Releasing Monday: ROGUE FAMILIAR

 

     

 

It. Is. Finished.

Yes, oh my lovelies: I completed the final proofing of ROGUE FAMILIAR this morning and will have it uploaded everywhere tomorrow for release on Monday, April 24. 

Cue the rejoicing!!!

And, since this is coincidentally (OR NOT???) spring promo week here at the SFF Seven, it's actually apropos for me to be mentioning this book. I know a lot of you have been waiting for something like mumble mumble two months mumble for this book. All I can offer is.... 

Now you can haz!

He left to save her from herself… But who will save him from her?

When Lady Seliah Phel wakes from a drugged sleep to find herself abandoned by her newly bonded wizard, she vows revenge—and to hunt him down. Tracking him through the familiar wilds of the marshlands of her home is the easy part; learning to use her nascent magical skills is something else entirely. So is facing the vast, uncaring society of the Convocation in a time of brewing war.

Jadren El-Adrel is not known for doing the right thing, but getting as far away from Seliah as possible before he drains her dry will be his one noble gesture. So what if she weeps a few tears. Better than her dying in his service—or enabling him to become the ravenous beast that crawls beneath his skin. Unfortunately, in his self-imposed exile, and without the power of his familiar, Jadren quickly runs afoul of the enemy.

As her vengeful quest for recapture becomes a rescue mission, Selly faces all she still doesn’t know about the greater world of wizards and familiars. And Jadren, once determined to walk his own path and stay far, far away from the idealistic fools of House Phel, finds himself aligning with them against the house of his birth. War is coming to the Convocation, which means a clever wizard should pick the side most likely to win.

Sadly, Jadren has never been all that clever…

 

     

 

As a special treat, here's a little excerpt:

It wasn’t as if magic made logical sense at the best of times anyway. Closing his eyes, trying to screen out the worry that he hadn’t heard Seliah’s heart beat in far too long—you wouldn’t be able to hear it from here anyway, idiot—he let his fingers drift over the gadgets. Waiting for one to speak to him. As if a metal doohickey could speak.

You’re wasting time, his inner voice observed. Wasting what little life Seliah has left.

I’m not. She wouldn’t survive a trip to find a healer. She might not survive the next few minutes.

At least finding a healer has a chance of working.

An infinitesimally small chance.

Still a non-zero chance, whereas this… What are you even thinking? You might as well dance around the bed beseeching the spirits of our ancestors to intervene.

He paused. Is that something people do?

You’re asking me? I am you. I don’t know anything more than you do.

I’m not asking you. I’m wanting you to shut up.

Then shut up.

You shut up! Cursing in frustration, Jadren took his own advice and attempted to quiet his mind. If this had any chance of working—It doesn’t. Shh.—then he needed to give it his all. Quiet mind. Trust his wizard’s intuition. Seliah deserved his best effort.

 

     

 

Book Birthday (Week) Spotlight: Jackson by LaQuette

This week, I'm breaking ranks and bringing a friend of a friend who I hope will become a direct friend: Award-winning author LaQuette. Not only does she have an amazing blog of sermons for the Non-Denominational Romance Covers Temple of Worship (which you should go read right now because it's glorious - I wanted to bring the WHOLE blog over for your edification but it would only distract from the lusciousness offered up below) LaQuette has a brand new novel out this week. It's a smoking toasty hot contemporary romance and my friends, I can ask for nothing more!

From celebrated author LaQuette comes a sizzling opposites attract Texas Ranger romance that will leave you breathless... Aja Everett longs to turn her old family ranch into a place where anyone can find rest and healing. But her big heart's bound to get her in trouble if she's not careful—someone wants her gone, and they'll do whatever it takes to drive her away from the land that's her lifeblood. Whether she's willing to admit it or not, she needs help. She needs a man like Ranger Jackson Dean. Jackson doesn't trust love. He once made the mistake of following his heart and all he'd gotten was pain in return. But when city-slicking do-gooder Aja Everett asks for his help, he can't stay away...and as attraction sizzles and protective instincts flare, she may be the only woman able to restore the heart of this Texas Ranger. Get out your fans for this steamy contemporary romance which features a hunky Texas Ranger with trust issues and a confident, sexy, full-figured heroine who believes in the best in people. Sometimes oil and water are meant to mix.

Buy Link for Jackson

Excerpt: Jackson by LaQuette

Jackson tried to keep his mind empty as he waited in his office for Gleason and Jennings to arrive with Aja Everett. It was a common practice of his, mellowing enough to push distractions out of his head before the start of a case. But every time he attempted to do it, the image of the confident woman striking a model’s pose with her hip jutted out and her hands on her waist popped into his head.

Jackson caught himself groaning and was thankful Colton and Storm had left him alone. The idea of having to explain to his coworkers why he was so distracted had no appeal.

He glanced down at the open case file on his desk and thumped his finger on top of it. The three of them at the ranch weren’t nearly enough to investigate as many angles as they needed to, but they’d been in tighter spots, and they worked well together. With Gleason and Jennings backing them up at headquarters, hopefully there would be a quick and effective end to all of this. Because if the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the sumptuous beauty’s photo was any sign, spending time with Aja Everett was bound to be a problem for him.

A tap on his door drew his attention as Colton leaned in. “Gleason and Jennings are in the parking lot with Ms. Everett. You want me to put her in one of the interrogation rooms?”

Jackson shook his head. She was the niece of a sitting judge and the victim of a serious crime. Putting her in an interrogation room could be misconstrued in all sorts of ways. That was grief he didn’t need. “No, bring her in here.”

Colton tapped on his phone’s screen. When he was done, he opened the door wide and he and Storm walked in. “Message sent. They’ll come directly here.”

Another knock on the door, and Jennings stepped inside, greeting Jackson and their colleagues while holding the door open and jerking a thumb behind him. Jackson blinked, and suddenly Aja Everett was filling his doorway in the flesh.

And what lovely flesh it was. She wore a red blouse with a black fitted suit vest and matching black slacks that hung like a second skin on her. No way she pulled that outfit off any rack, the way the material seemed to lovingly hold each of her curves. It was a power suit, battle armor for the powerful attorney the preliminary background check he’d run said she was.

“Morning, Ranger Dean.” A bright smile graced her lips. “May I come inside?”

Jackson was caught off guard by the greeting. Her outfit, the stacked platform heels that peeked out from the hem of her pants, even the blood-red matte lipstick she wore told him firmly she was poised to attack. Her easy smile seemed out of place.

“Please, call me Jackson.” He ushered her into the room, then pointed to Colton and Storm seated at the conference table. “These are the rest of my team members, Colton Adams and Storm Cordero.” She waved at each of them before looking at Jackson. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee before we begin?”

“From a federal building?” She shook her head. “I care about my health more than that. In fact, I brought my own coffee and snacks too.” She raised her hand in a graceful wave and pointed toward the door. Like magic, Gleason appeared at the door pushing a cart with a large thermal coffee dispenser and two large, insulated food bags.

Jackson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He moaned as his stomach protested that breakfast so far had been one-and-a-half cups of bad black coffee.

He opened his eyes, and his chest tightened as he took in the sight of her again. She looked even more tempting standing in front of him now than she had in the picture in her file.

She unzipped the food bags and placed out two large pans of what looked and smelled like the best cinnamon rolls he would ever have in his life. When she was finished setting up the food and made disposable cutlery and flatware appear out of thin air, she returned to Jackson and his men with a broad, welcoming smile.

“You didn’t need to go through this kind of trouble, Ms. Everett.”

She lifted her shoulders, dismissing his comment. “My mama taught me to never show up anywhere empty-handed. It’s bad manners.”

He chuckled. Aja might be a New Yorker, but her southern sensibilities were definitely showing.

“Now that that’s settled, I hope you gentlemen don’t mind something sweet, hot, and sticky for breakfast.”

Jackson closed his eyes again as he tried to control his breathing. He’d hoped for short and simple. But this woman standing in the middle of his office, looking the picture of a poised, dominant professional mixed with a touch of down-home goodness, was as complicated a start to this case as Jackson could imagine.

A two-dimensional Aja Everett in a photo, Jackson could deal with. But this tempting stranger, smiling as she offered him something sweet, hot, and sticky, would not be easy at all.

About the Author

Website | Email | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram |Linktree

An activist for DEIA in the romance industry, LaQuette writes bold stories featuring multicultural characters. Her writing style brings intellect to the drama. She crafts emotionally epic tales that are deeply pigmented by reality's paintbrush.

This Brooklyn native's novels are a unique mix of savvy, sarcastic, brazen, & unapologetically sexy characters who are confident in their right to appear on the page.

A Midsummer's Barbeque - of an Incubus

HUGE CONGRATULATIONS TO JEFFE KENNEDY!!! RITA WINNER! :D

My regularly scheduled post:

Behold my inability to offer you flash fiction whilst in the midst of migraine. The drugs are onboard and I should be okay eventually. But deadlines wait for no head-splitter. So an excerpt of a fiery scene it is.  This is from Damned If He Does. Our hero has attempted to seduce the heroine to no effect. Since he's an incubus, this is not expected. So he reports to his boss for advice. Only that doesn't go exactly as planned.

“Incubus,” Ole Scratch said when the elevator door opened. He didn’t bother to look up from whatever he was working on. “You’re here off schedule.”

Darsorin approached the desk. “Yes. I’m a little confounded.”

Satan glanced up at that, though he continued writing, his pencil shrieking against the paper.

It set Dar’s teeth on edge.

“You’re empty-handed. Even after the power I fed you.”

Nearly burst him with, Dar corrected. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud. “She’s asexual.”

“An ace?” Satan’s gaze returned to his work. “Fine. You’ve wasted enough time on that one. Leave her.”

“No.”

The pencil stopped. Ole Scratch lifted his bottomless, soot-black gaze to Darsorin’s. Scorching heat licked his skin. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to go on meeting the twin pits of endless evil.

“What did you say to me, unwise little demon?”

“I’ve upheld my part of the bargain several times a night all over the world for the past . . .”

“And you will go on doing so for all of eternity, Hugh McClellan,” the Devil noted in a flat, soft voice.

Dread shivered up his spine at hearing his true name on the Devil’s tongue.

“Or do you grow weary of your enviable task? You seduce countless women, something you embraced with relish in life.”

No match for that jab, he closed his eyes. “And sacrificed that life to it.”

Ole Scratch chuckled. Screams of tortured souls echoed behind the sound. “You were judged and damned. It wouldn’t be punishment if it didn’t pinch, now would it? You understand your options.”

“I haven’t been Hugh McClellan since the day I died. You made certain of it.”

“And yet it is your true name and still holds your soul in thrall. So hear me. Leave her or seduce her and bring me the curative power of her sexual energy. Your soul hangs in the balance. If you’ve lost your taste for a job in the afterlife that takes advantage of the proclivities you displayed in life, I am certain I can find some other situation for you. Perhaps you’d prefer to spend eternity the way murderers do.”

He tried to suppress a shudder. Failed. Heaven provided special dispensation to Satan for the punishment of murderers. Souls damned for killing someone – anyone – stood in for innocent murder victims time after time. The innocent souls still died, something neither Heaven nor Hell could prevent because of the freewill clause in the human/Divine contract, but the innocent could be spared pain and horror by trading in a damned soul to take the brunt. The punishment was reserved for the most violent, and insanely painful circumstances. Devilish, effective comeuppance. Dar had never had the courage to ask what Ole Scratch got out of that bargain. That Satan did was certain.

Dar swallowed hard and opened his eyes. “Understood.”

His boss’s eyes narrowed as he studied Darsorin. “What is it about this one? You’ve imagined yourself infatuated many times before now. How is this one different?”

“She has no expectation,” he said. “I’m not a means to an end.”

Ole Scratch snorted and sat back in his chair. “You imagine she values you for you? When she has no idea who and what you are? Son. You’re thinking with the wrong head.”

“It’s not like I have a heart to break,” he snapped.

“Or to give. Remember that. Don’t imagine you’re falling for her. You weren’t capable of it in life and you are not capable of it now. Make your choices going forward very, very carefully.”

Demotion hung unspoken in the air between them. Darsorin blew out a sharp breath. “I’ll let it go for a few days. Give her time to cool off. She ordered me to leave her alone.”

“Why would she do that, Incubus?”

“She caught me out. Recognized me in waking life.”

“You were staking her out?”

“Looking for a way to break her open,” Darsorin said, nodding. “She confronted me.”

Satan shrugged. “Not the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last.”

“Though usually, it leads to a waking sexual encounter,” Dar said. “This did not.”

“What did it lead to?”

“Breakfast.”

“Breakfast.”

Darsorin shrugged. “I made her a deal. I’d leave her alone if she’d have breakfast with me and tell me why nothing I did worked on her.”

Ole Scratch sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “You did WHAT?”

The floor trembled.

Darsorin froze.

“You. Made. A. Deal.” Satan bit out the words as he rose, his fists planted on his desk. “YOU MADE A DEAL? Show me. NOW.”

He did.

“You struck a bargain with her.” The Devil snarled. Darkness swallowed the sunshine outside. Thunder rumbled. “You swore an oath to leave her alone. To vanish from her life.”

“With no intention . . .”

“Any bargain you strike with an innocent is made in MY name! Think you that I’ll be forsworn by the likes of you? Over her? When I again do battle with the Divine, it will be on my terms and in my time. You gave your word, demon. You will keep it.”

Satan flung a gesture at him.

Fire erupted around him, slamming him to the melting carpet, consuming him. His skin bubbled and crisped, cracking. The scream ripped from his blistering lips came out a hoarse, parched croak. He became pain and smoke.

A distant shrill rattled his charring skull.

Smoke detectors.

The flames winked out of existence.

Darsorin, trapped in a body that Satan couldn’t kill, lay shuddering on the carpet that he’d become a part of. The fibers had melted into his charred skin.

The Devil uttered a guttural, ugly word not meant for human ears. It resonated through the tortured flesh and bones of Darsorin, all the way to the damned soul of Hugh McClellan, which Satan held in thrall.

Reality opened beneath him and he fell.

He moaned a protest before he plunged straight into the soul crushing gray stones of his penitent's cell and into a sadist’s lash.

Cover Reveal and Teaser!

Guess what???

We have a cover for The Tides of Bára!!

It's so incredibly beautiful, I literally gasped out loud when I saw it. The incredibly talented Louisa Gallie knocked this one out of the park.

Want to see it?

Yeah, you know you do....

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TA DAH!!!!

!!!!!

And, since I was supposed to write Autumn Equinox flash fiction today, and you all know how I feel about flash fiction....

Here's a snippet from the recently (like, last week) completed draft. Chuffta, Oria's small dragon Familiar, has turned out to be a bit of a firebug...


*****

Closer by, Chuffta worked intently to drag what looked like a tree limb to a blazing bonfire. He had his wings spread and managed it by half-flying, half-hopping on one leg, and wrestling the thing with mouth, tail and the free foot.

“What are you doing?” she asked aloud, for Lonen’s benefit, though the words scraped her raw throat.

“I’m feeding the fire,” he chirped happily. “Keeping you warm!”

Lonen groaned. “Hey, man. Enough with the fire. You’ll roast us.”

“No?” Chuffta paused, releasing the limb with foot and mouth, but keeping his tail wrapped around it. He sounded terribly disappointed. He cocked his head at the fire. “Maybe just one more?”

“No more, please, Chuffta.” She rubbed at her gritty, sensitive eyes, though it only made them water more. She certainly wasn’t weeping. She blinked them open to find Lonen grinning and grimacing at once. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” she said, ducking her face so he wouldn’t see.

“I like fire! It’s hot.”

“His first time with fire?” Lonen suggested. “Other than your purple magic kind.”

“Could be.” She must have sounded dubious, because he shrugged.

“Some people are like that, obsessed with fire. Why not a derkesthai?”

“I’ve never played with fire before,” Chuffta confirmed. “It’s not like breath-flame, that runs out. As long as I keep putting wood, in there, it goes and goes.”

“You can build another one when we sleep tonight, how’s that?” she suggested. Chuffta grumbled, but agreed. He stayed by his fire, though, tail lovingly wrapped around the limb he’d wanted to add. 

*****

This will be out October 29, and the books in the series can be found here on Amazon, or here on my website. The preorder links will be up soon!

When Your Favorite MInor Character is Evil

This releases next Tuesday. It's something a tad different from me. You can usually count on me to bring the grim and faintly creepy. Also, body count. Pretty much absent from this book.

It is possible that I attempted a bit of comedy. I'll leave that to you to decide whether or not I succeeded. This book has one of my favorite minor characters of all time - I wasn't supposed to like him. I didn't want to like him. But he is awfully charismatic in a way I hadn't expected. No. I am not talking about the heroine's cat. Of course I adore Archimedes.

In this case, my favorite minor character is Satan. Here's a bit of a scene he has with the heroine.





            Fire surrounded her. Everything, even the rocks, burned. Flames circled the jagged black surface on which she stood. Obsidian stairs rose to a dais and a throne fashioned from burning, still living, still screaming, people.

She looked away.

Hell.

“Welcome to my office.” Satan stood beside her, still in the human form he’d presented in the restaurant. “I see you’re indoctrinated well enough to expect the fire and brimstone motif. Trite but effective.”

Fiona quelled and her gaze ran away from him, too, only to find the damned souls being swarmed by serpents. The snakes buried fangs dripping with poison into the flesh of their victims. The wet, ripping sound reached her above the hiss and crackle of the flames.

“Ah, I see it in your face, the same look I see on the face of each soul who lands at the foot of my throne for the first time. Awareness that settles so rapidly into despair. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Hell is about despair,” the Devil said. His voice crashed down, crushing her beneath derision. “Despair is useless to me. Everyone adapts to it. I am about hope.”

He shifted, peeling back the illusion of civility. Of humanity. His skin reddened to crimson. His eyes turned black. No irises. No pupil. Just the endless depth of evil. He grew horns. A tail. A vicious, razor-toothed smile of triumph split his multi-planed face.

“I am the hope that sucks the marrow from your bones. The hope that shatters souls. I am every futile, dashed dream lying in broken-winged tatters at your feet,” he said, obscene relish in his tone.

Fiona snarled at the towering creature. “You’re the reason my mother couldn’t survive that heart attack?”

His laughter stoked the flames surrounding them higher. Screams shoved her to the ground, cowering with her hands over her ears while her skin charred and crisped. Her shriek mingled with the cries of the damned.

“Do you not pay attention?” he demanded. “No. Your pathetic mother’s death was never in my hands. But that tiny, flickering flame of hope that burned you to the ground before she died, that was me.

“No one resists hope. No one adapts to its lies. Futile hopes bring me more souls than any torment ever devised. Get up, you stupid mortal. You’re cooking alive. It’s against the rules you believe you know so much about.”

 

            A fetid wind, slimy and cold, oozed across her skin. Shuddering, she climbed to her feet. From the way she gulped for breath, from the shattering weariness dogging her, she might as well have climbed Mount Everest.


As you can see, Satan, in this book, has no issue with being bad. He actively enjoys it. He loves twisting everything he can get his hands on. And there's just something about that unabashed love of being evil that's appealing. Yet there's no danger that Satan would get his own book. He can't. Not the way the rules of the world work in this book. So he truly is a minor character who gets a few bits of stage time, and who cannot graduate to being the star of his own show. At least, not until he's ready to go to war with heaven again. And we all know how that ended last time.