Ciar Cullen is running a poll on her blog. Vote for the "Best E-book of the Summer."
Lots of FB titles were nominated:
Debbie Mumford's Sorcha's Heart and Glass Magic
Bebe Thomas' Aurora's Passion
and of course, my own She's Got Legs
And Loribelle Hunt was nominated for another one of her books.
So get over there and vote!
http://ciarcullen.blogspot.com/
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
A new review site I just opened
If you are a writer of bdsm stories (any length) I wanted to let you know I have now opened a review blog on blogspot. It was really difficult for me to find a site specific to bdsm. Therefore, I decided just to open my own. I've been published through Freya's Bower, therefore, it would not be wise of me to do reviews for anyone published through them. However, if you find a regular Joe Shmoe not affiliated with Freya's Bower, I will happily post the review. I don't really care if it was your best friend, although I think of us would appreciate a "real" readers review.
That said, if you know of anyone through other publishers who writes bdsm let them know that http://bdsmreviews.blogspot.com is out there and I'll be more than willing to help where I can.
Otherwise, thanks for letting me babble. :)
That said, if you know of anyone through other publishers who writes bdsm let them know that http://bdsmreviews.blogspot.com is out there and I'll be more than willing to help where I can.
Otherwise, thanks for letting me babble. :)
Friday, August 25, 2006
A Conversation With... Amanda Brice
Want the scoop on a fabulous new author?
Read all about She's Got Legs author, Amanda Brice, at my new blog, Conversations With Almost Famous Writers.
Read all about She's Got Legs author, Amanda Brice, at my new blog, Conversations With Almost Famous Writers.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Charade Competition!
Congrats to Rhonda and Bebe Thomas, they both won a copy of Charade!
CHARADE COMPETITION!
Ok, so we may as well start this game today if you’re all up for it. Charade is being released on Sunday, so for your chance to win a free copy of this zany novella, we have a picture hunt to get going on!
Ok, so we may as well start this game today if you’re all up for it. Charade is being released on Sunday, so for your chance to win a free copy of this zany novella, we have a picture hunt to get going on!
Quits had the ugliest pyjamas…Charade has the weirdest, wackiest, nastiest HAIRSTYLE!
Please run forth and find a hairstyle that you would NOT sport. It could be dirty, greasy hair, a crazy style, colour, whatever you like, or don't like... I’ll put all entries up on my blog on Saturday so you can vote for the worst, and the winner will be announced Sunday.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Another Great Review for "Sorcha's Heart"
4 ½ Lips from Frost
Reviewer at Two Lips Reviews
She says:
What an exciting short story Sorcha’s Heart by Debbie Mumford proved to be! Sorcha goes through an incredible number of transformations, both physical and emotional. She finds true love, nearly loses it, and finds it again. Both the human and dragon races are enlightened through her determination to pursue her destiny and to find her life purpose. I highly recommend Sorcha’s Heart for lovers of fantasy or shapeshifters, and for any reader desiring a love story with philosophical overtones, racing toward a happy ending!
Read the entire review here.
Buy Sorcha's Heart here.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
OMG My first review is in for The Insubordinate
Ok, I don't know what I did with my last post. So ummm here we go again. Great big thanks to Michelle Ellis for doing this for me:
I offered to review this book for Miranda. As it includes bdsm, she was finding it difficult to get reviews on it.
I haven’t been exposed to this kind of thing before, so started this story with an open mind, and told myself if it became too much for me to read, I would stop.
However, I completed the story and find it a huge shame that people may shy away from this type of book. Though the whole Master and Sub theme is alien to me, and I would find it a strange practise (for me personally) to play these games, this book did show me another world.
Of course I have heard about such goings on in the bedroom, but I know I am naïve in this kind of thing, as I recall, when doing a search for pictures for the cover of this book, me and Mr Coverman looked at one another several times in a state of shock!
Though the 'games' are alien to me, this story was written very tastefully, in my opinion. It could have gone the other way. There was plenty of scope here to be pretty damn gross but Miranda handled this subject extremely well, I feel. Especially for a ‘newbie’ like me, to this type of story, it didn’t make me feel sick nor make me want to stop reading. Well done there!
A strangely fascinating read, one I couldn't put down, one that taught me something too! If I finish a book having more new information than I had before I started, I consider the reading time well spent. For this reason, I gave this book a 5—for the insight into another place.
The score is also high because it was very well written, the subject was handled wonderfully, and the images I saw were crystal clear.
Forgive me if this review isn’t of my usual crazy standard, but I am still reeling! Truly, this book stunned me in many ways. This has given me much to think about (no, I don’t think I could go down the bdsm road) and it has given me an understanding of other people’s needs and wants—I now don’t feel so strange towards people who practise this kind of sexual activity, as this book showed me that if two people consent, then it really isn’t gross or bad or weird.
Thank you Miranda, for showing me, for broadening my mind. I appreciate any author that can bring me fresh insight into things that were previously a mystery.
:o)
I offered to review this book for Miranda. As it includes bdsm, she was finding it difficult to get reviews on it.
I haven’t been exposed to this kind of thing before, so started this story with an open mind, and told myself if it became too much for me to read, I would stop.
However, I completed the story and find it a huge shame that people may shy away from this type of book. Though the whole Master and Sub theme is alien to me, and I would find it a strange practise (for me personally) to play these games, this book did show me another world.
Of course I have heard about such goings on in the bedroom, but I know I am naïve in this kind of thing, as I recall, when doing a search for pictures for the cover of this book, me and Mr Coverman looked at one another several times in a state of shock!
Though the 'games' are alien to me, this story was written very tastefully, in my opinion. It could have gone the other way. There was plenty of scope here to be pretty damn gross but Miranda handled this subject extremely well, I feel. Especially for a ‘newbie’ like me, to this type of story, it didn’t make me feel sick nor make me want to stop reading. Well done there!
A strangely fascinating read, one I couldn't put down, one that taught me something too! If I finish a book having more new information than I had before I started, I consider the reading time well spent. For this reason, I gave this book a 5—for the insight into another place.
The score is also high because it was very well written, the subject was handled wonderfully, and the images I saw were crystal clear.
Forgive me if this review isn’t of my usual crazy standard, but I am still reeling! Truly, this book stunned me in many ways. This has given me much to think about (no, I don’t think I could go down the bdsm road) and it has given me an understanding of other people’s needs and wants—I now don’t feel so strange towards people who practise this kind of sexual activity, as this book showed me that if two people consent, then it really isn’t gross or bad or weird.
Thank you Miranda, for showing me, for broadening my mind. I appreciate any author that can bring me fresh insight into things that were previously a mystery.
:o)
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Chatting at Romance Studio
Hi Everyone!
We are chatting at Romance Studio right now. Come join us!
You must be 18 years of age or older to participate.
Marci
We are chatting at Romance Studio right now. Come join us!
You must be 18 years of age or older to participate.
Marci
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Debbie's chat starts in five!
http://www.freyasbower.com/chat
Well, we're getting ready to start chatting. Come and join us. Debbie plans to give away an ebook (maybe two). She's the author of Glass Magic and also of Sorcha's Heart. I've a wee excerpt from Sorcha's Heart here. I'm planning to nag Debbie to put one up somewhere for Glass Magic. Visit the chat to see the web address for that. :D
-----------------------
Well, we're getting ready to start chatting. Come and join us. Debbie plans to give away an ebook (maybe two). She's the author of Glass Magic and also of Sorcha's Heart. I've a wee excerpt from Sorcha's Heart here. I'm planning to nag Debbie to put one up somewhere for Glass Magic. Visit the chat to see the web address for that. :D
-----------------------
Chat contest
For those of you who attended the chat, here is the latest on the contest. You know what you are looking for. Read the excerpts, answer the question asked at the chat and email me at Freya's Bower with "Chat contest" in the subject line. The contest closes at 3 pm Sunday, August 13th.
Here are the other blogs to check for excerpts:
http://hafowler.blogspot.com/, http://meellis.blogspot.com/, http://samanthabyrne.blogspot.com/
Good luck!
Marci
Here are the other blogs to check for excerpts:
http://hafowler.blogspot.com/, http://meellis.blogspot.com/, http://samanthabyrne.blogspot.com/
Good luck!
Marci
Friday, August 11, 2006
Short Excerpt from You Again
A tall shadow separated itself from the wall outside the door, and moved toward Cherry.
“Well hello, Cerise,” Mac drawled.
“What does it take to get rid of you?” Her heart jack hammered as he drew closer. God, he looks good enough to eat. Her face flushed, and she realized she was licking her lips. Don’t go there, Cherry. Not with this one.
“You can’t get rid of me.” Resting his hands on the arms of her chair, he leaned down until his face was inches from her own. “I want you, Cerise.” His voice was rough, catching on his words as though he wasn’t sure he should say them. His eyes caught hers for a moment, and then his lips were on hers. He was tender, caressing her lips with his, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. He smelled like soap and the outdoors, and he tasted a little like coffee. Her lips were eager. She cursed them as traitors, but that was the last flotsam of thought as his tongue pressed gently into her mouth, and she was cast adrift on a sea of sensation.
“Well hello, Cerise,” Mac drawled.
“What does it take to get rid of you?” Her heart jack hammered as he drew closer. God, he looks good enough to eat. Her face flushed, and she realized she was licking her lips. Don’t go there, Cherry. Not with this one.
“You can’t get rid of me.” Resting his hands on the arms of her chair, he leaned down until his face was inches from her own. “I want you, Cerise.” His voice was rough, catching on his words as though he wasn’t sure he should say them. His eyes caught hers for a moment, and then his lips were on hers. He was tender, caressing her lips with his, tasting her with the tip of his tongue. He smelled like soap and the outdoors, and he tasted a little like coffee. Her lips were eager. She cursed them as traitors, but that was the last flotsam of thought as his tongue pressed gently into her mouth, and she was cast adrift on a sea of sensation.
An Excerpt from Beyond the Maze by Canice Brown-Porter
“What the hell do you think you’re doing bursting into my room?”
His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, and he yanked her closer until they stood toe-to-toe. “This is my room, in my house, and I will burst into any room whenever I damn well please!”
“Well, I beg to differ,” she said, her chin raised, her gaze melded to his. Her voice sounded relaxed and confident to her own ears, but her insides jiggled like Jell-O. “No gentleman would enter a lady’s bed chamber uninvited.”
She watched Keane’s eyes travel down between them. Perspiration beaded across his forehead and upper lip before he exhaled a heated breath that feathered over her bare shoulders.
He swung his eyes back to meet hers. She inhaled sharply. The thin white petticoat did little to shield her aroused nipples from his open gaze. He smelled of leather. His gaze drifted along the curve of her chin to her mouth. Feathery gasps escaped from her lips. The tip of her tongue slipped across her lower lip.
Smoldering heat ignited in the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards to consume her body. Her skin flushed from her cheeks to her toes.
She gulped a jagged breath when her body met the hard wall of his chest, and his lips crushed hers. His tongue licked along her lower lip. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples hardened into turgid little beads. She struggled to free herself. His tongue swept into her mouth and sent sparks of desire skipping down her spine.
Delicious excitement built in the pit of her stomach. She whimpered, relaxing into him. Her hands, once flattened against his chest to push him away, now grasped his shirt. Aubrianna leaned into his kiss, deepening it. Passion licked every nerve, setting her on fire at the thought of Keane’s naked body against hers.
Their tongues tangled. Desire spiraled and exploded into molten heat that raced through her veins at breakneck speed. He reached for her hair and twisted it into a ball around his fist, holding her to him. She molded her slender figure to his large frame in perfect unity. His hard cock pressed against her belly, and a guttural groan escaped from the depths of his chest.
He released her, stepping away. Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes focused on his. Passion raged in his dark gaze. He stared transfixed, and she watched while reality began its slow descent. His body trembled. Or, was it her own?
His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, and he yanked her closer until they stood toe-to-toe. “This is my room, in my house, and I will burst into any room whenever I damn well please!”
“Well, I beg to differ,” she said, her chin raised, her gaze melded to his. Her voice sounded relaxed and confident to her own ears, but her insides jiggled like Jell-O. “No gentleman would enter a lady’s bed chamber uninvited.”
She watched Keane’s eyes travel down between them. Perspiration beaded across his forehead and upper lip before he exhaled a heated breath that feathered over her bare shoulders.
He swung his eyes back to meet hers. She inhaled sharply. The thin white petticoat did little to shield her aroused nipples from his open gaze. He smelled of leather. His gaze drifted along the curve of her chin to her mouth. Feathery gasps escaped from her lips. The tip of her tongue slipped across her lower lip.
Smoldering heat ignited in the pit of her stomach, radiating outwards to consume her body. Her skin flushed from her cheeks to her toes.
She gulped a jagged breath when her body met the hard wall of his chest, and his lips crushed hers. His tongue licked along her lower lip. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples hardened into turgid little beads. She struggled to free herself. His tongue swept into her mouth and sent sparks of desire skipping down her spine.
Delicious excitement built in the pit of her stomach. She whimpered, relaxing into him. Her hands, once flattened against his chest to push him away, now grasped his shirt. Aubrianna leaned into his kiss, deepening it. Passion licked every nerve, setting her on fire at the thought of Keane’s naked body against hers.
Their tongues tangled. Desire spiraled and exploded into molten heat that raced through her veins at breakneck speed. He reached for her hair and twisted it into a ball around his fist, holding her to him. She molded her slender figure to his large frame in perfect unity. His hard cock pressed against her belly, and a guttural groan escaped from the depths of his chest.
He released her, stepping away. Her lashes fluttered, and her eyes focused on his. Passion raged in his dark gaze. He stared transfixed, and she watched while reality began its slow descent. His body trembled. Or, was it her own?
An Excerpt from Aurora's Passion by Bebe Thomas
Kris awoke to his warm touch as he gently caressed her back in a slow rhythmic circular motion.
“Mmmm,” she emitted a deep throaty growl.
“You're awake,” he said. “Good.” He kneaded her neck and shoulders, his warm hands loosening up every muscle.
"Ahh."
He rubbed down her back, relaxing her, tracing her spine with his thumb. When he reached her
butt, he massaged her cheeks, working the tight muscles with the heel of his hands. His touch incited conflicting sensations. She was relaxed, but also ravenous for more than just a massage.
He slowly moved his hand to her torso and rolled her tight against him. Feeling his cock against
her ass sent a rush of wetness to her core. He nibbled on her neck as he caressed her breasts through her silk negligee and rubbed her nipples until they were hard pebbles. She pressed harder into his length. She rolled onto her back and lifted slightly as he removed her lingerie. He leaned into her, longing and lust filling his green eyes. Leisurely, he traced her lips - a challenge, Kris thought. She drew his finger into her mouth, making him gasp.
She sighed with pleasure when he took his moist finger from her mouth and used it to strum her clit. He nipped her lower lip and then thrust his tongue into her mouth, plunging his fingers between her nether lips. Kris bucked against his hand.
“Do you like it, Ann Kristine?” he growled.
She managed a moan. Did she like it? She'd never felt this way before.
“Mmmm,” she emitted a deep throaty growl.
“You're awake,” he said. “Good.” He kneaded her neck and shoulders, his warm hands loosening up every muscle.
"Ahh."
He rubbed down her back, relaxing her, tracing her spine with his thumb. When he reached her
butt, he massaged her cheeks, working the tight muscles with the heel of his hands. His touch incited conflicting sensations. She was relaxed, but also ravenous for more than just a massage.
He slowly moved his hand to her torso and rolled her tight against him. Feeling his cock against
her ass sent a rush of wetness to her core. He nibbled on her neck as he caressed her breasts through her silk negligee and rubbed her nipples until they were hard pebbles. She pressed harder into his length. She rolled onto her back and lifted slightly as he removed her lingerie. He leaned into her, longing and lust filling his green eyes. Leisurely, he traced her lips - a challenge, Kris thought. She drew his finger into her mouth, making him gasp.
She sighed with pleasure when he took his moist finger from her mouth and used it to strum her clit. He nipped her lower lip and then thrust his tongue into her mouth, plunging his fingers between her nether lips. Kris bucked against his hand.
“Do you like it, Ann Kristine?” he growled.
She managed a moan. Did she like it? She'd never felt this way before.
Excerpt Honeysuckle and Wild Roses
copyright 2006 Zinnia Hope
Roahre gathered their food and empty wine skin. He shook the dirt and leaves from his outer tunic, but stuffed it into the saddlebag since it was saturated with wine from their romp across the leaves.
Watching her husband, Honey stood nearby, her nether regions still tingling and throbbing from their passionate lovemaking. He turned, offering her a pleased smile.
“Freya has left a gift here for you,” he said.
“Oh?” Honey wasn’t sure whether she should be wary or pleased that the goddess had deemed her worthy of a gift, but as Roahre’s grin widened, she soon relaxed. “Well? Where is it?” she asked as a bud of anticipation bloomed within her.
“Go around to the other side of that tree. There’s a hole at the base of it.” He tied the flaps on the leather bags and turned, crossing his arms over his chest. Mischief danced in his eyes as he added, “The goddess was certain you’d choose a life with me and my people, and to prove to me that she was right, she put something special in the tree for you.” He nodded, indicating that she should go look. “Go on, my love. See what Freya has bestowed upon you.”
Honey walked through the thick layer of leaves and climbed over the monstrous roots protruding from the soft earth. On the other side of the ancient tree, a large hole resided between two roots. Upon hands and knees, Honey peered cautiously inside. She saw something tan and furry. At first, she thought that an animal was looking back at her, but as her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the hole, she realized it was actually a fur-wrapped package.
Gingerly, she pulled it free from its hiding place and brushed small twigs and leaf fragments from it. Cradling it in her arms, she rose and made her way back to the horses where her husband waited. She stood next to Roahre and pulled the strings of meadow grass free, unwrapping the gift to find a dress fit for a queen—for her.
Yards of material the color of a spring sky fell to her feet. Honey gasped in delight. A pair of matching slippers tumbled out and landed in the leaves. In bright embroidery, Freya’s symbols adorned the slipper’s toes, the threads sparkling in the dim lighting. Roahre picked them up, holding them for her so that she could examine the dress. Honey looked back and forth between him and the dress.
“I’ve never seen material like this before,” she said softly, fearing that if she spoke too loudly the dress would poof into magic sparkles and disappear upon a forest breeze. “It’s the purest of sky blues, but it has…” She held it up, allowing the light to dance across its silken fibers. “There are rainbow colors dancing upon it when the light is just right. And it’s so soft! It’s almost as if the garment isn’t even there!”
“The Goddess had the womenfolk of the Dwarves spin its fibers. A little of Freya’s magic went into the color, and the Elven women sewed it together.” He smiled. “Do you like it?”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
“It is your queenly gown. The gown you shall hold court in and for when you meet your new people.”
“How will I ever thank Freya?” Honey asked, feeling overwhelmed; her legs even shook beneath her.
“Rule as a queen should,” Roahre replied.
Roahre gathered their food and empty wine skin. He shook the dirt and leaves from his outer tunic, but stuffed it into the saddlebag since it was saturated with wine from their romp across the leaves.
Watching her husband, Honey stood nearby, her nether regions still tingling and throbbing from their passionate lovemaking. He turned, offering her a pleased smile.
“Freya has left a gift here for you,” he said.
“Oh?” Honey wasn’t sure whether she should be wary or pleased that the goddess had deemed her worthy of a gift, but as Roahre’s grin widened, she soon relaxed. “Well? Where is it?” she asked as a bud of anticipation bloomed within her.
“Go around to the other side of that tree. There’s a hole at the base of it.” He tied the flaps on the leather bags and turned, crossing his arms over his chest. Mischief danced in his eyes as he added, “The goddess was certain you’d choose a life with me and my people, and to prove to me that she was right, she put something special in the tree for you.” He nodded, indicating that she should go look. “Go on, my love. See what Freya has bestowed upon you.”
Honey walked through the thick layer of leaves and climbed over the monstrous roots protruding from the soft earth. On the other side of the ancient tree, a large hole resided between two roots. Upon hands and knees, Honey peered cautiously inside. She saw something tan and furry. At first, she thought that an animal was looking back at her, but as her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the hole, she realized it was actually a fur-wrapped package.
Gingerly, she pulled it free from its hiding place and brushed small twigs and leaf fragments from it. Cradling it in her arms, she rose and made her way back to the horses where her husband waited. She stood next to Roahre and pulled the strings of meadow grass free, unwrapping the gift to find a dress fit for a queen—for her.
Yards of material the color of a spring sky fell to her feet. Honey gasped in delight. A pair of matching slippers tumbled out and landed in the leaves. In bright embroidery, Freya’s symbols adorned the slipper’s toes, the threads sparkling in the dim lighting. Roahre picked them up, holding them for her so that she could examine the dress. Honey looked back and forth between him and the dress.
“I’ve never seen material like this before,” she said softly, fearing that if she spoke too loudly the dress would poof into magic sparkles and disappear upon a forest breeze. “It’s the purest of sky blues, but it has…” She held it up, allowing the light to dance across its silken fibers. “There are rainbow colors dancing upon it when the light is just right. And it’s so soft! It’s almost as if the garment isn’t even there!”
“The Goddess had the womenfolk of the Dwarves spin its fibers. A little of Freya’s magic went into the color, and the Elven women sewed it together.” He smiled. “Do you like it?”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
“It is your queenly gown. The gown you shall hold court in and for when you meet your new people.”
“How will I ever thank Freya?” Honey asked, feeling overwhelmed; her legs even shook beneath her.
“Rule as a queen should,” Roahre replied.
Excerpt from Glass Magic by Debbie Mumford
Sean backed away, stumbled over his forgotten toolbox and landed hard on his butt on the floor’s plywood subsurface.
Maureen McBride loomed above him, green eyes flashing, red hair pulling free of its tightly bound knot. “I’ll report this,” she said, the words barely escaping through clenched jaws. “Sexual harassment is a crime in this state.”
Sean jumped to his feet and closed the distance between them. “I didn’t do anything except keep you from falling.” He noted with pleasure that she had to look up to meet his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so starved for physical attention that you intentionally stumble into men’s arms.”
Her face flushed scarlet, and she opened luscious red lips to scorch him with a rebuttal.
The floor heaved again. They fell into each other’s arms, and Sean’s tongue dove into her open mouth.
He wanted to struggle, wanted to get the hell away from this aggravating female, but the molten silk of her mouth tasted of honey… and her tongue! It twisted coyly away from his and then pushed daringly past his teeth into his mouth. Oh, the soft, sensual pleasure of that dance of tongues.
Soft. Sensual. His hands finally reported their location to his brain, and he groaned into her mouth. His senses rapidly overloading, he moved his hands down her back and filled them with the ripe, firm, fullness of her buttocks. His erection leapt and demanded a closer inspection of the cleft pressed so tantalizingly near.
And then it ended, as quickly as it had begun.
She pulled away from his clutching fingers and backed up until she hit the far wall. Cold air shocked his senses, and he longed for her velvet warmth; all of it. No impeding cloth. Just skin caressing skin, and more. Oh, so much more!
Maureen McBride loomed above him, green eyes flashing, red hair pulling free of its tightly bound knot. “I’ll report this,” she said, the words barely escaping through clenched jaws. “Sexual harassment is a crime in this state.”
Sean jumped to his feet and closed the distance between them. “I didn’t do anything except keep you from falling.” He noted with pleasure that she had to look up to meet his eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so starved for physical attention that you intentionally stumble into men’s arms.”
Her face flushed scarlet, and she opened luscious red lips to scorch him with a rebuttal.
The floor heaved again. They fell into each other’s arms, and Sean’s tongue dove into her open mouth.
He wanted to struggle, wanted to get the hell away from this aggravating female, but the molten silk of her mouth tasted of honey… and her tongue! It twisted coyly away from his and then pushed daringly past his teeth into his mouth. Oh, the soft, sensual pleasure of that dance of tongues.
Soft. Sensual. His hands finally reported their location to his brain, and he groaned into her mouth. His senses rapidly overloading, he moved his hands down her back and filled them with the ripe, firm, fullness of her buttocks. His erection leapt and demanded a closer inspection of the cleft pressed so tantalizingly near.
And then it ended, as quickly as it had begun.
She pulled away from his clutching fingers and backed up until she hit the far wall. Cold air shocked his senses, and he longed for her velvet warmth; all of it. No impeding cloth. Just skin caressing skin, and more. Oh, so much more!
Last Chance excerpt by Kit Wylde
Max's gaze dropped to follow the path of her tongue, fascinated with its progress. His eyelids drooped at half-mast as his breath quickened. His eyes told her that he was about to reach for her. Her mind screamed, “Hussy!” even as her body cried for his touch. She didn’t care. Hussy or not, she wanted to taste him. Just one taste and she would forget him.
Their lips connected, the temperature of their passion easily surpassing the heat rising from the pavement. Damp clothes clung to their bodies. Beneath Max’s shirt, Susan felt the hard ridge of muscles, intensifying her desire. Further down, another hard ridge pressed against the juncture between her thighs. She moaned with the knowledge she had done this to him.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, tentatively at first, then with more force as she pressed closer to him, demanding more. He matched the rhythm of his tongue with the push of his hips. Tension built until she felt like she would explode. Frantically, she pulled his shirt out of his jeans, needing to feel his bare skin under her hands. Soft hair met her questing hands. She purred, a thrill shooting through her. She loved hair on a man’s chest. It screamed virility.
The shock of warm, rough hands caressing the underside of her breasts brought sanity rushing in. She pushed Max away, shaking her head. She couldn’t do this. A flush of embarrassment poured through her, and she stepped back, bumping up against the door of her truck. Her desperate need to have him inside of her scared her, killing any desire.
"Perhaps you better move so I can get to the tire," he told her, his voice rough with need, although he didn’t protest her withdrawal. He adjusted his jeans, wincing, but said nothing.
"Oh! Of course. I..." her voice trailed off, and she abruptly moved out of his way, her gaze assessing the erection in his jeans, remembering how it felt pressed against her. He was obviously turned on. That he respected her decision rekindled the ache within her all over again.
He grabbed the spare and began putting it on the truck. "You should stop by a station and buy a new tire, or have this one repaired before you go home tonight," he stated as if nothing had happened between them.
She barely heard him. Her attention was fixed on his denim shirt and how it stretched across the expanse of his broad shoulders and muscular back. Her stomach jerked in reaction. Clenching her hand, she stepped back and turned to look somewhere else, but her gaze strayed back to him.
Their lips connected, the temperature of their passion easily surpassing the heat rising from the pavement. Damp clothes clung to their bodies. Beneath Max’s shirt, Susan felt the hard ridge of muscles, intensifying her desire. Further down, another hard ridge pressed against the juncture between her thighs. She moaned with the knowledge she had done this to him.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, tentatively at first, then with more force as she pressed closer to him, demanding more. He matched the rhythm of his tongue with the push of his hips. Tension built until she felt like she would explode. Frantically, she pulled his shirt out of his jeans, needing to feel his bare skin under her hands. Soft hair met her questing hands. She purred, a thrill shooting through her. She loved hair on a man’s chest. It screamed virility.
The shock of warm, rough hands caressing the underside of her breasts brought sanity rushing in. She pushed Max away, shaking her head. She couldn’t do this. A flush of embarrassment poured through her, and she stepped back, bumping up against the door of her truck. Her desperate need to have him inside of her scared her, killing any desire.
"Perhaps you better move so I can get to the tire," he told her, his voice rough with need, although he didn’t protest her withdrawal. He adjusted his jeans, wincing, but said nothing.
"Oh! Of course. I..." her voice trailed off, and she abruptly moved out of his way, her gaze assessing the erection in his jeans, remembering how it felt pressed against her. He was obviously turned on. That he respected her decision rekindled the ache within her all over again.
He grabbed the spare and began putting it on the truck. "You should stop by a station and buy a new tire, or have this one repaired before you go home tonight," he stated as if nothing had happened between them.
She barely heard him. Her attention was fixed on his denim shirt and how it stretched across the expanse of his broad shoulders and muscular back. Her stomach jerked in reaction. Clenching her hand, she stepped back and turned to look somewhere else, but her gaze strayed back to him.
Woman of Unknown Origins excerpt 2
copyright 2006 Faith Bicknell-Brown
Publisher Freya's Bower
exerpt from FURY HOLLOW
She watched him light a cigarette; the match’s flame cast an eerie glow over his handsome features. “Do you live close by?” asked Hannah
He scooted closer to her, the moss-covered log to their backs. “Close enough. I’m visiting a friend. Her husband disappeared about six months ago.”
She nodded. “You mean Jed Fasher.”
“He vanished in this hollow coming home from work one night.” The moonlight illuminated Vengey’s eyes, prompting an odd flash of scarlet. “Doesn’t it frighten you to walk through here after dark?”
“No,” she whispered. Her heart thumped from a strange anticipation. “I’ve lived in this area my entire life.”
He was so close she could smell him, a curious combination of dry leaves and wood smoke. Quickly, he moved against her, invading her personal space, but Hannah didn’t mind; it excited her. Vengey caressed her cheek, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair framing her face.
The stranger kissed her deeply, causing her to go weak and her insides to flame with eager warmth. Briefly, Hannah wondered how he had managed to remove her clothes, and realized she didn’t remember Vengey shedding his own. He kneaded her breasts; kissing and touching her in ways she only dreamed of during lonely nights watching clouds cross the sky from her bedroom window. Sometimes she imagined a beautiful lover in those fleeting clouds. It appeared that her lover was no longer a dream.
He entered her and there was a brief, ripping pain, then the world exploded around her. Hannah screamed and bucked, her pleasure bordering on insanity and it seemed to her that the ground trembled and the trees overhead burned. She felt as though she was on fire as well. The sweat dripped unheeded from her body and she bled profusely, but Vengey continued to ride her, his sounds of delectation animal-like as they moved together in a hard, hurried rhythm amongst a thick pool of blood.
Then dawn arrived, the bloody sky mirroring the ground.
Vengey rolled off her and sat back against a tree, his body streaked and spattered with gore. He regarded Hannah with unmitigated satisfaction.
“You were delicious,” he remarked. “I believe I shall keep you.”
A low, keening howl echoed down from the top of the hill by Mammy’s house. Hannah looked up to see Josephine hurrying down the path behind her grandmother.
As she pounded across the meadow, Mammy’s black hair streamed behind her like a banner. The St. Bernard stayed close on her heels.
She fell at Hannah’s side, sobbing.
“Oh, child! What have you done?”
Trying to pull her blouse over her sticky, crimson form, Hannah realized something was horribly wrong.
Publisher Freya's Bower
exerpt from FURY HOLLOW
She watched him light a cigarette; the match’s flame cast an eerie glow over his handsome features. “Do you live close by?” asked Hannah
He scooted closer to her, the moss-covered log to their backs. “Close enough. I’m visiting a friend. Her husband disappeared about six months ago.”
She nodded. “You mean Jed Fasher.”
“He vanished in this hollow coming home from work one night.” The moonlight illuminated Vengey’s eyes, prompting an odd flash of scarlet. “Doesn’t it frighten you to walk through here after dark?”
“No,” she whispered. Her heart thumped from a strange anticipation. “I’ve lived in this area my entire life.”
He was so close she could smell him, a curious combination of dry leaves and wood smoke. Quickly, he moved against her, invading her personal space, but Hannah didn’t mind; it excited her. Vengey caressed her cheek, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair framing her face.
The stranger kissed her deeply, causing her to go weak and her insides to flame with eager warmth. Briefly, Hannah wondered how he had managed to remove her clothes, and realized she didn’t remember Vengey shedding his own. He kneaded her breasts; kissing and touching her in ways she only dreamed of during lonely nights watching clouds cross the sky from her bedroom window. Sometimes she imagined a beautiful lover in those fleeting clouds. It appeared that her lover was no longer a dream.
He entered her and there was a brief, ripping pain, then the world exploded around her. Hannah screamed and bucked, her pleasure bordering on insanity and it seemed to her that the ground trembled and the trees overhead burned. She felt as though she was on fire as well. The sweat dripped unheeded from her body and she bled profusely, but Vengey continued to ride her, his sounds of delectation animal-like as they moved together in a hard, hurried rhythm amongst a thick pool of blood.
Then dawn arrived, the bloody sky mirroring the ground.
Vengey rolled off her and sat back against a tree, his body streaked and spattered with gore. He regarded Hannah with unmitigated satisfaction.
“You were delicious,” he remarked. “I believe I shall keep you.”
A low, keening howl echoed down from the top of the hill by Mammy’s house. Hannah looked up to see Josephine hurrying down the path behind her grandmother.
As she pounded across the meadow, Mammy’s black hair streamed behind her like a banner. The St. Bernard stayed close on her heels.
She fell at Hannah’s side, sobbing.
“Oh, child! What have you done?”
Trying to pull her blouse over her sticky, crimson form, Hannah realized something was horribly wrong.
Excerpt #5 Freya's Bower
Woman of Unknown Origins
copyright 2006 Faith Bicknell-Brown
Publisher Freya's Bower
“Here’s a clean towel.” She placed it on the tub’s edge. “I’d like to take a walk and admire the evening sky. It’s a clear night. I’ll get you a beer to take with you.”
He smiled sleepily. “Sure, babe. It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”
Malachi joined her outside on the porch. The night sky held an infinite number of bright denizens. A light breeze caressed their bodies.
He cocked his head to one side, frowning quizzically at the pie and milk on the stoop. “What’s with the royal treatment, Deirdre?”
“I have a secret to share with you.”
He held out a hand for the beer. “Another romp here on the porch step, perhaps?”
She smiled. “Maybe another time.”
They passed through the vegetable garden, the scent of tomato vines pungent as they brushed against the leaves. Crickets hushed their chirring when they entered the unruly grass of the farthest lawn. Somewhere along the encroaching tree line, a whippoorwill voiced its melancholy cry.
“What’s that?” Malachi grabbed his wife’s arm and pointed.
“That’s what I want to show you.” Deirdre smiled, her beautiful white teeth stark in the deepening twilight. She pulled free from him and continued toward the object.
The last traces of the sunset faded. Fireflies winked in the tall grass. On a neighboring ridge, a cow bawled.
“What is that thing?” Malachi slurped the last drops of beer from the can and crumpled it.
Deirdre held her arms over her head, palms up, fingers slightly curled. “Let me make some light.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He dropped the can in the grass.
Deirdre ignored him and whispered:
“In the dark form a sphere,
shine within my hands.
Banish a small part of night,
there is no fear in the light.”
Fireflies all around the field gathered in her hands. Within seconds, a large glowing orb of lightning bugs lit up the immediate area with their green-gold illumination.
She dropped her arms to her sides. “Just one of the easy charms that Mamaw Pearl taught me,” Deirdre said upon noticing her husband’s stunned expression.
Malachi’s gaze moved to the rectangular object. “Is that the weird trunk your grandmother left you?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you had a charm that helped you drag it out here too?”
She shrugged.
“Why is it here?”
“It’s part of the secret I’m going to share with you.”
“Look, babe, you’ve given me a nice evening, and I appreciate it, but what’s going on?” Irritation tinged Malachi’s voice.
The pain inside Deirdre bubbled up from the recesses of her soul. Magic stirred there, a power that she had not been fully aware of until her hands touched her grandmother’s spell books earlier that day.
“I love you, Malachi.”
He smiled. “I know you do.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The smile that stretched his mouth died before it reached his eyes.
“Pregnant?”
“Something wrong?”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” she unlatched the trunk, which stood on one end, “I am pregnant. Pregnant with pain. Pain that grows within me. Pregnant with mistrust for a man with a wandering heart. I gestate hate for the woman who carries your seed and I germinate the lies that you both have professed as the truth.”
From her dress, she withdrew a pocketknife and cut a shallow wound in the palm of her right hand. “Tonight I give birth to the pain you have created within me.” She slapped Malachi hard across the face, leaving a faint red smudge upon his cheek, then smacked her hand down on the roughly-hewn trunk.
“Hey!” Malachi grabbed her. “What’s got into you, Deirdre? Have you gone crazy?”
“Do it! Say the words! They are balm for your heart and doom for his!”
He whirled at the sinister voices hissing out of the tall grass. Several pairs of luminous eyes watched them.
“You’re practicing witchcraft on me?” His terrified gaze raked her face before darting back to the glowing eyes in the grass. “All the tales about your grandmother were true! She didn’t practice harmless charms! She performed black magic!”
The trunk’s two sides spread like a thick book. A hiss drifted out of it.
“Deirdre, you’re my wife!” He took a step back, uncertain which way to flee, eyes peering at him from every direction. “I love you!”
“Yes, you love me and every other woman you come in contact with! I wonder how Sally will feel when she realizes that you have left her nothing but pain as well.”
“Do it! Say the words! Free your pain!” The frightening voices grew impatient.
“I give birth to the pain that you have given me, Malachi Dempsey!” Deirdre moved away to stand at the outskirts of the green-gold illumination.
The trunk began to grow. Its rough willow timber took on the form of the tree it had originated from years ago. Branches sprouted from various angles and roots punctured the earth.
Malachi uttered an unintelligible cry. He stumbled backward, but the willow’s draping limbs snared him and drew him inside its trunk.
“Deirdre don’t do this!”
copyright 2006 Faith Bicknell-Brown
Publisher Freya's Bower
“Here’s a clean towel.” She placed it on the tub’s edge. “I’d like to take a walk and admire the evening sky. It’s a clear night. I’ll get you a beer to take with you.”
He smiled sleepily. “Sure, babe. It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”
Malachi joined her outside on the porch. The night sky held an infinite number of bright denizens. A light breeze caressed their bodies.
He cocked his head to one side, frowning quizzically at the pie and milk on the stoop. “What’s with the royal treatment, Deirdre?”
“I have a secret to share with you.”
He held out a hand for the beer. “Another romp here on the porch step, perhaps?”
She smiled. “Maybe another time.”
They passed through the vegetable garden, the scent of tomato vines pungent as they brushed against the leaves. Crickets hushed their chirring when they entered the unruly grass of the farthest lawn. Somewhere along the encroaching tree line, a whippoorwill voiced its melancholy cry.
“What’s that?” Malachi grabbed his wife’s arm and pointed.
“That’s what I want to show you.” Deirdre smiled, her beautiful white teeth stark in the deepening twilight. She pulled free from him and continued toward the object.
The last traces of the sunset faded. Fireflies winked in the tall grass. On a neighboring ridge, a cow bawled.
“What is that thing?” Malachi slurped the last drops of beer from the can and crumpled it.
Deirdre held her arms over her head, palms up, fingers slightly curled. “Let me make some light.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He dropped the can in the grass.
Deirdre ignored him and whispered:
“In the dark form a sphere,
shine within my hands.
Banish a small part of night,
there is no fear in the light.”
Fireflies all around the field gathered in her hands. Within seconds, a large glowing orb of lightning bugs lit up the immediate area with their green-gold illumination.
She dropped her arms to her sides. “Just one of the easy charms that Mamaw Pearl taught me,” Deirdre said upon noticing her husband’s stunned expression.
Malachi’s gaze moved to the rectangular object. “Is that the weird trunk your grandmother left you?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you had a charm that helped you drag it out here too?”
She shrugged.
“Why is it here?”
“It’s part of the secret I’m going to share with you.”
“Look, babe, you’ve given me a nice evening, and I appreciate it, but what’s going on?” Irritation tinged Malachi’s voice.
The pain inside Deirdre bubbled up from the recesses of her soul. Magic stirred there, a power that she had not been fully aware of until her hands touched her grandmother’s spell books earlier that day.
“I love you, Malachi.”
He smiled. “I know you do.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The smile that stretched his mouth died before it reached his eyes.
“Pregnant?”
“Something wrong?”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” she unlatched the trunk, which stood on one end, “I am pregnant. Pregnant with pain. Pain that grows within me. Pregnant with mistrust for a man with a wandering heart. I gestate hate for the woman who carries your seed and I germinate the lies that you both have professed as the truth.”
From her dress, she withdrew a pocketknife and cut a shallow wound in the palm of her right hand. “Tonight I give birth to the pain you have created within me.” She slapped Malachi hard across the face, leaving a faint red smudge upon his cheek, then smacked her hand down on the roughly-hewn trunk.
“Hey!” Malachi grabbed her. “What’s got into you, Deirdre? Have you gone crazy?”
“Do it! Say the words! They are balm for your heart and doom for his!”
He whirled at the sinister voices hissing out of the tall grass. Several pairs of luminous eyes watched them.
“You’re practicing witchcraft on me?” His terrified gaze raked her face before darting back to the glowing eyes in the grass. “All the tales about your grandmother were true! She didn’t practice harmless charms! She performed black magic!”
The trunk’s two sides spread like a thick book. A hiss drifted out of it.
“Deirdre, you’re my wife!” He took a step back, uncertain which way to flee, eyes peering at him from every direction. “I love you!”
“Yes, you love me and every other woman you come in contact with! I wonder how Sally will feel when she realizes that you have left her nothing but pain as well.”
“Do it! Say the words! Free your pain!” The frightening voices grew impatient.
“I give birth to the pain that you have given me, Malachi Dempsey!” Deirdre moved away to stand at the outskirts of the green-gold illumination.
The trunk began to grow. Its rough willow timber took on the form of the tree it had originated from years ago. Branches sprouted from various angles and roots punctured the earth.
Malachi uttered an unintelligible cry. He stumbled backward, but the willow’s draping limbs snared him and drew him inside its trunk.
“Deirdre don’t do this!”
Excerpt #4 Freya's Bower
The Science of Magic
copyright 2006 Zinnia Hope
Publisher Freya's Bower
The same receptionist sat at the desk that had been working the day before. Upon noticing Garnet, the woman rose and motioned for her to follow. They traversed halfway down the long, white corridor. The secretary stopped and opened a door to a sapphire blue room. The walls, ceiling and floor gleamed with the rich color, and for a moment, Garnet was almost convinced she was deep below the ocean’s surface. In the center of the room, a chaise covered in indigo velvet sat in a large circular indention. Strange illumination added to the chamber’s deep ocean effect.
“The sorceress will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said and gestured toward the chaise. She turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Please sit,” a young feminine voice said.
Garnet gasped and stumbled back, her high heels screeching on the polished floor. She hadn’t noticed the adolescent enter the chamber. Her legs shaking under her, Garnet sat down on the lounger, the velvet rough against her hands. She crossed her legs, the dim light catching the neon colors on the tips of her clear stilettos, and watched as the attendant placed a gold coin on the tip of a thin post. Light shot from the floor to the ceiling, encircling the chaise and nearly blinding Garnet.
A grand banquet hall stretched before Garnet. In one corner, musicians played lutes, pipes, harps and lyres, their sweet melody drifting over the room like dandelion fluff. Rich tapestries of warriors in battle hung upon the stone walls. Reeds, straw, pillows and naked bodies littered the floor. Twosomes, threesomes, and many in writhing, groping masses uttered sounds of pleasure and climax. Garnet realized her mouth hung open and shut it firmly. Why would the sorceress want her to see a palace orgy?
On a pile of embroidered pillows, two well-built men caressed one another. She couldn’t help but admire their tight asses and muscular bodies. A man with a dark beard and hair acted as the dominate one over the other with long, raven-black locks. Why are the good-looking ones always gay, Garnet mused. The bearded one rolled his partner over, revealing the other man’s face. A startled cry slipped from Garnet’s lips, and her hand flew to her mouth.
Tom!
copyright 2006 Zinnia Hope
Publisher Freya's Bower
The same receptionist sat at the desk that had been working the day before. Upon noticing Garnet, the woman rose and motioned for her to follow. They traversed halfway down the long, white corridor. The secretary stopped and opened a door to a sapphire blue room. The walls, ceiling and floor gleamed with the rich color, and for a moment, Garnet was almost convinced she was deep below the ocean’s surface. In the center of the room, a chaise covered in indigo velvet sat in a large circular indention. Strange illumination added to the chamber’s deep ocean effect.
“The sorceress will be with you shortly,” the receptionist said and gestured toward the chaise. She turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Please sit,” a young feminine voice said.
Garnet gasped and stumbled back, her high heels screeching on the polished floor. She hadn’t noticed the adolescent enter the chamber. Her legs shaking under her, Garnet sat down on the lounger, the velvet rough against her hands. She crossed her legs, the dim light catching the neon colors on the tips of her clear stilettos, and watched as the attendant placed a gold coin on the tip of a thin post. Light shot from the floor to the ceiling, encircling the chaise and nearly blinding Garnet.
A grand banquet hall stretched before Garnet. In one corner, musicians played lutes, pipes, harps and lyres, their sweet melody drifting over the room like dandelion fluff. Rich tapestries of warriors in battle hung upon the stone walls. Reeds, straw, pillows and naked bodies littered the floor. Twosomes, threesomes, and many in writhing, groping masses uttered sounds of pleasure and climax. Garnet realized her mouth hung open and shut it firmly. Why would the sorceress want her to see a palace orgy?
On a pile of embroidered pillows, two well-built men caressed one another. She couldn’t help but admire their tight asses and muscular bodies. A man with a dark beard and hair acted as the dominate one over the other with long, raven-black locks. Why are the good-looking ones always gay, Garnet mused. The bearded one rolled his partner over, revealing the other man’s face. A startled cry slipped from Garnet’s lips, and her hand flew to her mouth.
Tom!
Excerpt from Sorcha's Heart
Copyright Debbie Mumford 2006
Publisher Freya's Bower
Pain accompanied Sorcha’s return to consciousness. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed screamed their displeasure. Sand grated against the soft skin of cheek and neck, urging her to rise, but lethargy kept her grounded. The slightest movement caused a cascade of agony throughout her system. She’d never been beaten, but she couldn’t imagine that a victim of mob violence would ache more than she did. She should open her eyes and orient herself in time and space, but the task felt too strenuous to attempt. She’d find a less active way to gather information.
Allowing her eyes to remain safely closed, Sorcha turned her attention from her body’s tortured protests to the world surrounding her. She heard the roar of distant breakers and the soft susurrus of the breeze on the lagoon’s sheltered beach. Yes, the lagoon, the beach. That explained the sand under her cheek. Above those soothing natural sounds, she heard an insistent thrumming, the deepened and magnified purring of a thousand cats. The dragon maintained his vigil.
Gods and goddesses, the dragon!
She focused her attention on her enemy’s terrifying presence and discovered a strand of unknown power brushing the edge of her mind. Cat-like, it twisted and slipped away when she tried to grab it, but came willingly when she quieted her mind and ignored it. The connection it formed expanded her mind, altering its landscape forever.
Dragons whispered through this tunnel. She heard them—and understood. What’s more, she felt their pain and embarrassment as her thoughts exploded into the conversational stream.
“Softly, little one,” Caedyrn whispered. “Restrain yourself.”
Sorcha pulled back, away from the vile, alien presence. She huddled on the sand, feeling violated beyond her ability to endure. Her body ached in a thousand places, and her mind… The sanctity of her mind had been breached. Her thoughts were no longer her own. An alien species, hostile and unknown, prowled in the depths. She couldn’t live this way.
She wouldn’t live this way!
With grim determination, Sorcha put aside her fear and confusion and searched her memory for an appropriate spell. An incantation bubbled to the surface of her mind and she tested its suitability for ousting the alien presence. She’d never attempted a working of this magnitude on herself before. Yes, she’d healed minor cuts and abrasions, but this problem required an application of magic she’d never studied. No matter; she had no choice.
“Perhaps you were right, Mother,” she thought, examining each element of the spell one more time. “The price may have been too high, especially if I don’t live to use the Heart of Fire.” She sought her well of magic, always so comforting in its accessibility.
“No!” Caedyrn cried, distress tingeing his thoughts. “You must not use human magic against the flight.” His thoughts echoed through every recess of her mind. “You’ll destroy yourself and the Heart of Fire with you!”
She struggled to shield her thoughts from this unwelcome intruder, but a new terror sapped her remaining strength and caused her to ignore the dragon’s presence—she couldn’t touch her reserve of power! She could feel it, resting languidly just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t reach it. Never before had her magic failed her, not since its awakening in early childhood. She retreated to a corner of her mind to search for nonexistent options.
The dragon called to her, quietly, soothingly. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he crooned, directing her attention to the bright, pulsing strand that warmed the edges of her mind. “You’re linked to the flight now. Push right there to broadcast to our species as a whole. Pull back here and touch an individual, or blank out all intrusions like this, for privacy and peaceful meditation.”
When he finished, he nudged her toward the strand. “Try, little one,” he cajoled. “I’ll withdraw. Call me back.”
Sorcha, bereft of her gift and unable to think of another option, gingerly checked the limits of her mind. The connection pulsed with eager vibration, but it awaited her touch. She exhaled a long groaning sigh, savored the privacy she’d always assumed inviolate, and remembered the overtone of concern she’d detected in Caedyrn’s thoughts.
Could the dragon be worried about her? Ridiculous. If she’d detected concern, it had been for the Heart of Fire, not for her. Still, he offered assistance that she sorely needed.
“Caedyrn?”
The link responded to her tentative touch. His presence bloomed in her mind; calm, reassuring, protective.
“I am here, little one.”
“How do I know your name?” Her mind-voice felt brittle, fragile as the sea-mist bubble that had surrounded the Heart of Fire.
“I sang it into the link as you slept. Your courage demanded my respect.”
“Courage? I don’t understand.”
His mind-voice rang through her very soul. “Open your eyes, little one. Raise your head and accept your destiny.”
Caedyrn’s words bewildered and annoyed Sorcha. What did this dragon know about her, or her destiny? She tried to push her annoyance away; clear thinking was required. Everything had changed. Her adversary seemed to admire her and now offered support. She needed to throw off her lassitude, face the physical pain and discover what had transformed her enemy into a would-be guardian.
Consciously holding her pain in check, Sorcha opened her eyes. The world looked wrong. Details too distant for human sight snapped into focus, while items close by dissolved in red haze. She lifted her head and swung it around, searching for Caedyrn. Her first glimpse of him wavered in that bloody fog, then her head came into alignment and his features snapped into precise focus. She wanted to shake her head. Instead, she blinked several times in rapid succession. Halfway through pushing herself up—hands planted in the sand, head oriented on Caedyrn—she froze. Information assailed her: focused sight required her snout be pointed forward; her lower lid flew up when she blinked; claws flexed in the sand at the end of her arms…
She opened her maw and screamed at Caedyrn, “What am I?”
Her words rumbled in an avalanche whose overtones assaulted her sensitive ears. Worst of all, the act of speaking agitated a strange little lump on the roof of her mouth and flame scorched the air as her scream hiccupped into silence. Cautiously, she explored the bump with her tongue, amazed that the flame hadn’t burned her mouth. A slightly acrid taste remained, but seemed to be the only after-effect. She sniffed delicately, and detected a faint sulfur odor. Her human intellect catalogued the smell, but her dragon senses found it comforting rather than frightening.
A thought intruded on her inner confusion. “Speak to me here, little one. Human speech, as we produce it, pains our ears, and as you’ve seen, it can trigger fire if not carefully controlled.” Caedyrn’s words poured across her fear in soothing waves. “But to answer your question, you are a dragon. The Heart of Fire transformed you.”
His words snapped her attention back to the larger issue. “That’s impossible,” she cried, forcing herself to use the link instead of her voice. “I can’t be a dragon!”
“Rise, little one. Unfurl your wings. Feel the power at your command.”
*******************
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Publisher Freya's Bower
Pain accompanied Sorcha’s return to consciousness. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed screamed their displeasure. Sand grated against the soft skin of cheek and neck, urging her to rise, but lethargy kept her grounded. The slightest movement caused a cascade of agony throughout her system. She’d never been beaten, but she couldn’t imagine that a victim of mob violence would ache more than she did. She should open her eyes and orient herself in time and space, but the task felt too strenuous to attempt. She’d find a less active way to gather information.
Allowing her eyes to remain safely closed, Sorcha turned her attention from her body’s tortured protests to the world surrounding her. She heard the roar of distant breakers and the soft susurrus of the breeze on the lagoon’s sheltered beach. Yes, the lagoon, the beach. That explained the sand under her cheek. Above those soothing natural sounds, she heard an insistent thrumming, the deepened and magnified purring of a thousand cats. The dragon maintained his vigil.
Gods and goddesses, the dragon!
She focused her attention on her enemy’s terrifying presence and discovered a strand of unknown power brushing the edge of her mind. Cat-like, it twisted and slipped away when she tried to grab it, but came willingly when she quieted her mind and ignored it. The connection it formed expanded her mind, altering its landscape forever.
Dragons whispered through this tunnel. She heard them—and understood. What’s more, she felt their pain and embarrassment as her thoughts exploded into the conversational stream.
“Softly, little one,” Caedyrn whispered. “Restrain yourself.”
Sorcha pulled back, away from the vile, alien presence. She huddled on the sand, feeling violated beyond her ability to endure. Her body ached in a thousand places, and her mind… The sanctity of her mind had been breached. Her thoughts were no longer her own. An alien species, hostile and unknown, prowled in the depths. She couldn’t live this way.
She wouldn’t live this way!
With grim determination, Sorcha put aside her fear and confusion and searched her memory for an appropriate spell. An incantation bubbled to the surface of her mind and she tested its suitability for ousting the alien presence. She’d never attempted a working of this magnitude on herself before. Yes, she’d healed minor cuts and abrasions, but this problem required an application of magic she’d never studied. No matter; she had no choice.
“Perhaps you were right, Mother,” she thought, examining each element of the spell one more time. “The price may have been too high, especially if I don’t live to use the Heart of Fire.” She sought her well of magic, always so comforting in its accessibility.
“No!” Caedyrn cried, distress tingeing his thoughts. “You must not use human magic against the flight.” His thoughts echoed through every recess of her mind. “You’ll destroy yourself and the Heart of Fire with you!”
She struggled to shield her thoughts from this unwelcome intruder, but a new terror sapped her remaining strength and caused her to ignore the dragon’s presence—she couldn’t touch her reserve of power! She could feel it, resting languidly just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t reach it. Never before had her magic failed her, not since its awakening in early childhood. She retreated to a corner of her mind to search for nonexistent options.
The dragon called to her, quietly, soothingly. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he crooned, directing her attention to the bright, pulsing strand that warmed the edges of her mind. “You’re linked to the flight now. Push right there to broadcast to our species as a whole. Pull back here and touch an individual, or blank out all intrusions like this, for privacy and peaceful meditation.”
When he finished, he nudged her toward the strand. “Try, little one,” he cajoled. “I’ll withdraw. Call me back.”
Sorcha, bereft of her gift and unable to think of another option, gingerly checked the limits of her mind. The connection pulsed with eager vibration, but it awaited her touch. She exhaled a long groaning sigh, savored the privacy she’d always assumed inviolate, and remembered the overtone of concern she’d detected in Caedyrn’s thoughts.
Could the dragon be worried about her? Ridiculous. If she’d detected concern, it had been for the Heart of Fire, not for her. Still, he offered assistance that she sorely needed.
“Caedyrn?”
The link responded to her tentative touch. His presence bloomed in her mind; calm, reassuring, protective.
“I am here, little one.”
“How do I know your name?” Her mind-voice felt brittle, fragile as the sea-mist bubble that had surrounded the Heart of Fire.
“I sang it into the link as you slept. Your courage demanded my respect.”
“Courage? I don’t understand.”
His mind-voice rang through her very soul. “Open your eyes, little one. Raise your head and accept your destiny.”
Caedyrn’s words bewildered and annoyed Sorcha. What did this dragon know about her, or her destiny? She tried to push her annoyance away; clear thinking was required. Everything had changed. Her adversary seemed to admire her and now offered support. She needed to throw off her lassitude, face the physical pain and discover what had transformed her enemy into a would-be guardian.
Consciously holding her pain in check, Sorcha opened her eyes. The world looked wrong. Details too distant for human sight snapped into focus, while items close by dissolved in red haze. She lifted her head and swung it around, searching for Caedyrn. Her first glimpse of him wavered in that bloody fog, then her head came into alignment and his features snapped into precise focus. She wanted to shake her head. Instead, she blinked several times in rapid succession. Halfway through pushing herself up—hands planted in the sand, head oriented on Caedyrn—she froze. Information assailed her: focused sight required her snout be pointed forward; her lower lid flew up when she blinked; claws flexed in the sand at the end of her arms…
She opened her maw and screamed at Caedyrn, “What am I?”
Her words rumbled in an avalanche whose overtones assaulted her sensitive ears. Worst of all, the act of speaking agitated a strange little lump on the roof of her mouth and flame scorched the air as her scream hiccupped into silence. Cautiously, she explored the bump with her tongue, amazed that the flame hadn’t burned her mouth. A slightly acrid taste remained, but seemed to be the only after-effect. She sniffed delicately, and detected a faint sulfur odor. Her human intellect catalogued the smell, but her dragon senses found it comforting rather than frightening.
A thought intruded on her inner confusion. “Speak to me here, little one. Human speech, as we produce it, pains our ears, and as you’ve seen, it can trigger fire if not carefully controlled.” Caedyrn’s words poured across her fear in soothing waves. “But to answer your question, you are a dragon. The Heart of Fire transformed you.”
His words snapped her attention back to the larger issue. “That’s impossible,” she cried, forcing herself to use the link instead of her voice. “I can’t be a dragon!”
“Rise, little one. Unfurl your wings. Feel the power at your command.”
*******************
Just released. Visit Freya's Bower for your copy!
Excerpt from The Whispering House due in October
“You are not alone. You are never alone,” a man’s voice whispered.
She spun around, her heart skittering. Who said that? Her gaze scanned the interior of her kitchen. Nothing. Standing, she walked into the living room. It was empty too. She moved into the bedroom and shivered as cold air swirled around her. Strange. There’d never been a draft before. Something wavered in her peripheral vision. Her head jerked toward the movement; her breath caught in her throat. The window was wide open, and the curtains fluttered in the encroaching fog.
Eleanor couldn’t move, her feet unwilling to step toward the window. Her unease came speeding back like an avalanche down a steep ravine. Someone had been in her house. Someone had broken in.
“Get a grip, Eleanor.”
Who would want to break into her house? But what other explanation was there? Gathering her courage, she walked to the window and yanked it shut, securing the lock. She looked out the window and down at the flowerbed beneath it. Nothing was disturbed, not even a footprint in the dirt or the tall grass that passed for her lawn. Nor was there anyone to be seen anywhere, but she hadn’t expected to see someone, not with the fog already creeping in.
Pulling the curtains shut, she stepped away from the window and rubbed her arms. She began to shiver uncontrollably. Her legs collapsed, dropping her to the floor, and her back collided with the side of the bed. Wave upon wave of grief consumed her. She gasped for air as the reality of her situation descended upon her. Great rasping sobs shook her body. She shuddered and cried, memories of her parents that she’d locked away rushed over her. And she knew that if anything happened to her out here, no one would know. No one would care. No matter what that whisper claimed, she was truly alone.
She spun around, her heart skittering. Who said that? Her gaze scanned the interior of her kitchen. Nothing. Standing, she walked into the living room. It was empty too. She moved into the bedroom and shivered as cold air swirled around her. Strange. There’d never been a draft before. Something wavered in her peripheral vision. Her head jerked toward the movement; her breath caught in her throat. The window was wide open, and the curtains fluttered in the encroaching fog.
Eleanor couldn’t move, her feet unwilling to step toward the window. Her unease came speeding back like an avalanche down a steep ravine. Someone had been in her house. Someone had broken in.
“Get a grip, Eleanor.”
Who would want to break into her house? But what other explanation was there? Gathering her courage, she walked to the window and yanked it shut, securing the lock. She looked out the window and down at the flowerbed beneath it. Nothing was disturbed, not even a footprint in the dirt or the tall grass that passed for her lawn. Nor was there anyone to be seen anywhere, but she hadn’t expected to see someone, not with the fog already creeping in.
Pulling the curtains shut, she stepped away from the window and rubbed her arms. She began to shiver uncontrollably. Her legs collapsed, dropping her to the floor, and her back collided with the side of the bed. Wave upon wave of grief consumed her. She gasped for air as the reality of her situation descended upon her. Great rasping sobs shook her body. She shuddered and cried, memories of her parents that she’d locked away rushed over her. And she knew that if anything happened to her out here, no one would know. No one would care. No matter what that whisper claimed, she was truly alone.
Excerpt #2 Freya's Bower
The Sexual Science of Witchery
Copyright 2006 Zinnia Hope
Publisher Freya's Bower
The receptionist finally stopped at one of the numerous doors lining the corridor and ushered them into a chamber, its walls, floor and ceiling done in vivid crimson. Off to one side, an adolescent girl waited, her expression neutral. A tall, elegant woman stood in the middle of the room. She wore only a white silk robe that fell to her feet, creating a striking image against a blood red backdrop. The garment hung open, showing her naked, willowy form and large pert breasts.
Tom gaped at her. What an incredible woman! He studied the crescents of her creamy breasts and her long midnight hair, wishing he could bury his fingers in that thick, silky mane while he thrust deep and hard between her legs. His gaze met her startling blue one, and she offered him a knowing smile. Breath quickening, he wondered if could get her off to the side to schedule a little rendezvous.
“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and yet powerful. “I am your VisionPast sorceress."
“What do you have for us?” Garnet asked.
Turning to an ornate chest, the witch-woman motioned for them to join her. She lifted the lid and scooped up a handful of gold coins before allowing them to cascade through her fingers.
“These are ancient,” the sorceress said. “Choose one, and perhaps you will find a piece of an ancestor’s past.” Shrugging, she added, “Perhaps you may discover someone else’s.”
Tom didn’t believe in sorcery, but he still experienced a bud of curiosity. “Where do the coins come from?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just know that they are very old.” The sorceress smiled and indicated that everyone should select a coin. “You should be more concerned with what vision you receive, so choose wisely.”
Copyright 2006 Zinnia Hope
Publisher Freya's Bower
The receptionist finally stopped at one of the numerous doors lining the corridor and ushered them into a chamber, its walls, floor and ceiling done in vivid crimson. Off to one side, an adolescent girl waited, her expression neutral. A tall, elegant woman stood in the middle of the room. She wore only a white silk robe that fell to her feet, creating a striking image against a blood red backdrop. The garment hung open, showing her naked, willowy form and large pert breasts.
Tom gaped at her. What an incredible woman! He studied the crescents of her creamy breasts and her long midnight hair, wishing he could bury his fingers in that thick, silky mane while he thrust deep and hard between her legs. His gaze met her startling blue one, and she offered him a knowing smile. Breath quickening, he wondered if could get her off to the side to schedule a little rendezvous.
“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and yet powerful. “I am your VisionPast sorceress."
“What do you have for us?” Garnet asked.
Turning to an ornate chest, the witch-woman motioned for them to join her. She lifted the lid and scooped up a handful of gold coins before allowing them to cascade through her fingers.
“These are ancient,” the sorceress said. “Choose one, and perhaps you will find a piece of an ancestor’s past.” Shrugging, she added, “Perhaps you may discover someone else’s.”
Tom didn’t believe in sorcery, but he still experienced a bud of curiosity. “Where do the coins come from?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just know that they are very old.” The sorceress smiled and indicated that everyone should select a coin. “You should be more concerned with what vision you receive, so choose wisely.”
Exerpt #1 Freya's Bower
Untitled
Copyright 2006 Phaedre Torres
Publishing Freya's Bower
Summer swelter and I sprawl across perspiration soaked sheets, awaiting the mass of angry clouds on the northern horizon. Weak puffs of ozone-laced breezes filter through the window and I peel my body from the bedding, angling my sticky flesh in their direction, willing the air to stir.
My gaze slides to the chaos gathering against a patch of creamsicle sky. My mind wanders idly through images of you; each as drenched in sensation as I am drenched in sweat. Distant crackles of lightning spark a silent movie in my mind, and I allow my eyes to drift shut, my fingers trailing lightly across my collarbone. You kissed me there, coaxing sweet shimmers up my throat to escape my lips.
The rolling thunder is remote and still whisper quiet – someone coughing politely behind a raised fist; or the soft sounds from the back of your throat as the pleasure became unbearable. I feel your keening now as jolts, causing my muscles to jump with pangs of liquid heat, far and away from the heavy heat in the air.
Here at last, the wind picks up; sighing through the screen, drawing with it the moisture from the air in my room. At once I can breathe again, cool and deep. I see you suckling greedily at my breast…grasping my nipple between your teeth, then flicking the captured flesh with the tip of your tongue…and I held your head to me as my chest swelled to match your hunger. My fingers flutter down to clutch at my breast, frantically kneading. But my hand does you no justice.
I can almost see the steam rising from my body and I’m forced to pull my hand away as the inches of skin on skin between my arm and torso begin to sizzle. I drop my arm across my damp forehead and cover my eyes. I see your tongue trailing down my belly, your intense gaze capturing my own. My abdomen quivers with the memory.
You grasped the button of my jeans between your teeth and released it with a flick of your head. My breath escaped me as your fingers curled around the waistband, thumbs hooked in the belt loops; and you tugged slowly at the denim as you covered the tender skin beneath with your hot breath. A wry smile lit your eyes and you kissed me, full and wet, tongue splayed against my clitoris. Flames shot through my belly, contracting my muscles, yanking my shoulders from the bed. My legs flex and extend, shifting restlessly, wanting you.
My hands have now fallen to the bed, clutching fists full of soggy sheets. You touched me; tentatively at first, just the pad of your thumb, your other arm slung beneath my hips, holding me in position. You lowered your mouth to me, following your thumb, tongue and fingers seeking, invading, conquering. Agonizingly tender. My breath comes in hitches and gasps and my eyes flash open as I marvel over the effect a mere memory can have on the here and now.
I focus on the boiling clouds which are now just above, reminiscent of writhing bodies beneath layers of gauze, and my eyes flutter shut once again. You loomed above me and teased my throat with your lips until I could no longer catch my breath. You dropped your head; watching as you slowly lowered your body to mine. I watched as well, and raised my hips to meet you, my legs circling your waist and hooking in the sway of your back.
Toying with me or yourself, you dabbed at me, watching the head of your erection disappear beneath the wisps of dewy pubic hair, only to draw it back and watch it descend again. A growl tore through my clenched teeth and I pulled you down with all of my might. You chuckled softly and with a thrust of your hips, you were inside me. Mutual sighs of relief hissed between us, accompanied by the sharp slap of our bellies colliding.
Full force, it hits me ...my body rises off the bed, and everything inside me gathers, coils and surges from every pore, almost painfully, until I am hollow and weightless.
I sink into the sheets, roll onto my side and allow the storm’s clean air and white noise to lull me to sleep.
Copyright 2006 Phaedre Torres
Publishing Freya's Bower
Summer swelter and I sprawl across perspiration soaked sheets, awaiting the mass of angry clouds on the northern horizon. Weak puffs of ozone-laced breezes filter through the window and I peel my body from the bedding, angling my sticky flesh in their direction, willing the air to stir.
My gaze slides to the chaos gathering against a patch of creamsicle sky. My mind wanders idly through images of you; each as drenched in sensation as I am drenched in sweat. Distant crackles of lightning spark a silent movie in my mind, and I allow my eyes to drift shut, my fingers trailing lightly across my collarbone. You kissed me there, coaxing sweet shimmers up my throat to escape my lips.
The rolling thunder is remote and still whisper quiet – someone coughing politely behind a raised fist; or the soft sounds from the back of your throat as the pleasure became unbearable. I feel your keening now as jolts, causing my muscles to jump with pangs of liquid heat, far and away from the heavy heat in the air.
Here at last, the wind picks up; sighing through the screen, drawing with it the moisture from the air in my room. At once I can breathe again, cool and deep. I see you suckling greedily at my breast…grasping my nipple between your teeth, then flicking the captured flesh with the tip of your tongue…and I held your head to me as my chest swelled to match your hunger. My fingers flutter down to clutch at my breast, frantically kneading. But my hand does you no justice.
I can almost see the steam rising from my body and I’m forced to pull my hand away as the inches of skin on skin between my arm and torso begin to sizzle. I drop my arm across my damp forehead and cover my eyes. I see your tongue trailing down my belly, your intense gaze capturing my own. My abdomen quivers with the memory.
You grasped the button of my jeans between your teeth and released it with a flick of your head. My breath escaped me as your fingers curled around the waistband, thumbs hooked in the belt loops; and you tugged slowly at the denim as you covered the tender skin beneath with your hot breath. A wry smile lit your eyes and you kissed me, full and wet, tongue splayed against my clitoris. Flames shot through my belly, contracting my muscles, yanking my shoulders from the bed. My legs flex and extend, shifting restlessly, wanting you.
My hands have now fallen to the bed, clutching fists full of soggy sheets. You touched me; tentatively at first, just the pad of your thumb, your other arm slung beneath my hips, holding me in position. You lowered your mouth to me, following your thumb, tongue and fingers seeking, invading, conquering. Agonizingly tender. My breath comes in hitches and gasps and my eyes flash open as I marvel over the effect a mere memory can have on the here and now.
I focus on the boiling clouds which are now just above, reminiscent of writhing bodies beneath layers of gauze, and my eyes flutter shut once again. You loomed above me and teased my throat with your lips until I could no longer catch my breath. You dropped your head; watching as you slowly lowered your body to mine. I watched as well, and raised my hips to meet you, my legs circling your waist and hooking in the sway of your back.
Toying with me or yourself, you dabbed at me, watching the head of your erection disappear beneath the wisps of dewy pubic hair, only to draw it back and watch it descend again. A growl tore through my clenched teeth and I pulled you down with all of my might. You chuckled softly and with a thrust of your hips, you were inside me. Mutual sighs of relief hissed between us, accompanied by the sharp slap of our bellies colliding.
Full force, it hits me ...my body rises off the bed, and everything inside me gathers, coils and surges from every pore, almost painfully, until I am hollow and weightless.
I sink into the sheets, roll onto my side and allow the storm’s clean air and white noise to lull me to sleep.
Quits Review
Rarely do I talk about my work or reviews except on my own blog, but I had to share this one.
http://tcm-ca.com/reviews/1169.html
:o)
http://tcm-ca.com/reviews/1169.html
:o)
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Sensual Summer Chat
Readers: Join us!! You don't want to miss this awesome live chat.Everyone, feel free to repost our chat graphic on your website.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
And the Winner Is ...
Pamela Kinney won the free copy of Sorcha's Heart!
Congrats, Pam! Hope you enjoy getting to know Sorcha and Caedyrn.
---Debbie
Saturday, August 05, 2006
EREC
My essay on e-publishing is now online at Erotic Romance, the blog for the Erotic Romance E-publisher Comparison Site: LINK
The site will offer valuable information for erotic romance writers and aspiring writers. If you write erotic romance and would like to contribute to the blog, visit the site for contact information.
The site will offer valuable information for erotic romance writers and aspiring writers. If you write erotic romance and would like to contribute to the blog, visit the site for contact information.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
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