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Saturday, February 11, 2006

"General Order #28"O.R.—SERIES I—VOLUME XV [S#21]Union Correspondence, Orders, And Returns Relating To Operations In West Florida, Southern Alabama, Southern Mississippi, And Louisiana From May 12, 1862, To May 14, 1863: And In Texas, New Mexico, And Arizona From September 20, 1862, To May 14, 1863.—#1General Orders, No. 28 (Butler’s Woman Order)
HDQRS. DEPARTMENT OF THE GULF,New Orleans, May 15, 1862.
As the officers and soldiers of the United States have been subject to repeated insults from the women (calling themselves ladies) of New Orleans in return for the most scrupulous non-interference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall by word, gesture, or movement insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation.
By command of Major-General Butler:GEO. C. STRONG,Assistant Adjutant-General and Chief of Staff.
"Not only does he murder our menfolk, he’s proclaimed us all whores!" Angele Valmont exclaimed as she read the posted proclamation. Growing anger and dismay twisted her pale face into a mask of intense resentment. "That…bastard!"
"Mam’selle!" her maid gasped. "Such language!"
"Hush, Essie," she ordered the quadroon woman, her voice sharp edged and biting. She ignored the dismay on her abigail’s face. "Major-General Butler is most certainly exactly what I just called him." Her Creole French accent was less evident than it usually was. Anger made her English clipped and precise.
"Actually he’s worse than that. I doubt he is human at all. He’s nothing but an animal!" She pointed at the proclamation. "This is unconscionable. That a lady be regarded as a common prostitute for any real or imaginary insult is just barbarous." She reached up and grabbed the edge of the order.
"Oh, Mam’selle Angele, don’t!" Essie cried. "There’s no telling what the Yanquis will do to you if you tear that down." She looked about as if expecting one of the blue-clad soldiers filling Jackson Square to clap irons on her charge’s wrists.
Angele stilled. The bright sun shone down and the faint breeze that stirred the light net of Angele’s veil was humid and hot. Her upper lip was heavily dewed, a testament to the discomfort of the black crepe mourning she wore for her brother William. He had fallen nearly seven months earlier at Leesburg in the battle of Ball’s Bluff. She had declared to one and all she was glad he’d died before he could see his beloved New Orleans fall under the dominion of the accursed Yankees. Indeed she continued to wear mourning for the fall of her city rather than for the loss of her brother. She could return to colors any time she wished, according to Creole custom, but had returned to the full black of deepest mourning the day the United States flag had been raised over City Hall, only eschewing the heavy veil in favor of a lighter bit of net and lace that barely concealed her face. She felt to go fully veiled would have been poor taste as well as too uncomfortable and impractical for a New Orleans summer.
She stared a moment more at the latest example of General Butler’s hated martial law. She might sacrifice her comfort to the point of wearing dull black in the heat of a Louisiana summer, but she wasn’t William, willing to die for a cause without considering the consequences to the family. If anything happened to Angele, her sister would be devastated and there’d be no one to see to the warehouses and businesses here in town. She held the order for a moment before she allowed her hand to fall back onto her prim black skirts.
"Let’s go home, Essie. I need to write to Mademoiselle Charlie. It may be best that she not visit me for a while yet. She should stay home with her godfather. Thank the Holy Virgin she has Cousin Séverin to take care of her. He is such a good man." She sighed. "My sister won’t like the news, but New Orleans is no place for her right now."
With rage burning her fair cheeks, she turned and automatically twitched her skirts away from a Union officer who stood behind her. She didn’t want her clothing so much as to brush his boots. She stared with decided desdain at his bulk blocking her way.
"Come. I can’t bear to be near these savages," she said to Essie.
"Pardon me, ma’am," he said with a tiny, ironic smile and a tip of his hat.
She blinked as a tiny chill raced up her spine. He had the most melodic voice she’d ever heard. Those three words were so astoundingly beautiful they robbed her of the power of speech. She stared up into a face as lovely as his voice.
"And I agree that this order is ludicrous," he said as he stepped out of her path. "Butler is an imbecile."
Her cheeks flamed beneath her veil, the chill in her spine turning to fire as it reached her face. He was utterly magnificent and now he showed sensibility as handsome as his face. She rediscovered her voice enough to agree with him.
"He most certainly is. And a complete blackguard, just like every Yanqui ever born." She ignored Essie’s tug on her sleeve and gazed up at the officer realizing how very tall he was. The crinkles around his eyes spoke of long days spent staring at broad horizons from beneath his wide-brimmed cavalry hat. His shoulders were broad and his whole aspect radiated quiet strength. He was undoubtedly as handsome and manly as anyone she’d ever seen, but it was his look of outrage at the posted order that won her complete admiration. He obviously found the posted order as repugnant as she did. The indignation on the officer’s strong face as he read General Order Twenty-Eight caused her heart to warm as much as her flushed cheeks.
He moved slightly and the sun glinted on his buttons and braid. They stood out against his uniform calling the deep blue to her attention. She realized with an unpleasant shock she was openly admiring a Yankee officer in the middle of a public square. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see her conversing with a Yanqui. She knew that social conventions required she offer him her coldest glare and sweep away, but her sense of fairness wouldn’t allow that. His words were too admirable for her to render him that sort of insult. Indeed she had already insulted him and her breeding wouldn’t allow such a thing. Oddly unsettled by his clear gaze, she framed an apology.
"I suppose I should say like most Yankees. Your sentiment does you honor, sir, and sets you apart from your fellows." It was true. With his bright eyes and musical voice, he was like no man she’d ever seen. He was certainly like no Yanqui she’d ever heard of.
Reluctant to leave him but knowing it was impossible to continue conversing openly with him, she gave in to Essie’s silent entreaties. With head high, she turned away from the Cabildo and toward Royal Street. As they reached the corner she was unable to resist an impulse and turned back to find the Union major staring after her with an arrested expression, visibly riveted by her proud carriage and strong words. He touched his hat in salute and she couldn’t fight the urge to raise her hand briefly in a surreptitious farewell.
The entire walk home and at odd moments over the next few days, the memory of his beautiful voice, fine form, and finer convictions played through her mind and she found herself wishing he was not her enemy.
* * *
Major James Darling tapped his pen on his desk and tried to pull his mind away from thoughts of the woman he’d seen outside the Cabildo. Her outrage wasn’t without basis. General Butler’s order was a grave insult to the entire female population of the city and by extension to their gentlemen. James had a feeling there would be repercussions from the order such as Butler never dreamed. And they would all be deserved. James feared the general had given the rag and tag of the army far too great an opportunity to abuse their authority. He knew there were several who would be willing to use the order for their own pleasure. Luckily he also knew many of his fellow officers were doing their best to stress that all women be treated courteously.
James smiled a bit. There was no doubt these women who so insulted Butler’s sensibilities were patriots to a seditious cause. However, regardless of what Order Twenty-Eight implied, they were most certainly ladies.
The woman at the Cabildo was obviously so. Dressed in deep mourning from her bonnet to her shoes, only the angry blush on her cheeks and the faint wine of her lips had relieved the somber black of her attire. He wondered which battle had claimed her husband. It didn’t really matter; so proper a lady shouldn’t be exposed to the possibility of insult because of Butler’s insane order.
James set aside his pen and strode to the tall window of his quarters to look outside. The area before the Saint Charles Hotel hummed busily. He could see the tents of the soldiers below him and dimly hear the noise of their bivouac. Civilians, most of them women, moved up and down Saint Charles Street. They either stared in fascination at the soldiers or avoided looking at them at all. After over a month of occupation, the Northern soldiers were still a new attraction to many of the citizens. Major-General Butler’s newest orders had only deepened the overall animosity and curiosity the townsfolk felt for the Union forces. There was trepidation on nearly every face—black, white, or in between—that gazed at the encampment.
The bright sun glared down from a firmament white with heat and moisture. James would have given a month’s pay for a clear blue sky and a dry breeze. His last post at Fort Kearny was as different from this assignment as could be imagined. He longed for the clean, fresh scent of a Nebraska prairie wind. Instead, the foul smell of the city flowed through the open casements. Even in May it was nauseating and the temperature sweltering. Growing up on his father’s farm in Maryland had been hot and humid, but not like this. He’d never been anywhere that compared to this city.
James had spent his adult life in uniform. The second son of a moderately well-to-do planter, the only career paths open to him had been the military and the priesthood. The priesthood was out of the question—Bible thumping had never appealed to him, and he was sure celibacy would kill him. So he’d used every connection he had through his mother’s family to gain an appointment to West Point. He’d done well enough there to come out with a decent commission. He’d spent the years since on the frontier fighting Indians and exploring the wilds of the West. Nothing could have suited him better, but with the outbreak of the war, he’d been sent back east of the Mississippi to join Farragut’s expedition to take New Orleans. Now he was expected to oversee a city full of civilians. It chafed. He’d already applied to be sent back to the frontier and prayed the approval for that change came swiftly.
He glanced back at the half-finished letter on his desk. How could he describe the mingled smells of damp decay and raw sewage that ruined his appetite, the stifling heat and moisture-heavy atmosphere that made it hard for him to breathe, and the hostility of the townspeople that made simply walking down the street a chore? It would be beyond his gentle parents’ understanding. James sometimes wondered why Farragut hadn’t simply blown the levee and let New Orleans sink back into the fetid swamp that had birthed it. It might have been better for all of them.
He reread his father’s letter and dipped his pen into the ink well. The deep indigo liquid began to dry as he held it poised above the page for long minutes. How could he write to his mother and father how horrible he found it here? He couldn’t add to their worries and concerns. So with a few brief assurances that he was fine and his agreement that his mother and sisters should be sent farther north for their own safety, he sealed and addressed his letter. It would go out on a packet ship that night and be in Maryland in a few weeks. Would that he could join it! For perhaps the first time in years, he missed his home and family.
His sense of loneliness grew as he added to his journal all he couldn’t say in his letter home…
This city has a worldwide reputation for hospitality, though I’ve yet to see any indication of it. So far I have experienced only scorn and the most intense dislike I have ever felt. It would not be exaggeration to say the citizens of New Orleans loathe every thing connected to the Union and especially those men who wear her uniform. I fear I return their loathing, not so much for the individual man or woman, for I understand that the burden of being defeated must be hard for them to bear. My loathing is for the city as a whole. I have never been in a place so hostile and unwelcoming. The kindest word I’ve yet had was from a lady who said I was not a complete blackguard like most of my kind. If a creature so refined and genteel considers me in such a light, I have no wish to know what a less polite soul thinks of me. As it is, I have no recourse but to feel all of New Orleans hates me.
And so does the lady, he thought as he put away his journal. Regardless of her final parting wave, her words had made clear her opinion of all his kind. With a sigh he lay back on his bed. He felt too exhausted to do anything else. The wretched Louisiana heat sapped his strength and he tried not to think of what July and August would be like. He closed his eyes and a vision of her seemed painted on his inner eyelids. He didn’t know why he couldn’t get thoughts of the well-bred widow out of his mind. Her face, faintly obscured by the delicate net of her veil, haunted him. He wished he could have seen her rosebud lips turned up in a smile rather than set in haughty displeasure. Fleetingly, he wondered what those lips would feel like against his own. He quelled the thought immediately. He wouldn’t countenance such disrespect for a decent lady, even in his own imagination.
Unhappy with his thoughts, he drifted into a restless sleep populated by dreams of the widowed lady from the Cabildo. He might be able to govern his conscious thoughts, but his sleeping mind dwelt on the rose-wine of perfect cupid’s-bow lips and the glimpse of lily-pale skin above the sable lace of her collar. In his dreams those lips and that skin tasted as sweet as candy and as intoxicating as whiskey. In her illusionary arms James found the first peace and happiness he’d experienced since he came to New Orleans.
What People Are Saying About the Book:

"...a delightfully rich tapestry of life in occupied New Orleans...I want another novel..." -- MeriBeth McCombs, professional reviewer

Fallen Angel Reviews, On-line Review MagazineFallenAngelReviews.comfrom Reviewer JaneanMarch, 2005
Rating: 5 Angels (highest rating)

Angele Valmont is a very unusual Confederate woman. While other Southern young ladies were learning to sew, she was learning about the shipping industry. After her father’s death, she has handled the shipping business for her sister Charlie and her cousins. Angele is a strong and independent woman who is very disgusted with Union General Butler’s General Order 28. The order states “when any woman of New Orleans shall by word, gesture, or movement insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation”. While out one day in town, Angele is assaulted by some Union soldiers, who think because of General Order 28 they may do anything they want to the women of New Orleans. To her surprise a Yankee, Major James Darling, saves her. Although Angele tries to ignore her feelings for James, she just cannot do it. Like a moth to a flame, Angele is drawn to James, Yankee or not. For James, Angele is like a cool drink of water on a hot steamy New Orleans day. She is a lady who is very strong and generous. He is very smitten right from the start and cannot get her out of his mind. She is like a magnet, pulling him to her and James does not wish to ever leave her side. Angele knows well she and James cannot have a public relationship due to the scandal it would cause her family. The Valmonts have had more than their share of scandal and Angele will not allow any new scandal to ruin the social coming out of her sister Charlie. Will Angele and James be able to find happiness? Or will the rules of New Orleans’ society keep them apart forever? This is one amazing love story that will take readers on an emotional adventure of the heart. I was so immersed into the lives of these fascinating people that I could not put the book down even once. T.D. McKinney and Aimee Masion take you right into the middle of the Civil War. You will learn about the hardships both sides faced. You will see first hand how strong and brave these Southern women were while still being very much ladies! I am hoping for a sequel to see what happens to Charlie and the cousins. I am looking forward to reading more of Ms. McKinney’s and Ms. Masion’s soul–searing and heart-wrenching books! This duo definitely has a winner in My Secret Yankee.

~Coffee Time Romance, On-line Review MagazineCoffeeTimeRomance.comfrom Reviewer Gen ThomasJanuary, 2005
Rating: 5 Cups (highest rating) - Very Rare, Extraordinary Read

The Valmont family is a corner stone of the Creole community in New Orleans but has always flirted with scandal and Angele Valmont is no exception; but, they are facing the biggest yet. The war is casting its dark shadow over the Valmont family and secrets and switching loyalties are threatening to be its downfall.The Yankees are destroying the once genteel way of life that the people of the South held dear. They may not be able to fight back, but they can make the Yankees as unwelcome as possible and Major James Darling is feeling it keenly. An encounter with Angele Valmont changes his opinion of a real southern welcome and he falls deeply in love with her. Angele is more than aware that society would never accept a match between a southern lady and a Yankee Major. Her sister Charlie’s come out year is underway and she is terrified that her actions will jeopardize her sister’s chances of a good marriage. Charlie Valmont has her own ideas and has set her sights on a possibly even more scandalous match, her disowned childhood sweetheart Wesley Leighton. Séverin Valmont is determined that his cousins take their rightful place in society and will not approve their choices no matter what the cost to their hearts. However Angele finds her passion for James will not be denied and she flouts convention and takes him as her lover, and then marries him in secret. When James’ long forgotten transfer request to join troops at the front is granted, he leaves Angele with the promise that he will return to care for his family. Weeks later Angele is devastated when she hears news of his death and realizes it is too late for her to show the world how much she loved him. My Secret Yankee was a joy to read. It is rich in historical detail without being over powering. In fact, the attention to detail gives real depth to the characters and the plot and really brings New Orleans to life. Although the plot pivots on the love affair between Angele and James, it is complimented by the long standing relationship of Séverin and his lover Antoine and their constant tap dancing to keep their love on the right side of respectable, as well as the emerging romance of Wes and Charlie. The reticence of Angele to acknowledge her relationship with James could be a huge obstacle for the character to gain any sympathy. However, Ms. McKinney and Ms. Masion draw such a vivid description of society and its restrictions you cannot help but feel her and the agony she goes through when she realizes her mistake of not publicly acknowledging her love for James.This book is both uplifting and heart wrenching at different times, with even a few sparks of humour thrown in. I only wish Wes and Charlie and Séverin and Antoine had books of their own.

~Cupid's Library Reviews, On-line Review MagazineCupidsLibraryReviews.comfrom Reviewer MarinaJuly, 2005
Rating: Cupid Plot Factor 4.5 Cupid Pleasure Factor 3.5

In the midst of the Civil War, New Orleans is occupied by the Union Army and slowly but surely the Confederate Army is being beaten and broken. Under General Strong's decree the women of New Orleans are deemed whores and are to be treated as such by the Union soldiers. Angele Valmont unfortunately gets the results from this decree when three Union soldiers accost her on her way home. Her virtue and sanity are saved by Major James Darling rushing to her side and protecting her. This action leads to a very quick to spark attraction and an affair between the two. Their affair is one that causes the two such glorious moments of passion and ecstasy, yet has to be kept secretive and behind closed doors. Likewise Angele's cousin and her step sister each have love affairs that have to be kept secretive and out of public consumption for fear of public scrutiny and reaction. These three couples all go through the bitterness, pain, and loss that their scorned love affairs cause, yet for all of them their shared love is worth all the strife if they can maintain the secrecy. With the added strain of loss of life because of the war and the lack of resources this family and their lovers go through tumultuous times irregardless of their love that may tear them apart if the city they love falls into ruins as well as their livelihood. This is truly what a historical romance aspires to be. It is so richly descriptive about Civil War New Orleans and the people inhabiting it that even the minutest of detail is discussed with clarity and insight. It is a bit overwhelming to start at 300 plus pages, but once the story grabs hold of you the pages fly by and you are fully immersed in the story and feel kinship to each and every character. Each of the six main characters in this book are so unique and their stories so interesting it is a wonder this novel is not far longer or broken into three volumes for each pair's love story. Angele and James are by far the two central characters and their story is fantastic. The love they share for one another is written so well and their joy and pain become your joy and pain. This is not a novel with highly sexual scenes, it is a romance with tender but few love scenes, so if you are looking for erotica this is not your book. I would classify this book as in the style of historical romances by Heather Graham and Judith McNaught. You will find rich detail intermixed with true historical events and people, as well as, pull at your heart moments between all the characters. I truly enjoyed this book and learned quite a bit about the Civil War and New Orleans. This definitely is a heart-warmer of a story with some teeth and characters you believe in and want to see happy. Well done!

~The Scary Reviewer, On-line Review BlogTheScaryReviewer.BlogSpot.comGenre: Suspense/IntrigueFebruary 8, 2005
Rating: 5/5 (highest rating)

A history lesson hidden inside a romance novel... that's the best description I can give to My Secret Yankee by T. D. McKinney and Aimée Masion. This book is Ms. McKinney's second and Ms. Masion's first. It's also the first collaboration for each writer, yet you'd never notice it from the writing. My Secret Yankee defies a true classification, it's not really a history book nor is it solely romance novel. With a wide and varied cast, three vastly different romances happening simultaneously, this novel is more a 'family saga' then a romance novel. The primary focus though is on the love affair of Angele ValmontFor Angele Valmont, the occupation of New Orleans by the Union Army brought a million changes. For a woman of the Confederacy, nothing could be more difficult than falling in love with a Yankee, could it? Ah, but there are indeed more difficulties for the fair Angele. She must present a scandal-free public persona in order to protect her younger sister's reputation thereby putting a horrible strain on her affair with Union Major James Darling.As a member of the occupying army, Major James Darling was persona non grata in Confederate-sympathetic New Orleans. Still, he wasn't about to allow a lady, even a Southern one, be assaulted by the soldiers of the Union Army determined to take advantage of General Butler's General Order 28. Discovering that the woman he'd saved was the same one who'd fascinated him on his first day in the city was a very pleasant surprise. For Major Darling, Angele Valmont is a breath of freshness amongst the festering heat and hatred of New Orleans.It’s obvious from the first page that both authors took the time to meticulously research the history of New Orleans during the Civil War era, or as Angele would put it, the War of Northern Aggression. The history blends in seamlessly with the various love stories forming a very rich tapestry of a book. In addition to the primary story, that of Angele Valmont and James Darling, there’s the courtship of Charlie Valmont by Wesley Leighton, a Southern gentleman fighting for the Union Army, and the long-standing romance between Séverin Valmont and Antoine Brouillette, a romance that constantly hovers on the edge of scandal. My Secret Yankee dances a fine edge between love and hate, happiness and depression, and leaves you breathless for more by the end.My only regret with regard to this book is the fact that you are left hanging with regard to the fates of some characters. I would dearly love a sequel to the novel, exploring the future of the Valmont/Darling/Leighton families as the war progesses. Though marketed as a stand-alone novel, it is my opinion that My Secret Yankee is, perhaps, better viewed as the first in a series of novels about these familes. Here's hoping that Ms. McKinney and Ms. Maison revisit these fascinating characters at a future date.

~ MeriBeth McCombs Author,Professional Reviewer, May 19, 2004

In the grand tradition of Janet Dailey and Nora Roberts, My Secret Yankee is a delightfully rich tapestry of life in occupied New Orleans. Ms. McKinney and Ms. Mason take the reader on a roller coaster ride of emotion as they introduce us to the Valmont family. Wealthy Creole aristocrats, they love where they will regardless of scandal. While Angele Valmont and Major James Darling's romance may be the centerpiece of the story, they share the screen delightfully with Charlie Valmont's more proper courtship by Captain Wesley Leighton. Add in Severin Valmont and his deliciously scandalous liaison with Antoine Broullette and you wonder just who's proper and who's not.

Still, I long for a second novel, for while all's well and good, a war still rages, the major and the captain are still in the military, too many things could ruin the Valmont happiness. I want another novel about this lovely family, just to be assured that things stay well.

~Wanda Horton, Author,
President "North Texas Professional Writers Association" Charter Member "Pulpwood Queens of Tarrant County," 28 September, 2004

Slightly wicked, deliciously lovely, My Secret Yankee begins with the proclamation from Major-General Benjamin Butler’s heinous General Order # 28 posted to Angele Valmont’s house. The genteel society of New Orleans’ Creole upper crust unfolds in a glamorous tale of love, honor and deception. Major James Darling of the Union Army learns the torment of loving Angele, a beautiful Rebel, while the war rages around them. This is a “must-read” for Civil War buffs and romance lovers alike.

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Saturday, January 14, 2006

Brothers of the NightNow Available from Triskelion/Sister O

Twin werewolves share a full moon... and a woman!

LANCE and STEFAN DUQUESNE are identical twins who live in a dangerous world of unbelievable horror and dark-as-night passion. Each is gorgeously handsome yet because of a secret they both share, each remains alone. On a night when an angry witch attended their births, they were stricken with a Lykanian curse. As a result once a year during the Autumn Moon Cycle they begin a trek through hell. It’s on this night that the big moon begins to drip blood that only the damned can see. When it begins to call them, they find themselves compelled to return to their old homeplace, Sangraal (divine blood), and to the mysterious woman they call mother. Only under this woman's strange care can they live out the curse that turns them into beasts until the three months are up. But this year when they return, something is different.Lance has taken a wife!

JENNIFER DUQUESNE is an ice-blonde with stormy blue eyes. When an accident causes her to lose her memory, her marriage turns to ashes, and she becomes the plaything of twin werewolves. As the two brothers begin to compete for her love, each one is haunted by the fact that only a knife in the back, or a bullet in the brain can free him from the curse, and allow him to live a normal life. But can a man kill his own brother? Even to escape Hell? Even for the love of a beautiful woman? That burning question is answered during a traditional Wishing Night Ball when they turn on each other, and begin their bloody... dance of death!

“Imagine it, Jennifer, and maybe the fucking will be more exciting, huh? Hotter, maybe… more savage? That should please a little whore like you. An animal has no hang-ups, Jennifer. He’s a wild, feral monster in heat! Could you ask for a better fuck?”“My God, Stefan, let me go!” she cried.They struggled wildly, causing the bed to creak and moan. Keeping her body captive under his, he moaned against her neck as he covered her with his savage kisses. Although she continued to fight, she couldn’t believe that his profanity and brutal body language was arousing her.He straddled her, released her hands, then lifted himself up and quickly removed his clothes. He was so magnificent she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. His body was muscled and hard, and she felt an odd excitement growing inside her. His long hair flounced around, and his golden earring swayed to and fro, flashing in the light. At last he reached for her, and tore at her clothes while breathing heavily. When she lay naked before him except for her g-string, he forced her legs apart, and brought her to a sitting position with her legs around his waist. Then he reached down, ripped her panties off as if they were nothing, then opened her cleft. With brutal force, he plunged his fingers inside her and began a rough movement.“Look at me,” he rasped, as he brutally stroked her juicy softness until she moaned loudly. She wanted him badly, even this brutish side she had never seen. His eyes watched her… hot with animal passion. Then he brutally grabbed her hair and pulled it, arching her neck back, biting her.“Stefan, you’re hurting me. Please let me go!”“Don’t you like it rough, Jennifer?” he whispered seductively, his low, breathy words filling her with fear. “If you’re good, I’ll give you one hell of a fucking, but if not… if you don’t let me do what I want, then I’ll have to hurt you. A little word of advice, baby… a man gets tired of straight fucks all the time. A man—” his breath became short and raspy, his eyes closed with passion, “—a man wants variety… he wants… excitement.”His words both repelled and excited her, and she didn’t know why. She couldn’t think about it now because suddenly her breath was taken when she felt the swift thrust of his rock hard cock being buried inside her. She was so full of him she thought she was going to faint. With a rasping hot breath, he nibbled her breasts, and actually growled as he drew on them. Putting his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer, plunging himself in as far as he could go. The bed squeaked as if in pain while she felt the mad fury of his distended cock.Suddenly she found herself moaning and grunting like an animal. She wanted to resist, but instead she grasped him, hanging on. Her sharp nails cut into his back, and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. The wild ride he was taking her on through the heated jungle of hell couldn’t be compared to anything she had ever felt before. All at once his savagery intensified, and his teeth lightly slashed along her flesh. Although she cried out, the pain seemed to be part of the pleasure. While he pounded into her, she threw her head back while his sharp teeth continued to scratch and cut into her breasts. She reached up and wound her fingers through his wild hair, pushing his head down. His hungry mouth and tongue were savage as they tugged on her nipples, and with each bite… each draw… each nibble, she felt the rush of an electric charge make her jerk. Finally, in their insane climb to orgasm they began to rock together, wild and unrestrained. The continued push and pull of his engorged cock sent her soaring into an animalistic fury, dreading the moment he would have to stop.When the final thrust came, it was so deep and so wonderful, Jennifer quaked while a series of orgasms propelled her toward a climax that trembled through her entire body. It was a raw act of possession with Stefan holding her close, quaking with her while his cock jerked inside her releasing his liquid heat.

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Saturday, January 07, 2006


"Gladiators," he says again. "You've worked hard, you've earned your feast. But first, I want to congratulate and thank our hardworking and fearless leader."Oh crap. Fearless my ass. This is my fear, and he's throwing me into it. Everyone loves him, but no one likes me very much. It's something he's oblivious to.Loudly, he says, "I give you our Centurion!"I wave gamely to a smattering of applause. Jill is the only one to give a verbal shout-out. "Yay, Ms. Russo!""Lisa," I correct her. "Thanks, really."But then Mark gives a loud "Whoohoo!" and that's nice.One of the interns just shouts, "Respect!" I can't help but laugh. That's when Tony swoops me off my feet and lurches toward the pool. I yelp in protest. I took off the frog slippers and didn't put on expensive shoes, only sneakers, and my skirt is possibly already ruined. But it's also my already-worn-out, favorite skirt. And I'm wearing a white t-shirt. "No!" I shout it as he pulls up short and dangles me over the edge. I clasp my arms around his neck and hold tight. I kick and try to wiggle free without letting go of him, but it's useless. Physically, it's a joke to think I could ever try to overpower him, even for a second. But I try anyhow. Maybe if I make enough of a struggle he'll give up.I can't get away from him, but he can't hold on to me and get both my arms pried off him either. But if Mancuso has his mind set, he's going to do it. He stops trying to pry me off him and instead takes one big leap, both of us splashing into the pool.He releases me under the water, and I kick up and away from him, surfacing just a moment before he does. Now, of course, everyone shouts for real. It's loud; laughing, clapping, and cheering. I scowl over at him, streams of water still coursing down his face, his dark wavy hair now in thick ringlets and his white dress shirt clinging to him, making his slightly bulged physique pop and resemble a warrior-emperor even more. He's not quite as sharp and defined as he used to be, especially like when we were in college and he still did construction work over the summers. His arms were like pythons back then. He's put on a few pounds over the years. But with his huge frame, he wears it well. And he's not doughy yet. He's just not as sinewy and lean. But he still looks formidable. Me, on the other hand? I don't need a mirror to know what I look like right now: a drowned rat. My hair matted to my head and t-shirt clinging to me. I don't dare stand up lest I give the male interns a free show. Then again, if I don't get out and get changed now, I'll be stuck looking like this when the obnoxious, juvenile, and horny brokers show up. I know if Day-Trader Dave is with them, he won't hesitate to catcall and whistle, drawing even more attention to me.I tread water for a minute until most people go back to what they were doing before; eating and drinking and splashing around with each other. One of the interns leans over the edge and high-fives Tony. I notice Jill looks terrific when she's wet. She'd looked just slightly less-perky than usual at the office today. Now she's in a conservative black one-piece suit. But even though she's not showing off extra skin, the fabric conforms to show off her sleek form and generous curves. Her blonde hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, smooth and clean-edged in the back. I dunk under the water to get my hair off my face, come up sideways to try to conceal those pesky grays that I know are poking around up there. When the intern moves on, I frog-stroke it over to Tony. I stay under up to my neck and say, "I'm wearing a white t-shirt.""I know." "You're rotten.""What're you worried about? You've got a great rack.""I don't really feel that all our interns should know that.""All right. You stay close behind me as we get out and I'll grab you a towel right away."It's a good offer, but I'm now afraid it's too late. "Oh no," I say as I glance over his shoulder. There's a cadre of men in dark suits entering the atrium. Only the one guy in the center looks different from the rest. He's in a light beige suit."What?" Tony asks."Stockbrokers." But as soon as the word's out of my mouth, they've moved closer and I can tell that I was wrong.Tony turns around and can see the difference instantly. "Those aren't brokers. Jesus.""No shit," I agree.Brokers dress well. Some of them amazing. But there's a uniform crispness to them in the morning that turns into uniform looseness and rumpledness by mid-afternoon. Rolled up shirt-sleeves and their ties would be off. And their suits would be nice, but not like these. These suits are still stiff and pressed. There are four guys. The hair isn't disheveled. Their shoes are gleaming. I don't know what these guys are. And then there's the one in the middle in the light suit. Impeccable doesn't even begin to describe him. He's got a Mediterranean complexion, but his face is also slightly tanned, just to the point where it has a soft glow. His dark hair is cut tight and close and is immaculate. They stop short of the pool and from his carriage I almost expect him to snap his fingers and have the guys around him go scurrying. But he doesn't. Instead, he just turns his head and nods slightly, and two of the men fall back. He visually sweeps the room. Lingering on nothing, his eyes scan over everything. Even though he's still ten or twelve feet away, I can see his eyes are light. Blue, or hazel, or maybe even green. His skin is olive and hair and brows are darkest brown, but his eyes have a light, bright pop and sparkle to them. The man in a dark suit next to him flags over a waiter and says something to him. The waiter nods in our direction as he answers him.This time, the nod is nearly imperceptible, and the two men walk over to us, the one in the dark suit just a half-step behind the one in tan. At the edge of the pool, the guy in tan looks at Tony. Says simply, "Mr. Mancuso?" The syllables are a drawn out, well-enunciated, but I can tell that masks an accent of some sort. Maybe Italian. Or Spanish."Yes, I am. Can I help you?""We talk with the phone." The man squats now and holds out his hand, looking Tony square in the eye. "I am Gianni Loren."Definitely Italian. The accent and the name. And the name is familiar."Right," Tony offers his hand. "Sorry about the...water," he apologizes as they shake.But this guy, this Loren, he gives a shake of his head and a practiced smile. "No problem. I apologize. I intrude on your party. Thank you, for you to speak with me.""My partner," Tony says as he looks over to me. "Lisa Russo."The man's eyes fall on me now. I try to stay ducked low, but don't want to be rude. So I offer my hand. "My pleasure," I say.He takes my hand, but his eyes never leave my face. "Piachere," he says. In English, that translates simply to 'pleased to meet you', but he doesn't let go of my hand. Green. His eyes are a light greenish brown. Very stunning, and very absorbing. And they're looking directly into mine. He's not just well-dressed and perfectly groomed. He's also gorgeous. "Uh, yeah," Tony interrupts, "let me just grab some towels and we'll sit down with you." Tony says this as he moves toward the steps.Loren doesn't release my hand. Instead, he offers me his other one, I presume to help me out. "I don't want to get you wet," I protest."Come," he says and moves his hand closer. In no way do I want to offend him, so I take hold and place my feet against the wall. Quickly and fluidly, he stands up, tugging me by the hands and pulling me from the water. For the first time, his eyes leave my face. They dip lower, and hover there for a moment. I'm not surprised, but I am embarrassed. I'm wearing a bra, but it's also white, and very sheer. I can feel my nipples poking out against the wet fabric that's clinging to me. "I'm dripping on your shoes," I say and take a step back.The man with Loren lowers his eyes discreetly."No problem," he tells me and looks back up into my face. "A beautiful woman, she is, uh, you are welcome to, uh, to drip. On me."

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Sunday, January 01, 2006

There's a few real psychics flipping tarot cards at the St. Bonaventure University's Renaissance fair. The drama club's booth is lining up fortune seekers in droves.When dark and brooding Theo Veloz drops in-wearing his frat toga-he is definitely bucking fate. He doesn't expect Gypsy Ginny to change his stars.Marsy Garcia is in love with Josh, the blond Adonis, great organizer of the campus renfaire. When he teases her into the Gypsy Ginny attire, she has no idea what the cards are going to draw. Not until Theo pulls the Tower card. and their lives are directed up a seven year path of loneliness.Destiny is their friend, though, and eventually the stars will line up-and Mars will be in the seventh house-and the sixteenth floor of the Tower of Loneliness will lave the sparks of passion into full flame. You don't want to miss this!

The Excerpt

Theo surprised them both. Not usually the slow-mo man, he closed his eyes. The fuddling of his fingers as he reached for her hips, fumbled in pulling up her skirts to expose her bare legs, drawing her close, cupping her ass-it was like time was virtually standing still-for both of them. Marsy tilted her head back, closed her eyes, too, and let him feel her up, really believing that the joke would stop at any second. She wondered who would have the last laugh. Theo's head dropped, his lips pressed against the pulse at her throat, finding it on instinct. And her fingers found a grip on his biceps. She moaned. He grunted. A second later, she felt his hands slide under her, gripping her butt cheeks. He yanked her against him, the mass of skirting wadded up between them, but she was arched at an angle where the front of her pelvic area could feel his arousal. They didn't talk. His lips skidded over the flesh at her throat, down across the upper edge of her breasts. With his nose, he pushed the elastic of the gypsy top down and buried his face between her boobs. He held her there, like that, for several seconds. The wait was so. inciting. that Marsy groaned and slid her hands up around his neck, holding his face there. Softly, she begged, "Please. Don't stop." Still, he just stood there. Obvously contemplating his next move-whether to go on or not-fighting the impulse to take her standing up.

The Reviews
Tower of Loneliness is a haunting story of friendship, love and regret. The author's vivid characterization takes the reader on a roller coaster ride of emotions. Marsy's struggle to gain control of her life, and Josh's deep love and respect for her is so seamlessly written that you cannot help but feel the characters turmoil, pain, and hope as well. This book has one of the most intense and exquisitely written love scenes I have ever read. This is a wonderful story!
5 Cups, Dee Gentle @ Coffee Time Romance

This story is remarkable. In many ways, I felt I lived this story, parts of it hit home on a level I never admitted to. Carys does a beautiful job moving you in time as well as the emotions of the others. The threads of life stopped that one night at the Renaissance Faire. Yet how it resolves is something that only fate, the Tower, and people who truly have love and passion can change. This is an amazing story surely that'll take you heart and soul into wanting more and needing not just closure to your own wounds in your life, but also love. What a wonderful story that truly envelops the meaning of The Tower.
Cyn Witkus @ In the Library Review

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Christmas King
December 2005
Alexis Gray has always found escape in her dream lover. He is wild, almost primal in his cravings, but gentle and sensual, at the same time. Whenever she needs him, he is there. Her salvation. Her friend. Her lover. As crazy as she knows the idea, she often wishes he would come to her, to find his way to physical form. For Alexis different from the others around her, and she knows it. Yet, with her dream lover she finds a sense of unity.
On Christmas Even, Alexis encounters something dark and menacing, an evil stalking her. As she battles this darkness, she comes face-to-face with her dream lover, who claims she is his mate, as well as the king of a distant planet. Her planet as well. There is a deadly enemy who wants to stop their mating. Then her Christmas King claims he has kept her hidden on Earth until their mating could be safety achieved. Now is that time. All Alexis has to do is given in to the absoluteness of her cravings for this man.

Copyright © LISA RENEE JONES, 2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
She gave him a direct look. “Don’t enter my thoughts without permission.”
“Yes, Princess,” he said with a chuckle. “Your wish is my command.” He palmed her breast and then pinched her nipple. Alexis sucked in a breath, pleasure darting through her body and landing with a hard rush between her thighs. “As is your pleasure,” he added softly.
Alexis swallowed and reached up to remove his hand. In the process, she felt the jut of his cock as if in invitation. She pushed away from him, urgent to regain her composure.
“Stop. I have to understand and…I can’t when you touch me.” Despite her best efforts, her eyes dropped to the water, to where the bubbles parted and displayed his long, hard length. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch him, to touch it. A strange feeling began to form. One beyond arousal. It was more demand than anything. A demand to have Alcron buried deep inside her and now. This minute. What the hell was he doing to her?
Alcron’s soft, sexy laugh jolted her back to reality and her gaze darted to his. “Behave!” she spouted.
He held his hands up, water dripping from them and all she could think about was them cupping her breasts and pinching her nipples. “I didn’t do anything.” He told her. “This is beyond my ability, Princess. It’s nature. It’s your body calling to mine. You want me inside you. That is what is distracting you.”
He had to be causing this. People didn’t need sex the way she needed it at this moment. But then, he seemed quite aroused himself. “Apparently, you’re a bit distracted too,” she said, her eyes dropping back to his cock before she could stop them.
He stroked his shaft, and she wanted to replace his hand with hers. “We are mates, Princess. Your need calls to me. I feel your yearning. Your need to touch me and feel me.” His hand moved up and down his length as if he eased the throb of desire. “Talk quick, Princess. Your desire is becoming quite urgent.”
“I want you, Alcron,” she whispered, feeling out of control, even weak with desire. It was like nothing she’d ever experience. “It’s…it’s not normal the way I want you right this minute.” Her head was spinning, stars taking control of her vision. She closed the distance between them, no longer able to resist. The minute her fingers found the solid muscle of his arms, she wanted more. She barely contained her need to climb on top of him and ride.
“This is normal,” he assured her. “We are two halves of one whole. You simply burn with the connection we share.”
“You don’t seem as urgent as me,” she said, searching his face, his eyes, and trying to understand.
“I am,” he promised. “I’ve had years of being without you, needing you. Just being close to you and touching you has eased a pain you cannot begin to understand.” He caressed her back, her hair. “Listen to me, Princess. I came to you in your dreams last night for a reason. I am trying to ensure you have choices. As long as we do not complete the mating process, if I leave and go home without you, the intensity of what you feel will pass.”
Panic came instant and hard and her fingers dug into his flesh. “Leave? You’re leaving me?”
“That will be your choice, Princess.” His voice soothed, his tone soft like a caress. “I need you with me, and our people need us together.” He hesitated as if his next words pained him. “But there can be no good come from me forcing you. So right now, Princess, let me pleasure you. You’ll be better then, I promise.”
She wanted to refuse, to tell him she needed answers now. No. It was too late for that. With each passing second, her body craved Alcron.

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Saturday, December 03, 2005


An Excerpt From: HEAT
© Copyright MARGRETT DAWSON, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.

“Welcome to Euphorbia Lodge,” Sara Parker said to the whole group as she negotiated the ruts. “Euphorbia is the tree that looks like an overgrown cactus. It reaches its arms to the sky like an upside down umbrella. The Malindi people from this area say it is a symbol of good fortune. Where the euphorbia tree grows, there will be happiness and good hunting. We thought that would be an excellent name for our lodge.”
As she uttered the last words, she drew the car up to a gate. “Karibuni. Welcome.”
She slid open the side door of the van with a noise that at last penetrated the haze in Jack’s brain. The other passengers stirred themselves to alight. He waited for a long moment, still gathering his wits from the impact of his first meeting with Sara Parker. For an instant he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the here and now, not on the fantasies that had invaded his head and seemed reluctant to leave.
“Wake up, Dr. Wilding.”
He opened his eyes. Sara stood by the open door, a small smile playing around her lips. The fierce sun outlined her shoulders, turning her white shirt to a streak of light, glinting on the slope of her breast, casting an intriguing shadow at her waist. She’d already said he looked tired, now she thought he’d dozed off in the few minutes it took to travel from the plane! If only she knew how active his mind had been.
Hoping he looked alert and competent, he clasped his briefcase firmly and peered out at a short plank bridge overarched with green fronds sprinkled with some kind of purple flowers. It led over a watercourse toward the shady overhang of the lodge entrance, where the guests were already accepting cold drinks from the waiters.
Sara walked by his side as he stepped onto the bridge. Her intoxicating scent wreathed around him again, and her arm brushed his with a jolt like a mild electric shock. The tingle went down his arm, through his body and settled between his legs. He stumbled on the uneven planks and she caught his elbow to steady him. Great. More contact with her was exactly what he needed! His erection pushed against his cotton pants. He shifted his briefcase, holding it in front of him, hoping to hide the obvious. Sara moved on ahead.
He tried the trick he’d used in high school of mentally reciting the periodic table, but before he could steer his brain away from the contemplation of Sara’s trim behind in her khaki pants, she was facing him again, holding out a glass of pink liquid.
“Let me take that briefcase, Dr. Wilding, before you drop it again,” she said. “Please try a glass of passion fruit juice.” Before he could protest she took his case from him and tucked it under her arm so it pressed against the side of her breast.
Utterly defenseless and exposed, he suppressed a groan and reached out to take the glass. It was cool and hard in his hand and he wanted to press it to all the hot spots on his body. As she relinquished her hold, he saw her eyes sweep downward for a fleeting moment. And that small smile hovered once more over her lips. He resisted the urge to seize her and press his mouth to hers, to crush that secretive grin with the force of his lips and grind that hard bulge in his pants against her. Instead, he had enough self-control left to raise his glass and take a sip. Sara moved away to chat to the other guests.

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From Carys Weldon

Born a wolf, Fera has always struggled with her true self. She longs to shape-shift into human form, and find a man to love, who can look past her issues.She lives in Pack City, an openly sexual werewolf safe zone, where she sees everything she wants and nothing that suits her. Her loneliness is an aching thing that can only be assuaged by a garou that stands out from the pack. One that has all the bitches chasing. And that would be Jack.

The Excerpt

All the men I know are dogs, and all the women I know are bitches, and I say that in the nicest way. I say that with my head bowed in reverence, actually. My name is Fera. I am a werewolf. Born a wolf. Raised a wolf. Ready to become a woman. Until now, you could say, my experience is all 'pack.' I will be changing any time now and I am afraid of what that means. The dogs will go wild. The bitches will look at me different. And I think that means the clawing will begin. It's all a fight, you know, once you come of age in a wolf pack.That's when you really come to understand the phrase, "Do or die." Or is that, "Do and die…?"PROLOGUEI live in Pack City.Cool place. Dangerous place. A place to watch your back at all times. A place to mind your own business.Except, you can't really mind your own business when the hounds of hell are breathing down your neck. When you belong to a pack, you've got two choices. Run with the big dogs, or-Well, let's just say you need to get up to speed or you won't be worrying about it tomorrow.That's why werewolves tend to live for the moment. Yeah, we get caught up in the frenzies. Lust. That's what we live for, really. Blood. Sex. Eating. Combination of the above.I think that's one of the great mysteries of life. Who knows which combination is gonna do it for ya next, ya know? Like, right now, I'm into blood, eating, hunting. Nature of the dog. But they say my change is gonna redirect me. That sex is gonna consume me for awhile. Pheromone levels going haywire or something. I didn't really believe it until the night Leer caught up with Kayty Smalls. That was an eye opener on what a change can do for a girl. Leer's the alpha at Pack City now. And Kayty's his mate. Do you know their story?Kayty's a breeder. Born human. Raised human. Never even knew she was kin to a wolf pack. (That happens sometimes.)Talk about your recessive family genes and suppressed communication levels. I can't imagine living, having a ticking time-bomb inside you, and nobody warning you. I mean, she had no idea that she was going to shift. That's what we call the change over from one form to another. Shapeshifting. Oh, there are signs-but you gotta have someone pointing them out. Otherwise you can convince yourself that it must be puberty, or change of life, or maturity happening. Whatever. She just thought her perked interest in the outdoors, and the need to run in the woods was a phase. Who doesn't have phases, right?Yeah, Kayty had no idea what she was getting into. She told me, "I just had urges. Went looking for something I couldn't name."And that's when she laid eyes on Leer.That wasn't a coincidence.He was looking for her. Oh yeah. Him and the whole damn pack. Chick had a scent. I can't really describe it, but it had all the men howling. And all the women bitchy. Like they need incentive to be like that.You see, when a breeder turns-that's pretty momentous. Doesn't happen everyday, ya know? I think that's because the bitches hunt them down and kill them before it happens. But what do I know? The very thought has me looking over my shoulder. Not that I put myself up there with a bitch that's born human. Don't get me wrong, I have my own place. Some call me 'princess.' I'm a pure line wolf. I'll explain more about that later.Any chick going through the change is bound to get extra attention from the males in the pack. And when you go crinos for the first time, you're at your most dangerous, out of control, if you know what I mean.By crinos, I mean the interim form between human and wolf. The form that rises up above all that you would probably consider normal, into a beast of the ages, blessed by the gods with enhanced strength, instinct, speed and stamina. And not just in the physical department. A crinos is at the height of the evolutionary scale in all things. They are also (usually) a little reckless, and often senseless. Especially when they turn for the first time. A crinos could do anything. And I mean 'do' anything. The urge for lust satisfaction is utmost in their brain. If the beast is more human than dog, the lust likely to be uppermost is definitely sexual. Unless, of course, they've got some serious pent-up frustrations. Those could send a new crinos on a killing spree. Or, depending on the beasts within sniffing range, could send a whole pack on a night of excitement.I remember Kayty's first time. Oh, she had them all going. I was a little young to be caught up in the frenzy.Let's see if I can describe it.I guess I should explain...We had this guy…Chaos. Wiry-strong, sexy as hell-in the literal sense of the word. One of those murderous tough guys that made you shiver when he was near. Pent-up fury just waiting to explode. He pretty much held the alpha position in the pack, but he wasn't very well liked. Had killed his way up, and some of those kills, well, they just didn't seem honorable. Not that anyone was saying that out loud. Just…ya had to wonder.Anyhow, you couldn't trust him, ya know? Moody. Scary. Somewhere between sadistic and on the edge of self-destructive. But he was cool, if that makes any sense. Everybody wanted to be him. Or be with him.Or kill him.He had this bitch, Tee. That would be Tee for TEETH. Absolutely vicious bitch. Damn were they a tough team. Ruled with the threat of bloodshed at all times. I'm telling ya, I saw them both rip throats-just for a sideways look or a wrongways sniff. I can't say I'm not glad they're gone. I don't want to talk about them though. They're past history.But Kayty and Leer? They've got it going on. It's one of those deals that mesmerizes you, makes you wanna see more-watch every move they make.I should explain how they got together. I can't really describe the weather, because I don't remember. I know most stories start out with a description of the sky. Sorry, can't do that. You'll have to close your eyes and make up your own picture. The memory I've got is all about emotion. What I remember is that the wind changed out of nowhere, and every nose in Pack City wiggled. But Leer's-his went straight up in the air. And then he was gone. Took off like a shot. No kidding. One minute we were all just laying around all lazy-like and a breeze wafts through. Zip. Like a flash he was gone. Yeah, kinda funny. Picture the rest of us, turning our heads all at once, going, "Whatup?"A couple of minutes later, the breeze did its deal again, and other males started moving out. Sudden hunt. That's what I thought it was. We have those some times. Something stupid wanders in a little too close.Anyhow, the rest of us weren't far behind. I didn't really know what I was smelling, but if the rest of the pack was hot on it, I knew I better pick up my pace. So, when Leer got on Kayty's trail, we were all chasing. Talk about your dead runs, too. But damn if he ain't about the fastest dog on the face of the planet.Oh. My. Gaia. If you want to talk about sex gods, you should get a look at Leer. Long, lean legs. Tight all over. Leashed energy, always gives you the impression that any minute he's gonna reach out and grab something.There's not a female in Pack City that isn't hoping for his touch. Not that I expect him to look my way, but hey, a girl can drool, can't she? She can have fantasies.She definitely has fantasies.How can she not have fantasies when she watches every movement he makes, and every move is a gathering of sinew, rippling of muscles, pumping of blood and other things? I mean it. Just watching Leer is a turn-on.

The Reviews:
I enjoyed this book to the limit. Ms. Weldon has a way of catching the readers attention and keeping them guessing until the very end. This book has it all: action, sex and suspense. I could not put this book down. Congratulations Ms. Weldon on another winner.
4 Cups, Laura @ CoffeeTime Romance

PACK CITY is the second book in the WANTON WEREWOLF series, and gives us a better look inside the pack itself, and the city they live in. Fera is the most interesting character I have come across in a while, and her story is amazing. Jack is the dominating alpha male and certainly follows his personality. Carys Weldon is doing a great job of telling the stories of her wanton werewolves, and I can’t wait to see what she comes up with for the next book in the series.
4 Blue Ribbons, Angel @

Romance JunkiesDiscovering that you are in love with someone your family considers unnatural and knowing that once they find you, they will do anything to stop him, is something that preys on Fera’s mind but she cannot help but love him anyway, even when she realizes that he has betrayed her. But love can conquer almost anything and in this case it wins over Fera’s uncertainties. I thoroughly enjoyed both Fera and Jack for the way they join in the most basic way but are also able to find a middle ground for their relationship to flourish. Ms. Weldon has written a thoroughly engaging story that captivates the reader and is able to portray a great story to read. A definite hit with me and one I will recommend to friends and family.
4 Stars, Sheryl @ eCataRomance reviewsThis was a very intriguing story, with unexpected twists and turns, and steamy sex. Weldon has given us a total different peek into the lives and hearts of the werewolves. I must add the ending is unexpected. Pack City is quite a good love story with interesting believable characters, and Jack is an adorable unnatural. If you like Werewolves, you are going to like this story. They have a few unusual problems to overcome, but the author does a satisfying job with those as well.
5, May @

Weldon really knows how to build excitement in a story. This reader’s only wish was that Fera got the chance to kick her brother’s butt for his part in the events that surrounded her destiny, for he was surely deserving of a good butt kicking. Weldon’s Wanton Werewolf series is certainly entertaining and this reader can’t wait to see what the next book in the series holds in store for us. Could the next book have Fera’s brother getting his comeuppance?
4, Tammy @ Love Romances

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Saturday, November 19, 2005

Web Of Desire!

His dark brows knitted together. “What do you want with me?” he asked, tugging hard on the binding strands.
She remembered that deep voice. So rich and enticing. Like warm melted butter drizzled over lobster. It seeped into her skin and filled her with heated memories of his passionate touch, his fiery kisses. Heat curled around her. She pinched her lips tight and suppressed a ragged moan.
Was it really him or was she dreaming? Had that delectable, familiar male scent simply caused her mind to conjure up the image of this perfect specimen?
She narrowed her gaze. “Tanner?” she asked quizzically, seeking verification that the man from her past had suddenly resurfaced.
He glared at her. Confusion obvious in his gaze. “Do I know you?”
She drew a sharp breath. It was him. And he didn’t remember her. She straightened her spine and swallowed. Perhaps he couldn’t see her well in the dark shadows of the room. Shuffling her feet along the planked floor, she took a tentative step closer, providing him with a better view of her face.
“It’s me, Ally.”
“Ally?” He paused as though searching his memory. “I don’t know anyone by the name of Ally.”
Her heart crumbled like the burnt toast she’d eaten for breakfast. How could he not remember her? They’d been in love. Were supposed to get married. At least she had thought they were. Was she so forgettable that the man she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with had so easily dismissed her from his memories?
She opened her mouth to ask but shut it when he cut her off with a glare.
“Are you going to let me down?” he asked.
“I was going to,” she replied, walking over to the table beside him to look over the contents. Lubricant, a pink vibrator, nipple clamps, two long candlesticks and a book of matches. A leather crop drew her attention. How interesting. She picked it up and ran her hands over the long textured length of it. She wondered what kind of fun Selina had with that particular prop.
His body stiffened with annoyance. “What do you mean you were going to?” he bit out.
Silence ensued as she took a long moment to peruse the captive man before her. Gone was the thin teenaged boy she’d fallen for. In his place existed a man. A man with broad shoulders and thick, sculpted muscles. A man who oozed sexuality in a way the young, high school boy never had.
“You know, Tanner, you owe me something.” She stepped close, close enough that his scent overwhelmed her senses. Pressing the crop against his cheek, she let it slide over his neck, his chest, and lower until it grazed the huge bulge between his legs.
He flinched. His eyes darkened as disbelief marred his features. “How can I owe you anything? I don’t even know you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We knew each other quite…intimately,” she murmured seductively.
She watched his glance leave her face and wander down her body. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as his eyes latched upon her breasts. Ally felt her nipples harden involuntarily under his lusty gaze. Her chest heaved as a surge of blood rushed through her veins.
“Ally. . . .” He let her name roll off his tongue as though he were testing it, tasting it. His gaze smoldered as it locked with hers. “If I’d known you…intimately,” he said, lowering his voice, “there is no way in hell that I’d forget.”
His warm breath caressed her face like a lover’s kiss. Her body became alive, stimulated at his bold words. A tingle worked its way down her spine. She blinked and fought to recover her voice. “Well it seems you did, now doesn’t it,” she challenged.
He gave her a sexy, predatory grin. “Why don’t you let me down from here and give me a chance to sample that hot body of yours. Perhaps that will help trigger my memory.” His voice dripped with sensual promise.
She slowly walked around him, dragging the long crop over his hard body. She felt his muscles bunch. She stopped directly in front of him and looked deep into his gorgeous eyes. “Or perhaps I could leave you there and make you pay for forgetting me.”
He growled and struggled with the silken webs. “You wouldn’t!” His voice sounded whisky-rough.
When their gazes met and locked she expected to see fear. What she saw instead captivated her. Heat coiled deep in her belly as moisture gathered between her loins. The passion that shimmered in his eyes made her breath catch. Her brain stalled and she had to remind herself to breathe.
“What exactly is it I owe you, Ally?” The deep timbre of his arousing voice made her shudder.
She could feel the well disciplined witch inside her dissolve as the wicked witch that lingered below the surface moved in to take her place. “A prom night,” she said and pressed the crop hard against his growing cock.

Visit Cathryn Fox at to find out when WEB OF DESIRE can be yours!

Posted by Authors Red Room :: 6:32 PM :: 0 Comments:

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Thursday, November 17, 2005

Year Of The Cat
By Alecia MonacoSeason Spirits Halloween Erotic-ahh Romance DigestMidnight ShowcaseISSN # 1555-5496
Sexy Vincent St. Angelo is a vampire on a mission: he has to drink the blood of a virgin to keep his undead existence going for another century. Enter Anya Katz, hostess of a Halloween bash and virgin extraordinaire. The catch? Vincent has to awaken Anya -- in more ways than one. Will they find passion with each other, or something more? Maybe even love?

All Hallow's Eve. The night when the veil between the living and the dead becomes as thin as sheared silk.
The lone man walked steadily down Sycamore Lane, his black trench coat swirling behind him in the late October breeze. It was perfect, this night. Halloween, the one evening of the entire year when he could walk among mortals, undetected. A night made for threshold beings like him.
A night to be savored.
The trees were hung with their autumn splendor, a riot of colored leaves in hues from scarlet to gold and bronze. The very air carried the scent of apple cider. Yes, this was perfection, and he intended to enjoy it to the hilt. The sun had finished its descent, and he'd risen from the crypt where he passed the daylight hours in a sleep as deep as death. Soon children would scamper past in their costumes, the prerequisite clowns and ghosts mixed with this year's action figure. None would run from him in fear. In fact, they might even ask him for some of the candy he was on his way to purchase.
He rounded the corner, approaching a graveyard of undeterminable age, the headstones crumbling, the stone angels showing faces with worn off features. This was nothing like his daytime retreat, a modern cemetery with immaculately kept grounds. But he didn't want to think about the dead, or the undead. Not now, when he could pass among the living with such ease, his vampiric appearance taken for a well-done costume.
He quickened his step, forcing his gaze away from the spiked black iron fence surrounding the decrepit boneyard. He spotted a bat out of the corner of his eye and moved to cross the street.
"It's time."
The voice came from somewhere behind him and just to the left. He stopped in his tracks. Couldn't be!
He turned to face the graveyard fence and watched the bat shapeshift into the familiar form of his maker, who sat like a gargoyle, leering at him with a fanged smile.
"Silas." He regarded the ancient strigoii morte with trepidation. "Always the bearer of glad tidings."
"You were expecting Yuletide greetings?" Silas removed a watch of burnished gold from his pocket and glanced at its face. "It is All Hallow's Eve, after all."
The vampire heaved a sigh. "Say what you've come to say, and let me be on with my evening."
Silas let out a rusty, hacking chuckle. "Oh, you'll be on with it." He narrowed his golden eyes. "Before dawn, or your body will return to the dust from whence it came."
The vampire's throat tightened. "Surely it hasn't been..." He did quick mental calculations.
"A hundred years?" Silas’ laugh grated on his ears. "But it has. Tonight is the night. You must drink the blood of a virgin to survive the next century."
A knot tightened inside the vampire's chest. He hated this, despised it with a passion. "You know I never feed on the innocent. It’s the criminals, the outlaws, who sate my nightly bloodlust. I harm only those who seek to harm others."
Silas slipped the watch back inside the pocket of his tattered black coat. "Vincent, you're a vampire, not an angel of justice. You must make this compromise to secure your own survival for the next century."
"But feeding on the life of an innocent virgin makes me no better than the reprobates who serve as my prey."
Silas took a conciliatory tone. "We've been having this discussion since you were a fledgling. It's not as if you have to kill her. You only need drink enough to empower your blood again, not drain her to the point of death."
"But," Vincent said, "what if I can't stop myself? What if the taste of virgin blood pulls me into such a deep thrall that I..." He turned his face from his maker. "I think of what became of that young maiden in Pompeii and..."
"Such a thing won't happen again," Silas interrupted. "You learned the power of virgin blood, the sway it holds over you. You know your weakness and won't bring harm to an innocent just to glut yourself on her succulent taste."
"I pray you're right." Vincent heaved a deep sigh.
"I am right. The elders of the old coven are watching, and you know yourself it would be unwise to make such a mistake again."
Vincent raised his eyebrows. "The punishment would be?"
"Final." Silas slipped effortlessly down from the fence, landing with both feet on the damp ground. He craned to look up at Vincent. "Perhaps that's why the elders decided to issue something of a challenge."
"Dare I ask?" Vincent peered down into his maker's wizened face.
"The virgin chosen for you this Hallow's Eve is no ordinary maiden." He paused. "She's otherkin."
The term was familiar to Vincent. He braced himself. "What race?" He pictured a temperamental sprite with gossamer wings, a she-wolf howling at the moon.
"Bastet." Silas ambled down the lane, and Vincent followed, slowing his steps to match the shorter stride of his Adra. "Catkin, a child of Bast."
Vincent drew a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and considered this. Silas continued. "But there's more. She's unawakened."
"I don't understand."
Silas croaked out a grating laugh. "You, my progeny, must awaken her before you feed from her."
Surely a task he could handle. "How does one awaken a child of Bast? By bringing her a bouquet of catnip?"
Silas bared his fangs in a hideous grin. "There's only one way to awaken a female Bastet." He stopped, his yellow eyes fixing on Vincent in the darkness. "Through making love."


Posted by Authors Red Room :: 5:31 PM :: 0 Comments:

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