xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Kryssie Fortune: October 2015

Saturday, 31 October 2015


Not picked your costume yet?

Here's a tongue in the cheek guide for you

I come out as Heckate the Beautiful Siren.  How about you?

Thursday, 29 October 2015

Five Facts Thursday - please welcome Jacqueline Sinclair

Five facts:

1. I have an almost laughable fear of spiders. 

2. Every wreck I've ever been in, my sister has been driving. 

3. The vision I have of Margaret, the heroine in Renegade, is loosely based on how I remember my 
grandmother (without the sex!). Sweet, family oriented, but with a silent adventurous side. 

4. My dream car is a 1968 Camaro (that my sister won't be allowed to drive). 

5. I once attended a porcupine race. Yes, a porcupine race.


Margaret Wilson is eighteen years old in 1969. The Vietnam War is raging. Her mother is dying and her father is drowning in pain. She is sheltered, religious and completely unprepared to fall in love with William Steele.

William has it all. A product of his family’s legendary reputation, he’s rich, reckless and known for pushing boundaries. He stands up to gossip by upping the ante, one rebellious night at a time.

The reality of his world sweeps away Margaret’s innocence and puts her in the middle of a place she’s never known. With William at her side, she can’t help but question her own boundaries and the temptation to ignore them is running high. Then, one night, one poor decision and Margaret becomes the one with everything to lose.

Will their young love be strong enough to hold it all together? 

About Jacqueline

Jacqueline grew up in the rural southeast and is the youngest child of a large and rowdy family. Reading was an escape when there wasn't much else around to do. She loves everything from classical literature to true crime and everything in between. With her two children grown and gone, she's surrounded by a menagerie of adopted pets and a two-legged thief who refused to give her heart back after a night of karaoke.

With a day job and a dream job, her writing is a steamy combination of real life and seeking to answer the age-old question of what would happen if...and then characters come along and completely derail the plan. Letting them have their say provides plenty of sleepless nights and an endless combination of coffee and wine, but she hopes you enjoy their stories.

Social Media Stalking

Thursday, 22 October 2015

Five Fact Thursday - please welcome Chanta Rand

Five Facts:

1. When I was in second grade, my first poem was published. It was called Daddy.

2. My idea of fun is a night of bowling and beer with my husband (I have a 15 average)

3. My favorite ice cream is Ben & Jerry's American Dream Cone. Good stuff!

4. I've made love on the Nile River (Oops! Is this a PG tour?)

5. I can say goodbye in 10 languages. Au revoir! 


A dead husband. An unconsummated marriage. She needs an heir. Any man will do.

1061 AD. A sprawling empire rich in gold, resources, and military might dominates West Africa. It’s The Kingdom of Ghana, and it’s at the height of its power.

Twenty-year old Nabeela is grappling with her own power struggle. In order to save her younger sister from their step-brother’s clutches, Nabeela agrees to marry a repulsive African prince and bear him an heir. However, her plans are waylaid when tragedy strikes on her wedding night—her new husband dies—without consummating their marriage.

She must find a replacement to impregnate her immediately. Any man will do—including a drunken soldier her servants find naked taking a bath in a neighboring village. Nabeela holds him captive and coerces him into having sex with her—stealing the one thing he can never get back—his seed.

What she doesn’t know is the soldier is Rafan, Commander of a warring tribe’s royal army, and one of her family’s arch enemies. Eager for revenge, Rafan tracks her down once he’s released. But when these two reunite, they realize their lust for each other is far greater than their disdain.

Enamored by Nabeela’s beauty and bravery, Rafan makes her an offer of marriage, and the promise to help her become queen. He convinces her that they are stronger allies than enemies. Even though they share a commitment to unite, there are others who are determined to destroy them and their plans, including the one person Nabeela would have never suspected. In the end, she’s is forced to choose between her passion and her ambition.





1040 C.E. Kingdom of Ghana, West Africa
Wagadugu Empire

Nabeela guzzled from the goblet of wine in her room. Maybe it would give her courage for the loathsome task ahead of her. The fermented liquid slid down her throat and winded is way through her knotted entrails to her empty stomach. Good. The concoction would take effect sooner without any remnants of the wedding feast lining her belly. She had not been able to eat a single morsel, despite her mother’s half-hearted attempts to get her to do so. This was no cause for celebration. Not when she’d just married a man old enough to be her father. Indeed, possibly old enough to be her grandfather, had he lived.
Her new husband, Hakim, had no problem eating. Earlier, he’d shoveled massive amounts of food into the entrance of the seemingly bottomless pit that served as his mouth. Nabeela grimaced recalling how his sausage-like fingers had stuffed shanks of braised lamb past his thick lips. His gluttonous appetite had earned jests and ribald comments from his troops. She’d contained her disgust as she watched him shove everything on his platter into his mouth. Errant crumbs escaped, only to be captured in the deep folds of his sumptuous robes.
He was a repulsive pig.
And she was forever tethered to him through marriage.
She took a deep breath. She could endure this. She had to, for the sake of her mother, Falak and her ancestors. It was better to suffer the injustice of this world than to anger the ancestors in the next. Her virtue was the only weapon she could bargain with right now. In return, Hakim offered a generous bride price of cattle and gold for her.  He was a Hooro, a member of the ruling class who administered authority. By strategically marrying up one caste she ensured her safety as well as her family’s. She accepted this as her duty. There was no pleasure in duty—only reward once the work was done.
She walked the few steps from her quarters into her sleeping chamber where Hakim waited. She was veiled, as was the custom. Her new husband would remove the veil, consummate the union, and leave his seed in her. That was her only value—to produce an heir. Then hopefully, he would leave her be. Though the women of her clan had little political power, she hoped to change that.
Hakim already had three dead wives and one living son. The wives had all died under mysterious circumstances. Rumors of poisoning abounded. Only the bravest whispered the name of Ghazi, Hakim’s son. It was suggested he’d committed the acts, so jealous was he of anyone, male or female who got close to this father.
Nabeela had few encounters with Ghazi, but she made sure to steer clear of him. He had a cruel streak longer than the Niger River.  He pounced like a rabid dog on anyone who dared speak against him. She’d seen first-hand how he treated servants and slaves, threatening to send them to the salt mines in Taghaza—a death sentence. Though only five years older than she, he had the disposition of a bitter old man.
And he was now her stepson. 
He’d taken Nabeela, her mother, and Falak in after the soldiers ravaged their citadel years ago. The militia still waged their war of terror, taking advantage of the vast distances between the cities to wreak havoc. Villages and towns that had been settled by generations of influential Soninkes were being burned to the ground on a daily basis.
Nabeela and her family had lived a secure existence until a few months ago when Ghazi set his sights on marrying Falak. He’d insisted it was merely to unite their families. But her mother had persuaded Hakim to marry Nabeela instead. After all, Falak was only fourteen years old. Too young and innocent to be married to a snake with a voracious thirst for power. Ghazi was so enraged, for the past few months, he’d kept Falak in a separate part of the keep. She would be released as soon as this marriage was consummated. It was Ghazi’s way of assuring Nabeela kept her word.  There were days she wondered if they were better off eking out an existence in the forests than here under Ghazi’s crushing thumb.
Nabeela pushed her depressing thoughts aside and entered her bedchamber. Hakim’s broad, naked back greeted her. Flabby folds of skin hung from his solid frame. She prayed to The Creator she would not be crushed beneath his massive girth.
She circled him slowly, her long robes flowing as she walked. His eyes lit up when he saw her. His grin revealing crowded rows of yellow teeth set against dark skin that reminded her of a jackal hunting at night. Her stomach churned. She had not married him for his good looks, but for his protection and influence from the Almoravid caliphate, Berber Muslims encroaching from the North.
For years, Abdulla ibn Yasin, the leader of a large group of Almoravids, had been gaining in power, and trying to force Islam down the throats of Ghanian kings. But the kings refused to convert. A shift in religion was only part of the problem. Ghana was rich with gold, and salt—a commodity, almost as valuable as gold. And although the kingdom had flourished for hundreds of years, trading with peaceful Berbers and wealthy Arab merchants, riches had a way of corrupting even the most pious men.
Now the best way to protect the Soninke remote regions was for the king to give more power to his minor kings and military governors. This way, they could defend these vassals against the constant raiding of the Sanhadjas and the Almoravids.
It seemed no one was safe in these turbulent times. And so, Nabeela found herself in need of a defender. Everyone paid tribute to someone. Since she had no wealth, she would pay in flesh. Without Hakim’s protection, her family was at the mercy of warring troops. She was merely a pawn in the process, but she intended to get as much power as she could. Power was more valuable than sex or beauty. Mother had taught her that.
Hakim reached for her, his meaty fingers attached to pudgy wrists and corpulent arms. He eyed her like a hungry crocodile at a watering hole. The sounds of his strained breathing filled the air.
“Been …waiting all night to…look at you. Up close.”
She was sure the only thing he wanted to see up close was an overstuffed platter placed in front of him.
Thick lips that had just hours ago sucked the greasy cartilage from chicken bones now wanted to sample her flesh. He removed the faceplate of her veil. His eyes widened in appreciation. “Comely creature.”
Nabeela took offence at being called a creature. She had never considered herself comely, though her mother often told her she was. She felt her nose was too big and her eyes were too far apart. Truly, beauty meant nothing without the resources. Otherwise, she was just a whore. Using her body to get what she wanted. She had no plans to do that.
Hakim issued a gruff command. “Disrobe.”
She did so without hesitation. For months, she’d known this moment would come. Best to get it over with. There would be pain the first time. She knew that, too. Pain was part of life. Mother had also told her this.
Nabeela stood in all her naked glory in front of her new husband. She would not let him see how disgusted she felt. Instead, her eyes wandered below his waist. She frowned at the fleshy proboscis jutting from the wiry bush between his hairy thighs. She’d never seen a man’s root before. Hakim’s was the size of her forefinger. It was the only emaciated part of him.
“Lick it,” he ordered.
Her heart beat like the frenzied rhythm of a drum. This was one thing she had not anticipated.
If I have to put that thing in my mouth, I will wretch.
She closed her eyes, and choked back the bile rising in the back of her throat. To think, she’d preserved her maidenhead for this moment. That was her saving grace and the only reason she’d been able to barter herself.
Her eyes flickered open when she felt Hakim’s meaty fingers groping her breasts. He had a look of rapture on his face. She bit her lip. She would have to endure this ogre’s fondling for days, weeks, perhaps even months until she knew she was with child. It would be hard to do when his touch made her skin crawl. 
She sank to her knees on the thick tapestry of rugs as though she were being led to her death. Hakim’s manhood jutted out like a flag on a windy day. Her face hovered near the hard flesh.
“Yes,” he groaned in anticipation.
Nabeela prayed for courage.
Oh, divine goddess, please let me survive this ordeal. I must!
Summoning the strength of her ancestors, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. Her lips were mere inches from the tip of his shaft. Without warning, he took a step backward. Confused, Nabeela looked up. His mouth was distorted into a grimace, frozen into what would have been a lop-sided grin if not for the grotesque mask of pain.  His puffy jowls slackened as one hand clutched at his heart, grasping a fistful of wooly chest hair.
Nabeela gasped as Hakim’s corpulent body crashed to the floor like a tree being felled in the forest. She watched, horrified as his eyes rolled back into his head, and his labored breathing abruptly ceased. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. She was not prone to emotional outbursts, but the death of her new husband was reason to panic. All her hopes for a better future had just died with him.

To find out what happens to Nabeela, pre-order your copy from the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rise-Queen-Chanta-Rand-ebook/dp/B014CJPMIY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1441987690&sr=8-1&keywords=chanta+rand

Buy Links:

Amazon | 

Author Info:

Chanta Jefferson Rand is an Emma Award winning Debut Author of the Year, a multi-published, best-selling author of sizzling-hot romance, and the former host of The Chanta Rand Show. An avid reader of all genres, she stepped onto the scene in 2010 with her first published historical romance, Pharaoh's Desire. 

Chanta is a history junkie, a Walking Dead fan, and a recovering shoe addict. She never met a stiletto she didn't like! If you still want more, check her out at www.ChantaRand.com or email her at Chanta@chantarand.com.

Remember: You can't expect any sizzle...if you don't turn up the heat!

Chanta's Social Links:

Monday, 19 October 2015

That moment when an Amazon Top 500 Reviewer likes your book.

This weekend, I admitted how much I hated book marketing.
I don’t have the knack.
Then the lovely Kayelle Allen –a lady who writes best-selling books and has a heart bigger than a house—stepped in.  Her advice is invaluable, and her personal help much appreciated.
Oddly, it echoed something a friend of mine, Ashe Barker – author of best-selling book Shared by the Highlanders – once said. It’s all down to having an e-mail list.
At the same time, Marketing for Romance Writers had a similar discussion and came to the same conclusion.
My weekend’s task is to change my blog so it has more clearly defined pages and to add a reader sign-up. Then I need something to tempt people into signing up. I have a short story planned, but I’ll maybe do a giveaway too.
I’ll keep you posted on the results.
In addition, the result of my straw poll?
This is the winning advert. The review is from Amazon Canada.
Kryssie Fortune Autor Page http://amzn.to/1VhbFEy

Friday, 16 October 2015

Confused and slightly crazy. I need help. Please

Like all authors I want to sell, sell, sell.  The question is how. So many options, most of them expensive, so I blog. It's personal and fun, but a good way for my readers to connect with the real me - always assuming they want to.
But there has to be more.
I hate spamming facebook groups with Buy my book posts, but when I do my sales go up. Sometimes I feel I should apologise for posting, although I'm always happy to share a friends post and spread the word about their books.
That's easier somehow.
I guess that, as an only child, I was smacked down for wanting it all, so much so, I don't like shouting me, me, me.
Recently, I’ve been playing about making book adverts that I hope appeal. Sadly, I’ve got the artistic sense of a gnat so I need all the help I can get.
Please vote in poll. 

Which do you prefer?

Sunday, 11 October 2015

I Love it when Legends Come Together

So, there’s this hole. It’s a big one. So big it has its own name. 
The Hole of Horcum lies just outside Whitby - spiritual home of the Goth nation. 

Panarama by "Devils punchbowl north yorkshire" by AdamJennison111 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons -
 According to Wikipedia: - The Hole was actually created by a process called spring-sapping, where water welling up from the hillside gradually undermined the slopes above, eating the rocks away grain by grain. Over thousands of years, a once narrow valley widened and deepened into an enormous cauldron – and the process still continues today. 


I much prefer that the Giant Wade got into an argument with his wife, scooped up a handful of earth, and flung it at her.  
Charming man. Still, I was curious. Who is this Wade? And my, did he have big hands. 
He and his wife, Bel, had a reputation for being the good guys around Whitby. Poor Bel had to cross the moor to milk her cow every day. Personally, I’d have just moved the cow nearer home, but Wade and Bel decided to make a road.  Back in the 20th Century, archeologists decided the road was really Roman, but now some think it predates the Roman occupation. 

"Wade's Causeway" by Paul Allison. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 via Commons - 
Here’s the bit I love. In Norse mythology, the giant Wade’s father was King Vilkinus and a mermaid.  He had a strong affinity to the sea, but he apprenticed his son, Wayland to two blacksmiths. The boy became Wayland the Smith.

Nothing unusual there. But…

Britain’s oldest road, The Ridgeway runs from Wiltshire to the Berkshire Downs. For over five thousand years, man has walked this trackway. It passes hillforts, stone circles and carved white horses. And get this, it goes past the long barrow known as Wayland’s Smithy. 

Smithy Long barrow" by Msemmett - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons - 
How odd that another ancient track is linked with the giant, Wade and his son Wayland. 
See, to misquote the A team, I love it when legends come together. 

So, what’s my interest in the Hole of Horcum? Well... My book Curse of the Fae King is set in Yorkshire, and the bad guys run Meena and the Fae King off the road and into the hole. That's when the gun battle ensues. Talk about an all action adventure. There’s Witches, Fae, dragons and vampires. And did I mention scorching hot sex?
About Curse of the Fae King
eonidas’s nightmare: when he inherited the Fae throne, he inherited the curse a witch cast on his bloodline. No wonder he hates witches. His dirty secret: if he doesn’t bed a different woman every month he’ll turn feral – and he’s bored to death with mindless sex. 

When he hunts down his escaped war dragon, his enemies trap him on earth and strip his powers. His month’s almost up and if he doesn’t bed someone soon, his beast will rise. 

Meena’s dream: to be good at something. Anything. Even sticking to a diet. Her secret: she’s a failed witch masquerading as human. She accidentally bonds with Leonidas’s escaped dragon. Sparks fly when he wants it back.

Plunged into a world of stuck-up Fae, evil elves, and high-adventure they must solve a twenty-two year-old mystery. Along the way, they tumble into bed, and lust leads, unexpectedly, to love. When Leonidas’s curse kicks in again, he’ll have to abandon Meena and bed another. Is their love strong enough to survive their secrets and break the ancient curse?

Want to read an excerpt? Then click on the cover on the right-hand side of the page.

Buy Links

Amazon US       http://amzn.to/1jQ7Sm2
Amazon UK      http://amzn.to/1MgVs1
Amazon Au       http://bit.ly/1VGBX3e
Amazon Ca       http://amzn.to/1P0jfoj
Loose ID           http://www.loose-id.com/curse-of-the-fae-king.html

5 Review by Amazon Top 500 Reviewer

5.0 out of 5 stars Curse of the Fae King March 24 2015
By Evampire TOP 500 REVIEWER
Format:Kindle Edition
A cursed king and a powerless witch have to work together to save a kingdom but surviving secrets is another matter entirely in this riveting paranormal romance. Kryssie Fortune has created a fascinating world with interesting elements and intriguing characters that invite readers back to join their next adventure. I was captivated by the story from the very beginning and I am looking forward to reading the next one.
“Copyright Night Owl Reviews”©

See my full review at: Night Owl Reviews .com

Thursday, 8 October 2015

Five Fact Thursday. Please welcome...Me

I started writing after my heart valve collapsed. An amazing surgeon saved my life, and I started to chase my dreams.

I screamed so long and hard when Loose ID accepted my novella To Wed A Werewolf that my husband rushed inside thinking I was ill.

I met my husband when I was 14. (He says) I say 12. We married when I was twenty. Next year’s our Ruby (40th) wedding anniversary.

When I’m not writing, I’m baking. My Victoria sandwich took first place at a local show, but when I married I couldn’t boil an egg. Literally. 

Some kids have imaginary friends. I had imaginary pets. I rode Pegasus, petted Griffins, and my best friend was the baby dragon who lived in the hollow tree not far from my childhood home. He is the inspiration behind Lipstick, the naughty dragonet, in Curse of The Fae King.

About Curse of the Fae King

Leonidas’s nightmare: when he inherited the Fae throne, he inherited the curse a witch cast on his bloodline. No wonder he hates witches. His dirty secret: if he doesn’t bed a different woman every month he’ll turn feral – and he’s bored to death with mindless sex. 

When he hunts down his escaped war dragon, his enemies trap him on earth and strip his powers. His month’s almost up and if he doesn’t bed someone soon, his beast will rise. 

Meena’s dream: to be good at something. Anything. Even sticking to a diet. Her secret: she’s a failed witch masquerading as human. She accidentally bonds with Leonidas’s escaped dragon. Sparks fly when he wants it back.

Plunged into a world of stuck-up Fae, evil elves, and high-adventure they must solve a twenty-two year-old mystery. Along the way, they tumble into bed, and lust leads, unexpectedly, to love. When Leonidas’s curse kicks in again, he’ll have to abandon Meena and bed another. Is their love strong enough to survive their secrets and break the ancient curse?

Buy Links

Amazon US       http://amzn.to/1jQ7Sm2
Amazon UK      http://amzn.to/1MgVs1
Amazon Au       http://bit.ly/1VGBX3e
Amazon Ca       http://amzn.to/1P0jfoj


“That’s my bloody dragon!” The Fae stalked across the cliff top, his emerald shirt billowing beneath his black leather waistcoat. “And I will be having him back.” 

Meena’s curls tumbled over her shoulders, an ebony waterfall streaked with rainbow colors. She’d come up to the abbey ruins for solitude and peace, and as usual, she’d found it. Unless you counted the little lost dragonet at her feet. A large dog would have dwarfed him, but he was definitely the cutest otherworld creature she’d ever seen. And now his owner wanted him back. 

She glanced back toward the main entrance to see who’d provoked the Fae’s fury. There wasn’t another soul to be seen, which meant... 

Sweet Hekate. He’s yelling at me. 

Okay, her life was... Well, it wasn’t good, but no one snarled at her like that. Meena clenched her fists and squared her shoulders while the dragonet rested his head on his paws and took another bite of her sandwich. 

The Fae’s arrogance chafed, but she refused to take her anger out on the dragonet. The way he mewled and flopped down at feet made her smile. 

Meena removed her gloves and fondled his pointy ears. “Cheer up, Lipstick. Daddy’s finally come to take you home. What a pity he didn’t take better care of you in the first place.” 

“Lipstick?” Leonidas thundered. "You named a powerful war dragon Lipstick. He should bear a noble name like Dreadnought or Valiant.” 

With his uptight expression, corded muscle, and stiff spine, he had to be Fae royalty. That didn’t bode well for an outcast like her. 

Meena smiled her professional customer-service smile--the one that had let her down earlier. “But he's the same color as my new lipstick. Scarlet Kisses, see?” 

She brandished it like a talisman. She expected smoke to come out of this overbearing Fae’s ears. How satisfying was that? Whenever Fae passed through Whitby, they dissed her completely--but that wasn’t always a bad thing. Eight years ago when her powers didn’t manifest at puberty, the Witch Council put a price on her head. Her mother moved them to the mundane world, but it had taken Meena forever to adjust to life in Whitby. A life without magic. 

Despite his bad temper, the Fae’s sculptured cheekbones and kissable lips made a dangerous combination--one she struggled to resist. His voice flowed over her like melted chocolate. She loved how he’d braided his hair back in a neat queue at the nape of his neck, and now he stood like a Spanish hidalgo--all uptilted chin, disdainful pride, and gleaming white fangs. Only how dare he look down his nose at her? Carved of granite and steel, he radiated menace. Definitely not as cute as his dragon. More mouthwateringly masculine, but otherworld creatures usually dissed a reject like her. 

She stared at the bullwhip coiled Indiana Jones-style at his narrow waist, then at the black-handled dagger sheathed on his right hip. An obsidian rapier--Fae-forged and unbreakable--almost merged with one of the taped seams that ran down the sides of his pants. He even wore a dagger gunslinger-style at his hip. Dear Goddess, the man was a walking arsenal, but he was sexy as hell. 

This Fae warrior was battle honed and ready. When the wind whipped his shirtsleeves against his biceps, Meena barely stopped herself from licking her lips or, better yet, his. When she imagined his arm curled around her waist--dominant, possessive yet protective--her pussy clenched with desire. 

Otherworld species--the Witches, Vampires, Lykae, and Fae--used Whitby the way aircraft passengers do a transport hub. Sometimes she wanted to scream, “I’m here. Talk to me.” Deep down, she knew better than to draw attention to an outcast like herself. Humans never noticed their comings and goings, but she saw every one of them, silent reminders of everything she’d lost. Life without her Witch friends or her magic was hard. Living in Whitby was difficult enough, then just a couple of hours ago, life kicked her in the pants again. 

The abbey ruins dominated the picturesque harbor town, and ever since she’d arrived in the mundane world, she’d found peace among its ancient stones. Until today. Damn it, she wouldn’t let some high and mighty Fae spoil her refuge, no matter how loud he shouted. 

His lips narrowed into a stern, kissable line, and his voice dripped deadly menace. “Woman, you will give me back my dragon.” 

“Okay, jackass, enough. I’m having a really bad day here,” Meena snapped. “And to top it off, your dragonet just polished off my lunch.” 

“You bloody fed him? Elves’ blood, don’t you know they bond with whoever first feeds them? You’ve poached my damn dragon.” He seethed with fury and frustration along with the sort of take-charge sexiness that could make a girl weak. Make her crave all the things her exile denied her--and that definitely included sex. 

Fangs bared, he marched toward her. His don’t-fuck-with-me confidence made her mouth water, but provoking him might prove...fatal. 

Meena’s courage almost deserted her, but she stood her ground. “Someone had to take care of him, especially since you didn’t. And don’t you dare glower at me like that. Hello? Already stressed out here, so why don’t you flash off back to Fairyland?” 

He went quiet and still, so mean and moody he made her heart race. “No one”--he took the arrogant bad-boy vibe up a gear--“speaks to me with such disrespect. I am Leonidas, and that is my dragon.” 

“Get over yourself, and go annoy someone else.” She smirked in his face. 

His expression frozen in haughty grandeur, he rested his hand on his rapier’s hilt. His curled lip and narrow-eyed glower said he’d happily run her through with his blade. Then when he truly looked at her, his eyes glinted like emerald stars, and magic swirled around him in waves. Tiny lightning flashes zigzagged around him in a full-body halo that even a witchy reject like her could see. 

His voice turned deep and sensual--an earthy rumble that made her pussy pulse with need. “A man would die for speaking to me like that, but it would be a shame to rob the world of a beauty like yours.” 

What do you know? The warrior’s a poet. That was the prettiest compliment she’d ever received. Come to think of it, it was the only compliment she’d received since she’d fled the otherworld. That’s it, rub it in that I’m lonely. He oozed Latino charm just like Antonio Banderas when he played Zorro. Indiana Jones? Zorro? What is this? Hollywood’s Sexiest Men? 

Thunderbolts rumbled around him, and the lightning flashes turned electric blue. He was danger and fury, a mountain of sensual hunger--as proven by the tempting bulge in his tight leather pants. Then he closed his eyes, shuddered, and extinguished the storm cloud of desire he’d just invoked. Tight leather trousers weren’t designed to hide a hard-on, especially not one that size. Only what’s with the light show? Come on, Fairy king, give me a clue. 

Without sparing her another glance, he reached into his belt pouch and tossed the dragonet a slice of raw meat. “Eat up, boy; then I’ll take you home.” 

Full from Meena’s cheese sandwich, the dragonet growled softly and turned away. Leonidas’s clenched jaw and raised eyebrow made Meena smirk again. His face was too harsh to be handsome--all angular planes and aquiline nose--but despite his atrocious manners, she didn’t want him to leave. Her cheeks heated when his green-eyed gaze swept over her, and again his lip curled. “You’re not human. You’re too slender in places and too curvy in others. What species are you?” 

Too thin? Too curvy? Come on, jackass, make up your mind. 

So much for the compliments--and did he just call her overweight? She wasn’t skinny, just sort of middling and normal, unless she gorged herself on chocolate. Okay, she watched her figure, but then what woman didn’t? Maybe she packed a few extra pounds, not that she’d admit it to this aren’t-I-just-perfect Fae. 

Determined to give as good as she got, she smirked again. “Perhaps I’d be fatter if Lipstick here hadn’t scoffed my lunch. And for your information, I’m Goth.” 

He raised a questioning eyebrow. 

How insular could one Fae be? Meena rolled her eyes and smiled just wide enough to show her tiny fangs. “You’re standing in the Mecca of British Gothdom. Whitby Abbey? The place that inspired Bram Stoker? Spiritual home of Dracula? I’m a Vampire wannabe, supposedly. The New Age shop that just fired me wanted me to dress the part, so here I am, all swirling woolen cape, bloodred lips, and dark brows.” 

“Vampires thrive on war and bloodshed, and with every year their king is missing, their bloodlust gets worse. They are the deadliest, most despised of species, and you are soft and curvy in all the right places, but you look like you’d break in battle. And who is this Bram Stoker? Is he the one who spoiled your day?” 

Wow! Was that another compliment buried beneath all that disdain? I could definitely get used to this. 

She shot him a quick, puzzled glance, then grinned and shook her head. “Stoker’s the man who invented Dracula. And I messed up when I told some idiot teenager she didn’t need to be sky-clad to work her spells. She told me her so-called coven, mostly her gullible school friends, meets up on the North Yorkshire Moors. I mean, it’s bleak up there even on midsummer’s eve, and spell-craft doesn’t need gale-force winds and goose bumps to work. How was I supposed to know she’d take the hump? Or that her uncle was the head of the town council? Anyway, my boss’s planning application comes up next week, and she needs him on her side. She kind of lost it when little Miss I Know More About Witchcraft Than You kicked up a fuss. In fact, my boss called me stupid and fired me on the spot.” 

Leonidas frowned. “We do not speak the same language, even though the words are the same. No wonder the Fae hate this world. Return my dragonet, and I’ll leave.” 

Lipstick mewled, coiled his tail around Meena’s leg, and rummaged in her bag with his snout. 

“Greedy guts.” She laughed. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m all out of cheese sandwiches. Time you went home. Besides, if any tourists spotted the pair of you, they’d freak.” 

Fae usually looked as if they were sucking ice cubes, but she’d have sworn Sexy and Gorgeous over there just rolled his eyes at her. 

“Human eyes can perceive neither me nor my dragon, but you do. Again, what are you?” His tone was long-suffering, so cold she shivered beneath her thick woolen cloak. 

“Peeved, fed up, and angry,” Meena answered. She turned her back and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck. “So long, Lipstick. Be good for Daddy. And you. Feed your beast when you get home.” 

She gave the dragon’s ears a final scratch, and when he uncoiled his tail, it dropped so low it brushed the ground. With a rueful smile, she stepped back--straight into the Fae warrior’s arms. 

“You dare attack me?” he teased, more sexual predator than lethal warrior. 

There he went with the lightning-storm thing again. Up close, she could feel his magic tingle over her skin, and she basked in a taste of everything her life lacked. Everything the Witch Council had stripped from her. Her heart fluttered, and her lips parted. Her breasts perked up, and her cunt ached with need. Truthfully, if she only knew whether she was immortal, she’d have taken a lover or two by now, but she didn’t dare risk falling for a man she’d outlive by centuries. 

“Love me,” he demanded. “Open your legs for me, and let me make recompense for my previous angry words.” 

Where the hell had that come from? One minute he stared at her with murder in his eyes, and the next he wanted to screw her senseless. She should shove him off and tell him to get stuffed, but the beauty running though his voice enthralled her. Her nipples pearled, and she’d have given anything to feel his mouth on her breasts or his fingers on her clit. 

His arm locked like a steel band around her waist. Was that his cock pressing against her back? He must be one well-endowed male if she could feel it through her cloak. When he ran a trail of kisses down her neck, spikes of pleasure tingled through her spine. She moaned and moved in closer, and even that small surrender made her pussy clench and demand more. What in the name of the Goddess was she doing? Getting close to a Fae was madness--even one who made her ache with wicked, wanton desires. 

Pushing him away was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she refused to be some passing Fae’s easy lay. “Get your hands off me, jackass. I’d never willingly touch you, especially not after you’ve just handled fresh meat. Besides, you’re the one who crowded against me.” 

“Aggressive argumentative female.” He stepped closer and nibbled at her earlobe. “You definitely attacked me, and I demand a forfeit.” 

Saturday, 3 October 2015

How Bits of Me Leak into my Heroines. Oh, and the best scone recipe ever. #am reading #recipe #romance

I love baking. Today I made scones and cinnamon buns which made me think of Ellie in To Mate a Werewolf.  She discovered Lykae have a sweet tooth and her cooking sweet treats won their hearts.  
She put a tray of oven-fresh almond tarts on a side table outside the door. “Okay, guys, these are too hot to eat yet. Anyone who helps set up the tables for tonight gets one when all the work’s done.”
Her bribery paid dividends as the unmated wolves worked with cheerful good humor. Joel inhaled the smell of tarts and tried to steal one. Ellie rapped him on the knuckles with her wooden spoon.
He shook his hand and pouted like a small boy denied a treat. “That hurt.”
Ellie smile dripped saccharine. “It was meant to. You can’t pull rank on me now, Mr. Former Grand Marshal.”
The way she emphasized that former chilled him. He was the same man, whatever rank he held. The light in her eyes said she enjoyed his discomfort, so he gave up on the tart. “Ellie, is it too late to apologize?”
She froze, then looked him up and down. When he took a step toward her, she dodged back inside. “Much too late. Nothing you can say will make up for the way you used me.”
Joel followed and held out his hand. “Listen, Ellie, whatever my parents said, you don’t have to do this. It’s my fault they’re angry, but let’s go see them together, and let me make things right.”
She stared at him as though he’d sprouted wings and flown around the room. “Last time I was alone with you, you couldn’t get away fast enough. I’m going nowhere with a louse like you. Go away. My cakes are better company than you.”
Then there’s Meena in Curse of the Fae King. She worries about her weight. 
Full from Meena’s cheese sandwich, the dragonet growled softly and turned away. Leonidas’s clenched jaw and raised eyebrow made Meena smirk again. His face was too harsh to be handsome—all angular planes and aquiline nose—but despite his atrocious manners, she didn’t want him to leave. Her cheeks heated when his green-eyed gaze swept over her, and again his lip curled. “You’re not human. You’re too slender in places and too curvy in others. What species are you?”
Too thin? Too curvy? Come on, jackass, make up your mind.
So much for the compliments—and did he just call her overweight? She wasn’t skinny, just sort of middling and normal, unless she gorged herself on chocolate. Okay, she watched her figure, but then what woman didn’t? Maybe she packed a few extra pounds, not that she’d admit it to this aren’t-I-just-perfect Fae.

One of the first things another of my heroines, Harriet, in Knights Vampire, says concerns her weight.
A wayward, feminine part of Harriet still obsessed over his lips. Her common sense shouted for her to get out of there, but sometimes being sensible sucked. “Maybe just a coffee, but no cake. A lifetime on the hips and all that.” 

He smiled, clearly taking her words as an invitation to study her curves. His scrutiny made her cheeks burn, and she knew she blushed again. Maybe I should give the low-fat diet another go. 

Then, as if he’d read her mind, he told her, “I think your hips are perfect.” 
We could all do with a man like that. 
I guess you’ve worked out that I watch my weight—badly. My thyroid broke a few years back, and I was the skinniest Lizzie out there. Apart from the palpitations and shaking hands, I felt sexy, sassy, and full of false confidence. A lot like Lindy in Giving it up for the Gods. Not that she had the shakes, but she did end up on the floor in a middle of a brawl.

Two biker boots--solid, black leather with thick soles and long laces--filled her gaze. She followed them upward, licking her lips as she stared at her rescuer’s muscular thighs. Injured arm cradled against her chest, she threw back her head to clear the hair from her face. She’d almost suffocated. Relief made her shaky, and it didn’t help that Tall, Dark, and Handsome towered over her, his expression half sympathetic, half fierce. 

Breathtaking male. Damn, but he’s even more stunning close up. 

Then the unfeeling jerk dragged her upright and dumped her behind the bar. “Stay there and be quiet.” 

Neptune’s balls, it hurt when he pulled her about like that, especially when that people pile had cracked her ribs and shattered her wrist. And who did he think he was, giving her orders? Sirens weren’t the shut-up-and-do-as-I-say type. Once she caught her breath, she’d hit that shrill note that would shatter the mermen’s eardrums; then she’d leave. 

Lindy’s rescuer dived back into the fight, clearly intending to keep the merwarriors at bay. Apparently deciding to deal with him first, a huddle of mermen swamped him like American footballers falling on a ball at the end of a play. 

A Siren’s lullaby rose up in Lindy’s throat, but she’d never be able to hold the long, low notes, not with broken ribs. Tall, Dark, and Domineering had saved her, and she owed him. Sirens weren’t known for their common sense, and broken bones notwithstanding, her personal code demanded she help him. 

Before she moved, Tall, Dark, and Deliciously Sexy threw off the mermen as though they weighed nothing. He hauled his surfer friend from the battle and towed him toward the bar. His intense gaze fastened on Lindy. 

Almost as threatened by him as she was by Neptune’s minions, she felt her heart hammer and pound. And where was Joe? Then she spotted him through the open door that led to the back room. He was talking on his cell phone. Probably ringing the police. Except for her driving license, she lacked the layers of ID that human society demanded. So that was her cue to leave.

Poor Lindy was desperate to get laid, but thankfully I’m not on her sort of deadline. That leaves Sylvie in Curse of the Fae king. 

To quote from the blurb, She’s more human librarian than half-blood Fae princess and she definitely prefers books to men.

Well. I’m definitely a book lover, so she’s got a bit of me in her too.

This week, Loose ID accepted the fourth book in Scattered Sibling’s series. Viola, the heroine in To Tame a Werewolf has a crippled knee.
Mine’s not too good either.
I broke it and spent six weeks with it in traction in my teens. For a while it was fine then arthritis set in. Last year, a clever surgeon scraped the inside of the joint, but it still hurts like hell. 
Poor Viola suffers much more than me since someone hit hers with a sledgehammer and left her crippled. 

If you want to learn more about any of my heroines, then click on the cover alongside my blog. 

Oh, and that scone recipe. It’s by Mary Berry, and when I asked my husband if they were okay, he made a “umph” noise, nodded, and reached for another. Praise indeed. 
•    250g/9oz self-raising flour
•    1 rounded tsp baking powder
•    40g/1½oz softened butter
•    25g/1oz caster sugar
•    1 large free-range egg
•    about 100ml/3½fl oz milk
Preparation method
1.    Preheat the oven to 220C/425F/Gas 7 (200C Fan).
2.    Put the flour and baking powder into a large bowl. Add the butter and rub it in with your fingertips until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar.
3.    Beat the egg in a measuring jug. Make up to 100ml/3½fl oz with the milk, then set aside a tablespoon for glazing the scones later.
4.    Gradually add the egg and milk to the dry ingredients, stirring it in until you have a soft slightly sticky dough
5.    Turn the mixture out onto a lightly floured surface and pat out until it is about 2cm/¾in thick. Use a 4cm/1½in fluted cutter to stamp out the scones. Make sure you don’t twist the cutter or the scones will not rise evenly.
6.    Gently gather the trimmings together and pat out again to cut more scones
7.    Arrange the scones on the greased baking trays and brush the tops with the remaining milk.
8.    Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until well risen and golden-brown. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.
9.    To serve, cut each scone in half and top with strawberry jam and clotted or whipped cream.