All posts by K D Grace

The 8th Instalment of Demon Interrupted: A Lakeland Witches Story

Demon Interrupted CoverI’m very happy to offer the eighth instalment of  Demon Interrupted, a new story from the Elemental Coven that will be unfolding in its entirety right here on A Hopeful Romantic over the next few months with the final episode on October 31 along with a special celebration and lots more Lakeland Witches fun.

The Lakeland Witches Trilogy left so many stories untold and so many fun places in the lives of the Elemental Coven yet to be explored, that a serial seemed like the ideal way to share more of the coven’s adventure. With a coven that specialises in sex magic, it’s not only exciting to revisit my witches at Elemental Cottage, but it’s sizzling hot.

And this week, I’m very proud to share the new cover for the serial designed by the incredibly talented Kev Mitnik Blisse to go with the new covers of the Lakeland Witches Trilogy. Thanks Kev! You’re the best!

Here are the links to the previous episodes in case you missed them:

 

 

 

Chapter 1 Demon Interrupted: Perchance to Dream.

Chapter 2 Demon Interrupted: A Chat with a Demon

Chapter 3 Demon Interrupted: Enter the Shadows

Chapter 4 Demon Interrupted: Dark Chrysalis

Chapter 5 Demon Interrupted: The Empty Spaces in Between

Chapter 6 Beneath the Weight of Shadow

Chapter 7 Possessions

Enjoy Chapter Eight, and thanks for joining the fun with this Work in Progress.  If you want to know more about the Elemental Coven’s sexy adventures, check out the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy: Body Temperature and RisingRiding the Ether and Elemental Fire. Enjoy! 

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Chapter 8

Necessities and Inconveniences

There was a loud crash in the kitchen followed by a distressed cry from Fiori. Tara belted her robe around her waist as she ran down the stairs, Kennet, close on her heels, was still wrapped in the towel from the shower. By the time she reached the last step, the tight stirring in her chest that rearranged itself, shifting and settling low in her belly told her that Lucia, her resident demon was back from her wanderings. ‘’Bout fucking time,’ she said under her breath, but all she got in response was a good dose of smug.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry.’ She heard Ferris’s voice from the kitchen along with a tense yelp from Elaine. But as she rounded the corner, it wasn’t Ferris she saw standing over Fiori, who had clearly lost her balance and stumbled against one of the kitchen stools. She would have tipped it over and gone off backward if the man crowding in hadn’t caught her. But though the voice was Ferris’ the body clearly was not, or at least not the Ferris the coven was used to. The dark man who had Fiori around the waist easing her onto her feet made the kitchen seem small. His broad shoulders practically blotted out the sun streaming in through the window behind him.

‘I’m all right! I’m all right.’ Fiori’s voice was breathless as she stepped out of the man’s reach, shoving a cascade of wild red hair away from her face. ‘I just … I just wasn’t expecting … you … Ferris?’

‘What the fuck?’ Tim, just back from farm chores, slid through the kitchen door in his stocking feet, looking Ferris up and down. Tim was a big man. All the men in the Elemental Coven were over six feet and well muscled, but the man standing before Fiori had another six inches at least, and his shoulders and biceps strained at a faded grey shirt that looked as though it might have been hand-spun from a different era. His clothing was all out of time, and yet it was not all from the same time. The trousers he wore looked as though they could have come from the American West. His feet were long and bare on the tiles. His hair hung dark and thick almost to his shoulders and his eyes were a shade of blue-green that Tara had only ever seen in glacier melt. The man was strikingly beautiful, and yet somehow just looking at him gave Tara goose-bumps. The way Fiori chafed her arms told her that she wasn’t the only one feeling his presence that way.

‘I didn’t mean to startle anyone,’ the man said with Ferris’ easy voice.

‘But you are Ferris?’ Kennet asked.

‘I am. Yes. It’s just that Elaine isn’t comfortable with the flesh I now wear, and I find I can do more in this form than I’d, at first, thought myself capable of.’

‘And the flesh you normally wear? Where is it?’ Tara felt a tightening in her stomach.

‘It’s unharmed. On the bed in my room.’

castlerigg_Stone_Circle1With a shudder that was nearly a convulsion, Tara grabbed onto the counter top and braced herself as Lucia shoved her way lazily from the nebulous place inside Tara’s body where she took up residence. Everyone else stepped back as the demon pulled herself free. The coven had adjusted to Lucia’s comings and goings much better than Tara had. She still found it disconcerting when the demon decided to make a public appearance in such a physically demanding way. Sometimes when Lucia visited unannounced, Tara felt as though her breastbone were splitting. It always seemed worst when Lucia was miffed at her. Sadly, she could not return the favour when she was miffed at Lucia.

‘How long have you been absent from your flesh,’ the demon asked without a greeting to the coven members present, though she did give Cassandra a slight nod of her head as she entered the kitchen with Anderson, but then Cassandra was her daughter. Tara still couldn’t get her head around that fact. Mostly the demon focused her fiery gaze on Ferris.

‘Last night when Elaine and I made love. It distresses her to be reminded of her dead husband, so I shed his flesh.’

Tara didn’t miss the blush that crawled up over the bruises on Elaine’s throat at the mention of making love with Ferris, and though the ghost grabbed possessively onto Ferris’s arm, it was clear she was nowhere near as comfortable with sex as everyone at Elemental Cottage was. ‘You want to tell us what’s going on,’ Tara addressed Lucia, but the demon ignored her and spoke again to Ferris.

‘You must return to your flesh then. It has been too long, and the flesh will perish without your presence.’

The sound that came from Elaine’s throat was that of a frightened kitten, but she held tight to Ferris’ arm.

‘How do you know this?’ Both Ferris and Tara asked at the same time.

‘I know because I led you to that flesh, Ferris, and I know because I know how one such as you exists and functions in the fleshly world of humans. This you would know too if you would but take back your memories.’

‘I … I can’t.’ Ferris said, stepping away from Elaine and glancing toward the door as though he wished to run.

‘I know that you wish to continue on as things have always been, dear Ferris,’ Lucia said, ‘but really, you must welcome back the rest of who you are or you will find the problems you cause for yourself and the rest of the coven do not bare thinking about.’

‘No,’ Ferris’ voice was strangely quiet for someone so large. ‘I don’t mean that I won’t, Lucia. I would never do anything to cause harm to Cassandra or to this coven, you know that. I consider these my family now. I mean that I seem to be no longer capable of taking back whoever it is that I was … whatever it is that I was before you sent me to watch over Cassandra.’

‘That’s not possible,’ the demon said, and the robe she wore suddenly danced like living flame. ‘I have given back what is yours, Ferris. You have only to take it.’

‘Though it’s true I don’t wish to take back what I’ve left in your keeping, I would never deny it if it were to cause harm to those I care about. I’m not lying to you when I say that I can’t. I don’t know why. But I can’t.’

‘Hold it, hold it.’ Tara stepped forward between Ferris and Lucia and felt the blistering heat of the demon, even though she knew it wasn’t real. ‘Just what exactly is Ferris that this is his true form and what’s upstairs belongs to someone who should have died, I’m assuming, a good long time ago when his wife killed him.’ She nodded to Elaine, who shifted from foot to foot, keeping her eyes to the floor.

Lucia still stood gazing toward Ferris as though she could see him even through Tara’s body. ‘It’s not for me to tell, Tara Stone. The pact that I have made with him was to keep his secrets even from himself until such time as I released him from my bond, and there are certain … safeguards within that pact that protect one demon’s secrets from the indiscretions of another.’

‘Pact between demons? What do you mean between demons, Lucia,’ Tim broke in. ‘Ferris is no demon. Is he?’ The room erupted in chaos with everyone speaking at once. In a sudden burst of light, Ferris disappeared, and a terrified Elaine would have disappeared too if Skye hadn’t taken her gently by the arm.

‘Where did he go? Dear goddess, where did he go?’ Elaine glanced around wildly and strained against Skye’s embrace. ‘What have you done to him? I don’t care if he is a demon. He would never hurt me. He would never hurt any of you.’

In a loud crack of thunder and another flash of light, the room became silent other than the fire-crackle flow and dance of Lucia’s robes. The demon had a flair for the dramatic, Tara thought sourly. When she was sure she had everyone’s attention, Lucia spoke quietly. ‘Ferris has only returned to the flesh that houses him. He has been away from it for too long. I am terribly sorry, Elaine, but he cannot remain in corporeal form without an anchor in the flesh, and at the moment it is much easier for him to continue on in your husband’s flesh that to find another host.’

Tim made a sound like an angry bear and Lucia shot him a withering gaze. ‘I would not be so arrogant if I were you, Tim Meriwether. The fragility of your flesh is stunning. Even in those of you who enflesh ghosts and are so long-lived, your lifespan is but a heartbeat to one such as myself, to one such as Ferris. And even with such a lifespan, your flesh is delicate, easily broken, easily destroyed.’

‘Then I am a demon.’ Everyone turned to find Ferris standing once again in the unassuming body they had all grown used to seeing him in and, in spite of the flesh he now wore, Elaine moved to stand by him and took his hand.

Lucia studied him for a moment before she spoke. ‘Not a demon as such. Not in the way I am or Deacon was.’

‘Well is he or isn’t he?’ Tim asked.

‘The pact that I’ve made with Ferris will allow me to say no more,’ Lucia replied, not taking offence at Tim’s usual short temper. It is for Ferris to share his secrets, now that they are in his possession. Even if I wanted to, I now could not.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t remember,’ Ferris said.

‘Then you are a danger to yourself and to the coven –’ Lucia replied without emotion ‘—I am not only unable to share your secrets with them, but I cannot give you again what I’ve already given. The magic of the bond and your service to me makes such a thing impossible.’

All colour slid from his face and he fisted his hands. ‘All right then. I’ll leave. I’ll return to Storm Croft, if that’s okay with Cassandra?’

Before Cassandra could respond, Lucia spoke again. ‘Do you not have people working for you at Storm Croft? And is there not a village near-by with several thousand souls in it? You cannot guarantee their safety from what will most certainly happen if you do not recover yourself, Ferris.’

‘He’s not going anywhere.’ Tara stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm, and Cassandra did the same. ‘He’s coven family. He stays here and you tell us what we can do to help him regain his memories and return to himself.’

Lucia’s robes flared until the flame of them nearly filled the room, then settled back around her benignly. ‘I cannot tell you what to do, Tara Stone, because I don’t know. If that is the journey you insist upon, and if you insist upon keeping him here, then I will do what I can to help, but the way back to himself is now a way he must find on his own.’ She raised a hand before Cassandra could speak. ‘Perhaps there are certain spells we can cast, magic we can use to aid him, but in the end, it will be up to Ferris to restore himself. And that is what he must do.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Tim said. ‘You released him from your bond, what if you renewed that bond? What if you made the same arrangement with Ferris that you had before?’

‘I cannot, Tim Meriwether. The bond that is broken is broken, and it was only ever made in the first place because there was a need for it and both parties agreed to it.’

‘Both demons,’ Ferris said.

‘That was how the pact was made, yes.’ Lucia said.

‘If I am able to remember who I was, what I was, will I be as I was before?’

Lucia moved to stand close to Ferris and laid a hand on his cheek. ‘You fear that, don’t you, Ferris? You fear what you cannot remember, but what you conjure to be so in your imagination. Oh how you borrow trouble.’

‘It can’t have been good,’ he whispered, ‘or you wouldn’t have seen fit to take it from me.’

‘If you survive what is to come and manage to do so without killing someone, then your past will be yours to bear, as is the case for all of us. However you will not be as you were before because who you have been since I brought Cassandra to you, who you have been since you have come the this coven has shaped you.’ She shrugged, her robe swayed and crackled slightly and she stepped back. ‘Whether all of these years have done more than added a simple patina to you long existence, I cannot tell. Only you can.’

‘I won’t hear any more of this,’ Cassandra said. ‘Ferris stays with us.’ Then she shot Tara an apologetic glance. ‘Or I go with him, wherever he goes. For a long time he was the only family I had.’

Anderson slid an arm around her and Tara nodded. ‘No one is going anywhere, Cassandra. We’ll do what we need to for Ferris. Lucia –’ she turned her attention to the demon ‘—What can we expect?’

‘There will be more irrational behaviour. Ferris will have less and less memory of that irrational behaviour when it happens.’

‘Will I be –’

‘Will you be violent?’ Lucia finished for him. ‘Not in the usual sense of violence.’

‘What the hell does that mean,’ Tim said.

‘There will be delusions,’ Lucia held Ferris’s gaze. ‘Hallucinations, and they will increase the longer Ferris is not himself.’

‘And?’ Ferris asked. The man looked as calm and unassuming as he always did.

Lucia took a deep breath, which she did not need and bit her lip, her eyes still locked on his. ‘And if you’re still unable to return to yourself, those hallucinations, those delusions will spread.’

‘What do you mean spread?’ Tara said.

Lucia turned to face her, then moved so close to her that the two were practically nose to nose, and the hem of her gown looked as though it engulfed Tara in flame from her hips down. ‘I mean that if Ferris does not return to himself soon, his hallucinations will effect all of you. Everyone in the coven will see what he sees, will experience what he experiences, and it will be as real to them as it is to him.’

‘Fuck!’ Tim whispered.

‘Some will be more effected than others,’ Lucia continued. ‘And not everyone will be effected all the time. I can give you no rhyme nor reason to who or how, nor can I tell you a timetable, only that it will be soon. Ferris has been too long outside the bond. His ability to separate from his host is proof of that.’

The room was deadly silent. Outside on the buddleia a black bird trilled. The clock in the parlour struck seven.

‘Then I have to go,’ Ferris said, his voice sounding no different than it always did. ‘I have to go somewhere isolated where I can harm no one. Or surely there must be someplace magical? What about the Ether?’ he asked.

‘That is a possibility my dear man,’ Anderson said. ‘But I would prefer it only as a last resort.’ He looked at Lucia, who nodded confirmation.

‘I cannot say what can be done, nor can I say how the coven may help,’ Lucia said. ‘I can only say that I offer any help I can give, and that Ferris must be willing to open himself.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tara said again. ‘He’s one of our own, and we’ll not abandon him. We’ll find a way.’ During the conversation, Tara observed that Elaine had moved close and closer to Ferris until she held him around the waist in a tight embrace, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘Lucia, you’ll tell us all you can?’

‘Yes of course,’ the demon said.

‘And you’re immune to the hallucinations,’ Kennet asked.

‘Of course.’

Kennet hitched his towel around his waist and nodded. ‘That’s good to know in case things get rough.’

‘I can’t let you do this?’ Ferris said to Tara. Elaine whimpered at his side and tightened her embrace.

‘You have no choice,’ Tara replied. ‘You’re one of our own.’ There was a general murmur of consensus.
‘Besides, you heard Lucia; there’s no place you can go on this plane that’s isolated enough for safety. I Pic from ETO winBqxJnN_CEAIXatU.jpg-largementioned dream magic last night, and I think that would be a good place to begin.’ Lucia nodded her agreement, then without warning, stepped back inside Tara’s body, this time causing no more than a shiver up her spine.

‘We’re not doing anything on an empty stomach –’ Fiori said, picking up the spatula from the counter and straightening her shoulders. ‘The eggs have just been delivered from Jenkins farm. I was just about to make omelettes. Coffee’s brewed and the kettle’s on. Help yourself to fresh strawberries.

 

 

Channeling the Cat by Lisabet Sarai

The Eyes Of BastIt’s almost a joke – the common association between authors and cats. I haven’t done a systematic survey, but I would estimate that at least 75% of the authors I hosts as blog guests mention feline companions in their bios. I’m no exception. I currently have two cats who traveled with us from the United States to southeast Asia ten years ago, and who have settled in quite comfortably.

Of course, many famous writers were renowned for their close relationships with their felines.  Colette, Papa Hemingway, Jean-Paul Satre, Ray Bradbury… the list goes on and on.  The inspiration for my erotic writing career, Portia da Costa, is a huge cat lover – that’s one of the things that forged a bond between us.

Many explanations have been offered for the feline-author affinity. A cat doesn’t need to be walked, so we can spend our time at our desks as opposed to trucking around on the street scooping up their business. Cats are mysterious creatures with many layers of personality – rather like effective characters. Cats have an elegance and precision of movement we writers might use as a model for our prose. Many authors have cited their felines as sources of inspiration. Noted Canadian writer Robertson Davies once said “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reason.”

The other day, I was suddenly struck by a new theory. I was thinking about the fact that so many authors report hearing “voices”. “I just listen to my characters, and write down what they say,” one of my guests commented. Writing sometimes feels like something driven from outside, beyond our conscious control. Well, what if that’s true?

What if it’s not our characters who are dictating the story? What if it’s our cats?

Ridiculous, right? But Mr. Toes sits behind my monitor most days I’m writing. He pretends to be asleep, but if I should get up for a bathroom break or a drink of water, he stirs and gives me a look, as it to say, “Where are you going? The story’s not done yet!”

I grew up with cats. I grew up writing fiction. When I went off to college and then grad school, I left the felines behind, and although I wrote lots of poetry during that period, I didn’t pen a single story. Then I met my husband, a confirmed ailurophile, and filled my life with felines once more. Next thing you know, I was a published author.

Ever tried to write when your cat was sick? Tough to concentrate on the tale, isn’t it?

And wouldn’t this explain why our characters are larger than life? Why they have so much vitality, such powerful passions, such intense adventures? How could a mere human imagine such creatures? Cats, though – they have superhuman abilities. Just ask them.

Of course to really test this, we’d all have to get rid of our felines and then see if we could still write.

That might be informative. It might restore our self-respect. But it’s simply too painful to contemplate.

If I’m channeling my cats, I’m okay with that. As long as they don’t want their names on the cover.

Meanwhile, I’ve finally written a story in which a cat has center stage. The Eyes of Bast is a shifter tale with a difference. Read on to learn more.

*****

Excerpt:

Tom finally broke the kiss and leaned back with a sigh. “Ah, Shaina! I should never have allowed you near me. But I was so very lonely… I wasn’t thinking straight. Now I’ve put you in danger too.”

“Danger? What kind of danger?” I reached over to flick the switch on my reading lamp, so I could read his expressions. Then I seated myself cross-legged at his feet and clasped his hands in mine. “Tell me, Tom. Tell me everything.”

“You will not believe me.”

“How could I not believe after – after what I saw this morning?”

His brows knotted together. “I never wanted you to see – I was careless…”

“But I did see. And now I know, at least something about you. But I don’t know enough to help you out of whatever trouble you’re in. Tell me the whole truth. I promise I’ll keep it private, if that’s what you want. And I promise I won’t be shocked.”

Tom’s lush mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. “You might not be able to keep that promise. But never mind. You’ve asked. I’ll tell you.”

He stared off into the distance, above my head. “I was born in a small town in coastal Maine, about seven years ago.”

“Seven years…?”

“I was born a cat.”

I choked down my cry of surprise. How could it be…?

“Yes. I was born under a wharf. I spent the first six months of my life as a black kitten, a stray living off the scraps from the fishing boats and clam shacks. Then she caught me and made me her prisoner.”

“She?”

“I don’t even want to utter her name. There’s danger in the very word. She is a witch, centuries old, a practitioner of the darkest arts – the epitome of evil. Out walking one evening along the rocky shore, she caught sight of me and wanted me as her familiar. It was easy for her to lure me into her clutches.

“At first she just used me to facilitate her spells. The rumored powers of black cats are more than just legend. Before long, though, she began to experiment.”

His ominous tone sent a chill through my naked body. I pulled the towel around me.

“You see, her advanced age hadn’t diminished her lust. Quite the opposite. She wanted a sexual plaything, someone she could use to satisfy her perverted desires. A male body she could own and control. So she delved into her books of magic, seeking a spell that would turn her poor innocent feline familiar into a man – at least when she wanted him that way.

“Her first attempts failed.” Tom shuddered at the recollection. “She barely managed to save my life. I guess she’d grown fond of me at that point – in her own twisted way.”

“Oh, Tom…”

“Finally, she found a ritual that would change an animal into a human during the hours when the sun was banished from the earth. I’ll never forget the terror of that first transformation, when I found myself wobbling on two legs in front of her naked body. It was even worse than what came after.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, Shaina – I was human, but scarcely a man. I was barely thirteen.”

*****

Blurb:

Trust your heart. Follow your dreams.

Shaina Williams’ grandmother bequeathed her that wisdom, along with a old pendant from the Islands, carved from an ocelot’s tooth. When instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’d set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice, She discovers she’s caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape – the tomcat she’d rescued.

Born a cat, Tom was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate – even though it might mean losing him forever.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK | Amazon US

*****

About the Author:

When I was a little girl, my dad would make up stories for my siblings and me, fabulous sagas about ghosts and monsters, magical races with mysterious powers, heroes on impossible quests, hidden treasures awaiting only the most courageous seeker. I blame him for my lifelong fascination with the magical and miraculous.

Now that I’m grown up, I create my own tales of wonder, weaving in generous portions of human desire with its potent enchantments. In my paranormal tales, love works the most powerful magick.

Find out more about me and my books at my website, Lisabet’s Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) and my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). I also hang out on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) and Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai).  I also have a VIP readers email list where I share release and contest information and run exclusive monthly giveaways. To join, just email me: lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com.

An ETO Award … And it Has My Name on It!

I’m begging a bit of indulgence from readers on this post, since it was written on my BlackBerry in the wee hours in bed in the dark in the Crown Plaza Hotel after the 2014 ETO Awards. Hopefully there’ll be a more coherent post a little later on. 

My award 2It’s three in the morning. I’m lying in bed next my sleeping husband, knowing I should try to get some rest. But I’m too keyed up to sleep. How can I possibly when I keep glancing over at the desk and seeing the lovely ETO Award glinting in the moonlight streaming in the window. That award has my name on it! Yes! My name — KD Grace, it says! Best erotic author, it says in bold letters as big as you please.

Lee Schoefield called my name. As the winner. After Dale Bradford had read off all our names, the nominees. And they are all amazing writers, people I admire, people I look up to — And the fact that half of that esteemed company are Brit Babes made the event even sweeter! In addition to Sylvia Day and the fabulous Violet Blue, Brit Babes – amazing writers and dear friends – Kay Jaybee and Lucy Felthouse were nominated too! At first it didn’t register. How could he be calling my name? I sort of remember walking to the stage. After kissing my husband. Shell shocked. Hoping I wouldn’t trip over my own feet, wondering if I could remember how to speak. Me, speechless! Can you imagine such a thing?

P1020080The ETO and ETO Magazine have been so supportive of erotic writers. We’ve always been able to count on them to promote us and what we do and to give us a chance to promote ourselves. It isn’t just that, it’s knowing that people voted, people who like what I write, and that what I write, what all of us erotic authors write is appreciated. yup! Pretty much speechless.

I remember seeing the slide of my image in walking togs, gigantic and huge for all the world to see with Best Erotic Author in huge letters. I remember thinking how much more comfortable I would have been in those walking togs, and probably how much more surer on my feet I would have been. Strange P1020093the things you think about. And then I was on stage receiving that gorgeous shiny award with my name on it. I could see the Brit Babes cheering. It was their award too. It was our award. They hold me up. We hold each other up and challenge each other to write better, to be more creative. I was so glad to be celebrating with them. I said something to that effect, or at least I think I did. I’m much better with written words than impromptu speaking in front of a roomful of people. I remember there were pictures then and I went back to my the table, Ruby Kiddell and Velvet Books had so generously shared with the Brit Babes, gripping the award and the bottle of fizz and smiling like a crazy person. I barely got sat down before Cara Sutra won the best journalist award and I was cheering at the top of my lungs and the totally P1020088awesome Renee Denyer, manager at  Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium and one of my true heroes, won best shop manager for Sh! And, icing on the cake, Xcite Books once again won the award for Best Erotic Books Brand. Kay Jaybee and I had the honour of accepting the Xcite award for Hazel Cushion, who couldn’t be there. That gave us the lovely opportunity to fondle two ETO Awards! 

So many reasons to celebrate.!

Then we danced like wild women, we Brit Babes. And I danced with my long suffering husband who’s always been by my side on this crazy writing journey — really loving the pride I saw in his eyes.

Later, when the dancing was over and the bus had taken us back to the hotel, I sat in the lobby with my award collageVictoria Blisse,  Kay Jaybee & Lexie Bay and we talked and planned and schemed and laughed. Sadly we had to leave Tabitha Rayne who was in a different hotel. As the subject turned to the challenges of writing a story and living the writers’ life, I couldn’t help myself. I kept touching that shiny award, reading the name on it again and again. Just to be sure.

And now, outside my hotel room window, the first Blackbird is just starting to sing because I’m up at such an hour. I still can’t believe it, and I think I’ll go check out the name on the award one more time before I try to sleep. Just to be sure. And hasn’t this just turned into a total navel-gaze. But what do you expect at this hour? 

Later when I’ve had time to rest and reflect, when I’ve had time to think a little more coherently, I’ll do another ETO post about the show, about the people, about the fun. But surely just tonight I can be allowed a little navel-gaze.

Thanks for a fabulous evening, ETO! You rock!

Wolfsong Lullaby: A Sneak Peek at H D March’s New Release

Helen Duggan Ellen March 23 JuneThank you again K D for this opportunity to blog on your site. Only this time as H D March the alter ego of Ellen March. I’m still writing erotic romance, only this time in the paranormal. And I love it. The first of my vampire trilogy signed up with Passion in Print is available on release 21st June. Wolfsong Lullaby will be followed by Requiem and Soul. I adore my vampire bad boys, along with the sexy Werelion Chaya. He’s such a wicked cat, and awesome, a real pain in the ass to Quest the hero of Lullaby.

When wild child Lyric arrives on Coral Island to write her thesis on sex, she soon discovers a world she never knew existed. Lyric is torn between the hot vampire Quest and the mischievous Werelion Chaya. But there is something that intends spoiling her fun. Fuelling a long delayed destiny. One that is entwined with a curse. Because Lyric’s presence has awakened an evil entity. Its target, her soul. Only Quest stands in the way but will his strength be enough to save her.

The tale takes you through love, revenge, courage and betrayal as each of the three Declare brothers discover their own nemesis. They fight for their loved ones and are forced to consider what they’d always abhorred now needs to be understood. Yet only one emotion will free them, that’s’ love, but is it enough to unchain them from years of hatred by another. If your wish is to curl up into a wicked fantasy. Delve into the lives of hot sexy heroes, and flawed heroines. To melt beneath the intense love scenes, weep for them, and laugh with them then Wolfsong delivers.

I love the freedom that writing paranormal gives me, leaving my imagination fly. The research has to be my favourite part and in particular studying mythology and putting my own slant on things. It also gave me a nudge in another direction and recently I’ve had Song of the Dragon accepted by Passion in Print, a humorous tale of Dragon shifters, with a crazy kleptomaniac fairy Elspeth who’s crude and swears like a trooper along with her not so sexy angel boyfriend Troy. Greylan is my awesome Dragon King who takes a shine to heroine Raven, until he discovers who she is. And does what any self-respecting Dragon would do, kidnaps her.

I have so much fun writing hot paranormal the ideas come fast and furious and currently I’ve just completed another vampire story Rune and already have rumbles of its sister book.

EXCERPT:

Lyric checked the time, and at exactly seven, a knock sounded from the door. She moved to answer it; a swell of nerves swirled in her belly. Opening it, she snatched in a gasp at the sight of Quest dressed all in black.

He looked all male, hot and totally fuckable. A testosterone delight that she would take great pleasure in unwrapping and licking. A truly alpha male experience.

His gaze, she noticed, dropped to the plunging neckline of her dress.

It clung to each curve; a creation made to invoke a man’s sexual thoughts and dreams. Her calling card. She didn’t miss his gaze liquefy as it dusted over her.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Quest waited. A lot of things the vampires had outsmarted; learnt to live with. But the request for entry remained in force.

It was called good manners.

A slither of a wicked grin played around her lips, and she stood back. “Please, come on in.”

Quest gave the briefest of acknowledgements and entered.

Lyric tried to swallow the posse of nerves rampaging through her. Hell, he looked hot. A virile magnetism bounced off him. His gaze, the hot promise from his golden eyes, sent a host of ripples shooting over her. A veritable riptide dragging her under, and she so wanted to skip the banal talk and fuck him stupid. “What would you like to drink?” Relief hit her that she could speak. This man took everything from her, speech, thought, and common sense. And she prayed he’d give it back in return and take. Take what she needed to give him, what she craved off him.

“Nothing. I’ve already eaten.”

She shrugged her shoulders, not quite the answer, but hey ho. Then walked in front of him to the small lounge. Lyric had her questions laid out, at least some of them, curious to know how he would reply. She tried to focus, to tear her thoughts away from his erection sitting snug in his trousers. One that she wanted to take deep inside her.

She tried not to glance down; he wasn’t hard yet, but even so, he had an impressive package. One of the biggest lazy lobs it had ever been her pleasure to sift her eyes over. She licked her lips, not missing how his attention devoured her.

Lyric motioned to the chair, the one she intended conducting her interview from. “Take a seat.”

“So, what is it you want to know?” Quest crossed one leg over the other, the material of his trousers strained taut over his heavily muscled thigh.

“I have a number of questions, which obviously we won’t get through tonight. I need an insight into a man’s prospective.” Her hand shook as she checked the paper out and cursed, wishing she could keep in control

“Begin.”

“Well, first of all, what does it for you? What makes you horny?” She shuffled the papers and tried to quell her nerves. That one word he spoke smashed into her defences; her blood boiled; her skin shivered. God knows what I’d do if he speaks dirty to me. And she wriggled her hips, a distinct dampness between her legs.

“You.” His gaze melted over her.

Oh, fuck. “Whoa, I mean give me a description of the person that would attract you and why.”

“It’s not the looks, it’s the emotion, the connection; do you understand?”

“How do you mean it?” She ran the pencil around on her piece of paper. Doodling. Pretending nonchalance. Anything to keep from pouncing on him, dragging his body to the floor. Lyric continued to draw little star shaped signs. Her mind, her predatory thoughts, on him.

God, she needed to release his so impressive cock, one that she knew lurked beneath his trousers. With determination, she kept her gaze from his crotch because any second she would throw her pad, pencil, and sanity into the air and jump him. She fidgeted, her damp panties soaked against a randy clit.

“I could look at a woman and not feel a thing, yet with you…” He flashed a sexy wink. “You do it for me; I want to sink deep into you.”

Lyric all but groaned. “Okay, what makes you hard?”

“Same answer sweetheart, you do.”

“Bullshit, aside from me, name an instance.” She hauled in a hungry gasp of breath. Unaware, the words blasted out, echoing her thoughts. She spoke them without thinking. “Would you like sex with me?” Fuck, did I just say that? Please God, say yes because, honey, I’m going to leap your bones.

He turned to her, a splash of pure lust burned across his face. “”Hell, yes, why do you think I’m here?”

Thank Christ for that! A raze of relief hit her, so hard she shuddered beneath its onslaught. She liked him. No, she didn’t, she argued with herself. Like was too mild a word. She wanted to fuck him; heck his body, his everything, did it for her. And also, she admired the fact he knew his own mind. That he needed sex as much as she craved it.

Lyric rose and moved to him. She leaned across and draped her hand over his so evident hard-on, her hand palmed his jaw, caressing. With infinite care, she bent her head, her lips seeking his; she licked him across his cheek. One super luscious slurp that smacked of sex and longing.

Her lips hovered over his. “Then kiss me.” Her words sprinkled over him in a hot whisper.

“No, baby, I never kiss, only fuck.” He continued his wandering tease over her skin.

Lyric reared back; it smacked of rented sex. A fuel of anger exploded. “Then, in that case, I suggest you leave, now.”

“What?”

“You heard me; you don’t kiss, then, honey, trust me, that cock of yours is going nowhere near me.”

Quest’s face hardened; his eyes wide, they flared in surprise. And quickly narrowed, a deep molten gold burned into her. An intense heat blasted from him. “What did you say?”

Lyric pointed, her finger quivered with anger that he thought her a quick jump, with no emotion. Even though it would be, but under her terms. “Get the hell out now!”

“What about the tutorials?”

“Has got nothing at all to do with you; now, if you would kindly leave.”

Quest glared at her; no one, and that meant no one, ever told him what to do. Yet it seemed this galling woman had managed to succeed in doing just that.

He gave a sharp nod and, with a sweeping, glaring glance, left, swearing he’d be back because she would bow to what he wanted. And in the meantime, he’d watch over her, only too aware that Chaya sat in the wings.

Buy Wolfsong Lullaby Here: 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wolfsong-Lullaby-HD-March-ebook/dp/B00L6F8L0Y

http://passioninprint.com/ShowBook.php?10=HDM_WOLFSONGL

Find Ellen March Here:

https://twitter.com/Ms_ellen_march twitter page

https://www.facebook.com/ellenmarchauthor facebook

http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com/  website

 

The Morning After

The Morning After Smut by the Sea 2014:

P1010991It’s been a week since Smut by the Sea now. Can’t believe how fast time flies, and what a roller-coaster ride the week back home has been. But I want to talk about The Morning After today. I wrote most of this post on The Morning After. That meant everything was running late. My brain felt like someone stuffed it with cotton wool. When I sat down to write, I spilled my coffee and woe to anyone who crossed my path wrong. I’d have probably either bitten their head off, or worse yet, I’d have cried. As I walked to the green grocery that Morning After to cheer myself up with some summer fruit, I thought about why The Mornings After are so hard.

This time it was the Morning After Smut by the Sea. Just as I had expected, at Smut by the Sea there was that fantastic camaraderie with other writers. There was the chance to meet readers and encourage new writers to press on. One of the best parts of Smut by the Sea this year was meeting four members of the Brit Babes’ Street Team. Alison ScottDebbie Lowery,  Stephanie Robb and Peter Hill.What a pleasure it was to share the smut-tastic fun with the four of them. I was inspired by Victoria Blisse. I have the P1010956beginnings of a hot new story thanks to her workshop. I was reminded of what editors need and want in Lucy Felthouse’s workshop – always good for writers to remember. I was encouraged by the wonderful reaction and input and snippets share by the lovely writers in my writing workshop. I loved being read to in the reading slam and being intrigued by the stories shared there. Jackie Brocker had me squirming on my seat and my mouth watering with the most sensual description of eating a chocolate eclair I’ve ever heard. Janine Ashbless read some of the hottest, most prickly vampire prose I’ve ever heard. I was in aural heaven.

Beyond the actual schedule of events of Smut by the Sea, there was the wonderful catching up with other writers and talking shop. We writers work in isolation so we seldom get that chance to share with each
SBTS 2014 poster 2other. There was the chance to encourage new writers and the opportunity to meet readers in person. All in all it was a perfect day.

Buuuuuut … the Morning After, back home, I moped around with my chin on the ground. Why is the Morning After so hard? Here is a truth that I share gently and, in small doses, with new writers because I’m always afraid I’ll discourage them. Writing is hard enough and discouraging enough without hearing another writer talk about the hardships of the vocation. It’s a neurotic job we do. We work alone; our work is never done, and no matter how hard we try, we’re never a hundred per cent satisfied with what we do. Then there are the rejections that are just a part of the package and the bad reviews that every writer gets. There’s the wondering if we’ve done the best we can to promote ourselves, to make sure that our babies get the attention we think they so richly deserve. There’s the constant mental battle to decide what tasks we can leave undone so we can spend more quality time writing. And who doesn’t live with the chilling fear that tomorrow morning we might wake up and not a single word will come to us when we sit down to write?

P1020023The Mornings After are those days that follow the highs of being a writer – a good review, times spent
with other writers, a new sale, a nice royalty cheque, an inspired writing session. The Mornings After are the times when we remember that we’re always on our way up a very steep slope and that the pause to enjoy and to celebrate with writing friends — a pause we’ve well earned — is only that, just a pause.

Those last few weeks before and the weeks immediately following the publication of my first novel, I found myself depressed. The publication of The Initiation of Ms Holly raised the bar. Every writer wants each story, each novella, each novel to be better than the one before, and every writer wants to do all she can to see that her baby gets a good start. The Morning After is the understanding that we don’t know what will happen next, we don’t know exactly how to get where we want to be, as writers, and it’s inevitable that we’ll make mistakes along the way. The path is incredibly daunting. Sometimes it’s daunting because of the huge challenge we face. I felt that way when I began writing as Grace Marshall. Sometimes it just feels overwhelming because there are never enough hours in the day to do what we’d like to do to promote, to write, to become better at our craft. Quite often the Mornings After, for me, involves the overwhelming desire to run away and hide someplace where no one can find me until my heart rate settles and I can breathe again and think rationally again.

But when I strip away all that overwhelms me, all that frightens me, all that upsets me – the massive writing image 2need to promote my work, the blog posts that need to be written, the work that needs to be done, the editing, the social networking, the tight deadlines, the fact that I’m never totally pleased with myself and I set my standards outrageously high and I’m tunnel-visioned, and … breathe, KD! Breathe!

Once everything else is stripped away, the bottom line, the bedrock of my life and who I am as a human being is that writing is not a job for me. Writing is not a hobby. Writing is my vocation, my calling. Telling a story is my passion, and I’ll do it no matter what. I’ll do it because I can’t NOT do it. It’s as important as breathing. It’s my anchor to sanity when I feel like running away screaming. It’s both the gift and the curse, and the pull at my centre that keeps me focused and moving forward.

I hope that by writing this, I haven’t scared new writers, or maybe I hope that I HAVE scared them. It’s that perpetual state of fear and discomfort edged up close and personal to the love affair with story, with word, with a vocation that sometimes baffles us, but never, NEVER bores us; it’s that sharp edge that makes writing the story more than just a hobby, that makes it a spiritual journey and a digging down into the meat and bones and grit of the tale we’re compelled to tell and the passion we have for it.

No worries. I got through the Morning After. I always do. The Work in Progress grabbed me by the P1010987collar, yanked me away from my navel gazing and sat me in front of the laptop, and once again I’m  focused on what really matters. I’m a writer at the heart of me, and if I go to the heart of me, I can always get through another Morning After.

A very special thanks again to two of my heroes in the world of smut, Victoria and Kev Blisse. Thanks to you two, Smut by the Sea was the kind of event that make for great memories, loads of inspiration, and much encouragement long after The Morning After. xxx