As an Elder of a diminishing race, Garrick Forrester has lived through wars, plagues and two arranged marriages. But nothing he’s experienced has prepared him for the discovery of his mate or for her resistance. To keep Aisley Reeves safe from an unimaginable enemy, he must persuade her to become his willing countess, while keeping her under constant guard.

Imagine Aisley’s dismay when the Earl of Danford demands she become his betrothed by the close of a fortnight. Already fearful her work as a healer and her birthmark might tempt some to brand her as a witch, she believes it is best to keep her distance from the dark, mesmerizing earl whose thoughts she can hear and who reminds her of a black leopard patrolling the forest. However, when Garrick’s gifts become her only hope for survival, she must decide if she can trust her heart to a man who is far more than human.

An Excerpt From: SEDUCTIVE PERSUASION
Copyright © FRANCES STOCKTON, 2008
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“What brings you to our village on such a night as this?”
“I mean no harm, fair lady,” Haywood promised. His smile was little more than a gap-toothed leer. The balding man made her the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise, causing her to ignore her worry over the sawing rumble in the distance. “I wish to entertain the village. I have traveled far through the day’s rain in the hope of warding away your troubles for at least a night. Might I inquire as to whom quells my efforts?”
“Aisley, a healer, and I speak not for myself, but for the villagers. This village has not gone unscathed by plague. We have lost many. I would not wish for the sickness to return.”
“Nor would I,” Haywood responded. Feigning elegance, he bowed at the hips. The expense of his green and tan robe and the silk of his gypon made him appear a man of means. At the hem of his robe, Aisley caught a glimpse of a sword. “I am free of plague. You may inspect me for lesions if it would set your mind at ease.”
The rumbling she’d heard grew more prominent, sounding like an animal. It felt as if the beast was warning her against inspecting the man. Oddly, no one else seemed to hear it.
“I think it best if you leave before the villagers lose more coin.” Inspecting this man would require three areas, the armpit, neck and the inner thighs. Touching him was not something she relished, regardless of her vow to attend those in need.
“Aisley, do not rush him off. He promises to reveal the creature behind that curtain, and I, for one, have paid to see it,” Howard Jones said.
It was difficult to avoid staring at the curtained stage resting behind the stranger. The jester had tumbled his way to one side of the wheeled contraption and hung from a ladder. The minstrel strolled toward the opposite.
“Throwing away money like this can only lead to trouble,” Aisley said.
“How is it that a woman speaks so bold?” Sedgewick Haywood demanded.
“It is common for Aisley to do so,” Andrew White answered. “Her father was a physician for the Earl of Danford. She is valued amongst us.”
“Then why have you given what this man has asked?” Aisley wondered aloud.
“Curiosity.”
“We want to see what he has to offer.”
“Worry not, Aisley. All will be well.”
The villagers relayed their wishes and Aisley stepped back. She could not deny them a few moments pleasure. Even her curiosity was piqued.
More pennies hit the ground as Sedgewick demanded. Apparently pleased with the villagers, the visitor bowed once again in acceptance.
“Ah, at last my performers will grant your due,” Haywood pronounced. Proudly, he moved to the side. “Beware, dear friends, sometimes myths can be proven.”
Both the minstrel and the jester beckoned to the crowd and the curtain before them. Whispers filled the air, but they could not mask the eerie sawing drawing ever closer to the village.
Did no one else hear the beast? It sounded as if he roared from a mountaintop.
“What is that I hear?” she asked. “Is someone cutting branches in the forest?”
“I hear nothing of the sort, Aisley,” Howard said.
Ease your worry, little one, only you can hear me, someone said, someone male with a deep, gruff voice. I am close. Do not provoke the visitor.
“Who spoke to me?” Aisley demanded, glancing about. The villagers stared back as though she’d gone mad.
“Your attention, healer,” Haywood insisted. “To one and all, I give you living proof of werewolves in England!”
“Werewolves…are you mad, Haywood?” Andrew asked.
“Nay, I tell you true, feast your eyes on a werewolf’s babe.” Sedgewick swept his right hand toward the jester, who sliced a rope and the curtain shushed to the ground.
“Oh!”
“Evil.”
“Witchery.”
“What do you mean by this?”
“Deplorable…”
“Barbaric…”
Aisley gasped in horror as the villagers voiced her feelings. A child with large, rounded blue eyes stared at them and wept, pleading for love. It was barbaric to see such a beautiful girl subjected to such cruelty.
“Dastard,” Aisley accused. “How dare you cage a child?”
“It is for her safety and yours, dear lady.”
“Nay, this is an atrocity the likes of which none of us have seen.”
“All should know by now there are no werewolves or men that can change into animals,” Howard said. “You show us an unfortunate child.”
“Can you not see her deformity?” the visitor insisted. “This occurs in children of a werewolf.”
“You speak of what is evil, Haywood!” Andrew White shouted.
“Nay, cease! I beg you,” Aisley warned. Talk of evil could spread quickly amongst the crowd. “There is no evil here. This child is an angel from God, not some creature.”
“Mayhap the healer feels herself capable of speaking for God,” Sedgewick hedged, rounding on Aisley and marching toward her. “Be careful in your speech, healer. It would be unwise to speak of His will in such a way.”
“There is nothing wrong in speaking of God.”
“Yet you are certain you can dispel the existence of evil.”
“Evil is a man who can cage a child!” Aisley accused.
“Step away from me, woman! How dare you speak to me with such disrespect? I see standing before me a woman of flame red hair, freckles upon her face and a dark patch of skin right beneath her chin, a woman who shouldn’t be so outspoken.” Sedgewick looked at the villagers. “Your healer bears the marks of a witch. She should be sent to a priest to confess her sins.”
Unbidden, tiny bumps pricked Aisley’s skin as Sedgewick spoke of witchcraft. Because of her father’s teachings, the villagers of Danford did not believe a birthmark was the mark of evil. Such talk could sway minds, causing hysteria and fear.
“My mother bore freckles and my father the same red hair. He also had a mark on his shoulder similar to that which you see beneath my chin. You’ll not find a villager amongst us who would think they were anything less than good, decent Christians, nor I,” she said.
“She speaks the truth,” Andrew added in her defense.
The jester and the minstrel pulled long, sharp daggers from their scabbards. Andrew and others stepped forward to protect the women of the village. Aisley turned away and rushed to the cage.
Realizing she shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to Sedgewick, Aisley tried reason. “Please sir, please free this child and let me take care of her,” she urged and reached for the door.
“Step away anon! That child is not what you think. She is eight with the mind of a babe. There is nothing that you can do to change that. She has been in my charge for nigh unto three years. She is clothed and fed. Another man would have left her to die. “
“It matters not what you say. I beg you to allow me to attend her. I am a healer. I can take care of her.”
Aisley faced the child, attempting to smile, to soothe as best she could from the slight distance. She would love to trace the girl’s wispy brown hair back behind her ears and wash away the dirt streaked across her plump, round face.
“You will be all right, sweet angel. Fear no more.” She paid no mind to the rush of voices warning her to stop.
“Healer, touch what belongs to me and I will make you pay dearly for it,” Sedgewick threatened in a voice so frightening it sent tremors down her spine. “Take your hand from that door or I will cut it off.” The sound of a sword being removed from its scabbard sang close to her ear. From the corner of her eye she saw the stranger raise his arm. She was certain he was about to let the blade slice through her wrist if she didn’t let go of the cage, but she was too frightened to move.
“Threaten what is mine, knave, and you will face a wrath unlike anything you could comprehend!” A man’s unexpected voice rumbled behind them. The unusual sawing she’d heard from the woods reached her then and she trembled, yet she couldn’t understand why no one else reacted to it.

Book 2 in the Panthera series.

Plagued by headaches and memory loss, Rhiannon has spent years being unknowingly prepared to become the wife of an earl. When the man displays a mysterious painting, she is inexplicably drawn to its depiction of a mythical race. Believing she may be related to them, she and her lady’s maid flee to Florence in the hopes of finding the artist. While visiting the Piazza della Signoria two months later, she is unaware that the very man she needs to find has been watching her.

Artist Dante is an Abcynian Elder, capable of changing into a lion. The moment he recognizes Rhiannon’s panthera leo heritage he rushes to claim her. He discovers her illness and takes her home. As she heals, they fall in love and Dante helps her reclaim her memory. But their future happiness will be threatened by her fears of the past and a vicious man’s plans for Rhiannon.

An Excerpt From: RHIANNON’S PRIDE
Copyright © FRANCES STOCKTON, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
As Dante progressed toward the Palazzo Vecchio, his keen eyes raked the crowd, alighting upon the back of an Englishwoman. Her scent became stronger, drawing him to a sudden halt. Si, she was the one he’d been looking for.
Unlike Florentine women and servants who wore fabrics that conveyed their household’s status and wealth, this woman wore a faded brown dress with a linen apron. Her pale blonde hair was confined in a severe knot at the nape. She was at least a head and shoulders taller than most women in the piazza, including the older maid hovering nearby. The woman’s thinness bothered him, as it hinted she may have recovered from a recent illness or gone hungry too long.
Frowning, Dante moved close enough to pounce should she attempt to run and far enough away to observe her without detection. Her cassia scent tugged at his conscience, warning there was something about her he might miss if he did not take the time to study her.
As he watched he realized why her scent reached him over and above the other women. Cassia shared origins with cinnamon, two spices often used in Abcynian sustenance for flavor. The Englishwoman’s fragrance was inherent, not the result of perfume. She moved slowly, with both grace and purpose. He guessed she would be strong, that her movements were made to avoid hurting herself or someone else.
Instinct told him she was only part panthera Abcynian. Had she been fully his kind, he’d have sensed her the moment she stepped into the piazza. He assumed that she had either been converted or she was the child of a converted pair.
Drawing in her spicy fragrance, Dante found himself hesitating. This Englishwoman could well be his mate. If he spoke to her and she acknowledged him, he would claim her as his mate by right of Abcynian law. He didn’t know if he was ready to be mated, regardless of being an Elder.
Being mated meant sacrifice. Mated meant he could no longer take another lover. Dio knew he loved women, too many to count if he were honest. Whether they were young or older, heavy or slight, tall or short, their uniqueness touched his soul and made him long to become as masterful in bed as he was with a paintbrush and chisel. He’d lived two hundred and forty-two years, forty-two of them as an Elder. Was it right to claim one woman and ignore the rest?
With a start, his concerns became inconsequential when she turned. Lifting her chin, she revealed her face, reminding Dante of the first time he’d seen a naked woman. He’d been unable to move then, unable to find his voice or do anything other than stare.
This woman was neither naked nor pleasantly attired. But she was beautiful with her honey colored skin and pale blonde hair. Her face was blessed with the high cheekbones and elegant, straight nose of a female panthera leo, a firm though feminine chin and a lush mouth that made him groan. Her lips were as ripe and plump as berries, begging for a man’s kiss. Yet it was her eyes that caught his heart. They were pure, haunting amber, hinting of a woman’s vulnerability and a lioness’ curiosity.
Unwilling to delay further, Dante spoke to her with his mind. Bella, per favore viene.
Waiting in silence, he watched her look over at the older servant. “Mary, I think someone spoke to me,” she said. Her voice was huskier than he’d imagined in a woman so beautiful. In an instant he was intrigued and aroused by it.
Smiling when she’d acknowledged hearing his voice within her mind, Dante stalked toward her.
Testing her, he continued to speak in the way of Abcynian mates. Come si chiama, bella?
Her pretty scowl sent need pooling low and deep in his groin. Already, he wanted to take her home and consummate their pairing. Surprised at how quickly he responded to her, he recalled Lucien Hunter’s advice before he’d come to Florence. “Always remember, my son, it will take a moment for your panthera half to recognize your mate. But it will take a lifetime to love her as she deserves.” With his guardian’s words echoing in his mind, Dante ignored his aching groin.
Again his mate spoke to the older woman at her side. “Mary, I’m worried. Do you see anyone looking at me?”
Dio! Dante grimaced, looking about. His mate possessed the inherent grace of all Abcynian women, drawing favor from the men and envious glares from the wealthiest women. She seemed not to notice the curious stares.
Dante’s instinct to claim her warred with his humanity for dominance, forcing him to swallow hard to keep from roaring. It would not do for him to challenge every man that dared to look upon his mate.
I see I shall have to speak English to gain your attention, cara. In the way of our kind, tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.
“Rhiannon, are you feeling well?” The older maid revealed his mate’s name before Rhiannon could answer.
“I’m fine, Mary. I thought I heard a man whisper to me.”
Do not ignore me, Rhiannon. This is not a whisper. Your maid should not have been the one to answer your mate.
“Your mate!”