Liv Rancourt's Blog, page 2

Ten Lords a Leaping

 Ten Lords a Leaping
~*~

Welcome to another installment in the QUILTBAG Historicals Bleak Midwinter Funfest! For this post, there's no leaping and the scene takes place in June, and while that might sound like a stretch, there is dancing - or at least the description of Nijinsky dancing - and it's set in 1920 Paris.
Aren't we ready for a midwinter break, anyway?
This scene is from Lost & Found, and we're in Benjamin's point of view. Benjamin is a recovering WW1 Army physician and Louis was once a dancer, and they're struggling through the slowest burn romance I've ever written. Enjoy, and happy New Year!
~*~

 

One day passed, and then another. We’d reached the middle of June. My mood was as consistent as the fractious spring weather, sunny and warm for a few moments followed by spitting rain. As much as I’d hoped someone would come forward with knowledge of Elias’s whereabouts, I’d had no response to the advertisement I’d placed. I’d given up asking artists on the street. In all honesty, I came very close to giving up altogether. 

Again, Louis saved me from myself. After a fruitless day in the Latin Quarter, another neighborhood I would cross off my map, I came upon him sitting at a sidewalk table outside L’Oiseau Bleu. 

“Bonjour, Benjamin.” 

If he hadn’t hailed me, I might not have stopped. “Louis.” 

“Join me for dinner?” He tossed a few francs on his table, gripped his cane, and rose. “We’ll go to Le Bon Bock. I doubt you’ve been there.” 

I smiled, both because I had the sense he’d been waiting for me and because I was grateful for an excuse to put aside my worries. “You’re right.” 

“It’s not far.” He joined me on the sidewalk, and with a smile, he brushed my elbow. “This way.” 

The shock of his touch chased easy conversation from my mind. I strode beside him, silent and shy, until I grasped an idea and blurted it out. “So what did happen to your leg?” 

We were navigating one of the stairways connecting the curving streets on Montmartre. Although I’d promised myself I wouldn’t push Louis, his obvious difficulty bothered me. His quick glare told me I should have let the subject alone, yet he surprised me with an answer. 

“When I was nineteen.” He turned his attention back to the stairs, grasping the railing with his right hand and navigating each step with the help of his cane. He moved with strength and grace, as if his whole being concentrated on each step. 

While I didn’t want to annoy him with a barrage of questions, we’d be at the bistro soon. He might close off in more intimate surroundings, so I picked a single point of inquiry. 

“Do you ever stand without the brace?” 

His scowl darkened. “Non. The leg is shrunken, weak.” 

We walked side by side, and when he didn’t continue, I did not press. At the end of the block, my patience was rewarded. 

“From the time I was a child, I wanted to dance. My older brothers were fighters and sportsmen, but I had no interest in those things.” 

He paused for long enough I began to debate prompting him with a question. So guarded. What had happened to make him that way? 

“Ma mère didn’t understand dancing, but she understood passion. Papa thought I should take up boxing.” He caught my eye. “Boxing,” he laughed. 

I only smiled, because honestly, I wouldn’t want to face him in a ring, cane or not. 

“But then the Ballets Russes came, and everyone on the street was talking about Nijinsky.” Another pause, this one heavier. “They were brave, and wild, and when he danced, it was as if the spirit of the earth itself took form.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Pardonnez-moi. I only saw him once, but…” His voice faded away. 

The crowded street, the traffic, all the people passing on the sidewalk became indistinct, distant. Instead, I saw a man on stage, his limbs strong and supple, dancing with inhuman strength and beauty. 

Though in my mind, the man’s shoulders were broad, his hair dark and sleek, and his face that of Louis Donadieu. 

We reached Le Bon Bock, and I pushed open the door. Louis smiled on his way by, eyes still caught up in his memories. Gaslights warmed the wood paneling, art covered the wall, and each table was draped in white linen. When we were seated, Louis continued his story. 

“Then the war began.” His murmur drew me closer, the scent of his pomade a heady undercurrent to the more robust smell of garlic and roasted beef. “Both of my older brothers signed up. I said I would go, but ma mère insisted I continue my studies. By then, my teacher was Mlle. Nijinska. She was very stern, and nearly as gifted as her brother. 

“So I danced, and made my debut with the Ballets Russes. That was…astonishing.” He smiled at me, his face transformed by an inner light. “But then”—he looked away, the light extinguished—“I fell ill. There was an outbreak of influenza in the city, but when I recovered, my leg was very weak. The doctors said I had polio.” 

Of course. “I thought maybe you’d damaged the knee joint.” 

His smile was back, sad and sweet. “Non, mon ami. I’m fortunate it didn’t affect my breathing.” 

“True.” Polio extracted a heavy toll, and Louis was lucky to be alive. I didn’t know of any good treatments for the effects of that horrible disease, but surely there must be something. 

“One of my friends found a brace at the Saint-Ouen market. With it, I can walk.” He gave a careless shrug. “I cannot dance, but I can walk.” 

By now, I recognized the loss he tried to cover with an indifferent attitude. I’d seen it, raw and naked, at the Théâtre de l’Opéra. This was not the time to coddle him with trite statements about his good fortune. Instead, I sat with him, offering comfort with my presence rather than words. A waiter brought beer and cheese, and in time, our gazes met, clashed. 

Neither of us looked away. 

My lungs grew tight and my pulse pounded in my ears. He shifted closer, or maybe I did, so close his breath brushed against my cheek. 

“Tell me more about your friend.” 

I inhaled deeply, breaking the spell. “Elias?” 

“You said you helped him court the woman he wanted.” 

“Margaret Anne?” Could that rough sound be my voice? I hardly knew. 

“Oui.” He smiled. “But has there ever been anyone for you?” 

Yes? No? “I’m not like that.” 

“Like what, Benji?” 

I gulped at my beer, desperate to change the course of the conversation. We needed the waiter to bring us another round, or Elias himself to wander in off the street, or the ceiling to cave in on our heads. “I don’t seem to be as interested in affairs of the heart as other men are, certainly not as interested as Elias is. It’s a failing of mine.” 

“Failing? I wouldn’t call it that. You could be extremely selective.” The precision of his speech felt like fingertips on my skin. “Besides, men like us seldom take things seriously.” He shifted in his seat, and I jumped, startled by the sensation of his knee bumping mine. I should have moved, scooted my chair away, but instead, I pressed harder. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and I found I could not answer. The waiter chose this moment to arrive, and soon we had large platters of sausage with crispy fried potatoes to distract us. Still, my knee rested against his under the table, sending electric shocks through my veins with every move. 

Louis’s question echoed. What was I doing? This flirtation was dangerous, potentially catastrophic. I had no time for such a distraction. Hell, I’d spent the last two days drowning in fear, and I was only a few weeks from my departure. 

But like Eve who craved the taste of apple, I could not stop. Every bite of sausage had more flavor because of Louis’s gaze. The beer was made livelier by his smile. 

The perilous nature of this conversation woke my soul to a painful degree. 

If you'd like to read more of Lost & Found, you can find it HERE. Thank you!!

Two Turtledoves

 Two Turtledoves 

Two Turtledoves...

In a recent FB conversation, I floated an idea for a plot bunny involving an antique book dealer – who's also a vampire – and the book he’s searching for, the book that contains clues to the whereabouts of his long-lost love.

The idea was met with so much enthusiasm that it’s on the calendar for next year. For today’s “Two Turtledoves” post, I thought it would be fun (and motivating for me!) to draft a getting-to-know-you scene, showing one possible way my vampire meets his true love. 

They say turtledoves mate for life, and so, perhaps, do vampires....

***

London, 1870

I didn’t set out to be a collector of antiquities. At least, not at first. In the early days, I sold new books, their leather bindings embossed with crisp gold, the scent of their ink as distracting as the scent of fresh blood.

And for a vampire, that’s very distracting indeed.

I owned my shop when I was made a vampire and I own it still. Books, those mysterious compendiums of human thought, have been a touchstone, giving meaning to my existence. And books – or one book in particular – symbolize my greatest loss.

Let me tell you how that came to be...

The day was dark and cold, the sun barely penetrating the thick layer of clouds. I opened the store at the regular time for a Tuesday, for the Christmas holiday was two days past and there was no reason to stay closed. You might think it odd that a vampire would hold shopkeepers’ hours, but between my advanced age and the depths of the London winter, I was quite safe from the sun.

I’d had few customers that day. The booksellers from nearby Paternoster Court still observed the holiday, and my next closest neighbors, between the Spitalfields Market and Whitechapel, couldn’t likely read. On an ordinary day, I sold a handful of worthy volumes and three times as many penny awfuls from the rack at the front of the store.

I couldn’t expect everyone to meet my standards, now could I?

The bell above my door jangled some thirty minutes before closing. A young man pushed through, his dark suit fine but soiled, his hair mussed. By the time he reached my desk, I knew two things: he was desperate, or desperately hungry, and he was like me.

A vampire.

I noticed a third thing, but only in passing. He was handsome, with strong features and a firm jaw. For all he was unkempt, he was clean-shaven, as he must have been when he was turned. Curious. Who was this, and why had he come to me?

His gaze clashed with mine, and he drew up short. I remained seated so as not to trigger his fighting instinct. Not that he’d be any match for me. He was too young and too hopeless to be a threat. Still, I’d learned that not all fights were worth winning, and so I waited.

“Are you”--he twitched, as if someone had poked him with a pin--”are you A. Christopher Monohan?”

So said the sign over my shop’s door. “I am.”

“Maggie Darden sent me. She said you could help.”

Maggie Darden ran a public house a block or so from away from me. She kept her doors open to all, no matter how unfortunate or inhuman, as long as they treated each other with respect. Maggie had recognized my nature early on. This forlorn individual wasn’t the first she’d sent to me.

I gestured to the chair near my desk. “Sit and tell me what you need help with.”

He jerked his gaze toward the door, then back to me.

“Sit.” I made it a Command, and he sat, or rather deflated, his head in his hands.

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked. I didn’t want to Command all of his responses. Hopefully if I kept my composure, he would regain his.

It took several long moments before he raised his eyes. “David,” he said, his voice gruff. “I....don’t remember more.”

“No surname?”

“I must have one, but...” he left off, shaking his head.

“What do you remember?”

His mouth worked for a moment, as if he battled with some unseen foe. I could guess his opponent. He must be freshly turned, had likely never fed. Some bastard had lost control and made another like us, then left him to fend for himself.  The Queen would be most unhappy.

And I wasn’t referring to Queen Victoria.

“I’m not sure which are memories and which are dreams.” He played with the simple gold cufflink on his left sleeve. “I was in a box in the dirt. Buried. In a casket. It took all my strength to crawl out, but when I went home, my wife, she...”

He stopped and cleared his throat. “I couldn’t get near her. I had the feeling I should take the train to London, so I did.”

At least his maker had pointed him in the right direction. “How do you feel, David?”

He made fists with his hands, the knuckles white. “I’d like to tear one of your arms off and drink....and drink...”

He gagged.

“You can’t tear my arms off.”

He rose to standing, fists planted on my desk, expression strangely grim. “Oh, I think I can.”

I stood and faced him, allowing my fangs to show and dropping the human glamour I wore most of the time. Without that glamour, my was alabaster and my blue eyes turned to flame. “You cannot.”

He gave a sharp inhale, his darker eyes going wide. Folding into the chair, he gave me another hopeless look. “What does all this mean?”

Resuming my human posture, I returned to my seat and decided the direct approach would be best. “Someone has made you vampire.” I gave him a moment to digest the information, but aside from another sharp breath, he didn’t interrupt me.

“There are few things as terrible as turning a human then leaving him on his own, but that is what has been done to you.” And I had a good idea by whom. I rose and came around the desk, hitching my hip up to lean against the desktop. “I can help you, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

“How? Why?”

“How?” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I can feed you and I can teach you what you need to know to feed yourself.”

He didn’t respond, so I kept going. “We’ll need to do some digging, to learn your surname and where you’re from.”

“And my wife?”

I spread my hands, palms down, on my desk. “You must never see her again, or you run the risk of driving her mad.”

He nodded, covering his face with his palms. Some combination of his beauty and despondence prompted me to make an uncharacteristic offer.  “Come.” I held out my hand. “We’ll go to my rooms” - my private lair, the exact location known to no one but me - “where you can feed.” Though feeding him myself would cement my responsibility for him. His maker had made him orphan, and apparently, I was willing to adopt him.

Slowly, tentatively, his gaze still on the desktop, he took my hand. “That....thank you.”

I stood and drew him to his feet. “Let us go, Nameless David. After you feed, you can rest.”

~*~

Not sure when there'll be more of this, but now that I have a handle on the two protagonists, the rest should start taking shape. Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!!

Best, 

Liv

 

 

Rainbow Advent Calendar Giveaway!

It's here! The annual Rainbow Advent Calendar giveaway! All through December, a bunch of cool authors are giving away free stories, ranging from flash fiction to full novels. Here's a link to the Rainbow Advent Calendar Facebook group where you can find ALL the freebies. There's also a master-list of all the giveaways HERE, put together by our coordinator Alex Jane. 
Check the master-list or sign up on the Facebook page. There's lots to see!



My story, The Christmas Prince, is a sequel to The Clockwork Monk. (If you haven't read Monk, it's available FREE from prolificworks. Find it here - opt-in optional.) Both stories are set in an alt-Victorian world, and my goal for The Christmas Prince was to make a sweet-spicy and romantic story. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you have a very happy holiday...




All Trevor wants for Christmas is a handsome man and a reason to move out of his mother's home.
All Prince Edward wants is a moment of relief from the responsibility of being the heir to the British crown.
If they can find a way to solve each other's problems, this will be a very merry Christmas indeed!

Jump HERE to download a copy of The Christmas Prince!!


Before you leave, my writing partner Irene Preston and I run a monthly giveaway for a $10 gift card. November's giveaway runs for a couple more days, so give it a go!
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Release Day! Forsaken by J.R. Gray

So this is exciting!Today is the release day for Forsaken, the newest release from J.R. Gray. I had the great good fortune to read a pre-release copy, and I both thoroughly enjoyed it and think it's a compassionate handling of a potentially difficult topic. Titus grew up in a cult, and Gray never shies away from the difficulty inherent in that. I found the characters to be nuanced and believable, and am convinced that everyone needs an Angel in their life! If you're up for a romance with both depth and heart, check it out!






Titus had lived and breathed religion his entire life, tucked away from the rest of the world in a compound in northern Wyoming. He’s destined to be the next leader of the church, deemed so by the Prophet. 
God spoke and with His word He created. But God made a mistake. Titus isn’t worthy. He was born sick and it’s solidified when he rescues the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

Torn between fidelity to his faith or his soul, Titus must reconcile the two parts of himself before he’s discovered hiding among the chosen.


Gray's Website               Amazon US



“Is this okay?” Angel asked.
“Is what okay?” Titus had a hard time getting words out. He had a hard time making his brain function with Angel’s hands on him.
Angel laughed and scooted his body closer so their legs were pressed together. “Me touching you.”
“Yes,” his voice was unsteady.
“What about this?” Angel put his other hand on the side of Titus’ neck.
“Sure.” Titus swallowed past the lump in his throat, and was happy for the way he was sitting, because he was as hard as he’d ever been in his entire life. Harder maybe.
“What about this,” Angel whispered over his lips and then brought them together.
This wasn’t like back at his workshop. Angel parted his lips, and used his tongue. Titus was left trying to keep up. As soon as he got the hang of something Angel would change it. He’d done a little necking with girls, but this was completely different. He hadn’t been turned on while kissing those girls. It was more like something to do just to try it, but this was heat and his entire body reacted. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t flushed and on fire.
Angel’s fingers slid around to the back of his neck and tightened, keeping Titus close. He grabbed Angel’s bicep, needing something to hold on to so he didn’t spin out of control. Angel seemed to like it, groaning into his mouth. It spurred Titus on. He wrapped his other arm around Angel’s back, desperate to feel more of him.
There was a fire demon inside him demanding more and he wanted nothing but to listen. 





When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it's half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it's been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn't writing…well, that's not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.
Connect with JR Gray...Website | Twitter - Personal | Twitter - Books | Facebook | Facebook Group | Tumblr | Mailing List | Amazon Author Page

The Great M/M Romance Valentines Giveaway!

Happy Valentines Day!!
I'm blowing the dust off the blog because I'm excited about this event and want to share it everywhere. There are 20 M/M new stories by some exceptional m/m romance authors, and they're all FREE! So click on over to the main page, because it doesn't get much better than FREE!

Here ==> M/M Romance Valentines Giveaway

I won't divulge how many (many!) of them I downloaded, but the thing I like is there really is something for everyone in this mix. Irene and I wrote a novella that's set in the same world as our other Hours of the Night books, but it features new characters and might well be the start of a spin-off series. Here's the cover and blurb for Haunted...


Noel Chandler had a good reason for leaving the L.A.P.D. for New Orleans, but when he walks into a burned out Garden District mansion, he discovers there are some things he can’t outrun. The spooks can find him anywhere.

As the resident historian for the cable show Haunts and Hoaxes, Professor Adam Morales keeps an open mind about the supernatural. Or that’s what he tells himself, until he meets a man who puts that principle to the test. Noel’s smart, sexy, and has killer cop instincts. One glance from his bedroom eyes has Adam ready to believe anything.

But is Noel haunted, crazy, or just another hoax?

Find Haunted on Goodreads
Haunted will be available on Amazon for $1.99 (+ KU if that's your jam) starting 2/19/18, so grab it now while it's FREE! Thanks very much! and Happy Valentines Day!

Nocturne! It's here....and here....and here....

Happy Release Day!

Irene and I are busy blogging and tweeting and generally sharing the news about book 2 in our Hours of the Night series. This page will evolve as reviews and guests posts happen, so keep an eye on it, m'kay?





ReviewsOn Top Down Under 
Kristen Burns/Metaphors and Moonlight
Magnolia Reviews 
The Novel Approach
All reviews on Goodreads
All reviews on Amazon

Guest PostsCover Reveal at The Novel Approach
On Top Down Under Blogerversary!
Love Bytes Reviews
Magnolia Reviews
From Top to Bottom Reviews
Because Two Men Are Better Than One
Diverse Readers
Queer SciFi
Jessie G's Blog
Zipper Rippers
Bayou Book Junkies
Joyfully Jay
J. Keswick



It's Mardi Gras, cher, but this year le bon temps kick off with murder…
For generations, the White Monks have treated the vampire Thaddeus Dupont as a weapon in their battle against demons. However, when a prominent matron drops dead at a party, Thaddeus and his lover Sarasija are asked to find her killer. Their investigation leads them to an old southern family with connections everywhere: Louisiana politics, big business, the Church, and an organization just as secret as the White Monks.
Meanwhile, an esoteric text containing spells for demon-summoning has disappeared, Thaddeus is losing control of le monstre, and Sara is troubled by disturbing dreams. These nightmares could be a side-effect of dating a vampire, or they could be a remnant of his brush with evil. As the nights wear on, Sara fears they are a manifestation of something darker – a secret that could destroy his relationship with Thaddeus.





“You said you were hungry.” Thad’s tone hinted at reproach. “There are no restaurants on this block and we have no need of” —a hint of red touched his cheeks as he scanned the items in front of them—“anything here.”

Sara smothered a grin. He had crashed hard after the funeral, woken up well after Thaddeus, and convinced the vampire to go out to eat. Thad had made it clear their current focus was Berta, not the Daemonum.  Feeding Sara, an entirely Thad-approved activity, provided the excuse for a little detour.

They were in the touristy voodoo shop in the French Quarter, not a place Thad would normally bless with his patronage but the only lead Sara could think of for tracking down Missy. Intent on killing time until the pale Goth chick at the counter finished with the other customers, he hadn’t paid any attention to the items in the display they were ostensibly browsing. He picked up one of the bottles Thad was scowling at.

“Are you kidding? This ointment promises to attract the object of your desire for hours of unbridled passion. Who wouldn’t want that?” He blinked at the vampire, trying to look innocent. “Where do you suppose we apply it?”

 He had meant to tease his boyfriend, who had an adorable prudish streak sometimes. Instead, he got the vampire.

Thad’s eyes turned stormy, then black. Sara felt himself falling into the abyss as the vampire’s emotions rushed through their bond. Lust. Fury. And threaded through all of it, à moi p—

The connection closed so abruptly Sara almost fell over from the psychic jolt.

“And who do you intend to attract with this vile potion?” Thaddeus looked calm, but his voice came out low and deep and still carried an echo of vampiric reverb.

Sara stared at him. “You, idiot.”

The vampire stared back, unappeased. “Then is it the hours orunbridled aspect you find lacking?”

Unbridled. Sara swallowed hard. Saturday morning had been pretty unbridled. And hot. And he did not need to think about that in public.

He swallowed again and tried to suppress the memory of Thad’s hands spreading him open, his tongue…

“We’re good,” he croaked. “You’re right. We don’t need any of this stuff.”

Thad gave him a predatory smile that did nothing to cool down the heat between them until Sara caught the tiniest flash of fang. Thaddeus?

Okay. Important note to self. No taunting the vampire in public. Thad looked one step away from pouncing on him and dragging him off to…not helping.

Sara tried to think about something, anything else. 





Today Nocturne's still $2.99, but it'll be jumping up to the regular price of $4.99 soon!
Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores
Vespers & Bonfire are still only 0.99, but they'll be regular price soon!!
Vespers Amazon | ARe | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores
Bonfire Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores


We're running a giveaway for the month of October. Enter for the chance to win a $25 gift card!!

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And if you want to keep up on all things Hours of the Nights, join us over at After Hours with Liv and Irene, our Facebook readers group!
Click HERE for After Hours with Liv & Irene

The Cover Can Be Revealed!

This has been a long time coming! Irene and I have been sitting on the cover of Nocturne for close to six months now, and we're both so excited to have it out in the wild! I love how it's distinct from Vespers, but still has the same feel. Our cover artist, Kanaxa, really did an amazing job!
But you know what they say....a picture's worth more than any words I could come up with. Scroll down so you can see for yourself!


Isn't it pretty? 
Now keep scrolling, because there are buy links and giveaways and a screamin' sale price on Vespers and Bonfire. I haven't been blogging much lately - too busy writing! - so thank you for visiting. If you were a fan of the earlier books in The Hours of the Night, I hope you enjoy the newest installment in the series. 



It's Mardi Gras, cher, but this year le bon temps kick off with murder…
For generations, the White Monks have treated the vampire Thaddeus Dupont as a weapon in their battle against demons. However, when a prominent matron drops dead at a party, Thaddeus and his lover Sarasija are asked to find her killer. Their investigation leads them to an old southern family with connections everywhere: Louisiana politics, big business, the Church, and an organization just as secret as the White Monks.
Meanwhile, an esoteric text containing spells for demon-summoning has disappeared, Thaddeus is losing control of le monstre, and Sara is troubled by disturbing dreams. These nightmares could be a side-effect of dating a vampire, or they could be a remnant of his brush with evil. As the nights wear on, Sara fears they are a manifestation of something darker – a secret that could destroy his relationship with Thaddeus.


Sale price $2.99Regular price $4.99
Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores




“You said you were hungry.” Thad’s tone hinted at reproach. “There are no restaurants on this block and we have no need of” —a hint of red touched his cheeks as he scanned the items in front of them—“anything here.”
Sara smothered a grin. He had crashed hard after the funeral, woken up well after Thaddeus, and convinced the vampire to go out to eat. Thad had made it clear their current focus was Berta, not the Daemonum.  Feeding Sara, an entirely Thad-approved activity, provided the excuse for a little detour. 
They were in the touristy voodoo shop in the French Quarter, not a place Thad would normally bless with his patronage but the only lead Sara could think of for tracking down Missy. Intent on killing time until the pale Goth chick at the counter finished with the other customers, he hadn’t paid any attention to the items in the display they were ostensibly browsing. He picked up one of the bottles Thad was scowling at.
“Are you kidding? This ointment promises to attract the object of your desire for hours of unbridled passion. Who wouldn’t want that?” He blinked at the vampire, trying to look innocent. “Where do you suppose we apply it?”
 He had meant to tease his boyfriend, who had an adorable prudish streak sometimes. Instead, he got the vampire.
Thad’s eyes turned stormy, then black. Sara felt himself falling into the abyss as the vampire’s emotions rushed through their bond. Lust. Fury. And threaded through all of it, à moi p—
The connection closed so abruptly Sara almost fell over from the psychic jolt.
“And who do you intend to attract with this vile potion?” Thaddeus looked calm, but his voice came out low and deep and still carried an echo of vampiric reverb.
Sara stared at him. “You, idiot.”
The vampire stared back, unappeased. “Then is it the hours orunbridled aspect you find lacking?”
Unbridled. Sara swallowed hard. Saturday morning had been pretty unbridled. And hot. And he did not need to think about that in public.
He swallowed again and tried to suppress the memory of Thad’s hands spreading him open, his tongue…
“We’re good,” he croaked. “You’re right. We don’t need any of this stuff.”
Thad gave him a predatory smile that did nothing to cool down the heat between them until Sara caught the tiniest flash of fang. Thaddeus?
Okay. Important note to self. No taunting the vampire in public. Thad looked one step away from pouncing on him and dragging him off to…not helping.
Sara tried to think about something, anything else. 






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The celebration goes on! Irene and I put both Vespers and Bonfire on sale. 
Sale!!


Sale Price $0.99!Regular price $3.99 Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores ~*~
Sale Price $0.99!!Regular price $2.99
Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | More Stores

Nocturne Preorder!!

Our cover reveal's not until 9/25/17, over on The Novel Approach Reviews, but the buy links are up and running. It's time to spread the word!




It's Mardi Gras, cher, but this year le bon temps kick off with murder…For generations, the White Monks have treated the vampire Thaddeus Dupont as a weapon in their battle against demons. However, when a prominent matron drops dead at a party, Thaddeus and his lover Sarasija are asked to find her killer. Their investigation leads them to an old southern family with connections everywhere: Louisiana politics, big business, the Church, and an organization just as secret as the White Monks. 

Meanwhile, an esoteric text containing spells for demon-summoning has disappeared, Thaddeus is losing control of le monstre, and Sara is troubled by disturbing dreams. These nightmares could be a side-effect of dating a vampire, or they could be a remnant of his brush with evil. As the nights wear on, Sara fears they are a manifestation of something darker – a secret that could destroy his relationship with Thaddeus. 







Nocturne will be $2.99 from now till the release day 10/12/17.$2.99Amazon     Barnes and Noble     Kobo     iTunes     More StoresI'll update the links as more stores come on-line.

Also, Vespers and Bonfire will be on sale for $0.99 starting 9/25/17.$0.99
Vespers                    BonfireClick the links to find all the ebook sellers carrying the first books in the Hours of the Night.

~*~
One of the hardest parts of writing this book was keeping the cover art a secret. I can't wait to share the post when the cover reveal goes live! In the meantime, mark your calendars....

Also, if you're the Facebook-group-joining type, Irene and I started a new group for people who've read and enjoyed our Hours of the Night series. It's called After Hours with Liv & Irene, and you can find it here...

After Hours with Liv & Irene
Best, Liv

Book Release: Aqua Follies!

Aqua Follies releases today, and I couldn't be happier. This has been a labor of love, and I'm so excited to get it into the hands of readers!
To celebrate, I thought I'd make a post that focuses on the real Aqua Follies, a variety show on water that was part of Seattle's Seafair celebration from 1950 until about 1962. The Aqua Follies had water ballet and dancers, a live band, clowns, divers, and guest performers who regularly sold out the 5000+ seats of the Green Lake aqua theater. 
From the 1962 Seattle Times
Seafair lasts a couple of weeks, from late July into early August, and culminates with hydroplane races out on Lake Washington. Over the years Seattle residents have done just about everything to celebrate. Recently I was nosing around Amazon and found a Seafair Cook Book put together by the women of St Andrews on the Lake Episcopal Church in 1951. According to my friend, historian Paula Becker (who pointed me at the Aqua Follies in the first place), the original St Andrews was sacrificed to the construction of Interstate 5, but the congregation lives on in a new church about 10 blocks north of the original.

Notice they've got Mount Rainier on the cover and not the Space Needle -
because the Space Needle wasn't built till 1962.The recipes are pretty amazing. Many require the use of gelatin, and more than a few call for a handful of this or a little of that. Scanning the index, I saw a section of "cocktail" recipes and got all excited (because '50s + cocktails!), but they turned out to need shrimp and avocado, not bourbon. Oh well. There's a separate chapter for recipes contributed by men, one for holiday recipes, one for historic, and one for foreign recipes. Fun stuff!


You could bring Seafair Cream Puffs to your next party!

Or maybe you'd prefer Raisin Delight or Mystery Pudding? 

So next time you're planning a trip to Seattle, make it during Seafair. There's the hydros and the Blue Angels, a Milk Carton Derby and pirates. PIRATES! It's a lot of fun, and the weather almost always cooperates. And if you don't have time for an actual vacation, check out Aqua Follies. You can have a vacation-by-kindle! (Make sure you get to the end of this post to enter the giveaway Irene Preston and I are running to celebrate Aqua Follies' release!)




The 1950s. Postwar exuberance. Conformity. Rock and roll.
 Homophobia.
 Russell tells himself he’ll marry Susie because it’s the right thing to do. His summer job coaching her water ballet team will give him plenty of opportunity to give her a ring. But on the team’s trip to the annual Aqua Follies, the joyful glide of a trumpet player’s solo hits Russell like a torpedo, blowing apart his carefully constructed plans.
From the orchestra pit, Skip watches Poseidon’s younger brother stalk along the pool deck. It never hurts to smile at a man, because sometimes good things can come of it. Once the last note has been played, Skip gives it a shot.
The tenuous connection forged by a simple smile leads to events that dismantle both their lives. Has the damage been done, or can they pick up the pieces together?


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Aqua Follies! It's here...and here....and here!

You might have heard me mention the fact that AQUA FOLLIES IS COMING 6/15/17! Er... and if you haven't before, consider yourself warned. I love the world that this story is set in, because the 1950s were such a complicated time. It was not for the faint of heart, the unconventional, or, you know, the gay.
The thing is, though, when you dig beneath any stereotype you find all kinds of different attitudes. I think there's evidence that not even the '50s forced conformity turned everyone into a cookie cutter. There have always been times and places where society was more tolerant, and while no one would ever accuse the '50s of being open-minded, from the 1920s until the '70s at least, the seedy red-light district south of Yesler Way in Seattle hosted a number of same-sex bars, coffee shops, and night clubs.
As long as the management paid the cops their stipend, they didn't get harassed...too much.

The world Skip and Russell live in is filled with friendship and music, with party lines and dungarees, and with secrets and fear. I hope you'll check out Aqua Follies soon. The $0.99 preorder price won't last for much longer!








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The 1950s. Postwar exuberance. Conformity. Rock and roll.
 Homophobia.
Russell tells himself he’ll marry Susie because it’s the right thing to do. His summer job coaching her water ballet team will give him plenty of opportunity to give her a ring. But on the team’s trip to the annual Aqua Follies, the joyful glide of a trumpet player’s solo hits Russell like a torpedo, blowing apart his carefully constructed plans.
From the orchestra pit, Skip watches Poseidon’s younger brother stalk along the pool deck. It never hurts to smile at a man, because sometimes good things can come of it. Once the last note has been played, Skip gives it a shot.
The tenuous connection forged by a simple smile leads to events that dismantle both their lives. Has the damage been done, or can they pick up the pieces together?




Amazon  -   Barnes and Noble   -   Kobo   -   iBooks   -   More Stores




Aunt Maude patted the director’s shoulder and strode downstage, mistress of all she saw. “Hop out, girls.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Grab towels if you need them. We’ll go through the last few numbers and go home.”

Right away, Susie scuttled over to Russell. “After all this, I’ll need a shot of whiskey to take the chill off.”

“Me too.” Russell smirked to temper the truth in his words. “Go get your robe.”

“Nah, you’ll keep me warm enough.”

He took pity on her shivering and draped an arm over her shoulders. She tucked herself in close, ensuring he’d be left with soggy spots on his sports shirt and khaki slacks, but he didn’t push her away.

He and Susie made a good team, and for the seven thousandth time, he wished the press of her curves put more heat in his veins.

No such luck.

“Thanks, lamb chop.” Her rubber nose clip gave her voice a nasal hum, and she trembled in the cool summer air. “Can we sneak out later?”

“Sure, but if Aunt Maude catches us, we’ll both be on the train back home.”

She faked kicking him in the shin. “I didn’t come all this way to worry about going home. You and me are going to have fun.”

He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Yes, dear.”

Their last hurrah. They had two weeks in Seattle, then another run in Detroit. At some point, Russell would give Susie the diamond ring he had tucked in the bottom of his suitcase. He snugged her closer to his side. He’d start his new job, they’d get hitched, he’d buy the house, and she’d give him babies. More importantly, the wedding would give his parents something to be happy about.

The feeling of dread wedged under his sternum had more to do with nerves than anything else.
The director called for the Night at Club Aqua number and counted off a fast tempo. His baton flashed in the floodlights blazing from the edge of the stage. From the orchestra pit, the band hit the opening bars of “In the Mood.” Susie took off, diving into action with the other Aqua Dears. They spun through the water in a synchronized display, while the dancing half of their traveling troupe, the Aqua Darlings, took the stage dressed in sparkling blue skirts, white blouses, and low-heeled black shoes.

The big band, a dozen musicians playing brass and strings and percussion, romped through the verses twice, their heads silhouetted in the stage lights. Then a lone musician stood, rising into the glare like Gary Cooper on the screen at a drive-in movie. He was tall and lean and handsome, with a curled pompadour and a five-o’clock shadow. Curiosity pinned Russell in place. Then the young man put a trumpet to his lips, and Russell had to close his eyes.

The music rang out over the lake and bounced off the rooftops in the surrounding neighborhood. The tone was cool, but the solo was hot, hitting Russell with the force of a pickax. The horn’s voice turned his insides to jelly, but the man—from the swoop of his hair to the curve of his bicep—swapped that jelly for lava.


He tried to tell himself his damp clothes caused the shivers chasing over his skin, but didn’t come close to believing it. He dug his fingertips into the bands of muscle running up the back of his own neck and dragged his gaze back to the swimmers, breathing slow and deep to force the flush out of his face. He’d just been surprised by the man, and exhausted from travel. He’d be fine. Everything was okay.








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