No doubt we all remember our ‘first time’, the night or day or whatever when we lost our virginity, but what about when we first became aware of ourselves as sexual creatures? I’m not sure why that question recently occurred to me, but I have the answer.

I was a pre-adolescent, playing with my collection of plastic horses, cowboys, and Indians (yes, I’m that old) pretending my plastic human had caught a wild horse and was trying out various ways to restrain the horse. I tied up a leg, roped two legs together, placed a rope around its neck and tied the poor creature to a plastic section of fence. As I studied the mare or stud I became aware of a tingling sensation between my legs. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, I started rubbing myself there. The tingling increased, became more and more pleasurable. For as long as I remained interested in plastic horses and humans, I continued to encourage the feelings I didn’t understand. Of course I explored other ways of arousing the sensations, but ropes often factored in.

Fast forward about a million years and capture/bondage fantasies still turn me on. I’ve written other kinds of erotica but the majority revolve around some kind of restraint. My publisher Stormy Nights specializes in spanking stories. Even though spanking as a turn on puzzles me somewhat, I’m having a great time using that umbrella to engage my characters in sexual worlds. My heroines find themselves restrained while my heroes focus on enhancing the experience. Equality be damned in this fictional world. It’s all about power vs. helplessness.

I took that dynamic with me while writing my latest release Mastering His Pet. Here’s part of the first spanking scene. To explain, Tanner is a powerful Elite in a world I call The Society while Carra is a lowly Other. No question who’s in charge…

Mastering His Pet

“You want to run,” he said. “You’re like a wild animal that has spotted a trap and is trying to decide what to do.”

He hadn’t asked a question, which she took as proof he knew her much better than he should have. She had to be careful around him, not reveal too much, not show weakness.

But how?

“Maybe you’re wondering whether you can outrun me so I’ll answer. Despite my size, I’m fast on my feet.” He paused. “Call it one more weapon in my survival arsenal. If you let instinct get the best of you, I’ll overtake you. Once I catch you things will get even worse than they’re about to become. For one, I’ll make sure you stay where I decide you belong.”

He was still making statements, maybe not interested in hearing anything from her. Feeling as if she’d fallen into a place and space she hadn’t known existed, she kept her attention locked on him.

“I will correct your behavior. Make sure you never forget this vital lesson.”

It took everything she had in her not to assure him she understood, but she didn’t dare completely give into him. If she did he might take everything from her.

“Unfasten your shorts. Pull them down to your knees. Do the same to your panties, if you’re wearing any.”

“I am.” What did he think? That she dressed so she was always ready to fuck? She’d heard enough about military life to know some women hung around the troops. Most were whores looking to make enough to keep themselves fed, clothed, and sheltered. Her understanding was they made more money with their legs spread than they could otherwise.

Nothing could ever make her do that. Could it?

With a start she realized she’d let her mind drift. Somewhere between embarrassment and curiosity, she did as he’d ordered. She was going to be spanked, no way out of it.

Feeling if she’d separated from her body, she straightened. Her sleeveless top was so long it reached her navel, not that she could take comfort in the pitiful protection. She’d exposed her belly, pelvis area, and upper legs. Mostly her bare ass was there, ready for his hand.

“You should have worn long pants. You’ve got scratches, red marks, and indentations on your knees and shins from kneeling on the roof. Not a smart move on your part.”

He leaned back with his arms crossed, looking slightly bored. Maybe he’d spanked so many women he saw the task as nothing more than a chore. In contrast, she couldn’t think beyond the next few minutes.

“You know what you’re supposed to do. Get into place.”

She was just out of his reach, which meant she still had time to bolt, to—no, she couldn’t. Not sure what she was feeling, she positioned herself close to his legs and carefully lowered herself onto his lap. Her bare skin touched a single layer of denim, trapping heat between them. Her belly rested on thighs that felt as if they’d been carved from stone. Most concerning, the sensitive area between her belly and legs pressed against him. It felt good. Wonderful in fact.

Dizzy from having her head low, she ran her fingers over the rough ground. She closed her eyes, held her breath. This wasn’t happening but it was.

“You don’t have any marks here,” he said, his fingers light on her ass. “Considering your behavior, my cousins never corrected you?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled.

“You better not be lying. It’ll only get worse if you are.”

He’d threatened her. She should take it to heart, but how could she when his hand now rested on her backside as if he had every right, which he did.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“I’ll make that determination. You have an exquisite ass.” He rubbed it. Her head spun and her pussy tightened and twitched. “Knowing my cousins as I do, I’m well-aware of their mindset where women are concerned. Don’t try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I do.”

“That isn’t enough.” The pressure increased, not painful but impossible to ignore. Arousing. “Tell me, in detail, what takes place during their parties in the rooms without windows and with sound-deadening capabilities.”

“I’ve never been part of it.”

“They’ve never required your presence?”

“No.”

“If that’s the truth it constitutes a serious lack of judgment on their parts. An ass as delectable as this one should be put to use.”

“I’m more than an ass! You have no right saying—”

“Whether I do or don’t isn’t the issue. Might always wins.”

She was still processing his declaration when he slapped her. She jerked. A second blow immediately followed the first. Eyes squeezed closed, she tried to ready herself. Instead of continuing, he left her draped over him. He wasn’t done. She was sure of it.

“Do it!” She clamped a hand over her mouth then let her arm dangle again. What did staying quiet matter? She’d already angered him. “Get it over with.”

“All in good time, or should I say in my time. One way or the other you’re going to learn who is in charge.”

You are. If at all possible she’d keep from admitting that.

Her ass stung from the two sharp blows, the sensation sliding throughout her backside and going deep. She opened her eyes in an attempt to stop thinking about her pussy’s reaction. Weeds covered nearly every inch of the dirt she was looking at.

“Your life’s important.” He struck her a third time, this blow even more intense. “I will not have you treating it lightly. Being careless. If I have to keep you under control to keep you alive I’ll do it.”

“Under control?”

He closed his hands around her neck. “Restrained. Collared.”

Did you read my mind? “You wouldn’t.”

*~*~*

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07VJ97TS7/ref
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mastering-his-pet-vonna-harper/1132617789?
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/mastering-his-pet?

About the Author

What a ride my imagination has taken me on!

Freud, if he hadn’t been so hung up on his belief that only damaged people fantasize, might have tried to understand dom/submissive dynamics. Looks like he left that up to me and other like-minded writers. My most recent releases, Mastering His Pet, Predator’s Pet, His Purchase and His Filly are all spanking stories, but my erotica has covered everything from spanking to shape-shifting, from primitive tribes to science fiction. I honestly don’t know how many sexy stories I’ve had published. It’d probably scare me if I tried to count them. I also write tamer stuff under another name and try to keep the two far, far apart. My free time is spent as a servant to two rescue dogs, hanging out with family and mostly writer friends, and, sadly, selling the family’s mountain cabin. The less I say about this year’s garden the better.

Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com
https://www.amazon.com/Vonna-Harper/e/B00JAMWDCC/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1
VonnaWriter@gmail.com

These contest are still open! Enter while you can!

1. Diana Cosby: Hawks – Character Talisman (Contest) — Win a pair of Celtic earrings & a tote!
2. Scavenger Hunt! (Contest) — Win a $10 Amazon gift card! This one ends tonight!
3. Desiree Holt: Protecting Amy (Contest & Excerpt) — Win a FREE download!

*~*~*

Are you ready for Quincy?

This one’s coming September 24th!

Pre-order your copy here!

Meet Quincy and Tamara! Hope you enjoy the opening! ~DD

Located in Amity, Montana, the Suds & Saddlebags, or “S&S” for short, was your typical seedy biker bar. The popular dive smelled of sour beer, stale sweat, and motor oil. From the looks of the patrons, there were more firearms worn on hips or hidden under leather vests and jackets than likely sat in the local Army National Guard armory.

Quincy James hid his irritation that this stakeout was taking so long. He was finally here. In Amity. Near enough to whistle at the object of his frustration—the sexy proprietor of an unusual beauty shop, who by this point in time would likely flip him off rather than welcome him with open arms should he ever find the time to seek her out.

Shoulders slumping, he let out a deep breath.

Nearly a month had passed since he’d seen her. Her business card remained tucked inside his wallet. After they’d spent a very amorous afternoon trapped inside her doomsday-bunker-beauty-shop, he hadn’t called. At first, he’d reasoned he sucked at telephone courting and wanted to surprise her, in person, but after he’d spent ten days tracking a skip from south of Bozeman all the way through the Glacier National forest, and then being tapped to be part of teams hunting two more serious offenders, he knew he’d waited too long to even make an awkward as fuck call.

Tamara likely thought he was a bastard—a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy, but she’d be wrong. He’d had all the best intentions. When he’d had two minutes to fly down the aisles of a hardware store in Whitefish, he’d bought a knew door lock and deadbolt to take care of the problem that had trapped him inside Tamara’s beauty shop to begin with. The last thing he’d wanted was for the wrong person to find himself in that same tempting situation, someone who wouldn’t be quite as concerned as he’d been that the sexy things they’d done were welcomed and consensual.

The hardware was still in a paper bag beneath the front seat of his SUV—better than flowers, he’d thought at the time, but if he worked up the courage to face her wrath, he figured he’d better bring her at least a couple of dozen roses, too. Just to emphasize the fact he didn’t consider the gift she’d given him something he didn’t value. He did.

So much about their romantic encounter had stuck with him over the weeks since he’d left her behind after being freed from the locked bunker by his teammates. He remembered how soft she was—everywhere—from her fluffy pale blonde hair with its cotton-candy pink streak to the lush curves of her pocket-sized body, and her pink pouting lips. Good Lord, remembering those lips closing around his dick had left him sleepless and horny nearly every night since.

Damn, if they could just nail Tommy Walton’s ass quickly, he could be at her doorstep tonight. He wasn’t good with words, but he hoped if he came bearing gifts and she let him have just one kiss, she’d remember how good they were together, and then maybe she’d give him a chance to mutter through his litany of excuses for why he hadn’t so much as picked up a phone to call her.

He let out a deep breath. Hell, he didn’t deserve a second chance. A girl like her had to have plenty of more attentive suitors. Ones who didn’t disappear for weeks on end. Or who didn’t have dangerous jobs where they sat on their asses in smelly bars waiting for a dirtbag to show up.

“Goddamn, Winnie said Tommy always slips in here when it gets busy,” Hook groused from his table situated close to the entrance of the bar. “Safety in numbers, she said. He knows his crew will have his back if anything goes down.”

After all this time working with the Montana Bounty Hunters, Quincy still wasn’t used to hearing them in his ear. They used state-of-the-art devices, nearly impossible to detect because they were so small. He picked up his beer to hide his lips as he replied, “Some girlfriend, selling him out for a hundred.”

“Winnie’s got her eye on the club’s number two,” Hook said softly, “but Tommy keeps escaping arrest. She knows she’d be in deep shit if she sleeps around on him before he goes to jail.”

“Sounds like a sweetheart,” Dagger murmured, then, “Shit, think I’ve been made.”

Quincy leaned back in his chair next to the window overlooking the street outside and glanced around. Sure enough, two men at a table nearer the bar were staring at Dagger, leaning close together and whispering between themselves.

“The ballcap didn’t cut it,” Hook said.

Dagger was one of the breakout stars of the reality TV show, Bounty Hunters of the Northwest, which featured most of the hunters in MBH. Dagger was a standout due in most part to the fact he was “Bounty Hunter Barbie’s” man. Most times, he had to wear intricate disguises when he wanted to remain unnoticed, but they’d been in a hurry to hustle to the S&S after hearing from Winnie.

“Sucks to be famous,” Hook said then chuckled.

Dagger grunted. “Your turn in the spotlight’s comin’.”

“Maybe they just want an autograph,” Quincy said, his lips twitching. No way in hell would he ever sign up for that gig. He liked his privacy, thank you very much.

From the corner of his eye, Quincy saw one of the men stand then glance around. The biker tipped his goatee at the bald dude behind the bar then turned his gaze to Dagger.

Nearly every gaze in the place moved to his teammate. Quincy turned in his seat, pretending not to know what was going on, and casting his gaze over the suddenly silent crowd, hoping to guess the direction from which trouble was most likely to come.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Tommy Walton stepped out of the hallway that led to the back of the club. “Well, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Instantly, tables emptied as men pushed up from their seats to crowd around him. Read the rest of this entry »

Could he be the one to save her?

Check out my newest release, PROTECTING AMY, part of Susan Stoker’s Special Forces. Leave a comment for a chance to win either Protecting Maddie or Protecting Cassie.

Protecting Amy

She thought her past was firmly behind her…

Amy Ressler was a vivacious, outgoing person, looking forward to her first job after graduating college. Until the night her stepbrother slaughtered her entire family, and thought she was dead, too. For ten years she’d been living under an assumed name in a house in Tampa with security guards and a security system. Her agoraphobia keeps her a prisoner in the house where she designs sought after video games.

Quinn Molloy couldn’t seem to find a place for himself when he left the SEALS…

He had been part of the teams for eighteen years and suddenly an injury left him with no place to go, except to visit his friends Melody and Tex Keenan. Where they introduce him online to KitCat, Amy in her online disguise, a terrified woman who needs a bodyguard.

The killer is loose…

When Matthew Baker escapes from jail the hunt is on, led by the US Marshals. But with Amy helpless in her self-imposed prison, Quinn accepts the job as her personal bodyguard, and they discover that what starts online can explode In the bedroom. As long as he can keep her alive.

*****

Excerpt…

Amy Ressler woke with a start, sweating and shaking, throat parched and dry and tight with fear. She sat up in bed, clicked on the nightstand light. Her bedroom looked the same as it had when she’d gone to sleep. Nothing disturbed. Nothing different.

Then the images slammed into her, and she realized it was the dream again, the nightmare. As vividly as if they were all here in her room, she saw the bodies on the family room floor, including hers. Felt the burning pain of the stab wounds. Heard the insane sound of Matthew’s voice. Would it never go away?

Realizing she was shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself. Blinked to clear the scene from her brain.

God. Ten years, and the details were just as vivid in her mind, the fear still as intense and suffocating. At last, when her breathing had evened out, she tossed back the covers and climbed unsteadily out of bed. In the bathroom, she filled a glass of water and looked at herself in the mirror while she drank it. The face that looked back at her was pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t looked this bad since, well, since it happened.

It.

What a small, innocuous word to describe the worst moment of her life. One minute she was happy and enjoying life, excited about her college graduation and her interview for a dream job. The next she was living a nightmare and changing every aspect of her life just to be able to stay alive. Even after all these years the nightmares still came with regularity and still frightened her to death. Ten years!

Was this what the rest of her life would be like? Would it never stop?

Get it here: https://amzn.to/2KZwCZn

*****

Be sure to drop in at Desiree’s Darlings September 10 for the all day release party.
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About the Author

USA Today best-selling and award-winning author Desiree Holt writes everything from romantic suspense and paranormal to erotic, a genre in which she is the oldest living author. She has been referred to by USA Today as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance, and is a winner of the EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times and numerous other national and international publications.

Find Desiree here:
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Ever wonder what motivates an author? What are her/his deepest drives and passions when writing a romance novel? For me…

As a writer, I just can’t resist creating erotic romances that dance on the fringes of paranormal subgenres. Or, I’ll explain it this way by using the famous “Star Trek” opening phrase—”To boldly go where no man has gone before”.

To update that phrase: Where no heroine or hero has gone before.

I blame this ‘fringes’ proclivity on my ‘vivid’ imagination, and my longtime fascination with ‘outside the box’ topics such as UFOs, mysticism, various psychic subjects, the face on Mars, the secret space program, and of course, the antediluvian civilizations like Atlantis.

Although, at this point in time, these topics are going mainstream, even if it is still a slow ‘drip-drip-drip’ revealing to the public. However, the ‘fringes’ are always. expanding.

I also love experimenting, the challenge of stepping beyond where I’ve been before as an author. For example, I wrote a ‘first person’ scifi erotic romance, in both the heroine and hero’s voice. Once I rework this short story into a longer and richer version, I intend to Indie publish—that is, if the cosmic Trickster quits pummeling me with a whole series of bigtime problems.

Yeah, this summer has been absolutely unbelievable. In fact, the worst summer of my life, even with the overall enjoyable mild temps.

The reason I explain my authorly nature is to explain one of my unique heroines. Keina is a winged filly shapeshifter from another dimension. Her hero is an ex-super soldier. Drev has survived the brutal rigors of the black-ops world, finally finding a home in Wolf Peak Territory.

Yes, Keina and Drev’s erotic love story is set in my ‘on the fringe’ fictional world of Wolf Peak Territory, Montana. Mostly through writing flash scenes, since 2011, I have been worldbuilding—growing and evolving—this ‘hidden from the outside world’ shapeshifter-supernatural community.

Or as they like to say, the Peak is home to shapeshifters of all types and stripes, to supernaturals of every imaginable and unimaginable kind. Humans are included, of course. Smiles.

The policy in the Peak: if you’re on the GOOD side, you’re welcome. If not, you could potentially be torn to shreds with claw and fang, beak and talon. At all times, the territorial boundaries are patrolled by the numerous Guardian teams. There is also dragon-shifter aerial surveillance, and since Keina has wings, she joins in.

Indeed, Wolf Peak Territory is very multicultural and also an advanced, highly complex society that works for All. Dante, the alpha wolf shifter leader, will accept nothing less.

In closing, another aspect I bring to my erotic romance novels is a visionary blueprint for a more loving, powerful, and creative society. As a teenager, given some challenging experiences, I made a decision to ‘help’ bring about a better world, one where dreams come true for everyone.

Over the years, I’ve done my best to fulfill that promise to myself. I won’t comment on the current state of our world. However, in my romance novels I get to ‘make dreams come true’ for my heroines and heroes in their fictional worlds.

So, if you like dancing on the paranormal fringes as a reader. If you want to take a leap into the romance unknown—and if you enjoy lots of action scenes…well, I hope you’ll consider Keina and Drev’s love story.

Oh, and since Thanksgiving Day is around the corner, well, WAITING FOR A FILLY GIRL takes place during the Turkey Day celebration in the Peak—yes, pumpkin pie and whipped cream erotically included.

~~~~~~

Waiting For a Filly Girl

A ShapeShifter Seduction Erotic Romance Novel

Ex super-soldier boy meets winged filly girl.
Will they live happily ever after?
In Wolf Peak territory anything is possible.

A passion that cannot be denied…
A woman banished from her realm…
A man who will fight for love no matter the cost…

Drev Zander, ex super-soldier, built a new life in Wolf Peak Territory. His traumatic past is fading. On the Guardian Team, he battles sinister enemies threatening the shapeshifter community. After a mysterious Pegasus ruins his T-day plans, Drev finds the woman he’s been waiting for.

Will she rule his heart?

Keina Svonj, winged horse shifter, is banished from her realm—the dastardly Prince has convinced the King. Flying above the Montana forest, Keina interferes with a hunter. She mind-melds with him, and realizing her mistake, makes amends. Passion explodes between them. Love follows.

Will Drev save her from a forced marriage?

~~~~~~

EXCERPT:

How was she going make this right? How?

Still shaking, she hovered and slowly reached for him with her wing. Gathering her courage, Keina caressed his square jaw with the tips of her feathers.

When she knew he felt the stroke of her wingtip, Keina spoke to his mind. Even if the hunter didn’t hear her message, his heart would know the apology coming from her heart.

So she hoped.

Somehow, some way, she’d find a way to make his Thanksgiving celebration a good one. For him, and his family.

With resolve now ruling her, Keina gradually backed away. Since she needed to know, she searched his mind for the precise location of his home.

Bingo-bango, in seconds she had it memorized and mapped. The solitary cabin sat on a long slope of ground, amid Lodgepole Pines, Spruce, and elder Aspen trees.

Keina ascended fast. That is, after a last look at the man’s handsome face. Mmm, yes yum, his hunk-sexy stubble did quivery things to her.

There just had to be a suitable turkey available somewhere. She’d check every shop. And since she had the Pegasus wings—Keina smiled to herself—it wouldn’t take long to reach her temporary home on Earth, and start the search.

Strongly flapping, Keina streaked through the sky toward Billings, Montana, where she’d rented a small apartment, and pretended to be human.

Excerpts & Buy Links: http://shapeshifterseduction.blogspot.com/p/chapter-three-blue-sky-blues-ive-got.html

~~~~~~

About the Author

Savanna Kougar lives on the tame prairie in the Midwest, and enjoys a quiet lifestyle with her pets, and the wild critters. She pens love stories because that’s her deepest heart. She writes in the futuristic/fantasy/paranormal *and shapeshifter* subgenres because that’s her fiercest passion. And, she writes erotic romance because she ferociously enjoys ripping the damn doors off.

Currently, Savanna Kougar has fourteen published ebooks, with six in print. She is a bestselling author at Siren-Bookstrand. She is currently writing a ShapeShifter Seduction novel set in her fictional world, Wolf Peak Territory. And has lots of WIPs waiting their turn to be finished.

You can find her at:
Savanna Kougar ~savannakougar.com~
ShapeShifter Seduction ~shapeshifterseduction.blogspot.com~
Title Magic ~titlemagic.blogspot.com~

UPDATE: The winner is…Tamara Kasyan!
*~*~*

Growing up, my parents would often tout hardship and struggle as “building character” opportunities. At the time, their philosophy seemed self-serving and entirely unfair because 1) I was a teen and already knew everything so didn’t need character, 2) it was surely just an excuse to get me to do housework, and 3) they never said at what point I had accrued enough character… My life was just a series of opportunities.

Flash forward a few *cough*cough* years and, as a romance author, I’m still building character… but this time, it’s on the page, and without all the unfounded teen angst and attitude. However, the concept remains consistent in both writing and real life: greater suffering equals more character. I’m not talking the kind of character I built while cleaning the cat box the night I won a local scholarship pageant, even though the image of being up to my white satin elbow gloves in litter-crusted poop still sticks with me and is good for a chuckle. Nor am I talking about the character I automatically build by simply having tweenagers, even though that character is most often called gray hair.

I’m talking the kind of suffering we put our characters through before they get their happily ever after. Authors talk about making characters earn their HEA. When in doubt, make them suffer more. When the going gets tough, make it worse. If it’s clear sailing until the end, throw another road block at them. Kill off your [non-main-character] darlings. Not unlike those movie chase scenes where the pursued knocks over shelves and lamps and grandfather clocks… whatever they can get their hands on to stall or slow their pursuer. We authors try to slow the progression of our characters toward their happy ending. Because if their journey is too easy, they won’t appreciate the destination.

I’m sure my parents spouted something about better appreciating what was earned versus what was given, just as I’m sure I’ve said the same to my own tweenagers.

As an author, it’s crucial that my characters earn the end-prize, which in romance is… well… the romance. The emotionally satisfying and hopeful ending where the two (or more) characters are assured that for at least their immediate future they are safe and in the company of someone who loves them unconditionally. This is what we want: for our characters to have overcome the most overwhelming, insurmountable obstacles, so that when they finally fall into the arms of their loved one(s), they fully appreciate it because they’ve experienced first-hand how sh*tty their life could otherwise be.

Really, it’s also what we want for ourselves, but without all the overwhelming, insurmountable obstacles. Yet while it’s far more satisfying to read about fictional characters being wrung through the wringer for their HEA, doesn’t life imitate art? Don’t we as individuals better appreciate what or who we have when we personally experience how much our life would suck otherwise? Don’t we suffer and come out on the other side with more character?

So, in spite of my teenage eye-rolling at the concept, building character is a good thing, in both fiction and real life. Now, if only I could convince my tweenagers 😉

Contest

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Blood King: Revamping the Monarchy

Below is an excerpt from my third book, Blood King: Revamping the Monarchy. My hero, Rune, is an alien vampire king who begins the story dead. My heroine is a hair stylist on a getaway vacation. And it all goes downhill from there. 😉

In a blink, she was on her back, prone on the couch with Rune’s powerful body above hers, his hips wedged between her legs, pressing against her instantly throbbing core. She clutched his taut biceps, breathless from the swift change in position and the overwhelming heat of summer lightning which started where his erection pulsed against her clit and zapped along her nerves. He lowered his head to her neck, his hot breath like some snarling predator about to slake its hunger on its prey.

He was going to bite her. The moist warmth of his tongue trailed along the column of her neck. The slight scrape of fangs against the tender skin tickled and alarmed. Her skin prickled and her nipples tightened. She held her breath, her heart racing with an explosive combination of fear and arousal.

“You are so demanding, Kazandra.” His soft murmur vibrated straight to her core and he rocked his hips along the sensitive nub. A needy whimper escaped her lips.

“Should I drink from here?” He nibbled the space below her earlobe.

Kaz held her breath.

“Maybe I shall drink from here.” His fangs gently raked the chord where her neck met her shoulder.

She hissed in a breath, her heart galloping as if it could run away.

“No, from here would be best.” His mouth widened around the jugular, his fangs pressed against the thin bit of skin and muscle protecting the artery.
His body tensed for the attack.

Her body flinched.

Bloody hell, this was it.

Rune straightened to a stand in one fluid motion. His expression transformed from simply Rune to Vahsiil Lahdunae, powerful monarch of an entire species. A frown tugged at his lips and the earlier warmth in his eyes frosted over. His voice was similarly icy. “Please understand if I do not abide by your command, Kazandra. You are not ready to be a benefactor and I will not drink from you.”

Available in both ebook and print versions:
AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HDVRCKC
NOOK: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/ava+cuvay?
KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/blood-king-1

About Me

Ava Cuvay writes out of this world romance featuring sassy heroines, often-alien-but-always-sexy heroes, and an alcoholic beverage or two… Set in a galaxy far, far away. She resides in central Indiana with her own scruffy-looking nerfherder, kiddos who are growing up without her permission, and two kitties that make her laugh. She believes life is too short to bother with negative people, everything is better with Champagne, and Han Solo shot first. When not writing, Ava is thinking about writing. Or wine. And she’s always thinking about bacon.

website: http://www.avacuvay.com/
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Ava-Cuvay/e/B01E5OIZ0I/
Goodreads page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15051407.Ava_Cuvay
Facebook: https://facebook.com/AvaCuvayAuthor/
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We recently returned from a two-week road trip through some of our western states: South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, and Nebraska. Being a Midwest (Michigan) born and bred girl, those rugged places have always held a special appeal for me. I was also always a big fan of cowboys (well, the TV kind anyway) and so traveling through towns with names like Medicine Bow, Cody, and Buffalo, takes me back to the many TV westerns I used to watch as a kid. While driving through the mountains and canyons, I can just imagine those characters, as well as the ones I like to read and write about, riding their horses along those trails. While the modern West is certainly different from those long-ago days, much of it remains the same. The people with their fierce independence, the land with its rushing rivers, and the mountains with their amazing peaks reaching to the vast sky.

I have also always loved animals, and most especially horses. I’ve never been without some sort of animal companion, and for ten years owned (or was owned by!) a beautiful little Arabian named Cato. For the past 17 years, I have written a monthly column where I advocate for homeless pets and pet rescue. When I started to write my recent release, it seemed only natural to include animals in the story. It wasn’t hard to come up with their characters, because most of them are based on animals I have known and loved. But I thought long and hard about how I could include my love of the West in the book when it was set in my home state. Then I realized, my hero, Shane McBride, was returning from years of living out West, to the small town in Michigan where he’d first fallen in love, and where Allison Delaney still lives. He is surprised at what he finds.

In spite of a broken heart, Allison Delaney carved out a life for herself and her young daughter on her grandparents’ farm. Her child and the horses she rescues are all that matter. Then a sudden threat to their safety puts her back in touch with Shane McBride, the man she never thought to see again.

Returning to the small town of Silver Creek brings back a lot of memories for Shane, ones he treasures haunted by the ones that made him leave, but this time he is determined to stay and make things right.

Trusting Shane may be her only choice, but now Allison fears not only the threat against her farm but the risk of losing her heart again.

I had such a fun time writing this story, where I could include animals and places I have known. But mostly, I loved writing about a man and a woman who were once deeply in love, but who must now deal with not only their past but with the problems the present brings to them. They soon discover that healing their broken hearts may not be the most difficult thing they face.

Here is an excerpt from Will o’ the Wisp:

“The man who stepped from inside the truck was definitely not Doc. Tall, with shoulders stretching the faded fabric of his denim shirt and shiny black hair that glistened in the sunlight, he would have towered over Doc’s stocky figure. As he started toward the barn, she couldn’t see his face, but the easy swagger to his walk, the way he rolled his booted feet from heel to toe, spoke to her of things she thought she had forgotten. Had worked very hard to forget. Feelings she’d buried ten years ago. Uncomfortable, she dropped her gaze to her daughter who had come to stand next to Gypsy.

“Is he Doc’s helper, you think?” Lizzie scrunched her nose. “I don’t think I know him.”

Sudden awareness clutched Allison’s heart, giving it an extra beat, as if to prove the man walking toward her was still easy on the eyes but hard on the heart. He’d certainly been hard on hers.

*~*~*

Will o’ the Wisp, published by The Wild Rose Press.
Buy links:
Amazon https://tinyurl.com/y687pwdu
Barnes and Noble https://tinyurl.com/y4d8khde
Kobo https://tinyurl.com/yy5et299\

Is there any place special you like to travel to?
A setting you love to read about?

About the Author

I’ve been making up stories for as long as I can remember, starting with animal stories and graduating to an historical romance I wrote while in junior high school. In college, I took several creative writing classes, and when my children were small, I wrote and sold a number of short stories to Woman’s World magazine. Those stories are now included in the five anthologies on my Book Page.

I’ve been a member of Romance Writers of America and Mid-Michigan Romance Writers for over thirty years and have written articles for chapter newsletters. I’m also concerned with animal welfare issues, and I write a monthly column called “The Pet Corner”, where I advocate for homeless pets and local shelters and rescue groups. Some of those columns appear on my Zeke Chronicles blog.

My husband and I live in southwest Michigan, near the sunset coast of Lake Michigan, with our dogs; Ace, a silly Terrier mix, and Foo Foo, a crazy Pomeranian, and two kitties, Zombie and Sandwich.

We have two grown children and a number of granddogs. We love to travel, especially out West, where I’m always on the lookout for a new setting for my books.

My website: http://lucynaylorkubash.com
Author Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/LucyNaylorKubash/

If you’re a recent convert to my books, you might not know I write genres other than romantic suspense. One of my favorites to write is paranormal.

Today, I have a re-release of a book I wrote for Ellora’s Cave back in the day. I’ve done some revising, naturally. It’s a f/f romance, so it might not be your cup of tea. However, it is magickal, creepy, sexy—and set in New Orleans and in a voodoo purgatory. If you’re still not convinced you want to give it a try, it’s FREE for KU subscribers!

Plus, I have a new pre-order up! It’s the next story in the Beaux Rêve Coven series, which features my five witches living on a Louisiana bayou with so many demon beaus they’re tripping over them! Check it out below!

Enjoy the long weekend! ~DD

Mambo’s Door

A f/f paranormal novelette…

Ingrid Kassel is a fledgling witch, uncertain and not in complete control of her powers, especially after drinking a double-shot of vampire blood. Charged with retrieving an object buried with a daughter of the Voodoo Queen–she angers the spirit guarding the tomb and finds herself entering a shadowy limbo, where she meets beautiful Marie, living in fear of a demon who also desires the black magic candle infused with the powerful mambo’s blood.

In desperation, Marie tricks Ingrid, capturing her and seducing her to charge the candle for her own bid for freedom.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Mambo’s Door…

A drunk on the sidewalk bumped past Ingrid Kassel.

Instinctively, she turned her head and issued a hiss, baring teeth. Not that she had fangs to back up the warning, but her temper simmered at a slow, angry boil, and her reactions weren’t entirely her own. A single taste of blood had ignited a hunger for more, it seemed, and the loss of control pissed her off.

If this was what it felt like to be a vampire, it was a damn good thing she was a witch.

Ever since Magda, the coven’s priestess, had given her Elena Csintalan’s blood to drink to lend her strength for her quest, Ingrid had fought to retain a sense of self.

The moment the viscous fluid had slid down her throat the ground had swayed, shifting under her feet. Magda had urged her to drink more, her vivid eyes glinting with excitement.

With a dizzy shake of her head, Ingrid’s sight had changed—shadowy corners resolving into stark relief. Her sense of smell had refined so that, now, she could still detect the sour odor of cheap whiskey emanating from the skin of the drunk even though he’d shuffled around the corner. A feeling of invulnerability, of superhero strength, burned through her blood, hardening her muscles. She felt ready to test her newfound but temporary powers on the first person who looked at her crosswise.

And that just wasn’t her. Or if it was, she’d been really good at being a quiet, dutiful girl for so long that she’d convinced herself she wasn’t a grumpy badass.
Ingrid checked her watch and cursed. She was late. She’d stopped by her one-room apartment to dress in a long-sleeved black tee, dark jeans, and running shoes. She’d clipped her golden-brown hair into a messy bun and stuck a black ball cap on her head to cover it.

All so she could blend into the darkness. As if she were dressing up for a second-story job. Like Tom Cruise ready to zip down a wire.

Then she’d decided to pick up some supplies. The trip to the convenience store had taken longer than it should have because every drunk in the city had been in line to buy hooch for the night.

A nervous energy pushed her faster. She had to retrieve the relic, charge it, and then return to her coven before the magickal energy from the relic dissipated, because, then, the spell wouldn’t work. Why she in particular had been chosen for this task was a mystery, but there was a lot she didn’t understand about the murky underworld she’d entered a year ago.

Most of the time, she simply banked her irritation with things she didn’t comprehend and saved her questions, reminding herself that she was still a fledgling witch and the others expected her to learn the craft in measured layers.

However, even without the vampire booster shot she’d drunk, she wasn’t a patient person. Even though Magda and the other women who mentored her constantly hovered when she played with magick, she’d practiced in secret, honing her skills. They didn’t have a clue what she could do.

Which made the fact Magda had assigned her this mission even more mystifying.

“Bring me the mambo’s candle,” Magda had said, hands cupping Ingrid’s face so that their gazes locked for a long, terrifying moment.

Staring into Magda’s dark eyes, Ingrid had relived the moment when the Blood Countess had swept into The Absinthe House and whisked away four women—three vampires and Cassia, her coven sister.

Then more pictures clicked through her mind like an old-fashioned movie reel, of more of her sisters chained inside a dark, dungeon-like room with their eyes glowing, faces lax, while the Hell Bitch, Elizabeth Bathory, painted her skin with the blood of another victim. Of Bourbon Street in chaos while Bathory’s army of vampires tore through the district on a bloody rampage.

Why Magda had decided to show her those visions was another mystery she might never fathom. However, it had impressed upon her the importance of her task. The fate of the city rested on her shoulders.

Ingrid shook off the chill that crept down her spine. St. Louis Cemetery Number One loomed just ahead. Time to get serious.

She slung the plastic grocery bag over one shoulder and ran along the whitewashed, brick wall to the iron gate, which she scurried up hand-over-hand before swinging over the top of the iron rail at the entrance to the graveyard.

Power still surging through her veins, she nearly laughed when she landed. She crouched and gave a quick glance behind her to see if anyone had noticed, but those walking along Basin Street this late at night hadn’t seen the blur of her figure running beside the wall, much less her creepy, spider-like feat.

Her heart thrummed strong inside her chest. Her body felt powerful, her breaths came steadily, even though she’d had to rush. For the first time, she envied vampires.

Until she smacked her lips and once again tasted the metallic flavor of the blood she’d choked down.

Dumping out the contents of the bag, she raked through it until she found the box of colored chalk. She opened the package, discarding all but the purple piece, then knelt on the sidewalk and drew a crude purple heart with curlicues extending from the bottom point, a triangle beneath it, and bars across the top, middle and bottom that ended in crosses. Then she tossed away the chalk, closed her eyes, envisioning her goal, and prayed to the loa of the cemetery.

“Ma’man Brigit, goddess of this cemetery, please guide me to Marie Laveau’s crypt.”

She opened her eyes, stuffed the things she still needed into the bag, and lunged to her feet, running straight ahead, not waiting for an answer because she was well acquainted with this particular divinity. Ma’man Brigit admired confidence in a woman. Even more, her pride would be stroked that she’d been asked, rather than her husband, Baron Samedi, loa of the dead. And Ma’man didn’t like humans fumbling around her realm. Something Ingrid had learned in her secret studies of Voodoo, or Vodou, as practitioners called it.

Moonlight filtered down, striking the long rows of pale, above-ground crypts, illuminating their whitewashed and marble exteriors, some more than others.

“Thank you, Goddess,” Ingrid whispered as she dashed toward the brightest row. She turned, and one mottled, stucco crypt sat awash in moonlight, tall candles huddled against its base, coins sparkling on the ground, glittery Mardi Gras beads draped on sharp edges—all left by worshipers seeking advice or a special wish.

X marks marred the three-panel marble front of the crypt, a groundskeeper’s bane for sure, but she was about to add more. She knelt and dumped her sack atop the Glapion family marker—the supposed resting place of Marie Laveau and her daughters—picked up a candle scented with dragon’s blood, lit it and placed it in front of the door. Then she selected a red marker and drew three X’s on the crypt.

“Beautiful Madame Laveau, please open your door. I seek a talisman, one you entrusted to your daughter, Marie. Please grant my wish.”

She waited. Nothing happened. Sighing, she tried to think of something more “witchy”—and didn’t everything sound more magickal in Latin?

“Lanua aperta!”

Again, she paused. Then, irritated because nothing was happening, she leaned over the jumbled mess of coins, beads and candles and shoved at one of the stone panels. “Dammit, I asked nicely.”

A throaty chuckle sounded behind her. Ingrid scrambled around, still on her knees, to behold the full-bodied figure of a woman dressed in long robes, her shape nearly transparent but glowing, shimmering at the edges like the aurora borealis.

“Your curse ensures the mambo’s privacy, gal.”

Ingrid felt the voice rather than heard it, as though it emanated from inside her head instead of from the wispy lips of the apparition.

“Ma’man Brigit?” Ingrid asked. Although the loa had answered prayers before, this was the first time she’d seen her.

The woman nodded then drew closer, bending so her face was inches from Ingrid’s. “Hmmm… The night creature’s blood is mo’ hindrance here than help, I think, li’l witch. It makes you proud.”

Ingrid swallowed an instinctive bitchy vampire retort, then offered, “I need your help, Ma’man.”

“So direct. So rude.” The loa tsked. “This be my realm you entered, my help you be seekin’. What you bring fo’ me?”

New on Pre-order!

Harvest Moon
Beaux Rêve Coven, Book 4
Coming October 22nd!

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives.

Five witches… Too many demons to count…

Radha’s sister witches become concerned when her health begins to fail. Her sleep is never restful, but they are unable to pinpoint what is wrong. Khan, a jinn who’s been tasked to serve as her guardian, has watched her restless sleep and believes he knows the answer. Her dreams are haunted by a Mare set on draining life from the witch who imbues the fabrics she weaves with magick.

As much as ancient jinn Khan loathes the idea, he seeks an old enemy, a Vanir, whose magic allows him to enter Radha’s nightmares to slay the Mare, an enemy bent on taking advantage Radha’s vulnerability to make her his own.

Pre-order your copy here!