Starlight Saturday

Weekly Book Review

Today, I plan to post my review of Heidi Betts', "Curse of the Dragon's Tears" in the wickedly hot anthology - Hotter Than Hell. I say plan, because I want to Disc Golf this morning before it rains! Who knows, I might even talk about more than one of the stories here!

Please check back later today for the review, or follow us on Twitter so you'll know when I have completed the review! Thanks!

PHANTASM FRIDAY

Curling up……with K.T. Bishop

Author KT Bishop dropped by Moonlight, Lace and Mayhem to promote his latest release, Curling Up, published by Red Rose Publishing.

Readers can check out my website at

http://www.kenibird.blogspot.com/

MLM: Congratulations on the newest release.

KT: Thanks, this is my third release at Red Rose. The two previous have been released in the spring and guess that’s a good time for me (Laughs).


MLM: Curling Up has a few interesting connotations.

KT: The original title was Feel the Fire, about an Olympic gymnast and figure skater. That book got slapped around like a five-pound bag of flour. It did not go very far and was rejected. I went back to work and rewrote it to Curling Up, referring to an Olympic curler and kept the figure skater.


MLM: Give us the skinny on Curling Up.

KT: The hero, Robin Friesz, travels to Canada for a radio job and bypassed attending college in Alabama. He runs into trouble and gets caught into a drug raid. Somehow, he overcomes this and lands a spot on the Olympic team. Inga Johan was a Swedish child actress who just got unemployed. Like Robin, she finds herself at the Olympics. Their first meeting was not love at first sight.


MLM: You’ve written quite a few sports books.

KT: Yeah, I am trying to corner the market. I’ve always wanted to make my own mark in the sports romantic side. There are always so many romance stories involving athletes and their loved ones.


MLM: Is there something else you want to write?

KT: Right now I am tackling a Cougar series. I’ve always been fascinated with the older woman-younger man storyline and wondering why it’s so popular. For me to write something like that is truly different. I also hope to have a Holiday series for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Again, I am trying to avoid the Fonzie syndrome and not be typecast and do other things like Harrison Ford and Denzel Washington.


MLM: The interracial/multicultural genre has worked well for you.

KT: I love writing about different races coming together, not just black men and white women of the USA. I plan to explore romances in Sweden, Italy and Japan with a few upcoming titles. And you can write those stories without the racial tension involved because people love to read about happy endings.


MLM: What is easier for you to write, a series or stand-alone?

KT: Believe it or not, a series. Curling Up, right now, is the only book that doesn’t have a sequel. If the book becomes a hit, I will have no choice but to do a sequel and have closure. One book I finished last summer became a series. To me, a series always gives my characters closure.


MLM: What is the ultimate dream for you as an author?

KT: Talk staring down a double-barrel shotgun. It’s a bunch of things for me, which may be different for other authors. Making the best-seller list and tons of cash into the bank account. Getting printed books and having a book signing in the hometown. From there, nothing’s sweeter than having your book turned into a movie albeit TV or the big screen. (Jane Porter, Nicholas Sparks have done this).


MLM: Have any upcoming releases?

KT: Catching a Cuban Curveball, the sequel to Curing a Cajun Cold, will be out later this summer at Red Rose.


MLM: Before you leave, could you leave us an excerpt?

KT: Be glad to.

Inga eagerly returned to the scene of her most embarrassing moment two hours before the elimination began. Her green eyes were fixated on the ice rink and she was determined to come out on top. “It won’t happen again,” She told herself.

Opposing skaters taunted Inga during the line. “Hope you have another comedy act for us. You’re not getting through.”

Inga smirked at the remarks and waited her turn. She rocked back and forth to neutralize her nervousness. When Inga turned around to look at the audience, she was stunned to see Robin in the stands. His uncanny presence lit a fire in her belly once again.

She found inspiration under the ballad of her home land’s rock group, Roxette’s song “Must’ve Been Love.” She turned in a near flawless performance. Frowning, she perfectly skated in a circular motion three times.

The crowd, including an impressed Robin, gave her a standing ovation. She mumbled, “Inga, you did your best.” Despite the accolades, she still refused to smile. She knew that applause wouldn’t be enough to get her to Vancouver, in February.

Four names were called out, leaving two spots available. Inga nervously sat on the bench, shaking, both hands covering her mouth. “Oh shit, I didn’t make it.”

As the public address announcer blared out, “The final spot goes to Inga Johan of Sweden,” she leaped three feet in the air. She exhaled heavily as Hendericksen mobbed her. “I did it Coach Hen!”

“Uh, I never lost faith.”

Robin, who admired Inga’s resolve, stopped by her corner and reluctantly offered congratulations. They had their first civil conversation.

He shook her hand and smiled. “You did well out there; it took a lot of guts to come back from something like that the other day.”

His presence caused a lump in her throat. “T-thank you.”

“Guess I’ll see you in Vancouver?”

She smiled as her body continued to heat up in his presence. “Yeah, I’ll see you in Vancouver.”

“Have a safe trip back to Sweden.”

Inga’s eyes locked onto his caramel body as he left the arena. Suddenly she had found her inspiration in the American curler. She looked forward to getting to know him better at Vancouver. Those ninety days couldn’t come fast enough.

TWILIGHT THURSDAY

Please welcome KATHRYN SCANNELL into the moonlight today! Thanks so much for joining us today, Kathryn. It's a pleasure and a joy to have you with us!

~~~~~

GRACEN: March has a few popular dates to celebrate. Which one are you more apt to celebrate, St. Patrick’s Day, or the First Day of Spring, or both and why?

KATHRYN: If I do anything for either, it’s more likely to be Saint Patrick’s Day.


GRACEN: Because of it’s Irish heritage, St. Patrick’s Day is a big party day in Wisconsin (and many other areas) in which everyone gets in on the action from free pub crawl busses to breweries making green beer/spirits and some stores selling green colored/decorated food and sweets. Does anything similar occur in your area? Even if you do not participate, please tell us what activities are going on around you. Anything you feel is unique or especially interesting?

KATHRYN: I’ve never liked the drunken celebrations of Saint Patrick’s Day, with green beer and plastic shamrocks, and have avoided them like the plague. I nearly dragged out the soapbox and wrote something here about how they keep alive the 19th century stereotype of the drunken Irishman. Then this weekend I read an essay on the topic by Larry Kirwan, the lead singer of Black 47 on his blog (http://black47theband.blogspot.com/). He talks about seeing it in the historical context, growing out of the days when the Irish were despised and unwelcome immigrants, as an affirmation of their right to survive and make this new country their own. That’s a light I hadn’t seen it in before, and maybe the plastic harps and shamrocks aren’t so bad.

We have the usual run of parades, and bars offering green beer. One interesting extra is the traditional Saint Patrick’s Day Breakfast at which local political figures are invited to gather and roast each other. On a more positive note, we also usually get a good selection of Irish bands playing local concert halls in honor of the occasion.


GRACEN: Do you like to decorate for spring/St. Pat’s Day or is this the time of the year where your house has a break from special décor?

KATHRYN: I find as the years pass that I’m less inclined to worry about decorating the house for anything but Christmas.


GRACEN: Ireland is steeped in myth, legends and lore. Do you have any favorites? Please briefly share them with us (include links to other information for interested readers).

KATHRYN: There are so many interesting things to read in Irish myth and legend that it’s hard to pick out just a few. I’ve always been fond of the retellings of the stories of Cuchulain and Finn MacCool by Lady Isabella Augusta Gregory. They were published in the early 1900’s and are out of copyright, so you can read them here:

http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/index.htm

Many of the old texts were first translated into English in the late 1800’s and can be found on this site. I particularly enjoy the Lady Gregory versions because she chose to render them in the colloquial vernacular of west country Ireland, which gives them a lovely old time feel.

Many of the country folk tales were collected for the first time in this period too, from traditional storytellers.


GRACEN: Spring is considered a time of renewal, a time of rebirth. Do you do anything “special” to commemorate this idea such as planting flowers or cleaning out your house? Please share with us your way of celebrating this time of rebirth.

KATHRYN: I don’t see spring as particularly special. It’s one more part of the wheel of the year. The other three are just as worthy of celebration. My spring activities tend to be practical ones – getting my horse his annual shots, getting my camping gear ready for summer trips, and trying, usually futilely, to get ahead of my yard work before the growing season really takes off.

This year I’ve added a new spring ritual – pumping out my basement. I’ve been learning about the finer points of hydraulic cement, and foresee a sump pump in my immediate future.


GRACEN: Magic is often tied into Celtic myths and legends, or at least we like to think it is. Why do you think that is? Why, in your opinion, does Ireland carry so much mystery and magic for the rest of us?

There’s magic in every ancestral land. I think Ireland may be a little more accessible to many of us because it’s been blessed with great writers who have brought that magic to life in books, songs, and movies for those who don’t live there or have convenient older relatives to hand down the traditions.

It may also be a little more appealing to many of us than other lands because there are a lot of people in the US who have Irish roots in their family tree. But I meet enough people who are fascinated by the stories, who aren’t a bit Irish in heritage, that I think we have to credit good PR too. There’s fascinating magic in many other cultures too, but you have to look a little harder to find it.


GRACEN: If you could be any mythical or legendary Celtic creature or character, what/who would it be and why?

KATHRYN: I think I’d like to be a sidhe (that’s pronounced Shee, if you’re not familiar with the term). They were the Irish elves – tall, elegant, magical and immortal.


GRACEN: Please tell us some of the favorite/best books you’ve read with Celtic myths/legends or ties in them. (They can be fact or fiction, just be sure to indicate what type of books they are in case our readers might want to check them out.)

KATHRYN: I’ve read so many good books based on Celtic/Irish myth over the years that it’s very hard to pick out a short list to recommend.

Morgan Llywelyn has some wonderful modern retellings of many of the Irish legends, as well as well researched historical fiction set in more modern periods in Ireland. There are too many to list individual titles here.

I’ve also been a fan for many years of the work of Fiona MacLeod. I’m never sure what pronoun to use in discussing her work, since Fiona was a pseudonym for a male writer, William Sharpe, but saying his sounds very odd coupled with a female name, so I usually opt for matching the apparent gender of the name. Her work is also out of copyright, and you can read most of it here: http://www.sundown.pair.com/ There’s an assortment of formats – short stories, a couple of novels, songs and some plays. Her tales center mostly on the Hebrides, but there’s strong Irish influence too.


GRACEN: Now, let’s get to your writing, Kathryn…What genre is your writing considered to be? Why this genre? What was the draw for you?

KATHRYN: My published work so far is largely urban fantasy romance/erotica, mostly featuring M/M relationships. I’ve also just released my first ménage story last month. I have plans on the drawing board for an urban fantasy thriller, some high fantasy, and a historical fantasy.

My first love in reading has always been fantasy, followed closely by science fiction. Those were the sorts of stories that filled my imagination in my formative years, so I suppose it’s natural that when I started having ideas for stories of my own, that’s where they went. I’ve always wanted there to be magic in the world – magic that is inarguably real, and as an author I can create that.


GRACEN: If you could describe your writing with a word or phrase, what would it be? Please be creative and delve into the core of your writing to tell us what word or phrase you want readers to take with them when they've finished reading your story.

KATHRYN: Magic. When you drill down to the core of everything – life and love, you find magic. It’s not necessarily magic in the sense of turning lead into gold or casting lightning bolts or reading minds, although that might be there. That’s surface stuff. The real magic is buried deep in the spirit of everything alive. It’s the stuff of life itself, and love is one of its purer expressions. Love is a power that can transform, like the medieval alchemist seeking to turn lead into gold. Compassion is another. Pour those out into the world, and magic happens; sometimes in very subtle and hard to see ways, but it happens.


GRACEN: Do you prefer magical or human ingenuity for problem solutions? Does that show through in your writing? If so, how?

KATHRYN: Human ingenuity. Magic is a tool. It requires a guiding hand to use it, just like any other tool. My favorite character, Danny O’Riordan, is a clever young human with no real magic. He’s got a few talents, but nothing to compare with the magic native to the Elves or their cousins the Tengri. Either of his lovers could turn him into a greasy black spot with a thought. Yet he’s important to them because of who he is. And he’s important to the politics of the world because he isn’t afraid to think outside the traditional paths, and to say to people “No, you don’t have to do it that way, just because you’ve always done it that way. We’re in trouble here. You need to do something different.” That’s human ingenuity at its core.


GRACEN: Who decides what you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one strumming the harp?

KATHRYN: It’s a bit of both. When I’m creating a first draft, the best thing I can do is get out of the way and let my muse have its head. I often have a starting point in mind, usually a character or two, and maybe the endpoint of the story, but I’ve stopped worrying about planning out any real details because they’ll change on me, no matter how thoroughly I plan.

Once that initial creative flood has happened, I do have to go back and do some steering though, because my muse has some very bad habits. It knows exactly what those characters look like, so who needs descriptions? And what’s wrong with using the same word three times in one paragraph?


GRACEN: What was the character or creature that you had the most fun creating and why?

KATHRYN: Collectively I think Danny O’Riordan has to rate as the most fun, based purely on longevity. He’s been lurking around in my subconscious since the early 90’s, and was the character that first tempted me to think maybe I should write some of these ideas down. I plotted most of a novel about his life on a long road trip. I still haven’t written that one, but I have managed to finish chronicling several smaller pieces of his life.

He’s pure escapism. He’s physically competent in ways I’ll never even think about achieving. He has all kinds of adventures, which usually end up being resolved happily. There are a few exceptions, because I do try to aim for a small note of realism in my fantasy, and no one’s life is universally happy. That would make for a very boring story. But by and large he’s got a pretty good life – family that love him, lovers that care for him, great kids, and the satisfaction of knowing that he’s been instrumental in saving the world from an invading alien menace. You can do a lot worse if life than that.


GRACEN: If you had the opportunity to meet just one of your character/creature creations in real life, who would it be and why?

KATHRYN: I think I’d like to meet Paolo, the lover (and future husband) of Greg in Leap of Faith (http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2203) . He’s gorgeous, artistically talented, and an incredibly loving dom for Greg. Of course he wouldn’t be interested in me, so that wouldn’t do me much good….


GRACEN: Which of your character/creature creations would you never want to meet under any circumstance and why?

KATHRYN: One of the Devourers, from the Danny O’Riordan stories. They’re a race of aliens who are invading Earth and the Elven world. They’re magical creatures which live on pain and life energy. They’ve left behind them a chain of worlds they’ve devoured, hence the name. They suck all the life out of a planet, then move on to the next nearest world. They’re so alien that merely being too close to one can cause mental disorders, and their breeding habits don’t bear thinking about in a PG-rated column. I’ll just say they lay eggs like wasps, and prefer intelligent hosts.


GRACEN: Of all the stories you wrote, which was the storyline that you had the most fun fleshing out? Why?

KATHRYN: I had a huge amount of fun with my latest story, Winter King, which appears in an anthology entitled “I Put A Spell on You”, available from Torquere Press. (http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2539) . It’s my first ménage story. It features Danny O’Riordan, his wife Ginny, and his Elven lover King Aran, doing a ritual re-enactment of the seasonal battle between the Summer King and the Winter King. It started out life as a bit of sexual fantasy one morning, and even after repeated edits, which might reasonably be expected to take the fun out of almost anything, I still think parts of it are very hot.


GRACEN: As writers, inspiration comes from everywhere. What, specifically, inspired your latest story, the one we’re promoting here today?

KATHRYN: The story I decided to promote today, in honor of Saint Patrick’s day, is a bit of historical romance. Late 19th and early 20th century Ireland has been a favorite topic of mine for years. There are so many fascinating things going on there – the Easter Rebellion of 1916, which gave rise to modern Ireland, the birth of the trade union movement, the women’s suffrage movement, a huge literary renaissance, and a variety of occult and spiritualist movements. There was also a surprisingly large overlap in terms of the people involved in these important developments. W. B. Yeats, for example, was a huge figure in the literary circles of the time, active in several occult groups, and involved peripherally in the politics.

I’ve had an idea for a novel based on the events leading up to the 1916 rebellion sitting on the back burner for some time. It’s been waiting for the right characters to drive it, since I didn’t want to make my main character one of the major historical players. Shortly before Christmas my muse finally produced the characters, and this little story is their first outing. It’s set in 1904, well before the period to be covered by the novel. I wanted to get a feel for them before getting into the meat of the novel. This is their first meeting, before either of them have been sucked into the great events of the time.


BLURB:

Private Performance
by Kathryn Scannell
16 pages / 7625 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, epub and Sony Reader pdf
Heat Rating: Chile (mildly explicit sex)

Making advances to a man you don’t know is a risky proposition in turn of the century Dublin, but Jason Goldsmith is sure he sees signs of interest in the handsome stevedore who is staring at him at a public reception in honor of the premier of the Abbey Theatre where he’s an actor. The risk pays off handsomely.

Christmas is nearly upon them, and Neil is lonely for his family and his home town. Jason has a brilliant idea to take Neil's mind off it, and give him a Christmas Eve to remember. He’ll borrow a set of ladies clothing from the theater wardrobe, and disguise himself as a woman so they can go out on the town openly together. It’s a daring plan, and will be great fun if it works. But can Jason pull off the deception?

Buy Link:
http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&manufacturers_id=272&products_id=2385


EXCERPT:

[I had a great deal of fun with this part of the story. Our lads have just finished a bit of very explicit business in an alleyway, when they’re interrupted. Jason, the viewpoint character, is wearing women’s clothing at the moment. ]


"Unhand that young woman immediately, you shameless fornicator!" A strident voice interrupted Jason's moment of bliss. Looking toward the mouth of the alleyway, he saw a stout woman in a black dress, with a shawl over her head. What was she doing there? His brain wasn't quite functioning again yet.

"Shame on you, you great lout, to be sinning so blatantly on the feast of the birth of our blessed lord Jesus! You'll be spending years in purgatory expiating these moments of pleasure." The woman came toward them implacably, making Jason think of a great ship with a full head of steam in its boilers.

Slowly his brain began working again, as some of the blood flow returned to it. The thing he'd thought at first was a shawl was in fact part of a nun's habit. He had no idea what order, but it probably didn't matter anyway. Neil had turned beet red, and was staring at her in complete horror. His mouth was open, but no words were coming out.

Jason ducked around Neil, putting himself between his lover and the apparition of impending doom. He wasn't sure what to do with the situation, but it was abundantly clear that Neil was even less sure, so he'd have to come up with something.

"Sister, we-" Jason tried to interrupt, hoping inspiration would come to him once he started.

"Oh, my dear." The nun's expression changed as she looked at him, to one of sympathy and concern. "Are you all right? Do you need me to summon a constable? Has this brute injured you?"

Jason quickly rethought his approach. He'd expected the nun would take him for a whore, and vent her righteous fury on him, too, but apparently she'd decided he was a respectable young lady. His face was flushed from his orgasm, but that could pass as embarrassment, particularly in the dim light. Maybe he could talk their way out of this yet.

"No, Sister, really, it's all right. Please, don't call anyone. Me da would have a fit. There's no harm done, really." He slipped into a more working-class accent, and smoothed his skirts nervously. "There's no need to be thinking so ill of my poor fiancé Sean here. We're going to be married a just a few weeks, but it's so hard waiting. I didn't think a little kiss or two beforehand would do any harm." Behind him he could hear Neil making choking noises. He hoped Neil would keep his mouth shut and just go along with the story, because God knew Neil couldn't lie to save his life.

The nun looked sternly at them. Now that she was closer he could see her features in the dim light. She was a stout woman, probably weighed nearly 20 stone, and middle-aged. A wisp of curly brown hair escaped from under her head covering. She was looking at him now with concern clear in her blue eyes. "Girl, that way of thinking's been the ruin of many a young lass. Where'll you be if you let him have his way, then he decides he needn't marry you after all? Sure, God will punish him eventually, but it's little good that'll be doing you in this life, you with maybe a baby in your belly, and no one for it to call father."

"I'd do no such thing, Sister. As God is my witness." Neil broke in.

"Easy to say, when it hasn't happened," the nun snapped at him. "Are you sure you don't need me to walk you somewhere safe, girl?"

"No, no, thank you, Sister." Jason answered quickly. "We'll just be walking on to mass, and then home. You're right -- we should be patient. Next month will come soon enough."

The nun looked at them dubiously. "Well, if you're sure. But mark my words, girl. Don't you be letting him under your skirts before the wedding, or you'll regret it." Her face softened. "I'll pray for you both, that he's worthy of the faith you've placed in him. If things go wrong, and you need help, you can find me at the Sisters of Mercy convent on Crofton Road. Ask for Sister Catherine."

"Thank you, Sister. We appreciate your prayers." Neil said in a slightly strangled voice. "Blessed Christmas to you."

"And to both of you," the nun smiled at them.

Jason put an arm on Neil's, as if leaning on him, and urged him down the street away from the alley and the nun watching them go. They walked on for another block, and around a corner, getting well out of sight. Once they had, Jason leaned against a convenient garden wall, and burst into helpless laughter, stifling the sound against his hand.

"Oh, God. I don't believe that just happened. Of all the people to interrupt us. That's just too much." If he'd been wearing his own clothes, he would have doubled over laughing, but the corset got in the way.

Neil stared at him for a long moment, his expression a mix of shock and embarrassment, then gave in and laughed with him. "Fiancé, is it? And we're to be married next month? Lord, I had no idea we were that serious. You are such a wicked man, telling lies to a nun on Christmas Eve."

"Oh, indeed, my wickedness is boundless tonight." Jason grinned at him. "I was about to have my way with you when we were interrupted. Shall we find another secluded spot and pick up where we left off?"

My work: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?manufacturers_id=272&main_page=index

And here:

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=2539

My blog:

http://kathryn-scannell.dreamwidth.org/

Wistful Wednesday

While I'm Away

Hey, all, this week, my mind is going to be elsewhere, distracted by the fact that my younger daughter is in the hospital, taking care of some health issues. So in lieu of my regular post, I am going to let you read the entry that I won the Romance Junkies contest with. Hope you enjoy it!

The First Part

When fate arrived in Destiny Falls, Micah Sloane was elbow-deep in his brother’s Ford Tempo, trying to coax the geriatric engine back to life. With little luck. But still he tried, determined not to be brought low by four cylinders of sheer stubbornness. So intent was he on his task, he would have missed the arrival of fate if not for the low whistle of his brother.

“Would you look at that?”

Must be one hell of a car, Micah thought, if he were to judge by the reverent tone of his brother’s voice. Cam didn’t go all soft over just any car like some of their friends did; it had to be special. Definitely not a Ford, although he liked the classic Mustangs. Probably not a Chevy, either. A Firebird was a possibility; Cam was known to get all sweet on them in the past. But - would that elicit such a whistle from his brother? No, that was a different kind of whistle, an I-never-saw-that-here-before kind of whistle. Whatever it was, it was a newcomer to Destiny Falls.

When he didn’t react quick enough, his brother - who’d already turned away from their task - back-handed him on the shoulder. Hard. “Hey!” Micah yelled, returning the favor without looking up. “What’s with you, brother?”

“Look at that.”

But before Micah could do that, his senses pricked up - and not by the urgent undertone in his brother’s voice. No, it was something else entirely, something that tickled his nose with awareness before it flared in the back of his throat and shot through his body like a skyrocket. He gripped the frame of the car to steady himself under the onslaught of foreign sensations that wracked his body then. His nose twitched as he sniffed the air, testing the truth of his other sense, his special sense. Yes, it was there, in the air that gently wafted over him. But still, his mind balked. So he tilted his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of -

A vision in blue jeans and a pink and white polo shirt, just exiting Cam‘s new dream machine in front of the family‘s general store. Tall, just the way he liked them, with a nicely filled out form in all the right places. Just the way he liked them. And long hair, pulled back in a thick braid that rivaled the color of caramel - a fact that actually made his mouth water in anticipation.

Oh, yes. Fate had arrived in Destiny Falls.

In a black Hummer.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” Cam asked then.

Micah cast a quick glance Cam’s way to gauge the direction of his gaze as he withdrew from beneath the car hood. He was relieved - though he didn’t know why - to discover that his brother was still ogling the Hummer. Not exactly his kind of car, but it must be nice if it overruled the sight of a beautiful woman for someone as girl-crazy as Cam. No competition there, he thought. Good. But then he shook his head at his own foolishness. Seriously, Micah, you don’t even know her name yet and you’re already getting territorial? Who cares what your senses are telling you, she’s still a stranger. Much too early in the game for staking out your territory.

Folding his arms across his abs in a self-protective gesture, he hastily sifted through the fog in his brain for a way to divert his own attention away from his disturbing thoughts. A wicked smile toyed with the corners of his lips when it came to him.

“Close your mouth, Cam,” he said. “You’re embarrassing yourself. I think you‘re starting to drool a little, man.”

Cam’s mouth snapped shut as he looked away from the Hummer for the first time since it caught his attention. He even wiped at the corner of his mouth as if to check the validity of his brother’s claim.

Micah couldn’t contain his mirth.

“You think it‘s funny?” Cam asked, backhanding Micah’s shoulder. “Huh, brother? You think that’s funny?”

“Hilarious. The way you wiped your mouth - classic. Ow! Now, come on. It was all in good fun.”

“Was it? If we’re gonna talk about drool, maybe we should talk about what came out of your mouth when you first saw her.”

Cam nodded his head in the direction of the vision still standing within the embrace of the open door, her head inclined in a manner suggestive of a conversation with the driver. Once again, Micah’s gaze was drawn to her, drawn to the perfection of the body showcased in form-fitting - He shook his head to clear it of lascivious thoughts.

“Nice to know you noticed there was a woman there, brother. I was beginning to worry about you.”

Cam didn’t respond to the jibe, much to Micah’s disappointment. His attention was fully focused on the new arrivals now, rather than just their mode of transportation. “I wonder who they are,” he mused. He shot a glance over his shoulder at Micah, took a step forward with a nod in the direction of the Hummer. “Maybe we should go find out? They could be lost. I mean, who comes to Destiny Falls on purpose? In a Hummer?”

With a shake of his head, Micah grabbed Cam by the arm to stop him. “Not that way,” he said, pulling him toward the back of the sprawling old farmhouse that comprised the family store. “You know we’ll find out more through Raven.”

Cam just nodded in acquiescence. It was common knowledge in town that if you wanted to know anything about anything, Raven Sloane was the girl for the job.

A slight shift in the wind was her only indication that something was out of the ordinary. So slight, in fact, it was nearly indiscernible. A whisper of air across her cheek, fanning over the skin in a manner that scarcely ruffled the loose tendril resting there. Nor did it elicit a reaction from the people who milled about in front of the country store, she noticed upon casting a surreptitious glance their way. Oh, no, only she would notice that something monumental had just happened. Shiloh Beck. The sensitive.

Lifting a hand to her right cheek under the guise of brushing the hair from her face, Shiloh scanned the surrounding area with a critical eye. The place had its charm with the abundant woodlands as far as the eye could see in either direction, the “highway” cutting a swathe through it and running parallel to a river that snaked behind the house - er, store. Quaint, she thought. A welcoming sight with the porch that wrapped around it like a warm embrace, dotted with strategically placed loveseats and rockers. Intentional? It worked.

But that wasn’t the origin of the shift. No. Neither were any of the people - customers, presumably - who lingered on the porch with tall glasses of some iced beverage, chatting easily amongst themselves. Had the shift occurred there, they wouldn’t be so casual about it. No, it was coming from somewhere else. Away from the house - store.

Her gaze was drawn to an impressive shade tree in the right side yard just as two figures disappeared around the corner of the building. She had a brief vision of two tall men in ripped jeans and tee shirts - ebony hair streaming out behind them in long ponytails - before they were gone completely. One of them, perhaps? Or both?

The wind settled into the packed dirt of the parking lot with the strangers’ retreat. As if in confirmation of her unspoken question. Curious, she thought, even as her attention was drawn back to the Hummer - ostentatious car - by the rude question, “You gonna stand there all day or what? We don’t have a lot of time before dark.”

With a gentle roll of her eyes - so he wouldn’t see - Shiloh moved away from the Hummer with a mumbled, “I’m going.” She shut the door on any possible reply and made her way to the store entrance. Along the way, she looked about for the mystery men on the off chance that they might make a reappearance. Who were they? she wondered as she pushed open the door which, yes, gave off a little tinkling sound from the bell attached to its top. Just as she imagined it would when they first pulled into the parking lot out front.

But then all thoughts of the mystery men flew out of her head as she paused on the threshold of the store and tried to take in the magnitude of the sight laid out before her. Nothing she’d ever seen before compared to the chaos and grandeur of the artfully displayed wares, the rainbow of colors - and the smell!

If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that she just stepped into a bakery rather than a store as the aroma of baking bread, apple pies and pumpkin muffins tickled her nose in greeting. And something else, scents she couldn’t recognize just then but were exotic-smelling, and flowers - roses! Oh, how she loved roses, but - where were they? She didn’t see any bouquets about. Perhaps they were deeper in the store, she decided as she took a tentative step into the wonderful room. Maybe next to that exotic smell. What was it? Some sort of incense?

She jumped as the door closed behind her with a gentle slap and another tinkling of the bell. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. Damn it, did she always have to act so gauche? Like she’d never been anywhere. Not that she had, but still.

Flattening a hand over her racing heart, Shiloh cast a quick look about to see if anyone had noticed her folly. Her gaze came to a rest upon the face of the most beautiful woman Shiloh had ever seen before. And yes, she was smiling. But it was a gentle smile, almost - knowing. Not a hint of condescension anywhere on the rose-hued lips or the almost russet skin. Native American? In this part of the state? She’d always thought they were only on the East Coast, down on the Cape and islands. Curious.

Before she could marvel over that for long, the woman spoke, her voice like music on a soft breeze. “Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone has that reaction.” She held out a hand with long, delicate fingers. An artist’s hand - or a pianist’s. “I’m Raven. Welcome to the Sloane Country Store.”

Making a detour around an aisle of penny candy to her right, her every movement tentative, Shiloh reached across the counter to shake the offered hand. Good Lord, she was more beautiful up close than she was at a distance. Not a blemish marred the skin over the high cheekbones, straight nose and gently sloping forehead. Her eyes were a brown so deep they bordered on black - and her hair! Not a kink or a curl in sight, Shiloh noted, unlike her own unruly mess - which she had to keep back in a tight braid or suffer the consequences. Unlike Miss Perfect who probably braided hers by choice to showcase its ebony sheen. She gave herself a mental kick as she released the woman’s hand. After all, it wasn’t her fault that she was born beautiful, unlike others.

“And you are?” Raven prompted, disrupting the awkward silence with her musical voice.

“Oh! Ah, Shiloh - Shiloh Beck.” She paused to inhale a shaky breath - and try to bring order to her disjointed mind. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. That’s rude. But I bet you get that all the time, huh?”

Raven flicked away the question with a wave of her hand and a puffed-out breath. “I don’t pay a lot of attention to that,” she claimed. “Besides, it’s mostly locals who come in here. Not a lot of tourists - especially ones that drive something like that.” She nodded her head toward the Hummer parked out front.

Shiloh grimaced as she followed her gaze. “Yeah, pretty out there, huh?” She immediately turned away from it, just in time to catch a glimmer of something familiar in an adjoining room to her left. Familiar? How could that be? She’d never been to this place before.

“Not your style?”

“Not my choice.”

“Oh,” Raven said in a knowing manner. “Boyfriend likes the showy cars?”

“Not a boyfriend. Just a…friend.” Shiloh could’ve kicked herself when she noticed the flicker of interest in Raven’s eyes. Too much information. Not supposed to get too personal. Just do what you came in here for and leave. But - how?

“Is there something I can help you with?” Raven asked. She peered a little closer at Shiloh. “You look a little lost.”

“Um, yeah, I don‘t get out much so I don‘t do a lot of this.” She waved a hand about her in indication of shopping, which caused the woman - Raven - to raise a brow in wonder. Not good. Need to distract her away from personal information. “I have a list –“ Shiloh reached into the front right pocket of her jeans and pulled out a folded square of paper “ - but I’m not sure where to start looking.”

“No problem.” Raven flashed her a smile before she turned her head toward the adjoining room - the same one in which Shiloh had caught sight of something oddly familiar to her - and called, “Ava! Come out here for a sec, will you?” When five feet of sheer energy and long pigtails came to a halt at the end of the counter, Raven cast it a look of tolerance as she emitted a long-suffering sigh. “I need you to help our new friend here find some stuff in the store,” she said, her voice mirroring her expression. “Can you do that without causing too much trouble?”

The girl frowned, her irritation obvious in the way her brows met over her nose. “I don’t cause trouble.”

“Tell that to the display of kachinas I had to rescue this morning. One more encounter with you and they truly will be rag dolls.” Raven waved the girl forward, frowning as she swept too close to a rack of bandanas. “She has a list,” Raven said when the girl stood in front of her, separated by the counter. “Take your time and show her where things are, okay?”

Rolling her eyes, Ava announced, “I stopped being a baby when I turned twelve last month, so you can stop talking to me like one.”

“I’m not talking to you like a baby,” Raven argued. “I’m talking to you like the force of nature that wants to cut loose in my store.”

“Our store. We all own it, Mom even said so.”

“Well, there won’t be much to own if you don’t tread carefully inside it. Understand?”

Ava released a sigh to go along with the roll of her eyes. Taking Shiloh by the hand, she started to lead her down a random aisle, saying, “I’m Ava, by the way. If someone wasn’t so rude - “ she directed the last two words over a shoulder at her sister although she didn’t look at her “ - she would’ve told you that.”

Shiloh split a glance between the sisters. Were they always like this? she wondered as she bit down on her lower lip to hold back her uncertainty. Bickering like enemies - and in front of customers! How could the girl - Ava? - stand it? To live in such conflict with a blood relative - it was unthinkable. And yet, the girl didn’t seem bothered by it. In fact, she was actually smiling as she led Shiloh away from the counter, toward the other side of the store. Amazing.

Unable to contain her curiosity for long, Shiloh waited until they were a safe distance away from the counter before asking, “Do you always talk to each other like that?” She half-turned at the end of the aisle to cast a skittish glance back to Raven. Who was, as she feared and suspected, watching them.

Ava snickered and swished the air with a hand in a dismissive gesture that was beyond her years, somehow. “Oh, that’s nothing. The wolf’s bark is sharper than it’s bite,” she said, her attention already focused on the list Shiloh still held.

A strange breeze fluttered by Shiloh’s cheek at the utterance of that word. Wolf. It was the same type of breeze that had greeted her when she first stepped out of the Hummer. But her reaction to it differed; rather than a vague curiosity about its cause, this time she stood taller, alert, as it chased a chill down her spine. She cast a furtive glance about her, suddenly overcome by the sensation of being watched. The chill increased; a shiver rippled down her spine despite her attempt at holding it back. And yet, the atmosphere about her was electric, charged with ions not unlike those following a lightning strike.

In a desperate attempt to control her emotions, Shiloh folded her arms over her midriff, her fists knotting up in the cottony fabric of her shirt. She barely registered the sound of paper crinkling in her hand with the gesture as she focused her attention more fully on the girl standing before her with an expectant, somewhat unsure, look upon her cherubic face. “D-don’t you mean dog?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ava favored her with an odd little smile - as if she were privy to some inside joke. “Oh, yeah. Dog. That’s right.” She chuckled and once again reached for the list. “Can I see what you’ve got there?” she asked, almost as an after-thought. She pulled the list from Shiloh’s unresisting hand without waiting for a response and set about finding everything that it contained.

All Shiloh could do was follow Ava about the store like a faithful puppy on an invisible leash, her mind still lost in the sensation that she was being watched - and not just by the beautiful woman behind the counter.

Favorite Scene

“Eager to get out of here, huh?”

“Very.”

“Well, let’s go, then.”

Shiloh didn’t argue with that. Instead, she followed the trucker out of the diner and to his cab, fighting the urge to run in her eagerness to be gone. She just wanted to put this whole awful episode behind her and be done with it - but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in the process. She’d called enough attention to herself for one day. Time to slip away quietly.

If only the voice didn’t stop her when she pulled open the truck door, prepared to enter. A rather chilling voice that sounded vaguely familiar although she couldn’t quite identify it. A voice that called out across the lot, “Where are you going, Shiloh? We haven’t had a chance to talk yet.”

A voice that froze her to the spot where she stood, one foot raised to step up on the runner, her hand on the edge of the open door.

Something about it…

So familiar.

Why?

Oh, god. No.

The Enforcer.

The man whose job it was to ensure that people behaved properly - i.e., the way the powers above wanted them to - at the Institute. Or dragged them back when they tried to leave.

“Are you comin’?” the trucker asked her then, breaking the unnatural spell that other voice had cast upon her.

She started to get in the truck, but hesitated, her foot still poised on the runner. She was forgetting something, something important. What was it?

At the same time that the answer came to her, the Enforcer called out, “You don’t want to do that, Shiloh. I have something you want.”

Something you want.

Ava.

With exaggerated slowness, Shiloh stepped away from the truck, conveyed her answer to the driver with a shake of her head and closed the door. She continued to back up with the same lack of speed until there was a safe distance between her and the monster vehicle, her arms stretched out to the sides at shoulder level. Ever so slowly, she turned about to face the Enforcer, even as a shift in the wind alerted her to the fact that Micah was near. Very near.

She ignored it. Gave no signs to reveal it as she prepared to face down the man who‘d taken Ava. Better to have a secret weapon at her disposal. If the reputation of the Enforcer - and others of his ilk - was any indication, she was going to need it. And as she stood there, readying her mind for what was to come, all the hours of martial arts training that Jon had inflicted upon her over the years came back to her. Along with something new; the reasoning behind his actions.

He wanted her to be prepared. For this. Somehow, he knew that it might come down to something like this - and he wanted to give her a chance to succeed. Thank you, Jon. For that, at least.

When she was finally facing the rather mild-looking man - who stood on the opposite end of the lot from her, an irritated Ava pressed to his wiry chest - Shiloh shrugged her right shoulder to dislodge her backpack from its resting-place. The gesture sent it sliding down her leather-sleeved arm to her hand. She let it slip off the tip of her fingers to the ground beside her. Already forgotten.

A gust of wind from the departing truck behind her lifted the panels of her duster jacket away from her body, causing them to flap about her like the wings of a great, prehistoric bird. But she didn’t notice. Every ounce of her attention was focused on the man across from her. The man who held Ava against him. Like a shield. Coward.

“I’m not going back,” she called out to him, a deadly note to her voice that changed its sound, making it nearly impossible to recognize as her own. Good Lord, it almost sounded like - a growl. A wolf’s growl. But…that wasn’t possible. She thrust that thought aside, ruthless; she would think about it later. When it was safe. “You can’t make me,” she stated, her voice hardened by determination. She stood still as a statue, arms still held out to the sides, as if daring him to strike her with – something. “Not this time.”

“I beg to differ,” the Enforcer said with a self-satisfied smirk. He tightened his grip on the unresisting Ava in a silent message.

Shiloh scarcely flicked her gaze down in acknowledgement. No, she couldn’t allow him to distract her with the gesture. She wouldn’t. Keep your focus on his face, she silently coached herself. Don’t let him get the upper hand.

“I won’t go back alive,” she informed him.

“And I can’t go back without you,” he countered. “You know how it is.” He shrugged, as if they were talking about weather conditions that would impede their trip! “Seems we’re at an impasse.”

Shiloh risked a glance at Ava, who was finally showing signs of fear. Poor thing. She really didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into this time. Maybe this would teach her not to be so impulsive in the future. Or to force herself into adult situations that she wasn’t yet able to handle. She certainly hoped so. Otherwise the girl was going to keep finding herself in such predicaments.

It never occurred to Shiloh, in her musings, that the girl’s fear surfaced when she told the Enforcer she wouldn’t go back alive. She missed that message when she chose to ignore the slight buzz in the air between them in favor of concentrating on the man who held Ava hostage.

“Let her go,” she told the Enforcer, returning her attention to him. “She’s not a part of this.”

But he just pulled Ava closer at her declaration, making one of his own. “Oh, I think I’ll hold onto her for awhile.”

TANTALIZING TUESDAY

Please welcome author, Tracy L. Ranson, into the moonlight today. Tracy's passion for history started as a child and she'd re-write all the endings of books she read as a child. To get to know more about Tracy, to learn about all her books, or to download wallpapers, icons or jigsaw puzzles, visit her website.

~~~~~

GRACEN: March has a few popular dates to celebrate. Which one are you more apt to celebrate, St. Patrick’s Day, or the First Day of Spring, or both and why?

TRACY: I generally celebrate both because I’m half Irish and I love the first day of spring.


GRACEN: Because of it’s Irish heritage, St. Patrick’s Day is a big party day in Wisconsin (and many other areas) in which everyone gets in on the action from free pub crawl busses to breweries making green beer/spirits and some stores selling green colored/decorated food and sweets. Does anything similar occur in your area? Even if you do not participate, please tell us what activities are going on around you. Anything you feel is unique or especially interesting?

TRACY: There are always pub crawls going on as well as parades. We have several Irish pubs where they have some great food specials as well as Irish music. We won’t be able to go this year but next year, I’ll be crawling!


GRACEN: Do you like to decorate for spring/St. Pat’s Day or is this the time of the year where your house has a break from special décor?

TRACY: I try to decorate but with pets, it makes it hard. If the dogs aren’t getting into something then it’s the cats and it’s a contest to see who can destroy the décor the quickest.


GRACEN: Ireland is steeped in myth, legends and lore. Do you have any favorites? Please briefly share them with us (include links to other information for interested readers).

TRACY: My Irish great-grandmother would always tell us about the Fae folk and about the banshees and pookas. They used to scare me as a child (Great Grandma died when I was 9) but now I understand the lores and legends.


GRACEN: Spring is considered a time of renewal, a time of rebirth. Do you do anything “special” to commemorate this idea such as planting flowers or cleaning out your house? Please share with us your way of celebrating this time of rebirth.

TRACY: I usually plant bulbs in the front yard and try to clean out my house. Sometimes that doesn’t always happen.


GRACEN: Magic is often tied into Celtic myths and legends, or at least we like to think it is. Why do you think that is? Why, in your opinion, does Ireland carry so much mystery and magic for the rest of us?

TRACY: Ireland has been steeped in lore since the beginning of time, the stories handed down from generation to generation. Each generation adds to the last making the stories more mysterious


GRACEN: If you could be any mythical or legendary Celtic creature or character, what/who would it be and why?

TRACY: I guess it would be a Fairy, a beautiful creature who is adored by everyone….LOL….


GRACEN: Please tell us some of the favorite/best books you’ve read with Celtic myths/legends or ties in them. (They can be fact or fiction, just be sure to indicate what type of books they are in case our readers might want to check them out.)

TRACY: There are so many! I honestly don’t know where to begin here.


GRACEN: Now, let’s get to your writing, Tracy…What genre is your writing considered to be? Why this genre? What was the draw for you?

TRACY: Mine is mainly historical and I’ve loved things historical. I’ve always been a history buff so this naturally segued into historical romance.


GRACEN: If you could describe your writing with a word or phrase, what would it be? Please be creative and delve into the core of your writing to tell us what word or phrase you want readers to take with them when they've finished reading your story.

TRACY: Different. I’ve gotten a lot of e-mails from readers telling how much they’ve enjoyed my writing and how much better it is than a lot of the NY pubs have put out. I delve more into the emotion and give a real sense of the characters.


GRACEN: Do you prefer magical or human ingenuity for problem solutions? Does that show through in your writing? If so, how?

TRACY: It all depends on the story. I have several urban fantasies plotted out where the only solution is magic and old legends. Then there are others where it takes human ingenuity.


GRACEN: Who decides what you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one strumming the harp?

TRACY: Normally it’s my muse who happens to be one of my cats who appointed himself my muse….LOL….the muse will tell me what to do and where to go with the story.


GRACEN: What was the character or creature that you had the most fun creating and why?

TRACY: Isabeau of Artenzia from DESIRE’S PROMISE. She’s a feisty kick ass heroine who takes things into her own hands and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks.


GRACEN: If you had the opportunity to meet just one of your character/creature creations in real life, who would it be and why?

TRACY: Alexander of Kent because he’s the hottest hero I’ve ever created. He’s all alpha but he’s sexy as hell too.


GRACEN: Which of your character/creature creations would you never want to meet under any circumstance and why?

TRACY: Any of my vampires. They’re completely deadly.


GRACEN: Of all the stories you wrote, which was the storyline that you had the most fun fleshing out? Why?

TRACY: Pirates of the Mist. All the twist and turns I put into it as well as the history involved in it.


GRACEN: As writers, inspiration comes from everywhere. What, specifically, inspired your latest story, the one we’re promoting here today?

TRACY: Viking Seduction was inspired by my husband as well as the research on the Viking lifestyle. My husband is the epitome of a man and embodies the idea of an alpha male (doesn’t hurt that he looks like a Viking as well…LOL…he actually is of Norwegian descent and is a descendant of Erik the Red)


BLURB:

Morgaine ap Rhodri is a princess on the run from Wales. Rather than face the prospect of a loveless marriage with King Alfred of Wessex, she turns to her true friend--the sea--to aid in her escape. The only thing she expects is to make a new life somewhere and live on her own terms. What she doesn't count on is falling into the arms of the handsome Viking nobleman, Erik Ragnorsson. After he captures her ship and takes her back to his land as a slave, Morgaine does the one thing she never wanted to do: fall under the spell of his VIKING SEDUCTION.

EXCERPT:

Morgaine ap Rhodri stood at the prow of her ship, the Golden Princess. The strong wooden bow slipped through the semi-calm water as smooth as a ripple through silk. Tendrils of her free hair lifted, riding the same wind swelling the sails of the vessel. Dressed in blue-tinted men’s breeches and tunic, she drew in a deep breath and inhaled the salty tang of the sea, letting it fill her nostrils and lungs with its neat, familiar scent. How long had it been since her last trip on the sea? By her calculations, it had been almost too long. Had it not been for her father’s plans for her, she would not be here at all.

“Are you all right, Princess?” issued a strong male voice behind her. She turned around to see Robert, the captain of her ship, standing before her. Concern and worry stamped his aged features.

Morgaine shook her head and brushed the strands of loose hair over her shoulder.

“Aye, Robert. I was just thinking about home.” She leaned against the railing and stared at Robert. His face, the color of tanned leather, was creased and lined with age. White hair tumbled around his head in the ring of a halo, wafting in the gentle wind. He was no taller than three-quarters of a rod but he was mighty.

Despite his grizzled appearance, his smile was warm and inviting. “What were you thinking?”

She sighed and turned to gaze out toward the sea with her arms resting on the element-battered railing. “How much I would have liked to stay.”

Robert stepped up next to her, assuming the same pose. “You could have, you know.”

She shook her head. “No, I could not. Facing a life next to a man who would give his horse more regard than his wife was not an enlivening prospect. I refuse to play the part of political pawn, so this was my only choice.”

Robert’s tanned, freckled hand covered hers, squeezing gently. “If I were your father, I would have let you have some say in a choice of husband.”

“Much thanks, Robert. It pleases me that you think that way. However, my father, being who he is, decided my marriage to King Alfred of Wessex would prove to be a very good alliance with Wales. He was only doing as he was taught.”

“Still, I would ...”

She laid a finger to his lips. “That is enough, Robert. I want to discuss this no further. Now, where will our course take us?”

It was his turn to sigh. “France, then on to Spain. From there, we may go wherever our hearts desire.”

Morgaine cast her gaze out onto the crystal blue waters rumbling past the hull. With the dawn of each new day, her ship and destiny pushed away from the familiar Welsh shoreline she had loved so much. At least the unknown future of her flight was a far better prospect than facing a life with the horrific King of Wessex.

Just as she turned to her left, something caught her eye. Though it was quite a span away, it possessed the resemblance to a ship. She could not make out the size because of the distance, but something definitely intrigued her. Red and white material flapped at the vessel’s mast; mayhap it was a trading ship sailing by . They must be the sails of traders roaming the sea in search of good trading routes. Morgaine let a sigh of relief escape her lips. For a moment, she thought it might been a roving band of pirates in search of hapless ships to plunder.

“’Tis the Vikings!” echoed the call from the crow’s nest

“Princess, get down below!” Robert bellowed.

Her brow lifted. “What are the Vikings doing this far south this time of year?”

“I know not, but the fact remains they are here. Now get down below where you will be safe.”

Morgaine spun on a booted heel to face him. “No, Robert! Give me a sword! I can defend myself as best as any man!”

Robert gripped her upper arms in an iron clasp and pushed her toward the stairs.

“This is one time that I will not obey your orders, Princess.”

Rough hands shoved Morgaine into her cabin. Once she was in, the door slammed and locked behind her. Damn them! She kicked the door with vicious swipe while cursing Robert with a bitter tongue. She could take care of herself!

She paced uneasily as her mind continued to work. How was she going to get out of here? Suddenly, Morgaine’s gaze drifted to the hinges of the door. If she could just push up the pins holding the door in place, she would be able to move the door a bit and slip through the void.

Before she could find anything to take out the hinge pins, a loud thump resounded above her. She looked up as fear and trepidation pounded her temples. Would all of them live to see the end of the day? Fear formed a lump in her throat. Red and white vertically striped fabric comprised the sails of the approaching ship while a dragon’s head decorated the bow of the highly crafted vessel.

The Vikings were taking over her ship!

Her mouth dried instantly as a thin sheen of sweat beaded her upper lip. Storming hurriedly away from the window, Morgaine knelt next to her bed, her hands searching for her sword frantically. It must be here somewhere!

This seemed to go on for a few tense moments until her hands locked around the thick leather sheath of her sword. We shall see how much the Vikings withstand. The ornate hilt, with her initials carved in the sturdy metal, was made of the best material iron Wales could produce. Her father had the blade fashioned for her to give to her husband on their wedding day. From the moment she had planned her escape, Morgaine knew this weapon was a must for her journey.

With a firm grip on the hilt, the smooth cold points dug into her palm and became comfortable, almost like a long lost friend. She pulled the blade out of its leather sheath and stood up, hefting the weapon from one hand to the other... perfect for her size. Perhaps Father had it made for her all along instead of her husband. Now came the harder task. She needed to hide her hair.

Morgaine ripped open a coffer at the end of her bed and plowed through the box with furious abandon. There had to be something here she could use! Gowns, bodices, and undergarments flew around her as she searched for a head covering. Nothing availed itself to her until near the bottom, underneath one of her darker gowns, lay a black velvet cap.

Picking up the neatly constructed cap, she jammed the hat on her head and crammed all errant strands beneath.

Once finished, Morgaine wielded the blade. Sharp slices of air parting echoed around her. Any man who got in her way would end up with the tip through his gullet.

Dropping to her knees at the door, she extracted a small dagger from her boot. She took the edge and dug between the top of the pin and the metal hinge. Using all the strength she possessed, Morgaine pushed upward. The pin never moved an inch. She tried again. Muscles bunched and strained in her arms but she refused to give up. She had to get out of here. With a grunt and a fresh round of unbound determination, Morgaine tried again. This time, the pin moved slowly up until the rounded metal fell from the hinge. She repeated her efforts with the other pin. At first, it also refused to move but with the same bit of will, she removed that one as well.

Standing up, Morgaine strained against the hard wood until it gave way. She slipped through the small void created between the jamb and the door. Above her, the scuffle of feet and shouts of anxious voices intensified. The Vikings had to be very close or even on board.

Winding her way through the darkened stairwell, Morgaine watched her steps, looking to the left and right for anyone to pounce on her. No one was there. Her mouth grew dry as she headed toward the steps, her weapon drawn.

Morgaine mounted the stairs, taking one step at a time as she listened to the sounds on the other side of the door. Everything remained muffled, not allowing her a clear idea of the ensuing mayhem. What was happening?

Light seeped through the crack under the door as well as the sharp smell of burning wood. Her eyes watered. Jesu, her ship was on fire!

Morgaine charged out of the door and stormed the deck, brandishing her sword before her like a flame. To her left was a young lad, about her size. His blade flashed in a blinding arc in her line of vision, but she caught his steel with her own. Metal clashed against metal with sparks flying as they danced around in a circle of death, thrusting back and forth. With quickness on her side, Morgaine swiped her sword at his belly. The redheaded lad fell forward, his eyes turning glassy before he fell onto the deck, his hands clutching the wound as if to prevent the bleeding. The hot coppery smell of blood commingled with that of the burning wood stung her nostrils and encouraged her belly to retch at all this death. This was one thing she had never experienced before.

Morgaine turned to see more of the Vikings scramble over the side of The Golden Princess. They swung from the mast of their ship on thick ropes and descended like hungry insects ready to feed on dead flesh. Fear threatened to overtake her. She quelled the disastrous emotion. They must defeat these heathens without any reservation or quarter.

She slewed her head to the right. There was another Viking about her size about to slay one of the cabin boys. She picked up a discarded Viking sword as well as her own and rushed to the boy’s side, burying both blades in the mid-section of the taller man. Blood spurted from his wounds and bathed her in coppery warmth. Before she could stop herself, the contents of her stomach spilled through her mouth and mingled with the congealing blood on the deck. Jesu! Why did she do that?

Tossing the Viking sword to the boy, she leapt up on deck with hers, pushing her way through the thick throng of men fighting each other. The swift descent of the enemy had all but ended now with all of the raiders aboard her ship.

Suddenly, she caught sight of Robert backed against the side of the ship with a sword at his throat. A large Viking held the hilt as his bulging, naked arms glistened with blood and sweat. Tendrils of long blond hair streamed out from underneath his helmet and flowed over those massive shoulders. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him, calculating his strength. He was large, but she had the element of surprise on her side. Leaping from the prow Morgaine ran, her sword poised in front of her, ready to thrust at the tall man. Just as she came within reach of his back, a sharp pain rang in her head, then her world grew hazy. She felt herself fall and slipped into the bleak world of unconsciousness the moment her head hit the blood-splattered deck.

Website: http://www.tracylranson.com/
Publishers:
Dark Castle Lords: http://www.darkcastlelords.com/
Siren-Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/

Mystic Monday

Sorry for being late with my posts today!  Well, I got my nice weather for a birthday present, but I also got a sinus infection to go along with it!  I wasn't sure about that until today when all I wanted to do was sleep! 

I do feel "spring" all over and am enjoying the fact that I can see green again, even if they are weeds.  Hope the rest of you are thawing out and enjoying this first week of spring and handling the time change okay.  

The Milwaukee Bucks played a home game on my birthday, and I got to see them win, so I was very happy!  This weekend, we're going to St. Louis to play disc golf and to check out some of my favorite brew pubs - Schlafly Bottleworks and Square One.  I can't wait because I've got some new discs I'm looking to try out on some of these courses!   

Thanks to everyone for all of your birthday wishes! They are well-received! 

SUPERNATURAL SUNDAY

Please welcome Wend Petzler into the moonlight today. Wend is the author of Curse of the Scarab King, Blood Keep, Lady Thief, Whisper to Me and Damned by Sin. All are published by New Concepts Publishing. To learn more about Wend, visit her website: http://www.wendpetzler.com/

~~~~~

GRACEN: March has a few popular dates to celebrate. Which one are you more apt to celebrate, St. Patrick’s Day, or the First Day of Spring, or both and why?

WEND: I celebrate St. Paddy’s day more cause of my Irish heritage, plus the food. Spring is nice, but its summer and fall I adore.


GRACEN: Because of it’s Irish heritage, St. Patrick’s Day is a big party day in Wisconsin (and many other areas) in which everyone gets in on the action from free pub crawl busses to breweries making green beer/spirits and some stores selling green colored/decorated food and sweets. Does anything similar occur in your area? Even if you do not participate, please tell us what activities are going on around you. Anything you feel is unique or especially interesting?

WEND: We have the same over here in Northern Idaho. The bars are the only establishments anymore who celebrate St. Patrick’s. Over the years people just don’t get in the spirit of the Irish like when I was a kid.


GRACEN: Do you like to decorate for spring/St. Pat’s Day or is this the time of the year where your house has a break from special décor?

WEND: My daughter and I still wear something green, in honor of the Emerald Isle, otherwise we cook and cook.


GRACEN: Ireland is steeped in myth, legends and lore. Do you have any favorites? Please briefly share them with us (include links to other information for interested readers).

WEND: My favorite is Halloween. Love it love it love it!!! The elements of donning another persona, to visit the dead, all intrigues me.


GRACEN: Spring is considered a time of renewal, a time of rebirth. Do you do anything “special” to commemorate this idea such as planting flowers or cleaning out your house? Please share with us your way of celebrating this time of rebirth.

WEND: I tear my house apart and deep clean, repaint, and plan for our garden. It’s like starting over for me.


GRACEN: Magic is often tied into Celtic myths and legends, or at least we like to think it is. Why do you think that is? Why, in your opinion, does Ireland carry so much mystery and magic for the rest of us?

WEND: Ireland is such a deeply emotional culture. Much is learned and passed on from generation to generation with pride and love. To me, there is no more powerful magic than family and love.


GRACEN: If you could be any mythical or legendary Celtic creature or character, what/who would it be and why?

WEND: The Dragon. Very important creature of the Celts. Representative of earth and water, the dragon was strength and immortality. I love the dragon so much I have 2 tattoos.


GRACEN: Please tell us some of the favorite/best books you’ve read with Celtic myths/legends or ties in them. (They can be fact or fiction, just be sure to indicate what type of books they are in case our readers might want to check them out.)

WEND: Honestly, I haven’t read one. As for best movie, I’d say High Spirits with Daryl Hannah and Peter o’ Toole.


GRACEN: Now, let’s get to your writing, Wend…What genre is your writing considered to be? Why this genre? What was the draw for you?

WEND: Typically I write Historical/fantasy. I love history and legends since I was a little girl. There is so much out there we can learn from our past. So much has been lost and I fear our future will pay the price if we don’t learn about how we came to be where we are.

Recently though, I have ventured out into vampire romance, blending history through the lives of my vampires. I find it fascinating to bring a vampire’s past to the present, to express how their decisions shaped their future and the people around them.


GRACEN: If you could describe your writing with a word or phrase, what would it be? Please be creative and delve into the core of your writing to tell us what word or phrase you want readers to take with them when they've finished reading your story.

WEND: Adventure. I believe stories need to be adventurous, exciting, and the happily ever after needs to be earned, not an ending. I love writing stories where my characters go through ups and downs, finding love along the way.


GRACEN: Do you prefer magical or human ingenuity for problem solutions? Does that show through in your writing? If so, how?

WEND: It depends on the story I am writing. But, mostly its human with aid--either magic or by their own hand.


GRACEN: Who decides what you write about, you or your muse? What kind of influence do you have over your story, or is the muse always the one strumming the harp?

WEND: Usually if I have a strong hero or heroine they take over, especially if they aren’t happy with where the story is going. My muse has been sleeping a lot lately and not a whole heck of a bit in helping me in my latest story. Maybe with spring around the corner my muse will kick in some ideas.


GRACEN: What was the character or creature that you had the most fun creating and why?

WEND: My vampire, Sin Dracula. That vamp had a mind of his own and sexy as hell, so I didn’t mind too much. The way his character flowed out onto paper was amazing and fun. I can’t wait until Damned by Sin is released this spring through New Concepts Publishing. Sin is definitely going to take people by surprise.


GRACEN: If you had the opportunity to meet just one of your character/creature creations in real life, who would it be and why?

WEND: I would love to meet the dragon I created in Water Witch. Her name is Melusine and is a cursed fairy queen. Very awesome dragon. Would love to fly.


GRACEN: Which of your character/creature creations would you never want to meet under any circumstance and why?

WEND: I would never want to meet my villain from Damned by Sin. I think I went too far in creating such an evil vampiress as Angel Heart. She makes Hannibal Lector sweet.


GRACEN: Of all the stories you wrote, which was the storyline that you had the most fun fleshing out? Why?

WEND: Water Witch. I have dragons, elves, giants, fairies, demons, time-travel, knights in shining armor, and the great sword, Excalibur. I am having a lot of fun with this one! I let loose and went more fantasy than usual. This book is part of a trilogy. The next book takes place in Ancient Rome, leading to the third which is in the future.


GRACEN: As writers, inspiration comes from everywhere. What, specifically, inspired your latest story, the one we’re promoting here today?

WEND: I was cruising the internet when I stumbled upon an old legend about Melusine, the fairy cursed to be a serpent every seventh day. Very fascinating. It blossomed to several more stories.

BLURB:

How could one knee weakening kiss land Mariah Jordan in so much trouble with the most sexy, drop dead gorgeous man--or rather vampire—and drop her smack in the middle of a vampire war with her as the prize?

EXCERPT:

The wind rose with a fevered pitch and upon it rode the stench of pure Evil. The last time Mariah had encountered such a foul smell was the night she lost her husband. Terrified, she hurried to find the injured man before whatever she sensed did. Dense bushes made it difficult to keep up with the agile dogs. Winded from stumbling over wildly growing roots hidden under the fog, Mariah stopped to take a breather, holding her burning side. She grew alarmed as the fog increased. Mariah threw her hand over her eyes, blinded by its white brilliance. Entire body shaking from fear and the cold, she cried out when a hand latched onto her ankle, dragging her down to the unforgiving forest floor.

Hot, stinging tears rushed to her eyes as her knees slammed into the hard, rocky ground. Her flashlight centered on the dark figure before her, its mouth curled back in a savage snarl, exposing razor-sharp, luminescent teeth. Red eyes burning hot with rage suddenly blinked in surprise. Heavy shadows surrounding her attacker shifted, transforming into a darkly clothed man. His breath, harsh and jagged, blew bellows in the ice-cold air. Lowering the beam of light over his broad chest, she gasped, seeing his black, leather coat was ripped and gleamed wetly. Mariah smelt the metallic, sweet odor of blood blended with gunpowder. He was the one she had made contact with, and he was quickly bleeding to death. His breathtaking features were as white as the glowing mist swirling around them. Defeat shone in his coal-black eyes as he sagged back against the gnarled trunk of the pine tree behind him, warily watching her.

“I mean you no harm,” Mariah whispered to the silent man. “My name is Mariah, and I just want to help you.” Staring in amazement as Salish nudged him with her long muzzle, the man’s hard, flat mouth eased and lifted at the right corner, smiling faintly as he petted the pushy wolf. Bear had other more pressing concerns, his massive head tilted, listening to the sounds of the forest.

Startled, Mariah heard another man’s voice inside her mind. Mariah? Oh, Mariah, where are you? Do not fear me, I need you. The words spoken were crisp, elegant. Evil. Frightened by the malevolence radiating from the newcomer’s powerful mind, Mariah instinctively produced pictures of a dark void, deflecting the unsubtle request for her location.

How did he know her name?

Oh, no! I’m in as much danger as the man beside me, Mariah realized, panicking.

A branch snapped nearby. Her companion’s hand snaked out to grab her by the arm and yanked her into the hard shelter of his much larger frame. A snarl curled her companion’s cruel, sensual mouth. Sharp fangs lengthened dangerously. Mariah gasped, scrambling out of his embrace and knew without a doubt she sat in the presence of a real vampire. He grabbed her flashlight and switched it off. A soft curse alerted them to the fact that they weren’t alone.

“I know the son of a bitch ran this way,” a man whispered nervously to his comrade.

“How do you know? I can’t even see my feet with this damn fog!”

“Quit yer bitchin’! You know vampires can summon the elements. Let’s try going up the mountain,” the first one snapped.

Trembling from terror and the mind-numbing cold, she jumped when the vampire reached for her arm again. She tried to fight him, but he shook his head and pressed a finger to his mouth, silencing her. Reluctant to be close to a real vampire, she saw the tremors he could no longer repress. Mariah scooted over to him and leaned against him, offering what warmth she could. When he drew her into the shelter of his arms, she was surprised when he gently rubbed her arms, to get feeling flowing through her own frozen limbs. Mariah felt small and defenseless compared to him, unsure of his motives. Freaked that his hot, sticky blood was soaking through the back of her coat and the fact a real vampire was holding her, she turned to her dogs. They remained strangely quiet as they lay, watching the woods. From the heavy loss of blood he suffered, she knew he was weakening, needing to replenish what continued to leak out of his untended wounds.

Wary, Mariah looked up at the vampire. The hunters would eventually backtrack when they failed to find their prey. Her only hope for survival was the vampire, and he was in dire need of blood. And she knew just how he could get what he so desperately needed--hers.

What if this was to be her last night? Sad, Mariah realized it had been years since she was kissed or had made love, or been in love for that fact. Looking up at the handsome visage of the vampire, she thought, what the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.

“Stranger, we have a dilemma. I can’t carry you back to my cabin, but you can get us there safely.” Swallowing hard, she continued, “I will give you my blood ... for a price.” The vampire’s dark, fathomless eyes widened.

“What do you want?” the vampire demanded suspiciously.

Before Mariah lost her nerve, she whispered, “a kiss.”



ONE LINER—Lady Thief:

Can a man rumored to possess no soul love a woman outlaw who is determined to bring down a would-be king?

BLURB—Lady Thief:

Lady Thief more than meets her match when the Butcher of Acre takes command of Castle Sanctuary. Despite her misgivings, Eiry realizes too late Lucian is the only man who stirs her heart and makes her yearn for his touch. Can she trust a man rumored to possess no soul? Will her courage and love save him from his own personal hell and help him become the hero she sees in him?

BUY LINK: http://www.newconceptspublishing.com/wendpetzlerbooks.html