Showing posts with label Evernight Publishing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Evernight Publishing. Show all posts

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Release Day! Comment for a chance to win a free copy of "Dark Days"


I'm smiling, I'm dancing, I'm celebrating…

Today isn't just the release of another story. "Dark Days" (which I'm giving away a free copy of to a randomly picked reader. All you have to do is comment on this blog, below for a chance!) has a very special meaning to me, because I wrote the majority of it nearly two years ago; when I was just starting to write after an eight-year break.

Two years ago Regan and Wyatt created themselves in a dream. I saw a young, beautiful girl dancing around a pole for a dark stranger in a cowboy hat. When the world shifts, demons crawl onto earth, only for the two to realize they are both Hunters. Most who know me will tell you I'm a "panster"—writer's term for someone who 'writes by the seat of their pants', or more simply they write without knowing where and how it will end. So, two years ago I wrote 60% of the story, and stepped away from it. I couldn't see the end…

Then one day recently I was sitting in my office, looking out the window, when Regan suddenly made herself apparent again. She started whispering in my ear about her family and soon I was back into the manuscript, fingers flying across the keys. I finished the last 40% in a matter of two days and with a huge sense of achievement. I had almost given up hope that I would never see the end for Regan and Wyatt, but then again…have we really? ;)

Without further ado, here is a little tease from my quirky southern horror story. I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do.

Regan Steele is a young stripper who has gone through life assuming she's the only one who can see and annihilate the demons that have plagued her since childhood. She certainly doesn't expect to meet another Hunter, let alone fall for his insufferable ass. 
Wyatt Recker has walked the earth for most of his life. Alone. When he stumbles across Regan he knows his attraction to the girl can mean only one thing—trouble. But, he soon realizes that no matter his rules and regulations, he cannot deny her for long.
 When the demon world shifts, stakes are higher than ever. Can Regan and Wyatt come out of it alive, or will their love for one another endanger them further?

Excerpt: 
The dull beam of the spotlight shone down on the small stage in the middle of the room. The glow of her long chocolate hair and crimson lipstick caught their attention first and then her arms and legs wrapped seductively around the pole.
"Gentlemen, Regan Steele." Beau introduced her over the microphone.
The music started. The low, gritty, sensual drone of a guitar consumed the room. She swiveled her ankle and twirled herself slowly up the pole. The thin material of her grey shawl dropped from her shoulder. She turned her head, just enough to tease the men with the allure of her eyes.
The man sitting before her seemed to enjoy what she was giving, but she didn't recognize his face. Regan had been working at Armadillo Lounge long enough to know every regular from this po-dunk town. There was something different about him. He was certainly robust, and she could practically smell the sweat and dirt from his skin.
Hello, cowboy...
His dark brown eyes were just visible under the low sitting Stetson. His black hair, dirty and full of grit, matched his unkempt beard. Regan found herself entranced; determined.
She slid down, twirling around the pole on her five inch ankle boots, and dropped the shawl.
The stranger shifted his weight in the chair and gulped the entire contents of his glass in one swallow, before moving his attention to the floor.
I don't fuckin' think so.
Rejection was not a word in Regan's vocabulary. She kicked the shawl at him using the tip of her boot.
Without lifting his head, his velvet eyes connected with hers, and she smiled. He gripped the shawl in his hands and lifted it to his face. He breathed in her scent and allowed a smile to creep up the corner of his mouth.
That's more like it!
She turned around, holding the pole with both hands and bent forward, giving him the best view of her finest asset. Holed fishnets travelled the length of her legs, blending in with the black, studded thong that left very little to the imagination.
Just when he leaned forward, she snapped back, pressing herself hard against the pole. She parted her lips against the cold metal and moved her hand across her right breast, cupping it, before unfastening the strapless bra. She bit her lip and, still covering her chest, she lifted herself on to the pole. Using her legs for balance, she bent backwards and threw the bra at him.
He bowed his head, lifting his eyes to hers and then to the silver ends of the bars in each of her nipples.
He's not like every other redneck in this joint. A decent man is few and far between in this fuckin' town. The simple fact that he isn't howling at me like a dog is driving me wild. Male attention is what I'm good at and I'll be damned if I let the new guy shun me!
She pulled herself back up and stood freely from the pole. She spread her knees and dropped to the ground, grinding her hips to the music. She ran her hand down her face, dragging the black eye make-up and lipstick with it and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. Teeth gritted, she raised her hand high on the pole before twirling around it again, lifting her legs high and flipping her body upside down. She rolled her ribs and chest to the slow rhythm.
Her vision flickered for a moment. Her heart started to hammer against her chest plate. She scrunched her eyes tight, praying that it was just her contact folding over.
Shit...
The music stopped and a low buzzing sound consumed her ears. Even with her eyes closed she could tell the dull light that shone on her was now gone.
God dammit! Not now! Why is it always at the most inconvenient fuckin' times?
Still upside down, she reached her free hand for the .44 magnum lying in the crumpled mess of her leather jacket on the floor.
At least I got good ol' Carla...
She cocked it with one hand and flipped her body back over until she stood. The world, oblivious to all of this, had paused in time. Now all that existed was her and them...
A hundred tiny, gleaming white eyes stared back at her. Her gray eyes seemed pale in the darkness as she stared at her reflection in the mirror ahead, before looking down at them; not a single weak bone in her body. They squealed like slaughtered pigs and crawled on all fours towards her. Just the reflection of the moon against their wet reptilian-like skin was all she could see of their grotesque bodies.  A smile crept across her face and she said, "C'mon, you slimy sons of bitches. Show me your worst."
One leaped at her, claws extended, ready to rip her flesh apart. She aimed and squeezed the trigger. The bullet landed between its beady little eyes. Blood splattered and the creature exploded in a puff of smoke. The rest moved closer and she cocked the magnum once more.
Why didn't I bring the sickles? How am I going to take them all on when I have to reload?
But soon the eyes were no longer upon her. They stared directly below, where the stranger was sitting.  He stood from his chair and Regan nearly called out in shock.
Wait a minute...how in God's hell?
She heard a faint ruffling and they all leapt at once. The reflection from his weapon flashed before her eyes, gutting every demon as they sprang at him from all angles with such speed and accuracy that she felt she had to be dreaming.
Well, shut my mouth!
The lights came back as well as the music. Regan stood, aghast, on the stage with the magnum still firmly in her hands. She ignored the quizzical looks from the patrons, even the glass shattering when it fell from Beau's shaking hand. She dropped her arm to her side.
The stranger's already dirty, floor length coat was covered in blood, as was his face. His profile showed a crooked nose and heavy bags under his eyes. He smiled at the corner of his mouth again, rolling a cigar between his award winning teeth. He struck a match and puffed until the smoke created a thick white trail, blowing smoothly until the ceiling fan sucked it up.
"Howdy, sweet cheeks," he said, and winked.
****
Buy Links: 
***PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO COMMENT BELOW FOR A CHANCE TO WIN A FREE COPY!***

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

"Dance to a Different Beat" by Raven McAllan


Sean and Jane have a long way to go and a new dance to learn. Not ony that, they need to see if they like it.
Because their dance is no samba or disco… they are going to dance to a different beat…or are they?
 There's only one way to find out… by reading their story.

Jane has a decision to make. Meet Sean and face her demons, or hide. Can she allow herself to let go enough to give this experienced Dom the submission he demands?
Jane has always made her own way in life, and the thought of giving up that control scared her away once. Sean is determined to show her that true submission is a joy, and not something to be feared. He is not prepared to lose her again.
As they face her fears, can they reach their full potential, or will those demons just prove too much to conquer?
Excerpt: 


A thong. And no curls escaping around the sides. He couldn't stop himself sliding his finger under the lacy edge. She didn't bat his hand away as he expected. With a sigh that made pre cum gather at the head of his cock and had him checking it wasn't playing peek a boo over his waistband, Jane moved to rest her head on his shoulders.
"That's no toddler step, that's a strictly forbidden teenage one."
"You on top?" If she thought that then there really was no hope.
"No you moron, your fingers. You're revving me so fast I've missed the first two gears." She paused and the wicked twinkle in her eyes made him itch to turn her over his lap and use his favorite paddle on her enticing ass cheeks. "And do we really want to go into reverse 'cos we've missed the shift?"
Put like that, no they didn't.
He didn't answer but moved his questing finger further under the silk until his nail scraped the soft edge of her nether lips. "I think we can miss a few gears, you're ready, receptive, and know damn well how to put the brakes on and stop. Do you remember your safe words, Jane? Should we start from there?"
In answer she wriggled on his finger, and her breath came in pants. Her eyes were cloudy and a soft sheen of perspiration was visible on her skin. At any other time the sight would have him stripped and ready for action in the blink of an eye.
 "Just do it."
"Safe word." His tone was harsh, something wasn't quite right. "Safe words or I stop, Jane. This is a two way exchange, no way is the onus all on me."
Her eyes cleared and she stopped moving. She shuddered and lifted her arm to stroke his cheek with her fingers. "Oh shit."
 Sean dipped his head. "That's one way of putting it. What the fuck was going on then?" He didn't move his hand away from her pussy, and to her credit she didn't try to make him do anything else.
 "You're a mass of bloody contradictions, Jane. I don't know where I am with you. You want to take it slowly then you want me to take you. You're scared but you're telling me to ignore you. So not going to happen. So." He pinched her clit firmly enough for her to jump and try to move away. He kept the pressure on the soft skin hard enough to stop her. "Either you tell me what's going on in your messed up mind or that’s it. Experiment over, never to be repeated. It's up to you. I can get someone else to sub for me when I want. Will you get a Dom you want?"
A distant clock chimed the hour, and somewhere a siren screamed. Neither impinged on his mind to any degree. He concentrated on Jane who was a stiff as a board.
"Jane, look at me." He deliberately injected a note of command into his voice. "You have ten minutes to explain or that's it. We both have places to go and people to see." Would it work?


***********



You can purchase "Dance to a Different Beat" at…





About the Author:

Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
A lover of reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she realizes she's strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a paragraph has been added to her WIP.
Her lovely long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and be on stand-by with a glass of wine.

You can find out more about Raven here…

https://www.facebook.com/rmcallan        (my page)
https://www.facebook.com/ravenmcallan            (author page)



Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Today's the day! "Vintage Ink — Every Second Counts" is available now!

I'm still a little in shock.

Pinch me...is it real?

No, this—in many ways—is not something entirely new to me, yet it is still a first. "Vintage Ink — Every Second Counts" is available from Evernight Publishing. My first solo release.

Writing this story wasn't only a breeze but immensely enjoyable. Being set in Phoenix, Arizona—where I spent all of my teen years—I felt very connected to the setting and the kind of people you come across. Not to mention the entire story is set around a tattoo shop, something I'm quite familiar with. :)

But it was actually the dialogue and characters that I had the most fun with. Once created, the people came to life and I was merely there to document it all. I'm a panster at the best of times but I literally wrote this story with 100% trust in my protagonists and their friends.

So, without further ado...here is a sneak peak of "Every Second Counts", the first in hopefully a long Series.



Faye "Lux" Prescott has one passion in her life, her thriving tattoo business in the heart of Phoenix, Arizona. Creating art and working with her friends for a living — who has time or need for a man in her life?
All that changes when Brody Cameron walks into "Vintage Ink". The enigmatic stranger is booked for an impressive tattoo and Faye finds herself falling head over heels in lust — or is that love?
Brody's life has been tough, however, and when he reveals his secrets, can Faye help him move forward, or is their budding relationship doomed before it has even begun?




Excerpt: 

"Check this out, though." Jackson placed a sheet of paper on her keyboard.

Faye glanced for a second, lost in the week's totals, when the design caught her attention. Black and white charcoal, grotesquely detailed in typical Jackson style, was a black beast with a fatal wound in its stomach, entrails and all.
"Fenrir. From Nor—"
"Norse Mythology, I know." Faye interrupted him. She dropped her glasses to the desk and studied the drawing closer. "Who's getting it?"
"Some guy called Brody. He wants it across the base of his back and around his ribs. I hope he's got a good threshold for pain, because that ain't gonna feel too good."
"Worth every second. You're making me wish I had room left, Jack. This is fucking incredible!"
"Thanks, Lux. What 'bout you? Anything exciting? Haven't you got that chick with the octopus and the huge ti—"
"Don't be an asshole, and no, she's not in until Saturday. I have a floral chest piece this morning and the start of a nautical sleeve in the afternoon."
"You ink nautical in your sleep, Luxy, baby. Anyone would've expected you to have fucked off to sea with some sailor, by now."
"Not in a million years, my friend. I have a business to run." Faye placed her glasses back on when Jackson continued to talk. Her patience was wearing thin, quick.
"I meant before now."
Faye dropped the papers and lifted her gaze, peering above the thick frames of her glasses at him. "What, per say, do you mean by that, my dearest Jackson? Are you implying that I'm a sad singleton who should be shacked up by now? With a doting and hard-working husband and a circle of children running riot around my freshly cleaned, cookie-cutter house? Do you actually remember who you're talking to?"
Jackson took his sketches from the desk and with his free hand brushed his unkempt, brown hair away from his face. She had noticed that he never seemed to know how to take her outbursts, even in their twelfth year of friendship. "I only meant that you should get laid every now and then. Sex is healthy, you know."
"Yeah, you would know."
"What can I say? The ladies love a tattooed, bearded, sexy beast such as myself."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Now get back to work before I fire your sexy ass."
"Yes ma'am!" He saluted and bowed, before retreating to his station.
Faye shuffled the papers endlessly and after realizing what she was doing, she tried to concentrate on the work at hand. But she couldn't get past the first line and must've read it over a dozen times. Asshole…fucking jerk! What's with men and word vomit? Sex is healthy…so what? I exercise, eat right, and masturbate when the mood's right. What's so wrong with that?
Another knock to the glass door sent the papers in Faye's hands flying in a mad whirlwind around her head. She squealed and the chair she sat on rolled when her body jerked. Her back slammed into the corner of the desk. "Argh, shit!"
Her eyes darted to the door, to see who had caught her nerves at the wrong moment, and her heart fell to her stomach.
"Hey, it's Brody. He's here to check out the sketch before his appointment."
Maybe Jackson had a point, after all…