A Lady of Persuasion by Tessa Dare

Thank you for having me back again! Each time I’ve visited this blog to talk about my historical romance trilogy, I’ve focused on the heroine of my tale. This week, the third book of the series, A LADY OF PERSUASION, released. The heroine is Miss Isabel Grayson, daughter of a wastrel English father and a Spanish mother who went insane from a brain fever. Isabel was raised in the West Indies, primarily by her two older brothers, who were libertines and (sort of) pirates.

Naturally, she’s an angel.

No, really. Despite her unorthodox upbringing, Isabel is a woman of virtue. She has a passion for charity and social justice, and she’s determined to change the world. And she decides to start with one man: the infamously rakish playboy of the ton, Sir Toby Aldridge.

Isabel has a lot of lessons for Toby about what it means to be a hero, but he has a lot to teach her, too. Because of her staunch beliefs, Isabel has trouble lightening up at times and enjoying life’s little sensual pleasures. Toby’s only too happy to take on the challenge of freeing her passion, introducing her to delights that range from chocolate ice cream to the opera, from silk gowns to satin sheets… It’s delicious battle of persuasion.

In some cases, Bel has valid ethical and moral reasons for resisting Toby’s temptations, but she does learn to loosen up and enjoy herself. I think women are all-too-often made to feel guilty about these little pleasures in life. I hate the phrase “guilty pleasure”, especially when it’s applied to romance novels! We deserve life’s little pleasures, don’t we?

What’s your favorite indulgence? Chocolate? Ice cream? Pedicures? Something else? I have a deadline Thursday. When I turn that book in, three rewards are waiting for me: a Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar, Lisa Kleypas’ latest, and a day at Disneyland! And I vow not to feel guilty in the least!

Make sure and answer Tessa's question as she is giving away to one lucky winner a signed copy of A Lady of Persuasion. (Don't forget the email addy or your entry will be void.)



A Lady of Persuasion
Excerpt

With a laugh, Toby swept his temptress and her yards of green silk straight out into the night. Now there was a story the ton would remember, when the names Sir Toby Aldridge and Sir Benedict Grayson bumped against one another in conversation. Grayson might have eloped with Toby’s intended bride, but now Toby had stolen an admirer straight from Grayson’s own arms. He could not call it complete revenge, but he could call it a solid beginning.

And now, he could turn his attention to the gorgeous creature he held in his arms. Could it possibly have been just minutes he’d been yearning for this embrace? It felt like years. A lifetime. Or here, in this Greek-styled colonnade, he could imagine it an eternity. It was as though an enchantment had been cast around them, binding them together with some primeval, pagan magic.

“Remarkable,” he whispered.

She froze in his arms, though she made no attempt to pull away. The rush of cool night air surrounding them only emphasized the heat building between their bodies.
“What, precisely, is remarkable?” Her voice was melodic, and flavored with some foreign spice.

“You,” he answered honestly. “Do you realize, your hair is actually a shade darker than the night sky?” He wound a jet-black tendril around his finger, enjoying the way her lower lip quivered in invitation. Oh yes, he was in fine form tonight. “And softer than moonlight. How is that possible?”

“It’s not,” she said. “Dear heavens. You do this often, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Sweep ladies onto secluded terraces and pay them nonsensical compliments.”

“Er… perhaps,” he said, chastened.

“Perhaps,” she echoed. Her look went from one of skepticism to one of dismay.

“Don’t fret, darling. With you, I actually mean them.”

Toby gave her his most disarming grin–that lopsided, mischievous boyish smile he’d honed on a mother and three older sisters, then polished to a seductive gleam. It was a grin that said, I know I’m impossible, but it’s useless to resist. We both know you can’t help but love me.

Except—evidently, this lady could. Her look of dismay became one of despair. She swallowed, then released a flurry of words. “Please tell me you are a lord.”

Toby’s involuntary burst of laughter increased the distance between them. “A lord?”
“Duke, marquess, earl, viscount, baron…” Her eyes were grave and pleading. “Please tell me you hold one of those titles.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but the arms holding you belong to a baronet. I’m not a lord, but a sir.”

“Ah!” She pushed away from him, flinging her hands wide. The exasperated cry she made, the dramatic gesture—so unreservedly passionate, so deliciously un-English. What other cries of passion might she produce, if expertly provoked? A man could not help but wonder.

“What have I done?” She leaned against a marble column, framing her brow with her fingertips. “Not a lord, but a sir. And a rake, to top it. This… this is a disaster.”
Her accent grew more pronounced as her agitation increased, her vowels tilting at interesting angles. Toby was almost too enthralled to take offense.

Almost.

“A disaster?” he repeated. “Surely it isn’t so—”

“Such behavior… such impropriety. I’ll never find a suitable husband now. What honorable man would have me?” She dropped her hands and looked up at him. “And I couldn’t possibly marry you.”

And that timeless, pagan enchantment? Popped like a soap bubble.

Toby was tempted to point out that he didn’t recall proposing anything, and that the notion of marrying her had not even formed in his mind. But neither of those facts mitigated the innumerable insults contained in her declaration. “Let me understand you. You couldn’t possibly marry me, because I am neither a lord, nor even suitable, nor do I qualify—by your estimation—as an honorable man.” He ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “Right, well. Doesn’t that sum up public opinion nicely?”

“I’m sorry. So sorry. I’m not thinking. You… you make it so I can’t think at all.”
She turned and paced away from him. “I must go back inside. I’m a waste of silk, standing out here.”

“To the contrary,” Toby said, enjoying the sight of her nubile form in motion. “I’d say you’re putting that silk to excellent use.”

She gave him a horrified look as she moved for the door. “I must return, before my reputation is completely destroyed.”

“Wait.” He caught her arm. She couldn’t go back inside yet, not before everyone noticed their absence. What sort of revenge would that be? He made his voice soothing. “Please, calm down. Truly, you’ve done nothing so scandalous. You merely became dizzied by the dancing and the closeness of the room, and I’ve brought you outside for some fresh air.” He tugged her over to a bench and motioned for her to sit. “Now, what you need is a bit of refreshment. Allow me to bring you a glass of champagne.”

“Oh, no. I never take spirits, not even medicinally.”

“Lemonade, then.”

“No. No, thank you.” Her hands fluttered in her lap. “You know I am not truly ill.”

“Aren’t you?” He crouched before her. “I distinctly remember you trembling. I told you I felt faint, feverish. You said you felt the same.” It didn’t seem possible that her eyes could widen any further, but widen they did. “You must have been ill. God knows, the attentions of an unsuitable, dishonorable, lowly baronet could not possibly bring you to such a state.”

“You are teasing me.” The words were an accusation, spoken in a wounded tone. As though teasing were an offense tantamount to stealing bread from beggars. “And we shouldn’t be alone.”

“We’re not in hiding. Anyone could come by at any moment.” Toby tilted his head toward a cluster of guests down the colonnade. “And a few minutes in a secluded corner with me are hardly a barrier to marrying well. Just ask half the ladies in that ballroom.”

She turned a puzzled glance toward the glass-paned doors and the colorful blur of dancers beyond them. “Really, I should be—”

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said, scrubbing the teasing tone from his voice. He needed her to trust him. He needed her to stay. “You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“I’m an unmarried woman with a reputation to guard, and you are clearly the worst sort of rake.” She touched a hand to the lone ornament she wore: a slender gold pendant in the shape of a cross. “I have everything to fear from you.”

“Have you been reading that nonsense in The Prattler?” Toby rose to his feet. “My dear, don’t believe everything you read in the papers. You ought to thank me for whisking you out of that ballroom and rescuing you from your partner—now there’s a true scoundrel. That Grayson’s the one you ought to fear.”

“But…” She shook her head, her black curls inky against the gleaming marble. “Why should I fear my own brother?”

“Your…” He stepped back, stared at her. “Your brother.”

“Yes, my brother.”

Toby returned to a crouch before her. He braced his hands on the bench, one on either side of her skirts, and stared hard into those dark, solemn eyes. “Tell me your name.”

“Miss Isabel Grayson. I thought everyone knew. True, we’ve only just arrived from Tortola, but the gossip…” Toby bent his head, and her tone sharpened. “Are you laughing?”

When his shoulders stopped shaking, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes. What an ass he was, congratulating himself on his revenge. Drawing a lady’s eye from her own brother, what a triumph.

“Miss Isabel Grayson. Good God,” he said, laughter quaking his chest anew. “Have you any idea who I am?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Other than a baronet? No.”

“I’m Sir Toby Aldridge.” He waited for recognition to dawn in her eyes. He waited in vain.

“Sir Toby Aldridge,” he repeated. Still nothing but blank indifference. “Did Sophia—Did Lady Grayson never speak of me?”

“Never. Should she have?”

Toby flinched inwardly. How quickly she’d forgotten him. “No, I suppose there is no real reason she should. And you don’t read The Prattler?”

She shook her head. “I abhor it. I despise rumor and innuendo, though it seems these people think of little else.” She waved toward the ballroom—another of those expansive, impassioned gestures. “These are the leaders of government and society, yet they seem hopelessly shallow. Children starve in the streets, free men live in chains—but their attention is absorbed with illicit liaisons, marital disputes…”

“Broken engagements,” Toby added bitterly. “Elopements.”

“Yes, precisely.”

“Revolting, isn’t it?” He clucked his tongue. “Insupportable. I’m quite weary of scandal myself.”

She perked with enthusiasm, a pretty flush warming her complexion. “Do you know, I’ve been in London over a month. I’ve attended dinners and card parties, my brother’s fete, and this ball. I’ve heard ever so many words from these people’s mouths, and all of it scandal and nonsense.”

“And this disappoints you.”

“Of course!” There went her vowels again, lilting and stretching. “It seems no one has any ideas or opinions worth the breath to speak them aloud.”

“But you, Miss Grayson? Something tells me you are full to bursting with ideas and opinions. Not only worth your breath to speak them aloud, but worth the silence of others, to be heard.”

“Oh.” Her lashes trembled. “Truly?”

Such wonderment in her voice, as if he’d divined the very key to her soul. No, he’d done nothing so impressive. He’d merely paraphrased what he knew to be every girl’s desire: someone willing to listen.

Toby was a very good listener.

“Believe me, I come from a family rife with opinionated females.” He felt himself sinking back into those wide, dark eyes, and there he perceived an inner depth to rival her fathomless gaze. Not every girl had that. “I know an intelligent, principled woman when I meet with one.”

Blushing deeper, she looked away. God, she truly was beautiful.

“Feeling feverish and faint again?” he teased. “I know I am.”

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh, no. Don’t smile. You’ll kill me. I stop breathing when you smile.” Those sensuous lips curved wide, and all teasing aside, Toby’s heart gave his lungs a deflating kick.

The irony did not escape him that here sat the sole lady in London who had no knowledge of his recent jilting, nor his outrageous reputation. The only lady who would not regard him as her entrée into the scandal sheets, or a delicious brush with infamy. With her, he could simply be his old, carefree self.

He hadn’t realized, until this moment, how much he’d missed that. Just one more thing Grayson had stolen from him. How the same parents had produced both that scoundrel and this angel, Toby couldn’t comprehend.

A thought struck him. Smacked him, really, with all the force of a brick. Of course. This was Grayson’s sister. If he wanted an opportunity to exact revenge, well then…
Here she sat.

About the Author

Tessa Dare is a part-time librarian, full-time mommy and swing-shift writer living in Southern California.

Tessa lived a rather nomadic childhood in the Midwest. As a girl, she discovered that no matter how many times she moved, two kinds of friends traveled with her: the friends in books, and the friends in her head. She still converses with both sets daily.

Tessa writes fresh and flirty historical romance, a blog, and the stray magazine article. To the chagrin of her family, Tessa does not write grocery lists, Christmas cards, or timely checks to utility companies. She shares a tiny bungalow with her husband, their two children, a dog, and many dust bunnies.

Tessa enjoys a good book, a good laugh, a good long walk in the woods, a good movie, a good meal, a glass of good wine, and the company of good people.

Tessa is represented by Helen Breitwieser of Cornerstone Literary Agency.

Tessa did not expect to enjoy writing about herself in third person, but what do you know? Tessa does.

Oh, and Tessa would love to hear from you! http://tessadare.com/news/

The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy by Sara Angelini

What is it about taboo relationships that makes them so appealing? It has to be more than loving the bad boy or thumbing your nose at society. When we put ourselves in the shoes of Bella from Twilight, what are we feeling? Is it the delicious sensation of doing what we know is wrong? The danger of risking that we might have read the other person wrong? Or is it the inspiration of having the courage to follow our hearts, even when we know it’s not in our best interests? In my book The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy, it’s a little bit of everything.

Elizabeth, an attorney, finds herself attracted to Darcy, a judge before whom she regularly appears. The ethical conflict inherent in their relationship is immediately apparent: everyone will assume that Darcy’s feelings for Elizabeth will influence his decisions either for or against her. The decision to give in to temptation - to do what they know is forbidden - is wildly uncharacteristic of both Elizabeth and Darcy. Each justifies their decision by convincing themselves that they deserve the chance to have a little fun, that it won’t mean anything, and that they can act on their desire without emotional attachment.

They both find crossing that line to be liberating, exhilarating, and unforgettable. But neither leaves the affair untouched, and returning to everyday life is not as easy as they thought it would be:

The next day, anticipation sat like a lead weight in her gut as Elizabeth steeled herself for her first glimpse of Darcy. When he strode into the courtroom, the other attorney said cheerfully,
“Welcome back, Your Honor. Do anything fun on your vacation?”
In their other world—the world where she was Lizzy and he was Will—he would have made a joke about doing her. But they were back in the real world, and Darcy only replied with a low “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.” His eyes flicked to her, then to his desk. “Good morning, Ms. Bennet.”

It doesn’t get any better:

Friday saw Darcy in his worst mood yet. He reduced one attorney to tears and ejected another from the courtroom for not knowing the rules of evidence—all before lunch. In the hallway outside, attorneys whispered warnings and passed wary glances at each other. By the time Elizabeth arrived for her afternoon trial, an ominous silence had fallen over the courtroom.
Past experience had taught Elizabeth that she had better be well-prepared for a trial with Darcy, and her current emotional state allowed her to immerse herself in obscure case law. She was the most thoroughly prepared she had ever been.
All her legal research did not, however, prepare her for Darcy’s anger. His face was a dark cloud threatening a storm as he called the case to order. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, and before long they were sparring like never before. He overruled her objections and she put them on the record for appeal. Their voices rose over each other, even to the concern of the other parties. They wrangled over evidence, with Darcy ruling in favor of Elizabeth’s opponent. When she persevered in her arguments, Darcy glared at her.
“Ms. Bennet, you are walking a very fine line today,” he said in a dangerous tone.
“What planet’s laws are you following?” she finally exclaimed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air. A hush fell over the already quiet courtroom. Darcy’s face reddened, and he stood up.
“I am calling a five-minute recess.” He tossed his gavel on the bench. “Ms. Bennet, I’ll see you in my chambers. Now.” His tone brooked no argument. The opposing counsel stood to follow them.
“Alone.”
Elizabeth’s face flushed, and she slammed her file on her table before following Darcy to his chambers. Both walked in silence, their body language exuding fury as they passed his secretary. He opened the door to his office and closed it firmly after she had stepped in.
“Elizabeth, what the hell are you doing out there?”
“I’m preserving my case for appeal from your misguided rulings.”
“Your objections are baseless, and you’re not laying the foundation for your evidence.”
“You’re ruling against me just to prove you’re not playing favorites.”
The conversation would have been perfectly normal if he hadn’t swept her into his arms and started kissing her hungrily as soon as the door was closed. Completely forgetting her determination to resist him, she returned his kisses eagerly.
“Why won’t you return my calls?” he asked her between kisses.
“It’s over, remember? It was all a dream,” she answered huskily.
“No, that was the reality, this is the nightmare. I don’t want to do this anymore.” He stepped back from her, breathing heavily. His hair was mussed from her grabbing fingers.
“I don’t, either. You promised it would end when we got back,” she said in a low voice. “This is unethical.”
“Elizabeth, I can’t do this. I need to see you. We’ll work something out.”
“I can’t see any way out,” she stated. She put a hand to his face and wiped away a smudge of lipstick then smoothed down his hair. He pulled her suit jacket back in place.
“I’ll think of something,” he said and opened the door, cutting off any response she may have had. They returned to the courtroom.
“Mr. Johnson, I am removing myself from this case,” Darcy announced as he returned to his bench.
“What? You can’t do that!” Elizabeth cried.
Mr. Johnson also began to protest. Darcy held up his hand to both of them.
“During my conversation with Ms. Bennet, we discussed the merits of her argument. It was unintentional, but it was an ex parte communication, and I would feel more comfortable removing myself from this case.”
“That’s baloney!” Elizabeth exclaimed hotly. Darcy’s face reddened again, and he glared at her. She recovered herself and lowered her voice. “It was not a conversation on the merits; it was a technical point.”
“Ms. Bennet, would you like to return to my chambers and rehash our conversation or would you like me to sanction you now?” he said through gritted teeth, the dangerous tone creeping back into his voice. Her temper flared again. She pulled her checkbook out of her purse.
“Should I make the check to F. Darcy? Middle initial U?” she retorted angrily. He threw the gavel on his bench.
“Chambers. NOW!” he ground out, pointing at the hallway. She followed him, aware they were leaving a courtroom of gaping disbelief in their wake.
He closed the door and pulled her into his arms again, kissing her.
“I cannot be on this case,” he said as he nuzzled her ear.
“Not after that, you can’t,” she admitted, chagrined. She rolled her head back to expose the tender flesh of her neck to him.
“Please see me tonight,” he said huskily against her jawline.
“We shouldn’t.”
He was kissing her throat now. “I need to see you. Please.” Her fingers had again curled in his wavy hair, and she hungrily sought his kisses.
“Will, this can’t work.”
“It can, we just have to make it work,” he reassured her. He put his lips to hers again and gave her a passionate, probing kiss that seemed to suck the willpower out of her. His hands were beneath her suit jacket, splayed across her back. Then he slid one hand down to cup her bottom.
“Lizzy, please, I need you,” he whispered in her ear.

Unable to resist her feelings, Elizabeth agrees to see Darcy one last time:

They made love as twilight fell, and lay wrapped in each other’s arms as darkness settled around them. Darcy’s ragged breathing calmed, and his finger traced tender, lazy circles on her arm. Elizabeth pressed her nose into his neck and savored what she knew were the last moments of this affair.
“My term ends next April.” His hushed voice broke the silence. “We could wait until then to be together.”
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Aren’t we closing the barn door after the horse is already out?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can wait for that long.”
“We could…”
“No. I won’t sneak around.”
“No. Of course not, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
They fell into another silence.
“You could look into another area of law, one where we wouldn’t have a conflict,” he suggested.
“And give up everything that I’ve worked for?” She sat up and looked indignantly at him. “Why am I the one who has to sacrifice everything? Why don’t you quit?”
“I can’t quit, we’re already short two judges!” He looked at the ceiling and rubbed his eyes. “I have a responsibility. I can’t quit.”
“I have responsibilities too. I have clients who expect me to fight for them. I can’t just dump them because I want to sleep with the judge.”
Darcy nodded and Elizabeth settled back into his side, nestling her head against his shoulder.
“What do we do, then?” he finally asked.
“What we both know we have to do.”
“I can’t end this.”
“Then I will.” She sat up and pushed her hair from her face before swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. She shoved her arms through her shirt and jerked it over her chest. “It’s not in either of our characters to lie and deceive everyone. You know as well as I do that it has to end.” She stood and shimmied into her skirt before scuffing into her sandals. Darcy sat up and glared at her as she walked toward the door.
“And I’m supposed to just accept that? To see you every day and pretend that nothing ever happened? How is that any less a lie?”
Elizabeth paused and said over her shoulder, “It was always a lie, Will. We both knew what we were doing was wrong, but we were too selfish to stop. Now we’re too selfish to make it work. It’s just the price we have to pay.”
Then she left.

© Sara Angelini, Sourcebooks Casablanca, 2009

Each learns that they cannot be true to themselves while deceiving the rest of the world, and this makes their love impossible. But in Romanceland, we as readers know that our heroes will resolve their conflict and arrive at a happy ending. So why do we keep reading about the taboo relationship? What keeps pulling us back?

For some, it’s the appeal of healing the broken hero. For others it is the sacrifices made for love. For me, it’s that ultimately the courage of characters who choose to trust their instincts that the person they love is the right person for them. It takes a lot of guts to love someone, and even more to love someone who is forbidden.

The Trials of the Honorable F. Darcy—in stores October 2009!

A sexy, bold adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice that re-paints favorite characters in twenty-first century colors

Judge Fitzwilliam Darcy, a legal expert on both sides of the Atlantic, is ready to hang up his black robe and return to the life of a country gentleman—until he meets Elizabeth Bennet, a fresh-faced attorney with a hectic schedule and no time for the sexy but haughty judge.

Tempers and sparks fly in Judge Darcy's courtroom— and outside, in a series of chance encounters that give each of them pause—as the two match wits and try to fight their overwhelming attraction. When they meet up in England at an international law conference, they embark on a hot, heavy affair. Back in the States, though, ethical considerations intrude, and each is subjected to a torturous period of soul-searching before they can find their way back to each other...

About the Author
Sara Angelini is an attorney living in the San Francisco Bay area. After earning an MS in Animal Sciences, she decided against becoming a veterinarian when she realized she only liked her own pets and moved to California with her husband to pursue law school. She is working on her third novel.

GIVEAWAY
Sourcebooks is sponsoring a giveaway of three (3) copies of this book. This giveaway is open to the United States and Canada. To enter, leave a comment (don't forget the email addy). Three lucky winners will be chosen at the end of the week so make sure and come back to see who won.

Congrat's To This Week's Winners

*Patti ~ Prize Package from Tracey O'Hara

*PopinFresh ~ Night's Rose Book Set from Annaliese Evans

*Carol L. ~ Night's Rose Book Set from Annaliese Evans

Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

Night's Cold Kiss by Tracey O'Hara

Thank you for asking me here Terra. Over the last couple of months I have done several interviews and articles and I really wanted to do something different for Yankee Romance Reviewers. So I’ve decided to firstly tell you a little about my real world and the world I created for my books.

I’m an Australian and recently Doug of the SciFiGuy blog had a fabulous give away of NIGHT’S COLD KISS. To go in the draw the commenter had to supply a fact they knew or learned about Australia. There were some fabulous facts that people came up with, some even had me learning a thing or two. I live in the nation’s capital and work in IT for a government department. I live with my husband of over twenty years, our two sons, and three rather insane cats. I love animals and put them in my books when ever I get the chance.

In Australia, the seasons are opposite to those of the northern hemisphere. So we are just coming into spring. Christmas day for us is summer so a lot of Australians go to the beach or have a bbq. Where I grew up in tropical north Queensland, it was usually scorching so it would be a day of eating, drinking and backyard cricket (a game with a bat and ball and lots of running). The country which started out 200 years ago as a prison for England’s criminals is vast but a lot of it is practically uninhabitable. The bulk of our population lives on a relatively small percentage of land close or on the coast. I live in the mountains yet we are still only an hour and a half from the beaches – and while not quite high enough in altitude to snow – there are snow fields a couple of hours away.

So that is a little something about my world in which I exist. Now I want to tell you about the world in which my characters exist.

The world of my characters is very much like our own in a lot of ways. There is an Australia and a United States, Europe, etc. There are cities and towns just like ours -- governments and war, capitalism and communism just like ours. But the different is that the creatures of the night and myth, or at least my versions of them, live and work among humans.

The race of vampires are called the Aeternus and my other creatures have different terms and differences from the legends they are based upon. Though I have tried to keep them simple and easy to understand within the actual story. I have supplied a glossary in the back of the book to help people with the different terms. The best way to describe my world is to show you this glossary.

Aeternus: A race of vampiric people who must ingest human blood to live, although not the living dead of legend. They have created a symbiotic existence with the humans that feed them. Aeternus are either born of Aeternus parents or created when a human is embraced (see embrace below). Those born to Aeternus parents live as humans until their twenty-fifth year where they may or may not Awaken to become an Aeternus. Those who do not Awaken are known as Latents.

Awaken: A parahuman coming of age resulting in the activation of parahuman abilities. This occurs at different ages depending on the race.

Blood-thrall: An extreme state of sexual arousal. In humans it’s brought on by a small amount of Aeternus blood entering the bloodstream either by direct entry through a vein or cut, or a few drops into an eye. Latents are more susceptible to its influence. If a human is in the throes of Blood-thrall the Aeternus responsible may also succumb to the effects. Once a certain point in the Aeternus’ arousal is reached, they must see it through to the conclusion.

Blood-sucker: Term usually used for a dreniac, but can be used as an insult to an Aeternus.

Death-high: The state of intoxication a Necrodreniac enters when they have drained a human to the last drop.

Donor: A human who voluntarily donates blood through a Donor Agency to feed the Aeternus. A blood donation can be collected and bottled, or a live donation can be given with the Aeternus feeding directly from a Donor vein. Donors are regarded highly, unlike fang-whores who are indiscriminate and little more than prostitutes.

Dreniac: See Necrodrenia.

Embrace: To change a human into an Aeternus or Necrodreniac through the Eternal-Kiss. A dangerous process often resulting in the death of the recipient human, with only one in ten embraced humans achieving successful transition. A human embraced by a Necrodreniac will become a Necrodreniac, complete with an addiction to death-highs. It is rare for a Necrodreniacs to exert the self-control necessary to embrace humans. Humans who’ve survived the Eternal-kiss are known as the embraced.

Eternal-kiss: A mix of Aeternus or Necrodreniac blood and saliva transferred from the mouth of the embracer to the mouth of the embraced. For an Aeternus to administer the Eternal-kiss, permission must be given by the recipient, unless it is a life and death situation. Necrodreniac’s usually don’t ask – they just take.

Fang-Mistress: A human kept in luxury by an Aeternus in return for exclusive feeding and often a sexual relationship.

Fang-Virgin: A human who has never allowed an Aeternus to feed from his or her vein.

Fang-Whore: A derogatory term for those who sell themselves indiscriminately to any Aeternus for blood, and usually sex, in exchange for money and/or blood for Spiking.

Latent: One born to parahuman parents who does not Awaken in the designated year for their genus, instead continuing to live as a human.

Mer-people: A little-known race of parahumans who live beneath the sea. They have been known to mate with humans, however, this is rare and the hybrid offspring seldom survive.

Necrodrenia: A disease that develops when an Aeternus completely drains a human while feeding, resulting in a Death-high. Addiction is certain and immediate. Death is the only cure. When an Aeternus is in the grip of Necrodrenia they are known as a Necrodreniac or dreniac.

Orb or Orbing: A crystal orb used by a witch to capture images from a subject as they tell a story. Commonly used to reenact crime scenes, but because of the subjectivity of the witness or suspect, the evidence is not admissible in court. However, it can supply valuable insight into the crime which may give investigators leads to pursue.

Parahumans: Alternate humans including the Aeternus, animalians, shape-shifters, magic wielders and Mer-people. All begin life as human and change to parahuman in different ways depending on their genus and race.

Shape-shifter or Shifter: Shape-shifters, or Shifters as they are often referred to, have the ability to bend their form to mimic other shapes through the use of magic. Once changed they retain their own consciousness; however, they can take on some of the characteristics of their changed form, such as flight when shifting into the form of a bird. Shifters do not become the animal they mimic unlike animalians who are part human and part animal.

Spiking: A Human practice of mixing a couple of drops of Aeternus blood with a diluted Amphetamine mix then injected intravenously. This increases the effect of the narcotic and “Spikes” an extreme sexual high. Highly addictive and illegal, users eventually destroy their body’s ability to produce white blood cells, resulting in death. A human that Spikes is known as a Spiker.
Thaumaturgist (Magic-Wielders): Races that practice thaumaturgy to bend and use life and death energy, e.g. witches, druids, shamans, etc. Each race uses magic in a unique manner and for their own aims; for example, light witches who use life energy for the benefit of the others, and dark witches who use death energy for self-gain and chaos.

Thaumaturgy: The art of invoking supernatural powers, i.e. magic, which is the created from life or death energy.

Venator: A type of bounty hunter who collects bounties for the capture or destruction of parahuman outlaws. Traditionally human, but in recent years, parahumans have joined the ranks. Each Venator must be trained, licensed and registered with The Guild before they are permitted to hunt. A Venator gains a license by attending The Guild Academy in their final year of training and passing a set of rigorous exams. Venators may specialize in various fields including Necrodreniac destruction, hunting of Dark Magic-wielders or tracking down rogue animalians.

Animalians, The: Animalians are intrinsically part man and part animal, differing from shape-shifters. There are three main genera in the animalians: The ursians – man-bears; the felian – man-cats; and the canians – man-canines. Each genus is made up of several sub-genera; i.e. the felians have families of tiger, panther, lion, cougar etc. There is much infighting between the genera. Humans cannot be turned into an animalian – they must be born. But it is possible for a human to mate with an animalian whereby the child has a fifty-fifty chance of awakening to their animalian heritage. It is the same between the Genera – the child of two different genera will not know its genus until it awakens.

Leave a qustion for Tracey about her book along with your email addy as she is giving away a gift pack of a cap, T-Shirt, and Tote Bag plus a signed copy of Night’s Cold Kiss to go with it. Woot! Don't miss out on this one everyone and it is International!!!!! One lucky winner will be announced at the end of the week.

Excerpt:-

Chapter One - Hunter and Hunted

Antoinette crept along the alley, unknown shadows pressing in on her from the darkness. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, and she swiped a hand across her face before the salty moisture slipped unwelcome to the corners of her mouth. Sweat trickled down her back. She tugged the damp T-shirt away from her sticky skin. Sucking the humid air into her lungs was like trying to breathe through a warm wet blanket.

Damn this heat. Why couldn't he have picked someplace a little cooler?

But she knew why. Miami was the perfect hunting ground with its transient population.
Over the last two weeks she'd tracked the vampiric Necrodreniac across three states with her brother, Nici. The killer's trail of bodies had led them here and now they were so close she could almost taste it.

A scream pierced the still darkness. She dropped, her hand wrapping around the pistol grip. A second cry ripped through the night and she relaxed. Only a couple of tomcats fighting.

Other sounds began to filter through: water dripped somewhere to her right, distant police sirens wailed, and animals shrieked—both the two-legged and the four-legged varieties—but not a hint of her target.

As she turned her head, she caught a glint on the ground and looked up to her right at the broken window on the side of the old warehouse. Glass crunched beneath her boots as she gripped the windowsill to haul herself up.

She remained balanced on the sill until her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The stench from inside hit her with an almost physical force; the foul aroma was made up of musty wet paper, stale urine, and animal feces. But underlying it all lurked something more subtle—and much more disturbing. The smell of pain, the smell of evil, the smell of death itself. The reek of a Necrodreniac lair.

Christian waited, silent and patient. He heard her long before he saw her from his vantage point in the rafters thirty feet above the warehouse floor. She entered through the same window he'd used earlier and he breathed her in, holding the scent, tasting it, savoring it. Human.

She perched on the windowsill, her nose wrinkled in disgust and her eyes narrowed as she peered into the far corners of the abandoned building. Even if she'd looked up, he'd have been safe from discovery, his position secured by shadow.

After a few moments she dropped to land quietly, sinking into a low crouch with hands braced on the floor and head tilted to listen. Her outfit—from her SWAT tactical vest down to solid black army boots—looked perfect for a covert mission and enhanced her slim, athletic, but unmistakably feminine figure. She wore no perfume or synthetic scent, only her own natural fragrance. A thick braid of pale blond hair fell over one shoulder, the end brushing the floor as she hunkered down. Definitely a Venator and judging from her actions, a well-seasoned one, although he guessed she could be no more than twenty-five. A pistol was secured in the front holster of the SWAT vest just under her left breast and a sheathed katana sword was strapped to her back, the handle within easy reach over her right shoulder. His interest piqued, she was either very stupid or an extremely skilled old-school hunter. Christian predicted the latter. Rising to her feet, she continued to move along the wall.

From the corner of his eye, Christian caught a blur of movement as a stray cat landed softly on the windowsill. The scruffy feline took one look at her then leapt inside to race behind some boxes piled near the wall. The sound of her heart pounded, as clear and heavy as distant thunder. If he were closer, he'd be able to taste the fear on the air she exhaled, yet her first instinct had put the blade in her hand. Impressive. Watching her in action might provide a pleasing distraction. He breathed her in again and licked his lips, his appetite roused. Wonder if she tasted as good as she smelled.

Antoinette closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow as she slid the sword back into the sheath.

Bloody cat.

Inhaling deeply, she pulled herself together and glanced around. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine and she shook it out. It wasn't like her to be so jumpy; something here was off, but she couldn't put a finger on it. While she didn't sense any immediate danger, the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

On the far side of the building was a door, the very thing she looked for.

Antoinette ripped open a Velcro pocket on her vest. A drop of moisture slid down the bridge of her nose and dropped from the end onto the back of her hand. She flicked it away and cursed under her breath. Nici got to sit in the van's air-conditioned comfort while she scrabbled around dark alleys and stinky abandoned warehouses.

She smiled and shook her head. I wouldn't have it any other way. Waiting in the van would've driven her crazy. It was just as well she'd passed the Venator exams and not Nici—he was much better at computers and all that technical shit.

Licking her dry lips, she pulled out her flashlight, crossed the room and placed an ear against the door. Metal, not wood. The unexpected coolness under her cheek offered a brief, but blessed, relief.

Nothing came from beyond, not a single sound. The handle turned easily under her hand—a sign of recent habitation—and with a gentle push, the door swung open.

The dreniac's scent wafted from the basement, fresher than the lingering trace out here, but still not recent. If he was hunting, he'd return soon enough. She hoped. Swallowing hard, she stepped into the open doorway. Just because he wasn't home didn't mean there weren't other nasty surprises waiting down there.

Antoinette looked down the narrow stairs leading into the inky blackness below and pulled the gun from its holster. Though her heart did beat a little faster, her palms were dry and hands steady.

A Highlander's Temptation by Sue-Ellen Welfonder (5 copy Giveaway)

The woman he must resist is the one he desires most of all ...

Darroc MacConacher spends sleepless nights dreaming of a raven-haired beauty who makes him ache with desire. Then his dream comes true: the lady with her lush curves and fair skin appears shipwrecked on his shores. Darroc is immediately drawn to her strength and beauty, and from the moment she lays eyes on this powerful, broad-shouldered warrior, Lady Arabella MacKenzie knows she'll never want another man.

But theirs is a forbidden love. The MacKenzies drove the MacConachers from their lands and destroyed their honor. Now, Darroc can use this sapphire-eyed seductress to shatter his foes. Yet how can he deny the passion that burns between him and Arabella, and ruin the one woman who touches his very soul?



Author’s Bio:

Sue-Ellen Welfonder is a card-carrying Scotophile whose burning wish to make frequent (free) trips to the land of her dreams led her to a twenty year career with the airlines. Bi-lingual, she flew international all those years, working her flights as foreign language speaker. Her flying career allowed her to see the world, but it was always to Scotland that she returned.

Now a full-time writer, she’s quick to admit that she much prefers wielding a pen to pushing tea and coffee. She spent fifteen years living in Europe and used that time to explore as many castle ruins, medieval abbeys, and stone circles as possible. Anything ancient, crumbling, or lichened caught her eye. She makes annual visits to Scotland, insisting they are a necessity as each trip gives her inspiration for new books.

Proud of her own Hebridean ancestry, she belongs to two clan societies: the MacFie Clan Society and the Clan MacAlpine Society. In addition to Scotland, her greatest passions are medieval history, the paranormal, and dogs. She never watches television, loves haggis, and writes at a four-hundred-and-fifty year old desk that once stood in a Bavarian castle.

Sue-Ellen is married and currently resides with her husband and Jack Russell Terrier in Florida. Readers can learn more about her and the world of her books at: www.welfonder.com.



Giveaway

I've got 5 copies to give away, many thanks to Anna at Hatchette for the books!!

So This Is What You Have To Do To Get An Entry!
1. Leave a Comment +1
2. Follow Me +1 already a follower +2
3. Post this contest on your blog (can be on your sidebar or a post) +3

PLEASE put your email in your comments or no entry (no exceptions). This is for the USA and canada only please and no Po Boxes (publishers rule)! Winners will be announced on October 7th!

Winners of Lucan by Susan Kearney

*ladystorm

*pixie13

*renee

*MarionG

*Haley Mathiot

Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to all our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

The Prince of Frogs by Annaliese Evans

Anna J. Evans writes erotic romance for Ellora’s Cave, Samhain Publishing, and NAL Heat. Annaliese Evans writes historical, paranormal romance for Tor. Anna is an extrovert who loves to dress up in vintage lingerie and blog about outrageous things. Annaliese is an introvert who prefers the company of her computer and a cup of tea. She wears long dresses and enjoys the feel of fabric swishing around her ankles.

Oddly enough, both of these women are pen names belonging to the same author.

Anna J. Evans: So, Annaliese, I hear you’ve got a blog to do today. How’s that going?

Annaliese Evans: Not so well.

Anna J. Evans: Can’t decide what to blog about, huh?

Annaliese Evans: No. I can’t.

Anna J. Evans: You’ve done interviews before, it’s not that hard.

Annaliese Evans: But this isn’t an interview. It’s a topic I need to come up with on my own.

Anna J. Evans: And that makes you anxious, doesn’t it? Makes you feel like whatever topic you choose will in some way expose your introverted self in a way that makes you uncomfortable?

Annaliese Evans: (Nods. Takes long sip of tea to better hide the telltale, anxious clenching of her jaw.)

Anna J. Evans: Okay, well, you could blog about why you chose the darker, scarier, more disturbing versions of the Sleeping Beauty and Frog Prince myths as inspiration for your first two books.

Annaliese Evans: I could. But…

Anna J. Evans: But you’re worried that will give away plot points. I get you. You are pretty tricky with that plotting stuff. So, how about blogging about…GOOD GIRLS WHO WRITE BAD THINGS! That would be awesome. You’re so nice, but man, those books are dark.

Annaliese Evans: I don’t really think telling people I write “bad” things is a good marketing strategy, Anna.

Anna J. Evans: Heh, heh. Yeah, probably not. How about “wicked” things?

Annaliese Evans: I think that’s more your territory.

Anna J. Evans: (Rolls eyes). You’re not making this easy. There are tons of things you could write about, inspiration around every corner. You need to quit being so introverted. Communicate with people!

Annaliese Evans: You’re right.

Anna J. Evans: You can’t depend on me to be there, carrying the blogging load for you forever. I mean, you don’t even have your own blogger account.

Annaliese Evans: I know.

Anna J. Evans: Or Livejournal. Or Facebook.

Annaliese Evans: Or Twitter.

Anna J. Evans: Or Twitter! I know! How can you not be on Twitter? It’s so fun. Our other pen name is on twitter and she has a great time over there. It sucks TONS of time.

Annaliese Evans: Is that a good thing? Shouldn’t we be writing?

Anna J. Evans: It’s a great thing. It’s low stress networking and it keeps her feeling connected to a larger community. Connection is important.

Annaliese Evans: I agree.

Anna J. Evans: Communication and connection. I’m trying to communicate with you right now, to let you know that it’s time for you to step out of the shadows. Quit being afraid of speaking out. The other two of us are always getting out there and meeting our readers.

Annaliese Evans: Right. You’re right.

Anna J. Evans: So get out there! Introduce yourself! Shake a few hands!!!

Annaliese Evans: (Turns to face blog readers.) Hello, my name is Annaliese Evans, I write sexy, historical, paranormal romances. My first two releases are part of the “Night’s Rose” series, which follow the adventures of the real Sleeping Beauty, an ogre slayer names Rosemarie, and her two potential suitors, a vampire lord and an ancient faerie.

Anna J. Evans: Well…it’s a start.

You can learn more about Annaliese and her latest release from Tor, THE PRINCE OF FROGS, at http://annalieseevans.com/. Annaliese also writes erotic romance as Anna J. Evans and Young Adult romance under a third pen name. She lives in the south with her wonderfully supportive and multiple-personality-tolerant Air Force husband, and their four children.

Leave a question for Annaliese along with your email addy as she is giving away a copy of both "Night's Rose" books ("Night's Rose" and "The Prince of Frogs") to two readers. Winners will be picked at the end of the week so make sure and check back.



Excerpt from The Prince of Frogs

Though the knocking did not come again, Rose threw off the covers and reached for her robe. The spring nights were cool, and she preferred to be modestly covered when doing battle.

No, that wasn't quite true. She preferred to be dressed in boy's clothes, but since coming to Myrdrean she'd had little occasion to dress against her gender. The ogres had yet to recover from the losses their numbers suffered in London, and the tribe's fear of the dread Briar Rose had returned with a vengeance. She hadn't heard a whisper of ogre activity in Myrdrean or the surrounding nations since returning to her home country.

But that didn't mean she'd grown careless. Her sword still sat in its place by her bed, clean and ready for battle.

The metal fairly sang with pleasure when she gripped the hilt, its blade stretching as it filled with faerie magic. Rose couldn't deny the excitement filling her own veins as she stalked toward the window. Her mind might insist she craved peace above all else, but her heart thirsted for the thrill of combat. One did not spend over a hundred years as an executioner to suddenly become content minding hearth and home.

A part of her still longed for the chance to face down a foe, to feel her arms burn with exertion as sword cleaved through flesh, to see blood flow like a font from the sundered halves of an enemy.

Yes, there is a lust even greater than that for flesh sliding against flesh. The lust for blood, for the power that comes from--

Rose stumbled, tripping over the hem of her nightdress.

Something wasn't right. She had never relished her role as death dealer to the tribe. In fact, she had often prayed the ogres would cease feeding upon innocent humans, thus making her work unnecessary.

The sudden lust for blood and the strange, seductive voice in her mind...she was certain they were not her own. Whatever visitor lurked in the darkness beyond her window, he or she must have the ability to alter the thoughts of others.

Rose did her best to firm her mental shields, ensuring she was defended from outside invasion. Her mental connection to Gareth after their blood exchange had necessitated learning the skill. There were some thoughts she wished not even her dear husband to overhear, and she certainly didn't relish the idea of Ambrose or other supernaturals eavesdropping on her innermost counsel.

"Ambrose," she called once more, though now she was fully awake she knew it was not the faerie who waited outside her window.

Since the night he had filled her with his magic, banishing the virulent energy of the black elf, she had a way of sensing when he was near. She could feel him as if he were a part of her.

He is a part of you, Rosemarie, and will only become more so once you rid yourself of the vampire. Surely you know this charade cannot go on. You are destined for greater things, dearest daughter.

"Maman?" Rose's hand froze before she could grasp the curtains.

Her mother's spirit had spoken to her in Myrdrean once before, but that had been months ago, when the keep was still in ruins. Her grandfather Stephen, the Seelie king, was certain Marionette's soul had finally left the earthly plane and journeyed on to the Summerland now that her daughter's life was no longer threatened by ancient Fey prophecy. Rose certainly hadn't felt her mother in the way she once had. It was more that her maman was a loving energy contained deep within her heart than an entity outside herself.

But even when she had heard her mother whispering in her ear, it had been nothing like this. Marionette had always been a warm, loving light in the lives of others, never the kind to call to the darkness within.

Laughter echoed through the room, as if there were no drapes hung to cover the bare stone walls.

I do not call to the darkness, my dear. I am the darkness. Your darkness.

The blue curtains, which looked nearly black in the darkened room, began to glow a deep, urgent red. It was the red of freshly spilt blood, of an ill-omened sunset, as scarlet as the eyes of the black elf who haunted her dreams.

Rose stumbled backward, tripping over her gown again, as if she were an awkward girl of fourteen, not a queen of nearly two hundred years gifted with the grace of a goddess from her cradle. But she suddenly felt very young and very small, not at all the fierce woman whose profession had once forced her to be faster and more terrifying than the monsters who roamed the night. It was difficult to feel anything but small in the presence of the figure rising like a phoenix from the flaming red curtains, stretching and writhing as she grew as tall as the rafters.

Rich velvet fabric flowed into satin skin the color of a dove's wing, pale flesh draped in scarlet like the blood of a stag spilled on newly fallen snow. Slowly a white face with deep red lips formed near the shadows of the ceiling, a woman's face framed by hair as black as night.

Even cloaked in darkness, Rose could see that the giantess was beautiful.

And terrible. A terrible, wicked beauty so ancient it made her bones ache to be in the creature's presence.

"Please," Rose begged as she rolled onto her knees, pressing her forehead to the rich carpet in supplication. She wasn't certain what she pleaded for, only that she wished she had stayed abed, buried beneath the covers as she'd done as a child when nightmares came to call.

You cower before me, as they all have done from time immemorial. I expected...more.

Disappointment pressed down around Rose. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, pressing her fists into the floor, desperately wishing The Great Mother had found her pleasing.

So you know me. That is better. The pressure threatening to crush her bones abated a bit, allowing Rose to suck in a ragged breath. Show me your face, dearest. I would look upon that which I have created.

Rose trembled as she looked up, up, up into the face of the goddess. Part of her had known the woman's identity from the very instant she appeared, even if her logical mind insisted The Mother was simply a myth created to explain the creation of the first supernaturals.

The giantess laughed, as if she were privy to Rose's thoughts, which she certainly was. There were no shields strong enough to protect a three-quarter mortal's mind from The Mother of Them All. The Mother had existed before the land emerged fully from the sea, before anything so fragile as humans or the supernaturals who fed upon them roamed the earth.

A giant hand with fingertips like flesh-covered claws reached down, catching Rose under the chin and urging her to tilt her head even further back. Rose obeyed, knowing there was no sense in pulling away. The Mother could slice her throat open with the slightest motion of her finger. Her wrist was larger around than Rose's entire body.

Beautiful, as beautiful a thing as ever walked the earth. The Mother sounded pleased, as if she took credit for Rose's long golden hair and captivating blue eyes and the ten faeries who had visited Rosemarie with gifts in her cradle had nothing at all to do with the matter.

But then, as mother of the Fey line, perhaps she simply took credit for the clever use of faerie magic. Whatever the reason for her pleasure, Rose was tremendously grateful. Just as The Mother's displeasure stole her breath, her approval seemed to shoot her body full of sunlight.

No, not sunlight. The pleasure was too wicked to be compared to anything so pure. It was a euphoria that made her want to rip things apart, to put her sword to bloody use and dance in the spray.

Rose's fingers fisted around the hilt of her weapon, which suddenly felt alive in her hands. The faerie sword burned hot against her skin, as desperate for blood as its mistress. But what was there to kill? There was no one. Not a single creature within the castle walls had offended her...none, save the monster who slept in her bed, the vampire who had stolen her rightful husband's place with deceit and--

"No." Her chest grew tight with anguish at the mere thought of hurting her husband. She would rather die herself than harm a single hair on his head. The Mother was the one who hated Gareth. It was she who placed these horrible thoughts in Rose's mind.

Do not lie to yourself. It is your own soul that thirsts for the vampire's blood.

Rose swallowed against the metallic taste rising in her throat. The flavor of blood, made familiar from her husband's lips, but more intoxicating than it had ever been before. She'd never found the slightly bitter taste unpleasant, but neither had it made her moan with delight or tremble with anticipation.

Gareth's veins rushed with the essence he had stolen only hours before. It would be a simple matter to take what she craved from his sleeping body. Fangs were not required when one had a sharp sword at the ready. She would slit his throat and fall upon him with her eager mouth, lapping at the wound she had made as his life seeped away. She would laugh as his blood flowed hot and thick across her face, her hands, spilling onto the sheets like--

"No. No, no, no." Rose squeezed her eyes shut, struggling against the horrific images in her mind. A part of her was certain she would be violently ill, but still her belly cramped with the hunger for blood.

Frantically she tried to fling her sword from her grasp, but it seemed her fingers would no longer obey her command. They were already committed to the task of slitting open the man she loved.

"I am human," she said, her voice breaking as invisible strings jerked her to her feet like a marionette. "I do not thirst for blood, I do not require--"

You have been too long without, dearest. There is no shame in your hunger. The Mother is both the creator and the destroyer. The womb that births in a rush of blood and the mouth that devours in--

"I am human! I'm not a monster." Rose sobbed as her body spun toward the bed.

Then you agree your husband is monstrous? That his hunger makes him so?

"No, I-I don't. Please!" Rose screamed the last word, panic clouding her mind as her sword lifted itself into the air of its own accord and her feet took the final few steps to her husband's side.

The vampires were the least of my children, but I loved them once. I loved them all--my beautiful and powerful Fey, my charming vampires, my clever elves, even the ever-hungry ogres. They were much like baby birds, always with their mouths open.

The Great Mother's laughter felt oily and thick upon Rose's skin, defiling her as surely as the murder she would soon commit.

"I beg of you, please. I love him! I love him." Tears flowed freely down Rose's face, and her heart raced from the sheer terror of looking down to see the shadow of her blade on her husband's sleeping face.

The time for love has past. Now there is only death. Death to the Fey, death to the vampires, death to all who would dare set themselves above The Mother! There was no laughter in her voice now, only hatred. Each word that dropped into Rose's mind seemed to leave behind the taint of evil and disease, until the room swam before her eyes, a blur of black and grey.

Black, grey, and red.

She screamed, a raw sound of pure agony as her sword swept down, a ruthless bird of prey intent upon her husband's throat. Though she could not bring her eyes to look, Rose felt the hot splash as Gareth began to bleed.

And bleed, and bleed, until her nightclothes were soaked and sticking to her body, until the smell of death permeated the room and Rose fell to the floor in a desperate attempt to find some sweeter air.

But there was nothing sweet to be found. There was only the rage of the goddess pressing in around her, stealing her breath, stealing her life, consuming her whole until it was as though there had never been a Rosemarie von Edenburg to begin with.

Congrat's To This Week's Winners

*Booklover1335 ~ To Tempt a Knight by Gerri Russell

*librarypat ~ Book from Alissa Johnson

*Bridget ~ Backlist book from Emily Bryan

*Gwynlyn MacKenzie ~ Two books by Loucinda McGary

*Mariska ~ Two books by Loucinda McGary

Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

To Tempt a Knight by Gerri Russel

I’m so pleased to be here with you all today at Yankee Romance Reviewers to share about my September release To Tempt a Knight.

To Tempt a Knight starts a new series for me based on a group of men in Scottish history know as Robert the Bruce’s special guard. These men were the best of the best, specially-trained in the military arts, and handpicked by the Bruce himself. They made up an elite group of warriors known as the Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars. These Templars, who were loyal to their king, went on a crusade for him after he died.

Their mission, to cut the Bruce’s heart from his chest and take it to the Holy Land for burial in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre as their king requested. They never made it to the Holy Land. They were forced into a battle with the Moors and were destroyed. Five of the ten Templars lived through that battle, but hundreds of their men died. The Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars series focuses on three of these men who survived this battle and returned home to put the pieces of their lives back together.

But along with exploring how to a man comes back to life after such a failure, I decided to throw a little “Templar Treasure” lore into the mix. No one knows for certain what happened to the treasure after to Templars were disbanded and charged with heresy. Evidence suggests the treasure could have been smuggled into Scotland and hidden there. Which is why each book in the series focuses on a different artifact that has been associated over the centuries with the Templars and their secret treasure.

In the pages of To Tempt a Knight, the hero, William Keith must protect not only the Spear of Destiny, but the daughter of the treasure’s previous guardian.

The Spear of Destiny, also known as the Longinus Spear, or the Holy Lance. This artifact has quite an amazing history behind it. It is the spear thrust into Christ’s side during his crucifixion. The legend of the Spear is that whoever posses it will have great success over their enemies. Some of the notable men and the one woman who are said to have possessed the Spear at one time include: Boadicea; Herod the Great; St. Maurice of the Theban Legion; Constantine the Great; Theodosius; Alaric; Theodoric; Justinian; Charles Martel; Charlemagne the Great; Heinrich I; and Adolf Hitler.

To Tempt a Knight is a fast-paced romantic adventure. One I hope you’ll enjoy reading snippet from:



To Tempt a Knight
A primitive jolt of desire rocked William as he gazed down at Siobhan. Sweet Mary, he groaned silently. The blood pounded in his veins and quickened in his loins to a point he had never experienced before. He’d lost himself all right. He’d lost himself, body and soul, in the feel of her body next to his.

Firelight flickered across her red hair and gilded the softness of her alabaster skin. When had the sun vanished from the sky? He hadn’t noticed light or dark, nothing but the woman who stood not two paces from him.

He wanted to reach out to her, to shatter the tension between them and end this madness. Surely, once he tasted her, his senses would return to normal and they could move forward with their journey.

His thoughts stopped him. You’re a monk. And with that designation comes certain responsibilities. William clenched his jaw, fighting desire. He had dedicated himself to something other than the concerns of mortal men.

He felt very mortal at the moment, and vulnerable to the desires of men. Suddenly, the question he usually asked himself in times of great fear sprung forward in his mind. What’s the worst that can happen?

William clung to the question like a lifeline. The worst might be that he’d want more than a sampling of what Siobhan had to offer. The worst might be that he’d be forced to recant his vows, to leave the Templars, to take up a secular life. Or worse yet, that God might turn his back on him.

Never had he been so tempted to turn away from his vows. He took a step closer, reminding himself that God would forgive his failings. He forgave all men their imperfections. William swallowed roughly as he moved closer. Her delicate fragrance filled his senses. Forbidden or not, he wanted her.

“Siobhan,” he whispered her name. He could feel the warmth of her against his chest, yet they did not touch. He lifted the end of her damp plait where it hung across her shoulder and curled it around his finger. Slowly, slowly, he increased the pull. Not hurting her, simply drawing her forward until her hips touched his.

He toyed with the single strand of hair at the end of her plait that she’d used to hold the whole tight. His thumb brushed the end backwards and forward until it gave under his gentle caress.

He could not stop the low groan that came from his chest when the ends of her hair came free. He worked the plait apart, higher and higher. “You should let your hair go free.” He kept his manner light, but he couldn’t hide the desire that deepened his tone.

A shiver moved through her as he continued. With each fraction of an inch he moved up the length of her hair, unplaiting it, he drew her closer. Her breasts brushed his chest. He brought the fall of her hair up to his mouth. He brushed the silken texture against his lips.

He let it fall back against her neck and followed it down, pressing the softest of kisses to her hair and the flesh of her shoulder beneath. Her skin was exquisitely soft, and he lingered there, unable to pull away.

She shuddered at the contact. “William, we should not,” she whispered.

"I know.” His body pulsed and ached as he shifted his gaze from her to the pool beyond them. Mist crept across the moonlit waters and a whisper of a gentle breeze chased through the silver-backed leaves overhead. “Everything in my head says nay, but you here in my arms feels right.” His voice was shaking, and shivers ran down his limbs.

She pulled him closer.

He buried his face in her hair and drew in the soft scent of heather that lingered there. He felt the curve of her body against his. All the blood in his body ran erotic, beating with longing, with the need to not just take her, but possess her as his own

She wanted that too, he could feel it in the beat of her heart against his chest, feel the ripening of her breasts where they pressed against him.

Being near her without possessing her was pure hell. The emotions that drove them to this moment, the force of their passion was a gift given freely by the Maker above. They had every right to explore that gift. He was only a man, and man was flawed. He knew what his sins were. He knew what his judgment would be. And he found he didn’t care what it cost him.

He wanted to lose himself, to put an end to his self-imposed isolation with the woman in his arms. He was always alone, had wanted to be alone, until she came along. He held her tighter. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he breathed as the flame inside him burned ever brighter. He would use that fire within himself to incite her, to please her, and make a world where only he and Siobhan existed as they became one flesh.


I hope you’ve enjoyed a peek inside To Tempt a Knight as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing it with you.

What kind of hero captures your heart? Do you enjoy the wounded hero, or does something else warm your heart instead?

To win a signed copy of To Tempt a Knight, make sure and answer Gerri's question and don't forget to leave your email addy. A winner will be chosen at the end of the week so make sure and check back to see who won.

Yankee Romance Reviewers Tags, Jennifer Ashley, Emily Bryan & Alissa Johnson

Tag You’re It ~ I had the previlage of Tagging our Guest Authors for today and here is what they had to add:

***Terra: Who is Your Favorite Hero?

Emily: It’s sooo hard to choose! I’ve written uber-alpha Viking heroes as Diana Groe, my sophisticated Victorian spy Trevelyn Deveridge in Distracting the Duchess, my pirate hero Gabriel in Pleasuring the Pirate, and an eager-to-learn virgin hero in Vexing the Viscount. And of course, my muscle-bound man-of-all-work Ian Michael in A Christmas Ball. I usually say my favorite is the hero from my current WIP, which would be Crispin Hawke, the drool-worthy sculptor in Stroke of Genius (June 2010).

***Terra: Which interests you more: Highlander, Regency Man, Pirate or General Bad Boy and Why?

Jennifer: I love a good bad boy!!! I'll take him in the form of a Highlander, Pirate, or Regency Rake. Right now I'm writing the Mackenzie series--four very bad boys in Victorian England from a prominent Highland family. Mmm, mmm, good.

Alissa: Well, I do love my Regency men, but I’m also a softie for bad boys, regardless of when or where they lived.

***Terra: Which character has annoyed you the most of all your books?

Jennifer: Hard to say. If by "annoying" you mean "difficult to write," I'd say Zarabeth in Highlander Ever After. She was difficult to pin down. So was Valentin in "The Longest Night" (Christmas Ball novella coming in Oct!). If you mean annoying by "irritating" then I don't know. Characters are who they are--some of them are supposed to be irritating!

***Terra: Would you rather sight, smell or taste and Why?

Alissa: Oh, that’s a tough one. I’ll have to go with sight, because an infinite number of things can be said with a smile.


***Terra: Your favorite beverage?

Jennifer: TEA! I love a good tea—Oolong, Ceylon, Darjeeling, white, green, chamomile and other herbals. Right now I’m trying African Rooibos. I also have a green tea blend out in my kitchen mixed with, of all things, popcorn (it’s called Genmaicha Green, from The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.) In fact, in the novel I'm working on now, Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage, the hero, Mac, has become a teetotaler. He makes a pun of it and drinks nothing but tea (as exotic as he can find).

Alissa: Hot—Excluding coffee (that’s purely medicinal) I’d say hot chocolate. If it’s mint, all the better. Cold—Sun-brewed iced tea. To the horror of my fellow southerners, I prefer it unsweetened. Alcoholic—Rush River’s Unforgiven Pale Ale. Absolutely delicious.

***Terra: What season do you think is your most productive with writing?

Jennifer: For some reason, Thanksgiving is my most productive writing day. I love to cook and write all day long. It's become a tradition!

***Terra: Do you believe in a love that is forever?

Emily: Yes, I do! There’s actually a bit of a tradition in my family that goes back three generations—getting married on Christmas Day! My parents, grandparents and great-grandparents all tied the knot on December 25th and they all celebrated at least 50 years together. My DH and I did not feel called to follow that romantic (but crazy!) tradition and yet, we’re still having fun together!

I’m the first to admit, I’ve been blessed in my choice of men. And I will love him till I die. After that, I don’t know what heaven holds, but I know it won’t be heaven for me without him. Yes, whatever it is about us that lasts forever, love has to be part of it.

***Terra: Your favorite day of the week?

Emily: I love Saturdays because that’s our “exploring” day. We’ve only lived in New England for a couple years, so we take off on weekends to do ‘touristy’ things. Last Saturday, we took a ferry to one of the Boston Harbor islands and explored a Civil war era fort that guards the mouth of the harbor.

***Terra: Garters and hose or pantyhose?

Alissa: Neither, if I can manage it. What I really like are bare legs and fancy panties. This combination leaves me feeling both sexy and comfortable. Also, just saying the phrase “fancy panties” makes me smile.

***Terra: Favorite Junk Food?

Alissa: I’m a junk food addict. If something has sugar in it, I will eat it and love it. . .unless there’s coconut involved, then all bets are off. One of the things I constantly struggle to cut back on is peppermint salt-water taffy. Great on the taste buds. Hell on the teeth.

***Terra: What is your Favorite Hero’s best attribute and why?

Emily: An essential attribute for any hero, IMO, is his single-minded devotion to the heroine. It may take him a while to arrive at that commitment, but once he does, nothing will turn him from making her the center of his world.

***Terra: Where can readers learn more about you and your work?

www.jennifersromances.com
www.emilybryan.com
www.alissa-johnson.com

Thanks so much for having us here today! Please leave a comment or question. We’ll choose two winners from those who comment who will receive their choice from Emily Bryan or Alissa Johnson’s backlist.



Excerpt from The Longest Night by Jennifer Ashley

Valentin couldn’t help glancing through the throng, searching, seeking. He did not really expect to see the red-lipped, dark-haired Scottish lady he’d met last year, though he’d fallen into the habit of looking for her everywhere. She’d tended him when he’d been hurt, and her lilting voice had twined around his heart and pulled him back to life.

She wasn’t here. Of course she wasn’t. Mary would be in Scotland at her brother’s castle, preparing for Christmas and Hogmanay. She’d be helping the housekeeper stir the black bun, perspiring in the warm kitchen while firelight glistened on her hair. She’d smile her slow smile that had made his blood heat the first time he’d seen it.

He’d kissed her, touched her, asked her to come to him in Nvengaria. He’d gone home and waited for her through a brief, golden summer and a colder than usual autumn.

She never came. As the weather worsened, so did his hopes of opening the door of his run-down manor house to find Mary Cameron smiling on his threshold.

Why should she bother? The journey to Nvengaria, a tiny country wedged between the Austrian Empire and the Ottoman one, was long and dangerous, and Mary had every reason to stay in her brother’s castle. Her new sister-in-law was having a baby, and Mary had a son of her own to look after, even if he was seventeen.

As an added complication, Valentin was logosh. Mary knew. She’d seen him shift to his animal form—a black wolf—and she’d not been upset by it. But perhaps after Valentin had gone, she’d had second thoughts about promising herself to a man who was part-demon, part-animal. That fact made even Nvengarian women think twice.

A commotion behind him made him turn. At the head of the receiving line, a young woman crowed to Lady Hartwell at the top of her voice.

“What a privilege to be here, my lady. What an honor. Mrs. Cameron and I were so pleased by your kind invitation.”

And there stood Mary, his Highland lady, just behind the girl, her face set in tired patience. Valentin had no idea who the young woman was, nor who was the plump gentleman behind Mary, nor why Mary should be with them. He only saw her. Here.

Excerpt from My Lady Below Stairs by Emily Bryan

Ian was leaning against the thick mahogany panels, his manner completely at ease. But his dark eyes watched her with the intensity of a cat before a mouse hole.

He smiled slowly at Jane. As she walked toward him, his crooked grin fisted her heart. She tamped down the flutter in her belly.

“Ian Michael MacGregor,” she hissed. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“For a bright girl, Janie, ye’re a bit daft this evening. It’s plain as the nose on your face what I’m doing. I’m looking at you, of course.” Ian’s hot gaze traveled down her form and back to meet her eyes again. “Ye’re well worth looking at, lassie, all flushed and rosy. Ye should wear red all the time.”

“Never mind that.” Her voiced rasped with irritation, even though his admiration sent a tingle spiraling through her. She stepped closer to him so no one would overhear them. Ian didn’t smell of fresh stable straw now. A solid whiff of sandalwood emanated from his fine clothes, along with his own masculine scent. “How did you get that suit of clothes?”

“Same way you got what you’re wearing.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned toward her to whisper, “I borrowed it.”

“Oh, Ian!” Jane’s stomach turned a backflip. “Tell me you did not steal from the marquess.”

“Borrow,” he corrected. “Borrow from the marquess.”

“Borrow then, you stupid, big Scot.” Jane suppressed the desire to pound her fist on his chest beneath the messily tied cravat. “Why would you do such a thing?”

The musicians started a softly yearning tune in three-quarter time. Ian’s eyes darkened as he looked at her.

“Maybe I wanted to dance with ye, love.” His husky voice sent a shiver over her. Her heart pounded as if she’d run up three flights of stairs with an armload of washing. With infinite slowness, he slid a hand along the side of her waist, the silk of her gown rustling, almost purring, beneath his touch. Ian took her hand and the fight sizzled out of her.

“Waltz with me, Jane.”

Excerpt from Traditions by Alissa Johnson

One always felt a bit chastised when talking to her.

Which was why Miss Byerly did not feature in William’s matrimonial plans.

Pity, really, that she wasn’t a bit softer. He’d spoken to her once or twice before and she seemed an intelligent sort, with an efficiency of speech and manner he appreciated.

But he wasn’t in need of additional efficiency in his house. He was drowning inefficiency. He was in need of a feminine touch. He wanted a gentle woman, with a soft voice and open heart. Someone free with her laugh. Someone who could provide a bit of light in his life. Someone who wouldn’t make him feel on his wedding night as if he were bedding the governess.

Confident in his assessment of Miss Byerly, and in his choice of bride-to-be, he straightened his cravat, brushed at his waistcoat, and otherwise readied himself to begin the overdue campaign for Miss Meldrin’s affection.

But then, before he could enter the room, Miss Byerly did the most extraordinary thing he had ever had occasion to witness. She picked up the slice of cake with her ungloved hands—which was odd in and of itself—and then, to his supreme astonishment, began to slowly and methodically stuff it into her mouth.

He stood in the shadow of the hallway and watched as she opened wide—tremendously wide—and very carefully wedged the thicker end in first. It caught at the sides of her mouth, leaving behind smudges of chocolate as she pressed the cake in deeper. Next came the center,which required a substantial amount of wiggling of Miss Byerly’s jaw, and then finally, with the confidence obviously born of extensive practice, she folded the remainder of the slice in half and neatly mashed it in with the rest.With her cheeks rounded like a fearful pufferfish, she daintily wiped her fi ngers on her napkin, and then used the napkin to dab gingerly at the upturned corners of her lips.

It was astonishing. It was appalling. It was, he had to admit, enormously impressive.