Marie Treanor

Freeing Al, Ebook, Available Now from Ellora's Cave
Book three in the Psychic Seductions series.

Big Al MacNab is in trouble. Recently out of prison, he’s running his late uncle’s pub in the Scottish Highlands and trying to make a success of a local music festival. But he’s haunted by his own past—as well as by two persistent ghosts. Every criminal in the country wants to kill him, the police want to put him back in prison and his mother wants him to stop swearing. He doesn’t need a sexy vampiress serving drinks in his pub, let alone showing him kinky new uses for the restraints in his cellar.

Draguta, a vampire in search of a cause, has come to Scotland to find her ex-lover, Karoly, who owns the Transylvanian castle she wants to turn into a vampire safe house. Biting Al releases a lot of pent-up lust which has to be assuaged.

Falling in love with Al revives a compassion and humanity she no longer knows how to deal with. Worse, she knows that after helping to free Al from his problems, she has to free him from herself.

Read Reviews
Read Excerpts

Reviews:

"a great book and entertaining reading. I hope to read many more of Ms. Treanor’s books." - 4.5 Stars and Reviewer's Top Pick, Countrygirl 88, Night Owl Reviews.

Excerpts:

Protesting, the door opened. I stepped into the profound darkness. My sense of danger was no stronger in here. It was simply the pub cellar, full of beer casks and wine racks and manacles.

Manacles?

I didn’t need a light to see the thick metal glinting in the darkness. Shiny and new and securely attached to the wall. All the walls. They appeared to be on some kind of adjustable runners, presumable to accommodate different heights. Chains hung down from hooks above them in some elaborate bondage network.

Intrigued, I moved further inside, looking about me. The floor was clean, although at several points near the wall, there were daubs of paint, almost as if a tin of the stuff had leaked as it had been carried and the resulting white trail had been imperfectly cleared up. But I thought it significant that the white spots were grouped in twos, like feet marks.

There was a chair in the middle of the floor, a sort of modified arm chair with several open metal cuffs waiting to close round the arms of whoever sat in it. A chain belt hung down either side, presumably to act as a lap strap. Propped up against the chair was a well-used cricket bat. On a table beside it, six strips of leather were laid out, their purpose unclear. I could think of a few.

In fact, looking around this lot, I began to think of quite a lot. Either something very weird was going on, or someone in this house was into some pretty kinky sex. My mouth watered. My pussy began to leak as I remembered how long it was since I’d had any sex at all. The scarred barman sprang back into my mind, dragging the chains around my naked body, unfastening his jeans to reveal—

All very well, Draguta, but sexual fantasy won’t find the source of the danger!

Above me, something creaked. My head snapped up and round, To my left, stairs led upward, presumably to the pub itself. I caught a glimpse of paler darkness around the fast-moving figure of a man as a door at the top opened and closed.

In the darkness, he wouldn’t be able to see me, but I could see him, running stealthily down the stairs and dodging immediately to the left. Amused, I watched him stand very still for a human, poised and listening.

It was the barman. Tall and big-boned, wearing a dark woollen sweater with the sleeves pulled up. He was tense, watchful, alert. I had the impression that he would hear me if I so much as breathed. Fortunately, I don’t breathe.

Without warning, the outside door slammed shut and a light came on, blinding me. I staggered backward without meaning to and grabbed at the table to save myself.

“Shite!” said the barman in the local vernacular. “Don’t touch that!”

Still blinking in the sudden blaze of an electric bulb, I was hazily aware of him leaping across the space between us.

Instinctively, I threw myself away from him into the wall, just as something—a net, weighted at the sides?—fell from nowhere over the armchair.

“Nor that!” yelled the man, and this time he actually caught my hand, swinging me away from the wall. He was strong, for a human, but I’d had enough. Instead of pulling free at once, I held onto his hand long enough to aim for the white paint-marks on the floor. Then I slammed him into the wall and leapt backward. It seemed my guess was right, for three steel bands shot out of the wall, and around his middle. Chains fell around him and broad cuffs closed around his arms with two short, sharp snaps.

It seemed I could see again. The chained-up man in the manacles stared at me.

“Bugger,” he said. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”