Storm Chase's Blog, page 37

AJ Adams Interview with Jayne Lockwood

Closer than Blood
Jayne Lockwood


Jayne started writing Black Lace books with Virgin Books as Savannah Smythe. Today she writes under her own name as well as S A Smythe and has six titles out.

Closer than Blood is a romantic suspense novel: 

Forbidden passion, blackmail and murderous intent in the cold, glittering heart of Manhattan. Against his better judgement, slick hitman Frank Mancini falls for the sultry sister of his latest client. He is hiding a dark secret, and intends to seduce her before his past is revealed. Tony Freemantle is diseased, dying and desperate. His last wish is to seek vengeance on the half-brother he blames for his misfortunes. He’s never met him. He doesn’t even know what he looks like. All he knows is that he wants him dead. Pagan Freemantle is the innocent woman unwillingly caught up in her sibling's deadly plan.When she discovers she has to pay for the hit, her attempts to make a deal throws her headlong into a dangerous attraction with a man who is patently bad news. And can she trust Richard Mason, the elusive millionaire half-brother who is just a seductive voice at the end of a telephone? When a road trip to California ends with shocking revelations, it seems she can trust no-one but herself.

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 AJ & Storm: What did you love most about this story?
Jayne: I have to say the characters, especially Frank, who is so much more complicated than just a hired gun. He's unashamedly pansexual, fulfilling his carnal appetites with men, women or any variation in between, yet when he meets Pagan, he falls hard. He sees her more than just an object of lust, but the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. Even though he knows their relationship is doomed to failure, and she will never forgive him for what he is about to do, he pursues her anyway. He's a bastard but with Pagan as his moral compass, he is not beyond redemption.

AJ & Storm: What made you choose your genre?
Jayne: I didn't choose the genre to start with. I just wrote the book and worried about it afterwards. If you have a story to tell, trying to shoehorn it into a category before you've finished can be really stifling, in my opinion. But it does get easier to categorise once you've done your first. By then you are getting to know your writing style, and what you feel comfortable with writing about.

Having said that, my second book contract was for erotic romance with an HEA, so I had those boundaries to work in, which felt a little safer. I was writing to a formula, and we all know that can work really well. Some stories lend themselves to an obvious genre, but Closer didn't. I wasn't sure whether it was a romance, because it didn't fit with the soft-focus, rose-tinted romance novels it would have been categorised with.  It wasn't erotic either, because although there are erotic scenes within it, they are not quite as graphic or as prolonged as they would be in an erotic novel. There are certain elements that are noir, gangster, psychological thriller, but in the end Suspense covered all those bases. At the end of the day, it's about how easily people can find you on a book seller site, so being excruciatingly accurate doesn't always pay off.

AJ & Storm: What's the most challenging thing about writing? How do you cope?
Jayne: There are a lot of challenging things about writing. Writers want to share their work with anyone who is interested. I gave up quilting because I was making these things and then putting them away in a cupboard. No-one could see them unless I hung them up on my wall, but I could only hang one at a time, so the amount of exposure compared to the amount of time making the damned thing was miniscule. It didn't seem right. And for me, writing is just the same. You write something, and you want people to see it. Not just see it, but love it, comment on it, mull over it, cry about it, be disturbed by it, get turned on by it, never forget it. But if you want all those things, you better write a book that steps up to the plate, because that isn't easy, when everyone is a critic, and one bad, crappily written review sears into your memory far more deeply than 20 great ones. So getting it right, so I'm happy with it, is one big challenge.

But the bigger one is what you do with the book once you've written it. It's your baby. You've created these people and given them problems to solve, seen them cry, die, lose loved-ones. They are real to you, having been in your head for so long. Then you have to hand them onto someone else, whether a beta reader, or editor, or the general public. And that's where the problems start. Getting yourself noticed, doing your own marketing and admin, suddenly realising you are holding a product, and therefore have to think with a business brain, as well as a creative one. That is hard to get your head around sometimes. It would be nice to think we can all publish "and the readers will come," but the reality is that you have to get out there, be persistent, and believe in yourself. I'm naturally reserved, so this doesn't come easy.

AJ & Storm: Tell us about your teasers.  What do you look for? How do you go about making them?
Jayne: I've used various ways over the years. When I had a Windows machine I downloaded paint.net (free download) and played for HOURS with photos I had bought from Shutterstock or things I had grabbed off the internet. You have to be careful because of copyright issues, obviously, which is why I use Shutterstock.

Now I have switched to Apple, I use PicMonkey, and I have to say, it's much easier. (PicMonkey is fine to use on Windows as well.) I find I can get some pretty cool effects but it does take up a LOT of time (especially if you're as anal as me.) I've upgraded, which costs around £4.00 per month, and it does widen the scope of what can be achieved, BTW.

One mistake I make a lot is to add too much text. Sometimes, a single sentence, coupled with a striking image, is enough. Keep it simple. Learn from others. There's a lot of room for creativity, and can really bring the characters alive. I use different body parts; hands, feet, lips on a neck, the long line of a naked body but without the bits and pieces. You can get quite arty with it, but remember that the point of teasers is to draw attention to your book, so the title must be on there, and your name. If people are intrigued, they can then search for 'Closer Than Blood by Jayne Lockwood" and all the information they need is there. If you're putting the teaser on your webpage, you can link it in to Amazon (or whoever your favoured bookseller is) and they can be sent straight to the selling page.

Also, think about the genre of your book. Closer is romantic suspense, but it has an urban, grungy feel, especially at the beginning, so I used outlines and fonts that were a bit punk, a bit rock n'roll. Also, it has a corporate feel as well, so sleeker images worked well. Nothing soft and flowery, or soft focus, or overtly romantic, because it just isn't that kind of story.

And enjoy yourselves! You've created these characters, so making teasers, giving back stories, doing character interviews all bring them to life, which can only enhance the reader's pleasure if they enjoy your book.

Thanks, Ellen, for doing this interview with me. You're a champion and I really appreciate it. Xxx

Jayne's Stalker LinksBlog        https://hollowhillspublishing.blogspot.co.uk
Facebook    https://www.facebook.com/hollowhillspublishing/
Twitter        https://twitter.com/ladyjAuthor
Pinterest     https://uk.pinterest.com/ladyjauthor1/
Google+        https://plus.google.com/u/0/+JayneLockwood/about
Goodreads    https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6893372.Jayne_Lockwood

Without Regret, Broken Roads #1 by Cat Mason

Blog TourWithout RegretBy Cat Mason


Doormat. Beside that word in the dictionary was a picture of me. But, not anymore. Ironically, the decision to take my life back was in large part because I found out my Dad may lose his. With everything changing all at once, my world is spinning out of control. Then, when I least expect it, he turns it upside down. Ray Mitchell. This story is not always going to be happy, or pretty. It is raw, and sometimes brutally painful. At my lowest moments I come face to face with who I really am. The road I take is broken more than it is smooth, but there is an unexplainable beauty in being able to live your life without regret.

  Amazon | Amazon UK | iBooks | B&N | Kobo | Google PlayAdd Review Here (Delete if not reviewing)
Cat Mason is a thirty year old, married mother of three. When she isn't writing; she is spending time with her kiddos or reading. She was born and raised outside of St. Louis, Missouri, just over the Mississippi River in Granite City, Illinois. Cat writes romance of all kinds with twists of humor.Email / Facebook / Goodreads / Amazon / Twitter / Pinterest

Mack Dunstan’s Inferno by Paul Collins

Mack Dunstan’s Inferno
by Paul Collins
129 Pages
$9.49
Satire fantasy
Amazon
B&N 


Paul published his first book in 2007 and currently has three titles out.

AJ & Storm: What do you hope to achieve in terms of your writing career?
Paul: Every author wants to make a living from writing. In Canada, if one has the connections they can have that agent, contract to a big publishing house, including PR but still not make a living at it. Mainstream publishing houses offer a one year contract. Everyone knows about it but few say it. The major names in Canada won't survive on book sales but on government grants. The big publishers constantly rip off the big names, sell the movie rights, the author never gets paid, and all of them rely on government grants. In the US, if it sells, it sells. It is what it is.
 AJ & Storm: What's the most challenging thing about writing? How do you cope?
Paul: If one writes long enough, one will meet others who share the same goal. When I got involved in some writer groups, I got an eyeful. The old publishing houses are a lot like the days of the monarchy in the old country. Imagine going to a writer group. If one is lucky, one will find one bestseller present, sitting alone, looking brilliant. Rich people will come. Like bankers, lawyers, accountants. They have
big names in their own fields and they want their name on a shelf in a bookshop...Some can't write and hire a debt ridden university graduate to pen their memoir, or self-help book. Crazy but true. That's why I keep away from such groups. Only in the last few years, have I noticed writer groups popping up in major libraries. In the past, book clubs were popular but now it is writer groups. Yes, things have changed, indeed. Thus, a life of a scribbler is a lonely one and mostly goes unpaid.  Crazy but true.



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Pre-Order The Beast and The Sibyl and save 25%!

[image error] The Beast and The Sibyl by AJ Adams is up for pre-order! Save 25% by ordering now!The Beasts, those inked macho men from Prydain, are back!  The latest novel follows the story of touchy, proud, bad tempered Siv and Bliss, the sexy healer who has some super special paranormal talents.

I'm setting the pre-order price at US$2.99. When the book goes live on 10th March, the price goes up to US$3.99.  It's the best way I can think of to offer you all a discount.

Pre-Order sales points are:
Amazon USA https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XBYQFSQ
Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B06XBYQFSQ
Smashwords International https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/706972
In the meantime, here's a sneak peek....

Chapter Four: Siv

     They stood around me, giving me a good kicking.
     “Die, Beast!”
     I felt one of my ribs go.
     “Kill him!”
     Another went.
     “Let me at him!”
     Whoever it was, he was enthusiastic because I passed out. When I came to, I was locked up in a cage. Right, just like an animal. It was made of metal bars an inch thick. Old and rusted in places but solid. Lifting my head, I could see a large key hanging on the opposite wall. It was well out of reach. There was also the matter of the hog tie.
     My arms were aching, my legs were screaming, and my trashed ribs meant every breath was liquid fire. I could still feel the skin on my wrists and ankles burning with the pull of the rope, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d go numb with pain. Once that happened, I would be deader than last week’s catch.
     I was alone. They feared me so little that they’d not bothered to post a guard. Clearly they thought the rope and the cage would hold me. I’d show them they were wrong. I’d get out, kill every last hrafnasueltir and burn the place down. But how?
     Looking at the rusted bars gave me an idea. Rust is soft, but it leaves rough metal underneath. If I could wear down the rope on my wrists, I’d be free of the hog tie. The cage was small, and there was a rusty bar right next to me, so I only had to force myself onto my side. Once I was free, I’d use the rope to lasso the key.
     Right. The words were simple, but carrying out the plan was hell. I rocked up and down, forcing myself onto my broken side. Then I started sawing the cord around my wrists on the rusted bar.
     It was agony. Every muscle in my body was strained to screaming point, and my ribs were on fire. But I kept at it. I thought it was sweat running down my face and into my eyes; it turns out it was blood. It dripped all over the place, pooling underneath the bars laid on the stone floor.
     “I want a word with the Beast.” The Patriarch’s voice came floating through. “He may have information about that settlement up north.”
     He came in, carrying a bucket of hot coals. He set it down, closed the door and growled, “You cursed Beasts cost me a fortune!”
     You see, last year when we burnt down Brighthelme, we also emptied the armoury and raided the smiths’ guild. Their craftsmen are famous for their new invention, the musket, and we found out later that the Patriarch had invested heavily in their venture.
     By the look of him, he was still furious at his loss. The Patriarch rolled up his sleeves, picked up tongs and selected a coal. It flared red in the draft of the window. “You’re going to pay!”
     So much for wanting to talk to me. He didn’t even ask me what our defences were. He just went for it, touching the coal to my shoulder. It burnt white hot, searing me to the bone, making me snap like a fish on the line. As one, all the smashed ribs seized as I gasped. I bit my lips till they bled but when he did it again, I couldn’t be silent; I screamed.
     “Feel Ullr’s wrath!” the Patriarch roared.
     The coal touched me again. And again. And again. I knew I had to stay conscious. I had to move through the pain. Then, when the rassragr left, I’d get out of the hog tie. Once I was free, I’d kill him first, and slowly.
     More agonising pain.
     “Repent, Beast!”
     “Go suck Odin’s spear!”
     I think I said it, or maybe it was just a thought. I fought him but I couldn’t breathe. As the world went black, my last thought was that I’d failed. Again.
     “Fucking bastard! Poxy whoreson!”
     I opened my eyes. The room swam around me. I blinked, an effort of pure will, and it settled. The cage was open. The window was wide, too, allowing in a blast of cold air. I could smell the sea. Freedom was so close but I’d never reach it. The thought made me furious.
     “May the Lady shove her wand up his arse!”
     It was her. The ice-haired wolf maiden. Except she swore like a drunken Llanfaes mercenary. She didn’t like me much by the sound of it. Still, being a whoreson and a bastard is better than being called an animal.
     I thought the treacherous bitch had come to gloat, but then she was kneeling next to me. “May Ullr the glorious one give him boils!” She was spitting mad, but not at me. “He’s made a right mess out of you, hasn’t he?”
     So she was raging at the Patriarch. But why was she here?
     She was examining me, the blue eyes glowing as they looked into mine. She touched me, just a hand in my hair, and then I was floating.
      I rubbed the rope against the rusted bars beneath me, used it as a lasso to pluck the key off the wall, and then I was out.
     The vision flickered and died. I was gazing into those swirling eyes again. She smelled of the forest, clean, cool, and fresh, delicious but without warmth.
     “Freyja’s sweet will be done,” she whispered. “You are a tough son of a bitch, aren’t you?” She took out a little bottle and then stilled. Her eyes were locked on mine, wild as the summer skies. I was floating, lost in them, but then she sighed, bumping me back to earth. “So much for best plans. I’m getting you out of here.”
     A rescue? So she wasn’t a traitor after all! I tried to speak, but I was beyond words.
     She put the bottle at my lips. “This should help. Just a tiny sip, though.”
     It smelled of fields, and it tasted like piss. Sharp and sour, it ran down my throat. Before I could protest, I’d swallowed.
     “There.” She tucked the bottle into her skirts. “You’ll feel better soon.”
     I couldn’t feel my body. There was no pain, no sensation at all.
     She pulled out a knife, the blade shining sharply. It swept out of my sight, over my back. “I’ve cut the rope,” she said. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”
     She was clearly delirious. There’s no way a woman can lift a full-grown man.
     “It’s going to hurt, but you must keep quiet. Your life depends on it.”
     I don’t know how she did it, but one second I was lying on the rusted bars and the next I was rising in the air. She’d hauled me up over her shoulder. I was dangling uselessly, looking down at her arse. It looked pretty good. Firm yet rich.
     I must have growled appreciatively because she shushed me, adding, “Quiet now, Beast.”
     The bitch! Calling me a Beast! I was fuming, but at that moment a ripple of fire ran through me. After hours of the hog tie, my tortured muscles were knotting. It was like being burned all over again. I wanted to scream like a weak-willed girl. Instead, I buried my face in her hair. It was soft, silky, and smelled of flowers. It was comforting, but it was also damn infuriating. Being powerless was killing me.
     “Come on. We’re almost home free.”
     We were out of the cage, and then she was lowering me out the window and into a small cart. “Wait a moment.”
     As if I could do anything else. I was as useless as a barren mare. Even twitching a finger raised waves of agony.
     As I bit my lip, I heard small sounds coming from inside. A door closing. A lock scraping. Then she was climbing out the window and closing it.
     “I locked the cage and put the key back. That should fix them.” She took one look at me and frowned. “Poor Beast. You’re a sorry sight, aren’t you?”
     She patted me on the head, as if I were a damn animal, and before I could tell her to stop it, we were on the move. We trundled past a snoring guard and through the village. Not a soul stirred. It was as if there were a spell on the place.
     The wolf appeared out of the shadows, padding silently beside us. It was so unreal that I wondered if I were seeing things, the way I had when I was floating in the ocean. Except that had been comforting, while this was filled with pain. The feeling was flooding back in agonising waves. I didn’t let a sound escape me, but she knew.
     “Have another sip.”
     More of the foul stuff went down my throat. It hit my guts, burning briefly in foulness. I wanted to protest, but then the foulness dissolved into a warm glow. It suffused me, wiping out the pain.
     The blue eyes were gazing into mine. “Good. It’s working.” She put a gentle hand through my hair again. “Let it do its stuff, Beast. In a few minutes, you’ll feel better.”
     I was sinking into a cloud of warmth, so delicious that it softened even the insult. She was Eid, the Valkyrie famed for her healing skill.
     As we moved on again, I faded into a half dream, watching the village houses go by, dissolving into a country lane, then fields. We went through them, into the velvet night and into the forest beyond. There was no path but she went straight through the trees. I was in and out of it, finally coming to as the wood opened up into a meadow. In the light of the moon, I saw a hunting lodge and stables. I could hear a brook babbling nearby.
     “Home.” She didn’t seem too pleased about it. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
     She dumped me on the grass, sweet and fresh smelling, stripped off my leathers, stiff with salt where they weren’t ripped, and then she poured bucket after bucket of water over me. She was right, all the muck of the sea and that cursed village was washed clean away. I was feeling better just being clean again.
     “Up and inside now.”
     She gripped me by the upper arm, and then I was up on my feet. Kind of. Truth be, she carried me into the house. She had some evil habits, but this was a strong woman. While I resented her for it, I was secretly grateful.
     The house was as unusual as the ice maiden. From the outside, it looked like a hunting lodge like the ones owned by Prydain nobles, but it was furnished like a farmhouse. There was a plain wooden table, big sofas marked by clumps of wolf fur, and the walls were lined with shelves crammed with glass jars and bottles. Herbs hung from the rafters in bunches, and there was a cauldron hanging over a low fire.
     “Soup should be done.” She piled me onto a large chair. “Food first. We’ll fix you up after.”
     I hadn’t realised I was starving, but the scent of onions, carrots and meat made my stomach growl. When she put a bowl to my lips, I was gulping it down. The wolf was watching me, sitting on the rug by the hearth. It had a look in its eye that told me I was eating its supper.
     “You’re black and blue.” She was looking me over. “I need to see how bad this is.” Her eyes were glowing, shimmering like the summer sky. “It may hurt.”
     The second she touched my side, the vision of the gentle Eid faded. I hissed at the fire her touch set off.
     “You’ll have to suffer.” She was completely matter-of-fact. “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
     She went over every inch of me, poking and prying mercilessly. It shouldn’t have bothered me, in fact, I should have been grateful, but it was damn humiliating. I didn’t get why until she casually rolled me onto my side and put her hand on my balls.
     The goddamn cheek of her! Prodding me as if I were a steer at market! Humiliation swept through me. I wanted to yell at her, but all that came out was a low growl.
     “Stop grumbling,” she snapped. “I’m just looking!” The eyes were mocking. “Don’t be shy, Beast, I’ve seen it all before.”
     As the degrading examination continued I stayed determinedly silent. I’m a warrior. A disrespectful bloody woman feeling me up is something I can deal with easily. Except that I wanted to kill her.
     Eventually she was done. “Broken ribs on both sides, two broken fingers on your right hand, and the left wrist is sprained. Burns on both shoulders and the tops of your arms.” She sat back and considered. “You’re a lucky Beast. Thank the gods you wear leathers. If not, that whoreson would’ve torched your balls.”
     I was crossing my legs as she spoke. “Stop calling me Beast!” is what I intended to say but it came out like a snarl. The wolf was up in an instant, teeth showing and growling.
     “Lie down, Saga. He’s harmless.”
     The evil she-wolf! I wanted to slap her.
     She knew it, too. “Don’t you rage at me, Beast! I should’ve kept to the plan, overdosed you with poppy and left them to burn your corpse.” She got up and started messing about with a jug and bowls. “I’m too damn soft for my own good!”
     Right. Soft as rock. So she’d been planning to put me out of my misery. Like an animal. But my common sense kicked in and told me that despite it all, she’d intended to be merciful. Yet I couldn’t like her for it.
     She didn’t care what I thought, I could see that. She was totally intent on her task. The wolf was making puppy sounds now and dancing on tiptoes with excitement. “Here you go, Saga.”
     She put down three bowls filled with milk. I could smell it, rich and sweet. The wolf lapped it up, its eyes closed in ecstasy. I was wondering who the others were for when two cats walked in.
     Thule has always been too cold for them. I’d seen them in Prydain’s cities, but they were small creatures, ankle high and skittish by nature. These beasts strolling in were huge, with long fur, gigantic paws, massive pointed ears, and wide slanting eyes. I recognised them as kisa, the big cats that hunt in the forests.
     “Just in time for supper,” she said to them. “Did you have a good time in the woods?”
     The cats made straight for her, head-butting her knees as she rubbed their backs. It really took me aback. First the wolf and now the wildcats. This was an unusual woman.
     I should have been grateful, but to be completely helpless infuriated me.
     “Want some milk?”
     I’d let my feelings get the better of me and growled at her, but she’d interpreted my anger as a whine for food. Like I was as dependent as that damn wolf of hers.
     “Have some.” She immediately poured out a mug and put it at my lips. I should’ve refused, I wanted to, but milk is a luxury we’ve never had in Thule. When she put the cup to my mouth, its rich buttery goodness was irresistible. I gulped it down, and it was nectar.
     “Well, you’re clean and fed, but now we have to fix you up.” She was setting out needle, thread, bandages and splints. It looked like she knew exactly what she was doing. “We’ll set those fingers first.”
     I can’t remember the first time I had a bone set because we Skraeling begin scrapping as soon as we can walk. I’ve broken plenty of them since, and so I knew what to expect. It was going to hurt.
     “Want something to bite on?”
     “No.” Treating me as if I’m a cursed coward who squeals at a bit of pain!
     “Hmmm, so you can speak? Good.”
     Then she touched my hand, and all thought of snapping at her died. A broken finger or two is nothing, but setting them hurt like hell because every touch made me suck in my breath, which set off my ribs. Cleaning my face and setting my nose wasn’t great, either. By the time she was done, I was dizzy from keeping determinedly silent.
     “Come on, Beast. Lie flat so I fix your back.”
     Her words were cold and practical but her hands gentle. She flipped me over, and I was face down on the rug, being observed by the wolf and cats. We stared at each other as the witch cleaned and dressed the burns and stitched the whip cuts.
     “Sage and yarrow will help you heal,” she said cheerfully, “and comfrey will give those ribs a boost.”
     While I bit my lip and pretended it didn’t hurt, the wolf ended up lying against me, its nose by my face. It was a female wolf, and now I was in trouble, her instincts were to soothe. Women are like that. Good ones, I mean. The one that was working on me didn’t even make an attempt at nurturing. She went to work like Odin and his brothers ripping apart Ymir’s body and brain to make the world and the sky.
     I buried my face in the wolf’s neck, breathing in the musky scent, and held onto my pride. By the time she finished, though, all I had was silence. I couldn’t move. In fact, I was as weak as a kitten—and I don’t mean those hulking cat brutes that attended her.
     They were watching me with slanted green eyes, their looks as cool and measuring as hers. The wolf at least had some compassion. She was nosing my hair, her breath puffing in my ears. I’d never heard of a tame wolf before, but I decided I liked Saga.
     “Poor Beast.” I thought she was determined to insult me, but when I looked in her eyes and saw they were concerned, I understood that the ice maiden was trying to be kind. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”
     It smelled of her, and it was soft. I sank into feathers and was covered in flannel sheets and woollen blankets. I should have slept, but I was too strung out. I lay there, watching her.
     I couldn’t figure out what or who she was. She was a Skraeling, but she lived with the Prydain. That made her a traitor to us. She called me a Beast at every turn, too. Yet bringing me here meant she’d betrayed them.
     It made no sense, and in my weakened state, all I could do was gaze at her. She was the first woman of my own kind that I’d seen in years, and I didn’t know if the pain in my heart came from hurt or joy.
     She was staring into the fire. The flames illuminated the ice-coloured hair and made the pale skin glow. She was totally still, and just like the first time I’d seen her, she seemed like a creature from another world.
     Outside there was a patter of rain. It fell in sheets, the rhythmic clatter of it smothering the cackle of the flames. Time stopped. I felt as if I were floating in the sea, adrift in blankness. Then she sighed, and the world flowed again. The rain switched off abruptly, and the birds began to sing.
     “Freyja’s purse! What the hell is going on?” She looked surprised, shocked even, but it was a puzzle what was bothering her.
     She stood and stretched, showing off trim waist, long hair, and delicious breasts. I almost growled like her wolf in appreciation. Whatever she was, she was beautiful.
     I must have said something because she came to me, straightening the covers and tucking them in. “Keep quiet,” she said, “and stay put.” She was staring out into the night. “They’re coming, but they won’t find you as long as you’re quiet.” Her eyes were shimmering again. “Whatever happens, don’t confront them!”
     She set up a little wooden rack, dug into a dresser and quickly piled underclothes into it. Soft knickers and silky looking shifts in blue and green now hung in front of the bed. She opened all the cottage doors and windows, took a basket of herbs, and sat down on the stoop.
     Very soon the sun was inching over the horizon, sending golden light flooding over the meadow and highlighting the trees beyond. An hour later, just as I was about to fall asleep, a rider appeared. It was a Citizen, dressed in a velvet habit and riding a beautiful white horse.
     I was minded to get up and kill him, but before I could move, she whispered, “Stay down!” The small sound went straight through me, reverberating in my mind. I stayed down.
     “Courtney,” she stood up and called out. “Something wrong? Was someone injured during the hunt?”
     “No.” He swung off the horse. “I’ve just returned.”
     “Then you’ll have heard from the Patriarch.” She sounded cool.
     “Only the bare bones.” He stood in front of her, almost as tall as her, but not as imposing. He had red, weather-beaten skin, and he was too fat. He looked like a peasant dressed up in a noble’s clothes. “The Beast is gone. He escaped!”
     Behind him, a dozen men appeared, all carrying pitchforks, spears, and nets. They had dogs, too, straining on leather leashes and barking at the wolf. I’ve taken on a dozen soldiers at a time and creamed the bastards, but even I knew that I was in no state to take on this lot.
     Luckily for me, she was more than a match for them. She put her hand on her wolf, who sat obediently, and then addressed the peasant in velvet. “Really? How?”
     She sounded surprised. If I hadn’t known, I would’ve believed her. She looked like an honest Skraeling, but she was a typical lying Prydain. I should’ve known, but it seared my soul to see such pure beauty addled by poison.
     “We can’t figure it out! The cage was locked, and the key shut safely away. It’s like he walked through the bars!”
     “And you came here to warn me?”
     “Erm. Yes?”
     I could only see her back, but I knew she was giving him full-on ice. “And you brought twelve men with you to help you give me a heads-up?”
     “Erm, well. Erm…”
     “Oh, I see! I suppose I’m the one who set him free?”
     The yokel actually shuffled his feet. “Well, you did speak up for him.”
     “I did not!” she snapped. “I said this was the duke’s business!”
     “Erm, right, yeah.” More shuffling. “Erm, I guess some of us thought, well...”
     “That I crept out at night and took the Beast?” She sounded colder than a glacier.
     “Well, you see, the dogs followed the scent through the village but then it began to rain, and well, uhm, we thought we should just come and see.”
     “Right, and when do the dogs not want to come and see Saga? You know they’re always fascinated by her.”
     “Yes, right. That’s probably it.”
     He was looking miserable, and she was scathing.
     “Probably? What is this? Do you think I’m hiding him? Why don’t you go check my bed?”
     I was open mouthed at her brazen dishonesty. This wasn’t lying; this was taking deceit to an art form.
     Courtney glanced into the lodge, doors and windows wide open, spotted the shifts and looked away hastily. “No, no, of course not!”
     I was a dozen steps away from him, and he didn’t have a clue. She was a liar, but a part of me admired her. She’d taken them on all by herself and defeated them easily. This was more cunning than even Loki’s plots.
     “I suppose the Patriarch sent you here?”
     “Yes. No.” Courtney was looking miserable. “He said you defied him.”
     “He has no rights here. His place is the Vale. It’s you who are in charge, and I reminded him of that.”
     “Yes, yes of course.”
     “I have warned you before about the Patriarch. You know he longs to usurp your position.”
     “Bliss, I’m sorry. I guess I just forgot. He got me all riled up.”
     “I have been a loyal friend to you, but one word from that dirty, bearded fat gut and you ride here to accuse me?”
     “No! Well, yes, but it wasn’t like that!”
     He might as well have spoken to the horse. Now the woman had the yokel at her mercy, she set about beating him down. “I wonder what will upset our liege most?” she mused. “Not informing him that you found a Beast? Or letting his enemy escape?”
     “It wasn’t me! It’s all the Patriarch’s fault!” the coward cried.
     “As he’ll claim he’s Ullr’s servant, I’m sure the duke will forgive him.” She was stirring nicely, gutting the rassragr with every nasty word. “Not sure he’ll let you off the hook, though.”
     The man finally found his balls. “You can’t speak to me like that!”
     “When you don’t do your duty, Freyja demands that I do!”
     The squire went white, then red, and then, filled with rage, he turned around, got on his horse and rode off.
     “What an arsehole,” she grumbled. As the birds settled back into their song, she came inside. She closed the window and instantly the room was dark, like a soothing, warmly scented cave.
     She was talking to me as if I were a child. “You’re perfectly safe, Beast, don’t worry.”
     “Hey!” I actually snarled at her. “Stop that!”
     “Be nice.” She actually patted me on the head! “Stop grumbling at me.”
     Bitch! After calling me Beast to my face! “I could snap your neck in an instant!”
     She was shaking her head at me, looking coolly superior. “You can’t stand up or hold a cup of milk by yourself, but you’re threatening me?”
     Damn all women! They insult you and then turn every little thing against you. As if I were the kind of blackheart who would hurt her after she’d helped me. “No!”
     “Then stop snarling at me and go to sleep!”
     She marched off before I could answer. She sat down on the stoop, the wolf at her side, and went on sorting her herbs. “Arsehole,” she grumbled. “Like all bloody men!”
     Lizbeth always raged at me that way, too, she’d call me Beast and animal, knowing it infuriated me but that I wouldn’t—couldn’t—retaliate. Not after I’d promised to care for her.
     “You see, Saga?” I could hear the ice maiden talking to her wolf. “You feed them, bind their wounds, and even then, men are ungrateful buggers.” I heard the wolf moan. “Well, we’ll treat him the way we did that bear cub we found. We’ll ignore the bad-mannered snarling, get him on his feet and send him on his merry way.”
     A traitor and yet my rescuer. Maybe it was all a crazy dream, wolf included. A wave of exhaustion hit me. The bed was comfortable, and my body was at its limit. I decided I would think about what it all meant afterwards.
     “Men are villains, Saga, never forget that.”
     Yes, I’d sort it all out later. After I slept. I settled down under the covers and was out like a light within seconds.

That's it!  Hope you like it!

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Have a terrific week!
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Closer Than Blood By Jayne Lockwood

Blog TourCloser Than BloodJayne Lockwood



Forbidden passion, blackmail and murderous intent in the cold, glittering heart of Manhattan.Against his better judgement, slick hitman Frank Mancini falls for the sultry sister of his latest client. He is also hiding a dark secret, but can he get her into bed before his past is revealed? Tony Freemantle is diseased, dying and desperate. His last wish is to seek vengeance on the half-brother he blames for his misfortunes. He’s never met him. He doesn’t even know what he looks like. All he knows is that he wants him dead. Pagan Freemantle is the innocent woman who has been unwillingly caught up in her sibling's deadly plan.When she discovers she has to pay for the hit, her attempts to make a deal throws her headlong into a dangerous attraction with a man who is patently bad news. And can she trust Richard Mason, the elusive millionaire half-brother who is just a seductive voice at the end of a telephone? When a road trip to California ends with shocking revelations, it seems she can trust no-one but herself.

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I've been writing for many years, starting out at County College of Morris in New Jersey with a course in Journalism. Since then I've published five novels for Black Lace Books under a pseudonym (Savannah Smythe) and one ghostwritten book for glamour celebrity, Abi Titmuss, in 2005 (10 Fantasies.) Also, I've published two M/M erotica stories as S. A. Smythe, Lexington Black and Docklands Diamond, both available on Amazon and Smashwords.   Since then I’ve published The Cloud Seeker and Closer Than Blood, both romantic suspense novels under Hollow Hills Publishing. At the moment, I'm and I’m working on my third Jayne Lockwood novel. I draw from my experiences as an Englishwoman and my time in New Jersey. The area of the Chilterns where I grew up and where I live now is rich in inspiration, secrets and tales from the past. As an author, I have more stories inside me than time to write them!   Finally, I also write book reviews for WROTE Podcast (http://wrotepodcast.com.) WROTE stands for WRitten On The Edge, and features authors and other creatives from the LGBTQ community. I’m very proud to be a part of this venture, which was started in 2014 by myself, S.A. Collins and Vance Bastian, both terrific authors and friends. The podcast is going from strength to strength, and is a great way of getting to know some fantastic LGBTQ writers and artists.
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Review: The Vampire Mafia Complete Series By M.A. Wilder

  Title: The Vampire Mafia Complete SeriesBy: M.A. WilderPublication Date: January 1, 2017Genre: Paranormal RomanceCover Designer: James "Humble Nations" at Go On Write#thevampiremafiatour Five deadly love stories.And one dark saga. This is August, New York, where the chaotic world of the supernatural will collide with unsuspecting, vulnerable humans.  

Trouble Notorious criminal Mickey McKennan is everything Nora Evers shouldn’t want. He’s power and sex in a suit with a rogue smile, and when they meet, her world tilts as she falls in lust—until that world halts when tragedy strikes. Nora’s life quickly goes from bad to worse, and she finds Mickey at every turn. Although his deadly secrets ensure that trouble follows him, she is drawn to him more and more. But, when her past haunts her present, Nora’s life is threatened, and she is unsure of who she can count on to help her survive.  

Beautiful Everyone has a price, and thanks to the captivating Simon Handover and his proposition, Penny Ames has discovered hers. She will just need to make it through one month with him before she can flee and never look back. But, with his Clark Kent good looks and Superman swagger, Simon is more of a threat to Penny than she realizes. While fighting not to lose her heart, she stumbles into a world filled with guns, gangs, and…vampires, and soon, she finds herself also fighting for her life.  

Collateral When Sosie Savage is taken hostage by the Vampire Mafia due to her father’s mistake, the only thing on her mind is survival—until her focus begins to shift as her captors, the D’Avignon brothers, vie for her attention. Powerful yet antagonistic, J.M. and Sebastien fascinate her. Where J.M. is destructive and dangerous, Sebastien acts as the savior with his kindness. With her feelings clouding her mind, Sosie struggles to set things right in the tangled web her father weaved. But, after the D’Avignon family receives threats from rival vampires while enduring run-ins with the authorities, she begins to question her allegiance to her own family and the life that she once knew.  

Vengeful Kidnapped and tortured with no end in sight, Beau D’Avignon is certain death is imminent. That is, until Francesca Slight intervenes. Sheltered daughter of the D’Avignon’s sworn enemy, she is now also the owner of Beau’s heart. With the animosity between the leading vampire families, their newfound love is not likely to survive, especially when the escalating war threatens all their lives. Frustrated with her father’s lack of action in the search for her missing family, Bellamy D’Avignon is determined to take the reins, but along the way, she crosses paths with someone from the opposite side of the law. He’s literally tall, dark, and handsome, and their connection is immediate and undeniable. But, when a life-altering threat hits and emotions take over, Bellamy makes a decision that will change their lives forever.

AJ Adams ReviewI really enjoyed this!  I loved the way that it's one big story, told from different points of view. To come in and out of it is a lot of fun. Wish I'd thought of it!

I liked Collateral best because it has the classic pull between what we admire and what attracts us. But I think I'll read it again and then I may actually prefer Vengeful. Definitely I book I'll read again.

The characters were varied and nicely rounded. The writing flowed well, and the plot kept moving along. All in all, it's a lovely read. If you like mafia stories but you're also a vampire lover, this is definitely for you.

The only thing I wasn't too keen on was the sex in Beautiful. It was too abrupt a transition into Ds for me. I'd have made the girl an experienced sub and then it would have flowed smoother. But it's a tiny thing, and it didn't detract from the story.

“What are you?” I whisper, fear shaking my body as well as my voice.The man crouches down beside me, his gaze hungry, his movements cagey. “Don’t you mean, who?”I shake my head and wince, knowing, deep down inside, that I got my question right the first time.The stranger smiles, and it terrifies me. I can tell by the look on his face that my terror thrills him. Then, he says one word and one word only, “Vampire.” And it changes everything.

Amazon US - http://amzn.to/2iWEYQyAmazon UK - https://goo.gl/2dxOp3Amazon CA - https://goo.gl/epUZNdSmashwords - https://goo.gl/Ow59AY [image error] M. A. Wilder is a wife, mother, and native New Yorker who writes in order to retain her title as a hipster. She is a stay-at-home mom by day and a crime fighter author by night. She is also rumored to be a full-time geek, a part-time fangirl, and an imaginary superhero.
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AJ Adams & Storm Chase Interview with author Stefan McElvain

Cilla's Journey (Cosmetologist Extraordinhair Book 1)
by Stefan Angelina McElvain
85 pages

#erotica #scifi #paranormal

On extasybooksOn Amazon.com

Stefan published her first story in January 2015 and currently has 11 titles for sale. 

AJ & Storm: What did you love most about this story? 
Stefan: My first seven stories had the same main character. So for this new series, it was building a new character, and adding touches to make the reader empathize with her as a cosmetologist. The story starts when Cilla is bored and decides to get out of the salon rut. She succeeds beyond her wildest dreams and explores new behavior avenues. I couldn't help myself and added a science fiction aspect. This element becomes more dominant as the trilogy progresses, and I had fun with time paradoxes in book three.


AJ & Storm: What is it you love most about writing?
Stefan: The story. I've been writing for about three years. My wife said I was spending too much time playing silly games on the computer and challenged me to write a story. I simply started with no outline. The characters decided what would happen, and I just captured their thoughts. Alex was the result. Within five months, I'd penned a further seven stories in the same series. I couldn't stop. It's as if the story takes over and has to get out. This creative rush, is what I love the most. I have a theory about writer's block. It's the conflict between the author's preconceived outline, and what the characters actually want to do.

AJ & Storm: What is it you dislike most about writing?
Stefan: Editing. To be honest, writing wasn't initially my passion. In my working career, I classified myself as a problem solver. It didn't require creating long documents. When I started writing, I had no discipline, and to be honest I'm still learning this trade. The result was I'd completed multiple manuscripts while I still trying to find a home for Alex. Finally, I found a publisher and discovered house rules. I also had a rude awakening when my editor returned my beloved manuscript.

To keep myself sane, I now write, finish, re-read, and edit. I then do something completely different. About one month later, I start serious editing and even read the passages out loud.

This part I find difficult, as the story can stop feeling fresh. It's also extremely time consuming.



AJ & Storm: Tell us about a mistake you made in writing or publishing and what it taught you.
Stefan: Show versus tell. My first rejection letter said interesting concept, too much tell and not enough show. The beginning's too slow and long. That was it.

I asked three English majors about show versus tell and got three different and contradicting explanations. The Internet wasn't much better. I finally internalized the following rules--tell the story from one character's perspective, and that head-hopping's a no-no.

This helped, but sadly I'd written a number of stories in the interim and had to rewrite large sections of god perspective, create more dialogue, and re-work thoughts. You now know why I dislike editing. Plus, don't get me going about commas!



Stalker Links
Stefan Angelina McElvain on ExtasyBooksStefan Angelina McElvain on Amazon Stefan McElvain On Facebook
 

Review: A Way Back Into Love By Veronica Thatcher

  Title: A Way Back Into Love Series: Love Series #1By: Veronica ThatcherPublication Date: February 15, 2017Publisher: Notion PressGenre: Contemporary RomanceCover Designer: Notion Press#awaybackintolovetour Nothing is perfect. Life is messy. Relationships are complex. Outcomes, uncertain. People, irrational. But love…well, that makes everything complicated. And when you are caught in a tangled web of secrets, lies, and complex affairs, someone is bound to get burned. Emily Stevens is a spunky, spirited college girl whose life gets turned upside-down when she realizes she's in love with her best friend of fifteen years, Derek Thorpe. As Emily prepares to confess her feelings to Derek, something happens one night which changes her life forever. Five years later, Emily finds herself in Boston, alone and heartbroken. Will she ever be able to forget the past? And what will she find when she returns home...to the man she left behind?

AJ Adams REVIEW 
This is a classic love story with Emily loving Derek who ended up marrying Emma, Emily’s sister. Five years later Emily and Derek meet again and they reconnect.
First: I loved the cover. I'm hopeless at cover art and this one was so pretty!  Second, the premise was a good one, and I was also looking forward to reading something plain and romantic after reading so much dark romance recently.
This is a first novel, and it's okay but I think it needed another round of beta reading and editing.
I was a bit confused here and there with both sisters being “Em”. Really, one sister should have been renamed to Grace or whatever, because the similar names was a bit much. Also, the back and forth between cities and times could have been a bit smoother. I did like the way that the past was italicised, but with the changing third person perspectives, I wasn't sure something who was doing the talking.
What really didn't help was that the ARC had formatting issues. Some paragraphs came in huge clumps of text, and others were indented and very short. It was readable, but I did wonder if it contributed to some of the confusion. Anyway, ARCs are always plagued by little issues and I'm sure that the final copy is perfect. But for me, the lesson is to send nicely formatted ARCs to my own reviewers.
Overall, it’s a solid effort for a first novel and a light fun read overall. If you like classic romance, like Mills and Boon, you’ll enjoy this.   AMAZON US - http://amzn.to/2kgANEkAMAZON UK - https://goo.gl/Tu1KoDAMAZON CA - https://goo.gl/aOFU4KAMAZON IN - https://goo.gl/123Zsi Derek let out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Em…I mean that…It’s just this person you have become. The Emily I used to know didn’t hit on random guys at the bar."Emily crossed her arms over her chest and gave Derek a glare. "Five years is a long time, Derek. Maybe I have changed," she said, "And besides, why do you care so much?"Derek glared back at her as he replied harshly, "Oh, so you have changed so much over the last five years that now you throw yourself at random men like a…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.Emily’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened as she let Derek’s words set in. She couldn’t believe her own ears for a minute. Had Derek really accused her of being a slut? She couldn’t believe it – it all felt like a nightmare."What did you just say to me?" Emily whispered, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. "What did you just say to me?" Emily asked in a louder voice this time.Derek didn’t say a word as he continued to look at Emily coldly.Emily took a step towards Derek and narrowed her eyes. Poking Derek’s chest with the index finger of her right hand, she said in a soft yet acerbic voice, "You don’t get to call me a whore. You’ve no right to judge me. Do you hear me? You’ve no fucking right to judge me." The anger, the jealousy and the heartache combined with the alcohol she had consumed gave Emily a newly acquired courage. She felt more emboldened than she had felt in her entire life, and so, she didn’t hold back in letting out her pent-up exasperation. "You broke me," Emily continued, her words slurring slightly, "You broke me, but I am all glued up together now. And I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore." Emily finished her diatribe, her breaths coming in short pants as a result of her outburst.Derek looked into her eyes, the anger and bitterness in his eyes now replaced by confusion. "I broke you? What do you mean?" he asked in a bewildered voice, his eyebrows shooting up.Emily stepped back from him and shook her head. "Oh, you know damn well what I mean. You know what, Derek? I’m done having this conversation with you. I’m so done with this conversation and I’m so done with you," Emily spat out angrily before brushing past him."Emily, wait," Derek said, catching her by her arm. "Where are you going?"Emily spun around and gave him a bitter look before looking down at his hand gripping her arm. "Leave my arm," she said in a low yet threatening voice, "And why do you care where I’m going? It’s none of your business."Derek didn’t leave her arm in spite of her warning and said, "Em, you’ve had too many drinks. You can’t drive in this condition. I’ll drop you home."Emily jerked her arm free from his grasp and replied in a bitter voice, "Thank you, but no. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home on my own. I don’t need you to drop me home. Do you get it, Derek Thorpe? I DON’T NEED YOU!" Emily yelled the last words, causing a few people to look their way. Veronica Thatcher is an exciting new contemporary romance author. Ever since she was very young, she’s dreamed of becoming a doctor when she grew up. While still forging ahead with that, majoring in pre-med in college, she unwittingly stumbled upon a new dream—becoming a published author. Some may call her an introvert or a wallflower, but she has always found she could express herself better in written, rather than spoken, words. However, never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned she would pursue writing as a prospective career, not just a hobby. Her love for writing goes hand-in-hand with her love for a good romance novel—whether it be a feel-good, sweet romance or a dark, suspenseful one. When she’s not studying, reading, or writing, she is usually found blasting her favourite songs, sometimes singing and dancing along to them. She dabbles in a number of activities, including painting, karate, singing and dancing. She is a huge chocoholic – probably the biggest – and she is an ice-cream junkie too. She considers herself technologically handicapped forever and has no shame in admitting that. She also deems chocolates her boyfriend, Patrick Dempsey the love of her life, and Friends her life! Her first book, A Way Back Into Love, is slated for release in February 2017, and she hopes readers will enjoy it as much as she enjoyed writing it. You can reach Veronica through Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Wattpad and Gmail. Social Media Links
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/61582321-veronica-thatcher Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/authorthatcher/ Twitter - @merderlover1 Wattpad - https://www.wattpad.com/user/merder32Email - veronica32321@gmail.com
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Hunter by A.E. Fisher

MalloryI spent years running from my past. Then, when my past comes knocking in the form of dark, delicious sin, I find myself caught up in a man I shouldn’t. My son's uncle. A dangerous biker. Not to mention, an overbearing Alpha male.Hunter is everything I need to escape from, yet I find myself wanting to stay. I know I shouldn't let myself or my son care for him, but I can't help wondering if maybe he's the one who can finally save me from my past.HunterThe plan was simple. Find my nephew, bring him home, and raise him in the Black Angels like my brother would have wanted. But things never go as planned, like my nephew’s mother. My brother’s one-night stand.Mallory is spicy and sweet; one second she is mouthing off to me, and the next, she is moaning my name. The longer I’m with her, the harder she is to ignore. But she is hiding something while desperate to escape me, though I have her in my grasp. I will find out what she is hiding, and when I do, she will have nowhere left to run. Amazon US I Amazon UK l B&N l iTunes l Kobo Writing books had been a big part of my life for many years; whether it was writing in secret notebooks during class, writing amateur novels or posting stories online, I surrounded myself with it.Of course, it has its up and downs, but I've never once thought that writing wasn't for me.Because of that, I can share the worlds I discover in my head with the outside world, and although that might sound crazy to some, it's fine by me. So long as I can do what I love, I'm happy.And every person who's happy as a result of my writing is a bonus for which, I'm forever grateful for.

Lucca by Sarah Brianne

Lucca was made the underboss, being what nightmares are made of.Chloe was scarred by her past, learning too young that nightmares are real.He has waited long enough to claim her soul, but he must take it from the devil first.Her soul might have been better off claimed by the devil.The only way to save her from her past is to delve into his.The world as she knows it will come crashing down.I’m the fucking boogieman.I’m just a fucking freak. Amazon US I Amazon UK I Barnes & Noble iBooks I Kobo Amazon US I Amazon UK l B&N l iTunes l Kobo Amazon US I Amazon UK l B&N l iTunes l Kobo Amazon US I Amazon UK l B&N l iTunes l Kobo Hey! My name is Sarah Brianne and after living for twenty-two years the characters in my head told me enough was enough and I have finally put pen to paper (or is it finger to keyboard?) to tell their stories. Since I was a little girl I have watched every chick flick I could get my hands on, then when I became older I discovered a whole new world of romance novels. To me there is nothing better then a tale of true love and those are the stories that have inspired me to write. Like everything else in my life I have put my own spin on two lovers destined to be together.