason he veered toward the mansion. Newt helped to care for the chief in his sickness, especially when Winter was away. When Newt joined her, his mother tended the alpha. They would both be in charge of his care for the next year as Winter spent a moon cycle with each of the twelve males.

The path up the side of the mountain got the best warrior puffing, but Newt circled the drive before approaching the high-arched porch to the front door. He let himself in, knowing they collected in the large back parlor. It was the only place that could comfortably hold twelve wolves and their entourages. He half-heartedly hoped some of them had torn each other apart by now.

But that was mere jealousy, having gained Winter’s cool companionship through years of patience. Having earned her trust by saving her life in battle. She’d returned the favor, and Newt worried over the alphas present.

He worried over his friend.

He worried over the elder alpha, sitting in his chair, sick from a long-suffering wound he’d gotten when he sought vengeance against the vampires for killing his mate—Winter’s mom. No one tested the weakness in his on-coming death. Amarok deserved their honor.

And he received it as a chief who’d endured so long in silence.

Newt was one of the few privy to the real agony the alpha lived with daily, and he bent to tell the chief what he wanted to know. “She’s home.”

Amarok nodded, relaxing an inch and scanning the room. He whispered for some tea—the implied tonic the real desire. Once Newt retreated to get his medicine, the chief rapped his knuckles against the table to gain the room’s attention.

“I’ve learned what I need to for the night. Retire to your suites, and I will give you my decision in the morning.”

Who would spend the first twenty-eight days with Winter in this house for the chance to be chief by proxy?

The only thing they had to do was woo the most unattainable female amongst their kind.

She’d chew them up, spit them out, and scat on their remains.

The lot grumbled and dispersed as Newt lay the cup of tea on the table before Amarok. “This year has thirteen moon cycles with no remainders, which means a male from our clan will need to accompany her for this test. We have no alpha besides my Winter, so I have decided for you to stay with her, but as you’re a beta, you will have to be last.”

Newt’s heart hammered as he met the chief’s gaze—the same hazel as Winter’s but with more orange flecks than her green. Amarok was serious, his features creased with gentle lines.

“Thank you, sir.” What could he say? That he hadn’t imagined winning her heart many times over the years, but they were stupid, hormonal dreams—replays of the fantasy he had as a teen after she nearly bit his head off in a training session. But why would she choose him after all of this time?

“You deserve the recognition for the sacrifices you’ve made for our family. For me. For Winter. She fights better knowing I am taken care of.” Amarok’s hand squeezed Newt’s arm, strength still pulsing under the frail shake of his limbs. “And you would treat her right. Make her a better woman. A kinder leader.”

“You mean I am the only one in the clan willing to hole up with her for so long.” The humor didn’t match the slow burn sparking low in his chest.

The chief smiled, reclining in his chair further. “That may be.”

“Drink your tea.” Newt tapped the table beside the cup and saucer. “You’ve got some tough decisions to make before you retire.”

Amarok waved his hand at Newt, pulling a sheet of paper free from his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve already decided. Long before any of them arrived.”

Unfolded, the list wafted to the table: a scribble of names with his at the bottom.

“Pulled their names from a hat. There’s no planning when it comes to earning the love of an alpha female. Too unpredictable.”

Newt shared a knowing laugh with his chief—the man who’d been a second father to him for more than a decade. The best way to describe Winter, in all of her agonizing splendor, was unpredictable.

Although, volatile made a close second.

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About the Author

 

Autumn Lishky is a quiet, little woman with a big, loud imagination, and a dirty one at that. Living in the Oklahoma City area, she has worked various jobs from pizza delivery girl to night host at a funeral home, but no matter the nature of her income, she is always lost in a world of fantastic sex.

 

 

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