Hello, I’m Roxanne D. Howard, and I write erotic contemporary and paranormal romance novels. Today I’d like to discuss the power of dreams in our writing.

I know several authors who keep a dream journal in their nightstand, and jot down the dreams they remember upon waking. Paul McCartney once said in an interview that he dreamt the song, Yesterday. He composed the melody in a dream, and upon waking, he played it on the piano. He had to shop it around to friends and family because he believed it was a song from his past or childhood, but as it turned out, it was completely inspirational.

Dreams have the power to inspire us and lay the cornerstones of what can be come worlds in which our characters live. Since humankind has existed, we’ve studied dreams and tried to make sense of them. Sigmund Freud believed that nothing we do occurs by chance, and that every action and thought is motivated by our unconscious. He believed that our urges and desires that don’t fit into societal norms are repressed into our dreams, and that’s how they are released.

So how do we write our dreams? There are times when we wake up that we hardly remember what we dreamt about, which is why it’s important to keep a writing journal, or a memo app on our phones handy. The littlest line or recollected visual description can make the biggest difference.

Let’s talk about writing space. In his memoir On Writing, Stephen King likened writing to a wakeful, dreamlike state. “Your writing room should be private, a place where you go to dream… the space can be humble, and it really needs only one thing: A door you are willing to shut.” As a mom to two rambunctious girls, I can testify that this is nigh to impossible at times when you’re running the kids from school to ballet class, unless you have a lot of time on your hands. What I’ve learned to do is create my own four walls and pseudo room when I open my laptop.

While ideally you can be more creative in a quiet, isolated environment, it is possible to write while the kids are going to town on the playground at McDonald’s or having fun in the bouncy houses at the fun center. If you can create those mental four walls when you have a moment to spare, you can transpose your dreams into a story.

While I’d love to be able to say I had an erotic dream like the ones Lark has in At the Heart of the Stone which inspired the story, Lark just walked as a fully formed character into my mind with a story to tell, and I went from there. However, a lot of lines I get for my novels do come from my dreams, and I’ve learned not to ignore them as they come along.

What interesting dreams have you had which have inspired you?

At the Heart of the Stone

Dreams are the perfect shelter for our fantasies, safe havens to step inside without changing our daily lives. For Lark Braithwaite, all that is about to change. During the last six months, Lark has dreamt of a mysterious Irish lover who knows what she wants and gives her exactly what she needs. In her waking life in busy London, things aren’t as ideal, as her long-term relationship with Charles, her controlling fiancé, has hit a dry spell.

When Lark is called home to Oregon for her father’s funeral right in the middle of a high-stakes corporate merger, she heads back to face the demons from her past. What she doesn’t expect is to meet her dream lover in the flesh. Niall O’Hagan steps straight out of her fantasies and right into her life, and the powerful connection they share rocks her foundation. Although she’s dealing with the bitterness of being betrayed by Charles and his jealousy, Niall soon stirs Lark’s awareness of the superficiality of her existence and reawakens not only her sexuality, but her soul.

At the Heart of the Stone Buy Links:

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Excerpt:

How did he get here? He was only her dream lover.

Or was he?

Confused beyond all comprehension, Lark didn’t have any time to contemplate what was really going on. His lips delivered a breath-stealing, soul-shattering kiss, and then they were all over each other. This, ah, this she knew. Lark hooked her ankle over his and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to rid him of his jacket and draw him closer. She clenched her hand in his hair as he devoured her mouth. He tasted the same as her dream lover, and she put her tongue in his mouth to savor more of that tangy sweetness.

They were both making noises they never had in her dreams, little breathy gasps and blasts of air as their mouths met and separated as they sought new angles and depths to their passion.

He made a disgruntled sound as he tried to get more comfortable in the cradle of her hips over the hindrance of clothes, and she realized she really wasn’t dreaming anymore. He nibbled on her lower lip as she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but then she was carried away in the undercurrent of his large, warm hands, which were caressing the skin of her stomach beneath her hoodie and T-shirt. She continued to accept his kisses but pawed down her still zipped-up sweat jacket. Okay, so she was still clothed. He was rock hard against her, and he ground his hips into her, a disbelieving grunt escaping his lips. Lark rolled her eyes back, shivering at the jolt that went through her.

“Wh— Mmm. Whoa. Stop!” She finally managed to say against his mouth. She furrowed her eyebrows and scrutinized him as he breathed in and out, bracing himself on the weight of his hands above her, his bright green eyes bearing into hers. His face was the face of her dreams—the sensual, bowed lips and cleft chin, the built body, and the thick hair. His hair… She blinked. It was cut at the nape and styled for a day at work. She glanced down at what he was wearing.

“Um, why are you wearing a suit and tie this time?” she asked, squinting against the sunlight. Please, God, let this be a dream. He moved his head, putting her in shade.

“This time?” He lifted an eyebrow, perplexed. “You’ll have to forgive me, lass, but I’ve no idea what the devil you’re talking about.” He maneuvered himself off her and sat upright at the end of the swing.

She tucked her feet against her and sat up, unable to do anything more than blink at him in utter disbelief.

“I was coming up to knock on the door when I saw you lying here, and given how you were tossing and the noises you were making, it looked like maybe you were having some sort of a seizure.”

He seemed contrite, and he turned his head as he licked his lips, full and abused from her kisses. Something close to mortification bloomed inside her.

“Erm, you…begged me to kiss you, and then you yanked me down. One thing led to another and, well, that was pretty much the way of it. I am only human, though I know that’s no excuse.” He swallowed and stared at her, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have gone down when you pulled me, but it was strange—like you knew me or something.”

Lark leaned forward and rubbed her eyes. This couldn’t be real. She was hallucinating. She had to be. When she opened her eyes she’d see a man in his fifties with a receding hairline, glasses, and a beer gut. She reopened her eyes, and there he was: The full package. In the flesh. There was an air of intelligence in the way his eyes scrutinized her. She sat up and planted her feet on the porch, then put a hand to her head. The vertigo from earlier returned. “No, I’m sorry. I was dreaming…”

“Excuse me for saying so, but it must’ve been one hell of a dream.”

Lark nodded and tried not to black out as a wave of dizziness came over her.

“You look like you’re dehydrated. Hold on.”

The lilt of his familiar Irish accent soothed her like warm milk. He stood and walked over to a black laptop case propped near the front door that had several thick manila folders sticking out of its open center, one of which she could see said BRAITHWAITE in large, capital letters on an index label. He crouched down and unzipped the front pocket, extracting an unopened plastic water bottle.

“Here,” he said, unscrewing it and holding it out to her.

“Thanks.” She accepted the bottle and took a long sip of the cool water. It almost instantly revived her. She wiped a little water off the corner of her mouth with the top of her knuckle as he watched her. She offered it back to him, but he shook his head and reclaimed his seat next to her.

“Keep it. Drink.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes and took several large gulps, the cool liquid a balm to her throat.

“My name’s Niall O’Hagan.”

His voice was deep and pleasant. It sounded different, lighter than the sultry bedroom voice she was used to from her dreams.

“I’m the Braithwaites’ attorney.”

Lark paused in midsip and lowered the bottle in her hands. “You—no.” She laughed, glancing at him.

His mouth lifted at the corners, as if it were dawning on him he was the butt of a joke he wasn’t aware of. “I…what?”

Oh, the irony of dreaming about her father’s lawyer this whole time. Oh my God. She started giggling. This was it; she was officially losing it. She got up and walked over to the top step of the porch, put a hand over her face, and plunked herself down. “I am so messed up.”

A sudden, unwanted flash of Gemma saying “darlin’” to Charles yesterday surfaced, and tears stung her eyes. She went silent and willed them not to fall. It was no use.

After a moment, Niall sat down on the step beside her. “I’d offer you a drink, but I quit ten years ago.”

Lark laughed, despite the tears. “An Irish attorney who doesn’t like Guinness is like an Englishman who doesn’t like fish and chips or something.”

“I know; shameful,” he said with mock contrition. “Don’t hold it against me. I’m doing the world a favor. Trust me. I was a horrible drunk. Seriously, though, are you okay, miss?”

Lark scoffed and gesticulated with her hands to the sky. “It’s Lark. And what a loaded question of the day.” She couldn’t look at him, not after what happened. She clenched the edge of the step on either side of her and stared out at the trees.

“Well, considering we’ve already gone to second base, we might as well be open with each other. Forgive me if I’m candid, but it seems you were having an alleged, eh, intense dream, and you woke up and believed I was him. Is that right?”

Horror dawned on her at what she’d done, and her jaw dropped. “No!” Yes. She glanced at him, and his knowing expression said he knew that was exactly what happened.

“I see,” he said, his tone careful but persistent. “Then why did you kiss me like that?”

“I-I don’t have to answer that.” She lifted her chin with defiance.

He scooted closer to her. “No, you don’t. But I wish you would.”

She scratched her head in frustration and jumped up, moving toward the door.

“I’m sorry to embarrass you,” he said, and she paused with her hand halfway to the doorbell. “I’m decent. I would never— I never meant to take advantage of you at all, please know that. When you kissed me like that, so familiar, I…”

It occurred to her Niall was being a lot more of a gentleman about the whole thing than most men would be, given how horrid the situation was. And she, meanwhile, was being a total bitch. And the poor guy had no clue as to why.

He met her in two quick strides, and his proximity alarmed her. They’d never both been standing in any of her dreams. He was at least a few inches over six feet, well built with wide shoulders and a lithe, muscular frame to complement the height.

He assessed her as well, and his eyes widened with realization. “Wait. Lark? Rick’s daughter? But you’re so little,” he said, surprised. “From the pictures, I assumed you’d be, erm—”

“Fatter?” she asked, glad she was at least back on sure ground. She could always toss jokes around about her heavy days. “It’s okay. You can go ahead and say it. I’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Niall put a hand to the back of his neck. His eyebrows rose. “I think ‘a lot’ is an understatement. Good on you! My mam struggled with her weight too; I know from growing up with her how hard it is to lose it. Well, you look amazing. Wow.”

He rolled his eyes at himself and glanced away. The bizarreness of seeing him act misplaced and common, and not at all like a sex panther, was messing with her.

“I’m sorry.” He laughed. “I sound like an idiot. Listen, I hope you don’t think I’m some leering wanker. This is…awkward.”

“You can say that again,” she murmured with a small smile, wondering what he would say if she told him she’d been having erotic dreams of him every night for the last six months. It was bad enough she’d just made out with the guy.

She held out her hand but didn’t make eye contact. “So listen, how about we forget it ever happened, okay? I’m Lark Braithwaite. I flew in a couple of days ago from London.”

He took her hand and closed his long fingers over hers. “Niall O’Hagan. Pleasure.” He stepped a little closer. “And I’m all for a clean slate, but forgetting’s not on my agenda, lass. I’m taking that one to the grave. Hands down the best snog I’ve ever had in my life. Client’s daughter or no, you can’t take it back.”

About the Author

Roxanne D. Howard is a U.S. Army veteran who has a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and English. She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. Also, she is an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and marine biology geek. Roxanne resides in the western U.S., and when she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and children. Roxanne loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.

Books by This Author:

With Boroughs Publishing Group:
Sonnet Coupled

With Loose Id Publishing, LLC.:
At the Heart of the Stone
Chicks Dig the Accent
The Costa Mesa Series
Costa Mesa 1: Batten Down the Hatches
Costa Mesa 2: Toe the Line
Costa Mesa 3: Overboard

Social Media Links:

Website: www.roxannedhoward.com
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15019190.Roxanne_D_Howard

Ready for another Night Fall tale? Love werewolves? Well, maybe you’ll want to give Long Howl Good Night a try! It’s set in the Night Fall world, but outside my vamp/were timeline, so it works well as a standalone. You honestly don’t have to read any other story in the series to enjoy this. It’s set back on Dark Mountain in North Carolina, a place I visited in Night Fall on Dark Mountain. Fertile were-lassies are rare and highly prized. Therein lies my heroine’s dilemma. She doesn’t want to be wanted for her ovaries alone. Admittedly, the story is a sex-fest. But with handsome, droolworthy were-males, that’s okay, right? 🙂 Enjoy!

Long Howl Good Night

Werewolf Aila Mack is ready to get her groove on during a full moon. Because she prefers to keep her liaisons strictly about the sex, she’s a part-time were-hooker. She’s had a taste of were-domination, but now prefers to be in charge of her own destiny.

Brothers Kynan and Jack Parker are on a mission. When their Dark Mountain clan finds an agency dealing in female werewolves, they aren’t happy learning that women are selling their bodies to satisfy their monthly howl. However, they have to take action once they discover there’s a fertile female in the agency’s stable. Their species is in dire need of breedable females.

Kynan and Jack are given the job of bringing home their mate, but they quickly discover there’s more going on beneath the surface than simply a stubborn female who refuses to be collared. Aila’s tempted like never before, as the brothers, one gentle and one fiercely intense, peel away the hard shell surrounding her Wolfen heart.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Long Howl Good Night…

With a shake of her head, Aila Mack tousled her curls then gave her mouth one last swipe of lipstick. Nothing spelled “hooker” quite like cherry-red lipstick and a skirt so short a sneeze would show off the half-moons of her ass.

And that’s exactly what she was—for this weekend, anyway. As tawdry as that sounded, some things couldn’t be left to Mother Nature. Not if she wanted to maintain the life she’d fought so hard to live. Sure, working as an executive assistant to bank manager wasn’t what she’d dreamed of when she was younger, but the job paid her bills, and living hidden among humans kept her free.

She stepped out of her car, tugged down the hem of her black skirt, and vamped to the door of the mountain cabin where she’d been directed by the agency.

Light glared around the edges of the curtains; smoke billowed from the chimney. The remoteness of this particular client didn’t worry her. If things got a little rough, they could easily take the action out of doors.

After shooting one last glance around the moonlit clearing, she took a deep breath and knocked.

The heavy tread of a man’s footsteps sounded on the other side, and the door swung open. Aila glanced up…and up…locking gazes with one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen—not handsome in a pretty-boy way, but his angular, hard-edged features appealed like no other’s she’d ever seen.

Coal-black hair was brushed back from his forehead and fell well past his shoulders. Chilly blue eyes gleamed as his gaze slowly raked her body. A broad, muscular chest above lean hips and powerful thighs made her hopeful that, this time, she’d find her own pleasure in the mating. She was almost envious of the soft chambray shirt and wash-softened blue jeans that hugged his large frame.

He shifted to the side and silently waved her into the room.

All that brawn. Mmm-mm.

She wished he wouldn’t speak and ruin it. Read the rest of this entry »

I’m ready to write some more witches. Are you ready to read ’em? I had this little series started for Samhain before they closed their doors, and I never got a chance to finish it. I have the first two of five books written. So, if you haven’t already read them, you can start here—well, on September 14th, anyway! Read the opening of this story to get a flavor of my witches.

Once in a Blue Moon

In Jefferson Parish, deep in the bayou, is a place called Bonne Nuit. Off the beaten path, isolated by swamp and connected to the sea, there the Beaux Rêve Coven thrives. Five witches… Too many demons to count…

Bryn Cavanaugh and her coven like that the community they live in is isolated thanks to a storm that destroyed the bridge between them and the outside world. Now the state wants the bridge rebuilt. When the construction crew checks into the inn, Bryn begins to suspect something about the crew’s boss isn’t quite…human.

Bridges are Ethan Thorne’s thing–after all, he’s a troll—so building a simple span over a remote canal in backwater Louisiana shouldn’t be this much of a problem. When he follows the pretty little innkeeper to a midnight rendezvous, he discovers why his crew keeps running into trouble. Bryn’s a witch, and her coven is casting spells in the moonlight.

As a troll, Ethan feels the sting of his low place in demon hierarchy. But finding an unprotected coven of witches in the middle of the bayou could lead to all sorts of adventure. And it is better to keep your enemies close…

Pre-order your copy here!

Read an excerpt from Once in a Blue Moon…

Bryn Cavanaugh stirred the contents of a large black pot, breathing in the rich aromas scenting the air.

“With your blessings, come weal and bounty,

With our efforts, come fortunes plenty.”

The spell was short and to the point. She doubted the Powers That Be felt slighted. The Beaux Rêve women worked damn hard and never took their blessings for granted.

She dipped a spoon into the broth and tasted it, closing her eyes as she sampled the spicy mix. “Delicious.”

She turned off the flame beneath the large pot of shrimp gumbo she’d begun the night before. For now, it could steep in its fragrant roux. When she returned, she’d light the burner again to let it simmer slowly until it was ready for tonight when her sisters gathered for the evening meal. Satisfied, Bryn left her large, airy kitchen and headed toward the front door of the inn.

Cooking the large stew had been time-consuming. A task that had taken her mind off the trouble that was brewing. Today, the sisters faced enemies, and she was determined to remain calm, study their adversaries and determine their weaknesses while smothering the interlopers with kindness. Her totem was the rabbit, a symbol of abundance and comfort, and her element was the Earth. She would need to channel both to remain steadfast and calm.

She paused to rifle through the stones in the bowl beside the door. Some were polished and some raw crystals. She found her two favorites—a polished amethyst carved into a worry stone with a soft indentation for her finger to rub against when she grew agitated and a piece of raw witch’s amber. One for cleansing her spirit of stress and the other for deflecting negativity. These she’d also need this morning.

She put both in the pocket of her long flowing skirt and stepped off the porch, barefoot today, because she wanted nothing between herself and the Earth. Freshly cut grass tickled her insoles. She smiled, her first in days since news had arrived that outsiders were descending on them.

“Mornin’, Bryn.”

Looking to her right, she caught sight of Father Guidry watering his small garden beside his tiny clapboard church. She gave him a wave, her silver and beaded bracelets jangling on her arms, but didn’t stop to discuss his plantings. No doubt he’d say this year’s success was due to prayer. Oh, and he’d be right.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d snuck into his garden every night for weeks to pray to the Goddess for her favor. The elderly priest was a kind man, and he tolerated the sisters of the Beaux Rêve coven while continuing to hold out hope they’d see the error of their strange ways.

Tolerance was a blessing, and something the folks of Bonne Nuit, Louisiana, gave in abundance. Sure, they’d been suspicious of the women when they’d first arrived in their tiny hamlet. But the prosperity the women had brought—the jobs and self-sufficiency—had earned them, if not acceptance then at least a place in this isolated community. However, the isolation, something the coven considered their greatest blessing, was now threatened. Progress had arrived.

She stayed in the grass beside the sidewalk, skirting Main Street and walking toward the river where her sisters were gathered. But as she neared the canal, she found they’d been joined by gawkers. Nearly all of Bonne Nuit was there.

Radha and Darcy stood glaring at the gathering on the opposite bank while Aoife and Miren stared at the clouds above them.

“You’re blind,” Miren said. “It’s a scimitar. A reminder we aren’t without weapons for this battle.”

Aoife shook her head, a frown bisecting her pale brows. “It’s the Reaper’s scythe. We’re doomed.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read portents in clouds. All she had to do was look straight across the divide at the big machinery and the crew of strangers there to operate the earthmovers, crane and dump trucks to know they were in real trouble.

“I take it the injunction was lifted?” she asked the group.

Radha nodded. “Last night. I’m sure they paid a judge to do it in the dark of night. Demons do their best work in the dark.”

Bryn took her gloomy response with a grain of salt. The witches were ever vigilant of demons, but the more likely culprit was simply the state’s schedule for recovery from the last hurricane. The bridge that had connected Bonne Nuit to the rest of the world had been swept away three years ago. Something the town had taken in stride since it was a cyclical occurrence. This part of Jefferson Parish was prone to flooding. And Gus Hearn, a local with a Duck Dynasty beard and an old ferry boat, provided transport across the water when needed.

Gus’s boat was already docked on the opposite bank, and he was loading two vehicles, a green construction-company pickup and a delivery truck bringing supplies to Darcy’s crafters’ cottage.

“We can’t take this lying down,” Darcy said, shaking back her long red hair. “Tonight’s a blue moon.”

Bryn stiffened. “The last time we asked for intervention didn’t turn out so well. Remember, we asked for rain for our summer planting? We got a deluge that nearly wiped out the entire crop. Perhaps we should let things be. They’ll build their bridge, and the Goddess will send another storm.”

Darcy’s frown was fierce. “But strangers will walk amongst us. What if we’re found?”

“So far we’ve been lucky. Blessed,” she said, her tone even and filled with conviction. “But we knew this day would come. We’re stronger now. If demons find us, we’ll simply show them we’ve grown a backbone, and that we don’t need their counsel or their manly protection.”

Darcy shrugged, but her green eyes still flashed with fire. “I don’t think we’ll bring bad luck if we ask for intervention and cast a banishing spell. I vote we meet tonight.”

The others glanced around their circle and slowly raised their hands. Four to one.

Bryn sighed. They had no leader, no high priestess, so majority ruled—a policy they’d adopted the moment they’d fled upper Michigan.

Tonight, they’d meet under the blue moon.

And while she’d scoffed at Miren’s and Aoife’s attempts at aeromancy, she felt a little guilty withholding her own confusing portent that had invaded her dreams the night before. The cloud above them wasn’t shaped like a scimitar or a scythe. If her dream was right, it was a penis. The dream filtered through her mind again…

Moonlight gleamed through curtains. Large, callused hands stroked over her back and buttocks as the man in her bed waited while she sank slowly on his cock.

She’d felt the pressure inside her, smelled his earthy musk. But while moonlight illuminated his brawny frame, his face had remained in shadow.

She’d interpreted the sex as meaning that her privacy was about to be invaded. That she’d be tempted to set aside her vow to remain celibate and autonomous while she constructed a self-sufficient life.

But the intimacy of the dream could also mean she’d been alone long enough. The company of her sisters couldn’t fulfill her innate need as one connected to the circle of life, to Gaia the mother—the need to bear children. Children would ensure their future as a coven.

Perhaps the fact she’d been unable to see his face meant that any man might serve her need. When they’d fled their previous life, they’d foresworn true love because a witch could only know love once in her lifetime. A human male could provide his seed, but only a demon could hold her heart. The danger of mating with a demon, of becoming enslaved to his desires, was too dangerous to her freedom.

Reaching into her pocket to rub the amethyst, she concentrated on her blessings—on her sisters and this quiet place, on all the bounty they had brought to the community with their works. Her finger warmed the stone, and it began to vibrate, sending warmth up her arm and through her shoulder before spreading down into chest.

Calm again, she squared her shoulders and stared across the water at the ferry bringing the first wave of strangers. Perhaps she’d been too quick to paint their arrival as something black and ominous. She’d wait and see. And tonight, when her small coven drew down the moon, she’d offer a small prayer to the Goddess for a sign.

We’ve all heard at least part of the famous quote by John Donne, a English clergyman and poet who lived from 1573-1631.

“No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”

My drakons tend to want to be islands onto themselves. Ezra, the hero of Drakon’s Plunder, even owns a private island where he lives by himself. Being an introvert, I get that. I’m often happier by myself reading, writing, walking, and doing whatever it is a do in the run of a day. But even being an introvert, I know it’s impossible to live in the world without ties. We all have family or friends we’re close too. Maybe not many, but there are those people who have a profound affect on our lives every day.

Sometimes the people who touch our lives aren’t those we’ve actually met. The words of an author can move or inspire us. A painter or artist can create a work that makes us feel some deep emotion or even question the world we live in. An actor or actress on television or the big screen may bring to life a story that stirs us in some unfathomable way. Or perhaps we hear a news account or witness a world event that forever changes us.

The point is, all of us are in this journey called life together. And even a reclusive drakon had ties to the world. (And since he’s been around for about 4000 years, maybe he even met John Donne.)

Drakon’s Plunder

Blood of the Drakon, Book 3

Life is not going well for archaeologist Sam Bellamy. She’s stuck in the middle of the ocean on a salvage boat with people who want her dead. It wasn’t her gift for being able to sense objects of power that got her here, rather her need to make a secret society called the Knights of the Dragon pay for killing her mentor. Sam doesn’t believe in dragons, but the Knights do, and if she can get one of the sacred artifacts they’re searching for away from them, she’ll consider it payback.

Ezra Easton is content to run his marine salvage company and live alone on his private island. He may be a four-thousand-year-old water drakon, but he’s civilized enough to know just because he pulls an injured woman from the ocean, doesn’t mean he gets to keep her…

When she wakes up, she has a few tall tales to share, and it seems the Knights are after her. But this drakon won’t give up his treasure.

BUY LINKS:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072KF3JVT
Entangled: https://entangledpublishing.com/drakon-s-plunder.html
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/drakons-plunder-nj-walters/1126552516?ean=9781640631724
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/drakons-plunder/id1247580768
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/drakon-s-plunder
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072KF3JVT

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: https://www.njwalters.com
Blog: https://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
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Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/N.J.WaltersAuthor
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Can you believe it?!

I’m staring at what remains of 2017 and wondering where the hell the time flew! Did the year crawl for you or blur as it flashed by? Seeing as we’re almost to the midpoint, I thought I’d go ahead and post my list of stories I’ve published thus far in 2017, as a reminder—there’s a lot for you to peruse. Granted many of these are “reissued” stories for which I received rights from Ellora’s Cave or Samhain. So, if you’ve been following me a while, you’ve already read them. But there are new stories interspersed…

My personal favorites from among these?

This is the complete list of all my releases, January through June 2017…

1. 01/10/17 – STEPBROTHERS STEPPING OUT: ULTIMATE COLLECTION, Box Set 
2. 01/24/17 – RIDE A TEXAS COWBOY, reissue
3. 01/31/17 – SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT, Texas Billionaires series
4. 02/14/17 – HARD SEAL TO LOVE, Uncharted SEALs series
5. 02/19/17 – FUN WITH DICK AND JAYNE, reissue
6. 03/11/17 – BEGGING FOR IT, reissue
7. 03/24/17 – SWEETER THAN HONEY, reissue
8. 03/28/17 – STEPBROTHER’S STEPPING OUT: WITH HIS SEAL TEAM-4, short story
9. 03/31/17 – SADDLED, reissue
10. 04/18/17 – RAW SILK, reissue
11. 04/11/17 – WHO’S YOUR DADDY, Texas Billionaire Club series
12. 04/18/17 – BAD TO THE BONE, Night Fall series
13. 05/06/17 – UNBRIDLED, Lone Star Lovers series, reissue
14. 05/10/17 – STEPBROTHERS STEPPING OUT: WITH HIS SEAL TEAM-4, short story
15. 05/16/17 – UNFORGIVEN, Lone Star Lovers series, reissue
16. 05/20/17 – NERD’S BLIND DATE, short story
17. 05/27/17 – JANE’S WILD WEEKEND, reissue
18. 06/02/17 – FOUR SWORN, Lone Star Lovers, reissue
19. 06/08/17 – BIG SKY SEAL, Uncharted SEALs series
20. 06/13/17 – BLUE COLLAR, Boys Behaving Badly series
21. 06/16/17 – BREAKING LEATHER, Lone Star Lovers series

Contest

Real easy… Have you read any of my 2017 releases? Which did you like best?

Comment below for a chance to win a small Amazon.com gift card!

Dark Flight, my July release, is set in a dark gritty world. I hesitate to call it a dark romance because that term often suggests non-consent and there is always consent in my stories between the romantic couple (or more). There might be some capture fantasy, as there is in Dark Flight, but everyone involved agrees with any sexy times.

The world of Dark Flight is quite violent, however. It is an outlaw planet filled with the baddies of the universe. My heroes have their own codes but, outside of the settlement, there aren’t many rules. Bad things happen. The hero of Dark Flight enters gladiator-style battles because he enjoys fighting. There’s slavery and killing and, of course, explosions. (I love blowing things up.)

Recently, some writing buddies and I were talking about whether or not there’s a place for romances with dark tones or themes in a world that seems to have become darker. During uncertain times, will readers continue to read dark toned romances?

I think the fact that these are romances with the expected romance endings will ensure a place remains for them. In my stories, there’s always hope. There’s love. There’s family and often babies. (I love babies too – grins).

That makes me feel better about the real world. If my couples (or more) can find love and happiness in their much darker world, we can definitely find it right here on Earth.

My stories are also set on futuristic ships and alien planets. There are fantastic creatures and unusual situations, gorgeous sunsets and unique customs. It’s nice to leave the real world for a while. It is escapism, a little bit of a vacation.

What do you think? Is there a place for dark toned romances in today’s world? Or do you find yourself looking for romances with lighter, humorous tones?

Dark Flight

His mission. His challenge. His forever.

Orol, the Refuge’s second-in-command, has been given what he believes is a simple mission—escort two human females to the settlement. The winged warrior arrives at the meeting site to find one of the females missing and the other aiming a gun at his head. To rescue the first, he must capture the second. Once he has Rhea in his talons, however, he realizes he never wants to let her go.

Her enemy. Her captor. Her everything.

Rhea doesn’t trust anyone. She certainly doesn’t follow commands issued by a gorgeous flying male with glittering eyes, a beautiful face, and a seductive touch. Orol is dominant, edged with darkness, and determined to find her sister. Rhea will do anything to prevent that, even if it means playing sensual games of submission with her powerful enemy, seducing him into forgetting everything except her.

Dark Flight is a STAND-ALONE SciFi Romance set in a gritty, dark world.

You Can Pre-order Now:
Amazon US:
https://www.amazon.com/Dark-Flight-Refuge-Book-2-ebook/dp/B07124941B/
Amazon UK:
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Dark-Flight-Refuge-Book-2-ebook/dp/B07124941B/
Apple/iBooks/iTunes:
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dark-flight/id1242494643
B&N:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-flight-cynthia-sax/1126484675
Kobo:
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dark-flight-3
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/727350

About Cynthia Sax

USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.

Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com

Website:  https://cynthiasax.com/
Newsletter:   https://tasteofcyn.com/2014/05/28/newsletter/
Facebook:  facebook.com/cynthia.sax
Twitter:  @CynthiaSax
Blog:  https://tasteofcyn.com/

Lavender

When distilled, a few drops of lavender oil on a pillow aid sleep. Her lavender oil scented candles also sell well. Sometimes Viola uses it to make flavoring sachets, but it also sells well when distilled and marketed as an insect repellant.

Even the fiercest warriors love a rub down with lavender oil. It eases the pain from their aching muscles. Afterwards though, they’re not very keen on the girly smell.

Mint

Mint tea is almost everyone’s favorite. Just steep a few mint leaves in boiling water and strain. Not only is the infusion a natural decongestant, but it’s good for the digestion. Best of all, it tastes good.

Rosemary

An infusion of rosemary gives dark hair a wonderful shine. It improves the memory and helps combat muscle pain.

Saffron

Saffron helps asthma sufferers and loosens phlegm. It also boosts the body’s immune system.

Even Tempest, heroine of Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf, grows these. Sadly, her magic isn’t the greatest and something always goes wrong. Like the time she summoned an ancient Spartan Vampire, or the time her demon death spell tickled her attackers. If her vampire and her werewolf hadn’t joined forces to defeat them, she’d have been real trouble. Such a shame they hate each other.

*~*~*

Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

After seven centuries, Elias, a former Spartan turned vampire, finds his eternal bride.

Seth, Elias’s werewolf half-brother, scents his mate.

Vampire and werewolf loathe each other. The only thing they agree on is that Tempest is their mate–and they’re not sharing.

A prophecy will force Tempest, a twenty-first-century witch, to choose between them. As the half-brothers vie to win her heart, they teach her about spanking, the way pain heightens pleasure, and the joy of multiple orgasms.

A vampire can’t survive without his fated bride. A werewolf dies if he loses his mate. Their future rests in Tempest’s hands. Which one will she choose?

• Note: While loosely linked to the Scattered Siblingsseries, this book may be read as a standalone story

Buy links
Loose id: https://app.bitly.com/BebnjNZnvC8/bitlinks/2pFyQ5Z
Amazon USA: https://amzn.to/2pLmmK4
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2pd1Hvt
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2qBMdl5
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/claimed-by-the-vampire-seduced-by-the-werewolf-kryssie-fortune/1126320331?ean=9781682523636

*~*~*

About Kryssie

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.

Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life – or Kryssie – throws at them.

Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand-alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.

Media Links
Website: https://kryssiefortune.wixsite.com/kryssie
Blog: https://kryssiefortune.blogspot.co.uk/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KryssieFortune
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KryssiesFortune
Pinterest:  https://bit.ly/1OGFnjc
Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2kxqabJ
Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/2hA0ZVO

*~*~*

Excerpt from Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

Accepting his offer of coffee had been stupid. She knew that now. Eyes closed, she tried to picture Elias. Major fail. Her confused emotions showed Seth cradling her in his arms. She shouldn’t lust after him, not with Elias waiting for her at home.

Seth’s delicious scent—all fast-flowing rivers overlaid with the scent of ripening corn—pulled her in like a lure. His solid muscles made her want to run her hand down his torso. She loved his dimpled smile and kept stealing glances at his tempting lips. Part of her wanted to taste him right back. Damn it, I’m not a sleep-around kind of girl. With Seth, her wicked intentions punched a hole in her good-girl persona.

Determined to resist him, she shoved at his shoulder. Undeterred, he lowered his head toward hers. She ran her tongue over her lips and puckered up for him. Surely one kiss—one tiny taste—won’t hurt. Leaning toward him, she buried her hands in his curls and tugged him closer. He smiled as he moved in for his kiss, a butterfly caress that whetted her appetite and made her greedy for more. Kissing Seth seemed sensual and abandoned, a taste of forbidden fruit she couldn’t resist. Didn’t want to, really. One gentle sweep of his tongue over the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, inviting him into the damp heat of her mouth. Another moan escaped her, soft, low, and desperate. She needed him inside her, screwing her hard.

Pulling back, he cupped her cheek and gazed down at her face. His intensity, his need, and his determination to claim her showed in his eyes. She’d never felt so alive—and excluding last night—so desperate for sex.

As if in slow motion, he lowered his lips back to hers, plundering her mouth for kisses the way a pirate did treasure, and slid one arm beneath her thighs. He rose to his feet and sat her, legs open, on the table. She supported herself by putting her hands behind her as her legs dangled over the edge.

Seth shoved her skirt up her thighs, stood between her legs, and untied the bow on her blouse. The unadulterated joy in his gaze made her think of a little boy unwrapping a long-awaited Christmas present.

Thank the Goddess I’m wearing my raciest bra and panties. Her pulse rate rocketed as Seth kissed his way down her neck and ran his tongue over her breasts. It felt raspy and rough over her skin.

A needy shiver ran down her spine as he slid her blouse from her shoulders and unfastened her bra. She sat with her skirt pulled over her thighs and her torso bared for Seth’s delight. Forgetting everything except the deliciously sinful man who held her with reverent intent, she curled her arms around his neck. He’d protected her in the parking garage, comforted her, and now his lips dominated her into sweet submission. Head spinning, she clutched at his shoulders. Her pussy filled with her intimate juices, and her nipples stood like scarlet beads atop her generous breasts.

“More,” she gasped. “I need more. Make it hurt.”