Hi peeps, we have T.A. Moore stopping by with her upcoming release Dog Days, we have a great ficlet and a fantastic giveaway, so check out the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~
The world ends not with a bang, but with a downpour. Tornadoes spin through the heart of London, New York cooks in a heat wave that melts tarmac, and Russia freezes under an ever-thickening layer of permafrost. People rally at first—organizing aid drops and evacuating populations—but the weather is only getting worse.
In Durham, mild-mannered academic Danny Fennick has battened down to sit out the storm. He grew up in the Scottish Highlands, so he’s seen harsh winters before. Besides, he has an advantage. He’s a werewolf. Or, to be precise, a weredog. Less impressive, but still useful.
Except the other werewolves don’t believe this is any ordinary winter, and they’re coming down over the Wall to mark their new territory. Including Danny’s ex, Jack—the Crown Prince Pup of the Numitor’s pack—and the prince’s brother, who wants to kill him.
A wolf winter isn’t white. It’s red as blood.
T.A. Moore & Dog Days Dog Treat!
I suppose it is a bit predictable for a Brit to write a book about weather, but there you go! Dog Days is my first shifter novel and I had a blast writing it. I love the characters, obstreperous little sods though they could be when I needed them to behave, and the setting in Durham is one I have a lot of time for. So, welcome to my dystopian Winter Wonderland, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
And to whet your appetite, here’s an exclusive ‘Dog Treat’ set before the events of Dog Days.
The fire scorched Danny’s knees through his worn jeans, making him sweat even with chill of a Highland autumn at his back. He sucked down a mouthful of warm, wet beer, and jeered good-naturedly at Milosz’s staunch claims that Lionel Messi was a god amongst footballers. His arm was slung casually over Marie’s shoulder, idly rubbing the chill she didn’t feel from her upper arm.
“He’s good, but he’s no Ronaldo,” Danny said, waving the bottle. He could get stronger from the Old Man’s shelves if he wanted, but it wasn’t about the buzz. His metabolism wasn’t as fast as a wolf’s, but it was fast enough to stop him catching drunk no matter how hard he chased it. The point was sharing flat beer and spit, the smell of sweat and hormones, and the easily offered membership.
It was the proof that he was more human than wolf. That he could do it.
A hand scruffed the back of his neck, fingers pressing down possessively against the ridge of tendons, and a lean, hard body settled onto the rock next to him. Danny sucked in an irritated breath, and tasted the crown prince pup of the pack in the back of his throat. Even if he’d been nose-blind as the humans, he’d have known it was Jack from the way Marie slid away from him like he’d suddenly scalded her.
Danny’s mind raced, trying to work out what he’d done that would warrant the attention of the Numitor’s heir. There was plenty — from the Bank of Scotland credit card he’d set up with odd job and cheating money to the list of Universities he had in his notebook — but nothing that any of the wolves should know about.
While Danny was groping for reasons, Jack took the beer out of his hand and swigged it down. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny could see Jack’s tanned throat working as he swallowed and the faint glint of gilt as the firelight caught on light stubble.
“Do I know you?” Harry asked, squinting through the smoke.
“Make yourself at home,” Doug snorted.
Jack wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It is my home. My Da owns everything from here to the farm.”
Uncomfortable silence fell. People liked dogs. There was something about them that they found reassuring. Wolves were unsettling, and there weren’t many wolves as Wild as Jack. He was the atavistic fear that something dangerous and sharp was watching you from the shadows.
Some people were drawn to it. There was plenty of evidence of that around the fire. Jack, however, wasn’t making any effort to spin the effect he had on people; he was just letting it thicken.
Danny laughed nervously and shoved his glasses up his nose. His ears were sweating, and he was uncomfortably aware that Jack’s hand was still on the back of his neck. His brain was firmly stuck on ‘oh shit’ about that, but his body was more interested in the flexing fingers and the fact that Jack was so far into his personal space that he could taste wolf before smoke when he breathed.
“Good thing he isn’t here then,” he said. “He’d kick us all off his land for not supporting Rangers.”
He actually might too. Politics and football were about the only two human things that the Old Man cared about. “One’s the only thing they do that affects us,” he liked to say. “The other’s the only thing humans ever made that matters.”
The joke broke the tension though, making laughter ripple through the group. Harry started to complain about Mr Patterson and algebra; Milosz grabbed another beer from his bag since Jack didn’t seem to be planning on giving the one he had back.
It wasn’t the same though. With Jack there, everyone had remembered that Danny wasn’t one of them. Not really.
“C’mon,” Jack said, standing up. His hand tightened on Danny’s neck, a mute demand that clenched an atavistic reaction down Danny’s spine to his gut.
Danny didn’t have to go. Maybe he was the bottom of the pack hierarchy, but he wasn’t prey. He still got up, tossing a half-hearted ‘see you at school’ to kids that weren’t listening. Marie started to get up too, but after a glance at Jack settled back down into her seat.
TA Moore genuinely believed that she was a Cabbage Patch Kid when she was a small child. This was the start of a lifelong attachment to the weird and fantastic. These days she lives in a market town on the Northern Irish coast and her friends have a rule that she can only send them three weird and disturbing links a month (although she still holds that a DIY penis bifurcation guide is interesting, not disturbing). She believes that adding ‘in space!’ to anything makes it at least 40% cooler, will try to pet pretty much any animal she meets (this includes snakes, excludes bugs), and once lied to her friend that she had climbed all the way up to Tintagel Castle in Cornwall, when actually she’d only gotten to the beach, realized it was really high, and chickened out.
She aspires to being a cynical misanthrope, but is unfortunately held back by a sunny disposition and an inability to be mean to strangers. If TA Moore is mean to you, that means you’re friends now.