Orphaned at a young age and raised in the foster system, Jory Smith has no idea he’s half incubus. He only knows he has the power to heal people, making himself sick in the process. Exploited by a crooked faith healer who sells his abilities and his life to the highest bidder and then left for dead, Jory flees, falling into a job at a small-town café where he can put his lifelong obsession with baking to good use.
Exiled hellhound-turned–bounty hunter Malpheus Pelle has no idea why his human client wants him to track down an incubus. Jory is traumatized and afraid to touch anyone, an emotional handicap that could prove fatal for a demon who requires physical contact. Needing answers, Mal concocts a disastrous plan: pretend to date Jory to uncover the truth. Unfortunately, his plan never included dealing with an ancient demon assassin, Jory’s orgasmic pumpkin cookies, or losing his heart to the incubus he’s supposed to be hunting….
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Excerpt...
THE OFFICE door was closed, and a man Jory had never seen was standing in front of it. He was at least three inches taller than Jory, with light blond hair and eyes that looked hazel behind lightly tinted sunglasses. Who the hell wore sunglasses in a warehouse with no windows?
“Can I help you?” Jory asked, folding his hands in what he’d taken to calling Adam’s pious stance.
“No.”
Jory raised both eyebrows. “Did you need to go into the office?”
“No.”
“Okay,” he said, managing a careful smile. “Would you mind standing aside so I can?”
The stranger narrowed his eyes. “You?”
Jory made a show of looking around and glancing down the empty hall. “Yeah.”
Keeping his gaze fixed on Jory, the man knocked on the door without turning around. Adam yanked the door open. “Reverend Smith,” Adam growled, shoving the big man out of the way and tugging Jory inside. Jory shot Adam a questioning look. Adam just glared at him. “Thank you for finally joining us.”
“Isn’t he a bit young to be a minister?” The voice was old, laced with pain and the gravelly sound of a deep lung infection.
The office was intimidating. Half of it was a small sanctuary; two small prayer desks and an altar and cross dominated the room. Adam’s desk and the desk the church secretary used during the rare hours she volunteered were set off to the side. In front of Adam’s desk was a withered man who might have been anywhere from fifty to eighty. A clear plastic oxygen tube ran from his nose, around his ears, and down to a large green-and-silver cylinder mounted to the back of the electric power scooter he was using.
This was going to suck.
“Forgive me for being tardy, Reverend Luhmann, but I wanted to check on Mr. Neal and make sure he was doing okay. How can I be of assistance?”
The old man barked out a sound that might have been a laugh. It sounded like stones rattling in a tin can. “That drunk junkie you brought in for the peons? Don’t play games with me, young man. I refuse—” He was overcome by a series of hacking coughs that left him bent over the handlebars of the scooter. “I’m no fool,” he managed, panting to catch his breath. “You’re why I’m here. You’ve convinced a few doctors in Rochester that you’re something special. So you’re either a better liar than Mr. Luhmann here, or the real deal.”
Jory glanced at Adam, who grimaced. Had they finally run into someone Adam couldn’t talk his way around? Jory crushed that thought. Adam might not have found his angle yet, but he would.
He sighed. “May I shake your hand?”
Looking suspicious but a little amused, the old man held out his hand calmly. A single touch was enough to make Jory cringe. The old man wasn’t just sick, he was toxic. “You’re dying,” Jory said simply. “You have late-stage lung cancer.”
“The kid who bags my groceries can guess that much,” he rasped.
“You’ve had….” Jory closed his eyes and thought about the cloud of sticky pain he’d felt in his chest. “Two unsuccessful transplants. How the hell does someone your age even get on a transplant list once, much less twice?”
“Jory,” Adam snapped. “Don’t act like I never taught you to be polite.”
He wanted to roll his eyes. Adam had taught him a lot, but please and thank you hadn’t figured into his education.
The old man waved Adam off. “That it?”
“No. The right side of your heart is big, I think because it’s working harder to pump blood through your lungs. If I had to guess, I’d say that’ll be what kills you.”
“Really?”
“And you drink too much. Your liver isn’t as bad as your lungs, but it’s getting there.”
“You get to the point I’m at and see if you care about the state of your liver.”
“I don’t see myself ever getting to that point,” Jory said bluntly. “I grew up with all those smoking will kill you public service announcements they ran on PBS during Saturday morning cartoons.” And his gift made tar-clogged lungs feel putrid. Fire and pain were normal, but the sticky choking sensation was pure torture.
“And you say he can do it?” the old man asked, glancing at Adam, who was perched on the edge of his desk.
Adam ran his hands through his graying hair and shook his head. “I don’t know how much we can actually help, Mr. Barnett.”
“I’ll agree to two more if he can,” Barnett wheezed without hesitating.
Adam managed to keep his eyes from bulging, but Jory could tell it was a near miss.
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Cat gives this one 5 Meows with a 3 Purr heat index...
Strays is a very interesting, unique and fun story. I loved watching each character unfold and try to figure out what each was and was to Jory. I failed miserably! Some characters such as Mal and Louise are pretty cut and dried once we are told what they are.
I can tell you what Mal is since the blurb does. Mal is a Hellhound that had been exiled by his family. He lives on earth as a bounty hunter and occasionally strikes bargains to earn new ID and simple things we take for granted such as paperwork and social security numbers. His story alone would have made a great book.
He is hired by a returning customer, a dying old man to bring Jory a supposed human back to Adam, a faith healer and man that raised him.
Mal figures out right away something is wrong by the scent and the closer he gets to Jory the more confused because he figures out quickly he is an Incubus.
Jory is tired of his grifting and hates the personal jobs Adam takes on because it hurts taking the illness. When Jory sees the old man is dying from lung cancer it scares him knowing he will get it. After being tossed away like trash, waking in a hospital and finding himself at a bakery / cafe he has the life he dreamed of... for a while.
As I said I loved all the characters, from Neal the bum that turns out to be more (and that changes and changes), a Dragon and the people that have taken Jory in.
The story itself is intriguing, page turning and action packed all the way to the very end, so have time to read in one sitting. You won’t want to put it down. I am hoping this makes a series!
If you love Demons, incubus, hellhounds, a touch of wit , baking, romance and some hot mansex I highly recommend this.
Excerpt...
THE OFFICE door was closed, and a man Jory had never seen was standing in front of it. He was at least three inches taller than Jory, with light blond hair and eyes that looked hazel behind lightly tinted sunglasses. Who the hell wore sunglasses in a warehouse with no windows?
“Can I help you?” Jory asked, folding his hands in what he’d taken to calling Adam’s pious stance.
“No.”
Jory raised both eyebrows. “Did you need to go into the office?”
“No.”
“Okay,” he said, managing a careful smile. “Would you mind standing aside so I can?”
The stranger narrowed his eyes. “You?”
Jory made a show of looking around and glancing down the empty hall. “Yeah.”
Keeping his gaze fixed on Jory, the man knocked on the door without turning around. Adam yanked the door open. “Reverend Smith,” Adam growled, shoving the big man out of the way and tugging Jory inside. Jory shot Adam a questioning look. Adam just glared at him. “Thank you for finally joining us.”
“Isn’t he a bit young to be a minister?” The voice was old, laced with pain and the gravelly sound of a deep lung infection.
The office was intimidating. Half of it was a small sanctuary; two small prayer desks and an altar and cross dominated the room. Adam’s desk and the desk the church secretary used during the rare hours she volunteered were set off to the side. In front of Adam’s desk was a withered man who might have been anywhere from fifty to eighty. A clear plastic oxygen tube ran from his nose, around his ears, and down to a large green-and-silver cylinder mounted to the back of the electric power scooter he was using.
This was going to suck.
“Forgive me for being tardy, Reverend Luhmann, but I wanted to check on Mr. Neal and make sure he was doing okay. How can I be of assistance?”
The old man barked out a sound that might have been a laugh. It sounded like stones rattling in a tin can. “That drunk junkie you brought in for the peons? Don’t play games with me, young man. I refuse—” He was overcome by a series of hacking coughs that left him bent over the handlebars of the scooter. “I’m no fool,” he managed, panting to catch his breath. “You’re why I’m here. You’ve convinced a few doctors in Rochester that you’re something special. So you’re either a better liar than Mr. Luhmann here, or the real deal.”
Jory glanced at Adam, who grimaced. Had they finally run into someone Adam couldn’t talk his way around? Jory crushed that thought. Adam might not have found his angle yet, but he would.
He sighed. “May I shake your hand?”
Looking suspicious but a little amused, the old man held out his hand calmly. A single touch was enough to make Jory cringe. The old man wasn’t just sick, he was toxic. “You’re dying,” Jory said simply. “You have late-stage lung cancer.”
“The kid who bags my groceries can guess that much,” he rasped.
“You’ve had….” Jory closed his eyes and thought about the cloud of sticky pain he’d felt in his chest. “Two unsuccessful transplants. How the hell does someone your age even get on a transplant list once, much less twice?”
“Jory,” Adam snapped. “Don’t act like I never taught you to be polite.”
He wanted to roll his eyes. Adam had taught him a lot, but please and thank you hadn’t figured into his education.
The old man waved Adam off. “That it?”
“No. The right side of your heart is big, I think because it’s working harder to pump blood through your lungs. If I had to guess, I’d say that’ll be what kills you.”
“Really?”
“And you drink too much. Your liver isn’t as bad as your lungs, but it’s getting there.”
“You get to the point I’m at and see if you care about the state of your liver.”
“I don’t see myself ever getting to that point,” Jory said bluntly. “I grew up with all those smoking will kill you public service announcements they ran on PBS during Saturday morning cartoons.” And his gift made tar-clogged lungs feel putrid. Fire and pain were normal, but the sticky choking sensation was pure torture.
“And you say he can do it?” the old man asked, glancing at Adam, who was perched on the edge of his desk.
Adam ran his hands through his graying hair and shook his head. “I don’t know how much we can actually help, Mr. Barnett.”
“I’ll agree to two more if he can,” Barnett wheezed without hesitating.
Adam managed to keep his eyes from bulging, but Jory could tell it was a near miss.
A.J. Thomas writes romantic suspense. She’s earned a Bachelor’s degree in Literature from the University of Montana and worked in a half-dozen different jobs from law enforcement officer to librarian. Life as a military spouse has tossed her around the country so many times she doesn’t know how to answer when people ask her where she’s from, but she delights in living as a perpetual tourist, visiting new places and discovering amazing things. Her time is divided between taking care of her three young children, experimenting with cooking and baking projects that rarely explode these days, and embarrassing her husband with dirty jokes. When she’s not writing, she hikes, gardens, researches every random idea that comes into her head, and develops complicated philosophical arguments about why a clean house is highly overrated.
I like this one so much I am going for it
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