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Letters Snippet

This is another snippet of a Dear Sir, I’m Yours prequel.  I’ll be writing out several scenes over the next few weeks, alternating with more letters, and when the whole thing is done, I’ll package it all together as a pdf on the Free Reads page.  For now, I’m calling this prequel “Letters” since I haven’t come up with another title. I’ll accumulate the links here in reverse chronological order if you need to catch up!

Aside:  the poetry quote opening this section has an interesting little story.  If you read Dear Sir, you’ll learn that “Ozymandias” has special meaning in the story.  As I sat down last night to write this scene, I knew I wanted to open with Conn quoting some poetry, but I didn’t know what it was.  He was unhappy, even angry, and the poem had to speak of some kind of despair.  Not wanting to sit for hours browsing Shelley and Byron — as enjoyable as that would be — I went through a mental check list of all the poems from which he’d already quoted.  I thought, hey, what the heck, let’s start with Ozymandias and see if there’s anything I can use.

Voila.  The piece is absolutely perfect, and in a subtle way, ties back full circle with the main story itself.  I swear, I broke out in goosebumps.  I love it when things I picked seemingly at random months ago suddenly end up having a deeper meaning that I hadn’t anticipated!

Letter One

Snippet One:

“’Round the decay/ Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,/ The lone and level sands stretch far away.’”

The masculine voice froze her in place.  Other students bumped into Rae, knocking her aside, impatient in their rush to purchase their books or line up for a coveted class before it filled, but she couldn’t move. 

That voice…

She turned and saw two men standing outside the dean’s office, obviously professors by their air of respectability, experience, and age.  The man quoting poetry in that incredibly sexy voice couldn’t be more than ten years older than her, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he was a doddering old man with a cane.  His voice would have affected her the same way.

He quoted those lovely, haunting words of poetry in a rough, deep rumble that seemed to vibrate on the air with power.  Her body thrummed in response, rippling with the subtle resonation. 

If that incredible voice wasn’t enough to send her body into overdrive, his dark good looks and rugged face only increased her attraction.  He wore faded, soft denim that hugged his thighs and ass, work boots that had definitely seen the outdoors, and a plain baby blue Oxford shirt.  He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and the sight of his corded forearms made her breath hitch in her throat.  His hands were large, his forearms lined with muscle and sinew as though he was used to hard physical labor.

What on earth had the professor been doing to earn the forearms of a warrior?  She couldn’t help but wonder if his hands would be rough and calloused to match, as powerful and commanding as his voice.

He laughed, but the lines remained on his face, deeply grooving his mouth and between his eyes.  He looked grim and fierce, his eyes as blue as his shirt but steely, as though a thunderstorm roiled inside him.  Staring at him, she ached to earn the right to smooth those grim lines from his face with her lips and tongue.

Heat seared her face and she jerked her gaze away.  She didn’t know this man.  If he was a professor, then he was certainly off limits. 

Her stupid body didn’t care.  Her mouth felt dry, her eyes hot, her muscles tense and eager.  Her instincts demanded that she either flee or rush over and fling herself at his feet, warring back and forth between fierce attraction and downright terror.  If a man could turn her on with his voice alone, what would it be like to kiss him?  To feel those big hands sliding over her skin?  Or better yet, to lie helpless beneath that power, bound for his every whim?

Get a grip, Rae. 

She’d never had pervy thoughts about a professor before, but once her mind wandered into that territory, she couldn’t seem to clear away the idea of the wicked professor tutoring his teacher’s pet.  Or punishing her.

“Enough, Mason,” he retorted in a low voice that made her shudder.  “You have no idea what I need.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest and she couldn’t catch her breath.  Oh, God, but she could all too easily imagine what he might need.  What was wrong with her?  Why would she suddenly have visions of walking up to this man and begging him to allow her to strip off her clothes for him?  She didn’t know anything about him except that voice, and the torturous images he inspired.  She didn’t even know–

“Dr. Connagher, the dean will see you now.”

He disappeared into the dean’s office.  The door shut and Rae felt as though a rubber band inside her had snapped.  She stumbled over to rest her shoulder against the cold concrete wall, closing her eyes and concentrating on breathing.

His friend might not know what he needed, but the darkness in his eyes and the elegant roughness in his voice spoke volumes to her.  As soon as she could walk without wavering like she’d just left a frat party, she headed for the Registrar’s Office.  She could only hope that Dr. Connagher taught something other than Calculus or Physics, because come Monday morning, she was going to be sitting in the front row of his class.

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Summer Reading, Twittering, and iPhone

If you don’t follow me on Twitter, let me sum up (probably in a lot more than 140 characters).  For my birthday, I bought a refurbished iPhone.  I’d been coveting one for a long time, but was too worried about what it’d do to our already extensive cellular bill.  (That Man lives on his cell for work.)  However, after a talk with the nice lady at the AT&T store, she explained that the only change in my bill would be the $30 data plan, and I already had $10 data that would come off.  So for $20 more a month, I could go with the iPhone (assuming we don’t go over our minutes, which we have to watch anyway).

Now, a few weeks later, I can’t imagine life without it.  Last night while That Man dragged us all out to Princess Monster’s karate practice, I sat and read the first draft of Arcana without lugging the laptop into the car, while blocking out the monsters’ incessant bickering because I had my earplugs and tunes playing.

I also bought two great Spice Briefs–The Wicked West by Holly Summers (Victoria Dahl) and Second Time Around by Portia Da Costa–and devoured them, effortlessly, while waiting in the parking lot to pick up the monsters from the first day of summer school.

I can check my e-mail, and yes, I can Twitter so much easier!  I never really “got” Twitter until I had the iPhone.  It’s so much easier to simply type a short update of 140 characters or less and post it, than to pull up the blog and think of something coherent and detailed to say.  Plus, I’ve found so many cool people on Twitter.  I already blogged about how much I enjoyed Portia’s In Too Deep, so of course I’m following her Twitter updates.  She posted about Victoria Dahl’s new Spice Brief, so I picked it up, too, and WHOA, I loved it!

Lily is a submissive who knows exactly what she wants, and she wants her next door neighbor, Sheriff Hale.  Hale, on the other hand, is appalled when the delicate Englishwoman sees the truth that he’s been hiding.  He’s a very reluctant Dom, and Lily is an incredible sub without coming across as being weak or whiny at all.  In fact, she’s the opposite.  She has the power in the relationship, because she knows the truth and she’s isn’t afraid of it.  A fabulous hot read with wonderful characters and story, so check it out!

Speaking of reading, did you notice the Summer Reading Trail over in the sidebar —> below “My Books?”  If you click on it, you’ll be taken to the head of the trail at Viorey Linger’s blog with a whole list of free reads for your summer enjoyment, including my own The Shadowed Blood.  New freebies will be offered throughout the summer, so check back each month.  I plan to finish the Dear Sir, I’m Yours prequel short and offer it next month (but of course it’ll be available here on my Free Reads page as well).

So, what are you reading this summer?  Anything new and exciting that I can throw onto my iPhone?

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Letters

If you’ve been reading here for long, you’ll remember me blogging about “Letters” or “Letters to an English Professor” for a year and more.  You’ll remember that we went through dozens of title possibilities.  We wanted something that said “romance” but also hinted at the core of the story, and when we finally settled on “Dear Sir, I’m Yours” it was like angels singing.  Why didn’t I have that as the title in the first place?  It’s PERFECT.

Since it’s June 1st and Dear Sir, I’m Yours will be released in a few short weeks, Conn and Rae have been on my mind quite a bit.  I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that Rae began writing more letters to her English professor.  I plan to share many of them here over the next few weeks to hopefully whet your appetite for more.

Five years ago, Rae was Dr. Connagher’s student in his senior-level Romantic Period poetry class.  It was a class that she never forgot for many reasons.  In one short semester, he not only managed to instill in her a love of poetry, but also a habit of letter writing.  In our modern age of e-mail, IM, and Twitter — a story in 140 chars? — a formal handwritten letter is a rarity, so it’s no surprise that Conn would treasure each and every one of these letters……if she ever sent them.

Dear Dr. Connagher:

 

You don’t know me.  To be honest, I didn’t know you before today.  I didn’t even know what classes you taught, but I ran down to the Registrar’s Office and enrolled in your only open class anyway.  Thank God you teach English instead of Calculus, but I’m afraid a senior-level poetry class may make as little sense to me.

 

It doesn’t matter.  I have to be in your class.  I want to be in the front row when you begin roll call on Monday.  I want you to know my name, and see me, and maybe, just maybe, you might feel it too.

 

I know this is crazy.  I’m crazy.  You don’t know me at all, and I’m just a student–an accounting student!  But I heard your voice, and I knew.  You weren’t even speaking to me, or I might have done something thoroughly embarrassing.  The thought of speaking to you, with your full attention focused on me, makes my tongue plaster to the roof of my mouth.  My stomach quivers, my hands tremble, and so help me God, every muscle in my body clamps down with longing.

 

I have to be in your class.

 

No, I’ll never send this to you.  I don’t want you to think I’m just another crazy stalker student offering sexual favors for a good grade, or screeching about improper behavior to blackmail you or get you fired.  On the first, I’m not that kind of girl; on the second, I’m ashamed to say that I’d never complain about your improper behavior. 

 

To be perfectly honest, I’d welcome your improper behavior.  Wholeheartedly.

 

I heard your voice, and I knew.  I knew I had to be in your class.

 

I knew I had to be…

 

Yours,

 

~ Rae Jackson

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MayNoWriMo: Day 31

I MADE IT!

Sorry for the screaming, but I’m pretty darned pleased.  If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have been sure I wouldn’t make it.  I just didn’t have any fire left in me.  I was distracted, dismayed, and generally dissastisfied.  But that’s why challenges like this work for me.  I simply can’t stand not meeting that commitment.  If I begin to say to myself that it’s impossible, then I begin to work harder. 

So many times this month I wanted to give up and work on a more fun, exciting, easier, [insert adjective here] project.  I had a bright, shiny new idea that I wanted to tackle.  I had a release, and another in the upcoming month.  I had website pages to update, reviews to hunt down, kids getting out of school….

You name it — I had an excuse for it.  But the challenge kept me on track. 

Almost 10K in two days to finish.  My wrists held up pretty good (although they may be sore tomorrow) — but I’ve been sleeping in my splints all month to be safe.  The story isn’t finished, either, so I guess this craziness continues into June.  However, I sort of wrote myself into a hole today, and I need to decide whether to continue down this path or not.  Lilias learned some key information “too early” for my plot, so now I’ve got to decide what changes, or if it’s feasible to keep her in the dark.  I like having smart characters that act — and not stupid characters that sit around waiting for someone to give them a clue — so I think I’ll be tweaking my stupid outline yet again.  :wink::roll:

 

No rest for the weary!  Anybody up for a JuNoWriMo???

50,368 / 100000
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MayNoWriMo: Day 30

Wow, I never thought I’d be this close!  Today I got an incredible amout of work done, thanks in part to getting up somewhat early while the rest of the family snoozed the morning away.  I had 3,494 words before they got up!  Then I had another late afternoon session while the monsters played on the blow-up water slide (1020 words), and then while watching TV tonight, I chipped away at the scene and wrapped it up, bringing my day’s total up to 5,833 (this does include some words from last night too but I didn’t make an update so I threw them together).

MayNoWriMo total: 46,233.  Only 3767 to go!

46,233 / 100000

I’m too tired to pull up a snippet. Tomorrow is church and laundry, while the monsters are also wanting to go swimming over at Aunt BB and Uncle J’s apartment complex. It would be heavenly if That Man would take them and let me stay home….

Don’t hold your breath.

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The Road to Shanhasson – Review

Soleil of Beyond the Invisible has posted an incredible review of The Road to Shanhasson.  She says:

For a short snippet of what I said about Rose:

“The characters and their world will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Yep. Still haunted.

and

This book literally tore my heart in two when I read it the first time. I had tears streaming down my face. But I love books that make me FEEL as opposed to leaving me lukewarm, so this was the perfect book for me. If you’re hopped up on Romancelandia’s supposed “rules”, this may not be the book for you. Me? I think some rules were meant to be broken and Joely breaks them superbly. I LOVE series books and I love THIS series. “Road” is a great sequel to Rose and has me pining for the third installment, tentatively titled Return to Shanhasson.  But seeing how busy poor Joely is and intends to be, I might have to wait awhile. (*off screen* *SOOOOOOOOOB* CRUEL FATES!!!)

Ok, ok. I’m composed. I can wait.

forliketenseconds.

Haha, not to worry, dear Soleil, but the first draft of Return to Shanhasson is indeed finished and only awaits Revision Hell.  The only problem will be deciding which Revision Hell to tackle first…

Thank you so much, Soleil! 

And yes, Gregar haunts me too.  He always will.

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MayNoWriMo: Day 28

Despite my lack of updates, I have been steadily toiling away on my MayNoWriMo project, Arcana.  50K by 5/31 is looking rather grim, but I’m pleased with what I’ve accomplished so far.  Tonight, I broke 40K and worked through a particularly difficult stretch of “new” material.  I have a murder mystery on my hand, and some surprising developments I hadn’t accounted for.

And yes, I deviated once again from my ridiculously detailed outline, but after 2-3 unplanned sections, I was able to right my course back to the outline and picked up the next planned scene accordingly.  There are some rough patches in this draft, but I’m not going to worry about that now.  That will be Revision Hell Deux!

MayNoWriMo total:  40,400 words

40,400 / 100000

Snippet:  In this section, we’re introduced to the antagonist.  Well, he’s the obvious antagonist.  There are other more arcane players that aren’t fully explained until later, but Aubrey drives the main conflict of the story.  I hope I got the clothing details right. 

This takes place at a small gathering, of which Lilias has this to say:    In the long, illustrious past of Nocturna Castle, there had never been a more tedious party.

“My dear Wilfreda has made quite a conquest.”

“How wonderful, and so early in the Season?  I wasn’t aware that you’d already been to Town.”

“We haven’t departed yet,” the lady preened.  “We shall still go, of course, but Wilfreda is quite taken with the young man, and he’s very suitable; not a grand lord, certainly, but his family name is impeccable and he stands to inherit a barony.”

Lilias made a sound that she hoped to be appropriately impressed.  She caught Violet with an imploring gaze, but her fickle sister launched into another country reel; she’d charge over and blast Mr. Nevarre with her fury, but she wouldn’t dare risk getting caught in Lady Mouls’ long-winded recounts of gossip, not even for a bit of Society news.

“You should know him, at least his name,” Lady Mouls said, jerking Lilias’s gaze back to her.  The smug glint in the older woman’s eyes made her stomach tighten.  “Oh, do forgive any impropriety, but he accompanied us tonight as Wilfreda’s escort.  Where are they…oh, there!”  Lady Mouls waved her hanky at her daughter and cooed.  “Why didn’t you tell me your husband’s family was visiting?”

Lilias’s heart beat ponderously, as though her blood had thickened and congealed to syrup.  Slowly, she turned her head in the direction indicated.

“Mr. Aubrey Slymere, such a handsome man.”  Lady Mouls sighed happily.  “Wilfreda is quite beside herself with joy, I assure you.  He stated that he was your husband’s cousin, so I’m sure you don’t mind that he accompanied us this evening.”

Mr. Slymere possessed the same golden hair, high, classic forehead, and proud hawk’s nose as Lilias’s deceased husband.  In fact, they could have been brothers.  Here, too, was the London dandy that Violet had hoped to meet:  fine double-breasted cutaway coat in sapphire velvet, white waistcoat quilted with sparkling golden thread to match the buttons on his coat, and spotless white breeches and stockings.  With such a high collar and the snowy white cravat twisted in a tall confection at his throat, he surely couldn’t turn his head without risk of injuring himself. 

Sensing the attention, he turned and escorted his companion in their direction.  For all his charm and civility, Lilias felt a blast of cold winter’s ice creeping through her veins.  Grimsgate taught only the darker arcane, and if this man were truly her husband’s cousin, she knew very well what sort of magic he might possess.

Soul darkening, life stealing blood magic.

Mr. Slymere’s mouth curved in the darkly sensual smile of a cat grinning at the frantic bird flopping on the ground with a broken wing, and the castle nexus erupted about her.  Raw energy bubbled up from the earth, molten power at her command.  It filled her without her consciously opening her gift and burned away the dread ice that had threatened to paralyze her. 

Kill him now.

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The Road to Shanhasson: Gregar

Out of the cast of a hundred of so characters in the Shanhasson trilogy, I get the most comments about Gregar, the Shadowed Blood.  I even wrote a prequel short story from his point of view (available here as a free read), and I often joked about The Road to Shanhasson being “Gregar’s Book.”  He’s my Muse; when I think of the “still silent voice” that helps me write, it’s his voice I hear.  Even when I’m writing something different, he touches my writing. 

Let’s just say, he’s been a very, very bad influence on me, in a very good way.

What’s funny is that I created him and the rest of the Shanhasson cast long before I knew anything about “proper” character development.  Which is maybe why he’s so very, very wicked. 

So with small excerpts from The Shadowed Blood (pdf), The Rose of Shanhasson, and The Road to Shanhasson as appropriate for illustration:

Top Ten Reasons Why Gregar Isn’t a Proper Romancelandia Hero

(See explanation of proper at the bottom of this post.)

10. He has a terrible, ribald sense of humor. 

 

“Will you let me claim you here and now?” Rhaekhar asked.

From the heated thickness in his voice, she dreaded asking for an explanation.  “Claim?”

“Gregar, what is the proper word?” 

“Marry, wed, consummate, pleasure, mate, copulate, tup,” the dark-haired warrior replied with a wicked smile of delight.

 

9. Gregar is famous on the Plains for “arse competitions.” 

 

“Since you’re new to the Plains, you might not know that Gregar is actually very famous.” Watching the red-haired young man, she narrowed her gaze, wary of his wide-eyed innocence. “You could always ask them for an arse competition.”

She spluttered. “What?”

Dharman groaned. “That isn’t appropriate for Khul’lanna’s claiming.”

“Why not?” Sal winked at her and whispered conspiratorially. “You must like their arses rather well.”

Face hot, she started walking toward the center of Camp. Dharman still held her upper arm, walking slightly behind her and close enough he would trip over her feet if he wasn’t careful.

The lad with the wretched sense of humor walked alongside her. “Don’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“At the Kae’Khul, he made quite an impression on everyone. Alea still remarks about it sometimes.”

“Only when you’re up to mischief yourself,” Dharman retorted. “Leave Khul’lanna alone, Sal. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about arses, Gregar’s, Khul’s, or yours for that matter.”

“But Alea often mutters that I could give Gregar a hard gallop for his rahke. When I’m older, of course.”

A surge of what Shannari could only call jealousy burned in her stomach at the thought of the tall sun-kissed woman getting an eyeful of Gregar’s ass, delightful or not as it might be. Through his bond, she felt only a smug silence, which actually made her madder. “Tell me about the Kae’Khul. Is that when Rhaekhar became Khul?”

“Oh, aye, it was a glorious event,” Sal replied. “Gregar and Varne were at it as usual …”

“Wait. I thought they were friends, like you and Dharman.”

“Nay, Khul’lanna,” Dharman said. “Friends, true, but there has always been an edge between them. They aren’t friends like Sal and I. We have an understanding.”

“An understanding?”

“What’s mine is his; what’s his is mine. I lead; he follows. There are no questions or doubts between us.”

“Unless it comes to mischief.” Sal leaned in close to whisper. “Then I lead Dharman where he’d hesitate to go.”

“Aye, and have led me into more trouble than I care to admit.” Although grumbling, Dharman smiled at his friend. “I shall lead you to yet greater trouble soon enough.”

“I cannot wait,” Sal breathed, his face softening with something rather like reverence.

“Me, either, my friend. Me either.”

They both looked at her with expectation, hope, and a sort of worshipful awe that embarrassed her. If they knew even half of the darkness that she carried inside … The Lady’s Lake within her resonated with a deep humming echo of power. Uneasy, she changed the subject. “So did Khul compete in this arse competition at the Kae’Khul?”

“Nay, the competition was between Gregar and Varne. It started as a friendly bet, but I believe they came close to formal challenge. I always thought they disagreed over which would lead as nearest Blood to Khul, but now …” Dharman glanced at her, his gaze considering. “Whatever the disagreement, Gregar lightened the argument with a joke, dared Varne to an arse competition—”

“Which he won, of course,” Sal added helpfully.

“Aye, and gained legendary status as a result. I’ve heard he’s even been known to flip up his memsha at kae’don to infuriate his opponents.”

She could absolutely picture it: the dark-haired Blood, laughing and winking as he flipped up the short cloth about his hips. He’d probably shout a few obscenities, too, all to better rile his opponent.

:Kiss my arse works rather well.:

 

8. He used to be a Death Rider, an assassin dedicated to the Great Wind Stallion.

  

She pointed her sword at Gregar.  “Back off.”

The Blood took a step closer, pressing the sword tip into his body.  Her jaw tightened with determination and she pushed a little harder, puncturing his chest.  Smiling with anticipation, Gregar pushed back.  A little closer, a little more steel pressing into his body.

She shifted her grip on the hilt, fully prepared to skewer him.  A coldness settled on her features that told Rhaekhar she’d killed before and often.  Very impressive.  He liked a hint of danger in a woman. 

Evidently, so did Gregar.  “Go ahead,” he taunted, his low voice echoing with amusement and his trademark wickedness.  Shannari shivered and her eyes widened.  “Run me through.  I shall greatly enjoy it.”

Her gaze flickered to the smaller wound she dealt to Rhaekhar’s neck earlier.  “Are you all crazy?”

“Gregar is… special.  He used to be a Death Rider.”  At the blank look on her face, Rhaekhar added, “An assassin.  Death Riders delight in sacrificing blood to the Great Wind Stallion.  Blood sacrifice is a very great honor among us.”

She jerked her sword away.  Gregar wiped his hand across his chest and licked the blood from his fingers.  “Would you like a taste?”

 

7. As a Death Rider, he can wrap himself in Shadows and disappear, lying in wait until his mark comes close enough to sacrifice. 

She stared at the feathered arrow sticking out of her shoulder. How could she have forgotten the archer? She fell to her knees and used the tall grass to shield herself, but it might not be enough.

“Khul’lanna!” Gregar roared with fury that another had hurt her. Only the Shadowed Blood was allowed that privilege. Shadow swallowed him, engulfing him whole, and Death came like a killing frost up the hill toward her.

 

 

6. He’s arguably one of the best rahke fighters on the Plains and is never without his ivory knife that he earned as a Death Rider.  Just don’t ask what the “ivory” hilt is made out of if you don’t really want to know.

“This one is Gregar, my shadowed Blood who used to be a Death Rider.”

So cold.  She opened her mouth to ask where he was, her teeth chattering harder.  A blade touched her neck and she froze.  Blessed Lady, the Blood was close enough to hold a knife to her throat while she sat here, oblivious until he touched her with steel.  As always when threatened from her blind spot, terror screamed through her body.  Muscles bunched, her fingers locking on the hilt, her heart thundering in her ribcage.  Her fear only intensified the sense of bone-chilling cold rolling off the Blood. 

Varne removed his hand from hers and stood at Rhaekhar’s side protectively.  Automatically, she started to draw the sword.  Helpless with a knife at her throat, she couldn’t just sit here and—

The wickedly sharp blade lifted her chin higher and the sudden press of bare flesh against her back scalded her.  The Blood whispered against her ear.  “Shall I draw a bit more of your sweet blood for Khul?”

 

#

 

Gregar hovered against her back, barely visible in thick, black shadows.  As a Death Rider, he could wrap the cold Shadow of Death about himself and disappear.  He could slit Shannari’s throat before she even knew he was there, and the knowledge shook her to the core.  Silently, Rhaekhar waited for her to look to him for assistance.

The Blood whispered something to her too low for him to hear.  Her jaw clenched and she stiffened, her fingers tight on the sword’s hilt.  Shadows draped across her shoulders, darkening her face.

Rhaekhar felt a sudden and irrational urge to drag her away from the Blood.  In his heart he knew the Blood would never hurt her, but he couldn’t ease the trepidation.  The shadows wanted to suck her down and drown her in a sea of blood and agony. 

Gregar raised his head, his dark eyes glittering like black ice in the shadows.  At his familiar smirk, Rhaekhar loosened the tension straining his shoulders. 

“Or perhaps I shall draw Khul’s blood for you.”

Her gaze leaped to Rhaekhar’s face, her eyes wide with fear and reluctant desire.  The surge of hunger through their na’lanna bond at the thought of tasting his blood very nearly sent him plunging over the cliff into raging, uncontrollable lust.  Why did she fear his disgust when he would like nothing better than to give his blood to her?

“Leave us,” he ordered, his voice thick and heavy to his own ears. 

Gregar drew his rahke up her neck, trailing the blade across her cheek in an odd, dangerous caress, but he stood and backed away.

 

5. Before Gregar became Blood, he very nearly assassinated the main hero of the Shanhasson trilogy.

Rhaekhar dropped his voice to a fervent whisper.  “The Rose will be mine, a love like no other.”

Those words rocked Gregar to his heels and the Shadowed Call thundered louder.

Kill him, kill him, KILL HIM!

This warrior would be Khul, any Death Rider’s greatest mark.  Nay, the woman, his woman, would be Khul’lanna, his greatest mark, his most secret heart’s desire, and Rhaekhar would take her as his own.

Gregar held himself very still, but inside, his heart raged, his stomach rebelled, and his very blood boiled in his veins in denial.  The ivory rahke came into his hand eagerly, hungry for this warrior’s blood.

 

4. He knows he’s going to die, and soon.  Surely that makes him poor romance hero material, right?

“While I live, no one will touch you with steel or blade again.  As long as you let me stay close, at your back, like this.”

“I can’t love again.”

“You already do.”

Gregar spoke so matter-of-factly, so calmly, while she wanted to hack and slash all about her with a sword.  “Even if I do, I can’t stay.  I know my destiny, Gregar.  I must return to the Green Lands.”

“Eventually.”  He rubbed his cheek against hers and then released her.  “I know my destiny, too, and Khul’s.  Your priest is not the only one who has premonitions.  I’ve seen the day of my death.  I’ve seen the years of happiness it will buy you with Khul.  And it’s worth the sacrifice.”

 

3. He loves Shannari, but she’s also his greatest mark as a Death Rider.  e.g. the temptation to kill her rides him hard.

 

Midnight eyes pooled with tears, she lay beneath him, trembling as his life’s blood poured out on her skin.  She had not come easily to his embrace.  She never did.  Fighting for her life, she’d enjoyed wounding him as much as he’d relished her pain.

 She fed his darkness like no other. 

“I love you.”

“Aye,” he whispered, smoothing his thumb over the pulse thumping frantically in her throat.  “My heart is yours, na’lanna.” 

My beloved.

And he buried the ivory rahke in her heart.

 

2. Pain and blood only turn him on.  

Shannari took a long, shuddering breath.  Her eyes flew open.  And with a low, vicious cry, she buried the rahke in Gregar’s chest. 

The dark-haired Blood with the wicked smile fell forward slowly, the knife in his chest still in her hand.  Horrified, Shannari tried to pull back, but his hands gripped hers in a vise, pressing the blade deeper.

He fell on her, staring into her eyes.  No surprise, no reprisals, no pain.  His gaze was heavy lidded, smoldering with desire, pleasure, raw hunger, death.  Blood gushed from the wound, searing her skin.

“Thank you,” Gregar whispered, his voice thick.  “You honor me.”

 

1. He has no limits. 

Her voice flat and cold, she admitted the atrocity of her Dream. “I let you hurt me, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed hurting Khul by letting you hurt me. And then I killed you.”

“Shadow lies to you again, Shannari.” Gregar unsheathed the ivory rahke and laid it on the tent floor before him. “I’m tainted with Shadow, this we all know. However, my heart’s desire is not to die in your embrace.” He forced the words from his throat, and ice fisted Rhaekhar’s heart with each word. “My most secret heart’s desire is for you to die in my embrace. It’s what I dreamed for years before I became Blood. I killed you a thousand times before I ever knew your name.”

“You would enjoy hurting me,” she whispered, a question not an accusation. “You would enjoy killing me.”

“I have no limits,” Gregar replied, his voice cracking with strain. “I warned you, and I warned Khul. That’s why I refuse to participate in your claiming and why I didn’t push for you to admit your love for me. Aye, I would hurt you and enjoy it. I would kill you and enjoy it, even while I raged at myself for ending your life. I love you too much to risk you.”

 

Despite knowing he’ll die, that he will kill her if given half a chance, Shannari still loves him.  And yeah, so do I.

And here’s the explanation about why Gregar always puts special emphasis on proper.

“Are you up for a kae’rahke this night, Gregar?”

The two warriors rode ahead, leaving Shannari staring after them with dread pounding in her veins. A kae’rahke? Challenge? Sometimes they fought to the death.

“Aye, I’m up for many things, Khul.”

Rhaekhar laughed, a dark masculine sound of arrogance that made her grind her teeth together. “I bet you are. Good. I’ll declare you co-mate before the claiming. What do you want for terms?”

Groaning, Shannari tried to think of a way to distract them. Short of ripping her armor and clothes off, she didn’t think much would distract them from their goal of blood.

Gregar winked at her. “I would certainly enjoy another kiss. This time, I want a proper kiss.”

“Oh, aye,” Rhaekhar replied, giving her a smoldering look over his shoulder. “Do you want her tongue in your mouth, or yours in hers?”

“Preferably both.”

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Reviewers, Readers with Blogs

I’m looking for reviewers for The Road to Shanhasson.  It’s proving slightly more difficult than usual because this is book two of a trilogy, and Road will ONLY make sense if you’ve read Rose too.  I can’t send it blindly to the normal romance review sites if I can’t guarantee the same reviewer will be assigned.  And, well, Road isn’t exactly standard Romancelandia fare, with violence, extreme sexual situations, and some really really bad villains.  

Then there’s Gregar, the sadomasochist assassin.

So if you have a blog or website, you’d like to read some smoking hot romantic fantasy, and you’re not grossed out by violence and blood, please drop me a line or comment here and I will contact you. 

A few of you have already read Road, so if you’re so kind as to blog about it, let me know so I can link to you.  (Let me know if it’s okay for me to pull an excerpt from your post to advertise both here and at Drollerie Press.) 

The first two chapters of Road are now posted if you’d like to take a gander first.

Thank you!