The Care and Feeding of a Webfiction Serial

I’m super excited to turn the blog over to my friend Abner Senires today! Abner writes the fabulous Kat and Mouse serial. Season Two of Kat and Mouse is now available, and I hope you’ll check it out!

Kindle
Smashwords/epub

 

A quick thank you to Tiffany for hosting me at her blog today for this stop on the KAT AND MOUSE SEASON TWO book blog tour.

And now…

 

The Care and Feeding of a Webfiction Serial

It’s been a little over five years since I first posted “A Family Affair – Part One” at www.katandmouseserial.com. Since then, I’ve written roughly 150,000 words divided into 25 current episodes and 160-something blog posts depicting the pistol-packing, katana-swinging, butt-kicking escapades of these two sisters in arms, Kat and Mouse.

It’s been a long, strange trip since December ’08 and it looks like it’ll continue to be stranger still. The Ladies are telling me there are more adventures to come.

And that’s true; Season 2 is about to wrap up and Season 3 is on the horizon.

But back on topic: how does one write a project like this?

Very carefully.

But seriously, to keep writing the adventures of the Ladies, I have to dip into the toolbox of the TV scriptwriter.

“TV scriptwriter?” you say. “What? I thought you were writing prose?”

I’ll get to that in a moment.

When I initially started writing about Kat and Mouse, I wasn’t thinking about a series. I was really planning to write a bunch of standalone adventures about the duo much like Robert E. Howard did with Conan. In fact, I spent a year or two reading the first three volumes of the Lancer/Ace editions as well as the first two Fafhrd and Grey Mouser books (Swords and Deviltry and Swords Against Death) by Fritz Leiber as both inspiration and a kind of template for the stories I planned to write. I wanted to see how Howard and Leiber handled the stories. Was there a chronological progression? Did it jump around?

And so on.

I wrote the Duo’s first adventure, “A Family Affair,” in ’99 and their second outing, “Babysitting Blues,” in ’03. In ’01, I got the idea to write a feature screenplay about the pair and spent four months writing KAT AND MOUSE. I began a third adventure in ’04, “Vengeance Is Mine” (later changed to “Price of Vengeance”) but set it down when I attempted to bring the Ladies into the world of webcomics.

That didn’t quite pan out.

But that’s about the time I discovered web fiction and web fiction serials.

And it all came together in my head in one thunderous avalance of story concepts and plot bunnies. I would turn Kat and Mouse into a web fiction serial and use the format of a TV show.

I spent about four months creating the world of Bay City and 2042 then turned my attention to the stories.

This is where the TV scriptwriter bit comes in.

See, between 1998 and 2000 I was determined to break into TV writing. I studied up on the techniques and the format and wrote a dozen spec scripts to practice.

I decided I would format my serial much like a TV show so I went back to those techniques I learned. The season would have an overarching storyline and I’d drop little details of that storyline into each episode as we went along. Each story or episode would have a four-act structure and basically tell a similar story: Kat and Mouse get hired to perform a job, the job goes completely south, mayhem and hijinks ensue, gunfights and stabbings and explosions, Kat and Mouse resolve the situation.

That’s the key to TV writing and that’s what I try to keep to when I’m writing the serial: similarity of story.

TV Writer Alex Epstein puts it this way:

TV is all about consistency. Every movie is a one-off (unless it’s a sequel). When we tune into a show we like, we’re expecting to see the same show we tuned into last week. Not the same episode, but the same show. The template is the sum of the creative consistencies that define a show.

[...]

In each episode of Alias, Sidney Bristow goes on a couple of missions, one involving a lot of athletics, one involving a disguise. Before the mission she’s given some special techie gadgets. She also spends some time with her civilian roomies.

[...]

The basic question a template answers is: what happens every week?

“Every week, Lucy tries a hare-brained scheme. But it goes awry and Ricky has to straighten it out.”

Some purists might complain. “You’re just writing to formula, you hack! It’s too rigid.”

Yes, but the cool thing about formula is this: once you’ve taken away the worry about the story structure, you’re free to go to town with the other details of the story.

And consider this: every TV show episode is written with that formula, that structure, that template.

Keeping that key, that template, in mind, I sketched out the stories/episodes that would make up Season One, came up with the season’s story arc, plotted out each episode, then went to writing. “A Family Affair” and “Babysitting Blues” were already written; I just had to tweak a few bits here and there to ensure the details were consistent with the world I had now put together. I decided the KAT AND MOUSE movie would bridge the time between “Family” and “Babysitting” so I adapted the screenplay to prose. “Price of Vengeance” followed, as did all the other episodes.

Season Two was no different. Again I sketched out the episodes for the season, came up with season’s arc, plotted the episodes, and wrote them.

I’m doing the same with Season Three.

I hope you’ll “tune in.”

Same Kat and Mouse time, same Kat and Mouse “channel.”

(cue theme song)

knm2_publicity_large

KAT AND MOUSE, GUNS FOR HIRE: PAYBACK
Things are heating up for near-future female mercenaries Kat and Mouse as they tackle even more hair-raising jobs for shadowy clients and run afoul of terrorists, freedom fighters, hired assassins, a Japanese crime syndicate, and warring punkergangs. And smack in the middle of this, an enemy from the past is back and wants revenge on the duo.

Now these two sassy sisters-in-arms must fight back and survive…and still get their jobs done.

Available from:
Kindle
Smashwords/epub

 

AUTHOR BIO
Abner Senires writes sci-fi pulp adventure and probably drinks far too much coffee. He lives just outside Seattle, WA with his wife and a pair of rambunctious cats.

WEBSITE: www.AbnerSenires.com
BLOG: blog.AbnerSenires.com
TWITTER: @abnersenires

 

 

Sculptor’s Desire – New Release from Kerry Adrienne

Hi all! Just wanted to peek out of the writing cave to share with you a new release and sale announcement for my good friend, Kerry Adrienne. To celebrate the release of book two in her Gallant Gentlemen’s Guild series, Sculptor’s Desire, her publisher has put book one, Artist’s Touch, on sale for only 99 cents! Here’s the  info, and I hope you’ll check out her books (they’re fab)!

 

Artist’s Touch

artiststouch_msrBlurb:

Every starlet wants master painter Kenon Alavi to do her portrait…and more. But Kenon prefers firm to soft and sates his desires with the boyfriends of the women he paints, enjoying the diversity of many lovers but shunning any attachments.

Wallace Harte’s English degree isn’t helping him find a job and working at a bar is the closest he’s gotten to being the Second Coming of Faulkner. Something’s gotta give soon or he’ll be out on the street.

Kenon zeroes in on the bartender at an art exhibition, intending to add him to his long list of conquests, but Wally bolts, initiating a heated game of cat and mouse. Kenon delights in the game until he discovers what Wally is writing. Feeling betrayed, Kenon swears off all entanglements until he reads Wally’s story and discovers true love is sometimes between the pages and not the sheets.

Inside Scoop: This book contains hot, sexy scenes of M/M interaction of an artistic nature. Who knew having your portrait painted could be so hot?

A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

 

Buy Artist’s Touch for only 99 cents this week:

Ellora’s Cave

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Sculptor’s Desire

Sculptor's Desire_HiRes (1)

Blurb:

Rocco Lazzaro is on a mission to find the perfect male body to sculpt. His inability to find “the one” has affected his creativity and he’s frustrated by his failure. With a Guild charity auction coming up, he’s expected to provide high quality sculptures, but the pieces he creates feel soulless.

When Devin, a yoga instructor, approaches him and offers to help, Rocco can’t quit thinking about the red-hot ginger. Devin’s New Age beliefs push Rocco away—he can’t deal with reality, much less mysticism. No auras and rainbows for Rocco—just stone and chisel and hammer.

But Devin is persistent. He knows he’s supposed to help Rocco find his muse—and he’ll stop at nothing to show him that the line between art and skin is very thin and a true muse can provide inspiration in many ways.

 

This story contains hot, sexy artistic scenes of M/M interaction as our sculptor goes hands on in more ways than one.

A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

I’d love for you to add it to your TBR pile on Goodreads.

 

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

An Excerpt From: SCULPTOR’S DESIRE

Copyright © KERRY ADRIENNE, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Rocco clutched the purple fliers and stared out at the busy park from his seat. He’d posted enough of the papers for the day, not that it mattered. He’d never had luck distributing them before—the responses had never lived up to his expectations. He set his backpack on the ground and leaned back against the wooden bench. Why bother? Not like the perfect man was going to walk up, pick up the flier and actually respond. Not in this lifetime.

He lowered the sunglasses over his eyes. The late afternoon sunlight didn’t thread through the full-summer trees in this part of Central Park, but his shades allowed him to “bulge watch” as the throngs of tourists and New Yorkers paid homage at the mosaic shrine to John Lennon. The circular black and white medallion with “Imagine” scripted across its center was a place of reverence. Disciples had outlined the medallion with a peace sign made of fresh-cut flowers, and tourists took turns posing and taking pictures in front of the makeshift altar.

Rocco scanned the visitors. The place was a people-watcher’s dream, and for a Monday, the crowd was huge. Summer in the city always brought the tourists in droves of asinine clothing and hats and noise. Still, he had hope he’d find the one he was looking for.

The man who’d make his dreams come true.

He set the fliers on the bench beside him, then picked up one purple sheet and folded it into a fan, carefully creasing each fold. He tried to breathe out the hot air, but no doubt about it, the June day was steaming. New York was a sweltering change from the Adirondack cabin where he’d spent most of his time in the last month. Still, he was happy to be back in the city—his second home. The cabin was great as a quiet place to work, even though it was small, but its remoteness made it impossible to people-watch and gain inspiration.

Rocco crimped the last crease. His apartment in one of the Guild’s brownstones felt like home away from home. The Guild’s large studio provided the best space he’d ever had to work—tons of light and plenty of quiet. And his guildmates were like brothers, always ready to support each other through any artistic struggle, though he supposed they too were growing tired of his search for a perfect man. No one had actually voiced it, but he felt a distinct difference in the tone of the conversation when he brought the search up in conversation. With the upcoming charity auction in October, most of the artists would be working overtime and even less inclined to listen to his plight.

He fanned himself with the folded flier. Nothing to see at the moment. Not a single possibility in the groups of people gathered in the small courtyard. He scanned the area. The top edge of the Dakota Apartments peeked over the trees and Rocco glanced over the rows of tightly curtained windows. He’d never been inside the lavish building, though he knew several Guild members had been to private parties there. Rocco had been invited many times but had always declined. Wealth and showmanship weren’t his thing. He preferred the simple life where nature set the style, not John Varvatos and Marc Jacobs.

Strawberry Fields was a prime tourist spot. Too bad today’s mob held few specimens worthy of a glance, much less a stare. I’d think the simple math odds would warrant at least a couple prospects. Add in summer shorts, and there should be at least a good bulge or two…

He glanced at the stack of fliers—about fifty of them left. He’d put up as many papers as he could around the park over the last hour. Who was he kidding? After years of searching, he might as well give up on finding the ideal male. He set the fan on the bench and shoved the stack of fliers into the front pocket of his backpack and zipped it up.

He’d held several open calls with no luck. Something inside him pushed him to keep looking, keep trying, no matter how many times he failed. The same something kept him awake at night and tore apart his thoughts during the day. He’d find what he was looking for and he wouldn’t stop until he did, no matter what it took. It didn’t matter if it cost him his friends, his guildmates, his sanity. That was art, wasn’t it?

“May I sit here?”

The soft, lilting voice wove through Rocco’s thoughts and he paused. He looked up and his breath caught in his throat when he saw where the voice originated. Broad shoulders and a flat abdomen encased in a perfectly tight white T-shirt. Tall, but not overly so. Blue jean shorts, snug. Red cropped hair that glistened gold at the tips and fell over in a lock of bangs. Rocco gazed from top to bottom and licked his dry lips.

Red, white, blue, and all American.

“May I?” the man repeated.

“Sure.” Rocco fumbled with his pack and slid over to make room on the wooden park bench, pushing his folded fan behind him and out of the way so the stranger could sit down.

“Thanks,” the man said, dropping onto the bench.

No, thank you. But not so close. The vibrations of the man sitting raced through the wood of the bench into wood between Rocco’s legs. He swallowed hard, pushing back the anxiety. “No problem,” he said, half-whispering. He peeked then gazed down again. Finally, someone worth looking at. Only the man was so freaking near, Rocco felt as if he could feel the heat emanating from the man’s hotness.

Too close. No comfort.

The man scooted back on the bench and stretched out his legs. “Long day. I’m exhausted. Didn’t expect there to still be such a crowd here this time of day.” He blew out a long breath and closed his eyes.

Despite the heat, a shiver raced through Rocco and he eyed the fluid line of the man’s form. If he’d had a sketchpad, he’d do a quick gesture drawing of the long stroke of torso and limbs.

Not knowing what to say, Rocco turned away. A group of noisy teens descended on the mosaic like a swarm of bees, laughing and shouting and taking photos of themselves in stupid poses. Rocco blinked away the distraction and looked back to the man sitting beside him.

Not bad. “Yeah.” Hell, not bad at all. “It’s crowded.” He squeezed his thighs together to control his body’s reaction. Why couldn’t the man have chosen to sit on the other side of the path where Rocco could observe without having to talk?

“Such a loud crowd, at that.” The man opened his eyes and peered at the teen spectacle then shook his head. “They need to relax. Chill. You’d think they’d never been outside before.”

Rocco nodded and followed his gaze. A teen had picked up one of the flowers from the medallion and was tossing it into the air and catching it. “Tourists. New York can’t live with them, or without them.”

“Tourist?” The man asked. “Aren’t you? I can’t place that accent, so I assumed you were. Where are you from?”

“Italy.” Rocco sat up straight, trying to not be obvious in staring at the man’s muscular legs. He must be some kind of athlete. Was this man a candidate or had the hour of staring at subpar specimens clouded Rocco’s judgment? “Well, born in Italy, but I’ve lived in the city for several years. Many, actually. I consider myself a New Yorker now.”

“Ah, so Italian with some city dialect. Not a tourist. What’s your name?”

Rocco flipped his sunglasses up onto his head. “Rocco Lazzaro. Not a tourist.” He forced a smile. Meeting new people in person wasn’t something he was used to doing.

“But very Italian, I see. Nice to meet you, Rocco.” The man held his hand out. “I’m Devin Johansson. Also not a tourist. I live on the East Side.”

Rocco took Devin’s hand in his own and shook it firmly, aware that his own hand was clammy with anxiety. “Good to meet you too, Devin.”

Devin clamped down on Rocco’s fingers and held on. “Oh. You have working hands,” he whispered. He pulled Rocco’s hand closer and rubbed Rocco’s palm with long, soft fingers. “And your aura shows great creativity.” He looked up. “What is it you do?”

The teens moved on down the park path, giggling and talking loudly as they went. Rocco glanced over at them, trying to still the shudder that played along his arm as Devin rubbed his hand. A calm, warm feeling flowed up through his arm and into his chest. Even in the summer heat, the warmth felt good. Too good. Wait, what did he say? What the hell?

“My what? My aura?” Rocco yanked his hand away, immediately aware of the loss of warmth. Great. The first good-looking guy he’d met this week was a fruit loop New-Ager.

 

Sign up Kerry’s no-spam newsletter by the end of August to be entered to win a $50 Amazon gift card: Blog/newsletter form

 

About the Author:

Kerry writes about love in its many forms, and enjoys exploring the dynamics of relationships and the quandaries people get themselves into. She lives in suburbia, but is making plans to escape to the ocean and NYC, as both places hold a piece of her heart.

 

You can connect with Kerry here:

Blog

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Pinterest

 

You can purchase Sculptor’s Desire here:

Ellora’s Cave

Amazon

 

 

 

More Prizes–Yay!

Because one book tour is never enough…

Don’t Blackmail the Vampire is going on an extended blog tour! There will be lots of fun excerpts, maybe some reviews, and a chance at each stop to enter to win a $50 Amazon gift card!

A huge thank-you to the fabulous Carla at Book Monster Promotions for setting this up, and for all the great bloggers who are participating. You guys rock!

 

TOUR-BUTTON_TiffanyAllee_Dont-Blackmail-the-Vampire_BookBlast

 

Blog Stops:

 

5/12       Cherry Mischievous

5/12       Musings In Fiction Alley

5/13       Literal Hotties Naughty Book Reviews

5/14       Haloangel Reads

5/15       Books And Their Seven Deadly Sins

5/16       Bookin’ It Reviews

5/16       In The Pages of a Good Book

5/16       You Gotta Read

5/17       Manga Maniac Cafe

5/18       Mythical Books

5/19       Binding Addiction

5/21       Deal Sharing Aunt

5/24       Reader Girls

5/26       Musings From An Addicted Reader

5/27       For Whom The Books Toll

5/28       Tome Tender

5/29       Coffee Talk Writers

5/30       Fang Freakin’ Tastic Reviews

5/31       Mad Hatter Reads

6/01       Snarky Mom Reads…

6/02       Dark Side of Romance

6/05       Queentutt’s World of Escapism

6/05       I Smell Sheep

6/06       Aly’s Miscellany

6/07       KT Book Reviews

6/07       Monlatable Book Reviews

6/07       Offbeat Vagabond

6/09       Paranormal Romance Fans for Life

6/10       ParaYourNormal

6/12       The Reading Cafe

6/13       Literal Addiction

6/14       Celestial Reviews

6/14       Book Lovin’ Mamas

6/14       D’eBook Sharing Book Reviews

 

 

 

So this happened…

 

Super excited today, and this is why! From Publisher’s Marketplace:

 

Tiffany Allee’s BIDDING ON THE BOSS, in which a conservative workaholic steps out of her comfort zone and has a passionate one night stand with a laid-back, sexy stranger on vacation, only to find out he’s the new boss come Monday, to Robin Haseltine and Candace Havens at Entangled Lovestruck, in a three-book deal, by Jill Marsal at the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.

 

Squee! This will by my first foray into contemporary romance, and I’m super excited to share this series with you all. The first book in the series will be out later this year, with the rest following soon after. And don’t worry, I’ll still be writing more books in the Sons of Kane series as well!

 

Summoned Chaos – Cover Reveal!

I’m super excited to share an awesome cover with you guys today. Summoned Chaos, the sequel to Joshua Roots’ Undead Chaos, is coming out this summer. I can’t wait!

How badass is this cover?

Summoned Chaos

 

Blurb

 

If there’s one thing Warlock Marcus Shifter hates it’s the Delwinn Council, the governing body of the magical community. Between the grudges many on the Council harbor because he walked away from magic, and his suspicions that someone is working to undermine a twenty-year peace with the non-magical Normals, they really don’t get along.

Marcus has spent months hunting the traitor, infiltrating the Council and helping with “menial tasks” like repairing unstable rifts in the fabric of reality. But when he accidentally thwarts an assassination attempt at Delwinn HQ, the Council does the unthinkable: they appoint him the poster child for the peace movement.

Now Marcus has to not only figure out how to control his resurging powers but also navigate the potentially fatal waters of fame. Between the growing number of protestors, news-hungry paparazzi, and nightmarish beasts hounding his every move, he’ll need more than a camera-ready smile to uncover the traitor and keep the peace.

And don’t miss Undead Chaos, available now!

 

Excerpts

 

When I first signed the dotted line to become a Combat Warlock, it was under the assumption that I would spend my days blasting paranormal creepy crawlies and my nights basking in the warm glow of good scotch and bad girls.

Boy, was I wrong.

“This sucks,” the thick Mage next to me grumbled, sweat dripping from her brow.

Staring at the shimmering oval that seemed to hang in the air in front of us, I had to agree. It was small, nothing more than a hazy, wavering image similar to heat rising from asphalt in the summer. Despite the diminutive size, everyone on the five-person squad gave it a wide berth. The window to an unstable reality, the rift hummed with unnatural energy that felt, rather than sounded, as if it were slightly out of tune with the rest of the world.

That alone was enough to make my hair stand on end, but my uneasiness was ramped to a million because this rift was completely different than anything we’d seen before. Its edges were a soft blue instead of red and it pulsed cool winds, not warm air. Every so often, I could swear I saw something moving on the other side.

It was almost enough to make me miss my old freelancing days.

 

AND:

 

We dove into the woods at a full sprint, each in a different direction.

The creatures paused, sniffing the air as if trying to decide which one of us they wanted to pursue first.

Half of them chose to follow me.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said, huffing as I raced through the woods. I’d been so shocked by my experience with the rift that I’d completely frozen.

A better Warlock would have had combat spells at the ready.

A better Warlock wouldn’t allow himself to get distracted.

Running, however, loosened my mental constipation. I quickly flipped through my mental list of spells before settling on an oldie, but goodie. I scooped up a hunk of dirt, spun, and hurled it at the lead predator like a fastball. The mud-ball solidified, slamming into the beast’s head with a crack.

The puma didn’t even flinch.

 

Preorder it today!

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

 

Author Bio:

Joshua Roots is a former Marine, car collector, and beekeeper. He enjoys singing with his a cappella chorus, playing video games, and reading comic books. He is still waiting for his acceptance letter to Hogwarts and Rogue Squadron. He and his wife will talk your ear off about their bees if you let them.

 

 

Fun Release Stuff! Giveaways, interviews, and guest posts…woot!

Don'tBlackmailTheVampireHighResI’m super excited about the Don’t Blackmail the Vampire release! Thank you all for making this week so fabulous and fun. I’m so appreciative of everyone who has helped to spread the word about the book, and wanted to give a special thank-you to all the fabulous people who have taken time to write up a review! I’m so happy that the book is being so well received.

 

To celebrate, there are going to be a lot of fun events, blog stops, and giveaways happening. Many of the special events will have their own giveaways, and there will also be a giveaway for the Entangled blog tour. Links will go live as they become active.

 

 

 

 

 

Special Events and Stops

 

Riffle Backstory Interview

Bitten by Books Event (stop by today for a chat, but the giveaway will be active until 5/2)

Covet Bash on Facebook (4/30, 8-10 EST)

Fresh Fiction (Guest Post and Giveaway on 5/1)

All Things UF (Top 10 List and Giveaway on 5/2)

Writerspace Blog (Guest Post on 5/2)

The Naked Hero (Fun Excerpt on 5/8)

 

Entangled Blog Tour

 

 April 28

Book reviewed at Rage, Sex and Teddy Bears

Book reviewed at Reading Reality

Book reviewed at Romance for Every World

Book reviewed at Ramblings From this Chick

Book featured at I Heart Reading

April 29

Book featured at Escape by Fiction

Book reviewed at Poisoned Rationality

Book featured at Deea’s Book Blog

April 30

Book featured at Night Owl Reviews

Guest blogging at The Book Tart

May 1

Book reviewed at In My Humble Opinion

Book featured at Booklover Sue

Book reviewed at Fangs, Wands & Fairy Dust

May 2

Guest blogging at Fangs, Wands & Fairy Dust

Book reviewed at Racing to Read

Book reviewed at First Page to the Last

Book featured at To Read, or Not to Read

May 5

Interviewed at Toot’s Book Reviews

Book reviewed at Ramblings of a Book Lunatic

Guest blogging at Romancing the Darkside

May 6

Book reviewed at Books and Bells

Guest blogging at Sarah Ballance

May 7

Book reviewed at Reader’s Live

Book featured at Romantic Reads and Such

Book reviewed at Harlie’s Books

May 8

Book reviewed at My Reading Table

Book featured at Read Your Writes

Guest blogging at Urban Fantasy Investigations

Book featured at RhiReading

Book featured at Becky on Books…and Quilts

May 9

Interviewed at Review From Here

Don’t Blackmail the Vampire – Release Day!

The second book in my Sons of Kane series, Don’t Blackmail the Vampire, is finally here! And for a limited time, it’s on sale for only $0.99!

Check out the gorgeous cover:

Don'tBlackmailTheVampireHighRes

 

BLURB

Rachel Davis will do anything to get her sister out of a bad relationship with her fiancé. Even if it involves a few fibs, a little breaking-and-entering, and blackmailing the fiancé’s potential boss, Charles, for his help. So what if the handsome Charles happens to be a vampire?

Charles Wright has found the perfect way to trap the man threatening his brother’s wife: cozy up to him, get invited along on the skiing trip, and then search for incriminating evidence. How much better that audacious but gorgeous Rachel is just as eager to nail the bastard. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing wrong with a little blackmail between two consenting adults. Especially when it’s time for Rachel to pay up.

 

Don’t Blackmail the Vampire can be ordered from these retailers (do check the price as some may not reflect the sale yet!)

Amazon
Amazon UK
B&N
iTunes
Kobo
All Romance

 

While this is the second book in the Sons of Kane series, it can be read as a stand-alone. 

 

Excerpt

© 2014 Tiffany Allee

 

Chapter One

The ski lodge pub-slash-restaurant was filled to the brim with people. Since it was the more casual dinner option on the premises, most of the patrons wore varying layers of snow gear, and by the sound of it, they were pretty much all headed toward a good beer buzz. Unfortunately, none of them was the person Rachel Davis was supposed to be meeting.

Her sister was late.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” a deep voice asked playfully.

Seriously? She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, and instead offered the man a polite smile. Light-brown hair flowed with sun-lightened locks around a face that edged just on the right side of handsome versus pretty, and bright white teeth flashed at her. The man was obviously one who could use the lamest of pickup lines, because he could easily fall back on his good looks and broad shoulders. A slight shiver ran down her arms at that smile, and the tiniest bit of regret touched her. It was too bad, really. If she could fall for a handsome stranger—even for the night—her life would be a whole lot easier.

“This pretty lady is drinking alone in a place like this,” she said.

“A shame! A travesty, really—”

She waved her hand at the moderately entertaining man. “Seriously. Not interested. Go find another fish. I hear there are plenty in the sea. Especially for a pretty guy like you.” Why was he even talking to her? She was 99 percent sure that her bun, poufy coat, and ski pants weren’t exactly screaming sexy and available.

He cocked his head and gave her an odd look. Did he really get turned down so seldom? Whatever. Not her problem. She’d never managed to nail the social niceties in life, at least not enough to turn down a man in a bar any more gracefully than she just had. He would just have to learn to deal with disappointment.

“Did you just call me…pretty?”

“You’re a male version of Helen of Troy. Now run along. Find another something pretty that appeals to you.” Maybe if she confided in him that she hated the cold and everything that came with it, with a fiery passion, he’d leave her alone. In her experience, snow bums didn’t care for warm-weather fans.

“There’s a problem with that idea. You’re the only woman I’m interested in, ah…fishing for here.”

Her pulse jumped and her face heated. The guy was good. And he was persistent, she’d give him that. Fine. She had nothing better to do. She’d play, just not how he had planned. She spun her barstool around to face him and the crowd of people milling about in the bar, forcing him to step back or get kneed. He moved, quickly, dancing back a step.

“What’s your name?” She scanned the lounge, not bothering to check him out again. His attractiveness was already cemented into her mind well enough. Besides, her thoughts were full of problems way more serious than her love life—namely, her sister’s love life. She didn’t have room in her head for this player, no matter how amusing he thought he was.

“Charles.”

“Well, Charles no-last-name, I can see a couple of fish who are already staring at you, and who are, quite frankly, a couple steps up on the scale from me.”

“Are they?” he murmured, but his eyes never left her. Her stomach tingled in response and she forced her gaze away from his.

“Yep. Take that blonde for example.” She jutted her chin in the general direction of a buxom woman who couldn’t be missed in her spike heels and tight dress. The woman sure didn’t look like she’d been skiing all day, or like she was scared of the cold weather. “She’s gorgeous. Sexy but not trashy.” Though she was right on the line, in Rachel’s opinion. But heck, if she were braver and had that body she might ride the line once in a while, too. Or maybe not. Playing dress-up had always been her sister’s game, while Rachel had preferred to play in the mud. “And she’s checking you out.”

“Is she?” he asked innocently, but mischief danced in his icy blue eyes.

Damn. A man shouldn’t be that attractive and get those eyes to boot. Just wasn’t fair to the rest of the world. Probably he was as cold and heartless as the color of his eyes suggested; his charm certainly didn’t make that less likely. And he knew that blonde was checking him out, but she answered anyway. “Yep. Go get her, tiger.”

He coughed, not at all masking a surprised laugh. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

She grunted in response and turned back to her virgin daiquiri.

“Thanks for the tip,” he said. “It’s been…interesting.”

Rachel grinned around her straw before glancing back at him, her expression bland. “Just interesting?”

“I don’t meet a lot of interesting these days. Take the compliment.” With that he winked—actually winked—then turned and headed for the blonde. “We’ll meet again. Promise.”

Read the rest of Chapter One here…

 

 

 

 

Artist’s Touch – Release Day Awesomeness!

My good friend Kerry Adrienne is releasing a fabulous book today from Ellora’s Cave! Artist’s Touch is book one of The Guild series, and it is fabulous. I’m so excited to share the cover, blurb, and an excerpt with you all today.

Check out the gorgeous cover!

 

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How sexy is that cover? :D

 

Blurb:

Every starlet wants master painter Kenon Alavi to do her portrait…and more. But Kenon prefers firm to soft and sates his desires with the boyfriends of the women he paints, enjoying the diversity of many lovers but shunning any attachments.

Wallace Harte’s English degree isn’t helping him find a job and working at a bar is the closest he’s gotten to being the Second Coming of Faulkner. Something’s gotta give soon or he’ll be out on the street.

Kenon zeroes in on the bartender at an art exhibition, intending to add him to his long list of conquests, but Wally bolts, initiating a heated game of cat and mouse. Kenon delights in the game until he discovers what Wally is writing. Feeling betrayed, Kenon swears off all entanglements until he reads Wally’s story and discovers true love is sometimes between the pages and not the sheets.

Inside Scoop: This book contains hot, sexy scenes of M/M interaction of an artistic nature. Who knew having your portrait painted could be so hot?

A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

 

EXCERPT:

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please do not read further.

An Excerpt From: ARTIST’S TOUCH

Copyright © KERRY ADRIENNE, 2014

All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

Another day, another drink for those who had dollars. Wally slipped the candied cherry into the Manhattan and handed the glass to the tall brunette leaning against the bar. With barely a nod, the woman slinked away as if on skates, joining one of the clusters of patrons waiting on Kenon Alavi’s arrival. The artist, notorious for being late, probably wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes at least. Light jazz floated through the air from the ensemble set up in the far corner and spots of colored lights beamed up the walls to the tall ceilings that arched over the studio space. This would make a great setting for a novel, Wally mused. Too bad he didn’t have the plot to go along with it. His creativity had hit an impasse as cliché as the proverbial brick wall.

“Martini. Wet and stirred, no olive, no twist.” The man put his hand on the bar and looked over his shoulder toward the gallery door. “I’m tired of waiting. Don’t care how special Alavi thinks he is, my time’s important too.” He tapped his fingers on the bar. “Annoying bastard. Wouldn’t be here if my wife wasn’t so keen on having him paint her.”

Wally pulled out the glass for the martini, not speaking to the customer. He’d been hired to make drinks, not socialize. The man was just complaining anyway. He wasn’t really expecting a conversation, especially from the bartender. Plus, tonight Wally had to remember all the different highbrow cocktails. He rarely served anything but beer and frozen drinks back at the Cellar Bar. He poured the vermouth into the sloped glass, then stirred the concoction. As long as Mr. Alavi paid his wage, who cared when he actually showed up? His gala, his schedule.

“Told her we could get a portrait done for a lot less but she insists on this guy.” The finger tapping grew more vigorous. “He’s refused her calls for two months now. Arrogant bastard.”

Wally nodded and set the drink in front of the man. Mr. Alavi sounded like a typical snobby artist. Big surprise. “Here you go, sir. Wet and stirred. No olive, no twist.”

“Top shelf?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow. He toyed with the rim of the glass, running his finger around it as if he was checking for chips.

“It’s all we serve,” Wally mumbled, wiping up a few drops of condensation from the top of the bar. Alavi’s guests were snobby too. “Only the best.” Bottles of fine alcohol that could pay off his student loans with cash left over for a few months of rent. He looked out over the room of people. Wealth and privilege as far as he could see, well, except for the musicians in the corner. He smiled. At least they were making a living off their art. One day he would too—if he could ever shed his writer’s block.

The man shrugged and tipped up the glass, finishing off the cocktail in one gulp. He held the glass to the light and examined it, then set it on the bar. “Good thing Alavi has an open bar at this reception. Otherwise, I’d leave right now, no matter what my wife said. I’ll take another, please. The same.” He resumed his tapping.

Wally took out a new glass and prepared the man’s drink. The jazz music was making him sleepy. He’d much prefer something a little more lively. Having spent the previous night out on the town dancing to a club beat didn’t help. But he couldn’t refuse the extra money this bartending gig would put in his pocket. He pushed the glass over to the man and tried not to yawn.

Silence hit the entire room at once, echoing off the vaulted ceiling in thick waves. Someone gasped, then the patrons broke into applause. Mr. Alavi had arrived. The large front doors banged closed and the music softened.

Drink forgotten, the man strode off to join the mass of bodies that now moved as one as they pushed toward the door where Mr. Alavi waited to be greeted. Wally squinted to see what the excitement was but the crowd blocked his sightline. He’d heard the artist put on quite the spectacle and with the number of people and amount of money spent on the reception tonight, he didn’t doubt it for a second.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea in front of Moses and a man walked toward the grand doors that led to the open studio in the back of the room.

Wally stared.

Mr. Alavi’s stopped to shake hands with a tall gentleman and then moved on through the crowd. Light glinted like a beacon off the silver brooch at his throat. Murmurs filled the room—whispers, really. Like a creature of the night, Mr. Alavi was dressed in black from head to toe with a few flashes of silver sparkle sprinkled here and there. God, why did all the handsome men have to be rich and unattainable? Alavi was probably straight too. Life was definitely not fair.

Wally reached for the two martini glasses and bumped one over. He caught the stem of the second one just as the glass bowl shattered against the bar. His heart pounded and blood rushed to his ears. When he looked up, Mr. Alavi was staring at him, looking him right in the eye with a piercing gaze and unreadable expression. Everyone in the room watched. Wally’s face flooded with heat and sweat trickled down the back of his tuxedo shirt. Fuck.

“Sorry,” he stammered to no one in particular.

Before anyone could respond, Mr. Alavi moved in his direction and Wally’s throat tightened. Would he fire him on the spot? He began picking up pieces of glass and dropping them into the bar wastebasket, avoiding Mr. Alavi’s approach. Way to go, Wally, blow your chance to earn some extra cash. The one glass probably cost more than the night’s wages.

He bent to drop a large piece of glass into the trashcan, still holding on to the marble bar with his free hand. He squeezed his eyes closed. He’d get through this. Bile rushed into his throat. Why did he always screw things up? He took a deep breath. What was the worst thing that could happen? He’d been fired before and for worse offences.

A warm hand covered his, sending a wave of fear up his arm. Wally stood, coming face-to-face with Mr. Alavi. Wally wanted to pull his hand away and run but fifty wealthy snobs would stop him before he made it to the front door and onto the New York streets. He was trapped.

“Everything okay?” Mr. Alavi asked, his voice as smooth and dark as his slick black satin shirt.

Wally met the man’s gaze—green eyes lined in kohl, set in warm skin that shimmered in the bar light. Black spiky hair dusted with glitter.

Mr. Alavi squeezed his hand and Wally shivered.

“I said, is everything okay?”

“Y-y-yes,” Wally stammered. Even from over the bar, he could tell that Mr. Alavi was tall, well over six feet. His shoulders broadened and then tapered to trim hips. Wally’s mouth filled with saliva. The man was hot. Even if he was about to fire him for breaking the barware.

Avoiding eye contact, Wally studied the black leather jacket Mr. Alavi wore. It was no rental but made to slip around his body like water, hugging the right places, with a few silver studs and spikes on one shoulder. Designer-made, no doubt. In place of a tie, he wore a silver serpent brooch pinned at the neck, its eyes made of tiny rubies and its forked tongue licking out.

Wally gulped and his already-warm face burned. The man must think he was an idiot, drooling and fumbling like a fool. The crowd had gone back to chattering and mumbling but a few people still glared toward the bar, probably annoyed that Wally had taken the artist’s attention away. Mr. Alavi lifted his hand and pulled Wally farther down the bar, away from the rest of the broken glass. The artist looked out at the crowd. Wally didn’t see the look he gave them but anyone staring suddenly turned away and ignored the scene at the bar. The man had the power, no question about it. This was his scene and his alone. Wally’s pulse quickened. At least he wouldn’t be totally humiliated by stares when Alavi fired him.

“What’s your name?” Alavi asked, squeezing Wally’s hand.

“W-w-wall…Wallace Harte, sir. I’m sorry I broke the glass.”

He brushed away Wally’s comment with his free hand. “Ah. An unusual name. Wally for short?”

Wally nodded and gulped down the panic in his throat.

“Call me Kenon,” the artist said, stretching out his name in a French-sounding accent. He ran his thumb over Wally’s knuckles in a slow circular motion and Wally closed his eyes.

The scant hairs on his arm stood erect and he hoped Kenon couldn’t feel how damp his palm was beneath his grasp or how his pulse beat a frantic escape rhythm. From the corner, the music started playing again and the low murmur of the crowd drowned the silence in his ears. Deep breath.

“Thank you, sir,” Wally said. He opened his eyes and met Kenon’s gaze. For a moment, he stared into Kenon’s green eyes, pausing to fully examine them. Enhanced with dark eyeliner, the artist’s eyes almost glowed with feral sparkle. Predatory. Waiting. Wally looked down, not daring to move his hand. Mr. Alavi must be quite the lady-killer. Who wouldn’t want to be with him?

“Time to open the show, Mr. Alavi,” a gallery aide said, sidling up to Kenon at the edge of the bar. “Everyone’s getting impatient.” Wally had seen the aides milling around, making sure things stayed perfect. It must cost a fortune to produce an event like this.

“This is my show. Let them wait,” Kenon growled and clamped down on Wally’s hand.

The aide looked at Wally and smirked. “I’m sure the bartender won’t mind talking to you after the show.” He emphasized the word “bartender” as if it were a dirty word.

Kenon snapped his head and turned to the man. “I said I’m busy.” This growl was louder and deeper and the aide’s eyes widened and his shoulders tensed.

“Yes, sir,” he said and backed away, hands up.

Wally began to shake. He tried to tell himself it was from the air-conditioning but he knew it was from a mixture of fear and longing to be near this mysterious man. The artist must always have a rapt audience. Despite his growling, everyone seemed to be taken in by his charm. Kenon milked Wally’s finger in a stroking rhythm and Wally clenched his thighs together, willing his dick to be still. Kenon was too close and it was a good thing the bar was between them or things could get embarrassing.

“Now,” Kenon said. He tugged Wally’s hand close to his chest, tightening his grip once again. “Lean in so I can whisper what I have to tell you. Privacy you know.” He smiled, a tight line of control.

Wally leaned toward Kenon, drawing in a deep breath of what was likely the most expensive cologne he’d ever smell, combined with a fresh scent that could have been makeup or fine-milled soap. Underlying everything was an all-male scent of danger combined with sex and power. The bar was cold against his chest but the man’s breath was hot in his ear. “Yes?” he asked, voice trembling. “I’m sorry I broke the glass.”

“I said I’m not worried about the glass.”

“What, then?” Wally squeaked out.

“Why are you shaking?” Kenon touched his nose to Wally’s earlobe and Wally tensed. “Am I too close?”

“I…I…don’t know,” Wally said, his breath stuttering in his throat. Why was he shaking? He’d not had a boyfriend in ages but had never responded to man’s presence so strongly and so urgently before. Especially a straight man. At least not while he was sober.

Kenon pressed closer and his warmth radiated over Wally’s neck and face. Wally stood statue-still under the assault of heat. “I want to see you after the show,” Kenon whispered. “Will you stay around? To…talk…”

Wally nodded. Was he in trouble?

“Goooood,” Kenon blew. “See you then.” His lips brushed Wally’s ear and then he nipped it gently, holding on to the lobe for a second before releasing it. Wally shuddered as heat jolted straight to his groin. Why was Kenon flirting? Wasn’t he straight? And why was he so close? Wally squirmed as his pants tightened and his dick disobeyed the order to stand down. The ruby eyes of the serpent brooch glinted as Kenon pulled away.

Viper.

Just as quickly as Kenon had latched on to Wally’s hand, he dropped it. Turning, he sauntered off as if he were strolling along a promenade without a care. The crowd, cued into his movement, followed him through the open doors to the main exhibit hall. Wally stared after him, watching the people meander into the larger room where Kenon’s latest paintings would be unveiled.

What had just happened? And why had he agreed to meet Kenon after the show? He knew better than to tempt fate with an employer, especially one he was so attracted to and who was so out of his league. He always screwed things up. He adjusted himself and sighed. What did he have to lose?

 

Add Artist’s Touch to your Goodread’s shelf HERE.

About the Author:

Kerry writes about love in its many forms, and enjoys exploring the dynamics of relationships and the quandaries people get themselves into. She lives in suburbia, but is making plans to escape to the ocean and NYC, as both places hold a piece of her heart.

You can connect with Kerry here:

Blog

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Pinterest

 

You can purchase Artist’s Touch here:

Ellora’s Cave

Thank you!

 

Love Heart in Sand

I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has taken part in the release of my latest book…and well, really all of my books. I’ve been insanely busy lately and haven’t been around on social media as much as I’d like, so I wanted to take a moment to thank you all here. Anyone who has taken the time to read or review or buy or mention my books. You are awesome. And I really appreciate you all. <3

 

 

Interested in Writing Paranormal? Free Chat!

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Hi all! I’m going to be chatting tonight at Savvy Authors about writing paranormal romance–with an emphasis on tone and particularly, how I write lighter paranormals. I’ll also be talking a bit about one of the lines I write for (Entangled Covet) and how contemporary tropes can be twisted in a fun way with paranormal elements. The chat is interactive, so I will also be taking questions.

Here’s a link to the free chat. (Or click the Savvy logo above.) You can register at any time, but it starts at 9:00pm EST, and will last for an hour. I hope you’ll stop by!