Angela Knight's Blog, page 3

An Excerpt from Master of Fate

Dear Reader -- The newest Mageverse novella will be out at the end of the month from Changeling Press. Here's a little taste...
Keeping Mad Alys sane has never been harder -- and neither has loving her. Davon Fredericks is on a self-appointed mission to keep Mad Alys sane. And that job’s never been harder. Alys Hawkwood is the most powerful seer among the witches of the Magekind. She’s seen a lot of horrors in her visions, but this is the worst: the destruction of the Magekind. The only way to prevent the deaths of everyone she cares about is to allow their worst enemy to kidnap her. Her only hope of rescue is her vampire partner, Davon -- the man she loves -- and the one she can never have. To carry out her plan and save them all, Davon must pull off the impossible: take on a dragon and countless alien enemies alone. But his most deadly opponent is Alys herself…                                              ***         Davon Fredericks watched the rich crimson liquid swirl in the cut crystal glass as he rotated his wrist. The roots of his fangs ached. He took a sip, and the taste exploded on his tongue, sending a jolt of magic lancing the length of his spine. Heat streamed into his groin at the flavor, the scent, the sheer, erotic essence of Alys Hawkwood’s blood. His gaze slid over to her as she sat next to him on the dark tufted leather of the couch, watching Netflix on an enchanted tablet.  Alys looked barely twenty -- quite a trick for someone born when Shakespeare was writing Hamlet.  Twelve years ago, if someone had told Davon he’d be partners with an Elizabethan, he’d have put that idiot on a psych hold. He'd considered himself a thoroughly rational man, a believer in science and logic. He'd had to be. He was a twenty-first century African American trauma surgeon in Chicago, a city where it wasn't easy to be either black or a doctor. He hadn't had time for woo-woo crap.  Until a witch offered him the chance to become a vampire and save humanity. Now here he was, immortal partner to another beautiful witch. And Alys was beautiful.  Her skin was a couple of shades lighter than his own deep bronze, since she was the daughter of an African vampire father and a Caucasian witch. Her lean, muscled body was a product of centuries of fighting for the survival of humanity -- and a tendency to forget to eat unless Davon nagged her.  A riot of gleaming midnight curls sprang from her elegant head, framing a delicate, angular face. Huge eyes of a deep cinnamon brown balanced the swoop of her wide nose and the lush curve of her mouth. Soft, vulnerable lips parted as she laughed at something on her screen, showing the white edges of her teeth.       God, Davon hungered for that mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her the first time he met her, and he still wanted it ten years later. And he wanted to taste a lot more than her mouth, starting with the smooth length of those golden thighs, revealed by a tiny pair of yellow shorts. A matching silk tank bloused over her pretty breasts, drawing his attention to the hard nipples tenting the thin fabric.      Davon’s fangs gave another throbbing pulse as his cock hardened. Yeah, no.      He dragged his gaze away by sheer force of will, focusing his attention on the oak wainscoting that ran around the house’s library. That section of paneling was intricately carved with magical symbols designed to amplify Alys’s magic. Though they’d shared the big Tudor-style mansion for ten years, he was still finding new flourishes in the decor.      Whenever Alys felt anxious, she conjured something beautiful. The unicorn tapestry that covered one of the library walls had appeared following the last battle with King Bres. Davon’s near death at the hands of a troll resulted in a stained-glass portrait of Merlin. He suspected every statue, rug, and carved ceiling beam in the house owed its existence to post-battle anxiety.       The whole place was the three-dimensional equivalent of Pinterest page therapy: lovely, whimsical — and ever so slightly OCD.      Aaand his erection had finally deflated, thank God.      He blew out a breath in relief. He and Alys didn’t have that kind of fuckbuddy partnership.       Damn it.      Mostly to keep his mind off his dick, he asked, “Any word on what Bres is up to?” Nothing could kill an erotic mood quite like a magic-using psychotic who wanted all humans dead.      Alys looked up, intelligence burning like flame in cinnamon eyes. “The Fomorians have gone quiet. I have a feeling he’s up to som…” Her voice trailed off.      What looked like a wave of ink flooded Alys’s sclera and irises, drowning her eyes in black. Points of light burst against the darkness, stars igniting in the eternal night. Oh, hell. She was having a vision.      Though his heart had begun to pound, Davon didn’t move, didn’t do anything to interrupt. Alys was the most powerful seer among the Magekind’s witches. They all got flashes of the future, but no one else saw as clearly. More importantly, she could often predict how to avoid a horrific future, a talent not even Morgana Le Fay had.      So no, you didn’t interrupt one of Alys’s visions.      Not that what she learned was always welcome. Sometimes preventing one ugly future would trigger something even worse, so they couldn’t do a damn thing.      Which didn’t do a lot for her mental state. There was a reason they called her Mad Alys. Davon’s mission in life was making sure that shitty nickname didn’t become a reality.       He watched her expression, trying to determine whether this one was going to be another one of those situations. At least there were no flickers of terror and despair on her face, though the tightening line of her jaw suggested growing anger.      A kid must be involved in this. Nothing pissed Alys off like some asshole hurting a child. Often the asshole in question ended up very, very dead by the time she and Davon finished teaching him the error of his ways.      The blackness drained from Alys’s eyes as if someone had pulled a stopper in her skull, revealing her normal irises. She blinked at him, her gaze a little confused.      “Alys?” he asked.      The vague air vanished as her eyes snapped into focus. “We’ve got a mission.” Surging off the couch as if she’d been launched from a catapult, the Maja flung her arms wide.
      Magic flooded the room in response to her will, rolling over Davon’s body. The foaming wave of sparks condensed into the new suit of armor she’d conjured last week. Its gleaming chest plate, groin protector, gauntlets and boots were intricately engraved with protective spells. Fine scale mail, as light and flexible as his own skin, covered everything the plate didn’t. The suit’s helm looked more futuristic than medieval, with a transparent faceplate designed to allow maximum peripheral vision.      Davon thoroughly approved. It was much lighter than the old armor, easier to move in, more resistant to magical blasts. Unlike the previous kit, nothing would be able to penetrate it with fang, claw or blade. Not without a hell of a lot of work, anyway.      A familiar weight hung against his back. He turned his head to see the hilt of his sword protruding over his left shoulder, the blade sheathed in a diagonal scabbard.      When Davon glanced back, armor had replaced Alys’s shorts and shirt, covering her lean, elegant body in gold plate and scale mail.      She drew her longsword from its back scabbard and tossed it onto the couch with a soft thump. “I’m going to need something with a little bit more buzz for this job.” She raised both hands, and light blazed between her palms, solidifying into a weapon.      The two-handed great sword shone with an unearthly blue light, magic spiraling in hair-thin lightning forks from pommel to point and back again. The blade smoked as she held it, filling the air with the smell of ozone.      “Oh, shit!” Davon took an instinctive step back. “Reaver? We need Reaver for this?”      She shrugged. “It’s going to get a little dicey.”      “How dicey? What’s going on?”      “King Llyr’s kid has been snatched by his own bodyguard. The traitor’s going to hand the boy over to the Fomorians, who are meeting him for the handoff.”      “Fucking Bres.” She’d been right about the enemy king being up to something.      “Exactly. Your job is to grab Prince Dearg. I’ll be the big, loud distraction with a side order of flaming death.”      Davon grinned. “You do play to your strengths.”      “Yep. I’ll call King Llyr and Arthur, but the vision says it’ll take our backup eight minutes to arrive. If we don’t have Dearg in four, he’s dead. We’ve got zero wiggle room on this mission, ‘Von.” Her gaze burned into his, fierce and level. “Do not leave that boy. Even if I go down, you are to protect him above everything else.”      He gave her a crisp nod. “I’ll take care of it.”      Alys smiled. “I know.” She flicked her long fingers, and he felt the communication spell sizzle through the air, off to alert Arthur and the child’s father. “I’ll take this gate, you take the next.”      She gestured, and a white-hot point appeared in midair. Normally it took a moment for a dimensional gate to stabilize, but this one expanded to human-sizes in a heartbeat. She wasn’t fooling around.      “Avaaaaalonnnnn!” Howling the Magekind’s battle cry, Alys leaped through the gate, tossing a spell over her shoulder as she went.      Another blazing spark ignited before Davon’s face, swelling out into the wavering oval that was his own magical doorway. Drawing his sword, he slipped through like a shadow.      Magic rolled over his skin as his booted feet came down on a thick carpet of leaves. Massive oaks and maples the size of redwoods loomed around him, branches so thickly intertwined, they blocked the star-flecked Mageverse sky.      A mortal wouldn’t have been able to see a damn thing. Luckily, Davon hadn’t been mortal in eleven years.      A clearing lay ten yards away, illuminated by Reaver’s blue fire. High, feminine laughter rang out over the sword’s menacing crackle. His partner was giving the Fomos the full Mad Alys floorshow.      The Fomorians cursed, and something that sounded like a troll roared as hooves thumped on the loamy forest floor.      Where the hell was Dearg?      Davon edged closer until he glimpsed Alys charging the band of armored warriors, swinging Reaver in crackling arcs. The Fomorians wisely recoiled. He scanned the group, but there was no sign of the Sidhe traitor and his captive. Aside from a centaur and a troll, the other twelve warriors were Fomo, judging by the blue skin, three-fingered hands and the way they walked on their toes like dogs.

      The troll towered over them all, eight feet of massive green shoulders corded with muscle beneath chain mail and enchanted leather armor. Tusks distorted his snarling mouth, thrusting up from his jutting bulldog jaw. He carried a battleax in one huge hand and a kite-shaped shield in the other.      “Great,” Davon muttered. “She’s picked a fight with the Incredible Hulk and a team of psychotic Smurfs.” 
Thanks so much for checking this out. Hope you'll enjoy it!
Angela Knight

Christmas Carole is out from Changeling Press!

You’ll want a visit from these Ghosts of Christmas Yummy… Carole Elzer is no Scrooge -- she loves Christmas. But when she’s visited by the ghost of her best friend and business partner, Marley, Carole learns she must make amends for something she hasn’t done -- otherwise, Marley warns, she’ll spend the rest of her life in anguish and guilt. She’s guided on her voyage into Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come by three sexy spirits, all of whom look just like her partner, Bob Crockett. Bob is still grieving for the wife he loved and lost years ago, but Carole nurses a guilty love for him.As Carole explores her past, present and future with her handsome spirits, she realizes just how high the stakes are. Bob’s young son Tim’s life hangs in the balance. If she doesn’t learn how to save the child, none of them will ever again know a merry Christmas -- and she and Bob will have no future together.Changeling Press    Amazon      Barnes and Noble    Kobo      Apple
I turned to continue up the stairs -- and gasped.
Parked on the stairs ahead of me -- stairs that had been empty a heartbeat before -- a hearse stood, its back hatch swung wide to reveal the coffin inside.
Lurching backward with a yelp, I barely saved myself from falling with a frantic grab for the banister. I spun and raced back down the steps so fast, it was a miracle I didn't break my neck. At the bottom, I wheeled to peer back the way I'd come.
The stairs were empty.
Dumbass, what did you expect? No way in hell could a set of hundred-and-forty-year-old steps support a couple tons of hearse.
It hadn't been cannabis that cake had been laced with. It had been LSD.
Bob. I needed to call Bob. Six-foot-four with a broad, muscular build, Bob Crockett could handle anything. One call and he'd be here in ten minutes. Back in his hard news days, Bob had covered everything from shotgun murders to high-speed chases, and nothing shook his cool. Not even his business partner's overactive imagination.
But it was Christmas Eve, and we'd spent all day working that wedding because the bride's family had written us a check with a lot of zeros. I wasn't about to drag him out of bed now. For one thing, he shouldn't leave his twelve-year-old son home alone just to calm me down.
Tim had gone along on today's shoot, just as he'd been doing from the age of five. He'd always been a laughing, bright-eyed boy, but his mother's death had left him pale and quiet. He'd seemed particularly withdrawn today.
Damned if I was going to bother them because visions of serial killers danced in my head. Instead I stood at the foot of the stairs, concentrating on getting my racing heartbeat under control.
I kept a Lady Smith .38 in my upstairs closet. Bob had bought it for me one Christmas, then dragged me to the range to practice until he was sure I could hit what I aimed at. "I've covered too many fucking murders," he'd told me. "If you're going to live alone, you're damned well going to be able to defend yourself."
Now I took back every time I'd teased him about his paranoia.
Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I started up the stairs almost as fast as I'd come down them. If I heard so much as a floorboard creak, I was calling 911.
And tell them what? demanded the voice of common sense. That your doorknocker turned into your dead partner's face and you saw a hearse parked on the stairs? The cops'll search the house for drugs.
Damn it. No cops.
I hurried up the steps and down the hallway to the master bedroom, flipping on lights as I went. 
Pausing, I gave the room a once-over. The brass bed was neatly made under a beautiful heirloom quilt I'd inherited, like the house, from my grandmother. An antique cherry armoire and bureau stood along opposite walls. Next to the bow window, the Christmas tree was draped in twinkle lights, swags of gold tinsel, and wooden replicas of Victorian toys.
I closed the door behind me and hurried to the antique cherry armoire, where the Lady Smith resided in a top shelf gun safe. Fingers flying, I punched in the code and pulled out the matte black automatic.
Yep, fully loaded, safety on.
Feeling a lot more secure -- and a bit stupid at my freak-out -- I put the gun down on the cherry nightstand and started undressing. We always dressed up for weddings, but shooting video requires stringing cable on your hands and knees. Not the kind of thing you do in a dress and hose. Today I'd worn a black wool pantsuit and an ice-blue silk blouse. For a moment, I distracted myself with the memory of Bob in a suit. The jacket had needed no padding to call attention to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. Not to mention that perfectly muscled ass...
Cut it out, Carole. No lusting after Marley's husband.
Still, I loved the intent look he got in those gray eyes whenever he was setting up a shot. There was something sensual in the way his powerful hands gripped one of our commercial-grade video cameras, balancing it effortlessly on one strong shoulder.
Thinking about Bob drained the last of my anxiety. I pulled on flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, then crawled into bed. Settling back on the pile of fat pillows, I picked up my phone and opened my Kindle app, meaning to read until I got sleepy.
I did a search on the word "Christmas," meaning to pull up one of the holiday romances I'd collected over the years. The first thing that popped up was A Christmas Carol, one of Marley's favorite books. Every single year, we'd ended up watching one of the many TV or film versions of the classic. She'd told me once the book had fascinated her when she was a child because Scrooge's ghostly partner, Jacob Marley, shared her name.
I suddenly remembered a scene from the book that hadn't been in any of the movies. On the way up the stairs to his bedroom, Scrooge had seen a steam-powered hearse on the steps. My subconscious must have dredged up the memory and produced the modern-day version.
Weird.
I clicked on a promising historical and settled back against the pillows to read. I'd just begun to sink into the lush world of Regency England when a sudden sound jolted me.
Thump clatter rattle thunk clatter.
My head snapped up as my skin went cold, my heart beginning to pound. That was not the house settling. Something was coming up the stairs.
"Shit!" I snatched the gun off the nightstand and flicked the safety off, pointing it toward the door. The clatter grew louder. My terror spiraled until I had to clamp a scream behind my teeth.
Marley floated through the bedroom door.
She wore the dress she'd been buried in, the same bright yellow chiffon tea-length gown she'd worn to marry Bob thirteen years ago. Her skin glowed with an eerie, pearlescent sheen, her long sable hair floating around her face as if she were underwater. Thin cords wrapped her body, each hung with glowing rectangles. One of them spun toward me, and I realized it was an iPhone.
"I guess that's better than chains and iron account books." My voice sounded so high, you'd think I was five. "What... What the fuck, M... Marley? You weren't a miser, and you..."
She shot at me like a comet, USB cables and phones whipping around her. She stopped, her face an inch from mine, her features contorted with a rage I'd never seen there when she was alive.
I recoiled against the pillows so hard, I felt the press of the bed's brass spindles through the fabric. "Marley, what the..."
"This isn't about me!" she shrieked. "It's about everything else you've ignored!"
I jerked, nerveless fingers losing their grip on the gun. It tumbled off the bed and hit the rug with a thump. Not that it would've done me any good. She was already dead.
Part of my mind was gibbering, This is not real this is not real this is not real! But it felt entirely too fucking real. She smelled of decaying leaves and wilting lilies, the smell so strong I almost gagged. And the air around her was so cold, breathing seemed to freeze my lungs.
"I... I never ignored C-Christmas!" I babbled. "Bob and Tim are coming for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I've got him an iPhone..."
Marley's eyes blazed red. "You think all my child needs is a meal and toys?"
Instinctively, I thrust out an arm to push her away, but my hand sank to the wrist into her glowing, insubstantial body. It felt like I'd plunged it into a half-frozen pond. As my skin began to burn, I jerked back, cradling my hand against my chest. "What... what do you need me to do?"
"I don't need a damned thing," she hissed. "I'm dead. You need to be worried about the living. You need to care about someone other than yourself and your own pain!"
That stung. "I care about Bob and Tim! I've done everything for them I can think of, anything they've needed..."
The rage on her face was terrifying, and not just because she was dead. "Right, you care," she sneered. "But do you care enough to actually pay attention?"
"Pay attention to what? If you'd just tell me..."
"It wouldn't do any fucking good! It would end the same, in darkness and anguish. You'll have to learn the hard way." She floated backward a little, and I managed to drag in a breath that didn't sear my nose with cold. "Three spirits will visit you. You'd better learn what they teach, or you'll wish to God you had!"
Somewhere on the first floor, the antique grandfather clock began to chime, bonging its way to midnight. Marley floated backward, her eyes never leaving mine as she stared at me with such fury and betrayal, it felt like an ice pick to the heart.
"I'm sorry," I gasped as she began to sink into the door as if she were submerging in a pool of water. "I never intended... Marley, whatever I did wrong, I'm going to fix!"
"Prove it!" she snapped, and vanished from sight.

Master of Valor is out now at Changeling Press!

 The newest Mageverse novella is out now at Changeling Press, and up for preorder everywhere else!  Here's an excerpt:


So a vampire, a witch and a werewolf walk into a morgue… Seriously. The night has teeth.
Handsome Afghan war veteran Duncan Carpenter barely survived a horrifying IED attack that cost him his legs. He gets a second chance at life when he agrees to become an agent of the Magekind -- a vampire sworn to protect humanity. The spell that transforms him also heals his broken body and gives him incredible new abilities. Now he must pay for that gift, because the Magekind is preparing for war with powerful magical enemies. But first he must complete his training with a Magekind witch, Masara Okeye. Problem. He’s falling for his mentor, even as he struggles to deal with life as a vampire.
Masara finds her apprentice deliciously seductive -- a little bit too much so for her peace of mind, because he brings up memories better left buried. But when Duncan and Masara are asked to help a werewolf cop investigate the murder of a jogger, they’re targeted by the same vicious killers. The fight for survival drives the couple together, despite Masara’s determination to keep her distance. Then the case turns even more horrific and mysterious. What turned a couple of loving werewolf grandparents into vicious killers?
And what’s with the flying rabid zombie rats?
Master of Valor Buy LinksChangeling Press      Amazon      Nook         Kobo       Apple
A globe of fire the size of a basketball flew at his face. Duncan Carpenter ducked behind his shield as flame splashed its tough, transparent surface. The magical attack triggered the shield's enchantment, and a ward sprang out to encircle him as the flame licked the barrier.
The fire cleared, and for a moment Duncan saw his opponent -- a towering teal blue humanoid whose three-fingered hands held a massive sword. The Fomorian's features were basically human, except for red irises rayed in veins of purple and gold -- oddly beautiful. His snarl revealed a mouthful of long, jagged teeth designed to tear flesh. The Fomorian charged, running silently on three-toed feet, insanely fast in enchanted leather armor engraved with protective spells.
Just as the sorcerer reached him, Duncan bounded five feet straight up and chopped down with his sword, aiming between the twin bony crests running over the top of the Fomorian's head.
The sorcerer shied back, avoiding the blow by a hair. As Duncan hit the floor, the Fomorian's hand shot into the air, a nimbus of light dancing from thumb to the two long, thick fingers. Duncan jerked his shield up...
Too late. The force blast hit him right in the face and knocked him across the room. He hit the wall so hard, he saw a whole constellation of stars. When they faded, he lay on his back surrounded by smoke. Dazed, he turned his head -- to see the bloody remains of a leg clad in shredded camo pants. He knew it was his own...
Fucking flashback. Get up and fight, Marine! Legs ain't free!
Duncan blinked, and the illusionary leg vanished, becoming his sword again. He snatched the weapon off the ground as the Fomorian roared. Duncan threw himself into a roll. The sorcerer's blade cut so close, the breeze of its passage lifted his hair.
Springing upright, Duncan lunged at the Fomorian, shield still strapped to his left arm. Swinging his sword in furious arcs, he rained strokes at the sorcerer -- his head, his arms, thighs, abdomen. The seven-foot monster retreated, parrying, unable to launch his own attacks as he fought to block the thundering blows. Fear flashed over the sorcerer's face...
And Duncan really felt his own miraculous power, the speed and strength he couldn't have imagined six months before. Most of all, he felt every inch of his legs. The ones he'd lost a year ago on the worst day of his life. The ones that should be clumsy mechanical replacements instead of superhuman flesh and blood. He was the luckiest bastard on the planet. And he had to be worthy of his miracle. His lips peeled off his teeth in a bloodthirsty cross between a snarl and a grin.
Somewhere in the house, a clock struck midnight. The Fomorian threw up one hand and panted, "Lunch break."
Ha! He'd tired her out. Duncan straightened, breathing hard. As he watched, the Fomorian's body seemed to melt like wax, vivid blue-green skin darkening to something more human. A blink later, Masara Okeye stood there, no longer surrounded by the Fomorian illusion she'd worn for combat practice.
Masara was a head shorter than Duncan, but her lean body was as lithe and strong as a leopard's. Her long dreads swung as she walked across the room to retrieve a couple of towels from a shelf. She tossed him one and blotted her face with the other.
He caught the towel without really looking at it. She fascinated him, with those sculpted cheekbones, the full, deliciously sensual mouth, the exotic swoop of her nose, and her big, dark eyes. Not to mention all that skin, rich and brown and gleaming with sweat, barely concealed by a black jogging bra and leggings. Just looking at her made his upper jaw ache. Some air current brought the hot smell of exertion and woman to his sensitive nose, tinged with the seductive tang he'd learned to associate with witches. Lust flooded his blood and hardened his cock. And it wasn't the only thing growing, either. Judging by the ache in his upper jaw, his incisors had lengthened.
Great, Duncan thought, irritated at the all-too-visible reaction his instructor was bound to notice. I'm getting a fang-on. The spell that had healed Duncan had given him his legs back, but it had also made him a vampire.
Yeah, well, legs ain't free.
* * *
Good thing Duncan has no idea how tempting he looks, Masara thought. I'd be in trouble. Bare-chested, sweat-slicked, wearing only a pair of loose shorts, her apprentice tested both her self-control and her ability to concentrate. He wore his curling chestnut hair tied back in a tight tail, calling attention to the brutal perfection of his features and the sensual mobility of his mouth. His eyes were a shimmering crystalline blue that turned dark when he was aroused and icy in anger. He reminded her of a young god.
He was certainly endowed like one. It took all Masara's considerable willpower to keep her eyes off the erection testing the soft blue nylon of his shorts. The deliciously long, thick shaft made her imagine all kinds of sensual possibilities. She really needed to take him to bed. If he'd been anybody else, she probably would have done so months ago. He needed to get his mind off what happened to him that nightmare day in Afghanistan, and a nice hot fling would probably do the trick.
Trouble was, he wasn't just another apprentice. She'd trained dozens of witches and vampires over the decades, but none of them had been as driven, as focused, or as haunted as Duncan. And none of them had such vivid blue eyes that took on that chill burn when he was frustrated or angry.
When Masara had been a child, a look like that in blue eyes meant it was time to find something else to do, as far away as possible. Even one hundred sixty-one years as a Magekind agent hadn't been enough to reprogram the reaction. Which made serving as Duncan's mentor a dicey proposition. She had psychic landmines of her own, and those eyes could trigger them.
Still, he was a hard man to resist. It just wasn't his looks or his formidable intelligence either; none of her apprentices had been homely, and they certainly weren't stupid. No, it was the man's stoic warrior attitude, his psychic wounds, his dogged determination to deserve the second chance he'd been given.
A second chance he'd needed because he'd sacrificed himself to save an Afghani child from an IED. 
The Magekind needed people like Duncan, and it was Masara's job to make sure he had the training to fight the Fomorians -- and survive.
They needed every warrior they could get to fulfill the mission Merlin had given them 1500 years ago. Keeping humanity from committing mass suicide through war or environmental catastrophe took a lot of manpower.
"After lunch," she told him as they caught their breath, "I want you to practice against a troll." Which meant another grueling hour maintaining an illusion spell, not to mention the physical effort of sparring with a vampire hand-to-hand. She'd be black and blue by the time they finished. Still, if it kept him alive, it was worth it.
"Trolls, centaurs, Fomorians, Merkind, giants..." He rolled his eyes and curled an expressive lip. "Why the heck do they all want a piece of us?"
"They don't like sharing Mageverse Earth with humans," Masara told him. "Or our Sidhe cousins, either. They want us all dead."
"An alien Axis of Evil." He shook his head. "My life is so damned weird."
"Welcome to the Magekind."
Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoy Master of Valor!

Angela Knight

Arcane Heart is up for preorder! And news about the New Mageverse book...

I'm so excited! I got my paperback proof of Arcane Heart today, and it looks terrific! Now all the preorder links are officially up, so I have those to share too.  Here's a taste... The wildest passion has claws. When a pair of cops with magical abilities become the target of a hate group, they must unravel the plot against them before it costs them their lives -- and love.Deputy Erica Harris is a witch who can see the magical auras of those around her, a talent which helps her determine when someone intends to commit a violent crime. Her partner, Deputy Jake Nolan, has a psychic link with an African lion that allows him to manifest the animal’s powers.But it’s tough to serve and protect when demagogues stoke public fear of you. As the two cops fight to unravel a politically motivated web of hate and deceit, Erica and Jake are targeted by a magical assassin hired by the plotters.While dodging murder attempts, they begin to fall in love. But as Jake’s desire makes his inner lion more possessive, his self-control erodes. Can they afford to take a chance on love when so many lives hang in the balance? And here's an excerpt:  Fingers brushed the bare skin of her collarbones as if her bullet-resistant vest had turned to mist. An electric jolt of pleasure zinged through her, so intense it almost stung.Erica’s eyes sprang wide. Jake watched her hungrily, gold eyes glowing as his thumbs brushed back and forth over her uniformed chest. One hand slid down, and she rocked back, instinctively giving him room. Room to trace down her sternum, dance across the upper curves of one breast, then down the slope of it…Fingers brushed nipples with a sensation so vivid, she looked down, half-expecting to find her clothes had disappeared.Both uniforms were still there. He was using his feral magic to manipulate her aura. “Oh,” she breathed. “That’s… incredible. I didn’t know you could do that.”“You’d be surprised what I can do.” Jake’s smile took on a darker cast as he magically toyed with her, fingers brushing over the vest.
Arcane Heart will be out September 21, 2018 To Pre-order: Amazon  KoboB&N  iTtunes  In the meantime, I'm also finishing up my next Mageverse novel, Master of Valor. Handsome Afghan war veteran Duncan Carpenter survived a horrifying IED attack that cost him his legs. He got a second chance at life when he discovered he was a Latent: a descendant of one of the Knights of the Round Table. When he agrees to become one of the immortal vampires sworn to protect humanity, the spell that transforms him heals his amputations and gives him incredible abilities.Now he has to pay for them: the Magekind is preparing to go to war against vicious magical enemies. But first he has to complete an apprenticeship with a beautiful witch, Masara Okeye. The task becomes even more complicated when the pair are sent to assist a werewolf investigating the brutal murder of a mortal woman. Then things get really weird. Look for Master of Valor around Halloween. 
 

Arcane Heart will be out Sept. 21!

He slid out of his car and looked down at her, a broad-shouldered silhouette. His eyes caught a beam of light from God knew where, reflecting gold. Heart pounding a crazed rhythm, she got out to join him. “If you think I’m necking in the back of the patrol car…”“God, no. Way too many drunks have yarked in my cruiser. I keep my car clean, but there’s only so much you can do.”She could only grin. “And Dave says there’s no romance in your soul.”His teeth flashed. “Give me a try and see for yourself how romantic I am.”Erica swallowed at the erotic challenge in his tone. This is not a good idea. She found herself moving closer anyway until they stood chest to chest.Which would have felt much sexier without the two bulletproof vests they were wearing.Jake’s big, broad hands came up and cupped her cheeks to cradle her head, tilting her chin up. His palms felt calloused, deliciously warm. His mouth felt just as seductive as he kissed her, his lips feathering a soft brush across hers.Erica groaned and let herself lean into his chest. Though Jake wasn’t a tall man, his muscular breadth made her feel almost delicate. Feminine. The ASP baton hanging from his belt tapped her thigh, and the plastic buckles of their duty belts clicked as they eased together.He slid a hand behind her back to grip her belt and pull her closer. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She opened with a soft, yearning groan.He tasted of the Cauldron’s maple syrup, smelled of something dark and wild that made her think of deep woods and cat musk. Arousal tightened her belly, kicking off a honeyed flare of heat through her blood. Behind the thick padding of her vest, her nipples hardened. God, she wanted to feel his hands on her bare breasts. Ached for it.He rumbled, a delicious vibration. Thick, coarse fur brushed against the back of her thighs, a psychic impression of a leonine body.“Go away, Clar,” he murmured against her lips.The impression of fur disappeared.Shivering in helpless arousal, Erica spread her hands over his chest. Felt only tough uniform fabric and the thickness of the Kevlar vest. God, I want him naked.He drew back from her mouth, looking down at her with hooded eyes. “I want to touch you.”Licking dry lips, she croaked, “God yes. But this isn’t the…”Big hands stroked up over the rise of her breasts. She closed her eyes and swallowed, wishing it wasn’t so damn cold. Wishing she was naked, so she could feel his skin on hers.Fingers brushed the bare skin of her collarbones as if her bullet-resistant vest had turned to mist. An electric jolt of pleasure zinged through her, so intense it almost stung.Erica’s eyes sprang wide. Jake watched her hungrily, gold eyes glowing as his thumbs brushed back and forth over her uniformed chest. One hand slid down, and she rocked back, instinctively giving him room. Room to trace down her sternum, dance across the upper curves of one breast, then down the slope of it…Fingers brushed nipples with a sensation so vivid, she looked down, half-expecting to find her clothes had disappeared.Both uniforms were still there. He was using his feral magic to manipulate her aura. “Oh,” she breathed. “That’s… incredible. I didn’t know you could do that.”“You’d be surprised what I can do.” Jake’s smile took on a darker cast as he magically toyed with her, fingers brushing over the vest.His left hand paused, tracing the curve of her ribs, dancing over thin skin, gliding downward to find the jut of a hipbone. And across.Between her legs.A jolt of magic shot right into her clit. Erica inhaled and caught his shoulders to keep from falling on her ass.“Like that?” Jake’s voice seemed to brush across her senses like velvet, rich and tempting. He went for her lips again, sipping at her tongue, as one hand played between her thighs and the other danced delicate spells over her breasts as though she was naked. Deliciously naked and aroused.Well, part of that was true.Jake purred against her mouth -- a sound that became a gasp as she slid a hand down and sent her own magic questing. To find the thick shaft of his erection pressing against his fly. Cupping her fingers over him, she danced a feather of magic the length of his cock from balls to head.“You’re living dangerously.” His voice sounded rough.She smiled wickedly and closed her teeth over his lower lip, tugging it as she intensified the magic whirling around his eager shaft. “Yes, well, so are you.”His lips curled against hers. “Sometimes a little danger can be fun.”Erica froze as the words triggered a dark association: Sometimes a little danger can be fun. That had been one of Bobby’s favorite sayings, used before missions, bar brawls, or jumping out of an airplane. He’d even said it the first time he’d taken her to bed.And the morning she’d caught him cheating. “Sometimes a little danger can be fun.”Jake’s eyes widened in dismay as he felt her recoil. “Erica, I…”She stepped back out of range of his hands, his magic. Suddenly the spring breeze felt icy over her hot cheeks. “I’ll… see you later.”Jake took a step toward her, one hand lifted, then aborted the gesture. His broad shoulders slumped. “What about BFS?”Erica wanted to say no. Wanted to at least put him off. Instead she heard herself say, “I’ll meet you there.”Idiot!Relief brightened his gaze, and he tried out a tentative smile. “Why don’t I pick you up instead. Ten o’clock?”She turned away and headed for her car. All she wanted was to get home. “Sure, whatever. Fine.”But it wasn’t fine. Why the hell didn’t I tell him no?She knew exactly why. I’ve never been smart when it came to any Nolan.

Arcane Heart excerpt!

When the lion butted her hip for the third time, Erica almost fell on her ass. Jake caught her elbow. She was sharply, acutely aware of the warmth of his big hand cupping her through her uniform shirt."Clarence, cut that out," he told his Familiar, then added to her, "Sorry about that. He can be really pushy."“I noticed.” Her voice sounded a bit breathy as the cat circled their legs.Despite her better judgment, Erica’s attention fell on Jake’s mouth, lips full and tempting under that strong cleft chin. Dragging her eyes away, she tried to think of a more neutral topic. "Did I thank you for saving my ass?" The words came out throatier than she’d intended, so she added a smartass grin. “Tooth Tank to the rescue. Ooo-Raar.““Yeah, you thanked me. But I don’t mind hearing it again.” His voice dropped into a seductive rumble. “I’m interested in anything you want to give me.” His eyes fell to her lips, and his blond head lowered. “In fact, I have some suggestions.”Erica could have stepped back. God knew she'd done it often enough when her ex-boss had tried to force an unwelcome kiss. But Jake wasn’t forcing anything, and the warm, gentle brush of his lips was the opposite of unwelcome. She’d been craving this for months. Years.With a sigh, she parted her lips under his, wanting to taste him. To drink him in, as she’d longed to do for the past five years. His mouth tasted of maple syrup and Jake. Heat gathered in her belly, the tips of her breasts.An uneasy voice spoke from the back of her mind. But what if it all goes sideways again? I barely survived losing Bobby. I wouldn’t survive losing Jake. The thought made her draw back a few inches, breathing hard, to meet the burning gold of his eyes. This is stupid, her common sense insisted.“Erica,” he murmured softly, cupping her face in one broad hand, his thumb brushing back and forth over her cheekbone. “I want you.” A wave of heat rolled over her body at the stark, simple need in his voice. And she realized she didn’t care about common sense or guilt or simple self-preservation. Not with the touch of his aura triggering a wave of hot, carnal awareness that made her catch her breath. Something deep inside her seemed to flower, a delicious quiver of sensation rolling from her head to her toes.Oh, fuck it. I want this. I want him. Rising onto her toes, she kissed him, eager, hot.Jake growled softly against her mouth — a human growl rather than leonine. His tongue explored her lower lip in a wet velvet stroke. And God, it felt so good.It had been too damned long. Too long since she'd felt the swirl of a lover's magic rousing her body to desperate, trembling heat. Too long since she’d felt alive. Opening her mouth, Erica let him in. His tongue stroked along her tongue, and her breathing roughened. So did his. He licked deep, once, twice, then retreated, inviting her to explore his mouth in turn. She closed her teeth on the soft pillow of his lower lip in a teasing bite, then licked his gently thrusting tongue.His hands came to rest on her hips, drawing her close as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, offering her more.And God, she wanted more.Rrrrrrollll rumf. Clarence’s psychic voice held a moaning note of warning. They jerked apart as if physically tearing free. For a moment, Jake stared down at her, breathing hard, gold eyes glowing. Erica stared back, her heart slamming in her chest, need a hot, dark burn in the base of her belly. As if from a great distance, she heard a car rumble past. Which must have been what Clarence was trying to warn them about.“We can’t do this standing out in the parking lot.” Erica’s gaze focused on his lips, the damp, full curves of them, the hungry, eager way they parted. “Somebody’s going to report us. We’ll get fired.”“Not sure I care.” Jake sounded hoarse. “I need more of you.” Feral eyes flashed gold, reflecting the parking lot lights, the glowing not quite human. “Now.”Despite the cool spring wind, a wave of heat poured through her. She’d thought she wanted Bobby, but it had never felt like this. As if she were under a spell that stole her will and self-control, leaving only aching lust. And yet…“You know how it is with a cat’s libido.” She shook her head hard, trying to banish the memory of Bobby’s sneer.Jake’s eyes narrowed, taking in her reaction. “Do you know where the Greenbriar Mall is?”The strip mall stood a block away, closed and unoccupied since its big box anchor store went bankrupt. “Yes, but…”“We can talk there.”“Is talking really what you have in mind?” She’d intended the question to sound arch, but breathlessness sabotaged the effect.His mouth curved in a smile so hot, she felt a responding fire leap in her own blood. “What I really want is you in my bed all night long, but I strongly suspect you’d chicken out before you got there.”Her inner twelve-year-old was offended. “I’ve never chickened out of anything in my entire life.”A dimple flashed in one corner of his sinner’s mouth. “Then you’ll meet me behind the Greenbriar in five minutes.”   Look for Arcane Heart in late August, 2018.

Safari Heat Blog Hop

Hi, y'all! I'm participating in the Safari Heat Blog Hop and contest. I'll be giving away a signed paperback of my novel, ARCANE KISS. There are a bunch of us authors blogging and giving away books, so I hope you'll participate. The grand prize of the hop is a Kindle Fire; between that and all the great books, you've got a good chance to win something great. You'll find the rules and details of the contest listed on the Safari Heat site. I've listed a few of the details below.In the meantime, I want to talk a little about romance in general, along with my upcoming novel, Arcane Heart, the second book in the Talent series. The world of the Talents is an alternate universe version of Earth where witches and magical shifters try to coexist with mundane humans who distrust them. Trust is, in fact, the book's main theme.In romance-- both fictional and real life -- the greatest challenge is building trust. You've got to trust the person you're falling in love with -- trust him with your heart, finances, your very life. That's quite a lot to risk. If you make the wrong choice, you can end up heartbroken at best, and at worst in physical danger.Yet people take that chance anyway, not just for sex, but because humans have an instinctive craving to feel close to others.Ultimately all romance novels, like all relationships, are about the question: "Can I trust this person?" In my books, the heroines often have really weird reasons to distrust their heroes. The hero may be a vampire, a werewolf, or a sexual dominant with a kinky streak. I love writing stories about couples who find a way to trust each other despite all the very good reasons they have notto. I know something about that kind of love in real life, because I've been married for 33 years to a handsome cop. If you look at any of my heroes, you'll find Mike Woodcock in all of them. He may not be a vampire, a werewolf, or a magical shape shifter, but he's there in my heroes' compassion, intelligence, and devotion to the women they love.My newest hero is Jake Nolan, who, like my husband, is a sheriff's deputy. Unlike my husband, he has a psychic link to a magical African lion which allows him to draw on the lion's powers.  Heroine Erica Harris, another deputy, is a witch who served with Jake during the Caliphate War. And for the past four years, Erica has struggled to find a balance between her need for Jake and her distrust of him and his unpredictable cat instincts...Here's a taste of Chapter One...It was sheer, stupid impulse, and she knew better. But when Deputy Erica Harris’s gaze fell on the Potions sign, she whipped her patrol car into the parking space that had just opened up along the sidewalk. For a moment she sat there, listening to the cooling engine tick and staring at the nighttime crowd hurrying on their way to dinner or drinks. “You really are an idiot.”Shaking her head, she picked up her radio’s handset mic and clicked the button to radio dispatch. “Laurel County — Alpha 22, going 10-8 at Potions.”“Ten-four, Alpha 22.” The dispatcher sounded bored. No surprise; it had been a slow night.So now Jake knows where I am. Question is, will he show up? Yeah, Potions was Jake Nolan’s favorite restaurant, and she hadn’t heard him go 10-8 — the Laurel County police code “for out of service” -- to take a dinner break. That didn’t mean he could or would take it now just because he knew where she was.So go for it. Call the man and ask him to meet you……Yeah, no. Much as she wanted to see him again, only a masochistic twit would want another ride on the Nolan merry-go-round. The last time had damn near destroyed her.Yet here she was, masochistic and twitty, with the need she’d felt for months threatening to overwhelm her sense of self-preservation.Screw it. If he shows, he shows. If he doesn’t, I’m still hungry. Erica got out, cold March air stinging her cheeks. The Friday evening crowd surged around her, heading in and out of the bars and restaurants along Faraday Square. Her stomach growled, and she headed up the sidewalk toward Potions. She’d been too busy working a traffic accident to grab dinner. It was eight o’clock now, and she craved the greasy goodness of a cheeseburger combo.Almost as much as contact with Jake Nolan. Two Mideast tours had turned the man into an addiction. The thought of the war made her automatically check the crowd, though she shouldn’t have to worry about terrorist sorcerers in Laurel County, South Carolina. Except that just last year, they’d had that polar bear Feral and his murderous witch wife. They did not need another Faraday Square Massacre.Scanning the crowd, Erica opened her mind to her Talent. Her magical vision was so sensitive she didn’t even need to close her eyes to see the arcane energies surrounding all living things. Suddenly those around her wore glowing overlays of My links:TwitterFaceBookWebsite:BlogspotTo keep hopping follow the link below. http://safariheatbooktoursandauthorservices.blogspot.com

A Sample Lesson from my new class, "Brainstorming to Revision."

In this post, I'm sharing a lesson from my month-long online class "Brainstorming to Revision" at Savvyauthors.com. The class starts January 1, and includes 12 lessons posted on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, students are invited to post scenes for critique.  I wrote this class while actually in the process of writing a 12,000 erotic short romance. The lessons explore how I worked through each step of the writing process, all the way from brainstorming the book, to creating the characters, to plotting and writing it -- all the way through revisions.  Materials will include the planning tools I've created  to plan and plot my books. Brainstorm to Revision: Writing Short Erotic Paranormal Romances Lesson 2: Brainstorming the Initial Idea By Angela Knight Note: I wrote these lessons a few years ago as I was in the process of working on “Chain of Kisses,” out now. As the lessons progress, you’ll see that my initial ideas changed radically as I developed the story. Often I have a plot in mind, only to realize that it doesn’t work. Then I have to go back and fix the plot holes. That’s just part of the process of writing. As I became an experienced novelist, it became apparent to me that planning a story in detail saves time because you don’t have to backtrack. It may seem that the pre-planning is a waste of time, and you should just start writing. But if you end up throwing away whole chapters because you didn’t think it through, you’ve actually wasted time. When I’m doing something for Changeling or one of the other paranormal e-pub, the first question I ask myself is, “What would be fun (and erotic) to write?” I already know this piece needs to be pretty short – 50 pages. (Note: at the time I was under contract with Berkley, and my editor wouldn’t have liked it if I did a paranormal novel for anyone else.) Plus, I need to slide this in before starting my novel. If I do ten pages a day, I can have it finished in five days. (I’ve done this recently, so I know it’s possible.)                       My Mageverse novels are a bit grueling, so for this short story, I want to do something fun, where I can cut loose and have a good time. If we’re talking 50 pages, I need a publisher that specializes in short and hot.  Changeling Press fits the bill, so I’ll go take a look at their submission guidelines, here:  http://www.changelingpress.com/submissions.php According to the guidelines, they want: “Paranormal, Dark Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Futuristic, BDSM, and Action/Adventure romantic love stories. All submissions must be targeted for at least one of these genres. What's a Love Story? While there should be both highly erotic and romantic elements to the book, relationships and endings should be plot driven. We don't demand your characters trot off to get married at the end of the book, though we do ask for a HEA (Happy Ever After) or, in the case of serials, a HFN (Happy For Now). Please keep in mind, we've only got one heat level. Over-the-top hot! We can handle anything you send us as long as it meets our guidelines! We do not accept simultaneous submissions. We do accept multiple submissions. Length: We accept outside submissions from 10 to 28K for single titles. Serials from unsigned authors must be submitted as a completed set.” Does their website get a lot of reader traffic? Do they publish at sites like Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes? The more traffic a site gets, the better the paycheck is. E-mail some of their authors and see whether they like the publisher and are treated well. Check them out with Preditors and Editors to see how they’re rated, here: http://pred-ed.com/ That site has listings for both agents and editors. Note: If you’re offered a contract, read it very carefully and make sure they don’t want to keep your pen name or something. If they do, see if you can strike the clause you don’t like; often they will. Check the details of the contract with a lawyer or agent if possible, or other writers if not. You can easily be screwed otherwise. (I have been, and it wasn’t fun.) Remember that the lawyer who wrote the contract was working for the publisher, not you. He wrote the contract to give the publisher the advantage. You have to look out for you. Pay particular attention to how quickly the contract says they’ll publish the book, when, and what percentage of sales you get paid and how often, and what happens to your rights if they go out of business before they publish it. Also, which rights do they want? Those details are the kind of thing that can bite you on the ass, so you need to be careful. I’ve been writing for Changeling for many years, so I’m comfortable with them. They’re not going to go out of business, and I trust the publisher not to screw me. Now that we know what market we’re targeting, let’s start brainstorming the book. I like to take a big whiteboard on an easel and just start writing down whatever comes to me, without criticizing the ideas, just letting them come. You can also brainstorm with Post-it notes on corkboard, or software on your computer, or a spiral notebook.  Hell, cocktail napkins. Whatever works. In my case, I find that writing my ideas on the whiteboard often triggers other ideas, and soon I’m zooming right along. There’s something about those big words and my handy eraser that frees me to play with ideas. I know I want to do a captor/captive story. I haven’t done one of those in a while, and they’re always fun. The bondage thing Changeling wants is built right in to a C/c, and if you add a big, sexy hero, you’ve got all you need to get my motor running.  That last bit is really crucial to writing an erotic story. You can’t write something that doesn’t turn you on. For example, I’d never try to do a ponygirl story. Women playing at being horses just doesn’t do a damned thing for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that -- it just doesn’t hit my buttons. You need to identify what’s really hot to you, because that’s what you’re going to write best. You also need to be honest with yourself about whether you can write erotic romance. Some people just don’t want to reveal their deepest sexual desires to utter freaking strangers. Like me telling this list I like bondage. Hey, Angela Knight is KINKY!  (Like you didn’t know that just from reading Jane’s Warlord.) If writing hot sex makes you squirm and imagine the reaction of your preacher, priest or rabbi, don’t do it. You won’t be able to pull it off. You’ll be happier writing more traditional romances, and you’ll do it more effectively and believably. Once you have the basic subgenre and conflicts, start with the obvious questions. WHY is she a captive? Why would a hero TAKE her captive? He’s got to have a good, heroic reason, or he’s not going to be sympathetic. And if he’s not sympathetic, the story won’t work. In 50 pages, you don’t have a lot of time to set up the characters. They’ve got to be instantly likeable as well as hot. You don’t have time to do a big growth arc from asshole to good guy. That might work in a novel, but not in 12,000 words. Sometimes this stuff doesn’t come in a logical progression. As you brainstorm, you may see connections and come up with ways to strengthen the conflicts. Then you’ll have to go back and work those into the plot. This is what I wrote down as I brainstormed the book last week. The italics are my commentary for this lesson. Why is she a captive? Hostage against someone’s behavior? War prize? He won and demanded her as his payment for not destroying her people? Why HER? Maybe she is an enemy general/princess. He is from a culture where men and women take sexual captives and practice dominance. (Note that it’s not just MEN practicing dominance. I wouldn’t want to live in a completely male dominated society, because it would drive me nuts. I just want to play submissive games in the bedroom, so I need to set up a more-or-less believable reason for the hero and heroine to do that. This is, after all, fantasy.) As the story opens, she is bound and waiting for him to approach. She is aroused but pissed. (I can really FEEL the potential in that scene. Imagine being all tied up as a big, sexy guy strides across the bedroom, his schlong leading the way…. YUM!) Is this TMI?  Ah, deal with it. Futuristic.  I like writing futuristics for Changeling, because Berkley limits me to straight contemporary paranormal. When I get to play, I want to do something different. Besides, when you’re doing something like bondage, which has so many explosive political implications, you’re better off setting the story on another planet. Then you can just enjoy the fantasy without worrying about your NOW membership. He is hyper masculine. His people are very aggressive. They want mates who have proven their intelligence and skill in battle. He became fascinated by her when he fought her, which is why he decided to go after her. How did he fight her? Hand to hand wouldn’t work; he would have kicked her ass, unless she’s got super powers. He’s a big guy, and he knows how to fight. Maybe she’s a ship’s captain, and their ships battled in space. Female Captain Kirk type, swashbuckling, has had a string of lovers. (I don’t like virgin heroines when I’m writing a guy that dominant. A meek little virgin just wouldn’t be a proper opponent for him. They must be equals, at least mentally, for a romantic conflict to work. Otherwise he just runs all over her, which means he’ll come off as a bully. A romance between a bully and a rag doll is just no damned fun at all.) Thing is, I have already done a captor/captive with two ship’s captains before. (“Roarke’s Prisoner” in Secrets 2 for Red Sage, which was my very first published romance.) So I have to find a way to give it a twist. Maybe they’re royalty. She’s the youngest daughter of the empress on a matriarchal planet. He’s the king of a neighboring empire. At one time, they were engaged, but she called it off because she was unnerved by her strong reaction to his dominance. He was aware of her reaction, and swore to have her anyway. She threatened to leave the empire and become a pirate if they forced her to wed him. Ehhhh. Not sure that works. He sounds like an asshole, and she’s no better. Continuing to brainstorm… They have known each other since childhood, when they visited one another’s palaces during various events. As a child, she had a crush on him. He was older, handsome, dashing. They were engaged when she was two and he was fifteen – one of those royal treaty things. (When you’re doing a story this short, it’s a good idea for the characters to be in love to start with. It’s very hard to get strangers to love in 12,000 words. Giving them a romantic past solves the problem. The story’s conflict is how they overcome whatever has been keeping them apart all these years.) At 17, he went into his empire’s military, where he got a reputation as a fierce warrior while fighting off an attempted invasion by reptilian invaders. When she was 17 and he was 30, they were supposed to get married. But she found him so intimidating and dominant, she broke it off and ran. The result caused a rift between their empires. Ten years have gone by. He is now 40 and she’s 27. She’s a mercenary ship’s captain. (I do a lot of mercs, because it’s a good way to involve a hero/heroine in someone else’s war.) He attacked her ship and defeated her in combat. He then demanded her surrender in return for the safety of her ship’s crew. Under the treaty between their people, he feels he’s still entitled to have her. Ehhhh. I’m Not Happy. He’s still an asshole, and I don’t like the idea of marrying a 30-year-old to a kid. He ought to understand why someone that young would get unnerved and run, given the kind of Alpha Male he is. What would give him a good reason to take her sexual captive ten years later? When she was five and he was fifteen (making her older and him younger so the age difference is reduced), her mother, the planetary empress, engaged the heroine to the hero, who is the son of the emperor of a neighboring planet. The mother’s planet was being menaced by an alien race of reptilian warriors who were on the verge of invading and killing everybody. The treaty gave her planet protection against the invaders; the hero’s father, the emperor, declared war on the lizards and drove them back out of his empire. The hero went to war and fought the aliens. He became a war hero and conquered several planets during the next twelve years. Now it’s a little more understandable. A lot of his people (maybe his best friend?) died protecting hers over that treaty, and she spat on it by chickening out and running away. No wonder he’s pissed. But now she’sthe asshole; I have to work on that. When it’s time for her to get married to him when she’s 17, (which makes him 27, which sounds a little better), her sister, the heiress to the throne, tells the heroine the elder sister wants him. The sister is a bit older and a little slutty. The hero does something (I have to figure out what; maybe the heroine saw him having really dominant sex with someone. Her sister? No, that would be kinda asshole on his part. Somebody else. He doesn’t know she saw them.) This incident freaked her out. She ran, rationalizing that her sister would marry him and everybody would be happy. But he wanted nothing to do with the sister; he wanted HER. The treaty was salvaged when the sister married his younger brother, but it was a great scandal, and the hero was PISSED. The heroine assumed a false identity as a spacer, then later became a mercenary captain. He has been hunting her ever since; it’s a matter of honor now.  Too many warriors died for her world and SHE OWES HIM, DAMMIT. I’m still not happy about her. Running away was cowardly. The fact that she ran away from him has been eating at her for years. In retrospect, she bitterly wishes she’d married him as she was supposed to. Her cowardice almost resulted in the destruction of her people. Besides, he’s been a subject of her secret fantasies for years. So when he captures her, she’s secretly delighted, though she’s also outraged by his gall and a little frightened about what he intends to do. Now this is a little more understandable. Most of us have done something when we were kids that we regret, so I think readers will be more inclined to cut her some slack. This is also why I need to keep the age difference. If she were 20 when they were first supposed to marry, it wouldn’t work at all. So that’s my initial process. I come up with a rough idea, and then start brainstorming reasons for the characters’ actions that the reader can understand and sympathize with. I also rough in the idea for the paranormal world, but not in great detail. I figure out just enough to go on to the next step. Now I need to nail down the characterization for the hero and heroine before I can brainstorm the plot. So the next lesson will be on creating the hero. Any questions? Oh, and I’ll do a crit for the first two people to submit rough plot ideas. First come, first served.  Angela KnightThanks for reading. I hope you'll join me!                                                                                                                        

My newest ebook, Frosty the Snow Dom, is out today!

I'm happy to announce my newest ebook, Frosty the Snow Dom, is in onlines stores now, just in time for Christmas!

Steaming up the ice..
When ice artist Judith Dane is hired to create a kinky version of Michelangelo's David, she thinks the ice sculpture is just another Christmas party centerpiece. But when she delivers the work she's nicknamed "Frosty the Snow Dom" to the BDSM club Valhalla, the party turns out to be a lot stranger than she expects.
When Frosty comes to life just like a certain snowman, she discovers just how hot ice can be. But what happens when the spell breaks?

Amazon  Barnes and Noble  Kobo  iTunes! Changeling



He cupped her face again, his palm warm and rough. He certainly didn’t feel like a block of ice. “I would never have left you to suffer. You have suffered enough.” Her brows rose. “What makes you say that?” She felt unmoored, like a balloon hovering in a cloudless sky, caught between the reality she knew and blue infinity.He shrugged. “I feel the pain in you.”“But why do you care?”“Why does anyone? Not to care is to be alone, and I have been alone too long as it is.” Tor smiled, and she was helpless to look away from the warmth in his eyes. “I think you’ve been alone long enough, too.”Judith caught her breath, gazing up at him, taking in all the shades of blue in his irises -- cerulean, sapphire, cobalt -- the elegant line of cheekbone and jaw, the seductive curve of his lips. “Yeah.” She swallowed, trying to clear the rasp from her voice. “I have been alone too long.”“Then perhaps we could be together instead.” He leaned down slowly, as if giving her plenty of time to back away from the kiss he so obviously intended.Yet she had no desire to retreat from the pressure of his lips. Which made no sense, considering that she’d just tried to lay him open with that damned whip.His lips brushed hers, a soft velvet stroke. Asking her to open. So she did. His tongue slipped into her mouth in a gentle stroke, careful not to invade.Too careful. Too polite.She wanted more. Her body ached with a fierce craving for all that hot bare muscle, the grip of his big hands, the grind of his mouth and his cock.Jesus Christ, I don’t even know him. And what she did know was flatly unbelievable. Nobody could do what he’d just done -- heal a five-inch wound with a stroke of his fingers in the space of a heartbeat, when it should’ve taken weeks. Then clean the blood away with a flick of his fingers.None of this was possible. She must be trapped in a drug-induced dream. That was really the only logical explanation.Trouble was, she found she didn’t believe the only logical explanation. No matter how irrational it was, everything in her insisted this was utterly real.Tor was magic. Alfar. Elf. And she wanted him. His kiss, his hands, the hard length of him. Craved him as if he were something she’d sought for a very long time, now finally within reach.Heat and desperation seemed to explode in the pit of her belly, and she surged against him, reaching up to thread her fingers through the short white silk of his hair and curl her hands into fists. He surged to his feet, dragging her up with him, snatching her close.Still kissing her, Tor growled against her mouth, soft and fierce, one hand gripping her ass, the other reaching up to tangle in her hair as she’d grabbed his. Her scalp stung with the ferocity of his hold, but she didn’t care.Hell, she loved it.Opening her mouth wide, she coiled her tongue around his in a frantic dance. He stepped into her, pulling her so tight she could feel every muscle and bone of that big body against her. He feels almost as hard as he was when he was ice. For a moment the sheer irrationality of the thought jolted her, almost broke the spell of frantic lust surging in her blood.But then he cupped her cheek, his palm rough with calluses, warm with body heat. It wasn’t the hand of an ice sculpture or a delusion. It was a man’s hand, as much flesh and blood as her own aching body.Tor drew back, his lips peeling away from hers as if with an effort. His eyes met hers, wide and wild and ice blue. “I have needed you. I have needed you so long.”Then he was kissing her again, fierce, biting kisses, teeth scraping, tongue thrusting. Her hands tightened in his hair, and she lifted one thigh to coil her calf around his ass, desperate to press her sex against the erection she could feel hot and hard inside those leather pants. Craving the rough friction, she ground against him.With a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl, he hooked both hands under her ass and lifted her off her feet. Knowing what he wanted, Judith wound her other leg around him. They both moaned in pleasure at the feel of her sex against his, even separated by layers of fabric and leather. “I want you naked,” she gasped against his mouth.“Yes,” he rumbled, his voice even deeper than it had been a moment before. His fingers flicked, and sparks poured out, swirling around their bodies in a tingling wave. Her nipples hardened even more, and she whimpered at the sensation of crisp chest hair teasing the tips.Blinking, Judith looked down. They were indeed naked. She had no idea how, and did not care.

Steaming up the Ice: An Excerpt of FROSTY THE SNOW DOM

Dear Reader – I’ve been busy writing new goodies just in time for Christmas! I’m delighted to announce my newest erotic short story, Frosty the Snow Dom, releasing Nov. 24 from Changeling Press, and Dec. 1 from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and iTunes.Steaming up the ice...When Judith's hired to create a kinky ice sculpture, the party turns out stranger than she expects.When ice artist Judith Dane is hired to create a kinky version of Michelangelo's David, she thinks the ice sculpture is just another Christmas party centerpiece. But when she delivers the work she's nicknamed "Frosty the Snow Dom" to the BDSM club Valhalla, the party turns out to be a lot stranger than she expects.When Frosty comes to life just like a certain snowman, she discovers just how hot ice can be. But what happens when the spell breaks?Here’s an excerpt as Judith meets her own kinky creation.***Anrid caught Judith’s hand, pulling her in so close she felt the woman’s silk skirt brush her legs. Lifting her regal chin, the hostess began to speak in that foreign language again, pausing to let the crowd answer in a kind of call and response that reminded Judith of church services back in Texas. Though no church she’d ever attended had conducted services in the nude…I wish I knew what they were saying. A shiver of unease teased the length of her spine even as she told herself she was being paranoid.At a word from Anrid, the crowd joined hands and began to dance in a circle around them. They started to sing, the women’s voices rose impossibly pure and high over the deep, darker tones of the men’s. Which was when things began to get really weird.Releasing Judith’s hand, Anrid gestured.Frosty, all three hundred pounds of him, rose in the air and floated forward as if the ice had turned into a soap bubble.Judith’s jaw dropped. Blinking, she looked up, checking the ceiling for wires. How the hell…Anrid caught up the necklace that hung around her slender throat, lifting the chain off over her head. As she held it high, the thumb-length sapphire caught the light. She gestured, and sparks wound around the stone like fireflies as she released the stone. Instead of falling to the ground, the necklace floated over to Frosty as if swept along by the wave of light. The sparks dissipated, spilling the chain over the sculpture’s head, sapphire rapping his carved pectorals.Judith peered around, but she still saw no sign of any supports, wires or mirrors, and no place to attach them if there had been. That was one hell of a trick. She’d wonder if somebody had slipped her a dose of LSD, except, being at work, she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything.Anrid began to sing, the pure, clear notes rising over the chorus of ethereal voices. As the song spiraled to a crescendo, she flung out both hands in a wild, swirling gesture.Frosty exploded.A wave of fine white powder blasted out from him, stinging Judith’s face as she recoiled, shocked, blinded. With a yelp of alarm, she started knuckling at her eyes, trying to clear her stinging vision. When she finally managed to blink away the tears, she realized Anrid and the crowd had vanished. The buffet table and assorted BDSM gear was still there, but Judith was alone.Except for one man.He stood on the floor below the spot where Frosty had floated, his back to her, so all she could see was that he was tall and broad shouldered. When he turned, her brows flew up. Judith had seen a lot of handsome men tonight, but he was outstanding even in that company. There was something oddly familiar about him, something she recognized in the angle of his broad cheekbones and cleft chin, the shape of his deep-set eyes, the contours of his erotic mouth.Unlike most of the men she’d seen at the party, his curling white hair was cropped close, revealing the elegant points of his ears. He wore only tight leather pants and riding boots shined to a mirrored gleam. Why does he look so familiar?Then realization dawned. “Oh shit. You’re Frosty!”His lips twitched in a smile. “Actually, my name is Tor.”Judith stared at him, feeling the ground drop out from under her feet. “That’s… This isn’t possible. This is some kind of scam.” She backed away as her head began to buzz like a high-tension wire. Her voice rose. “How did you do this? Did you gas me with something?”He watched her calmly, making no attempt to follow her. “Up until sixty seconds ago, I was a block of ice.”“Bullshit! Blocks of ice don’t turn into people!”He shrugged, an elegant gesture of broad bare shoulders. “And yet, here I am.”“And where did everybody else go?” She dared take her eyes off him to scan the room, her heart pounding so hard, she could hear its beat in her eardrums. The room was still empty except for bondage gear furnishings surrounded by a faux winter wonderland. She should’ve known this was all too fucking weird to be true. “They were here a minute ago, but now they’re gone. Did you knock me out or something?”“Why would I do that?”“Fuck, I don’t know. You’re the one claiming to be a block of … Frosty.” She added a sneer to that last word.He eyed her for a long moment, his gaze steady. “Judith, you’re in no danger from me. I would never hurt you. I could never hurt you.”“Yeah, right.” She’d had enough of this. Whirling, Judith bolted toward the double fire doors, wanting only to get the hell out of here until whatever they’d drugged her with wore off. She stiffed-armed the doors -- and almost slammed into them face-first when they didn’t open.With a strangled scream of rage and terror, she drew back and hit them again, trying fruitlessly to force them open. They didn’t even budge. Furious, Judith banged her fists against the metal. “Let me out! Help! I’ve been kidnapped!”“Nobody can hear you, Judith. Anrid’s magic has seen to that. The doors won’t open until the spell is broken. Or until dawn, if you refuse to help me.”She whirled. He stood exactly where she’d left him. But as she took a closer look, she realized his big body was tense, as if he was keeping his distance with an effort. Pain tightened the line of his mouth, and his brows were drawn inward, as if he didn’t like what was happening.Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled myself. Judith sidled away from the door, trying to keep an eye on him while simultaneously scanning for another exit, a weapon, something. Anything. Keep him talking, Judith. Maybe you can take him off guard and get away.He’d said something about a spell. He must really think she was a moron, though damned if she could tell how they’d pulled this off. Had to be a hallucination. I must be passed out underneath the buffet table right now.And yet… it all seemed so real. Despite the illogic of the situation, Judith could feel the fabric of her shirt rubbing against her breasts as she breathed, the give of her rubber soles as her weight shifted. The air smelled of pine, roasted meat, and honey, blended with a sharp tang that reminded her of the aftermath of a lightning strike.But the man watching her with such a troubled expression looked exactly like the ice sculpture she’d spent the last two days creating. Just as that sculpture, in turn, had looked like the man she’d been dreaming about for so many years.“You mentioned a spell.” Her voice rasped. “What kind of spell?” Oh, come on, Judith, you don’t really believe this shit? And yet even as her rationality sneered, a small voice from her hindbrain insisted that this was real. Inexplicable and terrifying, but real.He didn’t even hesitate. “The spell to let me live again.”“You look alive to me.”“For the moment.”She glanced around again, her gaze falling on one of the nearby trees. Like the others, assorted sex toys hung from the branches like kinky decorations: handcuffs, a riding crop, toys that did God knew what…And a bullwhip.“Planning on dropping dead?” Judith demanded, trying to distract him as she edged closer to the tree.“I’d really rather not, but that’s up to you.”That jolted her out of her preoccupation with the tree and the potential weapon dangling from its branches. “Me? What do I have to do with anything?”“You’re the key to my freedom… if you’re willing to help.” He moved toward her, his blue gaze steady, his steps slow, careful. Crap, he’s a good head taller than me, and he’s got the muscle to match. If Frosty wanted to, he could hurt her badly, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. She swallowed and stepped underneath the tree, trying not to be too obvious about her plan to get her hands on that whip. “What exactly do you want me to do?”“Nothing you don’t want to.”“Which doesn’t answer the question.”“I have been bound in a spell for more than a thousand years.” He sounded so cool, so rational, despite the utter impossibility of the words.Oh, please. To buy time, she asked, “How did that happen?”For a heartbeat, his eyes closed and a spasm of grief flashed over his face, pain so stark it jolted her from her angry preoccupation. “I lost the only reason my heart had to beat.”And for a moment, she found herself believing him, though nothing about the situation was believable. “Was Anrid responsible?”“She cast the spell, but she was not the reason I asked for oblivion. That was someone else.” One corner of his lip lifted, and his eyes glittered with such rage she froze in instinctive fear. “I assure you, I made him pay for his crime. Unfortunately, revenge is no consolation when all else is ashes. Once he was dead, there was nothing left to pump my blood. I longed for death, but Anrid would not permit that. She bound my spirit into her sapphire and let me sleep for a hundred centuries.” That declaration should have sounded melodramatic to her twenty-first century ears. It didn’t. There was something about him, something ancient and dark, that made the archaic words ring true. Especially considering the desolation in his eyes.But as she stared at him, Judith realized there was more to his believability than that. A sense of power cloaked him, intense enough to lift the hair on her arms.He’s not human. No matter what he looked like, he was something more than a man. She had no idea why she was so convinced of that, but her every instinct told her it was true.This isn’t a con, sleight-of-hand or trickery. This is real.*** Frosty the Snow Dom is on sale for preorder here: Pre-Order Now at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and iTunes!Live at ChangelingPress.comFriday 11/24/17
Live at Amazon.com, BN.com, Kobo, and iTunes 12/01/17
All New Releases 15% off at ChangelingPress.com. 2nd Edition and Box Sets 20% off
I’m also working on the sequel to Arcane Kiss, a full-length novel called Arcane Heart coming in March. And of course, Master of Magic and Master of Seduction are also available in ebook from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple and Kobo.