Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 504

A question and an evil queen…

Oops! I promised on Facebook that I would choose a winner to receive a free download of Arctic Dragon from Saturday's commenters. That winner is (by random number generator)…Cindy Bartolotta! Cindy, send me an email to arrange delivery of your free book! And remember, if you didn't win this time, on Thursday, I will name The Believe Fairy Contest winner—so be sure to post a comment!

I had fun last night, tweeting during the Grammy's. I probably wouldn't have watched the whole thing, but it was so much fun keeping company with Dakota, Emma and Joy and a host of others who praised and panned the performers, that I stuck through to the end. How wonderful was Adele's performance? And Jennifer Hudson's? Bruno Mars has a new fan girl here too. His performance was so much fun!

I've been thinking about making the drive to Little Rock this week to watch a movie in the near future. I live in the boonies, so movies require an hour's drive.  I spent some time yesterday checking out trailers to see what looked like fun. I found this one…

Doesn't this look like fun?! Looks like Julia Roberts' evil queen will steal the show!

Do you have any upcoming movies you want to see on the big screen?

Sunday Report Card

RIP, Whitney

A note, first. I spent the night at my daughter's last night. We were playing with our new Razr phones, adding apps, battling Angry Birds, when the first message popped up about Whitney. Both of us were saddened. The Red-Headed Hellion was a huge fan. I remember her dancing in the living room as a very little girl with karoake mike in her hand, singing, "I wanna dance with somebody…"

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Chirping Like a Bird

Music means a lot to me. This morning, I wanted a reason to smile. I dare anyone who watches the video to not be twittering like a bird after watching this video.

We're hoping to snag tickets today for Tom Petty's concert at the Verizon, April 12th. Regina's opening for him!

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Sunday Report Card

This was a more productive week than last week. TG!

1) I have something in the works for Ellora's Cave. Another My Immortal Knight. I have new covers for books 2-4 that I hope will attract new readers to the series, because I want to continue visiting that world. The first thing is a repurposing of a quickie I self-published. My freaky little succubus story. Following that will be the completion of Viper and Mariah's story. Yay! Viper's been waiting for an HEA forever!

2) I submitted a paranormal story that's half-written to a publisher. Witches, demons, a bit of police drama in the mix. Cross your fingers!

3) Lastly, I am nearing the end of Dragon's Desire. I hope to finish it up in the next couple of days. Since it's a straight-to-Kindle project, it won't be long before you can read it.

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Remember, The Believe Fairy Contest continues! Be sure to click the link for the rules! And post a comment to enter! Ciao, for now!

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What was your favorite Whitney song?

Saturday Snippet: Cold Places

Enjoy an excerpt from an oldie set in a cold, cold place. The setting's perfect for the pair you're about to meet. I used a Russian Fairytale, a little Norse myth, and stirred it in a bowl together to come up with this odd little fairy tale.

"…ARCTIC DRAGON is a captivating fairytale…"

4 Kisses, Two Lips Reviews

"…Delilah Devlin is an awesome author who knows how to get a reader's attention and keep them coming back for more…Ms. Devlin has written a fantastic story that explodes right off the pages…"

5 Angels & Recommended Read, Fallen Angels Reviews

Headstrong, and seeking a little respite from a suitor's relentless wooing, Queen Larikke rides the arctic wind far beyond the bounds of Northland, only to have her horse bolt at a shot from a hunter's gun. Her "rescuer" is a handsome, mysterious man who lives alone in the wilderness, his cabin filled with erotic images of women.

Rather than fearing her fate, Larikke sets out to seduce him, hoping for one last fling before she settles down to do her duty and wed. Thinking he was saving a life, Drake dragged a very strange woman home, stripped her, and warmed her by his fire. Now he finds his long, self-imposed isolation may have made her allure impossible for him to resist and that he'll endanger her when he shares his special kiss.

A blanket of fresh powder muffled his footsteps. For a moment, the bitter cold wind died down. The stillness invited him deeper into the clearing. Something in the air alerted him, an intuition that was part of his true nature told him to wait.

Wind had blown snow against large tree trunks, forming deep banks where the tall green sentinels stood close together. Everywhere pure, pristine white dusted the tops of branches, cloaking them in rich, thick wonder. Precious sunlight peeked from behind a dark gray cloud and refracted like a billion tiny prisms on frozen crystals that gilded the uppermost layer of the snow.

His breaths seemed loud, intrusive and he concentrated on being quiet so that he didn't disturb—not that anyone was would hear him this deep in the wilderness.

Rather, all was hushed, expectant. Quiet like he preferred now. Content at last with his own company.

The first few months had been the worst. The silence had nearly driven him nuts. Now, he barely noticed. Sounds other than voices, the hum of electricity or the roar of a passing engine were replaced with softer, more predictable ones—the rustle of pine needles as a breeze swept through outstretched branches, the resonant creaking when snow weighed the branches down. The rustle of animals as they scratched in the snow for food.

The voices inside his head had also faded. The strident ones that had called him a freak and the startled screams—well, they couldn't reach him here.

If he missed the company of a woman—so be it. Other parts of his existence flourished in the solitude. Almost filling the aching void. The decision he'd made had been the right one. He'd spend the rest of his life—however long—alone.

Do no harm.

He lived by that rule now. At least in regard to people.

For now, he had a stew pot to fill, and he'd tracked a lone deer through the forest to this spot. A soft snort, and he found the doe digging with her hooves to uncover whatever she could still forage beneath the snow.

Drake tugged off his mittens and raised his rifle, setting the stock snug against his shoulder. He had the doe in his sights and slowly pulled back on the trigger, when an unexpected tinkling sound, like bells carried on the wind, drew his attention. His gaze strayed for only moment. As his attention returned to his quarry, a sudden icy wind swept up snow, obscuring his view.

The shadow of the deer still in his scope, he pulled the trigger, jerking the barrel upward at the last moment when he realized he wasn't looking at a doe at all—but a woman on a bay-colored horse!

The shot went wild, but the horse gave a high-pitched whinny and reared, dumping the woman to the ground before bolting.

Drake threw down his rifle, swearing silently as he clomped on unwieldy snowshoes toward the figure lying like a spill of red paint against a white canvas. Her fur-lined scarlet cloak fanned around her slender body. He knelt in its folds to reach for the woman who had yet to open her eyes.

He ran his hands over her body, checking for broken limbs, cursing himself for a horndog for noting generous curves beneath her dark gold gown. But it had been a long time since soft curves had yielded beneath his palms. Not much in the way of padded layers of clothing protected her from his inspection, just the soft fabric. What in hell was she doing wearing a costume in the wilderness in winter, even one made of heavy velvet?

Finally, she stirred, moaning softly.

He sat back on his haunches, noticing at last the luster of her mink brown hair and brows and the thick lashes that fanned the rims of her delicate eyelids. They fluttered then lifted, revealing gold-flecked brown eyes.

Struck by her beauty, he stared. Her eyes were wide set and large; her nose elegant and straight. The shape of her face was slightly triangular with a small chin that took no attention away from the sweet curves of her soft, plump mouth.

"Who are you?" she asked, with a voice as light and sweet as the bells he thought he'd heard before.

He shook his head to clear away his lustful thoughts. "The idiot who nearly shot you," he said, his own voice thick and rusty from disuse. He cleared his throat. "Can you move? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I think."

"What the hell were you doing out here?"

She gave him a distracted frown. "Riding." Then rising on her elbows, she glanced around her, blinking. "My horse, Windancer…"

"He bolted when I fired."

Her confused stare returned to him. "He's gone?" Her eyes widened until the white surrounded the brown iris. "We must find him."

No "I must find him". She'd included him, without even wondering if it was wise.

Snow had begun to fall again—thick, fat flakes that swirled in the rising wind, a blast of arctic chill. Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but seeing no other choice, he said, "I'll look for him after the snowfall ends. We need to get you inside."

Oh hell. He'd have to take her to his place. Something he'd sworn he'd never do. She might not be any safer there. He'd lived alone too long. With her lush beauty, she was too much of a temptation.

Her mouth opened, but then closed, her lips forming a thin line. "I have to find my horse. I can't stay here," she said, casting a wild glance around them.

"In a few minutes, we won't see more than a few feet in front of us. A storm's coming in."

"You don't understand—"

Although, it was the last thing he should do, he held out his hand. "Come. We'll talk later. After I get you out of the cold."

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Larikke stared in dismay. She couldn't go home with him. They'd be alone. Her, alone with a human? Unthinkable! Humans were so short-lived and violent. Think of the scandal it would cause!

"We'll both freeze if we don't get out of this weather," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child—one not so very bright.

Only she knew she wouldn't. Freeze, that is. This is what she got for her stubborn bid for freedom. Stranded in a wild land—with a man. Her mage would no doubt cluck like a hen when she recounted the tale of how she'd ridden the wind and landed on her backside in a snow bank before a human as handsome as any damnable frost faerie.

She'd only wanted to put Thure firmly in his place. Remind him who was in charge of her destiny—that she had a will of her own.

And maybe to inspire him to anger and to let go of the firm hold he kept over himself whenever they were together. She wanted to see the powerful male beneath his princely trappings.

Rather like the prime specimen before her.

Oh, why couldn't this human have been as hairy as a polar bear? Or as ugly as a walrus? Oh no! His eyes were a crystalline blue. His hair was silvery blond and fell well past his broad shoulders. Clean-shaven, his jaw was sharp-edged and strong. His brows, although drawn together in a fierce frown, were full and nicely shaped but hooded piercing eyes. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could tell his frame was tall and thickly muscled.

The few humans she'd met long ago, thickheaded and thick-bodied warriors stopping on their journey to Valhalla, didn't compare. A crude, ungifted species, they'd never aroused much interest. But this one, with his rumbling voice and burly frame, nearly stole her breath away.

Perhaps she was simply addled by her spill. Or maybe she was just feeling the familiar, deepening need for something different from her prescribed future—something wicked and deplorably wrong. She cleared her throat. "I must insist we find my horse."

He rolled his eyes and tugged her to her feet. Then before she could brush away the snow clinging to her mantle and give him the setdown he deserved for daring to handle her so familiarly, he bent and swept her over his shoulder.

Larikke's mouth gaped. Now, this was a view of the world she'd never seen. Upside down, suspended on the shoulder of a barbarian, several long moments passed before she could gather the breath to do more than sputter in feigned outrage—for his rough handling of her person was…intriguing. "What do you think you're doing?" she gasped.

"What you haven't the sense to do yourself," he grumbled, as he trudged through the snow.

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Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Eliza Gayle

Rhian Cahill

Anne Rainey

Jody Wallace

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

Alison Kent

HelenKay Dimon

Shiloh Walker

TJ Michaels

Shelli Stevens

Zoë Archer

Guest Blogger: Mary Marvella (Contest)

Psychics and Seduction

Ladies, I will be rich and sell many books and win tons of money and have love. Bethea and other physics said so. Really. Cool, huh?

Bethea emailed me one evening and said she awoke from a sound sleep thinking about me. She was dreaming about me, yeah, me. I thought for a minute she knew something I didn't, maybe that I was naked and… Nope, she saw me deliriously happy with all the money I could want, even better. She saw me in love, too, with the perfect man. Now I don't know about you, but that sounded wonderful to me!

Hmmm, I wonder, why would she dreamed about me, when we've never met. She promised me what most of us want, security and love. These seductive promises have been luring folks to fortunetellers and psychics forever.

This woman is good! She has offered me a FREE session and other beautiful totems, some even ancient relics. Well, actually, I can pay for them and she will refund my money if I am not thrilled. She said there were angels watching over me, druid priestesses wanting to help me, and she herself has cast spells for me. BUT there are evil forces keeping me from having the riches I deserve. Well, damn!

BUT, if I send her money to cast a bigger, more powerful spell, she will send me a pendant, or a bracelet, or a statue, or a rearview mirror charm for my car for only $19.99, or $29.99 or $39.99. Hmm, that doesn't sound free.

Marie the Magnificent, my own personal fortuneteller, said that if I do this, Bethea will have my money and my credit card info, and I won't EVER see a penny of it, even if I complain. MM suggested that if she had mentioned selling books, we might be inclined to believe her.

Why do I even read these emails? Because I enjoy seeing the predictions that I will have money for all the things I need (maybe a boy toy or three?), that all will be well in the future.

Now, I have a prediction for you. I see you reading Haunting Refrain, a book about a love story in the past and one in the present. Yes, I see you reading the love scenes and sighing or grabbing someone on whom you can try the sexy stuff. I see you straddling a handsome man in the front seat of a Mustang, with the driver's seat reclined as far back as it will go. I see you riding that man and moaning with….. You can write the rest.

Tell me what you think about psychics and fortunetellers or a story about an experience with one, and you can will a free download of Haunting Refrain. I'll give away 2 downloads.

You can buy the ebook for 99 cents before March 1. You can also return it if you hate it.

Buy at Amazon

Buy at Smashwords

Buy at Barnes & Noble

Guest Blogger: Jenna Bayley-Burke

"The train wreck of my life boards in an hour. Can't be late."

– Megan Carlton, Private Scandal

I love quotes. On Pinterest I have a whole board of them. I love when someone has solidified a feeling so perfectly in words. And who doesn't love a one-liner?

"Dreams aren't real until you make them happen."

– Heather Tindall, Her Cinderella Complex

One of my favorite things to do when procrastinating is checking out what people highlight on their Kindle for my books. Shelfari has an Extras function where I can see which lines resonated with readers. Knowing I connected to a reader in that way makes me think I've done my job.

"Love. It is an incredible sensation. An amazing gift. All consuming and yet as light as a whisper. Once you've been in love you don't ever want to find yourself out of it."

– Lance Strong, Compromising Positions

Most of the time I like it that way, but every once in a while it's nice to look over and see that I connected with someone, even if only for the length of that one line. I told them a story that they liked enough to find quotable. Or highlightable for the Kindle folk.

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Jenna has new releases for both traditional and e-readers. For Kicks, her business-trip-turns-sexy book, came out a few weeks ago in all ebook formats. Private Scandal, her heiress-makes-her-ex-pay story is available for hand holding now. For more about Jenna Bayley-Burke, check out her website, blog, Twitter (@jennabb), or Pinterest — but her Pinterest has nothing to do with author Jenna, so she cannot be held responsible for pinning addictions!

Guest Blogger: Megan Hart

The Writing Process

The Writing Process. It sounds so…ominous. And important. And honestly, I have no idea what exactly it means. What IS a writing "process," anyway? Is it like…processing cheese, or what?

The obvious answer is, of course, that nope. Writing is nothing like making cheese. At least I assume so, since I've never actually made cheese, at least not on purpose. There were a few times when the milk got left out in strange places and we ended up with SOMETHING in the bottom of the cup that looked a lot like cottage cheese…Hmmm. Come to think of it, maybe the writing process is a lot like that, after all.

You put a bunch of stuff in the cup, and you let it sit in a strange place until it curdles and becomes something else.

Like magic!

For me, all books or stories start with a big WHAT IF. Sometimes these are random and meaningless and never turn into anything good. Sometimes I think they're the best ideas, ever, but they turn out not to sustain a full plot. Other times, these WHAT IF moments are tiny sparks that seem like nothing and turn out to be some of my all-time favorites. TEMPTED started out that way. Just the kernel of an idea — a man in love with his best friend…AND the best friend's wife. How would that work out? To this day, Tempted is the book I wrote the fastest. It was like a roller coaster. I got on it every morning and I wrote and wrote and wrote, and by the end of the day I was still interested in the ride.

Other times, it's not so easy. ALL FALL DOWN came about with an idea about what happens to the people who are left behind when  a cult implodes. I had a lot of ideas about how the story would go. Who'd be important in it. Subplots. Introspection. As I wrote it, though, the core of the story became more apparent and more important. The ideas I'd had about what being in a cult would mean became streamlined, and I'll confess, I found a place in which I understood why someone would want to go back to a life most people would consider horrifying and strange, how our "normal" could be terrifying to someone without the ability to process it.

So, I guess that's my writing process. Start with an idea and stir it up with a bunch of other stuff. See what sticks. Watch what comes out of it. Add different ingredients and let them ferment. Sometimes, boy, do they ever stink. But sometimes what comes out is ambrosia!

If I wanted to explore the idea of a writing process further, I'd have to admit that I do have a technical process. I sit at my computer (or less often, some other location) and I write. I write some more. I break for Twitter and email and instant message and Facebook. I write more. Then some more. When I'm done with that part, I print it out and go over it a few times, making changes. I enter them into my computer document. I read it again. Then again. I tweak and polish and change until I'm satisfied. I listen to music while I write. I drink Coke Zero and coffee and hot tea and pink lemonade. I don't often switch things up like some writers I know who write in longhand or change their location or work on different projects. My technical process is pretty simple. I sit down. I write. I edit. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Somehow, it seems like it should be more magical than that. Something with elves or something. Fairy dust. Billowing white curtains and ivory candles, my muse trilling gently in my ear while the words trip one by one from my fingertips onto the page…

Now THAT would be a process!

Writers — do you have a process?

Readers — do you have an idea of what a writer's process is like, or has the internet and posts like this ruined the idea of us slaving away in our garrets by candelight, swilling wine and whiskey and dancing to the tune of invisible voices?

To learn more about me and my work, please visit www.meganhart.com.

A Question…

Remember: The Believe Fairy Contest is ongoing! Post a comment to win!

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Just keepin' it simple today. The little ones are out of my hair. It's time to get back to work—nose to the grindstone, fingers ground to the nub—

Okay, I'm typing more than I wanted to already! It's like diarrhea of the mind!!!! Let's go to the question…

What was your best excuse when you were pulled over for speeding?

Or what do you wish you'd said instead?

Guest Blogger: Juniper Bell

I've guested on the great Delilah's blog several times now, but this is the first time I haven't had a specific book to promote. Oh sure, I have upcoming releases, but no release dates, blurbs, or excerpts. So I thought this might be a good opportunity to "introduce" myself to you all. Instead of just blabbing about my books, I can blab about myself. Just the fun stuff, though.

For instance:

* I didn't lose my virginity until I was 19. Does that sound strange for an erotic romance writer? Does it help that …

* I read my first erotica at age 10. That gave me years to fantasize before actually doing the deed.

So back to the virginity thing: I was in college, and totally in love with my boyfriend. We consummated our all-consuming passion, and I assumed we'd get married. Or at least move off-campus together. Later, when he dumped me and broke my heart, I had bitter regrets about making him my first. But I finally had something to write about in my journal, so it was all good.

* About that journal … I have stacks of them, but when I read them over, I notice one strange thing. I seem to have only written in my diary when sobbing over a boy. There are huge, years-long gaps during which, I assume, I was perfectly happy and had no need to vent to a sympathetic notebook. But anyone, reading them, would assume I was an angst-ridden drama queen who fell in love at the drop of a hat.

* I got my first pair of glasses at the age of 9. As I got older, I wanted contact lenses more than I wanted to live, but my parents refused to "encourage vanity." Guess what my first purchase was when I went off to college? Yep. After the contacts came the guy, the virginity loss, the heartbreak … hm, maybe my parents had a point.

On the other hand, there was that journaling thing … Even though I wasn't at all consistent in my journal entries, they served a purpose. They got me in the habit of writing to work things out. Whether it was sex or heartbreak, it all went into that journal. Today, it goes into my writing.

* I still get a charge out of seeing the word "cock." Why is that? I don't know! As many times as I've read it and written it, it still carries that thrilling tingle of the forbidden. Is it just me?

* I had strict parents who cared about my academic performance much more than my social life. Despite that, for me college was a chance to break free, to flirt, to fall in love, to have sex, to experience heartbreak, to really live for the first time. And when it all got too much, I had my journal. (Though I don't think I wrote the word "cock" until much later.)

So there you have it, me in a nutshell. Journal + sex + heartbreak – glasses + cock – parental control = Juniper Bell, erotic romance author. Nice to meet you!

Juniper Bell's next release, Beautiful Obsession, takes place at a college, includes diary entries, and features many, many instances of the word "cock." It's coming soon from Ellora's Cave. You can connect with her at her website, on Facebook, or on Twitter as AuthorJuniper.

Do you keep a journal? What sorts of things do you write about?

Sunday Report Card + New Contest!

We'll get to the contest. Swear. Indulge me for a minute…

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LONE HEART needs you!

Thanks to everyone who purchased Lone Heart this week! The sequel to True Heart is Lone's story where he finally finds his "one-and-only"!

If you haven't read the book, there's still a way to do something to help get the word out. Please consider taking one minute to head to Amazon and "like" and "tag" the book. Here's the link:

Post likes and tags at Amazon

If you read it, and feel so disposed, there's something else you can do to help an author out…review it! Here are the links to the book. Choose your poison. Thanks so much!

Post a review at Samhain

Post a review at Amazon

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Sunday Report Card

This week was a dismal one so far as getting new words on the page. I've been babysitting all week, and who knew a 7-year-old and a 3-year-old would be so unreasonable when asked to let Nina have some time alone at the computer. "Shhhh. Nina's working."(from the 7-year-old) "Nina? Whatcha doin'?" (from the 3-year-old) "I'll be quiet!" (7-year-old says as she pulls down pens, paper, notebooks, to create her next masterpiece.)

1) I did manage to complete edits, polish, and ship "Marmalade" to an editor.

2) I recieved, but have not read, two more submissions for the anthology project, Wild at Heart! All you writers out there, be sure to check out the details. Stories must be submitted by April 1st! Find details here

3) In those rare moments when I did have quiet, I brainstormed some new ideas. I have tons of disconnected notes for new stories. Can't wait for a stretch of time alone to think them all through!

This week, the kids go home and I get my life back. Then it's head down, because I have a ton of work to get done! But enough dreamin' about quiet time. I'm not there yet, and the 7-year-old just reminded me that we have to watch the new show "How to Rock" on Disney. So movin' on…

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Winner of the Three Signed Books Contest

Drumroll…ta-ta-ta-ta-thrummmm… The winner of the Three Signed Books Contest is…jennifer[jenniferhan....@msn.com] (email disguised for privacy)! You posted comment #13 on January 26th! Congrats, and email me to arrange delivery of your prize!

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New Contest! The Believe Fairy Contest

What can you win?

I took two pictures because the glare obscured the pretty picture. This is an Amy Brown fairy picture on a ceramic tile. You can use it in your kitchen or there's a pretty ribbon that can be used to hang it. I have a woodland fairy hanging in my bathroom, just like this one. They are gorgeous and a large 8×10 inches.

How can you win?

Post a comment every day this contest runs. Each post is another chance to win!

This contest ends on February 16th!

Saturday Snippet: Warm Places

What hotter place could a werewolf princess find herself than in Hell, the Land of the Dead? Enjoy this peek inside Darkness Captured!

"Delilah Devlin delivers an erotic tale of good and evil elevated to a higher level… The erotic scenes in this book are hotter than Hades and ten times more tempting. I dare you to resist!"

5 Cups, Coffee Time Romance

"Darkness Captured is…another steamy sensation!… Delilah Devlin is definitely the mistress of erotic romance!"

Reader to Reader Reviews

"Another hot read of dark sensuality, riveting situations and jaw-dropping desire."

Fresh Pick!, Fresh Fiction

"Devlin creates memorable characters with exceptional emotional depth. Her magical worldbuilding sets as atmospheric scene for a fast-paced story. The sexual tension runs high and the encounters are smokin' hot."

4 Stars, RT Book Reviews

Driven by insatiable desire, a werewolf will enter hell to rescue a princess captured by the Master of Demons…

Headstrong and proud—a royal creature of sinuous grace, all primal instinct and lethal beauty—the shapeshifter Gabriella has agreed to serve as emissary to the vampires who rule in the shadows of the New Orleans night. But she cannot resist the pull of the demon she glimpses on the other side of a mirror, and she is drawn to him hungrily, through a magical portal into the Land of the Dead. Now an eternal nightmare awaits Gabriella at the hands of a mesmerizing dark lord who satisfies her every erotic need…while slowly devouring her soul.

The powerful warrior wolf Guntram Brandt is responsible for the safety of the vanished princess he swore allegiance to years before. Yet it is more than a soldier's loyalty that pulls Guntram down into the depths of nightmare—for Gabriella ignites within him a burning animal passion that must be satisfied.

But when offered an escape, will she follow her rescuer to safety—torn between her lustful obsession with the dark lord who has enslaved her and her fierce sensual attraction to the only wolf who could ever master her?

 

Bright light streamed into The Master's chamber, softened only by the mesh curtains closed against the morning sunlight.

Gabriella cracked open her eyes and listened, but heard no footsteps, no breaths or faint heartbeats. She inhaled through her nose, but found only the stale aroma of sex and Marduk's fading musk.

She was alone.

Gingerly, she sat up, grimacing at the small intimate aches. Her mind spun with the images that flitted through her mind of all the nasty things she'd done. Her hand smoothed over her skin, touching on raised welts, still hot to the touch. A glance downward assured her they weren't all that visible, were no longer red, just shallow stripes of raised flesh. She pinched one and groaned, loving the way the pain induced a heady arousal that rushed beneath her skin, flushing her, heating her sex.

"I'm such a slut," she whispered.

And she was no closer to finding a means to escape. Already, her master's attentions were beginning to fill her head with thoughts of what a life here with him would be like.

However, she wasn't a bird like Simon's kestrel, which could be forever happy inside her golden cage. She was a wolf. Her innate pride and independence would eventually rise up to nip her in the ass. As attractive as the demon was, she couldn't forget what he was or where they were. Reaffirming her goal, she dropped her hands away from her hot skin and rose from the sumptuous bed.

She bathed quickly in the pool, keeping an eye out for movement from the sandy floor, but the vines behaved. Perhaps they only responded to the dragon's urgings. She ruthlessly thrust aside a niggling disappointment and finished washing her hair and body with the potted soaps Xalia had left behind.

Because even the shredded skirt and bra had disappeared, she walked nude to the balcony and brushed her hair in the sunlight until it and her body were dry.

By the time she'd finished her ablutions, she was bored and pacing inside the chamber, an edgy anger growing along with her hunger. Silently, she railed at how quickly Marduk forgot all about her when he wasn't thinking of his own pleasure.

She walked to the door, pressed an ear to the wood, but heard no sounds outside. Trying the latch, she found that this time it depressed. She cracked open the doorway and peered into the stairwell.

It was empty.

Thoughts swirled inside her head. She knew it was risky, but she longed to stretch her legs and needed to at least try to gain her freedom. And because she hadn't clothing or shoes to make an escape, she backed away from the door, shook out her hair, and let the change come over her.

Her shoulders drew back, her head fell forward, and then she dropped onto her hands and knees, barely suppressing an excited howl as hair sprouted over her skin and bones crackled and reformed. When she straightened on all fours and shook her fur, elation filled her.

She nosed open the door and sprinted quickly down the winding staircase, down to the bottom and out the door into cobbled street.

The melding aromas assaulted her nostrils, but she inhaled deeply, catching an elusive and familiar scent. She bent closer and drew in the scent, quivering when she recognized it.

Guntram was here! She dropped her nose to the ground, found another spot where his fading scent remained, then another a long stride further down the street and hurried forward, ignoring the gasps of people darting from her path as she rushed forward in her eagerness to find him.

Then she heard shouts and the heavy whomp of large wings and raised her nose from the trail she followed to see a winged creature swooping down. A thick golden ruff of fur surrounded its leonine head. Golden brown feathers cloaked its wide-spread wings, but it was the lion's paws, outstretched, claws extended, that made her heart skip a beat.

She whirled and headed the opposite way from Guntram's scent, away from the demon bird rushing toward her. She ran hard, her lungs burning, felt a snip at her tail and changed direction again. When another snip at her flank turned her again, she realized the creature was herding her, but she was panicked, couldn't take the time to think, because the thing was just above her.

Then she saw the open gates, saw the desert stretching in front of her and darted outside, flying down the grooved and graveled track to the bottom of the ridge where the fortress perched and ran for the dunes stretching as far as she could see.

The flapping grew fainter, a rumbling roar rose above her, returning to the fortress, but she was outside with a wide-open expanse in front of her, and she was free.

Gabriella ran as far as she could until her lungs felt ready to burst, then settled at the bottom of a dune and scratched at the sand, digging a hole to back inside and hide from whatever else might follow her from the air.

Only as her blood cooled, did she begin to worry. She had no water, and hunger rumbled in her belly. Worse, she hadn't a clue how far the desert stretched or if there was an end, a place beyond the hot, golden sand.

She'd have to wait for darkness, climb to the top of the tallest dune and have a look around. One thing she knew—she couldn't go back. Marduk would be furious she'd escaped.

She settled her muzzle atop her front paws. Happy at least that she was alone and had time to think about all that had happened, away from the enticements of her captor. She'd almost succumbed to his seduction, had been close to surrendering. She'd felt her will bending, nearly breaking beneath his sensual assault.

A shadow passed over the sand in front of her, so large it sunk her surroundings into dusk-like darkness.

She raised her head and watched a black cloud blot out the blazing sun. Odd, since there hadn't been a cloud in the sky when she'd watched from the balcony of Marduk's chamber. Then a distinct chill arrived on a breeze, and the blazing, empty desert blurred before her eyes.

The fur on her back lifted; her heart began to pound slowly. Something wasn't right. Then she remembered Marduk's warnings and knew she was in real trouble.

"True Hell" had found her.

Gabriella blinked, then glanced down. She was no longer a wolf, lying in a sandy den. She was in humanskin and clothed in a white shift. Her bare feet curled against cold, damp stone. Looking around her, the bare stone-block walls and arched ceiling above her head seemed familiar. She stood in the foyer of a stone keep, a tall oak door in front of her.

Voices carried from the beyond the door. She slumped toward it, her ear at the crack. Inside familiar voices whispered. Voices she hadn't heard in centuries.

Mother? Father? Dear god, where was she? And when?

"She's just a child," her mother's voice quavered.

A deep snort sounded. "She bled. She's a woman now. It's our way."

"They'll savage her."

"She'll survive. And she'll have a mate to protect her."

"It's too soon. Please husband. Let me lock her door. We'll wait until her next season. She has a right to know what is expected. I haven't had time to prepare her."

"You've coddled her. She should have known long ago."

A wolf howled in the distance, drawing Gabriella's attention from the heated conversation in the other room.

And suddenly she knew where she was, and what night this was, and her blood ran cold. Run to your room and lock the goddamn door! she screamed inside her mind.

But the girl she'd been didn't hear. Her young body heated, excitement of a sort she'd never experienced before flooded her body, moistening the place between her legs. She wondered if it was blood. Her menses, or so her mother had explained when she'd provided the rags she would use to protect her clothing. But it had ended a fortnight ago.

It was too soon for that to happen again, and the moisture was too hot and thin. Something else was happening.

Another howl, another voice, called to her, inviting her to run.

She ignored the conversation in the hall and ran on light steps to the tall wooden doors at the entrance of the keep and pushed them open. At the top of the steps, she shed her clothing, wanting to join the wolves, her playmates, in the forest.

Her mother's shriek sounded in the distance behind her, but she was already shifting, already running for the gate, her heart beating happily as she entered the forest.

Freedom awaited her there. Whining howls erupted around her and she called back, letting them know where she was as she raced toward the stream. Her pack's special meeting place.

Rabbits and deer would be feeding. A hunt would ease the tension coiling inside her body these past few days. She entered a clearing and halted, not recognizing the wolves that waited there.

Not her pack. Lone wolves. Ones her mother had warned her about. She began to back up, preparing to whirl and run the opposite way, but another blocked her path.

Low growls emanated from the two largest wolves in front of her, one a speckled gray, the other pure black. Teeth bared as the two males faced off, until the gray leapt, jaws opening and he took the black to the ground, rolling in the leaves and dirt.

She backed up, knowing she needed to escape because the other males weren't watching the fight. They watched her. And were slowly closing in.

She felt a cold nose nuzzle beneath her tail, and whipped around to snap, forcing him to jump back, but when she faced forward again, the black was on his feet and approaching, his head low to the ground, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

The other wolves continued to close in, and she began to quiver, knowing her escape was closed.

Frozen in place, terrified by the vicious flair of his nostrils and the length of white fang he displayed, she could only watch in horror. He came close, his nose sniffling along her sides, under her tail, his tongue lapping out to lick her there.

She folded down her tail and bent her back legs to escape him, but he nipped her flanks and she danced to the side, trying to evade his attention.

She understood his purpose now. Sensed on a primal level that the males had gathered because of her heat, because of the scent of arousal that carried on the wind, summoning them.

If one covered her, conquered her, she'd be his. Mated. Despite what her mother thought, she knew that much about their ways. If she was dominated, pierced and locked by his wolf's knotted member, she'd be his.

* * * * *

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