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Friday Snippet: Golden

In honor of Golden’s release this week from Carina Press, I thought I’d share a little “behind the scenes” from the writing/editing perspective. 

Even after a book is accepted for publication, there may still be some difficult edits requested by your editor.  In Golden’s case, Alissa suggested that I think about adding something before the first intimate encounter between the Emperor and Jin.  What I had written was a little too abrupt.  There needed to be a little more seduction before the “big event.”

Seems like a simple request…but in reality, it was pretty difficult.  Once I have a story in my head, playing like a movie from beginning to end, it’s extremely difficult to change that timeline.  It’s not as easy as adding a quick scene — I have to know WHY that scene is important.  How does it tie into the main story arc? 

Worse, you know the whole chaos theory effect:  a butterfly flaps its wings in chapter one and a hurricane sweeps through the book and changes the ending entirely.

I didn’t want that to happen — although filtering changes all the way through are necessary in my opinion if the addition is done correctly.  It’s not just a “stick this in here” and go on your merry way sort of change.

What helped me get through this addition was thinking about a DVD extras segment.  What scene could have ended up on the cutting room floor that might have fit into this timeline?  Was there any element that came up later — that I could give some backstory for?  Of course, it had to be more important than backstory.  It had to beat the cutting room floor by becoming MORE meaningful, but that at least got me thinking about things I could add.

Finally, this element seemed to have possibilities:  the Emperor’s golden robe.  It’s mentioned much later in the story and becomes an important symbol of his acceptance.  How much better could I make that symbol if I expanded the background of that golden silk?

This was the outcome.  It also makes the later scenes involving the robe much more significant!  A win all around.

Since I’d last been called to the Emperor’s chambers, I had stitched day and night until my bleeding fingers threatened to ruin the golden silk of his robe. The few times I had left my rooms, I’d worn my hair loose as he’d commanded on the chance that he might take note of my eager obedience. From the strange looks and whispers I’d earned, I might as well have walked down the glittering hallways in no clothes at all.

I don’t care. Let them see me naked, bleeding, as long as it’s for him.

Laboring over his robe until dragons adorned every inch was a small price to pay for his attention. I’d walk across burning coals just to keep that gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Kneeling before him, I laid the neatly folded robe between us. “My punishment, Your Majesty.”

He unfolded the silk, spreading the robe out upon his lap with a low sound of approval. “Did you stitch this all yourself? In so few days?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He traced his fingers along the sinuous creatures I’d created. I’d lost count of the dozens of reels of golden thread I’d added to the robe, doubling its weight. The Empress cluttered her embroidery with gems and beads, but my design relied on only tiny, intricate stitches.

“You may not care for such embroidery, Daughter, but your work is exemplary. This robe is as fine as any I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing.”

Pride warmed my heart, even though I disliked being relegated back to Daughter. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He startled me by reaching out to take my hand in his. “Did you sleep at all since last week?”

Flushing, I bowed my head and hoped my hair hid the shadows beneath my eyes. I had slept very little these past days, but not merely because I was determined to finish the stitching before we met again. My mind had been too busy planning how to tempt him deeper into the darkness that threatened to consume me.

His thumb pressed against the pad of my finger still sore from the needle. Through my touseled hair, I watched his face and let a small moan escape.

His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and he pressed harder, his grip tight on my hand.

Pain had a curious effect on me. Most people would have jerked back in an involuntary effort to escape that which hurt them. For me, even a small pain such as this pressure on my raw fingers made me melt. My bones seemed to dissolve. My skin came alive at the promise tightening his mouth into a hard slant and the coldness darkening his eyes.

“Well?” His voice remained soft while his fingers tortured my hand, pressing here and there to find every tender spot. “I didn’t intend for you to lose sleep for this punishment.”

I swallowed down another moan. “What is sleep when you set me to a task, Your Majesty?”

His thumb ground into the heel of my hand where the wooden hoop had worn a groove into my skin.  “I suppose you didn’t eat then, either.”

I bit my lip, fighting to keep my arousal at bay. My thighs trembled beneath me and sweat trickled between my breasts. It’d been so long since I’d been given sensual pain. So very long. My husband had never touched me tenderly or with great passion, let alone this slow exploration of agonized flesh. Did the Emperor know what effect his touch had upon me?

“Here, eat, Daughter.”  He held a small cake to my lips, insisting I take a bite. My mouth was so dry that I choked on the delicate crumbs. I tried to refuse, horrified that he served me with his own hand, but his grip kept me still. His thumb stroked circles against my palm, an intimate touch that made me pant with longing. “You mustn’t neglect your health. What if you carry our heir?”

“The Crown Prince hasn’t touched me in months. That would be impossible, Your Majesty.”

His upper lip curled as though he’d tasted something vile. Reminded of our untenable situation, he released me as quickly as if I burned his skin. “When I became Emperor, I swore to protect my people with everything I possess. How could I do less for my family, which I love above all? I give you my solemn oath, Daughter, that no harm shall come to you from my hand.”

My heart broke at that look of repugnance. Of all people, I’d thought he would most understand what I needed. What he reviled in himself, he would surely despise in me, as well.

Worse, a solemn oath was a serious obstacle to overcome. No man who’d broken his word would see himself as fit to be the Son of Heaven.

“I am already harmed, Your Majesty.” My voice trembled as badly as my hands clasped in my lap. “I’m cursed with a terrible need, and the longer this need goes unanswered, the more I hurt.”

“It’s your husband’s duty to care for you.”

Even before he finished the sentence, I shook my head so hard my hair whipped my cheeks. “He doesn’t even understand that this need can exist, let alone that I bear it. I need to be punished. I need outer pain to take away my inner pain. Only you—”

“Your punishment has been fulfilled,” he broke in before I could finish. “Your workmanship is exquisite. I require nothing else from you.”

I bowed lower, hiding my face with shame. Tears wet my hair and cheeks. How could I face the monotony of palace life without even these weekly visits to brighten my dreary existence? Day after day dressing in my finest silk and painting my face, only to sit in my chambers alone while my husband ignored me and the man I yearned for with every fiber of my being denied my existence?

In a voice I scarcely recognized as my own, I whispered, “Heaven endures, the earth comes to its end, while my unending sorrow goes on and on forever.”

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Revision Xibalba

No Friday Snippet or zombies this week — I’ve been deep in Revision Xibalba, otherwise known as Revision Hell.

Okay, not hell, not really.  Because it’s not been as bad as I feared, not at all.  Of course I’m just now getting to the last 26 pages where I think I need the most work, but the rest was pretty good. 

I don’t want to jinx myself but I really love this story.  There are parts that I have no memory of writing, and I’m shocked, surprised, and thrilled that I wrote it, because it’s so good.  Then I think, wait a minute, I’m not supposed to think that.  Am I?

But it is.  There’s just something sparkling and intense about these characters.  Maybe it’s the first person narrative.  Maybe it’s Tecun Uman the great national hero himself.  But the way this story came together is magical. 

And the humor.  *chuckles*  It’s not blatant slapstick sort of humor, but there are several nods to some of my favorite things, including a joke at my expense.  Remember some of The Bloodgate Guardian discussions I had with Alissa about Ruin?

Ruin?  Honestly, that was the jaguar guy’s name?  I looked up at Tecun’s face, but he didn’t seem perturbed by such a strange name.  I suppose that was easier to pronounce than Itzpapalotl.

“Or Kukulkan,” he whispered silently in my head.  “One of his true names is Xbalanque.

Okay, then, Ruin it was.

 
(Yes, both Ruin and Jaid make a brief appearance as the Gatekeepers of Chi’Ch’ul.)

Natalie (the heroine’s best friend) came out way more interesting than I expected too. So interesting that I can’t leave her hanging like I am in this first draft. Fixing her story thread will be one of the harder threads I need to resolve in these last few pages, but very important.  She deserves better than what I originally gave her.

And the sex.  *wipes brow*  Whew.  I joked to Raelyn the other day that one scene just went on and on and eventually I’d gotten tired in the first draft and simply left the scene because I didn’t know if they were ever going to finish.

Much different than The Bloodgate Guardian, I know.  Ruin and Jaid just weren’t going to get together any quicker, no matter how much I wanted them to.  They had a completely different story to tell.  However, Cassie and Tecun were burning up the page before I even started the first draft.  The Maya elements and research are still there, but whoa is this a sexy story!

Now, I’ve reached the pyramid scene, the culmination of everything that’s happened between Cassie and Tecun up to this point.  This is the scene that generated the ENTIRE story.  Everything came from the sacrifice at the top of El Castillo.

Um, literally.  *winks*

Let’s hope I can pull it off.

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Friday Snippet: Zombie Category Romance!

[Note: I have a new website header, this one created by Jaxadora Design! The other one is still there – just hit refresh or go to another page.  The headers will cycle randomly and yes, MORE are coming!]

I haven’t shared a Friday Snippet in a long time.  Since I’m on a roll with my new project, the Zombie Category Romance (ZCR), I thought I’d share a little of it with you.  I hope you find it as fun as I do!

(First draft, subject to heavy revision later)

Yiorgos Michelopoulos strode into the steamy kitchen of his most recently acquired restaurant and everyone began disappearing.  Wait staff scurried out the swinging doors, presumably to attend to Remy’s guests, but since the dining room was empty—and had been every night for months—they had no cause for haste.

Other than escape. 

The sous-chef backed away, finding a hiding place in the large refrigerator.  Yiorgos hoped the man froze to death.

The only employees brave enough to remain in his presence were Paul, the acclaimed executive chef he’d sent here two weeks ago to turn things around, and Dmitri, the manager of the restaurant and one of his closest friends.  Dmitri had left his prestigious job at a premiere New York hotel and moved his wife and kids to Missouri in order to help him.

Despite its remote location, Remy’s was proving to be the most formidable nightmare they’d ever faced.

Without saying a word to either of them, Yiorgos picked up a spoon and sampled the sauce bubbling on the immaculate stove.  The rich béchamel curdled on his tongue like spoiled cream.  Furious, he threw the spoon into the stainless steel sink.  “Disgusting.”

“I know.”  Paul moaned, wringing his hands in his stained apron.  “I don’t understand it, Mr. Michelopoulos.  I cook my most treasured dishes and everything turns out bad, very bad.  This whole place is cursed.”

Grimly, Yiorgos twisted the signet ring digging into the pinky finger on his right hand.  The restaurant isn’t the only thing cursed.

If only he hadn’t put the ring on his finger.  He’d forgotten the damned thing even existed after winning it from Emile Remy nearly two years ago, along with his restaurant he’d stubbornly refused to sell.  Yiorgos had possessed everything he could possibly want, including the five-star status he and Remy had battled over for years.  When his luxury hotel casino in Kansas City had won again last year, he’d put the ring on for spite, to celebrate his ultimate victory.

Which had triggered a curse the likes of which he’d never known possible.

“We have to shut it down.” 

Dmitri’s words made him whirl around with a snarl twisting his face.  “I’ve never closed a restaurant in my entire life, let alone this…this…” 

Frustrated, he waved his hand at the small kitchen.  On the surface, Remy’s wasn’t worth his time and effort.  Even at full capacity, the dining room would barely seat one hundred guests.  At the height of its success, the restaurant had been lucky to pull in a few grand a night.  A drop in the bucket to a man with enough money to buy every restaurant in this entire one-horse Midwestern town.

Yet for nearly a decade, Remy’s had claimed exclusive five-star status, despite Yiorgos’s efforts to wrest the prize for his own hotel’s restaurant.  Only after he’d put on this accursed ring had Yiorgos learned the secret to Remy’s seemingly impossible success.

Now Yiorgos owned hundreds of hotels and restaurants across the globe, yet he couldn’t keep one lousy ma-and-pa diner open.  Fury made him grate his teeth.  Barely holding his curses in check, he stalked into the manager’s office. 

Dmitri followed him and quietly shut the door.  “How are you holding up?”

In the privacy of the small office, Yiorgos allowed his shoulders to slump.  Weary of hiding and worrying and plotting to save his life and this pitiful restaurant, he ran a hand through his hair.  “Nothing’s fallen off yet, if that’s what you mean.”

His friend blanched, which made a small twinge of regret tighten his chest.

“It’s that bad?”  Dmitri asked in a choked voice.

Without turning completely around to face his friend, Yiorgos slipped the signet ring off his pinky.  He looked back over his shoulder, allowing Dmitri to see the decay eating away his face.  It might only be an illusion, a spell the late Emile Remy had managed to throw upon him before the man lost everything, but without the ring, he would soon look like a walking corpse.

“Dear God.  What are you going to do?”

Slipping the ring back on, Yiorgos allowed a small smile to curve his lips, but neither his face nor his resolved softened.  “The Wizard Council claims only someone of Remy’s blood can lift the curse.  Since he’s dead, the only person left of use to me is his daughter.”

“Wizard Council.”  Dmitri let out an uneasy laugh.  “I never knew such a thing existed.  If you hadn’t shown me what happens when you take the ring off, then I never would have believed you.  Do you think Remy’s daughter can help you?”

“She will.” Yiorgos promised in the silky menace voice he used for the hardest negotiations.  “Regardless of what I must do to learn the witch’s secrets, she can and will help me.”

 

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Writers Page

Tonight, I added a new page to the site and adjusted the menu a bit to reorganize.  If you’re looking for the various templates, worksheets, etc. that I’ve used over the years, they can now all be found on the Writers page! 

Note:  this includes the new Mind Mapping templates that I created the other day as I was plotting the ZCR.

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Writing When You Can’t Write

Since last Friday, I’ve had very little brain power.  The doctors said my O2 levels were decreased but good — otherwise they would have definitely hospitalized me this week.  I don’t know if it was simply the fever burning out my brain cells or if my body instinctively knew it needed to conserve itself, but I just haven’t been able to THINK.

No Big Fish Games.  No reading and very little hand crafts because my eyes hurt too much from the fever.  I tried to make some crocheted slippers for my SIL’s sister, and I’m ashamed to say how many pairs I had to make before I finally got a set that I thought would fit her.  (The fourth pair fit.)

I didn’t even try to open my laptop for days.  I knew it was useless.

So how does one occupy the mind of a writer for an entire week when actual WRITING is out of the question?

When I was sick, I obviously didn’t even try.  But as I started to recover these past two days, I’ve felt the beginning of the desire to work again.  It’s still too early — just as it’s too early for my stomach to handle coffee again (I’ve tried twice but it just hasn’t tasted right yet).  I wanted to come up with another series to begin building after the current slate of work is done.  This kind of work is fun and engrossing, a danger when I’m trying to draft new words (because it’s distracting), but ideal for when I don’t feel like I can string words together in a coherent manner.

I pulled out a brand new colorful notebook that made me feel good and just started writing down words I like.  Just a word association game.  In the back of my mind, I knew the basic genre I wanted to shoot for.  My goal is to write something that further cements my ongoing brand that I’m working harder to build.

That led me to some interesting elements I hadn’t thought of yet.  While I was pulling together information for my website header — mostly links to images that inspired me in some way — I found that I really enjoy Venetian carnival masks.  Hmmm.  How can I use them?  What would that mean?

I’m finally able to do a little online reading without my eyes complaining too much, so I allowed just a bit of research.  Mostly, though, I just jotted loose ideas on paper.  I don’t have much of anything but the itch in the back of my brain that swears the idea is just beneath the surface, almost ready for me to chisel out into an intriguing book.

I hope.  😉

Soon I ought to be able to string words together again, but in the meantime, this has been a fun exercise I usually don’t allow myself to dwell on too long because I’m too busy.

What do you do when you can’t write?

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Ritual Ink

I responded a bit on Twitter but I thought I’d post here too.  Christine was intrigued by the title of the short story I’m working on, “Ritual Ink.”  The idea came from an interesting/weird place…

The monsters love Wizards of Waverly Place on the Disney channel, and I have to admit, out of all the goofy shows they sometimes watch, Wizards is one of the least annoying.  If you’re not familiar with the show, Alex is the middle child and is always getting into trouble, breaking the rules, etc. (Gee, who does that sound like?)  She’s abrasive at times and doesn’t hesitate to tell it like it is.  As a result, her only “true” friend over the years has been Harper, a goofball character with a terrible sense of fashion but a heart of gold.

At some point, Harper comes to live with them, and is sort of the daughter the Russos never had — because Alex isn’t girly or sweet in any way.  Alex has no problem lying, even to her best friend.  I forget how the episode unfolds, but Alex decides to be a cheerleader with Harper, but the only way she can swallow down that much girly silliness is with a spell.  This one has to be painted on her skin.

With the spell, she’s actually…likeable.  She has friends, she’s popular, her parents are amazed.  Of course hijinks ensue and eventually the spell washes off, bringing back the abrasive but fun liar.

The episode is supposed to be funny, but I was left saddened by it.  Just think how it would feel if you could only be likable if you had a spell put on your skin.  If that was the only thing holding back your darker side.  That image has haunted me awhile but I couldn’t figure out the story around it.

Until Ritual Ink.

The general premise is a heroine carrying something very dark, even evil, inside her.  The only things holding that creature at bay are the ritual spells permanently stamped into her flesh as tattoos.  As the years go by, she has to get another and another, chains on the creature trying to break free.  Not just anyone knows the secret of these tattoos, though.  It’s not like she can just go down the street and have a regular artist do it, no matter how talented he might be.  No, it takes a very special warrior monk with the right magic and skill for this ritual.

Too bad he’s supposed to be celibate.

*winks* 

You do know me better than that, right? 

:lol:

This short story is planned for the All Romance E-Books Just One Bite PNR short story contest.  If it doesn’t get picked as a finalist (or goes too long, which is a distinct possibility), I’ll give it away here on the blog as a free read.

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June Update with July Goals

Not a stellar month but not bad either.  I even managed D&E every day this week so far, even though I’m only getting 5-6 hours of sleep a night.

  • Finished the first draft of The Bloodgate Warrior.
  • Firmed up the plot of Phantom.
  • Started Phantom, got about 3K so far this week.  Not NaNoWriMo pace but I’ll take it!
  • Wrote up several guest blogs (forgot how many!)
  • Celebrated the release of Return to Shanhasson!
  • Lost 6 pounds
  • Walked 13 miles.

In July, I’m shooting for the following:

  • First pass revision for The Bloodgate Warrior, with initial read thru and notes this holiday weekend.
  • Keep moving on Phantom with about 500 words a day.  I’d like to finish the first draft this month but the list is long.  I’ll be happy with August.
  • Make initial edit pass for Vicki with Editor Tera’s notes.
  • Write at least 3 more scheduled guest blog posts.
  • Write a short story that’s percolating, tentatively “Ritual Ink”.  Guessing about 3K.
  • Keep planning promo for Golden and print Victor in September. 
  • Walk 15 miles.
  • Start Tony Horton’s Power 90 strength portion only, shooting for 3x a week —> 12 workouts.  If I survive, I’ll add the cardio portion in August!
  • Participate in Romance Biggest Winner.
  • Keep losing weight – but I’m not going to say a number because it’s totally out of my control.  That’s like saying, “Get an agent this year.”  I can query x agents every month…but I can’t make one say yes.  I’ll work my plan and exercise — I’ll get to goal eventually.  I’m averaging about 1 pound a week right now, so if I lose 4-5 pounds, I’ll be happy.
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More Plotting Fun

As promised, here’s a little more detail about the plotting wall I did for Phantom.  I made it D&E this morning, despite not getting to sleep until after 11 PM again.  Sigh.  Please don’t ask how many cups of coffee I drank today!  Only 700+ words but openings are hard, and I completed the first scene.  It’s rough but down.  Moving on.

Okay, so this is a close up of the first three sections I plan to work on: 

The yellow stickies just have the information I need to figure out. Blue is the hero, Erik. Pink is the heroine, Christel.  The opening scene sticky doesn’t really give the details of what I wrote this morning — that’s actually on the back.  *wg*  But it was important that I set the scene correctly.  Atmosphere is so important, and I’m definitely going to need to revise what I have so far.

To compare and contrast, you might find it interesting to see what the outline looks like.  I’ve never written an outline before, not exactly.  This more resembles “the Block” I used to do but got away from because it was too involved and technical for me personally.  This is the opening section only.

Act 1

1.1       Opening Image:  In the Tunnels (Erik)

Set the mood:  dark, creepy.  Main character (Erik) is hiding, spying on Rafe.  Rafe always takes the same route each day to his car in the parking garage.  Today, Erik is eavesdropping on what seems to be an important and extremely frustrating and possibly dangerous conversation that Rafe is having with an unknown person.  “I’m working on it.  I’ll get the money somehow.  The sale will be final…”  [Meaning the sale of the family estate, but Erik doesn’t know that – he believes it to be an arms deal]

Erik has been texting Gerri “tips” from the “Phantom.”  He receives an incoming text:  I’m calling in reinforcements.  My daughter will get to the bottom of this once and for all.

Emotions:  Slow burning fury to glee that Christel is coming.  He’ll use her to defeat his enemy once and for all.

Conflict:  Erik wants to prove Rafe’s guilt and punish him severely for killing his family.  Rafe seems to have everyone fooled about what a great guy he is.

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Plotting: An Evolving Process

Since I had the day off from the Evil Day Job yesterday, I set a goal of finishing the plot for Phantom.  I’ve been struggling with it, so I decided to try a new approach.  My friend Jenna Reynolds had recommended Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat months if not years ago, and I finally got around to reading it.  A lot of it really resonated with me.  I thought, hey, what do I have to lose?  I’ve got to figure out what’s wrong with this story.

The story in question:  Phantom.  It has a great premise.  I know it fits my brand.  I’m excited about it.  Yet something… just wasn’t right.  I couldn’t get started.  I “knew”  (I’m putting that in quotes because I obviously didn’t) the plot – it was all in my head.  (Not always a good sign)  Yet instead of unfolding in my mind like a movie, it kept skipping around, jolting here and there.  Painfully.

So I used some paper and jotted (while driving to my dad’s this weekend) out what I thought the beats might be using Blake’s charts.  It still wasn’t working.  The plot was as flat as the paper.  I decided I was going to have to get serious and do something I haven’t done since The Bloodgate Guardian.

Put the plot on the wall.

I bought some sticky notes while I was at Wal-Mart.  First, I laid out the beats using simple yellow (picture).   This is different than how I envisioned structure in the past.  I’m not used to a horizontal row for each act.  The last yellow sticky on each row is a major turning point (I drew an arrow in the upper RH corner than you can’t really make out).  That’s all I got done, unfortunately, because I had to leave for my hair appointment.  When I got back, I started laying out the major plot scenes I’d come up with between my original spreadsheets and my jotted beat notes. 

I quickly realized that my OPENING IMAGE wasn’t right.  I’d started in the wrong place.  The scene I had thought to open with was good (and I’m still using it) — but it didn’t set the tone and mood.  It didn’t mirror the ending.  I quickly realized I needed an entirely new scene.

Suddenly, finally, I found that the story was rolling in my mind.  *whew*

This is the plot wall after another 2.5 hours of work (picture).  The pink is my heroine, the blue is my hero, the yellow is the main beats.  Voila.  The story laid out perfectly.

Later last night after dinner, I typed up an outline (not a synopsis, not yet) and added the emotion changes and conflict information that Blake talks about.  I’ve never thought of my sections quite that way and it was a very useful exercise.  It feels sooooo good.  I’ve got my theme crystal clear in my mind.  My characters all have static traits.  A central image reflects the theme and is used over and over subtly to support the theme.  I don’t want to jinx myself and say more, but I’m very excited to start this story.

Excited enough to get up at 5 AM to work on it.

Let the Dark & Early summer phase commence!   I just pray my wrists hold up.  After 3K of outline last night, they’re pretty sore. 

[I actually wrote this post last night and scheduled it.  If my morning session goes well, I’ll write a new post with a close up of some of the sticky notes so you can actually see what some of them say!]

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Return to Shanhasson – Spicy Excerpt

 

Return to Shanhasson, book 3 of The Shanhasson Trilogy, a Blood and Shadows book available at Drollerie Press.  For more of my free reads, check out this page.

“I thought your Green Land baths very strange after our steamtents, but I enjoy a long soak, especially when you’re at my side.”

She stirred and stretched her arms over her head, arching her back in blatant invitation. “Why don’t you lie down on the edge and let me begin my massage?”

Eyes heavy lidded, he ran his gaze down her body, but he complied, his mighty arms levering his big body out of the water. “I thought you wanted to give me such a bath that I would lose control.”

“I am. On your stomach, please.”

Laughing, he stretched out as she wished, carefully shifting his weight so he didn’t lie completely flat on his belly. “I can’t fully comply for obvious reasons.”

“Well, let’s see what I can do about that,” she purred.

Dunking her head beneath the water, she surged up out of the pool and straddled his lower back.

Na’lanna.” His voice was rather strained. “I don’t believe this is a very good starting position. One of us is backwards and it is not you.”

“Patience, my heart. I want to give you a massage first.”

“I don’t want a massage.” Heat rumbled through his voice that had nothing to do with anger. “I want you. Preferably this very moment.”

Selecting the smoky amber vial, she popped off the cork and sniffed it carefully. Exotic scents washed over her: roasted sticks nearly burnt, dark, sultry sandalwood, and beneath, a feral musk that she couldn’t identify.

According to Benton, the desert dwellers of Keldar threw sticks and seeds onto a stone, let the natural heat of the sun roast them, and then they tossed the burnt spices into both their tea and oil. Since their drink of choice was called “Fire Tea,” the oil had captured her imagination, for obvious reasons.

She poured a small amount into her hands and rubbed it into her skin, testing it on herself. The oil heated immediately, releasing a mouth-watering aroma of exotic sandalwood. Whether the oil heated her skin or her skin heated the oil, she didn’t know, but the spreading fire was unmistakable. It didn’t hurt, though, so she smoothed her palms from the small of Rhaekhar’s back up the slabs of muscle to his shoulders. Kneading her way across his shoulders, she said nothing, waiting to see his reaction.

“Great Vulkar, woman, what is that?”

“Fire Oil,” she replied innocently. She didn’t know what the Keldari called it. “Doesn’t it smell delicious?”

“Forget how it smells.” He sucked in his breath and shifted beneath her, his back humping like a horse getting ready to buck her off. “No wonder it’s called Fire Oil; my flesh is on fire.”

“You don’t like it?”

He shuddered, his big hands fisted in the soft mat. “If I were inside you, I’d like it much better.”

Stretching out on top of him, she rubbed her breasts against his back, spreading the oil into her skin. Deliberately, she moaned, tormenting him with her own sounds of desire. It did feel like fire spread across her skin. The scent burrowed deeper in her body, twisting and stirring her hunger. She gripped his shoulder in her jaws and slowly sank her teeth into the heavy muscle until he growled and moved beneath her, his hands sliding back to tug at her ankles and calves.

Her lips and tongue heated with the oil, buzzing and tingling as she rubbed her mouth across the broad expanse of his back. “You smell good enough to eat.”

Wriggling lower on his thighs, she licked a path down his spine, smoothing her palms up and down his flanks. She bit him again, hard enough he groaned so loudly the Blood must surely hear it. “Remember our challenge. You’re not going to lose control, are you?”

“That depends.” Panting, he raised his head enough to glare at her over his shoulder. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and his hair was dark and heavy with steam. “Are you finally going to mark my arse?”

She’d marked Gregar’s ass years ago on the night of their claiming, and Rhaekhar had long regretted that he’d lost that competition, even though he wore many other marks on his throat and chest. “That was my general intention.”

He buried his face in his forearm and cursed, muttering beneath his breath so she couldn’t make out his words. She took that as permission. But first…

She poured more oil into her hands and kneaded it into both cheeks and down his hamstrings. Lady above, she’d never seen a finer warrior. Hot velvet skin stretched tight over sculpted granite, he was a complex mixture of explosive power and incredible gentleness. Although there was nothing gentle about his hoarse growl when she reached under his raised hip to wrap her oiled hand around him.

“I’m going…” He arched his back, lifting his rump so he could thrust in her hand. “To pour…that cursed oil…all over you…while I hold you down…and let your Blood…lick it off.”

Lady, he might as well have doused her head to toe in the sizzling oil. Immediately, her mind pictured it: Rhaekhar lying at her head, pinning her arms against him, while auburn and golden brown heads moved eagerly down her body.

Using his own challenge words, she retorted, “You’re welcome to try.”

She struck, biting deep, gripping his cheek in a punishing bite until blood filled her mouth. Rich with strength, spiced with love, his blood stoked a fire in her that had nothing to do with Keldari oil.

Whatever he meant to say was lost on a roar.

He rolled over so hard she tumbled off to the side and nearly spilled the oil. “Come here.”

“The challenge.” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Do I win?”

He slammed his arms down to the mat, fists at his side. Eyes blazing, he ground out, “Continue.”

“Are you sure?”

He shot her a dark look. “Be wary with that oil, na’lanna. When I come inside you, it’ll spread like wildfire on your tender flesh, too.”

Holding his gaze, she tipped the vial over his chest. “I’m counting on it.”