Vigilante of Shadows FEATURED TODAY

vigilanteofshadowsThe beginning of a new series from Miranda Stork, the action begins fast and hard with a murder, an immortal murderer, and a bright young police officer caught in the action. Oh, and shadowpeople and a demon. Did I not mention those? Vigilante of Shadows sets the series off on a path that will be humourous, horrifying, and just a little bit steamy. A path where this time…the whole of humanity hangs in the balance.

Buy links:

Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/Miranda-Stork/e/B0082YW92S/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1352814206&sr=8-2-ent

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Miranda-Stork/e/B0082YW92S/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1352814299&sr=8-2-ent

Moon Rose Publishing www.moonrosepublishing.com

Blurb:

Aodhan clutched uselessly at his head, groaning. He knew it was useless, because the voice was not inside his head. It followed him, skimming across buildings and land. It had followed him since he was sixteen, and it still followed him today, like a memory too horrific to be forgotten…

Aodhan is a shadow-demon, hardened and cold after years of being alone, after his love, his Entwined, was cruelly taken away from him. He has closed his heart to the world, and now spends his life ridding the world of men like those who took his beloved away, an immortal hit-man…

Arianwen Harris is a young DCI, working for York City Police. When a known criminal is found viciously killed, she finds herself trailing a hit-man who has seemed to escape clutches again and again…but she begins to find herself drawn to his dark charms and roguish good looks…

As their two worlds collide, Aodhan and Arianwen find themselves coming together to escape a far greater enemy, one that threatens to create a world far worse than the one they live in. As they battle to hold back the oncoming forces, fate has another plan; one to draw them together and heal their broken pasts together…

Excerpt:

He paced along speedily, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. The sounds of the night surrounded him–distant cat song, the steady hum of far-off cars, the soft sound of wind whistling underneath people’s windows. He loved being out at night, not because it was a time when his ‘kind’ were more active, but simply because it was so much quieter than the day. The sounds of people rushing around disappeared, and left a peaceful calm with the soothing darkness.

Of course, there were the voices in his head, but that was another story.

He shrugged his shoulders up, cutting off the wind whistling around his neck. He wasn’t particularly cold, but the noise was annoying when your ears were so sensitive that a pin dropping could sound like a two-ton weight.

Aodhan’s mind went back to the girl from the bar. He hadn’t meant to be so brisk with her, but it was really best that no-one got that close. He…didn’t do well with people any more. They always brought back memories of simpler times, of her. And besides that…he killed people. People who wouldn’t die if they hadn’t found out about them…

Aodhan was a demon.

A rare demon, as well, a shadow demon. He had been born to a Scottish clan just over eight-hundred years ago, to humans. Contrary to what he saw people believed in the media and books, demons were actually born to humans. There was no line of them, like vampires or werewolves. They were simply…random.

When he had been born, there were no noticeable signs of what he was. He just looked like any of the other babies born to them, strong and healthy, but definitely human.

As he grew older, he had shown great proficiency with all weapons, learning faster than any of the other boys in the clan. Even some of the boys older than him had a hard time keeping up. He was never big-headed about it though, simply trying to fit in with everyone else. However, the clan talked about how the strange-eyed boy was so much quicker and stronger than others twice his age, and whispered about ancient gods coming back to the earth. His looks weren’t too odd for his clan, everyone having black, brown, or auburn hair. But his eyes were odd. All others in his clan had mostly blue eyes; some of them had brown eyes. But he had startling clear green ones, more like a cat than a human.

When he was thirteen, he suddenly began developing strange growths near his temples. After going to see the clan’s wise woman about it, she simply cackled, and whispered, “Those who are given the gift of darkness, should not fear the unknown.” He had shaken off the wise woman’s words, telling himself that she had finally gone crazy.

The growths had developed further, until they started to look like small dark horns, about the length of his thumb. They curled close to the curve of his head, smooth with small ridges forming at each stage of their growth. Luckily, Aodhan’s hair grew wild and long, allowing him to cover them up as much as he could.

By the time his twentieth year was reached, he was a well-loved member of his clan. He was kind and helpful to all, and helped to fight off their enemies more times than he could count on both hands. But he was holding a dreadful secret from his clan. Since his horns had grown, he had also noticed many other things.

He had begun to…see things. Shadows.

When he was out hunting in the forest near to their home, he would think that he had seen someone moving in the trees behind him. But when he swung around to face them…nothing. Then he would hear a soft chuckle, his name being called on the wind. At night, in his bed as he tried to sleep, he would see black figures running around the walls.

He had tried to tell the wise woman of the village again, thinking them to be spirits sent to drive him mad, or something worse. She simply shook her head at him, and chuckled, rocking herself to and fro. He had got used to the shadows by now, drawing the blanket up over his head so that he couldn’t hear their taunting murmurs….

Aodhan suddenly stopped walking, snapping out of his daydream. He was sure he had seen one of…them. Looking all around, he scanned the buildings with his vivid eyes. The problem with them was that they could hide anywhere they chose–walls, buildings, floors, anywhere–especially at night.

The red brick buildings around him looked empty, the few alleyways just leading alongside the backs of houses, a small number of bins scattered about. No-one else was walking near him on the pavement, no sound anywhere.

Just as he was about to turn around and carry on walking, pulling his jacket up again, he heard something behind him. Something whispery and cold.

“Aodhan…”

mirandastorkAUTHOR BIO: Miranda Stork.

I was born in Guisborough, North Yorkshire in 1987 and have lived in various places around Britain, including Newcastle and Glasgow.

My writing is inspired by various writers, including the vivid characters of Charles Dickens, the imagination of Stephen King, and the gothic imagery of Anne Rice.

My love of horror began at an early age, when I was only three or four. I could read proficiently at the age of three, and devoured fairy-stories, but I always had a bent towards the darker stories, such as the Brother’s Grimm’s tales…Red Riding Hood was always a firm favourite, although I always felt sorry for the wolf, despite him having tried to eat everyone!

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 30th, 2012|paranormal romance|0 Comments
Read More

A Summoner’s Tale: Excerpt #1

Dear Elizabeth Naylor –

Excerpt #1 is the first chapter which was published at the end of The Witch’s Dream. Just in case you and others got a copy that didn’t include it, here it is. And thank you very much for sending me a scratching-your-head moment. Very helpful.

STcover600x800CHAPTER_1

BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Section I: Chapter 1, #1

The plural of vampire is vampire.

 

When the initial rush of activity subsided, he had found himself all too often alone with his own thoughts; a condition that was tediously familiar since he had spent hundreds of years that way. Without the distraction of his friends’ banter, since his proposed staff had left Edinburgh, he had begun to see his task not just as a job, but as a mission, one immersed in the duality of joy and gravity. Though, lately it seemed gravity was winning.

He had never considered himself to be impatient. Quite the contrary. Everything he had ever pursued in earnest, from painting to music to writing, had depended upon patience. But, his awareness of the enormity of the burden he had accepted had grown over the past months and he had turned to brooding about the time that was passing.

Every day that nothing was accomplished was a day when more people had their humanity taken from them, another day when vampire remained imprisoned in bodies infected with the foulest disease imaginable, and, also, another day when people died.

The project was moving painfully slowly. Everyone who had originally been assigned to work with Baka was gone: married, retired, whatever. Everyone except Heaven – who had turned out to be anything but. If he was to be brutally honest with himself, he would have to admit that one of the main reasons for the slow progress was his distraction with his appointed assistant.

The large work space, intended for several people, held two people most of the time. He worked from early in the morning till late at night, challenging both the hours in the day and the fact that he was one excruciatingly short-handed task, force leader.

When Heaven was present, her moods ran the range of a shallow bell curve from disagreeable to surly to sullen. He admitted that he had provoked her on their first meeting, for reasons that were a mystery to him. Something about her had instantly put him on edge, made him feel anxious, and inclined to strike out.

Even though that feeling persisted, he had attempted to make amends so that they could work together amicably, but his attempts at accord had failed. Miserably so. She was prickly all the way to her luscious core, spurning every effort on his part to develop a rudimentary standard of civility. No matter how many times he tried.

He not only had to work with a person who detested his very presence, but, adding insult to injury, it seemed he couldn’t shake an inexplicably strong attraction to her. He found himself staring at the curve of her cheek when her head bowed over work. Or the shine of her chestnut hair when she walked in front of a window, right through a bank of sunrays. Or the way her lips pursed in silent protest and disdain whenever he gave her something to do.

It was damned aggravating to be held captive, figuratively, by a woman who detested him. To make matters worse, he seemed to have lost interest in pursuing other women, which really wasn’t like him at all. After being freed of the vampire virus, he found himself in a world where sex was king. Women dressed provocatively. Women were provocative. And they were free to share sex if it suited them to do so without needing permission outside their own conscience.

He had made the most of that window of sexual opportunity between the cure and the day Heaven walked into his war room.

For over five months, she had behaved as if simple courtesy was more than she could manage. That meant that “nice” was a goal way too distant. Baka knew it wasn’t an expression of her nature in general because he’d often watched her from across the dining hall laughing and interacting with other associates and employees. No. With others her manner was open and unguarded.

A thousand times a day his eyes sought her out while he surreptitiously pretended to be doing something else. He found himself imagining having her lift her head and turn the sunshine of that smile his way or, even better, to angle her face up at him with invitation on her features while she pressed her beautifully packed curves against his body. The thought of that made him hard. Painfully so. Again.

He was staring at the clock on the wall as he did that time every day, waiting for the separation ritual to begin. At exactly fifteen after five, Heaven checked her wristwatch, closed an open folder, pushed her chair back, stood up, shoved her arms into her sweater jacket, put her purse on her shoulder and, like every other day, started to walk out of the office without so much as a passing glance angled his way. Much less a wish for goodnight. But, that night was going to be different. That night his voice stopped her when she put her hand on the door pull.

“Heaven.”

“Yes?” she asked over her shoulder without looking at him directly.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

She didn’t hesitate for an instant before answering, “I don’t hate you. Whatever gave you such an idea?”

Before he could frame an answer to that question, she was gone. He heaved a big sigh. Fuck me.

Life had become a conflict without prospect of resolution. He perpetually struggled to concentrate when she was there because the space seemed to vibrate with a low level, but annoying irritation. When she wasn’t there, he hated it even more.

Baka had been a person with a well-developed sense of morality and a well-functioning conscience before he became a vampire. During the last hundred years of life as a vampire, having survived long enough to blessedly recover his understanding of right and wrong, he had voluntarily allowed himself to be taken into custody by The Order hoping that they would put an end to him. But they devised a far worse punishment. They decided to keep him alive on artificial sustenance so that, on occasion, he could serve as “consultant”. Of course that also entailed imprisonment and many decades of a solitary life.

He could have committed suicide, but submitted to the ongoing torment because he knew he deserved whatever crucible they might devise.

No. He had never been short on conscience. And that conscience was rubbing a hole in his brain telling him that it would be wrong to simply sit at a desk and plan a strategy on paper while, at the same time, doing nothing. So, keeping his own counsel, for better or worse, he determined that he would continue to work as a bureaucrat during the day, but would spend his nights – at least part of them – looking for others he might coax back to the light with the help of a very special serum.

He had worked with Monq at Jefferson Unit labs to develop a delivery solution. Taking a page from the methodology of the late Gautier Nibelung, they had decided that the safest and most effective approach would be dart gun. Each dart was outfitted with a tiny canister that would puncture on impact releasing a formula that was part stun and part cure. The proper dose of stun solution had been determined by tests on Baka himself. So he knew it worked. First hand.

Obviously vampire must be incapacitated while the viral antidote works. As medicinal remedies go, it is fast working, but not instant. There is a delay of two to four hours between introduction to the system and complete reversal of the disease, depending upon the age and constitution of the individual.

His plan wasn’t perfect. It depended on encountering one – no more than two – vampire at a time and extracting them, while paralyzed, without engaging other vampire. Further, all that had to be accomplished by him. Alone.

Tricky, but the alternative was waiting for a task force to be vetted, assembled, and trained. And waiting was the one thing he couldn’t manage. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but, hell, he’d had a long life.

To his advantage, he still had certain attributes that were extra human. Not like comic book heroes. More like human plus. No one knew if these benefits would fade away over time, but, for now, he was a little stronger, a little faster, and could see in the dark a little better than most people. All traits very useful for vampire hunting.

It just so happened that he found his assigned base of operations in prime territory that qualified as a vampire magnet on all counts. In Edinburgh’s Old Town there was a large pedestrian population that came out at night and it was built on top of an underground system that was not utilized to any extent that would interfere with the needs of vampire. All this was literally in sight of his office – five minutes’ walk away.

In a darkly poetic way, it was fitting that vampire would thrive in Edinburgh’s underground city which consisted of a system of tunneled streets with walls so close you could almost stand in the middle and touch both sides. The caverns and cells that faced the streets cut into the much softer sandstone under the rock that the above-ground Old Town is built upon. It’s a place with grisly history where thousands of hapless poor lived in darkness, packed together without sanitation and with the vilest of criminals. The legend is that plague victims were not removed and buried or burned, but sealed in their cells.

Some of the underground “vaults” under the bridge were reportedly used during World War II air raids, but, even if that was true, no one had been back since.

Modern day Ghost Tours offer a shallow excursion into Mary King’s Close – shallow because individuals don’t want to stay in the underground very long. Words like “creepy” are frequently used even by hard-core insensitives. That left a lot of maze for a vampire haven.

Baka had been a vampire long enough to know all about how they think which was why he had been supremely valuable to The Order as “consultant”. He knew that the days of the Samhuinn festival would be a gorge fest for vampire. The Royal Mile, just over the heads of vampire living in the Underground, would be crowded with visitors to the city, visitors intent on celebration and revelry, danger being the last thing on their minds. It would be a blessing to vampire in the original sense of the word’s older cousin – bloodletting.

He finished his day, went to dinner alone, and slowly savored every bite of actual food. Afterward, driven by a heartfelt desire to do some good in the world, he pulled on a pair of cargo pants and equipped the dozen pockets with as many canisters as they would hold. He opened his backpack and stuffed it with two not-for-sale-on-any-market, rapid-fire dart pistols designed by The Order’s own, genius inventor, Thelonius M. Monq. To that he added five revolving canisters for reloads, a thinsulate, a lighted helmet guaranteed to give fourteen hours of use in exchange for three AAA batteries, and six pairs of handcuffs.

When he put the handcuffs in side zipper pockets he wondered if he was being ambitious, prideful, or just plain stupid. It gave him pause, but, when weighed against the burden on his heart, his second thoughts didn’t carry enough weight to stop him. Like many natural intuits, he ignored the foreboding of his own instinct and proceeded with the plan, foolish though it might be.

He descended the stairs to the main foyer wondering if, even partial redemption for a long life of misdeeds, is possible. The fact that he was not accountable for his infamous history should have given him some peace of absolution. But didn’t. He said good evening to the doorman, threaded his arms into the backpack straps, and headed out into the night.

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 29th, 2012|Black Swan Series|15 Comments
Read More

The Stone Guardian FEATURED TODAY

TheStoneGuardian_ByTheresaMcClinton_453x680The Stone Guardian

Theresa McClinton

Tagline: When myth becomes reality, reality becomes a nightmare.

Description: Like any other teenager in America, Ashley just wants a normal life. But growing up in an orphanage for the insane is anything but normal. After endless therapy and increasing medication, her nightmares have only gotten worse.

Probably because they’re not nightmares.

When Ashley’s mysteriously abducted, she finds a reality even less normal than the orphanage. And she discovers something else—she’s no ordinary orphan. Faced with enemies thought to only exist in fairy tales, Ashley discovers she possesses a powerful Maya bloodline. She’s the daughter of an ancient Maya Guardian, whose duty is to protect the Stone of Muuk’ich, an enchanted relic blessed by the gods. But first she must get it back from Sarian, a power-hungry demigod who slaughtered the last guardian—Ashley’s mother. Without the stone, all will be lost.

 

When she meets Arwan, a hot Belizean time bender, his delicious olive skin and dark eyes make her feel a little less alone. But his gentle whispers and reassuring touch might not be all they seem. How can she balance love and duty when it’s up to her to prevent the rising of the underworld? Especially when the guy she loves might be its crown prince…

Book Trailer

http://youtu.be/fN1JvOOntWw

EXCERPT:

“Where are we going?” Ashley asked, walking a few steps behind. Arwan slowed his pace for her much shorter stride. She wasn’t used to hiking in the jungle, but she didn’t want to show it. He found that a cute addition to the many things he admired about her.

Without offering an explanation, he grabbed a stick from the ground. If he told her where he was taking her, it would ruin the surprise. He just hoped the creatures hadn’t taken shelter somewhere else because of the heavy rains.

Soon they arrived at a clearing where hundreds of tall, thin bushes with elegant purple blooms covered the ground. Mature trees formed a canopy overhead, while gaps in the branches allowed the sun to speckle the jungle floor with light.

“I thought you would like it here.” He watched for her reaction.

She inspected the space. “It’s neat.”

Of course, she didn’t know why they were really there. He watched her shift her weight. Did she lie when she said he didn’t make her uncomfortable? It seemed like he did. Every time he smiled at her, her cheeks flushed or her muscles tensed.

Arwan gently took her hand. She allowed him to, without hesitation. It was the first time.

Carefully, he guided her through the maze of shrubs. When they reached the center, he stood in front of her and put his lips close to her ear. “Can I hold you?” She took a small step back. He waited for her to decide and, at the slightest nod, took her hand. “I just want to show you something.”

He slid his hand gently around her waist and drew her close. Her chest jumped when they pressed together. He savored the feeling of her drumming heartbeat. In fact, he could almost hear it.

She rested her hands against his chest, and he wondered if she felt his heart drumming too. “You’re blushing.”

She pressed the backs of her hands on her face. “I am?”

He caressed the silky curve of her cheek. “You’re lovely when you blush.” The stick secure in his hand, he extended it to the side. “Watch.” With a powerful strike, he whacked a nearby bush on its base. Dozens of butterflies launched into the air.

The flight of few caused a chain reaction, and soon they blanketed the sky. Several landed in her hair and on her arms while more flew overhead.

Arwan tilted his head back to the sky. Ashley gasped and stared at the countless array of colors gliding overhead. A butterfly rested on his shoulder, pumping its cobalt blue wings. She gently blew on it, her warm breath caressing his neck.

His chest swelled with longing. He clenched his jaw. Watching her lips form into a soft circle, she continued to blow on its colorful wings. He had never wanted someone so fiercely. She brought something out of him he couldn’t control. Something instinctual, animalistic. He watched her lips, longing to kiss her. To feel her mouth pressed against his. The need surged in his chest and spread throughout his limbs. He tensed and pulled her closer.

He knew he had to be gentle. As much as he tried to conceal the need, it threatened to destroy him if he didn’t at least try. Slowly, he leaned in to kiss her. His lips hovered above hers. Her hot breath broke over his mouth.

Ashley gasped and stepped back. Her teary eyes forced him to look away. He silently cursed himself. He’d pushed her too far.

“I…” The hurt in her voice surprised him. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Before he could respond, Ashley ran back toward the house, leaving him alone in the clearing.

He watched her stumble through the trees until she was gone. The jungle was quiet, except for the sound of chirping birds and the rustling of lemurs in the trees.

He turned, balling his fists. What the hell was he thinking? He’d known that if he tried to kiss her, it would push her away. He should have shown more restraint.

Each of his steps pounded against the jungle floor. The birds’ chirps ceased, and the lemurs took quiet refuge in the branches. When he escaped the maze of bushes, he charged his fist into the trunk of a mature tree, spitting layers of bark and redwood in every direction.

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 28th, 2012|paranormal romance|1 Comment
Read More

THE SOCIETY OF SINNERS Featured Today

Society of SinnersThe Society of Sinners

by Charity Parkerson

  • Print:
  •  ISBN-10: 1475091648
  • ISBN-13: 978-1475091649

Kindle ASIN – B0053482GW

Publisher: Punk & Sissy Publications

Released May 27, 2011

Blurb: “Evil lives in the dark.  We instinctively know this as children.”
Nestled high in the mountains…
The quiet community of Jackson Station is where everyone knows your name and…species?
Vampires have existed since almost the beginning of time, but not in the way we have been led to believe. These were not men cursed by the devil but warriors blessed by God to have great strength, agility, and eternal life.
Eternal life came at a price, the price of human blood. Some chose to live within their own society; The Society of Sinners.

Excerpt:

Next time Cherish awoke, the house stood silent as a tomb. Trailing from room to room, she searched for Jazz, finding him on his knees before the fireplace. His head was bowed and his lips moved in a silent prayer. He made no move to acknowledge her presence, so she sank down onto the couch, watching. The nights were getting colder and the fireplace was lit. The reflection of its flames danced across the planes of Jazz’s back.

She knew there were many religions practiced all around the world, but this was her first time witnessing such devout prayer. Curling onto her side, she used her hands to pillow her head not wanting to disturb him during the process she found so fascinating. She possessed a strong faith in God before her death, but afterwards, God had abandoned her. His lips froze and his head lifted as if hearing her thoughts. “God did not abandon you. He has missed the sound of your voice.” He returned to his prayer, leaving Cherish stunned.

Buy Links:

AmazonUS http://amzn.to/z1wAAg

Amazon UK http://amzn.to/Luiiiy

B &N http://bit.ly/Q60a2Z

SW http://bit.ly/MdJHLa

Contact links:

Website: http://www.charityparkerson.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorCharityParkerson

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CharityParkerso

My show: http://bit.ly/QutC4g

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/QutZfp

Blog: http://charity-thesinners.blogspot.com

Youtube trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-znxALntHw

 Author bio:

Charity Parkerson was born in Tennessee, where she still lives with her husband and two sons.  She is the author of several books including twelve Amazon bestsellers.

Her “Sinners series” was voted one of the top ten best books by an Indie author in 2011- Paranormal Romance Reads

She was named as one of the top three Indie authors of 2012- The Book Connection  

She is a member of The Paranormal Romance Guild, is a Goodreads moderator, a member of Coffee Time Romance, and co-host of The Melissa Craig and Charity Parkerson show.

She won author of the week in August of 2011, and is a three-time winner of The Mistress of the Darkpath.

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 27th, 2012|paranormal romance|0 Comments
Read More

A Summoner's Tale: Excerpt #2

STcover600x800After brunch, Kay and Katrina did hugs all around, loaded the car, and drove away from the Black Swan Vineyard villa where they had been guests for four days. They were supposed to rendezvous with an Order jet at Voltaire Unit, Presidio, San Francisco and catch a ride to Edinburgh. Kay had been persuaded to consult on a Berserker issue and, since it wasn’t an active duty assignment, Katrina came along.

The young married couple had both been changed by the experience of her demon abduction. The feeling of not knowing whether or not they would ever see each other again was still raw and near the surface of shadow consciousness so they didn’t like to spend time apart if it could be helped.

Storm and Litha stood on the pea gravel drive and waved goodbye like an old married couple. They held hands and watched the teal blue Caddy until it went over the hill before going back inside. At home in Houston, Kay had an expensive sports car that had been custom tricked out to accommodate his size, but only a few loaner cars came big enough for him to ride comfortably.          

They closed the door and got as far as the two cordovan, leather sofas that faced each other in the great room before they flopped down. The excursion into the new world of hosting house guests at the newly renovated and furnished villa had been a success.

“I want to clean up the kitchen, but I’m too tired to move.” Litha opened one eye a slit so that she could gauge his reaction. She hoped the thinly disguised suggestion would prompt Storm to volunteer, even though they both knew it was her turn.

He grinned, black eyes sparking with just a touch of taunt. “Nice try though.”

Screwing up her face and groaning, she dragged herself up off the couch and made drama of trudging toward the kitchen.

The spectacle made Storm grin even bigger and his abs rippled with unvoiced laughter. He put his feet up on the heavy, square coffee table, and slouched down into the couch smiling to himself, feeling self-satisfied, and more than a little proud of the vineyard, the villa, and his wife.     So this is dreams coming true.

He had hunkered down, nested, and loved every damn thing about it. When the thought, “It’s too good,” wandered across his mind, he could have slapped himself. In his experience “too good” is a state of being that never lasts long. It’s even shorter when the gods think good fortune has been questioned. Don’t they just love to fuck with that?

He snapped out of the fatalistic philosophizing when he heard a knock on the door. Assuming Kay forgot something he opened the door saying, “What did you…?”

It only took a second for Storm to string together everything Litha had told him about Deliverance, add that to the conspicuous family resemblance, – She got her looks from a sex demon. – and come the conclusion that the caller was his new father-in-law, in the flesh, and standing on their porch. He steadily held the visitor’s gaze and, without taking his eyes away, yelled loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.

“Litha! There’s a demon here to see you!”

There was no question that she heard him because of the volume of response. Shiny, new copper bottom pots make a lot of noise when they land on something as hard as a custom poured concrete kitchen counter or a slate floor.

Deliverance had been staring at Storm without blinking. He had to give the kid credit. Not so much as a muscle twitch or tiny tremor. He supposed she could have done worse. He let the corners of his mouth soften with the humor in his eyes. Storm didn’t show any sign of fear, but he didn’t invite the demon inside as they continued to silently take each other’s measure.

Litha rushed past Storm right into the laughing embrace of the male. Speaking of ‘too good to be true’, that pretty much summed up the demon’s looks. Anybody, even a heterosexual man had to admit that he was stunning.

Deliverance was visibly relieved that she was glad to see him. Still on the wide front porch, he swung her around like she was a little girl and she rewarded him for it with delighted giggles.

When he set her on her feet and drew back to take in her face, she said, “Guess what?”

Looking down at her with pride, he answered dutifully, indulgently. “What?”  

She swept her hand around in the air. “This is where I live!”

Deliverance laughed. “I thought so.”

“Come in. Oh. Wait.” She turned to Storm. “Guess what?”

“This is your dad.”

“This is my dad!”

Her excitement was contagious and starting to make him smile a little. How bad could the demon be if her made her that happy?

Storm offered his hand to Deliverance. “Engel Storm.”

Deliverance gripped the waiting hand. “You taking care of my little girl?”

Storm withdrew his hand, raised his chin a little and, as he was putting his hands in his jeans pockets, in a show of nonchalance, said, “When she’s not locked in the cellar.”

Deliverance snorted. “I’d like to see you try it. Did she ever tell you what she did to my cousins?”

Litha
shrugged as if to say, “Aw, shucks, it was nothing.”

Storm was interested. “No she didn’t. Was it fire related?”

Deliverance looked at Storm like he must be mentally deficient. “No,” he said slowly like he was trying to exercise great patience. “Fire wouldn’t hurt my cousins.”

There was a very loud ‘duh’ that hung unspoken in the air.

Storm was thinking that it was shaping up to be a long afternoon.  

Litha shook her head a little and repeated, “Come in,” to her father, the demon.

They gave him a tour of the house and he pretended to be interested in every tidbit about the renovation while rarely taking his eyes away from his daughter. When they circled back to the kitchen, Litha glanced toward the pantry with a dismissive wave in that direction, “I’d offer you something to eat, but…”

Deliverance nodded in the direction indicated. “You have women in there?”

Litha and Deliverance both laughed at his joke. Storm didn’t question the fact that he didn’t think that was funny. He knew, all the way to his core, that it wasn’t funny and thought it may have bordered on disturbing. The fact that Litha found it hysterical was disturbing.

“I’m not staying long. Just wanted to pop in and bring you a wedding present, or housewarming gift, or whatever you want to call it.”

Litha perked up. “Present?” She looked around thinking he had set the bar pretty high with a red, convertible Aston Martin that held a vintage Gucci suitcase full of cash in the trunk. “Where is it?”

“In the abstract.”

“An abstract present?” She blinked. “I don’t get it.”

“Do you want to guess? Yes! Let’s do that. It’ll be so fun. Three guesses and I’ll give you a big hint. Ready?” Storm was trying to remember if Litha had ever said her father had a personality like a game show host. “It’s travel related and better than owning your own private jet.”

“Wow. Really. Okay. I’m in.” She glanced toward Storm. “Storm can play, too, right?”

Deliverance leveled a look on Storm that left no doubt he considered that his new son-in-law was intruding on his visit with Litha. “Sure. Go for it.”

Litha noticed the change of tone and the reduction in the level of enthusiasm, but pretended she didn’t.   

 “I surrender.” Storm would rather observe than horn in on their fun. The dynamic between his bride and her father was interesting and surprising. He knew Litha had tolerated learning about her heritage and was mentally flexible enough to adapt, but he had no idea she held the demon in such regard and with so much affection. “Litha’s better at guessing games.”

Litha jerked her head at Storm and narrowed her eyes. “Liar. There’s not a game on Earth I can win when you’re playing.”

“There’s one.” Deliverance sang those two words as he crossed his arms over his chest and stoked the mystery with his smile. As an incubus demon he had an acute appreciation of the value of anticipation.

Stumped by the esoteric clues – travel related and better than a private jet – she lunged at her father and grabbed two fistfuls of shirt. “Tell me!”

He laughed, clearly delighted by her display of delirium. “No, but I’ll give you another clue. And, watch the threads! My sustenance depends on good grooming, you know.” She snorted as he gently wrested her hands away from his shirt.

“Somehow I think you’d survive, fresh pressed ‘threads’ or not.”

Deliverance bowed his head a little in appreciation of her admiration. “The lord of the manor here…” He jerked his chin toward Storm. “…is not what you think.”

Litha dropped both hands to her sides and took a step back. She sobered instantly, all levity gone from her expression and tone of voice. “You’re not here to make trouble, are you?”

Deliverance was taken aback, a scowl looking out of place on his flawless features. “Certainly not. I would never do anything to hurt you. It’s not anything bad. He’s just not fully human.”

She stared at her father for a couple of beats then looked at Storm to judge his reaction to the outlandish and completely unexpected announcement. Except for a muscle that twitched involuntarily under Storm’s right eye he had not reacted in any visible way.

“This isn’t fun anymore, Dad. Start explaining now.” Litha watched the demon pull a heavy, wrought iron bar chair away from the kitchen island and gracefully take a seat like he knew his way around a barstool.

“You remember saying you thought his eyes looked like mine?” Litha’s gaze flew to Storm. Though her face remained passive, it was easy to see her mind was doing some lightning speed gymnastics. She nodded silently. Storm looked at Deliverance to see if he would agree to a resemblance. “Well, you were right. They do. That’s because his father was Abraxas. Probably a distant relative, but definitely same tribe.”

When Deliverance finished that sentence, there was no response. The silence drug on as both the newlyweds processed individually, internally testing the likelihood that the news was the truth.

Finally, Litha said, “And you thought this would make us happy?”

He beamed. “Yes. It’s my gift.”

Litha lifted fingers to her temple and stared at the ground for a minute. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but how does this relate to trav…” She stopped in mid sentence and looked a little stunned. She jerked a wide eyed gaze back up to his face. “You’re saying he can ride the passes.”

“No.” Deliverance was shaking his head emphatically. “He doesn’t have enough demon blood for that. But he can piggyback. Well, not literally.” His eyes drifted down Storm’s body and up again unapologetically as if he was calculating how much Storm might weigh. “He could go along with you and survive it.” He turned to Storm. “Just don’t get separated from her because she’s your ticket in, out, and everything in between.”

Litha took in a big breath and let out a curse ending in, “…Jezebel’s Juice.”

“You don’t look happy,” Deliverance was just starting to tune in to the mood in the room.

“Well, I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m, um, surprised to say the least.” She wanted to look at Storm and get a read on how he was taking the dubious news, but, at the same time, hesitated to see his reaction. “When we’ve had time to get used to the idea, I’m sure we’re going to be really excited.”

“Well, yeah! Go anywhere you want to go instantly? Do anything you want to do? How many humans can say that?”

She stared at him. “None.”

“Exactamundo!” He jumped down from his stool in a fluid move and bent to give Litha a big smooch on the cheek. “Getting hungry. Gotta go.” He grinned and straightened the sleeves of his sports coat by pulling on them.

“Thanks for coming, Dad.”

“Welcome, beautiful.”

“Say goodbye to Storm,” she directed.
            Deliverance tossed a look over his shoulder that implied he had forgotten Storm was there. “Engel Beowulf Storm. Take good care of my little girl.”

“Stay right where you are.” Storm said it quietly, but in the demanding tone of someone unaccustomed to being ignored. When Deliverance turned and faced him, he added, “With all due respect, Sir.” Storm may have coated the honorific title with a little too much sarcasm, but he wasn’t in the mood to guard against belligerence. “I want to be sure I’m not misunderstanding. You’re claiming my father – biological father – was an Abraxas demon?”

“Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” the demon said cheerfully right before his expression abruptly changed to serious; as if he had just stumbled upon an unexpected obstacle. “Hold on. I’m not impugning your mother’s name or anything as Dark Ages as that. Right?

“Just look at it this way. If he was an Incubus, she wouldn’t have been able to resist. I mean…” He held his arms out in a pose that was reminiscent of Fonzy from the old TV show, ‘Happy Days’, in evergreen reruns on the grid of screens in the demon’s living room.

Storm was every bit as unimpressed as you would expect a Black Swan knight to be. His manner and tone were even. “Where’s your proof?”

Deliverance didn’t look offended. If anything, Storm’s reaction seemed to soften him around the edges. He shook his head slightly in a way Storm had previously thought was unique to Litha. “The only proof I can give you is the fact that you can survive the passes. Of course…” He smiled just a little too wickedly to suit the lady of the house. “… if I’m wrong, you’ll be dead.”

Storm straightened, pulled his jaw in, and glared. He looked like he would love nothing more than to throttle one exceptionally pretty, super arrogant demon currently standing in his kitchen with blatant effrontery written all over his smug mug.

“Comforting,” Storm said drily.

“Ask your mother then.” He cocked his head in a way that served to remind Storm that Deliverance was not exactly human. “Doesn’t she live nearby?”

Storm almost took a threatening step toward daddy dearest. Litha sucked in a breath as she practically read her husband’s mind.

“Dad,” Litha said quietly while pulling on his sleeve, “time to go.”

“Alright, love. See you soon.”

Urging her father toward the door, she glanced at Storm and didn’t like what she saw. “I’ll let him out and be right back.”

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 26th, 2012|Black Swan Series, Knights of Black Swan, paranormal romance, paranormal romance series, vampire, vampire romance, Victoria Danann|6 Comments
Read More

THE TEMPERATE WARRIOR by Renee Vincent

Temperate Warrior Button 600 x 425This feature contains a Rafflecopter Giveaway, Purchase Links, and Two Excerpts.

The Temperate Warrior
Book 1 of the Warrior Sagas

Renee Vincent

Genre: Historical, paranormal romance, Viking

Publisher: Turquoise Morning Press

ISBN: 9781622370924  ASIN: B00AH14MCY

 

Number of pages: 206

Word Count: 72K

Cover Artist: Erin Sendelbach

Purchase Links: Kindle | Nook | All Romance Ebooks | Smashwords | Turquoise Morning Press | Book Strand

GIVEAWAY

Rafflecopter

Blurb:   He was her champion. She was his weakness.  Together, they loved with wild abandon.

 Gustaf Ræliksen lives by the blade of his sword. After avenging his father’s murder and reuniting with his family, he wants nothing more than to settle down and have sons of his own. Only one woman will do—a fiery redhead he saved from the spoils of war.

No longer forced to warm the beds of the men who’ve taken everything from her, Æsa has nothing to offer the noble warrior but her heart.

When someone with a deep score to settle seeks revenge upon her, Gustaf’s world is torn asunder. He has but one vow—saving the woman he loves from the ignorant fool who dared to best the temperate warrior.

About the Author:

I am an author with a passionate interest in Irish and Norse history. I live in the rolling hills of Kentucky with my husband and two children on a beautiful secluded farm of horses and hay fields.

I am a sucker for a good cup of coffee (lots of cream and sugar…and whipped cream if I can get my hands on it), great conversation, and a lilting Irish accent. I love to read and I can’t resist watching great epic historical movies.

From an early age, I’ve always had scenes playing out in my head. Whether it was a story with a moral or a tale with a twist, those ideas have never let me sleep until I wrote them out. And considering I have an eclectic ensemble of stories swarming in my brain at any given time, I write under a couple pen names to accommodate the various genre categories.

Renee Vincent
(Historical & Contemporary Adult Romance)
From the daunting, charismatic Vikings, to the charming, brazen Alpha male heroes of modern day, you’ll be whisked away to a world filled with fast-paced adventure, unforgettable romance, and undying love.

Visit my website at http://www.reneevincent.com/

Website: http://www.reneevincent.com/

Blog: http://pasttheprint.blogspot.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/reneevincentauthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ReneeVincent

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3005290.Renee_Vincent

Romance Blog: http://www.deepintheheartromance.com/

Excerpt #1:

Gustaf’s hearty laughter echoed around her. It was a rarity she had come to cherish. With their troubles far behind them, she could only hope it would be a common occurrence, especially after they became husband and wife. She longed to be the source of his joy for the rest of his days and imagined giving him the sons he’s always wanted.

Their conversation on Skúvoy circled back into her thoughts. “I want to fill our house with many sons.”

“And daughters?”

“Aye, and daughters. I can only hope they resemble your beauty and speak with fire on their tongues.”

“And if they do not?”

“I shall love them anyway for they will come from your womb.”

She envisioned him cradling a babe in his arms and teaching the youngster all there was to know about the new world he’d been born into. That was, if she could provide him a child at all.

Given that no man’s seed from her sordid past had taken root, she worried her womb was barren, incapable of even producing Gustaf’s heir.

“What are you thinking?”

His voice broke apart her sullen thoughts and she struggled to fabricate a credible answer to his question. “I was thinking of us and you as a father.” A half truth was better than a blatant lie, and she’d only disappoint him with mentioning such nonsense, especially since they’d yet to give conception a fair try. “I am eager to be your wife and the mother of your children.”

Gustaf tipped his head in surprise. “From where did that thought come?”

Another bout of spirited shouts erupted, followed by a considerable splash as if some poor bloke had hit the water. “I suspect it came from the devious seven we already have in our company. It would bring me great pleasure to birth that many or more with you.”

“Seven children, you say?” Gustaf nodded as he considered the thought. “You do realize I am a man of mature age. ’Twould require a considerable amount of lovemaking to acquire that number of offspring.”

“I am willing if you are,” Æsa stated, leaning up on one elbow.

Gustaf scooted closer and inclined his body across her torso, bracing his weight on one arm at her side. His dark blond hair fell over his shoulder and hugged the sharp angle of his jaw shadowed with soft scruff. She dared to reach up and stroke the soft curls of his thick mane, but the serious look in his eyes had her hesitating.

“I am most willing,” he said softly, “as long as it makes you happy. For the rest of my life, I will do whatever it takes to ensure it. As my wife, you will not want for anything. What you desire, I will provide.”

“I desire only you, m’lord.”

He bent to kiss her, but stopped midway. “Would I disappoint you if I said I wished to wait until we returned to Inis Mór to marry?”

The warmth of his breath across her lips caressed her starved skin. The blue of his eyes sparkled like the depths of the crystal sea. He was a beautiful man and it still seemed hard to fathom that he was all hers. She could barely contain her emotions as she lay motionless in their near kiss. “You could never disappoint me, Gustaf. Knowing you are eager to share our union with your family is more than I could hope. I have been without a family for so long and to be united with yours is an honor I cannot put into words.”

His smile stroked her all the way to her soul and the anticipation of his mouth meeting hers consumed her whole being. Nothing mattered except this moment, this kiss that made her keenly aware of her heart beating in her chest. Her entire body tingled as his lips finally made contact and her will to tolerate much more of this deliberate torture disintegrated in an upwelling of exhilaration.

She arched into him, craving the feel of his hard body against hers. It had felt like forever since he’d touched her intimately, despite that it had been only a few days. She hated going a single moment without his touch and drew toward him like a delicate flower in desperate need of warm sunlight.

He forced his body over hers and cupped the underside of her breast as he ground his erection into her sex, now swollen and aching with need. There was so much passion in this one little kiss that it seemed to surpass all others in comparison.

She shifted beneath him and opened her legs, eager for him to pull up her tunic and bury his rock hard shaft inside her. As she felt his arousal more prevalent against her flesh, she was reminded of the previous promise he’d made to her: This will not be last time you feel my arousal at dawn. One morning when we are without eyes, I will have you.

She hoped this very morning was the instance he’d relinquish his vow. Wrapping her legs around his back, she encouraged him, giving him permission to take her in the fashion she knew he longed for. “Throw your temperance aside, m’lord. Please.”

He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered, his hands fisting the fabric of her kirtle at her hips, ready to hike it up. The hard scrape of his knuckles demanded his need for more persuasion.

“Aye, Gustaf. Take me.”

“I cannot,” he finally spat, breathing heavily. His jaw clenched and his eyes closed. The pain he endured of restraining himself cut across his face. “We are not alone. My men.”

His clipped words resounded in her head. “I was hoping you forgot about them.”

Gustaf sighed and let his forehead rest on hers. “All of me wishes I had.” He nudged himself against the open area of her thighs. “All of me.”

In one swift shove, he propelled his heavy body off hers and faced the fire, his breathing weighty and intense. Reaching between his legs, he shifted his burdensome erection and groaned. His chin fell to his chest and a long sigh heaved from his lungs. “Odin’s blood, you are but wicked temptation for the weak.”

Æsa sat up, feeling the strain of her sore muscles in the process. She ignored the sting of her aching back and touched his cheek, stroking his hair away from his tormented face. “Wicked enough to be punished?”

Gustaf stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. “Punished?”

She drew her finger over the hard angle of his jaw, down his neck and back up into the thick of his hair. “Call it what you will, but there is a fine line between punishment and pleasure. I have known great pleasure under the tenderness of your touch, but I long for more. I yearn to feel the wrath of the unchained warrior. To know what the abandonment of your restraint feels like between my thighs.”

She saw the column of his throat bob as he swallowed. Her words had struck him as hard as any blow to the gut, but she knew they likely caressed him like a warm tongue up his throbbing length.

“Perhaps having to abstain from your urges will force the wild animal from its barred enclosure when the time comes.”

“Perhaps,” he repeated, his voice cracking under duress.

She smiled and threaded her hands through his hair, wrenching his face closer to hers. “I can only hope.” With lust still blazing in his eyes, she took his lips and plundered his mouth with her tongue. As fiercely as she began the kiss, she broke away, capturing his wanton stare. “Sooner, rather than later.”

 

Excerpt: #2:

Gustaf had only one thing on his mind—well, many enticing thoughts, truth be told—but they all involved getting his hands on Æsa.

By the time he caught up with her, she was standing at edge of the water, the roaring sound of the waterfall competing with the thrum of his racing pulse. She had unraveled her braid and was making quick work of the two cloaks around her shoulders. Her wavy locks hung down her back, almost reaching the captivating curve of her hips.

When she turned to hang her cloaks over a nearby tree limb, she froze and locked eyes with him. Her breath could be seen on the brisk morning air as well as the tautness of her nipples through the thin fabric of her tight-fitting kirtle. He swallowed hard, imagining the taste of her favors, eager to lave the hard peak with his tongue and suckle as much of the soft globe as he could fit in his mouth.

Unable to stand there any longer, he strode toward her, his eyes drinking in her sumptuous curves. His hands automatically reached for her narrow waist and jerked her body into his before he crushed her against the tree. She whimpered under his assault and braced her hands on his chest, her meager attempt to hold him back inciting him that much more.

The voice in his head interrupted the rush of blood coursing through his veins. You are losing control again. Get a hold of yourself.

It took everything he had to release her. His legs shook beneath him as if they were mere saplings trembling under the brunt of a forceful wind. Stepping back, he stood before her disoriented and flushed beyond all reckoning. “’Twas wrong of me to follow you.”

“Why? Because your excessive desire for me outweighs your commitment to getting your men home in a timely manner?”

Gustaf took a deep breath. “There is that. But ’tis not the only reason.”

She approached him in the most seductive way, eyeing the expanse of his shoulders as she unlatched the brooch at his right. She removed his wolf-skin cloak, the chill of the invigorating air doing little to douse the raging fire in his loins. He left his arms dangling at his sides, fighting the urge to touch her, to grab her with both hands and press her curvaceous warmth to his rigid body.

She draped his cloak over the limb beside her and returned her attention to divesting him of the other adornments strapped to his body. Her eyes gazed at the bulge rupturing his breeches as she unbuckled his belt. Leaning his scabbard against the trunk, she licked her lips and cupped his bollocks in her palm. “What is it you fear, my lord? You can tell me.”

Her whispered words, falling from the alluring pout of her luscious lips, stroked him as soundly as if she’d dragged her fingertips over his bare flesh. “I want you. More than I wanted you yesterday. And with each passing day, my hunger for you grows in fiendish proportions. I want to ravish you, Æsa. I want to feast on you and feel you quiver beneath my tongue. I want to spread you wide and thrust deep within you as you call my name. I want to hold you down and for once,” he said, clenching his teeth, “just try to sate my appetite for you, though I know better.”

Perhaps he’d disclosed the list of his objectives in an effort to make her think twice about provoking the feral beast within him. The corner of her lip, marked with mischievous intent, hitched upward and he knew he’d failed to discourage her. In fact, he realized he may have provoked his own bewitching beast in the form of sweet femininity.

“Does time allow us to partake in such wanton acts,” she taunted, stroking his erection through his breeches.

“Time is not what concerns me, Æsa. ’Tis what will happen next once I get my hands on you.”

“Then touch me not.”

He stood helpless as she touched him. She slipped her hands beneath his tunic and splayed her long fingers across his abdomen. She skimmed over every ripple of muscle in his stomach and climbed each rung of ribs in his torso in the most deliberate fashion, making it that much harder for him.

When her fingertips grazed his chest, she sought through the thin layer of his curls and found that his nipples were just as taut as her own. Unmercifully, she stroked her thumbs back and forth, pressing her pelvis into his groin.

He refused to give in and reach out for her, turning his head to the side in hopes that averting his eyes would aid his torment. If anything, it made matters worse. His vivid imagination kicked in and ran wild with the notion of her roaming hands meandering south. Before he could stop it, he envisioned her dropping to her knees, fisting his girth and taking him all the way in to the back of her throat. He staggered backward, his blood hammering. The transient fantasy accosted him so fiercely he thought he’d spilled himself in his breeches.

Æsa gazed at him as he clutched the tree limb for stability and tried to gather his wits. “It seems you have just as much difficulty being touched as you have touching me with your own hands. Perhaps ’tis best if you watch.”

He stared at her as she inched her kirtle higher and higher. First her shapely calf took form, then her knees, then the outward curve of her creamy thighs. Gustaf’s throat felt dry and constricted. He could barely breathe. “Æsa, please.”

“Please what?” she cooed. “Show you more?”

Any subtlety she utilized before now perished as she lifted the fabric over her head and discarded it on the ground. His eyes swept over her naked body. The mesmerizing sight of her full breasts and rose-colored nipples drew most of his attention.

She walked backward toward the stream and allowed him all the time he wanted to stare shamelessly at her private parts. With each slow step, she tortured him, luring him to follow lest he be out of arm’s reach of the tempting favors she offered.

He knew why she was doing this. She wanted the man who could not hold back. She wanted to prove she was woman enough for all of him, that no matter how unruly his primal urges became, she would suffer the wicked pleasure of his total abandonment and reap every blessing she hoped to gain from it.

Foolish woman. Did she not understand how difficult this was for him? Did she not truly comprehend how crazy passionate he could be when thrown into a wolves’ den? He recalled her reference to punishment and pleasure. For him, the fine line was drawn between love and rage. Just as he’d gone berserk over the men who’d killed his father, he knew the compulsion for losing control in the heat of rapture was not far behind—especially where Æsa was concerned.

He’d never loved a woman as much as he loved her, and the feelings bubbling up inside him when he was on the brink of release was nigh the same as the fury he encountered in past battles. He was a dangerous man in either of those combustible situations, and Æsa was perilously playing with fire.

Unbeknownst to him, his foot lifted and stepped forward. He tried to stand firm, to keep his other boot planted, but he was drawn by forces more compelling than his own might. More definitive than his own fears. The need to have Æsa close, the need to feel her smooth skin and buxom body in his grasp, preyed on his mind until he had no choice but to close the distance between them.

If she wanted the man who was not so temperate, then she was about to have him. There was no turning back if he set this animal free. With his concern of going too far in the forefront of his mind, he kicked off his boots and ripped his tunic over his head. Inwardly, he’d made a deal with himself: he’d surrender to Æsa’s desires and forsake his reluctant tendencies as long as he brought her pleasure. If he thought at any moment she was second-guessing her plan of unfettering the temperate warrior, then he’d pull away.

He only hoped he could.

As he unlaced his breeches and stepped out of them, his heart pounded against his ribs and he felt as if his chest was expanding to the point of hyperventilation with each ragged breath he took. He snatched the pile of draped fur cloaks from the limb, slung one of them across his shoulders, and raced to the water’s edge to meet Æsa. He skidded to a halt in front of her, his body inches from hers.

She stood stock-still in all her naked glory. Goose bumps flourished across her porcelain flesh and her lower lip quivered from the cold. He gazed at her one last time before swathing her in her own cloak and pulling her close. The cool flesh of her lovely breasts smashed against the warmth of his, her glinting eyes heavy-lidded with lust. She tipped her head back, holding his gaze as she snaked her dainty, chilled arms around his back.

As automatic as breathing, he reached up and brushed his thumb across her shivering lower lip. “When I am finished with you, you will be trembling for a whole different reason.”

“Swear it, m’lord.”

His smile returned, though it portrayed anything but amusement. She and all her frisky aggressiveness was the very reason he wished to ravish her. He adored her feisty nature and her exceptional confidence. Those uncommon traits in a female, along with her stately beauty, made her the most erotic woman on this earth. And she was his.

He wound his arms around her middle and cupped both hands firmly on her backside, hoisting her higher so her delicate womanhood would feel every throbbing inch of him. “I swear on Thor’s hammer that no one will love you more than I. Or as fiercely.”

 

 

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 24th, 2012|Uncategorized|2 Comments
Read More

The Art of the Review #1

bookreviewWell, Happy Solstice Everybody!

While I should be celebrating the beginning of a new season, I’m writing a rant instead. What’s wrong with me? I’m just going to get this off my chest and then put celebrating on my list of things to do today.

There was a time when the purview of book reviewing was limited to a very small and exclusive club of literary critics who wrote for newspapers or magazines.Those highly prized jobs were few and far between and were bestowed upon only the most qualified journalists who had passed a series of tests. The first rung of the ladder required a degree in journalism and, often, a double major in English as well. The second step was years of dues-paying tasks that were much less glamorous and desirable. If a candidate survived the business until a spot opened up, they might be offered a probation period with permanent assignment dependent upon satisfactory performance.

The book review revolution coat tailed so closely with the rise of Amazon.com as to virtually coincide. The first wave came in the form of Amazon customer reviews. For the first time, any individual was able to publish their personal opinion anonymously without vetting of any kind.

Although Amazon publishes “General Review Creation Guidelines”, I doubt that many have read them. (See Amazon.Com’s Tips at the end of this post.) 

WARNING: This post has elements of a rant.

The Rise of the Blog

Like cream, the best critics rise to the top in terms of readership/followers/subscribers.

The second wave of upheaval can also be attributed to the innovation of Amazon.com. The explosion of self-publishing created a coexisting demand for self-marketing which created a demand for more book reviewers.

Should blog reviews carry more weight than customer reviews? The answer to that question is definitely yes. Sometimes. Anyone can put up a blog within minutes and call themselves a book reviewer. Some of the larger sites attract reviewers with the lure of free books and require absolutely nothing from them other than a name, email, and, perhaps, what genre they would like to review. In the case of a blog, there is no newspaper or magazine editor vetting the reviewer for you, you are left to your own devices to discriminate. The good news is that seems to be working in many cases. Like cream, the best critics rise to the top in terms of readership/followers/subscribers.

Some of the blogs have mastered the art of the review in the sense that the reviews are well thought out, informative, and entertaining without crossing the line of giving away the point of reading the book. These are the new elite of literary critics – bloggers who can be relied upon to review for the benefit of readers. On my own blog I have listed some of these. If you have a candidate you think should be included, by all means write to me and let me know. vdanann@gmail.com

The good thing about Amazon.com customer reviews is that, again, while individual reviews may not be worthwhile, numbers usually prove true. I can look at the number of total reviews (regardless of rating) then look at the publication date and predict whether or not it’s a good book. If a book has been out for six years and has two reviews, it’s probably not going to be memorable in a good way. On the other hand, if a book has been out for a year and has a lot of reviews relative to other books within the genre, it means that many people were moved by that book to take the extra step of returning to the purchase page to register their opinion. Again, cream rising to the top.

An Author’s Review of the Reviews System

Speaking as myself, for myself. Many would say I’m going where angels fear to tread, but, hey, I’m no angel.

1.) My biggest complaint hinges around the question of summarizing which often includes SPOILING!! There’s a reason they call these plot giveaways “spoilers”. I may spend months perfecting a turn in the story that could potentially give a reader a surprise jolt of pleasure. You, as a reviewer, can ruin that in two sentences and thirty seconds. Please believe me, if given the choice, I would much rather you trench my lawn or egg my house. You may think you’re providing a service to other readers by revealing the plot twists or outcomes, but you’re not. To other readers, it’s simply selfish, thoughtless, and inconsiderate. To the author, it’s disregard and disrespect.

A review isn’t a middle school book report. A good review isn’t a summary to prove you “really” read the book. If the book should be publicly summarized, I assure you the author of that book could do a better job than you. There’s a really good reason why they didn’t.

2.) ANONYMITY IS THE ENEMY OF CIVILITY.

People do say things in reviews that they would not dream of saying to someone in person. They also say things they wouldn’t say if they knew their name was going to be on it – their real name. What’s wrong with that? Well, hiding behind anonymity brings out mean spiritedness in some people.

In the days when the only published critics were legitimate literary critics, their names (real names) were proudly displayed on their columns. They took responsibility for what they wrote and knew that they might be out to dinner one night in New York and run into the person whose work they reviewed. That didn’t mean that all reviews were good. It just meant that there was a measure of accountability.

Some reviews seem to have no value other than to snipe for the sake of mean-spiritedness and for no other reason. I’ve come to truly dislike Goodreads because it seems to attract snark which, in case you haven’t noticed, is snowballing in our culture. This is not good. And I blame anonymity. The belief that one can write ANYTHING with impunity because no one knows who they really are has really brought out the worst in us as a society.

Authors are all too aware of the fact that our worst reviews are often written by other authors who establish “sock puppet” accounts for the solitary purpose of bringing down a book’s rating. Unfortunately most of the readers don’t know that.

The advice authors give each other? Ignore it.

Okay. I was willing to go along with that up to a point, but when I confronted multiple threads of proof that reader/reviewers are influenced by other reader/reviewers, I drew a line in the sand. If a reviewer says something in a review that is not true, I am going to post a correction in comments. If someone leaves a terrible review on Book 1 – that definitely influences others, then buys Book 2 so that they can rewrite the same complaints about my writing style – I’m going to post a comment suggesting they not buy Book 3 because it will be more of the same and my work is clearly not a good fit for them.

Also see “How To Be An Honest Book Reviewer” – post by Laurie Garrisoin (Bitten by Paranormal Romance) in this month’s btsemag http://booktrailershowcase.com/category/author-news/emag/

Amazon. Com’s Tips on writing a great review:  The bulk of the remarks dedicated to guidelines deals with “what’s not allowed”. What I would like to quote here is the section on tips. Keep in mind that this section is not exclusive to book reviews, but includes products as well.

• Include the “why”: The best reviews include not only whether you liked or disliked a product, but also why. Feel free to talk about related products and how this item compares to them.
• Be specific: Your review should focus on specific features of the product and your experience with it. For video reviews, we recommend that you write a brief introduction.
• Not too short, not too long: Written reviews must be at least 20 words and are limited to 5,000 words. The ideal length is 75 to 500 words. Video reviews have a 10-minute limit, but we recommend 2 to 5 minutes to keep your audience engaged.
• Be sincere: We welcome your honest opinion about the product–positive or negative. We do not remove reviews because they are critical. We believe all helpful information can inform our customers’ buying decisions.
• Full disclosure: If you received a free product in exchange for your review, please clearly and conspicuously disclose that that you received the product free of charge.

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 21st, 2012|Victoria Danann|0 Comments
Read More

5 Easy Steps to Transferring Book Files to Your Device

1.) Place your cursor on the file you want and RIGHT CLICK to “save as” to your hard drive. This downloads the file to your computer. (Remember where you put it.)

2.) If you don’t already have an e-book manager that you like, download Calibre for free. (or make a donation if you wish) http://calibre-ebook.com/download (Again, remember where you save it.)

3.) After installing Calibre, click the “Add Books” icon then browse to and open the file you saved from Smashwords.

4.) Plug your e-reading device into your computer.

5.) Click “Send to Device”. Voila! It is there.

By |2012-12-19T12:12:05-06:00December 19th, 2012|Uncategorized|0 Comments
Read More

If Blurbs Were Herbs…

This is a copy of a guest blog I did in early October of 2012.

IF BLURBS WERE HERBS…

by Victoria Danann

If blurbs were herbs, they’d be called Authors Bane. A blurb is a short description of a book. It’s distinguished from an actual “book description” by length. It’s basically a paragraph. Smashwords allows 386 characters. Sounds sufficient to describe a 113,000 words book?

If you’re a reader you take these mini-synopses (Yes. I had to look up the plural of synopsis.) for granted, just as authors did before we became authors. It looks easy. A ten minute task at most. Four months and a hundred revisions later, I’m still tearing my hair out.

You say: “Come on. How hard could it be? Has anyone ever called you melodramatic?”

I say: “Well, yes. They have. But that’s not relevant to this discussion. Really!”

I would much rather write a full length novel than try to compose a blurb. Trying to pare that 113,000 words down to 75 is not just hard, it’s torture. It’s cruel, I tell you. The short description that I currently use for My Familiar Stranger follows. This is the best I can do while avoiding spoilers.

“Minutes ahead of inevitable assassination, Elora Laiken is forcibly transported to an alternate dimension similar, but not identical, to her own. She is stranded. Alone. Far from home. A stranger in a “strangish” land.

Of course a girl could suffer worse problems than having gorgeous suitors. Perhaps more importantly, in the midst of an epidemic of vampire related abductions, can she stay alive long enough to choose between an honor debt, true love, or the breathlessness of single-minded passion?”

I can’t tell you how often reviews will say something to the effect of “don’t pay too much attention to the description”. See, the problem is that I wanted to create something that hadn’t been done before, something that defies both formula and genre categorizing. I succeeded at that, but, it turns out that, like everything else in the universe, that comes with two sides. The good news is that it’s different. The bad news is that the difference throws a wrench into the way the industry is set up to market books.

The second book in the series, The Witch’s Dream, is due to release October 14th and the problem has expanded. It’s snowballing. Here’s what I’ve got so far…

“From New York to Ireland to Edinburgh to Siena to the Texas Hill Country to Napa Valley, modern day knights, heroes, witches, demons, psychics, vampires, werewolves, elves and fae come together where emotions intersect. From promises to rages to hunts to epiphanies, The Witch’s Dream proves that true love can find you in the strangest places, when you’re least expecting it, even when you’re far, far from home.”

See what I mean? There’s no way to give a SHORT description of this book without having it sound stupid or juvenile or both which leaves me standing here as usual saying, “But it’s not! I swear!”

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 19th, 2012|Uncategorized|2 Comments
Read More

Blood Betrayal Featured Today

Blood Betrayal ButtonBlood Betrayal
Book 1 in The Primigenio Tales

Alison Beightol

Genre: Paranormal Romance/Dark fantasy

Publisher: Charles River Press/ Cambridge Press US

EBook ISBN 13: 978-1-936185-83-2

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-1-936185-82-5

Number of pages: 384

Word Count: 98,000

Cover Artist: Laurie Mc Adams

Book Description:

Being the world’s oldest vampire, Eamon Rutherford has enjoyed women throughout the ages as beautiful meals and one night stands. That is until Eamon decides to find a mate and settle down. His less-than-perfect choice is temperamental ballerina Lauryl Mellis. When Lauryl escapes from him in London, Eamon discovers that true commitment requires him to love another more than himself. As he struggles with his inner awakening and Lauryl’s rejection, Lauryl is busy planning her own special event, which might include the death of Eamon Rutherford.

Amazon    BN

About the Author: 

Alison Beightol works as a registered nurse but also studied history and theatre at the University of Florida. For as long as she can remember, she has had an affinity for vampire stories, romance, and gothic tales that keep her up at night.  Blood Betrayal: Book One of the Primigenio Tales is her first novel. Alison lives in a haunted house in rural north Florida where she is putting the final touches on book two of the Primigenio Tales: Blood of New Beginnings.

https://facebook.com/pages/Alison-Beightol-Author/121442071246963

http://www.adventuresofthecautionarytale.blogspot.com

Prologue

The Silly Thing Didn’t Realize She Was Going To Be Late Night Meal

Who to eat, Eamon thought as he studied the capacity crowd of the Marion Oliver McCaw Hall. The marker of another vampire, a much younger vampire, in the audience caught his attention. The mystery vampire’s energy had a quiet dignity intertwined in it. The marker intrigued him and he scanned the audience with greater intensity. His Blackberry vibrated in his pocket, distracting him before he could identify him or her. He looked down at his phone.

Irina.

That dancer, what do you see in her? There are plenty like her here, the text message read.

Eamon put the phone back in his pocket without responding. “That dancer” was

the reason he delayed his return to New York .There were not any others like her.

Lauryl Mellis had been the pride and problem of the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School

of Dance at the American Ballet Theatre. Once at a cocktail benefit, the student dancers were selling signed dance shoes of some of the school’s notable graduates. Lauryl asked

one patron in her Georgia twang, why he wanted a smelly shoe and did he plan on

“jizzing” in it when he got home? Her dismissive attitude and scorn of the patrons

amused Eamon but not the elite school. The powers that be often bent the rules for her,

giving her chance after chance because of her talent.

Her talent and what he had seen of her stormy personality was magnetic. She

would back up whatever insult or harangue with a lovely smile or a toss of her auburn

hair. He enjoyed her from a distance, though. He’d never missed a performance or

fundraiser, but never approached her or introduced himself. She was young, still in her

teens, so he waited. Then he had lost track of her. But to his good fortune, here she was on tour in Seattle.

Eamon studied the crowd a few more minutes and then flipped through the stage

bill. He passed ads, the story synopsis for the ballet, and then found what he was looking for, Lauryl’s picture. Gone was the teen he remembered. Instead, he saw a radiant, young

woman with a dazzling smile and bright eyes. Eamon’s interest increased sharply.

The phone in his pocket vibrated again. It was Irina but he saw no need to

acknowledge his former companion. He looked back at the picture of Lauryl. The change

was remarkable. She was stunning. The idea of a dancer for a companion intrigued him.

All of that beauty and grace amplified as a vampire. It was a perfect combination. The

image lingered in his mind for a moment and then the framework of a plan materialized.

How much of her adolescent, edgy personality remained after dancing professionally for the past six years? Had she outgrown that or had she at least learned to temper it? After the performance, he’d find out.

The house lights dimmed and Eamon closed his stage bill. He tossed it onto the empty seat next to him in the box and waited as the orchestra tuned up. The cacophony of instruments merged together into a more harmonic air but the familiar sensation of a woman studying him turned his gaze back to the audience.

A young woman with light brown hair watched him. She rubbed her hand over

her thigh and crossed her legs. The slit in her skirt revealed a tantalizing preview of her

legs. Eamon followed the line of her legs back up to her ample breasts. Her body

reinforced the silent invitation in her expression. He nodded acceptance of her naive

request. The silly thing didn’t realize she was going to be a late night meal.

******

It took more time than Eamon expected to work his way through the backstage crowd. He stopped twice to speak with business acquaintances but soon found himself outside of Lauryl’s dressing room or as close as he could get. A throng of her admirers blocked the entry. The ones that couldn’t fit in her dressing room hovered around the doorway, waiting for their opportunity to enter. He stood for a moment with the crowd but became bored after few minutes. He looked at the mass of people and focused on their collective thoughts.

Leave, he told them silently. One by one, they filed away and he entered the dressing room. Other dancers, all drinking champagne and chattering, surrounded Lauryl.

She was seated in a chair with a blanket over her shoulders and a champagne bottle tucked between her thighs. Eamon could smell blood and his eyes tracked down to a bucket of ice water that her feet were soaking in. He looked at the bucket a moment longer and then at her face. She was lovely, even lovelier than in the program picture by far.

Her pale skin was flushed pink and her green eyes sparkled with excitement. Her full lips turned in a smile for one of the dancers before she waved at them. The mass of curly, red hair he remembered was scraped back in a tight bun. She laughed at something a dancer whispered to her and she pulled the pins holding her hair back out. Auburn curls dropped down and framed her face. Eamon smiled inwardly and took a few steps toward her.

“Lauryl Mellis,” he said as he extended his hand to her. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

Lauryl turned to him and her expression changed. Her smile withered and her eyes narrowed as the happiness disappeared from them. She took his hand like it was covered in filth and shook it. “Thanks.”

Her boredom with him was apparent but he continued on, intrigued. “I’ve followed you since you were a student at ABT. Your talent has certainly blossomed, as well as your beauty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Suddenly he sensed that he was just like the school patrons that she scorned back in New York. He bristled slightly but his expression didn’t change. As he looked into her eyes, the irritation he felt faded into amusement. He’d play along with her. Besides, the delicious aroma of her blood continued to drift up from the bucket of ice in front of him. Lauryl pulled her hand away and continued to look at him with the same disinterested expression. She even intensified her dismissive stare. He knew that she wanted him to leave, which fascinated him. It also excited him because this  was a first for him. Never had a woman reacted that way to him. He concentrated on her thoughts for a moment. She thought he was a rich asshole looking to get laid.

A dancer kissed Lauryl’s cheeks and hugged her. Then Lauryl shifted in the chair. She looked at him and then looked at the door.

Eamon almost laughed. A not so subtle hint, he thought. He’d comply. After all, he had the young woman from the audience waiting for him. “I just wanted to tell you how talented and beautiful you are. Thank you for the engaging conversation.” Eamon bowed his head some and smiled.

Lauryl’s green eyes blazed angry. “I’ll remember it always.”

“So will I,” Eamon said before he walked out.

By |2019-03-25T18:04:50-05:00December 19th, 2012|Uncategorized|4 Comments
Read More
Copyright 2019 Victoria Danann, Author | All Rights Reserved
Toggle Sliding Bar Area

highlight book title to see on Amazon

PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FANTASY

Not Too Late 1. Midlife Magic

Not Too Late 2. Midlife Blues

Not Too Late. 3. Midlife Mojo

Not Too Late 4. Midlife at Midnight

Not Too Late 5. Midlife at Midsummer

Not Too Late 6. Trials of Tregeagle

Not Too Late 7.  Hallow Hill at Halloween – Part One 

Not Too Late 8. Hallow Hill at Halloween – Part Two

KNIGHTS OF BLACK SWAN PARANORMAL ROMANCE

Knights of Black Swan 1. My Familiar Stranger

Knights of Black Swan 2. The Witch’s Dream

Knights of Black Swan 3. A Summoner’s Tale

Knights of Black Swan 4. Moonlight

Knights of Black Swan 5. Gathering Storm

Knights of Black Swan 6. A Tale of Two Kingdoms

Knights of Black Swan 7. Solomon’s Sieve

Knights of Black Swan 8. Vampire Hunter

***Be sure to pause the series and read  Exiled 1. CARNAL before going on to Journey Man.

Knights of Black Swan 9. Journey Man

Knights of Black Swan 10. Falcon

Knights of Black Swan 11. Jax

Knights of Black Swan 12. Trespass

Knights of Black Swan 13. Irish War Cry

Knights of Black Swan 14.  Deliverance

Knights of Black Swan 15. Black Dog

Knights of Black Swan 16. The Music Demon

Order of the Black Swan Novels

Black Swan Novel Prince of Demons

WITCHES & WARLOCKS

Witches of Wimberley 1-3

Warlock Coven 1.QUEST

THE HYBRIDS

Exiled 1. CARNAL

Exiled 2. CRAVE

Exiled 3. CHARMING

THE WEREWOLVES

New Scotia Pack 1, Shield Wolf

New Scotia Pack 2. Wolf Lover

New Scotia Pack 3. Fire Wolf

Hotblooded 1. Stalk

CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 1. Two Princes

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 2. The Biker’s Brother

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 3. Nomad

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 4. Devil’s Marker

SSMC Austin, TX, Book 5. Roadhouse

CDMC Lafayette, LA Book 1. Batiste