KZ's Halloweenies & Whorrors, 4

Ah, poor Adin Swift. Still a tormented vampire, he so struggled in this novel. But just a handful of months after he finally found his HEA, or thought he did, Jackson Spey turned up at that birthday party and blew Adin's assumptions out of the water. Considering the blood-drinking interlude they shared in Plagued (hell, considering how happy Adin was, simply to see Jackson again), it should've been obvious to all concerned that Celia was not, in fact, the partner of Adin's dreams.

Following the blurb is just one of many creepy excerpts from the novel that sees Adin and Jackson together for the first time (in a book, that is).

Yup, Plagued is a chillfest.

* * * * *

The one thing Adin Swift wants more than warm blood and hot sex is to find the man who viciously murdered his parents over 650 years ago.

The one thing Celia Quill wants more than a final, exciting one-night stand before moving to the edge of a northern forest is to settle happily into her new home there.

After hooking up at a club, they more than satisfy each other’s immediate needs. But "immediate" stretches into long-term when Celia is captivated by her vampire lover and Adin senses this not-so-ordinary woman somehow holds the key to his peace.

In the unassuming little outpost of Woodbine, Adin and Celia confront a threat neither had anticipated. Their efforts to comprehend and overcome it take them from a modest farmhouse to a lumber baron’s mansion to a blue-collar tavern complete with town drunk. As their bond solidifies, answers come…but the threat only grows.

Desperate, Adin calls his old friend Jackson Spey for help. The wizard extends their search to a place where the vampire was both born and birthed and has only revisited in his nightmares: fourteenth-century, plague-torn England. Horrific as it it, this journey into the the past may be Adin's and Celia's only route to the future.

In the following excerpt, Adin examines yet another disturbing feature of Celia's new property.

* * * * *

The deeper woods at the rear of the yard beckoned Adin. There was something else he had to check out. He moved toward the shadowed tangle of undergrowth beneath the taller trees.

As he scanned the ragged edge of this untended area, Adin noticed several clearer spaces that might indicate the presence of a path. He studied each one more carefully then struck out through the most promising break in the vegetation. At least this season’s growth wasn’t yet too high or too thick.

A fairly straight trail of depressed earth, with a soggy floor of decaying leaves and brown pine needles, arrowed through the close-pressing trees and vertical, in-tucked spirals of emerging ferns. Adin’s footsteps flushed out two toads and sent them hopping for new cover. Occasionally, from above, a twig or pinecone fell, probably dislodged by a scurrying squirrel. Patches of sunlight were fewer and farther between the deeper Adin plunged into this wild acreage, and its organic redolence grew stronger—reminding him, unnervingly, of the smell released by the freshly turned dirt of graves.

The branches blocking his way multiplied. Adin kept his arms raised to push them aside and shield his face from their recoil. A single caw from a near-by crow startled him, sending a flashing chill through his belly.

Within seconds he spied it—a cylindrical wall of fieldstone, somewhat more than waist-high, hugged all around by the delicate, thorny arms of wild roses. A hazy shaft of sunlight sluiced through the small clearing where the old well sat. Carefully, Adin circled the structure. Its north-facing stones were covered in a patchwork of dead brown and fresh green moss.

Adin didn’t know whether or not he was still on Celia’s property. The well could have served a different homestead or even a hermit’s small cabin, long since torn down or fallen to ruin. Or it could’ve been a source of water for outbuildings—a cow barn, a sheepcote, a horse stable, a pig or chicken pen.

Not that it mattered. The well’s original owner and intended use were irrelevant. Recently, Adin feared, this simple, utilitarian structure had a much more nefarious purpose.

Leaning over the gnarled branches, he flattened his hands on the well’s rough rim. The muscles in his arms immediately went rigid with shock. Gulping air, Adin pulled himself closer to the pit and peered over its wall. Even his sight had difficulty mining the dense blackness. But he both smelled and sensed the presence of things that did not bode well…for him or for Celia.

There was a tunnel entrance somewhere in the well shaft. Adin stared more intently. Yes, he was sure, it was in the western arc of the interior wall. He raised his head to get his bearings. As he suspected, the entrance faced the Browning mansion. Adin pulled back and took a few cleansing breaths. Lifting his hands, he studied them, stroking his palms with his fingers. Slowly, his face twisted.

Whether real or imagined, traces of Birkett’s essence seemed to taint his skin. The vampire, Adin was certain, had slithered over this wall many times, in a number of different forms. But why, why were there conduits between this property and the mansion’s? Adin already thought he knew—this was the theory he’d earlier refused to divulge—but he wanted to verify his assumption before sharing it with Celia. For the moment, she had more than enough issues to deal with.

"Shit," Adin whispered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He leaned against a tree as he gazed at the well. He knew he had to approach it one more time.

A cloud passed over the sun, steeping the small clearing in gloom. Adin again stepped up to the well, again leaned over its edge. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

The odors were unmistakable. First, stagnant water, the depth of which was unclear. Second—and certainly not obvious to anybody with normal human senses—death.

There was at least one corpse or skeleton at the bottom of that pit and perhaps more. Adin was sure of it.

Resting his elbows on the wall, he dropped his head to his hands. How many victims had that filthy bastard disposed of in this area? And where, in addition to here, were they?

Aside from these discoveries, which were sickening enough, it nearly drove Adin to the brink of despair when he realized he was only a small step away from becoming like this creature he so thoroughly despised. Without the sexual release that accompanied his feeds, many ugly aspects of his Plague Breed heritage would claw their way out of his blood…



KZ's Halloweenies & Whorrors, 3

A "Joyfully Recommended" read from Joyfully Reviewed, recipient of 5 Angels from Fallen Angel Reviews, and a 2008 EPPIE finalist, the paranormal erotic romance Cemetery Dancer has done fairly well.

My beloved Jackson Spey, still in possession of the long braid that hung nearly to his butt, plays a significant role in this novel. Heroine and hero, Sophia and Sonny, later make appearances in InDescent, as does Fog Cliff Cemetery, the setting for the excerpt following the blurb.

* * * * *

Find a man’s headstone and dance on his grave.

Be he prince, commoner, monk, or knave;

Be he soldier or hero or coward forlorn,

Shed all your clothing and dance until dawn.

Medium and former nun Sophia Alanca has a big problem that’s soon to get much bigger. Since leaving the cloister, she’s been desperate to find an outlet for years’ worth of unsatisfied sexual passion. Sophie is not only lacking in savvy about the dating scene, she’s far too cautious to hook up with strangers. Unfortunately, her frustrated desire attracts a brutish "hybrid" entity—one who can move between the astral and earthly planes. And he wishes to possess her.

Sophie’s spirit guide offers a solution in the form of a cryptic verse. Until Sophie can find a man who fully meets her needs, she can achieve sexual gratification and thus ward off her attacker by doing the pagan Cemetery Dance. As added protection, the spirit guide instructs Sophie to seek out the help of a quirky but powerful wizard…who also happens to be drop-dead hot.

But biker-wizard Jackson Spey is not the only one who comes to Sophie’s aid. Harrison Brock—a graduate student in anthropology and amateur ghost hunter—is watching her when she does the sensual Cemetery Dance. And little does she realize he can either damn her through his jealousy and skepticism . . . or save her through his love.

* * * * *

Sophie had to concentrate on her movements as the tunnel abruptly narrowed and its height diminished. Sinking to a sit, she scooted along using her heels, which she dug into the ground, and her hands, which she eased along the walls, to propel herself forward. Its surfaces disturbed, the tunnel gave up a rich, damp, organic smell that was almost overpowering. Ahead of her, Sophie could hear the slithering and scraping sounds that marked Angelina’s progress.

They were swaddled in utter blackness.

“This is enough to make anybody claustrophobic,” Sophie said, glad that Sonny didn’t have to suffer through the experience.

Angelina didn’t answer.

“Don’t you think so?”

No answer.

“Angelina, can you hear me?”

The scraping stopped, briefly, but still no answer came.

Sophie tensed. “Angelina?” She raised her voice. “Jackson?”

And then somebody was grabbing her ankles, pulling her forward and down, down and to the left, the slope becoming even more slippery and mucky beneath her, the smell even more fetid. Just as Sophie was about to scream, a cold, hard hand clamped over her nose and mouth. An icy gust of breath pushed against her face. She tried desperately to bite at the suffocating hand but her teeth didn’t connect with anything substantial.

Just as Sophie began to lose consciousness, the tunnel blazed with blinding light. Its walls and floors shook. A deep rumbling, like a distant avalanche, sounded all around her. Words, she thought dimly, those are words, as the pressure on her ankles and face suddenly eased.

Sophie’s eyes fluttered open. Spey was standing over her, his arms raised, his loose hair floating in slow motion around his head. When Sophie saw this—and saw Angelina, who stood behind him—she realized they were in a space with higher ceilings and a source of light and something very, very weird was happening.

Angelina knelt beside her and stroked her forehead.

“Jackson?” Sophie whispered.

He was the source of light. Jackson Spey was glowing.

The glow faded as Sophie’s realization dawned. Then he, too, knelt beside her, his long hair grazing the side of her face.

Sophie heard a raspy click. A spot of flame appeared, then flared and got brighter. Jackson’s and Angelina’s faces reemerged from the darkness.

“I had enough foresight to bring a lighter and a candle,” Angelina said, her voice so kind it instantly warmed Sophie.

She sat up. Jackson had pulled back his hair and was securing it into a ponytail with some kind of binding—a rubber band, maybe.

“What happened?” Sophie asked, still dazed.

“It seems that as soon as you entered the cliff,” Angelina said, “your course was intentionally diverted. Jackson came to your rescue.”

“But I could hear you, just ahead of me!”

Angelina shook her head. “No. That wasn’t me. I don’t think it took me but ten seconds to find Jackson in this chamber. Something or someone was leading you away from us.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie,” Jackson said. “I should have either kept you with me or not let you come in at all.”

“But you cast a circle around me. How could it be broken?”

“It was improvised and temporary, meant to protect you when you laid hands on the mausoleum. A circle is like a battery, Sophie. It can be drained of its energy. And the ones that are less well-made are drained that much faster.” Jackson glanced at Angelina. “Now I know what Newman’s job is. Now I know exactly what being a Watcher means.”

Sophie looked back and forth between them. “And?”

Jackson tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “In part, it means watching for intruders. When they enter the cliff, if they do it at the wrong time, they’re scared away. Kids, usually. Kids who come here on Halloween or on a dare, kids who come here to drink or smoke pot or make out. It’s pretty easy for a weak dick like Newman to send them running.”

“But what do you mean, ‘if they do it at the wrong time’?”

“The cliff is a vortex, a portal,” Angelina said. “Mortals are persona non grata when a strong spirit wants to enter our world through it.”

“I see,” Sophie said. She was quite familiar with such things. “So, this is one of those ‘wrong times’, and I was an easy mark because I wasn’t close enough to you, Jackson, to be protected. Newman singled me out to scare me away.”

“Um, that’s not it,” Spey said. Like a doctor who doesn’t want to give his patient bad news and somehow feels responsible for that news, he seemed edgy and hesitant. “The entity that misled you and then handled you wasn’t Newman. It was Bruno Desjardins. Newman only alerted him.”

Sophie felt short of breath and slightly nauseous. “So the other part of being a Watcher—”

“—is likely the most important part,” Jackson said somberly.

“And it entails watching for what?” Sophie’s eyes skittered nervously between him and Angelina. “Or whom?” she added on a thin breath. But she already knew the answer.

“For you,” Spey said.

Better With Age

So, Ellora's Cave has put together two anthologies of stories and novellas from its "Oh Yum!" series featuring older women with younger men. My contribution, Liberation, is in the volume you see here (a 314-page trade paperback). I must admit, EC did a surprisingly good job on the cover. It's actually tasteful! And pretty! And has no chesty displays!

Click on the post title to satisfy your curiosity. You can, of course, still buy the stories individually in electronic format. Mine culminates in creative public sex. On a stage. In front of an audience. Yes, EC likes its kink. They don't, however, like commas or certain words, and I still cringe when I see the results of those preferences in my final copy. So have pity. ("Channel." WTF? How'd that word get there? I never put it there!)

I still don't know when my fantasy trilogy is coming out in print, and that's the one I've really been looking forward to since 1. the work is all mine, and 2. I won't have to split the damned royalties with five other people and end up with 18-cent checks--no exaggeration. *sigh*

UPDATE: My recently assigned "new" editor at EC, a very nice and very smart woman, said my Galdeshian fantasy collection is indeed scheduled for print, in time, she hopes, for EC's "Romanticon" in October. The book will be 107,000 words of dragon deliciousness served up via bold and randy women and sexually flexible men. (In fact, a couple of the stories in the trilogy contain some of my earliest forays into m/m eroticism.) So if you like otherworld fantasy and don't mind the "taint" of strong-willed yet willing females, you may very well like this collection. It will contain the complete editions of Wing and Tongue, Cauldron of Keridwen, and Prince of Glacier Glas. Oh, how I love the magic in these stories and in this world!

Is more ever enough?

Remember when Harlequin introduced the "Temptation" line and Silhouette introduced "Desire" and "Intimate Moments"? Probably not. But believe me, compared with their predecessors, those titles contained some racy stuff. They signaled the banging open of the bedroom door. Unfortunately, Roget's Thesaurus banged open along with the door, so although readers were getting eyeful after eyeful of rapturous horizontalism, they were also being fed some really laughable euphemisms to describe the action. (Netherlips? Isn't that what the eastern and western edges of the Netherlands are called? Are they grasslands? Or swamp lands?)

Anyway, this silly sexspeak went on for a good many years. Then the bodacious Tina Engler came along and essentially decided it was time to call a spade a spade. Thanks to Ellora's rockin' Cave, readers no longer had to ask themselves, His "member" of what? The Elks' Club? And why does this member broadcast "seed"? Is he a conservationist? A landscaper? And what kind of seed? Ah, grass seed, I'll bet. In the Netherlips. All the delicate obfuscation came to an end with EC's "erotic" romances. A cock became a cock, plain and simple (and usually large and turgid), and it shot copious amounts of cum into every hot, dripping, swollen, gaping, achingly impatient pussy it could.

The dam had burst, so to speak. Once the Netherlips became as drenched at they could get, a kind of frenzied adventuring began. Erotic romance wouldn't content itself with settling in the land of explicit, one-on-one m/f sex. Nuh-uh. This was a Brave New World, by gum, and it had all sorts of raunchy regions to explore. Joyful masturbation. Happy-toys. Positions that defied gravity and rewrote the Kama Sutra. Menages of ever-increasing numbers. Hardcore BDSM. Fetishism. Sex with shifters, vampires, demons, aliens. Fantasy rape that veered this close (+) to actual rape. Double penetration. Multiple dicks. Twincest. Octucest (well, you know that's bound to turn up sooner or later!)

This exuberant progression has led me to a question, which is the point of my post. Are sex scenes and sexual relationships, whether opposite-sex or same-sex, now considered too "vanilla" if they don't contain one or more of the above elements? (I'm really getting sick of the term vanilla, like I'm sick of Oh. My. God. and Wow. Just. Wow. But I digress.) Have readers begun to expect and even demand ongoing one-upmanship? Can relationships still be perceived as thrilling and satisfying if they are made up of (GASP!) two people who just like to fuck? Or (DOUBLE GASP!) make love?

I'm just wonderin'.

Going Into Print

Sometime between now and the end of June, Ellora's Cave will be issuing FOUR of my titles as print editions. This strains my belief.

Better With Age is an anthology of six novellas centering on older women gettin' it on with younger men. My contribution's original cover (from EC's "Oh Yum!" themed series) is on the right. You can read a blurb and excerpt at the publisher's site. Other authors in the antho are Mardi Ballou, Lyn Cash, Karen Erickson, Calista Fox, and Eve Vaughn.

I have some rather unique sex scenes in Liberation, so if you're not averse to hetero romance and a heroine with a gay best friend, instead of the other way around, you might enjoy it. (Besides, bet you've never seen a cover model carved out of teak wood and saturated with lemon oil. If you get the ebook, you can seem him supersized!)

My three related debauchery-and-dragon fantasies -- Wing and Tongue, Cauldron of Keridwen, and Prince of Glacier Glas -- will be put together under one cover. I had all kinds of ideas for a title for this collection, from simple (Farfields) to suggestively smarmy (Galdesh Confidential) to suggestively passionate (Fire in the Soul) to suggestively traditional (The Chronicles of Galdesh) to ridiculous but catchy (Big Teeth and Boxer Briefs). Alas, all were shot down by TPTB. I'm not exactly thrilled with the final title (not telling you yet, 'cause it's stupid), so I'm hoping beyond hope the volume gets a cover as stunning as the one for Wing and Tongue. This might be asking too much, however.

Stay tuned. I'll post when this print plan becomes a reality.

The book nobody wants is now...WANTED.

Yeehah! Third time's a charm. InDescent apparently doesn't violate the editorial standards of Liquid Silver's "Molten Silver" GLBT line, so there it shall be published. Jackson Spey and Adin Swift will once again appear on the world's stage. (Well, at least the little ebook-world stage, which is plenty good enough for me!)

This brings up some interesting aspects of the writing biz. I believe I've mentioned them before, but they bear repeating. A relationship or even story arc can't always be carried to completion at a single company. There are a number of possible reasons for this.

Sometimes companies fold. Sometimes they're horribly mismanaged and/or their owners turn out to be turdwads; as a result, writers fall out of love with them and choose to go elsewhere. Sometimes, it's simply a case of "wrong fit."

Although Jackson and Adin had their first significant encounter at Ellora's Cave, they couldn't have subsequent encounters there. The HEA or HFN ending to any EC book cannot be compromised. So, I couldn't bring these two men together without dragging Adin's girlfriend into the mix -- something I staunchly refused to do. (Loony as it sounds, the characters resisted it, too.) It was at Changeling Press, in the novella Obsessed, that Jackson and Adin got together. Securely ... if you know what I mean. ;-)

BUT Changeling couldn't take InDescent. At nearly 70k words, the novel far exceeds their length limit. And because of its unconventional plot construction, it wasn't appropriate for Loose Id, either. (Understand that I have great respect for both companies and fully appreciate their rationale. EC's, too, for that matter. Their editors make decisions, as they should, in accordance with their companies' guidelines.)

So, I toddled along with my oddball book in tow. A speed bump here, a roadblock there. It's part of the business. Not every book is appropriate for every publisher, and no writer should blame a company for adhering to its business model. Writers can, however, throw blame at snotty, self-important editors who autonomously make decisions based on personal whim rather than professional standards. Those are the true villains in any given submission drama. Thank goodness they're few and far between.

Wing and Tongue cover scores again!

I'll tell ya, that Syneca really puts out some impressive work. The Fantasm Awards finalists for fantasy/paranormal cover art are now posted. It isn't a surprise that my luminous cover for Wing and Tongue (from Ellora's Cave) is one of the nominees. It's already received one award, and deservedly so. I'm still bemoaning the fact Syneca didn't do the covers for the other two books in this fantasy cycle.

And this brings up the interesting point of a cover's role in a book's saleability. There's no doubt in my mind that the quality of cover art makes a difference.

I've posted before about the success of Wing and Tongue in relation to Cauldron of Keridwen and Prince of Glacier Glas. The last of these is, I believe, the best book by far in the Galdeshian fantasy cycle, and I wanted the cover to reflect that.

So I specifically requested art similar to Syneca's. I was presented with a cover that was kinda-sorta like hers but just didn't have the GASP! quality -- the brilliance, the finesse. When I asked the art director for some minor touch-ups and polish, he pretty much blew me off.

It rankles to this day.

Anyway, if you're a fan of Syneca's craftsmanship, please click on the post title and give her work a vote. Not my work, mind you; hers.

Older Women Doing Younger Men

The newest series from Ellora's steamin' Cave is called "Oh, Yum!" (That's a cute way of telegraphing the phrase older woman/younger man or OWYM.) The series reflects a recent--and, far as I'm concerned, long overdue--trend in real-life intimate relationships. And for that reason, I applaud it. Resoundingly.

My contribution to this series, Liberation, is now available: http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419916090

For how many centuries have women had to endure rejection or the alienation of spousal affection because they haven't been considered desirable, for all kinds of reasons, as they advance toward middle age? (And it is indeed an advance, if maturity of vision counts for anything in this world.) How many Hugh Hefners and Donald Trumps have contributed to loss of female self-esteem? Well, EC authors have stepped up to tell these guys, "Perch and spin, you shallow, pretentious asshats!"

Liberation isn't the first book in which I explore the psycho-emotional landmines that pepper a woman's path out of her twenties. I actually took a much longer, deeper look at the issue in Two Out of Three Ain't Bad, a novel published through Cerridwen Press. It's an often emotional story, because aging can be an often emotional life-change in terms of how women evaluate their own worth. Sad to say, advertisers and the media, whose influence is pervasive in this culture, only exacerbate whatever perceptual problems already exist. (By the way, I don't use the word cougar in either book. I find it offensive, because it suggests that women who end up with younger male partners are cunning predators. I know from personal experience this is bullshit. Whatever sneering male dreamt up the term can go fuck himself with it.)

In both of my books--and, for that matter, all the Oh Yum! stories--what's ultimately celebrated are defiance and persistence: the defiance of stifling cultural norms and the persistence of joy in romance and in sex. The men in these tales are celebrated, as well, because they have the ability to see through surfaces to what lies beneath and to embrace those qualities.

So [raising my glass in a toast] here's hoping romance writers and publishers continue to slough off stereotypes and explore the many faces of love!

Two Five-star Reviews from Ecataromance Sensual

How can I not love Candy at Ecataromance Sensual? She not only dipped into my backlist, but she gave each of the two books she chose a Five Star rating. (And I didn't even have to pay her nuthin'. Heck, I didn't even have to grovel and beg. She found the books all on her own! Wonderful lady, Candy is.)

So anyway, here's her review of Cemetery Dancer http://sensual.ecataromance.com/index.php?p=677 and here's her review of Plagued http://sensual.ecataromance.com/index.php?p=678. It's hugely gratifying to see a reviewer take this kind of time to read from an author's backlist. I'm really moved.

A New Award for Wing and Tongue

My Ellora's Cave fantasy Wing and Tongue has won Night Owl Romance's winter 2008 Readers' Choice Award for Best Erotic Ebook Cover, fantasy category. Won by kind of a landslide, too, I might add. ;-) This same book was given a Reviewer Top Pick designation by N.O.R. (How can I not love these people?) By the way, their site is a treasure trove of romance-fiction news and reviews. And that's no bs. Props to Tammie King, the brilliant owner/administrator.

Click on the square button to view all covers in all categories.

Valentine's Day Print Anthology Now Available!

Candy Cravings, along with its companion volume, Candy Caresses, is the hot box of melted chocolates most people get only in their Valentine's Day dreams. But now Ellora's Cave can help you indulge all your secret pleasures. Both books are available IN PRINT...and with covers demure enough to allow you to cop a read wherever you damned well please. Both also contain a wide and, um, satisfying variety of stories.

You can order your copy of Candy Cravings here: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-3913-candy-cravings.aspx?skinid=11

Oooo, enjoying one of these decadent bonbons before bedtime will give you very sweet dreams indeed.

Smut with a Story

Cemetery Dancer, my first novel for Ellora's Cave . . . how does it stack up?

Erotic romance, still struggling for legitimacy in the traditional publishing world, is often slammed for its lack of strong, well executed fictional elements: plot, setting, characterization, dialogue, prose style. E-book erotica, especially, is perceived as little more than energetic sex scenes, often laughable, loosely connected by lame and limping storylines burdened by sloppy, awkward prose.

I'm not entirely going to take issue with that notion. Sad to say, there is some truly dreadful writing in this category, compounded by equally dreadful editing. But once in a while, the "smut" actually comes bundled with a damned good story, well told. Might I be referring to my own little bag of verbal sins? Maybe. But that's really not for me to decide.

In any case, I think Cemetery Dancer is quite a trip. I love imagining real people thrown into extraordinary situations--wrestling with their fears, their skepticism, their rationalizations. I love constructing atmospheric settings to enhance these extraordinary situations. As a matter of fact, I've found that "world building"--currently a major buzz phrase in publishing--entails not only a vivid imagination but a good deal of research...at least if you're gonna do it right. And I revel in that. The book I'm just finishing, Plagued, required hours of extremely enlightening, extremely enjoyable delving into history. I'm hoping readers of erotic romance (since this is my first foray into the category) do appreciate good stories well told.