UPDATE: The winner is…Buttonsmom2003!
*~*~*

©Diana Cosby 2021

Each season brings something special in nature to inspire the muse, with my favorite season, fall.  The beautiful golds, reds, oranges, and browns of the falling leaves swirl to the ground, exposing on some trees, berries, which birds, like these cedar waxwings, love.

Fall colors make a gorgeous backdrop to wildlife and birds such as this Cooper’s Hawk.

Deer are foraging for food as they prepare for the winter, with their coats growing thick to stand up against the cold.

With the cooler weather, smaller birds, like this chipping sparrow, flip over leaves and jump through the bushes looking for berries or seeds.

Once the limbs are barren, it’s easier to see smaller birds like this brown creeper.

At the marsh, the birds, like this cormorant, are migrating though.  The crisp air will soon give way to cooler temperatures and the arrival of winter.  Take care, and wishing you a wonderful holiday season.

Contest

ONE winner will be drawn from everyone who posts on my guest blog post about, ‘Nature’s Beauty – Inspiration For The Muse!’ on Delilah’s blog between 19 November 2021– 28 November 2021, and will win a tote bag.

About Diana Cosby

A retired Navy Chief, Diana Cosby is an international bestselling author of Scottish medieval romantic suspense. Books in her award-winning MacGruder Brothers series have been translated into five languages. Diana has spoken at the Library of Congress, Lady Jane’s Salon in NYC, and appeared in Woman’s Day, on USA Today’s romance blog, “Happy Ever After,” MSN.com, Atlantic County Women Magazine, and Texoma Living Magazine.

After her career in the Navy, Diana dove into her passion – writing romance novels. With 34 moves behind her, she was anxious to create characters who reflected the amazing cultures and people she’s met throughout the world. After the release of the bestselling MacGruder Brothers series and The Oath Trilogy, she released the bestselling The Forbidden Series.

Diana looks forward to the years of writing ahead and meeting the amazing people who will share this journey.

Diana Cosby, International Best-Selling Author
www.dianacosby.com
The Oath Trilogy
MacGruder Brother Series
The Forbidden Series

Social Media
Website:  https://www.dianacosby.com/
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Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Diana-Cosby-Romance-Author-150109024636/?ref=ts

Ideas for this story rolled around in my head for years before I started trying to write it. I am one of those who learned to hide under my schoolroom desk in case of an atomic bomb attack, so yeah, that kind of gives away my age group. When I met the right guy and we wanted to start a family, we still had that idea of an imminent attack. So we grew our own food and stored salt and prepared in a hundred other ways to ensure our survival when doomsday arrived.

I’m happy to say that the Cold War ended, and we’ve (hopefully) moved away from someone’s finger hovering over the red button that would start a nuclear war. But that threat remains, as well as many other newer threats, and not all of them caused by a political adversary. Nature has a whole bundle of tricks up her sleeve as well.

What happens if/when the power goes out, not for an hour or a day, but for weeks—or longer? What happens if our cars don’t work? I wanted to explore these ideas—and somehow make it a romance.

There’s nothing new about a massive earthquake in the Los Angeles area, but every time that story is told, there’s an annoying focus on the adventure aspect of it, people dying, sirens wailing, etc. I wanted to create a romance forced by circumstance. I also wanted to delve deep into what it would mean to do away with conveniences like electricity and transportation. I tossed it all in and stirred.

Refuge in His Arms is the result, and I’m proud to say it’s a compelling story with circumstances based fully in scientific facts. It’s also rich with the sensual connections between two people who had to come a long way together, figuratively and literally.

Right now, the book is FREE in Kindle Unlimited. Take advantage of this countdown deal to grab your copy for as low as 99 cents. The deal runs from November 24 through November 30, and if you know about countdown deals, you know that the 99 cent price won’t last long.

Refuge in His Arms

Strangers meet in a cataclysmic crisis and despite their prickly acquaintance, circumstances force them to cooperate. Not what Mackenzie expected or ever wanted. Not what David could have ever imagined, and yet here they are fleeing Los Angeles together. Bad turns to worse as a geomagnetic storm wipes out the power grid and stops the car, leaving them stranded in Flagstaff.

In this journey in search of food and shelter with her faithful German Shepherd Captain by her side, Mackenzie Kilpatrick denies her attraction to this man. He’s forced himself on her, an opportunist who only needs what she has. He might be the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, and he might have hidden talents, but she’s totally not interested. Is she?

Tumbling down from his rock star success, David Evans thought he’d found bottom. But this is worse, dependent for his very survival on an angry woman who barely tolerates him. He’s hanging on, trying to do right, but how can he ever meet her impossible standards? He just wants to hold her, wrap his arms around her and ease her pain.

Is there a place for them to find safety?

Get your copy!

Excerpt from Refuge in His Arms…

They spent the rest of the morning gathering wood from a few vacant areas surrounding the shopping center, piling it on either side of the spot Mackenzie deemed best for a fire. David settled into his assigned role as helper, convinced that if he expressed his concerns or ideas, she’d send him away. Did that make him a weakling? The way he saw it, he didn’t have much choice. Every time he caught her looking at him, she was frowning like he was so much excess baggage.

Maybe that was her default attitude, all hostile and wound up tight. He’d like to unwind her, button by button until her delectable body stretched out before him like a feast of epicurean proportions. He already knew she’d taste delicious, those long legs spread open to reveal the soft pink folds of her intimate womanhood. Damn. Why did his mind conjure up such fantasies when his rational mind knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of making it reality? He shifted the load of dead brush in his arms in order to adjust the pressure on the front of his jeans.

The place she designated for the fire sat halfway between two small trees in the median near her car. No chance of fire spreading from there. Plus it was near enough to the car they didn’t have to shuttle supplies very far. He spent an hour gathering rocks to create a decent boundary for the fire.

Memories flashed, times he’d visited his grandparents’ farm when he was little, a rundown place somewhere in Kentucky. His granddad took him fishing at the pond, and he’d proudly come home with a catfish. Step by step, Granddad showed him how to gut and fillet that fish with a knife that had been sharpened so many times the blade was razor thin. They’d built a fire in an outdoor fire pit. The fish sizzled in a big iron skillet as the flames twisted and curled, orange and red, his granddad squatting beside him. Even without words, they shared something important, watching that fire. That fish tasted better than anything he’d ever put in his mouth.

He loved those people. They didn’t live in a fancy house. His mom smiled there and in some of his earliest memories, his dad had helped Grandpa out in the barn, working on an old car. They had a garden, chickens, and a hog with a bunch of little piglets running around. If he was there now, he’d figure it out. Do things. But he was in fucking Arizona in the middle of a parking lot, his future entirely too dependent on a woman who apparently wished he’d disappear. If this woman needed to keep him at arm’s length, he’d do it just to survive. If he pushed his luck with this crazy attraction he felt, he would end up alone.

He sighed and stood up to squint at the sky. “About noon.”

She glanced at her watch and looked at him with a strange expression. “Noon.”

Whatever that meant, he didn’t try to figure out. After her comment about a husband, as if she didn’t still have a husband—well, he had an idea that the man had died and she had shut down. Not something he could ask about. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, sorry for what she must have suffered, still suffered, this woman with the sad luminous eyes.

They knocked then waited at the side door of the supermarket. Sun beat down, baking the top of his head and searing his shoulders through the shirt. A black t-shirt was definitely not the ideal garment for standing in full August sunlight even if it was threadbare. His skin prickled as sweat rolled down his sides.

They knocked twice again.

“Do you think there’s someone in there?” he said finally.

She looked up at him. Streaks of amber and black shot through her brown irises. How had he not noticed the thick fringe of long dark lashes or the expressive narrow eyebrows, one of which now cocked as she glared at him.

“Did you have an appointment somewhere?” she asked.

He exhaled. “Christ, you’re hard to deal with.”

“No one is forcing you to be here.”

“Yeah, someone is. You. You think I could walk away from you, leave you here with your dog and your stuff and no one to help you?”

“You mean, walk away from your only resource? Someone who has food and water and a safe place to sleep?”

He wanted to punch something. His fist opened and closed. Was she right? Was it all about him? “That’s not why I want to be here.”

“Bullshit.” She knocked again, slamming the side of her fist against the metal door.

“Not bullshit,” he said, straightening his shoulders as anger rose up his spine. He’d just about had it with her insults. “You may think you’ve got it all figured out, but you need me, and lady, if you don’t know that, then part of your brain isn’t working. You’ve needed me since you got stuck between that lamp post and the fence.”

Her eyes blazed as she rested her fists on her hips. “I could have handled that on my own. You were looking for a way out of there.”

“I didn’t have to choose between trying to salvage every fucking thing I own and going along to help you.”

“No, you absolutely did not.”

“Or leave behind every professional contact, every hope for a future.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You probably didn’t have any hope of a future or you wouldn’t have been so quick about leaving.”

Her words hit him like a fist to bone. He sucked in air, momentarily speechless. This was what he couldn’t do, and here he was, standing in the boiling sun in a sparring match with the only person who could help him. A real bitch. Maybe he should walk away. He could find another way.

“Fuck you,” he said harshly. “You know nothing about me. I’m trying to be nice.”

The slightest flash of concern crossed her face. Or maybe he imagined it. How bad did he need her, really? There were a thousand other women he could charm in this town alone.

“Just pointing out the facts,” she said. “Sorry if you don’t want to hear it.”

She folded her arms across her chest and turned to face the door. Her shoulders looked almost fragile under that thin shirt, reminding him of a wounded animal that would bite you before it would let you help it. He wanted to grasp those shoulders, pull her back against his chest, and whisper comforting words in her ears, stroke her hair until she calmed and relaxed.

Which was fucking ridiculous, because she’d just find a way to throw that back in his face, accuse him of trying to manipulate her or some other selfish motive. He could read the anger in her frame, right down to the tense angle of her lovely neck.

*~*~*

PLEASE HELP! This book needs reviews. Load up your friends for a holiday read-fest and knock this one out of the park! And, as ever, a big THANK YOU from Liz!

B, the cyborg hero of B Free, my latest release, believes he is the last of his kind.

The big male isn’t alone. He isn’t isolated. B has friends, is part of a team, reports to a leader he respects.

But he knows of no other beings like him anywhere in the universe. He is the sole remaining B Model. No one else has his (very) long history, his challenges, his gifts. The other cyborgs don’t resemble him. He is unique, often stared at, and he doesn’t feel truly understood.

I think many of us have felt that way at some point in our lives.

In my previous life (grins), when I was a business babe, I’d sometimes be the only woman in rooms filled with hundreds of men. I was the center of attention in those situations and, being a private person, an extreme introvert, I really don’t like that. Men would approach me simply because I was a woman. They’d watch me. It made me uneasy.

I would watch the doors at the beginning of the event and long for another female-facing person to enter the room. When one did, stars, it was like a mini celebration in my soul. Our gazes would meet. We’d exchange grins.

Both of us would be visibly relieved. We weren’t the only ones. There was someone like us at the event, someone who understood what we were dealing with, who had the same challenges we did.

That feeling is why B, the hero of B Free, continues to monitor communications. He scans messages for any mentions of B Models, of warriors like him. If there’s a reference to his kind, he flies, sometimes halfway across the universe, to investigate the situation.

All of those searches have ended in disappointment.

Thus far.

Have you ever been in a situation where you were the only one of ‘your kind’?

B Free

B is the last remaining B Model cyborg. All of his brethren, the beings he trained with, fought with, cared deeply for, have perished.

Or so he believes.

When he intercepts a communication mentioning the existence of one of his kind, he has to investigate its source. The message could be a trap set by his enemies. He’ll take that risk if it secures him the companionship he requires to be fully functional.

What he finds is a daring brown-eyed female who activates all his systems. She proudly proclaims she’s a researcher, brandishing that information like a weapon before her. He wants to kiss the sass off her beautiful face, protect her from the dangers around them, claim her forever.

Quinn is on a quest to locate the mechanics of an early-version cyborg. She believes the information captured within that frame will give her valuable insights into the past.

When her mission goes zombie-like beings levels of wrong, she comes face-to-face with a living, breathing B Model. He has big hands, a primitive countenance, and stern hard lips crafted for kissing.

She doesn’t trust him. And she doesn’t have time to indulge her desires.

Their shared enemies are chasing them, would kill to get their precious specimens back. One minor mistake could reduce B and Quinn to a mere line in the databases of history.

B Free is a STANDALONE Cyborg SciFi Romance set in a dark, gritty, sometimes-violent universe.

It features the sole surviving B Model cyborg warrior, a courageous researcher seeking to uncover the past, and an unplanned visit to a settlement ruled by an extremely scary all-knowing, all-powerful being.

B Free is the fourth of five core stories in the Rebel Cyborgs Series.

Book 1: Containing Malice
Book 2: Under Strain
Book 3: Baring Grudge
Book 4: B Free
Book 5: Seizing Power

Buy Today:

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B097CJJ6B7
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B097CJJ6B7
Amazon AUS: https://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B097CJJ6B7
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/b-free/id1572709749
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/b-free-cynthia-sax/1139701466
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/b-free
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1089821

About Cynthia Sax

USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes steamy Cyborg, Alien and Contemporary Romances. Her stories have been featured on TV, in Star Magazine, and numerous top ten lists.

Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled monthly newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com
Newsletter:   https://cynthiasax.com/newsletter/
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Twitter:  @CynthiaSax
Blog:  https://tasteofcyn.com/

UPDATE: The winner is…Colleen C!
*~*~*

My love of historical fiction springs from the nexus of where imagination meets fact. Through her time-telescope book, Jubilee, poet author Margaret Walker hurls me back in time to the American Civil War as experienced by a slave family based on the life of her great-grandmother. James Michener does the same on the multicultural history of Colorado in Centennial. My erotic historicals don’t come anywhere near the scope of these sagas, yet in “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer” imagination meets fact as it does in Walker’s and Michener’s work.

As he brings my heroine Eleanor Taylor to safety, my hero Franklin Adams muses on family life that could have been his but for slavery. I created this life for him, i.e., the backstory of his ancestors in Africa from my research. The image above is from the New York Public Library’s Schomburg digital collection. It shows an African man feeding cattle. Michael Grauer, the McCasland Chair of Cowboy Culture and Curator of Cowboy Collections and Western Art at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, in Oklahoma City is quoted as saying “cowboy traditions originated in Africa, where cattle herders would rope cattle on foot, and the likes of the Maasai people drove them toward better lands for grazing.”

My research for this story also found that while Blacks enjoyed more respect and freedom driving cattle in the West, they rarely rose to trail boss or foreman. Yet reading about Bose Ikard, one of the most famous Black Texas frontiersmen and trail drivers, I learned this former slave, who worked on several of the Goodnight-Loving cattle drives, was so trustworthy Charles Goodnight often put him in charge of the cash collected at the end of the trail. Thus, I created Franklin, also a former slave, with an ancestral knowledge of the best way to handle cattle and equally trusted like Ikard. My imagination met these two facts and created one of those rare exceptions: a Black trail boss.

Other famous Black Westerners could have been models for Franklin as well. One was former slave Nat Love, also known as Deadwood Dick, who worked for large cattle spreads in Texas and Arizona. He recounts his life in his autobiography, The Life and Adventures of Nat Love. Another could have been Bill Pickett who is credited with creating bulldogging. While these facts did not meet imagination in my present story, I can easily see how they might in future ones.

So for a chance at a $10 Amazon gift card, share in the comments some interesting piece of history that may have sparked your imagination.

“The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”
in Cowboys: A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology

A feisty businesswoman about to become the next victim of Post-Civil War revenge receives rescue from an unexpected source

Excerpt from “The Patience of Unanswered Prayer”…

She prayed Flyte would ungag her quickly, prayed her gut was right that he wasn’t party to whatever Radcliffe had planned.

Flyte pulled down the gag.

“He’s going to kill me,” she rasped, her mouth free of the loathsome muzzle. “You have to stop him.”

“Kill you?” Flyte blenched. “He’s done this for your safety.”

“Taking me the long way round to Darlington City in the dead of night is for my safety?”

“A mob was waiting to lynch you.”

“You know that’s not true. Radcliffe trumped up these charges against me to put me at his mercy.”

“Gordon Daniels brought the charges against you.”

“At Radcliffe’s urging. Daniels is ex-Confederate and can’t cotton any Black—man or woman—doing better than Whites.”

“Why would the sheriff do that? He’s an ex-Yankee who hates confederates like Daniels.”

“Radcliffe hates me more. He wants revenge on me for rebuffing his attentions.”

“I can’t believe—” Flyte paused, then looked thoughtful. A frown filled his face. “Yet…”

His hesitation gave her hope. Her gut tensed, and her heart beat until her chest hurt.

“You know full well taking me from jail is either foolishness or mischief.”

The cock of a gun hammer turned them both in the same direction.

*~*~*

Buy link: Amazon – https://amzn.to/3iwUhkN
Michal Scott Amazon Author Page – https://amzn.to/2TSHzRn
Website: www.michalscott.webs.com

Fan fiction may be the black sheep of the media world, but to me, it’s a fabulous feast of never-ending possibilities. But sometimes, I’ll see commenters post that something “read like fan fiction” and frown at my phone.

Because, to me, “reads like fan fiction” is an amazing compliment.

If you’re not familiar, fan fiction, fanfic, or even just “fic”, is fiction written by fans—of a movie, TV series, book, artist, musician, or other property—about the thing they’re a fan of. Fan art totally counts, too. They’re considered transformative works, and the writers and artists do it for free, for the love of the fandom they’re a part of.

Note: Everyone has their opinions on the legality or legitimacy of fanfic, and I’m not going to get into any of that, so I’m gonna leave this here and here.

I doubt there’s a fic author out there who hasn’t heard some variation of: “If you want to write so badly, why not write something original and not waste your time on…that.”

It’s not like it’s a new idea. Take the relationship between the Renaissance and the Bible—all that art, all those plays, poems, and stories are pure fanfic.

As a kid, I used to make up stories and spent a huge amount of time in other peoples’ worlds through reading. There weren’t a lot of other children in my neighborhood, but my imagination was a constant companion. One of my elementary school teachers had faith in me, and she helped me actually write some of these stories down.

I’m sure they’re languishing somewhere in storage at my parents’ house, which means I’m seconds away from getting a text saying they’ve been found and they’re in the mail.

As I continued my education, I took a creative writing course in high school and enjoyed my English classes, but in what felt like a nanosecond, I was in college. After graduating, I did everything from insurance to finance to sales. All that time, a starving creature vaguely resembling a blank Word document whispered inside me, begging to be fed. I barely heard it over the sound of life.

When the workday was over I had plenty of time on my hands, which translated to plenty of time spent reading books, or doing late 2000s things online. Soon I was hunting for something new to read. By chance, I discovered the YA book series Twilight.

The story was exactly what I needed to read at the time, and I finished the books as fast as Edward running back to Bella’s house to watch her sleep.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, and I’m sure wine was involved, but I ended up on fanfiction.net (if you know, you know) and…

It was glorious. I started reading Twilight fanfic, and a lot of it was…really good.

And really creative.

And in some cases, better written than a lot of actual published books.

Even if they weren’t, that’s irrelevant—the authors wrote, and they had fun, and they entertained. Which, let’s be honest, is what any writer should be doing—having fun doing what they do, and entertaining others.

These fans of the series—whether they were trying to fix something they didn’t like about the books, pay homage to what was written already, extrapolate what might happen after the series, or take the characters on their own journeys—were engaged and playing in the Twilight sandbox.

And I wanted to play, too.

For the first time in literal years, I wanted to write again. But where to start? And damn, was I rusty. So I started small, writing short stories and posting them. To my simultaneous horror and delight, people read them and commented. Readers were encouraging. The nervous knot in my stomach relaxed a tad, and I tried my hand at writing something longer, with multiple chapters, and an actual plot. I was hooked.

Most fanfic and blogging sites allow commenting and “liking” in some way, so I was able to get practically instant feedback on my work. I worked with beta readers, and readers and other writers who had more editing knowledge than I did at the time. I read my fair share of fic too, seeing what I enjoyed in a story, what was working and what wasn’t in the narrative. How other authors described things, wove a plot, captured my interest.

Was that first longer story I wrote well-written?

LOL

NO.

I’ve looked at it since, and while it’s not the worst, it’s far from the best, and certainly not the best I’ve produced. How do I know? Because, with all the writing with training wheels on, I wobbled around, fell and skinned my knees, and, eventually, got my balance, flying down that hill with the wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth.

Genre expectations, characterization, plotting, story beats, description…all of this, and more, was a real-life learning experience I couldn’t have gotten in a classroom.

But the best part was the community, the fandom. Fandoms often get side-eyed for toxic environments, but that’s the internet all over. My experiences with the community were mostly supportive and uplifting. Late-night forum chats with readers and other writers about a plot bunny that won’t leave you alone and encouragement to write it ASAP; a request for a quick beta from a reader you trust before you post something; collaborations with fandom friends who had graphic design experience to make a banner or art for your story. And the friendships, many of which I still have today.

One of the coolest things has been watching fandom friends publish “for real”. I’ve seen lists of authors—many now award-winning, or NYT bestsellers—for signings at conferences or conventions and grinned at the number of names I recognized from fandom.

What makes fic so unique? The writers are willing to take risks, chances, write something you may have never seen or read before. For example, if you’re a fan of A/B/O (Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics)—surprise! It started as a fanfic trope.

Fic writers often are great at taking the reader on an emotional rollercoaster. The kind that you can’t stop thinking about, that haunts your brain for days after you finish reading. Some fic I’ve read has stayed with me longer than many traditionally published works. And the representation—a lot of fic is populated with characters whose representation has been overall lacking in media: LGBTQIA+, characters of color, characters of different nationalities, disabilities, religions.

I still read fanfic, though and I haven’t written anything fic-wise in a long time. Perhaps it’s time to get back on that horse again, write something for fun when the creative juices aren’t flowing on my personal IRL projects. Play in another sandbox. But even if I never write another word of fanfic, it’s taught me so much about my own abilities, and what I’m capable of as a writer.

Reading fan fiction and writing it gave me the spark I needed to get back to writing, something that feeds my soul. And I hope I’m lucky enough to write something that inspires someone to write—fic or not—too.

Your favorite author may very well have gotten their start writing fanfic. Maybe they still do. So, when something “reads like fan fiction”, it’s high praise. And don’t let anybody tell you different.

I’m curious: Do you currently or have you ever read fan fiction? Written it? Drawn fan art? And what fandom(s) are you a part of?

P.S. If you want to get into reading or writing/posting fanfic, my advice is to start with Archive of Our Own (AO3). The interface is great, and the tagging system makes finding what you’re looking for much easier than the wild west sites of ye olden times.

xoxo Ryley

Enjoy getting to know Ryley? Then you’ll love her monthly VIP newsletter! Sign up for access to free books, giveaways, sales, and exclusive member extras! https://ryleybanks.com/ryleys-vip-newsletter/

Ryley Banks writes award-winning bestselling sexy romance between the covers, mostly of the LGBTQ+ variety. She’s a connoisseur of tea and gin and loves language, especially creative profanity. When she’s not begging her characters to behave or reading fan fiction, you can find Ryley at: https://ryleybanks.com/

Find Ryley’s books and follow her on Amazon and Goodreads

Stay in touch! Follow Ryley on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram

Or find all her links at: https://linktr.ee/ryleybanks

Ryley’s latest release is the bestselling fall-themed charity anthology, Falling Hard, which features her sexy gay second-chance romance, Hard Cider Crush. All proceeds go to ProLiteracy. Ryley has a few upcoming projects, so follow her on Amazon and her newsletter for updates.  https://amazon.com/author/ryleybanks
Falling Hard: https://books2read.com/u/mdDP7O

If you could have more than one hot boyfriend, why wouldn’t you?

This is a question Emilia finds herself confronting by the end of Rook’s Palace, but before that, she’s already had to go through a lot. Her adventure starts out with a house-sitting gig. The house is more of a fake castle, so that is weird, but she can roll with that. But then, a video game turns on by itself, and Emilia gets sucked into the game.

She knows there is a way to finish the virtual reality adventure: free a vampire prince from his tower prison. She also knows that to get there, she will have to, erm, lose some of the scant lace clothing the game provides her with. As Emilia advances in the game, she begins to understand that it is not really a game at all, but a prison designed to look like a magical palace.

The five monsters Emilia meets don’t just get under her very short skirt but also under her skin, and Emilia decides that she will free them all. It is easier said than done, because the creator of the game doesn’t want his prisoners to escape.

Rook’s Palace has plenty of action: the running kind, and the gasping and moaning kind. And of course, you won’t have to pick a favorite love interest—you get to have all the five monsters on offer.

Rook’s Palace (Her Five Monsters 1)

Release Date: Nov 12, 2021

Drawn into a video game, Emilia falls for five sexy monsters and wonders if the game is real after all.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3FUGn5P
Kobo: https://bit.ly/3vmvHI2
Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/3aPPw0Y
Apple: https://apple.co/3G0cEZa
Changeling: https://bit.ly/3bv88nj

Emilia is excited to start a house-sitting job, even if the house is creepy and more than a little on the odd side — as odd as the owner’s requests. When she finds an unusual gaming console, she is drawn into a lusty video game in which she crosses paths with five inhuman creatures. She is drawn to them all, but when the five men keep telling her that the game is very much not what it seems, Emilia realizes she can no longer play along.

As the path she follows offers not just desire and intense experiences but also sadness, cruelty, and hurt around every bend, Emilia’s resolve firms: she will free the five men, who tell her they are already a family, already lovers. Whatever she has grown to feel for them, she cannot let them suffer if saving them is within her power.

With the rules of a game she doesn’t understand forcing her to play along, Emilia must find a way to get to the end of the game and get everyone out — whatever the cost. The freedom of her five monsters depends on her.

Excerpt from Rook’s Place…

Copyright ©2021 Alexa Piper

Another flash of silver washed over Emilia just as she was about to follow a hallway that curved to the left. The lightning dyed the way straight ahead in gray, and at the end of it, she saw a door. The door was closed, unlike all the other doors on the first floor, so Emilia decided to try it. After all, if Blakely wants the shutters of his game room closed, it makes sense he’d keep the door closed as well, she thought.

A few steps in and with her arms out in front of her, Emilia touched the door and felt for the knob. She turned. The door opened, its hinges soundless. The room she saw beyond was the game room indeed. Emilia searched for a light switch instinctively, even though light fell in through the windows, some of which had their shutters shifted open by the wind. Emilia could make out a billiard table, a card table, shelves with games, and a large television set. She stopped looking for a light switch when she saw that, because the TV gleamed faintly.

“What the…” Emilia walked toward the large screen. She was pretty sure that no one else was here besides her. “Mr. Blakely?” she said. Maybe he’d cancelled her services after all, although she would have expected him to send her an email at least. “Hello?” she said, louder.

Emilia looked around, and finally spotted the light panel, higher up than she’d tried. She hit the switch, and the light that filled the room left no shadows for anyone to hide within them. The TV, though, was definitely on.

“Maybe the thunderstorm got you to work?” Emilia said and walked toward it. As she did, she noticed blinking lights from the shelf underneath it. There were several gaming consoles there, new ones she was familiar with. But those weren’t the ones that blinked at her, no.

The console that had caught Emilia’s attention was an oval design, smooth silver. She touched the casing, and found that it was warm, polished metal rather than plastic, with a smaller oval display set in the middle. As soon as her fingers brushed against the console, the display lit up with words.

“Play me? Huh,” Emilia said. “You’re strange. How do I play you?” she asked. There was no controller anywhere that she could see. The other wireless ones were neatly lined up beneath their respective console, but this oddity…

The screen brightened, and the words play me blinked at Emilia.

“Right. I want to.” She turned to look around. On the table behind her, on the chairs, there was no controller in sight either, nor did her search reveal one behind the cushions. Shrugging, Emilia hit the screen on the console. She felt the slight give of a button. “Ah.”

The television set flickered to life, and a suitably eerie voice echoed to Emilia from hidden speakers.

“Welcome to the Rook’s Palace,” said a male narrator. On the screen, the camera was following a path through a thicket of trees. It wound toward a castle that rose like a waking dragon in the distance.

“Wow, this looks super HD,” Emilia said. She pulled one of the floor cushions stacked to the right of the TV toward her and sat down cross-legged.

“Brave traveler, you have chosen to walk the paths to the palace, but beware,” said the narrator. “These paths are full of the pleasures of the flesh, and none that walk them may escape the lust and desire of those who call the palace their home.

“Traveler, should you choose to continue, there is a mission you must carry out.” The screen washed out, the scene shifting from the outdoors to a room. It could have been a room right here in Blakely’s castle. As the camera did a slow turn, Emilia gasped a little as a tall, dark-haired figure came into view. At that exact moment, the man turned and looked at the camera, almost as if he’d heard Emilia’s gasp. His dark hair ran down his back, and he wore what was probably supposed to be some sort of stylized Victorian garb. The pants were tight enough to show off muscular legs, and the pressed white shirt with the silver buttons — half of which were undone — showed a broad chest and a narrow waist. The man, whose hair trailed down to the small of his back and half hid his face, looked straight at the camera. His eyes were the color of amethyst, and a wild emotion stirred in their depth for a second before the man shut it down.

“Lord Radovan, the vampire prince, has been hidden away in the palace’s highest tower. Traveler, if you dare, it is your mission to free Lord Radovan from his captivity.”

Emilia wanted to look at this strange vampire prince more. The video quality was good, uncannily so, everything looked real. It was almost like all she had to do was reach out her hand, and she’d be able to touch the amethyst-eyed vampire prince.

Emilia lifted her right hand, but before she could actually try reaching for the vampire, the camera moved. It went for a window and flew straight out, down toward a hedge maze.

“The palace grounds are full of riddles and challenges. Those who guard the path and the palace will not be assuaged by anything less than taking pleasure in your body, Traveler,” the narrator said. “They will demand you give yourself to them, and if they have no mouth or know not how to use it, they will take pleasure on you regardless, split you open and fill you with their need.”

Emilia felt like she should be taking notes for her chat room work. This was good enough to make warmth run down her spine, to make her shift a little on her floor cushion.

“Traveler, if you wish to proceed to the Rook’s Palace, you must consent now to have your body used. On the path to the Palace, your body will be your token. If you dare not, you may turn back, though you will never know what pleasures hide behind these walls. If you consent, your pleasure will end only once Lord Radovan is set free from his tower.”

The maze opened up to the path again, and the camera rushed back to the spot it had first been in, the one with trees to either side of it. Words wrote themselves across the screen.

“Traveler, do you consent?” it read. “Say yes, and proceed. Say no, and never return.”

Once more, Emilia looked for a controller. The button she’d pushed on the console had gone dark now. She looked back up at the screen…

About Alexa Piper

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them.

Connect with Alexa: https://linktr.ee/AlexaPiper