Rare Form by Jen Crane
(Descended of Dragons, #1)
Publication date: October 6th 2015
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
A Secret Past
Fiery redhead Stella Stonewall can’t decide between a margarita and a manhattan. The rest of her life? Please. Stella has never really fit in, and her pretty world comes crashing down when she learns it was never her world at all.
Rowan Gresham is domineering, brooding, and as sexy as chocolate-dipped sin. When he transports Stella to the magical realm of her parents she recognizes her rightful place immediately. Gresham’s motivations are less clear.
A Scorching Chemistry
The enigmatic Gresham aids in Stella’s metamorphosis and their chemistry ignites, though a long-time girlfriend and a significant age difference stand in the way.
A Battle for the Rest of Her Life
Stella’s life fast-tracks to extraordinary when she enrolls at Radix Citadel for Supernatural Learning, an enchanted college whose students turn furry on the regular. As Stella learns to navigate the magical new world of Thayer she must also find her animal form, a task as elusive as her ancestry. Stella soon faces an even greater challenge: staying alive long enough to learn to manipulate an animal form she never knew she possessed.
Stella attends Thayer’s annual Solsticefest, where a new friend’s band is playing.
“Hmm?” he leaned in to me in order to hear. God, he smelled so good—masculine and woodsy, and faintly of citrus. I leaned in closer and inhaled and the impulse struck me without warning. One minute I thought I’d like to lick his lips as if he’d dipped them in the whipped cream on a cappuccino, and the next minute…I was doing it. I leaned up onto my knees for a better angle, ran one hand behind his back, and the other into the thick hair at the back of his head. I lazily fulfilled my little fantasy before kissing him solidly on the mouth.
I can now admit that I may have been a little drunk from two pints of pear mead. Okay, I was a lot drunk from three pints of pear mead. Whatever. Solstice Fest.
He was so stunned at my actions that he did nothing.
Finally—finally!—he reciprocated. With a growl, he ran a thick arm around my middle and threw me onto my back. He braced himself over me, his breaths shuddering in and out as dark hair fell in fat, messy coils around his face. The look in his eyes was so savage that I had a terrifying little moment to decide whether to scream and scramble from his cage, or to throw myself at his beast. I chose the latter. He kissed me like a drowning man seizing the last precious gulps of air. Fuzzy as my brain had become I was cognizant enough to think, “Now this is passion,” just before I couldn’t think at all.
I was brought back to my senses by the very loud, very insistent throat clearing of one Timbra Redfern. Breaking free took effort, though he still held his body above mine, only our lips touching. He slowly leaned up, allowing me to sit upright on my elbows, the maximum physical effort I was willing to put forth at that particular moment.
“You’re going to want to see this,” Timbra assured me, shooting for disapproval but failing as she grinned.
“See wha…” I began, but trailed off when I caught the focus of her attention. Dressed in a burgundy corset with leather trim and brass grommets, a micro mini and fishnets with strategically-placed snags, Layla was a steampunk wet dream. Her bone corset cinched at the back with laces, and around her neck and bust with leather belts. Vintage Victorian boots rose to her knees.
But all of the careful planning of her wardrobe was grossly overshadowed by the event taking place at that moment, because live on stage Layla was changing into her animal form. As she sang the final note of a particularly haunting number, the band’s leather and clockwork-modded instruments straining to compete with the raw power of Layla’s voice, she exploded into her crow from the vivid tattoo at her chest.
The crowd gasped as Layla erupted into flight across the amphitheater, her grommeted accoutrements thudding to the floor.
Though she grew up on a working cattle ranch, Jen Crane has been in love with fantasy and science fiction since seeing a bootleg tape of Quantum Leap in the 90’s.
She has a master’s degree, and solid work histories in government and non-profit administration. She’s been published in reputable newspapers and magazines.
One day, though, she said, “Life’s too real for nonfiction. I’m gonna write about love and magic.”
Jen is happily living out her dream in The South with her husband and three children, striking that delicate balance between inspiration and frustration.
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