Our Choice Anthology

Romance For Roe


An anthology of 36 romance stories in aid of Planned Parenthood and NARAL Pro-Choice. With romance subgenres of Contemporary, Historical, and Speculative (Sci-Fi, PNR, Fantasy).

Featuring stories by:

Jackie Barbosa

Susannah Nix

Cathy Pegau

Liz Crowe

Siobhan Muir

McKenna Dean

Tara Crescent

Red L. Jameson

Jody Wallace

Carrie Lomax

Jackie Lau

Alison Packard

Shae Connor

Debra Jess

Nico Rosso

Adele Buck

Cora Lee

Ella Drake

Zoe York

Megan Frampton

Eva Leigh

Vanessa North

Elizabeth Cole

Laura Lovely

Evelyn Isaacks

Sagan Morrow

Caitlyn Lynch

Eve Pendle

Katrina Jackson

Elizabeth Bright

Cecilia London

Sadie Haller

Regina Kammer

Savannah J. Frierson

D.B. Seiders

Liz Lincoln

Jonarrion Swiftwind took a deep breath of the early spring wind and caught the rancidness of a demon’s decay, just as he’d suspected. The stories coming out of this part of the human country of Scotland had suggested demon activity, but the scent on the wind confirmed it. He narrowed his eyes and grimaced a silent snarl as he resumed his walking pace down the road toward the little village of Lochmore Cott.

Bloody bastard is here, all right. I’ll have to permanently relocate him.

Feral excitement shot through his veins. He looked forward to the fight. Trudging through the frozen lands of the Scottish clans had never been his favorite activity. Daft Scots are crazy to live where it’s so damn cold. The Irish are far more sensible.

Jonarrion reached the bend in the road leading away from the Loch and slowed, scenting something sweet on the wind. He raised his gaze to a hillock above the Loch and scanned the trees, searching for the beguiling scent. When he saw the lass, he stumbled to a stop, transfixed.

She was lovely and ethereal, like the Fae, though she had an earthiness grounding her. Deep auburn hair escaped the tight hold of the shawl wrapped around her head, and pale skin glowed gently in the fitful light of the moon. She stood taller than most lassies he’d seen, and generous curves filled out her clothes.

That lass would pleasure any male and carry his progeny without trouble. Jonarrion’s cock responded by hardening to the thought of sliding into her heat. He could picture her glossy auburn hair draping across the bedding while he pounded into her.

A panicked warning screamed through his mind, and his blood froze despite the girl’s beauty in the moonlight. His cockstand shriveled like a kick in the balls. It’d been fifty years since he’d last slept with an unbedded human female, with disastrous results.

Aye, now your sister-by-law is dead, your brother is a widower, and you roam the world, killing demons and seeking forgiveness. How is that working for you? He never stayed anywhere too long, and no matter how much he wished for a family of his own, he couldn’t allow himself such pleasure when he’d destroyed his brother’s happiness. He’d reached seven hundred years now, and he had a job to do here at the village of Lochmore Cott. Family fantasies were just that. Fantasies.

Jonarrion shook his head, trying to clear it of memories. He watched the redheaded lass square her shoulders and nod sharply as the moon sent one last shaft of light to illuminate her. She became a glorious angel, her beauty a gift from the Goddess for the work he’d done. The light disappeared, and she vanished into obscurity over the edge of the hill toward the village of Lochmore Cott.

Ah well, you knew you couldn’t have her. He sighed and resumed walking again along the road. Perhaps he’d see her while he stayed in the village, looking his fill from afar. He knew it was all he could do, because any girl with such beauty and obvious breeding had a family looking out for her. And they’d never give such a girl to a dragon. He chuckled ruefully.

Jonarrion wrapped his Dublin plaid, a special blend of pale turquoise, oxblood, and crimson, with a single strand of yellow for his family, around his head and shoulders to keep out the wind. The weight of his bastard sword thumped gently against his back as he walked. He adjusted the thick leather belt, securing it to his hips so it wouldn’t rub against his subsiding cockstand.

Seven hundred years old and the bloody thing still has a mind of its own. He pushed his six-foot-three-inch frame against the wind and hoped the village boasted a decent inn. He could use a warm bed and a hot meal, not to mention a bath. His last bed had been the heather for which the Scottish Highlands were famous, and it had left him smelling like a windswept moor.

If he had luck on his side, he’d see the Fae-like girl once more. Even if not, she’d certainly feature in his dreams that night.

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