Congratulations to the July Release Party winner!

Congratulations to our $10 Amazon GC winner from yesterday's Party.  We ran the comments through http://www.random.org/ and it chose:

MOLLY!!!!

Molly won with her comment on this post.

Molly, please email us at goddessfish AT gmail DOT com to claim your prize.

And thanks to everyone who came by yesterday.  It was a lot of fun!

Goodbye...Giveaway

I hope you've had as much fun as I've had. But, since I'm a terribly insecure party host, I thought I'd make sure. Free Ciroc for everyone!
No, really. Print this post out, take it to your local liquor store...and yeah.
Alright. To make up for that, I'll give away another eBook. My apologies for the confusion. A simple howdy on this thread will do the trick. I'll choose one of you at random.
So long and g'night!

Amazon: http://amzn.to/KGTeZE
For Your Favorite eReader: http://bit.ly/LwN2Eo
Twitter: @ShewandaP
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/LoVWjJ
To Blow Me Kisses: www.shewandapugh.com

P.S. If you don't win, here's a chance to enter for an autographed copy on Goodreads. Good through July 16, 2012: http://bit.ly/OzcDve

Thanks, Goddess Fish (And Giveaway #2)!

I just wanted to say thanks to the awesome folks behind Goddess Fish Promotions. As a debut author, I had seriously no idea how to go about the initial steps of promotion.

Goddess Fish made it both painless and fun.

There's nothing better than affordable, awesome networking from friendly and helpful folks. Three cheers for Goddess Fish!

In that vein, I want to offer one more giveaway. I'll choose a random commenter from this post to get a free book. :)

Happy summer, everyone!

Goodnight and good luck and a GIVEAWAY with Amber Lin's Giving It Up

I hope today has been fun and arousing for you. In fact, that's my wish for you for EVERY DAY, because life's more fun that way ;-)

I've posted here about my debut book, Giving It Up, including an excerpt, the book trailer and the sexy-awesome casting call. Giving It Up is an erotic book, certainly. It's also got some suspense elements. But at its heart, it's a romance, because I'm a girl who loves an happy ending!

So on that note, I'm winding down my last post of the party by giving away a copy of Giving It Up. All you have to do is post a comment telling me who you're thinking about tonight, whether they're with you or not.

Thanks for partying all day with us!

GIVING IT UP by Amber Lin

Allie prowls the club for a man who will use her hard and then ditch her. Hey, it's not rape if she wants it. Instead she finds Colin, who looks tough but treats her tenderly, despite her protests.

He tempts her, but kindness and a few mindblowing orgasms aren't enough to put her back together again. Allie has no hope for a real relationship. Two years ago her best friend betrayed her in the worst possible way – she’d be stupid to trust a man again. Besides, she has her daughter to think of, the only good thing to have come from that dark night.

But when her rapist returns, threatening her sanity and custody of her daughter, Allie turns to Colin. Under his protection and patient touch, Allie begins to heal and learns to hope. Colin’s no saint, though, and his criminal past draws danger of its own. Allie must fight to protect her child and the man she loves, hoping her newfound power will be enough to save them all.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual situations, graphic language, and material that some readers may find objectionable: dubious consent.

“Giving It Up is original, affecting, emotionally draining, but well worth reading if you are brave enough to go along for the ride.”
—Annabel Joseph, author of Comfort Object

“A ballsy departure from romantic conventions. At once gritty and tender, stark and hopeful.”
—Cara McKenna, author of Willing Victim

“Giving It Up is an erotic, compelling story that takes us to the shadowy, lonely places but doesn’t leave us there. Amber Lin shows us that romance isn’t just for the rich and shiny. Love can find its way even into the dark corners of the most damaged hearts.”
—Tiffany Reisz, author of The Siren

“This is a book you MUST read if you like gritty, edgier romance that makes you think as well as turns you on.”
—Cari Quinn, USA Today Bestselling Author of No Dress Required

“Every page is chock full of sexy, angsty must-read-moreness.”
—Karla Doyle, author of Game Plan

“Giving It Up is a gritty, real romance that deals in an honest way with what happens to sexuality in the aftermath of rape…. Read it. You won’t be sorry.”
—Ruthie Knox, author of About Last Night

“Dark and edgy…but don’t be fooled. There’s a wonderful love story running through this book. Sharp, intense writing, sexy as hell, and such a cool idea!”
—Charlotte Stein, author of Sheltered

Book trailer and excerpt: http://givingitupbook.com/

Author website: http://authoramberlin.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/authoramberlin

Also, be sure to check out the Giving It Up release giveaway, where you can win cool prizes whether you've read Giving It Up or not!

THANK YOU & PLEASE STOP BY FOR A CHAT AND A CONTEST

Thank you so much to Goddess Fish for hosting the release party today!

I hope everyone had fun discovering new books and new authors, and perhaps winning some prizes!

And one more reminder that during July, I'm also participating in a blog tour organized by Goddess Fish. Follow me on tour to find out more about LIVING THE LEGACY and the other books of the Legacy Series. You can also win weekly gift certificates, as well as a grand prize at the end of the month. My next stop is Monday, July 9. For details, please visit my LEGACY blog at <http://oshealegacyseries.blogspot.com/>. 

Posted by Genie Gabriel <www.GenieGabriel.com>.

Balancing Creativity and Real Life

Photo by Aneta Szpyrka

We've all been there: buried under obligation, so overwhelmed we just kinda want to hide, peeking out at the world like that kitten on the left.


Family life, work life, and creative life form a crazy-nasty juggling act. The good news is, it's possible. What's required is self-control - and not the way you might think.

Mental Nutrition

Human beings are strange things. We require a variety of nutritional details to stay healthy, and our minds are no different. Just like physical exercise depletes us of nutrients, creativity can do the same thing.

When we create, we use what's inside us. After we do that, we need to fill it back up.

Julia Cameron (of The Artist's Way) speaks of this as "filling the well." We need to read/watch/listen to things that inspire us, that heal us, that make us yearn to create more. Things that refill our empty places with beauty.

Because of this, it's really, REALLY wise to have a hobby. Something outside of work. Something unrelated to what you already create. For example, I'm a writer, but I also really enjoy photography (probably why I love Pinterest and Tumblr so much). Case in point:

By doing this, I'm filling my well. I get inspiration. I get a real FEEL for the world around me. The brilliant director Hayao Miyazaki makes this point well when he talked about taking creative imagery from nature. In Spirited Away, the dragon Haku is injured. Miyazaki knew how a dragon would fall when injured because he'd seen a snake fall from a tree - and that understanding made the dragon's plight so much more powerful.

I cannot expect my stories to move people and evoke the feeling of real life if I don't know what real life feels like.

Fill your well. Do something unrelated to your main creative thrust. MAKE TIME to do it - it is that important. You'll find you create faster and better if you do.

Keep Your Priorities Straight

You know what's way more important than the next big masterpiece? People.

Your marriage (if you have one) is more important than your book. Your kids (if you've got any) matter more than that portrait. Your new opera/rock ballad/dubstep might be wicked awesome cool, but making the people you love know you need them matters a thousand times more.

Guess who's going to be there to cheer you on when you struggle? Guess who will really believe in you no matter what, lift you up when a bad review knocks you down? Guess who's got your back when you're struggling to meet that deadline?

The people around you, whom you love, and who love you.

This doesn't have to be traditional. Parents aren't necessarily where you get your best support from. Spouses should be, but we don't all have those, nor do we all have good ones. The principle needs to be applied to whomever it is you have in your life - and if that's no one, then finding someone must be your number one goal.

We need support. The image of a miserable, lonely artist, slaving away in a tomb, may be romantic, but it's miserable in real life. Spend time on people who are willing to spend it on you - this must not be a one-way street.

Take care of others. Take care of yourself. What you create will be all the more beautiful if you do.

As Promised...A Sneak Peek

Hi Boys and Girls! 
What follows is an excerpt from the first of a series which is still unnamed. This is a first ever sneak peek at an unedited version of the story. Enjoy!
What happens when an African American girl and Asian Indian from two families who function as one, suddenly fall in love?

Excerpt from Latest Project

Wyatt didn't call or text Edy the day he saw her and Hassan kiss. And she didn't expect him to. But what she did expect was for him to show up to school the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. So, as each day passed, her irritation with his words slowly eked to worry, until worry was all she had left. After all, a week of missed school was enormous for the boy who never missed a day. 
She texted him, as her fingers resisted even that small measure, even as her mind recalled his blasphemy. But he had no real way of knowing the magnitude of his words, or what betrayal from Hassan would mean. Could he possibly understand the endless way their families were interwoven; the way father and father, mother and mother, children and parents, were connected one to the other? Severing any part of the chain would be devastating, but severing Hassan from Edy was unthinkable. 
Fingers trembling, Edy keyed in four simple characters and waited. 
U OK?
How long she sat on the edge of her bed, she couldn't know. Outside, winter threatened an early retreat, as uncommitted to its previous bouts of frost as it was to sticking around. Night hung like damp silk, chilled but luring, calling Edy to the windowsill. 
She set down her phone and went to it.
In the sliver of garden visible from her room, Edy watched Rani as she adjusted the tarp over a winterized bed of roses. But there was no need to do so. Rani's prized flowers, cultivated with the help of Edy each year, were as protected from the elements as any threatened blooms in the arboretums of the world. As the flowers she offered up in her daily worship when the seasons allowed, Rani's roses were more than just eye-catching blossoms, they were testament to her religious devotion.
Edy bit her lip. If Rani Pradhan was fiddling in the garden on a January night, then something was bothering her. It was the secret that only Edy knew—gardening equaled penance, gardening made her calm.
Edy glanced behind her, just in time to see Rani's son, Hassan, shift in bed, curling in the warmth of where Edy's body just lay. Soon, he would wake on realizing her absence. It seemed neither could sleep much without the other these days. 
Penance. Once, when they were in middle school, Hassan beat an older boy bloody, ceasing only when the twins peeled him away. Even then, he'd spat on him. The boy's crime? Calling Edy the 'n' word.
Hassan's father thought the boy hadn't been beaten badly enough, and thought it fit that he pay a visit to his father, too. Hassan's mother, on the other hand, banished him to his room, and spent the afternoon praying fervently on behalf of her son, in their tiny family shrine. 
Was that where she headed? To the family shrine at twilight? Was she so desperate to gather a sacrifice, so desperate to be heard by Lord Shiva, that she would prick her thumbs on frozen thorns, grappling for the smallest of offerings? 
What would inspire such desperation? What did she know already?
Edy's gaze lifted to Hassan's bedroom window, directly across from her own. Dark, undoubtedly with the door locked. He slipped in and out that room without inhibition, having established the need for privacy at a much younger age. Such things only worked out with Indian boys, of course, no girl could assert herself in such a manner. 
Briefly, Edy wondered if Rani knew that her son left at night. What did she believe? That Hassan, the jock, traversed the homes of unsuspecting parents, pillaging the beds of daughter throughout Boston? No wonder she ransacked her garden. After all, she couldn't possibly know how close to home he remained, or whose bed he slept in at night. 
“Cake?”
She expected that. 
Edy looked at Hassan, face in what she hoped was an expression devoid of all thought. 
“Yeah?”
“Can't sleep?” He sat up, as she knew he would, unwilling to sleep since she couldn't. 
“I see your mother,” she said. “In the garden.”
Hassan shrugged. “You know how she gets about those flowers. Can't be outdone.”
She stared back at him, wondering how they got that way. How it was that she knew his mother better than him, and he knew her father better than her. 
“What would she say?” Edy said as she took a seat on the windowsill. “About us?”
“Well,” Hassan said, and swung his legs out of the bed. “She would remind me that I'll be marrying a Punjabi girl of her choosing in a few short years. She would tell me to leave you alone.”
Before her now, he brushed hair from eyes. 
“But you already know that,” he said. 


Copyright by Shewanda Pugh
Author of Crimson Footprints
Release Date TBD

Twitter: @ShewandaP

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/LoVWjJ

www.shewandapugh.com

Get SHAME Free!

Interested in getting SHAME for FREE? Anyone who writes an honest review on Amazon for the following novels and likes my facebook page (you will need to private message me with your email address and a link to your review to receive your prize) will receive a kindle copy (or PDF for those who do not use kindle software) on August 1st (Release date of SHAME!) as well as on a digital copy of either Lost Love, Broken or Dark and Dangerous the day of their review July 7-10, 2012 (allow 24 hours for me to respond to your facebook request! Please specify which of the three mentioned books you're interested in.)

Books you can review (no purchase necessary):

C I N:   

The debut novel of the C I N series. 

The Doctor said I should be dead.

My heart beat furiously. I looked up at the flashes of lightning in the sky. Yes, I should be dead.
 
Why wasn’t I?

What Shelfari Readers are saying about C I N:

“..Found it a very engaging story from the get-go… I will recommend that my older teen daughters read this book as well.” Nicole N.

“I loved how fast paced this story was and how original the plot came out to be.” Maryam H.

“A real page turner…” Susan S.

“C I N is one of the best books I’ve read lately.” Luiza N.

“Excellent book! I can’t wait for an addition to the series as the characters get you so involved and they are so complex! It is definitely a ‘can’t put down’ book!” Kia

“C I N is a totally new paranormal concept with intriguing surprises that will have you guessing to the end. Great young adult read!” Sailon

“Honestly, I had a hard time putting it down.” Melinda Dawn C.

    

DONNA DENNING 

Story 1 

 

The first short story in the C I N Series Shorts. This story follows Donna and her course of treachery. It also explains how the warehouse kids were created...


Donna Denning follows the back story of Lisa's Aunt Millie and her twin brother Jimmy. These stories take place prior to Lisa's conception.
 

JIMMY & AMBER

Story 2

The second short story in the C I N Series Shorts. After her parents' death, Amber is determined to get her life together and move on. The last thing on her mind is finding romance  no matter how hard Jimmy tries to persuade her otherwise...

This is the story of how Lisa's parents meet and fall in love... How will Jimmy convince Amber to stay with him?

PETE AND MARIE

Story 3

The third short story in the C I N Series Shorts. Millie and Pete have been together since high school. Millie loves Pete and Pete loves Millie. He still shivers whenever they kiss.

If Pete loves Millie so much, why's he calling her Marie?

After you've written a review for one of the above, 'liked' my facebook page, sent a link of your review, an email address and a request for a copy of either Lost Love, Broken or Dark & Dangerous, you also get (with the promise of an honest review when finished reading) SHAME on August 1st, 2012!

Read an Excerpt:

ONE

       The Walk of Shame

            I took a deep breath.

            The checkered floors were blue and cream. Scuff marks showed more on the cream tiles. It’s funny what you notice sometimes. I shouldn’t be looking at the floor. I should be going to class.

            But, who could face them after what I did?

            “Sell out.”

            I ignored it.

            “Loser!”

            Still not going to respond…

            “Watch your back, Clari Hawk.” Heather slammed into my shoulder. I stumbled backwards.  Everyone—that used to be my friend too—giggled. They dropped poppers at my feet.  I recoiled, banging into a metal locker.

            More laugher…

            Heather turned and glared at me. “Bang, bang, Clari.” She threw a popper on the ground. I jumped. “Loser,” she grinned. Her eyes flickered. I followed them. Jeff stood at my locker.

            My face burned. I couldn’t swallow.

            Heather clapped her hands, motioning for everyone to follow. “I think it’s time for the greatest break up ever.” Her words cut. “It’s about time, don’t you think Clari?”

            I couldn’t look up. My eyes blurred.  Everyone stamped their feet and pounded the lockers. It was deafening.

            Until yesterday, Heather had been my best friend. Though, I don’t know why exactly. She wasn’t anything like me. Her hair was blond, her eyes hazel and she even had a beauty mark on her face like Marilyn Monroe. All the guys loved her and she was the head cheerleader. I was olive complexioned with brown hair and I would rather spend my day searching for awesome indie bands and books than be caught dead with school spirit. Still, she didn’t do anything wrong—I had.

            “Hi Heather,” I forced a smile. She turned her back.

            “Don’t dare speak to me,” She snapped, disappearing into the bathroom. I wanted to    follow her and tell her how sorry I was—but, there was someone else in my life that I still had to lose.

            Jeff frowned. His fingers held my lock tightly. Did he want to pelt me across the head with it?

            I used to love school—especially first period. That’s where I usually spent my days with Jeff. Since the second grade—I loved him. It started after he stuck up for me when my twin brother Max tossed dirt in my face at the playground. Jeff had soft brown eyes and a bowl cut back then. Now, his deep brown eyes bore through me and his hair was long and tied back. He loved to surf and skateboard. I was supposed to see him compete this weekend but—that’s probably not going to happen now…

            This was it; the end of us. At least he’d been mine all this time. I couldn’t really complain, right? How many school romances lasted till their senior year? What seventeen year old could say, hey I got to spend my life with the same best friend and the same guy. How could he still give me butterflies after all these years?

            “Are you breaking up with me?” I blurted. My heart pounded and my knees trembled. He just leaned against the metal with his fingers frozen around my lock. “Jeff,” I mumbled, holding back the tears, “please, you have to believe me—”

            “You don’t get to cry!” He shouted. People glared, shaking their heads at me. “You,” his eyes watered, “you don’t get to cry. I do.”

            “Jeff!” I could barely say. He stormed down the hall punching the lockers with his fist. Doors flew open and he shoved someone out of his way. He stomped up the steps and threw his book bag on the ground. I ran over to the stairwell, picking it up. I cradled it as if it were him.

            I couldn’t swallow.

            “Don’t touch my bag!” Jeff leaned over the railing. “Get away from my stuff and stay away from me!”

            “While you’re at it, why don’t you move schools too?” Heather stood beside me. “Give me that. We don’t need you touching anything of ours ever again.” She snatched Jeff’s bag and put it on her back. “Think about moving, Clari. I’d really like it if you would get as far away from me as possible.”

            I fell to my knees.  “You don’t mean that,” I held back my tears, “You’re just mad at me right now. You’ll see.”

            “I HATE YOU!” She screamed. Her face burned red. “Go away Clari, please just leave.”

            I stood, barely able to. I glanced at the fire exit.

            “Yeah, go for it.” Heather turned away from me, “and don’t come back.”

            I slammed my body against the exit doors with all my might. The alarm filled the halls. I just ran, never looking back. It wouldn’t be the first time I skipped school—but it would be my last. I didn’t need to graduate or go to college. Max would never get to go with me now. That was my fault too, I guess. Was anything these days not because of me?

            “Clarissa Anne Hawk!” My mother shouted. She stood on our porch with her hands pressed against her hips. “What are you doing?”

            “I can’t be in that school right now.” My lip trembled, “Mom, it’s horrible. Heather and Jeff—”

            “It’s what happens when you destroy lives out of boredom.” My mother snapped. She motioned for me to go inside.  I stood my ground. “Get inside—now.”

            “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” I resisted.

            “Then find somewhere else to live. In fact, you’ll be eighteen in two months why not do me a favor and leave early so I don’t have to kick you out?”

            “You wouldn’t want to look bad in front of the neighbors?” I acted stunned, “What would they say?”

            She shot me a narrowed glare, “There’s nothing you haven’t done that could ever make me look bad.”

            “I’m quitting school.” I told her.

            “What’s the difference?” Her eyes watered, “You’re headed down a very dark path.” She unlocked her car, “How could you do this, Clari? You’ve destroyed our family.”

            “Mom,” I sobbed into my arm. “Mom, mom, mom,” I cried, folding myself into a ball.

            I just lay there in the dirt.

            Her tires crunched dead leaves. Did she even look back at me? Was she going to run me over? Would she ever forgive me?

            Have you ever done something to make everyone you love hate you? It feels like being trapped in a glass bottle or a pit that gets deeper each time I try to dig myself out of it. My biggest fear is that there’s no way out. A trap is a trap right? If you can be ensnared then there has to be an escape, right? There has to be because I can’t live like this.

Yipee! Confetti for Crimson Footprints

Here's a couple of my favorite reviews for my debut novel, Crimson Footprints as found on Amazon. The print version debuts on July 30th, 2012: 


Romance at its Best
Shewanda Pugh describes her debut novel as a "literary romance," and after reading and thoroughly enjoying it, I can say with conviction that she has artfully mastered the skill of storytelling. Her characters are genuine and complex. The story that she presents is real, and the issues wrapped in that story and in those characters are authentic to real life situations.


She presents her readers with the story of forbidden love, comparable to a modern day version of Romeo and Juliet. In her version, Romeo is Japanese and Juliet is a bi-racial blend of black and white. The two come from different worlds, but still find that ounce of magic that sets them down the path of passion, devotion, and above all, true love. The secondary stories that Pugh includes in the novel add substance to the story, laying out the consequences and outcomes that result from the way in which an individual chooses to live his or her life. All characters in the novel demonstrate an evolution from start to end, especially the heroine, Deena. It was both a joy and a frustration to follow her path of self-discovery and self worth.


Crimson Footprints is a very good read and highly recommended. It's nicely paced, never a dull moment. The essence of the story is heightened not only by the emotion and beauty of the story, but also by Pugh's ability to set the scene through her use of imagery. I loved every word, every sentence, and every page of this book. Her debut novel is definitely one of my favorite reads this year, and I can honestly say I cannot wait to read what's next from Shewanda Pugh.


Jamee Pritchard, The Kindle Book Review


Crimson Footprints
I had my doubts when I started reading this book - the very beginning seemed somewhat bleak - I'm SO happy that I continued past the first few pages. The story felt familliar because it was a love story and love transcends all - but at the same time - new because of the cultural and socio-economic differences. I can't wait to see what stories this author will write in the future. Really exceptional read.
Sabrina (Los Angeles, CA)


Loved It!
Wow! Yes, that is the word. I opened this book expecting nothing and I ended up with everything. Literally. This book hooked me from page 1 and never did my attention falter. The book is just so refreshing. It's so fresh and new, the concept unexplored, at least as far as my reading is concerned.


This is an underdog (said so, because the book is not high in the ranks or popularity while it clearly needs to be out there) which has much to offer. It has got them all, the touches of reality, the romance, the humor, the seriousness, everything. It is one of those books that captures you in a way so unexpected and just takes you with itself for a ride.


The concept is like a breath of fresh air. You keep on thinking what would happen next but it's so unpredictable, just like life. It's so real, the setting, the people, the situation, the whole book. It just doesn't feel like a book, it's like viewing someone's life from the outside, almost being a part of it.


The characters are very well-sketched, there is no inconsistency and you feel like you know them all intimately.


I loved the humor, it's so real and fresh.
Pragya (India)


Amazon: http://amzn.to/KGTeZE
For Your Favorite eReader: http://bit.ly/LwN2Eo
Twitter: @ShewandaP
Facebook: http://on.fb.me/LoVWjJ
To Blow Me Kisses: www.shewandapugh.com

A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE BOOK TRAILER

A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE by Victoria Vane (The Devil DeVere book #1)

Only $.99 until July 11

BUY LINK:http://www.breathlesspress.com/wild-nights-bride

EXCERPT:

St. James, Westminster – 1783

"Ned, you must wake up." The frantic whisper and tickle of silky hair pleasantly penetrated the periphery of Sir Edward Chambers' drink-induced, sexually sated, and fog-enshrouded consciousness. "Come, Neddie," the soft voice implored. "You must wake, or there will be the devil to pay."

He groaned, rolling onto his side to the simultaneous awareness of a pounding head and the soft, warm presence beside him. He groped blindly, defining a shapely feminine backside that tauntingly wriggled against his groin, stirring quite another part of him to a wakeful and throbbing state. He nuzzled her neck while his burgeoning erection sought the warmth betwixt her thighs. "Annalee, my sweet Annalee," he murmured into her hair.

The warm, welcoming body became cold stone. "Phoebe," a voice intoned.

Ned's bleary eyes popped open, his attention immediately riveted to the massive bed, the heavy velvet curtains of rich crimson and gold, and the towering hand-carved posts of mahogany. He jerked upright as if doused with ice water, his gaze settling on the voluptuous, blue-eyed blonde lying amidst the tangle of luxurious linens. "Kitty?"

"No. Phoebe," she answered. "My name. It's Phoe-be."

"Phoebe?" He frowned in puzzlement. His gaze darted from his thoroughly tumbled bedfellow to the opulent room. He frantically scrubbed his face and looked wildly about the room, eager to light upon something, anything, to assure himself he wasn't going mad. The vision of his surroundings sent him scrambling to his knees, entangling him in the bed sheets, and tumbling him to the floor. Lying stunned on the thick Turkish carpet, his confused conscience absorbed the soaring twenty-foot shadow-boxed ceiling depicting classical heroes.

"Kitty, Phoebe, or whoever-the-devil-you-are," he spoke through clenched teeth. "This isn't Carlton House, is it?"

"No."

His heart beating apace, Ned willed himself first to breathe and then to modulate a tone verging on panic. "I was with DeVere last night. Where is DeVere?"

"DeVere is locked safely in the linen closet." She hugged her breasts, her expression suddenly wary. "Don't you remember anything?"

He vigorously shook his pounding head only to bring forth a chaotic kaleidoscope of last night's events, and the impossible truth persisted to push its way to the surface.

His gaze glued to the bed, Ned made a mechanical backward retreat to the center of the room where he had a clearer prospect of its crowning glory. His vision rose to the top of the headboard, to the heraldic shield seated betwixt the carved figures of a lion and a unicorn. His gaze slid with dread to the engraved scroll beneath. Dieu Et Mon Droit. God and my right, the motto of the king. His chest seized. The room began to spin. He looked to Phoebe, aware that the blood was draining from his face, and that his voice emerged as a strangled sound. "May the same God save me...for I'm going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for spending last night rutting in the King of England's bed!"

http://authorvictoriavane.com

It's... GIVEAWAY TIME!

(I hope I'm not the only one who promptly hears, "It's adventure time! Come, grab your friends. We'll go to very... distant lands! Jake the dog and Finn the huuuuman, the fun will never end, it's Adventure Time!")

This is my favorite part: I get to offer a free book!

I love giveaways. I also love stories. In fact, I have a book to give away BECAUSE I love stories.

Your job, gentle reader, is to respond to this post with something to do with stories. It can be a comment on a dream you had or a book you read. Thoughts on a really cool movie, or even imagery inspired by a song.

Let's dialogue. Once we're done, I'll pick my favorite conversation, and send whoever did that a new story to read, free of charge.

We're all about the Story here.

---

THE SUNDERED – now available from Amazon: 

The world I know is flooded.

The water's black. You don't go in the water. You don't touch it. If you do, it will get you, drag you down, and you're gone.

I believe the world wasn't always that way – that once there was land that stretched forever, that there was no danger from the water – but that doesn't set me apart. What sets me apart, makes me different, is I believe it can go back to that. 

Without the Sundered, we die. 

Harry Iskinder knows the rules. Don't touch the water, or it will pull you under. Conserve food, because there's no arable land. Use Sundered slaves gently, or they die too quickly to be worthwhile.

With extinction on the horizon and a world lost to deadly flood, Harry searches for a cure: the Hope of Humanity, the mysterious artifact that gave humans control over the Sundered centuries ago. According to legend, the Hope can fix the planet.

But the Hope holds more secrets than Harry knows. Powerful Sundered Ones willingly bow to him just to get near it. Ambitious enemies pursue him, sure that the Hope is a weapon. Friends turn their backs, afraid Harry will choose wrong.

And Harry has a choice to make. The time for sharing the Earth is done. Either the Sundered survive and humanity ends, or humanity lives for a while, but the Sundered are wiped out.

He never wanted this choice. He still has to make it. In his broken, flooded world, Hope comes with a price.

THE SUNDERED – now available from Amazon:

A young man must decide who survives –
humanity, or the humanity's broken slaves.

Trade Paperback || Kindle || Read chapter one here!

Blind Heat Game and Giveaway Part 7 (adult)

Welcome to a some cool fun for a hot Sunday. To celebrate the release of Blind Heat, the second book in my Pantherian Passions series, I've set up a little game related to the story.

Our hero, Marcus St. Germaine has a habit he hasn't been able to kick. At the start of Blind Heat he gives into temptation and this time it gets him into trouble. I'll be sharing the first chapter in blog posts throughout the day. At the end of each post, I'll show you a picture and tell you the name of the blog where it's hidden. Simply email Master Bond ( the kinky French Chef from The Dungeon Gourmet) lemarquis.debond on gmail.com telling him where you found the picture. For every correct answer you send in, you'll get your name in the hat. The prize is your choice of my backlist:

The Tiger's Tale (First book in the Pantherian Passions Series)
The Dungeon Gourmet
Snatch Me

I'll announce the winner Monday morning on the Words, Women, Wisdom blog.
 Happy Hunting and good luck. I'll be checking back throughout the day, so if you have questions, leave them in the comments and I'll be along shortly with an answer.

Blind Heat: Excerpt7

 The runner slowed and then stopped a few feet from him. His body taught, ready to dash for it, he watched her. She was dressed in black running tights and a long-sleeved gray shirt. No hat, scarf, gloves. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and her cheeks were flushed from her run. He could hear the up-kick in her heartbeat, already fast because of the exertion.

She murmured, squinted and he guessed she was trying to decide if she really saw what her eyes were telling her she saw. He could only guess, because her thoughts remained shielded. A skill rare in humans and usually exhibited only by those who’d suffered such great trauma that they had mastered the trick of concealing their own thoughts from themselves, locking away ugly memories. He wondered what evil had touched one so young. He doubted she was twenty-five years.

She took a step closer, her heart revved up another notch, her breath fast little puffs in the frosty air. “Not real,” she was muttering, “a new sculpture. Heck of a place to put it.”
She took another step toward him, her hand outstretched. Hella, thank the mother of all, stayed quiet.

A curious vibration washed over Marcus, a soft lulling hum, almost a purring that seeped through his skin and into his bones. He wanted to be closer to her, lose himself in that delicious sensation. His eyelids snapped up and he gave her a thorough look, the light was coming up. Dark hair, fair skin, green eyes. She was definitely not his kind. Even if he overlooked that a female, unescorted, wouldn’t be in a human-controlled territory−Pantherians didn’t have green eyes. His senses were so skewed by his depleted energy he couldn’t trust what they told him.

As much as he wanted to feel those slender fingers run through his fur, as much as he longed to roll onto his back and have her scratch his belly, he had to discourage her from touching—discovering the nose her fingers reached to touch was cool and wet and attached to a living, breathing leopard.

He resisted her pull with a rise in his own energy, his body fading as the vibration quickened and he was gone from her sight, fading away with the rising sun. He didn’t have the energy to shift, so he had to hope fading away would be enough. He hoped she would move on quickly, staying in the shifting plane was like holding your breath under water. He might be able to hold himself shapeless longer than the average Pantherian, but in his exhausted state he felt as if his mind was losing its cohesiveness, the essence of who he was separating and scattering like air from a balloon. How far could bits of himself scatter before they were too far apart to reunite?

While he was formless, he had no hearing or sight. Those features required ears and eyes. He waited, knowing time was running out for both him and Hella. When he couldn’t hold it a nanosecond longer, he reformed. The force of his return scattered snow in plumes of powder. He sucked air into hungry lungs and braced himself for a female’s scream. Silence.

The world around him snapped into focus. The woman was gone, back the way she had come. The sound of another runner, male, approaching from the opposite direction had him cursing. He dove for Hella, but she was gone, along with her towel and the borrowed scrubs. The woman must have taken her, and tracks to the hiding place bore that out. Marcus’ weary brain scrambled for a plan.

The man was getting closer, his thoughts−easily read−centered on beating a buddy a few yards behind him. Marcus didn’t have the strength to stand. Frustration rumbling in his chest, he had to abandon Hella and crawl on his belly into the underbrush.

Source: perpetual-inspiration.tumblr.com via Nara on Pinterest

I made this one easy. It's on one of my Pinterest boards. Just follow the link and email the name of the board it's posted to. Thanks for playing!

Get C I N FREE

Readers still have a chance to receive C I N, the debut novel for FREE ( $2.99 value) with the purchase of the first e-short story, Donna Denning. OFFER EXPIRES JULY 15, 2012 (release date for book Two TRAITOR). Get two books for the the price of .99 now!

Blind Heat game and Giveaway Part 6 (adult)

Welcome to a some cool fun for a hot Sunday. To celebrate the release of Blind Heat, the second book in my Pantherian Passions series, I've set up a little game related to the story.

Our hero, Marcus St. Germaine has a habit he hasn't been able to kick. At the start of Blind Heat he gives into temptation and this time it gets him into trouble. I'll be sharing the first chapter in blog posts throughout the day. At the end of each post, I'll show you a picture and tell you the name of the blog where it's hidden. Simply email Master Bond ( the kinky French Chef from The Dungeon Gourmet) lemarquis.debond on gmail.com telling him where you found the picture. For every correct answer you send in, you'll get your name in the hat. The prize is your choice of my backlist:

The Tiger's Tale (First book in the Pantherian Passions Series)
The Dungeon Gourmet
Snatch Me

I'll announce the winner Monday morning on the Words, Women, Wisdom blog.
 Happy Hunting and good luck. I'll be checking back throughout the day, so if you have questions, leave them in the comments and I'll be along shortly with an answer.

Blind Heat: Excerpt 6

 Fortunately, medical labs came equipped with all the items he needed to keep from sprinkling his DNA everywhere, or leaving fingerprints. He started with a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser by the sink. He hesitated. There were cameras in the hall. More searching yielded scrubs and a lab coat, a medical mask and a paperclip. He pulled a little green cap over his hair and kept his head down when he stepped back into the hall.

He tuned back into the guard, the voice faint but just discernible. “That’s it, baby, touch yourself. Push those pretty fingers deep into your pussy. Let me hear how much you love fingering yourself.”

Marcus tried not to look, but the image was there in his mind unbidden, those slender fingers cupped over her sex, the languid look on her face, eyelids drooping. He heard every moan, imagined the slick, slurpy sound of female pussy tightening around thrusting fingers, the scent of her desire, the female tang against his tongue.

Marcus nearly moaned himself.

“Now stop,” the guard demanded.

Her eyes widened. Her whimper protested.

“I said stop.” His tone carried a faint trace of warning.

Marcus hauled his attention back on task. At the rate they were moving he could only count on them staying occupied another couple of minutes.

Marcus shuffled across the hall and dropped to his knees. As promised there was a concealed override. He slid the decorative cover back, inserted a paperclip into the spot and the door clicked open. He held his breath, waiting to see if opening the door might trigger any alarm.

If it had, the guy in the guardroom was oblivious. “If I was there, I’d rub that sweet honey from your pussy all over your nipples and lick it off.”

The paperclip slipped from Marcus’ fingers and pinged against the tile.

“Since I can’t do that I want to watch you do it. Such nice, big titties, I bet you can lick your own nipples.”

Marcus swiped at sweat on his brow with his sleeve, forced his mouth closed and clamped his teeth down on his aching tongue.

Move closer to the cam where I can see them. “Lovely, sugar. Lovely.”

They were lovely. Her nipples filled the screen, but they were a shade darker than the nail polish that had first caught his attention. “Speaking of attention…” he muttered. There were other places his needed to be. With a last, longing glance at nipples rolled between fingers and thumbs, sticky threads of liquid glistening between spread fingers when she dipped back in for more “honey”, Marcus slipped into the lab and closed the door.

A plaintive mew from the corner revealed the hybrid who’d called Marcus to her. The force of her personality had led him to believe she was bigger, close to his size. She was a small white domestic housecat—a long-hair with brilliant green eyes. She tried to get to her feet but a spasm of pain dropped her back into the straw on the floor of her cage. Her delicate frame strained to support a grotesquely distorted belly. He knew the source of her pain even before reading the chart attached to the cage. He should have known before now. That she’d managed to shield that from him, was a skill both admirable and alarming. He tugged a towel from the box they’d provided for her birthing, nudged the hybrid onto it, and wrapped her gently.

He turned away from the rows of gleaming eyes watching from other cages. Ignored the snuffles and thumps against the bars to gain his attention. He couldn’t save them all, but he could not leave parahuman infants in the hands of experimenters. He projected calm and visualized simple images of a safe place, which he hoped the mother could understand. She offered no resistance when he gave her head a reassuring pat and gathered her in his arms. Her eyes met his and locked his gaze, communicating both trust and uncanny intelligence.

Getting out wasn’t as complex as getting in, but more risky. He couldn’t take her down through the water. He chose the stairs again, though slower, he preferred them to being closed in the elevator. He never could separate far enough from his feline nature to be comfortable in an electronically controlled box. Hella, he decided as he bounded down the last set of stairs. The little hybrid had been a number in the lab, but he would give her a new name for her new life. Hella meant light, hope—there was little enough of that in her life up to now.

She mewed softly, her breath coming in short pants.

Just hold those kittens off a little longer. His thought fell on a semi-deaf mind, but there was no way to explain. Her mind existed in a reality without the boundaries of hours and minutes. And while those things she had no conception of impacted her life, she had no framework to comprehend a simple phrase like, Give me ten minutes, sweetheart and it will all be better.

He moved from the stairwell back into the basement. Depressing the button to raise the loading dock door didn’t sound any alarms. Security rarely tracked people exiting buildings. Marcus jumped from the dock into the parking lot, and his knees buckled— a sign of just how far his energy had been depleted.

He tried to reconnect with the guard but it was like seeing through fog, black silhouettes, distant and fuzzy, thoughts inaudible behind the buzz of pain in his body and Hella’s. He struggled back to his feet and limped across the parking lot into the woods. Once out of range of any outdoor cameras he stripped out of his clothes, bundled them around the cat for added warmth and forced his body into another shift. It was like trying to drive up a snow-covered hill, lose momentum and you slide back down. His energy shifted up and about a third of the way there plummeted earthward, leaving him naked, shivering, on his knees in the snow. He put a hand to the bundle containing Hella, nestled at the base of a tree. Her tiny pink tongue gave his finger an encouraging lick. Was he that pathetic that a laboring mother felt pity for him?

Pride swelled in his chest, pushed him past his own misery and back onto his feet. Before the cold gnawing at his bones could steal his power he snapped to the shifting plain and reappeared as a leopard. A slightly drunk leopard. Shifting so many times in such a short span had thrown off his sense of balance, destabilized his mind-body connection.

It took three tries to gather the corners of the towel in such a way that he could carry Hella in a sling with the towel between his teeth as if he were a feline version of the stork.

A stretch of woodland at the fringe of a public park was all that lay between him and his truck now. Hopefully there’d be enough energy restored by then to allow him to shift one last time and drive Hella to safety. Dawn light was slowly peeling back the cover of night. He needed the speed of four legs, the power of haunches that allowed him to leap streams, fallen logs, bound between rocks and hills. He managed a staggering lope.

He had just started across the trail winding between him and the pond when the sound of someone coming down the trail froze him in place. That he wouldn’t have been aware of that approach from the time he stepped out of the lab so stunned him, that he went still at the shock of it, costing precious time. He mentally sent Hella a warning, tucked her into a somewhat sheltered spot in the shadow of a bush and flattened himself in a patch of light and shadow pooled at the path’s edge. A leap to denser cover would likely have ended in a graceless belly flop that would attract the attention he sought to avoid. He went motionless, his caution telegraphing the seriousness of the danger so that Hella remained still and silent as well. The soft swoosh of shoes in snow grew in volume and a slender runner appeared at the bend in the trail.

He closed his eyes to thin slits, worried some light reflection of the liquid surface might give him away. His black and white coloring should mingle with the snow-patched ground, render him invisible. It didn’t.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



This one is hidden at NaraMalone.com