First Responders.

Wild Shores.

Radclyffe.

Synopsis.

Gillian "Gem" Martin is the lead biologist at a wildlife sanctuary on the Northeast coast and head of the Wildlife Emergency Response Team called in when catastrophes, man-made or natural, threaten the endangered species she studies. Austin Germaine is a troubleshooter, the hired gun for a big oil company, whose job is to help contain leaks and prevent media coverage of a pending disaster until the danger can be eliminated. If it can be.

When Gem and Austin meet by chance in the midst of an approaching hurricane, neither expects their immediate connection to lead them into uncharted territory as wild as the looming storm. When word of the spill gets out, Gem and Austin find themselves reluctant allies in a race against time to divert the spill and save the wildlife refuge and its endangered inhabitants-all while battling an attraction as unlikely as it is powerful.

A high-stakes race against time, the forces of nature, and the strongest power of all-the desire of the human heart.

A First Responders Novel.

Applause for L.L. Raand's Midnight Hunters Series.

The Midnight Hunt.

RWA 2012 VCRW Laurel Wreath winner Blood Hunt.

Night Hunt.

The Lone Hunt.

"Raand has built a complex world inhabited by werewolves, vampires, and other paranormal beings...Raand has given her readers a complex plot filled with wonderful characters as well as insight into the hierarchy of Sylvan's pack and vampire clans. There are many plot twists and turns, as well as erotic sex scenes in this riveting novel that keep the pages flying until its satisfying conclusion."-Just About Write.

"Once again, I am amazed at the storytelling ability of L.L. Raand aka Radclyffe. In Blood Hunt, she mixes high levels of sheer eroticism that will leave you squirming in your seat with an impeccable multi-character storyline all streaming together to form one great read."-Queer Magazine Online "The Midnight Hunt has a gripping story to tell, and while there are also some truly erotic sex scenes, the story always takes precedence. This is a great read which is not easily put down nor easily forgotten."-Just About Write.

"Are you sick of the same old hetero vampire/werewolf story plastered in every bookstore and at every movie theater? Well, I've got the cure to your werewolf fever. The Midnight Hunt is first in, what I hope is, a long-running series of fantasy erotica for L.L. Raand (aka Radclyffe)."-Queer Magazine Online "Any reader familiar with Radclyffe's writing will recognize the author's style within The Midnight Hunt, yet at the same time it is most definitely a new direction. The author delivers an excellent story here, one that is engrossing from the very beginning. Raand has pieced together an intricate world, and provided just enough details for the reader to become enmeshed in the new world. The action moves quickly throughout the book and it's hard to put down."-Three Dollar Bill Reviews.

Acclaim for Radclyffe's Fiction.

In Prescription for Love "Radclyffe populates her small town with colorful characters, among the most memorable being Flann's little sister, Margie, and Abby's 15-year-old trans son, Blake...This romantic drama has plenty of heart and soul."-Publishers Weekly.

2013 RWA/New England Bean Pot award winner for contemporary romance Crossroads "will draw the reader in and make her heart ache, willing the two main characters to find love and a life together. It's a story that lingers long after coming to 'the end.'"-Lambda Literary In 2012 RWA/FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW Aspen Gold award winner Firestorm "Radclyffe brings another hot lesbian romance for her readers."-The Lesbrary Foreword Review Book of the Year finalist and IPPY silver medalist Trauma Alert "is hard to put down and it will sizzle in the reader's hands. The characters are hot, the sex scenes explicit and explosive, and the book is moved along by an interesting plot with well drawn secondary characters. The real star of this show is the attraction between the two characters, both of whom resist and then fall head over heels."-Lambda Literary Reviews.

Lambda Literary Award Finalist Best Lesbian Romance 2010 features "stories [that] are diverse in tone, style, and subject, making for more variety than in many, similar anthologies...well written, each containing a satisfying, surprising twist. Best Lesbian Romance series editor Radclyffe has assembled a respectable crop of 17 authors for this year's offering."-Curve Magazine 2010 Prism award winner and ForeWord Review Book of the Year Award finalist Secrets in the Stone is "so powerfully [written] that the worlds of these three women shimmer between reality and dreams...A strong, must read novel that will linger in the minds of readers long after the last page is turned."-Just About Write In Benjamin Franklin Award finalist Desire by Starlight "Radclyffe writes romance with such heart and her down-to-earth characters not only come to life but leap off the page until you feel like you know them. What Jenna and Gard feel for each other is not only a spark but an inferno and, as a reader, you will be washed away in this tumultuous romance until you can do nothing but succumb to it."-Queer Magazine Online Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments "is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn't wait. It's sex when desire overrides reason, and it's incredibly hot!"-On Our Backs Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder "weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships."-Sapphic Reader Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a "crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending."-Independent Gay Writer.

Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time "is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot."-MegaScene.

Acknowledgments.

When I was small, I wanted to be a cowboy, or an astronaut, or a doctor on horseback. I wasn't drawn so much to adventure as I was to the idea of getting away to a place where life was what you made it-I never minded being alone, and a few good friends were enough for me when I needed company. I learned to love the "wilds" at an early age, camping every summer with my parents in the Adirondacks in an untamed stretch of mountains before the state park system discovered it. That meant no water except what came from one hand pump carried a bucket at a time down a dirt road, no showers, no toilets (flush or non), and no rules or regulations. The same ten families or so returned every summer to this uncivilized spot on the shores of a chain of lakes to spend a few weeks with nothing to do but fish, read, explore, and escape. This place was a sanctuary all on its own-for the people as well as the wildlife. As I wrote this book, I thought of Putts Pond and how little I appreciated the specialness of the experience at the time, and am ever grateful to my parents for their idea of the perfect vacation. So this one is for them.

Many thanks also go to: senior editor Sandy Lowe for keeping the show running while I write, editor Ruth Sternglantz for keeping an eye on the work as I go, editor Stacia Seaman for finding all the things I missed, Sheri Halal for a super cover, and my first readers Paula, Eva, and Connie for encouragement and inspiration.

And as always, thanks to Lee for every new adventure. Amo te.

Radclyffe, 2016.

To Lee, for making life a surprise.

Chapter One.

Austin was right in the middle of scripting a fight scene between Charos, the demon overlord, and Ciri, the Guild Hunter, when her cell phone vibrated. Wincing, she pulled her attention from the storyboard to check the number, already calculating outcomes. Depending on an assortment of variables, a phone call from Private Number at three a.m. had the potential to shoot the rest of her night and probably the next day all to hell. If she was unlucky, and if she took the call.

Between the third and fourth rings, Austin mentally factored in the likelihood there was a family emergency-low probability, no one in her family blocked their personal numbers, and if her parents or brother were in trouble, one of the others would call-versus an automated or highly motivated human solicitor for lowered credit card rates or zero-interest car loans-a slightly higher possibility, safely ignored-against a callout from the company. While the last would not be unusual, seeing as how disasters invariably happened in the wee hours, she'd just gotten back in-country after handling a high-profile personal injury suit in Malaysia and hadn't even scheduled the after-action report meeting yet. She couldn't be that unlucky.

She let the call go to voice mail and inserted a text bubble next to Charos's sneering, horned head.

Today is the day you die, Guild Hunter.

I've heard that before.

She sketched Ciri's smirking face in profile, the sheathed sword with its magically bejeweled pommel extending from the leather scabbard between her shoulder blades, her signature braid flowing over her shoulder. Red eyes for Charos, along with thin black lips, a scale-covered snout-like face, and curved protruding canines completed the panel.

Her cell danced on the drafting table again and she caught it with her free hand before it toppled to the rough plank floor.

"Germaine," she said, carefully keeping her irritation from her tone as she penciled out the next sequence.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Doctor," Eloise's cultured tones announced.

"You know by now," Austin said for perhaps the hundredth time, "you can skip the honorific. A doctorate in engineering might make me capable of changing the oil in my car, if I really wanted to, but beyond that, my therapeutic skills are limited."

"I'm quite sure I've heard you referred to as a miracle worker." Eloise laughed, her melodic voice belying her analytical mind and death-defying efficiency. "I'm afraid we might have a situation that needs your very particular attention."

Of course she did. There'd be no other reason for the VP of Operations of the U.S. division of General Oil and Petroleum to be calling personally at any time of the day or night. Austin set her drafting pencil aside, pushed her wheeled stool back from the table, and pivoted away, staring across her cabin to the dark windows that looked out over the Hudson. "How much of an issue? I've only been back in the country a few days, and I was hoping to go off the grid for a bit."

She didn't add that she had a deadline in a few weeks for the first draft of the graphic novel she was adapting from a paranormal urban fantasy series. That part of her life was private and bore no relationship to what she did for GOP. Even her family didn't know about her secret career, not that they'd put much stock in it. They'd far rather see her embroiled in a big burn or a high-profile media extravaganza with the potential for fireworks-no matter how metaphorical. Drawing and texting comics was something for teenagers.

"Rig 86 has a breach," Eloise said coolly and without apology for derailing Austin's plans, giving no indication of precisely how serious the situation might be.

Serious was a given. The company had land and offshore drilling sites throughout the world, and breaches were not uncommon. Usually they were small, confined, and repaired before anyone outside the company was really aware of the potential problem. If they were calling Austin, the company was worried.

"How large?" she asked.

"At the moment, a flow rate of only a few thousand barrels a day."

Austin walked through the living room to her bedroom beyond, opened the closet door, and pulled out her go bag. "Chance for containment?"

"Uncertain at this time."

She transferred shirts, pants, socks, and underwear from the rough oak dresser against one wall into the bag. Her toiletries and work boots were already loaded. Anything else she needed, she'd buy wherever she was going. Her wallet was on the dresser and she slid it into her back pocket. "Escalation potential?"

"Moderate at this point."

"Where is it?"

"About fifty miles from the Maryland shore."

"Damn." Why didn't these spills happen in unpopulated areas far from TV cameras, fishing waters, and beaches?

"Your flight has been scheduled to leave Albany at six," Eloise went on as if they'd been discussing a board meeting. "You'll transfer to a regional plane at BWI that will take you to Rock Hill Island. The present point of operations is at the Hilton nearest there."

"Who's the incident commander?"

"Ray Tatum. He's aware you'll be arriving."

"How long do we have before we need to go public?"

"We'll make that assessment when you arrive."

"You have a marine meteorologist available?"

"We will have. She's flying in from Philadelphia at about the same time you are."

"All right. I'll be in touch."

"There is one other thing," Eloise said in the same cool, even tone.

Austin tensed. Eloise was about to drop the hammer. "What would that be?"

"There's a large wildlife refuge on Rock Hill Island and surrounds. It's a well-known stopover for migratory birds and this is apparently the beginning of their nesting season. The area is a popular tourist destination."

"Where is it relative to the rig?" Austin locked the cabin, tossed her bag in the back of the Jeep, and climbed in.

"The island is almost directly in line with our rig and presently represents the outermost point of contact should the spill progress toward land."

"In other words, a PR nightmare." And now she understood why she'd been called at such an early point. Eloise wouldn't say it, but the company was counting on her to keep a lid on news of the breach. What she needed to do was plug the leak in terms of publicity, and if this wildlife refuge became threatened, to minimize the bad press.

"I'm sure you'll handle it."

"What do we know about this place and the people?" It was probably too much to hope they'd find someone sympathetic-environmentalists generally were opposed to any kind of drilling and, once an accident occurred, took full advantage of the situation to lobby against the whole industry.

"I'm afraid not very much," Eloise said. "I have people working on that now, but you'll probably never need to interface with them."

Austin read between the lines. Make sure the environmentalists don't get wind of the threat.

"Right." Austin backed down the drive. "By the time I get there, the problem might already be solved."

"Precisely."

"Right." Austin disconnected and drove toward the river, a black ribbon under the moon, quiet and still and deadly. Right.

"We'll be landing through a bit of a storm moving in from the south," the pilot announced. "Might be a bit bumpy for a few minutes, so I'll ask everyone to keep your seat belts on and close up your electronics at this time."

Gem flagged the page in the latest population report she'd received from the Carolina Coastal Observatory, closed her iPad, and slid it into her computer bag under the seat in front of her. She'd known the storm was coming and had caught the earliest flight out of Hartford she could before the anticipated fog rolling in with the front grounded planes along the East Coast. She'd been lucky to get one of the last coach seats still open. She didn't mind stormy weather-in fact, she often stood on the shore waiting for a front to roll in just to watch the beauty of the clouds roiling in the sky, dark blues and purples swirling and dancing, as if an invisible artist mixed the colors on a wild palette in a frenzy of creation. She loved the way the wind buffeted her hair and plastered her clothes to her body, the stinging bite of the first needle-sharp raindrops bringing every sense and cell to life. The sea felt it too-cresting and crashing as to the call of the wind. While she was often the only human on the beach, life around her pushed on as if in a race with the storm to lay claim to the shore. Terns and gulls scurried along the edge of the frothing waves, plucking up the sea creatures that struggled valiantly against the battering push and pull of the tides.

Even when the rain blew in solid sheets of icy water, she'd often stay, the scent of fresh pure air and the untamed sea filling her with wonder and peace. She loved those solitary moments when she knew in her bones her life was nothing but an inconsequential point in a vast continuum of time.

As much as she loved those moments of abandon, she detested flying in airplanes. The unnaturalness of it, being contained in a metal canister, breathing recycled air and other things she'd rather not consider, reminded her of how land bound she was and how different from the creatures she envied.

As the plane began to descend, she remembered the first time she'd told her mother she wanted to be a bird.

"Why is that?" her mother had asked patiently, never laughing at any of her wild fantasies.

"Because they can go anywhere they want, and they're never really alone, even when they're by themselves in the sky."

Her mother studied her and nodded gravely. "You know what we call that, honey?"

She'd shaken her head.

Her mother had patted her hair. "We call that freedom."

Freedom. Yes, but even the free flying creatures she loved were not really free, but bound by some innate instinct that directed their life cycle and bade them return to certain places every year, against all odds or adversity. They followed the call of some distant drummer, on a stage too ancient and too primal for her to ever understand. But she'd keep trying, and keep envying them.

The plane bumped down, bumped again, and the deceleration pulled her forward in the seat until the plane came to a halt. She glanced out the window, but it might as well have been midnight rather than just after seven a.m. Thick fog blanketed the runway. The lights from the terminal barely penetrated the murk. They were lucky they'd been able to land at all. She could have been diverted to Philadelphia or worse, where she'd end up spending days trying to get to the coast.

Still, her connection was undoubtedly going to be grounded.

As soon as the flight attendants opened the doors, she grabbed her computer bag and carry-on and trooped out, breaking away from the crowd as quickly as she could and heading for the rental car area. The lines snaked away from every counter, two and three people deep, as the departure board flashed canceled after nearly every flight.

She picked the shortest line and hoped for the best. She would have dearly loved a cup of coffee, but she wasn't giving up her spot for anything. She flicked through email while she waited, answered a few, and as she drew closer to the counter, began to hear snippets of conversation between stranded passengers and harried service representatives. The news wasn't encouraging.