Liebster Award. A New Experience.

So, I was recently nominated for a Liebster award by Jeri Walker-Bickett. Thank you, Jeri for an interesting new experience. I got hooked on Jeri's blog a while ago, which makes it quite a thrill to be nominated for the award.

I've never heard of this award before and had absolutely no idea what it was until I read all about it on Jeri's blog

I know these 'awards' are bandied around, but I'm choosing to believe this is genuine and given because Jeri really likes my blog. That was hard to say. I'm not the kind of person who takes praise well and, for me, it's brave to do so.

The Award Comes with some rules

1. Write a blog post about the Liebster Award - Check
2. Thank the person that nominated you - Check and thanks again. Jeri, a big cyber hug for you
3. Post a link to their blog on your blog - Check (see above)
4. Display the badge on your blog and include it in your post and/or display it using a widget
5. Answer the 11 questions about yourself provided by the person who nominated you
6. Give 11 random facts about yourself
7. Nominate 5 - 11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have less than 1000 followers
8. Create a new list of questions for the nominated blogs
9. List the rules in your blog
10. Inform the bloggers you've nominated for the award and give them a link to the blog post so they can see what it's all about

So, here are my questions. I would strongly recommend you go look at the answers Jeri gave to her questions. They're fascinating, as are her 11 interesting facts.

Who has been the most positive influence in your life

Believe it or not this is an extremely hard question to answer. Most of the important people in my life have been both. I have never had anyone who has actively encouraged me and supported me, quite the opposite. 

My mother was a strong influence. This was positive in respect of the fact she instilled a strong morality and independence. However, it was also extremely negative in that she destroyed my self confidence and made me feel worthless and insecure.

Despite this I have always tended to be the one who supports and is positive for everyone else rather than the other way around. In later years my children have been huge inspirations but, to be honest I don't think I have any positive influences.

My father died when I was pregnant with my first child and, looking back, I think he was probably the most positive influence. I was Daddy's girl and he was strict but loving. He was my source of affection and affirmation, but he was bullied too.

What was your most memorable Halloween costume?

I don't think any of them could have been particularly memorable as nothing springs to mind.

When do you write best? Mornings, afternoons or evenings?

Any time. Writing is my life. I write whenever I have a spare moment. If I can't get to my laptop I write on paper. I always carry a pad wherever I go. I've written on trains on my way to all kinds of places, in Court waiting rooms, during lectures and tutorials. All over.

Where did you go on your favourite vacation?

My first trip to Center Parks in Longleat. I cried my eyes out the day we had to come home. I've been many times since but I never quite managed to re create how perfect that first time was. I was so at peace the whole time I was there.

Why is reality TV so popular?

Because people love watching a train crash. I have no other answer than that because I really don't understand it myself

How do you relax?

I write. It's as simple as that. It's my de stress, my therapy, my joy and my love. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't write anymore.

Which work of art most impresses you?

Anything by Alison Lapper

Could you live without electricity?

Absolutely not. I couldn't live without my laptop so the electricity is a given

Are you afraid of the dark?

Not per se. I am afraid when I am in the dark in situations where there are other dangers. For example walking in unfamiliar areas at night, but it's not the darkness I'm afraid of.

Can you honestly say you've never stolen anything?

I can honestly say I have never deliberately stolen anything. There was one occasion when I went to a market with a jacket on like this

On the way home, I realised a pair of earrings had got caught in the threads. My friends wouldn't let me go back. I still feel guilty about that.

Other than that, I'm the kind of person who goes back to the till when I find out I wasn't charged for one of the items in my basket

What song lyric strikes you as hauntingly beautiful?

I Will Find You by Clannad  I couldn't find one with Moire Brennan singing, that has lyrics. This is by Enya and you get the idea but I would strongly recommend you listen to the original. It's the theme song from Last of the Mohicans

And now 11 interesting facts about me. Am I really that interesting I can find 11 of them? I don't think so but I'll give it a go.

1. My inspiration for writing gay characters started in a flea market in Aberaeron in West Wales. I was into fantasy at the time and I picked up a book that had a nice cover. I flicked through it and found some dark bits (someone gets drugged, someone gets shot in the head, someone gets hung up and gutted) some absolutely beautiful, almost poetic bits and a plethora of amazingly drawn characters. I was utterly hooked by the third page and had to immediately get book II and II in the series. Since then I've read many more books by this author and she has become my absolute favourite writer.

2.  I used to be heaving involved in re enactment and spent my weekends as an iron age Celt

This was my wedding

3.    I broke my back during a reenactment weekend by falling down a hole after a large amount of whiskey.

4.   I have two children of whom I am incredibly proud. My daughter works for the commercial arbitration service ACAS. My son is 12 and still at school.

5, I have only ever had three four relationships in my entire life of which - one lasted for less than three weeks, two lasted for more than 12 years and one was with a woman.

6.  I was sexually abused as a child. It doesn't hurt at all to think or write about it now and I truly believe it ( or at least getting over it) has made me stronger and more empathetic.

7.  I am incredibly untidy.

8.  I feel extremely guilty about the fact I enjoy my own art and am proud of some of my paintings. I was tempted to share some but I hear my mother's voice ringing in my ears about being a 'bighead' and getting 'above myself'

9. My mother was very much against me going to university. she was worried I would get ideas beyond my station and she genuinely couldn't understand why I would want to when no one else in my family had. At least that's what she told me. I believe she told other people she was proud of me but that has never been proved.

10. Nothing gives me a bigger kick than helping people. I've spent time wondering if this is purely selfish - because it makes me feel good - and concluded it really doesn't matter.

11. I struggle with keeping secrets. I am totally open about everything in my life. There's no question I won't answer (as long as the answer won't hurt anyone) and I find it hard to remember other people aren't the same. This isn't to say that I don't keep secrets, because I do. I never breach a confidence if i can help it but I find it very hard.

Phew. almost three hours in and all I have left to do is nominate some others. This is hard. There are so many great blogs out there and great people, too. I think I'll save the blog and come back to this when I've had a chance to think about it.

I've really thought about this and I've decided on the following

Julie Lynn Hayes Julie was my first professional editor. She nursed me through the agony of having my first book published and became a good friend in the process. She instigated the Wednesday Briefs flash group I belong to and has written some amazing books and posts.

Romance First Publishing Stephanie Danielson has worked damn hard to create and build her publishing company from nothing to one who represents some of my absolute favourite authors, eg Angel Martinez and Tucker McCallahan

Cia's Stories Cia was a huge influence on me from when we first met on GA. She went from totally green to a polished writer and editor as well as being admin on GA. All of the projects she's involved in are incredibly demanding and I have no idea how she finds the time for them all.

Beez Laine A lady I met through Twitter who is strong, brave and very talented. Another lady I admire a lot. If you like poetry, truth and insanity this is a good place to go

5 Times Chaos Kia Zi Shiru is another writer I met on GA and who I have watched grow beyond recognition. Another strong lady I have a lot of admiration for.

Tali Spencer Tali is an amazing writer and a lovely person. In her blog you'll find a place full of mystery and magic and one of the best world builders I've ever read.

I have also to mention Sid Love It doesn't technically comply because it has more than 1000 followers, but I have to mention it because I am so impressed with how fast it's grown and how popular it's become, all down to the hard work and dedication of its founder, an old friend from GA. I'm really proud of you Sid!

Oops, almost forgot the questions

1. Who's your favourite director named Tim Burton...oops no, I mean Who's your favourite director?
2. Who's your favourite cartoon character?
3. Anime or Manga? Why?
4. Can you stand on your head and/or do cartwheels?
5. What are the three strangest things you can see right now?
6. Do you own any clothing you wouldn't wear in front of your parents?
7. Do you like playing with toys? (my kind of toys)
8. What's your favourite swear word?
9. Can you say - I'm not the pheasant plucker, I'm the pheasant plucker's son and I'm only plucking pheasants 'till the proper pheasant plucker comes - without swearing? If you can, say it faster
10. What's the strangest food you've ever eaten?
11. What would you put in your ideal salad?

Please please send me a link if you do this as I'd LOVE to see the answers.

Wednesday Briefs - Catherine's Revenge Ch 2

And here we are at another Wednesday. I can't believe how fast the week has gone. It's been quite a hectic one and I'm waiting for the weekend to relax - except of course I have so much to do there will be little chance of relaxation. Writing has always been my therapy, the thing I do to relax and de-stress. Gods know recently I've needed that. I'm having real fun writing this one. The good stuff starts next week in time for Halloween, but there's no end in sight yet so just about anything can happen. Anyone who reads my work will know how literally that's true.

“Are you alright?”

His voice was like liquid chocolate, deep and smooth with the hint of an accent she didn’t recognise.

“Yes I…I thought….”

“That I was someone else?  Yes, this much I had worked out for myself.”

Still lost in the deep, blue eyes, Emma found herself smiling.  The smile was returned, lighting up the rather pale and serious face, making it even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Realising, with a shock, she was still in his arms, Emma stepped back, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so rude.  Thank you, I—”

“Think nothing of it.  I am glad I could help. I am Tristan and I am very pleased to meet you.”

“Tristan?  That’s an… interesting name.  Do you live near here?”

“I… used to.  I have been away.”

“Then I’m glad you’re back.  My name’s Emma, Emma Benson.  We’ve just moved into that house back there.” From a rather disappointing start, the prospect of the move was getting better and better.

“And who is Ash?  Is he your boyfriend?  Husband?”

Emma laughed.  “God no, he’s my brother.”

“Good.”

The look he gave her sent heat rushing through her body. She shivered with more than cold and smiled, suddenly coy.  Tristan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving his hand resting against the side of her face.

“You are very beautiful, Emma Benson.”

She ducked her head, more embarrassed than ever.  “No I’m not, I’m just ordinary.”

Tristan’s smile faded. His eyes were intense, bright splashes of blue in a frosted out world.  “No, you are not ordinary, Emma Benson. You are very far from ordinary as is evidenced by the very fact that you are here, with me.”

Emma blinked. It was one of those winter nights when the moon rises before darkness falls, and hangs low and bright, casting magic all around and turning the ordinary world into one of mystery and danger. She could sense danger in this man, in what he was doing to her senses, but she was powerless to resist.

“What are you doing here Emma Benson, in the wood at twilight?”

“I told you.  We’ve just moved into the house back there - my Dad, my brother and me.

“We were taking a look around and Ash got this crazy idea he could hear music.  He went rushing off and—”

“Music?”  Tristan’s eyes widened, his expression going flat.  “He heard the music?  And it was leading you here?”

Emma was startled by the change in him and stuttered when she responded, fear beginning to creep into her body with the cold mist that was rising around them in the shadow of the moon. “Yes. Why?  Did you hear it too?  Is there something wrong?”

“How did you come by the house?”

“What?  Why?  What has that got to do with you?”

Tristan’s face was intense, his eyes boring into hers.  “It is important, Emma, more important than you know.  Did your father buy the house or did you inherit it?”

“I don’t….” At first she was affronted by the question.  What did it have to do with this stranger how they’d come by the house?  But there was something in his voice and his eyes that compelled her and, all around, the forest had fallen silent, as if waiting for her answer. “I…. We inherited it from some relative of my mother.  It came out of the blue.”

Tristan took her by the shoulders and stared hard into her eyes.  “Your mother, Emma… is she a Loughbridge?”

“That was her maiden name, yes.  The house was technically left to her by some aunt or something, but she died when we were very young so it came to us.”

“And your brother?  He is a Loughbridge too?  Not a half-brother? Not adopted?”

“No, I mean yes. He’s my brother, my full brother.  What does this—”

“And he is grown? Not a child?”

“He’s nineteen, the same as me.  We’re twins.  Now what the hell—”

Tristan gripped her shoulders, his bright blue eyes boring into hers with an intensity that scared her. “Then you must listen to me carefully, Emma Loughbridge.  Your brother is in danger.  His life may depend on what happens next. 

“You must run to the summerhouse. Run as fast as you can and do not be diverted by anything.  Do not stop and do not turn aside.  You must find your brother and get him as far away from here as you can.  Do not ever let him come to the summerhouse, or to the woods ever again.  And if he hears the music you must not let him follow it.”

“But why?”

“Because if you do, you will lose him.  There is no time to explain.  Run Emma, run.”

He was still holding her shoulders, gazing into her eyes, infecting her with his intensity.  She turned to obey but he held her a moment longer.

“Be careful, Emma.  Do not try to fight alone.  I will come to you tonight.  Look for me at midnight and I will tell you what I can.”  With one last, long, smouldering look, he kissed her and was gone, calling “Run, Emma, run.” 

And she ran.

And now, go ahead and take a look at my fellow flashers. There are some awesome tidbits this week.

A R Von

J C Wallace

Chris T Cat

Lily Sawyer

Shelly Schulz

Cia Nordwell

Elyzabeth VaLey

Rob Colton

Victoria Adams

Renee Stevens

Tali Spencer

Julie Lynn Hayes

Run for Your Love by Annabeth Leong

Blurb:

Shotguns seem to be everyone's favorite accessory for the zombie apocalypse, but Zach Paul believes he can survive without hurting anyone—not even the zombies. An elite-level runner, he plans to speed away from every danger. Then Zach meets a woman he can't bring himself to leave behind, and staying beside her tests all his principles.

Viola Ortiz fought free of her controlling boyfriend just before the zombies came, but now she believes her macho ex is the only one who can protect her. She sets out to reunite with him, only to encounter Zach instead. The tall, lean runner is everything her ex is not, and Viola is shocked to find he turns her on as no man has before. Viola's ex, however, isn't willing to let go of her, and soon it's clear that other survivors are as dangerous as the zombies.

Zach and Viola can run, but they must find safety before they lose their humanity in the struggle to protect their lives and growing love.

Excerpt:

It may not have been too crazy for me to think I could keep clear of the zombies in the Quarantined Area. On the news everyone kept saying these are "slow zombies." They're dangerous, diseased, and mostly impervious to pain, but not the sort of terrifyingly speedy hunters that have been popular in movies lately. My plan to run in there was risky, but I like to think not completely doomed. I planned around my talents instead of just deciding I'd somehow figure out how to execute a standing long jump of multiple feet once I found myself staring down at concrete two stories below a rooftop. I trusted the only thing I've been able to rely on my whole life—my legs.

What I didn't take into account were bullets—as in projectiles whizzing past my ears as I booked it down the sidewalk. Why the hell does everyone think the zombie apocalypse gives them a license to act like Rambo? I'm not just talking about what happened once zombies actually appeared in the middle of our city, eating brains, shambling, and whatever else they do. I'm talking about all the years of excitement about zombies—Facebook quizzes predicting whether your relationship would survive an outbreak, the sudden popularity of YouTube videos about parkour, and a pervasive cultural obsession with shotguns. I think people watched zombie movies and decided it would be great for the rule of law to break down to the point that they'd be allowed to solve problems by shooting first and asking questions later.

It's not the most macho position to take, especially not in the neighborhood where I grew up, but I guess it's clear by now that I'm a pacifist. Some other guy might respond to the looters by taking cover behind an abandoned building and pulling out his own gun to trade shots. That's not my style.

Instead, I shouted, "What the hell?" and tried to run faster.

Two days into societal breakdown, street cleanliness had already suffered. Trash bags, newspapers, and other detritus littered the road, and I swear the pavement had more cracks than usual. It took all my concentration not to slip or break my ankle.

I don't have experience dodging bullets, so I wasn't sure if I'd be harder to hit if I tried to zig-zag or not. Since I didn't know, I ducked my head, picked up the pace, and hoped for the best.

The guy with the gun shouted, "Drop the backpack!" Apparently, he thought bullets made good punctuation.

"There's nothing in it!" I screamed back. Which wasn't strictly true. I didn't have any money or valuables, which I assumed was what they were looking for. On the other hand, the backpack had everything I thought I needed to survive in the Quarantined Area, so I didn't want to give it up.

"Like hell it's empty!" The guy chasing me squeezed off a few more shots.

The fact that he hadn't managed to hit me yet confirmed one of the points I'd like to make about guns, which is related to a couple of the things I've already ranted about. A lot of people think you can just pick up a gun and go to town. That tells me that most people have never actually held a gun, much less fired one.

I've been to the shooting range a number of times with my older brother Dominic, and once, before a birthday party he celebrated one year in Vegas, that included firing machine guns. Before I'm accused of hypocrisy, I'll add that Dominic spent a long time trying to get into the police academy, and I provided moral support while he studied and trained. Anyway, after several good tries, I learned that if you can hold a gun without your hand trembling uncontrollably, you're doing well. And it takes training before most people can manage to hit, say, the broad side of a barn.

The looter chasing me might think he was tough, but he'd obviously never gotten the chance to practice with a gun. I promised myself I'd say a prayer of thanks as soon as I got out of range of him and his burly friends. I almost looked forward to the zombies at that point—at least I'd understand their motives.

Someone cried out behind me, and I risked a glance over my shoulder. One guy lay on the pavement clutching his ankle, probably a victim of one of the cracks I'd noticed earlier. Two of the others seized the excuse to quit running, squatting beside him clutching their sides, gasping, panting, and coughing. I allowed myself a satisfied smile. The guy with the gun hadn't tired yet, but he would, as long as he didn't manage a lucky shot before I finished putting him through his paces.

I lengthened my strides. It felt good to take my body to its limit, to dig as deeply as I could into the inner reserves I'd built up over the years... Right up until I realized I'd forgotten to keep an eye on the littered road.

My foot tangled in a plastic bag, and I went down hard. It was like something out of kindergarten—bloody knees, bloody palms, and pain that brought stinging tears to my eyes. A bullet hit the asphalt a mere foot away from me.

"Let up, man!" I made my voice as threatening as possible, despite my vulnerable position. "I got nothing!"

"Give me the backpack!"

Adrenaline forced me to my feet. I took a deep breath, preparing to push myself back into a run despite the stiffness already settling into my knees.

That wasn't to be, because my fall had allowed the big guy catch up with me. He may not have known how to use his gun, but he sure as hell knew how to use his hands. He demonstrated on my trachea as soon as he got hold of me.

I hate to say it, but I froze. I thought about trying to stomp on his foot or something, but I didn't really expect that to work, and I didn't want to die a traitor to my own pacifist ideals. I helplessly pondered what to do as he squeezed my neck tighter, and I started to feel chilled and light-headed.

That was the first time I saw her, and considering how little oxygen was reaching my brain at that moment, you can probably understand why I thought she was some sort of apparition. She was beautiful. Sexy? Yes. She had the sort of curves that make a man want to spend long afternoons in bed just tracing the shape of them. Lips to match and ringlets of black hair that I immediately wanted to feel across my bare chest. But she was also beautiful in a holy way—some kind of light in the eyes or glow to the skin that reminded me of pictures of La Virgen. She was dressed all in blue too, which contributed to my impression that she wasn't entirely of this world—my mother taught me that blue is Mary's color.

Her small, compact body hurtled into me and my captor with force far beyond what I would have expected from her weight. She screamed that he ought to let me go, and his grip loosened, I think because he was so stunned. Neither of us knew where she had come from or what she had to do with me.

Unfortunately, the deranged looter's first instinct after letting go of me was to go after her, specifically by hooking a finger through one of the big gold hoop earrings she wore. I stretched my own rules a little and jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, hoping to distract him enough that my rescuer and I could both escape.

She didn't have the kind of qualms I did. Out of one pocket, she produced a can of pepper spray and proceeded to administer a healthy dose straight into his eyes. I covered my face in time, but he gave a high-pitched scream and clapped his palms to his cheekbones. The gun hit my foot then the pavement. The woman screamed too, and I wondered if he still had her by the earring.

I dropped to the ground and crawled a few feet away, moving through the pain in my knees and palms. A glance at the woman showed she'd gotten herself free of her opponent's grip and had grabbed the upper hand by far. She administered a series of precise and painful-looking strikes to his abdomen.

Any second, more of the looters would join this fight. I didn't feel good about running away when she'd gotten involved in the first place because of me.

Pushing myself to my feet, I went over and grabbed her elbow, wincing when my scrapes contacted her skin. "We have to get out of here," I told her. "Try to keep up."

She rolled her eyes but didn't answer me. I took off running, feeling so much adrenaline by then that the pain in my knees didn't really bother me.

She wasn't next to me.

I whirled without stopping, in time to see her scoop the looter's gun off the sidewalk and toss it into a glittery backpack she carried, slung too low to be entirely practical.

I took my own turn rolling my eyes. Just what I needed. Another Rambo wannabe. "Come on!" I shouted.

I have to admit that despite annoying me by going for the gun, she'd impressed me so far. The next thing she did really caught my attention. She grinned at me, as wicked and gleeful as if we'd gone out racing to settle a bet. Then she covered the distance I'd put between us so fast it took me a moment to realize I was being outpaced.

She shot past me and tossed another smile over her shoulder. "You better hurry," she said, with a Puerto Rican accent and not a trace of effort. "Ahora, chacho. Those guys look mad."

Buy Links:

All Romance

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Breathless Press

Bio:

Annabeth Leong has written romance and erotica of many flavors -- dark, kinky, vanilla, straight, lesbian, bi, and menage. Her titles for Breathless Press include the contemporary werewolf erotic romances Not His Territory and Not the Leader of the Pack, and Run for Your Love, a romance set in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island, blogs at annabethleong.blogspot.com, and tweets @AnnabethLeong

Buy One, Get One Free Offer:

Did you miss Annabeth's previous titles with Breathless Press? Not to worry. E-mail proof of purchase of Run for Your Love, such as an Amazon receipt, to annabeth dot leong at gmail dot com and let her know your e-book format of choice. Annabeth will buy a copy of her werewolf novella, Not His Territory, for anyone who sends this information before November 12, 2013. 

Wednesday Briefs - Catherine's Revenge Chapter One

Here we are again at another Wednesday. It's cold and miserable here but I'm sure to cheer up when I dive into the wonderful work we have on offer today. The prompt I have chosen today is an inspiration for the story rather than this chapter specifically. You'll understand in a little while so bear with me

Footsteps echoed weirdly in the empty hall raising tiny swirls of dust.  There was a smell of damp and age, a coldness in the air that seemed to come from more than just the temperature outside and the fact the house had been shut up for so long.

Emma Benson pulled her coat more tightly around her and thrust her hands deeply into the pockets of her jeans.

“Bloody hell.  I swear it’s colder in here that it was outside.”

“Ash!”

“Tell me I’m wrong.  Hell Em this place feels like a crypt.  I hate it.”

“Ssh.  Dad’ll hear you.”

“I don’t care.  I’m not staying here.”

“Where else do you think you’re going to go?”

“I don’t care.  I have friends.”

“Not within a hundred miles.  How do you think you are going to get there?”

“I’ll steal the car.”

“Yeah right.”

“It’s alright for you.  You’ll just lose yourself in your writing as soon as Dad lets you, and he’ll be shut up in his studio painting.  What am I supposed to do in this godforsaken place?”

“Get a hobby.”

Ash curled his lip and sneered. “Like what?  Shooting rats?”

Emma sighed. There was no talking to him when he was like this. “For heaven’s sake… work with me on this one.”

“Huh!”

He was slouched against the newel post, hands in pockets, flicking long fair hair out of his eyes.  Emma couldn’t help but smile.  He looked about fourteen, sulking like a child.  He wasn’t of course.  He was exactly the same age as she was, in fact born only three minutes earlier.

“Stop sulking, it doesn’t become you.”

Suddenly, the sulky expression slipped from his face and his head went up, a different expression in his wide blue eyes.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?  I didn’t hear anything.”

“Music.  I heard music.  It was clear, really clear, coming from….” He turned slowly then pointed to a door at the back of the hall.  “There.  Come on.”

“Ash!  Wait!”

But it was too late.  Impulsive as always, Ash was already disappearing through the door. Emma, as always, followed.

The door led into a corridor and Ash paused, his head raised as though listening, then set off again.  “This way.”

The corridor led into a kitchen which was large and well fitted but very old fashioned and covered with layers of dust.  Emma would have liked to stop and explore, looking into the myriad small cupboards and drawers but Ash didn’t pause; he walked straight through to the door which was locked.

“Bugger.  Look for a key, Em.”

“You want to go outside?  But it’s freezing.  Can’t we stay in here and build a fire somewhere?”

“No.  Find the key.”  There was a sharpness in his voice that stung her and she would have dug in her heels and stubbornly refused to help if he hadn’t, at that very moment, found the key hanging on a hook beside the door.

Outside, it was bitingly cold and Emma hung back, reluctant to venture into the evening frost.  Ash was already out of sight, swallowed by the overgrown tangle of bushes and shrubs in the long neglected kitchen garden.

A breeze ruffled the bushes, filling the air with the scent of lavender, sage and thyme. It was such a lonely place, she though; overgrown and forgotten. Out of the blue, a flash of absolute panic hit from nowhere. Emma had the irrational thought that the garden didn’t want her to be here. It didn’t want to be remembered and there was something else….

“Ash!?  Ashley Benson you get back here and wait for me.”

She ran after him along the path through the garden.  The faster she ran the more afraid she became and the less she could have explained what she was afraid of. All she could think was that she had to find Ash, knowing instinctively that he was somehow running into danger.

At the end of the garden, the path led through a gate which was twisted and hanging off its hinges, and then into a paddock bordered by a wood.  She saw a flash of blue disappear into the trees and followed.

“Ash!  Ash, wait for me.”

There was no answer and the figure had disappeared.  Emma followed as fast as she could, stumbling over rough ground, slowing even further as she reached the trees.

There was a path, of sorts, but it was overgrown and choked with undergrowth although there were clear signs that someone had passed this way very recently.  Ash.

Pressing through the undergrowth she saw again the flash of someone on the path in front of her.

“Ashley!  Wait!  Will you please wait!”  She increased her speed and was so busy fighting with the scrub that she didn’t notice the figure had stopped, until she careered into them almost kicking them both off their feet. 

Strong arms encircled her, steadying her against a broad chest.

“Ash! What the hell do you…?  Oh!”

Looking up into the pale oval face, framed by long curling black hair, at the laughing blue eyes, she felt a sudden shock.  First, that it was a stranger and not, as she’d expected, her brother, and secondly because he was, without doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Okay, so now go check out our other flashers this week.

Elyzabeth VaLey

Cia Nordwell

J C Wallace

Shelly Shulz

Chris T Kat

Rob Colton

Victoria Adams

Renee Stevens

Tali Spencer

A R Von

Andrew Gordon

julie Lynn Hayes

Taking Flight - Tabitha Rayne

Taking Flight by Tabitha Rayne

Thank you so much for having me at your place!

I’m here to highlight my new erotic novel, Taking Flight – it’s book 2 in The Meeting Point trilogy – but don’t worry if you haven’t read book one yet (A Clockwork Butterfly) because it doesn’t matter which order you read the first two.

Hope this whets your appetite for a raunchy dystopian adventure ;)

Tiny snippet

“If we part ways,” he started but Deborah pressed a finger to his lips, she didn’t want to hear it, speaking it might make it true. He pushed her hand from his face and held it at his chest, his woozy gaze fixed on hers. “Deborah, if we part ways, I’ll find you. I’ll find you at the meeting point. Do everything you can to come. We are more than the physical.”

Longer snippet – Marcus and Deborah have just finished making love

Marcus flopped on top of her and she struggled to breathe with the weight of him on her chest. He shifted his body a little to allow her to take in air but held her fast with her fingers still jammed to her sex and him still inside her.

‘I want you to remember this moment. Remember this time of us being utterly as one.’ That look had returned, and panic rose in Deborah’s chest.

‘Silly talk …,’ she said dismissively and feigned a giggle, but his intense stare never wavered and she had to look away.

He was right. They’d got away with it for too long. He was sure to be found soon and taken to the farms. She thought of the day they’d made the decision to hide him here, in their home. He’d quit his job, saying he was going back to look after his parents south of the border. That was before the pleasure farms were common knowledge; where men were taken and used as playthings for the increasingly powerful Archmatria government. Deborah had heard rumours of their existence and they’d acted on them immediately, playing out an acrimonious split for the benefit of neighbours and colleagues, but he’d never left. He’d simply stayed indoors and hid.

 ‘Why don’t we start an uprising?’ Marcus had said, only half joking, before he’d gone into hiding. But they’d both known it would have been a futile waste of their remaining time together.

They’d decided the only way was to keep working on a cure. Or at least discovering a reason for the sudden proliferation of the toxins.

Deborah prised her way out from underneath Marcus and rolled onto her side. Their mingled fluids trickled from her onto the sheets and she reached down between her legs and gently cupped her hands over her sex, trying to keep it all inside. If she could keep it all in, maybe he would be able to stay for ever. The excitement from the discovery at the lab ebbed away, leaving a soft melancholy in its wake.

***

Harsh banging at the front door woke Deborah and Marcus into full alert. Panicking, Deborah frantically clutched at the detritus on her bedside table, searching for a clock.

‘Don’t bother.’ Marcus reached over and laid a calming hand on hers. ‘It’s still dark. They’ve come for me...’

Blurb

“Find me at the meeting point. We are more than the physical.”

Four generations from now, toxins are ravaging the land and the future of mankind is in peril. The surviving men are being rounded up and taken to holding facilities. Research scientist, Dr Deborah Regan is hoping to stabilise the decreasing male population before her lover, Marcus becomes one of those taken away.

When the authorities come looking for Marcus, Deborah abandons her research to go on the run with her lover. They flee to the forests where they stumble across a couple who are intent on finding an ultimate sexual union where at the point of climax their spirits break free from their bodies and unite. Plunged into a life of lust and survival, Deborah soon realises she can easily slip into this trancelike state and she and Marcus set out to create a transcendent bond of their own. Can they achieve the ultimate unity before fate separates them for good?

An erotic dystopian fantasy following a young couple trying to elude capture and separation.

The prequel to A Clockwork Butterfly.

In a dying world – is love the only means of true survival?

Buy Links for Taking Flight

Available in ebook and paperback

Amazon.co.uk

 Amazon.com

Buy links for A Clockwork Butterfly

Available in ebook and paperback

Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
All Romance

Bio:

Tabitha Rayne has been told she is quirky, lovely and kinky – not necessarily in that order or by the same person. She writes erotic romance and as long as there’s a love scene – she’ll explore any genre.

Her short stories are included in anthologies from Xcite, Oysters & Chocolate, Cleis, Ravenous Romance, Mischief, and House of Erotica. She has novels with Beachwalk Press and Xcite Books.

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Thanks again and happy reading x x x

Omorphi - C Kennedy

THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS I'VE EVER READ

I'm not going to rehash the story here. For one thing, there are so many twists and turns, new things coming out every few pages, and I don't want to spoil that.

At it's simplest, it's a sweet love story. Michael, an all American track star meets Christy, and enigmatic mute and there is instant chemistry. As Michael slowly gets to know Christy, he gradually learns of an appalling history of abuse and degradation. Christy is in a very bad place and Michael gradually helps him take baby steps towards healing while fending off psychotic homophobes, getting in with the biker crowd and finally coming up against the people who abused Christy. Given they are at the highest level of the Greek elite, including government officials, it isn't easy and when a scumbag with diplomatic immunity snatches Christy and tries to take him back to the life he escaped, Michael simply won't give up until he's exhausted the last of his strength to rescue his pretty Christy.

This is really the very bare bones of a story that totally gripped me from the first to the last word. It was by no means a quick or an easy read but there wasn't a single moment I lost interest.

If I have a criticism, it's that everyone was too calm when the horror was unfolding. Michael, a somewhat sheltered seventeen year old, doesn't turn a hair when a psychotic homophobe holds a gun to his head, and in my view was way too calm when the same psycho blows up his car. Although it mentions Michael's mother getting stressed it doesn't actually show anyone but Christy freaking out, and I thought that was a little to cold and clinical. It also didn't ring quite true when the baddy kept escaping. The police, private security and um special security details just kept messing up and I found this frustrating.


That, however is the only thing I can think of to make any kind of negative comment on. The story is incredible and unfolds in a mindblowingly natural and un-sensationalized way, given the topic.

It is not a story to read if you are squeamish about the absolute horror of trafficking in the horrendous abuse of children. the imagery can get quite graphic although nothing is explained in great detail. Whilst we are not given graphic descriptions of the horrendous abuse we are left with no illusions about what happened to Christy, the damage it did, and the horrors he continues to suffer because of it.

The relationship between Michael and Christy is sweet and beautiful. It develops sweetly and gently and we're rooting for them right from the start. The supporting cast are also vivid and well drawn, especially Jake, Michael's best friend and Sophia, Christy's...cousin.

Yes, some of the characters are stereotypes but writing this kind of story that's going to be inevitable and the stereotyping is used well.

One thing I really love is the little details. Like a series of paintings based on the work of Edgar Alan Poe, and little side sketches of a visit to a lingerie shop and the interaction with the saleswoman. So many little touches that made the whole thing really come to life.

I know I'm gushing but I'm still reeling and screaming Why!!!!!...did the book have to end?

Did She Fall Or Was He Pushed? - A Story Using 6 Words

Farewell, love. High cliff. Deep water. Farewell