New from Nicola Cameron: High Tide (Olympic Cove Book 5)

I can’t think of a better reason or way to revive this long-dormant blog than to announce the latest release from one of my absolute favourite people in the world, Nicola Cameron!

High Tide (Olympic Cove Book 5) by Nicola Cameron

Available: June 25, 2024
Publisher: Belaurient Press

A human, a mer, and a satyr walk into a cove…

Handyman Scott Siddell never expected to run into a merman and a satyr in one of his rental agency’s cottages. When he discovers that he’s also not quite human, Orrin and Rian are the only ones who can help him come to grips with his heritage—and his growing attraction to them.

Raised among humans, Orrin never had the freedom to choose. Now that he has mates, this brave satyr must fight those who want them separated forever.

Rian has spent his entire life on the run due to his siren heritage. Orrin and Scott are his one chance at happiness, but will they be able to escape the Mad Nereid and her deadly ally?

Read an excerpt

Where to Buy:
Books in the Olympic Cove series:


Scott knew he wasn’t imagining things—someone had definitely been in the cottage. Goddamn it. The place would have to be rekeyed at the very least. Swearing under his breath at the extra work, Scott stomped back through the master bedroom into the great room.

And stopped when he saw a shirtless man in the kitchen. The kitchen island hid the man’s lower half but everything else belonged on the cover of Men’s Health; broad swimmer’s shoulders, a powerful chest, and arms layered with sleek muscle. His face was just as enticing with its strong jaw, sculpted lips, and the prettiest storm blue eyes Scott had ever seen.

And he’s a squatter. Belatedly, Scott dropped the clipboard and brought the gun up, aiming for center of mass as he’d been taught. “Don’t move!” he yelled.

The man blinked. “Okay.”

Shit. I can’t tell him to get on the floor. He’ll be behind the island and I won’t be able to see him. “Put your hands up and come into the great room,” Scott ordered. “Slowly. You do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you.”

The man put his hands up, glancing down at himself. “Um, I don’t think you want me to do that,” he said, sounding strangely amused.

“Yes, I do. Get in here.”

“All right. But I did warn you.” The man stepped around the island slowly, revealing that he wasn’t so much shirtless as naked. In a friendlier situation Scott would have appreciated the view. Not only was the man’s lower half as toned and lean as his upper half, but he was also astoundingly well hung.

Scott forced his attention away from that mouthwatering cock. “Fuck.”

Another blink. “But we just met.”

“Shut up.”

The man’s fingers spread wider, revealing abnormally deep webbing between his fingers. “Sorry. I make bad jokes when I’m scared.”

The guy had a nice voice, too, a smooth, soothing tenor with a slight accent. He’s hot, built like an Olympic swimmer, and sounds like an English actor. Dammit, why didn’t I meet him on Grindr or at a bar? “Get on the floor, face down, and put your hands over your head.”

The man winced. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t give a shit what you want to do,” Scott snapped. “I’m the one with the gun. Now get on the floor.”

“Rian, did I leave my drink in here—” Another shirtless man came out of the utility room. “Oh, dear.”

Scott aimed at the new trespasser—and froze. The second man was also hot, with a nicely toned chest and arms, and his longish, curly brown hair and matching goatee would have looked at home on a surfer.

The two horns sticking out of his curls and the unmistakable points on his ears, however, were completely alien, as was the thick, shaggy coat of brown hair that started just below his waist and covered both legs down to where they terminated in a pair of cloven hooves. The only bare part below his waist was a thick cock nestled in a whorl of brown curls.

A shockingly primal wave of need slammed into Scott like a Mac truck, making the gun jitter in his hands. He was actually getting hard, what the hell, for this curly-haired—

“What are you?” he got out.

The second intruder gave him a hesitant smile. “Right, you’ve probably never met my kind before. I’m a satyr. My name’s Orrin, and this is Rian. We’re sorry for intruding. It’s just that we needed somewhere to rest and the place was empty, so we thought it would be all right.” He took a step forward.

“Stop!” Scott struggled against an overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, run his hands through Orrin’s hair, kiss him senseless— Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with you? He’s not even human! “Just … stop.”

Orrin did, smile melting away. “I’m sorry. We’re not going to hurt you, I swear.”

Damn skippy you’re not. He shifted the gun to his left hand and fumbled out his phone, silently relieved that he set it up to open with Face ID. “I’m calling the cops. And if either of you try to make a move on me, I swear to God I’ll shoot you.”

The satyr gave the other man—Rian?—a pleading look. Rian grimaced, then took in a deep breath and started humming. The melody was unfamiliar but sweet, like a lullaby Scott hadn’t heard in years, and the mix of adrenaline and desire pumping through his veins began to drain away. He blinked, trying to keep his gun aimed at Orrin.

The humming grew louder, turning into a soft, wordless song. He lowered the gun, struggling to think through his growing exhaustion. Why was he calling the cops? Okay, maybe Orrin and Rian shouldn’t be there, but they hadn’t trashed the place or anything. And Orrin was so gorgeous with his smile and his eyes and his little horns…

The intruders approached him cautiously, Ryan continuing to sing softly as the satyr plucked the gun and phone out of his unresisting hands.

“You must be tired,” Orrin said sympathetically, putting the objects down on a side table. “Why don’t you lie down and take a nap?”

A short nap sounded like a great idea. Scott headed to the couch and stretched out on it, closing his eyes.

“Just sleep,” he heard Orrin whisper. “You’ll forget all about this when you wake up.”

Someone slipped a cushion under his head and draped a soft throw over him before stroking his hair. That’s nice. Then he heard a soft, hissed curse before sleep lured him into oblivion.


About the Author:

Nicola Cameron is a married woman of a certain age who really enjoys writing about science fiction, fantasy, and romance. When not writing about those things, she likes to make Stuff™. And she may be rather fond of absinthe.

While possessing a healthy interest in romance since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that she decided to write about it. The skills picked up during her SF writing career transferred quite nicely to speculative romance. Her To Be Written work queue currently stands at around fifteen books, and her mojito-sodden Muse swans in from Bali every so often to add to the list, cackling to herself all the while.

Nicola plans to keep writing until she drops dead over her keyboard or makes enough money to buy a private island and hire Rory McCann as her personal trainer/masseur, whichever comes first. Because it’s important to have goals.

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