Danielle D. Smith's Blog

(c) Danielle D. Smith

PLEASE HELP EVERYONE! My friend and dear book fan, Katrina Whittaker , was hit a terrible blow on Mother's Day...please observe the image above. Someone who "claims to love her" destroyed her entire collection of beloved author swag, books, collectibles...everything. Naturally, her spirit is feeling battered and despairing, as her books are, indeed, her life.Her friends and grateful authors (including me) are hoping to get her collection rebuilt...anyone who can help, please do! Spread the word...let's erase this terrible event and make her new collection better than ever!!! To help rebuild Kat's collection, please visit the link below. There are two addresses to mail packages to--Kat's home in Australia, and her sister's address in Canada for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. Donations of books, swag, author collectables...anything having to do with Paanormal Romance, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy...if it has vampires, demons, angels, werewolves, faeries, or the like, she'll love it! Authors are strongly urged to send signed copies of their books, as well as swag such as bookmarks, postcards, character trading cards, themed jewelry, book thongs...you name it. Be creative...and THANK YOU! DONATE TO KAT'S BOOKSHELF FUND

A lot of publishers are turning novels, especially Paranormals/Urban Fantasy, into comic books. 

I am pleased to offer an example of my own... the first "officially" completed page of the BLACK DOG AND REBEL ROSE graphic novel. 


More to come...enjoy. :-)

Time to address a few things. Or rather, clear up a few misconceptions.

Please forgive me in advance for the use of ALL CAPS in sections of this entry. I AM NOT YELLING. ;-)

As my most avid fans know, I am a big appreciator of HONEST reviews. Even if the opinion of the reader isn't glowing--make that outright SCARY (and I have certainly had my share)--I still enjoy reading it on some level because it gives me food for thought. Not to say that I don't take pride in my work, or that I don't write stories that are to my own personal taste. Any author who says otherwise is a fucking liar. But the not-so-glowing reviews can help make us better authors, artists, and general PR people, so I am grateful for what I can glean from them.

HOWEVER, I have noticed that bad reviews are frequently given to stories (not only mine, but to that of other authors as well) based on the reviewer's personal tastes and not on the quality of the work itself... and half the time, the reader seems to not have bothered to read the blurb that describes what the story is about before they purchased it. As much as I hate to gripe, this tends to bother me quite a bit.

So...drumroll please...for those who have not yet picked up one of my books but is considering it, let me state a few things upfront that you may want to know about me--and therefore about my work--before you go a-reading. It may help you avoid purchasing a book that you'll hate...or help you snatch up something you'll count among your lifelong faves. ;-) Consider this you guide to "All Things Dani".

1.) I do *technically* write something akin to "paranormal" romance, for the most part. However, do NOT expect your typical "PNR" plot lines and characters. Expect something that colors outside the lines, oftentimes with a very raw edge. Expect not just explicit sex, but a ton of gore, violence, and very foul language. Expect blood, grit, and a rollicking fast ride. I like action and horror elements in my work, so expect both. My fantasy life involves a '68 Chevy Camaro SS, a Harley-Davidson Nightster, full tattoo sleeves up both arms, and a Camel cigarette crammed in my pie hole...so that should tell you a LOT.

2.) I am a tomboy, and I have a very masculine sense of humor. Therefore, don't expect any books from a fluffy, sappy, Lifetime Channel perspective. If you want that, steer clear of my work...I guarantee you won't like what you read. There is a lot of tenderness, emotion, and great character interaction, but I also pack my stories with fast motorcycles and muscle cars, tattoos, spiky hair, and dirty boy humor. One friend of mine described one of my tales as "Duke Nuke'm with fucking", and I guess that hits the nail on the head.

*proceeds to laugh her ass off*

3.) My heroes do not have names like "Deveraux". Just thought I'd mention that. And if I ever create a character with that name--or any name that's in that vein--please promptly put a silver bullet in my brain and toss me in the dumpster behind KFC because THAT'S NOT ME.

4.) I do not--REPEAT: DO NOT--write YA!!! If the sex, violence, gore, and high-octane fun have to be toned down, I ain't interested in writing it or reading it!!! So, for the love of all that's holy, don't shelve Black Dog and Rebel Rose under YA on your TBR list and then buy it for your 12 year old...I don't want to be held responsible for your kid asking you what a "mastodonic cock" looks like. Buy them a copy of The Hunger Games and call it a day.

5.) My books are for those who want something different in their paranormal reading arsenal. I do not feature vampires that sparkle, or that re-create your favorite Buffy The Vampire Slayer Spike fantasy. If you want either of those, grab yourself a copy of Twilight or something from the Night Huntress series. You'll like those better. My vampires are ugly, evil, and are frequently bullet fodder, like they were back in the old days.

6.) Please, PLEASE read the blurbs of my books before you buy! For example, if the blurb includes a Publisher's Warning that reads something like this: "This delightfully sordid tale contains graphic BDSM sex, including forceful oral and anal sex, bondage, blindfolding, slapping/spanking, nipple clamps, toe-curling dirty talk, hot wax, and crazy hardcore sex in a church..." and you don't like how that sounds, PLEASE don't buy it!!! Blurbs are there to help you decide if a story is suitable for your personal tastes...use them to your advantage. There is nothing worse than seeing a scathing review being given by someone complaining about what the book is about when the blurb states quite clearly what they can expect before they turn the first page.

7.) I write Angel and Demon-themed paranormal fantasy almost exclusively. You will find angels, demons, Nephilim, Halflings, and other supernatural creatures screwing, cussing, etc.This does not mean that I am anti-religious, or that my books are meant to take a cheap shot at Christianity or any other faith. I am not religious, but I do have enormous respect for good honest people who embrace their faith and find peace therein, and my stories are not meant to be a weapon or cheap-shot protest against said beliefs. Please do not take them as such.

8.) If you are teh type who buys a book based on whether or not there is a stock photo of a faceless half-naked guy representing the "hero" on the cover...move on, folks. Why am I mentioning this? Because reviewers have complained from time to time. I am an artist as well as an author, and I do my own covers with the blessing of my publishers. As usual, expect something different from the flock...perhaps even a little comic book-y. :-)

Hopefully, I have not come off as bristly or bitter here...not the case at all. I just feel that honesty is the best policy, and I think my fans would agree with the old saying "To Thyself Be True" makes for the best writing...and the best reading!

:-)

I want to throw up a big THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to review my work--good or bad, reviews are what drive sales and awaken new understanding for the author.

Peace to all!

Dani <3

Power.
A word that can express so many things, and mean something different to each person. Throughout history, power has been synonymous with brutality, genocide, oppression, and sometimes mercy…but always, always, it means CHANGE, whether that be great or small, or somewhere in between.
I'm not going to bore you, the reader, with some essay on the sociological implications of BDSM. There are plenty of good books on the subject written by experts…er, sexperts…who are about a thousand times more educated and eloquent than I, so quit yawning and perk up, kids.
When I shared a private message discussion on Facebook some months ago with a few of my most devoted fans, I was initially unsure as to whether or not I should take Skriker and Rose, my two most popular characters, into the BDSM realm. Sure, readers had been taken on a few really fun adventures where the notorious half-demon bad boy and his Nephil (half-angel) love frequently paused in hunting the Big Baddies to have a good sweaty roll in the sheets. Panties were definitely wetter for their sexcapades, but to trek into the frequently controversial world of BDSM was daring, at the very least. Would Skriker and Rose be looked on the same way ever again? Would I lose part of my readership?
I realized that I needed to use the theme of BDSM sex to explore the dynamic of Skriker and Rose's unorthodox relationship in order to make such a sordid sexual tale fit in with the other books already available in the series. I could not simply make this a porno—and, as much as I love porn, I'm a piss poor writer of "just sex". There always has to be more…an exploration of something outside the shagging, an emotional pull that offers the reader more than a simple series of hardcore sex scenes. (Rose & Skriker - designed by Moi)
The first thing that I decided to address in DEMON'S SLAVE was a complaint that I hear often from my female readers: how Rose, in her angelic perfection, seems to feel so greater-than-thou toward her Halfling lover. Anyone who has read the first installments of the Black Dog and Rebel Rose adventures knows that Skriker, despite his 200+ pound, buff as hell, heavily tattooed, Billy Idol-blond bad boy exterior, is a certified mush muffin when it comes to his angel girl. He worships the ground that Rose walks on, and would fall on his knees and kiss her feet if she would ask it of him. And she has been, in no uncertain terms, a flaming bitch at times, turning her nose up at him, despite his passion, his boyish worship of her beauty, her intellect, her power.
There's that word again. Power. And that was how I determined I would make my BDSM tale "more" than just a pornographic series of hardcore sex scenes involving bondage, spanking, and nipple clamps. Rose would lay down her power—her angelic need to be in control at all times—to give her beloved the gift of domination over her proud (and infinitely supernaturally more powerful) body. This is how she would profess her love for him, for all time. This is how she would show him that he is worthy of her, body and soul.
Admittedly, since DEMON'S SLAVE was published, there have been those who have hated the rawness of the story. Some have said I went too far: that if Skriker loved Rose, he would not dominate her with the intensity that he did. That at times it bordered on abuse, DESPITE the fact that everything is consensual, that Rose is thrilled and made all the wetter when her beloved spanks her until her ass is red and bruised, or backhands her as punishment for speaking without permission. That she feels all the more bonded to him as she lies bound, rubber-coated nipple clamps pinching her pink pearls, her mouth and cunt and ass brutalized deliciously by her Halfling love, matters little to these usual BDSM readers. There is no rape, no child abuse, and no dubious consent of any kind. But some still viewed it, and will continue to view it, as "too much". And that is fair enough. I expected there would be naysayers, and people who will never be able to pick up another book by me because of what went down in this one. Who simply didn't "get" the dynamic between these two lovers who would give each other everything: body, soul, pleasure, pain…and in that giving, that sharing, apologies would be spoken, regret would be expressed, and a forbidden romance would be strengthened all the more by this raw and brutal gift.
Sometimes, power can mean giving in, can mean submitting…can mean the greatest sacrifice for love. And that is what makes DEMON'S SLAVE, in many ways, my most powerful story yet.--Author & Artist Danielle D. SmithOriginally posted at Darkest Sins

GET TO KNOW SKRIKER AND ROSE... WIN AN E-BOOK DOUBLEPACK INCLUDING: DEMON'S SLAVE & BLACK DOG & REBEL ROSE! Simply enter via the Rafflecopter below! Follow me on Twitter, Tweet this Giveaway, and/or "Like" Author Danielle D. Smith on Facebook and earn extra entries! GOOD LUCK!!!*** I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING OUR FABULOUS AND VERY SMEXY HOP!!! Please leave a comment below...and thanks for stopping by! ON TO THE NEXT STOP... BACK TO THE HOME O' THE HOP!!!

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BREAKING ALL THE RULES: AN INTIMATE INTERVIEW WITH SKRIKER AND ROSE

Well, kids...you asked for it, and now you've got it. The long-awaited release of my first BDSM tale, DEMON'S SLAVE...yes, my balls have grown THAT big. And to celebrate, I have invited the hero and heroine of this shockingly sordid tale back once again to chat...Skriker and Rose, my most popular characters and the protagonists of my most popular books thus far.
It's no secret to my most avid fans that Skrike and Rose are an interesting  pair...star-crossed lovers who should be bitter enemies. Those of you who are new to this pair might ask, why enemies? The answer is simple...ever heard of a Nephil falling for the son of a demon? Yep, things are definitely complicated for these two, and that's just the way the fans seem to like it.
Please welcome Skriker and Rose as they discuss some of their more intimate moments in DEMON'S SLAVE.

DANI: Skrike and Rosie, thank you so much for being here. I know that the subject at hand is very...personal. So it is especially thrilling to have you here with us today.

SKRIKER (winking): Great to see you again, baby.

ROSE: Thank you for having us. Nice to see you again and all.

DANI: Every time we do this, there are always new readers who have yet to join the ranks of your fans. Please introduce yourselves in detail.

SKRIKER: Gladly, baby. My name's Skriker, and I'm a hunter of the nasties that dwell in darkness, so to speak. Vamps, weres, shifters...none of 'em are safe from me. I was born to a unique pair--my daddy was a Collector demon, born straight from the flames of the Pit, and my mama was a human and a stripper. They ran into each other in this smarmy peep show where my mom worked called The Neon, and the rest was history. Dad was trying to snatch souls...what he snatched instead was my mom's heart, and losing his own in the process led to the conception of Yours Truly in the back seat of a '68 Chevy Camaro. I was orphaned when I was eleven--my dad, mom, and little brother were killed by demons sent by Hell...the Pit doesn't like to lose its best to a human heart. I lived orphaned on the streets util I was 13, when a werewolf who runs an undergorund fight club and bar took me in. Taught me everything I know. I now cage fight and hunt...and I make loads of cash doing it. Good life for a rascal half-demon.

DANI: Rascal indeed! You are a certified badass. Rose, you are also the offspring of a unique pair, are you not?

ROSE (averting her eyes): Yes...very unique. My father is an angel, one of the biggest and baddest warriors the ranks of Heaven ever saw. He was banished centuries ago and wandered the earth for a long time before he was given a chance to redeem himself--kill my mother, a human artist who took a commission from a demon. Long story short, they fell in love, and my father chose to stay here with her.

DANI: You two met on a hunt, and sparks flew. Not really the sort of thing that is supposed to happen between a half angel and a half demon.

SKRIKER: Nope...we're breaking all the rules, true enough. But Rosie is the love of my life, and I wouldn't give her up for anything. We both know pretty damn well we're not supposed to even breathe the same air, which is why what Rosie gave me for my Dirty 30 was so freakin' special.

(He nudges Rose playfully, and she blushes a deep pink, smiling.)

ROSE: Skrike, you silly dog.

SKRIKER: You know I loved it, baby...oh, did I ever love it.

ROSE: I'm so glad.

DANI: Okay, guys, spill the beans...tell us all about this gift and what it entailed.

SKRIKER: Rosie, you want to take it away?

ROSE: Okay. God knows, no pun intended, that Nephilim and Halflings should never be lovers--angel and demon romances are pretty much unheard of, and rightfully so--but what we have is so special, Dani. Skrike is better to me than any man has ever been, and the more Heaven wants me to hate him, the more deeply and wholly I love him. Sometimes...I don't show him that enough. So I wanted to give him something extra special for his 30th birthday. The answer was my total devotion...my total submission.

DANI: Wow. And by submission you mean...

ROSE (nodding): Yeah, that's right. I became his slave for three days and three nights. Collar, lead, and all. To be blunt, I became his fuck toy, willing to do whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted to do it. He became my Demon Master, and I became his Angel Slave. Oral sex, anal sex, bondage...it was sublime.

DANI: Now, not everyone is into BDSM sex. To be blunt, a lot of people are flat out disturbed by it. Rose, you being a woman and an occasional willing submissive, can best explain what the appeal is to such wild side sex. Will you give us a bit of insight?

ROSE: I definitely want to send the message that this is consenting sex...I willingly offered myself up to Skriker, and was open and willing to receive both pain and pleasure from him. I learned very quickly that the two are very close together, and it made things all the more thrilling. Sure, he slapped me, spanked me, gagged me with my collar...and it did get really brutal at times. But it was everything that I had asked for. Too many people assume that BDSM is automatically some sort of abuse, some sort of non-consenting intercourse. In reality, as the slave, I was the one in control in the end. We had a safety word, and all I had to do was break that out to make everything stop. Skriker was the best Master during those three days--so skilled. He was quite a lady's man before we met, and had had experience in dominating some of his past lovers. There was nothing he did that didn't thrill me to my toes. Through being his submissive, I gained true freedom psychologically. I was able to connect with Skrike in a way that freed us both from the awful pressure of being the "forbidden lovers".

(Skriker leans in and kisses her, and she responds fervently.)

SKRIKER (pressing his forehead to hers): Love you, Rosie.

ROSE: You too, honey. So much.

DANI: It is great to see a couple who is so in love. Skriker, Rose speaks of your skills as a BDSM lover...details, please! Give us a few tasty tidbits!

SKRIKER: Oh, the adventure never ends in old Skrike's bedroom, baby. I have a drawer where I tuck away all my toys...and I brought them all out for my Rosie here. I have all the old standbys--silk and velvet scarves, ball gags, leather shackles--but I like it to get a little more exciting than that for my girl here. Rosie seemed to dig the pinch of the old nipple clamps quite a bit, and the riding crop I busted out when it was time for us to play a little game I like to call Pretty Pony was right up her alley. Then there was the Japanese rope bondage, which I learned from a chick I dated who was from Tokyo back in the day...my dining room table got a good workout when I broke the ropes out for my girl here and gave her a good tying down. We had some fun with food when I asked my Rose to serve me--literally--and then there was the jacuzzi in the Beelzebub Club...oh, wait, don't want to give too much away. (He grins devilishly.)

DANI: Pretty Pony? What on earth is that game, Skrike?

SKRIKER (winking nastily): Basically I have my Rosie strip down for me, leaving on nothing more than a nice pair of really stacked heels, her wrist bonds, and her collar and lead. Then I make her prance around, lifting those pretty legs as high as she can until she's worked up a good sweat. And if she doesn't get them high enough, she gets a nice flick of the crop across her tits and ass. I give her collar a nice jerk as needed to make sure she stays in line...

DANI: Holy crap, that's hot. Rose? Thoughts?

ROSE (grinning): I had welts on my butt and tits for days after. But they were marks of pride. I actually felt a little sad when they finally faded away.

SKRIKER (gazing at her, his look smoky): There's always your birthday, Rosie...

ROSE (gazing at him from beneath her lashes): There's always tonight.

DANI: Whoa...holy shit. Okay, let's wrap this up. I think you two need to get home pretty quick. Thanks for joining us, you crazy supernatural kids. Have fun in the bedroom tonight!

SKRIKER: Always a joy and a pleasure, Dani. Now, if you'll excuse us...pleasure is the reason why we need to split.

ROSE: And pain.

SKRIKER: Oh, yes. And pain.


***

OFFICIAL BLURB:

Rose, Nephil daughter of a Warrior of Heaven, has betrayed her celestial heritage by falling for the guy from the wrong side of the tracks: Skriker, tattooed half-demon hunter, and the most irresistible chunk of hard meat that she has ever taken to her bed.

Rose knows that there is no love in all of Creation more forbidden than that between an angel and a demon, and that knowledge has left her terribly fragmented, despite her passionate love for her Halfling bad boy.

As Skriker's "Dirty 30" approaches, she will offer him the ultimate birthday gift: she will be his devoted sexual slave for three days and three nights, laying aside her angelic pride to fully commit to his pleasure (and hers) with every part of her being...and neither Heaven nor Hell will have any power to stop it.

**Publisher's Warning: This delightfully sordid tale contains graphic BDSM sex, including forceful oral and anal sex, bondage, blindfolding, slapping/spanking, nipple clamps, toe-curling dirty talk, hot wax, and crazy hardcore sex in a church.** 


BUY ON KINDLE HERE

Panties wet, yet, ladies? ;-)
I am giving away two Kindle Edition copies of Demon's Slave...simply leave a comment below and  you will be entered to win! Contests ends on Dec 27th 2011.
Good luck! 

...it has been waiting for you.
RYKER FAUSTUS CROWLEY SMITHBorn: 11/21/2011 @ 5:48 AMWeight: 6 lbs, 1 ounceLength:  19.5"Proud Parents: Danielle D. and Aaron A. Smith
  
 Sweet little man, I can't wait to see who you become. I look forward to the journey.

I am depressed as all hell. I need CUTE THERAPY.



Join me in celebrating the power of THE CUTE. And the master of cute is...the BUNNY. 
 

ENJOY.


nom, nom, nom



SAW A CARROT THIS BIG...NO LIE!




AWWWWWW.
"If you planted hope today in any hopeless heart, If someone's burden was lighter because you did your part, If you caused a laugh that chased a tear away, If tonight your name is mentioned when someone kneels to pray, Then your day was well spent."

After lagging for nearly a year as my artistic brain struggled to flesh out major aspects of the next chapter in the "big one" aka the Psyche's Gate Saga (my opus maximus, so to speak), where all of my most beloved characters are gradually drawn together and the plot thickens heavily for everyone involved, I have finally picked up the "pen" again and set out to get this heavy-duty puppy back on a roll. All of your favorites, including Skriker, Alexius, and Rose (and one other VERY special character whose name I will not mention--must maintain a few surprises here!) will be joining us, and you will meet some wonderful new characters along the way as well, all of whom sculpted our favorites into who they are now. Much backstory will be written, including what happened with Alexius and Psyche during Psyche's pregnancy with Rose, Rose's birth, and her early childhood, as well as Skriker's raggle-taggle beginnings and what shaped him into the swaggering bad boy we have all come to adore.
To get you, the fans, geared up for this momentous release, I have posted one of the (numerous) rough backstory excerpts that will be found scattered throughout the book. This particular snippet is from the POV of Harry, former boxer, fight club/bar owner, and one of the (few) good werewolves who populate the world I have created. Here we find him telling the tale of how he stumbled onto a certain young rascal who desperately needed his help...someone I'm sure many of you will recognize. :-)
Enjoy!
NEPHIL'S CURSE (An Excerpt)
             In watching his young charge fight so valiantly in the cage, Harry often looked back at his discovery of the orphaned scrapper in a cold dry sewer tunnel under the city, not far from the Beelzebub's hidden entrance.
            He had been out for a stroll, poking around the forgotten underground tunnels for vintage treasures to bring home to his antique-loving daughter. It was early autumn, and there had been a chill in the air that made even the big werewolf draw his coat closer around him.
 He had walked around a corner, whistling softly to himself, when a stray dog had loped across the tunnel in front of him. It had paused and glanced at him, licking its chops and briefly showing its teeth before galloping off into the shadows. Harry had shrugged to himself; stray dogs were common enough. And then a shadow had suddenly darted across the tunnel after the dog. Harry had glimpsed very little at first: filthy ripped denim, a pale bare torso that surely belonged to a tall, very young male. A goddamned kid, he had thought.
       "Hey!" Harry had called, and the kid had paused in the middle of the tunnel, glancing back abruptly. Harry glimpsed brilliant green eyes that seemed to briefly sizzle orange. Alabaster-pale skin marked with dirt, scratches, and bruises. Pale blond hair that stuck up every which way, as if the boy were some kind of modern primitive. The kid seemed to hiss, baring his teeth as the dog had, and suddenly he was climbing up the wall, defying gravity itself. No ordinary boy, that was certain.
            "Hey, kid!" Harry shouted, and ran after the quickly retreating figure. He had followed the wall climber out of sheer curiosity into another tunnel that hit a dead end. There was a rotten door separating one tunnel from the next and the kid had swung into the doorway like a monkey. He tried to slam it shut, barricading himself inside the hideaway, grunting and whimpering in fear. Harry had put one big hand out and forced it open; he didn't want to scare the boy, but there was no way in hell he was going to leave some kid alone in a sewer tunnel. He had forced his way into the little room and had found the boy huddled back against the cracked cement wall, surrounded by a small pack of skinny stray dogs. He had obviously been living in the dead end tunnel for a while: scraps of food were scattered about, probably given to his canine companions. A dirty mattress covered with a ragged military blanket occupied one corner of the space. There were dozens of half-melted white candles and tea lights set around on grocery crates, boxes and along the concrete walls; a few still flickered anemically. Canned crushed tomatoes and tinned meat stacked inside the crates. Empty beer and water bottles. Boxes of matches. A few scavenged tools, including a can opener, a bottle opener, and a motley collection of knives and forks. One crumpled pack of Camel cigarettes sitting on the grotesquely stained mattress. Harry glimpsed several stacks of books scattered in with the junk and the squalor. The kid was obviously educated, and yet here he was, trying to survive like a filthy common bum, and it broke Harry's heart.
        Sensing the true form of the big werewolf, the dogs had whined and slunk back, much to the chagrin of their companion. The boy had begun to scream at Harry in a language that was not English, his voice raspy with fear.
        "Swedish," Harry had once told one of his regulars. "He was screaming at me in Swedish; I had no clue at that point that he spoke a word of anything else. You'd think a Swede would be calm…that whole lagom thing, you know…but not this bastard. I speak fluent German, so I tried a bit of that with him, thinking that maybe he spoke more than one Teutonic language. He didn't seem to give a crap; he just kept hollering at me, like some wild child. All I could understand was that he was telling me to get out, over and over, jumbled with a bunch of other shit. He was scared out of his mind, but he already had the spitfire in him that had kept him alive on the streets and that came through like a fucking backdraft. Big fucker, too—he was one of the biggest kids that age that I'd ever seen. After seeing him wall crawl, I determined that he was one of us…something other than human. When I realized that he was a Halfling…well, that pretty much blew my mind. I had heard of Halflings, but before then had never actually seen one."
            Harry had moved into the little tunnel, his hands raised, trying to speak calming words in German and English. The kid had continued shouting in Swedish, seizing a half-rusted carving knife and brandishing it wildly and not without skill—someone had taught him to use a blade. Harry had gotten the knife away from him, but it had been no easy feat; as soon as his blade was taken the kid had morphed, growing black claws and fangs meaner than those of any vampyre or were.  Harry had thanked God Above that he knew the fighting techniques he did; he had choked the Halfling out, if only for his own safety, before bundling him away.
            He had taken the dirty youngster back home to the neat two-bedroom apartment he shared with his then eight-year-old daughter, Gretchen, trekking across town on his big Harley with the passed out kid strapped to the seat behind him, praying the entire time that the boy wouldn't come to while they were on the road. Gretchen had greeted him at the door, excited to see what sort of presents her father had found for her. Her shock had been instant when Harry tramped into the foyer with the big blond kid slung over his shoulder, still passed out. The shock faded, and the pretty little weregirl had quickly become intrigued by their new guest; when Harry had explained where the kid had come from and what he was, she had been even more amazed.
        "He's a demon?"
        "That's right, baby. Half, I'm guessing actually."
        "Where's his mommy and daddy?"
        "Don't know, pumpkin. Not around, that's for sure."
        "In Hell?"
        "Doubt it."
        "Is he…evil?"
        "No, hon. I wouldn't have brought him home if I thought he was evil. I'm pretty sure that whatever demon made him was turned neutral. You remember what that means, right?"
        Gretchen blinked, her hazel eyes flicking over the long strong body of the boy lying on their living room sofa.
        "Yeah. Why is he passed out? Did you hurt him, daddy?"
         Harry had chuckled drily.
        "He was just scared, so I had to put him to sleep for a while."
        "Oh. Okay."
        Gretchen had watched her father strip the unconscious kid's dirty clothes off before Harry had told her to go draw a hot bath, if only to keep her virgin eyes away from the boy's more than healthy loins—the kid was probably all of thirteen and already hung like a damned donkey, and that sort of thing was nothing that he wanted his little girl to know anything about. He had carried the boy into the bathroom and gently lowered him into the warm steaming water; the heat had shocked the lad awake like a slap. He had thrashed at Harry, roaring, water sloshing violently over the edge of the tub, his eyes blazing, until Gretchen had crept into the bathroom and he had spotted her. He had quieted immediately, gazing at the little auburn haired child with sharp interest. Harry had cautioned Gretchen to be careful, that he didn't trust this kid, but had allowed her to come near; perhaps, he had thought, seeing another child would indeed calm their strange new guest. Harry had stood back, watching the boy like a hawk as his daughter knelt down on the damp bath mat and tried to engage their visitor in conversation, ready to spring if the kid made any move that seemed wrong.
            "He doesn't speak English, honey," he told her, but Gretchen had shaken her small head, rolling her yes.
            "He does, daddy. He's just scared, remember?"
            She had leaned toward the boy, her hazel eyes narrowing. "You speak English, don't you?" she had prodded. 
            The boy had stared at her, muttered more Swedish.
            "It's okay, you can talk to me," Gretchen had told him, smiling, and then she had done something that would have shocked Harry to death if he didn't know his daughter's gentle generous nature: she had reached out and stroked her small fingers through the boy's wet white-blond hair. He hadn't flinched away, hadn't snarled or hissed; indeed, he had looked bashful, a small shy smile playing around his strong young mouth.
            "Hi," he had offered up coyly, and Harry had thought, Hallelujah. Gretchen had grinned, thrilled.
            "Hey. My name's Gretchen. Are you okay?"
            The boy had blinked and raked his hand across his nose. "Yeah," he said.
            Harry spoke up. "Glad I came along when I did, kid. You were living like a damned sewer rat."
            The boy glared up at him. "I can take care of m'self," he growled. "I'm tough. Don't need help from anyone."
            Gretchen put her small hand on his.
           "I'm glad you're here," she said softly. "We'll have fun. What's your name?"
            His eyes darted around the bathroom. Then, "Skriker."
            "Really? That's a cool name."
            Skriker. There was no way. Harry knew the name from his time in the service, when he had been stationed in England. He knew just about every dog and wolf myth out there—that was part of his heritage, after all, ever since he had drunk water out of a hidden mountain spring while on a hunting trip and had not been the same since—and he had heard the name Skriker around Lancashire. It was the name of a legendary Black Dog, a ghostly demon hound that had supposedly haunted the region for centuries. The kid must have given himself the name.
           Sweet Jesus, what happened to you, boy, he thought bleakly. Later he would trek back to the tunnel where the kid had been living to gather up a few of his things; specifically, he brought back all the books. One of them was a collection of myths and stories titled Ghostly Black Dogs; sure enough, the name Skriker appeared within its pages. He also found a faded Polaroid photograph tucked carefully between the pages, one corner slightly bent. The photo depicted a stunningly beautiful woman, as blonde as a vintage movie star with eyes as green as clovers. Harry had felt a twinge in his heart as he gazed at the image. He had brought the books and photograph back to Skriker, and the kid had clutched the picture to his chest, as if he were afraid to let it go. When Gretchen had shyly asked him who the pretty lady was, he had ducked his head and murmured, "My mom."
            Eventually Skriker had settled in with them. He had been given a more or less permanent place on Harry's couch, and proved to be not only a playmate for Gretchen, but another source of protection for her, like an older brother. It turned out that he remembered a good deal about his childhood, and little by little Harry and Gretchen coaxed it out of him. He remembered that his mother had been of Swedish descent and had taught him the language of her ancestral homeland, and that she had once been a stripper, although Harry became certain that the woman had been no stereotypical idiot sex trade worker as he listened to Skriker describe her—she sounded flat out educated. She had mated with her one and only, a True Native demon, and had a family, eventually leaving her pole dancing career behind to raise her children. He recalled that he had had a little brother that he named as Rory—he had wept copiously at the mention of this child, crying bitterly as if his heart were shattered, huge tears rolling down his pale cheeks—and that they all had been killed by other demons.
            But he could not remember his own real name. And as far as Harry was concerned, he suspected the kid never would.
(c) 2011 Danielle D. SmithALL RIGHTS RESERVED
           
           NEPHIL'S CURSE, Book II in the Psyche's Gate Saga, is currently in the works and is expected to be released some time in 2012.