Guest Blog and Giveaway with Gemma Rice

I wrote Strike, because I got so tired of all vampire novels being the same. I love this genre, but there really aren't enough adult vampire novels around (they all seem to be written for tweens). I also got tired of the stereotypes. No matter which vampire novel you read, their motivation for turning humans isn't satisfactory - which is why Strike was born. Here is an adult vampire novel, which breaks every stereotype you've ever read about them, and maybe, after you get to read it, you'll finally have a decent motivation for the things they do.

Enjoy the read.
~Gemma
Paperback: 258 pagesPublisher: Night Publishing (April 28, 2011)Language: EnglishISBN-10: 146099759XISBN-13: 978-1460997598Product Dimensions: 8.5 x 5.5 x 0.6 inchesProduct Description'Strike' is about love, it's about passion.

It's about doors being opened

It's not about innocence, at least not for long.

He's intoxicating, he's enthralling, he's addictive and he's dangerous.

It's complicated.

He's wild.

Share the ride.About the AuthorGemma Rice is a new passionate Romantic writer whose words positively fizzle and crackle off the page. 'Clawback' was her first book. 'Strike' is her second. 'Blindsided', her third, will be released in May 2011. Excerpt:

He catches my wrist and pushes back. I strain down, wanting him to at least feel the threatening kiss of cold tempered steel. Leaning in, he starts tickling under my arm.

Not fair!

Squealing loudly, I get up onto my knees to push down against his strength. His free hand forces a knuckle into my wrist. Instantly my hand goes limp; the knife drops from my fingers, landing next to his thigh.

Oh, it's a horrid feeling. Like hitting your funny bone. I try to pull away, but my arm is pathetic and weak. Useless. He easily pins me back down, resting his body over mine, before kissing me seductively.

I'm bored of the silent game. As he draws away, I whisper, "How did you do that?"

"Pressure points. You can render the biggest and strongest man useless, if you get to know them."

"Are we allowed to speak again?"

"Obviously, or I'd be holding your eye over that candle."

"My god, Seithe! That's a bit demented, don't you think?"

He leans heavily on me again and I stare up into brown eyes appearing charcoal. "Why do you assume you can trust me?"

"You haven't hurt me."

"Is that a sound reason to trust someone?"

He has a way of making me doubt my own judgement. I wonder what he's not telling me.

"Seithe, are you crazy? Did you escape from a sanatarium or something?"

He wraps an arm underneath me and flips us over so I'm laying on top of him, hot breath bursts out of him in laughter. "If I was insane, would I know it?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I could lie."

"But you won't."

"Why not?"

"It's not your style. You like shocking people."

He smiles, forcing a dimple into the middle of his chin. "No, I am not crazy. I have only escaped hell. Nothing more, nothing less."

I reflect on his words on my being half dead and half awake. I don't feel that way now. He told me the key to freedom was in my heart. I think I understand the metaphor. He's escaped the hell of being only half alive.

"What are we doing, Seithe?"

"Playing. Humouring each other."

"Oh, so you find me entertaining? At least you're honest about it."

I feel slightly wounded. Although, let's be frank, it's not like he and I have been to the opera, followed by an in depth analysis of nuclear fission, and what it means to understand occultation.

He can't know I have a brain, so I am just amusement at this point.

I decide to respond using his game. Leaning my face into his neck, I mercilessly clasp the skin between my teeth. He starts to tickle me again, causing me to let go, just to bite into his shoulder.

He grips my hair so tightly I can't move. Lifting his head, he sneers those long incisors at me. For fake teeth they look a shit load more real than mine do. He then clamps them into my shoulder.

Pain shoots through me, unbearable heat, burning. A cry wrenches out of me in agony. He pulls away, blood on his lips, and hisses softly, "Don't start games you aren't prepared to finish."

I'm at just the right height and angle on him. I lift my knee and force my weight behind it. "Pain for pain, Seithe. Game on."

Would you like to win an ecopy of Strike?

The author is giving away one copy either in epub or mobi format

To enter leave a comment with your email and the format you'd like to win