Raven and the Vampire's Breakfast

Now look here you lot - you all know that Raven is my most fave author and she's here today for a quick flirt.
I know, I know... she's that kind of girl.
So, Ms McA. - tell us about breakfast:

The Vampire's Breakfast

When I started to write this, I knew it had to be short, sharp and have a sting, or a bite in the tail… and tale…

Has it? Only the reader can decide, but I do hope so.

(well I achieved the short bit… bit not bite, if nothing else. This is a wee flirt.)

The vampire's breakfast was well overdue. There was just one thing to discover. Who was the vampire and who was the victim?

When Dorissa and Rafe got together, sparks flew and sex was always on the menu. This time though it went deeper. And became a game of dominance and a race to win.

Dorissa knew her life depended on Rafe—he didn't. Could she show him how?

Rafe wanted Dorissa in every manner possible, except perhaps in the only way she could live. Would he agree to her terms?

In this game of life, could there be two winners, or would they both lose?

As dawn approached one of them knew that once the sun rose, nothing would be the same again.

***

"What do you mean it's vampires at dawn?" Dorissa stroked the silk of her ball gown into place and looked up at the elegant man who stood next to her, with a loo mask dangling from his fingertips. "I thought it was a mere masked ball?"

He bent and kissed the nape of her neck. As ever his kisses made her scalp tighten.

Soon.

 "Not just that," he said, as he trailed his fingers over the tiny hollow at the base of her chin. "It's said at dawn we unmask and see who are vampires, and who are mere mortals. Then have breakfast."

She snorted. Some ladies would do anything to get the cream of the ton to attend their extravaganzas. Little did they know. "Choose your feast and bite?"

He smiled.

"Something like that. Are you not a believer Dorissa?" The tiny nip he gave to her soft skin sent delicious tingles down her skin and into her cunt. So much emotion from a tiny touch. But what a touch. The hairs in her arms stood on end and miniscule droplets of perspiration began to gather on them.

She squeezed her thighs together to stop the steady trickle of her juices from sliding down her legs. Rafe was all too likely to lift her skirts, see the evidence of how he made her feel and taste it. Before flipping her over and taking her there and then. Sadly with this damned ball looming they didn't have time.

"Shall I be a vampire, Dorissa? Bite you drink and your blood?" The gleam in his eyes made her ache to answer. But what would he think if she did?

Wait, just wait.

 "Then," Rafe continued, "turn you and make you mine forever in that other world? Would you like to be mine, all mine?" His voice deepened and became husky with something she couldn't define. His rough tongue licked her sweat-slicked skin. "I want more, Dorissa. I want it all."

***

Yes, it's only a short wee excerpt, but it's only a short wee tease.

However, I do hope it teased you enough to want to read more. if it did…well… here's how you can…

http://www.breathlesspress.com/index.php?main_page=product_free_shipping_info&cPath=9&products_id=755&zenid=629486b1d4e4dd6741577ea3bc49b8cd

http://www.bookstrand.com/the-vampires-breakfast

Of course by the time you read this, it will be on Amazon and Bookstrand  as well… (I hope)

And to find out more about me…

www.ravenmcallan.com

www.ravenmcallan.blogspot.com

www.facebook.com/rmcallan

www.twitter.com/ravenmcallan

Happy Reading,

Love R x

L'Wren, hawk and the Doves: Srey Chanda and Dr Kelly Forest

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

Let's meet two of the characters from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a 27th March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

Srey Chanda - hostage and pivotal in Ouranian the peace process:

"Why were you with your mother, Chanda? I thought all children of the Omiai were taken away at birth to be either Parangada or Naranari. How were you not given to them?" whispered Cytheria while Chanda scanned the camp.

"I am not the only one who was not given over at the end of the Omiai," said Chanda. "We know that some fathers have taken their daughters back with them, just as my mother and some of her sisters kept their sons. We are the generation who will make the peace last, the peace that you will bring. I have brothers in Sarkare's camp just as in the Parangada there are sisters who are kept secretly. The old order has had its day, and we will change it."

Cytheria nodded and smiled at this wise head on young shoulders.

Dr Kelly Forest - ship's surgeon on the starship Sulaco:

"Sick bay, Forest here. Where am I needed?" she asked. Her voice was calm, confident and warm, and belied an inner core of steel and an encyclopedic knowledge not just of human medicine but also a wide range of humanoid alien anatomy. There wasn't much that could rattle Dr. Forest.

"Incoming shuttle on autoreturn, doctor. Captain requests medical assistance in shuttle hangar for possible phaser injuries," said the chief.

"Acknowledged, chief. Shuttle occupants are?"

"Uncertain, doctor. We are anticipating that either one or both of the Turacoenan negotiators are onboard. We haven't been able to make contact."

"On my way. Forest out." She stabbed at the button and grabbed her medi-kit. She hurriedly scrolled through the display and selected T, then clicked on "Turacoena—physio and anatomy download." The device displayed a gray bar that quite swiftly swept to blue from left to right. It bleeped and displayed "100% download complete."

"Okay, that was too quick. So not much known about Turacoena then," mumbled the doctor to herself. "Guess I'll have to go with human until proved otherwise." She punched the door button and jogged along the corridor to the shuttle hangar.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD

 

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Jenabe Aghaye - Parangada guerrilla...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

 
So just who are the major players in the Ouranian peace talks?

Cytheria encounters Jenabe Aghaye, rebel leader of the Parangada guerrilla faction, in this snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release from Breathless Press to tease you -

Cytheria looked up to see a tall, heavily muscled, shaven-headed man opposite her. He lounged, one long, leather-clad leg draped over the arm of an ornately carved and decorated chair, his booted foot swinging idly. A sleeveless leather tunic studded with metal ornamentation—representations of phallic, bladed weapons and large, carnivorous animals—left his shoulders bare. A tableau of tattoos in the same vein adorned his huge biceps and thick, hairy forearms. One arm was draped languidly over the side of the chair. He played with the long flaxen hair of a slimmer, younger, and more gently featured man, not much more than a teenage boy, kneeling by his side. Cytheria realized the gentler emotions, and the loss, were coming from him, while it would have been plain even to a non-empath what the bigger man was feeling.

Cytheria took a moment to order her thoughts. She was not going to let anything slip, despite the pain and the circumstances; she was still a Dove, a diplomatic negotiator first and foremost. She had to play this situation very carefully.

"Greetings, warrior. I thank you and your esteemed house. I come seeking peace with honor for the good of all Ourania," she said.

"Fine words, feeble woman, but you will not sway me. I, Jenabe Aghaye, know you for what you are—a Federation lackey of the Naranari sent to tempt the honest, red-blooded men of Parangada with your wiles and your...body. The weak minded 'boys' who sit at the 'peace talks' know nothing of what it is to be a real man. I will not allow you to take the demands of the Naranari witches and tempt the feeble boys our leaders have sent to negotiate. You will feel our hidden power, and we will crush the Naranari. We will take Ourania in the ancient name of Ardhana, the warrior-hunter and rightful heir of Hymenaios. We need no...women," he said. He almost spat the final word. The hand that had been playfully toying with the long blond tresses of the kneeling boy had clenched into a fist as he spoke, and the boy winced.

"Honored Jenabe Aghaye, it would be foolish of a mere woman such as I to try to tempt a warrior, and I..."

"Be silent, off-world...temptress. The shape of your body and your long hair and your red lips are nothing to me. Nothing. We men of Ourania know that true pleasure is found among our own," he sneered as he dropped the boy's hair and stood.

He walked around Cytheria, lifting her hair, then letting it drop. He stroked his large hand over the shiny material of Cytheria's uniform, across her back and shoulders. The heavy press of it was tinged with the slightest hint of trembling. He was as scared as he was angry. He stopped and stood directly in front of her. His emotions were changing. Whatever he might claim, Cytheria's "wiles" were getting to him. She could tell he was starting to experience sexual arousal from touching the silkiness of her uniform and the smoothness of her skin beneath it. He was rattled. Cytheria saw the bulge already growing in the tight leather of his trousers. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face up, leaning down to her as he did. His rugged features, weather beaten, a scar above one eye and rough stubble, were inches from Cytheria's lips. She could feel the warmth of his breathing growing more rapid as the tide of his emotions turned, the arousal sweeping ahead of anything else.

"Honored Jenabe Agha—"

"I said silence, off-world witch. I'll show you how men satisfy their needs. I need no woman. Boy!" he snapped, dropping her chin.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Sarkare Khanome - Naranari matriarch...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

 
So just who are the major players in the Ouranian peace talks?
Cytheria meets Sarkare Khanome, Naranari matriarch of Ourania, in this snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release from Breathless Press to tease you -

The silence of the inner tent greeted her ears as her eyes grew accustomed to the subdued lighting, again from candles and lamps but in here even softer. The air was suffused with a heady mix of fragrances from discrete oil burners—jasmine, an undertone of a muskier, more sensual smell, akin to sandalwood, and a hint of being in a deep forest, of leaves and mosses.

"Cytheria of Turacoena, welcome. I am Sarkare Khanome." From the shadows, a woman, not so tall as the guards but matching Cytheria in height, emerged. Her silver-white hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her eyes were a striking blue, as bright as a sunlit, clear summer sky. She was older than the guards, but her body was young and fit with lean, taut muscles. Only the lines around her eyes spoke of anything other than youth and power. Her long, softly flowing robe in a myriad shades of blue celebrated the same figures and scenes from the tunnel friezes and the outer tent. Her confidence hit Cytheria like a wave crashing on the shore but one that broke over her rather than crushing her. It was followed by a depth of compassion and caring that almost brought tears to Cytheria's eyes. There was fear as well, but not borne of doubt. A fear that was aware of itself and knew its boundaries.

Then it hit her—the intense depth and power of sexual allure and hunger that all but defeated Cytheria's self-control. Her pussy reacted suddenly, getting wet and even hotter. Her clit almost throbbed with an ache to be touched. Her breath was suddenly rapid and shallow. She'd learned that this might happen from the briefing on Halo Five and from her extensive reading of Ouranian culture. The Naranari bonded and shared sexually as a way of formalizing their status. She had to play this situation correctly or her credibility, and hence her bargaining position in the peace talks, would suffer, or worse, be blown out of the water altogether.

"I greet you, Sarkare Khanome, from my mother to your mother, sister to sister," she managed to get out.

Sarkare Khanome smiled and nodded. She walked around Cytheria and looked her up and down. She came back to face Cytheria and stroked her hands over her hair then held her chin in her long, slim fingers. Cytheria knew, like a physical presence, that this woman was sexually in charge and was used to being in total control of those around her.

I am Cytheria.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Raven's been in some Hong Kong Heat...

My bestest bestest author friend is the lovely Raven McAllan and the moment she stepped off the plane from HK (now technically a Special Administrative Region of the People's Republic of China, you know. A handy freeffrenchfact there...) I grabbed her for a blog spot. So, while she drops off her cases and I pour her a small reviving glass of something chilled and white I'll let her tell you all about Hong Kong Heat:

It's a well known fact I like to travel. Indeed I met my host by a swimming pool in South Africa. (There's a book in that somewhere, I'm sure.)

So I guess, given that Hong Kong is one of my favourite places, it was inevitable I'd set a book there.

Sometimes the words just flow, and this book was one of those times.

The names were suggested by a friend and the rough idea plotted over a bottle of wine, with her, in Amsterdam.(and there's another book's setting I'm sure.)

However, this is the result of that fantastic few days in Holland.

And a wee tease…

She felt like a secret agent—or someone up to no good as she entered the hotel later. One doorman was busy hailing a taxi for a customer and the other was wheeling five suitcases and several suit carriers into one of the lifts.

Debra waited until its doors had closed and called a different one. She got to her floor without it stopping and when the doors opened looked out into the corridor with caution. It was empty apart from a cleaner’s trolley at the opposite end of the corridor to her suite.

Numpty, she berated herself. There is no earthly reason why Braam should be lurking on your floor, especially at this hour. Get a grip. Nevertheless she still made it into her room in record time. And hated herself for scuttling as if she was in the wrong.

Frustrated both mentally and emotionally and getting more annoyed with herself by the minute, Debra poured a large glass of wine and took a long, leisurely shower. It didn’t cool her temper, but it did go a long way to cooling her ardor and her skin. By the time she’d toweled off, dressed in a long, loose kaftan and dried her hair, she was in a happier frame of mind.

Debra sang along—off key—to an old James Taylor song on her iPod as she plated her dinner and sat on a high stool at the kitchen area work surface that doubled as a table. She propped her guidebook up against the pepper mill and plotted her next day’s activities.

She hadn’t been to Sai Kung on her last visit, owing to the distance from the center of the city. This time she had promised herself she would go there. So tomorrow was Sai Kung day via the MTR and a green minibus. Once she’d finished her simple, and to be honest boring meal, Debra worked out her route. There were a couple of options and she thought she might go one way and back the other. Pleased that she’d sorted the next day with an excursion well away from the hotel, Debra opened her laptop.

One of the good things about Wi-Fi was that she could tune in to her favorite radio station from home. Listening to golden oldies and singing away, often with the wrong words, as well as answering trivia questions was a perfect way to pass the time as she wrote her diary—without reference to Braam or Shade’s revelations.

The knock on the door was unexpected and startled her. Debra looked at it as if somehow she could see through the wood and find out who was on the other side. The next knock was louder.

Had she omitted to put the ‘do not disturb’ light on? When the third knock sounded, Debra stood up, irritated and ready to tear a strip off someone who didn’t take silence for an answer.

She forgot there was a security peephole and pulled the door open, saw who was on the other side and went to slam it.

“Fuck off.”

“Naughty, naughty.” Braam put his shoe-clad foot between door and jamb and held it open. He bet she wished she’d remembered to put the chain on, or at least look through the peephole. Then he reckoned he could have hammered until he put a hole in the paneling or she called security and she wouldn’t have opened the door. He hadn’t needed his hand over the peephole or his rough “Housekeeping” statement.

“I wonder what Mr. Scotburn would say if he heard that language coming out of his wife’s mouth and if he would condone your behavior of the last few days. Does he get a kick out of knowing what his wife’s up to?” Braam could hardly believe the vitriol spilling out of his mouth. Every nasty thought he’d had since seeing her name in the guest register bubbled up and demanded to be said.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Debra’s hazel eyes were almost black and as he glared at her, tears appeared and clouded them.

Ha, a woman’s wiles, what next?

“He’d be hard pressed to make any comment unless he can speak from the grave. And that would be difficult, he was cremated.” Deb sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Please take your foot out of the door. You’re hardly one to talk. What was it the waitress said? Oh, yes, I remember. ‘Have you bumped into Braam Van Meister yet? I hear he’s back in town. My god what a man and hot, hot, hot. Mind you, his reputation goes before him. Love ‘em and leave ‘em Van M we call him. A girl in every hotel’.” She glared at him. Her voice rose to a shout. “Now move your bloody foot.”

~~~ Can they resolve the misunderstanding? Ah well, you'll need to buy the book to find out…

https://www.totallybound.com/hong-kong-heat

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Raven lives in Scotland with her long-suffering husband. Luckily he's a dab hand at choosing and pouring wine, working the Aga and ignoring the dust bunnies as well as a welcome and informative travelling companion.

She's the author of over seventy published stories, and intends to continue writing, and growing old disgracefully.

You can find out more on www.ravenmcallan.com

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Cytheria - Dove, diplomat, negotiator...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

 
So just who is Cytheria, the mysterious alien empath from the planet Turacoena?

Here's a snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

Diplomatic Negotiator Cytheria stepped from the shower and looked around for her dress uniform. For a moment she stood, naked and barefoot, and let her hair fall down from the towel she'd wrapped around it, enjoying the luxury of feeling its wet caress drape her damp skin. She pulled the towel over her hair, rubbing the ends dry, massaging her head as she stretched her neck and shoulders. She'd not used the auto-dry function of the sonic shower, preferring the tactile sensation of the towel, soft and warm on her smooth skin and silky hair. She knew she only had a few minutes to herself, a few minutes of down time, a few minutes of indulgence.

The towel slipped down over and then off her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air after the shower, and she stroked it over the flat, firm muscles of her stomach.

The mission was tiring, exhausting, the schedule punishing. Anchises had briefed the captain and first mate, then returned to his quarters in the adjoining room. It was her turn. She needed to dress, then find her way to the shuttle hangar bay and meet Mr. James to make the modifications to the subspace comms array. The thought of working alongside a Trapichean, a race that had long interested her, was intriguing. Anchises's meeting with her had left him almost swamped by the emotional intensity of her feelings for the captain, and now Cytheria had to face her.

She moved the towel lower to brush against the damp, soft hair of her pussy. The emotional pressure in the briefing rooms down on Halo Five had almost swamped her at times, and the wash of the heightened feelings on the Sulaco were not helping. She fell back onto the couch, leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and slowly circled the towel around the tightening button of her clit and up and down the moist warmth of her lips.

It would be ideal, now, to give into the emotions, to let them play across her mind and ease the stress in her body, to indulge the physical response to the empathic connection her mind made. She needed release.

The days ahead were fraught with danger, with the need for secrecy, diplomacy, and tact. And self-control. It wasn't going to be easy.

I am Cytheria. You are not my emotions, you are not me. I am who I am.

She dropped the towel and sighed.

I am Cytheria.

There was no time. The first mate had arranged with Anchises that she would meet her in the hangar in... Damn. No time at all. She grabbed the blue uniform on the couch beside her and slid her legs into the tight one-piece garment. Her feet slipped easily into the boots as she pulled the body up and her arms in. The self-fastening seals closed and flattened as she ran her hand down the front. She pulled a brush through her hair and looked in the mirror. Blue-gray eyes looked back at her with a tiredness in them. Her hair was a lost cause, so she just let it fall, deciding to find some way of tying it up when she got to work on the shuttle comms system.

The access pass Anchises had brought from the briefing lay on the table. Cytheria picked it up, hit the door button, and hurried down the corridor to find the shuttle hangar bay.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

#FFF Flash Fiction Friday - flower girl

The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.

Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.

 

She emerged from the flowers and faced the sun. Warmth flooded her body. New, fresh, her skin welcomed the energy, embraced the power. Movement, free, chosen, no longer the whim of the breeze; she explored and tested the range and extent of her limbs. Her fingers stretched and found her hair. Through the silky flow her hands moved and met curls and petals and buds. Jewels, from her seeds, tumbled down her back.

Her lover's wish had been granted when he'd scattered her in the meadow by the light of the full moon and the morning star. She was reborn.

Please check out the other Friday Fiction Flashers

#FFF Flash Friday Fiction - the plumber

The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.

Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.

 

 

"I've got the problem solved now. Your problem was the ball cock in your overflow tank up in your loft. You had a slow drip that was lowering your pressure," said the plumber.
"Oh, I see'" I replied. Tradespeople scare me with their technical talk. I feel as if I'm going to look daft if I try to understand.
"Was the ladder ok?" I asked.
"Yes, I had no trouble getting it up. Shall I show you how to work the shower now?" the plumber asked.
"Yes, please'" I said. She really is the best plumber I've ever dealt with....

Please check out the other Friday Fiction Flashers

L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: Anchises - Dove, diplomat, negotiator...

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who is Anchises, the mysterious alien empath from the planet Turacoena?
Here's a snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -


Diplomatic Negotiator Anchises stepped from the shower and reached for his dress uniform. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face, then over his jaw, feeling the smooth line and firm chin. Stiff and aching from the intensity of the past few days, he lifted his shoulders to stretch his back, then dropped them.

Cytheria's discarded blue uniform lay on the bed. He picked it up, folded it, and packed it into her mission bag. It was similar to the uniform he now slipped his legs into—a single piece of soft, lightweight, high-tech material with self-seal fasteners. It was utilitarian, functional, and comfortable, but Cytheria's was smooth and sleeker, as befit her slimmer and more femininely curved figure, than the garment he put on. The material slid over his smooth skin and firm muscles. It was easier once the uniform was on to be Anchises, the man, the diplomat, Dove, negotiator.

He pulled on the tall black boots—again functional and simple—and stood by the mirror. The reflection that stared back at him from the mirror had almond-shaped eyes that could be called either blue or gray set in a face that was square jawed and masculine but with a slightly feminine softness.

It had been a struggle to deal with the weight of the emotions in the briefing sessions. He'd struggled to hold his own responses in check, to stop himself teetering on the edge of the abyss of the emotions around him, the deep, endless ocean of feelings, and fear and love.

Being an empath was a two-way thing. He sensed and experienced all the emotions of the people around him. He also took on those emotions and reflected their innermost subconscious thoughts and ideas, hopes and fears, in himself. The discipline he'd had to learn, the self-control, had been hard earned and a long time in the learning.

But it was always there, the risk that it would get to be too much and that he, or Cytheria, would be swamped, engulfed.

Eyes closed, he focused on that inner self, his core, the very center of who he was, and breathed slowly and evenly.

Let it go; you are not my emotions, you are not me. I am Anchises, I am not you, your feelings are not mine. I am who I am.

He exhaled, long and slow, and his mind cleared and focused.

As he opened his eyes, he rolled his head to either side, lifted and dropped his shoulders, then stood straight and looked back at the man in the mirror.

Tall by Earth standards, and although plainly every inch a man, there was an androgynous quality to his shape—slimmer hips, longer waist, much less body hair. He fitted in, but he was otherworldly, different while being similar in so many ways.

He could never be one of them. Nor could Cytheria. It was too difficult, too dangerous. The emotional risks of getting close were something he'd had to deal with. It wasn't easy to keep his own responding emotions under the tight control this mission demanded.

Deep breath. Focus. I am Anchises.

Satisfied that he looked like a diplomatic negotiator should, he stood for a moment and stared out of the porthole at the panorama of stars, nebulae, and distant galaxies.

Out there—just about forty degrees of azimuth past the binary star he could just make out to the lower right of the glittering vista—spun the planet he called home.

Except it wasn't anymore.

It could never be.

Not for him, or Cytheria.

No way home now.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD 

Keir by Pippa Jay - the cover reveal!

Blurb:

A demon waiting to die...

An outcast reviled for his discolored skin and rumors of black magic, Keirlan de Corizi sees no hope for redemption. Imprisoned beneath the palace that was once his home, the legendary 'Blue Demon of Adalucian' waits for death to finally free him of his curse. But salvation comes in an unexpected guise.

A woman determined to save him.

Able to cross space and time with a wave of her hand, Tarquin Secker has spent eternity on a hopeless quest. Drawn by a compulsion she can't explain, she risks her apparent immortality to save Keir, and offers him sanctuary on her home-world, Lyagnius. But Quin has secrets of her own.

When Keir mistakenly unleashes the dormant alien powers within him and earns exile from Lyagnius, Quin chooses to stand by him. Can he master his newfound abilities in time to save Quin from the darkness that seeks to possess her?

Keir is Book One of the Redemption series and part of the Travellers Universe. Previously released by Lyrical Press Inc. 7th May 2012 and a SFR Galaxy Award for SciFi Romance for Best May-December Romance (2012), Aspen Gold Readers Choice Award 3rd place finalist (2013), Readers' Favorite International Book Award finalist(2012), The Kindle Book Reviewís Best Indie Book Awards Nominee for Best SciFi/Fantasy (2013)

Please add it to your Goodreads shelf HERE, or sign up HERE for my no-spam newsletter for special previews on cover reveals, new releases, the latest giveaways and discounts, and upcoming news.

Bio:

After spending twelve years working as an Analytical Chemist in a Metals and Minerals laboratory, Pippa Jay is now a stay-at-home mum who writes scifi and the supernatural. Somewhere along the way a touch of romance crept into her work and refused to leave. In between torturing her plethora of characters, she spends the odd free moment playing guitar very badly, punishing herself with freestyle street dance, and studying the Dark Side of the Force. Although happily settled in the historical town of Colchester in the UK with her husband of 21 years and three little monsters, she continues to roam the rest of the Universe in her head.

Pippa Jay is a dedicated member of the Science Fiction Romance Brigade, blogging at Spacefreighters Lounge, Adventures in Scifi, and Romancing the Genres. Her works include YA and adult stories crossing a multitude of subgenres from scifi to the paranormal, often with romance, and sheís one of eight authors included in a science fiction romance anthologyóTales from the SFR Brigade. Sheís also a double SFR Galaxy Award winner, been a finalist in the Heart of Denver RWA Aspen Gold Contest (3rd place), the EPIC eBook awards, and the GCC RWA Silken Sands Star Awards (2nd place).

You can stalk her at her website, or at her blog, but without doubt her favorite place to hang around and chat is on Twitter as @pippajaygreen.

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L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: when Hawk met the Dove

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?
Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?
A snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -

When Hawk met the Dove:

Hawk straightened his dress uniform tunic and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated this side of being a captain, the formality and enforced diplomacy, but this was an important meeting and he was the face of the Federation for it. He was also just a little unsure of how he might react to the Turacoenans. There were stories of their exceptional beauty, both male and female. His feelings for L'Wren were rock solid, but strangely, what worried him more was the empathy aspect of meeting a Turacoenan. And not just one, but two. Grown men had found themselves simply overwhelmed with the feelings the mysterious alien empaths brought out in them, feelings that they'd not realized they had, or worse, that they knew they had but believed under control. There was also a strange two-way aspect of the Turacoenan's empathy, a sort of feedback. He was wary of their ability to feel what he was feeling and to somehow feel it with him and enhance it.

That was not what he needed when he and L'Wren where on a mission. He had enough trouble keeping his hands off her, let alone his mind. Having those feelings under control was an absolute necessity, a nonoptional given, until they were back from this mission.

He tugged down again on his dress uniform tunic, straightening it, then cricked his neck left and right. He'd been through some things in his time in the fleet. Things that had happened to him and yes, things he'd done, questionable things, expedient things, things that had left an emotional mark. He'd put them aside, moved on. In the mind of a starship captain, there was no room for doubt or uncertainty. His crew depended on him. The safety of the ship was in his hands. There was no room for soul searching when a life or death decision depended on the right answer at the right time. He needed to be on top of anything that might happen—before it happened.

The proximity docking alarm flashed from green to red. The shuttle was alongside, and the automatic docking systems engaged.

"Shuttle dock preliminary checks completed, and air lock seal confirmed. Halo Seven Five requesting permission to dock," announced the computer.

"Hawkings acknowledged. Docking permission granted," he said.

The air lock pressure indicator pulsed from red through to amber, then settled to a steady green. Hawk hit the door control. There was a hiss as the air pressure balanced out between ship and shuttle, and then the heavy interlocked doors slid open.

A tall, slim, but well-muscled man with long, raven hair and wearing a tight-fitting, one-piece, functional silver-gray uniform stepped forward. His face was a dangerously attractive mix of a firm, masculine jawline and high cheekbones. His mouth had soft, full, almost feminine lips, and his perfect almond-shaped blue-gray eyes seemed to look into and through Hawk rather than at him. Hawk experienced a swirl of emotions as he took in the full picture of the Turacoenan—his feelings for L'Wren, his fear for her safety on a dangerous mission, his care and responsibility for the crew.

He found this man, this tall and yes, beautiful man, attractive in both an emotional and a very physical way. This man would understand him, would know how—and maybe even why—he felt those emotions. He would know, he would care. Hawk's gaze lingered on that mouth, and for a second, he wondered about kissing it.

It was a feeling he'd not experienced since...

That was a long time ago.

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD

Angelica Dawson - on the subject of a Gentleman...

Harrold lives an empty life. He has no joy in his marriage, no love of his work. His only reprieve is found at the hands of the whores, the ones he pays to beat and debase him. Upon being accepted into Blue Moon House, he learns the real cost for his desires, and what underlying need is really aching to be filled.

In the third installment of her Blue Moon House series, Angelica continues to push her characters outside their comfort zones and gets right to the heart of their needs. You can find Gentleman at Naughty Nights Press, AllRomanceEbooks and Amazon. For the month of January, you can also pick up the original Blue Moon House for only $0.99.

Angelica Dawson is the author of Blue Moon House, which has been in the top ten best-selling titles at Naughty Nights Press for over six months. She has also written two short stories, “The Highest Bidder” and “Leave Taking” which were each included in anthologies.
She contributes flash fiction to several blogging collectives and excerpts from work in progress can also be found on her blog. She is active on Facebook and Twitter.
She has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. Angelica is a wife, mother and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards – mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.

Here is an excerpt from Gentleman. Let Angelica know what you think by leaving a comment and entering a draw for a free copy.

---

Crack!
Harrold sucked breath through his teeth. The belt was his own, removed from the trousers he still wore. His shirt formed a white pool in the corner and his black jacket hung from the bedpost.
Crack. Creak.
The wood of the bedpost groaned as Harrold pulled on the hemp rope securing his hands on the other side. However, he fought the pain and the desire to scream.
Crack!
The burning intensified and a scream erupted, echoing off the walls. He heard the door open and looked over his shoulder, panting as the pain leaked away.
“Still alive in here?” the mistress of the house asked. She clicked her tongue. “You broke the skin, Miranda. I'm sorry, sir. I'll bring bandages.”
The girl dropped the belt in a clatter, running to untie his hands. Her normally dusky complexion was white with red lines tracking her cheeks.
Harrold seized her hands as soon as his were free. “I asked. You did nothing wrong. Thank you.”
“I-I can't do this, Harry. I'm not- I'm weak.”
He smiled, brown eyes dancing in relief and joy. “Your arm felt strong a minute ago.”
She squeaked and more tears fell.
“Go collect yourself, Miranda,” Delores, the Madam, ordered. Cool wet cloths were spread on his back. “Mister Long, that is the third girl you've made a blubbering mess.”
“If I must, I'll find another house.” There were several brothels that would be glad of his business.

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L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves: meet L'Wren James

Can a starship captain maintain the platonic 'mission protocol' with his first mate when they have to take on board two mysterious and beautiful alien empaths and deliver them safely to the peace talks on the gender-conflicted planet Ourania?

Will emotions boil over and physical needs conquer the reserve of duty?

So just who is Mr L'Wren James, first mate of the starship Sulaco?

Here's a snippet from 'L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves', a 27th March 2015 release form Breathless Press to tease you -


L'Wren James, ship's mate first class and the best subspace pilot to graduate from the Academy in twenty years, laughed and punched the captain—her Hawk—in the arm with one hand and stroked the other down his back. His skin was warm to her touch. It was smooth, with the outline of firm muscles gently defined in the soft shadows, and she wanted to touch it a lot more before their agreed "mission protocol" kicked in. Once that happened, their relationship would be totally professional and platonic—and would stay that way until the mission was over. She'd known this night had been their last chance for—well, who knew how long?—to be together in the way they wanted. And she wanted to make the most of every waking moment. Already she could feel the warmth of her arousal stirring as she caressed the edges of his broad shoulders. The heat in the soft green downy feathers that her race had evolved in place of body hair was already making its presence known between her legs. He'd definitely have a mutiny on his hands if he didn't find a way to subdue her stirrings down below.

And from Captain Saker Hawking's point of view as his first mate takes a shower in the privacy of his cabin -

Hawk lifted himself up onto his elbows and watched as she stood under the hazy stream of ultrasound waves. They flowed over the silky emerald sheen of her skin and the darker green downy feathers on her head and pussy. She was slim and curved in all the right places. Possibly slightly shorter and with a more birdlike femininity than an Earth woman and with longer, slimmer limbs, she was sexy as hell. It wasn't going to be easy keeping his hands off his first mate during the mission.

She stepped out, naked and dry, and grabbed her one-piece uniform from where she'd dropped it last night. He watched as her legs slid into the close-fitting catsuit. If anything, it emphasized her shape rather than concealed it. She pulled the sleeves on and ran her fingers up the self-fastening front, which clipped shut seamlessly. She stood to attention and saluted.

"First Mate James, comms specialist and pilot grade one, reporting for duty, sir."

Come back soon for more revelations from "L'Wren, Hawk and the Doves" - and keep an eye open on Facebook, twitter and Google+ for more on #LHaD