S.C. Dane's Blog, page 2

More Nothing

#words #math #oxforddictionary #nothing #satisfaction #funny

NOTHING

As a writer, I’m a word junkie. I crave words, get high from their meanings. Unlike math and numbers, writing and words are like Silly Putty® They can be stretched and played with, their definitions malleable.

I could give you examples, but the list would be as long as…the Oxford Dictionary. The English language is a mutt, a crossbreed who continues to change to this day. Such fun!

Now, I can give you an example of the fun. In my quest for Nothing I came across this website: http://www.nothing.net/index.html

The owners of this website sell ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Satisfaction is guaranteed. Check it out:

THE CUSTOMER IS #1

We know that you work hard for your money, so we are working overtime to develop our customer image. We’ll do nothing to help you right from the start. If you don’t like our service, we’ll do nothing until we get it right. Anyone can offer nothing, but we’ll deliver. Others may stop at nothing to get a satisfied customer, but to us nothing is just the beginning.

This is just one example of the funny business of Nothing going on at this website. There is plenty more in the fun department over there. So if you just need a smile or chuckle for the day, I recommend the visit.

Thank you to the makers of Nothing. Find Nothing at http://www.nothing.net/index.html

Enjoy!

~S.C. Dane

A Blog About Nothing

A Blog About Nothing

#nothing #Oxfam #poverty #NelsonMandela

As a published author of paranormal romance novels, I’m supposed to blog as part of my promotion platform. You know, fling my author brand out into the virtual universe and hope for sales of my books.

Ugh.

That’s all I’m going to say about my feelings on that.

Because I don’t have enough of an ego to profess about my craft, or my author’s life, blabbity, blah, blah. I mean, who cares. Readers just want to read my books, right?

So, now the problem. How to hold up my end of the contract with my publisher by writing for the public on a regularly scheduled basis.

Aside from posting another serial, I was coming up with nothing.

And then, I’m washing my hair. You know, working my fingers into my scalp, loving the smell of my ‘poo turning into scented steam from the shower, and Ding, ding, ding!

Nothing.

I can write about nothing.

I Googled it, and got some surprising results. So, here I go. Keeping my author’s presence breathing and kicking in the digital universe.

Nothing: Nothing is a pronoun denoting the absence of anything. Nothing is a pronoun associated with nothingness.[1] In nontechnical uses, nothing denotes things lacking importance, interest, value, relevance, or significance.[1] Nothingness is the state of being nothing,[2] the state of nonexistence of anything, or the property of having nothing. (Wikipedia)

I, however, disagree. Here’s reason why #1: http://youneednothing.com/

Check it out. It’s a black or white rectangular block. An entire website devoted to the sale of it. Yet, the proceeds are for more noble. They go to Oxfam.org, a worldwide organization devoted to ending poverty. Which is where the real story of my delving into nothingness lies. Here is just one section of Oxfam’s motivating site:

Nelson Mandela said, “Like slavery and apartheid, poverty is not natural. It is man-made and it can be overcome and eradicated by the actions of human beings.” Whoever you are, you are critical to the global movement for change.

It then goes on to tell the stories of people all over the world who are doing their part, no matter how small, no matter how humble.

Well, there you have it. My blog post about nothing. A surprise twist that started with nothing, but ended with something…as big as the world.

Stay tuned next week for nugget #2 of what it means to be nothing.

~S.C. Dane

S.C. Dane is the author of The Luna Chronicle, and No Little Thing. She has started a new series about sexy, tormented Gargoyles, which makes its debut in the summer of 2016.

 

 

Friends: furry or…

‘CAUSE YOU GOTTA HAVE FRIENDS

#bestfriends #dogs #smiles

Two warm-blooded friends are sitting in the room you walk into. One of them has fur and wags his tail. The other one nods and says, “Hi.” Which one are you going to go over to, and touch with a smile?

~S.C. Dane

Accessing Your Inner Beast

Identifying with Shifters #fur #reading #shifterromance #escape

Last week I talked about camouflage, and how there is an inner beast prowling inside some of us that we won���t let out. For various reasons, and all of them personal. And visceral. But, I���m getting sidetracked already, thinking about guts. Because that���s leading to���See? Sidetracked.

What I want to talk about this week is how when that inner beast gets poked at its damned hard to keep her passive.

So, please forgive me as I stand here as��Captain Obvious and announce: We read paranormal romance novels for the pleasure of it. What, you want to know, does reading books you love have to do with our own hidden animals?

Because��when it comes to reading the subgenre of Shifter Romance, I think we read it for the escape. From un-reality, my friends. The world most would call normal���isn���t. For those of us who don���t fit into it, the ���un-real��� world is a confining and confusing space. With waaay too many rules many of us just can���t understand. Or tolerate.

So, we escape to places that do make sense. Sure, some��call them fictional. Let them. By now, those of us who claw at the steel of our invisible cages are used to being patronized. Being accustomed to something doesn���t mean we like it, though. We���re baring our fangs, lifting our hackles. But being the awesome, adaptable creatures we are, we camouflage it.

But, man oh man! Wouldn���t it be AWESOME to really show your teeth?

Being the author of my���I���m gonna call them get-aways, I get to create scenes that let me vent. You know, like something happened with some humans, and I so, so wanted to clutch their throats in my jaws. Thrash ���em around a bit, make them see sense.

Instead of acting on my instincts, I hide my true nature, and retreat to my keyboard. Here���s a scene from my book Kenrickey to show you what I mean:

I shuffled to Hersey���s office at his request when class was over.

���God, Ken, you look like hell.���

I stared at him.

���Er,��� Hersey cleared his throat. ���Well, then.��� He rubbed his hands together like he was cold, or nervous. ���The reason I wanted to see you–���

���Stay the fuck away from my house.���

He shut up, his guilt blooming on his cheeks.

The rush of blood to his face stirred me, awakened the predator within and I crept forward, my muscles shivering tensely, aching to hurt him. I stopped when our toes nearly touched, then followed my nose toward his neck, where his fear puffed in whiffs from his quickening pulse. I leaned back to lock his eyes with mine. ���Come near my property again, I will personally cut your legs off and throw them in the river.���

���I didn���t-I wasn���t������

I arched an eyebrow at his stuttering lies.

���Ken?���

I raised my hand to point at his chest and the pussy flinched. ���Don���t ever beckon me to your office again, Mark. I���ll come when I think it���s necessary, and not before.���

I turned my back on the pathetic crumb, and left the building without waiting for his reply. ~Kenrickey: Book Three of the Luna Chronicle

See? Of course, there is a ton of pre-story to this scene. Ken is being sucked into the world of wolf shifters with some strange and fearsome side effects.��But I think��the scene��shows the gist of what I���m talking about. Sometimes, you just want to show a liiiitle of that beast inside you. Let just enough shimmer to the surface so the one you���re confronting feels your intensity.

I think of scenes like this in all my books when my hackles are up and I want to shred someone a new a**hole. Don’t you? When you find yourself in these situations, do you remember a shifter��character you���ve read about, and picture yourself in their stead? Or imagine yourself adopting their can���t-give-two-shits attitudes when it���s going to kill you to roll over one goddamned more time?

Me, too. It���s why I love to read shifter romance, and love to write it even more. When problems surface, I find myself thinking what would Kenrickey do?��

How about you? Is there a favorite character you fall back on to get you out of crappy situations?

Thanks for getting what I���m talking about. There���s nothing scholarly, or particularly rational about this post. I���m just sharing. And, hopefully, letting you know you���re not alone in there.

Enjoy your day. Shake your fur. It needs fluffing.

~S.C. Dane is a paranormal romance novelist with four books to her credit, and two in the works.

Confessions of a romance writer: An animal in human skin

Confessions of a paranormal romance author: Animal in a Human���s Skin #furry #freak #wolf #creativity #writing #excerpts

Camouflage is French for ���mind your own business.��� ~Anonymous (I don���t know who came up with this. I heard a friend say it, and thought it so clever he couldn���t possibly have thought it up himself. But if he did? My apologies. And hats off to you, K.B.)

Don���t you ever wonder where your imagination comes from? Why the fancies of one person���s mind can vary so greatly from another���s. Each one taking on a specific slant, a perspective leaning in a constant direction.

Like the too-close-for-comfort preternatural dramas of Stephen King, or the complicated sagas of JRR Tolkein. Both writers reveal a pattern, a legend to the maps of their minds��� inventiveness.

What does this tell me? It tells me that our imaginations are linked to our essential cores. That they are linked to who we are on the inside.

No matter what we look like on the outside.

What I mean is, yeah, we can look perfectly human, but there���s something else curled deep and safe inside of us: the inner self which can be truer to who we are than our own skins.

For some of us, that skin is camouflage. It doesn���t represent who we are on the inside. I mean, do you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror and get taken aback? As if the image in the glass isn���t what you expected to see?

Or that maybe inside your hands, when you look down at them, there is something aching to push out?

Happens to me. Which is how my first book came about. I dared to cage my insecurities and stepped a tentative toe onto the damning evidence of the page. Where the written word transformed itself into the accusing finger, giving the ���normal��� public a chance to scoff and malign the creatures escaping my imagination.

Since it was my first story, I stuck to the cardinal rule of authors: write what you know.

Still shy and afraid, I wrote in privacy, guarding my computer screen while I transported the animals inside me to the brutal exposure of the open page

This is how Beth was born. A woman living in human society. A woman out of touch with that society. Yeah, she blended okay, but there was always something others were put off by.

Always something she was put off by, but couldn���t quite put her finger on.

That���s me. I live with humans, but too often find myself saying, ���What the fuck?���

Because I don���t get people.

Neither does Beth. Since I couldn���t do anything about myself, I saved her.

I conjured a wolf-man to come and show her where her real world was.

Wishful thinking? You bet!

From Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle by S.C. Dane:

Sunrise found me in my usual spot in front of the picture window, sipping my coffee and gazing at my reflection as I fantasized about the stranger named Alec. I was running into him a lot, and he seemed to be searching me out as often as I was looking for him. No guy or teenage horny-toad had ever pursued me, not even out of curiosity. So, why didn’t I find the whole situation unusual?

Because this man’s interest stirred me like I’d only dreamed about. I wanted him. Scratch that. I craved him. Hell, I was getting goose-bumps just sitting in my chair thinking about him. It was all I could do to keep myself from throwing my virginity at him.

So, I had to be careful. I had no experience in this sort of thing, and I sure as shit didn’t want to scare him off with my weirdness. Forget that I thought the guy could be a wolf. That was just me fantasizing again. The reality was that I was the freak, so if Alec found me interesting, I was going to have to act as normal as I could muster. Which meant not stalking him like a hungry predator.

This is a scene from when Beth still thought she was human. Before she learned there were wolf-people and she was one of them. At this time in the story, she thinks she���s a freak because she just doesn���t think like the people around her. She prefers spending her time in the woods. It���s the only place where she feels closest to her ���real��� self, without understanding why.

Like many of us, she has to put on a mask to get through her day. She has to pretend to ���get��� the rules of human interaction. Only in the primordial cradle of the forests does she slough her mask, to run and play with wild abandon.

For Beth, these private sojourns into the woods are necessary to her spiritual survival.

As they are for mine. I need to touch the earth with my bare feet or I���ll go bat shit. Know what I mean? Or can you��keep your beast happy without leaving the city walls? If you can, I’d love to know how.

I���ll share more of Luna, Beth, and a romance writer���s private inner workings later. If you want to read more about Beth, be one of the first to comment, and I���ll send you a free, signed copy of Luna: Book One of The Luna Chronicle. Or check out another female misfit in the serial I published here on my blog. Titled Wolf Love, it’s free for the reading.

Thank you for coming along for the ride.

~S.C. Dane

Animal in Human Skin: A paranormal romance writer’s confession.

I’m an animal in human skin. #socialmisfit #borderlander? #freethinker #furries #freebook And I am NOT crazy, or unstable, or a freak. I’m not unique either. There are a lot of people out there in the world who identify with animals. I just happened to tap into a way to live inside them, to look out from behind the eyes of the furry.

I love to write. It’s as crucial to my well-being as surrounding myself with animals who think like I do. It’s how I fell into writing paranormal romance writing.

I didn’t start out with that goal at all. I simply wrote a story made up of characters with touches of me.

Turned out, the only way for publishers to look at it was to cram it into a box and label it. Luna became the first book I ever wrote.��Beth a.k.a. Luna��was my first, and tentative, venture into the land of the furred-made-public.

I’ll delve deeper into that in my next blog post (look for it Tuesday, April 14, 2015).

For now, I need to apologize for the interruption in “Lover In Stone” serial. My publisher is taking a look at it, along with the sequel. In the meantime, I thought I’d use the break to connect with other “furries.”

Do you feel as if you shouldn’t have been born with bare skin? Are you missing your tail?

Tell me about it. Really. I wouldn’t mind a howl from another pack. If you’re shy, please visit my website http://www.paranormalromancebyscdane.com. ��OR just click on the “website” link at the top right of this page.��I think once you sniff around, you’ll realize this blog isn’t a trap, and you may venture forth. For the first couple of brave souls who leave comments, I’ll give a free, signed copy of Luna:��Book One of the Luna��Chronicles if they would like to have one (I swear this isn’t a trap and the books aren’t bait!!). That way, when I start sharing the inside poop on my characters, you’ll know who I’m talking about.

Thanks for sharing.��Have a great day!

~S.C. Dane

LOVER IN STONE, Installment No. 21

INSTALLMENT No. 21 #lips #Angel #gargoyle

���Merrick?��� Angelia���s voice quavered like the chicken she was, and she silently cursed herself. The Chimera needed someone sturdy, not some quaking ninny, so she���d better stiffen her Ramen noodle spine to be strong for him. Even if she had to fake it.

Her lips had not suddenly gone dry, dang it. But the swiping of her tongue to moisten them was like a slap to the face of her denial. Which she chose to ignore, and stood up, coiling her sweaty fist tighter with Merrick���s hold so he wouldn���t let her go.

Because she saw his agony. Heck, she felt it.

Whatever he did up on that Archway wasn���t good.

She���d seen the bony carcasses, so did she really want to know the gruesome details?

Yes. If it meant she could ease some of that drowning grief from his gray eyes, then yes. She wanted to comfort him so bad the need to do it quivered inside her, her body demanding she open up and take him into herself.

Acting on instinct, she reached out, pulling Merrick���s rough hand around her back and pressing her body to his.

He hissed as his arm drew her in tight. Through the opening of his unbuttoned leather jacket, she could see the hammer-like blows of his heart punching the thick muscles of his chest.

Jiminy, she could smell him, forcing her to remember there was a reason she���d let herself get squashed this close to Merrick, and it wasn���t to bask in that crystalline wildness. She was trying to give him solace.

���You stop souls from entering Hell, don���t you.��� It wasn���t a question; she���d seen the evidence. But she wanted to come across as accepting, not as some dang coward.

He growled his answer, and Angelia closed her eyes as the scrape of it dragged delectably across her skin, erupting goosebumps in its wake.

���Yes.���

Ooh, she so, so, so loved his growl. Why didn���t she want to bask? She needed to dredge up every ounce of self-restraint she had to keep herself on track. But she would, for Merrick���s sake. ���And humans without souls who wish to pass?��� She knew such beings existed. They were the stuff of her nightmares from as far back as she could remember. They were the things the Gargoyles and Chimeras of her dreams protected her from.

They were probably why she idolized the Kynd.

His forehead pressed to her crown, his uneven breaths caressing her hair. ���Angel, no more.��� When he pulled back to look at her, he somehow plumbed a reassuring grin, and the sight of it made her go all gooey inside. Maybe it was because he seemed to be asking for mercy while his strong teeth reminded her that physically, he wasn���t vulnerable at all. ���This Castle is probably the last beautiful thing you���ll see for a few days. You should be paying attention to that instead.���

Pfft. She highly doubted it. Merrick was beautiful, what with his black bangs curling in little spikes across his forehead, like a row of mini scythes, and cupping his smallish ear, which dragged her attention so her gaze followed the cords of his neck to the leather of his collar.

And he���d just called her Angel.

She bet he didn���t even realize it.

Besides, when she pulled her mind out of the sexual gutter, she noticed she was experiencing something far more beautiful than architecture or a sinful body: she was aglow from receiving the compassion of a Chimera.

Now that she knew how well-guarded a secret that was, she felt the privilege of his gift. He was treating her like Kynd.

Which made him irresistibly sexy.

Even to a virgin.

Her core squirmed again, but this time it pulsated, wetting her panties.

The muscles of Merrick���s broad shoulders bulged as he lowered his head to take a deep breath.

Dear God, he was sniffing her! He���d feel, too, the heat of her hand, the heat of her thighs, and she had to struggle not to place his hand where she readied for him, she had to resist the flaming urge to pull it between her legs and ride his rough palm.

His fingers gripped hers so hard she thought maybe he might break her bones. But she couldn���t stop her eyes from wandering low, to watch his manhood thicken, stretching the leather of his leggings. Her tongue stole out to caress her lower lip, for different reasons this time.

���Come on, Angel.��� As Merrick tugged at her to resume their march toward the Castle, she caught the glint of thick fangs. Which should have frightened the bee turds out of her. Seriously, what was he going to do with those? Bite her?

Oh, please, yes.

She ought to wash her brain out with soap. She wanted the Chimera to bite her? Maybe it was time to stop living with Vampires.

Kynd didn���t drink blood, she knew that much. But she couldn���t shake visions of Merrick���s sharp teeth pinching her nipples, or sucking her breasts in between them.

Gads. She wasn���t helping the situation here, not when her nipples went rigid with the promise of what Merrick���s mouth could do.

Turning her attention to where her feet were going would be far more helpful. Merrick was dragging her toward the Castle, so she shifted gears to follow willingly, and freed her mind from her breasts to think about the words he���d spoken as he���d pulled her with him.

He���d called her Angel again. Merrick might have spoken to her like his teeth were smashed together, but he had called her Angel.

An endearment, not a curse.

She knew that because he didn���t let go of her hand.

He kept hold of her.

And she took it for the truce it was.

~S.C. Dane

~Installment No. 22 coming Saturday, April 11, 2015.

LOVER IN STONE, Installment No. 20

 

INSTALLMENT No. 20 #Angel #eyes #grenade

She spun around so fast he had to lean back or bump into her. ���He���s Kynd?��� Surprise brightened the blue in her dark eyes, her cheeks flushing with it.

And screw him, but he wanted those eyes grazing every inch of his body so his skin could bloom like that.

���Yes, unlucky bastard. My work is a walk in the park compared to his.��� He smelled her heat rising between them, the tendrils of musk soaked within it. She was a fertile woman, sensual, inadvertently stroking his Kynd soul. He mourned the loss of her ink-like irises as she turned forward to watch where her booted, but dainty, feet were going.

She took mincing steps, as if she was reluctant to be far from him.

And I crave it.

When she spoke, every cell within him tuned into her. ���I believe it, considering all you do is watch souls walk by. You don���t have to row.���

She jested, yet her words were the pulling of the pin on a hand grenade. His body stalled out as his rage exploded, swallowing him whole in its shrapnel cloud.

He knew she joked. He even saw the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She was kidding, God damn it. But he bristled anyway, like she snicked the business end of a knife across the meat of his heart.

Instantly, she noticed and stopped, like she was a frigging barometer attuned to him. Beautiful blue eyes blinking upward, she turned into the brunt of his fury.

Her breath clogged, and she took three steps backward.

Fear washed the earlier blush from her cheeks, and the sight of it ripped at him sharp, like a fist with talons. Merrick shook his head once, hard enough to rattle some sense back into it.

���I���m sorry,��� he growled, trying to rein in that sudden outward surge of his rage. His muscles trembled with the effort. ���I wasn���t expecting������

He couldn���t breathe enough to form words. Hell, he hadn���t been prepared for her comment in any way.

���N-no, I���m sorry, Merrick. I wasn���t thinking.��� Even with the pounding of the blood in his head, he heard the stammer in her apology, saw her hand lift like she was going to touch his arm, then drop to her side.

He watched that shining confidence leak out of her pretty eyes, and the sight of it hit him low in the gut. He didn���t like that her self-assurance could be so easily bruised. Then lost. As if it were a fledgling bird, easily battered by the winds assailing it.

Yet, he couldn���t bring himself to coddle her. She stood brave in front of him, he wouldn���t take that away from her.

What he could do was get a stranglehold on his rage and give her an explanation. One she deserved.

���It���s been too long,��� he hissed like a leaking gas pipe. His knees unhinged as though they were suddenly tired from lugging their burden, and Merrick dropped his ass onto the nearest rock.

Angelia sloughed her pack, too, and sat on that. She kept her head down while she fiddled with a twig, as if acutely interested in the peeling of its bark. Merrick studied her profile, the delicate slope of her nose, the silken wisps of hair kissing her temple and cheek. The sight of her in that affected studious posture helped him get a grip, helped him to dredge up his confession.

���It���s been too long, Angel. I���ve done too much.���

She let out a breath without looking at him. Then, as if he hadn���t just alluded to his violent nature, she abandoned her pack to sit closer to him. Like it was safe to do so.

Pushing her away for her own welfare wasn���t an option. Not when having her close eased him the way being with his Kynd did. Lord knew, he could use the frigging help.

Except with Angelia there was something more than what he shared with his brothers���a resonance. Which he didn���t want to look too close at, not when he could barely keep his shit together.

He let go of the breath he���d been holding, drawing in a hint of the honey-lavender sitting at his knees. He fisted his hands so he wouldn���t touch, wouldn���t stir her scent by dragging his rough fingertips across her soft skin.

No. Better he confessed, so she would keep a healthy distance away from him, no matter how badly he craved and needed her beside him.

Reluctant to cause the wariness he knew he should, Merrick���s words barely squeezed out through his clenched jaw. ���It���s our punishment, Angel. Kynd aren���t Witnesses anymore.��� His damned breath shook as he sucked it in. ���We do things. Things we were never meant to do, but must.���

���But that would mean������

���God is a rat bastard?���

The corner of her lip twitched, working miracles on his equilibrium. ���Yeah, but I was going to say it would mean you don���t just sit on the Archway counting souls.���

Merrick didn���t answer her; he stared off at the Castle.

Because what could he say that wouldn���t frighten her more than she already was?

Nothing. No words could lessen the mortification of the slaughtering, of the butchering he���d done to guard Hell.

She placed her palm on the flat of his thigh.

Grounding him.

Offering comfort.

And picking at the scab protecting his heart from the colossal agony of his loneliness.

He hadn���t felt comfort like this for more than two thousand years, and it scared the shit out of him. His entire body went rigid trying to dam two thousand years��� worth of pain he shouldn���t release.

Certainly not onto an unsuspecting human woman who was only offering simple consolation.

Merrick gave a gentle squeeze of her fingers as he removed her hand to stand up.

But he didn���t release his grip.

He gazed down at the woman who had chosen to kneel beside him.

Angel.

She was, too, looking up at him with those dark blue eyes, as if she trusted him to a certain degree. But she held herself very still, lest one move from her unleashed whatever emotions he barely contained.

Pain. A lot of it. Fury. Confusion. He felt like a bomb waiting for one hair to detonate him, he was that tense. Hell, he���d already pulled one pin. Wasn���t he sitting on a rock bleeding all over himself from a recent discharge? The woman was smart to be wary; it was what he���d wanted.

Fear draped over her like a cold, damp blanket���he felt it in the icy chill of her fingers.

God damn him for it. Wary. He���d wanted her cautious, not terrified.

Merrick shivered, choking a firmer grip on the leash of his rage.

She might be human, but he wouldn���t make her his whipping post.

Because he would hate himself even more if he did. Which he hadn���t thought possible, but there it was. He was a violent beast, and had been for the last two millennia, laying waste to too many Others to count.

Ghouls. Demons.

Vampires.

What would she think of him then if he told her that? When he confessed to murdering the beings who gave her shelter, who lived amongst her as though she were one of their own.

Thanks to God and his divine punishment, Merrick had been reduced to a base and vile creature. No different from those he was forced to savage.

God bless him, he had become the very thing he���d been condemned to kill.

~S.C. Dane

~Installment No. 21 coming Tuesday, April 7, 2015.

LOVER IN STONE, Installment No. 19

 

INSTALLMENT No. 19 #skin #Aristotle #first circle of Hell

Angelia didn���t like the honesty chiming through the words he spoke. Merrick was dead serious, which quieted her all the way to the bone.

���Don���t worry. I���ll get you back out before I do.��� The Chimera���s moment of being unguarded evaporated as if it had never been. He was again the storm cloud passing over the sun.

And his snide comment pissed her off, a visceral reaction that rarely happened to her. Usually, she just got sad. But, maybe Merrick was right, and being in Hell did have its advantages.

Angelia balled up her sleeping bag and stuffed it into her pack while she indulged in a rare mental tirade.

Did he really believe she was so shallow that the only thing she could be concerned with was her own safety? Did he really think his choice wouldn���t bother his friend, Darken, either?

Merrick was the selfish prig, not her, believing that staying in Hell wouldn���t bother anyone.

How could he do it?

Yeah, she knew he harbored a thick rage he barely concealed, but still, it didn���t mean he had to dwell in this ungodly place.

She slatted at the drawstring of her bag, cinching it taut like a hangman who relished his job.

���Angelia.���

Merrick calling her name was just as enthralling as the voices in the river.

At least this voice she heard. Regrettably.

Swallowing a deep breath, she cocked a disgruntled hip. ���What.���

Merrick ran his hand across the top of his head, mussing his black hair. He seemed frustrated with her, like he didn���t know what to do with himself. His whole body tensed, his jaw clamping. She saw the slate of his eyes harden as his rage resurfaced.

���What?��� She wouldn���t gulp, damn it.

The Chimera, still in his sexy Gargoyle form, drew up to her. He was a full head and shoulders taller than she was, and definitely twice as wide. Angelia���s head fell back, just so she could keep looking at him.

Towering over her, his body electrified hers. They weren���t even touching and her hips felt the pull of him, so that she had to fight to keep herself from slinking up against him like some big cat in heat.

Merrick glared down at her, the depths of his rock-like eyes fluctuating, plunging impossibly deep, then constricting till they were flat and shallow.

���The Castle,��� he growled, lifting a muscle-roped arm with a clawed hand at the end of it.

Well, hookay. She couldn���t see the muscles rippling under his coat, but she sure as dogcrackers was imagining them. Angelia peeled her wanton gaze from Merrick to look where he pointed.

���Full of learned men, from before Christ.��� His voice scraped thick, menacing.

Yeah, that growling factoid ought to register a little stronger than it did. She should be heeding the message, not the vibration.

The Castle housed the greatest minds of all time. Aristotle, Ovid, Socrates. Yet, all she could think about was the Chimera, who moved to stand behind her. Very close behind her.

He felt huge looming back there. She could smell the leather he wore. She could smell him.

What were a few dusty, old minds when she stood next to such heat? Such life? She didn���t want to meet the revered minds of history, she wanted to get to know this Chimera who delivered her to them.

She didn���t need a side trip away from this Gargoyle-shaped man.

Merrick lowered his head to drag his nose along her nape, erupting goose bumps over every inch of her skin. ���Someone might know where the human who stole the Scriptum was headed.���

Dear God, she was practically panting. ���Good point.��� And oh yeah, it was a lead to follow, even if he���d said it to taunt her. Because they were on an important mission.

Except.

���Merrick?���

���Hmm.��� Ooh man, she loved his growl.

���I���d rather learn about you.��� There. She said it. Looking dead ahead and not at him, but she���d said it. Maybe her little fit of anger had given her the courage. She didn���t know, or care, but she would risk his denial.

****

Merrick���s heart pinged, then swelled, then constricted again, like it couldn���t figure out what its job was. His whole body went rigid, so Angelia���s softness, in contrast, seemed like a warmth cushioning the thin space of air between them.

He didn���t want to tell her a damned thing.

He didn���t want to refuse her, either. Not this angel who strung every nerve within him to singing.

She had given him something of herself when he���d carried her across the Acheron, even if she hadn���t known it, and had been asleep while doing it. Christ, she was giving him something now, a thrill in his skin he���d not felt since���

Never.

Merrick had never felt this taut sensation before. It maddened him, drove him wild. It was all he could do to rein in his urges. He could and should give a little something back to this woman, no matter how she tormented him. No matter if she was human, she deserved his consideration.

He wanted to give her more than his consideration.

Jesus. What was happening to him? A day ago, he wouldn���t have given a rat���s ass about hurting any human���s feelings. Now? Now, he���d met Angelia, Anton���s miraculous, beautiful daughter, and his own emotions had somehow gotten tangled up with hers.

She wanted to know about him. The Vampyre���s adopted darling was looking beyond the Chimera���s thickening skin, past the rage simmering in his very muscles. Merrick knew how volatile he was, yet she was seeing beyond that.

No, she was coaxing him beyond his consuming rage, and it unsettled him.

So, for both of their sakes, he would opt to tell her something a little safer, a little easier on his baffled emotions, while he steered them toward the Castle.

He dared to brush his knuckles against the small of her back to bump her forward. Even through her clothing, his fingers measured the inward curve of her spine, the bowing out of her wonderful ass, and his hand curled into a tight fist lest it grope for something more.

���Kharon is Kynd, like me. That���s how I got you across the Acheron.���

~S.C. Dane

~Installment No. 20 coming Saturday, April 4, 2015.

LOVER IN STONE, Installment No. 18

INSTALLMENT No. 18 #Acheron #Hell #sleeping bag

Angelia stirred as she awakened, snuggling deeper into Merrick���s arms, closer to his chest. The sleeping bag she was cocooned in seemed thicker than a pillow, dulling the delicate feel of her body against his.

Which shouldn���t matter. But still, he found solace in the wafting of that honey-lavender scent billowing from deep inside the warm nylon of the woman���s bedroll.

Not once did he put her down, not even during the crossing of the Acheron. Holding her had replaced his instinctive urge to take Kharon in his arms, to crush the other Kynd to him in a desperate hug to assuage his longing for touch.

To make up for his selfishness, he���d pressed close to Kharon, unabashedly sharing himself without having to put Angelia away from him.

Much to his surprise, the Ferryman peered down at the sleeping woman without saying a word. A strange light suffused the Kynd���s expression instead, and he reached out to caress a stray lock of her golden hair from her forehead.

Merrick���s whole body tensed, as if to lunge.

At what? Kharon, his brotherkynd?

Thankfully, the other Kynd had chosen to ignore the base growl seeping up out of Merrick���s lungs, and for his part, he���d done his damnedest to shove it back down where it boiled up from.

He was not furious that Kharon touched the human he held in his arms.

But the Ferryman curled his rough-tipped finger into his palm just the same, and drew his hand away.

Respecting my possessiveness.

Merrick apologized by clasping that retreating hand in his, holding it tight for the rest of the trip downriver. Angelia slept like a swaddled babe the whole time.

Even now as they traveled on firm ground, she wasn���t fully awake. But he felt her soft gaze on him, and he glanced down to steal a precious glimpse of those twilight eyes, which were lazy with sleep.

The small body he cradled in his arms stiffened under his glancing scrutiny, the woman���s senses firing to full alert. He didn���t relinquish this stolen chance to hold her, but drew her tighter against his chest to still her.

And his thoughts, which kicked like the hobbled horses they were. He refused to delve into his reasons for not setting her down, preferring instead to fall back on the excuse of who he was. Kynd needed touch almost as much they needed air to breathe, so of course he stole physical contact where he could.

Liar.

Ignoring that, too, he squeezed out the hint of a smile.

Which she ignored. But she no longer squirmed to get out of his arms. Now that was a gift. He could enjoy the feel of her a little longer, even if she didn���t care whether he offered her a rare smile or not.

���Where are we?��� Angelia craned her neck to get a better view of their surroundings.

���Nearing the Castle of the First Ring.��� His attention forcibly returned to the path before them, Merrick thought again of the Scriptum, and how it had made it through Kharon���s scrutiny, too, even though the Ferryman had seen the soulless man with the relic.

Maybe it does have a mind of its own.

What was it about that damned book that another Kynd would let it slip beyond his grasp? Well, Merrick wasn���t going to find out as soon as he hoped, which also meant he hadn���t been able to indulge in the company of his fellow Kynd beyond the length of the boat ride.

He and Kharon parted with longing hugs, and said nothing about Angelia beyond the obvious. Merrick figured Kharon felt bad enough as it was, that if the human woman in Merrick���s arms was the only one to retrieve that book, then the Ferryman wasn���t going to deny her passage.

���The Castle? I missed Kharon?��� Angelia���s dismay yanked Merrick into the present. ���How could I have missed a whole darned trip down a river?���

Merrick had known she���d be disappointed, but he still hated the sight of it. Wasn���t too fond of how it clenched like a vise on his heart, either.

Exactly where it shouldn���t.

���I figured the river would do its thing as it had done with Dante. It knocks humans out, makes them swoon.��� He shrugged. ���Or sleep, as it was in your case.��� Even with his leather jacket acting as a buffer, he still felt the slide of her sleeping bag in his arms.

���But not you?��� God, he didn���t want to see such disheartening failure crowding into those blue-black eyes, but there he was gazing down again just the same.

���No. The river doesn���t have the same effect.��� If only she���d leave it at that. But he knew better. She was a scholar, wasn���t she? It was her nature to know, even if she wouldn���t like his answers.

���Go on.���

Merrick stared straight ahead, watching the path in front of him so he wouldn���t have to look down at the woman he pressed close to his chest. He���d been enjoying his hike with her in his arms. While she slept he could indulge his senses, could even pretend she wasn���t human, that she was an angel sent down from Heaven to bestow upon him some quiet moments of peace.

Which she had done. For a little while, the fomenting fury that pressed from the inside out of him, toughening his skin, abated, giving his body a break from its inexorable transition into stone.

Even now, she didn���t fight to get out of his arms, and Merrick savored the feel of her, which unleashed his tongue so it roved like a stray dog.

���The river has a voice���many voices.��� He risked another peek down over his cheekbones to view the woman he carried. ���Its flowing is like breath passing through the voice box, making sounds. The pitch is too high for human ears, so they can���t hear what���s being said. But on a subconscious level their brains are getting flooded, hypnotized. Which is why you swoon, or pass out.��� Could he blabber on just a bit more?

���And you hear these voices?���

He nodded, not daring to look down again. Besides, awake, her body was heating up the sleeping bag she was in, as though the speeding up of her pulse warmed her from the inside out. ���They���re mesmerizing, spellbinding.��� Shut up, Merrick. ���They make me want to stay, to enter into Hell and stay here.���

���But you can���t.���

Merrick snorted. ���Yeah, well, it���s easier than you might think.���

At least, it had been easier, until he���d met the woman he now carried in his arms. He set her down, steadying her as she shimmied out of the constricting bedroll.

She clutched his arm as she did so, and the grip of it shot a twinge straight to his balls.

God Almighty.

He���d have to take her back to Acheron just so she���d pass out again, so he could function normally.

���But now that you���re away from the river, surely the urge is gone? I mean, you can���t want to spend the rest of your life in Hell.���

���Why not? It certainly has its advantages.���

~S.C. Dane

~Installment No. 19 coming Tuesday, March 31, 2015.