Vampires, an excerpt and a wooly giveaway! Take a look!
Blurb
In a desperate effort to
halt her transformation to vampire, and stop her longing
for the sultry Devlin, Sarelle willingly takes a drug to kill
her desire, even as Danial prepares for the introduction of their son
Theoron at a Vampire Gathering on New Year’s Eve. Faced with Theo’s betrayal at
the eleventh hour, Sarelle must either trust in Danial to save her, or
join forces with Devlin, revealing her secret desire for him.
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Excerpt
The clock chimed
eleven. Worried, I glanced outside, wondering if Aran would call to cancel.
He’d said he’d be going by on an errand for Cia, but the sky was dull white
now. The impending storm forecasted for noon might begin at any moment.
There was no sign of him.
We were supposed to get a foot or
more, something that irritated me. We’d gotten three feet so far this season.
With no warm days to melt any of it, the drifts were huge, surrounding the
plowed driveway like tall mountains.
I let out a yawn, blinking my eyes.
With the completion of the cookies, despite my eagerness earlier, my utmost
desire was a long nap under a warm blanket. Grinning, I made a deal with myself
that as soon as the snow flew, the couch was where I was headed. Until then, I
needed to keep on track. I hurriedly did some light cleaning and laundry. I was
just putting the vacuum cleaner away when the clock chimed twelve.
I
cast a look outside. Snowflakes had begun to fall. Soon, they were falling fast
and furiously, obscuring my view of the barn.
“C’mon, Aran,” I said, scanning the
drive. “You don’t get here shortly, I’m walking down those cookies to the
mailbox and you can eat them frozen.”
All of a sudden, the snow-dampened
roar of a motorcycle was heard in the silence. Aran drove down the driveway,
his lone headlight catching the snowflakes in its circular light as they fell.
He was dressed in his usual black leather.
“You’re crazy,” I muttered, throwing
cookies into a plastic bag quickly. “Maybe werefoxes don’t get as cold as
normal humans did, but you still have to be cold in that.” I closed the bag,
then headed for the front door. “At least it’s something between you and the
pavement.”
Aran pulled up in front of the deck
and parked the bike, but didn’t turn it off. He faced the house for a moment.
As I opened the door, he gestured around him, then pointed to my house.
I opened the door and yelled to him,
“Sure, you can stay ‘til it stops. I’m glad of the company. Go to the bottom
garage, I’ll let you in!”
He nodded, the visor of his helmet
and his shoulders already covered in snow. He drove on as I shut the front door
and ran downstairs. Pressing the button, I raised the overhead door and he
drove in.
Shivering in the cold blast from the
door, I quickly shut it as he parked his Harley and shut off the engine. He
began brushing the snow off himself.
“Why’d you bring the bike today of
all days?” I said, giving him a sarcastic smile. “I told you it was going to
storm. Now you’re stuck here. Cia’s not going to be happy.”
Aran got off his bike and continued
to brush him and it off, melting snow creating puddles on the concrete floor.
“Why don’t you give me your coat,
and I’ll put it near the fire. If you want, we can watch a movie or something.
I was planning to head to the couch any—”
Aran unbuckled his helmet and in one
smooth motion pulled it off his head. Gold curls and waves fell almost to his
shoulders.
This was not Aran.
This was Devlin.
He stepped off the bike, and came
toward me. I was lost from the moment I looked into his golden eyes.
Author Bio
I just spent the morning watching a movie
and crying. Sure the story is heartwrenching (child goes on a quest to find his
parents, whom he’s sure gave him up for adoption by mistake, and finds the
loving family he hoped for). But I wasn’t moved by the images of the certain tearful
reunion to come, or the struggle of a family to reunite against all odds. I’m
not much for contrived stories that are purposely meant to induce waterworks on
their way to the inevitable HEA. It was the movie’s music that captured my initial
interest, and what its represents in the movie that captivated me.
I
love music. I always have. Some songs resonate with me to the point that I’m
not sure where they began and I end. Music makes me feel alive, and it inspires
my writing, which is why there are so many songs mentioned in my stories, and
playlists for practically all of my Promise Me Books. My mood shifts easily
listening to songs that convey passions, making it easy to enhance a particular
scene I'm creating with sorrow, lust, love, or joy by simply turning on a song
that brings those feelings to the forefront. I think this is common for most
people, and why the love of music is almost universal, no matter which kind of
music a person prefers.
Why do people create music? Like the boy in
the film, they long to be heard. So simple of a conclusion, and yet so
profound. I write stories because I long to be read. I knew that the odds were
against me the moment I entered the writing world, and I didn’t care. I love
writing. I love it more than food, more than anything. I feel the clamoring
inside me of so many other stories that are anxious to get out, so much that I
hope to share with others. There isn’t any way not to be a writer, when you
feel like this. You just write and hope to God that someone loves your
creation. It is like someone calling
out to you, telling you the story that you frantically type into the late night
hours. It is like feeling chosen,
special, like this is the only right path because it was something you were meant
to do. And the most wonderful thing is casting out your painstakingly
constructed efforts into the world and hearing back the welcoming cries that
what you created is magical, beautiful, and above all, meaningful.
That is the
rush I feel now, every day I hear anew that someone loved one of my books, that
a particular character feels like a friend of theirs, that they were moved to
tears or rage or passion by one of my scenes. It doesn’t get any better than
this. And I hope to God it never ends. Because I understand completely what
kind of loss it would be to not feel this alive. I look back to the time before
I was writing and feel like I sleepwalked through those years in a grey daze.
Going back to that existence after being awakened to such passion is
incomprehensible.
I stand with so many books behind me and so many more
stretching out in front of me. There’s still so much work to be done. And God,
am I ecstatic about that!
Live your dreams. No one is going to make
them come true but you. Don’t wait, or rationalize. Take your first step today!
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Giveaway
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