Shiloh Walker's Blog, page 140

Random Snippets…Locked in Silence…

Pain and terror blossomed in her mind, but still she clutched the blade.

Off in the darkness of the huge room, she caught a glimpse of something—no, somebody. A man—the glitter of his eyes. Nothing about that one glimpse made her shudder with fear. In fact, that one glimpse had something warm and easy rolling through her.

It gave her the courage she needed to gasp through the pain, "I bet the knife does a better job than you."

He shattered her wrist and she screamed with the pain. The blade fell from her useless fingers and he backhanded her, sent her flying to the floor. She landed at the feet of the woman who'd brought her here. She grabbed the front of Vanya's skimpy black dress and yanked her up, but whatever she might have said was cut short by a harsh gasp.

As one, the two women turned their heads, watched as a long, brawny arm came out of the thick, seemingly impenetrable darkness—why was it so dark? A scarred hand grabbed the neck of the demon who had broken Vanya's wrist. He screamed, but the scream ended abruptly in a wet, nasty gurgle.

His head, sans body, rolled across the floor like a macabre bowling ball, coming to a stop a few feet away from Vanya and the woman.

The woman shrieked and threw Vanya to the floor, staring off into the darkness.

"Who is there?"

Vanya, through the pain, started to laugh.

"You…" The demon looked at her. A furious hiss escaped her and she lunged for Vanya, gripping the bodice of her dress. "Who is there? What have you done, you little cunt?"

Vanya laughed harder. If there was something hysterical to her laughter, it couldn't be helped.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she reached down, touched the silver chain Vanya wore. Something that might have been fear entered her eyes. "You're not…"

Then she grabbed the chain, spilling the silver cross out. And she heaved out a sigh of relief.

"No. You're not what I thought you were."

Abruptly, Vanya stopped laughing. Behind the demon, another two of her men disappeared. Damn, she was losing them left and right, and the bitch was standing here worrying about Vanya? Vanya wasn't the damn problem.

Then he was there—bigger than life, his hair the palest blond, his face…damn, that face, it was too beautiful, too perfect to be real, and over one muscled shoulder, he had an axe. Blood dripped from the gleaming silver blade.

Vanya looked at the demon and smiled. "No. I'm not what you thought. But something tells me he is."

Her shriek could have made ear drums bleed—Vanya thought hers just might. Then she was too busy worrying about the nausea roiling through her gut as the woman snatched her up, jarring her shattered her wrist. A hand fisted in her hair, jerking her head back so far it was a wonder it stayed attached.

"Get back, Grimm, or the mortal dies."

He didn't say anything, just pointed his axe at another one of the demons—a blond man, one of the few that remained.

The blond gulped, shot the woman a look…and took off running.

Vanya might have laughed.

If she wasn't busy screaming.

BN | Amazon | Samhain

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Grimm Guest…Bettie Sharpe…

You'll have to give me a second…I must give a fan girl squeal here.  (If you haven't read Bettie's Ember, you are so desperately missing out).

Ahem.  Okay.  Carry on.  Today's Grimm guest…Bettie Sharpe.

A Few Unanswered Questions

What's so fun about retelling fairy tales? Everything! Fairy tales are the forbearers of fan fiction—they're familiar and accessible; they're part of the cultural imagination and the public domain. They began as folk tales passed from person to person, embellished and altered by generations of imaginations, and they are best when they're retold. Retelling keeps fairy tales fresh, fierce and alive.

Fairy tales appeal to readers for different reasons. Some people appreciate stories in which good is rewarded and evil is punished. Some people like stories about clever underdogs who triumph against unlikely odds. But most people, I'm betting, are in it for the Happily Ever After.

Personally, I love a Happily Ever After as much as the next girl, but the reason I love to write retellings of fairy tales has nothing to do with the endings, and everything to do with the questions that crop up along the way. Why was the prince in Cinderella called Charming and what was so special about him? What was the cat's story in Puss in Boots, and why was it so obsessed with shoes? What the hell was the Little Mermaid thinking when she agreed to give up her voice and suffer every step just to be near a man who was engaged to someone else?

Those are the questions that got me started writing my novella Ember (a retelling of Cinderella), my novella Cat's Tale (a retelling of Puss in Boots) and my short story "Each Step Sublime" (a retelling of The Little Mermaid). The great thing about fairy tales is that when you set out to answer your questions about them, a whole new story is born.

What are some questions you've always had about fairy tales? Leave your answer in a comment for a chance to win a copy of my ebook novella, Cat's Tale: A Fairy Tale Retold.

To enter, just leave a comment below.  

Remember, all comments left during the daily Grimm Giveaway are entered for the big giveaway…info here.  Make sure you've read my disclaimer-all winners will be posted to my blog and that's your notification.  If you don't check back…you don't know if you've won.  More info on the Grimm giveaway link.

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Sigh…. Dear Former #PublishAmerica Author

This is an email I just had to send to an author who keeps trying to spam my blog… she's not happy with publish america, and I get that.  But that doesn't mean she gets to use my blog as her soapbox.

I wanted to let you know that your comments on my blog are moderated.  They get caught by my spam filter and normally, I'd clear many of them through but unfortunately, you're not trying to engage my readers in any sort of conversation.
Now I dislike Publish America.  A lot.  I think they are a bunch of con artists.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to let somebody turn my blog into their soap box.  If you were coming onto my blog to actually engage readers and talk with us?
That would be one thing.  But just coming to my site to get them to your site?  Tha's not going to happen.
Sorry.
I wish you the best of luck in the future…I'm sorry you got burned by them.  I realize it's frustrating and painful.
UTA:  FYI… I'm allowed to THINK Publish America sucks.  It's my opinion.  And I'm entitled to it.  Soooooo….

Grimm Guests…Bonnie Dee & Marie Treanor

Time for another Grimm guest…or two; Bonnie Dee & Marie Treanor

Bonnie: First, we'd like to you thank you, Shiloh, for hosting us on your blog and giving us the opportunity to take about the series of adult fairytales we've co-authored.

Marie: Why fairytales? Well, everyone loves them. The whole romance genre is based around the idea of living happily ever after with a handsome prince (or princes) of one kind or another. And it seems to us that every woman, including ourselves, has a special place in our hearts for the stories we were told as children. Only we're not children; we have more adult expectations and understandings of emotions, trust, respect and, of course, sex.

Bonnie: So, for our first Fairytale Fantasy, Cinderella Unmasked, we explored what happens when Cinderella grows up a little and learns that "happily ever after" isn't as easy as a kiss and a walk up the aisle. Several years into her marriage, King Charming has abdicated the throne and run off with someone else, leaving Queen Ella to rule the kingdom. She's exhausted from the chore and relies heavily on her chief steward and best advisor, Sebastian. Ella is ready to live again and to experience the sexual pleasures Charming had never been able to give her. She decides to hold a masquerade ball where she'll indulge herself with a stranger. One ball turns into three with escalating levels of sexual exploits. But are these dalliances enough to satisfy her? And who is the masked man, or men, who've fulfilled her wildest sexual fantasies?

Marie: Demon Lover is a darker story, a combination of the Rumplestiltskin tale and the myth of Persephone. To an adult, the behavior of the king, who's supposedly the "happy ever after" of the poor miller's daughter, is greedy and unattractive in the extreme. How could anyone be happy with him? And then, what motive might Rumpletiltskin have had to help her spin the roomful of straw into gold? Why did he want her child?

Faced with the impossible task of spinning a room full of straw into gold by morning, Gwyneth despairs until a black-garbed figure appears and says he can solve her problem for a price. One kiss. For three nights the stakes escalate and Gwyneth's attraction to her mysterious visitor deepens. But when he claims the ultimate price of her child, she realizes she's made a deal with the king of the underworld and Gwyneth journeys to the land below and makes a new bargain to free herself and her daughter.

Bonnie: Our latest Fairytale Fantasy is Awakening Beauty, also from Samhain Publishing. Take a guess what fairytale it's based on.

So what if our Beauty fell asleep not for a hundred years but a thousand? And woke up not to the kiss of a handsome and romantic prince but to the shake of a decidedly unromantic and down-to-earth workaholic "prince of industry" in something very like our modern, egalitarian world?

The hero, Joel Thorne feels as if he's been sleepwalking through life. Wealth and success are his; now he's at a crossroads. During a mountain hike to clear his head, he discovers a castle overgrown with thorns and, inside, a beautiful sleeping woman. When Princess Aurora opens her eyes, Joel's face is imprinted on her heart—then she's swamped with grief and loss. An evil fairy tried to take her pure blood to gain power and she's been asleep for a thousand years. Worse, she's been erased from history and from the memories of all she loved. What future does she face?

These stories are the result of our collaboration, but we thought we'd talk a little about how our joint writing process works. Marie, any thoughts?

Marie: Well, my first thought is actually how well it's worked out! At least from my own point of view! When Bonnie first suggested the collaboration, I was decidedly nervous because I've always worked alone – I don't have crit partners or beta readers, and the first person who usually reads my work is the editor I submit it to. I was a little worried Bonnie and I would want to take the story different ways or that we'd annoy each other with criticisms the other didn't think were valid.

But I'm happy to say none of that actually happened! In fact, rather to my surprise, collaborating helped the creative process – I found it both novel and inspiring to discuss characters and plot developments with someone who cared for them as much as I did. And I found any "criticism" was not only valid but a necessary part of our joint effort to make our story as good as it could be. In fact, I've learned a lot from the way Bonnie works as well as the way she writes – she's a very experienced as well as an extremely talented writer.

So, how do we write together? In each case, Bonnie has come up with the basic idea and written the opening pages. We bat various old and new ideas back and forward between us to see which work best for both of us, and the story begins to grow like magic J. We take it in turns, writing a chapter or two, either until we run out of steam or until it seems a natural place to stop, and then send it to the other, who goes over what's just been written, gives her views on it and writes the next section.

Of course, some stories have flowed faster than others, and we've had to fit writing them around our own solo commitments, but I admit I'm really proud of the way they've turned out. I like to think that far from taking the magic out of these well-loved tales, we've added a new layer of our own.

Bonnie: Marie always has an innovative idea for working the plot past a sticking point. It's a great relief to have another brain hammering out the details of a story. Together you can throw out dozens of ideas, no matter how outlandish, and see what works. Sometimes a direction you would never have thought to take the story on your own is exactly the right thing to do. And it's such a pleasure to receive the document back in your inbox and simply be able to read a chapter or two that seems to have spun out all on its own. I'm able to enjoy it as a reader, thinking "oh, so that's why she's like that" or "what an exciting action scene I wonder what happens next." Then I remember that I have work to do and I'm usually inspired to drop whatever else I've been working on and carry on with "our" story.

Everyone has played the "add on to an ongoing story" game at some party or other. Usually somebody throws in random stuff so the tale quickly jumps the rails and becomes like a badly told child's dream. It's not like that with a writing partner—IF you're on the same wavelength. Then you start to flow together. You both have to be willing to deviate from the original general outline and most importantly, you have to be willing to give ground. So what if the story isn't heading exactly where you expected? That's the joy of it. My feeling is, if I'm very attached to an idea, I'd better write it as a solo project. But once I've begun a collaboration, I must throw out my control gene and be willing to let things evolve—the secret to any relationship romantic or otherwise.

Marie: Many readers have expressed to us how much they've enjoyed both Cinderella Unmasked and Demon Lover. We hope people will appreciate Awakening Beauty, a fish out of water story of Princess Aurora in modern times. We certainly enjoyed writing it. And thanks again, Shiloh for hosting us at your blog today.

All of the Fairytale Fantasies are available at Samhain Publishing and many other distributors.
 
 
 Bonnie & Marie are giving away a download of Awakening Beauty.  Open internationally.

To enter, just leave a comment below.  

Remember, all comments left during the daily Grimm Giveaway are entered for the big giveaway…info here.  Make sure you've read my disclaimer-all winners will be posted to my blog and that's your notification.  If you don't check back…you don't know if you've won.  More info on the Grimm giveaway link.

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Random Snippets… Locked in Silence…

Going easy on a student was a sure way to see them in an early grave. She could still die. He wouldn't let it happen.

He'd watched it once.

As much as it bothered him on a very deep level, he ignored it and set about doing what he'd been brought here to do—teach her.

Her eyes went wide the first time he cut her.

She got pissed the second time.

By the third time, when blood was making it hard for her to grip the knife, he was about ready to call it off—he'd done enough, and he had to admit, he was impressed. She was quick.

Very quick.

Silver flashed—big brown eyes glinted.

And he hissed out a breath as Vanya was suddenly pressed against him, her knife lodged against his belly, the tip barely penetrating.

"I think this means I got the next point," she said, smirking at him.

There was blood on her face, just a smudge, from where she'd wiped the sweat from her eyes.

He lifted a hand, without even realizing it, thinking to wipe that blood from her face. Thinking about…

No. He couldn't think about that.

Closing his hand into a fist, he nodded.

Taking a step back, he gestured to the weapons.

She cocked a brow.

"Damn, you're letting me off easily," she said.

Yes.

Because he needed some distance.

Before he did something foolish…he'd almost kissed her.

BN | Amazon | Samhain

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Grimm Guest…Suzanne McLeod

Today's Grimm Guest…Suzanne McLeod

One of the myths I love about faerie stories, and use in my books, is that the world of faerie is another dimension that intersects with, and overlays our own world. And that it's a place that can be reached if you just know which patch of clover to sit on, which alley to walk down, which tree to walk widdershins, or which door to open at the right time. I also love the idea that the faerie, and its magic, can be affected by the fae who live there to greater or lesser degrees, and like the fae, different parts of faerie can be more dangerous than others.

Extract from The Cold Kiss of Death ~ Spellcrackers #2

I slowed as I neared the RAF Monument. At the top of its granite column, the golden eagle gleamed in the grey afternoon light as it stared out across the river towards the slowly revolving Ferris-wheel of the London Eye. The waist-height gates on either side of the base were padlocked shut; behind them steps led down to a landing platform jutting into the river, then the steps turned and disappeared beneath the brownish murk of the water. It's not an obvious entrance to someone's home, but then, London's fae rarely advertise their presence, nor do they welcome unlooked-for visitors, let alone inquisitive humans. So most tourists stop, read the inscription about the Air Force's departed servicemen, cast an incurious look over the gates and then move on, none of them conscious of the subtle spell that gently urges them on their way.

I halted in front of the inscription and traced my fingers over the letters, wondering if Tavish, the kelpie I'd come to see, was home. Tavish is a techno-geek for hire – he's rumoured to freelance for the Ministry of Defence, one of the reasons he keeps his entrance at the Whitehall steps. (Of course, the other reason his home is here is that the River Thames from Lambeth Bridge and down to the sea is his feeding ground.)

Hacking into the news services or even the police files to get me a copy of the full CCTV footage that was currently splashed across the country's TV screens would be as easy as diving for pennies on the riverbed – something else Tavish could do with his eyes closed. And if there were any clues in the recording, deciphering them wouldn't be much more difficult for him.

But the CCTV footage wasn't the only reason I'd come to see Tavish.

London has three gates that join it to the Fair Lands, and Tavish is one of the gates' guardians. If there was another sidhe in London, Tavish should know . . . even as I thought it, a shiver of awareness prickled my skin with goosebumps. He was home, and he knew I was here.

I took a guarded look round, checking no one was watching me too closely, and then clambered quickly over the gate on one side of the column. Magic clung to me as if I'd walked through a heavy mist. I jogged down the steps to the landing platform, then gripped the metal railing with one hand and crouched, peering into the water swirling a few inches below me. I could just see the top of the old archway which had been bricked up in the late eighteen hundreds, when the Victoria Embankment had been built to hold back the river. Taking a deep breath, I reached down to touch the tail of the carved stone fish statue mounted on the centre of the arch. The railing stayed hard beneath my other palm, but as the magic pressed solidly against me the traffic noise, the chill autumn wind and the ozone scent of the Thames disappeared. The world shifted around me, not as movement that could be felt, but something deeper, as if space itself was being reshaped. The magic took me out of the humans' world.

And into Between.

Below me, the river was gone, replaced by an abyss so deep and dark my head spun with vertigo. Slowly I straightened, still staring down, unwilling – almost unable – to take my gaze from the chasm. There was something seductive about it; I felt as if I could launch myself into it and find what I sought . . .

I forced myself to turn, to put my back to the emptiness. Between is the gap that links the humans' world and the Fair Lands. It's a dangerous place, the magic that fuels it is fierce and untamed, and persuasive enough that the legends about those who stray from the paths are full of wonder or terror or death.

Or nothing at all.

The sky, deepest blue and curved like a huge bowl overhead, brightened. A hot yellow sun blazed like a furnace and in seconds sweat slicked between my breasts and down my spine. I scanned the area. Before me was a beach of golden sand that stretched further than I could see. On one side was a white cliff with a sand-coloured camouflage tent pitched at its base, shadowed by the overhang: Tavish's home, or at least its current façade. On the other side of the beach was a glittering, mirror-dark sea, but the water was still and silent, and probably as deep as the abyss.

Tavish was in the water – in his human shape – but still in the water.

Damn, that so wasn't a good start.

He was sitting at the water's edge, half-submerged, with his back to me. I could see his long legs stretched out in the shallows, his arms braced behind him on the sand as he raised his face to the sun. The bottle-green dreads that streamed down his back looked like seaweed hung out to dry; the silver-beaded tips glinting in the sunlight. He didn't acknowledge me. I shrugged out of my jacket, sighing in relief as a cool breeze teased around me, and kicked off the old trainers then walked down the dozen steps to the beach. The sand was pleasantly warm beneath my feet, not as burning-hot as the fiery sun would suggest . . . but this was Between. And expecting Between to follow the rules of the humans' world was a recipe for disaster.

When I was close enough to see Tavish's delicate gills flare like black lace fans either side of his neck, but far enough away – from him and the water – that I almost felt safe, I stopped.

'Hello, Tavish.'

'Long time nae see, doll.' He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his face breaking into a welcoming smile, his sharp-pointed teeth white against the darkness of his skin – not black, but the deepest green found where the sunlight just penetrates the depths of the sea. 'But you took your own sweet time getting here. I've been expecting you this last two days.'

I smiled back, couldn't help myself as my magic exalted at the sight of him. I sat where I was, crossing my legs Indian-style, and trailed my fingers through the soft sand. Tavish might be centuries old – he's cagey about how many – but like most fae he didn't look like he'd reached thirty yet. He's the most fae-looking of all those I know, and yet somehow he still easily passes for human without using a Glamour. His long, angular features, Roman-straight nose and almost pointed chin are a less delicate, more male face than my own, but with enough echoes of my own face that anyone can see the sidhe in his make-up. I'd often wondered if he wasn't a lot older than anyone guessed, maybe even born in the Shining Times, when the sidhe would procreate with any living thing that attracted their attention. Only Tavish doesn't have our cat-like pupils – or any pupils at all; his eyes are a brilliant silver with a rim of white, like the horse that is his other shape. He wasn't so much handsome as compelling, alluring . . .

I dragged my gaze from him, realising I was staring like a Charm-struck human – one that would unwittingly follow the kelpie anywhere, even into the treacherous water – and made an effort to look at the rest of the scenery.

'The place looks different,' I said as an opener. 'More tropical than your last.'

'Aye, well, I fancied a wee change,' he said, his accent soft and warm. 'This time o' year the Highlands can be a wee bit blowy, for all the heather colours the hills with nature's own beauty.'

I waved back at the abyss. 'So what happened with that?'

'Hmph,' he snorted, ''twas nae in the plan, though you're in luck, for it had a hankering to be this side of the steps, got itself all decked out with one of those rope and plank bridges. It took me a heck of a while to convince the magic to move it over there.'

Which is Between all over. It's malleable – unlike the humans' world or the Fair Lands – in fact, malleable enough that anyone with enough magical mojo can impose their will. But sometimes the magic comes up with its own quirky interpretation of what it's asked for. Tavish had forged his patch a couple of centuries ago, but even after moulding it to his own desires for all that time, it looked like the magic could still leave him living on a knife's edge – or rather, a cliff's edge . . .

'It wants something,' I murmured, frowning.

**

So if you had the magic to mould your own piece of Between, where or what would you base it on? Leave a comment to be entered into the giveaway for winner's choice of one of my books (Int.).

Bio: Suzanne McLeod writes fang-filled urban fantasy with magic, mayhem & murder – liberally spiced with hot guys, kick-ass chicks & super-cool supes!

http://www.spellcrackers.com

The Cold Kiss of Death: When sidhe fae Genny Taylor's friend is murdered and all evidence points to her, she goes on the run. But she's being pursued by some of the most powerful supernaturals in town – and one of them is most certainly the killer.

Suzanne is giving away a signed book and as mentioned, the giveaway is international. 

To enter, just leave a comment below.  

Remember, all comments left during the daily Grimm Giveaway are entered for the big giveaway…info here.  Make sure you've read my disclaimer-all winners will be posted to my blog and that's your notification.  If you don't check back…you don't know if you've won.  More info on the Grimm giveaway link.

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Ten years…may they rest in peace

Grimm Guest…Anne Hope

Today's Grimm Guest… Anne Hope…don't forget to read down to the bottom for info on entering for today's giveaway and for information on how to enter for the Grimm prize I'm giving at the end.

"It looks like a painting." Jenny gazed at the lighthouse perched on a shelf of ultramarine blue and burnt umber rocks, as they circled San Juan heading for the harbor.

"That's Lime Kiln Lighthouse."

Kelp and driftwood floated at the foot of the bluff, framing the shoreline. The cool salt water breeze kissed her face, left a salty taste on her lips. "It's so beautiful, and so lonely." The tall, solitary structure, set against gray mountains and encompassed by blue sky and water, reminded her of Daniel—solid, quiet, admired from a distance. How sad that something so enthralling should be so isolated.

"We'll reach Friday Harbor soon." Daniel steered the boat, his back turned to her, his expression vacant.

She was happy he'd let her come with him, even if he had only invited her because he'd felt sorry for her. What an enigma he was. Yesterday when they'd danced she'd sensed a connection between them. There was nothing indifferent about the way he'd held her, the way his fingers had stroked her back, the way his hand had clasped hers. But today miles separated them. She might as well have been alone on this boat.

She absorbed the sight of him. His features seemed chiseled in stone. She longed for the gentleness of the man who'd comforted her late at night when the nightmares had risen to ensnare her, the man who'd helped her decorate a Christmas tree and who'd held her in his arms so tight she hadn't known where her heartbeat ended and his began.

"Do you come here often?" she asked above the deafening whoosh of the waves.

"Once a week," he replied.

A gust of wind whipped his hair, raising it from his face. Briefly, she caught a glimpse of the scars he went to great lengths to conceal. White grooves dug into his flesh, crisscrossing his cheek. Her fingers itched to trace them, to heal them with the loving care of a tender touch. But she couldn't. Daniel didn't want her looking at him, let alone touching him.

As they rounded the island they drew nearer to Friday Harbor, where a line of fishing boats and pleasure yachts floated patiently. Seagulls screeched overhead, flapping their wings as they spiraled above the bustling port. A brilliant procession of boats, decorated in shimmering Christmas lights chugged around the harbor. Jenny leaned over the bow, impressed by the sight.

Her face must have reflected her enchantment, for Daniel said, "It's the annual Parade of Lights."

The whole town—what she could see of it—twinkled with a rainbow of Christmas lights. "It must look incredible at night." She felt as if she'd stepped into one of those gleaming villages people placed under their Christmas trees.

"I don't know. I've never seen it."

They finally managed to dock. Daniel secured his boat, and Jenny followed him to an old red brick building facing the waterfront. A short, plump man with round glasses and prominent cheeks came to greet them.

"Daniel, I was starting to worry. You're late." The man slapped him amicably on the arm. "In the four years we've worked together you've been like clockwork. I can usually time your arrival to the minute."

"Sorry, Saul. We got stalled by the parade."

"Ah, they hit the water earlier in the day this year." Saul's gaze settled on Jenny. Surprise spread across his round face. "You two came together?"

Daniel's stoical expression faltered. "This is Jenny, my assistant."

"Is that what they're calling 'em these days?" Saul cackled at his own remark, winking at Daniel.

Heat suffused Jenny's cheeks, perspiration pearling in her joints. This Saul had taken one look at her and known what she was. Not an assistant, but a hired companion.

He can't know, she reassured herself. Only she and Sam Leland were aware of their deal. Guilt sank like a bucket of rocks to settle at the pit of her stomach.

"The shipment's in my boat. Can you send a couple of guys to help me unload?"

Thank God Daniel had steered the conversation away from her. Even though the pragmatic side of her brain told her she was overreacting, her crushing conscience made her foolishly paranoid.

"Sure, I'll send them right out." Saul smiled at Jenny. "You come back again soon."

"That's up to Daniel." Stealing a glimpse of him, she noted the firm clasp of his hands, the darkness cloaking his eyes. He had no intention of bringing her back, unless it was to escort her to the ferry that would carry her out of his life.

Jenny had never much believed in prophecies, but that moment she had a vision. She saw herself standing on the deck of an open ferry, staring at the fading silhouette of a dark-haired man, feeling her heart break with each new wave that crashed against the hull as she floated further and further away. Floated back to Prospect Valley, to Leo, to self-effacement. If she went back there, the glitter inside her that made her the person she was would dim and die. She'd become a robot wearing human flesh, a programmed machine, with all emotion banned from her life.

Perhaps she would have been able to live that way before, but not now. Not after tasting peace, security. Not after savoring the warmth of Daniel's kindness. She'd never thought a man's presence could be so comforting. Before Daniel, Jenny had believed men inspired only fear, submission. But Daniel made her feel protected, cared for. He gave her hope, and she hadn't had that in a very long time.

As they stepped outside, she eyed the numerous restaurants and cafés dotting the waterfront, all outfitted with glimmering lights. Although the small town wasn't crowded, the sight of bikers and pedestrians filling the quaint streets was a welcome change from Daniel's secluded cottage. "Can we stay and walk around town?"

"No." Daniel's reply was curt and dry, almost frantic. He seemed out of his element here amidst society—tense, uneasy. "We have a deadline to meet."

Jenny understood. She caught the real reason in the way he averted his eyes. He wore the unworthiness he felt the same way he wore his scars. As much as he tried to conceal it, it was a part of him and it refused to stay hidden.

In a few minutes they'd boarded his boat and pulled away from the dock, Daniel skillfully bypassing the parade. Jenny leaned back against the railing, watching him. He seemed anxious to get away, eager to drift on to the wide, flowing ocean.

"Why are you staring at me?" He hadn't as much as slanted a glance her way and yet he'd sensed her gaze.

"Just wondering why you feel so uncomfortable around people."

He looked at her then, taken aback. "I don't. I told you we have work to do."

She approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to pretend with me. I understand how you feel. I just don't understand why."

He stared at the rippling water, his expression unreadable. "Please don't touch me." His voice was gruff, strained.

"Why not? Don't you like being touched?" Boldly, she ran the back of her index finger across his right cheek. He jerked away as if she'd grazed him with a burning flame.

Compassion squeezed her heart. "What happened to you, Daniel?"

A light drizzle began to fall, but the sun continued to shine. Up ahead on the distant horizon a rainbow glowed. She'd never seen anything so magnificent—a prism of sparkling color diving into the boiling waves.

"Maybe you should go below deck."

She shook her head. "No, I don't mind the rain. I don't get to see a view like this everyday. Isn't it incredible? How two total opposites can form something so breathtaking?"

Daniel didn't reply. He just continued staring blankly ahead. Moving to his left, she did something terribly brazen. She touched the hair that veiled his cheek, brushing it aside. In an instant his fingers clenched hers. "What the hell are you doing?" Panic flared in his voice.

"I just—I wanted to see your face."

Realizing how tightly he clasped her hand, he loosened his grip, releasing her. "Don't ever do that again." His clipped, non-negotiable tone delivered the message loud and clear.

In the past, Jenny would have backed off, retreated into silence, but not now. "Why not? What are you so afraid of?" she asked. Then, unable to stop herself, she added, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."

Her words touched him; she could tell. His taciturn expression vanished, and for a brief instant before doubt set in, she sensed he almost believed her. "Beautiful? Have you looked at me?"

"More than you know."

Something blazed in his eyes that made her gut clench and heat stir in her belly. To her delighted surprise, he raised his hand, tenderly cupping her face.

He was going to kiss her.

The ground beneath her feet moved at the thought. Or maybe it was just the boat hopping along the waves, but right now she didn't want to think about that. She just wanted to think about the way his thumb trailed up her cheek to settle at the corner of her mouth, stroking it. Something deep and primitive told her Daniel's kiss would be as magical as everything else about him. She closed her eyes, leaned into his wide, rough palm…

Anne is giving away one download of her book.  To enter, just leave a comment below. 

Remember, all comments left during the daily Grimm Giveaway are entered for the big giveaway…info here.  Make sure you've read my disclaimer-all winners will be posted to my blog and that's your notification.  If you don't check back…you don't know if you've won.  More info on the Grimm giveaway link.

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal.

read more… 

Blogger call…

Want to review IF YOU HEAR HER?

A CRY IN THE WOODS

The scream Lena Riddle hears in the woods behind her house is enough to curdle her blood—she has no doubt that a woman is in real danger. Unfortunately, with no physical evidence, the local law officers in small-town Ash, Kentucky, dismiss her claim. But Lena knows what she heard—and it leaves her filled with fear and frustration.

Ezra King is on leave from the state police, but he can't escape the guilty memories that haunt his dreams. When he sees Lena, he is immediately drawn to her. He aches to touch her—to be touched by her—but is he too burdened by his tragic past to get close?

When Ezra hears her story of an unknown woman's screams, his instincts tell him that Lena's life is also at risk—and his desire to protect her is as fierce as his need to possess her.

FYI… this is not a contest-leaving links/comments below is all well and good, but it doesn't do much good Thank you!

If you want to be considered, please email Nicole, my admin, at grimmhunter.shilohwalker(at)gmail.com.

Please include a link to your blog.

I'm only sending out a few.  We'll contact those who'll be getting the ARCs in a few days.

If you request an ARC…please do so only if you intend to review it. Good review, bad review, doesn't matter…just review it.  The review needs to be posted sometime in October. Thank you!

Shiloh

A Grimm Giveaway

Dying is hard enough… coming back to life is brutal. 

Read more… 

Locked in Silence is due out on 9/20!  It's time for a Grimm Giveaway.

Starting soon, we're having Grimm guests… several authors are stopping by with excerpts, guest blogs, and prizes.

Commenting each day will enter you for that day's prize, and all comments left on the Grimm giveaway posts will be entered to win my prize…an angel wing pendant by Luxe Deluxe.

Naturally, my regular contest rules apply…make sure you read the disclaimer. Some are open internationally, some aren't.  FYI, my prize is open to international readers, so make sure you comment anyway…

Contest winners will be posted here at the blog and that is how you're notified, so make sure you check back.

Contest winners will probably be posted the week of 9/26/2011 and winners have two weeks to contact me.  Yes, even the guest post's winners have to contact me and I'll get you in touch with the author.

FYI, my contests are not to be posted on sweepstake sites, twitter sweeps, etc.  Should this happen, I reserve the right to end all contests without awarding the prizes.

The first guest will be here…tomorrow.