Jaime Rush's Blog - Posts Tagged "pnr"

After many months, the kid has finally come out … both joy and relief!
We love to hear how beautiful and brilliant our baby is.
We want to show pictures and good reviews to everyone ad nauseum.
It's our publicist shouting, "Push! Push!" instead of a doctor. (No, not really!)
Holding our baby in our hand … priceless. ::SIGH::

I know cats hate being wet." Petra gave him a smile to let him know she wasn't being mean.

Cheveyo raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you, now?"

"And they love their chin scratched." She crooked her fingers.

"They also mount females from behind."

She narrowed her eyes at him. So much for light flirting.

She fished out the little foil-wrapped Dove chocolates she kept in her purse and tossed one in her mouth as she backed out of the spot. Back at the Center, she parked in the lot but remained in her car.
"You'd better not pretend you're not there," she muttered, closing her eyes and reaching out to Cheveyo. He had come to her, but she'd never gone to him. If they shared a connection, she should be able to talk to him, too.
She thought of his face, surprised at how easily she could conjure it in full detail, his thick, arched eyebrows, the curve of his mouth, his blue-gray eyes ablaze with a fierce protectiveness that squeezed her chest. Her heartbeat stepped up, a heavy, sensuous thudding that seemed to pump honey through her veins.
Cheveyo…
The connection was like two train cars locking onto each other. She felt him first. Then scenes flashed into her mind: a boy with blue-gray eyes and thick eyelashes staring pensively into the night sky; a dark alley, something moving in the shadows, and the flash of light on metal. The smell of blood. That same boy screaming in fear. Her body shuddered at those images.
The images went dark, and she saw him as he might appear in a dream, hazy and in a void. "Petra?"
She could hardly breathe. "Our connection goes both ways. I can reach you, too."
He didn't look particularly thrilled by that. "I heard you … felt you calling me."
"I need to see you. Not in a need to see you way. I mean … I'm in trouble."
"What's going on? I haven't gotten any visions."
"I don't mean to sound all conspiracy-ish, but I have to tell you in person. And as soon as possible."
"Petra, unless this is life and death, now is not a good time."
She gripped the bottom of her steering wheel, quelling her irritation, and the hurt that he would put her off. Was he with someone? Was she not important to him after all? "It's life and death. I wouldn't bother you otherwise." Okay, that had come out just a tiny bit snippy.
"All right. I'll meet you in an hour."
She gave him a location near the warehouse Pope had put in her mind. "See you soon."
She pulled out, feeling the loss of the connection tingle through her. Take a deep breath. It was only Cheveyo. No big deal. She called the number Pope had given her. "We're on, in an hour."
She went into the Center and spent twenty minutes hunting for makeup deals on eBay. Sometimes she could find brand-name product for a great price. Only Cheveyo could distract her from the joy of bargain hunting. She put in two bids and logged out of her account. A few minutes later, she walked out to the parking lot.
As she reached for her door handle, a man standing by his car two spaces away caught her eye. She'd seen him earlier that day in downtown Annapolis. A normal person might think it was a coincidence and nothing more, given that he was nice looking, dressed in business attire. After everything she'd been through, she'd developed a healthy respect for her sixth sense, and it was telling her something wasn't right. Their gazes met, and she held his for a moment, letting him know that if he had any devious thoughts, she was onto him.
He gave her a nod before getting into his car. She dropped into her seat and locked the doors, but waited until he'd backed out of his spot and left the lot.
Paranoid? Maybe. Deservedly so. She took the rear entrance out of the lot.
She pulled into the gas station and waited in her car for Cheveyo. She had a full five minutes left to wait. "Breathe." Her nerves felt like an army of ants marching inside her stomach. "Look, there's no point in getting excited or anything. He only came because you fudged the truth. So seeing him means … nothing."
Still, she couldn't help but braid her hair, loosen it, and braid it again. The silky strands sliding around her fingers was comforting, even more so than cracking her knuckles had been. And she didn't have to see people grimace or hear lectures about developing arthritis later in life.
She glanced in the mirror, using her nail to scrape away a slight overlap in her lipstick. The only reason she'd taken the time to pretty up was because she wanted him to see what he was missing. Not that she went anywhere, even to the store, without going through her routine.
"So there, buddy. Too late now. I've got a date with a nice, normal guy tonight, to go along with my nice, normal life, which I love. Besides, who needs a guy that turns into a cat? Probably get cat hairs all over the furniture--"
A shadow fell across her lap, and she jumped. Cheveyo leaned sideways in front of her windshield, his hand braced on the hood. Her heart jumped, too, because that's what looking into his smoky blue-gray eyes did to her. How had she missed hearing him ride up?
She pushed the door open and got out, cringing at the breathless quality of her voice when she said, "Hi." Not helping at all were the high heels she was wobbling on.
Really not helping was how damned gorgeous he looked, his wavy dark hair tied back with a leather strap that matched the black bomber jacket he wore. It was unzipped, and beneath, a dark red shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a sprinkling of dark hair and a silver charm on a chain at his neck. Oh, geez, she hoped she didn't look gooey and dewy.
He glanced in her car, his eyebrow arched. "Who were you talking to?"
"Uh … no one. The car. I was muttering to my car. It's temperamental sometimes."
He looked tense, his gaze shifting to his surroundings before returning to her. She'd seen that particular type of awareness before, when they were being hunted. Or maybe he suspected she was going to spring the Rogues on him, as adamant as he was that they not meet. Or spring herself on him. Fat chance.
His gaze softened as it swept over her, but it sharpened again, all business. "What's going on?"
She nodded toward the warehouses half a block away. The transportation company that had used these waterfront metal buildings had gone out of business, leaving the area abandoned. A sign had been promising an upscale shopping revitalization, but the economy had probably put that on hold.
"Follow me over there."
He arched his eyebrow again, this time aiming his puzzled look at her. Then he shrugged and walked over to his black Harley. He had a smooth, powerful gait, efficient but not hurried. She was reminded of those wildlife shows where a lion walks his territory. In one move he got onto the bike and started it. When he looked at her, she realized she'd been too busy looking at him and not getting her car started.
He fell in behind her as she pulled through the tall fence that was opened just enough to let a car pass through. Otherwise NO TRESPASSING signs made anyone think twice about entering. The artist's rendering for the future shopping area had faded beneath the graffiti.
She parked, and he pulled up beside her and dismounted. His black boots scraped on the faded asphalt as he walked beside her toward the door of the building she remembered. He smelled of fresh air and a smoky fragrance that wasn't tobacco. She remembered the images of the boy she'd seen, but the most vivid memories where when he'd held her in his arms and coaxed her back from death, whispering Babe in her ears, emotion in his voice when he—
"Why don't you look like you're in a life and death situation?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"What do you mean? Oh, because I'm not freaking out?" He knew her well, which drove her crazy. Babe, I know a lot, he'd told her once, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Yeah."
She took a breath at the door, not quite meeting his face. "Come in, and I'll explain everything."
She opened the door and stepped inside. His gaze scanned the interior of the large, empty building. Empty. Great, where was Pope?
She turned to Cheveyo. "Because it's not exactly my life and death."

She'd tried to engage him by reading aloud articles about what guys were really thinking in certain situations. Thankfully not the 'How to achieve ultimate orgasms' story promised in bold print on the cover.

"Here's a quiz. I love quizzes. Is your guy a keeper?" She eyed him playfully, raising her eyebrow. "Does he listen to you? Always, sometimes, or never. Do you listen?"

He ignored her.

"That'll be a never." She circled it. "Has he introduced you to his mother?" She tilted her head, studying him. "He hasn't even talked about his mother. Another never."

Honestly, he didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Annoyed was better, because he was no keeper. Her bored sighs sounded like the soft, breathy exhalations she'd utter if he were running his tongue along the inside of her thigh.

"How often does your guy turn into a scary, wild animal?"

She'd tried to engage him by reading aloud articles about what guys were really thinking in certain situations. Thankfully not the 'How to achieve ultimate orgasms' story promised in bold print on the cover. "Here's a quiz. I love quizzes. Is your guy a keeper?" She eyed him playfully, raising her eyebrow. "Does he listen to you? Always, sometimes, or never. Do you listen?"
He ignored her.

"That'll be a never." She circled it. "Has he introduced you to his mother?" She tilted her head, studying him. "He hasn't even talked about his mother. Another never."

Honestly, he didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. Annoyed was better, because he was no keeper. Her bored sighs sounded like the soft, breathy exhalations she'd utter if he were running his tongue along the inside of her thigh.

"How often does your guy turn into a scary, wild animal?"

"Why don't you do the quiz for the boyfriend?" He hoped she hadn't heard the sharpness in his voice.

She lowered her chin, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Because that was our first date, and since we'd only gotten about twenty minutes into it before I was hauled away, I can hardly judge him. You're all I have to work with."

THE DARKNESS WITHIN
A Novella, by Jaime Rush




CHAPTER 1

"The male victim, according to witnesses, was torn apart and gutted like an animal."
That line from the newscast drew Tucker Cane to the television, where the reporter shoved the microphone at a police officer and asked for more details.
"It looks like a wild animal attack, maybe wolf or panther. We can't comment until we know more. For now, we advise residents of the Las Vegas suburbs not to wander into the desert areas after dark and to be on alert."
From what Tucker could see in the churning colored lights and spotlights, the area looked like a typical suburban neighborhood.
A woman with tangled hair and wild eyes pushed her way to the camera. "It wasn't no wild animal! I saw it. The man that did this turned into smoke, and then a werewolf! I told the police, but they won’t listen. We have monsters here in Las Vegas! They’re going to get us all!"
An officer took the woman by the arms and led her away as she struggled and continued to rant.
Every hair on the back of Tucker's neck stood on end. He glanced to the kitchen and then the stairs going up. He already knew none of the D'Rats were home yet. Their cars had been absent from their various places in the driveway fifteen minutes earlier when he'd come home. He’d turned on the news and gone into the kitchen to grab a beer.
In the seven years since he'd found those who were like him, gathered them and cobbled together a family, Tucker was as close to a parental unit as they'd ever had. He tried not to be. What did he know about taking care of someone? He was only twenty-four, and he’d hardly had a parental role model himself. He did, however, know firsthand how shocking it was to discover how different you were, and the reason you had the skills you did.
He rewound the newscast to the part he'd missed while he'd been in the kitchen and watched from the beginning. The attack had occurred three hours earlier, the victim only identified as a male in his twenties. Apparently this had been news for a while now. They had already spoken with a biologist called to the scene, trying to determine what kind of animal would commit this act and how the fine citizens of Las Vegas could avoid being next.
Typical hype, but the attack didn't sound typical.
The biologist said, "We haven't seen an animal attack like this since the Las Vegas man who was mauled twenty-three years ago in a residential area."
"What kind of animal was responsible for that attack?"
"We couldn't make a determination due to lack of obvious evidence. We found no fur or distinguishable prints in the sand outside the house. The only thing we found, at both scenes, were bloody prints that appear to be paw prints. In this investigation, it’s still too early to rule out anything."
The hairs on Tucker's arms now joined the rest at attention. The man who was mauled back then was Del's father. Supposedly Tucker's father had killed him out of a fit of jealousy.
Del. Damn, the thought of her cut into his chest even now. He finished half his beer, pacing the living room. It hit Tuck then: the victim was a male in his twenties. He started calling the Desert Rats. One was on his way home; the other, on a date. Tuck told them to get their asses home, now.
The door banged open, and Darius wheeled inside. He'd been with the D'rats only three years, the newest member of the family. Tucker still didn't feel as though he knew him. The dude had been paralyzed in a car accident right before Tucker had found him. He wore his hair in a wavy, poufed style that reminded Tucker of a Fifties ‘do.
Darius spun his fancy new chair around and kicked the door closed. He grunted, the only greeting he was going to give Tucker obviously, as he headed to his room.
"Been running?" Tucker let those words hang, taking in the sheen of sweat on Darius's face, his damp hair at his neck.
Darius paused at the beginning of the hallway. "Yeah. Moon's not up until three."
Dark enough to camouflage him.
Tucker waved him over. "Come here. You need to see this."
Tucker played the newscast and watched Darius’s expression darken when the woman broke in with her hysterical account. Tucker paused at the end of the segment.
"We knew there might be others out there like us. The men responsible for what we are—our biological fathers—liked to visit prostitutes. Stands to reason our mothers weren't the only ones who got pregnant."
"I think it was a wild animal and that the crazy broad reads too many vampire and werewolf novels…with her heroin."
Tucker shook his head. "She said the guy turned to smoke first. That's not something a book-crazy woman's going to read about.”
Darius wheeled down the hall to his room and shut the door with his usual kick. It always sounded like an angry slam.
Tucker had heard that sound enough as a child.
He called the one female in their group and asked her to come over. Time for a meeting. He paced, hoping the others would come home soon. He supposed this was how a parent might feel, worrying about their kids, feeling the tightness coil around his chest. But it wasn’t only their safety that had him knotted up. What they harbored inside could render any of them mad, vicious … uncontrollable. He only knew it as Darkness. Either there was another person out there with it … or one of the D'Rats had gone mad. That was the possibility he feared most.

A couple of years ago my publisher invited me to participate in an anthology (Bitten by Cupid, Avon Books). I jumped at the change, for many reasons. But I have to admit, I was a bit nervous. Okay, I started my writing with short stories, so short format was easy for me. But I hadn't looked back since I wrote that first too-long-to-be-a-short story book, which was a category romance of about 55,000 words. My subsequent twenty-three books tend to be 90,000-110,000 words, always depending on the story that needs to be told. I wrote four Harlequin category romances that were about 55,000 words a long time ago. I'd never written a roughly 25,000 word story.

Well, I did, and found that I really enjoyed it. Yes, it was hard to pack in a full romance AND a suspense plot in that length of a book. But it was nice not to have to plot out the many ups and downs and twists that occur in a full-length book. Plus, editing was so much nicer. I do three rounds of edits before the book is sent to my editor. Editing 120 pages is a lot quicker than 400 pages. Especially that last edit.

Now I've written four more novellas. Maybe I'm an addict, since I was the one who took the initiative to do them. Two are in my Offspring world (The Darkness Within came out in March 2012) and two introduce readers to a whole new series (The Hidden). The problem usually lies in that I want to explore the characters and their stories more, or I think that I'd like to now develop these particular characters in a full length book … only I've already committed them to the storyline (each set of novellas is tied together).

The nice thing is that because they're released in electronic form, there really is no limit. I know they have to be meaty and long enough to engage the reader. They also should be short enough to still be a novella. But short and sweet is pretty nice. A great price point, a good way for new readers to try out an author's world/voice, and fun for the author!

What do you think of novellas? What do you like and dislike about them?

Jess waved her hand. "Go on, do whatever you were doing. Pretend I’m not here.”

Lachlan made a sound suspiciously like a grunt. “Then you’d better close your coat.”

She jammed the edges together, her cheeks warming at the cleavage she'd been showing, and quickly changed the subject. "The bruises. Did I do those?" She walked up to him, taking a closer look at the ugly purple bruises on his shoulder.

He looked at them. "You fight like a hellcat."

She couldn't help herself, reaching out and gently touching the skin next to the bruised area.

He flinched but didn't move away. "Don't touch me."

She met his gaze at the soft order. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes."

Her fingers barely grazed skin that had no bruising. She let her hand drop and walked to the place he’d indicated before.

He faced an imaginary opponent, bringing his sword around. He pretended to meet his enemy's sword, his blade pointing downward. Then, rotating the sword above his head, he delivered a fatal, slashing blow.

The sword was black metal, with what looked like a playing card’s spade at the base of the handle, and then a carved section of wood. What she thought were hand guards were angled toward the blade. The metal was pitted and looked forever old. He was liquid motion, steel strength, and she could see how he maintained his lean but muscular physique. Her chest tightened as she watched, and that odd sensual heat curled through her like tendrils of fire.

He ran toward the far wall as though he intended to barrel right through it. At the last second, he tucked his sword to his side and ran right up the wall, doing a complete flip until he landed on his feet again.

“Show off,” she said with a smile.

He slid her a look. “I’m pretending you’re not here, remember?”

“Oh … right.”

She'd put her hand to her chest, her fingers clutching the edges of the coat. If she watched him the whole hour he planned to be in here, she'd be a puddle on the floor. That every now and then he slid a glance her way made it even harder. She actually didn't get the sense he was showing off. Between those glances, he was focused, eyes as hard as the steel of his blade. He hated whoever he imagined as his opponent. Every thrust, every slash, carried the extra energy of that enmity.

"Who are you pretending to engage?" She followed his gaze to the mirror, seeing the recipient of that hatred.

He didn't answer, just gritted his teeth and kept fighting.

"You're fighting yourself, aren't you?"
He grunted, neither confirming nor denying.

He had gone beyond grief and self-recrimination to punishing himself with meditating in the cold, these brutal workouts, and that bare room. Cutting off his desires, a psychic castration.
But she had made him respond.

He flung out his hand, sending Darkness into a stream that pooled at his feet. He held an image in his mind, and the smoke formed into the shape of a Doberman pinscher. At a glance, it would seem like a normal dog. Only if one looked closely would they see that what looked solid was churning darkness. He created two more. The three stood at attention, facing their master.

"Find Jessie." He formed the image of Jessie in his mind, sending it to them.
Just like last time, they sped off, through the wall and into the night.

"Your brother and I never kissed."
"You must have." Lachlan had tortured himself with the image, all the while reminding himself that she was not his to want.
"Sorry to disappoint you. If it makes you feel better, we almost kissed, but I turned so that he kissed my cheek. I daydreamed about him. He's got a nice mouth, full, lush, with an intriguing cupid’s bow." She flicked a glance at his mouth. "Runs in the family, I see."
Did he imagine a spark in her eyes? "You wanted to kiss him."
She shrugged. "Sure, but not in an I'll-die-if-I-don’t way. I think about kissing any attractive guy who flirts with me. But there's no point in that kind of activity."
"That kind of activity?"
"Kissing. Touching." She met his gaze, licking her lips in an involuntary way that tightened his groin. "Making love. For me, anyway."
He mirrored her action, chastising himself for focusing on the way her mouth had wrapped around the words making love and drawn them out. "Why not?"
"The Darkness, of course." That came out a whisper laced with fear. "Intense emotions triggers it. I've heard having sex is intense, at least when it's done right. I’d be terrified of Becoming in the middle of a mind-bending orgasm.”
He banked the fire that rose from his chest into his eyes, afraid if he opened his mouth something inappropriate would come tumbling out. Kiss me. Touch me.
She went on, her eyes taking on a heavy, sleep look. "I’ve heard you can lose your mind. The slide of bodies against each other, the way I'd feel when the right man filled me." Her gaze slid down his chest, and he felt it tingle across the breadth of his shoulders. She fixed it there and seemed to pull herself from the vision of what she was talking about. "I can't lose my head. Ever. Because if I Become Darkness, I could kill you." She drew her gaze back to his. "I mean, you in a general way, of course."
"Of course." The words came out gritty. He'd felt her words, and their bodies gliding against each other, his cock filling her. It was growing even now, and would be damned obvious in his skivvies.
Her eyes went soft and heavy again as she looked at his mouth. "I don't want to kiss Magnus anymore."
He could hardly breathe. "No?"
"I want to kiss you."