Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 119

Yay!!! You all got me into the DABWAHA…

Thank you!

Go look!

http://dabwaha.wordpress.com/category/finalists/

Um... now, if you wanna fill out a bracket and stuff, you can win some of the fantastic prizes.  And be warned, I'll be begging and pleading for votes.  It's going to be hard, because I'm already up against tough competition, Julie James, who I love and adore...and I wanna beat her. O.o

Thank you all!

Voting doesn't start for a few days, but if you want to get in on the prizes, you do have to fill out your brackets and stuff now, just so you know and there are a lot of awesome prizes.

 

Saturday Snippets…

Character Sass is the name of the game today.  We've got that.  And some steam.  O.o

Even before she saw the moonlight shining off his pale hair, she knew.

He was down there, in the backyard, waiting for her. And damn it. He'd hauled her bike out. Bastard. He was leaning against it, leather stretching over those long thighs, a black T-shirt clinging to his lean chest. He had that blond hair pulled back in a neat tail at the nape of his neck, and he looked good enough to eat. In many, many ways.

Her fangs pulsed.

Lower, much lower, other things pulsed. Because she knew he'd be aware, she figured she'd hide one hunger within another. Standing in the open window frame, keeping her knife hand free, she murmured, "Oh, look. It's Meals on Wheels."

He grinned at her. And then he leaped. Sylvia fell back, moving away from the window even as part of her wished she could stand there and just watch him move—

She pulled another knife, but didn't bother hiding that one. He'd go for the one she'd left in open view, she hoped.

He came through the window, almost silent, a grin on his lips, his blue eyes glinting with humor. That hot, rich scent of his flooded her head and suddenly, she had to swallow. It was that, or start drooling.

"Delivery service." She waggled her knife at him. "I like that."

"That mouth of yours ever get you in trouble, Sylvia?"

She shrugged lazily. "A time or two. You know, I don't like strangers touching my bike." Actually, she didn't like anybody touching her bike. "What's your name?"

Instead of answering, his eyes dropped to her knife. "You know, if you greeted the real Meals on Wheels that way, we'd have a problem."

"Well, since you're not actually on the menu, it's not an issue." She eyed him narrowly. He wasn't armed. Or at least, he wasn't holding any weapons. He probably had weapons. He wouldn't go out to Hunt without them. But he wasn't holding any. She could see his hands, open. Empty. Unlike hers.

Although, hello, he was a werewolf—in a matter of seconds, he turned into a fucking weapon.

"I hadn't exactly planned to be on the menu." He slanted his gaze to hers, a slow smile curling his lips. "But if you're hungry . . . just put away your blades."

Blades—

Shit. He was good.

Sighing, she tucked them away. He wasn't here to fight. If he was, they'd already be at it—she'd be bloodied, battered, and hopefully, she could at least mark up that pretty face of his a little before he killed her. Still, she was pretty certain that wasn't what he wanted out of her.

"Would you just go away?" she said, combing her hands through her hair. She needed a shower. She needed to change. And she was twenty miles away from the place she was renting. "I've got a job to do."

He lifted a wrist. "Are you hungry?"

Sylvia couldn't have been any more surprised if he'd sprouted a second head. That hunger tried to grab her by the throat, but she'd mastered it long ago. Still, she found herself staring at that wrist, the exposed veins for a long, long moment, almost mesmerized.

"If you're hungry, go ahead."Torontococked his head. "I've fed vamps before. It's not like I'll miss a half a pint."

Her belly all but cramped with need and her knees got weak just thinking about it. What the hell . . . she wasn't that hungry. She'd just fed last night. She could go another day before it should be this bad. Wary, she eyed him. "Why? Why would you feed me? You should all want me out of the territory."

"Well, for one"—he watched her, that light of amusement still in his eyes—"it's considered polite to make sure new . . . visitors don't go hungry. After all, hungry people sometimes go looking for food in the wrong place. We can't have that. Besides, you and me? Tonight, we've got a killer to track down."

We . . .

"Not unless it's snowing in hell." Sylvia glared at him. A killer to track down? With a fricking Boy Scout? No. Way. No way in that frozen, snowy hell.

"Check the forecast, baby." He lowered his hand and sauntered forward, his gaze dropping to rest on her mouth. "Did you smell me on you when you woke?"

"I'm starting to think the crap about Masters having wicked control is just that—crap. Otherwise, I don't think I would have woken with your scent on me. Men with control don't go pawing sleeping women."

"Oh, I've got control." He dipped his head.

She held her ground, curious. He breathed in her scent, and when a groan rumbled out of him, she felt a strange warmth rush through her. Oh, this wolf was not good for her peace of mind. Not good for her . . . he was starting to make her want things, and this was only the second time she'd seen him. Not just sex—if all she wanted was sex, she wouldn't get that curious little twist in her heart when she looked at him.

This was much more than just craving sex; how was that even possible, anyway? She'd seen him twice. In under twenty-four hours. It was insane . . . and it was very real. She wanted to see his hair free, falling around her as he moved over her. She wanted to feed from him as he rode her. Wanted to feel his teeth on her flesh, breaking it—

"You keep thinking whatever you're thinking and I'll have you naked and wrapped around me in ninety seconds," he whispered. "And I still haven't told you my name. After all, we really should know each other's names before we fuck, right?"

Oh, she was in so much trouble here. Jerking back, she gave him a narrow glare and wished there was something, anything she could do to control her body's response to him. Anything to keep him from reading that response. She might as well waste her time wishing the sun wouldn't rise.

"I said it once, I'll say it again," she whispered, her throat dry. "Get the hell out. I've got a job to do."

"No, Syl. We have a job to do."

She stilled at the sound of her shortened name on his lips. "It's Sylvia," she said huskily. "Sylvia. Not Syl. Not any other name. Sylvia. And we don't have a job."

"Okay." He shrugged, unconcerned. "Think about it. It makes more sense. What we need is information from Pulaski. What you want is to complete your contract. The two things don't have to be mutually exclusive." He reached out, toyed with a lock of hair.

She watched as he wrapped it around one finger, around and around. Then he let it go, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the curve of her breast. "Like your Master is going to go for that."

"My Master . . ." He chuckled. Scratching his chin, he tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. "That's a funny thing. Let me put it this way. If I produce the results he needs, I don't think Rafe's going to give a flying fuck what happens to Pulaski. Not officially."

"Not officially? What in the hell does that mean?" She sneered at him. "You Boy Scouts are all about your damn rules."

"Boy Scouts?" He started to laugh. He ended up leaning against a wall, he laughed so hard. "I'm a Boy Scout? And I'm all about rules? Please. Pretty please, if you ever meet Rafe, you have to tell them that."

"Oh, like you're not?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped her nails against her arm and eyed him. "If you're not all about rules and being Boy Scouts, then why in the hell would you all do the shit you do? It's not like you do it for glory or anything."

"If we don't . . . who will?" He eyed her curiously.

"So it's altruism?"

"No. It's . . ." A far-off look crossed his face and then he shrugged. "Somebody has to be willing. If it's not us, I guess it's nobody. And that's just not an option." He paused then asked softly, "Do you really want to live in a world where nobody stops the monsters, Miz James?"

Where nobody stops the monsters . . . Images flashed through her mind and the remnants of the dreams from the past day rose up to choke her. "Oh, go fuck yourself," she snapped. Spinning away from him, she went back to the closet and snagged her pack. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Once she got to her bike, she could keep away from him. Even a were couldn't keep up with a vamp on a Harley, right?

Bending down, she grabbed her bag. When she turned around, he was there. Her breath caught in her throat as he crowded her up against a wall, his body blocking her in, one arm resting by the wall near her head, the other coming up to rest lightly on her hip.

Too intimate—

"Listen, Sylvia . . ." He dipped his head and once more breathed in her scent. "We need to get something straight. You're not . . . aw, hell. You smell so good."

As he turned his face into her hair, she shuddered. "Okay. I'm glad we got that straight, wolf. I smell good—glad we got that nice and squared away. Now. Can you give me some space?"

"No." He pushed his thigh between hers.

Shock flooded her. Heat flooded her. "What . . ."

"My name isToronto," he whispered against her ear. "Say it."

"Tor . . .Toronto?" She tipped her head back, frowning. "That's a . . ." Hated place. I hate that place, I hate that place, I hate that place . . . "Weird name."

"Yeah. So what? Say it again. I want to make sure you remember it. Because sometime very damn soon, I'm going to be inside you, Sylvia." The last words were spoken in a growl against her lips.

"Toronto." She opened for him even as she reached up and jerked the band from his hair.

read more... Or you can just preorder!

B & N | Amazon | Indiebound | Book Depository | BAMM

Other authors on a snippet rampage

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Rhian Cahill

Jody Wallace

Eliza Gayle

Lissa Matthews

Mandy M Roth

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Delilah Devlin

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

TJ Michaels

Zoë Archer

Friday 56…more from Stolen

The 56th page on this keeps changing since I'm editing it, so lets go with it.

 

"She hung up on me."

Leaning away from the desk, Darcy Montgomery stared at the computer.

The vivid, bold colors of Shay's latest book served as her screensaver—Darcy dabbled in graphics and she was always making up things like this for Shay.  Not that Shay ever did much with them.

Too happy to stay locked up inside her own little world, Darcy mused.

About the Friday 56

Grab the book nearest you. Right now
Turn to page 56.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post that sentence (plus one or two others if you like) along with these instructions on your blog or (if you do not have your own blog) in the comments section of this blog.
Post a link along with your post back to this blog.
Don't dig for your favorite book, the coolest, the most intellectual. Use the CLOSEST.

Going, going, gone…

I'm heading to Arizona for the Tucson Festival of Books.  Flying out today and I'll be there until Monday. Good thoughts and prayers are appreciated...for both me and the guy as we fly there and back, and for my mom as she wrangles my rottens.

I'll be doing two panels and signing books.  It's a free thing so if you're in the area and wanna come, I'd love to see you.

The event website is here and the panels I'm on are:

From the Couch to the Keyboard: The Short Trip from Reader to Writer

Panel / Sat 10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

Koffler - Room 216

Stepping Into Another World

Panel / Sun 2:30 PM - 03:30 PM

Koffler - Room 216

I believe I'm also available to sign books for sale immediately after.

Before I vamoose.... here is a snippet from the upcoming Grimm book...

The rattling of the chains was like a sweet music to him.

The heavy bag was reinforced, as were the chains, otherwise a blow would send it flying across the room after the first blow.

Still, Jacob thought maybe he might be able to decimate this one.

It might do something to ease the burn in his gut.

He was too selfish of a bastard to be doing this.

He should be more selfless.

He should be more able to sacrifice.

He should have been able to help her say good-bye without wanting to maim or destroy. Yet as she'd kissed her husband—yes, he'd seen it—he'd wanted to use the bastard's head for a bowling ball. The threads of the dream had been harder to hold in place when he pulled another person in and he hadn't been able to keep the distance he'd wanted to keep.

And each second he'd been forced to watch, every second he'd thought of the pain she must be feeling, it had driven him closer and closer to the edge of no return.

He was close to shattering. He could feel the shreds of his control splintering.

Something in the air changed—as the air currents brought her scent to him, Jacob rasped out, "Fuck it all."

She was coming down here. Perfect. Just bloody perfect.

He needed to call Will, and soon. She was no longer in danger of being lost and there were any number of the Grimm who could teach her how to handle that newly emerging gift. Greta, perhaps. Maybe even Finn—nobody needed to understand control quite the way a pyrokinetic did. It seemed she'd learned from that bastard well enough. He could take over again.

She was watching him, watching and waiting. Shooting her a quick glance, he shifted his attention back to the bag.

"Thank you."

"No thanks are needed," he said without stopping his attack on the bag. He'd rather have a partner in front of him, somebody who could and would hit back—

And then Celine moved onto the floor and he noticed how she was dressed. Need, hunger, frustrated hurt ripped through him. She still loves him. You don't need this pain in your life, he told himself as she stood there, dressed in loose shorts and a sports bra. Nothing else, unless he counted the gloves she was pulling on. Setting his jaw, he said, "I'm not in the mood for a match, but thank you."

"You're always in the mood for a match," she said, rolling her eyes. "And although I'm not quite as astute as you are, you look like you're spoiling for a fight."

"Spoiling for a fight and sparring with a baby Grimm who can barely throw a punch are two different things," he said coolly. He stopped the bag and turned away. He stripped away the gloves and tossed them to the bench in the corner. He'd head to the colony. Alone. That would do something to ease the burn. He'd come out bloodied and bruised, but he had enough years behind him that he could live through it. He thought.

Behind him, Celine sputtered. "Excuse me, but did you just insinuate I can't throw a punch?"

"I didn't insinuate. I said it. You've improved. You have a long way to go." Now please leave me alone—

He heard the rush of wind but it wasn't enough warning. She was fast. He knew this. But he didn't always remember just how fast.

"What the—"

They hurtled to the floor and he took the impact before flipping and rolling them over. "Enough. I'm not in the mood," he snarled, putting his face into hers and glaring at her.

"Wow. You really are pissed about something," she said, arching dark brows as she studied him. "I didn't know you could actually do that."

"Do what?" He shoved upward, away from that lush, tempting body. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted. Already his body had betrayed him and if Celine had been focused on something other than the fact that he'd insulted her, she would have noticed. It was a blow to his pride that she hadn't noticed. Although she was still mooning over that fool who didn't deserve her…

"Get pissed." She drawled. Then her gaze dropped lower. "Worked up."

The heat punched through him in a blistering, burning wave.

Worked up—so she had noticed.

"I'm not pissed," he said, keeping his voice cool. Turning away, he went to grab a towel and wipe the sweat from his brow. He was dying inside, bit by bit, but that wasn't anything like being pissed. He was frustrated, he was enraged, he was jealous. But that wasn't the same as being pissed.

The soft whisper of sound behind him let him know that Celine was now on her feet as well. He didn't look behind him, but she wasn't letting little things like eye contact dissuade her today.

"Okay. So you're not pissed." She came to stand at his side, nearly shoulder to shoulder. "Does that mean you're not worked up?"

Turning to face her, he advanced on her, one slow step at time. Celine backed up until she came to a stop, with her spine resting against one of rich, golden wood support beams at her back. Bracing one hand on the beam over her head. "I'm a man, Celine. I still have the same reactions to certain stimuli that any man would have. The fact that I'm a Grimm makes no difference."

Her golden eyes bored into his, the pupil so large it nearly swallowed the iris. "So you're just reacting to the fact that I'm female. I've been female for the past ten months," she drawled.

Dipping his head, he whispered softly, "And I've wanted to strip you naked and shag you for the past ten months, almost from the second I saw you."

 

Tornado relief

Image from WHAS 11-user submitted photo

I've had several people ask me if I'm going to be anything charity/drive wise for the tornado victims in my area.

I want to.  I'm checking to see what I can do without making matters worse, but I also want to make sure whatever I do will go right into the communities that were hit so hard.  This literally hit too close to home.

There is a park in Henryville where the guy and I sometimes take the kids.  He and I used to hang out there when we were dating.  We've got friends in New Pekin, friends in Henryville and a friend right near the area that was devastated by the Marysville tornado. So if I do anything, I want to make sure that it's going to help my neighbors, my community.

But the problem with any disaster-and I know this for a fact-is that sometimes the best of intentions can only cause problems. First responders, cops, emergency workers of any kind will tell you this.  Whether people are there to help or there to gawk, if you aren't trained, it's too easy for you to add to the misery.

The same can happen when it comes to trying to help.  Even if you have the best of intentions. You can rush in when they are still trying to figure just what their needs are and that only adds to the chaos.  It's sheer devastation in those areas now...they don't need more chaos.

So I'm waiting.

I have reached out and asked a few questions, but the people I've contacted do have their hands full and I'm just a rung down on a very full ladder.  I don't want to add to their crazy days.

If you do want to help, a few things that I do know:

Shirts that are being sold with the proceeds going to the relief efforts:

My shirt helps
Henryville Pride shirts (this is check or cash only but I think you can send in a check for the second order going out in a few weeks.  Some local students from Henryville put this one together, I think)

Clark County Red Cross-information on how to donate is here.  It's the Clark Country, (In) Chapter if you do it online, or you can always do disaster relief.  The tornadoes are the major disaster going on now and the Red Cross provides immediate relief in times like this.

Community Foundation of Southern Indiana-they'll be looking to provide long term relief from what I can tell.  Basically, they'll be the ones helping the victims when the media forgets.  And they will.  The needs for these people are going to continue long after the camera crews and reporters leave.

Also at the bottom of the Community Foundation's page is a link to a PDF put together of other ways to help-many of them are probably only going to be relevant if you're local, but it also addresses things like what donations are being requested (and not).

I mention the not because in times like this, a lot of people rush to offer clothing & whatnot, but if they get inundated with too much of one thing and they don't have the hands to handle it, it's another one of those things that while good intentioned, does just add to the chaos.

So...I'm waiting.

 

DABWAHA…Vote for me? Please???

Gee, I'm going to be a whining, pleading terrible brat... and I was told I could beg and plead and ask for votes.  I rarely do it, so bear with me.

The ladies at Dear Author and Smart Bitches are doing their annual DABWAHA tournament.  It's the tournament for romance books!  With Brackets!  And you can win an iPad!  So could I!  But you have to get me on the board.

Would you nominate IF YOU HEAR HER? It has to be a 2011 book and it would go in the contemporary category (not series-that's for category/series romances like Harlequin, etc).

It's over at http://dabwaha.com

Pretty please? I'll love you forever.  Well, I love my readers anyway, but still.

snippet!

"This friends-only shit is not working."

He couldn't get her out of his mind, out of his thoughts.  Scowling, he finished up his shower and climbed out, drying off with a towel and slinging it over his shoulders.  When he opened the medicine cabinet, the box of Trojans sitting there all but mocked him.

Swearing, he grabbed his razor and slammed the door shut so hard, it was a wonder the glass didn't break.

Friends.  "My ass," he muttered.

Twenty minutes later, he was heading out to the car, a weird mix of excitement and dread curling through him.  He wanted, needed to see her, but at the same time, he knew it was going to strain his…ah…patience.  Already, his skin was humming, his heart racing at the thought of seeing her.

Abruptly, he climbed back out of the car and headed back to the house, jogging back up the stairs as quick as his right leg would let him. Opening the medicine cabinet, he stared at the box of Trojans, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

"Shit," he muttered. Then he grabbed the box.  "The Boy Scout motto…be prepared."

Even it was just driven by wishful thinking.  On his way back out, he opened the box and tore packets off the strip, tucking them into his wallet.  The rest, he threw into his glove box.

Her house was only a couple miles out from his and he used those few minutes to try and talk himself down.

It wasn't happening, though.

Every time he saw her, every time he talked to her, he wanted her more, liked her more.

Needed her more.

Stopping in front of the house, he turned off the car and sat there a few minutes, studying it.

The house itself was painted a fresh, gleaming white, the shutters a dark red that matched the front door.  There were window boxes with flowers in front of the windows on the porch and a swing at the far end.  He climbed out of his car and pocketed the keys.

Lunch.

They'd do lunch.  And if there was an…opening, he'd see if maybe she was open to pursuing something beyond friendship.  He'd apologize for how he'd screwed things up, and they could see where things went from there.

He mounted the steps and knocked on the door, jamming his hands in his pockets, feeling as nervous as a damned teenager on his first date.

She opened the door, keeping the chain in place.  "Yes?"

"Uh…" Oh, wow, slick.  Don't you sound all suave?

Is Day of Awesome!

Good books appeareth.

These are some I need, due out either this week or last week.  I'm grabbing these.  What are you grabbing?

So, that's what I'm wanting.  What about you?

 

Tornadoes…

A lot of you all know I'm in the Louisville area. Also known as Tornado central, as of yesterday.

Image from WDRB

So far, it looks like more than a dozen have died in Indiana and just as many in Kentucky. The numbers keep rising.

We're fine. Nothing hit my neighborhood, thank God and my family is fine. Others weren't so lucky. A couple of the small towns around here have been leveled.

If anybody is interested in helping, here's a link to some charities.

Saturday Snippets…first time they meet!

How about the first time Law & Nia meet?  Cuz I like this meeting...

The door opened to reveal an Amazon. That was his very first thought.

His second thought was that he didn't how in the hell she'd ended up on his property, but he wanted to know so he could send whoever a thank you card.

Her eyes…Shit. Her eyes.

They were the palest shade of gold he'd ever seen, paler than whiskey, but just as potent, just as strong.  Mysterious and beautiful.

They stared into his, revealing nothing.

Her skin was the color of coffee and cream, warm and smooth and delicious.

The leather jacket she wore seemed too damn warm for the weather they were having, but it suited her.  Just like the plain black t-shirt suited her, just like the worn and faded jeans suited her.

He imagined black silk would suit her every bit as well.  Black silk, pearls, red lipstick on that lush mouth.  Or even nothing at all.  Lust punched through him with a force that damn near leveled him.

She lifted a black brow at him.

Those lush lips parted and she said, "Are you Reilly? Law Reilly?"

Oh, shit. She was here looking for him.

Maybe fate had decided to smile on him.

He stepped aside and gestured her inside.  "I am.  And what can I do for you, Ms…?"

"Nia.  Call me Nia."  The thick black fringe of her lashes swept down, shielding down her eyes.  A faint smile curled her lips up as she sauntered inside, her hips swaying from side to side.  He turned and admired the view as he shut the door.

"You've got a gorgeous house."

You've got a gorgeous ass, he thought.  But he kept those words behind his teeth—barely.  Nia.  He liked that.

She shot him a look over her shoulder.

There was a strange look in her eyes, a mix of something…it bordered on satisfaction and contempt.   With a smug grin curling her lips, she turned around and faced him from in the middle of the hallway.

"So.  You're Law Reilly."

Somewhere in the back of his head, a siren started to wail.

He really, really needed to listen to it.

But he was still so caught up in staring at her…it was until she had that gun pointed at his head that he fully realized there was a problem.

FYI, keep in mind, this trilogy should be read in order.  If you wanna read more? Go here...

Megan Hart:Read in bed!

Rhian Cahill

Jody Wallace

Eliza Gayle

Lissa Matthews

Mandy M Roth

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Myla Jackson

Taige Crenshaw

Delilah Devlin

HelenKay Dimon

Lauren Dane

Leah Braemel

Shelli Stevens

TJ Michaels

Zoë Archer

Lynn's Winner!

I thought I already had this thing set up to go live...my brain must be playing tricks on me. Oh, well.

Thanks to Lynn for coming by and...sigh. I guess, thanks to you all for commenting, although I wanted the damn book and prizes.

The winner is, Debbie Meredith who commented: (who is telling fibs)

Lynn, Love your books and agree with you totally about Shiloh. She is a sweetheart, whether she wants the world to know it or not. I have had the pleasure to meet her several times and it's always a treat! I have learned a lot from talking to Shiloh and hope to learn more in the years to come.

Debbie...you can use the contact button to email me! Thanks all!

Big hugs to you both for an enduring friendship!