Dress Up, Dress Down Friday: Nicole Evalina

Please join me in welcoming Nicole Evalina, author of Daughter of Destiny, as she discusses the wardrobes of the Priestesses and the High Priestess. Guinevere and the wardrobe of a priestess of Avalon

The first third of Daughter of Destiny takes place on the mysterious isle of Avalon in Britain in the late 5^th century. Guinevere is sent there to learn to control her gift of the Sight and to study with the priestesses.

The priestesses of Avalon wear different colored and cloaks tunics that designate them by rank:

• Acolytes (first degree, early in their training, usually lasts a year or two): white
• Neophytes (second degree, mid training, usually begins at the onset of menstruation and lasts several years): dark green
• Priestesses (third degree, advanced studies, lasts the remainder of their lifetime): blue. All bear a blue tattoo of the waxing crescent moon on their foreheads, right between their eyes, after consecration.

Each has only three outfits, two for daily use and one for rituals.

The Lady of the Lake, the high priestess of Avalon, has a very distinctive wardrobe. “She wore a blue gown similar to Viviane’s but decorated with intricate spiraling patterns. A single glittering crystal bobbed from a silver chain around her neck, and a thin silver circlet rested on her head, just above the mark that signaled her rank as High Priestess—the three visible phases of the moon drawn in blue ink. Her crown mirrored the mark so that the waxing and waning moons peeked out from her hair on either side of an opaline full moon.”

In the second part of the book Guinevere’s dress is mostly the simple tunics and cloaks of the time in various colors and cloths, depending on the occasion. In only one scene does she wear a veil, because her father makes her (in order to cover her priestess tattoo).

Blurb:

Before queenship and Camelot, Guinevere was a priestess of Avalon. She loved another before Arthur, a warrior who would one day betray her.

In the war-torn world of late fifth century Britain, young Guinevere faces a choice: stay with her family to defend her home at Northgallis from the Irish, or go to Avalon to seek help for the horrific visions that haunt her. The Sight calls her to Avalon, where she meets Morgan, a woman of questionable parentage who is destined to become her rival. As Guinevere matures to womanhood, she gains the powers of a priestess, and falls in love with a man who will be both her deepest love and her greatest mistake.

Just when Guinevere is able to envision a future in Avalon, tragedy forces her back home, into a world she barely recognizes, one in which her pagan faith, outspokenness, and proficiency in the magical and military arts are liabilities. When a chance reunion with her lover leads to disaster, she is cast out of Northgallis and into an uncertain future. As a new High King comes to power, Guinevere must navigate a world of political intrigue where unmarried women are valuable commodities and seemingly innocent actions can have life-altering consequences.

You may think you know the story of Guinevere, but you’ve never heard it like this: in her own words. Listen and you will hear the true story of Camelot and its queen.

Fans of Arthurian legend and the Mists of Avalon will love Daughter of Destiny, the first book in a historical fantasy trilogy that gives Guinevere back her voice and traces her life from an uncertain eleven year old girl to a wise queen in her fifth decade of life.

Excerpt:

An aged, stately woman emerged from the dark interior room and took her place on the throne. Her hair was a rich auburn streaked with heavy bands of gray, her face lined and furrowed from many years of living, but her eyes were bright and perceptive, like a hawk’s. She wore a blue gown similar to Viviane’s but decorated with intricate spiraling patterns. A single glittering crystal bobbed from a silver chain around her neck, and a thin silver circlet rested on her head, just above the mark that signaled her rank as High Priestess—the three visible phases of the moon drawn in blue ink. Her crown mirrored the mark so that the waxing and waning moons peeked out from her hair on either side of an opaline full moon.

As I watched, awestruck, every woman in the circle around us, including Viviane, dropped to one knee in unison and touched the thumb of her right hand to her forehead, lips, and heart—the same gesture my mother had made to Viviane when she arrived at Northgallis. As one, they whispered, “May the Goddess grant me wisdom, may the God govern my speech, and may my heart be filled with their love.”

I looked around nervously, unsure if I should do the same, and fumbled a slight curtsy instead.

“Her name is Argante, but always address her as Lady,” Viviane whispered.

The old woman smiled slightly at my attempted reverence but then just as quickly resumed her serious disposition. “Viviane, for what reason have you gathered us here?” Her voice was stern and authoritative.

Viviane stepped forward and nudged me toward the Lady. “Sisters, I have brought with me a new candidate to be counted among our number.” She placed a hand on my shoulder, turning to address the woman on the throne. “Most blessed Lady of the Lake, this is Guinevere of Northgallis, who wishes to be named a servant of the Goddess.”

Viviane had warned me on the journey here that in Avalon, when speaking in general, all the goddesses of our people were collectively referred to as the Goddess, and likewise, all the gods as the God. Avalon welcomed people of many tribes and traditions, each with their preferred deity names and mythologies. This way, they avoided confusion and arguments over exactly which deity was being referenced or whose gods were better. Here, all were equal and, except on feast days sacred to a specific deity, all were worshiped according to individual preference. Personally, I favored the horse goddess Rhiannon, worshiped in my homeland, and the sun god Lugh, patron of my mother’s Votadini tribe.

Argante’s eyes met mine with an all-knowing gaze that pierced my soul and laid the entire contents of my being out on the floor for her examination. As her eyes searched mine, I trembled and said a private prayer to my gods, terrified she would find in me some imperfection, some reason to send me back to my father in shame. Argante reached forward, placed a hand on my brow, and my eyes involuntarily snapped shut. Moments passed in silent darkness, and then wood creaked as she sat back in her chair. When I opened my eyes, she appeared pensive.

The women in the assembled crowd shifted their weight restlessly, and tears began to prick at the back of my eyes. I feared this lengthy pause was a sign of disapproval; surely if I was pleasing to her, the Lady would have made it clear without delay. I searched the air between us for Viviane’s hand, and she gave mine a gentle squeeze before leaving me once again on my own.

“This child is pure of heart,” the Lady said at long last, her voice far-off and intense, as if it was not she who spoke, but someone greater through the medium of her voice. “Her innocence and faith please me greatly. I see in her no duplicity or capacity for betrayal, only a strong desire to love and serve. In her blood the sight runs strong, and she will be for Avalon a great asset.” She paused, and a slight frown played on her lips. “However, she will not ascend to greatness on this isle. Another crown sits on her brow, one that will secure the safety and prosperity of many, but at a great cost, both to herself and to those she holds dear.”

A whisper of concern ran through the circle as I knitted my brows together, trying to puzzle out the meaning of her words.

“But that is the future and its lines are not writ in stone, only hinted at by an uncertain sight interpreted by the human heart.” Argante looked at me lovingly now, seeming much more human, her voice softer. “Do not fear what is to come but embrace it, following the Goddess’s voice—which you shall not fail to hear in your heart—and trusting she will lead you on the right path. Guinevere, you have been chosen by she who created life itself and now you must prove your devotion by stating your intent. Why have you come to the isle of Avalon?”

I shifted my gaze to the floor in embarrassment, unsure how to reply.

“Answer from your heart,” Viviane whispered.

I raised my eyes to meet the Lady’s. “To serve the Goddess, who has protected me since before my first breath.” My voice issued forth strong and clear, as if propelled by a will other than my own. “My mother promised me to this isle in thanksgiving for our safe deliverance from her difficult labor. Now I fulfill the vow she made eleven years ago.”

In truth, this was my fate, but I purposefully neglected to mention my visions in such a public arena. Argante likely knew about them already, and I feared the judgment of the others.

Argante nodded in understanding. “Honorable as that is, it does not compel you to stay. Do you come here free of coercion and choose to remain here of your own will?”

“I do.”

“Look around. The women gathered here are your sisters. Do you promise to treat them as such, harming none and living in love and trust so strong that you give freely of yourself when needed and accept their aid when offered to you? Will you treat each woman as you would treat the Goddess, your own mother, or yourself?”

I looked out over the sea of strange faces. “I will.”

Argante caught my gaze and held it, impressing on me the seriousness of what she was about to say. “Know that the vows you now take are not binding and you may be released from them at any time, should you so desire. They are, nevertheless, a promise, and you will be held to them by value of your word, as it is your source of honor.”

Uncomfortable, I wanted to look away but could not break her gaze.

“Do you vow to serve the Goddess and God with all of your mind, heart, and soul and preserve your maidenhead until such time as you take your final vows or part ways with our community?”

I swallowed, sensing the sacrifice required in assenting to these terms. “I do.”

Argante smiled at me with all the warmth of a doting grandmother and leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. “Welcome to the sisterhood, Guinevere.”

Buy Link  Daughter of Destiny

About the Author:

Nicole Evelina is St. Louis-born historical fiction and romantic comedy writer. Her first four books are coming out in 2016.

1. Daughter of Destiny, the first book of an Arthurian legend trilogy that tells Guinevere's life story from her point of view
2. Camelot's Queen, March 23, the second book in the trilogy
3. Been Searching for You, May 16, an award-winning contemporary romantic comedy
4. Madame Presidentess, July 25, historical fiction about 19th century American Presidential candidate Victoria Woodhull, the first American woman to run for President

Nicole is one of only six authors who completed the first week-long writing intensive taught by #1 New York Times bestselling author Deborah Harkness in 2014. She’s traveled to England twice for research, where she consulted with internationally acclaimed author and historian Geoffrey Ashe, as well as Arthurian/Glastonbury expert Jaime George, who helped Marion Zimmer Bradley research The Mists of Avalon.

Blog: http://nicoleevelina.com/blog/

#Scintillating Sunday at LAM!

Welcome to the "Scintillating Sunday" blog hop. Below is an excerpt from House of the Rising Son. Alexander has just settled in to watch the show. Cheyenne, the incubus rocker (and the guy Alexander might be falling for) is about to perform.

~~~~ The blue-gray glow of the synthesizer’s lights increased with the music’s crescendo and tugged him to the edge of his seat. The beginning of a show was one of his favorite parts. He was also partial to the middle and the end.

But Alexander didn’t applaud and stomp and scream in anticipation like the rest of the crowd. He was grateful to be able to keep his composure, but the truth was, it was all he could do to remember to breathe.

With a burst of light and a thunderous chord, Cheyenne appeared at center stage, arms out from his sides. An ethereal white light illuminated him. A rock and roll messiah.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed a scintillating snippet. Check out the rest of my blog for more information about Cheyenne or the book that tells his story. And enjoy the rest of the hop!

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Changes and Icing on the Cake

This time of year it seems natural to plan for changes I'd like to make in the upcoming year. This usually starts when I sit down to write my Christmas newsletter.

First, I'm surprised by the things I did accomplish. That's a good feeling. Then I look at last year's goals that were not accomplished and evaluate whether or not I want to carry them over into the new year. Some are easy-There's work to do on the house. That will be on the list every year, I suspect.

There are writing practices I want to continue and hope for better results, such as weekly blog posts, finishing Wolves (one of my works in progress), completing rewrites,  and posting a sh0rt-story or two on the website. There are skills I want to improve-setting and description, for instance.

There are personal matters I need to focus on. Health-related issues of course, but also interests I've neglected like gardening, birdwatching, and crafts.

Basically, it can be summed up as being more mindful. I intend to be more aware of and enjoy every part of my day, of my life. Doing the things I love with the people I love.

Everything else is icing on the cake.

It's a Wonderful Year In Review

Greetings from the wilds of Connecticut. As the New Year looms I’m doing my usual contemplation of the year that is passing. Per usual, 2015 has been filled with adventures and challenges. In January, a publishing company contacted me about my manuscript. The editor loved our characters and found our story unique. She requested that I revise a few things and resubmit my work.

Consequently, I started off the year tucked away in my office revising the manuscript. January and February are but a blur. In March, I received an offer of publication with Samhain Publishing. As soon as I signed the contract we received additional offers. Pretty cool, right? From March to August, I engaged in an apparently typical dance of edits.

March was rather busy. I participated in a workshop with the renowned screenwriter Michael Hauge, and attended a seminar on a powerful word processing application called Scrivener. On the non-writing front, my partner and I drove to New Jersey to meet our new crush, the WWE Superstar Roman Reigns. Unfortunately, once we landed there we learned a huge snowstorm was imminent. Logic and safety prevailed and we turned around and headed back home, barely beating the storm. (We later saw pictures of the dozens of vehicles stranded due to snow-packed and slippery driving conditions. Whew!)

April brought sadder news. Mu oldest puppy Chloe began to have back

problems, commencing a long journey of appointments, tests, medication trials, and sadness—I missed her incessant barking, her thievery of shoes and pens. My usually active and playful girl was largely sedentary and clearly in pain. Ultimately, she was diagnosed with bone spurs along her spine and arthritis. Thankfully, her current medication regimen seems to have done the trick. Chloe is as active, playful and annoying as ever.

Having missed Roman in April, in May my partner and I headed to Long Island for RAW, a WWE wrestling event and the last event being held at the Nassau Coliseum. Although we didn’t get to meet Roman individually, we saw him and my future ex-husband (WWE Superstar Randy Orton) fight and win their respective matches. It was awesome.

At the end of May, I loaded up Molly and Chloe in the car and headed to Va. to spend time with family. Although they were both harnessed onto the car seat, our high-strung not-so-little Molly managed to spend most of the trip squeezing against and laying on Chloe for comfort. It was their first (and likely last) two-day car ride.

We caught Kid Rock’s show again at the Xfinity Theater in Hartford. As always, he brought the house down with his musicianship and showmanship. Although we heard him, we didn’t actually see him due to the very tall group of dancing, drunken men in the rows in front of us. The highlight of the concert was the opening act: Foreigner. Kelly Hanson ROCKS.

I barely slept in my own home in July. We saw Chris Angel’s “Supernaturalists” show at Foxwoods. My partner and I are still talking about some of the illusions that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Barely back a few days, we then headed to Atlantic City. That trip was marred only by an unfortunate choice of hotel parking garages. Our car was miles and miles away from our hotel room—or so it seemed.

Later, we spent a luxurious week at the Marriott Marquis in New York City, attending the Romance Writers of America conference. I was presented with my Debut Author designation, acquired a suitcase filled with books, and met the CEO of my publishing company. We also ate at Junior’s in Times Square many, many times. Little Monkey came with us to NYC, of course, and had to be rescued from the deceptively high, glass enclosed elevator shaft. Actually, Monkey accompanied us everywhere this year. By the way, he’s still claiming to have written every movie on the SyFy channel that has a primate in it. Since he has yet to contribute to the household finances, we think he’s lying.

I spent August developing a marketing plan for my book launch. I reluctantly learned how to use Twitter.

September was an extraordinary time. I spent an intensive writing weekend with Mary Buckham, an author/teacher famous for her approach to plotting novels, developing active settings and more. This was also the month that my novel, House of the Rising Son, was published. I held a whirlwind blog tour (appearing as “guest author” on dozens of blogs between September and November) and participated in a Facebook event. The book launched to numerous great reviews. In October I participated in my first book signing.

To celebrate Fall, I enjoyed a day at a Harvest Fair and decorated for Halloween. My partner and I had a great time dressing up and sitting on our front bench handing out candy to surprised treat-or-treaters and some of their parents. Since the best promotion for a first book is the release of book number two, we trekked to Foxwoods for a mini writing retreat.

November was crazed. My critique group (Writers Circle) held its annual holiday party. This is a group of supportive writers helping each other to produce her best work. My partner and I attended the Rhode Island Comicon, fascinated to meet people as into Supernatural, Game of Thrones, dragons and Sons of Anarchy as we are. It was also the most crowded, claustrophobia-producing event we’ve ever attended. Conference attendees moved along wide corridors much like sardines would move in their can, often carried more by the current than by intention. Would we do it again? Maybe. Was it worth it? Well, meeting and having a picture taken with Jason Momoa makes most anything worth it.

Later in the month, I sat on a discussion panel regarding “Diversity in Genre Fiction”. And we again had the gift of time with family with a visit around Thanksgiving.

November was inconvenienced with medical issues. My partner took a tumble down the basement stairs. She was sore and bruised, but without any serious injury. On Thanksgiving Day I woke up to intense vertigo that lasted over a week. Thankfully my chiropractor is a magician.

December finds us both still recovering with antibiotics, Prednisone, and tea. We have big plans—a trip to Deerfield Ma., seeing the holiday lights at Lake Compounce, baking cookies and shopping. We have hopes to do these things and more as we start to feel better.

From our family to yours, we wish you a Merry Christmas and joyful holidays. All possible blessings of health, happiness, peace and serenity to you and yours in 2016.

All the best,

Trevann, Molly, Chloe and Lil’ Monkey

Dress Up, Dress Down Friday with Chanta Rand

Please join me in welcoming Chanta Rand. Chanta, please tell us about some of the clothing worn by characters in your book, Rise of  Queen.

Clothing in Ancient Africa (1061 AD)

While preparing for my Medieval African Historical romance, Rise of a Queen, I did a lot of research on clothing of the period. I came across some fascinating accounts of how the ancients dressed. Much like us today, their outfits varied depending on their social status and the event they attended.

The hot weather in West Africa meant that clothing wasn`t needed for warmth.  In the countryside, people wore very little clothing or no clothing. In the courts, people might appear in public wearing no clothing. But because nudity was against the laws of Islam, those Africans who dealt with Muslim traders wore clothing out of respect for the traders’ beliefs.

Wealthy people wore imported fabrics (from Egypt, India, and Asia) of silk, linen, velvet, and brocade. Women usually wore a wrapper (skirt) or kaftan (dress) of fine material. Animal skins were popular too. In Rise of a Queen, my heroine, Nabeela wears a combination of animal skins and rich, sumptuous fabrics. Arabs wore sewn clothing, but normal people could only wear pieces of cloth wrapped around them. Royalty, such as King Kareem wore long, colorful robes in rich fabrics with loose, wide-legged pants beneath.

There were also many talented weavers who wove cotton fabrics, enhanced by painting wet mud on woven cloth, and then placing the fabric in the sun to dry. This created a permanent design in the cloth. Color was important. Yellow and purple was only worn by royalty. Red, black and brown were popular colors for everyone else.

Clothing was always adorned with jewelry, no matter what one’s social status. The wealthy wore gold, silver, and precious gemstones like jade, onyx, lapis, coral, and cowrie shells. Cowrie shells were also used as money. They were so valuable, during the slave trade hundreds of years later, European slave traders paid for African slaves with this form of currency. The poorer citizens wore wood, bone, shell, and jewelry made of animal horns and plant fibers. Footwear included leather sandals or sandals woven from plant fibers, but most people walked around barefoot.

I’ve attached some pictures to help give you a better idea.

Types of cowrie shells

Examples of gold earrings worn in Ancient Africa

Examples of Dashikis and Kaftans. I don’t know if the men in Ancient Africa were this fine, but I can only assume! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's an except from Chanta's book, Rise of a Queen:

1040 C.E. Kingdom of Ghana, West Africa

Wagadugu Empire

Nabeela guzzled from the goblet of wine in her room. Maybe it would give her courage for the loathsome task ahead of her. The fermented liquid slid down her throat and winded is way through her knotted entrails to her empty stomach. Good. The concoction would take effect sooner without any remnants of the wedding feast lining her belly. She had not been able to eat a single morsel, despite her mother’s half-hearted attempts to get her to do so. This was no cause for celebration. Not when she’d just married a man old enough to be her father. Indeed, possibly old enough to be her grandfather, had he lived.

Her new husband, Hakim, had no problem eating. Earlier, he’d shoveled massive amounts of food into the entrance of the seemingly bottomless pit that served as his mouth. Nabeela grimaced recalling how his sausage-like fingers had stuffed shanks of braised lamb past his thick lips. His gluttonous appetite had earned jests and ribald comments from his troops. She’d contained her disgust as she watched him shove everything on his platter into his mouth. Errant crumbs escaped, only to be captured in the deep folds of his sumptuous robes.

He was a repulsive pig.

And she was forever tethered to him through marriage.

She took a deep breath. She could endure this. She had to, for the sake of her mother, Falak and her ancestors. It was better to suffer the injustice of this world than to anger the ancestors in the next. Her virtue was the only weapon she could bargain with right now. In return, Hakim offered a generous bride price of cattle and gold for her. He was a Hooro, a member of the ruling class who administered authority. By strategically marrying up one caste she ensured her safety as well as her family’s. She accepted this as her duty. There was no pleasure in duty—only reward once the work was done.

She walked the few steps from her quarters into her sleeping chamber where Hakim waited. She was veiled, as was the custom. Her new husband would remove the veil, consummate the union, and leave his seed in her. That was her only value—to produce an heir. Then hopefully, he would leave her be. Though the women of her clan had little political power, she hoped to change that.

Hakim already had three dead wives and one living son. The wives had all died under mysterious circumstances. Rumors of poisoning abounded. Only the bravest whispered the name of Ghazi, Hakim’s son. It was suggested he’d committed the acts, so jealous was he of anyone, male or female who got close to this father.

Nabeela had few encounters with Ghazi, but she made sure to steer clear of him. He had a cruel streak longer than the Niger River. He pounced like a rabid dog on anyone who dared speak against him. She’d seen first-hand how he treated servants and slaves, threatening to send them to the salt mines in Taghaza—a death sentence. Though only five years older than she, he had the disposition of a bitter old man.

And he was now her stepson.

He’d taken Nabeela, her mother, and Falak in after the soldiers ravaged their citadel years ago. The militia still waged their war of terror, taking advantage of the vast distances between the cities to wreak havoc. Villages and towns that had been settled by generations of influential Soninkes were being burned to the ground on a daily basis.

Nabeela and her family had lived a secure existence until a few months ago when Ghazi set his sights on marrying Falak. He’d insisted it was merely to unite their families. But her mother had persuaded Hakim to marry Nabeela instead. After all, Falak was only fourteen years old. Too young and innocent to be married to a snake with a voracious thirst for power. Ghazi was so enraged, for the past few months, he’d kept Falak in a separate part of the keep. She would be released as soon as this marriage was consummated. It was Ghazi’s way of assuring Nabeela kept her word. There were days she wondered if they were better off eking out an existence in the forests than here under Ghazi’s crushing thumb.

Nabeela pushed her depressing thoughts aside and entered her bedchamber. Hakim’s broad, naked back greeted her. Flabby folds of skin hung from his solid frame. She prayed to The Creator she would not be crushed beneath his massive girth.

She circled him slowly, her long robes flowing as she walked. His eyes lit up when he saw her. His grin revealing crowded rows of yellow teeth set against dark skin that reminded her of a jackal hunting at night. Her stomach churned. She had not married him for his good looks, but for his protection and influence from the Almoravid caliphate, Berber Muslims encroaching from the North.

For years, Abdulla ibn Yasin, the leader of a large group of Almoravids, had been gaining in power, and trying to force Islam down the throats of Ghanian kings. But the kings refused to convert. A shift in religion was only part of the problem. Ghana was rich with gold, and salt—a commodity, almost as valuable as gold. And although the kingdom had flourished for hundreds of years, trading with peaceful Berbers and wealthy Arab merchants, riches had a way of corrupting even the most pious men.

Now the best way to protect the Soninke remote regions was for the king to give more power to his minor kings and military governors. This way, they could defend these vassals against the constant raiding of the Sanhadjas and the Almoravids.

It seemed no one was safe in these turbulent times. And so, Nabeela found herself in need of a defender. Everyone paid tribute to someone. Since she had no wealth, she would pay in flesh. Without Hakim’s protection, her family was at the mercy of warring troops. She was merely a pawn in the process, but she intended to get as much power as she could. Power was more valuable than sex or beauty. Mother had taught her that.

Hakim reached for her, his meaty fingers attached to pudgy wrists and corpulent arms. He eyed her like a hungry crocodile at a watering hole. The sounds of his strained breathing filled the air.

“Been …waiting all night to…look at you. Up close.”

She was sure the only thing he wanted to see up close was an overstuffed platter placed in front of him.

Thick lips that had just hours ago sucked the greasy cartilage from chicken bones now wanted to sample her flesh. He removed the faceplate of her veil. His eyes widened in appreciation. “Comely creature.”

Nabeela took offence at being called a creature. She had never considered herself comely, though her mother often told her she was. She felt her nose was too big and her eyes were too far apart. Truly, beauty meant nothing without the resources. Otherwise, she was just a whore. Using her body to get what she wanted. She had no plans to do that.

Hakim issued a gruff command. “Disrobe.”

She did so without hesitation. For months, she’d known this moment would come. Best to get it over with. There would be pain the first time. She knew that, too. Pain was part of life. Mother had also told her this.

Nabeela stood in all her naked glory in front of her new husband. She would not let him see how disgusted she felt. Instead, her eyes wandered below his waist. She frowned at the fleshy proboscis jutting from the wiry bush between his hairy thighs. She’d never seen a man’s root before. Hakim’s was the size of her forefinger. It was the only emaciated part of him.

“Lick it,” he ordered.

Her heart beat like the frenzied rhythm of a drum. This was one thing she had not anticipated.

If I have to put that thing in my mouth, I will wretch.

She closed her eyes, and choked back the bile rising in the back of her throat. To think, she’d preserved her maidenhead for this moment. That was her saving grace and the only reason she’d been able to barter herself.

Her eyes flickered open when she felt Hakim’s meaty fingers groping her breasts. He had a look of rapture on his face. She bit her lip. She would have to endure this ogre’s fondling for days, weeks, perhaps even months until she knew she was with child. It would be hard to do when his touch made her skin crawl.

She sank to her knees on the thick tapestry of rugs as though she were being led to her death. Hakim’s manhood jutted out like a flag on a windy day. Her face hovered near the hard flesh.

“Yes,” he groaned in anticipation.

Nabeela prayed for courage.

Oh, divine goddess, please let me survive this ordeal. I must!

Summoning the strength of her ancestors, she leaned forward and opened her mouth. Her lips were mere inches from the tip of his shaft. Without warning, he took a step backward. Confused, Nabeela looked up. His mouth was distorted into a grimace, frozen into what would have been a lop-sided grin if not for the grotesque mask of pain. His puffy jowls slackened as one hand clutched at his heart, grasping a fistful of wooly chest hair.

Nabeela gasped as Hakim’s corpulent body crashed to the floor like a tree being felled in the forest. She watched, horrified as his eyes rolled back into his head, and his labored breathing abruptly ceased. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. She was not prone to emotional outbursts, but the death of her new husband was reason to panic. All her hopes for a better future had just died with him.

To find out what happens to Nabeela, pre-order your copy from Amazon.

Dress Up Dress Down Friday:Guest author Guy Ogan #MFRWAuthor

Please join me in welcoming Guy Ogan, as he gives us a peek at the attire of a Russian officer.  *******

Blurb: The enemy vampires have been eradicated, so it appears our guardian vampires may look forward to a peaceful existence. Eviana is planning on having more children; she has had a son, now she wants a daughter. Magdalena, believing she is incapable of having children, still would like to be married. However, much as in human life, peace and family are placed in harms' way by unforeseen events.

Immortal Relations, Love and War amps up the action of the first book to a fever pitch. The greedy leaders of Communist China plan to capture the oil, gold and mineral rich fields of Siberia by decapitating the Russian Federation's Government as a prelude to invasion. Minions of rich OPEC Sheiks seek to stem the flow of Russian Oil so OPEC can raise prices to destroy the economies of the West. The plan to use a "dirty bomb" to destroy the main pumping station and have the radiation make the oil fields unusable.

The radiation containment cap at Chernobyl is failing; the release of poisonous radiation could happen at any time. Worse, some scientists predict the damaged nuclear reactor at Fukushima, Japan could collapse and cause a potential Extinction Level Event!

Who, or what, can be called upon to save civilization and mankind and what impact will the vampire covens experience? Could potentially catastrophic events turn out to offer unforeseen opportunities?

An "Immortal Relations" reader said: "Being a bit of a vampire-phile, I find myself constantly searching for the next vampire series to reach out and grab, or, more appropriately, bite me. I believe I have found my holy grail of vampire novels..." Buy link: http://amazon.com/dp/B00A4IEHL6 

Excerpt (Shortened): It was a short flight from Moscow to St. Petersburg. There, our party was met by two limousines and whisked along to the historic Hermitage Museum. Arriving, it looked to me like the whole world was there, I didn't know why President Kolukov had me wear the Russian General's Uniform he gave me, but I wanted to humor my good friend. We exited the limousine onto a red velvet carpet that had wide gold piping down each side and which looked to be almost 400 meters long. I thought it odd that President Kolukov had me stand to his left and next to him, when Stephan was senior in rank ot my uniform. When we got to the head of the carpet we turned. Stephan and Adam moving behind us, I looked up and turning the corner onto the same red carpet we had just traveled was someone I would recognize anywhere, under any circumstance. It was Magdalena, on the arm of Roger, our doctor. At first I was confuse, but when I saw the dress she wore, an exact copy of her hand made blue dress, only in brilliant white and then heard the music, I realized what was happening...Magdalena and I were getting married! My friends had somehow arranged all this without even a hint that I picked up on. I had already glanced at some of those on either side of the isle and thought I recognized some political figures from various countries.

As Magdalena was escorted slowly forward, I was unable to look anywhere else; she was the only thing that existed in my universe. When she got close, I noticed she had a ribbon with a gold star hanging from it pinned over her left breast. I'd seen a similar medal, back when it was called "Hero of the Soviet Union," but this one had the double eagle of the Russian Federation. Only an old "war horse" like me would notices that when the woman he loved stood in front of him. An Eastern Orthodox Priest spoke the vows, translated into English for me. Magdalena didn't need a translator as she spoke several languages, Russian being one of them. We both answered "I do" and "I will," then I was asked to put the ring on Magdalena's finger - I started to panic, but Kolukov stepped forward and handed me a ring. My eyes bulged when I looked at it as it must have been five carats of a Red Ruby mounted in Gold! He said, "Just a little bobble courtesy of the Russian people and the Hermitage. I placed it on the finger of my bride, we were officially married and we kissed. Maggie red my thought and on impulse we both turned and kissed Kolukov, each of us on one side of his face. he broke out in loud laughter and said, "Everything has been taken care of for tonight, but the car will be there to pick you both up at 0900 tomorrow."

The two of us shook hands with Stephan, Adam and Roger, and then we made a bee-line to the limo that pulled up nearby,, as the driver beckoned to us. As we drove off, I wasn't aware of anything else except the pools of eternity that were Maggie's eyes! A few minutes after arriving at the hotel and in our rooms, I heard a knock. When I opened it I was dumbstruck to see the face I never expected to see in a hotel. He asked, "Will you invite me in?"

I stammered, "Of course, sir, you are most welcome, always!"

I think Maggie was as surprised as I was as Vlad Dracula walked into our honeymoon suite.

Vlad said, "I watched your marriage ceremony from the roof of the Hermitage Portico, I think it went very well. I hear you both are flying back to Prague in the morning. I am leaving in my private train in an hour or so, but I wanted to stop by and give you both my congratulations and my profound appreciation for all you have done." With that Vlad took Magdalena's hand and kissed it in formal European fashion, shook my hand, turned back to Magdalena and handed her a small box, smiled at both of us, then turned and walked out the door. I have to admit, I stuck my head out the door, but he had disappeared into think air.

I went to the closet and found my good suit hanging there, as well as my old suit, the one that had once had bullet holes in it from the terrorist ambush. It had been expertly repaired. I remarked to Maggie, "I doubt any tailor in the stares could have done that quality of work - our society would have just thrown it out. Maggie had hung her new dress up and when I looked she was wearing a beautiful white set of lingerie complete with white stocking, garter-belt and demi-bra. I was all silky, lacy and very sexy. Part of me stood at attention seeing her looking that way. Maggie suddenly scooped me up and flew over to the bed, placing me on it. I remarked, "I thought that was my job?" Maggie said I was taking too long so she got tired of waiting.

I said, "We're vampires, we've got eternity...why the rush?"

Maggie replied, "We have to be on the plane in less than 12 hours, and I've got an agenda planed for you to do to me, my loving husband, and a few things I intend to do to you as well!"

Author Bio: Born in Washington D.C. during the early stages of WW-II, Guy & his mother moved to Texas while father went off to war as a member of the Office of Strategic Services later to become the C.I.A. After the war, mother and child returned to Arlington, VA to join his father now working back in Washington and on "temporary duty" in spots around the world. Guy was interested and involved in long-distance running, which he continued when the family moved to Northern California in the late 50s. He graduated from Los Altos High School, obtained an Associate of Arts from Foothill Junior College and Transferred to Texas Christian University, graduating with a Bachelor of Science degree and a commission in the U.S.A.F. while in the military he obtained a Master of Arts from the European Campus of Ball State and upon his retirement from the service completed a second graduate degree, Master of Education, from Hardin-Simmons. While in this program he taught undergraduate Psychology, Sociology and Counseling at local colleges as well as writing a book on the assessment and treatment of Attention Deficit Disorder. He was then employed by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice (TX Prison System) to write treatment programs for inmates with addictions and later as an Associate Clinical Psychologist, retiring early to care for his disabled mother upon the passing of his father. He and his wife have two grown children and four grandchildren as well as three Pomeranians. They now live in West Texas.

To read more about the books or the author, check out these sites: http://immortalrelations.blogspot.com/ or http://amazon.com/author/guyogan

Zander and Chey in a NutShell #MFRWAuthor

Welcome to my Book Hook blog. Below are eight sentences designed to give you some insight into the heart of my novel, House of the Rising Son. Enjoy!

Excerpt

“What I feel, it’s because of your powers, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, some of it; I can’t help that. It’s what makes me an incubus. But it’s not like I roofie people. The first time I tried to seduce you, you told me to quit and I did. I never intentionally made you feel anything--not supernaturally, anyway.”

“Then what are you doing to me?”

“Nothing you don’t want me to.”

Sex. Rebellion. Rock and roll.

Living After Midnight, Book 1

Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander’s future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who’d be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He’s barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.

As Cheyenne’s musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can’t let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who’s not sure if he’s falling for the incubus or the rocker.

Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.

Warning: Contains hot were-tiger sex, a Thanksgiving celebration that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus who’ll rock your world.

Buy it at amazon!

See more blogs on the Book Hook Blog Hop!

Dress Up, Dress Down Friday: Raven de Hart

We're hosting a second Dress Up Dress Down Friday this month to celebrate the release of Silverfall by Raven de Hart. Please welcome her as today's guest blogger. My basic, everyday wear is jeans and a T-shirt. If I’m feeling particularly festive, I might wear a button-down blouse. That’s about as far as it goes. Sure, I have dresses and skirts and all that jazz, but who has the time? It’s not like I leave the house all that often, after all. Am I going to dress up to impress the dogs?

That’s essentially how my characters dress, too. Whatever would be normal. In the case of Leon and Tony from Silverfall, they’re two dudes who live in San Francisco. It’s basically always jeans and a T-shirt, and normally whatever they can get. Tony’s living paycheck to paycheck, and Leon’s clothing can’t be something he minds getting ripped up. Things he can move easily in at work (He’s a security guard, after all, and he lives a fairly drama-filled life aside from all that.). There’s nothing designer or all too fancy on either of them. Tony owns a suit, but he rarely breaks it out. As for Leon, he would probably consider it pretentious.

And, as a matter of pure writerly ease, you can’t deny how simple it is for them to get out of jeans and a T-shirt when the time comes for things to move to the bedroom. A three piece suit would put a major halt in the spontaneity factor, at least in my opinion, and spontaneity is definitely a buzzword for these two.

~~~

BLURB:

The city hides a lot of secrets. Sometimes, those secrets break free.

Unicorns can’t be real. That’s what Anthony Gates always thought. At least until he saw one murder a man. Now there’s a myth stalking him through the streets of San Francisco. And right when he’s starting in on a very passionate—and promising—relationship.

Leon Phillips is a security guard with a secret. A dangerous secret. One he can’t even share with his new flame, Anthony. But when the mysterious Lionshead organization rears up, he’s left with only two choices: come clean about who he really is, or give up on Anthony forever.

Can their romance survive onslaught from all sides, or will the secrets eat away at what could have been?

EXCERPT:

I made it through and leaned against the other bar. This bartender wasn’t quite as cute as the first one, but I hardly thought I’d be headed home with either one of them. “Double bourbon, rocks.”

I reached for my wallet to give him my card, start a second tab, but a large, gruff hand wrapped over my wrist. Its partner handed a twenty to the bartender. “I’ll cover it.”

Shit on fire. Someone was actually paying for my drink. Of course, it was probably some old fart who was hoping to get lucky with someone the same age as his fucking grandson. That would be my luck. But I had to show my appreciation. Hopefully I could end the bad situation there.

“Thanks, but you really don’t have to.”

“It’s my distinct pleasure.”

He didn’t sound old. Fuck it. I dared eye contact, and I was fucking thrilled with the outcome. He was tall. Over six feet. Short black hair, clean-shaven, and well-built. Very well-built. He had these big, dark eyes. Almost black and almost too big for his face. His gaze bored into me. Even when I blinked, I could see them, clear as the clearest night sky. He had scars all over his face, neck, and arms. Subtle, but there. And, perhaps most importantly, he had to be somewhere close to my age. Or know a really good plastic surgeon.

“Hi.” I offered him my hand properly. He grabbed it, squeezed it as he shook. Strong.

“Hi. My name’s Leon.”

“Anthony.” I sipped at my drink, but suddenly, I didn’t seem to need it so much. I leaned on the bar and smiled. “So, how about that small talk?”

“Hate it. But I occasionally endure the torment.”

“On what occasions?”

He shrugged but didn’t break eye contact. “Mainly when my conversational partner is lovely enough to warrant the effort.”

“And do I qualify?”

Again, a shrug. Then a smile. It wasn’t a cute smile or a sexy smile or a pretty smile. It was too big, and his teeth were too horsey. That was all right with me. He was real and attractive, not fake and plastic like all the other guys I’d come across in California.

He took a drink of whatever was in his glass. “So the weather’s been pretty good lately.”

“It’s California. The closest thing I’ve seen to bad weather here is an earthquake.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true.” He clinked his glass against mine before continuing. “It rained that one time.”

“Must have been before I moved here.”

“Where’d you move from?”

“Montana.”

“Cow country.”

“Not exactly. Our neighbors did the whole cattle thing. My family was always more into horses.” And just like that, the unicorn trotted back into my mind. But it also trotted right back off and let me focus on Leon. “What about you?”

“I’ve pretty much been here my whole life. Moved around to different towns, but the city life always suited me best of all.” He took another drink and finished it most of the way off. “What do you do for a living?”

That was a great question. Totally made me datable material, talking about my dead-end job. “I’m on the night crew down at Michaelson’s Grocery.”

“What do you do?”

So much for my artful dodging. “I’m a stocker. Nothing special, but it pays the bills.” Needed to get off that subject quick. “What about you?”

“Security.” He said it fast. If I wasn’t feeling the liquor so hard, I might have questioned it. And if he wasn’t so damn good-looking and interested in me. For once. “I work for whoever decides to pay me that week.”

“Is it dangerous?”

He snorted. “Hardly. There’s not nearly as much activity as the TV writers would have you think.” He reached over and touched my cheek, rough skin scratching. “How do you feel about kissing strangers, Anthony?” When he pulled his bar stool closer, I didn’t back off. I thought I maybe should have, but I didn’t. I let him touch me. His skin was warm and hard, and he smelled like cut grass and wet dirt. I don’t know why. Maybe it was just my imagination. That was completely possible. But I still breathed deep. If my brain wanted me to think he smelled that perfect, I was going to take full advantage of the delusion.

He kept his hand there for a long time. Longer than I’d ever normally allow a stranger to touch me, sober or not. My heart thumped hard in my chest. Damn it, I felt good. I brushed my fingers through his hair. Soft to the touch.

And then it happened. I leaned forward, balancing my stool on two legs. Given how much liquor I’d had, that was an impressive fucking feat. I hesitated for half a breath just an inch away from him. Close enough to see his pores. Close enough to feel his gentle breath, hot and scented like whatever fruity cocktail he’d been drinking.

I leaned in that extra inch and pressed my lips to his. Not long. Hardly more than a peck. No tongue. But it still sparked inside me, lighting something animal to life in my core. I snuffed it out. Or tried…and failed. It remained there even as the heat of embarrassment took hold.

“Was that all right?”

“No complaints from me.” The big toothy smile again. “In fact, I think we should do it again.” He scooted even closer, weaving his legs between mine. He whispered the next part. “Go ahead.”

It took me a bit to believe it, to believe he really wanted to kiss again. But he didn’t pull back when I leaned closer. I parted my lips, conformed to the curve of his mouth. I dared a flash of tongue, just the slightest brush against his teeth. His tongue touched mine just as I went to pull back, and the sensation stuck there, lingering in my mouth.

I looked into the big, dark eyes. The skin crinkled around them as he laughed. “Well, I think that was okay, don’t you?”

BIO:

After years on hiatus, Raven de Hart has once again picked up her pen to write her salacious stories and tantalizing tales. And the occasional lewd limerick, if she's had enough wine. Her short work has been published in various anthologies from Cleis Press and Bold Strokes Books, among others. She is also the author of a variety of books, including Wild Ride and Silverfall. When she is not writing, she can be found tending her herb garden, playing with her Basset Hounds, and trying to figure out this new-fangled internet fad.

BUY LINK:

http://www.loose-id.com/silverfall.html

Find Raven at:

http://dehartslist.blogspot.com/

Halloween Plans #Halloween #MFRWAuthor #Writerslife

I'm excited about Halloween this year. It's on a Saturday, which gives us the day to prepare. We'll unpack our spiderweb capes and elaborate witchy hats. We'll move our fire pit from the backyard to the front of the house and light a small fire. Move a few benches and string a few lights, add the sound effects and we'll be ready to greet the kiddies brave enough to come near. We'll store a variety of candy in a chest that has its own squeaky side effects-just one more trial for the brave little goblins before they get to choose whatever treat they want.

Since there are no children in our neighborhood, all of our visitors will be strangers. It will be fun for us to meet the kids, see varieties of costumes, and sometimes chat with the parents of the youngest trick or treaters.

The dogs will get the night off from guarding their street which I'm sure is less stressful for everyone.

Once it gets fully dark, the young kids have made the rounds, and the trick or treaters are bigger than I am, we'll  retire inside where we'll sample a couple of our favorite candies--if any remain. Finally, we'll settle down with more grown-up refreshments, the girls asleep by the fire, as we watch one of our favorite Halloween movies, Arsenic and Old Lace.

May your tricks be few and your treats plentiful. Happy Halloween!

Something About Sexy-- #MySexySaturday Blog Hop #MFRWAuthor

It's My Sexy Saturday, a blog hop in which participating authors post 7 paragraphs, 7 sentences, or 7 words in line with the current theme. This week the theme is something about sexy! Check out more sexy author blogs here!

We offer seven sentences from our urban fantasy with LGBT romantic elements, HOUSE OF THE RISING SON--a story of sex, rebellion, and rock and roll. Enjoy!

~~~Seven Lines~~~

Alexander raised his glass, but forgot to drink as he watched Cheyenne. The musician didn’t disappoint. He fronted the band with his usual prowess, dancing and flirting, shredding his guitar like confetti. When the tempo slowed, he climbed to the top of a large speaker and dropped to his knees. Slowly spreading his legs, he fingered the frayed seam on the inner thigh of his threadbare jeans before gliding his hand up his body, to the back of his neck, across his cheek and to his mouth. The movement underscored the feral look in his eyes.

Heat flashed through Alexander’s body as he realized Cheyenne was looking directly at him.

Buy On Amazon

House f the Rising Son, Living After Midnight Book 1

Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander's future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.

As Cheyenne's musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can't let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who's not sure if he's falling for the incubus or the rocker.

Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.

Warning: Contains hot were-tiger sex, a Thanksgiving celebration that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus who'll rock your world.

Six of the Best--He's Not Cheyenne's Type--Or Is He?

Hi and welcome to my blog on Sunday Six of the Best. Today I'm sharing an excerpt from my urban fantasy novel, House of the Rising Son, Living After Midnight Series Book 1. 

Cheyenne found Alexander’s fidgeting interesting. “You were with a girl earlier. Where’d she go? She ditch you, or did you dump her?”

“Oh, that was a friend. Prudence. She didn’t… I mean, she wasn’t feeling well, so I took her home.” Alexander gulped his bourbon, grimaced and cleared his throat.

“Huh.” Judging from the delicious new jolt of cayenne he’d just ingested, he knew even talking about the woman was making Alexander agitated and angry. Why didn’t he admit that he’d been angry at her? Cheyenne filed the information away. He’d dig a little further into this curiosity some other time. “I don’t remember seeing her here before. Well, maybe you’ll bring her back sometime when she’s feeling better.”

The spicy taste of Alexander’s discomfort kicked up a notch. It was delicious. Cheyenne imagined making him furious would be mouth-watering.

“Listen, I better be going. Early morning and all that.” Alexander stood up and dropped a twenty into the tip jar. “See you around,” he said, walking away.

“Conflicted much?” Cheyenne retrieved the twenty from the jar and stuffed it into his pocket. Maybe big, sexually confused guys with money were his type after all.

~~~~<<<<<

Back cover copy:

Sex. Rebellion. Rock and roll.

Living After Midnight, Book 1

Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander's future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.

As Cheyenne's musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can't let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who's not sure if he's falling for the incubus or the rocker.

Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.

Warning: Contains hot were-tiger sex, a Thanksgiving celebration that makes the Inquisition look like a tea party, and an incubus who'll rock your world.

~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed a peek at Cheyenne's world. Thanks for stopping by!

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Dress Up, Dress Down Friday: Guest Author Kathryn Lively

I'm thrilled to welcome Kathryn Lively to LAM today. Great to have you, Kat! ********

Geek Chic and the Romance Story

When I attend SFF or fandom conventions, I normally don’t go in costume. As much as I enjoy meeting people with similar tastes in books and TV, I lack the drive to gather props and put together a costume based on a favorite character. Mind you, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to try cosplay, it’s just that I’m more comfortable in a“Han Shot First” t-shirt and my reliable Vans, especially if I’m walking a lot that day. J

Recently, though, I go to these events with my daughter, and she loves to dress up. In the last few years she’s worn her old Monster High Halloween outfits to cons, but for a recent event she wanted to dress up like her favorite My Little Pony character, so it was off to Michael’s to get the necessary materials for the unicorn horn, wings, and jewelry. Watching her light up as we made the costume inspired part of the story behind my contemporary romance, GEEK MEETS GIRL, which is available in the FALLING IN LOVE contemporary romance box set.

The story’s heroine, Grace, attends her first convention dressed as the Fourth Doctor with a scarf she knitted herself. I would imagine any Doctor Who fan who takes up knitting attempts the scarf as the first project, and indeed I have knitted three so far in my lifetime. One as a gift, one as a raffle prize, and one for me. The Tom Baker scarf is probably one of the most recognizable fashion accessories in geekdom, and it’s this particular scarf that brings Grace together with her red shirt-wearing love interest, Mick. Yes, in sci-fi the red shirt implies bad luck to the wearer, but in Mick’s case he sees a different fate. J

Throughout GEEK MEETS GIRL I relied on memory of cons past to highlight the costumes worn by people Grace meets. If you’ve attended a convention you might picture in your head the Stormtroopers and superheroes and even some unusual cosplays you wouldn’t expect to find. Once at MarsCon I saw a guy dressed as Torgo from Manos: The Hands of Fate, right down to the straw hat and bulging knees. Cosplay fashion know no boundaries, and paired with romance you get a most attractive story.

About GEEK Meets Girl

A Time Lord, a Trekker, and a Ghostbuster walk into a science fiction convention. One finds love, one finds trouble, one finds both.

Grace is excited to attend her first event, while con veteran Mick enjoys tweaking her in a debate over whether or not Quantum Leap is superior to Doctor Who. Meanwhile, Mick’s roommate has designs on Grace to win a bet which has nothing to do fandoms.

Mick trades in his redshirt for shining armor, but can he win Grace’s heart first?

GEEK MEETS GIRL is part of the 8-author FALLING IN LOVE box set.

Author Bio

Kathryn Lively writes mystery novels, comic novels, romance stories, and suspense. Feel free to chat her up on Twitter at @MsKathrynLively.

Web: http://www.kathrynlively.com

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bq-RML