For weeks we’ve been bombarded with the various issues surrounding the events which occurred over the past few months in Ferguson, Missouri. As I write this story on December 1, 2014, there is a story of a father of six pushing his way through the protesters to get to one of his three jobs so he doesn’t get fired.
What does this have to do with writing romance novels you might ask?
In WHAT A RICH WOMAN WANTS (Samhain Publishing, May 2015) the hero is a mixed race former gang member turned sheriff’s deputy who is starting a program in his community to help young men like he was. He had little family structure and not the best start in life economically or educationally. Where are young men in his situation supposed to turn? In Niko’s case he follows his childhood friend into a loosely formed street gang and only escapes when he’s forced to make a choice between his friend and his son. (Niko first appears in A FOREVER KIND OF GUY, Samhain 2012)
I watch the continuing coverage about racial issues and Ferguson in particular and I wonder what it is we can do? Mostly, it seems, what we do is say to ourselves, “Oh, that’s too bad, but it’s not my problem.”
What I love about Niko is that from his perspective what kids need is guidance and support. Somewhere to go (if there’s no one at home for them) that isn’t the street. A safe place where they can get help with homework, a snack, friendship, counseling, mentoring. A place to play sports where the focus is learning to get along with others and working as a team not necessarily winning. Niko wants to give these kids the tools they need to be successful in life. He wants to keep them alive, off the streets, and out of prison.
Niko’s a bit idealistic but he believes in what he’s doing and he’s passionate about it. He sees a situation he thinks he can change and he does something. It isn’t easy. He’s forced out of his comfort zone and takes risks to accomplish his goal.
I wish there more heroes out there like Niko. Guys who really understand what it takes to turn your life around and who are willing to give back to the communities and help people who are where they once were. If more of them stood up maybe the rest of us would be there to stand behind them.
WHAT A RICH WOMAN WANTS
He knows she’s out of his reach. Until she reaches out to him.
Braddock Brotherhood, Book 4
Right about the time Lesley Robinson’s father’s stroke left her in charge of his Fortune 500 company, she adopted her housekeeper’s sick baby and divorced her philandering husband.
She’s survived the past six years by building an impenetrable wall around her emotions. But when a hunk of a sheriff’s deputy turns up at her office to apply for a grant from the company’s foundation, her distrust of men and relationships takes a direct hit.
Niko Morales clawed his way out of gang life to build a new one grounded in law enforcement and a passion to help disadvantaged youth. So, Lesley needs a companion for an upcoming social occasion? He’s no gigolo, but for his community center, and maybe for her, he’ll wear the monkey suit.
Without any apparent effort at all, Niko sneaks under Lesley’s cool façade, shaking up everything she believed about herself. But when their relationship is threatened by the sins of others, they’ll both have to step up—and out of their comfort zones. Or they’ll lose the one thing they want most: each other.
This should have released last Friday, but the story got lost in limbo then suddenly appeared today on Amazon! Yay! It’s the latest in my series of short story releases, and a fun way to introduce you to my very dirty mind. The cover isn’t as colorful as some of the other short stories I’ve released, but it depicts the mousy heroine of my story to a T. And don’t worry! She doesn’t stay mousy or shy for very long.
If you’d like to sample more of my short stories, just click on a cover here:
What’s cool about this? Amazon has a new program called Kindle Unlimited. It’s like Netflix for books. You pay one price, $9.99 for a subscription, and then you can download as many books as you can read that month. But if all you want to do is read a shortie, the price to you is just $0.99–less than a cup of coffee!
Nip-n-Tuck
Follow a shy seamstress’s adventures with an online suitor that don’t go quite as planned…
A short excerpt…
Gabby Brown heard the distant ding of the bell above the shop door and checked her watch. Noon. At last. She’d been nervous all morning and had stuck her fingers with pins until the pads tingled. She’d ushered out the last customer fifteen minutes ago, and then hurried to the restroom to run her fingers through her curly hair and gloss her lips. She wore her “uniform”—a cardigan over a plain, button-down blouse, a dark, knee-length skirt, and comfortable shoes.
The clamps she’d attached to her nipples were concealed beneath her padded bra. The slim, short vibrator was already inside her; the remote tucked into a pocket of her sweater.
She glanced at her reflection, pleased with her plain appearance.
I can do this, she told herself. It wasn’t as though they were complete strangers. Perhaps she didn’t know what he looked like, but he’d learned her secrets, her passions while sharing his own. He’d slowly stoked a fire inside her, promising her a discreet thrill. The first of many.
For a woman who had somehow let her youth slip by, the chance to live out a few of her favorite fantasies was too enticing to ignore. He’d promised an elicit pleasure. A test run, of sorts. To save embarrassment or hurt feelings, they’d also agreed to hold off discussing future engagements until they could meet again that evening online. And because she’d admitted she was shy about revealing her body this first time, today she would remain fully clothed.
Leaving the bathroom, she pulled back the curtain separating the store from her fitting room. Her glance landed on the long lean body faced away, looking at a pair of ugly plaid golf trousers. When his hand reached for the hanger, she smiled.
Their pre-arranged signal.
Forcing away her smile, she entered the room and strode quietly up behind him. When she stood beside his shoulder, she enjoyed the fact she had to tilt back her head when she turned to meet his gaze. He was bigger than she’d thought he’d be. “Would you like to try them on?”
The face that turned her way was more handsome than he’d led her to believe. A strong angular chin, a blunt nose. Dark thick eyebrows framed a pair of curious brown eyes.
A frown dug a line between those dark eyebrows then his gaze flicked to hers again. “The pants are ugly as hell,” he murmured.
“I’ll help you with them, if you like. You could try them on for size,” she said, suddenly breathless, flirting with her eyes and lips. She bit her bottom lip, and then released it with a little laugh.
His slow, answering smile melted her. It was crooked and dug a dimple into one cheek. He was younger than she’d initially thought, looking at him.
Eager now, she grabbed the hanger, clamped her hand around his fingers, and tugged him along. “Come with me.”
And he did, much to her relief. There was no sign he was disappointed with her appearance. No reluctance in the drag of his feet. Just a quirk of his eyebrows and a quick glance around the shop.
“Don’t worry.” She glanced at the bell above the door. “We’ll know if anyone comes in. I’ll be quick.”
He cleared his throat but ducked through the curtain to follow her inside her little room.
She knew what he saw. A dingy little airless room. A sewing machine on a dented work table. A rack crammed full of clothing she’d already mended, shortened, let out… She was a seamstress—not a sexy job—at least, not until he’d convinced her otherwise.
“This is where you work?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly bemused.
She lifted a shoulder. She’d warned him the shop wasn’t much. “I make a living.”
“Doing…alterations?” His eyebrow quirked.
“Exactly. But we don’t have a lot of time. Marlon will be back from lunch in half an hour,” she said, mentioning the shop owner who’d employed her for over ten years. She lifted her chin toward the pants still clutched in his hands. “Try them on. We’ll discuss the fitting.”
Both eyebrows shot up this time. “Right here?”
The playacting was fun but now that she’d seen him, she wanted action. “If you’re shy, you can use the restroom, but there’s no need. Not with me.”
He gave a slight snort, shook his head, but set the pants on her work table. He took off his sports coat, loosened his tie, and then toed off his well-shined black shoes. When his hands paused at his belt buckle, he rested his gaze on her for a long moment.
She decided to make this a little easier. She strode toward him, shooed away his hands, and holding his gaze, she unbuttoned his waistband and slid down the zipper.
A muscle straddling his jaw flexed. “This a full-service establishment?”
Her grin dug a dimple into her cheek. She liked his sly wit. “I live to serve,” she said, giving him a wink.
“You’re pretty,” he whispered.
He sounded surprised. So she believed his words. “Thanks for saying that. I hardly ever go to the bother of makeup, but I wanted to look special today,” she admitted, feeling heat rise along her neck.
“Today’s special,” he said, his voice uninflected.
“Yes. “ Grabbing his waistband, she dragged his pants off his hips. Her gaze dropped to the erection tenting his boxers. “Very special,” she whispered.
His trousers fell around his ankles, and she knelt to hold them while he stepped out. She liked his legs, liked the dark hair cloaking his olive skin, the muscle tensing in his thighs as she stood, her hands grazing him lightly as she came up.
She reached for the bright green golf pants and dangled them off a finger.
Again, his eyebrows shot up.
“Like we agreed,” she said breathlessly. “Put them on.”
“But…”
Oh, nice touch. She shook her head at his reluctance, raising her finger like a schoolteacher to scold him. “Let me work…first.”
Psst! Yesterday’s contest is still open! So be sure to enter!
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It’s heeerrrre! I hope you’ll get your copy and have a good time. I’m not terribly ambitious, but if I make you squirm with heat or laugh, I feel like I’ve done my job. And any time I can take you someplace where magic abounds, I feel like I’ve shown you a little sliver of what my internal life is like. 🙂 So, if you enjoy the story, how about leaving a review? Somewhere. Or tell a friend. I appreciate everything you do!
One demon lights her fire. It’ll take three to cool her down.
Beaux Rêve Coven, Book 2
Now that the battle dust has settled and the witches have won their freedom, Miren Lynch is going stir crazy. Sure, her three demon bodyguards are hot–especially Renner Neilsen–but having them constantly underfoot and ordering her around is about to drive her insane.
One kiss proves the attraction between her and Renner is mutual, but when the sea draugr slips into her dreams, he ignites a fire only three demons can quench.
To Renner, it makes perfect sense for Miren to choose him for her mate. They share the same element–water. They’re both wildly attracted. But once he sneaks into her dream to seduce her, she doesn’t trust his promise he won’t abuse the power a witch brings to a mate.
His solution? Show her he will provide everything she needs for her wellbeing–from mind-bending pleasure to her treasured freedom–even if it means sharing her with a pair of handsome and lusty mermen twins.
Warning: Contains explicit sexual escapades between three handsome specimens of juicy otherworld masculinity and a witch who knows that even the most hardass demon hides a gooey marshmallow inside. Happy tasting!
Read an excerpt, post a comment, and you might win a free copy of the prequel book, Once in a Blue Moon!
Miren Lynch dropped her foot into the murky bayou water, deep enough that the leather cord she wore around her ankle, decorated with alligator and snakes’ teeth, dipped below the surface. Then she circled her fingers above the water.
“Water demons, lurkers from the deep,
Keep venom and teeth on your banks.
Have no fear we will disturb.
For your mercy, we’ll give the Goddess thanks,
In your name.
As I will it, so mote it be.”
She ended the spell with a splash of her foot, smiling as her sisters leaned back on their arms and churned the water with their feet like children.
“You know Ethan would have a cow if he knew what we were doing,” Miren said, glancing sideways at Bryn.
Bryn wrinkled her nose but otherwise showed no concern. She wasn’t afraid of her husband. He might be a big bad troll, but with Bryn, who was now four months pregnant with a lovely baby bump, Ethan was doting. She shrugged and winked a silvery-gray eye. “What’s he gonna do? Spank me?”
The rest of the sister witches giggled at the thought. When Ethan was around, Bryn rarely even walked. He’d made it a habit of scooping her up into his arms to deposit her in a chair or a bed, whichever best served his immediate purpose.
But the women’s enforced seclusion at Beaux Rêve Inn, however well-intended, was beginning to wear. Although it was October and the mornings were becoming nippy, the afternoons were still quite sultry in their little bayou town. Today, they’d snuck away from Bryn’s bed and breakfast and Ethan’s overdeveloped protective streak to enjoy the last of the warm weather. They sat on a concrete barge tethered to the end of the boat dock, bare feet dangling in the bayou.
Miren suppressed a twinge of jealousy at her sister’s good fortune—a devoted husband, a baby on the way. And she wasn’t alone in her envy. All the witches were growing restless. Surrounded by the most handsome specimens of otherworld masculinity, they had their choice of mates. But none of them had committed. The problem, they all agreed, was that there were too many juicy choices. And there was the lingering fear, one not misplaced, that once the women made their choices and were claimed, everything they’d worked so hard to build would be gone. Demons would be demons, no matter how playful or polite. In the natural order of things, demons ruled their witch mates and syphoned off power for their own gain.
Thus far, Ethan had proved himself a man of his word. But he was a troll, and likely grateful Bryn had overlooked his low status to marry him. Already the most physically powerful among demon kind, he had less need of Bryn’s gifts.
Darcy tossed her red mane of thick curly hair and cast a sideways glance around the small coven. “It’s silly the way they keep us penned up. We won the battle. The council has backed away. Hell, they banished us, giving us our freedom from their rule. Don’t you think it’s time for us all to move back to our own homes?”
“Ethan’s still worried that so many unclaimed witches will draw the wrong element here. Or that your many beaus will fight.” Bryn kicked her feet in the water, the corners of her mouth pulling downward. “Besides, I’ve enjoyed having everyone under foot.”
“That’s because you’re in nesting mode,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “It’s understandable, and it has been nice to share this time with you. But we all have businesses to run. I think it’s time. Besides, you’ll never be able to rent out your rooms while we’re occupying them.”
“Ethan and his men pitch in with expenses. They’ve more than covered the rent and the groceries.”
“I, for one,” Aoife said with a sly glance at Bryn, “would love a good night’s sleep without wondering if the walls are going to crash around us.”
“Aoife!” Bryn said, a blush spilling across her cheeks. “The earth moved just the once when he claimed me.” Her gaze swept the group, and then she bit her lower lip. “Have we really been that noisy?”
Radha sniffed, her dark brows arching over twinkling brown eyes. “There’s not a man or woman in the house who can’t count the number of nightly orgasms he gives you.”
The women shared another look and then erupted in laughter.
“Gone for an hour and look at the mischief you’ve gotten yourselves into.”
The deep rumbling voice behind them made them all jump guiltily.
Bryn glanced over her shoulder and gave her husband a dazzling smile.
Miren looked back as well, wincing at Ethan’s dark frown and the fists settled on his narrow hips. Behind him stood Renner, his smile tight, no doubt waiting for the fireworks to explode.
A muscle jumped along Ethan’s square jaw. “My men have been scouring the house and garden for all of you. How did you sneak past them?” His gaze went to Bryn, who shrugged and looked away. Then he scanned the rest of the sisters.
Miren lifted her hand and glanced down at it, pretending to inspect her nails as though her heart wasn’t thudding hard against her chest. They’d broken the rules meant for their protection. Something Ethan took very seriously. “I may have conjured a little cloaking spell. We walked right past Kahn and Sigurd.”
“Feet out of the water,” he said, his voice pitched lower.
Goddess, if she didn’t know the man was a gooey marshmallow inside, she’d be trembling. But they all knew he’d do nothing to upset Bryn in her delicate state.
“Ethan, we were bored. And Miren cast a warding spell to protect us from snakes and gators. We were never in any danger,” Bryn said, her voice soft, the tone meant to soothe his savage beast.
“Snakes and gators are the least of your worries,” Ethan gritted out, his nostrils flaring and his dark gaze raking Bryn’s curvy frame.
Miren crimped her lips together. She caught sight of Darcy’s bold grin and shook her head. They both knew where this was leading, and none of them was in any danger. But their little dip was over. Their guardians were gathering behind Ethan and Renner, ready to swoop in and escort them back to the house. The last thing she and her sisters should do was incite any of the other males. The testosterone and pheromones already wafting in the air was making her entire body tighten with want.
Resistance on their part would be its own form of flirting, intended or not. And the consequences…
“All right,” Miren grumbled, giving the water one last splash before rising. She took her time shaking out her long skirt and smoothing the sides, gathering her pride before raising her gaze. But Renner had moved in front of her, and his expression drew her up short, made her breath hitch.
His eyes blazed with heat—out of character and contrary to his water aspect. Like her, his ruling element was water, his moods ruled by the moon and sea. Usually easygoing, the angry passion he displayed now stirred an answering heat inside her.
Ruthlessly, she tamped it down. He was a sea-draugr—a creature as unsuited for marriage to a witch as…well…as a troll. The thought lapped like a warm wave over her, and she swayed.
Renner stepped forward and reached out, clamping his large hand around her wrist and tugging her toward him. “I’ll assume you were the instigator.”
She raised her chin and pouted her lips. “And if I was? Are you going to make me do a perp walk back to the house?”
His sea-blue eyes narrowed, growing cold as Arctic ice. A look she’d only seen once, when the men had prepared for battle against the creatures the council had gathered to defeat them. She remembered how he’d looked then, his naked body gleaming with the pearl-like luster of the witches’ shared magic. Although she’d been afraid they’d all die on that field, she hadn’t been able to deny her attraction. Renner wasn’t burly like Bryn’s troll. The tall draugr was broad-shouldered, his arms knotted with lovely muscles, his belly a study in swells and hollows that left her mouth dry.
She shook her head to rid herself of the vision of his naked perfection. The fact they’d all gathered nude in the field had been necessary as the witches had drawn down the power of the blue moon to cloak them all in magical armor, infusing the men’s already powerful frames with a little added advantage.
She recalled how she’d brushed her hands over his chest and abdomen, letting the magic flow from her fingertips to his skin, how his arousal, a natural byproduct of the infusion, had caused his cock to thicken and rise. All the men had been left in similar states, but only his cock had given her pause, because, in that moment, she’d wanted him.
A resurgence of that need made her body soften, her nipples tingle. It was a damn good thing Renner wasn’t even looking at her.
He pulled her behind him, stalking down the dock, but she dug in her heels. A mistake, she realized, the moment a splinter from the rough planks stabbed the sole of one foot. “Stop, Renner,” she said, tugging on his hand.
He aimed a glare over his shoulder and then raked her with a glance, his gaze stopping on the foot she held up from the dock.
With an irritated huff, he bent and swept her into his arms.
She grabbed for his shoulders, a thrill sending her blood hammering. She glanced behind her as her sisters watched, their mouths hanging open. Miren was the most resistant to male attention, the least romantic. She could almost read their minds.
And then they all began to grin and Miren lifted a hand, giving them the finger behind Renner’s back. Laughter rang out but was quickly subdued as more of Ethan’s and Renner’s men descended upon the women.
Renner jostled her in his arms and then squeezed her. “There are alligators all along the bank. They could have mistaken all that splashing for fish in distress.”
“I cast a warding spell.”
“You think you have a spell for everything, don’t you?”
He sounded so surly she grew worried. Renner rarely displayed irritation, and never anger. Most often, his sly humor was all that was evident. Something that irked the living hell out of her because she suspected his humor was a deflection to keep hidden what was really there inside him.
She should have known that with a troll for a best friend, he’d be an ogre under his blond good looks. “We didn’t escape just to piss you off. We’re restless. Freaking bored.”
“And you think we aren’t restless, aren’t fucking frustrated as hell?” His footsteps were getting heavier. Hell, he was stomping toward the porch now. “There are twenty of us and four of you, as yet, unclaimed. Choose already.”
“And who do you think I should choose?”
Renner halted at the bottom of the inn’s steps to stare down at her. A muscle rippled in his cheeks. His aqua eyes gleamed. “Choose me, Miren.”
About the time I started writing a short story about a guy who gets set up on a blind date by his busy-body co-worker, my partner and I took a trip through Central Europe. It was mid-July, warm (but not too hot) and sunny, with lots of tourists. While not our usual time of year to travel, it gave me plenty of material to expand my story.
We flew to Zurich, Switzerland, then traveled by train the rest of the vacation, going to Salzburg, Klagenfurt, and Vienna, Austria; Prague, Czech Republic; and Berlin, Germany. Reaching Vienna, we toured through Hapsburg history throughout the city, and the premise for The Bastard’s Key was born. I imagined the tourists around me as characters in the story, from the hunky German train conductor to the dark-haired young man leading a tour through one of the museums.
As we continued through our trip, the story unfolded, ideas rushing to my mind incorporating the local scenery and people. I imagined the bomb on the train and having to detach the last couple cars. Several of the meals I described in the story we actually had. We’d hiked up Kapuzinerberg in Salzburg after disembarking from the train and found a beautiful overlook of the city. I found myself thinking about the main character, Heath, and what his reactions would be to the beautiful city with the excitement of adventure and romance layered on top.
The Bastard’s Key incorporates the Swiss and Austrian legs of our journey, as well as another two-day trip I had in Paris. The vacation we took became fodder for the suspenseful erotic romance published a couple days ago. As I continue to travel the world, I look forward to inspiration taking hold and pulling me willingly along through not only my own vacation, but the experiences of my potential characters.
****
You can read about Heath and Anton’s first adventure The Bastard’s Keyhere. The second story in the series, Pennington’s Conquest, will release in the Spring of 2016 with MuseItHOT Publishing.
Excerpt:
He strode into the lavish bathroom and locked the door. The knocking started as he stepped into the shower, but Heath, ignoring it, closed the glass door and turned on the warm water to mask the sound.
“Heath, please let me in.” Anton’s muffled voice through the door was barely audible over the spray of the shower. Water cascaded down Heath’s body. It was his first shower in almost two days. He moved under the spray, drowning out Anton’s knocking and pleas as he tried to rinse away the horror of his recent experiences. The water brought a measure of peace to his tired body.
The scent of lavender surrounded him, and he discovered a bar of soap. Small flecks of purple revealed the source of the soothing fragrance, and he ran the bar over his torso.
He attempted to think about his situation rationally. Everything he owned was burned and under the ruins of his apartment building except for the contents of his backpack and that damned key around his neck. He couldn’t go back to work because at least one person was trying to kill him. It would rip him apart if any more innocent people were hurt because someone was after him. Although two of the would-be assassins were in a mangled car at the bottom of a steep cliff, there may be more than one other out there wanting him dead.
Anton. What about Anton? He could’ve snatched the key several times, not even telling him what it meant. He could’ve let Heath die three times, but saved his life. Not only did he give Heath a place to stay, he made love to him like he meant it. Not just steamy sex, but sultry, sensual lovemaking. There was a spark of something strong inside Heath. It wasn’t lust or desire, but a deeper rush of emotion. A new feeling, stronger than any he’d experienced in any past relationship.
Heath lost track of how long he stood under the hot water. Steam swirled around him, and he noticed that his smooth skin began to prune. With a sigh, he turned off the water. A plush white towel waited for him on a heated rack, and he pressed it close to his body as he dried off.
Wrapping the towel around his waist, he released the lock on the door and peered into the bedroom. The ornate bed was now made up, and the change of clothes from his backpack was laid out and ready for him. A small piece of paper along with a freshly cut red rose lay on top of his jockey shorts.
I’m sorry. –A
The note was short and to the point. Heath inhaled the strong fragrance of the rose and put it in the glass of water by the bed. A knock at the door hurried his dressing. He pulled on the jockey shorts and jeans and went to answer the door.
It was Violet. She stood there with a tray holding two teacups and a silver tea service.
“Good morning, my dear.” Her gaze raked up and down his torso, and she sighed. “All the hot ones are gay.”
“You’ve been saying that since I met you.”
“Well, it’s true. This is the first time I’ve seen that luscious slim chest of yours. I love dark-haired men.”
“I’m a bit scrawny.”
“Nonsense, Heath. You’re a hottie. Tea?”
“Uh, sure.” He wasn’t really sure, but Violet was a force of nature not to be questioned. She poured out two cups of tea and plopped herself down, handing one to him.
He held his nose over the teacup. Citrus and mint. “Where did you get this? It’s my favorite.”
“Your desk at work, and I told your boss that you had a family emergency and wouldn’t be back for a few days.”
“Hmmm.” He sipped his tea. The taste was familiar and comforting.
“Anton really enjoyed your date. The hike and picnic wasn’t a ruse to get close to you.”
“Did you know what was going on?”
“My dear, you are hot, young, gay, and single. You were the perfect match for my Anton and damned lucky he noticed that key. I never saw it.”
Heath raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you set me up with those three losers before you introduced me to him?”
Violet laughed. “Well, it took me a bit to realize you were perfect for him.”
“He said he worked in the medical industry.”
“Yes, well. He couldn’t exactly tell you that he fought international criminals, could he?”
“I suppose not. So what happens next? Where do I go? That guy is still out there, and I’m worried that he’ll find me here and hurt you two.”
Violet chuckled again. “Don’t you worry one bit about us. Those idiots will never get in here, and what happens next is up to you.”
“What do you mean?” His confusion clouded his thoughts.
“Life’s thrown you a curveball. Are you swinging at it or hiding in the dugout?”
Heath sat back in the chair and sipped at his tea. He looked out the open window, taking in the blue sky and the sparkling ocean on this crisp autumn morning.
There really wasn’t an option. He couldn’t hide for the rest of his life. He’d be in danger either way.
He looked back at Violet and grinned. “Batter up.”
****
Brent Archer began writing in 2011 at the nudging of his cousins. His first story sold, and he was hooked! Stay tuned for the May 14th release of his short story A Ride Home as part of Neil Plakcy’s Take This Man anthology. Preorder it here.
Visit his website to keep up on upcoming releases, and follow him on Twitter: @brentarcherwrit.
I love those articles in magazines that have numbers in the titles—doesn’t matter the topic; the number will make me pause and read the title. So I thought, surely there’s five things about UBM that I could list. They’ll just roll off the tips of my fingers as I type…
Hmmm… It’s nearly 8 AM, so lack of sleep is a poor excuse. Maybe if I just type the number something will come…
1)
Seriously? I’m stumped at 1? Maybe it’s because it’s a number and the other side of my brain that I don’t use very much any more is having spasms. Okay, so with some distance from that nasty number, I should be able to simply tell you the things I love about my witchy series.
Well, there are witches.
And witches are fun. I get to write spells and things. And each of my witches has a certain element (Water, Earth, Fire, Air, Spirit) they are more connected to. In Under a Blood Moon, my heroine Merin is connected to Water. She loves her job as a shrimp boat captain, loves the open water. Her powers feel stronger, her mind more centered when she’s there. In the first book of the series, Bryn’s element was Earth.
2) Okay, the fingers are moving. I can do this. Witches are the preferred mates of demons. In a traditional demon marriage, the witch lives to serve the demon, giving him influxes of power he can siphon off as he needs. And since witches are delicate little creatures, demons think witches should be grateful for their protection. In my series, my witches fled that environment, wanting to live their own authentic lives without power-mad demons enslaving them. They hid themselves in the bayou, hoping they’d never be found, but witches are fair game to any rogue demon. Discovery was inevitable…
3) My demon kingdom is filled with every luscious otherworld creature you can imagine—or I can anyway. Since I didn’t want to choose, I packed it with my favorites. (Okay, so now you know I’m writing this series for my own entertainment!) In Once in a Blue Moon, the hero was a troll! Doesn’t sound sexy? WRONG! In UBM, my main hero is a sea draugr? Don’t know what that is? Sorry, you have to read the story—but I will say he’s based on Norse lore. Plus, there are two mermen, twins in fact, who fill up the story and parts of Miren’s anatomy quite well. And what’s coming? A wolf for sure, because I do love furry heroes. Maybe a gargoyle or a djinn. I’m having fun with the variety. I hope you will too!
4) My story’s set in the bayous of Louisiana. I know. I’ve used it before, but hey, it’s just south of me, and I visit there often, and even I in my prosaic little human world I can feel the spooky vibes coming from the murky, gator-filled waters. The vegetation is lush, the air humid and thick. I’m drawn to it because of its isolation and beauty. If you’ve never made a trip, you have to add it to your bucket list!
5) I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Well, I do know there’s always going to be plenty of sex, but I don’t know where the characters are leading me. Not yet. And that’s very, very enticing for me as a writer. I purposely didn’t plan this series because I wanted to it come from the fertile side of my brain. The one unencumbered by logic and numbers. But see? I made it 5!
I am often asked what drew me to write paranormal romance. Sometimes I am even asked by the uninitiated what paranormal romance is. To the latter, I typically answer that it’s Twilight without the fade to black (not entirely accurate, but it helps people understand). As to the former—as a kid, I loved fairy tales. Dragons, wizards, magical objects and enchantments tickled my imagination. As I grew older, the fairy tales evolved into fantasy novels with higher stakes, lengthier quests, and more mature themes. I love the escapism offered by these foreign, imaginary worlds.
Paranormal romance is an adult twist on my beloved fairy tales. The elements are the same; oftentimes you see magic, otherworldly creatures, quests, and imprisonments. But the genre also offers the exploration of feelings and satisfaction of a romance novel. You root for the main characters. You are pulled along as they fight to come to terms with their internal struggles and outward battles and finally achieve their happily ever after together.
I love and appreciate all the subgenres that Romance has to offer. I’ve loved reading about different time periods and have a weakness for books with hunky cowboys or swashbucklers on the cover. But for me, it’s the element of the fantastical, the foreign and magical, that sells me on paranormal. My books offer mythological creatures, other worlds, and plenty of sexy spice.
When I set out to write my Phoenix Warrior series, I chose a different mythological creature—the phoenix—as my inspiration because it was relatively uncharted territory. The Phoenix Warriors are hunky immortals guarding the human realm and I’m told my books have lead to some “inspired” time in readers’ bedrooms. Whether you are new to paranormal or have read dozens of authors, I hope you’ll give my sizzling series a try.
I am grateful to Delilah for inviting me to share my thoughts and my books on her blog. I would love to hear from readers. Have you explored all the subgenres that Romance has to offer? What draws you to a particular subgenre?
About the Author: Karida Clarke is a romance writer with a penchant for anything otherworldly. If it has scales, fur, poisoned talons, throws fire or casts magic spells, it might find its way into her stories. Karida likes her heroines multifaceted and her males swoon-worthy, Alpha-style. She believes that relationships matter more than things and places. In her free time, Karida enjoys lacing up for long runs and cooking ethnic cuisine. Pet peeves include Saran Wrap and people who don’t put their shopping carts away. Karida has an M.A. in English Literature, is a former college English instructor, and currently writes for a small newspaper. She lives with her nerd-tastic husband and two spunky kids in Ohio.
Brent Archer began writing in 2011 at the nudging of his cousins. His first story sold, and he was hooked! Stay tuned for the May 14th release of his short story A Ride Home as part of Neil Plakcy’s Take This Man anthology. Preorder it 
I am often asked what drew me to write paranormal romance. Sometimes I am even asked by the uninitiated what paranormal romance is. To the latter, I typically answer that it’s Twilight without the fade to black (not entirely accurate, but it helps people understand). As to the former—as a kid, I loved fairy tales. Dragons, wizards, magical objects and enchantments tickled my imagination. As I grew older, the fairy tales evolved into fantasy novels with higher stakes, lengthier quests, and more mature themes. I love the escapism offered by these foreign, imaginary worlds.
