M.S. Spencer's Blog, page 6
December 8, 2023
Backlist Surfing: Exotic Settings--Whirlwind Romance & Orion’s Foot
Romance & Adventure in the Dusky Tropics
Since my new releasewon’t grace the internet until next year, I thought I’d do a little backlistsurfing. Today I’ll focus on two of my novels set in exotic locales—Whirlwind Romance, and Orion’s Foot: Myth, Mystery, and Romancein the Amazon.
Whirlwind Romance is romantic suspense at its best—complete witha mysterious royal hero and evil power-hungry usurpers. It’s set mainly in the WesternCaribbean on a tiny island. Warning: it is one of my early, spicy (R-rated)novels.
Blurb
In the aftermath of a hurricane, Lacey Delahaye findsherself marooned on an island on the Gulf coast of Florida with a mysteriousman. They are immediately drawn to each other, but before Armand can confesshis identity, they are kidnapped and taken to a tiny island in the westernCaribbean. With the help of her son Crispin and a cadre of loyal followers, sheand Armand must face down pirates, power-mad ideologues, and palace intrigue,if they are to restore the once idyllic tropical island to its former glory.
The beach where they escapeExcerpt (G): TheEscape
Lacey looked out again. “What’s the other castle, theone on the northern point?”
“It’s the ancestral estate of the Proctors. The firstsecretary has always come from their ranks. Edrigu is the currentofficeholder.”
“The first secretary is like what, a vizier?”
“Yes. And treasurer, chief steward, commander of thearmy—”
Lacey stifled a giggle. “An army of one?”
Armand looked down his nose at her. “For yourinformation, our muskets still work, and both Stefan and Luis are well trainedin hand-to-hand combat.”
“Should it ever be needed.”
He turned grave. “I hope to God it never will be.”
It reminded Lacey of their predicament. “Where isUlisses, do you suppose?”
Almost as if he’d been listening, the door sprangopen, and Traficant entered, carrying a coil of rope. “I have an appointmentwith a man named Damiano.” He put Lacey on the cot and tied her hands to thebedposts. Dragging a chair to the other side of the room, he lashed Armand toit. “Now stay put. I won’t be long.” He left.
They heard the splash of the anchor. A little later,the sound of oars dipping into the water told them their captor had taken thedinghy. Spread-eagled on the bed, her arms stretched painfully, a familiarpanic smothered Lacey’s senses. She had never been able to stand having herarms pinioned. She laid her head back and tried to relax, but her breathingquickened and hysteria washed over her. She concentrated on the gentle rollingand pitching of the boat.
“Here, let me.” Warm breath misted the back of herhead.
She tried to jerk upright, but the ropes pulled herback down. Her eyes wild, she opened her mouth to scream, but a rough hand wentover it. “Shhh, quiet, Lacey! You’llwake the dead.”
“Armand! You’re…you’re free! I thought…I thought…”
“Now if you will kindly wiggle your fingers.”
Lacey did so and soon felt a loosening of the bondsaround her wrists. “How did you manage it?”
Armand held up his hands, free of rope. “UnlikeAmerican prep schools, Eton teaches useful skills such as fencing andlock-picking.”
“I bet you’re a big hit at parties.”
“As a matter of fact…” He picked up her hand andkissed the tips of her fingers.
Lacey took a deep breath, and peace flooded back intoher body. “So, your degree is in escape artistry?”
“Among other things.”
She rubbed her wrists. “What do we do now?”
“We get off this boat.”
“You mean, swim?”
“If we have to.” He stood up and paced the cabin.
She stopped him, hand to his chest. “You can walk!”
“What?” He looked down as though discovering his feetfor the first time. “Oh, yes. The ankle is nearly healed.”
“But you were limping heavily only last night whenUlisses took you.”
“That was for his benefit. If he thinks I’m stilllame, he won’t worry about our getting away.”
“I see.” She went to the door and tried the handle.“Locked.”
Armand held up what looked like a needle. “Standardschool supplies.” He fiddled with the lock until the door sprang open.
“Why didn’t you use that before?”
“And go where?”
Orion’s Foot: Myth, Mystery, &Romance in the Amazon
Orion’s Footis wild—it’s set deep in the Amazon at a research station, where a mysteriouscryptid may be attacking the scientists. A cryptid can be a creature from mythand legend, a supernatural or paranormal entity, an extinct animal who maystill inhabit a specific area. It’s often of unusual size or appearance—like theyeti, the sasquatch, or the Loch Ness monster.
Blurb:
The Mapinguari
Excerpt: The Mapinguari
They went back down the path they’dcome, surveying the ground and vegetation for any trace of a large animal. Theyhad reached the mahogany tree when Petra checked her watch. “Winston’s beengone half an hour. Maybe we should—” Her words were cut off by a low snarl.“Emory? Is that you?” She whirled around. “Where are you?”
For answer, the growl grew deeper andmore menacing. Sounds like a gorilla—butthey don’t live here, do they? She whispered, “Emory?”
“Shh.”She looked up. Emory clung to a low branch of the mahogany tree. He held a handout. “Quickly.”
She grabbed a liana, hoping ferventlyit wasn’t a Strychnos vine, andscrambled up. The growl came again, closer. They climbed higher. Somethingcrashed through the woods, puffing. Whatever it was entered the clearing, andthe noise stopped. Petra held her breath and Emory’s hand. It must be looking for us. After a lengthy pause that left herfeeling chilled to the bone in the torrid heat, the puffing started again,gradually diminishing into the distance. She waited five more minutes to besure it was gone before whispering, “Did you get a look at it?”
“No, the foliage was in the way, butit sounded awfully big. And grouchy. I’m going to—” As he started to climbdown, a twig snapped below them. They froze.
Something’sbeing dragged through the underbrush. They waited another five minutes. Finally, she ventured, “Do you thinkit’s gone?”
“I don’t know. Let me go first.” Heducked and touched the top of his head. “Uh-oh. I hope that’s not monkey scat.”
She raised her face to the canopy.“It’s rain.”
“Just a drizzle. No problem. We…shit.”
The downpour came suddenly, drenchingthem. They sat, huddled under the canopy of leaves, waiting it out. Petratasted a drop on her forearm. “They don’t have acid rain here, do they?”
“No—they have a lot of poisonousspecies here, but no industrial pollution that I know of.” He shielded his faceand looked up. “We can only hope manchineel trees don’t grow here. We’ll haveto ask Aguirre when we get back.”
“Manchineel?”
“Small trees of the swamp. Their sapis extremely toxic. If it drips on you, it burns and blisters the skin. Enoughexposure can kill you.”
“But if the poison is only in the sap,we’re safe unless we tap into the tree, right?”
“I wish. It’s a particularly viciousplant—even runoff from the leaves in a rainstorm can sluice the poison ontoyour skin.”
“Great.” She began to shiver, mainlydue to nerves. The rain stopped.
They heard a shout. Winston cametumbling into the clearing. “Up here!”
He looked up. “What are you doing upthere?”
“We heard something.”
“Never mind. I have news!” He panted.“My…my…son…he saw it.”
“What?”
“The Mapinguari.”
Emory started to climb down butpaused. He stretched out an arm and grabbed at the hair, stuffing a hank in hispocket. “We should study it when we get back.”
Petra followed him. When she reachedthe ground, she found Winston, his face aglow with feverish excitement. “Yourson saw a Mapinguari? Is he sure?”
“It was running through the scrub.Acarapi followed it, but in his hurry he stepped on a snake. He pulled up andit got away, but he says it was very tall and hairy.”
“Where was he when he saw it?”
“Only a few yards from here. He waspicking herbs for the shaman. When the snake bit him, he went home for help.”
They crossed the clearing on the wayto the boats. Winston slipped but caught himself. “What’s this? Were you peoplehungry? There is food in your backpacks.” He picked up a peel. “You shouldn’thave eaten Francisco’s bananas. You will have to pay him.”
A stalk of bananas had been strippedfrom the tree and dozens of empty peels lay about. Petra shook her head. “Itwasn’t us.”
November 26, 2023
Crossbows to come
In preparation for my upcoming release: In the Crosshairs: the Body on Leffis Key, here's a Zelda poem*
*Zelda is an alter-alter-alter ego.
Crossbow mercy
Little bottles everywhere
In the living room
On every surface
Pillows on the floor
Clothes on the bed
Of distracting me.
Won’t work.
Wish it would.
A long look
And puts me out of my misery.
November 24, 2023
Free Read for Christmas: Che Gelida Manina--an unlooked-for love story
Che GelidaManina (What a cold hand) is an beautiful aria from Puccini's opera La Bohème,in which Rodolfo introduces himself to Mimi as they sit on the steps of theircold rooming house. This story is about opening your heart to new love.
Rodolfo sings Che Gelida Manina to MimiM. S. Spencer© 2014
Che GelidaManina
By M. S. Spencer
"I don't want to stay here, Amelia."
"But Mother, you love Sarasota! Youlove the sun, the people, the beach. Why this sudden desire to move to Morocco?"
"It's always been a dream of mine."Grace knew her daughter wouldn't buy it, but didn't want to tell her howdesperately she needed to get away from Florida. Since Jack died nine monthsbefore on Christmas Eve, she couldn't bear to go to the Gulf…or listen to hisfavorite opera, La Bohème…or even light candles at dinner. Jack had been the most romantic man in theworld and the love of her life. Now that he was gone, all desire for romancehad gone with him. It was only because of her promise to him to stay throughone last Christmas that she had remained. I'll keep my promise, but I'll be out of hereby Boxing Day.
"Well, it makes no sense." Ameliaswitched gears. "Just yesterday Brad was saying you should come up here toPortland—"
"Not on your life. I may be a dotinggrandmother but I don't think I could handle twin toddlers twenty-four-seven."
The woman at the other end of the phonesniffed. "Hmmph. Well, we don'twant you alone on Christmas Eve, Mother. Brad would be happy to book a flightfor you."
"You know I can't, dear."
"Oh, bother the promise. Dad wouldunderstand."
Grace thought of Jack's last whisperedrequest. "No, he wouldn't."
"Okay, okay." Amelia paused."Did you sign up for Friends.com yet?"
"No, and stop badgering me."
"All I ask is that you think aboutit. It's about time you got out of the house. The site's supposed to have aninety-percent success rate in matching people."
"I doubt that. Gotta go, dear." Gracehung up and stared at the website on her computer screen. She hesitated, thenclicked "Your Friends.com Profile." She wrote quickly and furiously,tossing her thoughts out before she lost her nerve.
Recentlywidowed woman, 60, seeking companion for excursions—bird watching andsightseeing. Not interested in romance or personal confidences. No moonlitbeach walkers please. No candlelight dinners. Love of opera a deal-breaker.
She typed in her credit card number andclicked 'Submit,' then returned to her profile and reread it. "Oh dear, that sounds awfullynegative…"
Her finger hovered over the 'Delete Post'button when a message popped up. "Edward Harper has emailed you." Sheopened it.
Widower, 62, happy to oblige. Coffee today?
Next to the message was a man's photograph.She studied it, trying to plumb its secrets—a broad face, the planes of thecheeks flat and tanned. Little crinkles of skin at each temple hinted at aquiet sense of humor. His bright hazel eyes under a thatch of brown hair smiledat her, as if willing her to say hello. She pressed 'Reply' and typed in, "Yes."
An hour later she sat in a booth in the GrayDolphin Café, wondering if she'd recognize him. A tall man came through theautomatic doors and strode resolutely toward her. "Are you Grace?"
Ican deny it. I can get up and walk out right now. The eyes held her.Cheerful, calm, intelligent. "Yes. Won't you join me?"
He slid onto the seat and ordered coffeefor the two of them. Grace, used to dealing with the world on her own, found itrefreshing. He had a way of making her feel comfortable and pampered at thesame time. Two hours later they parted at the café door.
She didn't hear from him that day, or thenext, or the next. Exactly one week later, an email popped up. "Coffeetoday?"
Fingers scampering quickly over the keys,she typed, "Yes."
They met at the café, but Edward drew heroutside. "How about a walk through Robinson Preserve? I broughtbinoculars. And coffee."
"Sure."
Two hours later he left her at the café entrance.She almost asked if he'd like to see her again, but didn't.
Precisely a week later, he called."Coffee?"
This time she was ready. "Would you careto go to Spanish Point with me? It's an historic site."
"Certainly—I was going to suggest somethingsimilar. I'll pick you up at the café."
And so it went for two months. The two ofthem met every Wednesday and toured local sights like Marie Selby Gardens, Ringling'sCa D'zan, and Ybor City. Edward proved a perfect escort—knowledgeable, funny,interested in everything. Grace's life came to revolve around the weekly dates.She'd find herself thinking about him every day, wondering more and more oftenhow he felt about her. After all, he never asked her personal questions. If sheinquired about his past, he would demur. "We are but fellow travelers.That was the deal, wasn't it?"
Whenever his reticence grated on her, she wouldreread her Friends.com profile. You asked for this, Grace. In fact, youinsisted upon it. Then she would pour herself a drink and watch anotherre-run of Love Boat.
As the weeks passed, Grace sank deeper anddeeper into a funk. Edward was careful to keep his distance—the occasionaltouch on the hand or squeeze of the elbow meant only that he wanted to draw herattention to something. She began to covet the delicate brush of his fingersacross her skin. Sometimes she would even bump into him, pretending to beabsorbed in a painting or view.
She had said goodbye to him one Wednesday,facing the emptiness of the week ahead. Sitting in her car, it suddenly struckher as unfair. Is this all he can give?One afternoon a week for the rest of my life? She checked her face in the rearview mirror. Wrinkles spiraled through the once blooming cheeks. Her hair hadbegun the gradual but depressing transformation to pure white, and her once cobaltblue eyes had faded to the cerulean of a misty morning sky. She started theengine. "I've got to do something."
But as the days dragged by, she didnothing. Time and again she would click on Edward's address, only to hesitate. I'm notready.
That Sunday Amelia called. "I hope you'll reconsider and come forChristmas, Mother."
Christmas.Christ. In her preoccupation with Edward, she had lost track of the date. Inthree weeks her vow to Jack would be discharged. What difference would it make if I left a few days early? Unexpectedly,Edward's smiling face flashed before her. Yearning vied with terror,threatening to rip her heart apart. I'm not ready. I need to get out of here. Shefinally managed, "Perhaps I will."
"Wonderful! Come a week early—thatway we'll have plenty of time to catch up."
"All right."
As her departure approached, Grace put offinforming Edward. I know him. He'll nodsilently. He won't even ask if I need a ride to the airport. She stifledthe stab of pain.
The day before she was to leave, she finallyconfessed. His eyes, for once, did not smile, but he said nothing. She wavedhim off at the café and went home to finish packing. As she locked the suitcase,cold reality sluiced like ice water down her back. I guess this is it. She looked around the cozy bungalow Edward hadnever entered. And yet he seemed so much a part of it, of her life now. Thelonging she'd felt for him—longing that she refused to acknowledge—explodedinto desire. I want him. I want to holdhim. And I want to talk—really talk—pour out all my thoughts and my childhooddreams, my needs, my fears.
To silence the pleas, she did somethingshe hadn't done since Jack died—she took the shell path to the water. The beachwas empty and she walked until her feet hurt—a mile, two miles, three. As shewalked, the sun began to descend in one of those glorious Florida sunsets thatmake you wonder if you've landed on another planet. The white powdery sand crunchedbetween her toes. How I've missed this! Maybe I was wrong to cut myself off from thethings I loved.
By the time she arrived back at the shell pathit was nearly dark. She turned for one last look at the moon and stars. A beachchair sat forlornly on the shore, waves lapping at its legs. Somethingfluttered from it. Oh, right, I left mytowel there.
As she approached, a silvery tenor beganto croon Jack's favorite aria from La Bohème.In it, Rodolfo sings to his new love Mimi, 'Che gelida manina—What a cold little hand you have!'
She rounded on the chair. "Edward?"
He sat up. "Grace?"
She wanted to run into his arms. Shewanted to kiss his lips, his forehead, his hands. Instead, she stood quietly, herarms at her sides. "Edward, what are you doing here? I thought you hatedthe beach."
His eyes bored into her. "Not me.You. You didn't want romance. You didn't want to hold my hand, or light acandle, or hear my music. I respected your wishes."
She ached to cry out, "I was wrong!Edward, I want to be with you!" but fear clogged her throat. I'm not ready. All she could manage was,"Yes."
His lips twisted. "Yes." Then hestood up and walked away across the sand. Grace watched helplessly as thesecond love of her life left her.
She went to bed, but the hours ticked byas she lay awake, by turns angry and despondent. The next morning she calledAmelia. "I've decided to stay here for Christmas."
"Mother? Why? You'll be so lonely!"
"No! No, I'll be fine. I have apromise to keep."
She checked the calendar. Four days to goto Christmas Eve. She had to find Edward before she left. I can't leave without telling him about Jack—without explaining my aversionto romance. She turned on the laptop and typed his name in the search box.
The first list turned up three dozen EdwardHarpers, ten of whom lived in the Sarasota area. She spent two days tracking themdown, leaving messages at the most promising leads. Then she sat down to wait.
Christmas Eve arrived without any wordfrom Edward. Her suitcase stood ready by the door. As the light faded, she wentoutside to her patio. La Bohème played softly from inside. I can't lose him. Why didn't I tell him? What was I afraid of? Thepain? You fool, the pain found youanyway. At least she had the beach and the music back. Only one more thing to do. She rose, found some matches, and litthe Christmas candle. As she watched the flame flicker in the evening breeze,she savored an uneasy peace. Perhaps it'sfor the best. I'll leave tomorrow andforget all about him.
Someone moved from the darkness into thelight. She sprang up to find bright hazel eyes smiling into hers. He touchedher hand and sang softly, "Chegelida manina. What a cold little hand you have, mydear. May I warm it?"
She gave it to him, then led him down thepath to the beach.
November 22, 2023
Backlist Surfing: Artful Dodging and The Mason’s Mark—DC stories
Since my new releasewon’t grace the internet until next year, I thought I’d do a little backlistsurfing.
Let’s start with my two novels set in Alexandria, Virginia: Artful Dodging: the Torpedo FactoryMurders and the Mason’s Mark: Love& Death in the Tower.
Artful Dodging: the Torpedo FactoryMurders
Fun Fact: The Torpedo Factory was indeed a munitionsfactory. It closed after WWII and remained empty and derelict on prime waterfrontproperty in Old Town Alexandria. In the 1970s a group of local women (includingmy aunt) got together and convinced the town to sell it to them, and thus wasborn the Torpedo Factory Art Center, an artists coop.Blurb:
It’s just before Christmas, and Milo Everhart has twoneedlepoint stockings, a cross-stitch purse, and three canvases to finish forher clients. Waiting out the rain in a pub, she is captivated by the handsomeman next to her, but blocking the road to romance are two mysterious corpses whoturn up in the tower of her Torpedo Factory Art Center. As if that weren’tenough, a second crisis erupts—a proposal to gut her beloved Art Center.
Tristram Brodie, hard-driving corporate lawyer and formerMarine, is focused on his plan to convert the Torpedo Factory into a box store.He is drawn to the beautiful woman sitting next to him, but their mutualattraction will be frustrated by both the murders and his intentions. As theyedge closer to love, they must find a way to overcome both their differencesand the still-fresh memory of her late husband.
Artful Dodging: the Torpedo FactoryMurders
WildRose Press, 7/20/2016
Mystery/CozyMystery; Contemporary romantic Suspense
Ebook, 66,830 words; Print 268 p
Buy Links
Now for TheMason’s Mark: Love and Death in the Tower
Fun Fact: The Mason's Mark arose in part outof a true story. Starting in the 1940s an Italian named Licio Gelli embarked ona lifetime of bizarre scams and crimes. Alternately linked to rightists andleftists, he bilked or used people from Italian politicians, to the Nazis, theCommunists, the CIA, even to Juan Peron, dictator of Argentina. His exploits acrossthe globe spanned four decades. At last check, he was still alive, in his ninetiesand writing poetry from prison. In 1996 he was even nominated for the Nobelprize in literature.
Blurb
In both the best andworst first day at work ever, docent Claire Wilding meets the man of herdreams, but her carefully rehearsed guided tour of the George WashingtonNational Masonic Memorial collapses when she discovers a body and is drawn intoa dark world of black ops and Italian renegade masons, of secret cabals andhidden treasure. Also cloaked in mystery is handsome Gideon Bliss, a GeorgeWashington expert who haunts the Memorial, his manner evasive. What is hissecret? Claire fears she'll fall in love with him only to learn he's a thief oreven a murderer. Juggling two eccentric mothers, an inquisitive sister, and anincreasingly smitten detective, Claire must find answers to a complex web ofintrigue, including who to trust and who to love.
The Mason's Mark: Love and Death inthe Tower
WildRose Press, 5/6/2016; Imprint: Crimson Rose
Mystery/Cozy Mystery; Romantic suspense
79300 words; 322 pp.
BuyLinks
November 3, 2023
Shepherd Books Best Books of 2023 (Including The Wishing Tree)
Do drop by Shepherd's Books--a great new site for finding books to read, including mine! This is what Shepherd's goal is:
"Discovering a new book should be a magical experience where the search is part of the fun. That is what we are creating. We give readers fun ways to find amazing books."
This November they have published The 100 Best Books of 2023:
https://shepherd.com/bboy/2023
Here are my favorite three books of the year:
https://shepherd.com/bboy/2023/f/m-s-spencer
November 1, 2023
My 3 Favorite Reads of 2023 on Shepherd Books!
Drop by the fabulous Shepherd Books--a wonderful site for finding the best books to read.
As part of the Best Books of 2023, I submitted three of my favorites. Read all about them
here:
https://shepherd.com/bboy/2023/f/m-s-spencer
October 29, 2023
Lisabet Sarai has a New Release!
Please welcome Lisabet Sarai and her New Release!
Serpent’s Kiss
A Father'sInspiration
My latest book, Serpent’s Kiss, is dedicated to my father. He hasbeen gone for for nearly fifteen years, but I still feel his presence, everyday. During the time since his passing, the pain of loss has healed. I’ve cometo understand that he'll always be with me, in my memories and in my heart.
More than any other individual, it was my dad who inspired me to read,and to write. He had the giftof words, and passed it on to his children. I recall him reading aloud to my siblings and me—folk tales, fairy stories,adventures likeTreasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. He told his own stories, too, inventing worlds and characters for our pleasure.There were the Gulkons,terrible demons who lived in the fire on the hearth, and Houligan, the god of snow. (I grew up in chilly,stormy New England.) Istill remember sitting spellbound while Dad recounted his story of the hapless wizard Thomas Carl Sefney who had to touch his wand to every one of the monster's thousandtentacles before it consumed him.
Both my parents encouraged me to write. My first poems date from about third grade. During my childhood I wrotefantasies about Martians andghosts, and plays about the Beatles and politics. In my adolescence, too shy to speak to any of my crushes, I poured out myadoration inanguished free verse. In my twenties and thirties, I wrote science fiction andfirst tried my hand at romance. Finally, in my forties, I actually managed to publish something (other than inmy high school newspaper).My first thought was to call my father.
My dad and I shared favorite books, characters, and authors. When he and I got talking about Sherlock Holmes or FrodoBaggins, H.P.Lovecraft or Edgar Allen Poe or Anne Rice, the rest of the family would roll their eyes and leave us to our obsessions.I never had any difficultyfiguring out what gift to get him for his birthday or Father's Day. There was always some book that I hadseen or heard about that I knew he'd love.
I never did introduce him to my erotica, though. I was so tempted toshow him the pile of paperbacks with my name on the cover, the multiple volumesI had penned or edited. I wanted to autograph a copy of my first novel for him, telling him how much he hadcontributed to my literary endeavors. I wanted him to be proud. However, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. I recalled the way he reacted whenI gave him Anne Rice'sBDSM classic The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty - an embarrassed grin and an "oh, that's interesting". Wedidn't discuss that book much.Though I would have welcomed the opportunity to open up to him about my own pursuits in the world of sex andsensuality, dominance and submission, I sensed that he would rather not know.
I guess that there are just some things you can't share with yourparents, no matter how close you are. But at very least, I can acknowledge himas my lifelong inspiration.
Blurb
When awoman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’sdrawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire. Though mortally wounded, Jorge still demonstrates unnatural strengthand power. Irresistibly attracted, Elena risks everything for his love.Gradually she realizes that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic strugglewith his nemesis, she may lose him forever.
A Serpent’s Kiss
Paranormal Erotic Romance
Five flames; 36,000 words, 136 pages
Smashwords andAmazon KDP
ISBN (Smashwords): 9798215674734; ASIN: B0CL2HPVV4
Hashtags/Keywords
#Paranormal #Shifters #Mayan #Mythology #Guatemala #FatedMates #Tikal#Ritual #Quetzlcoatl #Reincarnation #Apocalypse
Excerpt (PG):Remorros
The waiting room was dim. Anunfamiliar smell lingered in the air, some kind of petroleum smell, like tar orkerosene. She sniffed suspiciously. She kept two Coleman lanterns in thestoreroom, in case the generator ran out of diesel. Could some animal have gotinto the place and knocked them over?
Elena moved cautiouslytowards the door of the infirmary, not wanting to alarm a possible animalintruder. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, she heard noises behindher—footsteps, and the sound of the front door bolt being thrown.
She whirled around. “Who’sthere?” In her sinking heart, though, she already knew.
“You lied to me,” TeodoroRemorros growled at her. He looked as affluent and dapper as ever, but hishandsome features were twisted into a grimace of rage. “You told me that youdidn’t know Jorge, that you hadn’t seen him.”
Elena tried to swallow herfear. He might be only guessing, threatening her in order to get her to talk.
“I don’t know what you’retalking about.”
“He’s been here, here insidethis pathetic clinic of yours. I can smell him.”
The man’s nostrils flared,exactly like a beast’s.
“How can you smell anything?The place reeks of kerosene. I was just going to check the storeroom…” Elenabegan inching backwards, toward the infirmary, the rear exit and freedom.
Remorros lunged forward andgrabbed her arm. His nails bit into her flesh like talons. “I warned you,woman. You don’t know what you are dealing with. Jorge is not a normal man. Hedoesn’t have a man’s heart. He’s a power, a force of nature, hard and pitiless,implacable, vicious, evil.”
“No, he’s not! He’s notevil!”
“Fool!” Remorros dragged her into theinfirmary and threw her on the cot. “You’ve been meddling in matters far beyondyour puny mortal capabilities. And now you will pay the price.”
Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previouslypublished by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised andexpanded.
Reader Advisory: This book may not beappropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.
Buy Links
Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1317-serpents-kiss/
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL2HPVV4
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CL2HPVV4
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1465062
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/serpents-kiss-lisabet-sarai/1017488008?ean=2940166119209
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/serpent-s-kiss-26
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6469359665
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199721219-serpent-s-kiss
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/serpent-s-kiss-by-lisabet-sarai-2023-10-15
About the Author
Lisabet Saraibecame addicted to words atan early age. Shebegan reading when she wasfour. She wrote herfirst story at fiveyears old and herfirst poem at seven.Since then, she haswritten plays, tutorials, scholarlyarticles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases,a five-hundred page dissertation, andlots of erotica anderotic romance: over one hundred titlesand counting, in nearly everysub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM,LGBTQ, and more. Regardlessof the genre, everyone of her storiesillustratesher motto: Imagination isthe ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’llfind information and excerpts fromall Lisabet’s books onher website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along withmore than fifty freestories and lots more.At her blog BeyondRomance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she sharesher philosophy and her newsand hosts lots ofother great authors. She’s also onGoodreads,BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh
August 25, 2023
Long and Short Reviews Anniversary Bash Features Hidden Gem: the Secret of St. Augustine
Fun for one and all—LASR is celebrating its 16thanniversary with books of all kinds and loads of prizes. Today my award-winningmystery: Hidden Gem: the Secret of St. Augustine is spotlighted. Read all about it, answer a questionand enter to win!
Quirky romance, a murderous stalker, a mysterious map,cruciverbalists, and treasure—all in the oldest city in North America—what morecould you ask for?Here’s the link:
https://www.longandshortreviews.com/guest-blogs/lasr-anniversary-scavenger-hunt-hidden-gem-the-secret-of-st-augustine-by-m-s-spencer-2/August 24, 2023
Long and Short Reviews Anniversary Bash Features Mrs. Spinney’s Secret
Fun for one and all—LASR iscelebrating its 16th anniversary with books of all kinds and loadsof prizes. Today my delightful mystery Mrs.Spinney’s Secret is spotlighted. Read all about it, answer a question and enter to win!
How wouldyou feel if Hollywood came to your little village in Maine to make a movie…andcorpses began to show up?
Here's the link:
https://www.longandshortreviews.com/guest-blogs/lasr-anniversary-scavenger-hunt-mrs-spinneys-secret-by-m-s-spencer-3/
August 22, 2023
Long & Short Reviews Anniversary Bash Features The Wishing Tree
Fun for one and all—LASR is celebrating its 16th anniversary with books of allkinds and loads of prizes. Today my latest cozy mystery The Wishing Tree: Love, Lies, and Spies onChincoteague Islandis spotlighted. Read all about it, answer a question and enter to win!
Who’s stealingdocuments from the top secret facility? The handsome stranger who's tapped intoher heart could be a spy, or even a murderer.Here's the link:
