Shira Anthony's Blog - Posts Tagged "fantasy"

August 26, 2011 – One month to release day of my long novella, “The Dream of a Thousand Nights” on Dreamspinner Press! As a countdown to release day, I thought I’d share with you the first chapter of the story, which takes place ten years before the rest of the action. This is a pre-publication excerpt, so the final version may differ. Enjoy! -Shira

WARNING: CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT, 18+ ONLY!

Chapter One: Forgotten

Neriah ran down the narrow passageway between the hedgerows, stumbling over roots and rocks. His bare feet were now bloody, but he knew that he could not stop. The guards who pursued him had but one goal in mind: his death. His eyes burned with unshed tears at the memory of what he had seen as he fled his room in the palace. He swore under his breath that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to grab his sword. He was unarmed. Vulnerable.

Why are they trying to kill me? What have I done to warrant this? Why would Father—?

“Over here!” shouted one of the men.

He could hear footsteps close behind—the guards would soon overtake him. He brushed his long dark hair from his eyes and threw off the silk jacket he wore, tossing it under one of the large bushes. He followed this by removing his shirt and the silk scarf around his head—the bright fabrics were too visible. He pulled the gold earring from his ear and struggled to remove the rings from his fingers, shoving them into his pockets as he continued to run, panting, toward the high wall that surrounded the palace.

I have to get over the wall, he thought as his lungs began to ache from the strain of running for so long. At least on the outside, I have a chance.

The wall loomed above him now with its smooth, white stone, and he looked around in desperation, trying to spot something upon which to gain a foothold. And then he saw it—a climbing rose, ancient and knotty, unyielding. It stretched up against the wall, attaching itself tenaciously to the grooves between the stones. Beneath it on the ground were yellowing rose petals, the remnants of early summer now left to decay. He ran toward the vine just as the palace guards had spotted him.

“There he is!” one called to the others, pointing toward the garden wall.

Neriah grabbed the gnarled stem of the ancient rose, ignoring the pain of its thorns as they dug into his soft hands. He clambered up, clutching one of the smaller branches that climbed high above the garden. The branch bent with his weight, and he began to fall backward, managing at the last moment to get hold of another branch and steady himself. He felt his knees burn against the smooth stone as he struggled upward, reaching the top of the wall. Winded, bloodied, his face covered in dirt, he stood at the top and looked back at the palace, its deep blue and gold turrets silhouetted against the sky.

Mother, he thought as he fought back tears, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I promise I’ll avenge your death.

One of the pursuing guards began to climb the rose after him, causing the old vine to shudder and shake beneath the man’s weight. Neriah looked down at the street below. Several vendors had set up their stalls beneath where he stood, their booths covered with bright fabrics attached to simple wooden poles. There were more shouts from behind him in the garden as he teetered on the edge, trying to find a spot to land.

They’ll kill you if you stay, he reminded himself as he looked at the tops of the stalls and wished that they weren’t so far down.

He saw his mother’s face in his mind’s eye, recalling her battered body on the marble floor and the lifeless glaze of her eyes. They had been looking for him—he was sure of it—and she had refused to tell them where he was. Her sacrifice had saved his life. She wanted you to live, he told himself. He frowned and, gathering his courage, jumped.

“Is he dead?” came a voice at the periphery of his consciousness.

“No. I fixed his body. He’s just asleep, Kuri,” replied a second voice, deeper than the first. “Bring me the blanket.”

“You’ll be banished for saving him, you know,” said the first voice. “We can’t help humans. Not unless we’re commanded.”

“I won’t let him die here,” answered the second voice. “Just bring me the blanket. Now.”

He heard the sound of footsteps, then felt strong hands tucking something warm around his aching body. He struggled back to consciousness and looked up into a pair of amber eyes that sparkled like sunlight and reminded him of the finest jewels his mother wore. The thought of his mother made his heart ache, but something in the compassionate gaze of those almond-shaped eyes put him at ease, and he felt the pain begin to recede.

“Don’t try to speak,” said the young man who leaned over him. “You must rest for now. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here.”

He awoke again to absolute darkness. He struggled to sit up, panicked that the guards had found him. He imagined himself in the dungeons below the palace, his arms bound to his sides. But as the haze of sleep and exhaustion began to clear, he realized that his arms were held at his sides by the blanket that was wrapped around him.

“Please,” he whispered into the blackness. His voice was hoarse, his mouth parched. He felt himself pulled upward, and gentle fingers brushed his matted hair from his face.

“It’s all right,” came the reply. It was the same warm, high baritone he had heard before—the voice, Neriah guessed, of a young man. “Your body has been mended. But you haven’t had anything to eat or drink since I found you two days ago.” He felt the coldness of metal pressed to his mouth, the cool liquid soothing to his dry lips. “Don’t drink it too fast. Your body won’t tolerate it.” He slowed his gulps and relaxed, allowing his weak body to be supported.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding less rough.

“Can you sit on your own?” the young man asked.

“I think so,” he answered as he found the wall behind him and rested his weight against it.

He heard footsteps, then the sound of a small oil lamp being lit. He blinked to focus on his companion, who looked to be about sixteen or seventeen—his own age. “I am Tamir,” replied the young man, whose hair was a deep red in the lamplight. He wore simple cotton clothing—the shalvar kameez of a peasant—and his long hair was tied in a high ponytail with a piece of green fabric. Neriah found himself captivated by the exotic beauty of the boy.

“Tamir,” Neriah repeated, “you’ve been very kind to me.”

The edges of Tamir’s mouth turned upward in a tender smile. “When I found you at the edge of the market, I feared you were dead,” he said.

“I am called…,” Neriah hesitated, afraid to reveal his true name, “Sheva.” He hated to lie to his savior, but his fear was great, both for his own safety as well as Tamir’s.

“I’m pleased to have met you, Sheva,” Tamir replied, sitting cross-legged in front of Neriah. “Do you think you can eat?”

Neriah nodded, feeling his belly complain. Tamir handed him a small flatbread. Neriah tore a piece of the bread and began to eat it with relish. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you more,” Tamir said, pleased to see his companion’s fine appetite. “Perhaps tomorrow—”

“You needn’t apologize,” Neriah interrupted, gazing at his rescuer. “I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me.”

“Were you being chased?” Tamir asked as Neriah continued to eat the bread. “I heard that you were atop the palace wall—that you fell.”

“I…,” Neriah began, unsure of what to say. He wanted to tell the other boy the truth—that he was a prince, that he had done nothing wrong, and that his mother had died to save his life—but he found himself oddly tongue-tied. Despite his unease, he felt a strange sense of peacefulness radiate from his companion.

“It’s all right,” Tamir said, “you needn’t tell me anything. I’ve been in a fair number of fights myself. Kuri said the Royal Guards were searching the marketplace.”

Neriah coughed on the bread, having inhaled a bit of it in his alarm at the news. Tamir put his hand on Neriah’s back and, with a deft flick of his wrist, hit Neriah between the shoulder blades. The piece of bread on which Neriah had choked flew out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Sheva,” said Tamir, looking wretched, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine, Tamir,” Neriah replied as he tried to calm his racing heart. “I guess I just ate a bit too fast for my own good.” Their eyes met, and Neriah took in the strong lines of Tamir’s jaw, noting the soft indentation of his cheek and the dimples at the edges of his mouth. He is beautiful, he thought, admiring the ethereal quality of Tamir’s eyes. His next thought was one of grief and self-reproach. How could you even think such a thing at a time like this? He felt tears threaten and clenched his jaw. He would not show weakness to anyone, let alone a stranger. He was, he reminded himself, still a prince.

“Something is wrong,” Tamir ventured, noticing Neriah’s hard expression. “Those men. Why were they after you, Sheva?”

Neriah wiped his eyes and frowned. “I… I stole something from them,” he lied as he forced the image of his dead mother from the forefront of his mind. “They chased after me. I thought they would kill me.” He looked at his hands and said nothing more. A lie and the truth. He hoped it would suffice as an explanation of how he had come to be injured.

Neriah needn’t have worried, for Tamir replied, “You don’t have to tell me more. You should rest. Tomorrow, when you are stronger, you can make your way out of the city, if you wish.”

Neriah studied the other boy’s face for a moment. If he’d wanted to turn me in, he would have done so by now, he thought. Still, he hesitated. Why would this boy—this commoner—wish to help him?

“I promise no harm will come to you while you sleep,” Tamir added, as if he had read Neriah’s mind. The effect of these words upon Neriah was almost magical. Neriah knew, in that instant, that Tamir spoke the truth. Too tired to argue with himself over the wisdom of this blind trust, Neriah just said, “Thank you,” and lay down upon the makeshift pillow once more.

Neriah awoke sometime later, Tamir’s body pressed against his own, warm and comforting. Without thinking, he wrapped his hands around the young man’s chest, burying his head against Tamir’s back, desperate to think of something other than the dangerous future that awaited him outside these walls. He heard Tamir sigh, and he released Tamir from the embrace, afraid that he had overstepped the boundaries of their newfound friendship.

It was then that Tamir rolled over and reached for Neriah. Neriah could smell the other boy’s sweet fragrance, which called to mind jasmine and spices. They lay that way for the longest time, neither of them speaking. “I haven’t been truthful with you,” Neriah admitted, “I—”

“Shhh,” Tamir replied, pressing his fingertips to Neriah’s soft lips. “I do not need to know. I just wish I could ease your pain.”

The lamp, which had been burning since Tamir had lit it hours before, now guttered and died. Neriah reached for Tamir and ran lithe fingers through his crimson hair. It felt like silk in Neriah’s hands. “I am sorry to have put you through this,” he said. “I don’t deserve such—” But his words were cut short this time, not by Tamir’s fingers but by his lips, pressed against Neriah’s.

Neriah felt his pulse quicken. The kiss broke and Neriah began, “Tamir, I…”

“I’m sorry,” Tamir replied. “I should not have touched you. I beg your forgiveness.”

Neriah opened his mouth to speak, to tell Tamir that he had done nothing wrong, that he wanted this too. Instead, he kissed the redhead. He had never lain with another man before, but his need to possess those full lips was so great that he found he could not help himself.

Their kiss deepened, and Neriah’s desire for the young man beside him grew. His hands sought the smooth skin of Tamir’s chest of their own accord. He felt the hard muscle beneath the warm skin and, in the darkness, he kissed Tamir’s shoulder. He heard Tamir gasp in pleasure as Neriah’s hands probed beneath the boy’s cotton shalvar, and he felt Tamir’s hardness grow beneath his fingers.

“Sheva,” whispered Tamir, pulling Neriah’s hands away, “Please… let me pleasure you.”

Neriah tried to protest, but Tamir’s gentle lips met his own, and Neriah found that he had no will to resist him. Tamir pulled Neriah’s pantaloons away, tracing Neriah’s body with his fingers. Neriah felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the other boy’s touch. None of the women he had lain with had ever touched him in this way, nor had he responded to them so powerfully, despite their beauty. “Please,” he moaned, as Tamir began to cover his body with feathery kisses. He could not think—he didn’t want to think—he just wanted to forget the ache in his heart.

“Let me take away your pain, Sheva,” Tamir said, finding Neriah’s hard length and kissing it. Neriah inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. It was at once the sweetest and most stunning revelation of Neriah’s young life—not the fact that it was a man pleasuring him thus, but that he could feel anything so overwhelming, so wonderful, even as his heart grieved.

How does he know? Neriah wondered. And yet the truth was plain—Tamir understood the depth of his pain and his need.

When he thought he could stand it no longer, that his release would come at Tamir’s warm lips, Tamir freed him from his mouth and clasped his arms around him. Neriah, overcome, claimed Tamir’s lips once more and they held each other. And in that brief moment, Neriah knew he would never know anything as warm and reassuring as Tamir’s arms.

“Let me guide you,” Tamir whispered, licking his hand and taking Neriah’s erection in it. Neriah, understanding what was to come, did not protest, but moved to press against the tight place between Tamir’s buttocks. What followed was pure bliss, and Neriah’s sorrow evaporated as he lost himself in the warmth of his companion. Tamir’s soft skin was more beautiful than any woman’s, the way his body molded to Neriah’s like the most sensual of kisses. Neriah knew that Tamir, too, shared the same joy as he, for Tamir’s cries of pleasure mingled with Neriah’s own in the dark stillness of the night.

“Why would you do this for me?” Neriah heard himself say afterward, his breath ragged with release.

“Because I could,” came the answer, along with the arms that encircled him in blissful warmth.

“But you know nothing about me; you owe me nothing,” Neriah persisted, uncomprehending.

“But I do know you, beloved,” Tamir replied, his voice like the sigh of the wind through an orange grove in Neriah’s ear. “You are kind and brave and strong. It is the least I could do for you.”

Still entwined, the two boys fell asleep, Neriah’s head against Tamir’s chest.

Tamir awoke at daybreak and, for the longest time, just watched Neriah sleep. His eyes traveled along the prince’s well-defined jaw to his high cheekbones, following the hollow of his cheeks to the slender nose and dark eyebrows. Unable to contain himself, Tamir traced his fingers over Neriah’s graceful lips for a moment, then reached to pull a narrow gold chain from around his own neck. Dangling from the chain was a jade pendant, etched with a depiction of the moon and two stars. He fingered the pendant for a moment, and his eyes filled with tears.

“I cannot come with you, my Prince,” he said with great tenderness as he kneeled over the sleeping Neriah and placed the chain around his neck. “But perhaps, when you sleep, you will dream of me.”

He touched his hand to Neriah’s forehead and whispered, “Now, forget me.”

My guest today is Dreamspinner Press author Tali Spencer. Tali's book, Sorcerer's Knot , was just released by Dreamspinner Press. It's also queued up on my Kindle (can't wait!). So when I invited Tali and she suggested she blog about tentacle monsters, I said, "Bring it on!" Nothing like sexy men and tentacles. I loved this amazing book! For my review, click here. And, that cover! Nothing like an Anne Cain cover to make me drool.

Welcome, Tali, and congratulations on the new release! -Shira

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Thanks to Shira for having me stop by to talk about my new release, Sorcerer’s Knot. If you turn a sickly shade of green at the thought of rugged cliffs and crashing waves, this might not be the book for you. But if you enjoy magic and wizards and windswept islands, you just might love Sorcerer’s Knot.

You should know going in, though, that the story has a tentacle monster. The publisher didn’t put one on the cover, because the cover wasn’t big enough.

And why does it have a tentacle monster, you might ask? Well, here are the ten top reasons for a writer to put a tentacle monster in their book.

10. Your book will stand out in a crowd. How many books feature vampires? Werewolves? Firefighters? How about tentacle monsters? I rest my case.

9. Tentacle sex.

8. Readers won’t have to worry about a threesome or possible cheating, or whether the relationship happens too quickly. Almost no one expects the usual rules of courtship to apply to a tentacle monster.

7. Negative publicity. It’s better than none.

6. Some readers will try to understand the motives of the tentacle monster and make apologies for it. This is always fun.

5. Describing a tentacle monster is challenging and requires cracking out the old thesaurus so you can dredge up words like membranous, pustule, carapace, squamous, tenebrous, prehensile, and proboscidian. Using such words to describe most villains would be outrageous, but is expected when the villain has tentacles.

4. There’s no question that your protagonist is in trouble when he’s dangling by his ankle in front of a tentacle monster.

3. Great conversation starter for social occasions: “Meet my wife. She writes books about tentacle monsters,” starts a conversation every time.

2. Did I mention tentacle sex?

1. It’s a tentacle monster!

All kidding aside, though…

Sorcerer’s Knot is a dark book, with a gritty love story and grittier plot. It takes place in a world where primal forces still rule and magic can be stolen. The hero may not be who he at first seems. And there’s real danger in unburying secrets.

Blurb: In a world where pleasure unlocks even the best-guarded magic, Cian has a long list of magical talents—and an even longer list of sorcerers he slept with to acquire them. He even seduced a dragon. There’s just one arcane power left for him to master: command over the sea. Now Cian has learned where to find Muir the Scarred, the only man known to have mastered that power—and he is determined to wrest it from him by whatever means necessary.

But completing the task isn’t so easy. First, Cian’s boat is wrecked on the shores of Muir’s desolate island. Then he learns an enchantment will keep him there forever. And when he tries to seduce Muir, he finds himself being seduced by the mysterious sorcerer instead. But the source of the power Cian seeks is also trapped on the island, and it will stop at nothing to break free, even if that means forcing pleasure—and magic—from Cian's unwilling body.

Excerpt:

The sea cradled the moon and shattered against a silvered coastline. Froth churned on rocks that gnashed at the water like teeth. Barely seen on the horizon, a single island, shaped like a horn, lifted above the ink-black surface. Cian saw no way to the beach but to climb down the bluff on which he stood.

There was no way to the island at all.

Sea magic, the most elusive of the seven arcana by which a man might order the elements, was tightly guarded. Fresh water belonged to the sky or the earth, and could be ordered by those who knew their words of power, but the ocean was its own domain, answerable to its own gods. Only one man had ever mastered its secret language.

Many great mages had tried to find the sea’s master and failed, but Cian hadn’t let that stop him. At the age of six, he had confounded his village’s elders by transmuting iron into gold, a talent that, a few years later, had attracted the attention of an avaricious monk. Sequestered in a mountain monastery, he had toiled in captivity, making gold until he was seized by an even more avaricious king, whose sorcerers had refined his gifts. Under their tutelage, he had learned the keys of magic.

At sixteen he became restless and, sensing that his usefulness was limiting what others allowed him to know, began delving into arts his masters would not teach. With single-minded dedication, he had burned his hours until he had learned the language of dragons, necromancy’s black secrets—and of the sea’s one master.

He had escaped every one of his keepers, and now he was in the full prime of his adulthood. His skills were such that he could draw knowledge through the thick skulls of kings and mages, adding to his trove of lore, but no matter to what land he traveled or what power he touched, the man he sought was never to be found except in the form of a rumor, a myth. At last, from the mind of a sea creature dragged from the ocean’s depths, he learned a name.

Muir the Scarred.

That was the man Cian sought. A man who commanded the oceans, their currents and creatures, whose fell whispers gave birth to whirlpools, storms, and tides. A man who, decades before Cian had been born, had destroyed a great civilization in an hour, sending it to the bottom of the Twice-Gated Sea.

I have found you, old man, Cian exulted as he climbed down to the beach. The sea creature had told him to seek Muir on an island at the edge of creation, the place where the sea had first given birth to land. This was that place. But once on the beach, he stood confounded. A wide channel separated this tongue of primordial headland from the island. Even if he could swim strongly enough to break across swift, dangerous currents and whorls, the water here was too cold for him to survive long.

Muir guarded his island well.

Cian looked around. He might command rock to fill in the channel, but the sea here was deep, the natives said, and it might take the whole headland to do it. Even for him such an endeavor would take many weeks, and such activity would surely attract Muir’s notice. However, the beach was not entirely barren; the tides had left behind drifts of battered wood, planks and masts from ships that had foundered on the rocks.

Form of a boat, he spoke the language of the earth, material of a sail. Wood and seaweed, errant roots and living creatures buried in the sand, released their previous natures and reformed as stout timber, canvas, and rope. The boat was large enough for sea duty and small enough for one man to command. Cian pushed it out past the breakers and hauled his soaked body aboard. Taking the helm and manning the lines, he turned her out to sea.

 

The sea struck before he could reach the island. The water turned furious, hurling black waves at the small boat, spilling over its sides with claws of white spume that threatened to drag it under. Soon the violence would break the masts and weaken the hull. Muir had warded his hiding place against vessels. Cian cursed, though he had predicted the precaution. No matter. The boat had done what he needed: brought him close enough to the island he could now commit his body to the task of reaching its shore. He pulled off his boots and jacket.

As he dove into the water, seeking to distance himself from his sinking boat, he heard the mast snap. There would be more peril, but he did not turn to look. Muir would not content himself with waves; there would be vortices, also. The cold water filled his clothing and threatened to cramp his limbs, but he stroked toward the island that reared before him now like a great black stair. He was a strong swimmer. And he’d learned all there was to know about Muir.

The waves got the best of him. No mere man could overcome the sea, and Cian, in the sea, commanded no magic that could help him. He managed to mouth a spell that created a shell of air in which he might breathe, and it held for a minute, then a wave bigger than all the others pushed him under with such force his bubble struck bottom. The bubble cushioned the impact so his body was spared, but the cold dark currents of the sea ripped it free. Tumbled by currents, Cian flailed desperately in search of the surface until at length his strength gave out and his lungs opened, inhaling water.

This, he thought, was death.

Battered against the sea floor, his body exploded with pain as he tumbled over smooth, eroded rocks and tangled in weeds, rolled over time and again until he lay sprawled in water and opened his eyes to see a man in a billowing black robe, hooded and terrible, striding toward him along a path above which the sea towered on either side, churning white froth. Cian watched black boots treading seaweed and sand underfoot, coming closer and closer; then a giant hand reached for him, and he sank into merciful blackness.

 

Cian awoke from nightmares of drowning to the sweetness of air on his lips and cheek. A welcome warmth and the smell of burning wood let him know he had a fire to thank. He began to whisper the air to moisture on his parched lips when he remembered he should be dead, and his eyes flew open.

He was under a roof, within stone walls. A brazier sat nearby. The man seated beside his bed and illuminated by those coals had black hair and the remote face of a king such as Cian had served and fled. He might even have been handsome once. Now, however, the most striking thing about his appearance was a pattern of ridged, circular scars upon his forehead and left cheek, continuing in a puckered line to his neck. A beard somewhat concealed those on his jaw. The scars, while startling, had been with him long enough to have paled. One scar over the left eye had healed badly and sealed the lid partly closed, but the orb within, as black and penetrating as its twin, peered at him alertly.

“There you are,” the man said. “Well worth the effort.” He had a rough voice, perhaps from disuse.

“Where am I?” Cian prompted. Simple questions were the best to start.

Well-shaped lips pulled tight. “You’re on my island; you’re in my house, in fact. The real question is, who are you? No one comes to this island unsummoned, because no one not of this island knows it exists or has the skill to find out that it exists. Yet here you are.”

“My name is Cian. My boat was swept into these waters.”

“The winds and currents usually carry boats away.”

To that Cian said nothing. From what he knew of the island, it was true. He had commanded a change in the wind to get here.

His host turned to a table and lifted a bowl, stirring its contents with a bone spoon. “Soup? I eat plainly, but will share what I have for a day or two.”

Though his body hurt all over, the rich aroma wafting toward him persuaded him to sit. “Many thanks,” he said, accepting the bowl. He had been stripped of his garments—no surprise there, as they’d been soaked and ruined—but had been given a blanket. It slid to his hips and he noticed that the scarred man perused his torso for a long moment before looking back to his face. “I don’t suppose you get many guests.”

“No, not many at all. I prefer people stay away.”

“Why? Aren’t you lonely?”

“Often. I address that on occasion. You ask a lot of questions.”

He had one more. “I told you my name. Will you tell me yours?”

“Muir.” The sorcerer rose and walked away, tall and straight, his long robe displaying a stride that was limber, almost youthful. Cian knew him to be fifty years old at least and had expected a more decrepit man.

He finished his soup and the sorcerer took away the bowl, then left him alone while his battered body pulled him back toward sleep. He dreamed of the cold deep, of sinking ships and beaked, ravenous things that moved through the water on boneless limbs.

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Thanks for reading and having a little fun with tentacle monsters!

Interested in finding the book? Here are some buy links:

Dreamspinner: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3183

AllRomance: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-sorcerer039sknot-918294-140.html

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sorcerers-Knot-ebook/dp/B009138YDW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346083175&sr=1-1&keywords=tali+spencer

Interested in finding me? I’ve made it easy.

Email: tali.spencer1@gmail.com

My blog: http://talismania-brilliantdisguise.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @tali_spencer

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tali.spencer

My first published MM novella, "The Dream of a Thousand Nights," has a forced cheating scenario in it. The Jinn Tamir, under a powerful spell, is forced to submit to his former master, the Jinn Amir. For someone who loves dubcon as much as I do, it just seemed a natural outgrowth of the story. Under normal circumstances, Tamir would never have betrayed the one true love of his life, his beloved Prince Neriah. In fact, Tamir begs Amir not to force him to betray Neriah. And of course, there's a sweet HEA at the end of the story (not a spoiler, since all my stories have HEAs).

So when I got some of the first reader reviews of "Dream," I was totally surprised to see how strongly some readers reacted to what they considered cheating. I was naive. Which got me thinking about cheaters, and whether it's ever acceptable to have a cheating scenario in a romance novel. I don't really think there is an answer.

Readers are all different. They come to a book with their different life experiences, perceptions, needs, and expectations. For me, I think cheating is a very human thing to do. Is it wrong? Damn straight! I've had my own experiences with cheaters and believe me, I was not very forgiving. But do I think cheaters can redeem themselves? Yes. But only through personal growth. Without growth, people don't really change. Without change, cheaters tend to repeat their cheating behavior.

In my upcoming release, "Aria" (Blue Notes Series Book #3, 12/3/12 release), one of the main characters, Aiden Lind, has his heart broken by a cheating boyfriend, Cameron. That experience shapes Aiden's view of relationships and wounds him deeply. It influences his newly-minted relationship with the other main character, Sam Ryan. Does Aiden get back together with his ex? No. But there is redemption to be found for Cam much later (and Cam will, eventually, get his own story and his own HEA).

My good friend and fellow Dreamspinner Press author, E.m. Lynley, has a lively discussion of cheaters on her blog this week. She's also got a few polls to see what people think about cheaters in romance, and what is and is not acceptable behavior in a romance. The answers to the poll questions are fascinating. I highly recommend stopping by and taking a look. Some of the comments from writers and readers are also very interesting.

Have a thought about cheaters? Want to win a copy of "The Dream of a Thousand Nights" and see for yourself how I approached the issue? Leave a comment on my blog and you'll be entered to win an ebook copy of the novella. I look forward to hearing what you all have to say about it! -Shira

Fire Tango


Today, my guest is fellow Dreamspinner Press author Hayley B. James! The second book in Hayley's Elemental Attraction series was just released this week, and although I haven't had a chance to read it yet, I read the first book in the series, "Water Waltz," and loved it. You can read my review here. The series is set in an alternate universe of demons, angels, humans, and lots of other supernatural creatures. All these creatures live in different countries that share borders and, as with most neighbors, engage in conflict and create alliances, in spite of and because of their differences.

So I'll step back and have Hayley tell you a bit about her new book and about the series, in general. Don't forget to comment here to be entered to win a copy of Hayley's new book! And welcome, Hayley! -Shira

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In celebration of Fire Tango’s release, I’m having a little event party until Sunday, November 11th. Any comment made on my blog posts on my blog or this post on Shira’s site puts your name into a drawing to win prizes. So be sure to comment!

Thank you for hosting me today, Shira!

I love reading a book and coming across French. All those letters together are just as beautiful written as they are spoken. In high school I took four years of French and made national honors. I graduated and promptly forgot everything.

My love for the language remained even when my memory failed. I can’t tell you the difference between potato and cheese today, but I can use a beta reader to correct what Google translate breaks.

When I decided to name a few angel characters in my Elemental Attraction series using French words, I asked my beta reader for help. I knew Triste needed to be triste for “sad,” but I couldn’t find the perfect word for a bitter character. (Amer was not originally the silly angel he turned into.) My beta reader helped me pick a name, and I had the idea of Amer speaking both English and French. I really do love how the language reads and looks, so the idea just had to become reality.

I’m lucky enough to have a beta read who speaks and teaches French, and was willing to work with me to get the French parts right. While online services are quick and easy, I rely on my beta to create better sentence structure. She’s a doll!

Fire Tango doesn’t have new angels, but it does have the return of Amer and Sucre. Sucre is the driver for Leandre, but their relationship is not the usual between master and servant. Leandre and Sucre tease each other like good friends. Sucre’s sarcastic tongue and dry wit made writing his parts extra fun for both me and my translator. Luckily, the context makes Sucre’s French parts easy to understand so all readers can enjoy his humor.

Amer and Sucre were both introduced in Water Waltz. They return for the second book and get their own scene together. It wasn’t necessary for the overall plot, but certainly icing on the cake for any fan of the two angels.

Is there one language above others you like to read in your literary adventures?

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Excerpt from Fire Tango, by Hayley B. James

Blurb: Devil Fremont’s unwillingness to divulge even the smallest details of his past makes building a relationship with his lover, Leandre, a struggle. Doubt and frustration tear at the couple and put their bond to the test when Fremont’s secrets find him after his ten years in exile and force him home to Spezia to face serious charges.

Whatever mysteries Fremont has buried, Leandre does not believe murder is one of them—though his waiting fiancé is a surprise. As Fremont trusts his lover with his past, a second murder throws him deeper into the law’s hands.

Desperate to save Fremont, Leandre searches for the truth. But the conspiracy he uncovers goes deeper than he ever imagined. With Fremont’s time running out, Leandre must act quickly to reveal the true culprit before he loses his bond mate for good.

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Sucre pinched his nose closed, frowning at the horses and waving a hand in front of his face. It did little to alleviate the dust floating around. “This is ghastly, sir.”

Fremont rolled his eyes at the driver. “You’re behaving as if the smell is unbearable.”

“Imagine how I feel,” Fitzgerald said from beside Sucre. The angel looked down at the faerie and offered an apologetic frown.

“Can’t you fly, mon petit? Rise out of the stench.”

“Faeries can’t fly like angels.” Fitzgerald shrugged. “I can’t stay up.”

“He’s like a chicken.” Fremont pulled himself up and into a saddle. The horse shifted, snorted, and relaxed. Fremont patted the animal’s neck. “Chickens can fly, but they’re no sparrow.”

“I’m not a chicken, I’m not,” Fitzgerald muttered.

“Did you need to get some place, Fremont? I can drive you. You don’t need to take such a….” Sucre paused, searching for the right word. “Such an odd method of transportation.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sucre.”

“Finer points of a country life, it is.” Fitzgerald smiled at Sucre’s amazement.

“What is? Riding such a beast?” Sucre pointed an incredulous finger at the horse. “Quelle horreur! Why would that be a desired activity?”

Fremont pulled the reins and turned the horse toward the stable doors. “You’re a peculiar one, Sucre.”

“You’re the strange one.”

“Wait for my return, Fitz.”

“Aye, Monty!”

Fremont gripped the reins close to the neck in one hand and dug his heels into the animal’s flank. The horse tore out of the barn, kicking up dirt and dust in its wake. Sucre jumped to the side and took cover behind the now empty stall, causing Fitzgerald to fall over in a fit of laughter.

When Sucre poked his head out, Fitzgerald was dusting off his trousers with his attention focused on the stable’s entrance.

“Kestrel, my lord.” Fitzgerald bowed. “And Leandre. You two just missed Fremont.”

“We saw him leave,” Kestrel said. “He’s testing the new mare’s speed, I see.”

“Expected from him, ain’t it?”

Leandre studied the horse stable in awe and spotted Sucre. The driver gave a small smile and went back behind the stall. Leandre turned to Fitzgerald. “Fremont is a rider?”

“Finer life points, sir,” Sucre said from behind his cover, without concerning himself over how his sarcasm would sound to the prince.

“I see.” Leandre frowned, confused by the new fact. Fremont hadn’t mentioned it, and he couldn’t see a reason why.

Without warning, Kestrel jumped forward, climbed over the nearest stall wall, and mounted a black horse. He used the mane as reins and took off, galloping out of the stable before Fitzgerald could complain about proper riding procedure.

“Your saddle!” Fitzgerald yelled after Kestrel as he frantically waved two hands in front of his face against the assault of dust kicked up by the horse. “Be careful with Rin!” His voice was lost to the air behind Kestrel’s speedy departure.

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Hayley can be found on Twitter and Facebook

 

 

I'm putting the finishing touches on the first draft of "Stealing the Wind" and getting ready to send it on to my wonderful beta readers. I'm already working on the sequel. There's just something about mermen I find particularly appealing (sexy as hell!). That, and Taren and Eoin's story isn't easily told in just one book.

The mermen in "Stealing the Wind" are shape shifters. They exist in two forms: human and merfolk. They can survive indefinitely on land or in the water, but they cannot survive away from water for long periods of time. If merfolk can live indefinitely under the water, then it stands to reason that they can also mate in their merfolk forms. Which led me to the question (because I love sexy stories): how would merman have sex? To answer that question, I had to ask myself a few others.

Question #1: What do mermen look like and how are their bodies (and parts of their bodies) put together? I loved this question, because the answer was that I could do whatever I liked. It's my imagination, right? Of course, I wanted to base my mermen on merfolk lore, and I needed them to have certain "human"...er...attributes. So I started by looking at marine animals, and especially at marine mammals. Whales are a bit too big, so I naturally chose dolphin as my "template" for the beast half of my mermen.

In "Stealing the Wind," Taren of Laxley has known nothing but slavery all his life. He doesn't remember his parents--all he knows is that he was sold as a baby. Boy is he in for a surprise when he learns that when his owners called him "special," they weren't talking about his brain! Taren discovers his dual nature after he's taken prisoner aboard the merfolk ship, Phantom, and her captain (Eoin Dunaidh) shows him what his body has hidden. Suddenly, he is half-man, half-beast, with a powerful tail, a dorsal fin between his shoulders, webbed fingers, and has fins with sharp tines on his hands and wrists. Then he realizes that his plumbing appears to be internal.

Dolphin sex organs are internal (makes sense - don't want them getting all shriveled in the water). They have "folds" - two each. The male penis is hidden inside, so the fold acts as a sheath (similar to dogs). Which led me to question #2.

Question #2: How do mermen have sex? I had no doubt that I wanted the mermen in the story to have sex in their merfolk form, so I needed to figure out what kind of sex organs they have when they transform. "Thank the goddess," as Eoin would say, for the internet. Did you know there are tons of dolphin sex vids? No joke. Apparently dolphin are very sexual (not monogamous) and tend to "perform" at aquariums (to the delight of children and the mortification of their parents!).

I watched several videos to get a sense of how dolphin sex works. They're very playful, nipping and rubbing against each other. And yes, dolphins get erections, exposing the hidden penis for sex. Only problem I saw: dolphin penises are pretty small. Smaller than human penises. Enter my imagination. How about dolphin anatomy, but a human sized penis? No need for foreskins, either, in this form. And what if certain other orifices are a bit more sensitive even, than in humans? (I think I had much too much fun figuring this all out!)

One other logistical question I had to deal with: how do merfolk communicate under the water? The answer? Telepathy or thought-reading. As you'll see, they do make some sounds, but their speech becomes thought when they are in their merfolk form.

Want to see how all this works out on paper? Read down for an excerpt from the mermen sex scene about halfway through the book (not the entire scene, but enough that you'll get the general idea). "Stealing the Wind" is set for tentative publication this summer. I'll be posting sneak peeks at the story from time to time, so stay tuned for more! I welcome your comments and ideas, of course! How did I do? -Shira

PS: Love the amazing art? That's by http://chrisgiz12.deviantart.com/ from DeviantArt!

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Summary: Taren has never known anything but life as a slave, but when he’s kidnapped by the captain of a pirate ship, his lifelong dream of going to sea is realized. The pirate captain offers Taren his freedom in exchange for three years of his life and sexual servitude. Not a bad trade, Taren decides, given that the pleasures he finds in the captain’s bed far surpass his greatest fantasies.

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Want to read the excerpt? Click here: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/3...

It's a rainy Monday morning here in North Carolina, so I'm imagining a bright sunny day at the coast aboard our catamaran sailboat, Land's Zen. I'm sure it's no surprise that my family's love of sailing has inspired me to write about sailing on several occasions, the most recent of which is Stealing the Wind , the first book in the Mermen of Ea Series to be published by Dreamspinner Press in August or September.

Stealing the Wind and the Mermen of Ea Series are romantic, erotic romances with a touch of mystery and a large helping of adventure. Set in an Earth-like world in the Age of Sail, the books (three planned in the series) follow the story of Taren Laxley, a slave whose dream of going to sea is realized when he's abducted by pirates. And although the series features a powerful and strictly monogamous MM pairing between Taren and Ian Dunaidh, captain of the mermfolk ship, Phantom, there's a bit of an MMM relationship at the beginning when Taren is willingly initiated into a sensual and sexual relationship with his captors.

The series consists of sequels, and should be read in order (unlike my Blue Notes Series). And although the stories are more plot driven than my contemporary romances, the focus on romance and characterization is still there. Oh, and of course there's a HEA for the two men at the end of the first book, although their adventures continue throughout the series. There will be a second MM pairing in the second and third book of the series.

I'll leave you with a never before seen excerpt from the book. The book is being edited as I write this, and any typos are entirely my own and not my amazing Dreamspinner editors'. Happy Monday! -Shira

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Excerpt from Chapter Five:

The setup: Ian's crew have pulled Taren out of the water, far from any land. Taren remembers nothing about how he came to be floating near the Phantom except that he was lost at sea trying to save a crewmember aboard the pirate ship that had been his home for two years. Now Taren is Ian's captive and both men fight their attraction to each other.

Taren looked to the door as Ian entered the cabin. His long, wavy hair was windblown, his face ruddy from the breeze. He smelled of the ocean, tangy and sweet. The thought of the open air made Taren long to climb the ropes once more, and his heart ached anew for Rider and Bastian the crew of the Witch.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes.” Taren met Ian’s eyes without fear.

“Good.” Ian unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it on one of the nearby chairs, then untied the high collar of his shirt. Taren couldn’t help but notice the smooth skin of Ian’s chest where the fabric parted. Other than his own body, Taren had never seen a man of Ian’s obvious strength without a dusting of hair on his skin. Even now, Taren couldn’t help but admire that powerful body.

There was a knock on the door and the cabin boy entered with a tray of food and several plates. Salt fish and potatoes. A goblet of wine. Taren’s stomach rumbled its approval, despite having eaten only a few hours before.

“May I get you anything else, sir?” the boy asked.

“You may retire for the evening, Aine.”

“Aye, sir.”

Alone once more, Ian studied Taren with apparent interest. “There’s plenty enough for two,” he said. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the table, then sat down and picked up the wine.

Taren considered the offer, then decided there was no harm in it.

“Take what you like.”

“It would be easier to eat if I could use my hands.” Taren guessed it was Ian who had ordered the ropes that bound Taren’s wrists to be replaced by the metal cuffs. At least the metal was lined in fabric and didn’t cut into his skin the way the rope had.

Ian said nothing filled Taren’s plate, then pulled his chair next to his. “Open your mouth.”

“You can’t mean to feed me like some swaddling babe!”

Ian held out a piece of fish between two large fingers. Tarin’s mouth watered with the smell of the food as his stomach growled its response, but he said only, “I’d rather starve.” He wished his hands were free so he could wipe the self-satisfied look off Ian’s face. How dare he? And with his fingers, no less!

“Suit yourself.” Ian picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to make quick work of the food on his own plate, pausing from time to time—intentionally, no doubt—to comment on how tasty it was. Taren thought he saw the hint of a smile on Ian’s lips.

Infuriating bastard.

“Sure you won’t have some?”

Taren was half-tempted to lean over the plate and eat like a dog, but he wouldn’t give Ian the satisfaction. Before, he’d almost believed Bastian had been mistaken about Ian, that there was kindness in him. Now, he felt his gut clench with anger. He would not give Ian the satisfaction of reveling in his humiliation.

“What is your specialty?” Ian asked a few minutes later.

Taren met Ian’s gaze but did not reply. Ian merely laughed.

“If you do as you’re told and work hard—” Ian speared another piece of the fish. “—I may decide to let you go.”

This time it was Taren who laughed. “I may be young, Captain, but I’m hardly naïve. What reason would you have to trust me?”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

“I’ve told you the truth.”

“Part of the truth, yes.” Taren thought he saw the corner of Ian’s mouth move upward with this acknowledgment. Was it possible the man believed him? Fine. He would throw the man a bone.

“Rigger.” Taren watched for Ian’s reaction. Perhaps if Ian let him up on deck, he might find a way to escape.

“Indeed. Borstan the rigger gave you his name, then?”

“Aye. And a roof over my head.”

“I’m surprised he let you go.” Taren thought he saw amusement flash through Ian’s eyes. “Gambling debts?” Taren nodded. “Stupid fool. But the bastard’s one of the best.” Ian chortled, then added, “Rigger, that is. As a gambler, he leaves much to be desired.”

Taren remained silent.

“Were you born on the mainland?”

Taren saw little harm in sharing what little he knew of his origins. “Aye. At least that’s what I was told. I came to live with Borstan when I was a baby. Sold to him.”

“And your parents?” Ian spoke the question as if it mattered little, although Taren guessed it was quite the opposite. Certainly a man like Ian would not have forgotten he’d asked the question before.

“Why do you care to hear the answer?”

Ian scowled and speared another piece of fish. “I am merely curious.”

Taren just shrugged. He’d not press the issue now. Perhaps later. “I remember nothing of my parents. I doubt they cared much what happened to me after they sold me. I’m told they died not long after that.” Ian appeared to consider this, then shrugged.

The rest of the meal passed in silence, Ian apparently uninterested in learning more about his guest. Ian stood and walked to his bed after he’d finished. When Taren made no move to follow, Ian turned around and pointed to the bedroll. “Make yourself comfortable. Should you have thoughts about wandering the ship, think no further than the guard outside the door.”

Taren thought of how easily he might cut Ian’s throat with one of the knives on the table, even with his hands bound, and of how unconcerned Ian seemed to be for his own safety. Then again, even if he could overpower Ian, what then? A ship this size would have at least three dozen men aboard the ship. He was wily, but not so wily that he could hope to defeat an entire crew by himself. No, the best hope for escape was when they pulled into port. He would bide his time and wait for the right moment to flee.

Ian dimmed the lamps in the cabin and pulled off his shirt before tossing tossed it on a chair. The sinews of Ian’s back caught the light from the moon outside and seemed to ripple as he moved. Taren couldn’t look away. His cock, too, seemed unconcerned that the object of its attention was an enemy and captor. Gooseflesh rose on the back of Taren’s neck as he contemplated the captain’s powerful build. Even his rumbling belly was forgotten.

Taren forced himself to turn his attention to the bedroll and set it out on the ground by the door, using his feet to position it. The breeze was stronger here so he would sleep more soundly. The location also afforded him a clear view of the large four-poster.

When Taren looked up again, Ian was completely and comfortably naked, or so he appeared to be, judging by the slow pace of his ablutions. How long did it take to wash one’s face in a bowl of cold water? The ache in Taren’s groin became an uncomfortable pain. He began to wonder if, after their brief kiss hours before, Ian had shed his clothing in an effort to achieve just such a response. But when the captain made no move to approach him or even speak, Taren decided that Ian was simply unconcerned by his nakedness. Next thing he knew, Ian had climbed into his bed and pulled the blankets over himself.

 

Ian lay in his bed, unable to sleep. Perhaps he should wear a nightshirt as long as the prisoner slept nearby. He couldn’t help but wonder why he’d undressed in front of Taren if knowing that the boy’s eyes were upon him aroused him so. The feel of the sheets against his naked skin had never caused his body to respond in such a way before. He considered visiting Barra’s cabin to find his release—Barra had never complained. Quite the contrary, he’d always welcomed Eoin to his bed.

Tonight, however, the thought of bedding Barra did nothing for Ian. Tonight Ian’s more animal nature craved the coupling and sought a mate. The need to dominate was as ancient as his people, yet Ian despised it. From the moment he’d seen Taren, he’d wanted to possess him and make him his own. Tame him to his hand, even feed him like a pet just to relish that feeling of control. And then that kiss... When he’d kissed Taren, he’d sensed Taren’s need to submit. What was it about Taren that had awakened the beast with such intensity?

Enough of this. It’s none of your concern. Your duty is clear. He must face the Council.

Minutes passed, then hours. He slept fitfully, only to awaken to the call of the sea. He would transform. Better that than give in to his physical need. He would not take his prisoner by force, even if it was his right.

No. Tonight, he would embrace the water and his baser nature. He would release his less human self, but he would do so where he would not risk harming the boy.

He slipped out of the bed and walked through the cabin to the large aft windows, where he climbed up onto the sill, shivering as the cool night air caressed his naked skin. He breathed deeply of the ocean, filling his lungs, the tang of salt on his lips. With one graceful movement, he leaned over and plunged into the waves.

 

Taren shifted in his sleep, eyes opening just a bit, still heavy with dreams. He gazed up at the man teetering at the window with his bare skin reflecting the starlight. A moment later, the man seemed to soar into the air. Then he was gone.

Taren smiled as his eyes closed again. It only took a moment before he was asleep. He dreamed of the ocean and Ian, of their bodies tangled beneath the surface, and of finding Ian’s mouth with his own.

“Come,” Ian called silently as he swam away, his voice an echo in Taren’s mind. “Follow me. Your life awaits.”

Taren watched as Ian’s lean body cut through the water faster than any sea creature Taren had ever seen. He marveled at the way Ian moved, at the sinews that rippled with each thrust of his arms, at the powerful tail where his legs used to be. Taren knew he should be surprised to see Ian’s transformation, but he was not. It seemed as natural as breathing in air or feeling the warmth of the sunlight on his skin.

Please. I want to follow, but I don’t know how.

Chapter Two of my sexy, serialized MM romance, Who Rules the King's Heart , is now up on my website! You can find the story here. Every month, I'll post a chapter. Want to read the new chapter before it's posted? Subscribers to my monthly newsletter get the first peek at it a week earlier than everyone else. You can sign up here.

Blurb: Mikail, King of Shaeron, has a secret: he’s in love with Nathaneel, his longtime friend and captain of his royal guard. When a demon creature who calls himself Samael and looks very much like Nathaneel appears to Mikail, the King and the demon become lovers. The only problem? Samael is Nathaneel’s demon half, but Nathaneel knows nothing of Samael’s existence. What will happen when Nathaneel learns the truth of his alter ego? And who, demon or man, will rule the King’s heart?

WARNING: NSFW. Contains adult themes and explicit sexual situations. The main pairing is MM, but there are some MMM scenes.

I started my last "Guilty Pleasures" post by saying I'd grown up reading Harlequin romances as a kid and talking about some of the romance tropes you find in those books: "friends to lovers," "enemies to lovers," "the misunderstanding," and others. Today, just a little over three weeks out from the release of the first book in my fantasy Mermen of Ea series, I thought I'd talk about romance tropes in the fantasy genre. Don't forget that I'm running a giveaway, so be sure to comment on this post (or the earlier post) to win! Multiple entries are fine. Contest ends Friday August 2nd.

Those of you who know a little about me know that in addition to the traditional contemporary romances I loved to read when I was little, I was also a huge sci fi geek and Trek fan. In addition to Asimov, Heinlein, and the great sci fi writers of the 20th Century, I also loved to read one particular fantasy author: Marion Zimmer Bradley. Zimmer Bradley's best known series was "The Mists of Avalon." I have to admit I never read those books. The series I still love (and re-read) to this day is Zimmer Bradley's "Darkover." An amazing combination of sci fi and fantasy that I keep on my Kindle (I have paperback copies, too!) for those times when I need inspiration.

Set on an Earth-like planet (albeit a lot colder than Earth), the Darkovans are descendents of Earth settlers, some of whom interbred with a native race of powerful beings with psi powers (telepathy, ability to manipulate weather, communicate with animals, etc.). Offhand, it doesn't sound very romantic. But what I particularly loved about these stories was that each one chronicled relationships between men and women (and one notable MM relationship--back to that in a minute) in a very romantic way. Endings were usually happy, courtships were long and very "real," and Zimmer Bradley's descriptions of people and places were at least as romantic as the relationships themselves. When I think "sweeping romance," I think of these books, rather than "Gone with the Wind," or "The Thorn Birds."

In particular, one relationship stayed with me long after I'd devoured the entire series and this one, surprise, surprise, was between two men: Regis Hastur, the ruler of the Darkovan people, and his paxman, Danilo Syrtis. It was a subtle gay relationship, mostly written between the lines, but one of the most enduring of the part of the series set in the "modern" day of the planet's history.

What, do you ask, does that have to do with mermen? Short answer: a ton! When I was writing Stealing the Wind and planning out the series, Marion Zimmer Bradley's books were never far from my mind. Although the main trope of the first mermen book is one I don't remember reading in the Darkover books (souls bound together that survive through time to find each other once again), the heart of Darkover is there. I'm talking about where romance and adventure meet to create a larger story. Taren and Ian's story is very romantic, no doubt. There are captor/captive and "enemies to lovers" tropes to be found in Stealing the Wind, but what makes their story so much like the Darkover books I grew up reading is the way their relationship and their love grows and deepens through their shared adventures. There's a happily-ever-after for Taren and Ian at the end of the first book in the sense that they are together forever, come what may. But the adventure part of their story is far from told when the first book ends.

Which leads me to perhaps my favorite trope, or variation on a trope: lovers, secure in their relationship, who continue to grow through adventure, difficulties, and challenges. They change together, support each other, and in the end achieve something greater than just the two of them. Don't worry! There is an ultimate HEA at the end of the Mermen of Ea books (actually, there are at least 2 of them)! But along the way, I want to take you on a wild ride and have you rooting for Ian and Taren and the other characters in the series, and maybe sitting on the edge of your seat, too!

Your turn now! Tell me what your favorite romantic trope is and you could win your choice of one of my current Dreamspinner Press releases in ebook format or a swag bag (including a t-shirt of a Blue Notes Series cover or the fabulous new cover for Stealing the Wind ). Contest ends on Friday, August 2nd. Guilty pleasures welcome. And if you're interested in checking out the Darkover books, I recommend starting with Heritage and Exile (actually 2 books in one, both tied my favorite, and the part of the series that features a MM romance). -Shira

PS: Want to read more about Stealing the Wind ? You can read a very steamy excerpt from the beginning of the book here (scroll down to the end of the blog post). There’s another excerpt, the opening chapter of the novel, here.

Reblogged from Mrs. Condits and Friends

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I'm wrapping up the Into the Wind Blog Tour contest on May 31st at midnight! Here's the link to the Rafflecopter giveaway widget: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/cf0ba93/

Up for grabs? Some really cool gifts, including the grand prize of a stunning unisex Ea pendant, handmade by artist Martin Brodour. Also to be won, a cool Mermen of Ea gift basket that includes an autographed copy of the first book, Stealing the Wind, a great cover art t-shirt, and lots of other fun, nautical themed goodies! For non-US residents, I've got several prizes, including a $10 Dreamspinner Press gift certificate you can use to buy any Dreamspinner books! The contest ends on May 31st at midnight.

So, down to business. Because when I spoke to Becky about posting this on her blog, I asked her if she’d be interested in learning a bit about merman… er… physiology. *coughs* Okay, merman SEX. And, of course, good sport that she is, she said, “Hell yes!!” (Or something along those lines. I LOVE YOU, Becky!). Since “merman sex” is the #1 search string that leads new folks to my website, I figured there’s more than a little interest in how mermen do “it.”

When I started writing the Mermen of Ea Series, I knew I wanted the two main characters, Taren and Ian, to have sex in their shifted form. I’ve never been very shy about writing explicit sex in my books. Frankly, it’s no surprise that men in love (or lust) have sex. In all of my books, I write explicit sex, in large part because I see it as a way to develop the emotional relationship between my characters. Rarely will I write a sex scene just for the titillation factor. So when I decided to write merman sex, I knew it needed to be more than just “insert tab A into slot B” sex. It needed to have a visceral connection to the characters and to the ocean they inhabit when in their shifted forms.

The mermen of Ea (Ea, pronounced “Ey-ah”, is the name the mermen give their race), are powerful beings in their shifted forms. Broader and more muscled than when in their human forms, they are also highly sexual when they transform. For the two main characters in the Mermen of Ea Series, Ian and Taren, the sex comes out of their deep, enduring connection (they are reincarnated lovers who find each other again).

So, let’s get down to basics. How does merman sex work? I based my mermen not on fish (let’s face it, fish just aren’t that sexy!) but on dolphins, since they’re mammals like humans. So the sexy bits are really the same, regardless of their form. The difference is that, in their mermen forms, Taren and Ian have sheathed penises, rather than external ones. Just like dolphins, a little arousal coaxes the penis from its fold in the merman’s tail (dogs are similar in this way). So that’s the basic premise. But the fun part (in my opinion), comes in the way mermen have sex.

Mermen, much like dolphins, have a mating dance or ritual. Yes, I studied dolphin sex videos on the web! You’ll find lots of them because dolphins really like to have sex, and parents like to video their kids at aquariums (which can make for some awkward moments when Little Johnny points and says, “Mommy, what’s that thing that just popped out of the dolphin’s tail?”). Back to the dance, though….

So mermen, like their dolphin cousins, swim in circles around each other in a mating dance. They nip playfully at each other, brush their lips against each other’s skin, and even use the sharp barbs at the end of their wrists to gently scrape at each other and arouse their mates. And, my favorite part, borrowing a bit from whales: mermen sing. Yes, sing. Their heartsong can’t be heard above the water, but it’s a beautiful and haunting melody that adds to the romance of their sexual contact.

One last bit to share about merman sex? Mermen communicate telepathically under the water, since sound doesn’t travel easily there. And added benefit of this? When one merman climaxes, his partner experiences the orgasm as if he himself is climaxing. Double the fun.

Would you like to read a partial NSFW merman sex excerpt from Chapter 2 of Into the Wind , the just-released sequel to Stealing the Wind (yes, there’s more to the scene, but you’ll have to read the book to see how it ends!)? Click here for the uncensored version of this post on my website: http://www.shiraanthony.com/?p=3812

The Mermen of Ea books are high fantasy and high romance set on the high seas (and beneath them!). I hope you’ll join me on the epic journey of Taren and Ian, as they fight for their own future and the future of their people, the mermen of Ea. –Shira

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Blurb : Since learning of his merman shifter heritage, Taren has begun building a life with Ian Dunaidh among the mainland Ea. But memories of his past life still haunt him, and as the threat of war with the hostile island merfolk looms ever closer, Taren fears he will lose Ian the same way he lost his beloved centuries before. Together they sail to the Gateway Islands in search of the fabled rune stone—a weapon of great power the Ea believe will protect them—and Odhrán, the pirate rumored to possess it.

After humans attack the Phantom, Taren finds himself washed up on an island, faced with a mysterious boy named Brynn who promises to lead him to Odhrán. But Taren isn’t sure if he can trust Brynn, and Odhrán is rumored to enslave Ea to protect his stronghold. Taren will have to put his life on the line to find his way back to Ian and attempt to recover the stone. Even if he does find it, his troubles are far from over: he and Ian are being stalked by an enemy who wants them dead at all costs.

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Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=4975&cPath=55_484

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Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K4PX4BS/ref=rdr_kindle_ext_tmb

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stealing-the-wind-shira-anthony/1116395006?ean=9781627980531

 

Blood and Rain , the first book in the Blood Series from Dreamspinner Press is now available for preorder! Yes, it's about vampires (and vampire hunters). No, these vamps don't sparkle, but they do have some unusual abilities you'll discover as the series unfolds. Yes, it's definitely a romance! But it's also an adventure with plenty of action, much like my Mermen of Ea Series.

Set in the present day US and in the late 1800s in France, the Blood Series features three MM couples. The main focus is on Adrien Gilbert, the youngest son of a French vampire hunter family, and Nicolas Lambert, an ancient (born a vampire, not created) vampire.

So please join me in some fun in welcoming my sexy hunters and vampires! An excerpt and official blurb are below. Enjoy! -Shira

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Blood Series: Book 1

Blood: Book One

Adrien Gilbert has spent several lifetimes searching for the love he lost. Born in the 1800s into a clan of fabled vampire hunters, Adrien once wanted nothing more than to tend his family’s vineyard in southern France or read a good book. But Adrien’s peaceful existence ends abruptly when his older brother, François, is murdered. Bound by his hunter’s oath, Adrien sets out on a path that will forever change his life when he agrees to execute his brother’s killer, the vampire Charles Duvalier.

After months chasing the elusive Charles, Adrien reluctantly makes a bargain with Nicolas Lambert, an ancient vampire. Adrien will escort Nicolas to Paris for his marriage to a rival clanswoman, and Nicolas will help Adrien find Charles. Nicolas’s quiet strength and gentle heart soon convince Adrien that Nicolas is nothing like the vampires he has sworn to destroy. As the wedding date draws nearer, a force intent on destroying the fragile peace between the vampire clans threatens to tear apart both the vampire realm and the world of the hunters. To secure both past and future for those he loves, Adrien must find a way to stop the looming war between hunters and vampires. But first he’ll have to let Nicolas go.

Note: Books in this series must be read in order.

Coming December 15, 2014

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Chapter One: On the Edge of Forever

Miami, Florida

Sunset wove fingers of purple and red through bands of clouds and vapor trails that crisscrossed the sky. The scent of exhaust from trucks and cars mingled with the tang of salt from the ocean. People scurried about as they returned from work, trying to finish last-minute errands before dinnertime, all oblivious to the lone figure perched atop the high-rise at the edge of the Miami River.

Adrien Gilbert gazed down at the tiny figures below, vaguely aware of their presence. For more than a century, he had seen generations of humans be born, reach adulthood, start families, grow old, and die as their loved ones watched, helpless to slow time. He had grown numb to the cycle of life—a cycle to which he was immune. He was an immortal, a hunter who had shared the soul of an ancient vampire. His beloved soul.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture that perfect face. It had grown strangely difficult to remember over the years, and yet he could still easily remember the face of his mother, who had been killed when he was just a child.

I won’t forget you… Nicolas.

It would have been far easier to give in, to erase Nicolas from his memory forever. Certainly far less painful than knowing Nicolas was out there somewhere, unable to find the way back to him. Less painful, too, than admitting he couldn’t find his way to Nicolas. He would suffer the pain of knowledge; it was a small price to pay to preserve the memory.

I’m sorry.

The irony that a hunter sworn to protect humankind would suffer the loss of a vampire so keenly was hardly lost on Adrien. He’d believed that in spite of the treaty between hunters and the hunted, vampires were not to be trusted. He’d believed his duty as a hunter was simple, straightforward: kill those who threatened humanity, tolerate those who did not. But that had been before he’d met Nicolas. Before he’d lost his heart. Before Nicolas had given him immortality.

Adrien had everything a human might wish for. The small transportation business he’d started when he moved to the United States over a hundred years ago had blossomed into an international empire with cargo ships, airplanes, trucks, and dozens of storage facilities around the globe. He owned homes in Europe, Thailand, Japan, the US, and a dozen other places he rarely visited. Despite his prosperity, the men with whom he shared his bed—human, vampire, hunter—rarely stayed long. He had seen to that, with his aloof manner and his cold heart. One man had ever touched his soul.

 

 

The evening had started, as it always did, on a far better note. Adrien had stopped by one of his favorite haunts, an upscale martini bar not far from the city center. He’d developed a penchant for gin over the past few decades, enjoying the quick work it made of his long-term memory. Three or four martinis and he could forget, even if only briefly.

The bar was small and full of people. A Sinatra song played in the background as he walked over to the stainless-steel bar, filled with men, some of whom he’d already discarded, others new faces. Eager, all of them. He sensed their eyes on him and felt the hunger they didn’t understand. He understood that hunger. The scent of his blood created it in them. The same irresistible scent that had lured many a human to fall prey to the vampires now drew them to him.

He sat down at an empty barstool and nodded to the bartender, who set to work making the driest martini possible with his most expensive gin, dropping in a tiny bit of lemon peel instead of an olive. He handed Adrien the drink without saying a word, and Adrien brought the glass to his lips.

“Nice,” a male voice said from behind him.

The man was beautiful, tall, with shoulder-length black hair and deep green eyes. He wore pair of tight-fitting jeans and a crisp button-down shirt that emphasized his muscled chest and narrow waist. Late twenties, perhaps. A new face, but a familiar presence.

“It’s not bad.” Adrien took a sip of his drink and pretended not to care. It was easy.

“I wasn’t talking about the drink.” The man lifted his drink to his full lips but watched him intently.

“I wasn’t either,” Adrien replied without missing a beat.

“I’m Cole.”

“So you are.”

They left the bar together for his apartment, where his housekeeper had already set a table for two. A bottle of Puligny-Montrachet chilled in a cooler by the table. Between them, they finished that bottle, although Adrien drank very little. Alcohol affected immortals far more than humans or vampires.

After dinner Cole stood and walked over to the railing, looking out over the river below. “You know what I am.” Cole’s voice was as smooth as the wine.

“Yes. I know what you are.” Adrien had sensed Cole was a vampire the moment he’d seen him. No self-respecting hunter would have missed the subtle electricity in the air or the scent of mingled blood. He lifted Cole’s hair off his neck, then trailed his lips over his silky skin. Cole smelled good—an earthy and primal scent that caused the bloodlust to rise in Adrien. Once, he had embraced his lust for blood.

When he’d first become an immortal, Nicolas’s blood had done far more than sustain him. They had shared their bodies, their blood, and their souls. The blood had been their bond, the bloodlust a welcome reminder of Adrien’s love for Nicolas. Now the lust for blood had nothing to do with Adrien’s heart. It was another bitter reminder that his body would not let him perish, even though he cared nothing for living.

It’s been too long.

Cole moaned. The deep, throaty sound made Adrien’s mouth water in spite of himself. Adrien despised his body’s response, but he’d long ago learned he couldn’t fight it. Once, he had gone nearly twenty years without giving in to the call. He’d been weak, pathetic, barely able to think. He’d prayed he would die. He’d lost consciousness, but he’d awoken to find himself drinking his fill. He’d come perilously close to killing the human whose blood he’d feasted on, but he’d managed to stop. However miserable his existence, Adrien would only feed on vampires—he’d not break the oath he’d taken to protect humans when he’d become a hunter.

Adrien licked the skin of Cole’s neck, feeling the blood pulse there, hearing it call to him. Cole tilted his head in anticipation, opening himself to Adrien.

Adrien buried his teeth in Cole’s skin. Blood flooded his mouth and danced on his tongue, sweet and salty. Too long. His body was far more vampire-like in its craving for blood than when he’d first been given the gift of an ancient vampire’s soul. He wondered if it was the same for other immortals.

Adrien tried to ignore the images that flashed through his mind—the sound of silvery laughter, a mother’s loving caress. Cole’s memories. Adrien despised this forced intimacy, but he’d come to see it as the price of blood. Something to be tolerated.

It hadn’t always been that way. When he’d shared Nicolas’s blood, Adrien had experienced great joy. He’d seen himself through Nicolas’s eyes and felt the depth of Nicolas’s love. Each drop of that precious liquid had opened new doors. Each taste offered insight into Nicolas’s heart and soul. A beloved memory. A mystery—the mystery of Nicolas—unfolding with every swallow.

Adrien drank his fill, then claimed Cole’s mouth. This kind of contact he could stomach. He didn’t need sex to survive, but he enjoyed the release. Cole unbuttoned Adrien’s black silk shirt. Adrien moaned as Cole skated his fingertips over his chest.

“I have never known a hunter to crave blood,” Cole whispered in his ear. “I thought only we experienced the bloodlust.”

“You were wrong,” Adrien said as he pulled Cole’s shirt over his head and mouthed a pretty pink nipple. Sex was always better after he fed. He drew Cole’s body against his, walked backward into the living room, and pulled Cole with him onto the rug. Soon they were naked and he was no longer a hunter or an immortal, he was simply a man, seeking release, seeking pleasure.

 

 

Adrien lay there afterward, only partially satisfied. Nothing new. Sex was like the bloodlust—it always left him wanting more. Cole brushed his fingers over Adrien’s chest, then his neck. He licked Adrien’s earlobe, then ran his tongue over Adrien’s Adam’s apple.

“May I?” he asked.

“No.” He would willingly share his blood with only one person.

“Too bad.” The vampire was clearly disappointed. “I would have liked to have known the secrets of your blood.”

Adrien watched Cole dress but said nothing.

“Perhaps another time, then.” Cole turned and smiled at him before he walked out the door.

For at least an hour after, Adrien lay on the floor and allowed the night air to caress his bare skin. He closed his eyes and dozed.

“Adrien.”

The voice awakened him. Nicolas’s voice again. Why sleep if it only served to reawaken the pain he sought to suppress?

He stood and pulled on his jeans. He walked onto the balcony in his bare feet, then climbed to the roof of the penthouse.

Pathetic.

Having reached the edge, he spread his arms. He leaned forward and fell unimpeded, riding the wind like a sigh. The glass of the building sailed by him, the breeze buffeting his face. He hit the water and sank into the cold blackness. He wished he could die.

Preorder Blood and Rain now at Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5805&cPath=1303

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