Spooktacular Blog Hop 2014: Day 1

Happy Halloween and welcome to the Spooktacular Blog Hop! Thanks for stopping by!

There's something very special about Halloween, a time when the veil between this world and the other grows thin. When anything is possible, and it's easy to believe in things that go bump in the night. Our fantasies are fueled by vampires, and werewolves, and ghosts - oh my! And where there are fantasies, that's where you'll find a lot of writers, taking notes and naming names.

Today at work, we're having a Halloween lunch - how cool is that?  For my contribution, I made a cheese ball that I like to call Mason Verger. Okay, the actual recipe name is the Flayed Man, but you get the idea (since Mason cut his face off and ate under the influence of Hannibal Lecter). It was actually easier to make than I thought it would be, and I didn't bother to use a mold. I figured I could shape it myself, and I did.

This is pretty much what mine looks like.














Another important fact about today is that Be My Human was released today from Dreamspinner Press! This is the second book in the Moonlit Skies series by M.A. Church and myself.

For the first day of the blog hop, I promised to finish the flash I started Wednesday, A Crescent Bay Halloween. Well, here's part two. I hope you enjoy it. But before I post it, every good blog hop needs a giveaway, so this will be no exception. I'll be giving away to three commenters, randomly drawn at the end of the hop, a copy of anything from my backlist, including books that are unavailable. How do you win?

Every day, I'll ask a question. All you have to do is answer it. And don't forget your email address. Without that, I can't contact you.

Today's question - could you love a werewolf or a vampire, if you met one in real life - why or why not?

Now here's my second part of my flash, enjoy!

A Crescent Bay Halloween, Part II

Raoul hadn’t celebrated Halloween in years. Twenty years, to be precise. Despite the fact that the holiday brought a plethora of partiers to Charisma from far and wide, hoping for glimpses of the supernatural set that frequented the place, Raoul never set foot there on Halloween night, preferring the solitude of his cabin in the woods. No desire to fuck, to drink, or display himself as the reigning prince of Charisma. On that night, he preferred to remain alone… and brood.

Tonight was different. Tonight he simply wished to be with Alexx, to celebrate this special day with him, for reasons that had nothing to do with any Samhain festivities. It was Alexx’s birthday, and that meant more to Raoul than anything. Therefore, Charisma was the last place he expected to be. And yet, here they were.

“But it’s your birthday, I thought we could do something special. Just you and me…”

And by something special, he meant making love, all night long. Put his vaunted werewolf stamina to the test.

Surely making love hadn’t become stale already? Not that there wasn’t more to their relationship than the physical, but there was nothing wrong with spending an evening in bed, either. Sometimes there were things the heart could only express with the assistance of the body, times when mere words became inadequate to express the desires of the soul.

“We belong at Charisma,” Alexx insisted. “Especially tonight of all nights.”

Raoul had accepted Alexx’s decision with as good a grace as he could muster. “Anything you wish, my love,” he whispered softly in Alexx’s ear. They sat together in their cabin, discussing the night to come. For a moment, Raoul thought he felt Alexx tremble, but the moment passed, and he saw nothing but Alexx’s complacent smile. So be it, he thought. Charisma it is.

It was too late to even think about costumes, not that Raoul really cared. Those days were long dead for him, but if Alexx wanted to, he would have. But Alexx didn’t push the issue, so they’d dressed as themselves. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but being together.

When they’d walked up to the front door of the nightclub, they found Paolo and Francesco checking IDs, and they received wide-eyed stares from both bouncers. Well, to be fair, they were staring at Raoul, for reasons he knew only too well.

‘B-boss, you’re here,” Paolo stuttered.

“Glad you noticed,” Raoul growled, but there was no bite in his voice, despite his words. “We’re just here to celebrate—”

“Hey guys, happy Halloween,” Alexx interrupted, so smoothly anyone else might have believed it was unintentional and born of enthusiasm for the occasion. But not Raoul. That move was deliberate. As if he didn’t want to be reminded of his birthday. Odd, now that he was legal to get into Charisma, Raoul would have thought Alexx would want to bask in the fact. But no, he seemed to be hiding from it. The question was why?

“C’mon, wolfboy, can’t stand here all night. The party’s inside, isn’t it?” He took Raoul’s hand and tugged him toward the door. Raoul rolled his eyes and shrugged, allowing himself to be led inside Charisma.

Charisma was awash with brilliance, with lights and laughter, high spirits, glitter, and a contagious buoyancy that swept through the club like wildfire. There were a few faux werewolves and vampires—de rigueur for Halloween night—but there were other, more imaginative and creative characters. After all, when one has the real thing in ones midst, a costume is simply a costume and cannot compare.

“Drink first or dance?” Alexx asked, once they were inside the main area. Techno music thrummed around him, and the dance floor was full of energetically writhing bodies.

“Your day, your choice, what would you like—” Something in Alexx’s eyes stopped him cold. Something was wrong. Something was damn wrong, but Raoul had no idea what, just that whatever it was began with Alexx and was creeping its way up his spine with ghostlike precision. He shivered, in spite of himself.

“I… I need to use the men’s room. Be right back.” Alexx’s voice was barely audible, but with Raoul’s supernatural hearing, he caught every nuance. Including a trace of pain. He reached out to take Alexx’s arm, but Alexx was faster, for once, and melted into the crowd around them faster than butter on a hot pancake.

Raoul’s first instinct was to go after him. Follow him into the men’s room, find out what was wrong and make it right. But a hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. He turned in annoyance to find himself looking into the eyes of a strangely familiar-looking blond. It took a moment for the memory to register.

Miller. In the wig he’d worn as a disguise on the fateful night when Raoul had been kidnapped and Alexx shot by the same insane socialite—Foster Levine.

Miller was one of those guys who couldn’t hide what he thought or felt, his eyes were indeed windows to his soul. And right now, his eyes were full of sympathy and compassion, seemingly directed at Raoul.

Okay, he knew something. That much was apparent to Raoul.

“What are you supposed to be?” Raoul asked. “Surely not the other man?” That had been Miller’s part on that night, when it was imperative they convince Foster that Raoul and Alexx were no longer together. Of course, that was long past and buried.

“What? Oh, the wig.” Miller shrugged. “I didn’t have time to get anything else, and this was sitting in my closet… Hey, you’re not exactly dressed up either.”

“No, I’m not,” Raoul agreed. ‘You and I need to talk.”

“Maybe we should get a drink?” Miller piped up hopefully, but at Raoul’s growl, he seemed resigned. Raoul took Miller’s arm. They threaded their way between the revelers until they reached a relatively quiet spot further from the dance floor.

“Miller, something’s going on and you know what it is.”

“Um… er… Raoul…” Miller began to whine, almost defensively, before he gave up, pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded, a bit reluctantly. His deep sigh carried easily to Raoul’s ear.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what I think’s wrong, but remember, I could be wrong,” Miller warned him.

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong with Alexx?” The hackles on the back of Raoul’s neck began to rise.

“No, no, not like you think. Calm down, please. Let me try to say this so it makes sense,” Miller implored. He glanced at Raoul, then at the floor, then up at the bright disco balls that decorated the room. Raoul curbed his impatience, but it wasn’t easy. Finally, Miller spoke again.

“I think he feels guilty.”

“Guilty?” That was something Raoul hadn’t expected. “Why? About what?”

“About being happy … and alive… especially today…. I mean, it’s his birthday, and other than me, he’s never had anyone who cared enough to celebrate it with him. But now he has you… and he’s also aware that his birthday is the day you lost… you know…”

“Jamie.” Raoul supplied the name.

“Yeah, Jamie. He loves you too much to hurt you by celebrating what’s probably the worst day of your life.”

At one time, yes, it was the event that shattered Raoul’s world, and sent him into a twenty year tailspin. But all that was behind him now. Now he had Alexx, who may or may not be Jamie McKenna reincarnated. But regardless, he was the love of Raoul’s life, the light in his eyes, his new reason for being.

Nothing else mattered.

And now everything made sense. Coming to Charisma. Alexx wanting to make sure Raoul had a good time. Raoul’s heart ached at the pain Alexx must be hiding. Damn, he felt like an insensitive lout for not catching on sooner.

He caught sight of Alexx, emerging from the hallway where the restrooms were located, looking about for him.

“Miller, I hope you won’t be insulted, but you’re on your own tonight. No offense, but I don’t want to be here, and I don’t think Alexx does either.”

“None taken,” Miller assured him. “In fact, I think I might go home myself. Nothing here for me.”

Raoul gave the other man a sharp look, but Miller only laughed. “It’s okay, go on with you. Be with Alexx. Make each other happy.”

Raoul swooped in and gave Miller a quick peck on the cheek, a far cry from the liplock he’d laid on him the last time. “Later,” he told him, then hurried away, easily catching up to Alexx, who seemed relieved to see him.

“There you are, Raoul. Thought I lost you for a minute. Everything okay? I saw you talking to someone…”

“Miller, but he’s leaving. And so are we.” He slid his arm around Alexx’s waist.

“Leaving?” Alexx looked confused. “But we just got here.”

“And now we’re just going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home. Where we should have stayed to begin with.” He walked Alexx back through the crowd, until they found themselves outside of the night club once more. Alexx didn’t protest, didn’t question, but a slight tremor seemed to run through him, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They bid good night to the two confused bouncers, then crossed the parking lot to where Raoul had parked his sports car. He unlocked the car, as he walked Alexx to the passenger side, but stopped beside the door.

“Alexx, do you realize how very much I love and need you?”

“Well, yes, I think I do, but—”

“But nothing. You are, without question, the best thing that ever happened to me, and I thank the powers that be every day that you came into my life. All I wanted tonight was to celebrate your birthday with you, that’s all.”

“I know, Raoul, I know, but how can we… how can I…” A small moan escaped Alexx’s lips, despite his best efforts to contain it. His lower lip quivered. Raoul quickly stilled it with a kiss.

“This is your day.  Your very special day. The day that set you on the path to me. Anything else is done, and in the past. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing, Alexx.”

Alexx gave him a sharp look, and then his bright blue eyes flashed with realization. “That was Miller, wasn’t it? Damn, I thought I recognized that wig, even from a distance. He shouldn’t have told you…”

“He should have, since you didn’t.” Raoul gave Alexx a no-nonsense look. “Didn’t we promise no secrets from one another?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Don’t well yeah me, we did, so let’s just continue doing that, all right?”

Alexx nodded, as if he didn’t trust his voice.

“You are all that matters to me, Alexx. Not being at Charisma tonight, not Halloween, nothing else but you. Do you know that? Really know that?”

“I do now.” Alexx stretched up, caught Raoul’s lips in his own, and kissed him long and hard. By the time they came up for air, the kiss wasn’t all that was hard.

“Take me home?” Alexx murmured, and Raoul consented with alacrity.

The drive to the cabin was shorter than usual. And Alexx didn’t complain once about Raoul breaking the speed limit.

Raoul parked the Ferrari as close to the cabin as he could, and they raced inside, shedding their clothes on the way to the bedroom.

They fell together, naked, on the bed, mouths joined, and hearts beating as one. There was no further need for talk; a consensus had been reached, a mutual accord. And although there’d been no actual fight between them, who was to say they couldn’t indulge in make-up sex anyway? Lovemaking by any other name…

They kissed and licked and sucked, touched and tweaked, exploring to their hearts’ content, delving into one another like explorers on a strange continent. And once every facet of their mutual terrain had been re-discovered, Alexx lay on his back and drew up his legs, exposing his pink bud to Raoul’s lustful gaze.

“Take me,” he begged. “Make me yours all over again.”

Luckily, lube was just an arm’s reach away. Raoul groped for the tube, popped the top handily and prepped his achingly hard cock.

“You are mine, and no other,” he swore as he slid easily into Alexx’s waiting channel. “You are my everything, Alexx. Never forget that.” He drove inside Alexx with one long thrust, and Alexx received him, gripped him tightly as they came together in the intimacy of their own personal dance. Their lips crashed together, again and again, and when they’d found their mutual release and exhausted one another, they cleaned up and then curled together in their bed, breathing more easily.

“Raoul?” Alexx said softly, twining his fingers in Raoul’s tendrils of dark hair that curled over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Best birthday ever. Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Raoul replied.

“For what?”

“For being a part of my life.”

Alexx’s face lit with the most beautiful smile Raoul had ever seen. They gazed deeply into one another’s eyes by the light of the moon, before giving themselves over to sleep, and the realm of the Dream Lord, for another night.

Now go visit the other participants of the Hop!

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #17

Hello, hello, hello, and Happy Wednesday! Hope everyone is having a great day. I know I am! Ready for some flash fiction? This week's prompts are: "Nothing else matters" or have a scene set in an art gallery or use: fish, knife, ice or use a bucket in an interesting way or have one of your characters explain what FIFO means or have someone watch an arrest or be arrested or use: sun, mimosa, swing or "One is the loneliest number."

As you'l recall from last week's episode, Wyatt called his mentor, Lukas, upset over what he heard between Shy and Randy. Will what Lukas has to say ease Wyatt's mind, or make matters worse? Don't forget to check out the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale! Enjoy!

No Way Out #17

Lukas didn’t speak immediately. He poured himself more wine and drained the glass, then replaced it on the coffee table. He repositioned himself in the corner of the sofa, one leg crooked across the cushions, the other holding a position on the floor.

Wyatt held his tongue, half dreading the words he might hear. A sour anticipation held sway in the pit of his stomach. He was afraid to add to it with any more wine. He watched Lukas’ left hand carefully. That was the tell to what he was thinking or feeling. He was rubbing his thumb against each of the digits in turn in a constant motion.

That was an indicator of unsurety on his part. The feeling grew stronger. Wyatt rose and paced across the room, pulling back the blinds to gaze across the street. The sedan was there now. He dropped the curtains into place, returned to the sofa and fell heavily onto it, his attention riveted on Lukas.

“I’m just not sure where to begin,” Lukas confessed. “This isn’t a conversation I ever thought we’d need to have, to be honest.”

“How about starting with Randy and Shy? What’s their relationship?” Wyatt leaned toward his mentor, as if proximity would ease the severity of whatever needed to be said. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he’d read something into them that didn’t exist. “Is Randy his father?” That would explain the sir, but not the kiss.

At the look in Lukas’ eyes, Wyatt’s heart sank. No, he didn’t think so.

“Hardly.”

Another long pause.  Wyatt reached for the wine bottle, upended the remains into his glass, then chugged them. Damn his stomach anyway.

“Shylor and Doreen moved in when Shy was just a little kid. Maybe fifteen years ago. Something like that. She was Randy’s housekeeper.”

Wyatt tapped an impatient foot into the carpet. There had to be more than that.

“About five years ago, Doreen left and Shy stayed.”

“Why did she leave? Why did Shy stay? That doesn’t answer my question, Lukas. What’s their relationship?”

“I think you already have some idea about that.” Lukas looked him square in the eyes. Wyatt found he couldn’t pretend any more.

“They’re a couple?”

“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use,” Lukas cautiously replied.

“But they’re together, right? That old goat is fucking a kid young enough to be his son?” Wyatt felt incensed on Shy’s behalf. And frustrated. And thoroughly disgusted.

Lukas held up one hand.  “Just putting this out there, but that ‘old goat’ is my age, Wyatt. You want to rephrase that?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything, you know that...” Wyatt forced himself to take a deep calming breath. “But he’s still a hell of a lot older than Shy. And five years ago? What was Shy then? Fifteen? Sixteen? That has to be illegal.”

“Probably, but who’s going to press charges? Shy’s mother’s not here. Shy? Hardly.”

“But... but... but...” Wyatt sputtered ineffectually, trying to grasp the concept that Randy Grant had taken a young boy into his bed... an undoubtedly innocent young boy... and was holding him hostage there to this very day.

He replayed the scene in the grocery store for the millionth time in his head.

“He called him Sir.” Wyatt’s voice was barely audible.

“What?”

“When we were together, he called him Sir. On the phone.”

“Shit, Wyatt.”

“I know, that’s creepy, right?”

“No, not shit for that. Shit because you and him... you were together? Where? How?”

“He met me at Shop For Less. Today. Then the Keeper called and he said he had to go. Called him Sir.”

“The what?”

“The Keeper. That’s what I call Randy.”

Lukas rolled his eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised, though.  Did he know about you?”

“Randy? No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Nothing else matters.” Lukas breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “Tell you what, Wy, go into the liquor cabinet and bring out a bottle of something stronger. We’re going to need it, I think. I’ll square it with John later. That won’t be a problem.”

“Like what?”

“Some of his expensive bourbon. The black label.”

Wyatt wasted no time in doing as Lukas asked, going into the private stock of liquor in the study. He brought back the nearly full bottle of Masterson’s finest bourbon and two clean glasses. He pushed the empty wine bottle and fluted glasses to the side; he’d pick them up later.

“Here, let me.” Lukas took the bottle from him. Wyatt hadn’t realized until that moment that his hands were shaking. Lukas poured three good fingers in each glass, handed one to Wyatt.

“Sip it,” he advised.  “Slowly.”

Though Wyatt wanted to bolt it as fast as he could, he obeyed.

“Okay, now listen to me, Wyatt. Are you listening?”

Wyatt nodded, not trusting his voice.

“There’s a whole lot more to this than just them sleeping together.”

“Do you think... Randy loves him?”

Lukas groaned. “Damn, Wyatt, that’s such a tough call to make.”

“Is it? You said you know them. You’ve seen them together. What do you think?”

“I think it’s complicated. But between us, no, not in any normal sense of the word. Keep sipping.” He indicated the smoky liquid in Wyatt’s glass. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

I can do this. I can. If Shy can live through this... whatever this is... surely I can just listen to whatever it is...

“When I was very young, I met a man named Bobby Demaris. He took a liking to me, and he became my mentor.”

Wyatt wrinkled his brow in perplexity. “I don’t know any artist by that name.”

“No, he’s not an artist. At least not in the sense that you mean.”

“Then how did he mentor you?”

“Bobby has a club, a very special club. It’s a private club, in West County. Bobby D’s Sweet Majesty is the full name, but most of the members just call it Sweet Majesty for short.”

to be continued

Now, don't forget to visit the rest of the Briefers, see what they've been doing!

Andrew Gordon 

A.R. Von 

Victoria Adams 

Nephylim   

Lily Sawyer      

Cia Nordwell    

Renee Stevens 

Tali Spencer   

Michael Mandrake    

Wednesday Briefs: No Way Out #15

Wednesday is upon us once more, which means it's time for some flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! By the way, if you  are interested in becoming one of us, we're always happy to add more to our group! Just email me at shelley_runyon@yahoo.com, and I'll give  you all the details!

This week's prompts were:  "If you wish upon a star" or use pea soup in your story or have your character make some sort of comfort food or "When I'm away from you, I feel..." or use an overdue book fine at the library or "My... is bigger than your..." or "round and round the mulberry bush" or "She slid her thumb gently across my lips and I thought I'd melt" or have your character Google something.

This week's installment of No Way Out continues with Randy and Shy in the bedroom. Can things get any worse for Shy? See what happens for yourself! Then be sure to visit the other Briefers, as they spin their own tales. Their links follow my story. Enjoy!

No Way Out #15

The sting of the alcohol permeated Shy’s skin, sending sharp sensations cascading through him. Just as those started to blessedly dull, Randy brought the paddle down again... and again... and fresh waves assaulted Shy. His nether cheeks flamed, seared with a heat that refused to quit.

When he was younger, and Randy had spanked him, Shy used to squirm on Randy’s lap, trying to escape the pain. He’d learned quickly enough not to do that; it only made things worse. He lay still now.

“Who do you belong to?” Randy demanded to know, striking a fresh blow.

“You,” Shy mumbled automatically, his response muffled against Randy’s thigh.

“I can’t hear you!”

Shy lifted his head slightly, just enough to make himself heard. “You. Only you.” No need to think, just spit it out. Nothing less would do.

When Randy made no immediate reply, Shy thought the worst was over. Until he felt Randy’s teeth press against his inflamed skin. Oh please no, not now, please not now... Shy’s inner plea a mantra of protection against what he feared Randy might do.

But it didn’t help. He could feel Randy’s teeth pierce his flesh, and a searing pain went through him.  This was not the first time Randy had bitten him, whether in anger or lust. Sitting would be a bitch tomorrow and Shy knew it.

At times like these, Shy absented himself, separated his mind from his body and did his best to not feel the pain. Nonsense phrases and silly songs played themselves in his mind. Monkeys and weasels raced one another round and round the mulberry bush. London Bridge fell down and dreams flew over the rainbow.

The paddle fell once, twice more, before Randy mercifully stopped what he was doing. At least that aspect of it.

“You will not ... ruin... my mood. D’you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”  Shy made sure to make himself heard this time, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing in his ass.

“So red,” Randy crooned, as if he’d actually accomplished something he was proud of. “Like a cherry. Like the cherry I took. Remember?”

How could Shy forget?

Shy felt his cheeks being pulled apart and then Randy jammed something inside, without warning. Felt like his thumb, maybe. Shy gasped at the intrusion.

“So fucking tight. Perfect fit for me, and no one else.”

Shy felt his protesting muscles open, forced to relax at the intrusion.

“Damn straight I’m gonna fuck you.”

Suddenly, Shy felt empty. Randy had withdrawn his thumb. He slapped Shy’s ass, producing a wince.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded. “Quickly. I can’t stay here all day, have to get back to work.”

“Yes, Sir.” Shy scrambled to obey, although his legs protested. They felt rubbery. For a moment, he worried he’d fall to the floor, incurring Randy’s further wrath. But they held, just long enough for him to flop on the bad and assume the position, ass invitingly in the air. No matter that it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Please just let this end...

He couldn’t see what was happening, but he felt the bed quiver as Randy put his weight on it. Shy tried to return to the other place, the safe place, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate, filled with images he could not shake loose.  He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen, but he couldn’t stop, and he felt himself tense up, his arms stiffening, his body clenching, as if to prevent Randy’s entrance.

No, no. It’ll hurt more...

He felt Randy behind him, moving into position for the kill. He wished he knew how to pray, but his mother had never taken him to church. Told him there were cocksucking perverts there.  

Watch out for the cocksuckers, boy...

“Is something wrong?”

Wyatt’s words came tumbling into Shy’s mind. He could see Wyatt standing there, his shadow falling over Randy’s expensive sedan, a white knight minus the steed.

Shy knew better, but he couldn’t help himself. Wyatt filled his brain to the exclusion of all else, as if Shy’d lapsed into a dreamlike state from which he might never emerge. He pictured Wyatt behind him, imagined his beautiful cock sliding in and out of Shy, filling him with the greatest pleasure. Wyatt wasn’t too big and he wasn’t too little—he was just right. And he knew just what to do, the right way to move, drawing his own pleasure from Shy’s eager body.

Take me, Wyatt, I’m yours...

He relaxed into Wyatt’s masterful touch, which overrode the pain, even as Shy rose above it, floating on the strength of his own dreams. Never mind that his cock was swollen and angry, leaking precome, but unable to find release because of the leather ring. Never mind any of it, just keep on dreaming...

He was shaken from his torpor by the grunts of Randy’s orgasm. He felt Randy pull out, dripping, before he collapsed onto the bed, one arm flung over his eyes as he worked at catching his breath.

Shy’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just done, and he was barely able to keep himself from trembling. He watched Randy, fearful of what he’d do. Maybe this time he’d go over the edge and ... he couldn’t complete the thought even to himself.

“Shylor...” Randy panted, and Shy held his breath. This was it. “Go get a wash cloth and clean me up. Make sure it’s warm.” And that was all. Apparently, Randy hadn’t noticed.

Shy almost peed himself in his gratitude at not being caught.

He hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the pain that radiated through his limbs, wet the cloth and brought it back to cleanse Randy. When he was done, Randy dressed, his usual smirk fixed in place.

“Don’t take that off.” He pointed to the cock ring. “And put in a plug.”

What did this portend?

“We’re going to the club tonight, my little slave.”

to be continued

Now for the rest of our merry band:

Victoria Adams 

Lily Sawyer      

A.R. Von 

J.A. Harmon 

Nephylim    

MA Church    

Cia Nordwell    

Renee Stevens 

BL Morticia 

Tali Spencer     

Andrew Gordon

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

My Sexy Saturday #8: Revelations

Good morning and Happy Saturday! This week, I'm going to offer another selection from Revelations. Today, I'm guest blogging on M.A. Church's blog, talking about the scene in the book that ended up on the cutting room floor, so to speak. In other words, it was edited from its original version. But if you want to read the outtakes, go here. And there will be a giveaway.

This is just a little bit of that scene, from Judas' POV.

Now the question is, where do I begin? Despite all the years I’ve spent dreaming of this moment, of being in just this very position with Jesus, I seem to have neglected to formulate any sort of a game plan for what I'll do now that I’m here. I don’t want it to be painful, but pleasurable, for both of us. Damned short-sighted of me, don't you think? I know I think so.

            But not an insurmountable problem. We've already gotten past two thousand years of lusting after one another in our hearts, just in order to be here. What else can compete with that? 

Don't forget to check out the rest of those who are participating in My Sexy Saturday! You'll find them here.

Guest Blogger Marion Sipe

Good morning and welcome! It's rainy, rainy day in St. Louis so why don't we welcome my guest blogger/cover artist Marion Sipe, whose amazing talent wrought the cover for Revelations, make a fire and get cozy while Marion answers my infamous Rick Reed questions? Then maybe she'll talk about herself as a cover artist!

The Questions

1)      You’re marooned on a small island with one person and one item of your choice—who is that person and what item do you have?

Well, that would have to be the fiancé and a mega-case of duct tape, because you can do anything with that stuff!  Of course, I think we’d have to take our time figuring out how to make a boat out of it.  After all, you can’t let a deserted island go to waste and a mega-case of duct tape go to waste!

2)      Which musical would you say best exemplifies your life – and which character in that musical are you?

Oh, dear… Hmm.  I’m not sure.  I’m not that well versed in musicals, and generally I take things in bits and pieces.  Let’s go with Belle from Beauty and the Beast.  I know!  It’s sacrilege!  But  what bookworm doesn’t love a girl who reacts that way to a library?

3)      Take these three words and give me a 100 word or less scenario using them:  cap, rhetorical, smoked

Whodunnit.  A man is found murdered wearing a baseball cap for a team he owned and recently sold.  It was put on him by someone who was there after he was dead because the head wound he died from is beneath it.  There’s a partially burned slip of paper near the body and the smell of smoke in the air, but the only readable word is “rhetorical?”

4)      You’ve just been let loose in the world of fiction, with permission to do anyone you want. Who do you fuck first and why?

Sherlock Holmes.  No question.  Because smart is really sexy.  Of course, he’s also very, very moody, so I probably wouldn’t stick around long.  But that would be my first stop!  Of course, then I’d hope for a long layover (*ahem*) in the Tardis.  *G*

   5)   What is your idea of how to spend romantic time with your significant other?

A long night out, a lovely brunch in the Quarter, and then a lazy day in bed.  Can’t go wrong there.

   6)    When you start a new story, do you begin with a character, or a plot?

That’s a tough one.  I always have a general idea of both before I start writing.  I know what the setup is going to be (the beginning and the ending) and I have a general idea of who I’ll be writing about.  For me, the two are really closely linked.  A given character, dealing with a given scenario is the story.  I may come up with an idea that’s just plot or just a character sketch, but before I start writing I know both.

7)      If they were to make the story of your life into a movie, who should play you?

Maggie Smith.  That woman rocks like a rockin’ thing.  She’s always feisty and awesome.  I hope to live up to that standard.  *G*

8)      Who’s your favorite horror villain and why?

Candyman.  Because Tony Todd is awesome, sexy and (in that role) utterly, utterly terrifying.

   9)    Do you have an historical crush and if so, who is it?

I can’t think of one, actually.  There are a number of historical figures I think it would be fantastic to meet, but I’d need to get to know them before I could develop a crush.  Cleopatra seems pretty freakin’ awesome, but so do Oscar Wilde, Albert Einstein, Vivienne Leigh, Marilyn Monroe, Nikola Tesla, Joan of Arc… Oh, dear, I could go on for while here…

10)   Is there a story that you’d like to tell but you think the world isn’t ready to receive it?

Honestly, I don’t give a damn.  *G*  I just write my stories and if the world isn’t ready for them that isn’t my problem.  They sell or they don’t.  I can’t get caught up in worrying how people react or I’d never write anything.

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself, Marion?

Bio:

Marion Sipe is a graphic artist, writer and poet.  She’s been on both sides of the cover, and knows what it’s like to be putting out a book.  She loves composition and color, alliteration and syntax, and is also somewhat obsessively in love with worldbuilding.  She works with a various publishing companies and private clients, creating cover art and promotional artwork for some of the best books around.  She lives in New Orleans with her handsome prince and pack of vicious guard cats.  Okay… sleepy guard cats.

Links: 

Website: http://marionsipe.blogspot.com/
Video Portfolio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsB8r5kFEQ4


See how talented she is? She's having a sale at her site, so take advantage of it and check it out. While we're at it, let's take another peek at her work!

And because I love it so much, I'm going to show off the cover of Revelations again!

Thanks for stopping by, Marion! You are an amazing cover artist! I hope to work with you again some day! And thanks for your recommendation of Candyman. I'm definitely going to check that out!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Happy 2nd Blogiversary and a Giveaway!

When a friend of mine recently celebrated her first blogiversary, it motivated me to look and see  how long I've had mine, and lo and behold I learned that today is my second blogiversary! So in honor of the occasion, I think I'll reflect a bit on the past two years.

I really wasn't sure when I started my blog what my goals were, if any. Being a writer, I was told it was the thing to do, so I did it. I knew nothing about blogging when I began. I think I've learned quite a bit over the past two years.

Where does the title of my blog come from? Originally, I started out writing a column of sorts for a site for which I wrote reviews. I intended to do it once a month, and since full moons occur once a month (and since I have this penchant for werewolves lol) I decided to utilize full moon in the title. I added dreaming because I am a dreamer. So it only made sense when I started this blog that would remain the name of it.

I admit that I don't post every day, although I do make an effort, and I've learned more about scheduling posts for times when I'm away or busy. I promise to work harder on that in the future.

Over the past two years, I've let you into my life, given you glimpses into who I am, what I write, and what I think. It hasn't been an easy two years, and the going is still not smooth yet. But I've learned alot about life, and I'm working to make things as good as I can. That's all anyone can do.

So, who am I? I am a mother, a writer, a dreamer, a tilter at windmills who believes in doing what I can to make things right for people. I'm not perfect, far from it, and I don't pretend to be. But I try, and that's all anyone can do.

Over the past two years I've filled these pages with my writing, my reviews, and my opinions, and I've had a number of guests from various walks of life, mostly writers. My goals are to live, to love, to share, to learn....

I've made many friends during the past two years, and to each and everyone of them I say thank you for taking this journey with  me - you know who you are. I look forward to meeting new people, renewing and strengthening ties with the old, and continuing into the future with confidence, joy, and anticipation of what is to come.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me, whether you are a new follower or a long time friend. In honor of the occasion, I'd love to have a giveaway. I only ask of you that you be a follower, that you tell me something about what you like or dislike about my blog, and that you leave an email address. If I receive 25 comments or less, I shall choose one winner. Fifty or less, two winners. Over fifty and I shall choose four winners, and the prize is anything from my backlist.

Thank you for being a part of this amazing journey, and I hope you continue on with me as we step into the future!

If you have time, I'm guesting today at It's Raining Men for Manlove Monday, and talking about Revelations! See you there!

Until  next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Cate Masters on Writers and Fantasies and Surfacing

Today I'm proud to welcome author Cate Masters, who is going to share her thoughts on author fantasies with us, and tell us about her newest novel.

What’s your writer’s fantasy?

As writers, we all have fantasies. Probably too many, lol. But what’s your writer’s fantasy?

Aside from the one we all have, that is – the Big Enchilada. The Big Break that will launch you onto the bestseller list and into the heart of every reader worldwide. Yes, we all have that fantasy.

But what is your writer’s fantasy? The dream story? The one that feels as if it’s descended from heaven, delivered by a host of singing angels directly into your hands, with the appropriate reverence and advice to use it wisely?

Yep, the story that’s eluded you all your writerly life?

I haven’t found mine yet. It’s out there somewhere, I can feel it. But I haven’t quite hit it.

I’m not discouraged though. The notion that my best work is still ahead of me is encouraging. Though I’ve put heart and soul into my writing, I know I still haven’t quite hit my stride as an author. And that’s a good thing.

Johnny Depp once said that if he ever became complacent as an actor, it would be time to stop. And that’s exactly how I feel. Besides, who am I to argue with Johnny Depp? And who wouldn’t like to get inside his, um, head? lol

I never want to stop reaching for that next best thing. It will draw me higher into the realm I want to be. The realm of excellence.

But not just great writing. Great storytelling. For too long, that idea eluded me too. Too many of today’s bestselling authors are, in my mind, not wonderful writers. They are, however, amazing storytellers.

I’m hard to please, I suppose. But that’s also a good thing. I want the best of both worlds – the Killer Combo, of great writer and great storyteller.

If you’re a writer, what’s your writer’s fantasy? Do you have a specific genre in mind?

If you’re a reader, what sort of killer combo does it for you? When you enter a bookstore, do you head for a certain section of the bookstore, or browse the tables near the front in search of any grabber of a book?

Thanks for having me today, Julie! And thanks to any who stopped by. I hope you’ll visit my blog: http://catemasters.blogspot.com where there’s always something going on.

I’ll leave you with the blurb from my fun contemporary fantasy, Surfacing. It was a 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest semi-finalist! It’s now available from Whiskey Creek Press: http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=824 You can read reviews, an excerpt, view the trailer and even see who played the movie version in my head at: http://catemasters.blogspot.com/2007/12/surfacing-contemporary-fantasy.html

Book blurb

 AJ Dillon is trouble. The former lead singer of an indie band has no home, no money and no future. His grandfather is the only relative willing to take another chance on him. AJ arrives in Weeki Wachee, Florida, with his guitar, a few clothes and a bad attitude. The only good thing about Weeki Wachee is the ocean -- the one place AJ feels at home.

 Grandpa lines up a job for AJ at Weeki Wachee Springs, where beautiful women perform as mermaids. Grandpa says real mermaids exist, but AJ doesn’t believe – until he meets Cassiopeia. She helps his passion for music resurfaces. But greedy Chaz finds out about her, and threatens to kill them if AJ doesn't go along with his plan to make a fortune with a real mermaid show. Can AJ save Cassie, even if it means losing her?

Bio

Cate Masters has made beautiful central Pennsylvania her home for the past 20 years, but she’ll always be a Jersey girl at heart. A lover of all great writing, she aspires to entertain and enthrall with her own stories. Most days, she can be found in her lair, concocting a magical brew of contemporary, historical, and fantasy/paranormal stories with her cat Chairman Maiow and dog Lily as company. Look for her at www.catemasters.com, http://catemasters.blogspot.com, and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.

Off to Ireland for a wee nip with Gabrielle Evans

Since there isn't anything I wouldn't do for my readers, I recently took a trip to the land of shamrocks and leprechauns and the Blarney Stone in order to meet with author Gabrielle Evans. Here is what she had to say.

Good thing Yaoi Radius has such a large travel budget, as today, I am in Ireland to interview writer Gabrielle Evans.  Nothing is too good for our readers!  I’m in a small fishing village by the name of Doolin, which is situated on the west coast of Ireland.  I make my way to the pub with the unpronounceable name—I won’t even try to say it, I’ll just butcher it. Approaching the bar, I ask the genial barkeep if  the lady in question has arrived.  He nods and points to a table in the far corner, asking me my pleasure. Unsure if she’s ordered, or what she might like, I tell him I’ll get back to him, and make my way through the natives to the object of my quest.

“Gabrielle?” I wish to ascertain, not make assumptions.  At her nod, I take my seat opposite her, holding out my hand.  “Hi, Brie, I remember now.  I’m not that senile.” I laugh.  “Julie, naturally.  Nice to meet you.  What a great place.”  I take stock of my surroundings, drinking in all the local flavor.  It’s Ireland, and it’s beautiful.  “Have you been here before, is that why you recommended it?”

After shaking hands, she settles back in her seat with a smile. "Glad you found it okay. It's good to meet you as well." She laughs as she glances around the pub. "I've been in a few times since I arrived. It's a friendly place." She waves a hand toward the bartender. "That's Grady, and you won't meet a nicer guy. Everyone has been very welcoming. I'm on a bit of a research mission for my next novel, and so far everyone has been a load of help." Refocusing her attention, she nods down at the empty tabletop. "Would you like a drink? Grady builds a mean Guinness."

“Builds?” I ask, showing my ignorance. It’s been a long time since I worked in a place that serves drinks, and they didn’t have Guinness around back then.  “I didn’t know it was built.  I mean, I thought it was a ready made sort of thing.  I’ve never tried it.  If you recommend it, I think I’d like to.”  I smile at the author, relaxing in her company.  This is such a neat place.  Memo to self: take lots of pictures.

“The nice thing about doing research is that you can deduct it from your taxes.  What’s your next novel about? Is it another on in your series, or something different?” 

Holding up a finger to stall the conversation, she calls to the bartender for two Guinness. "True, you can get it in a can or a bottle, but that's almost sacrilege. You don't just draw it from the tap either. It's a process." She waves her hand around and smiles. "You'll see. Now, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, my next novel. Well, it's the fifth book in the Moonlight Breed series, titled Forgotten Sins. My newest hero is an Irish Thoroughbred shifter from a fishing village a lot like Doolin. Although, I'm getting  some great material, and I think I might just have a new series forming." She taps her temple and winks. 

I can’t help but smile at such enthusiasm. Being a writer is the best job in the world, I know. Having whole populations living in your head may be disconcerting to some, but to us it makes perfect sense.  “Ooh, that is awesome,” I commend her.  “I can’t wait to hear all about it. Forgotten Sins.  I like that title.  Whose sins have been or should be forgotten? And tell me more about your Irishman? Is there someone you drew on for inspiration, maybe? Someone whose face you see when you think of him?”

She laughs again and wags a finger. "Now, Julie, you know I can't tell you whose sins they are. It would ruin the ending. Plus, book two only just released, and it would give secrets away in books three and four. However, I will tell you that it is Boston's book. I originally thought his book would be the fourth, but things didn't really work out that way." She frowns a little before shaking her head and smiling brightly again. "Flynn is a great character, and I'm having so much fun with him. I suppose he reminds me a bit of Colin Farrell, and isn't that just yummy?" She sighs wistfully. "Ah, and here's Grady."

Tall and lean with gorgeous blue eyes, the bartender sets two large glasses of some dark and frothy liquid on the table. "Will ya be needin' anything else, then?" He winks, smiling cheerily. Brie actually blushes a little.

"We're good. Thanks, Grady." He nods his head and saunters back toward the bar. "Isn't he beautiful?" She pulls her drink to her, wrapping her hand around the base, and brings it to her lips.

“That he is,” I can’t help but agree, “and he has the loveliest accent.” I feel myself falling into that accent, my words coming out with a bit of Irish, though unintentionally. Must be the pull of just being in this amazing country.

“Alright,” I pretend to pout, “but maybe you can tell me after the interview.”  I laugh hopefully. “Honestly?  I think Flynn is yummier than Colin Farrell, but that’s just me.” The Guinness is here now. Time to see what all the fuss is about.

I lift the tulip shaped glass. The dark liquid inside has a pretty frothy top. I take a tentative sip, and then a longer one.  It has a dark taste, if that makes any sense. “Mmmm, this is delicious,” I admit, “thanks for the recommendation.  “Now Flynn.  If he were filling out a character resume, what would you say were his best traits?  And his worst?”

"Really, I think his best and worst traits are one and the same. Flynn is logical, level-headed, and he doesn't often let his emotions lead the way. It's a good thing when he's trying to outrun the bad guys, but it also has a decidedly negative impact on his relationship with Boston." She chuckles at this. "I haven't really paired two alpha-minded males before, and it is making for some interesting twits and turns." Then she smiles devilishly and winks. "And just wait until you meet Flynn's brother, Declan."  

“I love those names. Flynn and Declan. They’re beautiful.  I like Boston’s too. How do you come up with your names? Do you have people who inspire you, or do you use a site, like looking up baby names? In this case Irish baby names?” I take another sip of the brew. I find it tastes better than beer, which I’m not a huge fan of. I can see why it’s so popular. “And their characters too? Do you fill out any sort of character sheets for them, or keep a timeline or an outline or anything?” I find it fascinating to learn how different authors ply their craft.

Her eyes round in surprise. "You can do that? Make an outline?" She laughs and takes another drink before continuing. "I tried doing the outline at first, but my characters always had different ideas than I did, so I just gave up on them. I know how the story begins and how it ends. Everything in the middle is as much a surprise to me as it is to the readers." She waves her hands around as she speaks. It's obvious she doesn't even realize how animated she is with her gestures. "I use sticky notes on my desktop to kind of keep an outline of how much time has past, what month it is, what season, that sort of thing. My characters mostly come to me pre-packaged so to speak, so it's like meeting a real person. I don't have to fill out a description for them, it's all there in my head before I even start writing."

Tapping her forehead, she crinkles her nose a bit. "Usually, the names come with the characters. It's really like having a living person reside inside your head, introducing themselves and yammering on non-stop. When I do have to choose a name, it's because I need it to mean a certain thing, or come from a specific origin. With those, I'll do a Google search for what I need." She shrugs and leans back in her seat again. "Other than that, it's just a lot of hot men, yelling inside my head, trying to be heard over each other."

“Wow, lucky head.” I can’t help but smiling. “I don’t outline, myself, but I find if I don’t make a timeline as I go, I won’t remember what day it is in what book, I have so many going on. And I’m drowning in sticky notes, not to mention they can disappear.  My planner is invaluable, I’ve found, at helping me focus on my blog and having guests and such, like you. Do they sell food here?” I ask hopefully. My stomach is growling and it’s not being very discreet about it.

“Do you work on more than one book at a time? What would you say is your average time for writing a book? What is the average length of your books? Do you aim for any particular length, or do you just write until you think the story is complete? Do you like to leave a cliffhanger of any sort to segue into the next novel?”

I take a breath, hoping I haven’t inundated her with too many questions all at one time.

She stares at me blankly for a moment, then shakes her head as if to clear it. "Uh, well you can get a burger or sandwich and some fries, though they call them chips here. I'd recommend the fish sandwich."

She plucks a thin sheet of paper from between the salt and pepper shakers and slides the menu across the table. "I'm working on four different books right now, doing pre-submission edits on another, and that's not even counting when I receive line edits in my inbox. I just work on one until I run out of ideas, or a character from another book has something inspiring to say. The time varies, but I guess on average, it takes me about three weeks to complete a manuscript." She shrugs. "It just depends on how long it is, and what else I have going on at the time."

Pausing to take a long drink, she tilts her head to the side as her brows draw together in concentration. "On average my books run around forty to forty-five thousand words. Some longer, some shorter. I have a little gadget that measures my word count progress, and I usually set the goal as forty-five or fifty thousand words. It's just a reference point though. If I feel the story is complete at thirty-five thousand words, I don't worry about the goal. I haven't purposely left a cliffhanger yet, but that can always change. Normally, I like scatter little hints throughout the book to give readers an idea of what's coming next in a series." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "So, did you decide what you want to eat?"

I almost say reply Grady but decide to behave. “Burger and chips sounds great, I’m not big on fish sandwiches.” I drain my Guiness, lick off the slight moustache that I just realize is there from the foam. I must look like a real doofus, I think.

“Sounds like you’re keeping busy,” I smile. “Is this your full time vocation, then? Or do you work another job to support your writing habit? I know how hard it is for writers to earn a living at their profession, most are forced to seek outside gainful employment, unless they’re lucky enough to have someone else support them.”

Holding up a finger, she hurries across the pub to the bar, presumably to place the orders, then right back to slide into her seat. "Yeah, I guess I'm one of the lucky ones. I have an amazing husband who works hard to provide for us so I can stay home with the kiddos. I was a stay at home mom long before I started writing." She shrugs. "It's what works for us. It's not all bonbons and soap operas, though. Between chores, errands, school, sports, and my writing, there are some days where I feel like I barely have time to breathe. Trying to keep up with so much can be stressful, but I'm sure you know that." She nods slightly. "I'm my own worst critic for sure. I get so nervous just before I new release that I can't sleep and just become this neurotic mess. Do you get nervous before a release? Or is that just a newb thing?"

“I know what you mean. I’m a stay at home unemployed person right now, and I don’t watch soaps or eat bonbons.” I laugh at the idea. I don’t think many people do any more, which is why they’re basically dying off; they’re dinosaurs whose time has come. “Do I get that nervous before new releases?  I don’t think so, to be honest. Maybe I’m getting jaded?  Or maybe just used to it?  I’m not sure.  I don’t remember ever losing sleep over it, though. I do worry about being accepted.  And liked. But I try not to think about it, or about reviews. Reviews are just opinions, after all.  One person’s.  Not the end of the world.  I mean, everyone wants to be liked, sure, but it isn’t really realistic to expect it.”

“If you were to be stranded on a desert isle with the person of your choice—real or fictional, living or dead—who would it be? And let’s make this an alternate universe where you’re free to make this choice, and not married?” I have to throw that in, otherwise married women tend to take their hubbies, of course.

"Hmm, I guess it's just a newb thing, then. I'm hoping it gets easier with each new release. I think it's more of a personal trait, actually. I tend to over analyze and worry everything to death, not just my books."

Propping her elbows on the table, she leans forward. "A desert island with anyone of my choosing? I think I'd have to choose Archias, the hero of Race the Sun, my upcoming release with Silver Publishing. Not only is he big and yummy at over seven feet tall, with rippling muscles and silver blond hair, but he's also an ancient Macedonian warrior. Other than entertaining conversation and being fantastic to look at, he'd be able to protect me and hunt for food. I'm not really the damsel in distress type," she shrugs nonchalantly and winks, "but if a big, sexy man wants to take care of me, who am I to argue?" 

“Don’t worry,” I attempt to sound reassuring, hope I don’t come off as condescending, “you’ll relax as you get more and more of those under your belt.”

“Archias sounds delicious. Does this mean he’s a heterosexual hero, or are you changing his orientation for the sake of having your way with him on this imaginary isle?” I can’t help but grin.  “He reminds me of another Macedonian beauty by the name of Julian. Are you familiar with Fantasy Lover by Sherrilyn Kenyon?” I make a mental note to put Race the Sun on my need to purchase list. I find myself twisting the hair that falls over one shoulder around my fingers, picturing this massive hunk of man.

"Well, of course I want to have my wicked way with him!" She looks aghast as if any other answer is ludicrous. Then she grins and settles back in her chair. "If we need a label, I guess Archias is bisexual. He was cursed and placed in a magical bottle to be something like a genie, granting wishes and all that. He preferred women, but had been with men. Now, he just prefers Jade, his hunky little pool shark."

A perky waitress with a blonde ponytail sashays up to the table, setting down two plates, heaping with food. She nods, smiling brightly, and hustles off to another table.

Picking up the ketchup bottle, Brie nods and smiles. "I love Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Fantasy Lover is one of my favorite in the series. Archias isn't much like Julian, though. Similar profession, somewhat similar circumstances of being bound to objects." She shakes some ketchup onto her plate and replaces the bottle in the center of the table. "That's really it, though. Archias was a Myrmidon, trained and commanded by Achilles. He wasn't always so big. It was part of his punishment, as well as being entombed inside a bottle. I'd maim someone to have his deep teal eyes though." She sighs, smiling dreamily. "Do you have any of those characters you just wish were real?" 

“Yeah, I think I do,” I have admit, reaching for the mayo, I take some for my burger and for my chips.  Hey, it’s an acquired taste. Never seen Pulp Fiction? “But for different reasons, I think. Max and Richard would be like my bff’s, and Derek Deville would be a fun friend to have, he’s so flamboyant. Avery is smokin’ hot, and he  really makes my blood boil one minute and then he’s all tender the next.  They’re all real to me, of course, inside, but yeah, it would be sweet to have them walking and talking and living with me, to watch them come to life. That’s what movies are for, right? What about you, do you have some of your characters that you wish were oh so real?” I take a chip and dip it into the mayo, taking a bite.  Delicious!

Well, Archias, obviously." She takes a bite of her burger and chews slowly before swallowing. "I think Keeton from The Moonlight Breed series as well. He's crazy and funny, but he's also sweet and has the biggest heart. He'd be a great friend. Quinn Harper from my Salem Night series. She's a firecracker and doesn't take guff from anyone." She bites her bottom lip and looks upward as though considering. "Oh, and Jalen! He's a warrior fae, though the biggest sweetheart, and just so beautiful to look at."

Taking another bite, she nods knowingly. "All my characters are very real to me, too. It's hard to say goodbye sometimes, which is why my books usually spin into a series. I don't always plan more than one book, but I get attached, and it just ends up that way, you know?"

“Absolutely,” I swallow before I reply, trying not to mumble in the process.”I admit that I’m rather unsure of my female characters. I never know if they’re good or not.  When I was role playing in rp games online, I didn’t play many women, mostly men, and I think my writing reflects that.  I think I have a good ear for creating the male voice, but I find women harder to sustain as main characters.  Do you have any problem writing for either sex?  I can tell that men come naturally to you, but what about women?”

She nods in apparent understanding. "It is harder for me to write women, which seems strange since I happen to be a girl." Laughing, she waves a hand around in dismissal. "I have one m/m/f menage and another het story coming this spring, and they were both much harder to write than my m/m stories. I've never been a girlie-girl. I always had more guy friends than girl friends. I didn't play with Barbie dolls, and I still rarely wear makeup. I did the sports thing, or I was out jumping fences, climbing trees, and playing in the dirt. My female leads tend to be tough and independent. They love their heroes, but they're not going to bow down and let the men run the show. My girls aren't supermodel thin or movie star pretty. They're average women with a lot of heart." She shrugs. "Well, at least I'd like to think so. My one weakness is cute shoes, so that's probably the most girlie thing you'll see from my female characters."

“I can relate.” I nod sympathetically. “As a girl, I used to pride myself on being able to beat up the guys in the neighborhood. Not that we had all out brawls or anything, but I never hesitated to hit them. I did play with dolls, though, with my sister, but I also liked to play games with balls.  And no, that wasn’t meant to be a double entendre.”  I almost snort, as I realize what I just said. “My heroine, Samantha, wants to be dominated, though. Not in a dom/sub sort of way, but she wants a strong man in her life, and she finds that in Eric, my vamp. And a whole lot more. I honestly believed I was a gay man in another life. Do  you believe in past lives?”

She actually does snort. "I know what you mean. My best friend is gay, and he's asked me more than once if I'm sure I'm not a gay man." She continues to smile, but her brow wrinkles. "I won't say I don't believe in it, just that I've never given much thought to past lives or reincarnation. If I did have a past life, I think I may have been a man, but not a gay man. I find women just as attractive, only in different ways. With men, I like to feel protected. With women, it's the opposite, and I feel like the protector. Either way, I like to be in control and make the decisions. It's a delicate line to navigate. I think my husband was made just for me, though." She chuckles softly. "He takes care of me when I want him to, and backs off when I need space. I'm a lucky girl." 

“You’re a very lucky girl, I hope that I can get lucky that way some day.  Does he have a brother?” I laugh before I finish off my very satisfying meal, pushing back my plate.  “Goodness, that was delicious. How about another round of Guinness, on me? Unless you have another drink you’d like to introduce me to? And then maybe show me around this town a bit, if you don’t mind?”

"Actually, there's another little place down by the water that I'd like to show you. We can get a drink there." Standing, she waves to Grady and motions towards the door. "I have a tab here, so I'll just pay for this later."

I follow Brie, waving to Grady in turn, giving him one last lingering look as we head out the door and off to our destination. My recorder is put away. It’s time to have some fun.  Talk to you later, dear readers!




Now, here's a look at Brie's book, By the Light of the Moon, and a bit of a pic to go with it.

By the Light of the Moon [Moonlight Breed 2]

by Gabrielle Evans

Heat Rating: Sextreme          Novel Length (50,000+ words)

Siren Publishing – www.sirenbookstrand.com

Wildly flamboyant and proud of it, Keeton Taylor knows he’s a bit much for most men. Logan is everything he’s ever dreamed of in a partner, but learning they are destined mates throws him for a loop. Forever is a huge commitment.

Logan has spent years searching for his mate. He never imagined that fate would pick someone so perfect for him, though. His instant attraction to Keeton is more than just some shifter pheromone thing. It’s love at first sight.

His ex-girlfriend has other plans for the cursed shifter though. An Arsidian Demon in her mating heat, she is hell bent on having Logan as her own, and eradicating the competition…Keeton. Can Logan save his new mate before the full moon, or will he lose his angel forever?