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Archive for 'witch'

Witches are coming!
Saturday, August 12th, 2017

I’m ready to write some more witches. Are you ready to read ’em? I had this little series started for Samhain before they closed their doors, and I never got a chance to finish it. I have the first two of five books written. So, if you haven’t already read them, you can start here—well, on September 14th, anyway! Read the opening of this story to get a flavor of my witches.

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 into trouble. Bryn’s a witch, and her coven is 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 is better to keep your enemies close…

Pre-order your copy here!

Read an excerpt from Once in a Blue Moon

Bryn Cavanaugh stirred the contents of a large black pot, breathing in the rich aromas scenting the air.

“With your blessings, come weal and bounty,

With our efforts, come fortunes plenty.”

The spell was short and to the point. She doubted the Powers That Be felt slighted. The Beaux Rêve women worked damn hard and never took their blessings for granted.

She dipped a spoon into the broth and tasted it, closing her eyes as she sampled the spicy mix. “Delicious.”

She turned off the flame beneath the large pot of shrimp gumbo she’d begun the night before. For now, it could steep in its fragrant roux. When she returned, she’d light the burner again to let it simmer slowly until it was ready for tonight when her sisters gathered for the evening meal. Satisfied, Bryn left her large, airy kitchen and headed toward the front door of the inn.

Cooking the large stew had been time-consuming. A task that had taken her mind off the trouble that was brewing. Today, the sisters faced enemies, and she was determined to remain calm, study their adversaries and determine their weaknesses while smothering the interlopers with kindness. Her totem was the rabbit, a symbol of abundance and comfort, and her element was the Earth. She would need to channel both to remain steadfast and calm.

She paused to rifle through the stones in the bowl beside the door. Some were polished and some raw crystals. She found her two favorites—a polished amethyst carved into a worry stone with a soft indentation for her finger to rub against when she grew agitated and a piece of raw witch’s amber. One for cleansing her spirit of stress and the other for deflecting negativity. These she’d also need this morning.

She put both in the pocket of her long flowing skirt and stepped off the porch, barefoot today, because she wanted nothing between herself and the Earth. Freshly cut grass tickled her insoles. She smiled, her first in days since news had arrived that outsiders were descending on them.

“Mornin’, Bryn.”

Looking to her right, she caught sight of Father Guidry watering his small garden beside his tiny clapboard church. She gave him a wave, her silver and beaded bracelets jangling on her arms, but didn’t stop to discuss his plantings. No doubt he’d say this year’s success was due to prayer. Oh, and he’d be right.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d snuck into his garden every night for weeks to pray to the Goddess for her favor. The elderly priest was a kind man, and he tolerated the sisters of the Beaux Rêve coven while continuing to hold out hope they’d see the error of their strange ways.

Tolerance was a blessing, and something the folks of Bonne Nuit, Louisiana, gave in abundance. Sure, they’d been suspicious of the women when they’d first arrived in their tiny hamlet. But the prosperity the women had brought—the jobs and self-sufficiency—had earned them, if not acceptance then at least a place in this isolated community. However, the isolation, something the coven considered their greatest blessing, was now threatened. Progress had arrived.

She stayed in the grass beside the sidewalk, skirting Main Street and walking toward the river where her sisters were gathered. But as she neared the canal, she found they’d been joined by gawkers. Nearly all of Bonne Nuit was there.

Radha and Darcy stood glaring at the gathering on the opposite bank while Aoife and Miren stared at the clouds above them.

“You’re blind,” Miren said. “It’s a scimitar. A reminder we aren’t without weapons for this battle.”

Aoife shook her head, a frown bisecting her pale brows. “It’s the Reaper’s scythe. We’re doomed.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read portents in clouds. All she had to do was look straight across the divide at the big machinery and the crew of strangers there to operate the earthmovers, crane and dump trucks to know they were in real trouble.

“I take it the injunction was lifted?” she asked the group.

Radha nodded. “Last night. I’m sure they paid a judge to do it in the dark of night. Demons do their best work in the dark.”

Bryn took her gloomy response with a grain of salt. The witches were ever vigilant of demons, but the more likely culprit was simply the state’s schedule for recovery from the last hurricane. The bridge that had connected Bonne Nuit to the rest of the world had been swept away three years ago. Something the town had taken in stride since it was a cyclical occurrence. This part of Jefferson Parish was prone to flooding. And Gus Hearn, a local with a Duck Dynasty beard and an old ferry boat, provided transport across the water when needed.

Gus’s boat was already docked on the opposite bank, and he was loading two vehicles, a green construction-company pickup and a delivery truck bringing supplies to Darcy’s crafters’ cottage.

“We can’t take this lying down,” Darcy said, shaking back her long red hair. “Tonight’s a blue moon.”

Bryn stiffened. “The last time we asked for intervention didn’t turn out so well. Remember, we asked for rain for our summer planting? We got a deluge that nearly wiped out the entire crop. Perhaps we should let things be. They’ll build their bridge, and the Goddess will send another storm.”

Darcy’s frown was fierce. “But strangers will walk amongst us. What if we’re found?”

“So far we’ve been lucky. Blessed,” she said, her tone even and filled with conviction. “But we knew this day would come. We’re stronger now. If demons find us, we’ll simply show them we’ve grown a backbone, and that we don’t need their counsel or their manly protection.”

Darcy shrugged, but her green eyes still flashed with fire. “I don’t think we’ll bring bad luck if we ask for intervention and cast a banishing spell. I vote we meet tonight.”

The others glanced around their circle and slowly raised their hands. Four to one.

Bryn sighed. They had no leader, no high priestess, so majority ruled—a policy they’d adopted the moment they’d fled upper Michigan.

Tonight, they’d meet under the blue moon.

And while she’d scoffed at Miren’s and Aoife’s attempts at aeromancy, she felt a little guilty withholding her own confusing portent that had invaded her dreams the night before. The cloud above them wasn’t shaped like a scimitar or a scythe. If her dream was right, it was a penis. The dream filtered through her mind again…

Moonlight gleamed through curtains. Large, callused hands stroked over her back and buttocks as the man in her bed waited while she sank slowly on his cock.

She’d felt the pressure inside her, smelled his earthy musk. But while moonlight illuminated his brawny frame, his face had remained in shadow.

She’d interpreted the sex as meaning that her privacy was about to be invaded. That she’d be tempted to set aside her vow to remain celibate and autonomous while she constructed a self-sufficient life.

But the intimacy of the dream could also mean she’d been alone long enough. The company of her sisters couldn’t fulfill her innate need as one connected to the circle of life, to Gaia the mother—the need to bear children. Children would ensure their future as a coven.

Perhaps the fact she’d been unable to see his face meant that any man might serve her need. When they’d fled their previous life, they’d foresworn true love because a witch could only know love once in her lifetime. A human male could provide his seed, but only a demon could hold her heart. The danger of mating with a demon, of becoming enslaved to his desires, was too dangerous to her freedom.

Reaching into her pocket to rub the amethyst, she concentrated on her blessings—on her sisters and this quiet place, on all the bounty they had brought to the community with their works. Her finger warmed the stone, and it began to vibrate, sending warmth up her arm and through her shoulder before spreading down into chest.

Calm again, she squared her shoulders and stared across the water at the ferry bringing the first wave of strangers. Perhaps she’d been too quick to paint their arrival as something black and ominous. She’d wait and see. And tonight, when her small coven drew down the moon, she’d offer a small prayer to the Goddess for a sign.

Kryssie Fortune: Four Herbs Every Witch Needs
Friday, June 9th, 2017


When distilled, a few drops of lavender oil on a pillow aid sleep. Her lavender oil scented candles also sell well. Sometimes Viola uses it to make flavoring sachets, but it also sells well when distilled and marketed as an insect repellant.

Even the fiercest warriors love a rub down with lavender oil. It eases the pain from their aching muscles. Afterwards though, they’re not very keen on the girly smell.


Mint tea is almost everyone’s favorite. Just steep a few mint leaves in boiling water and strain. Not only is the infusion a natural decongestant, but it’s good for the digestion. Best of all, it tastes good.


An infusion of rosemary gives dark hair a wonderful shine. It improves the memory and helps combat muscle pain.


Saffron helps asthma sufferers and loosens phlegm. It also boosts the body’s immune system.

Even Tempest, heroine of Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf, grows these. Sadly, her magic isn’t the greatest and something always goes wrong. Like the time she summoned an ancient Spartan Vampire, or the time her demon death spell tickled her attackers. If her vampire and her werewolf hadn’t joined forces to defeat them, she’d have been real trouble. Such a shame they hate each other.


Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

After seven centuries, Elias, a former Spartan turned vampire, finds his eternal bride.

Seth, Elias’s werewolf half-brother, scents his mate.

Vampire and werewolf loathe each other. The only thing they agree on is that Tempest is their mate–and they’re not sharing.

A prophecy will force Tempest, a twenty-first-century witch, to choose between them. As the half-brothers vie to win her heart, they teach her about spanking, the way pain heightens pleasure, and the joy of multiple orgasms.

A vampire can’t survive without his fated bride. A werewolf dies if he loses his mate. Their future rests in Tempest’s hands. Which one will she choose?

  • Note: While loosely linked to the Scattered Siblingsseries, this book may be read as a standalone story

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About Kryssie

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.

Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life – or Kryssie – throws at them.

Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand-alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.

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Excerpt from Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

Accepting his offer of coffee had been stupid. She knew that now. Eyes closed, she tried to picture Elias. Major fail. Her confused emotions showed Seth cradling her in his arms. She shouldn’t lust after him, not with Elias waiting for her at home.

Seth’s delicious scent—all fast-flowing rivers overlaid with the scent of ripening corn—pulled her in like a lure. His solid muscles made her want to run her hand down his torso. She loved his dimpled smile and kept stealing glances at his tempting lips. Part of her wanted to taste him right back. Damn it, I’m not a sleep-around kind of girl. With Seth, her wicked intentions punched a hole in her good-girl persona.

Determined to resist him, she shoved at his shoulder. Undeterred, he lowered his head toward hers. She ran her tongue over her lips and puckered up for him. Surely one kiss—one tiny taste—won’t hurt. Leaning toward him, she buried her hands in his curls and tugged him closer. He smiled as he moved in for his kiss, a butterfly caress that whetted her appetite and made her greedy for more. Kissing Seth seemed sensual and abandoned, a taste of forbidden fruit she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to, really. One gentle sweep of his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, inviting him into the damp heat of her mouth. Another moan escaped her, soft, low, and desperate. She needed him inside her, screwing her hard.

Pulling back, he cupped her cheek and gazed down at her face. His intensity, his need, and his determination to claim her showed in his eyes. She’d never felt so alive—and excluding last night—so desperate for sex.

As if in slow motion, he lowered his lips back to hers, plundering her mouth for kisses the way a pirate did treasure, and slid one arm beneath her thighs. He rose to his feet and sat her, legs open, on the table. She supported herself by putting her hands behind her as her legs dangled over the edge.

Seth shoved her skirt up her thighs, stood between her legs, and untied the bow on her blouse. The unadulterated joy in his gaze made her think of a little boy unwrapping a long-awaited Christmas present.

Thank the Goddess I’m wearing my raciest bra and panties. Her pulse rate rocketed as Seth kissed his way down her neck and ran his tongue over her breasts. It felt raspy and rough over her skin.

A needy shiver ran down her spine as he slid her blouse from her shoulders and unfastened her bra. She sat with her skirt pulled over her thighs and her torso bared for Seth’s delight. Forgetting everything except the deliciously sinful man who held her with reverent intent, she curled her arms around his neck. He’d protected her in the parking garage, comforted her, and now his lips dominated her into sweet submission. Head spinning, she clutched at his shoulders. Her pussy filled with her intimate juices, and her nipples stood like scarlet beads atop her generous breasts.

“More,” she gasped. “I need more. Make it hurt.”

Truly, Madly…Werely is here!
Tuesday, October 18th, 2016
Werely meme sm

Dear Readers and Friends,

Night Fall was such a fun series to write. Kooky, uber-sexy. But as the stories progressed, a growing darkness and feeling of dread began to seep in. When I wrote Truly, Madly…Werely, I knew fans would either scream at me or beg for more. Most begged, thank goodness.

Now that I own the series, I can continue it the way I want to. This is the last of the re-edited stories. When I give you another Night Fall story, it will be new material. If you hadn’t read the series in its previous incarnation, you won’t care. It’s all new to you, right?

As for TMW, be warned. There’s a scene of non-con sex and another with some ff petting. The sex and violence are graphic. But this is the story that played in my mind. There wasn’t another way to tell it. And in the end, Quentin and Darcy are back together. Changed, yes, but together for the next adventure.


Truly, Madly…Werely

TrulyMadlyWerely 600

For love, a man will do anything, even betray his beloved to save her…

Vampire Quentin Albermarle’s wife, Darcy, lies in a coma after being savaged by a werewolf. Fearing she might never awaken, or worse, that she will return a maddened beast, Quentin returns to the Cayman Islands seeking help from the one woman who might be able to save her.

A century and a half ago, this powerful vampire and witch seduced Quentin with magic and turned him into a vampire to provide herself a mate, but he freed himself from her spell and fled her influence, knowing he’d left behind a powerful enemy. Returning now, seeking Kamaria’s help, he must resist her attempts to enslave him again. However, the price she demands may cause him to lose the woman he loves.

Get your copy here!

If you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber, you can pick up a copy for free!

Read an excerpt from Truly, Madly…Werely below!


Just in time for Halloween!

ZombieLove 600

This one may be short, but it packs a punch. Everyone who’s read it tells me it makes them cry… ~DD

A woman desperate to save her infected boyfriend from certain extermination faces her battle alone, in secret, until one day she has to trust he’s still inside the monster she feeds…

Get your copy here!


Read an excerpt from Truly, Madly…Werely!

After being bitten by a werewolf and then her husband, who is a vampire, Darcy drifts toward death…

Darcy sat on the bench in the middle of the dark field again. The man with the golden helmet was gone. She should have been glad that he’d finally left her alone, but she wasn’t. Before he’d come, she’d been content to drift—through the dark, airless night, in her thoughts—floating like a feather without the heavy burden of worries or fear, but he’d awakened something inside her.

His body had been beautiful despite the bloody tears cut deep into his skin. His smell had been familiar and comforting even though the musk of sex and tang of urine had clung to him. His pain had been palpable. And she’d felt drawn to him to provide comfort.

Which had really pissed her off, because she hadn’t wanted to care—not about her beautiful stranger or about herself. But here she was, unable to let go and simply drift, because she wanted to wait for his return.

Restless though she was and longing for his company, another force pulled at her, anchoring her to this open field.

The moon, overlarge and dominating the inky sky, rose high above the dark tangled branches of the trees surrounding the clearing. The silvery light it cast warmed her skin like a noonday sun but exerted a strange and magnetic draw. Her skin began to itch, her restless body felt infused with hectic energy. She left her seat and began to pace.

A faint howl rent the quiet, coming from deep inside the forest. And she knew what it was. From somewhere deep inside her, she found the image of a wolf, sleek-bodied and powerful. The image caused a shiver to crawl up her spine, followed by a restless yearning to seek out the creature. Which confused her.

Had she known wolves before or was the knowledge of their nature born inside her? She shook her head. It wasn’t important how she knew, just that she resist the call.

Instinctively, she knew that following the sound, surrendering to the allure of the night and the moon, would change her forever, and she wasn’t ready to move on. The beautiful man might return, and she would miss him.

So she drew deep, calming breaths, sat again on the cool marble seat, and closed her mind to the call that grew insistently louder and closer. If she didn’t respond, if she didn’t enter the woods, she would be all right. Soon, her helmeted companion would return for her. She knew that as surely as she knew only horror awaited her if she heeded the wolf’s call.

Angela Addams: The Dark War (Contest)
Wednesday, May 18th, 2016

I’ve got a new series starting with The Dark War and it’s about witches!

I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of mythical witches. Like the ones who have magic abilities, can sometimes fly, and are powerful supernaturals in their own right. In fact, if I had to choose what type of supernatural creature I’d like to be, it would be a witch. And I’d use my powers for mostly good…probably…I mean, come one…magic powers…

In honor of my newest release I thought I’d list some of my favorite witchy things, in no particular order.

  • Practical Magic is one of the best witch movies EVER! I have probably watched it a million times. Give me a quote, any quote from the movie and I can tell you when it happened and who said it. What I love about this movie is not only the idea of a witch family that sticks together but also that it confronts issues of discrimination and originality. Great messages, great cast, powerful women. Love it. In fact, I think I should go watch it right now…
  • Witch tattoos…I have a few, but my favorite one is my Wicked Witch of the West because I got it for my son. He loves the Wicked Witch of the West and he has watched The Wizard of Oz so many times that he can recite all of her lines as well as reenact her parts. He’s five now but he’s been doing this for years. I just had to get a tattoo for him.
  • The Witching Hour by Anne Rice is one of the first witch books I read (not counting the childhood books I adored like The Good Little Witch). Rice creates a family of witches with a rich history in a house that I hope one day I’ll get to see, one that she used to own in the Garden District. It’s a hefty book but so worth the read.
  • Salem, Massachusetts is an awesome place to travel to. I went there when I was pregnant with my daughter and fell in love with the atmosphere. Everything caters to the witch history and Halloween and there’s a ghostly charm that you just won’t find anywhere else. Even the police badges have a witch flying on a broomstick!
  • American Horror Story -Coven is another great viewing experience. It’s dark, disturbing and the storytelling is awesome. Anything that depicts women in powerful roles intrigues me and this is a series that I’ve watched a few times already.

Of course there are many more examples I could list but then things would get a bit crazy here. If you’re like me and you find the supernatural witch intriguing and you’re interested in seeing a powerful woman kick some serious ass then you’ll like The Dark War.

I’m giving away a $20 Amazon GC – enter the rafflecopter for your chance to win! 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Dark War


As the darkness rises, magic is their only defense—if it doesn’t end the world.

The Dark War, Book 1

Witch. Hunter. Traitor. Kali Richards’s solitary life’s work is to hunt the evildoers of her own kind and bring them to justice. She’s poised to catch her latest bounty when she realizes her quarry is a witch-vampire hybrid with a taste for blood—Kali’s blood.

She’s lost quite a lot of it when Wyatt, the ex who still owns the pieces of her shattered heart, comes to her rescue. Eight years apart hasn’t cooled her anger over their breakup. Neither has it cooled the desire still steaming between them.

As Wyatt heals her wounds, he brings disturbing news: Kali’s mother has awakened from a years-long coma with a prophecy on her lips. A Dark War is coming that will pit supernatural against human. Kali is the key to stopping it.

Except Kali isn’t what you’d call adept at spellcasting. Like it or not, she needs a lot of help. From Wyatt, and from the organization that she turned her back on once before—the Witch Hunter’s Union. Even with an army at her back, she’s in for one hell of a ride…

Warning: May contain a stubborn little kick-ass witch, a wickedly sexy ex-boyfriend and a whole lot of hybrid trouble

About the Author

aafb pic2Every day is Halloween for author Angela Addams. Enthralled by the paranormal at an early age, Angela spends most of her time thinking up new story ideas that involve supernatural creatures in everyday situations. She has also been known to dabble in dark thrillers. She believes that the written word is an amazing tool for crafting the most erotic of scenarios.

She is an avid tattoo collector, a total book hoarder and loves anything covered in chocolate…except for bugs.

She lives in Ontario, Canada in an old, creaky house, with her husband and children.

Twitter: @angelaaddams

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Lord Grim’s Witch is out! (Contest)
Tuesday, September 8th, 2015

Who loves a good knight in shining armor tale? Or maybe an overlord who’s domineering, who has a friend who’s a bit of a smartass? What sort of woman would attract them both? I “heart” Gisele big-time! She’s tart, smart and lusty.

Well, this is my latest “new-old” story—one I recently got back the rights for. I gave it a polish and my sister made a pretty cover for me, and here it is. I hope you enjoy this peak inside…

And if you answer this question, you will be entered to win a free download of one of these Night Fall stories: Sm{B}itten; Truly, Madly…Deadly; or Knight in Transition.

Are you a fan of medieval tales? Are they something
you’d like to see more of from me?


Gisele, “The Witch of Grimoult”, has ended a long vow of celibacy, taken to ensure her independence from any man. Her new lover, Tibor the sheriff, isn’t any real threat because his reputation assures her he won’t be a possessive man. He’s lusty and charming, but the last thing he wants is to saddle himself with one woman.

When a wolf threatens her livelihood, she seeks aid from the new “Lord Grim”, never anticipating his price will be a night in his bed. What’s a woman to do? Lord Grim’s possessive stare and fierce loving make her crave his mastery of her body. But then, the wolf injures the sheriff, Gisele and Lord Grim pull together to save him from becoming a monster.

Purchase here

Excerpt from Lord Grim’s Witch:

Gisele had heard the new Lord Grimoult was a mountain of a man, strong and courageous in battle and wise as Solomon in his judgments. Which was exactly why she’d come—for protection and justice.

What she hadn’t heard was that he could leave a woman trembling and damp with one searing glance.

The moment his gaze lifted from the scroll spread over the table in front of him, she forgot how to breathe. When the room began to teeter, she drew a deep breath to steady herself and stepped over the threshold into his chamber, all the while scolding herself sternly for the lapse.

What was one devilishly handsome man?

He was flanked at the oak table by another sinfully attractive specimen—one she’d easily resisted a second time after their late-night tryst. She’d sent the sheriff on his way after the wolf had already done its damage.

Just as dark, just as well made, the sheriff had never sent her belly into quivers or caused her nipples to sprout against her gown just from a look.

Perhaps it was the power Lord “Grim” embodied—his will ruled everyone within this demesne, including her. Certainly, her arousal had nothing to do with the thick, black hair that fell in heavy coils to his muscled shoulders. Her interest couldn’t be piqued by the moustache and beard framing a lush mouth any woman would envy. The dark brows casting deep shadows over eyes as black as a moonless sky at midnight weren’t the cause of her fluttering heartbeat or the sinking feeling that quickly swamped her with unwanted reminders she’d remained celibate for far too long. One night with the handsome sheriff hadn’t quenched her need.

She was nervous—that was all. And perhaps primed for arousal by her wicked romp the previous night.

Hopefully, it was just the lure of the unknown. When she learned the new master’s true nature, he would be as easily dismissed from her thoughts as every man she’d ever encountered, including the sheriff.

But she must find his faults and quickly. If she could happen upon the one that would render his appeal null, she’d fare better in the long run. The sheriff had drawn her eye when he’d first taken up his duty—he was handsome and dark like she preferred. Yet she’d catalogued his physical and character flaws to firm her resistance against his beauty. His hair wasn’t a deep, dark chestnut—it was closer to the color of the mud beneath her sheep trough. His eyes weren’t as green as spring grass—they were more like the sludgy moss that grew at the bottom of her well bucket. And she’d cleaned it thoroughly to remove the ugly sludge—just as she had her attraction to the sheriff—after she’d satisfied her carnal curiosity.

Ballocks! The sheriff had caught her staring and no doubt noted her scowl. His sly smile deepened, and he sat back in his chair as though waiting for the entertainment to begin.

Did he think he knew her well enough to surmise her attraction to their overlord?

Gisele stepped deeper into the lord’s chamber just as his steward bent to whisper in his ear.

Again, Lord Grim’s glance sliced through her, and the room began to spin—or were her knees wobbling? Whichever was true, she drew another deep breath and cursed the fact this was the man she’d come to beg a boon. He was too large, too imposing—and far too handsome for her not to stare and stutter in his presence. Even seated, with only his upper body visible, she knew his height and breadth would dwarf her slender frame. And she preferred large men.

“The witch, sire,” the steward said, his lip curling in distaste. “She insisted on speaking with you. Egbert was afraid to deny her entrance lest she curse him with pox. I tried to dissuade her, but she was quite insistent.”

She chafed at the idiot’s derision. Like so many in the demesne, she was welcomed only when her cures were needed. At all other times, she was reviled—even feared. Yet the new lord’s expression held only curiosity as his gaze slipped from her face to her breasts and lower.

Gisele unclenched her hands, which were buried in the folds of her gown and forced them to relax at her sides. She did her best to ignore the heat that singed every place his gaze touched and tried to remember the chill autumn wind that had cut through her gown on the trek here.

Growing more nervous by the moment, she wanted to say her piece and be gone. His lordship would grant her request—or not. The sooner she quit this place the better. She’d never felt so unlike herself as she did standing there, waiting on this man’s indulgence.

“Come forward, mistress,” Lord Grim said, with an impatient wave.

His voice was a smooth, deep rumble that seduced the hairs on her arms and neck to lift, as easily as he must seduce the servant girls to raise their skirts.

She approached him, pride keeping her steps purposeful and her back straight as a post. Thank goodness the state of her stomach wasn’t as visible. The closer she drew to his dark, intense stare, the deeper the shivers that crept down her spine. She tightened her thighs to stem the moisture gathering between her legs.

She curled her hands tighter to prevent reaching up to smooth back her wild hair. So he’d see what a mess it always was—it was but one flaw among many. The preeminent one being her station in this small keep. She was already deemed a hag due to her talent with herbs and the gift that flowed from her hands.

His gaze rose to her face, unwavering, discomposing. Her steps faltered as she drew to a halt, but luckily her long skirts hid the misstep. At the last moment, she curtsied, bowing her head in deference.

“You’ve come with a petition?”

“I have, milord,” she said, cursing the breathless quality of her voice, but she really couldn’t help it. He must be accustomed to women swooning so her slight betrayal of composure should be unnoticeable.

Except the corners of his perfect mouth crimped upward. “Would you like to take a seat?”

Her eyes widened. Sit in his presence? At his table? Even the steward looked askance at his overlord. Did he think her clumsy due to infirmity? She drew a deep breath pulling her affront around her like a cloak. Damnation, but he wasn’t going to make a fool of her. “Thank you, no, sire. I prefer to stand.”

“Your petition,” he reminded her.

Caught for a moment staring into his black eyes, she blurted, “Yes. Um, I’ve come on a grave matter, milord.” Then she frantically searched her mind for her purpose. Good lord, he’d addled her brain.

He sighed. “Take your time.”

“Wolves,” she sputtered, blushing. “A wolf damaged my sheep pen and frightened them into injuring themselves in their enclosure. One is dead. No doubt the sheriff has already told you about the attack.”

The sheriff and his lordship shared a glance then turned back to her, no hint of their thoughts in their shuttered expressions.

“You said wolves?” Lord Grim asked, his voice so calm it piqued her interest.

“I saw only one wolf, sire.” Never would she admit she’d misspoken due to her unease.

His head canted as though the answer to her question held his entire focus. “And you’re certain there’s only one?”

“I saw only one. I don’t know whether there are others.”

“A lone rogue,” the sheriff murmured.

Lord Grim shrugged, giving away nothing of his thoughts. “Perhaps.”

Gisele grew impatient with the questioning. They didn’t appear ready to act quickly. “I demand you do something about it,” she said, more forcefully than she’d intended. “And I would like recompense for my loss.”


Her chin rose, and despite the fact she knew she must seem anything but deferent to his rank, she stared him straight in the eye. “As you serve your overlord and expect his protection and support in return, so do I serve you and expect the same. Your man,” she said, nodding toward the sheriff, “was keeping watch last night when the sheep was killed.”

“Yes, Tibor was keeping watch, wasn’t he?” the lord said, giving the sheriff a narrowed glance while his fingers drummed the table.

“She refuses to move inside the bailey until we’ve taken care of the problem, milord,” the steward said, sniffing. “I say, she takes her own chances.”

“I’d like to get back to the matter of service,” came the sheriff’s sly murmur.

Ashlyn Chase: Writers Be Crazy (Contest)
Wednesday, May 7th, 2014

Some people may not know that I was an RN in the psychiatric field for many years. I found it fascinating, mostly because we’re still learning so much about the mind, personality, and behavior of human beings. Now toss into the mix a creative brain and you have something really interesting.

Someone once told me, “You don’t think like other people.” She was a fellow writer and didn’t mean it as an insult. She meant it to help me…and it did.

Writer Juliet Bruce, PhD paraphrased creativity researcher Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi best when speaking of creative people. “Instead of being an individual, they are a multitude.

“Like the color white that includes all colors, they tend to bring together the entire range of human possibilities within themselves. Creativity allows for paradox, light, shadow, inconsistency, even chaos – and creative people experience both extremes with equal intensity.”

I think she meant to say the color ‘black’ since white is the absence of color and black is what you get when you mix all colors together. Oh well…I went to Mass College of Art, so you can blame it on them.

Here are a few qualities he lists, as Bruce summarizes and I identify:

  1. A great deal of physical energy alternating with a great need for quiet and rest. (*Check)
  2. Highly sexual, yet often celibate, especially when working. (*Check with husband.)
  3. Smart and naïve at the same time. A mix of wisdom and childishness. Emotional immaturity along with the deepest insights. (*Um…yup. Double check.)
  4. Convergent (rational, left brain, sound judgment) and divergent (intuitive, right brain, visionary) thinking…(*What left brain? The only sound judgment I demonstrate is letting other people take care of the rational stuff.)
  5. Both extroverted and introverted, needing people and solitude equally. (*Check—especially at writers conferences.)
  6. Humble and proud, both painfully self-doubting and wildly self-confident. (*More about this later.)
  7. May defy gender stereotypes, and are likely to have not only the strengths of their own gender but those of the other as well. A kind of psychic androgyny. (*?)

For more, see Bruce’s post “Understanding Creative People” – and Csikszentmihalyi’s classic book Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention, plus his article “The Creative Personality: Ten paradoxical traits of the creative personality.”

It’s that intensity (passion) that can get us writers into trouble, in my opinion. Speaking of painful self-doubt…John Lennon had huge issues with self-esteem. Even during the height of Beetle Mania, he thought he was a fraud.

I vacillate wildly, just as mentioned—especially after reading a review. Horrible thoughts go through my mind if a review is a bit negative. Everything from “What’s the matter with that broad? Can’t she recognize my brilliance?” To, “Oh, God. I’ve been found out. I suck. I’m a hack, and now everyone knows it.” For self-preservation, I no longer read consumer reviews. They seem to be the harshest and my assistant would have to talk me off a ledge.

But when I receive a fan letter (okay, these days it’s an email) I realize I’m doing what I was meant to do. I’ve entertained someone. (Yay!) Even so, I have a hard time using the word ‘fan.’ I have readers. When someone calls themselves a fan of my work, I’m flattered and humbled. When they call themselves a fan of me, my mind goes a little numb. No—they can’t mean that. They don’t know me.

Or do they? How much of who we are goes into our books?

Thomas Wolfe said, “Every novel is an autobiography.” (*Gulp.)

Even though I’ve never met a vampire or werewolf, I have the type of creative imagination that makes them very real. They live in my head. They speak to me and all I do is take dictation. (Talk about crazy!) If they are real to me, they become real to my readers—and apparently that is happening. I received an angry letter because my heroine was “selfish” when she let her true love give up his immortality for her.

Something to note is that I had a different ending to that story—one that the reader would have loved. An editor made me change it, and all I can think now is, “Why did I let myself be pushed around like that? I suck.”

Well, dear reader, I apologize! I shall try to be true to myself and my characters in the future. I’ve always thought of myself as a “girly-girl,” but I can fight like a man if I have to. (That must be where androgyny comes in.) If an editor again tries to force me to compromise part of my story that makes sense, I will drag said editor into the middle of Times Square and…

No. I really won’t. But I’ll be more assertive. I promise.

Here’s where a lot of creative writers (including romance authors) are showing their testosterone levels. We’re taking charge. We’re self-publishing our books. And we’re doing it our way.

Many are just dumping their agents and publishers and have decided to handle the business as well as the creative parts of publishing. The big benefit of this is keeping a much higher percentage of the profits. Even among these authors, the smart ones will hire artists and editing professionals to make a good product better—and then keep the rest.

Some authors (like me) are becoming ‘Hybrids.’ We continue to work with professional publishers and agents for some books, but we self-publish other projects on the side. The self-published books are called ‘Indies.’ My first Indie is The Cupcake Coven (release date May 5, 2014.) Here’s a quick promo:


Pretty Wiccan Rebecca Colby borrowed money from her father to start her bakery, and now he’s calling the loan due. When she learns he fell off the gambling wagon and owes big money to some scary people, she has to start making a profit—quickly—and hope the loan shark takes payment plans before anyone has an “accident.”

Hot cowboy Dru Tanner is looking for his missing sister who left Texas to explore their New England Wiccan roots. She’s the only family he has left and losing her is not an option. Dru has to hide the fact that he’s not Wiccan long enough to infiltrate a Portsmouth, NH coven, which is the only lead he has.

Dru needs a job and a place to stay. Rebecca needs cheap help, and he’s willing to work for nothing. Perhaps he can pick her brain about Wicca and she can learn how to run a business from a ranch foreman—if lust doesn’t drive them crazy first.

Log line– *This was written by Dorine Linnen of Romance Junkies, but it’s better than the one I wrote. LOL

“Entertainment abounds when a coven of witches whip up a few spells to help their friend hold onto her bakery while losing her heart.  Can a long distance romance work between a cowboy and a baker if they believe in magic?” 

I hope you’ll give my crazy brain a chance to entertain you.

The Cupcake Coven should be available at all e-tailers (like Amazon and Barnes and for only $2.99.

Print copies cost a little more, but you can have your library get one. Every sale will help me continue this insane path I’m on. I want to thank my blog host Delilah, and thank you for your support and encouragement.

Here’s a picture of a bracelet I made and will give to one commenter on Delilah’s blog! I know she makes beautiful jewelry too, but just like writing, our styles vary.



Biography of Ashlyn Chase

Ashlyn Chase describes herself as an Almond Joy bar.  A little nutty, a little flaky, but basically sweet, wanting only to give her readers a satisfying experience.

She holds a degree in behavioral sciences, worked as a psychiatric RN for several years and spent a few more years working for the American Red Cross.  She credits her sense of humor to her former careers since comedy helped preserve whatever was left of her sanity.  She is a multi-published, award-winning author of humorous erotic and paranormal romances, represented by the Seymour Agency.

She lives in beautiful New Hampshire with her true-life hero husband who looks like Hugh Jackman with a salt and pepper dye job, and they’re owned by a spoiled brat cat.

Where there’s fire, there’s Ash
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