Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. Here’s another unedited scene from Deep Water, where Poseidon has taken Griffin to a local barrier island for an impromptu picnic, and is desperately trying to remember how to seduce a man.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
Poseidon accepted another beer and settled back into the shade of the loblollies. It had been so long since he’d seduced anyone, man or woman, that he suspected he’d forgotten how to do it. Simply appearing in his divine guise was more likely to send Griffin into convulsions than ardor. Should I send a nice array of weapons? Compliment him on his manliness and strength?
He glanced across at the pale form. No, he’d take that as an insult. Gaia, why does this have to be so difficult?
A vague recollection of something called a women’s magazine flickered through his memory. It had recommended that women talk to men and ask them about their interests in order to tempt them into relationships.
He cleared his throat. “So, er, what are your interests?”
The look Griffin gave him was memorable. “You mean, apart from getting through the next two weeks without collapsing, pissing on someone’s living room floor, or dying?” he said drily.
The words were meant to be humorous, but they scored the god’s heart. “Why do you keep joking about that?” Poseidon said harshly.
Griffin suddenly looked abashed. “Probably because there’s nothing I can do about it, and I’d rather laugh than cry. Actually, I’d rather not talk about it at all, but it’s the bloody elephant in the room, isn’t it?”
Poseidon flushed. He had no right to rebuke Griffin, especially on a subject that he would never personally face. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just wanted to know more about you.”
“Why?” Griffin seemed genuinely puzzled. “I’m dying, Dunn. That doesn’t make me interesting.”
You have no idea how wrong you are, love. He cleared his throat. “I suspect we have some common interests. Oceanography, for one. And then there’s the Sea Shepherds. I did see your shirt the night of the cookout.”
“Oh, yeah?” The mortal brightened. “Yeah, I think the Shepherds are fantastic. I’ve actually gotten to work with them on a couple of projects. I know some people think they’re confrontational, but you can’t be afraid to kick arse now and then when it’s necessary, you know?”
To Poseidon’s relief that led into a spirited discussion about favorite conservation projects. Griffin admitted that he was especially fond of octopuses and squid, and had Poseidon laughing with a story about an octopus Griffin had nicknamed Phil. The cephalopod had learned how to break out of his locked tank, wandering across a hallway to another tank full of shrimp and helping himself to the occupants. “All I had to do was fit him with some sort of reverse scuba gear, and we could’ve knocked over any jewelry store in the country,” Griffin said.
“I could’ve told you that,” Poseidon said, chuckling. “They’re wonderful creatures, but never turn your back on an octopus or they’ll pick you clean.”
“Too right, mate.” Griffin lifted a bottle in salute, and Poseidon joined him. “To octopuses — the best sneak thieves I’d ever seen.”
A breeze rattled overhead through the limbs of the loblollies, and Poseidon realized with a start how long they’d been on the island. He reached out to the tide and noted its position. “Tide’s going out,” he said. “We’d better get back to the ship if we don’t want to be stranded here overnight.”
“Yeah, not really up for camping.” Groaning, Griffin got into a crouch, then stopped, wobbling slightly. “Bugger. Dunn, a bit of help?” he said through gritted teeth.
Poseidon stepped over. “What’s wrong?”
“Legs went to sleep. Too much time on my arse. Give me a hand up.”
Cautiously, he took the outstretched hands and hauled the mortal to his feet. He expected the sudden barrage of memory now, but it still stunned him with its intensity. Lips and thighs and long hair that smelled like green growing things and huge brown eyes—
With a start, he realized his agapetos’s eyes were still the same. Lit with sunlight, they were the color of whiskey and utterly entrancing. Spellbound, he leaned forward, watching them widen at his approach. Just a kiss. Please, my love, it’s been so long.
“Tide.”
“What?” The spell was broken.
“Tide,” Griffin repeated, eyes still wide. “We have to go, remember?”
“Oh.” Cursing his lack of control, Poseidon stepped back. “Yes, sorry. Let me just get my knapsack.”
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Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. We have another scene from my NaNoWriMo novel, Book Three of the Olympic Cove series Deep Water. In this scene Poseidon has received an unexpected summons from the Oracle of the Waters. However, once he finds out that the Fates are expecting him to reconcile with his estranged consort Amphitrite, things get a little…difficult. Yeah, that’s good word for it.
Next week I’ll have something tasty for you, but right now there just hasn’t been a lot of sex. Yet. Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
The Oracle of the Waters resided in a remote grotto just off the Orkney Islands. Skylla and Sthenios headed unerringly to the hidden entrance, neatly skirting a loaded tanker trundling its liquid cargo from the oil rigs in the North Sea. Poseidon briefly extended his godsense, reading the humans who crewed the tanker. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary; there were the usual amounts of grudges, violent thoughts, and plans of vengeance, but those existed wherever mortals gathered. He absently bestowed a blessing on them as his chariot landed neatly on the rock-strewn sea floor.
His steeds started cropping seaweed as he stepped out onto the sea floor, holding up his trident. The three-tined head began to glow, illuminating his approach to the craggy rock face that, far above, would become the seaward side of an island. What appeared to be a dark streak in the rocks turned out to be a rough entrance, and he pushed through it.
Inside the narrow cave the footing was rugged and climbed steeply. Soon he emerged from a glassy cave pool, noting the familiar glass globes hung suspended from the dark walls. Each globe contained a liquid that gave off a soft white glow, reflecting on the water’s surface with a ghostly shimmer.
Drying himself with a thought, he headed deeper into the cave, cradling the bottle of wine in the crook of his arm. About thirty feet from the water the cave narrowed abruptly, slabs of rock forming a roughly rectangular doorway. A tall, white-haired man in an old-fashioned linen shirt and homespun breeches appeared in it now, pale blue eyes gleaming.
“Welcome, old friend,” the Oracle said, his voice low but still retaining a faint Irish lilt. “I see you got my message.”
“I did.” Poseidon raised the bottle. “And I bring tribute. From my son’s private wine cellar.”
The Oracle’s eyes brightened. “Bythos? Aye, that lad always had a knack for picking vintages. Come in, then, and be welcome.”
Poseidon followed him into the back part of the cave. The anteroom was where the Oracle met those who traveled to his cave to learn the will of the Fates. From there, he accepted tribute before giving them their pronouncements. Behind the doorway, however, was the Oracle’s private chambers.
The light dimmed a bit, but the sea god could still clearly see the amazing hodgepodge of items collected by his friend over the centuries. Gold and jewels poured out of numerous wooden chests, some of them rotting with age and the ever-present moisture. Salvaged planks and driftwood sat piled in neat stacks, and various pieces of statuary were dotted here and there. In one corner, a peeling but still beautiful figurehead in the shape of a topless mermaid smiled at him in welcome.
The room was comfortably furnished with rare old pieces of carved furniture, rescued from the deep and carefully cleaned for their new owner’s use. Two chairs were arranged now around an elegantly chased brazier that filled the room with welcome warmth. He was waved to one seat, and the Oracle took the chair across from him.
“I’m glad you got here quickly,” the old man said, taking the bottle and deftly pulling out the cork. “I had the feeling that there was some urgency behind the Fates’ words.”
Poseidon accepted a filled golden cup. “Does this have something to do with the events of the past few months?”
The Oracle shrugged. “I’m simply the messenger. Only you can put meaning to the words.”
“Which are?”
Pale eyes focused on him, as if seeing into his soul. Poseidon repressed his discomfort. Once a mortal man named Donald, the Oracle’s association with the Fates have given him a gravitas that would give even Zeus pause.
“The wheel turns, and in its turning presents a gift,” he intoned. “To earn this gift, you must heal old wounds and regain the trust of those you betrayed. If you fail, you will never defeat the Maddened One.”
Poseidon waited until he was sure there was nothing more. “I assume the Maddened One is Thetis.”
The old man sighed, settling back in his chair. “Can you think of another crazed creature who needs to be defeated?” he said. “Do you know what the rest of it means?”
It was Poseidon’s turn to shrug. Healing old wounds could apply to any of the beings he’d quarreled with over the centuries. Gaia knew there were enough of them; he had a difficult, argumentative nature, and had made more than enough enemies in his long life. But he could see the point of having powerful beings on their side in the fight against Thetis. Have Bythos make a list of those who may be useful. The corner of his mouth twitched. Even the ones who currently loathe me.
As for a wheel that presented gifts, that would require some thought. The betrayed trust, however, could only refer to one thing. “It seems the Fates have decided to move into the field of marital counseling,” he muttered, taking a deep gulp of his wine.
“Ah.” Donald nodded over his own cup. “The lovely Lady Amphitrite. I take it you still haven’t reconciled with her.”
“I don’t care to discuss it.
Donald waved it off. “As you wish. But if the Fates say that you’ll need Amphitrite at your side to defeat her sister, then you might want to pick out some nice posies and work on your groveling.” He saluted Poseidon with a golden cup. “Just a suggestion.”
The sea god grunted at that. “Groveling didn’t work. Neither did flowers,” he muttered, taking another sip. And then another. “My head on a pike — that might do the trick.”
Donald made a deep, throaty sound that could have been agreement or censure. “Aye, and there’s some that say the lass deserves just that. But you can’t be lopping your head off now, friend. It needs to stay on your shoulders, where it’ll do the most good against Thetis.”
“Oh, will it? I can’t stop Thetis, you know. I tried.” The admission pained him, and he waved his cup, grimacing. “After her minion poisoned Bythos, I tried to hunt her down. I couldn’t find her. I’m the bloody God of the Sea and she’s a Nereid, part of my demesnes. I should have been able to find her.” He shook his head. “But now she’s…something I’ve never seen before. She’s been removed from my control, somehow. And that disturbs me greatly.”
The Oracle’s eyes narrowed. “How could she have moved beyond your control?”
Poseidon grimaced. “You know very well how. And if that’s the case, then this entire planet is in the gravest of dangers.”
“Have you talked to Gaia about this?”
“I tried. She’s not speaking to me, either.”
“Hm.” Donald fell silent, and Poseidon could hear the sound of dripping water and the ancient stone around them murmuring to itself. He’d always assumed that the position of Oracle must be a lonely one, but dwelling here in the living bedrock, his friend might have far more company than he’d ever assumed. “Well, then you must rely on your own counsel, and fight Thetis as best you can with the allies at hand. And from what the Fates say, that includes Amphitrite. I would suggest you go find her and tell her what I’ve told you. It might help.”
Poseidon drained his cup, placing it on the floor. “You’ve set me a difficult task, my friend. Almost Herculean, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”
The old mortal chuckled. “Better you than me, lord.”
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So it’s the early morning of Day Eight of NaNoWriMo and I have a question
I’m taking a break because I’ve been writing for the past six hours and my brain is a bit melty at the moment (that being said, I’m currently at 20,126 words and Act One is pretty much done).
So I decided to take a break and wander around the NaNoWriMo forums a bit, see what everyone else is saying, and stumbled across something interesting. Apparently one writer just interviewed an editor at Liquid Silver about what selling in erotic romance at the moment, and one of the big things is gay werewolves.
Now, I don’t write werewolves — I have no problem with them, but they just don’t do much for me. That being said, I do have a M/M shifter novel, Trickster, which has been my bestselling book to date by far despite the fact that it’s ridiculously short. I also have a lot of backstory in the Trickster universe, plus three other books set in it that are floating in the back of my mind.
And since I have to decide now what I’ll be writing next month (I’m OCD that way, just work with me), I thought I’d throw the question out to you all — would you like me to work on a Trickster sequel in December? I have further adventures in mind for Delaney and Mark, namely a business trip to a convention in Las Vegas where Delaney pulls double duty as the Trickster clan’s representative at a shifter conference. Things get complicated when a clique of 20something shifters sting casinos along the strip, setting Mob enforcers on their tails. If that wasn’t bad enough, Delaney runs into an ex-girlfriend, and Mark winds up playing counselor for another shifter/human couple.
Interested? Let me know!
Nominations for the Second Annual Evernight Reader’s Choice Awards are now open!
Okay, my lovelies, I have a huge favor to ask of you. Writing is its own reward, but I’ll freely admit that exterior validation is nice, too. 😀 So if you like my work and want to fill me with the creative spirit (or just make me giggle like a three-year-old), nominating my works in the Second Annual Evernight Reader’s Choice Awards is the way to go! Plus, if you nominate works you’ll get a chance to win a $25 Evernight GC!
https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/P6C3KQ2
I’m eligible in the following categories (eligible works are listed):
1. Evernight Book of the Year: Two to Tango, Planet Alpha: Assassin, Trickster (my personal favorite is Two to Tango)
2. Favorite Evernight author: Nicola Cameron
3. Best Evernight series: Since Olympic Cove 2 isn’t out yet, I would suggest Planet Alpha.
4. Favorite Evernight Hero: Rory MacLellan or Dmitri Grigoryev from Two to Tango; Delaney Smith or Mark Fellows from Trickster; Peter Loeffler or John Quincy from “The Art of Grant Management” in Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition; Taric, Zhan, or Duncan Shea from Planet Alpha: Assassin (my personal favorite is Rory MacLellan)
6. Evernight book with the best HEA (Happily Ever After) ending: See #1 (my personal favorite is Two to Tango)
7. Best Evernight cover: See #1
11. Best in Category: Anthologies: Executive Assistant: Manlove Edition
14. Best in Category: Erotic: See #1
15. Best in Category: Fantasy: Trickster
16. Best in Category: Futuristic: Planet Alpha: Assassin, Two to Tango
17. Best in Category: Gay: See #1
23. Best in Category: Menage: Planet Alpha: Assassin
26. Best in Category: Paranormal: Trickster
28. Best in Category: Sci-Fi: Two to Tango
33. Best in Category: Planet Alpha: Planet Alpha: Assassin
Now go forth, my pretties, and nominate!
Mid Week Tease: Deep Water #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. I have to be honest with you — I’m hip deep in NaNoWriMo and I didn’t really have time to find a sexy teaser to share with you.
Soooo — I’m sharing a scene from my NaNoWriMo novel with you. And what is it, you ask? Why, its Book Three of the Olympic Cove series, Deep Water! (If you want to see the very first scene in the book, page back a blog post.)
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Poseidon, God of the Sea, has spent millennia alone due to a single terrible act — a drunken assault on his agapetos, or fated mate, shared with his consort Amphitrite. His queen has sworn never to forgive him for his actions, and he must live with the knowledge that he drove an innocent girl to a dreadful retribution.
But when one of the Olympic Cove cottages gets a new occupant with an all-too-familiar soul, Poseidon discovers that the Fates have given him a second chance. Now he must try to right the wrongs of the past and win back both his beloved consort and the mate he betrayed.
Assuming, of course, that the Mad Nereid Thetis doesn’t interfere…
Heather contemplated her newest acquisition, absently tapping a purple feather duster against one thigh as she pondered. Now where should I put it? Garden statuary? Library decor?
For a junk store masquerading as an antique shop, the Lady’s Touch held some genuine treasures for those willing to search through its many, many shelves. Heather was relieved that few of the mortal shoppers who came in to browse ever noticed that the interior dimensions of the store didn’t quite match the exterior dimensions (except for that nice Englishwoman, she thought fondly, Verity something. Such a good eye for spatial differentiation).
As the interior size of The Lady’s Touch developed a certain elasticity over the years, its display system had become rather haphazard as a result, and now she wasn’t quite sure where to store the bust currently sitting on her counter. Perhaps Halloween decorations?
A warm, familiar presence bloomed at her back. “Hy, do you have time for some tea?”
She turned. Behind her stood a tall, lovely woman with long dark hair caught up in a tidy chignon. The woman’s casual but tasteful clothing — designer jeans, silk shell top, and Jimmy Choo flats — didn’t quite fit with the t-shirts and jean shorts of the local tourists, but didn’t make her stand out terribly either. She looked like a rich young matron slumming it in a seaside junk shop.
Until Heather looked into her eyes. They held an ancient pain that seared the soul.
“Oh, crumpets,” she said, tossing the feather duster onto the counter. “What’s he done now?”
“Nothing exactly, but—” The Nereid stopped, staring at the bust. A flash of bitter emotion flickered across her face. “Where did you get that?”
Damn, damn, damn. She hadn’t even thought about the bust. “I bought it at an estate sale,” she said. “It’s genuine marble, you see, and the woman who sold it said it had been sculpted by her uncle, some sort of local artist. It’s really rather well done, but I didn’t know you were coming in, otherwise—”
Amphitrite gave her a pained look. Heather realized she’d been babbling. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Er, I’ll just put it away, then.”
“No. It’s all right.” The Nereid reached out to the bust, one fingertip trailing over the creamy stone. She traced a high cheekbone, a beautifully full lip, the wide, strong brow.
Heather noticed she avoided the sinuous shapes curled around the bust’s head. “It doesn’t really look like her, of course,” Amphitrite said absently. “But then again, that’s hardly surprising. Most people never look beyond the snakes.”
With a sound she desperately hoped was supportive and not as grunty as she suspected it really was, Heather hefted the bust and bustled off. Halloween decor it is.
When she returned, the store was empty. She stepped to the door and flicked the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, then headed to the tiny office tucked in the building’s front corner. She dropped her disguise as she did; the curly red hair and green glasses disappeared, replaced by her true form as the Nereid Hyacinthe.
She entered the office, pleased to see that Amphitrite had found her electric kettle and filled it. A teapot, a bottle of milk, two mugs carrying the shop’s logo, and a plate of snickerdoodles were already out on her desk.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Amphitrite said as the kettle clicked off, wisps of steam rising from its spout. “I just really need some tea. Or wine, if you have it.”
“Not at the moment, sorry,” Heather said, thinking about the bottle of merlot upstairs in her apartment. The last thing Amphitrite needed was to start drinking this early in the day. “Let me just mash this up and we’ll have a nice talk, yes?”
After the tea had been poured, the sisters settled on either side of the desk, mugs and snickerdoodles in hand. “So, Poseidon,” Heather prompted. “What’s he done now?”
“Well … nothing,” Amphitrite said slowly. “Not exactly, anyway. I was at the cove this morning for a therapy session with Nick Gardiner and his mers.”
Once again Heather was impressed by the breadth of mortal training her sister had picked up over the millennia. “Nice to see you using your psychology degree again,” she said over the rim of her cup.
The Nereid shrugged. “Yes, well, afterwards I went over to the boys’ cottage to ask Aphros about a recipe, and Poseidon was there with Bythos and Ian. I assume they were having some sort of war council.”
“Did Poseidon say anything to you?”
“He offered to step out so that I could speak with Bythos.”
“And?”
“That was it.”
She weighed her next words. “Did you want him to say anything else?”
Amphitrite slumped in her chair. “I suppose it’s childish of me to want him to grovel every time I see him.”
“A bit, yes.”
The dark-haired goddess nodded gloomily. “We’ve done so well, avoiding each other for all those centuries. And now we wind up meeting twice in six weeks.” She grimaced. “I mean, I knew it would be possible if I agreed to be Nick’s therapist, but there’s a difference between knowing something intellectually and actually having it happen to you.”
“I know,” Heather said sympathetically. “Perhaps the two of you could set up some sort of schedule so that you don’t have to run into each other?”
Amphitrite raised a curved eyebrow. “Custody of Olympic Cove? That’s a thought. Although I can’t see him holding to it.”
Heather made a muffled noise of agreement into her tea. She’d been the sea god’s sister-in-law long enough to know that he’d ignore an agreement if it suited him. “You sure he didn’t say anything else to you?”
“No. Just stood there like a self-important martinet and looked constipated. Although I do think he tried to smile once.” Amphitrite pursed her lips. “I’m surprised his cheeks didn’t crack.”
The other Nereid chuckled at that. “Well, why don’t you arrange to meet with Nick, Aidan and Liam somewhere else? You could always use my apartment for day sessions.”
Amphitrite let out a slow breath, studying the tan liquid in her mug. “That’s very kind of you, darling, but I don’t feel comfortable bringing the mers into a human settlement,” she said finally. “Things are rather tense between them and their grotto as it is. I don’t wish to add more stress if I don’t have to. I’ll just have to bite the bullet and accept that I may see Poseidon now and then. It won’t kill me, after all.”
“Yes, one of the benefits about being an immortal, I suppose.” Heather took a quick nibble of her cookie. “Of course, it might not be a bad idea, you know. Talking to him, I mean. I think the mortals call it ‘getting closure.’”
The air in the small office grew chillier. “I don’t see how I could achieve closure with Poseidon,” Amphitrite said evenly. “Unless he did something really spectacular, such as, of, I don’t know, immolate himself in a volcano. I might be willing to watch that.”
Heather winced. “Ammie, you know I’m on your side with this. What he did was cruel and utterly heartless. But that was also thousands of year ago. At some point, you have to let it go, for your own sake.” Her voice gentled. “Tell me truly — do you even remember how she looked?”
Those sea-blue eyes clouded over, looking inwards at something Heather could only suspect. “I will always remember how she looked,” Amphitrite murmured softly. “She had large eyes, light brown, like those of an owl. Her nose was small and straight, and turned up at the tip. When she laughed, the entire room seemed to light up. And even though she was small she always stood up straight, modest and attentive, the perfect handmaiden.” Her expression hardened. “Until Poseidon betrayed her. And me.”
Heather flinched from the grief and rage in the Nereid’s eyes. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to dredge up more pain for you.”
The dark-haired goddess shook her head. “You didn’t. That’s the problem. I carry it with me always. And that is why I cannot achieve closure with Poseidon. The bastard drove our agapetos away, and I can never forgive him for that.”
“Even though you miss him?” Heather regretted the words the moment they slipped out.
But Amphitrite simply nodded. “Even though I miss him. And I’m not sure who I hate more for that. Him, or myself.”
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Happy NaNoWriMo!
Of course I’m doing NaNoWriMo. And for all you Olympic Cove fans, there is reason to rejoice — not only is Breaker Zone coming out late this month or early in December, but this year’s NaNoWriMo book is Book Three in the series (the working title is Deep Water). I’m currently closing in on 7K and hope to have the entire 100K first draft done by November 30. So you might actually get Poseidon’s story early in 2015. I’m a giver that way, you know.
And because I’m in such a good mood, here’s a completely unedited teaser from Chapter One:
Three gods sat in a tidy cottage kitchen, sharing a bottle of rather fine wine.
This wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the cottage, or even the kitchen. With mid-afternoon sunlight playing on its rack of copper pots and aged wooden cabinets, the room radiated a certain welcoming homeliness that could make even a divine entity feel comfortable. No, the only odd thing was the *identity* of one of the gods currently sitting around the retro kitchen table.
If pressed, Poseidon (Ruler of the Sea, Earth-Shaker, Lord of Horses, et al.) was willing to admit that he felt surprisingly comfortable in his sons’ oh-so-human dwelling. And he definitely appreciated the vintage he was about to receive. He admired the play of sunlight on crystal and liquid as the level of wine rose in his glass, nodding when it had reached an acceptable amount.
The storm god across from him stopped pouring, putting the wine bottle back on the table. Poseidon found the simple act somewhat amusing. After millennia of being served by daimons, the invisible spirits of the air that tended the gods of Olympus, he wasn’t used to corporeal hands doing something as mundane as pouring him a glass of wine.
Especially when those hands belonged to Ian West, first of the new Atlantian Gods. *And, by an incredible concatenation of events that even I find hard to believe, my son-in-law.*
He covered his distraction by taking a sip of wine. The rich, earthy taste of an excellent Bordeaux rolled over his tongue, and he swallowed with genuine pleasure. “From your wine cellar, I take it?”
The other occupant of the table, a lean redhead with grey eyes, nodded. “I thought it would help, considering what we’re here to discuss,” the sea demigod Bythos said.
“Mm. So you have new information about the cause of Thetis’s madness?”
“We do. Nick was able to analyze some of her venom while she had him at her lair. He said it contained some kind of nanotechnology. That’s—”
“I know what nanotechnology is,” Poseidon said crisply. “That … is a surprise.” Thick red brows furrowed as he thought. “But it does explain how she has been able to turn various creatures into monsters.” He glanced briefly at his son, whose face had gone taut at the memory of being poisoned by the Mad Nereid’s venom. It had almost turned Bythos into a deadly monster, but Ian, guided by Gaia, had been able to purge him and save his life. “Do you know how she obtained this nanotechnology?”
Bythos shook his head. “If we still had a sample Nick might be able to study it in more depth, see if it had some sort of logo or marking symbol on it.”
“But Nick never physically had any of the venom,” Ian pointed out. His friend Dr. Nick Gardiner had arrived at the cove a week ago after fleeing a deadly lover, and had become the Bearer of the Rod of Asclepius in the process. “He did his analysis through Pythia and the Rod. As for Thetis’s lair,” Ian raised his hands and twitched both index and middle fingers at the last word, “it’s currently sitting under Barnard Whitfield’s yacht. I doubt there’s anything usable left.” The grim look left his face, replaced by sorrow. “I just wish I’d known—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bythos said, covering his mate’s hand with his own. “Thetis played us all cleverly, beloved. And there’s no guarantee you could have saved Claire. From what Nick said, the venom was much farther advanced in her than it was in me.”
Ian sighed. “I still wish I could have tried, dammit.”
Poseidon leaned back in his chair, long fingers toying with the almost full wine glass. Thetis’s latest move in their ongoing battle had been to go beyond the mutated mermaids known as ilkothella and turn more powerful creatures into twisted versions of themselves. Ideally these creatures would still maintain their original intelligence, but follow Thetis faithfully. With that in mind the Nereid had poisoned a sea goddess named Claire with the intention of turning the resulting monster into a leader of her army.
But the brave goddess had defied Thetis, choosing to end her life and return to Gaia rather than become one of the Nereid’s minions. A new coral reef had blossomed instantly on the site of Claire’s sacrifice, forever memorializing her courage. While this was a setback in Thetis’s plans, Poseidon had no delusions that it would dissuade the Nereid from her course of revenge.
Mid Week Tease: Trickster or Treat #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! This week we Mid Week Teasers are celebrating Halloween with teasers from our paranormal works. And since Delaney and Mark have been on my mind recently, here’s a special Halloween scene from my Trickster series (yes, there will be a sequel).
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
With care, Delaney decanted the hot cider from the pot into two glass mugs, inhaling the crisp, fruity steam with relish. It was rare that Dallas got chilly enough for spiced cider before December, but a cold front had pushed through the area along with a handful of thunderstorms, bringing autumnal temperatures just in time for Halloween. His coyote wanted to be out in the fields that still dotted the outer edges of the Metroplex, hunting the last of the rabbits and enjoying the crackle of browning foliage under his paws before the earth put itself to bed for winter.
Barring that, a monster movie marathon with his mate was a more than acceptable alternative.
He grabbed the mugs and carried them carefully through to the living room. The lights had already been turned down and Mark was in his spot on the couch, idly spinning the remote in one long-fingered hand.
“That took long enough,” he commented, accepting one of the mugs. “Coffee would have been fine, really.”
“Hell, no. I’ve been waiting for this for months.” Delaney took a seat next to Mark, deftly keeping the cider from slopping over while he slid an arm around his mate. “Try it.”
Mark rolled his eyes but obeyed. And blinked in surprised appreciation. “Wow.” He smacked his lips. “That’s got quite a kick.”
“Now you know where all the rum’s gone.” Delaney took a careful sip from his mug, savoring the hot fluid rolling over his tongue. “God, I love this kind of weather. So what are we watching?”
Mark squinted at the stack of DVD cases on the TV stand. “Our marathon kicks off with your favorite and mine, Re-animator.”
“Stuart Gordon, black humor, and gore — oh, my,” Delaney said, taking another sip of cider. “What else?”
“After that we have An American Werewolf in London, and then I thought we’d wrap it up with Dracula.”
“Lugosi, Langella, or Oldman?”
“Oldman — I’m in the mood for something OTT.”
“Works for me,” Delaney said, pulling Mark closer as the smaller man hit PLAY. Only part of his attention was on the screen as a maniacal Herbert West briefly brought his mentor back to a gruesomely eye-popping life. The rest of it was on the irresistible smell rising from Mark’s skin, a combination of salt, clean musk, the faint tang of alcohol, and a hint of spice and fruit. He leaned over and nosed a curl away from the lobe of Mark’s ear, inhaling.
“I thought we were going to watch horror movies,” Mark said, sounding amused.
“Mm, maybe I just wanted to get you on the couch and ply you with alcoholic cider,” Delaney admitted, brushing his lips against the sensitive patch of skin under Mark’s ear. Goosebumps rose on his mate’s skin, and he licked them gently. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He pulled back to judge his mate’s expression. Storm-blue eyes met his own, turning dark with the need that always crackled between them when they were alone. “Not really,” Mark said, grinning. “Should I stop the DVD?”
“I don’t think Mr. West will mind,” Delaney said, plucking the mug from Mark’s hand and putting it on the end table with his own before pressing closer to his mate’s welcoming heat. “Now, then, where was I…”
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I’m visiting blogs, yes I am
My fellow Planet Alpha author Beth D. Carter has me on today to talk about the influences that went into Assassin and how I develop my character dynamics, so if you want to find out why Zhan is the way he is, head over to http://bethdcarter.blogspot.com/2014/10/planet-alpha-author-nicola-cameron.html.
And to put a cherry on top, Assassin is currently at #20 on the All Romance eBooks Bestseller list, earned a category bestseller silver star, and is on two category bestseller lists over at Amazon. It’s also doing quite well at Bookstrand, and I’m hoping to get some reviews in soon (remember, if you read it, reviews are love!).
Right now, I’m finishing up my anthology entry for Evernight’s uniform fetish call, and then it’s back to work on Iron Cross. And for tomorrow’s Mid Week tease you’re going to get an exclusive scene from Trickster to celebrate Halloween. Woohoo!
So, Planet Alpha: Assassin is out…
And after a weekend of social media promo and talking it up wherever I could, it’s on the All Romance eBooks Romance Bestseller list (currently #28) and on two category bestseller lists at Amazon, all of which makes me very happy (and people teasing me on FB about selling the movie rights and who could play Taric, Zhan, and Duncan is even more delightful. For the record, my dream cast would be Colby Keller as Taric, Paddy O’Brian as Zhan, and Levi Karter as Duncan. Cockyboys and Men.com, take note).
Of course, the annoying thing about being a writer is that you re-read your newly published works and wish to God that you could have one last crack at editing them. Nothing major, just a sentence here and there that makes you think, “Why did I phrase this so clumsily?” or “Aw, crap, I already used that word in this paragraph.” (Apparently this happens to Neil Gaiman of all people, so I don’t feel that bad about it, but still.)
And the funny thing is, almost no readers will ever comment on these little infelicities, or even notice them. It’s just the writer, that OCD perfectionist who wants his or her story polished to a high gleam before it sees the light of day, who spots the occasional smeary fingerprint and winces at it. So I just need to shut up and enjoy my sales, basically.
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: L.D. Blakeley
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to the charming and hilarious L.D. Blakeley, whose new Romance on the Go™ story Judging a Book By Its Cover is now out from Evernight Publishing. If you’re in the mood for a sweetly sexy story about a bashful hottie and the smoldering editor-in-chief who discovers something delicious under that shy exterior, this is for you!
Agonizingly shy Emory North has his life mapped out for him: finish his business degree, go to work for his father, and one day take over as CEO of North Star Publishing. More at home amongst stacks of books, Emory has little to no interest in his lot as ‘North Jr.’, but has never had the courage to follow his true passion—writing.
Brash and ballsy Bryce Palmer, editor-in-chief of ECLIPSE magazine is known for bedding and discarding PAs like yesterday’s newspaper. He’s up against a serious deadline and down two staff members. And the last thing he has time for is babysitting the spoiled rich son of a CEO. But when Pierce Barclay North insists now is the time for his heir apparent to get his feet wet in the company waters, Palmer’s hands are tied.
But looks can be deceiving. And, sometimes, passion can spark in the most unlikely of places…
Story Excerpt
By 6:30 Monday morning, Emory sat at his desk nursing a steaming hot cup of strong, black coffee. It was far earlier than he should rightfully be at the office. But his internal monologue was making him crazy and he’d hoped work might, at least, distract him from the situation. Torn between anger — at Bryce for his wrongful intrusion — and mortification — also directed at Bryce (but more at himself) for that stolen kiss — Emory was fit to be tied. Did he confront Bryce about the email and risk his ire? Or should he avoid both subjects entirely? Emory knew his father would give him some variation of the I Assumed As Much speech, if Bryce were to fire him. Would he, though? Would Bryce fire him for last night’s indiscretion? He’d seemed well enough into it at first. So maybe Emory could call him out on the manuscript without risk of being upbraided like a child for the kiss — or worse, fired.
Before he had time to become completely unhinged with his thoughts, they were interrupted with the arrival of their main source of strife.
“Morning,” was all Bryce muttered as he breezed past Emory’s desk and into his office.
Seriously? That’s it? Emory was at a complete loss. Now what? Act like nothing out of the ordinary happened Friday and he hadn’t spent the entire weekend fretting? March into Bryce’s office and demand an explanation for the email? Before he was able to decide one way or the other, his phone lit up — Bryce’s extension.
“Emory speaking,” he finally managed after picking up the phone and hesitantly clearing his throat.
“I should hope so — I did dial your number.”
“Oh, um.”
Bryce sighed and Emory was positive there had been an accompanying eye roll. “Are we back to nervous monosyllables again?”
“No, I…” Emory heard Bryce chuckle before he could manage to spit out the rest of his sentence.
“Would you please come into my office, Emory?” This was it. He was about to be tossed out on his ass and onto a pile of jilted former PAs… and he hadn’t even managed more than a drunken kiss!
“You wanted to see me?” Emory stood in the doorway of Bryce’s office, not entirely sure what to do or say. A million things came to mind: curse the man out for taking his story; apologize for his behaviour after the gala; kiss him one more time just to see if it was as scorching hot as he remembered. He chose none of the above and timidly avoided eye contact.
“Would you please come in?” Bryce appeared to be finishing up an email, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “Shut the door behind you and have a seat.”
Emory did as he was told and sat facing Bryce. Before he could change his mind, he managed to muster up more temerity than he’d ever thought possible, and spat out “I’msorryaboutFridaynight,” as though it were all one single word.
“Sorry about… what, exactly?” Emory was surprised to see a smile on Bryce’s handsome face.
“The wine?” Emory started worrying at his thumbnail once again.
“I didn’t mind the wine, to be quite honest. Made you much more… conversational.” And didn’t that sound laced with… undertones. Emory could feel his face burning.
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to discuss.” And there it was. Emory braced himself.
Where To Buy
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
Amazon US
ARe
BookStrand
Evernight Publishing
About L.D. Blakeley
A pragmatist with a romantic soul & a dirty mind, L.D. is a fan of horror movies, hot sex, and Happily Ever Afters. Easily distracted by shiny things, she’s a slightly neurotic, highly ambitious dreamer who enjoys dabbling in photography & pretending she can carry a tune.
In another life, L.D. was a newspaper reporter, an entertainment & music writer, travel writer, website content editor, and a marketing shill. Now she prefers to spend her time writing hot, steamy fiction (with a healthy dose of romance) about intriguing, sexy men. Of course, whether these pretty boys end up between the sheets with other gorgeous lads or up against a wall with a spicy and spirited heroine, all depends on which direction her imagination takes her on any given day.
Although she dreams of living some place isolated with an endless supply of wine and an infinite number of titles on her eReader, she currently lives in down-town Toronto with her husband and their rock star cat.
Nicola Cameron Writes 