Popping in just to say—Woot! WMR is out! I’m on to the next project before I can circle back and think about what happens next in the series. I kinda know now, but I’m letting it stew. There will be fairies!
I hope you love this story! One reader has already said: “It is full of surprises. Very sweet, very sexy and very mysterious.”
Wolf Moon Rising
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…
Aoife is the flightiest of the sister witches, and she has a secret, one her mother warned her to keep close to her heart. Her father was a fairy—which explains her quirkiness and her affinity for flowers. She lives in a cabin on stilts that juts into the bayou, and one of her demon guardians is a werewolf. She’s attracted, but how would he feel if he married her, fathered a child, and that child disappeared into the land of the fae? Desperate to find a solution to her dilemma, she flees her guardian’s protection. Her last hope is to enlist her father’s help. Plead her case. Her happiness, and that of her one true love, Sigurd, depends on whether she can escape this fairy curse.
For Sigurd, acting as guardian to the witch, Aoife, was both a blessing and curse. A blessing, because he’d never known anyone as innocent and pure, and a woman who truly didn’t know her own allure. A curse, because he had to guard her against his own lustful nature.
And again, he was thankful two other demons were assigned the protection detail, because more than anything, he wanted her kept safe. However, he was equally annoyed at having two competitors for her affection.
Of course, many more among the demons living around Bonne Nuit aspired to hear the “echo” of their bonding with a witch. Such a bonding brought power to the lucky demon—and demons were greedy about that sort of thing. They frequented Aoife’s small cabin poised on long stilts above the bayou on the flimsiest of excuses. One needed a fragrant oil to help him sleep. Another needed a healing balm to soothe a bruise. And they were constantly underfoot in her garden and her workshop, interfering more than helping—at least, to his mind.
However, Aoife appeared blissfully unaware of the males’ attempts at garnering her exclusive attention. Her radiant smile flashed indiscriminately upon her pursuers, never mind their unsuitability as possible mates. And despite the fact they’d done nothing to earn the right to call her wife.
Unlike Sigurd, who suffered her proximity and who stood ready to serve her in any way she pleased. Who quietly stood guard over her while she slept, losing his sleep and his pride because she slumbered so soundly, completely unaware of his constant state of arousal.
Sigurd wasn’t naturally a patient man, but he had withstood the torture of being close day in and out for seven months. He was nearing his breaking point. If something didn’t happen soon, he would press their leader, Ethan, to ask his pretty wife for help. Bryn liked him well enough, always turning to give him a wink when “family” dinners took place, and one of Aoife’s admirers fought for the privilege of sitting at her side. Sigurd preferred to sit across from her at the table anyway—the better to glower at his competition. And perhaps raise a lip in a menacing snarl.
Bryn seemed to be in his corner. Perhaps she would be eager to see her sister witch settled. If something didn’t change soon, he’d speak with her.
On this evening, Sigurd wore his wolfskin and lay curled on the wooden floor beside Aoife’s bed. Just before she’d begun softly snoring, she’d reached down and scratched behind his ears. Probably not an act she was even aware of doing. She was kind to all creatures and seemed especially fond of his wolf form, sometimes taking a brush to his fur or giving him a bath in the large metal tub on the porch. He lived for those moments.
He shook his head in disgust. What a sorry excuse for a wolf he was. Wolves weren’t pets. They were pack animals who needed to belong to a family and a mate. A male needed to dominate his bitch, but he didn’t think Aoife would ever agree to be his bitch.
However, the thought did stretch his wolf’s mouth into a feral grin. He laid his head atop his paws and settled with a disgruntled whine.
Minutes passed, and he was nearly drifting off to sleep when the bed creaked and feet softly lowered to the floor. He perked his ears and pushed up to peer over the mattress, just in time to see Aoife slip through her bedroom door.
He followed, freezing when her steps paused, ducking behind corners when she glanced around. Something was afoot, and his hackles rose when she reached for her cloak and a small bag from the hook beside the front door.
Was she meeting a lover? Or were the witches gathering in secret? Somehow, he doubted the latter because Bryn was very pregnant and couldn’t slide gracefully from Ethan’s bed. And Miren would have to escape three mates, and that could never happen. Which reminded him, where the hell were the other two guards?
When Aoife opened the door and crept outside, closing it behind her, he drew up short. He hadn’t considered how he would exit the house, so he quickly shook free of his wolfskin and strode onto the porch. His glance went to the steps at the side of the porch, but then a sound, a soft splash, pulled his gaze to the canal flowing past her porch. She’d taken a boat. The fact she was already on the water meant she’d been in a hurry.
What the fuck?
Footsteps sounded from inside the house. A door creaked open then slammed shut. So much for stealth. Hamdir, also a wolf, walked to his side, scratching his chest. “Where’s the witch? I was sleeping on the couch. Thought you were watching her.”
“I was.” I watched her escape. “Go back to bed. I have this handled.”
“Sure about that?” Hamdir yawned. “Don’t know how you aren’t dead on your feet. You really ought to let us have turns inside her bedroom.” His large hand patted Sigurd’s shoulder. “Driving to New Orleans in the mornin’, or I’d join you on this hunt,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
His gaze followed Hamdir as he stepped back inside. Their group had grown complacent since Ethan defeated the council’s champion in battle and no retribution had been settled upon their unbanded group. Most presumed the mere presence of so many demons, concentrated in their small town, was deterrent enough to rogue demons seeking to steal a witch for a mate.
Sigurd was reminded he’d have to enlist another guard from among the bachelor demons during Hamdir’s absence.
A cool wind wafted against his skin, raising chill bumps. Early Winter in the bayou was mild, but he couldn’t easily follow Aoife on foot.
Instead, Sigurd shifted again and fell to his paws. With a single quick yelp, he leapt past the stairs to the bank. Lifting his nose to the breeze, he followed Aoife’s delicious witch’s scent through the murky, shadowed bayou. If he startled a gator, the bastard better move out of his way.
I really appreciate Delilah letting me appropriate her blog for today, so let’s see if I can entertain y’all.
As you can see by the y’all, I’m from Texas. Born in Houston, raised all over. And by all over, I do mean all over. Norway, Egypt, Dubai, Honduras… Daddy was an engineer who designed offshore o’l rigs. Yes, o’l. It’s cute how some people actually pronounce that silent i in the middle. *gg*
I married the Air Force just to stay on the move, and I must say, it’s worked out pretty well. 23 years later, we’re still married, and we’re pretending to have settled down in the Midwest. Just for a little while.
Along the way, I’ve picked up a lot of odd ideas and ways of looking at the world. One of those ideas is actually something I remember from living in Norway. I’ve never enjoyed the cold, but Scandinavians seem to pull it off with style. They embrace not just the wintry weather outside, but the full coziness of life when they come in from the snow and ice.
In Denmark, there’s a specific word for it: “hygge.” Not higguh, not hoogah, but heugeh (sort of like a yew sound). However you say it, the concept of hygge is basically…coziness.
Turn off the glaring LED Christmas lights. Instead, light a fire and some candles. Wear your favorite cozy sweater, or pull a soft blanket over your lap. Close up the Kindle and read a paper book in your favorite chair, with a cup of real hot chocolate by your side.
That’s hyggelig.
It’s also hyggelig to go out and meet with friends at a cafe where the phones stay in everyone’s purses and pockets. To go out for a hike in the snowy woods, then come back for a little mulled cider and a board game.
Hygge is those moments of peace and contentment found both in your own company, and in the convivial company of friends and family.
It’s a Currier and Ives post card. It’s a Dickens happy ending. And it takes a little work to set up, but when you can finally sink into that comfort, it’s worth it.
Have a happy and hyggelig holiday!
And in the spirit of holiday reading, I should also mention that I was very happy to be able to participate in an anthology that just came out called MERRY & BRIGHT. Nine new stories that are set in the Nocturne Falls Universe, you’ll be charmed by these sweet, fun shorts that are just right for reading while you wait for your cocoa to cool.
My entry, Magic’s Frost…
Lonely werewolf Dima Samarin looks forward to watching his favorite winter elf every morning at the Hallowed Bean. He rescues her unfinished novel from the perils of spilled cocoa, and becomes her hero.
Elin Bergstrom’s day job is at Santa’s Workshop, but she secretly writes sci-fi novels on the side. She accepts Dima’s invitation to the Christmas Ball, but when their date gets derailed by a drug deal gone bad, this elf isn’t about to stay on her shelf.
Sometimes a werewolf can use a little helpful frost magic to win the day, and save their date.
Love a rugged, no-nonsense guy who falls for the last creature on earth that he ought to? Do you love a fight with the Big Bad and some off-the-charts sexiness? Big Bad Wolf is here!
Big Bad Wolf
Big Bad Wolf Night Fall, Book 13 Coming November 9th!
Ginnie Martin is a badass. She was born that way one horror-filled night. Forged in blood—her own and her family’s—all were ravaged by savage beasts. Her vampire savior recruited her to fight with his small army against the creatures responsible for her devastating loss. But now, he’s asking too damn much. He wants her to open her home to new allies who, until only recently, were their fiercest foes. Wolves.
Calum Fletcher already bristles against providing muscle to a vampire force. Content living in his remote mountain cabin, he’s never been much for mixing with other wolves, much less making nice with vampires. He was already having a hard time dealing, but the woman letting him bunk in her home wears an even larger chip on her shoulder. Quickly, his new favorite sport is goading her into losing her temper—because everyone knows a vampire’s bloodlust leads to very sexy places…
At some point, the numerous releases will slow down. I’ll reach the end of the stories my publishers returned to me, and you’ll be stuck with only new stories to read. Will you be sad? I know some of you are more recent recruits to my stories, so the oldies I refurb and repub are “brand new” to you, like this week’s Under a Blood Moon. Thanks to everyone who purchased it! Hope you love it, because I’m writing three brand new stories to complete that series! But here’s what else is coming soon!
Coming November 2nd! The Cowboy and The Widow Texas Cowboys, Book 2
Maggie McDermott doesn’t know the first thing about horses, but Daniel Tynan is more than willing to show her the ropes. His gentle ways melt her heart, and his sensual passion burns away her inhibitions. Daniel takes the time to love her right.
Coming November 9th! Big Bad Wolf Night Fall, Book 13
Ginnie Martin is a badass. She was born that way. Forged in blood—her own and her family’s. The vampire who saved her recruited her to fight with his small army against the creature responsible for her losing everything. But now, Viper’s asking too damn much. He wants her to open her home to new allies who, until only recently, were their fiercest foes. Wolves.
Calum Fletcher already bristles over providing muscle to a vampire force. Content living in his remote cabin on Dark Mountain, he’s never been much for mixing with other wolves, much less making nice with vampires. He thought he was having a hard time dealing, but the woman letting him bunk in her home wears an even larger chip on her shoulder. Quickly, his new favorite sport is goading her into losing her temper—because everyone knows a vampire’s bloodlust leads to some very sexy places…
Coming November 14th! Reaper Montana Bounty Hunters, Book 1
“As a general rule, Reaper didn’t like working with a partner, especially female partners. When working a warrant, he preferred to keep his head down and follow the leads. He didn’t like the “chatter” that usually accompanied working with a woman.
However, partnering with Jamie Burke had taught him a few things. There were women who could focus on the job at hand without letting silly distractions get in the way of his concentration. Jamie was one of those rare creatures who didn’t gossip, didn’t get into his business, and could actually be useful when shit went sideways and they had to get physical. Her methods of subduing a target weren’t ones he’d ever employ, but she knew how to compensate for her smaller frame and lesser strength. Over the months since their boss, Fetch Winter, had put them together, Reaper had come to admire the woman’s grit and ingenuity.
Case in point was their present predicament…”
See what happens when Reaper has to deal with a ride-along author who, when shit goes sideways, proves his first female partner’s “grit and ingenuity” weren’t just lucky happenstance, and who challenges Reaper’s relationship rules…
Coming December 12th! Wolf Moon Rising Beaux Rêve Coven, Book 3
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…
Aoife is the most flighty of the sister witches, and she has a secret, one her mother told her to keep close to her heart. Her father was a fairy. Which explains her quirkiness and her affinity for flowers and butterflies. She lives in a cabin on stilts that juts into the bayou, and one of her demon guardians is a werewolf. She’s attracted, but how would he feel if he married her, fathered a child, and that child disappeared into the land of the fae. Plus, she’s being stalked by her ex-fiance, a skin-walker, who has infiltrated the demons protecting the witches. If he can’t trick her into choosing him as a mate, he will take her.
I’ve always loved reading books with magical worlds, especially when those worlds exist inside our own. So, when I sat down to create my Beaux Rêve Coven series, I combined all the things I love…magic, the Louisiana bayou, alpha heroes, clever witches, and great sex. 🙂
Once in a Blue Moon comes out this Thursday from Amazon, so be sure to get a copy. The story will be available in Kindle Unlimited for only three months, then it will be available at all the usual places. Read the sexy excerpt below…
Once in a Blue Moon
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…
Bryn Cavanaugh and her coven like that the community they live in is isolated thanks to a storm that destroyed the bridge between them and the outside world. Now the state wants the bridge rebuilt. When the construction crew checks into the inn, Bryn begins to suspect something about the crew’s boss isn’t quite…human.
Bridges are Ethan Thorne’s thing—after all, he’s a troll—so building a simple span over a remote canal in backwater Louisiana shouldn’t be this much of a problem. When he follows the pretty little innkeeper to a midnight rendezvous, he discovers why his crew keeps running in to trouble. Bryn and her coven are casting spells in the moonlight.
As a troll, Ethan feels the sting of his low place in demon hierarchy. But finding an unprotected coven of witches in the middle of the bayou could lead to all sorts of adventure. And it’s better to keep your enemies close…
(Here, the heroine still thinks the hero is human. This is not the hottest scene…)
The kitchen door whooshed inward, and she glanced back. “I can handle the dishes on my o—”
Ethan stood behind her. “Let me dry.”
She didn’t want him to dry. She wanted him to make her very, very wet. She swallowed hard and faced forward. “Towels are in the drawer beside the stove.”
He walked closer and bent to reach beyond her into the drawer. His proximity wasn’t necessary, but her body wasn’t complaining. Her breasts felt suddenly fuller, her hips looser. Fingers touched the small of her back, and then he moved beside her and began to empty the rack.
“Dinner was terrific.”
She’d made shepherd’s pie with a fluffy crust, fresh bread rolls, and grilled string beans topped with sprinkles of crisp bacon.
“You don’t have to go to so much effort.”
“Cooking’s not a chore.”
“You love it,” he said, smiling.
“I do.”
“Well, I appreciate the results.”
“You’re welcome.”
She rolled her eyes at her stilted responses. Still, he loved her cooking. Warmth filled her chest. “You don’t have to help me with the dishes. You put in a full day’s work.”
“I prefer the company in here.”
She glanced to her side, gave him a small smile, and then finished the last of the cutlery. “These can air-dry.”
He set aside his towel and moved behind her, bringing his hands down on the edge of the counter, trapping her between his thick, muscled arms. His warm breath stirred the hair beside her ear. “Town’s small. Where does a guy take a girl if he wants a little privacy?”
To her bedroom, but she guessed that would seem a little too forward. “He might ask her to walk in the garden,” she said softly. “There’s a gazebo in the back…”
He nuzzled his nose through her hair, skimmed his lips over her neck, and she couldn’t resist tilting her head to allow him a little more access to her bare skin.
“Come with me.”
Not a request. Not that she minded at all. She was eager to be alone with him. She let him take her hand and pull her toward the kitchen door. They slipped out onto the porch, and he let her lead him with their fingers intertwined past the raised-bed herb garden, past tall beanstalks and sweet corn. She led him to the trellised gate, overhung with hyacinth. “It’s not much farther,” she said, glancing back.
His expression was closed, his dark eyes shadowed. But she wasn’t afraid. He tightened his hand around her fingers. He was growing tense. Just like she was—from anticipation.
Excitement quivered through her. Every sense was alert. Just the air brushing her bare arms and legs felt erotic. The scent of honeysuckle and roses teased her nose. The sound of his heavy tread thudded like her heartbeat. Just ahead, the latticed sides of the gazebo were like silver interwoven bones in the moonlight.
Beautiful. Frightening as well, because there in the darkness they cloaked awaited the possibility of intimacies shared—with this man who had managed to consume her thoughts from the first moment his glance had landed on her. Just yesterday. How could that be?
Already, when they weren’t together, she was obsessed with thoughts of him. When he was near, her body awoke. Her breasts ached for his touch. Her sex throbbed with building heat. She was constantly wet. Constantly ready. If he wanted her this night, she wasn’t going to refuse. Her body was too painfully aroused to ignore.
They entered the structure, and he tugged her to a halt. She stood facing away, trying to catch her breath. But her breathing was so shallow she was nearly panting.
He let go of her hand and settled both of his at her waist. His grip was light but insistent, and he pressed against her back. His chest was a brick wall. And below, she felt the nudge of a long, hard column against her buttocks.
Silently, he was warning her. This was what he wanted. She could refuse, ease away from the pressure, and he would accede, perhaps giving her kisses and caresses through her clothing. Nothing more than she was willing to accept at this moment.
But she was greedy. She wanted everything he had to give, and she wanted it now. Lifting her hand, she shifted her hair from her neck. “The zipper’s right there,” she whispered.
She heard a loud swallow and was glad he showed a little surprise. Was he as nervous as she was? It had been so long since she’d been intimate with a man. Nearly five years. And then she’d been in Merrick’s thrall. His to switch on and off like a light bulb when he needed release or a spell.
Ethan’s hands left her waist. Tucking his fingers under the neckline of her dress, he slowly lowered her zipper, and then pushed her dress downward until it puddled at her feet.
She stepped out of it and moved it away with a toe. Now she stood, still facing away, in just her lacy panties and bra.
Within seconds, he unhooked her bra and dragged it off her arms. Her nipples puckered instantly in the night air. He smoothed her panties down, kneeling behind her, his cheek against her ass as he waited for her to step out of her underwear. There was no way he could miss the scent of her arousal.
He slid upward, gliding his body against hers and holding still for a moment before stepping away. The shuffling sounds of clothing being dragged off made her smile, because he was hurrying. His belt clanging on the wood floor was the final sound before he reached around her to cup her breasts. His bare cock pushed impudently against her backside.
“I apologize for the rush,” he said, a lovely growling texture to his deep voice.
“Apologize only if you make me wait.”
His laugh was short, pained. “Then I’m sorry. I don’t want to take you on the hard floor.”
She pointed to the seats tucked against the latticed walls. “The cushions,” she said, her own voice lowering, sounding foreign it was so husky.
He stepped around her, his head bent downward, concealing his expression as he grabbed cushions and arranged them on the floor. When he’d made a bed for them, he stood behind her again. “Let me do this my way.”
His way meant she would be on hands and knees. His callused palms urged her downward, arranging her knees, sinking the center of her back to tilt her bottom upward.
She didn’t mind that he treated her like a doll, that he took charge, his body blanketing hers as he set the width of her hands just so. He was warm and hard and surrounding her. His cock glided on the backs of her thighs, nudged her buttocks, and slid along her wet folds.
And his cock was huge. A blunt instrument. Rock solid as the rest of him.
When he was satisfied, he moved away. Her head bowed toward the floor. She hoped he’d take her. Sink his many inches inside her. However, the first flick of his tongue against her folds sent an electrical charge through her.
She must have been wound too tight. Nearly on the verge of orgasm for it to affect her so. She steeled herself against the pleasure, not wanting to disappoint him by leaving him in the dust.
He teased her with more flicks to her outer folds. Then he suckled there, drawing her inside his mouth for gentle nibbles. His whiskers raked her sex and inner thighs.
Not that she minded the abrasion. He could scour her skin off so long as he found her center. Which he did, dipping his tongue inside her and swirling. A deep groan vibrated against her sex.
When he pulled away again, she whimpered. She didn’t need foreplay, she needed the main event. But the nips he gave her fleshy ass made her jerk, escalating her sensitivity to his every touch.
Fingers parted her then swirled around her entrance. They eased her open, stretched her, one finger added at a time until she was beyond full. He spent so much time preparing her for his girth, she began to wonder if she’d underestimated just as how large he was.
The moment he prodded her with the blunt knob of his cock, she knew. He spread her folds and pressed against her, apparently gripping himself to circle her entrance and ease himself inside with precision and insistent pressure.
She’d dreamed about the way it would feel. Now, pleasure was edged with worry that he wouldn’t fit. But she was wet, and more liquid seeped from inside her to coat his heavy cock. At last, he breached her entrance.
She sagged, her arms already shaking. Her body was too tight, too excited for her to slow her heart or reactions. “Ethan,” she whimpered.
The pressure relented. He held still. “Am I hurting you?” His voice sounded as though he were grinding rocks between his teeth.
“Yes,” she hissed, but she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted the pressure and the pain. “More, please.”
His laugh was choked. He gripped the notches of her hips to hold her immobile and worked himself inside in shallow, pulsing waves, in and out, deeper and deeper—until Goddess, he was touching her womb.
She felt a pinch deep inside her. A quiver of core-deep delight. This could be the moment. If only he didn’t realize he’d taken her unprotected and pulled free at the last.
Bryn sank her chest against the cushions and reached far beneath her, past his cock, to his balls. She gripped them, massaging them, sending out a flash of witch’s heat.
“Fuck, Bryn. Don’t…” He dug his fingers hard into her fleshy hips, pulled back, and then slammed forward.
She released his balls, certain he wouldn’t stop until she’d achieved her goal. She’d unleashed his passion.
His hips moved faster, his cock cramming deeply, whipping back and shoving forward again. The sheer fullness made her want to shout. Her back arched, and she pushed backward, trying to break his hold, but he began to move her, bringing her back as he thrust, pushing her away as he withdrew. He hammered her. Jostled her. Roughly, so deliciously, she was on the verge of exploding.
And then he began to move his hands on her skin. He reached up one hand to grab her hair and force her back to arch more, gliding another on her skin, raising gooseflesh. Her hair was lifting and prickling on the back of her neck. Static charged the air, and her eyes widened.
She knew at last why he’d been so attractive, why she’d been inexorably drawn to him. Why she’d craved this union.
Demon! she screamed inside. But it was already too late. Heat swept through her, electricity crackled. Her core convulsed, her orgasm exploding outward, weakening her limbs, stealing her mind.
She slumped against the floor as he thrust twice more, and then his seed jetted inside her. His shout as he came was filled with triumph.
When at last he grew still, he released her.
She crawled forward on her hands and knees and rolled to stare up in horror as he braced his hands on his thighs and met her stare. Her heart thudded dully against her chest.
UPDATE The winners are…Katrina Whittaker, Gail Siuba, and Jana Leah!
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For those fans of the Night Fall series, here’s another tale—slightly removed from the timeline by a few centuries… You honestly don’t have to read any other story in the series to enjoy The First Knight. And isn’t that cover droolworthy?
The story is set back in Merry Old England, in a musty old castle. My heroine’s plucky and determined to trap her former betrothed in marriage, but he has brought back an “affliction”, which makes his lust a dangerous thing to tempt. And once the deed is done, another problem presents itself that only a naughty ménage can solve. Of course. Ahem. I do love my job. Enjoy! ~DD
The First Knight
While hiding her true identity, Maddie must seduce the mysterious Lord Garon to cement their marriage contract and ensure she won’t be returned into her lecherous stepfather’s care.
Fresh from Crusade in Palestine, Lord Garon has a secret he must hide, a hunger that must be fed, and a dark and uncertain future. Having shed himself of a fiancée he’d never met, he’s home to lick his wounds. The only thing he wants is a warm-blooded meal—but the new housekeeper is strangely insistent on giving him so much more.
Maddie’s seduction doesn’t progress without complications, but one secret from her own past might put an end to the love she nurtures for her dark, tempestuous lover.
To celebrate the release of The First Knight, I’m giving away copies of Night Fall stories, one each to three winners! All you have to do is answer two little questions!
Do you like ongoing series? How many sequels do you prefer?
And excerpt from The First Knight…
Maddie shivered at the creaks and groans the portcullis made as it slowly rose. The rain-laden wind carried the noises and filled the silences in between with a howling that sounded like the hounds from hell had arrived at the castle gate.
Shouts outside the curtain wall had alerted them only minutes before of Lord Garon d’Albermarle’s arrival. With only a bliaut covering her sleeping shift, Maddie stood on the first step of the keep, holding a tray with a goblet of wine, ready to offer a proper greeting to her overlord.
“Are you sure this is the way you wish to go about this, M-Maddie?” Egbert asked, fidgeting at her side.
She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth and nodded.
“It be on your head then,” he said, his always-mournful tone as dire as one of Father Ansel’s Sunday sermons. She sent thanks above that the cranky priest was away, or her deception wouldn’t last past the introductions.
The clatter of dozens of hooves on the cobbled bridge beyond the gate filled the castle yard with thunder. From the encroaching darkness, the sounds were as ominous as the dark shapes looming on the gatehouse walls. The torches she’d ordered lit sputtered and flared, distorting and elongating shapes, so the men riding through the entrance appeared as tall as giants.
Already tired and on edge because she hadn’t slept since a messenger had arrived, warning the castle of his lordship’s arrival days before, Maddie’s fevered imagination painted them darker and larger still.
“Be they devils?” Egbert asked, his narrow shoulders shaking. “No one travels on a night with nary a speck of light in the sky.”
“Hush!” The storm whipping at her clothing and the fatigue from months of worry over this very moment combined to make her hands shake and blackened an already foul mood.
The horsemen entered the bailey, and a large figure separated from the contingent who approached the keep. As he drew closer, her fears weren’t eased one whit. The warrior sat atop a huge black destrier, forcing her to raise her gaze quite high to seek his face.
He wore a helm that left only his square, stubbled jaw exposed. The darkness cast by the metal nose guard concealed his eyes. Only his mouth gave a hint of his mood—a thin, straight line with the corners crimped downward.
Under his stare, Maddie’s knees trembled, but her tray never rattled. She squared her shoulders and shot a glance about her at the castle folk. “Stephen!” she called to the stable master. “See to their horses.”
In moments, boys scrambled to accept reins, and the creak of leather and the clank of iron filled the air.
The stable master himself approached the dark warhorse at the foot of the steps, but the mounted warrior’s gaze never left Maddie.
She licked dry lips with an even drier tongue. “Lord Garon?” she asked, although there could be no question who led this contingent. All gazes remained on his intimidating figure. “Please come inside, milord. Your people will see to the comfort of your men.”
His mouth twisted. “And who will see to mine?”
Maddie’s heart leapt to the back of her throat. “I will, milord.”
A long pause indicated he looked her up and down. “And who might you be, madam?” he asked, his voice a deep, hollow rumble.
Maddie remembered to curtsy, and then straightened, girding herself to speak the lie aloud. “Your housekeeper. I take care of things now.” The latter, at least, was the truth.
Lord Garon grunted. Without a glance at the stable master, he tossed down his reins and dismounted.
When he turned toward her, Maggie’s breath caught. Lord, he’s a tall man. I thought it was just the horse.
Maddie lifted the ornate chalice from the tray to deliver her much-rehearsed welcome.
Instead, his lordship’s lips pressed into a tighter line, and he brushed past her.
She was left gasping on the bottom step. “What a rude ogre!” she exclaimed, annoyed he hadn’t fallen in line with the first step of her plan.
“Watch your tongue, madam,” an accompanying knight said tersely as he followed the lord up the steps. “He has exceptional hearing.”
“M-Maddie?” Egbert said, nodding toward the door.
She shoved the tray at his belly and grasped her skirts high to rush up the steps.
The plan had seemed so simple. All she needed was to get him alone and addle his sight with a little wine or ale, so he’d not care she wasn’t the comeliest creature in the keep. Then she would seduce him.
And the sooner, the better. The longer she took losing her virginity, the greater the risk he would discover her identity. The truth was, she would rather copulate with the devil himself than be returned home.
However, this business of copulation, which had seemed a simple, messy, perhaps even enjoyable act—according to the cook—now promised to be a daunting trial.
The lord of the keep had turned out to be a giant and as dour as a priest at confession. The thought of being naked with him and accepting his manstaff into her body frankly petrified her.
She rushed through the massive doors, hoping her preparations would meet with his approval. Nothing else could be allowed to mar her well-thought-out plan.
His lordship stood in the center of the hall, his hands fisted on his hips. Unlike his men, he wore no chain mail, only a leather hauberk to protect his body. He’d removed his headgear, revealing hair as black as midnight and a face as hard as carved granite.
He was everything she’d remembered and more—more frightening, more imposing—and more beautiful because of the differences. Thanks be to God, he hadn’t recognized her.
His gaze narrowed on the hall, and she looked around to see what might already have displeased him.
Around him, servants scurried, delivering warm food to the men-at-arms as boys eagerly divested them of their armor. If she hadn’t been observing him so closely, she might not have detected the change in his posture. He scarce seemed to notice the din of activity. His mouth lost a little firmness, his hands unclenched on his hips, and his chest rose and fell deeply.
In that instant, Maddie lost a measure of her fear. Here was a man savoring his first night home after a long absence. He had a heart and cared for something at least. Perhaps he wouldn’t be a complete troll when making her his wife.
Writers have been creating fictional towns for as long as stories have been told. Some readers want to know why. The reasons are fairly simple. An author can create the town or even world they need in order to tell their story. When you create a world, you are able to put in landmarks, homes, shops, and everything you need. When you use a real town or city, accuracy is important and can sometimes get in the way of the story.
Then it depends on the kind of book you’re writing. Not everyone looks kindly on having their small town used in a book, especially if it’s a murder mystery or horror novel or even a romance. It can get complicated unless it’s a big city. Then no one really cares all that much.
I’ve created two small towns in my years of writing. The first was Jamesville, a small town in Maine that was patterned after the place I was living at the time. I set seven contemporary stories there.
Then there is Salvation, North Carolina. I first created this town for Stefan’s Salvation. I figured, what better place for a vampire to find salvation than a place with that name. The woods and mountains of North Carolina were isolated and perfect for the setting, so I put my own fictional town there. I went on to use this same small town in my Salvation Pack werewolf series. The vampires have never met the werewolves. Not surprising since Stefan and Laurel Rose left their at the end of their story. 🙂
Stefan’s Salvation
Dalakis Passion, book 3
Laurel Rose McCaffey never minded being branded an outsider, even when it meant carving out a solitary life for herself in the wooded hills of North Carolina. Now resort developers want to take her land, and vicious locals who stand to benefit from the deal have begun making threats. When a dark stranger enters her life, first as a protector, then as a lover, Laurel Rose is both fascinated and frightened by his mysterious power and all-consuming sensuality. But as the threats escalate into outright violence and her world begins to spiral out of control, Laurel Rose turns to the only man she knows she can trust—Stefan Dalakis, a creature of the night.
Stefan has roamed the earth for centuries in search of his one true mate, and as he becomes ever more tormented by loneliness, his every impulse compels him to unleash the raging beast within. When he retreats to the countryside to avoid harming the human population, his travels take him to a small roadside bar in North Carolina, where an overheard conversation leads him directly to Laurel Rose—and a love so complete he will do anything to save her . . . and anything to possess her.
As Stefan finds blissful release from his anguish and Laurel Rose surrenders to her first sweet erotic taste of belonging and acceptance, they must still confront the danger that presses in from every side. And when their newfound happiness faces the ultimate peril, the two outcasts must form an unbreakable eternal bond and give themselves completely to the overwhelming passion and love that engulfs them.
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
