BDSM and Me

First let me get the promo out-of-the-way – I have a new release coming on June 4th called Niah’s Pride – a Pryde Ranch shifter novella. Okay, now that’s done, let’s get down to it!

I’ve read some very good romance novels with BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, Masochism) as the couple’s choice, but I’d never actually known anyone in real life that favored the lifestyle…until a couple of years ago.

A very good friend of mine called and said, “Hey, I’m going to a munch tonight with some new friends and I’m not comfortable going by myself. Will you go with me?”

My first thought was, what the hell is a munch and why does she need me to go get something to eat with her? “I’m not afraid of these people,” she said, “but they are new friends and I’ve never been to that restaurant before so I’m not sure where it is.”

Of course, I was convinced more than ever it was an ‘eating’ thing. She went on to explain that a munch was a gathering of people who were “in the lifestyle”. It was a time where they got together to enjoy some candid and fun conversation, get to know others in the scene, and most importantly, impart knowledge to noobs (new people exploring BSDM). They talk about what BDSM is and what it isn’t from their own perspectives, and so on.

Nosey author that I am I quickly said, “Sure, I’ll go with you as long as no one expects me to play with them.”

She assured me there were no worries as that wasn’t the purpose of a munch. Others might decide to play afterward, but not during. So we hopped in my car and rode over to the restaurant and met her new friends in a little banquet room. The door closed and my new education began.

I learned that while many think BDSM or D/s (Dominant/submissive relationships) is about one person controlling or exerting their will on another, it isn’t the case.

D/s isn’t just about kink or fantasy role-play. It’s not about whips and chains, broken bones, pain and squicky stuff the media has burned into our heads. Although some may enjoy that type of thing, D/s relationships are about power exchange. There’s no gender bias here. Various sexual preferences are proudly flaunted and accepted. In many ways, the lifestyle brings about a community. There’s a sense of brotherhood amongst Dominants and submissives who are comfortable and open with their lifestyle choice.

Here’s what one person, Alan Howard, had to say about it when someone asked the question, “Regarding your ‘Dominant/submission’ interest, why do you feel the need to control women?”

Answer: “I don’t feel the need to control women. That’s not what ‘dominance’ is about. Instead, I feel the need to just be the dominant partner in a relationship.

“I might need to explain the difference between dominance and control… The difference between a dominant man and a controlling man is whether or not he cares about consent. Consent to dominance must be given by the submissive. She must want to be dominated by him as much as he wants her to submit to him……”

“Control does not require consent, and a controlling partner is likely to be an abusive partner, while a dominant partner is more likely to be a loving partner….. Being the dominant part of a Dominant/submissive (D/s) relationship carries significant responsibility. If you’re the Dom, your submissive partner is giving themselves to you, and you choose to become responsible for their mental and physical well-being within the dynamics of the relationship that you both agree to participate in. Rules and behaviours expected from each member are established through extensive communication, and the responsibility of mutual care is far more important than most ‘vanilla’ (non-BDSM) relationships.”

That’s very interesting. I also learned about how important communication is in a D/s relationship. I had no idea that there was such a thing as negotiating scenes, aftercare for Dominants and submissives. Or that it is necessary for a top to carefully monitor their bottom to ensure that they’re doing okay before, during and sometimes days after playing due to the possibility of something called sub-drop.

Every relationship has some form of D/s in it. Now before you start shaking your head and grumbling, “Nu-uh, not my relationships!” think about this – Isn’t it true that a person may be a leader outside the bedroom (top dog in the office running a top notch company, for example) yet want to be submissive (take me! pull my hair!) in the bedroom when they get home? Even in friendships, there is typically one friend that is more dominant than the other – you now, one person is more outspoken about where they should have lunch or what movie to see while the other is just fine accepting their friend’s lead. See, dominance and submission.

In the end, the munch was a gathering of ‘normal’ people that go to work every morning, take care of their families, live and love like everyone else. The difference is that those people aren’t afraid to explore their own sexuality and care enough to share the truth of it with others.

Since then I’ve been exploring the lifestyle and having a load of fun making new friends. The end result – a new BDSM series is underway! The first book in the series is called ‘Juicy’ and you’ll see it by the end of 2013. Woohoo!

Soooo, whatcha think?

TJ Michaels
www.tjmichaels.com

The winner of the download, by random number generator is, Charlene!
Charlene, congrats and be sure to email me to arrange delivery of your story!

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Have to be quick! My satellite’s been mostly out last night and this morning due to storm activity. No, we haven’t seen a twister, but there’s cloud cover and we just had a hellacious thunderstorm. So no time to chat!

Enjoy the excerpt, then follow the links to the other Snippeteers’ websites for more!

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this short story!

A little peek deserves a little punishment…

Afraid to spoil their friendship, Emily is reluctant to act on her attraction to the two sexy men next door. However, when she’s caught spying on them, the men decide a little punishment is in order…

Beads of condensation, glittering jewel-like in the sputtering candlelight, ran in rivulets down the sides of Jason’s ice-cold beer.

Detail I shouldn’t have been able to note, given the fact I was thirty feet away.

As I lowered my nephew’s toy binoculars, I reflected that I had indeed sunk to a new low. You see, my bedroom window conveniently overlooked Jason and Robert’s backyard. A fact that probably never registered with the previous tenants, but one that proved too delicious to ignore after the arrival of the handsome duo. Privacy fencing, which ran down to the pier that jutted into the lake, separated the row of houses where we lived. It was high enough the neighbors on either side of ours couldn’t see into their yard, but lucky me—I had the perfect view.

Upon discovering this, I had began a furtive surveillance. One that had me cringing in embarrassment each time I greeted them in passing and feeling even more ashamed when we struck up a friendship.

We’d shared meals, drinks, late afternoon swims, watched football games together on their wide-screen TV. And still, I peeked into their backyard, waiting for those moments when they popped outside to mow the lawn or catch a few summer rays. Their bodies gleamed with sweat while raw lust warred inside me, along with the fear that I’d mess up our relationship if I let the guys know how I really felt.

My convenient perch on the windowsill afforded me a window into their private lives, and from the very beginning, I was hooked. They’d become an obsession, one frustrated by the fact they treated me like a kid sister, rather than a woman one of them might desire.

And therein lay another problem. I’d resisted the urge to seek a deeper relationship because then I’d have to choose. My libido was completely fickle, lusting after Jason’s muscled physique, then sighing over the possibilities of what Robert’s tall, bony frame and large feet hinted at. That their personalities were perfect bookends, fierce and funny, confused my heart as well.

Lucky, lucky me. I licked the sweat gathering on my upper lip while this night one of the handsome men living next door tilted his bottle and took several long sips. The look of pure bliss that softened his otherwise stern features made my chest ache.

I watched the movement of Jason’s throat as he worked it down, imagining him sipping at my overheated flesh. My skin began to tingle. My nipples beaded, crowding uncomfortably against my lace bra. My thighs clenched as a delicious wash of arousal seeped to wet the crotch of my plain panties.

The sigh he emitted as he set the bottle on the table was echoed by my own painful groan. Watching either of them had never caused my heart to skip a beat like that hint of a moan sliding on the tail of Jason’s long exhalation.

Sure, it was hotter than hell out there. I too felt the effects of the enervating heat. Record temperatures had strained the region’s resources and planned service interruptions began that night. But something about that sigh felt…un-subtle, exaggerated, maybe even dramatic. And Jason was too straightforward a man for that.

I blotted sweat from my forehead, asking myself again, What am I doing?

Only this time, my peeping hadn’t been deliberate. I’d rushed home from work and showered quickly to beat the scheduled brown-out. Then I’d stripped to my underwear, pulled back the curtains, and opened the window, hoping for a breeze to cool my skin. Sitting limply on the sill, I waited for the world to flicker into life again.

That’s when I’d noticed him, sitting in a lounge chair alone in the dark.

He wore his usual work “uniform”—khaki trousers, white shirt and a tie. Tonight, the tie hung loosened and askew, his collar opened beneath it.

Despite the lack of electricity, I could see it all. Moonlight silvered his dark hair and reflected bright as a beacon against the white shirt. The golden light from the large Citronella candle leant warmth to his skin and the amber bottle he held between his hands.

As always, he was lovely to watch, but tonight, his expression drew my attention more than his breath-stealing features. A sullen slanting of his brows, a bit of pout plumping his masculine lips, an edgy energy to his slight movements—he was either irritated or aroused.

Wanting an answer to the “either-or,” I watched. My forte is observation; my people-radar exquisitely tuned to body language and a voice’s tonal cues. My curiosity and my lust were caught. No way could I back away from my window now.

The bottle tapped the table as he set it aside. A long-fingered hand tugged the knot of his tie, dragging it from his neck.

When he began to undo the row of buttons down the front of his shirt, I settled deeper on the sill, leaning closer, but taking care to keep my pale body hidden behind the sheer curtain.

The edges of the shirt parted over a broad, nicely muscled chest. My gaze zeroed in on taut lean abs dusted with dense fur the same color as his close-cropped black hair that stretched nipple to nipple then ran along a thin dark line to slip beneath his zipper.

His hand stroked his chest, scratching through the hair, the faint crinkling sound causing my own chest to tighten, my nipples to surge.

A light sheen of sweat glimmered on his chest and belly. Again, my tongue swept my lips, tasting salt, and I imagined I lapped the dew right off his skin.

When a lazily roaming hand slid over his belly, I tensed, fascinated as he swept the flat plane. Would he be hard or desk-soft? His stomach looked firm. So, I enjoyed fantasizing that he was and touched my own stomach, following his path.

His hand slid down to the knot bulging behind his fly, and he cupped it. Squeezed.

My own hands itched to replace his and grew still, clenching against the fantasy of holding his burgeoning cock as it roused. My cheeks heated and my breaths shortened. No need to tease my own body into arousal, moisture already soaked my panties.

The buckle clanked open, and the belt slid sinuously from the loops as he lifted his hips and pulled it free. A flick of his thumb and the button at the waistband of his trousers opened. His zipper rasped as it slid down.

Dark fabric formed a vee-like shadow as his hand rooted beneath his waist, and then he slipped the long, gleaming column of his semi-aroused sex from the flap at the front of his boxers and wrapped his fingers around it.

I swallowed the liquid pooling in my mouth. I blinked to moisten eyes that had grown dry and scratchy as I stared, wide-eyed. My breaths grew ragged, a little choked, and I must have made a noise, because suddenly his head swung my way.

His gaze narrowed on my bedroom window.

Holding my breath, I froze, hoping his gaze couldn’t penetrate the darkness.

But a crooked smile slowly stretched his lips, and his hand tightened around himself and began to pump up and down the thickening rod. All the while, he stared at me.

Jason knew I watched but didn’t seem to mind. I let out a deep, trembling breath and continued to stare, my own body heating, growing increasingly aroused in tandem with his hardening cock.

His head turned away, and his hand dropped from his engorged cock. It fell against his belly with a soft, muffled thud. Heavy, hot, thick—I knew its girth would stretch my mouth.

Another sound intruded. The chime of my doorbell. I bit back a curse and drew away from the window, slung on my robe, then headed downstairs to the front door.

Robert stood on the stoop, a lazy grin on his face, a sweep of lank blonde hair covering one eye and two beers dangling from his fingers. He was shirtless. Low-riding, blue knee-length shorts encased slender hips and revealed long legs. His large feet were bare. “Thought you might like to join us.”

“Us?” A pinch grabbed my belly and I repeated stupidly, dragging my glance upward again to lock with his.

“Jason and I?” His head tilted, and his pale blue eyes studied me.

Did he know what Jason was up to? He hadn’t been in the back yard. Maybe he didn’t know and the invitation was issued without a carnal subtext.

Not like I hadn’t enjoyed a beer or dinner at their place before, but those times had always been a “friend thing.”

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed.” The teasing glint in his eyes, and more, the narrowed focus of his stare, told me he knew exactly what I’d seen. His gaze slid beyond my shoulder into my darkened living room. “Keep us company until the lights come on?”

Modern Love….

Now here’s a topic that will certainly get you a wide array of answers, and the remarkable thing is – every one of them will be “correct” to the view that expresses it. We all see romantic in a different way, and what is highly romantic for one person is a total turn off for someone else. Erotica is for many an expression of romantic thought, for others it’s a variation on pornography.

What defines the word/concept that is romance? I have my view, and I’ve stated it often. What is your definition? What is romantic in your mind? Is it the explicit sexuality of erotica? Or the gentle awakening of sweet love and passion? I think we all carry the two aspects within us, and depending on what situation we’re in, one is always more appropriate than the other would be.

In romantic fiction, the barriers have long ago been crossed and forgotten. We’re in an “anything goes” sort of atmosphere, and in truth if you look at the vast array of publishers who are now publishing the minted genre “erotic romance” you can see the diversity of definition. I don’t think a lot of what is being labeled in that genre is either erotic or romantic, but that’s my personal mindset and I accept it as such.

I grew up reading Harlequin’s Presents imprint–in fact my first “grown-up” book purchased was a title from the relatively new imprint called “Moon Witch” by Anne Mather. It made me a lifelong fan of her work. I still remember the 34-year-old hero, and it’s been a few years! The line has changed with the times and it’s still their most popular imprint. A few years after I discovered these books, I began buying the racier ones, and they were fabulous, too. (And, yes, I remember my first title in that line, too!) I always come back home to Presents, because for me, the type of stories are the definitive romance stories. Larger than life heroes, the Alpha-male as they’ve since labeled him, exotic settings–in my case, I can’t get enough stories set in Italy–and scorching, tension laden awakening to burning and enduring passion. For me, that’s romance!

So, what are your favourites and what is it that sets them apart in your mind as the definition of romance? Do you prefer detailed sexuality, or the sensual middle-ground, or even behind closed doors love scenes? I’m curious, and would like your thoughts?

Ironically, I’m one of those authors who actively avoids the sex scenes in my books until I absolutely have to deal with them, so how in hell did I end up writing three ménage stories back to back? Believe me, no one is more surprised than I am by this strange turn of events. All three of these books are currently in the top ten best-sellers for the publisher who contracted them, too. Apart from the trio of lovers in these stories, when I wrote Stolen Rapture, I discovered one of my vampires was a dominant, and my heroine was waking to her submissive nature, so that was another new element for me.

I can’t really say that I’m wildly enamored of this kind of story, but it’s certainly been fun to touch the genre, and I might very well get back to it, if in small ways, for future stories. I like mixing genres as most of my readers know, so taking ménage, as requested by the publisher for their anniversary print release, then adding in a paranormal element with my sexy vampires–it was, I admit, a lot of fun! I hope you’ll enjoy this peek at Stolen Rapture… I’ve already been asked to create a story for the secondary male of the trio, and he’s speaking loudly at the moment, so I may not be able to ignore him for much longer!

We’ll do the usual, and I’ll offer one of our visitors today a free eBook of any title on my site, as well as a surprise that I’ll post to you! So, let’s hear your thoughts?

STOLEN RAPTURE

Publisher: http://bit.ly/XpxQeh
Bookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/stolen-rapture
ARe: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-stolenrapture-638196-139.html

When work brings Deluna Jordan face to face with a man who knows her better than she knows herself, she soon discovers he shares everything with his boss, including lovers…and a thirst for blood…and she is about to become the lucky recipient of all their desires…

Rahve knew the instant Cord and his playmate arrived. He turned and even with a room between them, he could smell sex. He snorted silently. So Cord had fucked her already tonight. That explained the limousine service. His eyes swept over the woman, cataloging the elegant dress, the voluptuous curves that were just a little too rounded for current fashion, and the sparkling hazel eyes that were still a little dazed from orgasm.

He went to join them.

“Nice of you to show up,” he said to Cord.

“Screw you,” Cord snapped, then laughed. “This,” he turned to the woman at his side, “is Deluna Jordan. Baby, this is my partner—”

“Boss.”

“Partner,” he repeated, ignoring Rahve’s correction, “Rahve Falcon.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Falcon,” Deluna said, offering her hand. He took it and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing the backs of them very softly. She stared in surprise.

“Rahve,” he requested. “Cord’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to put a face to the name. Welcome to my home, and thank you for coming to the party.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cord hasn’t told me a lot about you,” she replied.

“I’m not surprised,” Rahve answered. Falcon was genuinely amused. Cord watched him with thinly veiled suspicion. “Would you like a drink?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

Rahve was being summoned from the other side of the room and his dark eyes flickered with annoyance that was easily read. He excused himself and on his way to the agitated woman waving less than discreetly to him, he stopped and directed one of the waiters to bring her a glass of champagne.

“Be careful around him,” Cord advised. “He’s interested in you.”

She stared at him, eyebrow raised. “You can tell that from hello, can you?”

“I’ve known Rahve a lot of years, baby,” he said, tone ominous. “He enjoys dangerous games.”

“And you don’t?” There was ice in her voice, making the words caustic in tone.

Cord’s blue and green gaze was hard when he met hers, and she shivered.

“You like my games,” he stated. “Rahve plays by different rules.”

She shrugged with false indifference and strolled into the crowd, fully aware of Cord’s eyes watching every move she made. The night was going to be a long one. The thought had barely passed into her awareness when she felt someone staring at her, the look almost a tangible touch that brushed her spine and made her entire body tingle.

There are things Cord should have told you. Rahve’s voice was inside her head somehow and she looked around, trying to locate him in the large crowd. Chills that had nothing to do with the actual temperature make her quiver. She closed her eyes, her equilibrium gone as the room faded to grey shadows. Her last thought was that she’d never fainted in her life, and this was not the time to start.

Denysé
“Live the Romance, Become the Fantasy…”
** Predators & Editors Best Author 2012 **
Website: www.denysebridger.com

News about Saturday’s contest is at the bottom of this posting!

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Woke up this morning to find this in my inbox! Whee! Still seems odd that Montlake puts the stories in this category, but hey, the books are suspenseful and do contain a mystery…

As with a lot of my bigger stories, publishers don’t quite know where to “shelve” them, which is why some of them are never found by readers. Sad, sad. We’ll have to see what happens with Crescent Moon too. Maybe I should write a more predictable full-length novel…?

What have I been up to lately? Too many things. If you followed me around for a day, you’d be shaking your head. I’m behind on most everything, and yet still taking on new projects. I think I must have an addictive personality. Addicted to stories or work. Not sure which. I do know I have a very hard time saying no.

The weather’s finally cooperating, and the pool is warm enough to enjoy—although it is a little cloudy and green. I’ve dumped chemicals and run the pump. Don’t know what it’s going to take to make it look less like a swamp, but that hasn’t stopped me from jumping in! When I find a snake or a gator in there too, maybe then I’ll get serious about curing the algae problem.

So y’all wanted to know who won those pretty “Crescent Moon” Egyptian earrings, right?  The random number generator chose commenter #4—me! So, I think I’ll let it ride for a week. Never question chance! For any comment that’s left for the next week on this blog, any posting, you’ll get another entry in the drawing!

June’s fast approaching. I have four books due out! Craziness shall ensue. Since I haven’t had anything release in a couple of months, you should be about ready for something new. I just hate giving you so many choices because they are all my babies and deserving of attention.

More later. I have to get my website updated so that you can see what’s coming next!

Thanks for having me, Delilah. Hi everyone. *waving*  Sharing research today.

Bounty hunting originated in a medieval society where no professional police existed. To right a wrong, punish a thief, or execute a murderer, one had to first catch the culprit. Kings and aristocrats didn’t hunt the wrong-doer—they offered a reward and a “no questions asked policy” that exonerated the hunter from any crime he committed during his hunt. (Source)

In the United States, these hunt-for-profit entrepreneurs have been a part of the American justice landscape since the 18^th century.  During the 19th and early 20th centuries, a handful of daring private citizens made a living tracking down wanted desperadoes.  *ahem*

So far I’ve used this info in three books— Five Card Stud, Wolf’s Tender, and Trouble in Disguise —all published by Ellora’s Cave Publishing and all about the McCallisters— a family of bounty hunters.

Trouble In Disguise, releasing June 5^th,  is a double measure of bounty hunters. Deacon McCallister’s rival, Beau Beauregard, a woman of many disguises, sneaks up on Deacon and captures his heart.  🙂

An Eclipse Heat Novel

Since both his partners have married and retired from the hunt, Deacon McCallister is alone when he visits the Pleasure Dome, an infamous brothel in Fort Worth’s Hell’s Half Acre. He’s tracking a counterfeiter but what he finds is TROUBLE—dressed in a man’s ruffled shirt and nothing more.

Bounty hunter Miracle Beauregard pretends to be male, calls herself Beau and for years has fooled the general public concerning her gender. But underneath Miri’s disguise, beats a feminine heart in lust for Deacon McCallister. Though she spends a lot of time dreaming about her rival, she never expects to act upon her longings.

When Miri follows an outlaw to the fanciest whorehouse in Texas and crosses paths with her heart’s desire, she trades her buckskins for bare skin to play the part of Deacon’s paid companion.

Inside Scoop: Miri figures wrong when she thinks one taste of Deacon will be enough and quickly discovers her undercover lover has forever on his mind.

A Romantica®/Lawless erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

Links to find me:

Gem’s Place
Wild and Wicked Cowboys
Twitter
Google+ 
GoodReads 
Amazon Page
Dreamcatcher Newsletter eZine 

***

Buy Links for the Eclipse Heat series:

Ellora’s Cave | Kindle | Nook | ARe 

Yesterday’s prize, that pretty little pair of lapis and silver earrings,
is still up for grabs!  Be sure to comment to win! ~DD

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Anyone Can Write a Book!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this: “Anyone can write a book.” The statement usually comes from a person who doesn’t write, but I believe the premise is true. Each and every one of us has a story. It may be about our lives or a tale of fiction, but how many of us will actually write it?

You need a beginning that grabs the reader’s interest, a middle that doesn’t sag and a satisfying ending that ties everything together. It takes time, effort and dedication.

But romance, especially erotic romance isn’t a real book! I’ve heard that too. But I can assure you that I want to write a good book. That’s what motivates me each time I turn on my laptop.

I’m not trying to change your life or lecture you on how to live it. Nor do I seek to change the world. I write to entertain. I write to fulfill a personal need. I love to create characters, build worlds and tell tales. Stories are always churning in my brain. Ideas come from myriad sources. If I can’t write, I miss it.

A new book excites me. Edits and revisions drive me crazy, but I know the end result is a better story. Seeing the final product with the cover art and title makes me happy.

The world of writing has changed. Social media, an abundance of publishers and indie publishing allows equal opportunity to anyone who wishes to share their imagination. If you have a story, tell it. Be happy.

Forever 2: Night Sins Changeling Press

Night is made for sin and vampires rule the dark.

An officer for the Dead Souls Agency, Harper Croix’s job is vampire enforcement. One night her job takes a lethal turn and Harper has a showdown with an old one. He’s nothing like the rabid bloodsuckers she burns, arrests and destroys. He’s handsome, strong, disciplined and he wants revenge.

Egan wants Agent Croix to suffer for her sins against his kind. Revenge is a dish best served cold, but Croix is hot and tasty. One encounter leads to another. Enemies become lovers.

Harper has sworn to enforce the vampire laws, not break them. An affair with a vampire is reckless. Falling in love is crazy stupid. Egan is irresistible.

B.J. McCall is published in paranormal, sci-fi and contemporary erotic romance by eRed Sage, Cobblestone Press, Changeling Press and Ellora’s Cave. Her books are available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and ARe. B.J.’s latest release is Night Sins, the second book in her urban fantasy series, Forever, published by Changeling Press.

Click on the cover to order!

Since the theme is my choice today, I thought I’d introduce you to an exciting new story! Crescent Moon will release on June 4th—or at least the first installment of the book will release on that date. The scary part for me? It’s not all written. Once the first part releases (the first five chapters), readers will have a chance to interact with me to let me know what they think about the story, and maybe to influence the rest of it! I have just two parts completed and am working on the third. There will be eight altogether. This will be a full-length novel by the time I am done, but you will only have to pay $1.99 to begin reading, and then every two weeks, a new installment will be shipped automatically to your Kindle. You won’t have to pay another penny.

What’s Crescent Moon all about? I’m not 100% sure.

The story’s still germinating. I do know that the first part begins in ancient Egypt with my heroine who lives an exalted life as the wife of a god. You will get a hint of her predicament when you read the following scene. Then the story picks up in New Orleans with a gruff, damaged cop, Juste Henry Boucher, who finds the heroine during a robbery investigation at a local museum. That’s pretty much all I know, except that demons are rising…

Because I’m so excited about this project, I have a special prize to offer one lucky commenter today. Let me know how you like the story so far. Be sure to check out the book at Amazon (just click on the cover!). The prize? A pair of earrings, handmade by me. Silver and lapis lazuli. Something Egyptian-themed to go along with the book! I will choose a winner Sunday night! Enjoy the excerpt!

From Crescent Moon:

One last time, her mind drifted, peacefully content…no shadows or disquiet to disturb her…allowing her to separate the parts of herself, first body from spirit…and then the mournful, dying part of her soul to dwell forever in the pit, while what remained, the part that would be born again, floated upward on golden wings. 

Her sprit ba left her mortal shell and spread its wings, flying through the small bright hole in the ceiling, leaving behind her swaddled human form, which lay on a bare wooden bench.

One, two, three strong surges of her fluttering wings and she flew toward the sun, free at last and feeling grateful to her husband for his generous gift. Her wings caught an updraft and she held them still, floating on the wind, the glorious waning sun warming her back.

Her spirit flew above white limestone cliffs and past a deep quarry littered with enormous blocks of carved stone. A sudden gust riffled through her feathers, forcing her to fly west, high above a barren valley.

But at last, her ba tired, circling downward, searching for the great river to lead her home. But no familiar white-washed city dwellings, no temple walls lay below. No fields of cotton and wheat.

Confused,  she made her way back to the dismal pit. Not wanting to enter, she flitted around the opening, feeling weary and afraid. Something dark awaited her. Some horror in the shadows.

And then she spotted the man with the dark watchful gaze, standing beneath the opening, his arms outspread to catch her…

Her heart pounded against her chest, the sound intruding on the vision. Khepri’s eyes slammed open.

Freedom was only a dream, a memory. How long had she been sleeping?

Slowly, Khepri grew more aware of her surroundings. Pressure enveloped her from head to toes. Frayed edges of linen strips surrounded her eyes. An ache centered in her head made her want to gasp, but when she tried to draw a deep breath, the constriction around her chest made the movement impossible. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. Her body, other than her head and chest, was numb.

Something was terribly wrong. Short, panicked breaths huffed in the silence.

She blinked, bright sunlight streaming through a hole in the rock ceiling above, blinding her, making her eyes tear. Unable to turn her head, she peered beneath the fringe of her dark lashes, through the openings left in the fabric, gazing upward. Her sight cleared slowly, but was filtered as though looking through the gauzy curtains that surrounded her bed in her tiny house inside the temple walls. But the haze obstructing her sight wasn’t merely physical. It was a thin curtain pulled over her mind. One placed there. Purposely, to confuse.

Her head reeled, not understanding, not recognizing where she lay.  The sickly-sweet scent of frankincense tickled her nose.

“Precious little warrior, you are awake.”

If she could have drawn a deep breath, she would have spit. Sudden fury trembled through her body. She didn’t understand what was happening, but knew he was the one to blame. She wanted to rage against him, ask how he dared abduct her. She was Amun’s wife, his mortal consort. But the only sound that scratched from her throat was a tiny whimper.

“You have questions,” he crooned from beside her. “We have little time. Pharaoh’s army marches. They will find us soon. We must bury the nameless one, hide him before they can entomb him. No one must ever find his body. He will not sleep in a sarcophagus. No texts will be written to reawaken him, no mask placed over his head so that he may recognize himself in the afterlife. He must not rise.”

Her lashes drifted downward. She remembered the moment the handsome, lying vizier stepped off the plank lowered from the side of the barge.

“Pharaoh is dead,” he’d said, his voice uninflected.

Her heart had grown still. The news was devastating to be sure, but why had he traveled so far from Luxor to tell her?

And then snippets of memories bombarded her mind.

Khepri moaned, spreading her lips and baring her teeth to catch the edges of the strips surrounding her mouth, but they were stiffened and wouldn’t give. Her eyes rounded in fear as she realized how dire was her predicament.

He bent closer, his dark eyes alight with sympathy. But then he moved away. Taking with him his masculine scent, musk she’d found attractive. The odor mocked her now.

Although she feared him, she wanted to cling to the sight of him. Didn’t want to feel so alone, so trapped and helpless. Perhaps she could reason with him. But he was insane. Would no one stop him?

Deep in her mouth, she gurgled, nearly choking on the tears that leaked from her eyes and burned the back of her throat. “Please,” she whispered. From a distance, she heard his footsteps. He drew nearer, holding in one hand a slender reed with one end frayed and trimmed to form a brush and dripping red paint, and in the other a palette, red pigment swirled. He leaned over her and made strokes on the coverings enclosing her chest, down her belly, splitting over her thighs and moving down to her toes.

“What are you doing?” she rasped, as some of the cool liquid seeped through to touch her skin.

“Painting spells, Khepri, Amun’s wife. Introducing you to Set, the protector of souls, entreating him to keep you close until you are needed. To hide you from Osiris so your soul will not be judged. Not yet.”

“Until I am needed? I am needed at the temple.”

He tsked and continued to paint, accompanied by the soft chuffing sounds of bristles rasping on resin-hardened fabric.

Her tears quickened, soaking her skin beneath the wrappings and leaking into her hair. “I am The God’s Wife. You have no right.”

He sighed and strode back into view. When he leaned over her, sympathy no longer shone in his eyes. A deep furrow dug between his sharp dark brows. “I need quiet to think,” he said, his words peppering her like hard pellets. He placed a hand over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air.

Panic made her gurgle, but she was unable to fight. She stared upward at his gleaming eyes until darkness closed over her vision.

* * * * *

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