Monday, February 16, 2015

Your Mission: Meet Elite Operative Mercury #EliteMetal

Serum 17 took his face, took his kindness and took his empathy. It took, in essence, all of John Thrace leaving only the Elite Metal operative "Mercury" in his place. A man marked with a biohazard tattoo because he knows he's incompatible with other living things. Until he becomes obsessed with the seemingly innocent doctor Hazel Brewer and a chance encounter changes everything. 

Hazel knows the giant scarred man won't hurt her even though she's in the business of saving lives and he'd rather take them. In fact, she's never felt safer or more alive than when she's with him. Even when a terrible biological weapon forces her into his arms for a night of hot passion she won't soon forget. 

Their love could be the redemption he never thought he wanted, or something even more toxic: Mercury's poison. 


John Thrace didn’t bother to block the bloodied knuckles that connected with his face. In fact, he laughed. Laughed like a madman as the punches kept crashing into him. He kept waiting for it to hurt, kept waiting to feel something.

Kept waiting for it to matter.

His opponent was some no-name thug from the street looking to make history. Looking to move up in his gang. Maybe even get another teardrop tattoo next to his eye.

He roared, this other man with his bloodied fists and bared teeth. Roared with a rage that was nothing but a drop in the endless ocean of John’s own. So he laughed again, even as the contact spun his head to the side and he spat the blood that dribbled down from his nose and over his lips.

“Hit. Me.” He demanded, punctuating each word. “Otherwise you’re just wasting my time.”

Another blow connected, but still, to his great rage, his horror, and his abject despair, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

The small crowd that had gathered booed as they watched the giant, scarred man get his ass kicked without putting up the fight they were looking for. The fight they’d bet on. They’d want a piece of him too if he went down easy.

Maybe he’d feel that. Maybe finally, he’d be punished for his sins.

Serum 17 had taken more than his good looks. When it had spontaneously combusted and gone airborne, it tore through the left side of his face with a hundred blades, but it had damaged something deeper. He still hadn’t figured out if it was his pain and pleasure receptors, or the processing centers of his brain.

That seemed pretty inconsequential when he considered what it had done to his team. The whole left side of his body scarred like he’d been dipped in acid, but he still breathed. He hadn’t drowned in his own blood and screams like the rest of the team. He would have, if the project manager hadn’t suited up and dragged him to the decontamination unit. He could still see it so clearly—the cystic blisters blooming, the blood—so much fucking red.

John wouldn’t think about that now, he couldn’t. He had to think about this moment, about how he was going to get his fix. How he was going to make himself hurt on the outside as much as on the inside.

Saranna’s Links:


Win the Elite Metal Party Pack 

Anna Alexander:  Adamantium t-shirt & Autographed copy of The Cowboy Way; Saranna DeWylde: Ebook bundle of Fat and Slut; Jennifer Kacey: Signed print copy of Jennifer Kacey’s  BDSM Anthology and extra goodies; Heather Long: A print, autographed copy of Her Marine Bodyguard and $10 GC to Amazon; Roxie Rivera: MMA tshirt, Autographed copy of a print book & a button; Rebecca Royce:   Signed print copy of Alphas Strength and a choice of an ebook from her backlist; Sabrina York: Tiara Signed Tryst Island Print Book and Bling.

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Other Books By Saranna


“You’re pretty, for a fat girl.” 

That’s nothing Claire Howard hasn’t heard before, and there’s part of her that doesn’t care, that thinks it’s okay to love herself just the way she is. Then there’s that other voice in her head, the one that plays on a constant loop that gets louder whenever people scrutinize her dinner order, snicker when she needs a belt extender on a plane, and outright laugh when they see her with her the kind of man they don’t think fat girls deserve. It reminds her that existing while fat is the worst thing in the world. It’s worse than being ignorant, bigoted or cruel—at least according to society’s standards. Even when she has the attentions of two men who are the embodiment of fantasy. 

But it’s not their love that matters, it’s her own. Fat is a brand that’s been seared into every aspect of her life—even her heart. Can Claire love herself enough to reach past the labels for her own happiness? 


“You’re a woman who is comfortable in her own sexuality. That necessarily means you must be labeled, categorized and filed away for everyone’s safety.” 

Rebecca “Bex” Foxworth likes that description of herself. It makes her sound strong, dangerous, and powerful—like she’s standing against some grand injustice by using her body as she sees fit. That’s how her friend Claire Howard sees her and if Claire has taught her anything, it’s that labels are defined by the people who wear them, and not the other way around. 

But SLUT is more than a label to Bex: it’s her armor. It protects her from ever having to share her true self. The loop in her head tells her she’s innately flawed and wholly unworthy. Why else would her parents insist she go under the knife for a new nose, a new body, and plastic perfection? 

That’s something Thornton Henry Edgeleaf would never understand. Thornton is perfect, in every way—handsome, worldly, passionate—with just one unforgivable flaw: he’s utterly sincere. It makes Bex want to run screaming, back into the familiar, indifferent arms of men who won’t fail to dismiss and mistreat her. But nothing’s as easy as it used to be… 

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