30-Day Blogging Challenge, Day 27: Oestend and Davlova (with giveaway)
The official topics for my blogging challenge over the next few days are all boring, but I’m having a hell of a time coming up with anything interesting to say.
Well…
For lack of anything better to do, how about if I share some excerpts from a few of my lesser-known novels? I’m mostly known for the Coda books, but if you’ve only read Coda, I truly believe you haven’t read my best work. So maybe I’ll spend the next day or two highlighting some of those stories that people tend to skip over. Today, I’ll concentrate on my genre mash-ups.
Oestend
I’ll start with my personal favorites of my own work, the Oestend series. Song of Oestend came about because I wanted to write about an artist and a cowboy. I also wanted to write about a haunted house, and about these mysterious wraiths that kill anybody caught outside after dark. Once I put them all together, I ended up with something that’s sort of like steampunk, but in the old west. I also ended up with one of the most blatantly erotic books I’ve ever written (with just a bit of bondage).
BLURB:
Aren Montrell has heard tales of the Oestend wraiths – mysterious creatures which come in the night and kill anyone who’s not indoors. Aren’s never had reason to believe the stories, but when he takes a job as a bookkeeper on the BarChi, a dusty cattle ranch on the remote Oestend prairie, he soon learns that the wraiths are real. Aren suddenly finds himself living in a supposedly haunted house and depending on wards and generators to protect him from unseen things in the night. As if that’s not enough, he has to deal with a crotchety old blind woman, face “cows” that look like nothing he’s ever seen before, and try to ignore the fact that he’s apparently the most eligible bachelor around.
Aren also finds himself the one and only confidante of Deacon, the BarChi’s burly foreman. Deacon runs the BarChi with an iron fist and is obviously relieved to finally have somebody he can talk to. As their relationship grows, Aren learns there’s more to Deacon and the BarChi than he’d anticipated. Deacon seems determined to deny both his Oestend heritage and any claim he may have to the BarChi ranch, but if Aren is to survive the perils of Oestend, he’ll will have to convince Deacon to stop running from the past and finally claim everything that’s his.
EXCERPT
Here’s an excerpt from Song of Oestend, where Aren’s trying to convince Deacon to let him stay in the “haunted” house, because he’s tired of living in the barracks with the ranch hands.
Aren took his sketchpad and his penknife and pencils, and he walked. He went past the empty house with its sagging boards and vacant eyes. He walked out into the long grass of the prairie until he found a place where he could sit. He had a view of the cattle grazing in the field, lazy and stupid and yet serene at the same time. A big bull stood near the fence, staring at absolutely nothing.
Aren sharpened his pencil and he started to draw.
His art took him away, as it so often did. He lost all sense of space and time. He barely noticed the soreness in his backside from sitting on the ground, or the pain in his shoulder from his hunched position. He knew only shapes and lines, reflections and light. It was a calm place inside him that occupied him, yet left some remote corner of his mind free and clear to think of other things. Today, he thought only of the sun and the grass and how surprisingly good it felt to be there. He had worried he wouldn’t fit in here, and maybe he didn’t, but he found it suited him all the same.
He didn’t see or hear Deacon approaching. It wasn’t until he sat down next to Aren in the grass that he noticed him at all. Aren looked over at him in surprise.
Deacon didn’t look at him. He didn’t say anything, either. He sat there, his knees up and his forearms draped over them, staring out into the field, and Aren waited, wondering what in the world was on the man’s mind.
Deacon finally looked over at him and he seemed startled to find Aren watching him. “Am I bothering you?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Aren said. “I missed you at breakfast.”
Deacon shrugged uncomfortably, obviously disconcerted by such a frank statement. He looked down at Aren’s sketchpad. “What’re you drawing?”
Aren hesitated, afraid Deacon would make fun of him for his art as he had the first day they’d met, back in Milton, but he saw no mockery in his eyes. Only friendly curiosity.
He held his sketchbook out and Deacon took it.
He didn’t say anything for the longest time. He looked at the drawing, then up at the bull in the field, then down again at the drawing. He seemed puzzled. “I don’t get it,” he said at last. “I can see it’s the bull, but it’s not the same at all.”
Aren’s heart fell at the words. “I guess it’s not very good,” he said, reaching to take the pad back.
Deacon pulled it out of his reach, still looking at it. “That ain’t what I said. It’s just…” he looked up at the bull again, then down at the sketchpad, his brows furrowed as he tried to find the words. “When I look at your picture, he looks… Well, I guess he looks strong. And proud. He looks special, like he’s something way more than all the other cattle.” He looked back up at the bull standing in the grass, lazily chewing his cud. “But he’s just a bull,” he said, pointing out at him. “Nothing special at all.”
It was such awkward praise, and yet Aren found himself smiling. He felt something inside him swell with pride. “That means I did it right,” he said.
He reached for the pad again, and this time Deacon let him take it. The big cowboy sat staring at the ground, nervously tugging at the grass. “I don’t want you to be mad at me about the house,” he said at last, his voice quieter than before.
That surprised Aren. It hadn’t occurred to him Deacon would care how he felt. “I’m not mad. But I do wish you’d reconsider.”
“It ain’t safe.”
“Olsa said it could be made safe…”
Deacon was already shaking his head, and Aren let his words trail away. “Folk tales,” Deacon said. “Nothing more than that. Olsa’s stories won’t do nothing against the dark.”
Aren looked back out over the field, and the cattle grazing there. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He was glad Deacon wanted to make peace, but he wished there was some chance of changing his mind.
“Is it so bad out there with the men?” Deacon asked.
“Yes and no.” Aren looked over at the big cowboy. “You’ve lived out there,” he said. “You know how it is.”
“That’s different,” Deacon said, still not looking up at him. “I’m their boss. I have to set myself apart.”
Aren thought about that. It was different for Deacon. And in some ways, living with the men wasn’t so bad. They didn’t see him as one of them, which meant he was mostly excluded from most of their petty games. It was the fact that it reminded him too much of his past, all those years in boarding school. It made him forget he was an adult. It made him lose his confidence.
And the distinct lack of privacy was getting old, too.
“I’d like to have my own space,” he said, and although that wasn’t the whole truth, it wasn’t a lie either. “I miss being able to paint.”
Deacon frowned, but he nodded. “Guess I can understand that. Thing is, I’d hate for something to happen to you. You move into that house and something goes wrong, it’ll be my fault.”
“How would it be your fault?”
“It’s my job to take care of the men,” Deacon said. “I’m the one responsible—”
“Deacon,” Aren interrupted him, “I’m not one of the hands.” Deacon turned to him, looking both confused and surprised. “I know you take responsibility for those boys in the barracks, but I’m not one of them. Jeremiah’s my boss, not you. And the only person responsible for me is me.”
Deacon pondered that, and as he did, Aren saw his expression go from thoughtful to amused. A slow grin spread across his face. Finally, he said, “Don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. Not quite sure I can trust your judgement.”
Aren laughed. “Me neither, to tell you the truth.”
Deacon laughed, too, and Aren couldn’t help but think how much different he looked out here in the grass, when the burden of leadership wasn’t weighing him down. With his men, he always seemed angry and menacing, but sitting in the sunshine next to Aren, he was somebody else completely.
“It could be a place for you, too, you know,” Aren said before he could think better of it. “Wouldn’t you like to be able to relax and have a drink once in a while?” He smiled at Deacon, half-teasing but half-serious, too. “Think about it—a nice soft chair in front of the fire instead of a bale of hay in a draughty barn. A place where none of the ranch hands could find you.”
Deacon smiled and shook his head in wry amusement. “I knew soon as I saw all those damn bags of yours you was going to be trouble.”
“Does that mean ‘no’?” Aren asked.
“Blessed Saints,” Deacon swore, looking up at the sky in exasperation, and Aren knew then that he’d won.
“Does that mean ‘yes’?” he asked, trying not to smile.
“Come on,” Deacon said, unfolding his long legs and standing “Let’s go see your new house.”
You can buy Song of Oestend here:
Pride Publishing
All Romance eBooks
Amazon for Kindle
SEQUEL
Song of Oestend also has a sequel, Saviours of Oestend. Deacon and Aren are secondary characters in this one. The second book focuses on Simon and Frances, and on Dante, who’s sort of a bad guy in the first book. I loved writing Dante. He’s completely impulsive, with a brutal temper, but he’s also fiercely protective of the people he loves. (And I’ll put the PG version of the picture that helped inspire Dante somewhere down below.)
EXCERPT
Here’s an excerpt from the opening of Saviours of Oestend.
The house still smelled of death. It was a horrible, cloying scent that filled the halls, permeating the wood and the curtains, and clogging the air. The house felt heavy with it. When Dante had first entered it, he’d had to turn on his heel and run right back out to vomit violently in the dirt. And even now, weeks later, the smell got to him.
It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to death and its aftermath. He’d seen it before. He’d killed men himself. But this death that filled his new home, clawing at the back of his throat and tainting his every breath, was different, because one of the rotting corpses found in this home had been his younger brother, Brighton. No matter what else Dante had done in his life, no matter how stupid or irrational or selfish he’d been, he’d loved his brother with all his heart.
Another of the dead found in the house had been Brighton’s wife, and two more had been their sons. Dante was ashamed now to admit how little regard he’d had for the woman and the boys. In truth, he’d always thought Shay an arrogant bitch, and although there was nothing inherently wrong with the boys, they’d constantly reminded Dante of his own failings in his marital bed. Yes, it may have been a sin that he grieved so little for them now, but he made up for it by grieving for his brother, each and every day.
Still, life in Oestend did not stop for anything as trivial as grief. The sun continued to rise. The wind continued to blow. Cows and horses gave birth to young. The cattle needed tending and fences needed mending. There was nothing he could do but rise every day and do his best to carry on.
“I hope they get here tonight,” Frances said that morning, looking west at the sky. “Travelling tomorrow will be awful.”
Dante didn’t have to ask who he meant. He’d sent Simon to town several days earlier for supplies and to recruit new men. Their first group of hands hadn’t lasted long, mostly because the stench of decaying bodies wasn’t confined to the house. Several maids had died in the barracks on that fateful night as well. The building smelled as bad as the house. Possibly worse. And until Simon returned with the new men, it was just Dante and Frances, and one other young hand named Ralf who was as skittish as a colt, trying to get everything done.
Dante followed Frances’ gaze. The sky to the west was pale and white, hanging low and heavy like the belly of a pregnant mare. Dante shivered just looking at it. “Too early for snow. Shouldn’t be seeing it for another month or more.”
“It’s coming, early or not.”
“You’re right about that.” Dante eyed the skyline, assessing the cold, clear brittleness of the horizon. He noted the way his breath was already coalescing in the air. Everything was deathly silent and perfectly still, except the tops of the trees, swaying in a breeze he couldn’t feel. He shook his head. “Gonna be a damn cold night. If they don’t make it back, you and that kid ought just as well come to the house.” After all, there was no point in burning fuel to heat both the barracks and the big house when there were only three of them there on the ranch. “Easier for me to keep you warm.”
Frances bent back to his work without a word, but Dante noticed the way the tips of his ears turned bright pink. It confused him, until he replayed his words in his head. Easier for me to keep you warm. He hadn’t meant it that way, and he suspected Frances knew that, but he also suspected Frances would have jumped at the invitation if he had meant it that way. They’d certainly never discussed their sexual habits, but Dante was pretty sure he knew which side of the fence Frances stood on.
Of course, that made Dante think about what it would be like if he did take the boy to his bed. He thought about the two of them skin to skin under the covers while the snow fell outside.
No.
Dante wasn’t about to let anything like that happen. He slammed a mental door on the thought and turned away, praying to whoever might hear that Simon would make it back before the snow came.
As it turned out, his prayer was answered. That evening, just as the snow was beginning to fall, just past when the supper bell might have rung, if they’d had one, Simon appeared, with a string of men and a full wagon behind him. And one other thing Dante wasn’t expecting—a woman. She was tall for a girl, and slender, with deep brown hair that fell in her face, and huge, dark eyes that were guarded and wary.
Dante grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled him aside. “What the hell you thinking bringing a woman here?”
Simon was only a couple of years younger than Dante, and just as big, and he clearly didn’t appreciate being manhandled like a mere boy. He pulled his arm free from Dante’s grip. “She asked to go to the BarChi, but when we got there, Aren said I should bring her here.”
Dante clenched his jaw, biting back on the anger that always welled up in him at the mention of Aren. “Not enough he drives me off the BarChi? He thinks he can call the shots on my ranch now, too?”
Simon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, and no wonder after so many days on the road. “Look,” he said through clenched teeth, “I got no idea what went down between you and Aren and Deacon. All I know is, she’s got nowhere else to go. She asked specifically for the BarChi, but with Olsa there, and Tama and Alissa, they don’t have work for her. Aren thought we could use the help here.”
Fuck, but Dante hated it when Aren was right. Dante knew how to run a ranch, but there were so many things the women at home had taken care of. He hadn’t quite realised at the time just how much work they’d done. He’d already vowed more than once that he’d get down on his knees and thank Tama to the heavens next time he saw her.
Simon seemed to relax once he realised Dante was done being angry. He pulled his hood up onto his head and brushed at the fat, soft flakes of snow that dusted his shoulders. “She says she’ll cook and launder.” He shrugged, motioning towards the big house. “Not like you don’t have room.”
Yes, she’d have to be given a room in the house rather than the barracks. Dante wasn’t sure if he liked that idea or not. He turned towards her and pitched his voice loud enough for her to hear over the hubbub of the new men.
“Go inside. I’ll deal with you later.”
She didn’t thank him. She didn’t say anything at all. She just picked up the blanket roll at her feet and went past him to the house.
Fuck, but women made life difficult.
Of course, Cami has some secrets of her own. (I hate to spoiler my own books, but I’m sure there are plenty of reviews out there giving it away, if you want to go looking.)
Although the books aren’t about exactly the same set of characters (although you’ll still see Aren and Deacon in the second book), they’re best read in order.
Davlova
My other genre mash-up is also a two book series, Release, and Return. And like the Oestend series, this turned out to be one of the most erotic things I’ve ever written. (I don’t know why things get extra steamy when I mix-and-match genres!) I self-published it under a slightly different pen name to help set it apart from my other work because it’s quite dark and violent. Also, the first book by itself definitely doesn’t qualify as a romance (although both books taken together kind of do).
Release came about because I wanted to write about a whore and sex slave. I also wanted to write about a family of orphaned thieves (much like Fagin’s boys in Oliver Twist, only all grown up). What I ended up with is a setting that feels a bit like Dickens’s London, but with some cybernetic implants and genetic manipulation thrown in.
BLURB
Davlova: a poverty-ridden city-state ruled by a tyrannical upper class. Resources are scarce and technology is illegal. But in the slums, revolution is brewing.
Misha is a common pickpocket until his boss gives him a new job. Disguised as a whore, Misha is sent to work for one of the most powerful men in the city. But his real task is far more dangerous: get close to Miguel Donato, and find something – anything – that will help topple Davlova’s corrupt government.
Misha is plunged into the decadent world of the upper class, where slaves are common and even the most perverse pleasure can be found. Although he’s sure Davlova’s elite is involved in something horrific, proof is hard to come by, and Misha begins to fall in love with the man he’s supposed to betray. Then Misha meets Ayo – a sex slave forced by the neural implant in his brain to take pleasure from pain – and everything changes. As the lower class pushes toward a bloody revolution, Misha will find himself caught between his surprising feelings for Donato, his obligations to his clan, and his determination to save Ayo.
Warning: This book contains graphic descriptions of violent sexual acts of questionable consent that may be disturbing to some readers.
EXCERPT:
And here’s a tiny little excerpt from Release.
“It’s our turn to be seated,” Donato said at last. He guided me with a hand on the small of my back, through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, around a silk screen to a private table overlooking the city.
I stared in awe at the sight of it—lights laid out below me like stars in an upside-down sky. I’d had my eyes closed in the carriage, but I realized now that wherever we were, we were high up on the hill, right in the center of the purebloods’ world. Their electric lights circled us, bright white and unwavering. Farther down, I saw the towering city wall which surrounded the upper city, hiding the trenches of Lower Davlova from sight. The taverns and their keepers. The shop owners and fish vendors. The booksellers and whores, all conveniently concealed. The wall eclipsed the dark buildings lit only by lanterns and candles, and the alleys between, which I knew as intimately as any lover. Everybody I’d ever known lived on the other side of that white stone barricade, scraping a living, some legally and some not. In the shadows beyond that wall, I’d been born, raised, trained.
From this spot on the hill, I could almost believe none of it existed.
“Like the view?” he asked.
“It’s stunning.”
“It can be yours, you know. Not right now. Not yet. But eventually, if you please me, you could live on this side of the wall for the rest of your life.”
“Or until you replace me.”
He laughed. It was a cruel, dark sound. “Yes. There’s always that possibility.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me backward. “Why don’t you ponder those options while I take what’s mine.”
SEQUEL
As I said earlier, there’s also a sequel. Return picks up exactly where Release leaves off, and completes the overall story arc. The book definitely doesn’t work as a stand-alone.
CONCLUSION (And Giveaway!)
If you made it this far, thank you so much! If you go to my Selz store, you can use discount code P3M8AJNB to get the ebook of Release for only $1.49. (Discount expires 10.21.16)
Also, if you live in the US and would like a paperback copy of either Song of Oestend, Saviours of Oestend, Release, or Return, leave a comment below. I’ll pick a winner in a few days. (My apologies to those outside the us! I hate dealing with customs forms.)
Thanks for stopping by!
00000
The post 30-Day Blogging Challenge, Day 27: Oestend and Davlova (with giveaway) appeared first on Marie Sexton.
