Hi guys, we have Kate Sherwood popping in today with her new release Shelter from the Storm, we have a great excerpt and a fantastic giveaway so check out the post and enter the giveaway! ❤ ~Pixie~

Shelter from the Storm

Kate Sherwood

A healer and a warrior fight to survive the winter . . . and each other.

Grif is tired of life as a mercenary—tired of life, period. So he heads off into the mountains, not much caring whether he lives or dies. But when his indifference leaves him unconscious in a snowbank, a stranger finds him and insists on dragging him back from death.

Kiernan doesn’t really have time to nurse a stranger back to health; he’s on an important mission. He doesn’t know why the message he’s carrying is significant, but he’s determined to deliver it, even if it means risking his life in the winter mountains. Still, he can’t just walk away from a fellow traveler in need.

Grif didn’t want to be saved, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to be stuck with an annoying, naïve do-gooder. But since when do the mountains give men what they want?  The snow is too deep to travel. Food is scarce. Grif and Kiernan learn to depend on each other, and eventually to care about each other. Neither of them wanted it to happen. But sometimes the mountains don’t give men what they want; sometimes, the mountains give men what they need.

Excerpt!

Grif knew better. Hells, a beardless pup who still thought his dick was only a piss-tube would know better than to hike through the Whitetooth Mountains this late in the season, and there had been a lot of long, hard years since Grif had been that young. Aye, Grif knew better; he just didn’t care.

Well, he hadn’t cared half a moon ago when he’d set out from Burtonsford. There were many people in that little town who wanted him dead, and he’d be damned if he’d give any of them the satisfaction of taking him down. The mountains might kill him, but at least they wouldn’t enjoy it.

So he’d wrapped himself in the warmest clothes he’d been able to steal and started walking. He’d filled his belly when there was something to hunt and gone hungry when there’d been nothing, and he hadn’t much distinguished between the two states. Day after day, working his way up and down the endless slopes, trudging toward a future he didn’t care to see. Maybe he’d finally found the state of peaceful acceptance those monks over in Bitramar had always gone on about. Maybe the monks weren’t as crazy as they’d seemed after all.

When the wind picked up, sweeping down the narrow pass like a rushing, icy river, he knew it was the end. Not enough snow on the ground to burrow into and find shelter, but too much of the damn stuff in the air for a man to see farther than a half step in front of himself. Would Grif lose his way and stumble off a cliff, or would he freeze to death? Were the gods up there somewhere, sipping their wine and idly watching him, taking bets on his horrid end?

No. The gods had no interest in a man like Grif Longreach.

Longreach. His favorite of the surnames he’d earned over his lifetime. It was the only one he wanted to take with him to the next world, so he tried to focus on it as he walked on. Not Battleaxe, not Sellsword, not even Runner, as he’d been known as a child. Not Goatblood, not Rivermud, not Seapuke. So many names, so many stories—so many things he’d rather forget.

Longreach, he chanted in his mind as he trudged on, leaning against the wind as if it were a physical wall. He was tall. He had a long reach. That was all. No blood, no battle, no weapons, no pain. Longreach. Longreach.

He stumbled and caught himself.

Then he stumbled again, couldn’t catch himself, went down—and struggled back to his feet.

What was he doing? Had he forgotten already? Was he too damned stupid to keep one simple idea in his mind? You don’t care, Grif Longreach. It’s time to stop. Time to let go. Time to give up.

Oh, shit. That was the problem. He’d blown it. Now that he was thinking of it as giving up, he couldn’t do it. There was another name from the past—Grif Mulehead. His own father had given him that one, and then tried to beat the reason for it right out of him. Of course the beatings had only driven Grif away from home, turned him into Grif Breadthief and Grif Sweetmouth until he’d learned enough to become Grif Quickhands and then Grif Smallboss.

Now, though, it was as though he’d gone back to the beginning of it all. Grif Mulehead. Struggling to his feet after every blow, refusing to lie down, refusing to give up. Refusing to be beaten, even by a force as powerful as his father, as powerful as winter in the mountains. So he kept going.

But he was slowing down. Freezing up.

That was okay, though. There was no shame in dying. No shame in losing. It was the quitting that was a disgrace.

So on he trudged. Falling more often, and starting to feel warm, which meant the end was near. Too damned cold to know he was cold; it was like being too stupid to know he was stupid.

It took him a while to realize the ground had started sloping downward instead of upward. Maybe a valley? Maybe somewhere the snow had drifted, accumulated enough to give some shelter. Or had he made it over the peak of the mountain range? Was he past the dry, windswept eastern slopes and heading into the snowy, windswept western slopes?

Maybe. But he was too far gone. No strength left to build a burrow, no heat in his body to warm even the smallest nest. He was done. It was over.

He knew that was true, but still, when he took the last step and his foot kept going with no ground to stop it, he tried to pull himself back. He flailed his arms, desperate to find something to hold on to, something to save him, but there was nothing but frozen air. He was falling. He was finished.

Grif Wrongstep. That was the name on the top of his mind as his body tumbled over the edge. Then everything was gone.

About Kate!

Kate Sherwood started writing about the same time she got back on a horse after almost twenty years away from riding. She’d like to think she was too young for it to be a midlife crisis, but apparently she was ready for some changes!

Kate grew up near Toronto, Ontario (Canada) and went to school in Montreal, then Vancouver. But for the last decade or so she’s been a country girl. Sure, she misses some of the conveniences of the city, but living close to nature makes up for those lacks. She’s living in Ontario’s “cottage country”–other people save up their time and come to spend their vacations in her neighborhood, but she gets to live there all year round!

Since her first book was published in 2010, she’s kept herself busy with novels, novellas, and short stories in almost all the sub-genres of m/m romance. Contemporary, suspense, scifi or fantasy–the settings are just the backdrop for her characters to answer the important questions. How much can they share, and what do they need to keep? Can they bring themselves to trust someone, after being disappointed so many times? Are they brave enough to take a chance on love?

Kate’s books balance drama with humor, angst with optimism. They feature strong, damaged men who fight themselves harder than they fight anyone else. And, wherever possible, there are animals: horses, dogs, cats ferrets, squirrels… sometimes it’s easier to bond with a non-human, and most of Kate’s men need all the help they can get.

After five years of writing, Kate is still learning, still stretching herself, and still enjoying what she does. She’s looking forward to sharing a lot more stories in the future.

Connect with Kate:

Website: http://katesherwoodbooks.com/
Twitter: @kate_sherwood

Giveaway!

To celebrate the release of Shelter from the Storm, Kate is giving away a $10 Riptide credit!

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