Ravyn Rayne's Blog, page 21
July 29, 2015
Under His Direction by Alexa Davis
Introducing Under His Dominance, book eight of the sexy new series from Alexa Davis that will test your boundaries…
Natalie Jacobs is a reporter trying to do a story on the panty dropping Dante Devereaux, a billionaire computer hacker who sells foreign government secrets to the CIA. This story could make her career and she’s willing to do anything to get it, even if it means sleeping with the enemy. The only problem is men aren’t ever into her so getting the story could be difficult.
Dante Devereaux is a cocky alpha male who isn’t scared of anything, even the FBI investigating him for selling the United States government’s secrets to foreign governments. He knows he can do whatever he wants since he has the power to hack anyone or anything and benefit from the information and that includes Natalie Jacobs who he will do everything possible to take control of…in and out of his bed.
Little do they know that they are both completely different people than they thought.
** AVAILABLE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED **
AMAZON US I AMAZON UK
AMAZON US I AMAZON UK
Tea and Madness by C. Streelights
Tea and Madness
By- C. Streetlights
Genre- Women’s Fiction/Poetry/Memoir
Publication Date- June 29th, 2015
Published By- Booktrope Publishing
“And when it falls into silence again the void it echoes fills me with wonder. Wonder only because I no longer remember if this small entity isn’t real or if it whispers the truth.”
-Moonlight
C. Streetlight’s memoir, Tea & Madness, is a collection of prose and poetry separated into the seasons of her life. Each season is inspired by her experiences: grieving a lost baby, understanding depression, anger, betrayal, surviving rape and the acceptance that she cannot forgive. Balanced somehow within the darkness is the wonder in motherhood and empathetic relationships. As her seasons change, she continues trying to find the balance of existing between normalcy and madness.
About the Author-
She has met many fools, but admires Don Quixote most because he taught her that it didn’t matter that the dragon turned out to be a windmill. What mattered was that he chose to fight the dragon in the first place.
Streetlights now lives in the mountains with a husband, two miracle children, and a dog who eats Kleenex. She retired from teaching so she can raise her children to pick up their underwear from the bathroom floor, to write, and to slay windmills and dragons. She is happy to report that she can finally see the stars.
You can follow C. Streetlights on Twitter @cstreetlights, and on Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest at C. Streetlights
Links-
Website http://cstreetlights.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/streetlightsimagination?fref=ts
Twitter– https://twitter.com/CStreetlights
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July 28, 2015
Owning His Bride by Sue Lyndon
Owning His Bride by Sue Lyndon
Release Date: May 7, 2015
Blurb:
After enduring the first two years of a life sentence for a crime she didn’t commit, there is one thing Becca fears more than spending the rest of her days behind bars. When their five-year terms of service on the frozen prison planet of Kemmius are up, guards are allowed to choose a bride from among the prisoners, and the warden himself has set his sights on her.
Hunter has hated the warden from the moment he met him, and he’ll be damned if he is going to let the vile man have a sweet, beautiful girl like Becca. Not when his own term as a guard is almost up and he’ll have the chance to claim her first and make her his own.
Following a thorough, humiliating medical exam—standard procedure to ensure a potential bride’s suitability as a mate—Becca finds herself bound to Hunter forever as both his wife and his property. While her new husband quickly proves to be nothing like the cruel warden, he is still a man who expects to be obeyed, and she soon learns that defiance will be dealt with firmly.
Though she is left blushing each time Hunter bares her bottom for a sound spanking—and sometimes for other, more intimate punishments—what truly shames Becca is the way her body responds to his dominance. But even as her feelings for Hunter grow stronger and her future seems brighter than it has in many years, Becca cannot help wondering if she will ever truly be free of the chains of the past.
Publisher’s Note: Owning His Bride is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, medical play, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.
Buy links for Owning His Bride :
Excerpt
“What is your name?” he asked.
“B-Becca.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
She flushed. “Thank you, sir.”
His visage reflected sadness, as if he regretted what he must do. Except that wasn’t possible. None of the guards seemed to harbor any pity for the women who were incarcerated on this Godforsaken planet.
“Did you really not clean the tables properly?”
Becca’s eyes went wide and she looked down, even though he continued to hold her chin up. Contradicting the warden wasn’t wise, even if his reason to whip her was entirely manufactured. “That is correct, sir. I failed to wipe all the tables in the cafeteria down. I’m very sorry.”
His eyebrow shot up, and her mouth went dry at his sudden stern demeanor. Did he really want her to confess the truth? It was bad enough that the warden planned to make her his bride. The warden would check the camera feed later, and if she spoke out against him in any way he would make her pay, even if he had to wait thirty days to exact his revenge.
“I suppose I must punish you then, Becca.” The guard’s expression softened. “However, I feel a whipping as the warden planned is too harsh a punishment.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he clasped her wrist and guided her over his lap. She trembled. Her heart thudded and her face heated. The closeness of his body to hers sent her head into a spin. She soaked up the physical contact, reveling in the feel of his firm thighs shifting beneath her. Tears of relief and even joy threatened to spill from her eyes.
Yes, he was preparing to punish her, but he was holding her, and nothing had ever felt so right in all her life. Since her arrest almost three years ago, she hadn’t felt such a tender touch.
Officer Makin cupped her bottom with a warm hand, moving from cheek to cheek as he caressed the area he would soon spank. Her breath caught and a tingle raced down her spine and heat pulsed in her core. She was suddenly breathless, as if she’d just returned from recreation time after running laps around the gym.
“I think, for an offense as minor as not wiping down the tables, a hand spanking should suffice, don’t you, Becca?”
Author bio: Sue Lyndon is a multi-published author of erotic BDSM romance and spanking romances. She enjoys a good book in any genre, loves Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica, and runs on coffee and chocolate. She also writes “vanilla” sci-fi romance under the name Sue Mercury.
Author links:
Sue Lyndon’s Amazon Author Page
Sue Lyndon – 12 Questions with Answers:
Are you working on a new book right now?
Yes. Right now I’m working on Boss Alien, the fourth book in my Reestrian Mates series, written under the name Sue Mercury. Sue Lyndon is still thinking about what she’s going to work on next, but it will probably be another sci-fi spanking romance.
How many books have you written? Are they all spanking fiction?
Between all my pen names… oh gosh, almost seventy! Wow, I didn’t realize it was that many, but to be fair many of my titles are short stories, and not all are spanking fiction. More recently I’ve delved into sweeter “vanilla” sci-fi romance under the name Sue Mercury.
Do you see writing as a career?
Absolutely! I consider myself a full time writer. When I first started writing I had a part time job, but after about a year of writing I was selling enough stories that I was able to leave that job and focus solely on my writing. I consider this my dream job and I’m very grateful to be able to write full time.
What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write?
Ohhh definitely the medical exam scene. Poor Becca couldn’t leave the prison without passing the required exam, so she was very reluctant to cooperate, and her reluctance and embarrassment made that scene quite enjoyable to write.
What are three things you can’t live without?
Coffee, my iPhone (I’m not proud of this one), and number three is a tie between wine and chocolate.
If you were attending a Halloween party, what would your costume by and why?
Probably a cowgirl because it’s the easiest outfit to throw together at the last minute.
Favorite meal at favorite restaurant?
I’ll go with my favorite chain restaurant, Olive Garden. Spaghetti and meatballs, salad, and tiramisu. Yum!
If you could eliminate one thing from your daily schedule what would it be and why?
Laundry…LOL I don’t think an explanation is required for this one.
What did your childhood room look like?
Can we go with my teenage years? Let’s see… every inch of my walls (and even parts of the ceiling) were covered with X-Files and other sci-fi posters. I had a little TV with rabbit ears that got three channels, two ginormous bookcases, and a leopard print bedspread. Sometimes I miss my childhood room and wish I could snap my fingers and escape there for a few hours!
What would you do if you were the last person on this Earth?
Oh gosh, I sure hope that never happens, LOL! Honestly, even if I knew for sure I was the last person, I’d probably drive around looking for other people. Then I would probably go crazy and start talking to myself.
Do you have any pets?
I have a 13 year old Jack Russell named Missy and a 9 week old Lab puppy named Daisy. They keep me busy (especially the puppy) when the kids are at school, that’s for sure.
What Internet site do you surf the most?
Does Facebook count? I definitely spend a lot of time there. Next to FB is Amazon.
July 26, 2015
When Shadows Fall and The Darkness Comes by Bruce Blake
Original Publication Date: January 25, 2015
A hundred hundred seasons have turned since the Goddess banished the Small Gods to the sky, leaving the land to mankind alone.
For Prince Teryk, life behind the castle walls is boring and uneventful until he stumbles upon an arcane scroll in a long-forgotten chamber. The parchment speaks of Small Gods, the fall of man, and the kingdom’s savior—the firstborn child of the rightful king. It’s his opportunity to prove himself to his father, the king, and assure his place in history. All he needs to do is find the man from across the sea—a man who can’t possibly exist—and save mankind.
But ancient magic has been put in motion by a mysterious cult determined to see the Small Gods reborn. Powerful forces clash, uncaring for the lives of mortals in their struggle to prevent the return of the banished ones, or aid in their rebirth.
Named in a prophecy or not, what chance does a cocky prince who barely understands the task laid before him stand in a battle with the gods?
“Watch out!” the priestess Rak’bana shouted, ducking behind Love—one of the granite Pillars of Life.
A ball of flame hammered into the earth with a spray of dirt and the stench of burnt grass. She covered her head, waiting for the ground to cease shaking before she peeked out from behind her arm to find her twin brother. Ine’vesi peered back at her from around the corner of the next column in the row of nine—Trust.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
The crackle of flames all but kept his voice from her ears, but they were well enough connected she knew what he’d ask without needing to hear. She nodded in response and he crept out from behind the column, the roll of parchment in his hand.
“Time is short, Vesi,” she said. “The Goddess is angry.”
Ine’vesi made no effort to hide the sneer upon his lips as he hurried across the ruined garden to her side. Before he opened his mouth to spill out the blaspheme imprinted on his brow, she raised her hand and gestured with her fingers. A thick stream of water the height of five men rose from the river and flowed across the air. It splashed into the newly lit fire with a hiss of doused flames and white steam billowing toward the sky. Another ball of fire crashed into the top edge of the nearest wall, sending chunks of stone tumbling to the ground. The twin siblings ducked their heads.
“We have to go,” she urged.
“Out of the city.” Ine’vesi brandished the roll of parchment. “Once we have inscribed the scroll, it will not be safe here. The wrong hands will find it.”
A fiery ball crashed into the base of a towering pine, its flames leaping up the trunk, spreading through its branches, jumping to the next tree like a playful squirrel, then skipping to the next. Rak’bana raised her hand again, intending to call the river and extinguish the fire to save her garden, but Ine’vesi caught her by the wrist.
“Let it burn, Bana. Let it be a testament to the unjust wrath of a jealous Goddess.”
The priestess’ eyes widened and she shook her head, unable to comprehend why he’d speak such blasphemous words. She pulled her hand free of his grip and faltered back a step toward the river.
“You are a priest, Vesi. You know as well as I that we have brought this on ourselves. Righteous anger falls from the sky, not jealousy. The Goddess gives what is deserved.”
“The—”
Another ball slammed into the pine. The great tree leaned with a creak of wood, bending slowly at first, then the trunk split with a crack louder than thunder, and the tree that had grown in the courtyard for a dozen hundred seasons toppled, spilling flame across the dry grass. The fire raced toward the siblings, fueled by a swirling fireball, then another. A third pelted the ground, the closest yet, and the impact threw Ine’vesi into his sister, his momentum carrying them both into the river.
The frigid water clung to Rak’bana as she clutched her brother, and the red rage of the Goddess’ flames shone through the shimmering river. She understood that, if they surfaced, the fire would hunt them mercilessly, never giving up until the blaze consumed them. Deserving of the Goddess’ wrath or not, the priestess could not let that happen before they’d completed their task.
She held Ine’vesi tight to her chest and swirled her free hand, manipulating the water around them to increase the river’s current. It bore them away from the garden, away from the courtyard, but the red and orange glow above them brightened and the water grew warmer, heated by the anger of the Goddess. Worry burned in Rak’bana’s chest along with her held breath—if they didn’t leave their warning, this would all happen again. They’d both seen it in their dreams.
The water shivered around them as the Pillars of Life toppled, thumping to the ground. Ine’vesi jerked in her grasp, fighting the current and the heat, but she held him and gestured again. The river flowed faster, carrying them along like autumn leaves fallen from a dying tree, dragging them on until the light disappeared.
They’d entered the channel beneath the temple.
The river cooled again, but Rak’bana held them under, allowing the raging current to carry them deep into the heart of the temple and away from the Goddess’ fury. Only when her breath threatened to explode in her lungs did she allow the river to bear them to the surface. Ine’vesi’s head emerged from the water and he gasped a ragged, angry breath.
“Are you trying to aid the Goddess in killing me?”
“I saved you, ingrate.” The priestess stroked toward the side of the channel, pulling her brother along behind. “You should thank me for not letting you burn.”
“Hmph.”
They reached the side and she hooked her arm over the edge, pulled Ine’vesi close to allow him to do the same. No light penetrated so far into the tunnel, leaving them in utter darkness, but she knew the door to be directly in front of them; she sensed it as surely as she sensed her brother at her side.
“One way or another, you were going to get me here, weren’t you?” he said, pulling himself out of the water to stand on the narrow stone path beside the channel.
“You know it must be here.” She climbed up alongside him, rested the palm of her hand against the door.
“It won’t be safe here, Bana. The scroll might fall into any hands. It must go to Teva Stavoklis.”
Rak’bana hesitated before opening the door. They’d had this discussion and thought they’d decided the matter, but it appeared Ine’vesi remained unconvinced. Her mouth opened to argue the point, but the stone of the tunnel shook minutely with an impact to the building above them, stopping her.
“Come,” she said instead, and pushed the door open.
The pristine chamber beyond gleamed, its white marble walls and soaring granite pillars flickering with the orange light shining through the high windows. Rak’bana hurried into the room and down the three steps to the floor, sparing a brief glimpse for the massive suits of armor standing guard beside each of the four columns.
“Hurry,” she said as she swept across the chamber toward her goal at the far end: a marble lectern that sprang up out of the floor as though carved of the same block of stone.
Droplets of water fell from her hair and dress, spattering on the smooth marble. The air in the room smelled old and unused, as well it should; no one had entered this room since the building of the temple. Thousands upon thousands of times the sun had risen and set, shining its light through the high windows, and the Sek’bala had stood watch beside the gray and white flecked granite columns, but no foot had touched the floor until Rak’bana’s. The immensity of it was not lost on her but, with fire falling from the sky to spread the Goddess’ punishment, no time for emotion and awe remained.
She reached the podium and glanced back across the room at her brother near the entrance. Ine’vesi stood motionless, staring at the imposing guards with their horned helmets and gleaming weapons.
“Vesi,” she cried, waving for him to join her. “Bring the parchment.”
He set one foot in front of the other and crossed the room slowly without tearing his gaze away from the Sek’bala. Outside the sanctuary, something rumbled. Rak’bana raised her eyes to the high windows, the flicker of flames shining through the narrow frames. Vesi had paused halfway to her, the roll of paper dripping as he held it out toward her.
Time is running short.
The priestess came around the lectern and jumped down the three stairs to the floor, her sandals slapping wetly on the white marble. The time for waiting and marveling had passed.
“Give it to me, Vesi.” She held out her hand, expectant. “We must speak the words to prevent this from happening again.”
Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper, felt its roughness, its power, but then it disappeared. Ine’vesi pulled it away and glared at her, his brows drawn together.
“Prevent it?” he asked, incredulous. The priest shook his head without removing his gaze from her eyes. “We must take this to Teva Stavoklis and leave instructions on how to bring us back.”
Rak’bana’s mouth fell open. How did she not see this coming? She’d heard his words bordering on sacrilege, seen his disdain toward the Goddess in this time of judgment. But her sight had been clouded by the dreams, her mind filled with visions of the gray man, the Mother, the man from across the sea. She’d neglected to think for a moment that her twin brother—the man with whom she shared the priesthood and trusted more than anyone short of the Goddess herself—could have anything but the same goal as her.
How wrong she’d been.
“We can’t let this happen again, Vesi.” She despised the desperation creeping into her voice. “The generations that come after us must know.”
Another rumble echoed through the chamber, this one louder than the last. Ine’vesi sneered. “We are in agreement, sister. This cannot happen again. The Goddess cannot be allowed to treat her loyal subjects in this manner. They must be given a way to prevent it, and bringing us back is the way.”
“No. We deserve it. The Goddess never intended us to live this way. We—”
The priest took a step back and her gaze fell to the parchment he held in his right hand, out of her reach. The visions that visited her dreams meant nothing if she did not set them to words on the scroll, left them to be found when the time they were needed came. If she didn’t, she’d have failed the Goddess.
“The scroll will go to Teva Stavoklis, to be used when the Goddess again over-steps her bounds. To ensure her subjects are never again punished for being human.”
Rak’bana narrowed her eyes. “We are no longer human, Vesi.”
“No, I suppose not,” he conceded and took another step back. “We are closer to gods, aren’t we? Small gods, perhaps.”
She bit down hard and fought against the oncoming tears choking her throat. A louder rumble, and this time the walls trembled. The long pike of one of the Sek’bala warriors shivered in its hand, the metal shaft rattling against its gauntleted fingers. Rak’bana directed her gaze toward the massive suit of plate, lowered her chin and raised her hand. She wiggled her fingers the way she did when she called the water to her bidding and her brother realized her intent. Ine’vesi’s head snapped to the side, eyes wide as he looked to the Sek’bala, expecting it to come to life.
Rak’bana leaped toward him and snatched at the roll of parchment, her fingers grasping the edge. It took only an instant for Ine’vesi to realize she’d tricked him. The priest danced back two steps, but she’d gotten a grip on the scroll and it unrolled between them. They both stared at its blank surface as another ball of fire struck the building and a shower of sparks spilled through one of the high windows.
They raised their heads; their eyes met.
“Bana,” he said, voice calm and even, though his eyes reflected different emotions. “Don’t do—”
“When days of peace approach their end.”
“Rak’bana.”
“And wounds inflicted are too deep to mend.” Fear and disappointment surged through her, but she forced herself to speak clearly, drawing out the words to their full power, ensuring the parchment heard her over the reverberating impacts shuddering the walls. “A sign shall come, a lock with no key.”
“Stop, Bana!”
“Borne by a man from across the sea.”
The wavering light of the flames licking the world flashed on Ine’vesi’s blade. Rak’bana had an instant to recognize the slender knife before he jerked her toward him and plunged the tip between her ribs.
The wicked point tore through her flesh, found its way between the bones, and pressed against her heart. The agony of the wound stole her breath, but the anguish of her brother’s betrayal crushed her soul. He pulled her close, the loose parchment folding between them, and a fresh wave of pain crashed through her, transported along her veins to the tips of her fingers.
“I am sorry, Bana, but it must be this way” he said, his tone quiet amongst the thunder of the Goddess’ judgment. “We are gods.”
Unable to do anything more, she stared, open-mouthed, at her twin brother, the priest to her priestess, the man for whom she’d always thought she’d give her life if necessary, and now he’d taken it.
Ine’vesi pressed harder on the stiletto and the point pricked her heart. The priestess gasped; her skin went cold as hoarfrost. Her brother pulled the knife out and jerked away, attempting to wrench the parchment’s edge from her grasp, but her fingers held fast. The paper stretched, then tore, the sound of it ripping echoing through the marble chamber. Ine’vesi stumbled back, caught his balance, and advanced on her, his expression pulled into an angry shape that made him nearly unrecognizable to her.
Another fireball struck the temple. Then another, and another. The armor of the Sek’bala shivered and rattled, their weapons clattered in their grips. Ine’vesi glanced away from his sister at the towering guards, the sparks cascading through the high widows, and stopped, the anger on his face melting to fear.
He brandished the half of the parchment he still held. “This is all I need,” he said, backing toward the door.
“Vesi.” Rak’bana reached her hand out toward her brother. “Please.”
The priest stopped short of the doorway, gazed back at his sister. For a second, his expression appeared regretful, and she thought he might return to her, help her complete what must be done. Instead, he shook his head.
“This wasn’t what I dreamed, Bana. I saw a world where we can be what we are, and not be judged by a jealous Goddess. I dreamed of becoming the Small Gods we are meant to be.”
He hesitated a second before disappearing through the doorway and into the channel beneath the temple. Rak’bana stared after him, her belly clenching at the thought of losing him, but soon, it would no longer matter. Soon, they’d all be gone, but she had one last task to perform before the end.
She glanced at the red stain spreading across the front of her dress, the droplets falling to the white marble floor, running along its veins, filling them. The temple shuddered under the Goddess’ wrath and the priestess raised her head, gazed toward the lectern.
It seemed so far away.
Rak’bana put her left hand on the wound in her chest, felt her life force pulsing out of it, making her fingers sticky. With careful, plodding steps, she crossed the smooth floor, smearing her blood behind her as she went. It spread out along the stone, coloring it red; the Sek’bala watched, unconcerned.
A few paces from the goal, the fingers of her left hand tingled briefly, and then she lost feeling in them. The tingling climbed up her arm, racing toward her chest. Her breath shortened, cold sweat fell like winter dew on her brow, her knees trembled. She stumbled the last few steps, caught herself on the lectern’s edge before her legs gave way and spilled her to the floor.
The priestess spread the parchment across the podium, holding one edge with shaking fingers, weighing the other down with her dead hand. The blood of her heart smeared across the paper, sticking in its texture. Thunder shook the walls, lightning flashed, tears streaked paths along her cheeks. Rak’bana drew her dry tongue across her icy lips and spoke the words given her by the Goddess in her dreams.
“When days of peace approach their end,
And wounds inflicted are too deep to mend,
A sign shall come, a lock with no key,
Borne by a man from across the sea.
A barren Mother, the seed of life,
Living statue, treacherous knife.
To raise the Small Gods, a Small God must die,
When the stars go out, the end is nigh.”
She paused to draw a weak breath and watched her blood etching the cursive lines of her words across the paper. The walls shook and she raised her gaze for an instant to see the marble had gone red with the life dripping from her heart. She returned her attention to the final stanza required on the scroll.
“One must die to raise them all,
Should Small Gods rise, man will fall.
One can stop them, on darken’d wing,
The firstborn child of the rightful king.”
As the last word crossed her lips, a wind carrying swirling flames howled through the high windows. Rak’bana titled her head back, watched the fire snake toward her and closed her eyes, waiting for the Goddess to cleanse her and free her from her sorrow and pain.
And the flames consumed her.
Amazon US ~ Createspace ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords ~ B&N
Original Publication Date: February 16, 2015
When shadows fall, the darkness comes…
A disgraced Goddess Mother wanders blind and alone, praying for her agony to end. When a helpful apostle finds her, could it truly be salvation, or does worse torment lie ahead?
A sister struggles to understand a prophecy that may not be meant for her while her brother fights for his life. If the firstborn child of the rightful king dies, will it spell the end for everyone?
Darkness and shadow creep across the land in the form of a fierce clay golem animated by its sculptor’s blood. It seeks a mythical creature whose sacrifice portends the return of ancient evil banished from the world long ago. With its return will come the fall of man.
As the game unfolds, the Small Gods watch from the sky, waiting for their time to come and their chance to rise again. They wait for the fall of shadows, the coming of the darkness.
They wait for night to descend.
Am I ready to kill?
A cloud of swirling mist sighed out between Kuneprius’ lips, rising into the night to smear the glow of the winter moon. He watched it dissipate, then exhaled another long plume, blowing it out the way he’d seen the Brothers do when they smoked their pipes filled with sweetweed. Instead of swirling like the wreaths he’d watched them create, his breath came out a ragged column.
“Shh.”
Kuneprius cocked his head toward the urgent sound, an apology teetering on the tip of his tongue. At the last instant, he remembered himself and said nothing, pressing himself flatter against the side of the hill. Fildrian lay less than ten man-lengths away, but the Brother’s black hood and robe hid him in the darkness; despite his proximity, empty loneliness ached in Kuneprius’ chest.
The lad grasped the short sword’s hilt tighter, testing its uncomfortable weight. Though he’d seen the seasons turn but twelve times, he’d trained with this very sword for six of them. The temple blacksmith formed it with him in mind, the grip molded to the shape of his fingers. Its length and weight had proved too much for him when he first held it, but he’d grown into it, its size ideal for a boy of his age. He shifted minutely, searching for comfort and understanding that the prospect of swinging the weapon to wound rather than in practice caused his unease, not the sword itself.
Will I be able to wield it when the time comes? Can I kill if I need to?
He’d never been sent on a hunt, so the sword’s edge hadn’t tasted blood other than his own when he got clumsy or distracted while sharpening the blade. He shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt, hand slipping with the slickness of the sweat on his palm. For so many seasons, he’d trained for this moment; he knew he’d kill if the need arose.
I hope it doesn’t.
The rattle-clunk of wooden wheels on dirt track rolled along the shallow valley and up the hill to Kuneprius’ ears. Soon, he’d need wonder no more.
The apprentice angled his head to peer down the weed-clogged road, squinting as he attempted to pick out the wagons in the darkness. The lanterns hanging at the front of each, bobbing and swinging with the horses’ gaits, made it easy. He counted them silently.
One, two, three…four?
His heart lurched. Brother Fildrian had said to expect three—two carts and a covered wagon. Kuneprius’ gaze flickered to the spot where he expected to find the expedition leader’s dark shape, but he saw nothing. He glanced back to the track, the horse-drawn vehicles drawing closer and, in the glow of their lanterns, he counted two covered wagons.
Which one?
A horse nickered and a high-pitched voice spoke words to calm the animal, their meaning lost in the rumble of the wheels, but the intent clear in their timbre. This must be the tone of a woman’s voice, the first he’d heard.
Kuneprius wiped his slick palm on the front of his coat, hand pressing against the hard, smooth surface of the leather chest piece hidden beneath. When he breathed in through his nose, he inhaled the tang of the oil used to keep it supple.
“Psst.”
Brother Fildrian faced Kuneprius, his pale cheek a faint smudge beneath the dark hood. Moving precisely, carefully, the expedition leader stood and gestured for the apprentice to do the same. Kuneprius obeyed. Around them, cloth stirred against skin and sandals scuffed in frozen grass as the others rose, as well.
Fildrian descended the hill deftly, traversing from one narrow tree trunk to the next, leaving Kuneprius to wait as the other Brothers followed. A thrill of fearful excitement stirred in his gut. He tightened his grip on the short sword’s hilt, licked his lips, and swallowed the excess of saliva flooding his mouth.
Tonight I become a Brother. Tonight I become a man.
When the last of the ten robed men passed him, Kuneprius followed, concentrating on the placement of his feet, moving with the stealth he’d learned from Fildrian during training. Truthfully, the racket made by the clatter of horses’ hooves and wheels on stones and dirt would have hidden the tuneless din should he break into song and dance a jig. He’d do neither, but the thought made him stifle a nervous chuckle.
Brother Fildrian arrived at the bottom of the hill and crouched in the tall weeds beside the cart track. The others arrayed themselves on either side of the leader and Kuneprius stopped well back, secreted behind a tree. He hefted the sword, ready to fulfill his role to catch any who got through his companions in an attempt to flee.
But which wagon contains our prize?
He shouldn’t concern himself—Fildrian knew. Twelve turns of the seasons before, the expedition leader had been involved in the raid which brought Kuneprius himself into the Fatherhood; one of many times he’d liberated male children from a Goddess’ caravan. If anyone knew the ways of the Mothers, Brother Fildrian did. Kuneprius passed the time by counting his heartbeats.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
The lead cart drew close enough for him to see the sleek lines of the horse pulling it. Beyond the animal, the lantern hanging beside the cart’s driver shone on her face, reflecting in the woman’s eyes and outlining her features in its warm glow. Kuneprius swallowed hard.
He didn’t expect a woman to be so different from men.
Her hair—the deep red-brown of a chestnut in the moonlight—hung well past her shoulders in a manner not permitted of a Brother. Many of the apprentices, like Kuneprius himself, wore their hair longer, but not so long as hers. Small nose, smooth skin, full lips. The sight of her caused a flutter in the lad’s gut he’d never experienced.
What’s wrong with me?
His inexplicably dry lips parted and his sandpaper tongue brushed their surface. As he gazed upon the woman—girl, really; she didn’t appear many turns older than Kuneprius—the stirring in his gut spread. It spilled into his chest, speeding his breath, and crept into his loins. His man-thing began to harden, the way it often was when he woke in the mornings, prepared to make his offering to the Small Gods. He glanced at his breeches, then back at the girl, who was closer now, and noticed gentle curves hidden beneath her smock. His confused feelings grew. He crossed his legs to hide his confusion, but doing so increased his discomfort.
The girl’s cart rumbled past the spot where Brother Fildrian and the others hid, and the men remained secreted in the tall grass, waiting. The wheels of the first covered wagon clattered past; the second drew even with them. Brother Fildrian raised his hand, signaling the attack party, and they sprang out of the weeds.
Horses whinnied, one of the drivers screamed—not a shriek of fear, but a signal, Kuneprius realized. At the sound of her call, two armed warriors of the Goddess burst out of the first covered wagon, four more out of the second, catching the Fatherhood’s raiders by surprise.
Kuneprius’ eyes widened as he watched the women pounce on his companions. Metal clanged against metal, horses pranced and neighed. A tall Goddess warrior with a shaved head knocked Brother Imir’s sword from his hand, then skewered him. She pulled her blade free and a gout of dark blood spilled from the young man’s gut before he slumped to the dirt.
Hand gripping his sword’s hilt tighter than it should, Kuneprius took one step toward the fight, then hesitated. In his head, he heard Fildrian’s instructions: guard the flank; let no one pass; do not desert your post. But did he foresee the women bearing weapons? Was this the way it always happened?
Kuneprius slid forward another step. A woman screamed and fell, a gash on her leg; Brother Xeoru swung his sword two-handed and split her skull. Kuneprius flinched and looked away, found the cart driver’s gaze upon him. She climbed out of her seat, pulled a long dagger from a fold in her smock.
Panicked, Kuneprius returned his attention to the fight and realized the other drivers had abandoned their seats, too. Weapons filled their hands as they stalked toward the skirmish. Their addition to the warriors of the Goddess evened the numbers, swung favor away from the Brothers and squarely to the middle.
Until an axe separated Brother Xeoru’s head from his shoulders and a spear poked a hole through Brother Ategar’s chest.
For a space of heartbeats he forgot to count, Kuneprius watched, feet acting as though frozen to the ground. Blood spilled on the frosted dirt, painted the weeds beside the track the color of rust. One after another the fighters fell, Brothers and women alike, until three remained: Brother Fildrian; the tall, bald warrior woman; and the pretty cart driver.
The two Sisters stalked Fildrian, spinning him in a tight circle. One lunged, setting him off balance. He flailed and the tip of his sword caught the young one, opening a slash across her forearm. Kuneprius gasped. The girl dropped her dagger and clutched the wound, a pained expression creasing her smooth brow.
Finally, Kuneprius wrested control of his feet back from the grip of fear. He took a step toward the fray as Fildrian engaged the bald woman, his back turned toward the injured cart driver.
The warriors’ swords met, the clang of their blades reverberating in the chill night air. Kuneprius forced himself another pace, his sandal-clad feet whispering in the tall grass. His heart pulsed in his ears, loud and painful, distracting. He blinked hard to dispel the discomfort. When his eyes opened, the cart driver had retrieved a sword from the ground and crept up behind Brother Fildrian.
“Brother,” Kuneprius called, but his voice caught in his dry throat, cracked and fell to pieces.
Fildrian parried an attack from the warrior and lunged, running his blade through her gut. They stood frozen for a heartbeat, the two combatants staring into each other’s eyes as though sharing a final moment, a sliver of respect, then he wrenched his sword free with a twist. The woman’s knees buckled, spilling her to the ground. Fildrian turned, a smile on his lips.
And the cart driver slashed his throat.
“No!”
Kuneprius rushed forward, realizing he’d waited too long. When he needed it most, his courage failed him, and now ten Brothers lay dead with no one to blame but him. He gritted his teeth and growled in the back of his throat as he raced for the girl, using anger to drown his fear.
She spun at the sound of his approach, Fildrian’s blood dripping from her borrowed blade. Kuneprius swung for her head, driving her back, and the girl’s feet tangled. She stumbled, heel catching on dead Brother Ategar’s arm, and she went to the ground.
Kuneprius growled again, the end of it fading to a squeak of sorrow and loss. The girl scrambled away, hands and feet digging furrows in the dirt track, but the bodies cluttering the road trapped her from getting far. The young lad caught up to her, put the point of his short sword to her throat. Staring up at him, she froze, the fear of death shining in her eyes.
He hesitated, blinked. A tear ran along his cheek and he sniffed back the snot threatening to spill out of his nose.
“You killed him.”
“Please,” the girl said. It surprised him she spoke the same language as he did, though he knew of no reason for her to speak any other. “Please.”
The point of the short sword wavered and Kuneprius struggled to keep it from drooping. The anger burning within him after watching Fildrian, Ategar, and the others die melted away, dissolved by the blue of her eyes, the smoothness of her pink cheeks. Kuneprius’ mind flashed away, wondering why Brothers were permitted only to spill their seed on the ground when such beauty existed in the world. An out-of-place sound brought him back to the moment.
They both heard it—a mewling from within the first covered wagon. The girl’s eyes flickered toward it; Kuneprius raised his head. The small sound grew—a whimper to a whine, then to the full-throated cry of a tiny mouth that reminded Kuneprius why he was there.
A yell broke from the girl’s lips and she swung the sword tainted with Fildrian’s blood. Her grip slipped, the weapon twisted. The flat of the blade bounced off the leather chest piece hidden beneath the apprentice’s robe.
Time stopped for an instant, the baby’s siren cry filling the night. They stared at each other, each knowing what must come next. Kuneprius gulped around a lump solidifying in his throat and leaned forward on his sword. The tip sank into the girl’s neck.
She gasped, coughed. Blood burbled over her lips, ran along her cheek and into her ear. Her eyes found the young lad’s, a last plea shining in them, quickly fading. He turned away, unable to gaze upon her sorrow.
When her body went limp, he released his grip on the sword and stumbled away to retch on the ground beside the covered wagon. The baby wailed, beseeching him to come to it, take care of it. Kuneprius knew he needed to do just that, but his heaving gut and clenching throat prevented him.
Bent at the waist and breathing hard, he leaned against the wagon wheel. Sweat and snot and tears dripped from his nose and cheeks, the droplets pattering on the frozen dirt the same way as the blood of the Brothers as they lost their lives.
I should have aided them.
He coughed and spat bitter chunks of spew, wished for water to wash the horrid flavor off his tongue. The baby’s crying continued, assaulting his ears and rattling in his head until he could bear it no longer. With a shuddering breath, he forced himself upright and dragged his aching body to the back of the wagon.
Kuneprius pushed the flap aside a crack and peeked inside.
The babe lay on the wagon’s floor, a blanket tucked under its chin. Alone.
He clambered up, arms and legs exhausted as though he’d crawled here from the temple. On his second attempt, he struggled his way in and flopped on the deck beside the child. The baby ceased bellowing, eyes wide with wonder finding him. A few seconds passed as Kuneprius stared at the child’s tear-stained cheeks, its plump lips, and thin wisps of hair, then the wailing began anew.
Kuneprius wrestled himself to his knees and pulled the blanket off the baby, revealing a cloth wrapped around its groin and tied on either side. He fumbled with the knots, his numb fingers slipping until one knot came undone. If it wasn’t the right child, Fildrian and the others had sacrificed themselves for nothing. The thought weighing on him, Kuneprius hesitated a half-dozen heartbeats before pulling the diaper aside.
The stink of the baby’s soiled cloth made him gag. He raised his arm to cover his nose and undid the other knot. Beneath, he saw the baby’s tiny man-thing, and Kuneprius breathed a sigh of relief.
The Brothers were dead, but he’d accomplished what they’d come for: the babe was his.
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Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don’t take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.
Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn’t really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the “u” out of words like “colour” and “neighbour” than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l’s). The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.
Bruce’s first short story, “Another Man’s Shoes” was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another short, “Yardwork,” was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by Pseudopod. Bruce’s first Icarus Fell novel, “On Unfaithful Wings”, was published in Dec., 2011 while the follow up, “All Who Wander Are Lost”, came out in July, 2012. The third in the series, “Secrets of the Hanged Man”, came out in July, 2013. The first part of his Khirro’s Journey epic fantasy trilogy, “Blood of the King”, was released Sept., 2012, book 2, “Spirit of the King,” in Dec., 2012, and book 3, “Heart of the King,” in Feb., 2013.
The two books in the Small Gods series, “When Shadows Fall” and “The Darkness Comes”, were released in 2013, after which Bruce took a year out to concentrate on his family and career. Book three in the Small Gods series is Bruce Blake’s current project.
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July 25, 2015
Tempted to Misbehave
THE HIGHLANDER’S IMPROPER WIFE by KyAnn Waters and Tarah Scott
A proper young lady should never attend a Masque…Aphrodite is no lady.
Betrothal to the callous Lord Blackhall painted a future devoid of love. Upon his death, Lady Caroline Wilmont is promised to the younger brother. Caroline refuses to allow her first taste of desire to be at the hands of a man who would rather have any woman but her. This, her last night of freedom, is to be a memory of lust that she can take with her throughout her loveless marriage. As Aphrodite, Caroline attends a masque determined to find a man to initiate her into the intimacies of erotic love.
Taran Robertson, Viscount of Blackhall, makes no secret that he despises his obligation to marry the Sassenach heiress chosen for him by his father. As a last foray before his wedding, he attends a masque. However, the spirited vixen he meets and seduces has secrets…secrets that just may reveal he’s to have an improper wife.
A MEASURED RISK by Natasha Blackthorne
He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?
Book one in the Regency Risks Series
Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband’s life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.
And now she’s willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.
When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.
But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She’s learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.
How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through her self-protective defences and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?
Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW ~ Regency Historical ~ Character Driven Story ~ Drama ~ Shy Heroine ~ Novel Length 86,000 Words
SEDUCED by Tarah Scott
It’s a Mississippi Deputy Sheriff’s duty to bring a serial killer to justice…even when he’s a three hundred year old Scottish lord. It’s an SAS agent’s duty to save her.
With each passing day, Lord Colin Morrison grows more furious…and more desperate. In three hundred years, not one of the women who shared his bed broke the spell that imprisoned him in Castle Morrison. Margot Saulnier is different. She can save him. All she has to do is give in to her desire for him. Then die.
Deputy Sheriff Margot Saulnier knows her best friend murdered her husband—Margot’s cousin—but she can’t prove it. Now, four years later, out of the blue, Cat calls Margot from Scotland and invites her to visit. Margot turns in her badge and leaves Mississippi. This time, she’ll do whatever it takes to prove Cat murdered Donny. Margot didn’t plan on falling in love with an SAS Agent—or a three-hundred-year-old Scottish lord. Now she must choose.
SAS Agent Charles McNeil is going to keep Margot Saulnier out of trouble—whether she likes it or not. He understands her need for justice, but with no proof and no authority, she’s headed for serious trouble. So is he. Charles didn’t plan on falling in love with Margot. Neither did he plan on saving her from a serial killer.
**Available on Kindle Unlimited **
KyAnn Waters
KyAnn Waters is a multi-published, award winning author of erotic romance. She lives in Utah with her husband, two children, and two dogs. She spends her days writing and her evenings with her family. She enjoys sporting events on the television, thrillers on the big screen, and hot scenes between the pages of her books.
Natasha Blackthorne
Natasha Blackthorne writes hot & sensual Erotic Historical Romance where deeply flawed characters find love & trust. Her stories are most frequently about the intimate journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.
Natasha’s heroines are not perfect ladies. They are wildflowers and wallflowers who flirt with the forbidden. Whether they are bold or shy, these heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return. Natasha’s heroes are strong and dominant and live their lives with strength and purpose. They support their women in everything.
Natasha holds a B.A. in History, loves reading, cats and music. Readers are welcomed to Friend her on Facebook where she is most socially active online.
Tarah Scott
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Amanda Quick. Her favorite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. She writes modern classical romance, and paranormal and romantic suspense. Tarah grew up in Texas and currently resides in Westchester County, New York with her daughter.
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Tarah Scott
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July 23, 2015
The Angel’s Name by Selena Rivera
The Angel’s Name
By- Selena Rivera
Genre- Erotic Romance
Publication Date- June 24th, 2015
When songwriter Rebecca Evans moves to Tennessee to pursue her career in writing music for a country singer, she meets cowboy football player, Bobby James, who becomes an angel in her life. But she’s worried that she must leave her world behind. Her grandma would never understand. Will Rebecca take a chance on a new life with the man she loves? Will it be the right choice?
Please share the playlist you listened to while you were writing The Angel’s Name with us
Here’s a few songs I had on repeat while I was writing The Angel’s Name:
Gabriel Soto- Inevitable
Blake Shelton – Sangria
Luke Bryan- I don’t want this night to end
Elvis Presley – Aloha Oe
Paul Anka- Lovecats
Paul Hardcastle – Desire
Kenny G – I’m in the mood for love
About the Author-
Selena Rivera lives in Montreal, Quebec, Canada . A self-proclaimed “Country Girl” at heart, she loves country music. She also likes to sing and dance and has an interest in astronomy. By day, she is a busy secretary. Her life struggles have pushed her to fight for her dreams. She’s an artistic person and has been writing since the age of 12. Above all she wants to share her world with everybody.
Links-
Facebook- www.facebook.com/selenarebeccaauthor
Website- Www.authorselenarivera.com
Instagram- Www.instagram.com/selenarivera00
Goodreads- https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10784601.Selena_Rivera
Twitter- https://twitter.com/selenarivera89
July 22, 2015
Under His Dominance by Alexa Davis
Introducing Under His Dominance, book eight of the sexy new series from Alexa Davis that will test your boundaries…
Natalie Jacobs is a reporter trying to do a story on the panty dropping Dante Devereaux, a billionaire computer hacker who sells foreign government secrets to the CIA. This story could make her career and she’s willing to do anything to get it, even if it means sleeping with the enemy. The only problem is men aren’t ever into her so getting the story could be difficult.
Dante Devereaux is a cocky alpha male who isn’t scared of anything, even the FBI investigating him for selling the United States government’s secrets to foreign governments. He knows he can do whatever he wants since he has the power to hack anyone or anything and benefit from the information and that includes Natalie Jacobs who he will do everything possible to take control of…in and out of his bed.
Little do they know that they are both completely different people than they thought.
** AVAILABLE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED **
AMAZON US I AMAZON UKAMAZON US I AMAZON UK
Cover Reveal: Monroe by Stina Rubio
Monroe
By- Stina Rubio
Genre- Adult/Romance
***GRAPHIC CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEXUAL ABUSE!***
This book contains sensitive subject matter that may trigger unwanted memories. This book contains graphic content and should be read by adults 17 years of age and older.
There was a time in my life when I was someone else.
She died.
As an investigator, I showed no emotion as I found dirt on men for the women that just so happened to fall victim to loving them. I enjoyed the feeling I got when I screwed men over; their discomfort brought me joy. Trust me, I wasn’t always deranged. I used to be young and naive to the evils of the world, but someone snatched that away from me, turning me into a heartless monster.
When I’m assigned another case, my new mark awakes things that I’ve spent my whole life trying to bury.
Emotions.
Fears.
My past.
A man originally intended to be my mark triggers things inside of me that I thought I lost long ago. For him, I was going to face my past, but there was only one thing standing in my way. Will he be the key to my salvation or am I doomed to let my past continue holding me hostage?
About the Author-
Stina Rubio’s love of books runs deep. After being an avid reader for longer than she can remember, she turned her love of books into more and became a cover artists and a writer. As a mother of three boys and two pups, she tries not to melt in the California heat while wrestling with her muse and penning her tales.
Links-
Twitter- https://twitter.com/StinaRubio
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/Stina-Rubio-Author/138662976280463
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Tyffani Clark Kemp – Join her Street Team – Sign Up Blast – GHBT
Tyffani Clark Kemp might be the quietest person in the room, but that just means she’s probably the biggest freak too. She is a multi-genre author with a gift for the written word and a desire to help all Indies reach their full potential. In 2012, she and her best friend Kimberly Fudge started SideStreet Cookie Publishing for authors who want to remain independent, but don’t have the time or the knowledge to do it all themselves. From the age of eleven she dedicated her life to writing and making sure she was good at her craft. Now, she passes that knowledge on to others. Her friends would describe her as determined and giving. She may be quiet, but she always has a story to tell.
Links-
Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6557179.Tyffani_Clark_Kemp
Blog/Website-http://tyffanickemp.com/
Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/authorclarkkemp
Twitter- https://twitter.com/TyffaniCKemp
Pinterest- http://pinterest.com/moviestareyes/
Publisher- http://sidestreetcookiepublishing.com/
Sign up to join her street team here!
July 21, 2015
The Amber Voyeur (Gem Apocalypse Book Two) by Ravyn Rayne @blushingbooks #RomanticErotica #asmsg #newrelease
Title: The Amber Voyeur
Series: Gem Apocalypse Book Two
Author: Ravyn Rayne
Publisher: Blushing Books
Genre: Dystopian Erotica
Expected Release: July 20th, 2015
No longer safe in Brayleigh, Aria and James travel by ship to find refuge and discover what’s left of the world.
Dangerous seas and pirates lurking are only the start of their troubles. Forced off the boat with nothing but the clothes on their back, the crew and passengers make it to a nearby island, only to be abducted by the Knight Tribe, a clan of romantic warriors with a voyeuristic culture and a taste for nightly entertainment.
Get swept away in this dystopian erotic adventure, brimming with romance, spankings, and betrayal.
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Excerpt
The hum of the engine died, and Aria heard the scream of unfamiliar words in a language she didn’t recognize. Shots were fired in every direction forcing her to duck, throwing herself onto the floor of the ship.
James lay right beside her, covering Aria with his body, shielding her from danger. She didn’t have the courage to ask what happened.
The warmth and security Aria felt from James vanished. A man covered in tattoos, his arms a canvas of ink, grabbed James by the arm and dragged him across the room. The second man accompanying him lifted Aria from the floor and escorted her up the stairwell. James walked just a few feet in front. The man dropped his hold on her as the passageway narrowed. A gun pressed into her back, a constant reminder of danger. Aria couldn’t fight without risking her life. She hoped these men would steal what goods they came for and then leave.
Forced outside, the lifeboats were just a few feet away.
The sun began to set, and the sky twinkled like a sapphire without a cloud in the heavens.
Even at dusk, beads of sweat trickled against Aria’s forehead. Her black shirt stuck to her back, the cargo pants she wore were too hot for this climate. She didn’t dare ask where they were; she didn’t believe anyone would answer.
They were forced against the wall. Would the lifeboats even float anymore? The old luxury cruise liner’s paint faded from years of sun exposure. What would it have been like fifty years ago, before the devastation and destruction that their parents created, taking a luxury cruise? She would never know. The Gem Apocalypse had resulted in a war with only survivors, no heroes.
“Move!” the man behind Aria said. His gun dug further into her back, and she pushed forward on James’s heels. “Down!”
They got down onto the ground with the other crew and passengers. Six men towered over them with guns. Aria was unfamiliar with the weapons, as they were larger than the ones the guards carried at the palace.
“We’ll be okay,” James said as he sat beside Aria, reaching for her hand.
Aria wanted to ask him how he could know that without a doubt. Hope shrank like a beacon of light fading in the distance. These men were thieves. She could smell the treachery and greed from where she sat. How did they end up here?
Grab the First Book in the Series
The Emerald Virgin
Gem Apocalypse Book One
Author: Ravyn Rayne
Publisher: Blushing Books
Published: June 19, 2015
Emerald – a girl with green eyes and a rarity after the horrific genocide that slaughtered millions.
After the war, King Gideon rose in power. A lust-filled and greedy king that believed in the power of slavery.
At eighteen, women were required to come before King Gideon and his four sons, to offer themselves as a courtesan. The princes took only those they found most attractive and alluring. The rest were returned to their homes with a brand on their wrist proving they had been through the process and rejected. Ignoring the ritual was punishable by death.
Aria Stone had been kept hidden from the princes and the ceremony, because she was an Emerald. At twenty-three, the royal guards storm her home, murder her mother, and drag her to court. She must face the four princes.
A dystopian erotic adventure.
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About the Author
Ravyn is a sassy, fun-loving, and adventure-seeking young woman. She loves to travel and can’t wait for her next vacation, wherever it might be.Ravyn writes romantic erotica. She began writing romance novels in college, spending her down time either reading a book or writing fiction. Please don’t make her choose between the two, she loves them equally.
Although BURNING DESIRE is her debut romantic erotica novel, it is not her first published book. She has been published professionally since 2013. You can find her other books here.
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