Elaina M. Roberts's Blog: News from the Between, page 2

New cover, new price, new links!

Hello, everyone! There’s been some work behind the scenes that’s slowly working its way through the various systems, so I thought I’d chatter to you about it.

First up, The Wolves of Sorrow: Sorcha is the final book waiting to leave KDP Select. What does that mean? It means none of my titles will be available via Kindle Unlimited. They’ve had a good run there, but it’s just not worth limiting them to a single retailer any longer. All my other titles are available via Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo, etc including Kobo Plus, and Sorcha will join them at the end of September, 2023. Check the links on the Books page and choose the retailer of your choice.

The Fox’s Mate was overdue for a make-over, so it received a new cover to go with its new price. As the oldest of my available titles, I’ve reduced it to only 99c! The rest of the book remains the same, no edits beyond the cover, so don’t feel you have to redownload it.

It, too, is available anywhere ebooks are sold at this LINK. Like the others, I’m keeping the paperbacks on Amazon since I can’t deselect Amazon from Draft2Digital’s distribution, creating two versions on Amazon: one with Prime shipping available and one without. As physical copies make up a fraction of my sales, I’d rather avoid the confusion at this time.

That’s all for now. I’m still working on goodies to give away at the signing in October, sending more queries out for the secret project, and working on The Ravyn and Hinata.

Flash Fiction Friday – July

Hello! You all know how flash fiction is supposed to hang around 1000-2000 words? Yeah, well, that didn’t happen this month. The flash piece became a full-fledged short story at over 4800 words. It’s pure fantasy romance with swords and magic, goddesses and demons and is a bit spicier than the others.

This short has potential the same way Petri and Shoba had potential. I currently don’t have time/mental space for another series, but this one? Yeah, this one goes in the possible pile. Enjoy!

July – The Battle Maiden of Light

Tiva rested her hand on her sword’s pommel and brushed her thumb over the smooth stone set at the base. Deepest red, almost black in the shadows in which she lived, the ruby was her only nod to her past. A past drenched in sunshine and joy. The laughter of children and young lovers, the warm security of her parents’ touch. A halcyon place beneath the brilliance of the goddess’s blessing. Then the shadows came, and the temple refused to send aid.

She’d begged, begged them to help. There were innocents in the village, babes and toddlers too young for evil to twist their souls. There were wizened elders, former battle maidens and paladins still adhering to their paths. The priestesses huddled behind their marble columns and warded walls and sent them all away. One by one, the villagers approached the temple until the shadows swallowed the light, and the life, of everyone in her village.

Everyone but her.

She’d made the first plea. A child not yet a woman, she’d raced to the temple to bring the first warnings and requests. She’d brought the twentieth. And the fiftieth. None had swayed the priestesses, and the goddess hadn’t rebuked them. So, Tiva turned her back on her ruined village and lost family, turned her back on the goddess, and fled before the shadows could take her, too.

Now, the shadows were on the move again. They swallowed three homes last week and another last night. She drew her blade with a quiet, practiced move and stalked deeper into the gloom. They would not take another. Not on her watch.

Beside her, Andrje held up his fist in a silent signal to stop. She couldn’t see or hear the threat he sensed, but she trusted him now as she hadn’t trusted another being in a long, long time. They met three years earlier in a shithole tavern on the edge of the province. Tired but triumphant after a grueling mission into the deadlands, Tiva wanted only a cool drink, some decent food, and a warm bed. Food and drink were easy, the bed inexpensive, but a place to sit and enjoy her meal was harder to come by.

A local festival was in full swing, and the ale flowed freely. After dodging more than one drunken male with more confidence than competence, she considered taking her meal to her rented room. Then she saw him sitting alone at a table in the far corner.

A dark, winged warrior with jet-black hair and eyes as crimson as the ruby set in her sword. His chest and shoulders were broad with thick muscles to power the obsidian wings tucked neatly along his back. Hardened warriors stood at the bar or held up the wall rather than approach him for a seat. No one was drunk enough to encroach on an anzukir’s privacy. Tiva had watched him for a long moment, grabbed her meal, and asked if she could join him. He’d said yes, and they’d been partners ever since.

They’d clashed more than once since that day. Andrje’s morals held very few shades of grey. To him, good people were to be protected, and bad people were to be killed. It’d taken her nine months to convince him that good and evil was measured by degrees, another six to argue the punishment should suit the severity of the crime. In return, he kept her from crossing the line that kept her on the side of the light.

And she never, ever let him know just how hard she’d fallen. Not to darkness but to him. For him, she was determined to be a better person, to not let bitterness twist her into something he’d see as evil. She wanted to do better, to be better, to be someone he’d proudly call his friend. She wasn’t there yet. Her temper was ever her downfall, and the loss of her village, her family threatened to turn her cruel. Until him, she hadn’t realized just how close she’d come to taking that irrevocable step.

He held perfectly still while his gaze swept through the room. Not a breath of sound or rustle of a feather betrayed him. The anzukir were ambush hunters able to remain immobile for hours and then attack in a burst of blinding speed and savagery. Tiva… wasn’t as patient. The waiting was torturous, the shadows deep enough to hide a dozen monsters.

Andrje took another careful study of the hall before dropping his hand to his waist, palm up and waiting. She’d given him permission at the start of their partnership, but he always waited, always allowed her to close that final distance. She rested her hand on his, and magic punched into her.

The shadows fled leaving the long hall a washed-out gray color with darker patches to denote distance and dimension. Several doors lined both sides of the corridor, all of them closed. Torches flickered in the distance, the dancing flames creating lighter shadows in the stygian darkness. To their left, the cerulean outline of humans sleeping peacefully in their beds. Their sense of safety an illusion created by barred windows and locked doors. To their right, a monstrous creature limned in amber fire shifted slightly on impatient feet.

“Ergalon.” Andrje’s mental voice was a familiar rumble in her head. The big man rarely spoke aloud and never during combat. “Lord of Pain and Shadows. He’ll be a difficult opponent.”

“Weaknesses?” Her mental voice wasn’t as strong as his, this form of communication his gift rather than hers, but the magic he shared through their clasped hands allowed him to hear the thoughts she directed at him.

“Light. Fire. Silver.” He stepped closer, his body a muscular wall of heat along her left side. “The torches aren’t just for illumination. They’re for containment.”

“By whom?”

“Uncertain.” He looked around again, his head tilting slightly. “The flames are unnatural.”

She squinted then frowned. “Those aren’t sconces or torches. The fire is floating.”

Tiva knew the spell which created dancing fire spheres. All squires of the battle maidens learned it in their first year. Her fingers tightened around Andrje’s.

Once, light would’ve come at her call as easily as her blade cleared its sheath. That was before the betrayal, before the loss of her village. Before the goddess abandoned them. She felt the reassuring warmth of his warm skin beneath her fingers, the weight of the sword in her other hand. Light no longer bent to her will, but she wasn’t helpless.

“I have silver.” She angled her weapon to let the faint light glint off the runes etched into the blade. The magic required to merge the liquid silver into the etched steel had cost her a season’s worth of profits and a week in recovery, but it’d been worth it. Few monsters could withstand a strike from her blade.

“You also carry Rumylkia’s blessing.” A statement and a question, one he’d asked in many different ways over the past three years.

“The ruby honors my parents, nothing more. I have no other link to the goddess,” she spat the last word as if it were a curse. Andrje curled his fingers over hers when she made to move away, and she knew she’d betrayed too much. Her words sounded as angry and bitter as she felt.

“Tivalyn?” His crimson eyes held hers while his thumb brushed over her skin.

She broke contact for the first time since their partnership and shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for this conversation. If she was truly lucky, later wouldn’t be either. Perhaps, she thought with an ache in her heart, it was best if they parted before he learned the truth. Then she could pretend he’d miss her as much as she’d miss him.

Andrje stepped in front of her, stopping her before she could move deeper down the hall. His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, and another jolt of sensation speared through her. It was so unfair. She’d lost her family, her friends, her home, and her faith. She didn’t want to lose him, too.

His voice whispered into her mind. “So much sorrow, zecaña. So much anger. Your heart bleeds.”

She caught his hand, held it against her cheek for a heartbeat too long before pulling it away. “It’s nothing.” It would always be nothing. Anzukir didn’t mate outside their kind. The risk of bearing wingless offspring was too great. No one as skilled and honorable as Andrje would take such a chance. “We need to hurry. Morning comes.”

His frown deepened, his eyes darkening until they looked black in the pale light. She’d given too much away. Grateful for the urgency of the mission, self-appointed as it was, she moved to the door and waited. Andrje took his place by the handle and counted off on his fingers.

Three. Two. One!

Tiva entered first, rising from her roll to parry a massive paw tipped with claws as long as her hand. When Ergalon’s arm raised for a second strike, Andrje jabbed one curved kukri into the demon’s armpit and slashed across its back with the other. Its howl of fury and pain raised all the hairs on Tiva’s arms, for in that howl rang a lifetime of agony.

She dodged the demon’s kick, ducked beneath a second paw, and felt fire sear along her back. It’d managed to rake her with its claws. Gritting her teeth, she pivoted, stepped into her thrust, and slid her sword between the demon’s ribs. Twisting the blade, she tried to slice through the creature’s chest. If she could find its heart, the silver would banish it from their lands for a millennium or more.

It flailed trying to dislodge their weapons, kicking and swatting at them like they were a pair of annoying insects. A foot connected with her thigh, and she went flying. She hit the wall with a teeth-rattling thud. A sharp pain in her back signaled a cracked or broken rib, and breathing grew as painful as the wounds on her back. Another blow like that and she’d be down for good. She blinked trying to clear the spots dancing in her vision until a pained grunt pushed thoughts of everything aside except finding Andrje.

Pulling a pair of daggers from thigh sheaths, she stalked toward the shadow demon. One of Ergalon’s arms hung limply at his side from a few stubborn strips of skin and tendon. The other held Andrje’s neck in its paw. With one wing hanging at a painful angle, the anzukir clawed the demon’s wrist and gasped for air. He had no leverage with his feet dangling in the air, and with every passing heartbeat his movements grew more sluggish.

No. No! The shadows would not take the only remaining person she loved. She wouldn’t allow it. The old words coalesced in her mind, the prayers and incantations of a lifetime ago when she studied for a place among the goddess’s battle maidens.

Tiva resheathed her daggers and held her hands in front of her. Muscle memory guided her hands into the proper pattern: palms facing the demon, fingers slightly curved, thumb and forefinger touching each other. Terror warred with bitter fury. It had to work. The goddess had failed her once before, but she wouldn’t allow Andrje to die. She’d hunt the goddess like a hound after a stag should she fail.

“Iussa Rumylkia, discedien Ergalon!”

The moment the words left her lips, she leaped for her sword. If she could redirect the creature’s fury, Andrje would live. If she could find its heart, Andrje would live. He had to live. He had to. Her hands closed on the hilt, and light burst from the ruby set into the pommel. As bright as midday and welcome as a sunrise, it filled the room until no shadow remained. Ergalon bellowed in agony and stumbled back, dropping the anzukir to the floor. Tiva scrambled to stand over her beloved’s crumpled body. Ergalon would not take him a second time.

But there wasn’t a second time. A black cloud formed around the howling demon followed by hissing and an unholy stench which threatened to empty Tiva’s stomach. Time crawled, each second lasting minutes as she waited for the next strike. Waited for the demon to emerge from the shadowy gloom seeking vengeance. The cloud dissipated, the hissing quieted, and all that remained of the demon Ergalon was a pile of clothing drenched with putrid fluids.

Tiva tossed aside her blade and knelt beside Andrje. Dark bruises marred his throat, blood seeped from several claw marks on his chest, one wing twisted at an odd angle, but his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. He lived. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she checked his pulse. It was too fast and too weak, but it was there. Relief flooded her, and she pressed kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, and even his lips. It was a stolen intimacy he’d never know, and she’d never forget. It would carry her through the days and years to come.

Ten days later, Andrje entered her room as she was packing her gear. She’d spoken to the healer on one of her many visits. The temple had done its best, but they didn’t have enough knowledge of the anzukir to have confidence in their healing. He needed to return to his people to ensure his injuries healed completely. They’d done all they could for his wing but couldn’t be certain he’d have full mobility without seeing an expert. Tiva wouldn’t begrudge him the care he needed, refused to see him grounded for her selfish need to keep him close, but she also couldn’t be here when he returned.

“Is it time to go?”

His clan weren’t comfortable landing in a human town, so they’d agreed on a meadow across the river. She couldn’t go with him, but she could ensure he remained safe until in the hands of his own people. Then she could let her heart break.

His hand closed over hers, his skin warm with life and callused from years of bladework. “Tivalyn.” She stared at his hand and tried to burn another sensation into her memory. The thought of never again hearing his voice inside her mind threatened to drive her mad. “Tell me why your soul weeps, zecaña.”

She shook her head. All she had left was pride, so she wrapped it around herself like armor. “It’s nothing. We should go if you’re to arrive on time.”

He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her around to face him. When she wouldn’t look at him, he nudged under her chin with his other hand. “Please don’t cry.”

He wasn’t going to let this go. Scrambling for something, anything to say to distract him, she offered him one truth to hide the bigger, more painful one. “The healers tell me high emotions are to be expected. Shock, relief, and the other stuff.” The goddess’s magic continued to sing through her veins more potent now than it had ever been in her youth. She offered him a smile and a shrug. “They say it’ll level out eventually.”

“Don’t lie to me, zecaña.” He released her chin to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears which refused to stop. “You’ve always held a knot of sorrow in your heart, but it’s grown over the past year until it’s an agony I can no longer ignore. Tell me why you hurt.”

Closing her eyes, she knew it was time. “When I was fourteen, the shadows crept into our village. One or two houses at first, then six or seven. Livestock stripped to nothing but bone, entire families lost. I was training to be a battle maiden, so I begged the temple for aid.”

“What did they do?”

“They refused,” she whispered. “Two days later, the entire village was lost. All my friends. My parents. My sister and her new babe. Dead.”

“Why didn’t they help?”

He’d tugged her closer until she stood in his embrace. Goddess, it felt so right. She allowed the hold for a handspan of heartbeats before she took a step back. It felt right, but it wasn’t.

“Because it was my fault.”

Now that she’d admitted her crime, the words wouldn’t stop. She told him of the foraging trip into the forest outside the village, of finding the crumbling wall of stone set into a hillside. She’d tossed a light enchantment into the gap between stones and marveled at the cave lined with sigils and ancient paintings.

“I tore down the wall,” she confessed. “I set it free, and the temple could not aid one who’d committed such an act. They escorted me out of the temple and barred the doors in my face. I returned almost every day. I begged them to help the others, offered myself as sacrifice to the demon if they’d save my family and friends. They did nothing.” The anger and guilt and bitterness continued to eat at her soul. “I set Ergalon free, and it repaid me by trying to destroy everything I ever loved.”

Unable to bear seeing Andrje’s handsome face twisted in disgust, Tiva snatched her satchel off her bed and headed for the door. She’d replace anything she’d yet to pack, but she couldn’t stay another second.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her against a familiar hard chest. He pressed his lips over the racing pulse in her neck, his words harsh and angry in her mind. “Self-righteous, arrogant fools! You were a child, zecaña, with a child’s curiosity. Rumylkia’s priests should’ve sensed Ergalon’s evil and dealt with it. That they did not and blamed you for their incompetence tells me all I need to know about that temple.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I set him free.” She stressed each word. “Not some random kid on a dare. Me, an apprentice to the goddess’s battle maidens. I betrayed everything Rumylkia stands for.”

“Then why did she answer your call?”

She’d asked herself the same question for the past ten days and arrived at the only logical conclusion. “To save your life.” The goddess had answered her plea because Andrje was worthy of her aid.

“The anzukir aren’t her people. I think she did it to save yours.” He rubbed his cheek against hers before returning his lips to her neck. She shivered as pleasure zinged through her. He laughed suddenly, the sound soft and warm against her skin. “Now I know she did it for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at your hands, zecaña.” He nipped sharply at her neck before bathing the sting with his tongue. “You’re glowing.”

Tiva wasn’t sure if he was being serious, because it felt like her skin was on fire. His lips at her throat had ignited a bonfire of desire that demanded more—more of his touch, more of his lips, more of him. Goddess help her, she had to get away before she did something stupid like beg him for a real kiss.

“Andrje!” He’d tightened his hold again until his arms felt like steel bands caging her against him. She was strong, had been strong for years, but no one was that strong. She had to get away. “Let me go.”

“No. Look.”

He took her hand in his and brought it up to her eyes. She blinked then stared, certain it was an illusion. Raising her other hand, she turned them both this way and that, but he’d told the truth. A soft yellow glow emanated from beneath her skin limning her in the goddess’s light. She’d never seen it in person, but she’d heard about it during her time in training at the temple. Only those who’d felt the divine touch of Rumylkia received her blessing. The aura branded her as beloved of the goddess, a high priestess of the light.

“But… why?” Why her, and why now?

“I don’t know.” A press of lips against her neck, the glide of his callused hands across her bare stomach. He’d slipped them beneath her shirt. Blessed light. “But I do know your goddess would never touch one who carries evil in her heart. You are not the monster you believe yourself to be.”

“It doesn’t change what I did.”

“No, but maybe with her help, you can view it from a different perspective. You were a child, zecaña.” He repeated.

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He didn’t know the temptation he dangled before her. She’d trained to serve beneath the goddess’s banner for most of her life. The realization she might truly be worthy of such service almost blunted the pain of the lonely years before her. Almost.

“Now.” He walked backward and pulled her with him, his lips brushing along her neck and his hands roaming higher until one settled beneath the weight of her breast. She bit back a curse. “Will you stop trying to leave me?”

“We’ll discuss it later. You need to get to the clearing.” Goddess save her, he was driving her insane. He’d begun to brush his thumb over the underside of her breast, her thin wrap doing little to block the warmth and feel of him. Feather soft and fleeting until her skin was afire with sensation. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. What was he doing?

“I’m seducing you. What do you think I’m doing?”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to read that, but she couldn’t maintain her mental shields with his mouth on her pulse, his hands on her bare skin. Months of shielding crumbled with every teasing caress. She had to get out of his embrace.

“Why do you need to leave?”

“I.” She arched her back when his thumb brushed her nipple, nearly sobbed when he returned his hand to her stomach. He was toying with her. He had to be. She hadn’t believed him capable of such cruelty. “Please, just let me go.”

His body went motionless, his arms tightening around her until it bordered on pain. “Is that what you think of me?” His voice, deep and harsh and furious, echoed not in her mind but in the room. He’d read her thoughts again and spoken aloud. “Do you really believe I’d treat you as prey to be hunted, used, and discarded?”

“I’m not anzukir! It doesn’t matter what I think or how I feel. When it’s time for you to settle into your clan and take a mate, it won’t be me. It can’t ever be me. I can’t have you and then watch you walk away, Andrje. I won’t. It would destroy me.”

The words hung in the air like a magician’s spell or the final toll of a bell. Tiva felt the blood rush from her face at the realization of what she’d said, what she’d confessed. Telling him about Ergalon had been a breeze compared to this. She had to go. Now. She couldn’t bear his pity.

At her first struggle, he tossed her onto the bed and pressed his full weight on top of her. The shock of feeling him against her in such a position stole her breath, and then he kissed her. It wasn’t tentative or playful or chaste. It was joyful savagery and furious victory. It was a claiming. His mouth, his tongue, even his teeth demanded her surrender. His hand closed over her breast, and she gasped. He took advantage and deepened the kiss.

Tiva didn’t fight him. She wanted this more than she wanted her next breath, had dreamed of it for months. Later… She slammed the door on those thoughts. She’d deal with the aftermath later.

“Do you know,” his mental voice was hoarse, his lips hot on her throat, “what zecaña means, Tivalyn?”

She felt the cool kiss of a blade seconds before her shirt fell away to leave her exposed to his touch. He closed his hand over her bare breast and squeezed. He teased her nipple with his thumb, pinched it until it hardened into a tight little nub, then soothed it with his tongue. Light save her, she screamed.

“Answer me.” He paused to stare up at her, his lips wet and glistening in the glow which illuminated her body.

“N-no.” He expected her to talk? Now?

His laugh was dark and wicked, his lips on her breast even more so. “So responsive, my zecaña. So deliciously sensitive to my touch.” He rose to cup her face in his hands. His eyes were pools of crimson fire, but his smile was luminous. “As a mate should be.”

“Mate?” She gripped his wrists as hope battled against her fear.

“Yes. You, Tivalyn Shadow-Killer, blessed and beloved of Rumylkia, are my mate. My zecaña.”

She shook her head. “I can’t be your mate. I’m not anzukir, Andrje. You deserve a family, children you can be proud of.”

“And I will have them. With you.” He frowned. “Is that why you’re so determined to leave? Zecaña, I love you, want you, not any fledglings we may or may not bear together.”

“What if they lack wings?”

“They will until they’ve seen at least three winters. Your humanity won’t affect that.” He settled on top of her again, his fingers gently wiping away her tears. “Anzukir traits are dominant. Our children will fly. Humans see our infants and jump to conclusions. It doesn’t make those assumptions true.” His kiss was a tease of soft licks and gentle nips. “My father is human, zecaña. I swear to you, our children will fly.”

Tiva traced his lips with trembling fingers. Either she’d died fighting Ergalon or this was a dream. She didn’t care which was true as long she could hold him, claim him for this small moment in time.

She kissed him and tasted the salt on her lips. Tears continued to leak from her eyes, hope and heartbreak overflowing until she couldn’t think. If this was a dream, she’d deal with the pain when she woke.

“It’s no dream.” His voice rang in her head in a gently exasperated tone touched with tenderness. “I swear it.”

He stopped trying to convince her with words and used touch instead. Tiva drowned in sensation as every caress, every suckling kiss led her closer and closer to ecstasy. When they came together, his body hard and strong inside her, her resistance shattered. This was where she wanted to be, was meant to be. With her hands in his hair and her mouth on his, she claimed him as he’d claimed her. For as long as he’d have her, he was hers.

“You’re still glowing.” Andrje lay beside propped on his elbow. His expression was smug and self-satisfied as he ran his hand lightly from her shoulder to her thigh and back again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know how to control it.”

“First, you must accept it, child.”

“Who’s there?” Tiva jerked upright only to be tugged back down against Andrje’s warm body.

He shifted until she lay half beneath him, his wing draped over her like a downy blanket. “Think, zecaña.”

Think. Right. He’d just loved her into an incoherent pile of sated goo, and he expected her to think. Stroking her fingers along the underside of his wing, his feathers warm against her skin, she tried to focus on the mystery voice instead of tugging the sinfully gorgeous anzukir down and demanding round two. Who’d dare enter their room? Their locked and warded room. Her eyes widened.

“She’s here?”

“I am wherever you are.” The voice was at once soft and blinding, as dim as twilight and blinding as midday. It echoed in the room, in her mind, in her very bones. Rumylkia, Lady of Light and Life, was speaking to her. “I have battled Ergalon since the dawn of time and will do so until the end. Long has he held the advantage, trapping me in his prison of shadows and darkness. By destroying his mortal form, you set me free.”

“It’s my fault,” she began. The guilt which stalked her steps for a decade surged forward and gripped her by the throat.

“NO.” The single word held the weight of a command. “Ergalon traced your power to the village and placed his trap. He knew the threat you posed and sought to destroy you. The seal on his tomb was already broken when he set his trap. I have wreaked vengeance on those responsible.”

“What do I do?”

“Accept your place as my champion. There is time enough later for the rest.”

Tiva searched for Andrje’s hand and held it in a bloodless grip. So many changes in her life. So many blessings. So much responsibility. His wing stroked along her side in a tender caress, and suddenly she could breathe again.

“I accept.” She held Andrje’s gaze as she spoke, her words a pledge to both her goddess and her lover. Her mate. His smile glowed as bright as a goddess’s light, his joy everything she could’ve ever wished for.

copyright 2023, Elaina Roberts

The Wolves of Sorrow are going wide!

Yes, I announced this was the plan a few weeks ago, and it’s finally here. Mostly. I’m still waiting on some retailers, but they’re marked as taking longer so I’ll go with what I have. I’m using Draft2Digital as the aggregate site which pushes to the larger markets like Kobo, Apple, and Barnes & Noble, and I am placing the entire series in Kobo Plus. They’ll also be available on Overdrive, so ask your library for a copy!

Below are the links to the first four books in the series. Sorcha will join them in September once she’s out of KU. I haven’t decided to place Hinata in KU or release her wide straight off. We’ll see how sales go.

Click here to order Shoba from your preferred retailer.

Click here to order Brienne from your preferred retailer.

Click here to order Izabel from your preferred retailer.

Click here to order Jelayan from your preferred retailer.

Sorcha is now Live!

Sorcha, the fifth book in the Wolves of Sorrow series, is now live on Amazon. Searching for her place on Barif, Sorcha buried herself in her studies. That is until Zahar walked into her life and walked away with her heart. Now she’s trying to navigate a relationship, an assessment exercise, and an unknown saboteur with a certain wolf in their sights.

Sorcha releases as an Amazon exclusive, the ebook and paperback links are here. It’s enrolled in Kindle Unlimited for the first 90 days. After that, I plan to go wide with not only this book, but all the Wolves of Sorrow and Edgeworld books as soon as they’re free of their KDP Select obligations.

Read on for an excerpt.

She adjusted the device’s frequency another tic and listened. Nothing. Either the receiver wasn’t picking up, or Rifaniir speech was outside known Earth measurements. Maybe it didn’t have to do with sound frequencies at all but some other measurement unknown to the hybrids left by the humans. She bared her fangs at the device, her wolf in complete agreement at tracking down this prey.

“Does that work?” asked a voice as smooth as melted chocolate, rich and dark and sinfully appealing. The first time she tried the exotic treat, she’d devoured piece after decadent piece until she was ill. She wanted to do the same now, just wallow in a voice which was a sensuous feast for her ears.

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

Sorcha looked up and discovered a Rifaniir male as compelling as his voice. Of medium height and with the sleek build of a desert scout, she’d seen him around the campus many times. Sometimes talking to other students, sometimes the instructors. His ability to blend into a crowd was muted by the dominant strength which buffeted her senses any time their paths crossed. Handsome and charming he might be, but that strength was a potent reminder to her wolf that she faced a predator.

She shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare and scowled at him. Predator or not, this was just rude. “Do you plan to sit or just loom?”

His laughter tugged at something deep inside her and invited her to laugh with him. He’d sheathed his claws today, choosing to charm rather than intimidate. “Since you asked so kindly, I believe I’ll join you.”

He settled at the base of a nearby tree, one muscular leg stretched out before him, the other bent at the knee. Even in the dappled shade, his skin gleamed a golden brown. The mottled sunlight created highlights and shadows over the harsh angles of his face. His only point of softness, a full bottom lip made for a wolf’s nipping kisses. He was stunning.

Scowling harder at her crazed thoughts, she made another adjustment on the device. “What do you want?”

Okay, yeah, that was rude, but he was just too much. Too playful. Too dangerous. Too impossibly gorgeous with the silver starlight glittering in his midnight eyes, and streaks of the same metallic hue in his dark brown hair. His scent teased her wolf, the soothing notes of sturdy pines and rich, moist soil oddly familiar. There was something else, something subtle stalking between the trees and lurking beneath an unexpected bite of ozone. That missing note served to remind her the Rifaniir were ambush predators who struck like a flash of lightning.

“If you’d prefer I go, I will,” he said quietly. No playfulness in him now. His voice held only sincerity and a note of regret.

She set the device in her lap and ran her fingers through her hair. “Sorry, I’m being rude. I get snarly when I’m frustrated, but I shouldn’t take it out on strangers. I’m Sorcha.”

“Zahar. What’s made you growly?”

“Nothing for class.” She rotated the device in her hands, debating whether or not to reveal its purpose. The warriors in the pack believed the Rifaniir would object, but Sorcha wasn’t convinced she could complete the build without help from one of the natives of this planet. It was a gamble. She wasn’t ready to trust this too-curious stranger, but she couldn’t deny its existence. Maybe he’d unintentionally reveal a clue. She tossed it over to him with a smile. “Guess.”

Wolves of Sorrow: Sorcha, June, 2023

Flash Fiction Friday – June

I’ve gotten things back on track with the monthly flash prompts, so here’s June on time and ready to go. Funny story about this flash piece. It was supposed to be May’s entry with the main character named Emeralda (Emerald) instead of Alexandra (Alexandrite). Since I didn’t have it queued up, I thought I’d skipped writing it, wrote a new one, then found this one when I saved the one I posted for May. *sigh* I swear I’ll do better. Maybe.

For now, enjoy June’s dragons!

June – A Vengeance of Dragons

Xandra checked on each of her fellow prisoners before sliding down the cold stone wall of her cell. The sisters, Avril and Marta, huddled in one corner, their faces streaked with tears and gazes watchful. They were the youngest but not the weakest. Not by far. Jules hovered over her bondmate’s supine form and dabbed at the blood on the broad woman’s battered face. They’d all agreed to this plan, but the slavers’ unholy glee at inflicting Garnet’s wounds had changed things. She and her own bondmate would have to remind the others to keep to the plan or this would never end.

Looking through the bars, she met Aralik’s gaze. Blue fire licked in his reptilian eyes. A sign he walked the razor’s edge of fury.

“How is she?” His mental voice held the biting frost of a harsh winter. It was a voice without mercy, without pity. Things died in such temperatures. Humans died.

“Not as bad as she looks,” she replied in kind. “They’re all surface cuts that’ll heal in the next few minutes. Her unconsciousness and Jules’ worry are a show for our audience.” Their fury, on the other hand, was all too real. And they did have an audience. The slavers had a pet wizard who’d placed a watch stone on the cell’s ceiling. “They’ve lived around humans far longer than the rest of us. They know what they’re doing. Any injuries in your group?”

“Rijen is in a similar state as Garnet, and like her, it’s all minor.”

“Then we wait.”

“Yes.” Aralik’s mental voice was a sinister purr of sound which made her shiver. Not from fear. No. That hint of coiled danger, of stalking menace was what had drawn her so many centuries ago. He reserved that tone for only two things: murder and sex. Tonight, it was both. It made her eager to be done with these slavers and drag him back to their lair.

“Stop flirting,” she scolded softly.

“Make me.”

Hiding her smile, because a terrified “human” woman wouldn’t smile in such circumstances, Xandra leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t use her magic tonight, but holding this form taxed her strength more than she liked. Much as it pained her to be so constricted, she needed to squeeze in a few hours of training each week until it was effortless. Her lips quirked. Perhaps she’d convince Aralik to shift as well. His human form was surprisingly attractive.

“…in luck. We grabbed a new bunch just last night. Haven’t had a chance to check ’em for diseases or rid ’em of unwanted brats.” Jules sucked in a breath, her human form flickering before she got her rage under control. The older woman was part of the wing working as midwives and brood mothers. They held the woman’s choice as sacrosanct.  For these humans to take away that choice was a crime which demanded only one sentence. Death. “Had to teach a few some manners, but the others fell into line soon enough. What d’you wanna see first?”

“The women,” said a silken voice. “I’m in need of a new playmate.”

The slaver rasped out a husky laugh. “Break another one so soon?”

“Her mind was weak.”

Xandra’s formed flickered as she fought to control her emotions. Their tones held no more care for the lives they ruined than if they discussed tossing out a frayed dishrag. She felt her mate’s fury along their mental pathway and knew their plans would evaporate the moment the key turned in the lock.

No matter. She was good at adapting.

The door swung open revealing the slaver who’d “ambushed” them during their picnic along the river. “Any one of you bitches move ’n I’ll gut you.” He stepped aside.

The buyer stepped in and scanned the cell. He was shorter than the average adult human male, just over 1.5 meters tall, and reed-thin. He wore no facial hair and kept his deep brown hair pulled back in a queue. His eyes were dark, his expression bored, and his clothing expensive. And he was oddly familiar.

“Carlisle Bainbridge of Coldwater.” Aralik’s voice growled into her mind.

All the pieces clicked into place. Coldwater sat on the very edge of Xandra’s and Aralik’s territory, a human-only village which wore its xenophobia with pride. Only humans could purchase land. Only humans could run shops and pubs. And only humans could trade within their borders.

The village sat in a pocket of unclaimed territory between her domain and Rijen’s. With none of her kind overseeing the humans, they couldn’t force the issue. But as she couldn’t order them to pull their heads out of their asses, they couldn’t command merchants to trade with them. As her lands grew and prospered, most traders altered their routes around Coldwater. Instead of becoming a vital market hub with all the revenue that entailed, Coldwater became an afterthought.

This was why the slavers targeted her territory and only her territory. Carlisle Bainbridge had vowed to reap his vengeance from her and her mate and used her people as pawns in his game. No more.

She touched each of her sisters’ minds, felt Aralik do the same for his brothers. “We are in the dungeons beneath Castle Coldwater, ten pathetic meters below the castle floor. I want Bainbridge and the slaver alive, the dungeons searched, and the castle razed to the ground. Let this serve as a warning to others who dare harm those beneath our care.”

“The townsfolk?” Garnet’s soft growl.

“If they attack, they die.”

Magic lay heavy in the air, the suppressed might of nearly a dozen adult dragons. The guards outside the cell shifted their feet. The slave leader mopped sweat from his brow. But inside, Carlisle Bainbridge had fixed an avaricious eye on Marta. The dragon’s human form had been carefully crafted to appeal to such a man—young, scared, and terribly naïve. At only 125 years old, she’d still had plenty of time to practice this act. It was flawless, and Bainbridge fell for it like all the others.

“Girl!” He pointed at Marta then at a spot in front of him.

Marta whimpered and cowered behind her sister while a gentle hum drifted from the men’s cell. Aralik’s song. Carlisle barked his order again. The humming song quieted until the two guards took a step closer in order to hear it better. Marta sobbed and inched closer, closer. Each step mirrored by the guards outside. When she reached Carlisle, the guards were pressed against the cell’s bars. When she bowed her head to the human leader, the guards unlocked the cell’s door. And when she knelt in supposed submission, the guards drew their blades and stabbed each other in the heart.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Carlisle smiled down at his chosen prey with cruel satisfaction, and the slave leader rubbed his hands together as if he was already counting his coins. Then the bodies hit the floor with a clang of their swords on the cell’s bars, and chaos reigned.

The battle was woefully underwhelming. Xandra managed to eat a single slaver during the combat, not nearly enough to satisfy her furious hunger. Bainbridge’s personal guard consisted of skilled warriors, but the castle was poorly defended. The human village could have stormed the castle and overtaken it with minor casualties.

She landed in the center of Coldwater village, Carlisle’s broken body in her claws, and Aralik landed beside her holding the slave leader. The remaining wing of dragons circled the town like hungry vultures searching for a meal. No one would be allowed to leave until she was satisfied. Until they knew the consequences for going into a dragon’s territory and harming those beneath her protection.

“Humans!” Xandra bellowed the words vocally and mentally. “To me. Now.”

Doors opened and the townspeople crept their way toward the city center. Some had faces wet with tears, others wore scowls. Among the fear and the fury were a few bright spots of relief, of gratitude, of welcome. So, not everyone supported Bainbridge’s hateful rhetoric. They’d do well in her territory.

“That’s all of them, Alexandra,” Garnet said into her mind ten minutes later.

“Thank you. Did you wish to return to your lair?” she asked in the same manner.

“We’ll stay. I want to see that bastard die.”

Xandra turned toward the crowd let the sunrise ignite her color-shifting scales into a kaleidoscope of greens and reds. On her left, Aralik’s deep blue scales shone with brilliant turquoise fire. Several of the humans fell to their knees. She didn’t blame them. Her mate was a beautiful dragon.

“Coldwater was outside my territory,” she began. “For this reason alone, I left you to govern yourselves as you saw fit. Instead of forming a prosperous and welcoming community, you built a bastion of hate where slavers felt welcome to practice their despicable trade. No more. Coldwater and all other unclaimed land south of the Hallowswift River now belongs to me. You don’t get to prey on my people without consequences.”

Angry murmurs grew into furious shouts. The mob had turned, their numbers giving them a false sense of safety. They thought she wouldn’t punish them all? They were wrong. The only things holding back her ire were the children. They remained innocent in all this. At her signal, June flew over, snatched the most vocal malcontent from the crowd, and made a show of pulling him apart piece by piece and eating him. Tattered strips of bloody clothing drifted into the suddenly silent crowd.

“Anyone else?” she asked.

A tall woman with a jagged scar across her cheek pushed through the villagers. Her clothes were torn, dirty, and bore the signs of repeated repairs. Her dark brown hair hung to her waist, as matted and dirty as her clothing. She held the hand of a young boy. A brother, perhaps.

“I have a request, Mistress Alexandra.” Her voice was at odds with her appearance. Refined and smooth as the finest wine but with a bite of spice. An intriguing mystery. Xandra nodded for her to continue. “I want him,” she pointed toward Bainbridge, “to suffer. I want to hear him scream and beg and know it’ll be ignored. I want to watch his blood stain the floor drop by drop, a slow countdown to his own death. One he can watch but cannot stop. I want his limbs hacked off with dull blades. Then I want him healed so it can happen again and again and again. Do this, and I’ll pledge my life to you forever.”

Xandra passed Bainbridge to her mate and motioned for the pair to come closer. The woman’s pupils dilated, and a sheen of sweat formed on her brow, but she stepped forward. Xandra lowered her head until they were as close to eye-to-eye as a dragon can be with a human.

“What did he do to you?” she rumbled.

“Dixon can’t hear,” the woman replied and brushed her hand over the boy’s hair. “The healers tried to help him, but as it wasn’t an injury—he was born this way—there was nothing they could do. Bainbridge declared him cursed and therefore a threat to the purity of Coldwater. He’s not cursed or a threat, mistress. I swear it. Bainbridge…” She let her voice trail off.

“…attempted to kill the boy, and you stepped in.” Xandra raised a claw and lightly touched the scar on the woman’s face. To the human’s credit, she didn’t flinch though the color drained from her cheeks.

“Yes, mistress,” she whispered. “We’ve been in hiding ever since. He’s just a boy.” The last was a whispered plea.

“It will be done. Do you have ties to this place?” The woman shook her head. “Very well. When this business is done, you will both come with me. A child can’t thrive in a village which would turn away from him.”

“So soft-hearted you are, Alexandratrixian.” Aralik’s approving voice growled into her mind.

“It’s how I captured the finest dragon for my very own,” she said along their mental path born of their mating. His rumbly laughter caused more than a few humans to cringe in fear, certain he would eat them.

“I’ll install a new mayor once this fool,” she reclaimed Bainbridge from her mate and raised him for the crowd to see, “has breathed his last. We will be watching and listening. Turn on us, and you’ll join him in the square. Consort with slavers, and you’ll join him in the square. We will not be merciful.”

They killed the slaver first. He lasted a mere eighteen hours, and his death drew more than one gasping moan from the crowd. When he shuddered through his final breath, Aralik placed his head on a spike in Coldwater’s town center for all to see. They’d remove it in a week if the carrion birds hadn’t stripped it clean.

Bainbridge was another matter. Xandra took her time with him. A few cuts here, some minor broken bones there. They kept him conscious while she ripped off his fingers, toes, and genitals. She made him watch as she ate the flesh with great relish. Those who couldn’t avoid the village square paled at the butchery, some vomited, but they all understood. This was a reminder that humans weren’t the apex predator here. They never had been.

While Xandra and Aralik cheerfully carved up Carlisle Bainbridge, the rest of the flight searched for their missing people. Some were found. Others lost forever. None were as they’d once been. It would be a long road for the tormented survivors, but with her healers and the humans under her care, they’d do their best to grant them some measure of peace. She could never undo what they’d suffered, but she could promise she’d never allow such evil to stalk her territory again.

It would have to be enough.

copyright 2023, Elaina Roberts

Flash Fiction Friday – May (Oops?)

Yeah, so May ran away… somewhere. I don’t know what happened. I changed my perpetual calendar over the weekend and it still read April, so that’s where I am right now. What this means is you’ll get a flash piece on this weird Monday, and another next Friday, the 16th. Unless I lose another month again. Maintaining schedules isn’t my strongest suit. Anyway, here’s May’s flash piece. Enjoy!

May – Emerald Fire

Emily drew in a calming breath and silently repeated the mantra she’d used for most of the night. Prison orange is not my color. Prison orange is not my color. Prison. Orange. Is. NOT. My. Color. It wasn’t helping.

“Mr. Harold,” she said through teeth clenched so hard her jaw hurt. “Remove your hand from my ass before I cause a scene you’ll regret.”

Today was May Day, the traditional date for forging new contracts and reaffirming existing ones, and Porter Industries had thrown their annual party in celebration. She wasn’t one of the big names on the guest list, but as the owner of a thriving art studio with several famous clients and students, she was still a guest. She was not, as one of her fellow guests had decided, part of the entertainment. His harassment had gotten really old really quickly.

Oh, she hadn’t noticed it at first. The brush of a hand across her butt while in a crowded part of the room could be explained away as accidental, as could the fleeting touch on her breasts when he reached across her to grab a glass of wine from a passing waiter. Then it happened again. And again. Always from the same person and always accompanied by a laughing apology that said the man knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed it. She was going to kill her previous partner for allowing him cut in.

Desmond Harold’s hand slid back to her waist, but his smile never faltered. He was more charismatic than handsome, and she was certain a lot of women had followed that smile into a bedroom. If rumors could be trusted, a few men had done so as well. Desmond Harold wasn’t picky about his partners, and neither was his wife. The constant influx of partners and the drama they created lured the gossip magazines to every function the pair attended like vultures waiting for kill. Emily refused to become a story on page three, even if she had been tempted. His business could handle such philandering. Hers couldn’t.

“Truly?” His smile morphed into a grin of cruel delight. “Amuse me, please, and tell me what you would do that I’d regret.”

She didn’t trust that smile at all. If vipers could smile, it’d look exactly like that, and she refused to be prey to this arrogant jackass. “Well,” she said in the sweetest voice she could muster, “if you touch any part of me not required by this very sedate dance one more time, I’m going to lodge my right knee into your left nostril via your dick. You’ll have to blow your nose every time you piss just to clean up. Will that suffice or should I demonstrate?”

His fingers dug into her waist as fury flared in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

“May I cut in?” a smooth voice asked into the tense silence.

“Of course.” Harold’s tone was all politeness, but his eyes promised retribution. “I have an urgent business matter to attend to anyway.”

Emily turned toward her new partner and nearly swallowed her tongue. Maximillian Darrow, owner of the nightclub Envy and sexiest man alive for three years running, offered his hand. Damn. He looked even better in person. She placed her hand on his and let him lead her back onto the dance floor with smooth, graceful steps.

“I appreciate your help, Mr. Darrow,” she said as they moved easily between the other couples. “But if you’ll dance me toward the door, I think I’ll slip away.”

“Dance with me first. If you leave now, Harold will know he’s upset you.”

His eyes flickered with emerald flames reminding her that Maximillian Darrow was something other than human. Of all the magic touched who’d risen since the Awakening, he was the most compelling and the most mysterious. He moved among the rich and powerful of both humans and magic touched, dated gorgeous women and the occasional man, and operated an invitation-only club every person at this very polite party would kill to get into. He gained nothing by helping her, and that made her suspicious of his motives.

“There’s always a Desmond Harold at these sorts of things. I can handle him.”

“Will you at least allow me to escort you home?” His thumb brushed her side and sent a shiver down to her toes. Such a small touch to affect her so greatly. “I don’t trust him.”

She frowned. “Why? I mean, I know why you shouldn’t trust him. Hell, I don’t trust him. But why escort me home? What do you hope to gain from this, Mr. Darrow?”

His smile was devastating, and his laugh addicting. Good god, this man was a menace to her good sense. “So suspicious. I approve. As for the escort, I’ve seen this play out before. He’ll be waiting at the door in his limo. If you go with him, you’ll be another conquest on page three. If you don’t, you’ll make the front page with headlines like ‘Look inside for the full scoop’ or ‘Lover’s quarrel goes public!’ I’m sure you don’t want that.”

“Okay. I get that. What I don’t get is why you’ve gotten involved at all.”

“Because you fascinate me, Ms. Carr.”

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline and probably beyond. She fascinated him? On what planet? Regardless of his obvious lie, she didn’t push. Truth was she was nervous about leaving. Desmond Harold wasn’t used to taking no for an answer. She didn’t think he’d stoop to kidnapping her off the landing of Porter Industries’ HQ, but he knew how to twist the press to suit him.

“Fine. You can escort me home.” Well, to her studio. She wasn’t a complete idiot to give a near stranger her home address.

“Excellent! While we make Harold sit and stew in his rented limo, will you tell me about your work?”

While they glided along the dance floor, Emily realized several uncomfortable truths. One, Maximillian Darrow was an excellent dancer with inhuman grace. He guided them around other couples, between scurrying waiters, and through narrow gaps between furniture with effortless ease. She wasn’t the best dancer, her talents extended to clay and paint, but he made it a delight rather than a chore.

The second was he was a pleasant conversationalist. He neither dominated the conversation nor did he place her under a microscope. They chatted and laughed and moved seamlessly from one topic to the next as if they’d known each other for years rather than minutes.

And lastly, that she was enjoying herself. She usually attended these functions in hopes of securing grants for those students without the means to study at her studio. She’d make the rounds, dance a few dances, remind the rich and powerful that donations to her scholarship programs were tax deductible, and then go home. Now… Now she wanted to stay. She scolded herself all the way to the elevator. It wasn’t like Darrow would allow her to monopolize him all night. He was being kind, but kindness had its limits.

“The press will be vicious,” he murmured quietly. The elevator was thankfully empty and allowed them privacy from curious ears.

“I know.” Her stomach was already in knots. If she didn’t know they were watching all the exits, she’d slip out the back like a thief. “I’m screwed no matter what, aren’t I?”

He looked down at her, the shadows darkening his eyes to almost black except for the faint flickers of green firelight within. “Maybe not. Trust me?”

“What’s it going to cost me?”

He pulled her close as the elevator arrived on the ground floor and brushed her lips with his thumb. “A kiss.”

The flames were larger now and tinted with crimson. Mesmerizing, terrifying, and so very tempting. “Yes.”

A thousand lights flashed as the door opened, the journalists getting a story they never expected. Emily didn’t care. Maximillian kissed like he danced, with a grace and expertise unmatched in mortal men. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back. To hell with the vultures and their cameras and microphones. This was a once in a lifetime chance, and she wasn’t going to pass it up.

“Now,” he murmured against her lips, “I’ll escort you home. That way, I’ll know where you live to pick you up for our next date.”

“Date?”

“Tomorrow.” He took her hand, pressed his lips to her fingers, and guided her through the journalists with the same skill as he’d guided her through the dance floor. “Lunch. I’ll cook.” A valet tossed him the keys to a sleek black import, and Maximillian settled her into the passenger seat with another scorching kiss. “Yes?”

This would end so badly, but she was crazy enough to take the chance. Tugging on his head, she initiated another kiss which left her breathless. “Yes.”

copyright 2023, Elaina Roberts

Sorcha – a snippet and preorder link

With Jelayan roaming Warrior’s Weald with her Rifaniir mate, it’s time to turn the focus on the next wolf of Sorrow to find her mate. Sorcha has worked as the pack’s primary maintenance specialist since her fourteenth year, but the technology on her new world isn’t the same. Not all of her skills translate to a world of nano medicine and intergalactic space travel, and the horror of the past is a ghost which stalks her always.

Sorcha, like the others in the series, is a short novel/long novella of around 53,000 words. The deeper into the series we go, the more reliant they grow on the earlier books in the series. While this one could be read as a stand-alone, some terms and events mentioned wouldn’t make sense. Still, I hope you give it a try!

First off… the preorder link! You can preorder the digital copy of Sorcha on Amazon for a June 20th release. Paperback will be available on or around that release date, and it will also go into Kindle Unlimited.

Now for the snippet!

TBD, 2023

Zahar opened the door at her knock and ushered her into his office. The scent of lightly seasoned meat and juicy vegetables made her mouth water. “Please tell me some of that is mine. Otherwise, I might take a bite out of you.”

He caught her hand before she sat and stepped so close she felt his body heat through their clothing. With his thumb brushing over her skin leaving a sizzle of sensation in its wake, the stars in his eyes faded into iridescent darkness amidst the crackle of distant lightning. “Would you bite hard, Sorcha? Leave a mark?”

Caught by the enthralling beauty of his eyes, she trailed her claws lightly up his neck. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just take a small nip, not hard enough to break skin.”

“Hmm.” He trailed a finger along her jaw to linger on her lips. “Too bad. I want your marks on my skin.”

“Behave.” She nipped at his finger. “It’s not wise to tempt a starving wolf.”

“Very well.” His smile was as devastating as the gentle brush of his lips over her knuckles. “Sit and let me feed you.”

He didn’t sit opposite the small table from her, but close enough their shoulders brushed with each forkful. She fed him small pieces of an herbed vegetable; he offered her choice pieces of sautéed meat. Her wolf rose to the fore, needing to be part of this quiet intimacy. Her claws emerged, and she scraped them lightly along his jaw. When his eyes closed, his head tilted slightly without fear, she knew there’d be no one else for her. Zahar Elloufen was hers. Her mate.

Wolves of Sorrow: Sorcha, June 20, 2023

Flash Fiction Friday -April

Time for a new monthly flash fiction piece, this one for the month of April. I’ve returned to using the month as a given name of my protagonist. April is a resident of Mistwood Marsh, a small fantasy village with a dangerous predator problem. How does one defeat a predator? Find a more dangerous one, of course.

April of Mistwood Marsh

April stared at the castle spires shooting into the sky and drew in a steadying breath. The villagers had begged her not to come, warned her the creature which lived within these walls had no mercy or tolerance for human concerns. She didn’t care. Stefan Dragomir was the only one who could protect them from the hungry ones—ravenous beasts which stalked the forest and preyed upon the weak and the young and the infirm.

She took a determined step through the open gates leading into the courtyard and rehearsed her speech. The village was willing to barter for Dragomir’s services. They spun the finest wool thread, wove exquisite fabrics which shimmered as if backlit, but they were still a small, rustic village. Looking over at the sprawling garden to the east, its statues casting menacing shadows in the distance, a cold knot formed in her stomach. Could their artisans offer anything of value to the man who owned such riches? Only one way to find out.

The front door was intricately carved in a flowing pattern of thorny vines and delicate flowers, the knocker cast in the shape of a snarling wolf. Swallowing hard, she gripped the ring and brought it down onto the heavy metal plate. Once. Twice. Each sound echoing within the castle like boulders dropped into a deep ravine.

April checked the sun’s location. If someone didn’t answer the door soon, she’d have to return to the village and try again on the morrow. She knew all too well the dangers of being caught in the forests after nightfall. Time crept by at a crawl and still no one answered the door. One more try, she thought. Lifting her hand to the ring, she gave it two more knocks, Again the sound echoed in the cavernous building. Shoulders drooping in defeat, she turned away from the door.

“Leaving so soon?” asked a husky male voice.

She froze. She hadn’t heard the latch open, hadn’t heard the slightest creak from the hinges. Turning in a slow circle, she summoned her rehearsed speech in hopes the butler would permit her entry. When she got her first look at the man in the doorway, the words died on her lips. This was no butler. It was Stefan Dragomir.

Firelight from within the foyer cast interesting shadows on the walls in the shape of batlike wings and brought out streaks of silver in his ebony hair. Tall and with a slender build, he dressed in clothing finer than any her village could produce. He bowed low, the movement fluid and elegant.

“Greetings and welcome to Castle Dragomir.” Deep and soothing but with a roughness which frightened and seduced in equal measure, his voice echoed in the narrow foyer. Surrounding her. Embracing her. Trapping her.

“Thank you. I’m April of Mistwood Marsh, and I’ve come with a request and an offer.”

“How very interesting. Shall we discuss this inside?”

Stefan Dragomir stepped aside and motioned for her to enter. Heart pounding at this small victory, she stepped over the threshold. Stunning art lined the walls, and the floor was dappled stone polished to an exquisite shine. The door closed with an ominous lack of sound, and beside her Stefan walked as silently.

“Your trip here was uneventful?” His voice rumbled like a great cat’s purr.

“Yes. I made sure to leave the village before the worst of the creatures began to stir.”

“Creatures?” He reached around her to pull open the door. “What manner of beast lurks in the marsh?”

April paused in the doorway of a large room lined with bookshelves and lit by a crackling fire. An impressive desk dominated one corner behind which sat a large, padded chair at an angle as if pushed back in haste. Two smaller chairs faced the desk with a settee along one wall. Crimson drapes covered that wall, the heavy material trimmed with beaded embroidery.

“Beautiful.” She kept her voice to a whisper, the room demanding reverence and awe.

“I’m glad it meets with your approval.” He pulled a narrow stick from a bowl of sand by the fireplace, lit it, and carried it around the room to light the sconces. “I spend much of my time here, reading, tending to business, or just enjoying the fire.”

“I can see why.” She stepped toward the hearth and held out her hands to warm them. “It’s soothing.”

“Yes.” He took her cloak and hung it on a peg by the door. “You may explore this room as you like, but please don’t leave it without an escort. Parts of the castle aren’t fond of strangers. While you explore, I’ll see what’s available in the kitchen. Then, we’ll talk.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The castle isn’t fond of strangers? Is the place sentient? She looked around the room again, the shadows cast by the sconces no longer as warm and inviting as before.

“You are my guest.” He walked to the door and bowed again. “I shan’t be but a moment.”

April resolved to remain by the fire but curiosity, ever her worst flaw, urged her to explore. She ran her fingers over his desk. The smooth wood was polished to a mirror-like shine, the papers strewn atop it appropriate for a man of his position. Long bookshelves stretched into the darkness, the scent of old paper and leather a delicate perfume. The drapes were plush velvet, the beadwork exquisite. She sank onto the settee, admired its intricate embroidery, and considered her situation.

The longer her host postponed their discussion, the greater the chance she’d have to impose on his hospitality for the night. While remaining in this polite stranger’s home held many potential dangers, the forest at night held definite ones. For better or worse, she was stuck until dawn. Stefan Dragomir entered then, a tray in hand and the light softening the harsh angles of his face, and April wasn’t upset about spending more time with her enigmatic host at all.

“You won’t be joining me?” There was only a single cup and plate on the tray.

“This is for you.” He placed the tray on his desk and lowered himself into the chair behind it. “I’ve also informed the staff to arrange a room for you.”

“Not in the cranky parts of the castle, I hope.”

He laughed. “No. Your room is in the same wing as mine. Nothing there has stirred in more than three centuries.”

“That’s good to know.” She took a sip of tea and hummed in appreciation. “This is delicious. What kind is it?”

As Stefan answered, April acknowledged she delayed discussing the purpose for her visit for two reasons. The first was nerves. She wasn’t ready to plead her case and possibly fail to secure his aid. Stefan Dragomir was her village’s last hope for survival. Already two families had abandoned their homes for the security of the closest walled city. Three others considered doing the same.

The other reason was as foolish as it was personal. She loved his voice. The growling undertones she’d heard in his greeting still unnerved her and sent shivers of fear down her spine. More purr than growl, it reminded her of a large jungle cat or other predatory beast. Terrifying… and sexy as hell.

“April?”

She blinked and realized he’d stopped talking. “What? Oh. Sorry.” Ducking her head, she hid the color heating her face. Just what she needed, to get caught mooning over Stefan Dragomir.

“No apology necessary, I assure you.” Amusement colored his voice along with a new warmth which sent more color to her face. “Tell me, if you will, what brings you to my door?”

Setting her empty cup on the tray, April explained about the hungry ones stalking Mistwood Marsh, how they’d grown bolder over the years until they’d started to leave the forest and break into homes. “We lost the farrier and her entire family six months ago, the Blanchet farm a month later, and the Finley’s three weeks after that.” She swallowed hard. “Parker’s widow. The blacksmith, Mitchell. The Nichols twins. And so many more.”

“You want me to remove these hungry ones from your forest?”

“Yes. We can offer compensation for your troubles,” she hurried to say. “Our artisans spin the softest wool, weave fine cloth and tapestries. Our brewers make excellent blackberry mead. We don’t expect charity.”

Stefan leaned back in his chair and watched her with eyes as pale and fathomless as moonlight. She resisted the need to fill the silence with inane chatter or worse, begging. He would help or he wouldn’t. Even knowing this, she had to bite her tongue to stop her words.

“I will help,” he said after an eon of silence. April sagged in relief. “But,” his eyes locked on her, “I do not wish payment from the village.”

“We don’t—”

“—expect charity, I know.” His smile changed his expression from severe to breathtaking. He remained a predator, and while she couldn’t identify his type, she couldn’t deny his attractiveness. “My fee, April of Mistwood Marsh, will be your company for a period of thirty days.”

Face burning with eager embarrassment, she blurted out, “I agree.”

Stefan laughed softly baring the hint of pointed fangs. “So enthusiastic. I want to stress that you should not feel pressured to offer more than friendship. If anything grows from this month of companionship, I would not tarnish it with the taint of a transaction.”

The warmth spread from her face to the tips of her ears. He was right, of course he was right, but she added her own coda to the agreement. One which he could not know.

Before the month was out, she planned to steal at least a kiss from the intriguing and alluring Stefan Dragomir.

copyright 2023, Elaina Roberts

Photo taken by theschulers09 and used under the limited creative commons license found here. Alterations made to the photo include cropping, converting to black and white, decreasing brightness, and adding text.

Jelayan is live!

Jelayan, the fourth book in the Wolves of Sorrow series, is now live on Amazon. Check out the warrior wolf and her spymaster mate as they travel across the provinces in search of the person behind the growing violence in Warrior’s Weald. Visit the port city of Enisen Point, the deserts of the Kaviai Plains, and Smoke and Mirrors, the flagship casino berthed off the cost of Port Ciroc.

Immediately after the end of Izabel, Jelayan partners with Kellan Avelaño in search of the mastermind behind the violence and vicious rumors surrounding Korlyn’s Glen. Posing as a couple, they race across the border battling the enemy and their own passion.

I’ve been working on trailers for the books in the Wolves of Sorrow series. Check out the first two on my new YouTube channel, and Sorcha’s trailer will release tomorrow.

Read on for an excerpt.

She was still twisting her hair into an elegant style when Kellan left the shower. He wore a towel around his waist, and water trailed down the defined muscles of his chest. Her fingers froze. The urge to trace the water’s path with her fingertips, her tongue, was so strong, it robbed her of breath. She’d known he was a well-built lethal predator from the feel of his body against hers and the way he moved. She hadn’t known he was so breath-stealingly magnificent.

A fine layer of hair covered his pectorals, narrowing to a thin strip which disappeared beneath the towel. His bronzed skin glowed with health, the strokable color due to genetics rather than the sun. Several scars, including three resembling claw marks which wrapped around his ribs on his left side, only enhanced his appeal. It showed he’d seen combat and emerged triumphant. It showed he was a predator worth tangling with.

Jerking away her gaze before he caught her ogling him like an untried juvenile, she finished her twists and secured the ends with a pair of decorative pins. Keep this professional, Jelayan. The silent scold ignored their earlier tumble on the bed, the touches which seared her skin and stirred her interest. It ignored her own longing for the joyous beauty her best friend had found with her Rifaniir mate.

She stabbed another pin into her hair and winced as it pierced her skin. Dammit. Her own fault, though. If she’d been thinking straight, she’d have secured her hair in the tiny braids she used on the long scavenger runs. Instead, she’d wanted to look her best. For her partner. For Kellan.

Grumbling, she adjusted the pin’s placement and tucked the thin metal beneath a twist. The style served multiple purposes, only one of which was cosmetic. Elegant enough for a dinner party, it’d protect her hair from damage if she couldn’t tend it for a week or more. The hair pins doubled as lockpicks if faced with such archaic technology or stiletto-sharp blades if her claws wouldn’t suffice.

Kellan walked over and ran his nose up her neck. “Sunshine and honey and danger. A deliciously tempting combination. What would you do if I took a bite?”

“Smack you over the head with my brush,” she said drily though her skin pebbled at the thought of his teeth marking her. “Dinner party, remember?”

His sigh tickled the small hairs at the nape of her neck, and she thought she felt the brush of his lips. “Fine. I’ll behave. For now.”

Wolves of Sorrow: Jelayan, March, 2023

Flash Fiction Friday -March

Time for a new monthly flash fiction piece, this one for the month of March. Since March is best as a surname, I’ve chosen to focus on the birthstone. Mostly bloodstone with a bit of aquamarine thrown in for good luck. A type of chalcedony, bloodstones were once believed to have healing powers and often used to make seals or amulets. All sorts of goodies, right? Let’s go!

March (Bloodstone & Aquamarine)

She found the cave mouth on her fourth day in the mountains exactly as the map claimed. Pushing aside the vines and spiderwebs, she carefully revealed the carved door hidden from view. A pair of trees framed either side of the door, their leafy boughs arching together to blend into the surrounding forest. Flowing runes formed a gently curving arch beneath the leaves. An instruction, perhaps, or a warning. She didn’t care. She’d finally found it and was determined to follow it to the end.

The sun was a mere sliver on the horizon before she found the keyhole. It wasn’t a normal one—how could it be when it was set into a door in a mountainside?—but her pendant slid in smoothly. The design carved into the green and crimson stone fit snugly over the raised emblem, pressing in until something clicked deep within the mechanism. She twisted the pendant, and the door swung open toward the stygian darkness within. Drawing in a deep breath, she flicked on her flashlight and stepped inside.

The paths twisted and turned with stairs leading up then down or ending at solid stone walls. She marked each explored passage with a piece of chalk, retracing her steps back to the first intersection before taking a new path. Down the sixth passageway, she discovered a set of wide stairs carved into the stone. Slightly worn as if used often and free of dust and dirt, this had to be the passage she sought. She clutched the pendant, brought it to her lips, and started to climb.

Along the way, she realized this wasn’t the wisest course for a woman alone to take. If she fell, no one would ever find her. If there were hostile people using these tunnels for nefarious means, she’d be at their mercy. This, her logical side informed her, was how stupid peopled died. She snorted softly. Things like that only happened in movies and books. Regardless of the legends her grandmother had told her, the tales she’d spun for a wide-eyed child rummaging through her trunks for dress-up clothes, the most she expected to find at the top of the stairs was evidence of an illicit affair.

An hour or a lifetime later, she reached the top. Sliding down to sit against the wall, she dug out an energy bar and a bottle of water and caught her breath. What little she could see of the massive cavern looked empty, but a hint of stars glittered in the distance. And a quiet susurration echoed in the chamber.

Rising to her feet, she crept deeper into the room. Water dripped from the ceiling. Wind whistled through the cave mouth to ruffle her hair. And the colossal mound in the center of the floor breathed. She dropped her flashlight.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

She blinked. She’d expected something profound or otherworldly from an unknown creature the size of a freakin’ Greyhound bus hiding away in a mountain cavern. Instead, he sounded like her new neighbor, Daniel, who hated everyone.

“The stairs.” She picked up her flashlight and flicked the light back on. The creature lay on his haunches with his tail curled around his front legs. Iridescent green and blue scales covered his body, and a pair of wings were tucked neatly to his back. A pair of horns spiraled from his head above eyes of the purest aquamarine. He was stunning. He was also… “A dragon!”

“Really? I’d have never known if you hadn’t pointed it out,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”

“Want?” Frowning, she crept closer. She turned the flashlight away from his face, enchanted by how the beam danced over his scales. He shone like a living mound of gemstones sparkling in the sun. “Nothing. My grandmother gave me the pendant, told me all sorts of stories, and I got curious about how much was true. Even after I managed to open the door, I didn’t expect to find anyone in here, much less you. I can go if you’d prefer.”

The creature grumbled and huffed puffs of smoke from his nostrils, but he pointed toward a wooden crate with a massive claw. “Take a seat and rest. You look wiped. Those stairs can be a right bitch.”

“I’m sure it’s by design.” His reply was a smile which showed off his very large, very pointed teeth. “Not a fan of visitors?”

“Not a fan of screams, fainting, and threats of heroic bravado,” he said drily. “Either you’re in shock or you don’t believe I’m real.”

“Perhaps a bit of both.” She ignored the crate to sit with her back against a smooth stalagmite. “Either way, I’m glad I’m here. You’re beautiful.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I bet you’re stunning in the sunlight.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he rose to his feet. He stretched out his wings until they brushed the walls on either side of the cavern and shook himself like a dog settling its fur. He was a four-legged dragon, his tail as long as his body and his head resting atop an elongated neck. He was sinuous and beautiful, and she desperately wanted to touch him and make sure he was real.

He walked toward her with slow, measured steps, like she was a frightened deer he didn’t want to spook. There was no way in hell she was going anywhere. The urge to reach out, learn the texture of his scales, feel the strength in his wings, was a visceral need. She curled her fingers into her palm to stifle that need. When she didn’t move, he inched closer, and still closer, until his scaled side brushed against her leg.

“I won’t bite.” He settled down beside her, his body warm and tempting against hers. Amusement colored his voice, and he rested his head on his front feet as if napping.

“I didn’t want to presume.” She reached out, hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Touch before you explode.”

His scales were warm and alive, as smooth as glass yet they flexed with his every breath. Timidity fled beneath her delighted fascination. She rose to her knees and stroked down his side and up to his wing. The thick membrane shimmered as if coated with mica powders, catching the starlight when he stretched it out for her explorations. He wrapped it around her when she traced one of his horns, giving her a warm, heavy blanket against the cool cavern air.

“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” he murmured some time later. He’d curled his body and tail around her, his wing a familiar blanket. “I met her when she was a young girl, too damned curious for her own good but overflowing with kindness. I attended her wedding to the best man I’ve ever known, celebrated the birth of her children, and mourned with her as age and war and disease took some of them away.”

She frowned. “Did we ever meet? As a child, I mean.”

“Yes, when you were very small. As you got older…” His voice trailed off.

“Grandma’s friend? Oh, I remember now.” Turning, she stared up at him. “No wonder you seemed so familiar when you moved in. Grandma never explained what happened, just said we kept missing each other. What happened?”

“Nicole.” He flicked his tail at her. “That was ages ago. It’s not important.”

“If it’s not important, why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it has no bearing on the present.” A rumble entered his voice, a dragon’s irritated growl. “Don’t push it.”

“Fine. I’ll let it go. For now.” She settled against his side and stroked his scales. “What happens next?”

“That depends on you.” He curled tighter around her. “No one will believe you if you talk about seeing dragons, and they’ll never find me if they come looking.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Well,” she drew out the word, hiding her smile behind his wing. “I did ask you out, once. If this,” she petted his wing, “is why you said no, you’ll have to come up with another excuse.”

He laughed, smoke puffing from his nostrils. “Maybe I’ll ask you this time.”

“I accept.”

Smiling, he spread one wing to make a ramp. “Climb on, then. I’ll take you flying. You might change your mind before the night is through.”

copyright 2023, Elaina Roberts