Books are such an ingrained part of my life that even when my schedule gets packed with responsibilities I usually find time to read something every day. Sometimes I only have time for a short poem or two, others I can manage a short story and when I truly have a free few hours I can get in a book or two a week that isn’t work related. During Thursday Scene Teasers I’ll be sharing quick snippets of the books or short stories that I find notable.
Today’s book is Primal, the latest book by the author Kassanna and the first in her Pride Riders series. I’m not a big fan of motorcycle series, but the combination of bikes and paranormal shifters had me intrigued. I started this book during a long drive to visit friends (hubby was driving) and by the time we arrived at our destination I was resentful that we had made such great time. The characters draw you right in and the hero, Trace, is all alpha hotness which I LOVE. And the heroine is strong, gutsy and not afraid to throw down:
“Shay tightened her grip on the neck of the broken
bottle, prepared to gut a bitch if necessary. No way in hell
was she going to stand there and become some animal’s
Primal by Kassanna
By any means necessary.
Shay Genovee made it her mission to bring her cousin home. Staring into the icy azure gaze of a tiger, she realizes she made some rash decisions. To escape the beast won’t be easy but does she really want to?
Her scent made him primal.
Trace Kuhn didn’t speak because he didn’t have too. As the only tiger in a pride of lions, he let his actions be his words. Until he met a woman whose mouthwatering aroma sent him over the edge of reason. He would have her at any price, even if it cost him his clan.
Trace spun around and met his family’s concerned
gazes. They cleared the threshold as he marched toward
“Son, just don’t break her. Remember she’s not like
us,” Gunter muttered as Trace passed him.
Like he could forget she was human. Trace grunted.
He had every intention of doing quite a bit to Shay when he
found her. Slapping that ass was a possibility. On his wall
at home there was definitely a paddle with her name on it,
but he had no intention of harming her. Quite the opposite,
actually. He would take her to his house and make her
scream his name until she was hoarse and they were both
He glanced down the hall toward the bar’s main
room. El would want to get all kittenish and shit trying to
explain how the mating process worked. Why he felt such
desperation to protect her from the world. Trace exhaled
and tamped down the urge to gut mother fuckers standing
in his way. No, it was best he stay away from his friends
and family until he worked this shit out himself. He
prowled down the hall, slammed through the exit and
stepped into the watery sunlight pouring past the trees.
Trace swung a leg over his bike. Pains shot, sharp
and powerful, within his damaged tendons. He sucked in a
breath as the knitting skin around his wounds pulled apart.
Blood seeped from the slim seams, slashed into his
abdomen to roll down his belly. He dabbed at his cuts with
the hem of the jacket, turning the flat gray fabric a deep
The black-and-silver motorcycle with faded white
skulls blowing across a dark, desolate landscape airbrushed
on the body settled under his weight. He turned the key and
his monster roared to life. Duel glass-packed exhaust pipes
rumbled, making his seat vibrate. It made no sense to
remove the keys to his bike. There wasn’t a being within a
hundred miles foolish enough to touch the rides which
belonged to the Pride Riders. Locally, his brothers-in-arms
had developed a reputation as one of the deadliest
motorcycle gangs this strip of the West Coast. He snorted.
It was an image El started cultivating the moment they
decided to settle in the area. The Feds helped him since it
was in everyone’s best interest to keep the fact that
predators walked among humans a secret.
He gunned the engine and his cycle shot forward.
Hell, most people avoided the road leading to the bar all
together. Many times while on patrol, he sat on a dirt track
hidden by brush and trees, watching folks speed up until
they passed the dirt trail. He figured it was their instinct for
self-preservation kicking in, subconsciously warning them
they weren’t safe if they took the deeply rutted, weed
ridden path. Maybe those humans weren’t as stupid as he
believed. Trace lifted his face into the wind.
It that moment he had one particular person on his
mind and anyone who got in his way, well folks
disappeared all the time. He turned onto the highway and
followed the catnip scent of the woman he would claim
Laurel Cremant is an opinionated author and reader of romance with a wicked sense of humor. RNIC was smart (or crazy) to bring her on as a blogger. Come back on the second and fourth Thursdays of each month to get her romance industry news…with a colorful twist.