In five short days, Ravished by a Viking will release. That’s how many days I have to convince you that you want to read this book.

Here’s my first argument. The world building in my book goes deeper than the surface. Every facet of my characters’ lives has been re-envisioned—beginning with the story of how my Vikings arrived at their present state. I’ve built a legend into my story that will resonate throughout the series.

Every great quest tale ought to have a legend. You remember Buffy’s “There can only be one…”? Or the legend of the Aztec gold for the Pirates of the Caribbean?

When I started dreaming up how I could make my “Vikings in Space” world less ridiculous than it sounded, I knew the key was in developing a legend that made the concept plausible. I hit the books. My own personal library books, that is. I read everything I had regarding Viking history and mythology until a history for my Norsemen far from home began to form.

In the dusk of the final age of man, the bravest of warriors fought a fierce battle, joining all the peoples of the northern lands to battle a common foe, sure that the war they waged was Ragnorok—the end of times for all Norsemen. For the gods had come to Midgard, Earth, setting challenges for the warriors and plucking the fiercest, the strongest, and the most prolific breeders to abide with them in the new world where the “Regeneration” would occur. As the fires of the great war died to smoldering embers, The Chosen followed the gods onto the Bifrost, the shimmering bridge leading from Midgard to Asgard where the gods reside, carrying their worldly goods, and bringing their women and their animals to settle the golden world they’d been promised.

But the dreams of a land of endless harvests, green pastures rich enough to sustain them through the ages, gold vessels to sup from, and jewels to adorn their women, proved false. The gods sought to trap the warriors in endless labors, forcing them to burrow under icebound plains in search of “pure light.” Abandoned on their frozen world, the warriors rebelled against their slavery and returned to old habits and old ways, building fortresses of rock and ice. They chased away the gods, but soon they battled each other, raiding to survive, stealing food and women to sustain their endless appetites.

Until the day the gods returned…

~New Icelandic Chronicles

Ragnorok, the Bifrost bridge, and the Regeneration, are all concepts pulled directly from Norse mythology. And I wrote my new legend in the figurative language and tradition of the Icelandic Sagas—as Norsemen might have if they’d been uprooted during the Early Middle Ages, before Christianity arrived. Their history and the stories they’d tell wouldn’t stop when they left Earth. And when you enter the pages, you quickly realize that the men who exist on that new world aren’t as simple as the legend depicts. They may live in a harsh, unforgiving environment, but they aren’t crude or stupid. They are imbued with a sense of destiny. And they know their lives and adventures will be recounted in the old tradition.

Wanna know what makes me cry? The old Hallmark commercials for sure. But I received something last night that hit me right at my core. I’m a storyteller. It’s what I do, but it’s also what I am. I work damn hard. Sure, I get to wear jammies and sweats and my office is just feet away from where I sleep. That doesn’t sound so tough, right? Well, sometimes it really is. When I wrote Ravished by a Viking, there were so many factors I didn’t have control over. The cover—I mean, what’s with the kilt? The print run. It’s not nearly large enough to impress. My publisher’s support. Well, since I’m new to Berkley, I’m kinda on my own. What I did have control over was the story. And it came straight from my heart. Back to what I received last night…

I opened my email to my first review. What touched me was that the reviewer knew what I accomplished was damn hard. And she got it. All of it. I’m including the whole review here, but it’s posted on her website too, Alien Places.

Ravished by a Viking

a novel by Delilah Devlin
Reviewed by Masha Holl

Clash of cultures, clash of myths, clash of powerful personalities: it should be easy to review Ravished by a Viking, a novel of erotic science fiction by Delilah Devlin. After all, how many authors can bring out on paper the excitement and more-than-willing suspension of disbelief that old fashioned adventure stories once brought us?

A kidnapped brother. A battle of wills between a ship’s captain and a planetary warlord. On one side, human colonists toughened by the harsh environment they’ve mastered, and who still praise and reward sheer physical strength. On the other, a galactic empire used to relying on the power of energy weapons and science.

And in the middle, our heroes. Men, women, wills and desires. Dagr, Clan-leader of the Wolfskins, who only looks like an unpolished barbarian. And Honora Turgay, who loses her ship to the Viking leader, but never surrenders her determination.

Ravished by a Viking is a myth come to life, but it’s also the story of two people: adventure, passion, discovery, transformation. All of Delilah’s scenes burn with energy, whether she writes believable, exciting, and heart-pounding action scenes, or scorching, breath-stealing, and enviable sexual encounters.

Yes, it should be easy to review one of Delilah Devlin’s stories, because each one of them delivers the promise of a great read, abundant humor, and larger-than-life characters. Delilah is a born storyteller, and knows how to build the tension on all levels, entwining sensual conquest with a growing friendship between the main characters, slowly turning what could become redundant sniping into clever flirting. And most importantly, she always surprises the reader – and sometimes the characters themselves.

But a reviewer should also announce to the reader what to expect beyond the open cover. Is it a romance? Of course, and I’ll say no more. But that would leave out the cleverly built and logical world of space-travel and alien societies her characters inhabit.

Is is science fiction? Of course. We have space-travel and ancient civilizations and the kind of questions science-fiction authors like to ask. But that would leave out the intense relationships between the characters.

Is it erotica? Oh yes, with scenes as hot and intense as Delilah can write, as charged emotionally as they are physically, it has to be. But that would leave out the character development and the world building and the tight plotting.

Yes, it was hard to write a review of Ravished by a Viking when the story speaks for itself you’re ready to re-read rather than write about it. But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t hear about it, and you’d miss a wonderful, action-packed, emotional roller-coaster of a read.

On January 4, 2011, Ravished by a Viking will release. It’s my first book with Berkley and the start of a new series. In the coming weeks, I’ll be looking for help from those of you who enjoy my books to get the word out. I’ll have a contest with some great prizes that will have a widget for you to proliferate. I’ll be giving peeks into the story to whet your appetites. If sales happen for this book, then I’ll get the chance to write more for Berkley. So whether you see more books from this world really does all depend on you.

If you’ve ever dreamed of fierce warriors, worlds filled with strange wonders and horrors, and love that endures terrible trials, I do believe I have the series for you. Here’s a first peek. And if you’d like to read a longer excerpt, you can go here: Chapter One

You can pre-order a copy here: Buy Link for Ravished!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

What a Viking wants, a Viking takes.

When his younger brother goes missing, Dagr, Viking warrior and Lord of the Wolfskin Clan, will do whatever it takes to get him back. But nothing could have prepared him for Honora—a feisty, intelligent woman who is nothing like the women of his world—women who are content to serve their men in all things. Drawn to her despite her recalcitrant nature, Dagr is determined to show her who’s boss both in bed and out.

When the two enemies-turned-lovers join forces to find Dagr’s brother they are thrown into a rousing adventure full of danger, intrigue and erotic abandon. Can their passion truly unite them or will their different worlds lead to destruction for them both?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The great hall of the Berserkir king’s keep was filled to capacity with the clan’s warriors. Light cast from the iron chandeliers high above the black marble floors gleamed on the muted metal-fiber composite of their armor and the steel nozzles of the laser-spears they held.

Birget stood among the Valkyrja contingent, which formed a half circle around King Sigmund’s throne. As his personal guard, they were the only females allowed inside the hall on this night. True to the traditional nature of the tiny band, they wore hammered metal breastplates over their modern, black uniforms, the gold outer plate embossed with the figure of Freya, their patron goddess, standing in her feline-drawn chariot. Because a truce had been called, their swords remained sheathed, their shields stayed locked inside the armory, and they’d left off their gold, conical helmets.

Word had come that Dagr, clan-lord to the Wolfskins, had been spotted off-shore, his plain, unadorned skiff sailing between the frozen peaks of Hymir’s Sea until he’d skidded onto the rocky beach beneath the fortress walls.
Soldiers had been dispersed to keep watch along the shore to find the rest of his floti, but strangely, none were spotted. He’d come alone.

“Has he gone daft? Or does he believe his own legends?” her sister Ilse asked, clutching her pike.

Dagr, the leader of the Wolfskin clan, struck awe in the hearts of all Berserkirs. His many fierce battles with their army had grown his stature to epic proportions, some even saying that Thor himself had bestowed his blessing on the sword of the great warrior king.

“Quiet, daughters,” Sigmund said. “Whatever brings him here alone cannot bode well for the rest of us.”

“We should capture him,” Birget muttered, unimpressed with the Ulfhednar warrior’s reputation. Dagr was a man like any other—complete with faults. “If he is stupid enough to enter this hall alone,” she groused, “we should enjoy the spectacle.”

Her father shot her a reproving look. “He comes under a flag of truce,” he said for her ears only. “We won’t dishonor our promise to leave him unmolested upon his arrival. We will listen to what he has to say—before we decide whether to detain him.” He gave her a little waggle of his eyebrows.

Birget suppressed a smile and straightened.

The large metal doors at the entrance of the keep creaked open. Bearshirt soldiers marched into the hall, the contingent surrounding the enemy king. When they parted in front of the dais upon which Sigmund’s throne sat, a tall black-haired warrior strode fearlessly from their center.

Birget’s breath caught, her incredulity forgotten. If her future husband was cut from the same cloth, she was doomed.

Dagr, the Black Wolf, stood taller than most of the Beserkir warriors around him. His thickly muscled body radiated strength the way the “pure light” did heat, blaring potent masculinity and power.

His features were harsh and colder than the gray stones cut from Odin’s Mountain peaks to build this fortress. Black brows sheltered deep-set, piercing blue eyes. The sharp-bladed nose, chiseled cheekbones, and square jaw reflected granite will.

Rustling sounded as the warriors inside the hall tensed, and Birget understood their anxiety. Yes, he might stand alone, but who would want to be the first to draw a weapon against such a man? He looked and dressed like a savage, like the legendary warriors from their shared past.

A black wolf’s head sat atop his long dark hair, the eyes of the dead beast seeming to glitter with menace. Bearskin cloaked his massive shoulders. A silver metal breastplate spanned his broad chest. His thick, muscular legs were encased in leather and fur, as were his boots.

His only weapons were the large, double-headed axe that peeked above his head from where it rested between wide shoulders, the famed sword that hung at one side of his hips, and a long, thick-bladed knife sheathed at the other. Primitive weapons, but no one now staring at him doubted he’d be deadly in a fight.

Fury emanated from every inch of his taut frame.

“Lord Dagr,” her father intoned, lowering his chin in a decidedly undeferential manner.

Birget wondered how her father managed to sound so confident when her whole body was strung tighter than a bow.

“My brother,” Dagr ground out in a deep, raspy baritone. “Is he with you?”