Elaina M. Roberts's Blog: News from the Between, page 3

Flash Fiction Friday -February

Welcome to February, the coldest, shortest month of the year. For this monthly flash piece, I decided to use the official birthstone, Amethyst, instead of the month. I couldn’t envision anyone naming a child February, even in a fantasy setting, so Amethyst was born. This flash piece is based on an ‘almost story’ I’ve had bouncing around my head for several years. It’s something I’ve wanted to write, but the story simply wouldn’t gel for me. I put it off to see if the story ever grew. It didn’t, but I think I have enough for a nice little flash piece. Let’s see, shall we?

This piece is an urban fantasy short set in an unnamed city large enough to have fairly tall buildings but small enough to allow for the two characters to meet in the manner they do. This one doesn’t come with any NSFW warnings, as it’s more sweet than sexy, so enjoy wherever you wish!

February (Amethyst)

Amy stood in the doorway of her small bookshop and watched him land on the roof of a nearby high-rise. His wings were backlit by the morning sun creating a halo around his body. His hair gleamed silver bright, and streaks of the same metallic hue glinted in his wings and his skin. His landing was graceful, his wings closing tight against his back to arch over his head. Most humans called them gargoyles. The malicious called them grotesques, but those who made the effort knew them as guardians.

They rose during the Second Magic Age when the other creatures of myth and legend stirred with the surge of magic, though rumor tells of an enclave who never slept. They were strong in their fleshy form, near indestructible when they wrapped their stony armor around themselves, and dogged defenders.

Many of their clan entered military service or guarded churches, temples, or mosques, but most provided security at a price. Clan Blackstone worked for the state providing bodyguard services for the governor, her family, and any visiting dignitary who required a bit of protection. Amy knew all this because she’d made a point in knowing. Not for any nefarious purpose, but because she had a serious crush on Knox Blackstone.

The rest of the morning was tied up in sorting and scanning the new stock into her inventory program, designing a display table for a popular local author, and setting aside preorders for pick up. Customers flowed in and out until she’d lost all track of time.

“Amy! Sorry I’m late.” Her one employee, Terry Parker, bustled in with a cheery wave at odds with their all-black ensemble. A self-described “cheerful, nonbinary, queer goth,” Terry had struggled to find work in such a conservative area. Amy adored them. “Traffic got insane when a car full of tourists spotted tall, dark, and wingy making his landing. I swear I saw a literal clutching of pearls.”

“No!” She laughed and placed the back of her hand on her forehead in a mock swoon. “Not the pearls!”

“Right?” Terry hung their jacket on the coatrack. The garment constructed of chains and frayed cloth was a welcome sight in her small bookstore, and Amy dreaded the day Terry found something which better suited their artist’s soul. “Anything I need to know before I rearrange all your displays?”

They discussed which bestsellers needed prime real estate as well as some debuts which deserved the same amount of love. Amy left the details of the displays for Terry to figure out. They were far more skilled at creating eye-catching tables than she was.

“I’m off to lunch. If Mrs. Wallace calls to ask about available stock, please tell her I’ve run off to join a circus.”

“Oh no you don’t! Dealing with that woman is far outside my paygrade.” Terry made shooing motions with their hands. “Now go. I’ve got things under control.” A sly look. “Don’t drool over you-know-who too much. It disturbs the other diners.”

Laughing, Amy slipped out the door. The park was unusually crowded for a Tuesday, but she wove through the clusters of tourists until she found her favorite food truck. The elderly couple served the absolute best tacos al pastor in the region. Her mouth watered at the amazing scents, and after placing her order, she scanned the park for a table. No luck. It seemed like everyone got hungry at the same time.

She wove between the tables searching for an empty spot when she saw him. Knox Blackstone was sitting at a table alone eating lunch from a familiar bag. It seemed the sexy guardian had a fondness for tacos as well. She took another look around the park and bit her lip. Did she dare? Why not?

“Hi! Do you mind if I join you?”

He looked up, the silver of his eyes gleaming metallic in the sunlight. He was striking from a distance, handsome on television when was escorting state politicians, but in person… he was like a punch to the gut. Beautiful and alluring in an otherworldly manner. “By all means.”

She sat, enthralled by the rough gravel of his voice. He could seduce her without a touch just by using that voice. He tilted his head, lips curving, and she realized she was staring. Mumbling an apology, she focused on her lunch. Silence fell between them interrupted only by the rustle of the paper bags and the hum of conversation around them.

The next day, he sat at the same table, eating lunch from a Caribbean fusion truck which had recently joined the rotation around the park. There were several tables open, and she moved toward one of them, but he waved her over and gestured for her to sit.

“Hi, again.” She tore open her bag and took a deep inhale. The barbeque chicken smelled divine and tasted even better. Closing her eyes, she savored the bite. “This is too good. You should give them a try next time.”

“Perhaps I shall.” His voice was deeper, huskier than before, and Amy suppressed a shiver. Yup. Still sexy as sin.

Conversation flowed easier than the day before, jumping from commentary on each of the various food trucks on the park’s rotation to running a small bookstore to how the wind felt when he flew. She learned he was the eldest of three. One brother remained at home to care for his young child while their sister worked for Blackstone Securities as a bodyguard.

They met again almost every day for a month, eating lunch, chatting, learning about each other. Terry teased her constantly about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Wingy flying her off on some grand adventure where she was thoroughly debauched. Her employee had read one too many romance novels.

Then one day, he wasn’t there. She tried not to let it matter so much. They weren’t in the relationship she’d built in her mind, were barely even friends. That didn’t make it hurt any less. She returned to her shop with her uneaten lunch and dodged Terry’s questions.

Stupid. She was being stupid to sulk like a child, but he could have told her he couldn’t make it today. Texted her. They’d exchanged numbers weeks ago for just such an occurrence. Grumbling under her breath as she shut off the lights at the end of the day, she wondered if he even saved the contact to his phone. Probably not. She locked up and headed home.

Stomping around her apartment, her mood alternating between angry and depressed, she jumped when someone knocked at her door. It wasn’t the knock which surprised her so much. It was the fact it came from her balcony sliders. She lifted the curtain an inch and peeked through the glass.

Knox.

Pushing aside her instinctive joy at seeing him again, she scowled and wrenched open the sliders. The guardian stood on her small balcony wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo and carrying a bouquet of flowers. His wings were tucked neatly behind his back, his hair windblown from his flight, and his smile devastating. He looked as if he’d stepped straight out of her many fantasies. She was still mad at him. Amy crossed her arms and raised her brows.

“Did you pawn your cellphone for that tuxedo?”

He laughed. “I’ve been busy, my Amethyst, working on a surprise for you. But first, a gift.” He held out the bouquet.

“Why didn’t you at least send a text?” She couldn’t let him bribe her back into a good mood or he’d be insufferable. And his silence had hurt. “Even a short note would have been enough.”

He set the bouquet on a small table and cupped her face with his hands. They were warm, a little rough, and felt like heaven against her skin. “Damn, I messed up, didn’t I? I was so focused on getting everything set up, I didn’t even think. I’m sorry.”

She raised her hands to grip his wrists. “I’m overreacting.”

“No.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, the gentle contact a visceral shock. “I was thoughtless. I should have contacted you.”

“Thank you for apologizing. I didn’t want to push in case…” Amy let her voice trail off, still uncertain what kind of relationship she had with the handsome guardian.

“In case I’d decided to ghost you? Never.” Another brief kiss that sizzled through her bloodstream. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Okay.” She ran her hands down his arms and over his chest. He was solidly built with the musculature required to keep him in the sky. “So, what’s the surprise?”

He reached for the bouquet, placed it in her arms, and then scooped her off her feet. “First, we go flying.”

She gave a startled shriek when he jumped off her balcony. The wind was cool against her skin, but his body warm. She reached up to stroke his jaw and received a dazzling smile in return. Terry was going to tease her constantly about her “romance novel come to life” experience. She didn’t care.  Knox had come to her, and he’d apologized. Terry could tease her all they wished.

copyright 2022, Elaina Roberts

Flash Fiction Friday -January

To ring in the new year, I’m going to try something new for the site. Since my rabid squirrel brain can’t seem to stay on task when it comes to my flash fiction, I’m aiming at a monthly entry relating to the current month: birthstones, holidays, solstices, the month itself, whatever I can think of. Here’s hoping it lasts longer than a month or two before it wanders off to play in the woods.

This piece is a fantasy short set in the faerie courts but only loosely based on existing mythology. The PoV character is a half-fae princess of the Winter Court named January who’s grown rather tired of the ballroom and wanders out to gardens. Who she meets there and the events which follow may not be suitable for a professional environment. You have been warned.

January

January Aerintrath slipped out of the ballroom and into a stunning garden in riotous bloom. She drew in a deep breath of the fragrant air, released it on a sigh. Only three hours to go. Her father had promised she could leave after dinner though she knew he wanted her to stay longer. He didn’t understand, couldn’t understand her abhorrence for these court functions.

The nobles of the court said all the proper things when her father was present. When he wasn’t? They reminded her of all the ways she wasn’t truly one of them. She wasn’t as elegant, wasn’t as pure, her magic was too weak to be a true heir to the Winter Court. Her father did his best, but there were so many demands on his time, and her mother fared no better than she did.

Prolonging her return for just a few more minutes, January stopped to admire a vine of stunning crimson roses. She clasped her hands together to resist the urge to stroke a velvety petal. Unlike her host, she wasn’t of the Summer Court. Her touch would only destroy the beauty of the plant.

“Even in moonlight, its beauty pales to that of its admirer,” said a quiet voice behind her.

It was supernally beautiful, like a siren’s song luring her closer until she forgot reality, forgot herself. When she turned to greet him, her words dried up. The male who’d spoken was more vibrantly stunning than the garden in bloom. His eyes were the fathomless blue of a flawless lapis lazuli, his hair a dark garnet. Even his skin reminded her of a gemstone, warm bronze shimmering with a faint pearlescent sheen.

His regalia declared him a member of the Summer Court, the vivid reds and greens swirled with gold like a warm sunset bathing a wheat field in glorious color. Ah. A member of her host’s entourage. That explained the flattery.

“Did I miss the call to dinner?” She flashed him a smile as insincere as his compliment.

“Not at all.” He turned when she did and walked beside her toward the garden’s entry gate. “I saw you slip away and wanted a chance to speak with the most compelling woman in the room.”

January resisted the urge to roll her eyes like a teenager. He really was laying it on thick. She had her father’s silver hair, and her mother’s soft brown eyes, but she was only half fae. A human or half-human could never compare to the perfection of her father’s people. He must be a minor noble seeking to improve his position and power in the fae courts.

“You’re too kind.”

He laughed. “Sarcasm ill suits you, princess. Have you seen the bougainvillea arbor? I think you’ll enjoy the colors.”

When she shook her head, he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her down a side passage. Perhaps she was unwise to follow this unknown fae into the depths of a midnight garden, she was the princess he’d called her, but she detected no hint of malice in his company. He played his role well.

Before they rounded a bend in the passageway, he stepped in front of her and took her hands. “Close your eyes.” At her arched brow, he trailed his fingers along her cheek and said, “Please.”

Intrigued and charmed by this handsome fae male, she did as he requested. And when he took her hands, she suppressed a shiver of awareness. This wasn’t a minor noble of a lesser house. His magic thrummed through his body like another heartbeat, the summer heat of him dancing with the winter’s frost of her. She hadn’t expected it to feel like that. The powers of opposing courts rarely played well with each other, but instead of a conflict, their magic complemented each other. His heat warmed all the cold places inside her.

He drew her to a stop, and light glowed beyond her closed eyelids. His hands dropped hers but didn’t disappear. The warmth of him trailed up her arm until he was an inferno behind her, his chest far too close to her exposed back than was proper at an official function. When he next spoke, his lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot on her sensitized skin.

“Open your eyes, princess.”

“Oh!” January raised a hand to her mouth and stared at the glory of color before her. Magenta and purple and every shade in between, the blossoms dripped down the sides of the arbor. More flowers hung from the arches. “May I?” She gestured to the arbor. “I promise I won’t touch.”

“You can do them no harm,” he assured her. He nudged her forward with a gentle push. “Go. Show them the meaning of true beauty.”

She stepped to the center of the arbor and was surrounded by the heady perfume of the blossoms. A deep inhale, and all her worries seemed to melt away. She loved her father, delighted in her mother’s joy with the man she adored, but she longed for the colors and scents and warmth of summer. Spinning in a circle, she laughed, and when she stopped, he was right there. This fae stranger who’d given her a gift of serene beauty on this night.

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him when he stepped close, rested her hands against his chest when he moved closer still. “It’s beautiful.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand, the other slipping around her waist to pull her close. “Not as beautiful as you, princess. Your joy puts the stars to shame you shine so bright. I want to kiss you.” His thumb brushed across her bottom lip in a fleeting caress. “Let me?”

“Yes.”

The word had barely left her lips when he took her mouth in a gentle but deep kiss. He explored her with dedicated thoroughness. Gentle nips to her lower lip, coaxing licks which encouraged her to play. He left her mouth only once to trail a line of fiery warmth along her jaw to her neck where he found a spot which made her knees buckle.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tugged him back to her lips with her hands in his hair. This kiss was deeper, hotter, more demanding. No gentle lover, but a conquering hero determined to make her his. She was more than okay with that because she was equally determined to have him for her own.

His hand splayed on her bare back, stroked along her spine in a petting caress before moving outward. She held her breath wondering if he dared. He did. She shuddered when he slipped his hand beneath the edge of her dress to brush the side of her breast, gasped when he unfastened the tie at her nape and bared her to the warm summer air, moaned when he cupped the small mound.

He broke their kiss to watch her through hooded eyes as he shaped her sensitive flesh. “I think,” he said in a voice rough with passion, “we should meet like this more often, princess.” He pinched her nipple.

“Yes!”

By the ash and the thorn, he was driving her to madness. How was she supposed to return to the ballroom like this? Anyone with an ounce of magic sensitivity would know she’d found her match, the perfect complement to her magic. If someone in the opposing Courts had wanted to sabotage the potential alliance through her marriage to King Axion, they’d sent the perfect man to ruin everything. This complete stranger was the only one her power would accept, and he was the only one she couldn’t have.

January claimed another kiss, this one tinged with a hint of desperation and sorrow. “Your name.” She groaned when he cupped her butt and pressed her against his hardness. “At least,” another kiss, her hand dipping between them to stroke him through his pants, “tell me your name.”

He brushed his thumb over her nipple, the sensation shooting through her veins like molten lava, and dipped his head until his lips just brushed hers. “Axion.” Then he closed the distance and swallowed her gasp of surprise.

They barely made it back to the ballroom before dinner. He’d taken her in the garden beneath the bougainvillea arbor, the flowers raining perfumed petals on their bare skin, then brought her to his chambers to freshen up before they had to rejoin the other guests. And they talked. He’d wanted to meet her without the formalities of the court, to talk and get to know her—the person and not the princess. Then his magic had touched hers, and he’d just wanted her.

“Story and song speak of the strength of finding one’s complement, but I dismissed them as tales told to the young to convince them to do their duty to their Court and King.” He brushed his fingers along her jaw and lingered on her lips. His eyes were twin pools of passionate fire, his warmth a fire against her skin. “Both of us were wrong. No story could have prepared me for finding you.”

“Are you sure, Axion?” January laid her hand on his, held him to her cheek and soaked in his heat. “We have chemistry, yes, but what about compatibility? What about love and friendship and the petty bickering that always occurs during a marriage?”

“To hold on to this, to hold on to you, I am willing to bend where I am able. Are you?”

She inched closer, the pleasure and the need still humming inside her. Winter’s chill warmed by Summer’s fire. “Yes. You know I’m not fully fae, yes?”

“You are fully mine, and that is what matters. Your mother is an asset to faerie as are you. Any who refuse to acknowledge these truths will not be welcomed in my Court.”

January claimed a kiss, her heart cracking open a bit more at his utter acceptance of not only her but her human mother. Maybe this would work. If they tried hard enough and wanted it enough. It could work. “Thank you.”

“Thank me again after the party, princess.” His voice stroked over her in a silken whisper, his eyes pools of crimson fire. “I have made my choice, and you have made yours. The pact is sealed betwixt us never to be torn asunder. So say I, Axion Selanahr, King of the Summer Court.”

“So say I, January Aerintrath, Princess of the Winter Court,” she replied.

The air swirled with magic as they spoke the binding vow. When it settled, a spark of winter cooled the heat of summer, and a steady fire warmed winter’s chill. Hand in hand, they took the steps down to the ballroom to announce the alliance between the disparate courts. Her lips curved. Her father got his way after all.

copyright 2022, Elaina Roberts

End of Year Recap, 2022

Hello! 2022 has been quite a year. I’ve continued my inability to concentrate on television or movies, so there’ll be no recap of what shows I’ve enjoyed or movies I’ve watched. The answer is none. Always none. I have hit a slight reading slump, preferring rereading favorites or sticking with trusted authors. However! I have been writing. Here’s what I’ve done and a peek at what’s in store.

Website:

Flash fiction didn’t last long, did it? I’m hoping to change that this year along with a new series. I’m still undecided on the theme of the series, but I’ve got a few weeks. Surely it’ll come to me, right? Right? *sob*

Publishing:

Publishing has continued to roll right along with some books being easier than others, but that’s always how it is. I’ve written and published three books this year: one longer novel at around 90K, and two shorter ones at around 50K. Still, three books is a lot for me! That doesn’t include writing two others before the year was out that’ll get published in 2023.

First off, the longer novel. Draxton’s Destiny is a book that needed time before I could write it. It was a tough one. At times I hated it, but now it’s one of my favorites. It published in June, 2022, and recieved some very kind reviews. The Edgeworld Chronicles will remain a trilogy with a few novellas centering on characters no within the main arc. Fieryl and Ta’Naii need their own book.

Brienne and Izabel were published in March and September, 2022, respectively. On the shorter side for a novel, barely over 50K each, they run concurrently though Izabel does give some spoilers for Brienne. They didn’t gain the traction Draxton received, but I’m pleased with their reception. The Wolves of Sorrow series will remain short novels, and the overarching plot is beginning to develop.

So…what’s next? Jelayan will get published on March 21, 2022, and Sorcha will go live in June (for now). The plan is to wrap up Edgeworld with the Ravyn toward the end of the year, which means I have some writing to do.

Writing:

With all that publishing, there’s been a bit of writing! Jelayan and Sorcha were both written this year, with Sorcha being my NaNoWriMo project. It was giving me fits, and sometimes a deadline is what I need to get motivated. It worked, and after a total of FIVE separate starts, I finally have a book I’m willing to send to beta readers.

The reason I haven’t started the Ravyn’s book is a separate project I’m hoping to refine and query for an agent. Yes, I’m going to try the soul-crushing path of traditional publication. It’s another romance/UF centered in my local area. It’s a book I’ve been wanting to write for years, and I finally figured out where I wanted to go with it. Currently at 65K+ words, it probably needs about 15-20K more to flesh it out. I’ll say more when there’s more to say!

Reading:

And here is where I’ve fallen down. I haven’t been able to get into new series. At all. I’ve enjoyed books set in established series. I’ve done a massive shit-ton of re-reads. But completely new stuff has been difficult, and I continue to need things I knew I could trust. Nalini Singh remains my go-to author for a comfort read, and I’ve reread most of her Psy/Changeling series this year, but there have been a few standouts.

Currently Reading (as of 05Dec2022): Nothing right now as I’ve been editing Jelayan, but Pearl Sky by Elizabeth Hunter drops on the 6th and Sweep of the Heart by Ilona Andrews drops on the 13th. They’re high on my list of must-reads.

Most Anticipated Book: Hands down, Black Hellebore, Grace Draven. Though it’s only a novella, we return to the Wraith Kings series and Ildiko and Brishen as a couple! Very, very squee! I love this series and this couple and can’t wait to revisit them.

Upcoming Books to Watch: Darke Passion, Rosanna Leo. Three ghost hunting sisters rid folks of unwanted supernatural visitors. I’m sure there’ll be shenanigans along the way. And probably some kissing. Definitely some kissing.

So, that’s it for 2022. Publication for the next two Wolves of Sorrow books is pretty set in stone unless Sorcha ends up needing a complete rewrite (please, no). The Ravyn is next up on the writing schedule, then Hinata‘s book. After that… I’ll start brainstorming a series to replace The Edgeworld Chronicles on my roster, finish out the Wolves of Sorrow, and maybe bring the wolves of Bright Perish or the cougars from Extinction Crag to Barif. I think the other provinces need a chance to play.

For those who got this far, thank you for reading. Thank you for hanging in there. And finally, if you’ve bought a book or told someone to buy a book or left a review anywhere, thank you a million times over. It means so much to me.

Happy New Year and may 2023 make some improvements.

Teaser Tuesday – Subject 5691: Petri

With NaNoWriMo finally over and edits on the horizon, I wanted to revisit each of my current works a snippet at a time. First up is the book that started it all. Subject 5691: Petri began as a flash serial based around a photo prompt. That first small snippet, much like Petri, took on a mind of its own and became the start of not one but two series: The Edgeworld Chronicles and the Wolves of Sorrow.

The Edgeworld Chronicles will be a trilogy with Kittryk “The Ravyn” Ravyndaar’s book wrapping everything up. I hope to have that book out sometime in 2023, but a lot will depend on how well I can tie all the loose ends together.

Available in eBook, Paperback, and Kindle Unlimited

“Sergeant, the floor is secure.”

Petri peered through the glass and smirked at the pristine uniform of the young soldier. Ah, the Legion. The very best of the Alliance’s military elite, and they were looking for him. He traced the tip of one fang with his tongue and smiled. Someone important must be upset with his escape. How very… delicious.

“Understood. Jackson, DiGiacomo, and Carlyle, check the northern stairwell. Fredricks, Mitchum. You get to babysit the elevator.”

That voice…

“Fuck me, sarge.”

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t fuck you with Fredricks’ dick.”

He knew that voice.

“Have you seen his dick, sarge? News flash: he hasn’t either.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mitch, if you can figure out which end is your ass.”

The stout soldier made a rude gesture to his friend amidst the laughter and catcalls of the rest of the small company. Petri watched it all with a mixture of rapt fascination and growing dread. He’d never seen such interaction between humans, such casual disrespect that wasn’t met with swift and painful punishment. They issued insults and laughed about it!

“Okay, okay, enough joking around.”

The men separated and quieted. Petri tilted his head and frowned. Not disrespect, then. The soldiers seemed to have plenty of respect for their superior. Was this comradery? He ducked beneath the small square of glass to look through at a different angle. He needed to see the one they called sarge. That voice haunted him in its familiarity.

“Look, I know it’s a shit detail, but it’s got to be done. No naps, no horseplay, and no jacking off into the garbage chutes. Again. Stay alert, and keep the floor secure. Got it?”

After a stolen glance, he leaned against the wall with a sigh. He was right. He did know that voice. The scientists considered combat training one of their most important experiments. They noted how quickly he learned new strategies and techniques. If he was injured, they monitored how long it took him to recuperate and heal. He’d trained with many different fighters from a handful of races, but this human had been his favorite.

After a ten-day training session in which he’d fought criminals and assassins without rest or respite, his muscles ached from the constant battles after months of inactivity in his small cell. Bruises covered a good portion of his body though his skill and reflexes kept him from true injury. Tired, dispirited, and starving from an earlier defiance, his stamina bordered on nonexistent. Sergeant Draxton Larimore entered the arena, fresh and well-rested in his pristine Legionnaire uniform, and Petri considered giving up. It was the first time he hoped it would end with his death.

Larimore, however, had other plans. He took one look at Petri and called a medic. The human demanded they treat his injuries, minor as they were, allow him to rest, and feed and hydrate him before he proceeded. The scientists argued. They threatened disciplinary action. He stood his ground.

Three days later, three glorious days of recuperative sleep and adequate meals, they met again in the gym. The sergeant was an unsurpassed master of hand to hand combat, but he was human. He was slower, weaker, less agile in his movements, but his skill made up for his lack of genetic modifications. He won as many matches as he lost. There were plenty that ended in a draw as well. As a trainer, Larimore was strict and sometime harsh but fair. Most surprising of all, he never treated Petri as less than, an experiment, a thing.

He was the only human Petri respected, and now he’d have to kill him.

Subject 5691: Petri, Available in eBook , Paperback, and Kindle Unlimited

Teaser Tuesday – Wolves of Sorrow: Sorcha

It’s that time of the year. No, not that one. Nope, not that one either. Wait…no, stay on track! This isn\’t about holidays, it’s about the most wonderful, hectic stressful time of the year! It’s time for National Novel Writing Month, where authors near and far scramble to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

With the Wolves of Sorrow the perfect length for a NaNo project and Sorcha giving me fits, I’ve chosen to throw my sanity through a shredder and try to work out the kinks of the story under a series deadline.

Since this is the third or fourth beginning to Sorcha, I’ll share some of the extremely rough first chapter which will certainly see some dramatic changes before publication. In this segment, Sorcha gets her first look at Zahar Elloufen. She doesn’t know he’s her razheen’s brother or the important role he’ll play in her life. All she knows is he’s dangerous.

As always on these teasers before a book is published, things may change between teaser and publication.

TBD, 2023

He appeared halfway through the exercise, a stunning Rifaniir male with silver starlight in his midnight eyes and streaks of the same metallic hue in his dark brown hair. Though she’d known he was there and had been since the start of the class, his presence was still a punch to the gut.  He was… magnificent.

He hadn’t masked his scent like so many other strong dominants until she questioned her own judgment. He was sturdy pines and the petrichor of a welcomed rain. A soothing scent if not for the bite of ozone. A reminder that the Rifaniir were ambush predators who struck like a flash of lightning. This male was more than strong, he was as deadly as an assassin’s blade or an adder’s venomous fangs.

She tracked his movements out of the corner of her eyes, the familiar sense of being hunted, being prey washing over her. She’d been prey once. After that bloody and painful experience, she’d learned to disappear, to blend into the background so thoroughly even her packmates had trouble finding her when she didn’t want to be found. When she stepped onto the Kaleidoscope, she’d vowed to step into the light, into life, but over a decade of fading was hard to combat. She’d completed more than one class without her instructors ever acknowledging her. No more.

While she fought an inexplicable and self-destructive urge to growl a challenge she couldn’t win, the Rifaniir male approached the nearest workstation with a warrior’s grace. Of average height, his uniform betrayed the predator behind the civilized mask. The jacket hugged the breadth of his shoulders. The tactical pants molded to his muscular thighs with each step. He wore a pulse pistol at his hip and a familiar emblem on his collar identifying him as a senior member of the communications division of Razheen Elloufen’s personal security team. Challenging this man would be more than stupid, it’d be suicidal. He was dangerous and powerful in more ways than one.

He also felt like someone she should know. His dominance, his lethal grace, the way the overhead light spheres cast intriguing shadows over the angles of his face, his sharp cheekbones, and the fullness of his lips caught the attention of every person in the room. She’d seen more than one smile of sensual invitation cast his way from both male and female lips. He had that kind of potent charisma and unforgettable allure. She’d have remembered him if they’d met before, but he was a stranger to her. An oddly familiar one.

While he flowed from station to station, asking questions about the individual projects and making suggestions or offering praise, she caught the acrid scent of melting plastic and burnt wires. She winced. Someone’s project was about to short circuit spectacularly. When it happened and black smoke rose from the device, the dangerous predator didn’t mock or berate the students. He talked them through assessing the damage, helped them discover the cause on their own, and took care not to crush the students’ pride. Perhaps that was why he seemed so familiar. He reminded her of Shoba, the stray the elders tried to crush who’d become their ka-Razheen. Her teaching style was a little rougher around the edges and accented with rumbling growls, but she was fair and honorable to the core.

Wolves of Sorrow: Sorcha, TBD, 2023

Flash Fiction Friday – An Unexpected Holiday

Today, I’m stepping back into Barif, the new home of the wolves of Sorrow for a sweet flash piece. During Izabel’s book, she and her mate fly over a scenic area of waterfalls unlike anything remaining on Earth Prime. They aren’t able to stop. So much had happened and Ranoch needed to return to Korlyn\’s Glen, but he promised his Izabel they’d return. This is their first trip.

Warning: this story may be NSFW and references events in both Izabel and the upcoming book, Jelayan. I don’t think they’re spoilers, but as always YMMV.

The photo which inspired this flash piece is one I took at Mt. Ranier National Park in Washington State. The waterfall is one of many flowing down the mountain, and it’s as cold as the glacier which feeds it.

An Unexpected HolidayA waterfall flowing down a hill

Izabel woke to an empty bed holding the faintest lingering warmth of her mate. Sighing, she pulled his pillow close and inhaled his scent. Things had been calmer since Jelayan’s return from Port Ciroc, but it was the calm of a stalking wolf. Patient and relentless. Whatever her friend and her mate had done in the port city had granted them a reprieve, but it hadn’t ended the violence.

Grumbling, she rose and stomped into the bathing chamber. Hydro showers remained a constant delight to her, the memories of Sorrow would take years to fade, but they weren’t half as fun without Ranoch. Her lips curved at the intimate soreness between her thighs. Yes, her mate knew how to play in all the best ways.

She was tying off the end of her braid when strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her against a familiar chest. “Ranoch! I thought you’d gone to the HQ.”

“I did.” He nibbled his way along her neck to the spot behind her ear which always made her melt. “I was there, my Izabel.” Another nip, this time to her ear, while his hands slipped under her shirt to lie on her bare skin. She shivered. “To make sure everything was in place.”

Gasping when his hands cupped her breasts, she brushed her lips along his jaw. “In place for what?”

“Three days.” His scorching kiss echoed with the sounds of the forest, her mate’s beautiful song only she could hear. “You. Me. No comm devices. No duties.” A sudden grin. “No clothing.”

“I like this plan. You know how much I like your hands on me.”

He laughed softly, his song a riot of joy and his body a wall of heat against her back. “First, though, I have a surprise. Come with me?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you.”

After another kiss which scrambled her brains and left her ready to drag him back to bed, Ranoch led her to his personal transport. He guided the ship with confident skill, and soon they were flying above Korlyn’s Glen.

She leaned back and drank in the sight of him, this man who’d fascinated and called to her from that first rain-drenched meeting. The lines of strain around his eyes and mouth had lessened in the past week, and he looked as young as she’d ever seen him. He glanced over, the fairy lights in his eyes a sparkling brilliance against forest green. His smile was slow and full of sensual secrets. The kind of smile which gave a wolf ideas. She planned to indulge in every one of those ideas over the next three days.

“Look to your right.”

His deep voice drew her from pleasant daydreams of licking her way down his chest. Growling softly, she’d just reached his waist when he distracted her, Izabel looked through the view screen and gasped. The cascading falls which had enthralled her on their return from Raxan Brook lay below, the river a meandering ribbon through the forest.

“I hope you don’t mind camping,” Ranoch said. He guided the transport to a small clearing nestled at the base of the falls. Once they were on the ground and the ship powered down, he turned to cup her cheeks. His hands were gentle, his kiss a passionate demand. “I promised I’d bring you back, my Izabel. We’ll have this area to ourselves, can play in the falls, run naked like children if we want. I wish I could give you more time, but—”

Izabel covered his lips with her fingers and shook her head. “It’s enough.” Her voice was wet with tears, but they weren’t of sorrow. Her heart wept with the love in his eyes, on his face, in his every touch. He’d remembered. That meant everything. “I’d rather spend three days with you now, than wait until you can take longer. Life has a way of coming at you quickly, reminding you that another day is a gift and not a guarantee. Let’s enjoy this gift. Reality will return soon enough.”

His kiss began slow, teasing and coaxing a response. She resisted. Only a little, enough to play with this dominant male who held her with such protective strength. He nipped her lips with his fangs. She scraped her claws through his beard, Somehow, amidst the playful kisses and rough tenderness of his caresses, she ended up on his lap with her shirt unbuttoned and her bra pulled down to expose her breasts.

“This seat is too damned small for what I want to do with you,” he muttered against her sensitive flesh before nipping a taut nipple with his fangs.

“And you’re wearing too many clothes.” Shrugging out of the shirt, she reached back and unhooked her bra. The stars in his eyes faded one by one as he brushed his thumbs over her skin. She unbuttoned his shirt, glorying in the feel of his hands on her. “I distinctly remember a promise of sexy Rifaniir nudity on this trip.”

“You do, do you?”

He tossed shirt over his head baring his chest to her gaze and her touch. She ran her palms over the hard muscle, scraped lightly with her claws. “Three whole days.” Sliding her hands up to thread through his short hair, she rested her forehead against his and grinned. “Let’s get naked.”

Laughing like pups, they removed the rest of their clothing. Ranoch chased her through the clearing, stealing kisses and running teasing hands over her bare skin whenever he got close. Izabel growled and pretended to claw and bite him in retaliation. It was silly and wonderful, and she’d never had so much fun in her life.

Later, they lay beneath the stars, his arm her pillow and their fingers entwined. Ranoch told her about his friendship with Kellan, how they’d gotten to know each other as dominant children to less powerful parents. He told her about his time with their razheen on the Teshic border and later fighting against the raiders from Aerincael. And he told her of Vaistu Elloufen’s rise to razheen with the support of his friends including Dr. Roana Jai. Even more reason to admire the fierce woman who’d become her friend.

In return, she told him about life in Sorrow. Not the raiders or Mourning Sun or the petty games played by the elders, but the everyday things. The good things and the bad. The joy of Keelah’s and Talish’s mating. The birth of the twins, two powerful boys who’d become honorable warriors of the pack. Her discovery of Jelayan’s cat and how much she loved her friend’s purr. And her joy at her friend’s mating.

“I can’t tell you what it means to me to see her happy and know she’s loved for who she is.” She squeezed Ranoch’s hand, emotion clogging her throat. “She’s been my rock since we were pups, so strong and brave and fiercely loyal, and now she glows.”

“Kellan’s a good man.” Ranoch rolled over and braced himself on his arms above her. His body felt so good against her. “But I’m better.”

Izabel laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Prove it.”

And he did.

Cover Reveal! Darke Passion by Rosanna Leo

Today, I’m helping out a wonderful author, Rosanna Leo, with a cover reveal of her upcoming romance featuring a haunted B&B, a tragic love story, and a ghost hunting trio of sisters. Blurb, reveal, and all the links after the break below.

Darke Passion by Rosanna LeoEdwina Darke is one of a trio of ghost-hunting sisters who rid clients of their unwanted supernatural visitors. A badass by nature, Edwina doesn’t run from haunted houses—she runs into them. Yet no matter how many “ghosts” she debunks, she remains troubled by a demon from her own past.Simon Teal is the co-owner of a historic B&B in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, a town famous for its connection to the 1812 War. Simon doesn’t believe in the spirit world, but something is chasing his customers away, so he reluctantly allows the Darke sisters to investigate.As the team uncovers the star-crossed love behind the B&B haunting, Edwina and Simon’s attraction flares. It’s the last thing either of them needs. The dedicated Edwina refuses to lose herself in another relationship, and Simon is still reeling from a terrible betrayal.When a darker presence reveals itself, triggering their protective instincts, Edwina and Simon succumb to temptation. But the evil entity has taken an interest in them, and if they don’t solve the mystery, someone new could end up going “into the light.”And it could be one of them.

This stunning cover is by Kelly Martin of KAM Design.

Sounds amazing, right? If you’re eager to know how to get your greedy little hands on this, add it to your towering TBR pile (but put it on top so it’s easy to grab). Preorders begin February 7, 2023, for a March 21, 2023, release. Yes, we’ll be book release twinsies!

Now that you’ve read that awesome blurb, you wanna know who is Rosanna Leo? I’m a sneaky thief who pulled her bio from her site. “Rosanna Leo writes contemporary and paranormal romance. Her novel, A Reluctant Attraction, Handymen 3, is one of Oprah Daily’s 50 of 2021’s Most Anticipated Romance Novels. Her novel A Good Man, Handymen 1 was the First Place Winner of the 2018 Northern Hearts Contest (Contemporary Romance.)

“From Toronto, Canada, Rosanna occupies a house in the suburbs with her husband and their two sons, and spends most of her time being tolerated by their cat Sweetie. When not writing, Rosanna works for her local library, where she is busy laying the groundwork to become a library ghost one day.”

I think if she’s writing about hauntings and ghost hunters, she’s one step closer to fulfilling her dream of being a library ghost. Links to her socials are below. Check them out then grab her Handyman series. They’re amazing!

Follow her on her website, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Closing the Doors

As of December 22nd, I am taking this website offline. I can no longer justify the cost with my poor track record of posting on any type of schedule. I have good intentions, but good intentions don’t really put words on the screen and too often months go by with no new posts. I’ll try to create a new one via WordPress (can possibly import this one) or return to my blogspot roots, but there’ll be some down town between the old and the new. Shouldn’t be much difference, right?

What does this mean?

Primarily, this just means I’m releasing this particular domain back into the wild and not paying for hosting. While I could continue to do so, I see little merit in doing it at this time.

This also doesn’t mean I’ve stopped writing. It just means I acknowledge that I write both slowly and sporadically; neither of which justifies a paid website. I’m currently revising/expanding Petri as well as plotting a totally different style of book for the future (paranormal but not romance, possibly YA). We’ll see how that goes.

My two existing books/worlds are also in the air. I’d love to revise/edit The Other Half again and may simply remove it from circulation. It has issues and needs work. The rights to The Fox’s Mate revert to me in June of next year so it will have to come down to switch hands.

The future of the Facebook page is also up in the air at this time. While it doesn’t cost, like the site does, it also doesn’t have much reach on the few occasions that I do post here. The cost of time vs reach is pretty uneven and most who follow the page have friended my author account anyway.

So, with all this upheaval and change (okay, no real upheaval), if you want to get in touch with me, click on the shiny Facebook or Twitter buttons on the front page and send me a friend request/follow.

And thanks for tuning in!

*turns out light on the way out*

Flash Fiction Friday: Fatal Frame

Welcome to another round of Flash Fiction Friday! I’ve decided to go every other week instead of weekly with these prompts as it gives me time to search for a prompt that I really like instead of just one I’ll settle for. The photo last week and this one are uncredited because they’re mine. I took them. Seemed easier that way. If I use another’s pictures, I’ll be certain to credit and link back to the source.

Ready? Let’s go! In keeping with the month of October and things that go bump in the night, I’ve included another potentially spooky picture after the break. Check it out along with the rules, write a story about it, post it on your space (blog, site, tumblr, whatever), and link to it in the comments.

The rules:

Word limit: 1031 (to celebrate Halloween)

Forbidden word(s): child, statue

Required word(s): guard (any variation: guards, guarding, guarded, guardian)

Use the picture below:

Fatal Frame

Trista dug her camera from her bag and attached her best lens. The locals had warned her away, saying a few pictures weren’t worth the danger. A group of men muttered about dark rituals and blood sacrifices. Others swore the grounds were simply unstable, riddled with sink holes that formed without notice. The old priest, who was far creepier than the glorious old ruin they maligned, warned her she risked her immortal soul. She snorted and grabbed her tripod. The whole town was off their meds.

The old house was a beautiful testament of a by-gone era, with Gothic spires and intricate wrought-iron scrollwork on the rusting fences. The peeling paint gave it character. A single stained glass window sparkled like a brilliantly cut diamond. The overgrown lawn and drooping trees lent the place a properly spooky atmosphere. It was perfect in her eyes.

She framed several shots before setting up her tripod. The rising sun cast the house in warm hues of red and gold. Long shadows stretched across the lawn as the sun peeked from behind an elegant grotesque perched high on the roof. An hour later, she straightened, stretched, and dug a new SD card from her pocket.

Time for the back yard.

Satellite maps had shown an overgrown garden with a crumbling fountain. Pictures like that sold well, especially this close to Halloween. Magazines and websites were eager for creepy pictures they could build ghost stories around. Like the drive, the path around the house showed signs of recent activity, with broken beer bottles and fast food wrappers peeking from beneath the bushes. She shook her head. Looked like the local teens gave the rumors as much credence as she did.

The gate’s rusty hinges screamed into the silence when she forced it open. Odd. The path on both sides of the gate was trampled. She shrugged. The kids must have climbed over instead of risking being heard. It made sense, really. When she was in school, the local hang-out spot was an old cemetery everyone believed was haunted. Kids were pretty much the same the world over.

Kicking an abandoned mitten into the weeds, Trista hefted the tripod onto her shoulder and pushed deeper into the garden. The beauty of the property hadn’t stopped with the house. Broken sculptures lined the path like discarded toys. The first two were shattered beyond recognition with only a crumbling hand or booted foot to hint at their original forms. Dandelions swayed around a small dog whose ear and most of its tail were lost to time and weather. Across the path, a stone ball lay pitted and cracked from decades of rain and neglect. The destruction and decay were mournfully beautiful. She had to capture it.

Kneeling on the grass-covered gravel, she released her camera from the tripod and adjusted the settings. The faint light filtering through the trees gave the stone figures such a melancholy air, casting and banishing shadows as a faint breeze tickled the leaves above. Gorgeous.  The shutter whirred and clicked and her world narrowed to the tiny square of her viewfinder until a kid’s laughter trickled through her concentration, much like the shifting light.

“Hello?” She rubbed an ache in her neck from holding an awkward pose to get that last shot. A few leaves fell from the swaying trees, but there was no answer. Grabbing her tripod, she snapped her camera into place and continued down the path. “Hey, kid. I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

The laughter echoed again. Closer. It started on her left but died away on her right. Something about its timbre raised the hair on her arms. It sounded…otherworldly. She shook her head. Damn locals and their ghost stories. Now they had her jumping at little kids playing hide-n-seek.

“I’m not falling for it, you know.”

She ducked beneath a tangle of vines and stepped into a small clearing. A cracked fountain filled with leaves and the detritus of apathetic humans huddled near the corner of the house. Surrounding it like defeated guardians lay the remains of more stone figures—some shattered into little more than gravel while others reflected the morning sun.

That was odd. City records stated the house had been empty since the early 60s. Everyone she’d met between there and here acted too scared to even look at the place, much less trespass to leave lawn ornaments. Partying kids she could understand. This was unfathomable.

She knelt and picked up a stone head. It looked straight out of a haunted house. Its mouth was open wide in a silent scream. The eyes were scrunched closed and a stone tear marred its youthful face. She dropped it with a shudder, but curiosity had ever been her downfall. Each face, whether broken and weathered or gleaming, was frozen in a scream, a cry, or absolute despair. What kind of place was this?

“Ring-a-round the rosies. A pocket full of posies.”

Trista spun in a circle, her heart racing. That voice! It skittered over her skin like a cluster of hairy spiders. Shuddering, she rubbed her arm with her free hand but it did little to soothe her. Where was the path she’d just used? The vines and bushes formed a solid wall around the clearing.

“This isn’t funny.”

Laughter echoed back from all sides. “Ashes! Ashes!” A ghostly boy appeared before her, his face a distorted mockery of a smile. As he reached for her, he finished his rhyme with evil glee. “We all fall down.”

Her scream ended with a gurgle. Her camera fell to the grass, grey stone creeping along the length of the tripod. Blood dripped onto the grass and collected in a small pile of stone droplets.

Beneath the shade of a sickly mimosa, a small stone boy clutching some sort of rope in his shattered and eroded hands watched from a tangle of kudzu. With each sickening crunch and slurp, more stone flaked away to reveal smooth flesh underneath. The shadowy figure tossed Trista’s corpse, now fully encased in stone, to the ground, where it shattered like fine porcelain.

Only a few more meals and he’d be free.

 

((author’s note: I pulled the title from a video game my kid loves to play. It’s not perfect, but I thought it fit)

 

Monday Mumbles: Camilla’s Fate

Look, it’s Monday! Even better, there’s a mumbly post to go with it! This week, we’re going back to the Regency era and the always delightful Judith A. Lansdowne. The heroine: budding author, Miss Camilla “Dendron” Quinn. The hero: the notorious highwayman, Jason Fate. The book: one of Zebra Regency’s line, the excellent Camilla’s Fate.

Camilla’s Fate

The book is out of print now and isn’t available in ebook format. Which is sad. Everyone should know Jason Fate. I discovered it quite by accident, picking up a cheap copy at a thrift store for a quarter or less. I was in a decided Regency period of my reading, going so far as to subscribe to the Zebra Regency mailing in which you get four of these books per month similar to Harlequin subscriptions. Of all the authors I read in the year or two I was part of that mailing list, only a few caught my attention enough that I remembered their names. Lansdowne was one of the main ones.

Camilla’s Fate, Lord Nightingale’s Debut (omg get that one too!), and Legion’s Ladies are quintessential Judith Lansdowne. The stories are just slightly absurd, thoroughly engaging, and extremely humorous. They’re so hard to find now, but if you like a bit of sweet romance with some of the funniest stories around, make an effort to hunt for these. I think you’ll love them.

Now, a bit more about the book. The back cover, courtesy of Fiction DB (since my copy is still packed away at the old house):

The independent and beautiful Miss Camilla Quinn had never experienced the slightest interest in any of her suitors, even the Marquis of Lilliheun, surely the best catch of the ton. So she could scarce explain her sudden sweet tendre for…a highwaymen! The handsome blackguard robbed her coach, left her with a kiss, and absconded with her very heart! As for Jason Fate, thief by trade, he could not forget the lady who looked like an angel. When they finally met again at a London soiree, Jason was impersonating the newly discovered heir to a dukedom in an absolutely dastardly scheme that would make the most seasoned gentleman quake in his boots. Camilla’s duty was to denounce him. But she simply could not. Alas, she loved him! And soon Camilla’s mission to transform an unregenerate scoundrel into a fine gentleman would take her where ladies feared to tread — from the dazzling heights of the aristocracy to the darkest depths of a city…where saving Jason could be her ruin — or most improper, impossible, and irresistible Fate.

Camilla’s Fate is a sweet romance set in 19th century England with one of the funniest, sweetest, and best heroes one could ever ask for and 100% Lansdowne. I absolutely adored him! From his atrocious mangling of the King’s English, his loving care for his friend’s children, and even the nicknames he bestows upon Camilla and her cousin, Jason Fate is simply wonderful. His put-down of a rather crotchety Duke was just hilarious, especially when it was the one Duke most vital to his plans. I thought Cammy was a perfect foil for him—a bit more serious and refined to counter Jason’s playful Devil-may-care attitude yet independent enough to be more than a match for a highwayman.

The twists and turns that get the couple from robber/victim to man and wife sometimes get to be a bit much and strains at believability, but the story is entertaining and moves at a delightful pace. The children are, as most of Lansdowne’s, a bit too twee, overly cute with adorable lisps that would drive anyone nuts in about three minutes. Fortunately, they do serve a slight purpose and they’re not around too much. There are also a few brief cameos of characters you might recognize (Wright!) if you’re a fan of Lansdowne’s work. Which I am.

So, give her a try if you can find one of her books and let me know what you think.