All Romance eBooks announced today that they are shutting down operations as of 12/31/16. As of today, my books are no longer available for purchase there.
If you have purchased any of my books through All Romance and are unable to download them, forward your ARe receipt to me at jayemckenna (at) gmail (dot) com, and I will send you a copy in your preferred format (mobi, epub, or pdf).
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Monday, December 19, 2016
Shadowspire Cover Art and Excerpt
So Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3) is nearly ready for a late January release. I just have final edits and proofreading to get through. Today I have cover art to show off, and a tiny taste of the story. Chinchbug gets better with every cover, I think. Here is his latest:
Book Description
Shy and bookish Prince Jaire of Altan is not particularly enthralled at the idea of marrying the simpering Lady Bria of Irilan, but Altan needs to renew its ties with the neighboring kingdom. For the sake of the alliance, Jaire is willing to do his duty, even if he would much rather marry a prince.
When Jaire sees the ghost of a handsome young man dressed in fashions centuries old, he fears he might be losing his mind. But the ghost proves to be far more than a restless spirit, and might just hold the key the northern kingdoms need to break free of the Wytch Council’s ever-tightening grip, as well as the key to Jaire’s heart.
Excerpt
“Breaking the amulet is the only way,” Vayne said softly. “And you must help me do it.”
Jaire stared up at Vayne. What if he broke the amulet and Vayne ended up dead? Or lost? Though he’d never touched the ghost-prince, the thought of being the cause of the man’s death troubled him deeply. “I… what if it kills you?”
“I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If you can free me, I can go for help. If you don’t free me, there’s no chance. What will Garrik do when they threaten you to gain his cooperation?”
“I… I don’t know,” Jaire whispered. “He’ll be terribly angry. And… and Garrik doesn’t always think clearly when he’s angry. And he especially doesn’t think clearly when I’m involved.” He didn’t like to imagine what Garrik would do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be well thought out, and would likely place Garrik in terrible danger. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right. If there’s any chance of freeing you so you can go for help, we had best take it.” He swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Thank you. For risking yourself. What must I do?”
“Take the amulet off and let’s see if we can free the stone.”
With shaking hands, Jaire drew the fine silver chain over his head. For a moment he squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, then opened it to reveal the emerald green gem wrapped in an intricate net of fine silver lying in his palm.
“See how the setting wraps around it, protecting it?” Vayne asked. “It’s designed to break easily. Hold it up to the light, and you can probably see the flaw deep in the crystal. It shouldn’t take more than the pressure of your boot heel to shatter it, once it’s free of the setting.”
Jaire blinked to clear his vision and examined the amulet closely. He lifted it to the light, and indeed, there was a dark fault line deep inside it. Jaire studied the metalwork cage, found a spot near the top where two small loops of wire were twisted together.
He pointed them out to Vayne. “I think if I unwrap these… it looks like it will open the setting and free the gem.”
“Do it,” Vayne whispered.
His fingers were swollen and bruised from hammering on the stone, and it took a few tries to get hold of the fine loops. Once he began untwisting them, it went quickly, and before long, the intricate wire mesh holding the gem opened enough for him to tip the stone out into his hand.
“Now you must crush it,” Vayne said.
“Vayne… I… I don’t know if I can. What if I hurt you?”
“I would do it for you if I could, Jaire, but I cannot. You must be my hands in this. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. I am asking you — I am begging you — to break the gem. Please, Jaire. End my exile. Give me the chance to help you.”
Vayne’s words gave him strength. Vayne wanted this and so Jaire would do it for him. It would be selfish to keep the ghost-prince trapped just because Jaire wanted his company.
He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved away from the wall.
“Just crush it beneath my boot?”
“Ai,” Vayne breathed. “I believe that will be enough.”
Jaire set the gem on the floor and stared down at it, then turned his gaze to Vayne. He studied the ghost-prince for a long, long time, memorizing the lines of his face as he did. “If this doesn’t work… I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company very much, and I wish… I wish I could have known you better. I would like to have touched you.” He felt his face grow hot, but he kept his eyes fixed on Vayne, who gave him a sad smile.
“I would like to have touched you, too, Jaire.”
“Right then. Let’s do this.” Jaire raised his foot, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his boot heel down hard on the gem. The moment it shattered, a ripple of power shivered through the mythe. He opened his eyes to see Vayne on his knees, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock before the ghost-prince vanished.
Book Description
Shy and bookish Prince Jaire of Altan is not particularly enthralled at the idea of marrying the simpering Lady Bria of Irilan, but Altan needs to renew its ties with the neighboring kingdom. For the sake of the alliance, Jaire is willing to do his duty, even if he would much rather marry a prince.
When Jaire sees the ghost of a handsome young man dressed in fashions centuries old, he fears he might be losing his mind. But the ghost proves to be far more than a restless spirit, and might just hold the key the northern kingdoms need to break free of the Wytch Council’s ever-tightening grip, as well as the key to Jaire’s heart.
Excerpt
“Breaking the amulet is the only way,” Vayne said softly. “And you must help me do it.”
Jaire stared up at Vayne. What if he broke the amulet and Vayne ended up dead? Or lost? Though he’d never touched the ghost-prince, the thought of being the cause of the man’s death troubled him deeply. “I… what if it kills you?”
“I think that’s a chance we’ll have to take. If you can free me, I can go for help. If you don’t free me, there’s no chance. What will Garrik do when they threaten you to gain his cooperation?”
“I… I don’t know,” Jaire whispered. “He’ll be terribly angry. And… and Garrik doesn’t always think clearly when he’s angry. And he especially doesn’t think clearly when I’m involved.” He didn’t like to imagine what Garrik would do. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be well thought out, and would likely place Garrik in terrible danger. He closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. “I suppose you’re right. If there’s any chance of freeing you so you can go for help, we had best take it.” He swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Vayne’s eyes. “Thank you. For risking yourself. What must I do?”
“Take the amulet off and let’s see if we can free the stone.”
With shaking hands, Jaire drew the fine silver chain over his head. For a moment he squeezed the stone tightly in his hand, then opened it to reveal the emerald green gem wrapped in an intricate net of fine silver lying in his palm.
“See how the setting wraps around it, protecting it?” Vayne asked. “It’s designed to break easily. Hold it up to the light, and you can probably see the flaw deep in the crystal. It shouldn’t take more than the pressure of your boot heel to shatter it, once it’s free of the setting.”
Jaire blinked to clear his vision and examined the amulet closely. He lifted it to the light, and indeed, there was a dark fault line deep inside it. Jaire studied the metalwork cage, found a spot near the top where two small loops of wire were twisted together.
He pointed them out to Vayne. “I think if I unwrap these… it looks like it will open the setting and free the gem.”
“Do it,” Vayne whispered.
His fingers were swollen and bruised from hammering on the stone, and it took a few tries to get hold of the fine loops. Once he began untwisting them, it went quickly, and before long, the intricate wire mesh holding the gem opened enough for him to tip the stone out into his hand.
“Now you must crush it,” Vayne said.
“Vayne… I… I don’t know if I can. What if I hurt you?”
“I would do it for you if I could, Jaire, but I cannot. You must be my hands in this. Whatever happens, you must not blame yourself. I am asking you — I am begging you — to break the gem. Please, Jaire. End my exile. Give me the chance to help you.”
Vayne’s words gave him strength. Vayne wanted this and so Jaire would do it for him. It would be selfish to keep the ghost-prince trapped just because Jaire wanted his company.
He rose unsteadily to his feet and moved away from the wall.
“Just crush it beneath my boot?”
“Ai,” Vayne breathed. “I believe that will be enough.”
Jaire set the gem on the floor and stared down at it, then turned his gaze to Vayne. He studied the ghost-prince for a long, long time, memorizing the lines of his face as he did. “If this doesn’t work… I just want you to know I’ve enjoyed your company very much, and I wish… I wish I could have known you better. I would like to have touched you.” He felt his face grow hot, but he kept his eyes fixed on Vayne, who gave him a sad smile.
“I would like to have touched you, too, Jaire.”
“Right then. Let’s do this.” Jaire raised his foot, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his boot heel down hard on the gem. The moment it shattered, a ripple of power shivered through the mythe. He opened his eyes to see Vayne on his knees, open-mouthed, eyes wide with shock before the ghost-prince vanished.
Saturday, December 10, 2016
LGBT Fantasy Weekend!
LGBT fantasy author Olivia Helling has gathered together a group of authors of lgbt fantasy and science fiction and organized this awesome event we're calling LGBT Fantasy Weekend. We have a bunch of lgbt fantasy and science fiction titles available either free or for $0.99.
The sale runs from Saturday, December 10 through Sunday, December 11. We've got books by Jordan L. Hawk, Amber Kell, Gillian St. Kevern, Lia Black, Tricia Owens, N.R. Walker, and plenty of others. For this event, I'm offering both Psi Hunter (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 1) and Burn the Sky (Wytch Kings, Book 1) for $0.99. Check it out here.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Update, October 2016
Some update things...
1. Shadowspire is coming in early 2017. This is book 3 of the Wytch Kings series, and sets the stage for the coming conflict with the Wytch Council. Shadowspire is Prince Jaire's story, and takes place about five years after Blackfrost. The cover is done, and it's as gorgeous as the rest of the series. I'll be sharing the cover art in December, along with an excerpt and a firm release date.
2. The Guardians of the Pattern series will wrap up in 2017, with the final installment, Closing the Circle. This is Cameron's story, and it looks like it's going to be the longest of the six novels. This is not the end for these characters, though. They are still talking to me (some of them never shut up--I'm looking at you, Luka), so I think it's safe to say there will be more. How much more? Possibly another series, but I haven't really mapped anything out yet. At the moment, it's all vague ideas and random scribblings.
3. Once Closing the Circle is out, I'll be turning my attention to Kingmakers. This M/M fantasy trilogy chronicles the adventures of Kerry McKinnon, a Minnesota boy who stumbles across the Veil Between Worlds and discovers the world of Aion. During the course of his adventures, Kerry learns to identify the business end of a sword, falls in love, and attempts to save the world. Kingmakers takes place a few years after Leythe Blade, and Jace, Sasha, and Eredwyn are all important secondary characters. I'm looking forward to seeing what they've been getting up to since Leythe Blade.
4. I also have a couple of F/F stories in the planning stages, and at least one those could see the light of day in 2018. The Plot Rat and I have much to discuss.
1. Shadowspire is coming in early 2017. This is book 3 of the Wytch Kings series, and sets the stage for the coming conflict with the Wytch Council. Shadowspire is Prince Jaire's story, and takes place about five years after Blackfrost. The cover is done, and it's as gorgeous as the rest of the series. I'll be sharing the cover art in December, along with an excerpt and a firm release date.
2. The Guardians of the Pattern series will wrap up in 2017, with the final installment, Closing the Circle. This is Cameron's story, and it looks like it's going to be the longest of the six novels. This is not the end for these characters, though. They are still talking to me (some of them never shut up--I'm looking at you, Luka), so I think it's safe to say there will be more. How much more? Possibly another series, but I haven't really mapped anything out yet. At the moment, it's all vague ideas and random scribblings.
3. Once Closing the Circle is out, I'll be turning my attention to Kingmakers. This M/M fantasy trilogy chronicles the adventures of Kerry McKinnon, a Minnesota boy who stumbles across the Veil Between Worlds and discovers the world of Aion. During the course of his adventures, Kerry learns to identify the business end of a sword, falls in love, and attempts to save the world. Kingmakers takes place a few years after Leythe Blade, and Jace, Sasha, and Eredwyn are all important secondary characters. I'm looking forward to seeing what they've been getting up to since Leythe Blade.
4. I also have a couple of F/F stories in the planning stages, and at least one those could see the light of day in 2018. The Plot Rat and I have much to discuss.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Eye of the Storm is Live!
When Ajhani exile Vaya Rhivana saves the life of wealthy Federation playboy Nick Romani, he thinks he has all the bargaining power he needs to negotiate the return of his kidnapped clansmen. Falling in love with his hostage was never part of the plan, and in the end, Vaya’s choices could change the fate of his entire world.
Eye of the Storm, book 5 of the Guardians of the Pattern series, is now available at Amazon, All Romance, and Smashwords. It will be coming soon to other retailers.
Print will be coming soon, too. I'm hoping to have the entire series available in print before the end of the year.
Eye of the Storm, book 5 of the Guardians of the Pattern series, is now available at Amazon, All Romance, and Smashwords. It will be coming soon to other retailers.
Print will be coming soon, too. I'm hoping to have the entire series available in print before the end of the year.
Monday, August 8, 2016
Eye of the Storm Cover Art
Eye of the Storm (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 5) is in the final edit stages, and due to be released in early September. I just got the final cover art from Chinchbug, and here it is:
Book Description:
Wealthy playboy Nick Romani is a trouble-magnet. When the local news net obtains compromising pictures of him with a prominent politician’s married son, Nick’s exasperated father exiles him to a remote research facility until the scandal dies down. When Nick learns what kind of research he’s expected to do, he balks. Instead of obeying his father’s orders, he heads out alone into the wilderness.
Ajhani Guardian Vaya Rhivana has chosen exile over a slow death by the drug that binds his uncontrollable power over the mythe. Before Vaya finds the strength to leave his clan, his sister’s son is kidnapped by the Sky People. Heartbroken, but too weak and sick to help rescue his nephew, Vaya heads off into the mountains, not expecting to return.
When a storm dumps an injured Nick at Vaya’s feet, Vaya’s first thought is to kill him. Only a whisper of prophecy stays his hand. An uneasy bargain is struck, and as the two exiles journey through the dangerous wilderness, Vaya finds his feelings for Nick slowly changing. Can Vaya keep his promise to Nick and see the bargain through? Or will the power he struggles to control destroy both himself and the man he’s beginning to love?
Book Description:
Wealthy playboy Nick Romani is a trouble-magnet. When the local news net obtains compromising pictures of him with a prominent politician’s married son, Nick’s exasperated father exiles him to a remote research facility until the scandal dies down. When Nick learns what kind of research he’s expected to do, he balks. Instead of obeying his father’s orders, he heads out alone into the wilderness.
Ajhani Guardian Vaya Rhivana has chosen exile over a slow death by the drug that binds his uncontrollable power over the mythe. Before Vaya finds the strength to leave his clan, his sister’s son is kidnapped by the Sky People. Heartbroken, but too weak and sick to help rescue his nephew, Vaya heads off into the mountains, not expecting to return.
When a storm dumps an injured Nick at Vaya’s feet, Vaya’s first thought is to kill him. Only a whisper of prophecy stays his hand. An uneasy bargain is struck, and as the two exiles journey through the dangerous wilderness, Vaya finds his feelings for Nick slowly changing. Can Vaya keep his promise to Nick and see the bargain through? Or will the power he struggles to control destroy both himself and the man he’s beginning to love?
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Closing the Circle: WIP Excerpt
Closing the Circle is book six, the final chapter of the Guardians of the Pattern series. This one features Cameron and Draven, who first met in the free short story, Facing the Mirror.
The explosions weren’t nearly as loud as he’d hoped, which was a little disappointing, but the resulting fire was all the hell he could have wished for. From the shelter of the trees on a hill overlooking the place he’d worked so hard to return to, Draven watched golden tongues of flame stroke the dark velvet sky.
There would be screaming, oh, God, let there be screaming…
Too bad he was too far away to hear it.
Didn’t matter. Those whose screams he’d most appreciate were no longer capable of screaming. DeMira wasn’t. Neither was Vorzana. They’d both drunk too deeply of the drugged wine at dinner.
The flames warped and blurred. Draven blinked as hot tears slipped down his cheeks. The games here hadn’t been all bad. There’d been a few good ones. Only a few, though, not enough to balance. The pain on this side weighed so much more than the sense of home on the other.
He wouldn’t name it revenge, because it wasn’t.
It was balance.
This single act flattened out all the spiky, jagged pieces that had been irritating him for the past few weeks. Everything was smooth and calm now, no ripples, no waves, no shards of glass floating just below the surface, waiting to slice his flesh if he moved the wrong way or thought the wrong way.
He could rest now. Maybe even sleep.
The song of fear and pain that had been threading through his awareness for the last hour finally became loud enough to intrude, causing little ripples to shiver across the smooth surface of his mind. The smooth surface he’d only just managed to create.
Annoying.
Draven reached into his pocket to pull free a needlepak of riptide. He slapped it against his arm and closed his eyes, waiting for the rush, waiting for silence, waiting for peace.
He should probably be worried about the fact that it took twice as many needlepaks a day to quiet the voices as it had when he’d first returned to Alpha. He wasn’t.
Turning his back on the blaze, he walked deeper into the forest until the drug turned his legs to rubber and his mind to liquid. He staggered to a stop and leaned against a tree trunk, helpless to stop himself from sliding down to the ground as his legs gave way.
The last conscious thought he had was a voice whispering, Aurora. Institute for Psionic Research. You can find me there if you ever need help. Or a place to hide.
Cameron’s voice.
In drug-laced dreams, Draven reached for that voice as if it were a lifeline.
The explosions weren’t nearly as loud as he’d hoped, which was a little disappointing, but the resulting fire was all the hell he could have wished for. From the shelter of the trees on a hill overlooking the place he’d worked so hard to return to, Draven watched golden tongues of flame stroke the dark velvet sky.
There would be screaming, oh, God, let there be screaming…
Too bad he was too far away to hear it.
Didn’t matter. Those whose screams he’d most appreciate were no longer capable of screaming. DeMira wasn’t. Neither was Vorzana. They’d both drunk too deeply of the drugged wine at dinner.
The flames warped and blurred. Draven blinked as hot tears slipped down his cheeks. The games here hadn’t been all bad. There’d been a few good ones. Only a few, though, not enough to balance. The pain on this side weighed so much more than the sense of home on the other.
He wouldn’t name it revenge, because it wasn’t.
It was balance.
This single act flattened out all the spiky, jagged pieces that had been irritating him for the past few weeks. Everything was smooth and calm now, no ripples, no waves, no shards of glass floating just below the surface, waiting to slice his flesh if he moved the wrong way or thought the wrong way.
He could rest now. Maybe even sleep.
The song of fear and pain that had been threading through his awareness for the last hour finally became loud enough to intrude, causing little ripples to shiver across the smooth surface of his mind. The smooth surface he’d only just managed to create.
Annoying.
Draven reached into his pocket to pull free a needlepak of riptide. He slapped it against his arm and closed his eyes, waiting for the rush, waiting for silence, waiting for peace.
He should probably be worried about the fact that it took twice as many needlepaks a day to quiet the voices as it had when he’d first returned to Alpha. He wasn’t.
Turning his back on the blaze, he walked deeper into the forest until the drug turned his legs to rubber and his mind to liquid. He staggered to a stop and leaned against a tree trunk, helpless to stop himself from sliding down to the ground as his legs gave way.
The last conscious thought he had was a voice whispering, Aurora. Institute for Psionic Research. You can find me there if you ever need help. Or a place to hide.
Cameron’s voice.
In drug-laced dreams, Draven reached for that voice as if it were a lifeline.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Blackfrost is Live!
Today, I'm over at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for the release of Blackfrost, the sequel to Burn the Sky. There's an excerpt, a giveaway of Leythe Blade, and if you'd like to read BJ's awesome review, you can find it here
Blackfrost is Book 2 in my Wytch Kings series, which chronicles the events leading up to the earliest conflicts of the Wytch War. It features Kian, who was an important secondary character in Burn the Sky, and Ambris, an exiled prince of the kingdom of Miraen.
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing at Blackfrost is as Kian expects, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner in his attic bedroom? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Blackfrost is currently available at All Romance, Amazon, Apple, Kobo, and Smashwords, and will be coming to other retailers very soon. There's also a print version in the works, but it'll be a few weeks before that goes live.
Blackfrost is Book 2 in my Wytch Kings series, which chronicles the events leading up to the earliest conflicts of the Wytch War. It features Kian, who was an important secondary character in Burn the Sky, and Ambris, an exiled prince of the kingdom of Miraen.
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing at Blackfrost is as Kian expects, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner in his attic bedroom? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Blackfrost is currently available at All Romance, Amazon, Apple, Kobo, and Smashwords, and will be coming to other retailers very soon. There's also a print version in the works, but it'll be a few weeks before that goes live.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Blackfrost: Cover Reveal and Excerpt
Today I'm over at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for the cover reveal for Blackfrost. There's an exclusive excerpt and a look at the fantastic cover done by Chinchbug. Blackfrost is the sequel to Burn the Sky, and is Book 2 in the Wytch Kings series. It will be available on May 3, 2016.
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing in Kian’s experience has prepared him for what he finds at Blackfrost, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner at Blackfrost? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Book Description:
Son of a simple blacksmith, Apprentice Wytch Kian has always known that once his apprenticeship is over, he’ll be sent far from home to serve the Wytch Council. Before his training is even complete, Wytch Master Taretha orders him to Blackfrost, an isolated country estate, where he is to serve as personal healer to Prince Ambris of Miraen.
Nothing in Kian’s experience has prepared him for what he finds at Blackfrost, and every day brings new questions. Like why is Prince Ambris being kept prisoner at Blackfrost? Where does Wytch Master Taretha take him every fortnight? And why does the prince return from these excursions suffering from horrific injuries that Kian is expected to heal?
Kian quickly learns that seeking answers to these questions could cost him his life. Worse, he soon finds himself struggling with his growing feelings for Ambris, putting him at odds with both Wytch Master Taretha and the sadistic guard captain, Malik. Can Kian unravel the mystery in time to save Ambris? Or will the prince finally succumb to madness and destroy Blackfrost and everyone in it?
Monday, March 28, 2016
Eye of the Storm: WIP Excerpt
Eye of the Storm, book 5 in the Guardians of the Pattern series, is in the hands of my trusty beta team. This one will be out later this year, maybe around the end of the summer, and is about the adventures of Vaya Rhivana and Nick Romani. Here's a taste to keep you going until then...
Nick woke with a clear head and no fever. The first thing he was aware of was that he was no longer bound. The native man must have decided he wasn’t much of a threat, and as he stretched and tried to roll over, Nick decided that was probably a fair assessment. He felt weak and shaky, and wasn’t sure his legs would hold him.
He had dim memories of alternately burning and freezing, a horrible, pounding headache, and odd fever dreams. More clearly, he remembered the native man holding him down and forcing him to swallow vile-tasting potions.
Nick glanced about the cave. His bladder was urging him to get up, but he wasn’t certain he could manage by himself. He caught sight of the native man tending the fire. Beyond him, light filled the cavern entrance, though Nick couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon light.
“Can you help me?” he called across the cave. He thought he remembered the man speaking to him in Federation Standard, though that seemed unlikely. Perhaps it had just been a fever dream. “I need to get outside.”
The man got to his feet and moved to Nick’s side. He helped him stand, then slung one of Nick’s arms over his shoulders and waited patiently while Nick found his feet.
When they started moving slowly toward the mouth of the cave, Nick was surprised at how heavily he had to lean on his companion. By the time they made it outside, he was panting and sweating.
“Can we stop? Just for a second?”
The man stopped, and Nick let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t hallucinated it—the man did understand him.
“You can talk to me, you know,” Nick said as he leaned against the rock wall outside the cave. “I understood you just fine before.”
Jet black eyes flicked over him and then darted away. “There is nothing to talk about,” the man muttered.
“You might not have anything to talk about, but I have some questions. Like what’s your name? I told you mine… at least I think I did. I’m Nick, in case I didn’t. But I don’t know what to call you. Unless you’re partial to hey, you?”
“I don’t share my name with my enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy,” Nick said softly.
The feral, angry look in the eyes that reluctantly met his said otherwise.
“You shared a bed with me,” Nick pointed out. “Every time I woke up, you were right there next to me. Would an enemy do that?”
“He might if he had reason to keep you alive,” was the flat reply.
Nick frowned, not sure what to say to that, so he settled for, “Thank you. For saving me.”
The man’s eyes met his again—still wary, still hostile—and then he gave Nick a brief nod. “You may call me Vaya.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Nick gave him a grin, turning on the Romani charm full blast. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vaya.”
Vaya pulled Nick’s arm across his shoulders again. “Enough talk. Enough rest, too.” He led Nick to the tree, and to his embarrassment, Nick needed his support just to stand there relieving himself.
When he’d finished, he rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. He felt sweaty and dirty, and he desperately needed a shave. “I suppose a bath is out of the question,” he said as Vaya helped him back to the cave.
“Bath? As in wallow in a tub of hot water? A waste of time and wood to heat so much water. You can wash in the river when you feel stronger.”
Nick shuddered. “The river is cold.”
Vaya rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Nick figured he’d just scored negative points in whatever man-contest was going on here.
Inside, Vaya tucked Nick back up in the furs and said grudgingly, “I can heat some water for you. Not a big tub full, but enough for you to wash.”
Nick gave him a grateful smile. A wash down would have to do, though he’d have killed to be back in his own suite at Winford, sinking up to his neck in hot water and scrubbing away all traces of the sickness that clung to his body.
Vaya was as good as his word. He heated some water in a cooking pot, and when it was ready, helped Nick to the fire and steadied him while he washed himself.
When Nick got to his back, he was too stiff to reach behind him, so Vaya took the scrap of cloth and did it for him with surprisingly gentle hands. He helped Nick dry off as well, and then helped him back to the furs. After the trip outside and the wash, Nick was exhausted, but before he drifted off to sleep again, Vaya brought him a cup of water and helped him sit to drink it.
“When you wake, I’ll have some food ready,” he said as Nick lay back in the soft bedding.
“Thank you,” Nick murmured.
“Do not thank me,” Vaya said in a hard voice. “I am not doing this for you.”
Nick woke with a clear head and no fever. The first thing he was aware of was that he was no longer bound. The native man must have decided he wasn’t much of a threat, and as he stretched and tried to roll over, Nick decided that was probably a fair assessment. He felt weak and shaky, and wasn’t sure his legs would hold him.
He had dim memories of alternately burning and freezing, a horrible, pounding headache, and odd fever dreams. More clearly, he remembered the native man holding him down and forcing him to swallow vile-tasting potions.
Nick glanced about the cave. His bladder was urging him to get up, but he wasn’t certain he could manage by himself. He caught sight of the native man tending the fire. Beyond him, light filled the cavern entrance, though Nick couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon light.
“Can you help me?” he called across the cave. He thought he remembered the man speaking to him in Federation Standard, though that seemed unlikely. Perhaps it had just been a fever dream. “I need to get outside.”
The man got to his feet and moved to Nick’s side. He helped him stand, then slung one of Nick’s arms over his shoulders and waited patiently while Nick found his feet.
When they started moving slowly toward the mouth of the cave, Nick was surprised at how heavily he had to lean on his companion. By the time they made it outside, he was panting and sweating.
“Can we stop? Just for a second?”
The man stopped, and Nick let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t hallucinated it—the man did understand him.
“You can talk to me, you know,” Nick said as he leaned against the rock wall outside the cave. “I understood you just fine before.”
Jet black eyes flicked over him and then darted away. “There is nothing to talk about,” the man muttered.
“You might not have anything to talk about, but I have some questions. Like what’s your name? I told you mine… at least I think I did. I’m Nick, in case I didn’t. But I don’t know what to call you. Unless you’re partial to hey, you?”
“I don’t share my name with my enemies.”
“I’m not your enemy,” Nick said softly.
The feral, angry look in the eyes that reluctantly met his said otherwise.
“You shared a bed with me,” Nick pointed out. “Every time I woke up, you were right there next to me. Would an enemy do that?”
“He might if he had reason to keep you alive,” was the flat reply.
Nick frowned, not sure what to say to that, so he settled for, “Thank you. For saving me.”
The man’s eyes met his again—still wary, still hostile—and then he gave Nick a brief nod. “You may call me Vaya.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Nick gave him a grin, turning on the Romani charm full blast. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vaya.”
Vaya pulled Nick’s arm across his shoulders again. “Enough talk. Enough rest, too.” He led Nick to the tree, and to his embarrassment, Nick needed his support just to stand there relieving himself.
When he’d finished, he rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face. He felt sweaty and dirty, and he desperately needed a shave. “I suppose a bath is out of the question,” he said as Vaya helped him back to the cave.
“Bath? As in wallow in a tub of hot water? A waste of time and wood to heat so much water. You can wash in the river when you feel stronger.”
Nick shuddered. “The river is cold.”
Vaya rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Nick figured he’d just scored negative points in whatever man-contest was going on here.
Inside, Vaya tucked Nick back up in the furs and said grudgingly, “I can heat some water for you. Not a big tub full, but enough for you to wash.”
Nick gave him a grateful smile. A wash down would have to do, though he’d have killed to be back in his own suite at Winford, sinking up to his neck in hot water and scrubbing away all traces of the sickness that clung to his body.
Vaya was as good as his word. He heated some water in a cooking pot, and when it was ready, helped Nick to the fire and steadied him while he washed himself.
When Nick got to his back, he was too stiff to reach behind him, so Vaya took the scrap of cloth and did it for him with surprisingly gentle hands. He helped Nick dry off as well, and then helped him back to the furs. After the trip outside and the wash, Nick was exhausted, but before he drifted off to sleep again, Vaya brought him a cup of water and helped him sit to drink it.
“When you wake, I’ll have some food ready,” he said as Nick lay back in the soft bedding.
“Thank you,” Nick murmured.
“Do not thank me,” Vaya said in a hard voice. “I am not doing this for you.”
Friday, February 26, 2016
Blackfrost: WIP Excerpt
My next release, scheduled for this spring (probably very early May) is Blackfrost, the sequel to Burn the Sky. This story begins in the spring, less than a year after the events of Burn the Sky. When the story opens, Kian is nearing the completion of his training as a healer, and is about to be sent off to Blackfrost, an isolated estate in the kingdom of Miraen. There, he finds Prince Ambris and a bit of a mystery...
Prince Ambris of Miraen stared out at the dark tangle of the Blackwood. Over the years, the forest had encroached ever closer to the ruins of the estate, until now it threatened to overtake the charred remains of the north wing. The piles of burnt timbers were still covered with snow, but soon, tiny green tendrils of vine would be sprouting, and by midsummer, a mist of green would cover the fallen-in roof.
In a few more years, it would all merge back into the forest, leaving nothing to mark the place where Ambris’s life had taken such a dramatic turn for the worse.
Movement in the snow-covered courtyard below the window of his attic bedroom caught his eye, and he watched as the guard patrolling the courtyard and the ruins of the north wing was relieved by his night-time counterpart.
There was always a guard in sight of his bedroom window. Overkill, as far as Ambris was concerned, considering that the window was barred and could only be opened a crack.
Ambris let the heavy curtain fall and turned away from the gathering twilight. He had, perhaps, half an hour before old Cyrith brought his dinner and his sleeping draught. It was enough time. He would make it enough time.
He crept to the door and opened it a crack to listen. He heard no one moving about; the off-duty guardsmen would all be at supper, and Patra would have her hands full getting them fed. Ambris eased the door shut and moved to the center of his room.
Tonight.
He rubbed his pale, slender hands together. Tonight he would face the fire. Tonight, he would master his fear and take back both his freedom and his life.
Face the fire.
He mustn’t dither this time, and he mustn’t allow himself to dwell on his previous failures. If he thought about it too much, he’d lose his nerve, and who knew how long it would take him to get hold of it again?
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and sought the writhing core of flame at his center.
It sounded like such a simple thing whenever Wytch Master Taretha explained it. Build the pattern in his mind, then push it into place around the surging core of chaos at his center.
He hadn’t counted on it being fire.
Hadn’t counted on the dark, flame-filled memories sweeping him away every time he tried to focus on the core of his power. The moment he drew near enough to begin weaving the pattern, he’d hear his mother’s screams, see her fleeing, her eyes wide with horror, her hair on fire.
Ambris shuddered as his flesh began to twist and writhe, and his bones began to lengthen and change, piercing his skin. Blood… pain… and the sense of striving for something that was just out of reach, something he couldn’t quite grasp…
White hot agony rippled through him in waves, becoming more intense with every passing moment. There was no way back, though. Once the shift had begun, he could only grit his teeth and endure. It tore him apart from the inside out, and all Ambris could do was scream.
When he came to, the room was fully dark, and he hurt all over. The floor under him was cold, and his clothing was wet and sticky. Every muscle in his body was torn and throbbing, having been stretched beyond its limit. His skin had split in too many places, congealing blood oozing from every wound…
He groaned through a throat that was raw from screaming, and wished for the oblivion of unconsciousness. Where was Cyrith? The healer should have been here by now, should have eased his pain and healed his ruined flesh.
Steps sounded on the stairs. Not the hesitant shuffle-tap-shuffle of the gentle, blind healer, but the light, quick tread that always struck a chord of fear in his heart. Malik, captain of the guard, was approaching.
The footsteps stopped and the door squeaked open on hinges in need of oiling. Golden lamplight shone in from the hallway beyond the partially open door. A sharp intake of breath was held for a moment and then released on a barely audible chuckle.
“Had another accident, did we, Highness?” Malik’s voice was a mocking growl that Ambris wouldn’t have dared respond to even if he weren’t in too much pain to speak. “Or were we thinking about escape again?”
When Ambris didn’t answer, Malik continued, “Accident or not, it’s bad timing on your part. Cyrith’s dead, you know. Patra went to fetch him for dinner and found him all stiff and cold in his cot. Dead since this morning, she thinks.”
Cyrith dead?
Despair washed over him, magnifying his pain a thousandfold. He whimpered, but dared not try to speak. Whatever he said would be wrong, would stir Malik’s temper to violence. As it was, Malik had no way of knowing or proving that he’d deliberately chosen to do this to himself, and Ambris intended to keep it that way.
He squeezed his eyes shut as Malik’s steps came closer. Rough hands took hold of his torn, broken body and lifted it none too gently. Bone scraped on bone and pain flared through him.
The last thing Ambris heard before losing consciousness once more was Malik’s soft laughter.
When he came back to awareness, Malik was gone, and steady, competent hands gently dampened long strands of blood-encrusted hair with a wet cloth and smoothed them away from his ruined face.
“Ah, pet, I’m so sorry.” It was Patra, the housekeeper, sounding genuinely distressed. “Poor old Cyrith never woke up this morning, I’m afraid. Malik’s sent for the Wytch Master, but I’ve no idea how long she’ll be. I’ve brought you some blackseed, for the pain. Do you think you can drink it?”
He tried to speak, but the pain was too great, so he opened his mouth just a crack, hoping that Patra would understand. Her hand slipped beneath his head to lift it, and she held a small vial to his lips.
When he’d swallowed it all, Patra set his head back down carefully. The blackseed seemed to take forever to do its job, but eventually, a warm glow worked its way through him, starting at his shoulders and slowly spreading until it encompassed his whole body. The pain ebbed away, and Ambris finally drifted off to sleep.
Prince Ambris of Miraen stared out at the dark tangle of the Blackwood. Over the years, the forest had encroached ever closer to the ruins of the estate, until now it threatened to overtake the charred remains of the north wing. The piles of burnt timbers were still covered with snow, but soon, tiny green tendrils of vine would be sprouting, and by midsummer, a mist of green would cover the fallen-in roof.
In a few more years, it would all merge back into the forest, leaving nothing to mark the place where Ambris’s life had taken such a dramatic turn for the worse.
Movement in the snow-covered courtyard below the window of his attic bedroom caught his eye, and he watched as the guard patrolling the courtyard and the ruins of the north wing was relieved by his night-time counterpart.
There was always a guard in sight of his bedroom window. Overkill, as far as Ambris was concerned, considering that the window was barred and could only be opened a crack.
Ambris let the heavy curtain fall and turned away from the gathering twilight. He had, perhaps, half an hour before old Cyrith brought his dinner and his sleeping draught. It was enough time. He would make it enough time.
He crept to the door and opened it a crack to listen. He heard no one moving about; the off-duty guardsmen would all be at supper, and Patra would have her hands full getting them fed. Ambris eased the door shut and moved to the center of his room.
Tonight.
He rubbed his pale, slender hands together. Tonight he would face the fire. Tonight, he would master his fear and take back both his freedom and his life.
Face the fire.
He mustn’t dither this time, and he mustn’t allow himself to dwell on his previous failures. If he thought about it too much, he’d lose his nerve, and who knew how long it would take him to get hold of it again?
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and sought the writhing core of flame at his center.
It sounded like such a simple thing whenever Wytch Master Taretha explained it. Build the pattern in his mind, then push it into place around the surging core of chaos at his center.
He hadn’t counted on it being fire.
Hadn’t counted on the dark, flame-filled memories sweeping him away every time he tried to focus on the core of his power. The moment he drew near enough to begin weaving the pattern, he’d hear his mother’s screams, see her fleeing, her eyes wide with horror, her hair on fire.
Ambris shuddered as his flesh began to twist and writhe, and his bones began to lengthen and change, piercing his skin. Blood… pain… and the sense of striving for something that was just out of reach, something he couldn’t quite grasp…
White hot agony rippled through him in waves, becoming more intense with every passing moment. There was no way back, though. Once the shift had begun, he could only grit his teeth and endure. It tore him apart from the inside out, and all Ambris could do was scream.
When he came to, the room was fully dark, and he hurt all over. The floor under him was cold, and his clothing was wet and sticky. Every muscle in his body was torn and throbbing, having been stretched beyond its limit. His skin had split in too many places, congealing blood oozing from every wound…
He groaned through a throat that was raw from screaming, and wished for the oblivion of unconsciousness. Where was Cyrith? The healer should have been here by now, should have eased his pain and healed his ruined flesh.
Steps sounded on the stairs. Not the hesitant shuffle-tap-shuffle of the gentle, blind healer, but the light, quick tread that always struck a chord of fear in his heart. Malik, captain of the guard, was approaching.
The footsteps stopped and the door squeaked open on hinges in need of oiling. Golden lamplight shone in from the hallway beyond the partially open door. A sharp intake of breath was held for a moment and then released on a barely audible chuckle.
“Had another accident, did we, Highness?” Malik’s voice was a mocking growl that Ambris wouldn’t have dared respond to even if he weren’t in too much pain to speak. “Or were we thinking about escape again?”
When Ambris didn’t answer, Malik continued, “Accident or not, it’s bad timing on your part. Cyrith’s dead, you know. Patra went to fetch him for dinner and found him all stiff and cold in his cot. Dead since this morning, she thinks.”
Cyrith dead?
Despair washed over him, magnifying his pain a thousandfold. He whimpered, but dared not try to speak. Whatever he said would be wrong, would stir Malik’s temper to violence. As it was, Malik had no way of knowing or proving that he’d deliberately chosen to do this to himself, and Ambris intended to keep it that way.
He squeezed his eyes shut as Malik’s steps came closer. Rough hands took hold of his torn, broken body and lifted it none too gently. Bone scraped on bone and pain flared through him.
The last thing Ambris heard before losing consciousness once more was Malik’s soft laughter.
When he came back to awareness, Malik was gone, and steady, competent hands gently dampened long strands of blood-encrusted hair with a wet cloth and smoothed them away from his ruined face.
“Ah, pet, I’m so sorry.” It was Patra, the housekeeper, sounding genuinely distressed. “Poor old Cyrith never woke up this morning, I’m afraid. Malik’s sent for the Wytch Master, but I’ve no idea how long she’ll be. I’ve brought you some blackseed, for the pain. Do you think you can drink it?”
He tried to speak, but the pain was too great, so he opened his mouth just a crack, hoping that Patra would understand. Her hand slipped beneath his head to lift it, and she held a small vial to his lips.
When he’d swallowed it all, Patra set his head back down carefully. The blackseed seemed to take forever to do its job, but eventually, a warm glow worked its way through him, starting at his shoulders and slowly spreading until it encompassed his whole body. The pain ebbed away, and Ambris finally drifted off to sleep.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Wildfire Psi is Live!
Today I'm over at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for the release of Book 4 in my M/M Sci-Fi series, Guardians of the Pattern. There's an excerpt and a giveaway. This is Luka's story, and it's a slightly different take on one of my favorite setups: enemies-to-lovers.
Things are finally going well for Luka Valdari. He’s found a home and family at the Institute for Psionic Research, and he has a job he loves. When a training mission takes him back to the streets of downside Riga, he’s got plenty of reason to be uneasy, and when a psionic cry for help leads him to a nightmare from his past, Luka’s ready to bolt.
Things are not going so well for Damon Korsov. He’s got voices in his head, a hole in his memory, and strange dreams that may or may not be glimpses of his past. The one man who might hold the key to Damon’s past is the one man he can never ask. Because somehow, Luka knows Damon, and it’s clear to Damon that Luka hates him.
Unwilling to expose anyone else to the danger Damon represents, Luka volunteers to train him. He wants to hate Damon, but instead finds himself fascinated. Before they get a chance to sort things out between them, the two men are thrown into the middle of a terrifying plot that puts every human life in the galaxy at risk. Can Luka and Damon confront both of their pasts and work together to prevent disaster? Or will all the human worlds burn in the flames of wildfire psi?
Wildfire Psi is now available at Amazon, All Romance, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.
Things are finally going well for Luka Valdari. He’s found a home and family at the Institute for Psionic Research, and he has a job he loves. When a training mission takes him back to the streets of downside Riga, he’s got plenty of reason to be uneasy, and when a psionic cry for help leads him to a nightmare from his past, Luka’s ready to bolt.
Things are not going so well for Damon Korsov. He’s got voices in his head, a hole in his memory, and strange dreams that may or may not be glimpses of his past. The one man who might hold the key to Damon’s past is the one man he can never ask. Because somehow, Luka knows Damon, and it’s clear to Damon that Luka hates him.
Unwilling to expose anyone else to the danger Damon represents, Luka volunteers to train him. He wants to hate Damon, but instead finds himself fascinated. Before they get a chance to sort things out between them, the two men are thrown into the middle of a terrifying plot that puts every human life in the galaxy at risk. Can Luka and Damon confront both of their pasts and work together to prevent disaster? Or will all the human worlds burn in the flames of wildfire psi?
Wildfire Psi is now available at Amazon, All Romance, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.
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