S.C. Dane's Blog, page 12

#Shape-Shifting: How I Spent My Summer

Shapeshifting: How I Spent My Summer

Yeah, I know. It seems like I’m repeating myself. I am, a little. The reason is I’m participating in The Romance Studio’s Summer Bash, so I want to make sure that new fans can sink their teeth into my stories.

New Release coming August 19th-ish, 2013: Grane: Book Two of The Luna Chronicle

In the northern Maine woods, a wolf pack unlike any other reigns the landscape. With the ability to shift into human shape, they are the supreme rulers of their territory. Until the real humans threaten their secret realm…

A seasoned fighter who has murdered too many of his fellow wolf-men to bear counting, Grane is long past salvaging, no matter the reason behind his lethal campaign. But then he meets Suma, the white wolf who wields the power to heal his emotional scars.

But Suma is not a wolf-woman who can easily forgive Grane his horrific deeds. She mistrusts him, and seeks every opportunity to remind the wolf-man of the pain he’s caused her pack.

Yet it is through this fire that Grane’s redemption is forged, and as he heals, Suma witnesses the unfolding of a generous heart, and learns there just might be passion and loyalty to be found in forgiveness—if they can survive long enough to find out.

Excerpt for Grane:

Although the threat the humans would return hovered, the early autumn days stretched out in an endless fashion. I figured out how to be less available to Armand and Suma, and spent many hours in the woods with Gor and Terra teaching them how to hunt and how to fight. They were quick learners, but they were often distracted by butterflies, or snakes, or skunks, or any other creature that tickled and tempted their attention. I laughed endlessly on those days, and my heart mended and grew strong in my love for them, while I grew accustomed to and enjoyed my status as the lowest pack member. The twins grew fast as wolf pups, but I still had to watch close for when they shifted into their human shapes. They could crawl around, but not anywhere near as well as they could when they had their four paws beneath them.

Terra squawked whenever she was prevented from doing what she wanted because of her human shape, but Gor often laughed and his round belly jiggled with his merriment. Terra always succumbed to his humor, and many times I left the two of them to figure their bodies out. They almost always triumphed, and I smothered them with kisses and bubbles on their bellies when they did. Their delighted screams filled me till I dripped my happiness onto those around me.

“The pups are very fond of their Uncle Grane,” Beth commented one rainy morning when we were left behind at the den with the babes.

I smiled at her and shrugged. “Perhaps,” I allowed.

The red haired mother laughed. “Perhaps.” She lifted Terra into the air and blew kisses upon her creased neck. The babe squealed her delight, and Gor begged for his turn. We both broke out into hearty laughter.

Suma came in during the middle of it, smiling amidst our mirth. I settled down and lowered my head.

“What has the two of you so happy?” she asked as she hefted Gor to her hip. I raised my eyes because her sister had not answered her. And learned why. Suma was looking at me, not her sister.

“The pups, Suma.” I answered without embellishment. I had learned to keep my answers short and to the point, and then ask for my leave. It was the only way I could cope with my affections for Suma, and it seemed to work. I could now keep my human shape when I was around the white haired wolf-woman, and my heart did not cartwheel all around my ribcage.

“This little pup right here?” she gurgled at Gor and twirled him. Her beautiful white hair swirled as she spun and her muscles flexed with the weight of the babe lifted in her pale arms.

My stomach flipped and my groin made a singular throb at the sight of her. “Suma, Beth, may I go now?”

“Go? You always leave whenever I come around, Grane. Please stay.”

Suma had not released me. I turned an imploring look to Beth, but she shrugged as if she were unable to help. I hunkered back down onto the floor of the den and waited to see what Suma was up to. At least we were not alone, so Armand could not get upset if he saw us together, even though Suma still had not returned him any affection. I would just have to deal with our lengthened visit.

“Are the pups making progress with their hunting, Uncle?” A flush of pink rose in her pale cheeks.

“Yes, Suma. They do well.” A grin tugged at the corner of my lips in spite of my best efforts to remain neutral.

She nodded, wanting to hear more, and I fell for her trap like a near-sighted bear.

“Except when they spy something more interesting than what they had been trailing. Just the other day, Terra roamed completely off track and found a mud slide into the stream instead. Gor and I could not resist the fun either, and we missed our hunt.” I grinned with the memory of it, and Suma’s laughter thrilled my heart.

“I suppose Terra is always our troublemaker?” she cooed at the babe in her sister’s arms.

“Not always,” I volunteered like an ass. I stood up and sauntered over to Suma while I gushed about Gor. “He sometimes—” I stopped cold as I caught my hand reaching for Suma’s elbow.

“I am sorry,” I breathed and folded onto the floor. “Suma, I forgot,” I whispered. Her scent drifted through my body as she bent down to lift my chin in her hand. I gazed into those doe eyes of hers, which were only inches from my mouth. It burned, as did the rest of me.

“Grane, it is fine,” she smiled and her brown eyes were the stones from the stream.

“Suma, you must not,” I croaked, and pulled my face from her grasp as I turned my back to her. So much for neutral.

“I must not what? Speak to you? Visit with you?” Her voice grew edgy.

“Yes, all of those things. Armand—”

Suma cut me off, her temper strident. “Armand is a wolf-pup and I will never mate with him. Nor will I mate with anyone else.”

“You are saying this now?” I bellowed, and stepped right back up to her. She squared herself to me and the heat from our bodies collided as my skin scorched to life. I glared straight at the face that glared at me, and my heart pounded in my throat as my stomach flipped inside out. I grabbed her head with both of my hands, pressed my mouth onto hers, and she responded with gripping force. Sparks shot through me, and I convulsed as I released her.

“May I go?” I barked, and did not wait for her permission. I fled away from the woman who drove me mad, who buckled me with her scent. Who goaded me on purpose! And I had just kissed her. Sweet suffering, I was in for it now. I could taste her on my tongue.

****

Pretty cool, huh? But, if you’re lost and wondering what the deuce is going on, you’ve got to check out the first book in the The Luna Chronicle series. It’s titled Luna, exactly in the way that Grane is the subject of the title in the second installment of The Luna Chronicle series. As soon as you read the first book, you’ll get oriented with the pack, whet your appetite for the brutality and tenderness of Nature at her wildest.

Now, the other book I wrote, No Little Thing, is shape-shifting on a whole new level. We’re talking vampire-killers. Here’s the skinny:

Lily Fain’s life as a horror novelist isn’t perfect, but it suits her, even if she has written off true love in exchange for her fictional world of monsters. Then her imagined world comes to life when she discovers she has a stalker who isn’t the average fan, but a real vampire who wants her dead.

Griffyd Fychan is a vampire-killer who is seven feet of lithe muscles, quick reflexes, and an explosion of ferocity that strikes terror in those he hunts, even those he rescues. But when the slayer steps between Lily and her vampire stalker, Griffyd’s instincts not only compel him to protect her from their mutual enemy, but to bond with her, as well.

The problem? Griffyd isn’t human–he belongs within the pages of Lily’s horror novels.

Faced with the menacing vampire-killer’s affections, will Lily retreat in fear to her author’s life? Or will she surrender to her dark passion for Griffyd, whose bonding to her could alter her in ways neither one could have ever foreseen?

“No Little Thing”

Excerpt for No Little Thing:

The vampires were almost winning. They were so close, after centuries of silent killings, camouflaged feedings; the opponent clueless that a war was even being waged. Firkar curled around his desiccated belly, his skin soft and thin like parchment. Yet it caressed his jagged bones, pleasantly supple to the touch; his touch alone, as Firkar had never involved himself with the intimacy of transfiguring a human into his own kind, had left the trick of propagation to others while he focused on eliminating his species’ threat.

Vampire-killers.

They slaughtered his kind in the thousands, perfectly designed for the task, as if Nature itself stood behind them, guiding and abetting the killers in their purpose. The slayers were tall, every one of them, with an arm span that allowed them to strike without getting hit themselves.

And the raw power of that strike?

Firkar had seen lightning rip its course to destruction, and the vampire-killers’ swipes carried no less demolition. They were a force to fear and respect as much as the searing voltage that blitzed out of the sky.

Yet, his enemies were far more accurate, their intent far more predictable. For once a vampire-killer set upon his quarry’s trail, he rarely missed in his aim, and vampires stood little chance against one. Especially since Firkar and his kind were singular creatures, were incapable of standing the presence of a fellow vampire for any longer than it took to transform one.

To amass their numbers to annihilate the slayers?

Impossible.

Vampires were too volatile, too predatory, too selfish.

Too much of everything that hindered cooperation.

We are not too selfish.

He refused to believe his own description. Didn’t the fact that he hunted the slayers’ females and their young offspring prove that? Yes, he destroyed them for his own sake, his own vengeance, and Firkar’s thin lip lifted in a sharp-fanged snarl as he drew his bed fur up over his head, burrowed himself deeper into the soft embrace of the pelt, far removed and safely cached from the heat of the sun.

Revenge? He had roamed the earth’s edges for hundreds of years in the name of it, never once forgetting he now did so minus one eye, plus four long, purple, puckered scars that marred his otherwise alabaster skin. The cursed things were like ropes that conjoined his empty eye socket to his left shoulder blade, where he had twisted in a last- second recoil from the lethal swipe of a slayer’s talons.

Yet, he had escaped, and there were not many who could boast of such a feat. But his scars were no badge of honor, as they hampered his feeding, cast him deeper into the shadows, forcing him not to enamor his prey with his beauty, but to slaughter it in ambush, as if he was the monster humans had fabricated to scare their little children into behaving.

So be it.

He remained these hundreds of years on the fringe, smelling what the vampire-killers could not: the latent females of their kind, and therefore, the progenitors of their species.

Nature’s single, and only, contribution to the leveling of the playing field, and Firkar took full advantage. He had killed how many future slayers in all of his centuries?

Enough to have nearly erased the future of his enemy. When one died, there would not be another to replace him. Firkar’s hunting had made sure of that, had reduced their numbers so that he knew where each of them dwelled around the world, which territories they kept clean of vampires. And most important, which ones were in proximity of a latent slayer female.

He had but one more vampire-killer to track.

It was time for him to travel again, to leave the safety of his lair in the pursuit of his vengeance. Yet this time, the vampire did not relish his journey. He had put this one off for the last, knowing full well who he would encounter.

The one who had rendered him hideous.

The slayer who had nearly smote him from his vengeful path.

Griffyd ap Fychan, the vampire-killer who had not only scarred his beautiful flesh, but had slain more of Firkar’s kind than any other, with a savagery that impelled fear into every vampire who knew his name.

He had been ferocious as a human warrior, and had become insatiable as a vampire-killer. Firkar shuddered, ran his claws along the puckered ropes of his cheek.

Griffyd ap Fychan would not mate. Could not mate.

To duplicate his ferocity, to allow him to imbue his offspring with his swift savagery? Would be enough to tip the balance of Firkar’s hard won advantage, plunging his kind back into the darkness of near extinction.

Firkar could not fail in preventing his nemesis Griffyd from mating, would dare to acquaint himself with the company of other vampires for this particular endeavor. Solitary as he was, he was no fool, had not walked upon the earth as long as he had without learning the wisdom of caution. He would let the lesser ones feed upon the female, directing them toward the kill. If Griffyd ap Fychan discovered their scent trail, Firkar would sacrifice the younger vampires for the greater good of his mission.

And live to hunt another night.

~S.C. Dane

#Summer in the Maine Woods. Grane: Book Two of The Luna Chronicle

#The Maine Woods in summer. Grane: Book Two of The Luna Chronicle.

August is upon us and with it the winding down of summer. Seems like just last week it was ninety degrees and I slept on top of the covers. Wait. That was just last week. Which means the end of summer is moving too fast. Not that I want to talk about the weather. I’m segueing here. Ultimately, I want to talk about my next book release.

How is the end of summer and the weather related to a book release? Well, Grane: Book Two of The Luna Chronicle is tentatively scheduled to hit the market on August 19th-ish, and he’s going to arrive before I realize it. Much like Labor Day.

But it’s been a good summer. A portion of it was spent editing Grane, and I gotta tell ya, I got sucked back into the Maine woods with Luna, Alec, and the rest of the crew while I was finalizing the changes to the manuscript.

I’d forgotten how much I love hanging out with the wolf-people. I’d forgotten how much I like Grane, which is why I devoted an entire book in his honor. I had wanted him to find redemption. I had wanted him to find love again.

Except characters tend to wrest the pen from an author’s fingers and write their own stories. And you know the gray wolf—he’s one tough son-of-a-she-wolf. He has his own ideas.

The question for you, readers, is whether Grane does find peace, like I wanted him to. I mean, I see his point. It’s not easy being a wolf, especially one as guilty as the gray wolf. Besides, if you remember Beth and Alec’s pack, there is only Suma who could possibly be a mate for him.

Add to his sins the fact that he captured the white wolf to use as bait for Luna, and that he has a young, handsome brother in Armand, you can imagine his chances at finding love and redemption with Suma are next to nil. As non-existent as humans around Beth and Alec’s new den.

Wait. There are humans around Beth and Alec’s den!

Okay, I gotta stop. I’m going to give away the story, and I don’t want to spoil it for you. Like the passing of summer, the book will be released before you know it. The third week of August will be here soon.

Keep your eyes sharp for sightings of the gray wolf.

~S.C. Dane

#Still Paying It Forward: It’s About YOU not me.

#STILL PAYING IT FORWARD: It’s about YOU not Me.

This past week I talked about how giving the romance community is, and presented four authors who have demonstrated their generosity toward a fellow writer. They were Lisabet Sarai, Margay Roberge, V.S. Nelson, and Destiny Blaine.

Now, I want to acknowledge the Readers, who deserve as much praise for their support of the romance community. Without our reading fans, we writers wouldn’t be able to share the stories that haunt us until we tell them. We couldn’t find relief from the characters that scratch and stretch until we give them substance upon the page.

If you think I’m kidding, think back to some of your favorite characters. Maybe he was from a book you haven’t thought about for years, maybe the heroine is someone you forgot was a lot like you. Have you got your character? Are you visualizing him or her, breathing life back into them?

Remember how they had you gripping the sides of the book you were holding as you read, breath held, stomach clenched, just dying to devour the words so the scenes could play out? Well, those same heroes are conceived in our tiny heads, and like fledglings who are too big for the nest, they demand their space.

And they demand it according to their personalities. Some kick. Hard. Dropping roundhouse kick after kick until we acknowledge them. Some are more subtle, preferring to tickle and tease, to tempt us toward the blank page. Imagine how it is for the busy writer with such demanding creatures in our heads!

They are relentless. We love them as much you, the reader, does. Except we get the not-so-glamorous parts, too. All those quirks that never make it to the page because they didn’t fit a story line, or an image. But exist, none the less.

Although, we do our best to deliver everything. We want you to love our heroes and heroines as much as we do, despite the bad and the ugly. It’s what makes them real. Sometimes, we can sneak them into the story for you. Maybe it’s just a single, graphic line meant to stir you, giving the character another edge, a little more sensuality.

Are you still thinking about your favorite hero or heroine? Excellent! Now, go do what we authors love about you. Go Read! Now. This instant. Disappear into the pages in the name of supporting a romance author, of giving help to us before our new characters drive us mad with their demands. Pay it forward.

We writers need our audience. Without you, dear Reader, we would all be just a touch insane.

“Artistic experience lies so incredibly close to that of sex, to its pain and its ecstasy, that the two manifestations are indeed but different forms of one and the same yearning delight.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke (from Seductress, by Betsy Prioleau)

~S.C. Dane

#Paying It Forward

#Paying It Forward

Paying it forward.

An expression with a living heart in this realm known as romantic fiction writing. Who would have thought authors of the romance genre would be so generous? You’d think we pen-slaves would be cut-throat in our battle to capture our reading audiences. We want to sell our books, we need to sell our books. Our livelihoods depend on it. Romance writers should be like crabs in a barrel, yanking down the competition as she reaches the crowning apex of her success, her pinchy feet dirty from grinding into the backs of her competitors.

Yet, this is so not the case. Time and again, I’m shown my fellow authors’ altruism in their willingness to help out their writing colleagues. It’s as though, in this world of romantic fiction, there is a ‘circle the wagons’ mentality, a joining of forces that makes us stronger.

The longer I’m part of this wagon-train beast, the deeper I see into its belly, and I’ve discovered it’s no dark and dank cavern. Just the opposite. Hope blooms eternally upon these vast fields of romance, and as long as we authors keep crafting, our readers keep buying—thereby making room for us all. Despite the plethora of romance books on the market, there is a continuous demand. Who knew so many readers gobbled this stuff up? It’s like a secret society. Nobody talks about romance books, but by God, you can bet they’re reading them.

I love it! Because it means there is room for every writer, which is an apparent secret among the authors of this titanic genre. Before I’d been welcomed into the fold, I was ignorant that such a network existed, that it ran so strong and hard in the underground of the publishing business.

I’m proud to admit we pay it forward. Just as I’m doing today. On the right hand side of this posting, you’ll find four fellow romance authors who have done me a good turn. Now it’s my chance to give back. Scroll down to check them out and grab the chance to pay it forward, too. The authors, in order, are:

Lisabet Sarai, Margay Roberge, V.S. Nelson, and Destiny Blaine.

Thank you, Readers, for your insatiable appetites, and thank you, my fellow Romance Novelists, who are always sharing. Open hearts abound—within the pages and behind them!

~S.C Dane

Lisabet Sarai

Necessary Madness

M/M Paranormal Erotic Romance

Buy Link: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=655

Blurb

Both power and love can lead to madness.

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob’s own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating.

Since his telepathic sister’s brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with “gifted” individuals like Kyle. Yet he can’t deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man — an attraction that appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

Excerpt:

“Kitchen’s here, with the door out to the back porch. Only one bathroom, I’m afraid. Here’s the guest room-your room. The closet’s empty; you’re welcome to put your stuff in there.”

Rob led Kyle through his apartment, fussing and clucking like a mother hen. He wondered for the hundredth time whether this was a mistake. The guy was just so damned beautiful. Rob could hardly bear to be close to him. Driving the few miles from St. Vincent’s to his building, Rob had tried to pay attention to the road, but he couldn’t help sneaking sidelong glances at the mysterious, sensual face of his companion. Kyle seemed to be brooding. Maybe he had his doubts, too.

“What stuff?” Kyle spread his arms, a half-smile on his plump lips. “Everything I own is on my back.”

“I’ll take you over to Greendale Mall so you can pick up some new clothes. Loan you some cash until you get on your feet.”

“What makes you think I’ll ever ‘get on my feet’, Sergeant Murphy?”

“Rob. Please.”

“Okay, Rob.” Kyle stared at the mostly bare maple outside the guest room window, before turning back to confront him. “Why should anything be different now?” Rob heard the bitterness in his voice. “I have a disease, and I don’t mean the ulcer. I’m cursed. I see terrible things, and I can’t stop them. It’s getting worse all the time. There are only two possibilities. Either I’ll kill myself, or I’ll truly go insane.”

Rob suppressed the urge to take the man in his arms. Instead, he settled for an avuncular pat on the shoulder. “It’s only your imagination, Kyle. Your mind playing tricks on you. Once you understand that, maybe you can suppress the visions. Or control them.”

Kyle sank down onto the bed. His dark eyes burnt under exquisitely arched brows. “My imagination? You know that’s not true.”

Rob lowered himself onto the desk chair. He wished that he were somewhere else. He wanted to help Kyle, but he really didn’t like where the conversation was going.

“What else could it be? These spells-they’re like seizures. Storms of random activity in your brain that make you see things. I was there at the hospital, remember, when it hit you yesterday. You were completely out of touch, yelling about the brake, the gas tank, groaning and crying. You were delusional.”

“It was a crash,” Kyle intoned. “At least five cars. Glass everywhere. The screech of rubber, the stink of leaking gasoline, and then the explosion and the smell of charred flesh… Check the papers, Rob. Call the police station. If it hasn’t happened yet, it will soon.”

“You really believe that your hallucinations foretell the future?” Rob remembered the night he’d picked Kyle up, the narrowly averted catastrophe at the address Kyle had seen.

“I only wish that they didn’t. All I ever see is violence and pain.” Kyle buried his face in his hands.

Rob moved to the bed, next to his guest, and put his arm around the denim-clad shoulders. He couldn’t help himself. “Look, that’s crazy. This isn’t some kind of horror movie. This is real life. There’s a rational explanation for everything.” He was trying to convince himself as much as Kyle. He didn’t want anything more to do with psychic abilities. Never again.

Kyle skewered him with a dark stare, hurt and angry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought that you wanted to help me.”

Rob tensed. Kyle was so close. The funk of his old sweat rose from the worn jacket, along with a trace of disinfectant. Rob could see the pulse beating in the boy’s pale temple. He felt his own blood rush to his cock.

Kyle trembled. His nostrils flared. His eyes gleamed. Rob felt the pull, a magnet focused on his groin. It would be so easy to gather that taut young body to his chest, to fasten his mouth on Kyle’s ripe lips, to take control. But that wasn’t what the man needed. Kyle needed responsible strength. Logic. Maturity. With a heroic effort, Rob smothered his fantasies.

“I do want to help. If I didn’t, do you think I would have taken you in? I just want you to be realistic. To recognise that even when you think you’re seeing future events, that’s a delusion.”

Kyle wasn’t listening, not really. Rob could see him adjust his face, hiding his emotions, shuttering those bright eyes, donning a false smile. Putting on a mask. “Whatever you say, Rob. Maybe you’re right. After all, most nut cases think their visions are real.”

“You’re not a ‘nut case’, Kyle.”

“Are you sure?” He giggled. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. Either I’m prescient, or I’m insane.” He stood, stretching, then grinned at the sight of Rob’s obvious concern. “Hey, lighten up. Either way, I’m not going to stab you in your bed.”

Rob shuddered, despite himself.

Kyle rested a light hand on Rob’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to give you a hard time. I really do appreciate you giving me a place to crash.”

The casual touch re-ignited Rob’s carefully suppressed desire. Fortunately, the phone rang. “Excuse me,” he muttered, beating a hasty retreat to the hall.

Margay Roberge

Excerpt:

Shiloh nearly leapt off the sill as his hand touched her knee. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to remain seated and appear undaunted by the gesture. “I am…much better now…thank you,” she said, becoming more unnerved by the presence of his hand by the minute. Oh, this was not good, not good at all. The longer it remained there, the stronger her impulse to bolt became. Oh, no…

What was it about this man that rattled her so and with so little effort on his part? Sharing the same air with him was enough to send her pulses to the moon—and her mind somewhere else, something new for her. Being this attracted to a man was beyond her realm of experience. She didn’t know what to do with it—or about it. Should she do anything? Should she pretend indifference? And why wasn’t he so deeply affected? It wasn’t fair.

Still confused, she gave him a weak smile, intent on backing up her previous claim with the gesture. She feared it failed miserably. When Micah returned her smile and lifted his hand from her knee, she felt precisely one second of relief before he shook her world again by caressing her face in parting. She stumbled

back against the frame of the window, her lips parting on a startled breath as a lightning bolt shot through her at his touch. Something flickered in his eyes at her reaction—pain, perhaps—and he retracted his hand, balling it into a fist as he turned away from her, preparing to depart.

In an instant, she realized her mistake. Along with it came the knowledge she couldn’t let him go away angry or upset. After everything he and his family had done for her, she owed him that much. She grabbed him by the shirtfront to stop him, and a shock of awareness shot from her hand directly into his heart, just beneath it. She could see it in the gaze he leveled on her then, could hear it in his breath trapped within his lungs, feel it in the missed beat of his heart. But then, all sense abandoned her, and her heart skipped a beat as he held her hand firmly to his chest with one of his own and lifted the other to her head, anchoring it against the window frame. Slowly, his eyes never straying from hers, he leaned across the space separating them. His lips brushed hers, like a whisper, before he withdrew, tilted his head to the side, and advanced again. This time the kiss was fuller, penetrating her every defense, both physical and emotional, but still not long enough for her. He retreated once again after a fraction of time and hovered before her, scarcely an inch away. Watching her. Waiting.

Her heart beating a frantic tempo now, Shiloh abandoned all of her reservations and her good sense to swoop in for a more vigorous kiss. So vigorous, in fact, she knocked him off his perch through the open window. Only quick reflexes honed to perfection at the Institute prevented her from tumbling after him.

Bracing herself against the sill, she leaned out the window as far as she was able and watched his descent from the slanted roof to the ground below. She lost sight of him the moment he slid beyond the reach of the light from her window. But then she heard him land with a thud —and a howl—on the ground in front of the back porch when he failed to catch himself on the roof edge. She clasped a hand over her mouth to silence her reaction and waited. When he didn’t rouse right away, panic shot through her and she leaned out another few inches.

“Micah? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he answered after a few moments, appearing beyond the overhang of the roof as if to prove it to her. “Nothing hurt but what’s left of my pride.”

Relief coursed through her at his statement, and she allowed herself the laugh she’d literally held back before. Her mirth was cut short, however, by his next words.

“Hey, Shiloh! We’ve got to stop falling for each other like this.”

His laughter followed her as she ducked back into the room. She could still hear it even after she closed the window, though not as well. Oh, Lord. She rested against the cool pane of glass and touched her still-tingling lips with shaky fingers. Was she? Falling for him? Was that what this crazy-mad feeling inside of her was?

The question plagued her long into the night.

Links:

http://margayleahjustice.blogspot.com/

http://moonlightlacemayhem.blogspot.com/

http://twitter.com/Margay

http://www.facebook.com/MargayLeahJustice

Buy Links:

MuseItUpPublishing: http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=242&category_id=107&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Sloane-Wolves-Destiny-Falls-ebook/dp/B006M4AGN4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326586732&sr=1-1

Smahwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/116104

–

Margay Leah Justice

Elemental Humans: Water: http://www.textnovel.com/story/Elemental-Humans:-Water/8877/

The Jane Austen Society Pages: http://textnovel.com/stories_list_detail.php?story_id=1347

http://margayleahjustice.blogspot.com/

http://moonlightlacemayhem.blogspot.com/

http://www.myspace.com/margay1122

http://twitter.com/Margay

http://www.facebook.com/MargayLeahJustice

http://myworld.ebay.com/margay1122

Virginia Nelson

Author of adult sensual paranormal romance series “Sekhmet’s Guardians.”

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00AXYLHF0

Eternal Nights – Sekhmet’s Guardians – Book Two

Back cover blurb:

With each passing day Jessica’s consciousness grew stronger. For twenty years she was content to remain as she was—trapped inside another. The life she led came to an abrupt end the moment she laid eyes on Raphael. At first she suspected they were destined to be together–his gentle touch confirmed it. Although he didn’t know it, he ignited waves of a fiery passion that burned deep into her soul. It became brighter every day, giving her the strength she needed. Somehow she would find a way to free herself from her grandmother’s powerful magic.

Since her birth she learned vicariously from observing others of her kind and until now she was satisfied with the life she led. She had everything one would need to live a meaningful life without the stress the human world inflicts on its inhabitants. With each passing day her obsession to be more than she was, intensified. Jessica knew she was gifted with her race’s abilities to communicate with others but until now she had never used them. They say practice makes perfect and she was at a point now where she could make her presence known—at least to him.

Virginia S. Nelson writing as V.S.Nelson

Ancient Legends – New Worlds – Humans weren’t the only ones to migrate to America

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Destiny Blaine

Trilogy of a Wolf’s Endowment, including Savage Release is available from eXtasy Books

Tagline: One beast may die, but another one will rise. And his savage ways will live on forever.

Blurb:

Two members of the Moonlight Clan Council are abducted. After they’re pulled away from their East Tennessee pack and shipped to Canada, they awaken only to find themselves surrounded by the snow-covered peaks of the Northern Rocky Mountains. To make matters worse, a formidable enemy stands before them and challenges them in a battle for their lives.

Fighting their way to freedom, Len and Ray come face to face with Sable, another wolf-shifter defending their pack’s enemy, Corey Marshall. Once Sable learns she supported the wrong wolf, she realizes how much she stands to lose.

Drawn to their attacker in a way that doesn’t make sense, Len and Ray see vivid images as the trilogy of endowment unfolds before them. They embrace their mating call, but the young woman is quite a handful. And Sable isn’t prepared for Len’s idea of a first mating. After Len and Ray unleash their building passion, Sable is left with only one choice—complete surrender.

Destiny Blaine

http://www.destinyblaine.com

Gone Camping! Map Points to #MFRWcamp #MFRWorg

I’m back from traveling, and now I’m off to Summer Camp. What a life I lead! You’d think I was independently wealthy, the way I just breeze around. The truth is, Marketing For Romance Writers is hosting a very informative 3-day workshop for authors at their Coffee Time Romance website.

I’m taking full advantage of it, even though I’m busier than a one-armed juggler!(That’s for you, HLB-A!)

Which means I’m not posting The Best Blog You’ve Ever Read this weekend. You’ll have to wait for that until next week. Meanwhile, while I’m learning the ins and outs of marketing in this publishing world, I’m writing the ending to my latest novel AND preparing/participating in a Draft Horse Show.

Like I said, I’m busy. And, so are all of you. I’ll sign off so you can get back to your own summer fun!

~S.C. Dane

I’M TRAVELING!

I’m Traveling!

For those who know me personally, don’t get too excited. I’m merely taking a virtual trip. I’m popping in for a visit to Beyond Romance, a blog run by the beautiful Lisabet Sarai. You ought to check it out, if you’ve the taste for a little excursion yourself. Her link is:

http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2013/07/beyond-romance-no-way.html

Here’s a sneak peek—

Beyond Romance?

Nah. I’m smack dab in the middle of it, quite by accident. Blithely, several years ago I began writing the story taking shape in my convoluted brain and finished up with a paranormal love story.

Did I know I was writing one? Not a clue. I’d never even read paranormal romance, why would I think I was writing a story for a genre I didn’t know existed? But, write one I did, which meant plunging my eyes into every paranormal romance book I could get my, ahem, paws on.

I started hunting my prey …

Next week, I’ll be paying it forward, so don’t forget to drop in.

~S. C. Dane

“WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?”

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?

This is yet another chapter in the series of “Here. Hold my beer.” To bring newcomers up to speed, “Here. Hold my beer.” is the first chapter containing foibles and stunts from folks who felt like superstars while drinking.

The second chapter, “Shit You Saw Coming, But Did Anyway” is exactly what the title suggests. Again, pain is usually involved.

Third, “Didn’t See That Coming” is really a sub-chapter to the second and the first. Pain is almost always involved. As is the humiliating rush of embarrassment. At least, in this scenario, the person taking the hit really has been truly blind-sided.

Now, for the fourth chapter in my book on human shortcomings. “What could possibly go wrong?” A question which should always be followed by knocking on wood. Most often, the results of such an attitude are merely messy, and not always physically painful. “What could possibly go wrong?” you ask, while handing your friend the scissors. She’s just giving your hair a trim. It’s not as if she’s going to turn your bangs into something resembling the front of a doghouse.

*Readers take note. This happened to me, and the perpetrator knows who she is.

Or maybe you invited that weird friend to your dinner party at the last minute. I’m sure every one of you have had moments like the ones I’ve shared. I know I’m not alone in this. ‘Fess up and share.

~S.C. Dane

Long Hair and Romance

Long Hair and Romance

What is it about long hair on a lover that sends us grinding into the erogenous zone? Why do long locks “do it” for us?

After all, long tresses are far from practical between the sheets. The long hair gets laid on, caught up on body parts, pillows, and acts like a mooring so we can’t move our heads.

Still, it remains an aphrodisiac. There is something titillating about the cascade of hair along the back, across the shoulders. I mean, read a romance novel, and you’ll discover most of the women have tresses curling down their backs. Even worn up in a chignon, a woman’s long hair is alluring to men.

So why, as a single woman, have I shorn the locks from my scalp? I wrote a poem a few years ago, which might explain my curiosity. Like most stories, the verse tapped on my skull until I let it out. In retrospect, I see why.

She shaved her head.

To see what her skull looked like.

To be bare-boned.

Frill-less.

Staring into a full-length mirror without adornment.

That is self, she sighed.

So, she shaved her head to know if she thought herself beautiful.

From within, without the without.

Without the tresses to coquettishly en-veil breasts that are not coquettish.

Never were. 

But were hers.  Always.

Whether she shared them with her babes or her husband.

Her breasts now like the pile of auburn upon the bathroom floor.

Dropped.  Unnecessary.

She shaved her head.

For beauty’s sake.

To see her beauty.

Did I see my beauty when my chopped tresses dropped into the bathroom sink? Yeah, I did. With all my hair gone, I saw myself—the inner me shining out. It took courage to shear my head, especially since long hair is synonymous with sexy and beautiful. Yet, the poem I wrote years before contained some truth, after all.

I shaved my head to be bare-boned, to own myself.

~S.C. Dane