Showing posts with label shapeshifters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label shapeshifters. Show all posts
Thursday, August 21, 2014
It's (almost) Release Day for Jessalina's Pets!
It's almost here! My MMF menage, Jessalina's Pets, is now available for preorder from Siren. And at a 10% discount, too! One tough lady, two hawt guys, and a bargain price. How can you pass that up?
Rich, bored and looking for diversion, lynx shifter Jess impulsively buys a pair of "pets" at the local slave market. Fin and Deon figure playing pet for the rich kitty will be the cushiest gig they've ever had. All three are in for big surprises concerning each other, with love the biggest shock of all.
Actual release day is Monday, August 25. You can check it out here, at www.bookstrand.com/jessalinas-pets
EXCERPT
Jess grabbed a sword similar to the one she held and tossed it to him. He caught it expertly. The purported lover had fighting skills. She smiled thinly. They would not save him.
“Last chance,” she said to Deon. “Tell me what I saw out there. Tell me what you are, or I’ll slice him to ribbons.”
Deon set his mouth in a stubborn line. “You don’t have to tell her anything,” Fin said. “She won’t hurt me. I’m too pretty.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Jess said, and swung at his naked chest. She meant to deal him only a scratch. He brought up his sword and blocked her with unexpected skill. Jess smiled. “You’ve had training.”
“I have a checkered past.” He swung his weapon experimentally, and adjusted his grip. “We’re perfectly willing to share your bed, together or separately. Most women I know would jump at the chance. You don’t want to muck it up with all this baseless suspicion.”
“Hardly baseless.” They circled. “You’re a slave. All slaves try something eventually. It’s to be expected. And I’m not like any woman you know.”
“You’ve got me there,” Fin said. “I tell you what—I win, we fuck, and you stop asking questions about Deon there. Agreed?”
“I don’t make deals with pets.”
“Then defend yourself, Mistress.”
Fin lunged at her. He was better than his careless manner suggested, but not better than her. Jess realized that within minutes. She kept the knowledge from him by a series of clumsy parries and one wild swing that left her wide open. He didn’t take advantage of her offering, simply stepped back and allowed her to recover. Then he clipped the pale snow rose from her suit’s lapel with a deft flick of his wrist, and flashed a scoundrel’s grin at her.
Her feline urge to toy with her prey threatened to swamp her. Far too seldom did she find an opponent to test herself against. Her female peers recoiled, aghast, from the thought of combat, and the males got surly when she beat them. Fin’s skills presented opportunities for all sorts of new games, during a sword match and after.
Their blades clashed. They drew apart. Both were panting now. “You’re worth every cent I paid for you,” Jess told him.
“You haven’t even sampled my true skills.”
“Tell me what Deon is and we’ll rectify that.”
“It’s not my place to say.”
“Then you’ll just have to lose.” Jess leaned in and with one quick twist disarmed him. He made a startled yelp. She pressed the tip of her sword against his collar. Fin had the sense to stand still. “I’d hate to have to mark your flesh,” she said. “Now talk.”
The words had scarcely left her lips when she was seized from behind. With one hand Deon caught the wrist of her sword hand. The other pressed a razor edge against her throat. Even taken by surprise, she recognized it from its feel as one of the duocorn horns. The kind her female ancestors had used to dispatch their enemies.
“Really,” Deon growled beside her ear. “Did you think I’d just stand there like one of your useless society friends and let you hurt him? Not on my behalf.”
Jess remained predator-still while Fin took her sword. Stupid girl! she berated herself. Stupid, careless girl, to believe for even a second her defiant pet would be cowed just because she held a weapon. That jumped her brain to the blade at her throat. The clinical part of her wondered. A horn? All those weapons on the wall at his disposal, and he had gone for this?
Perhaps it was adrenaline that spurred her racing thoughts. All at once the pieces fell into place.
Fin tossed her sword into a corner. “No need for violence,” he said to Deon. “I’m sure we can come up with a solution that doesn’t involve blood on the floor.”
“I don’t see how,” Deon said, “now that I’ve threatened her life.”
“You had good reason, protecting your secret.” Jess spoke coolly, though beneath her silk blazer her heart pounded like a racing stallion’s hooves. “Don’t be frightened. I won’t betray you, or kill you. There are so few of you left.”
She felt his hard body jerk against hers. The horn at her throat slipped. She extended her claws and scored his forearm. Not deeply, but the surprise of it had the effect she desired. He yelled and let her go. Jess grabbed the horn and twisted away, out of reach. She backed to the weapons wall and faced them in a crouch, with the point of the horn aimed at Deon.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve used one of these, is it?” She brandished the horn. “Though not in this manner, I’m sure. It’s more of a gore for you, isn’t it?”
He glared at her so murderously she wondered if she ought to risk a reach for another sword. Fin hopped between them, his hands out. “All right, you caught us,” he said. “He’s my brother. Half brother. Quarter brother. Cousin. Something like that. He’s part silver fox. He doesn’t shift because his form comes out weird. All that bad blood in the line. He won’t—”
“Save it,” Jess snapped. “I know what he is.”
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Worth the Wait?
After yapping about the joys of procrastination last week, I’m going to do a 180 in regards to inspiration. Namely, should you wait for inspiration to hit, or just plow ahead and hope for the best?
Now, waiting for inspiration is one of the best ways there is to ensure you never get anything done. If you decide to put off writing until you feel inspired, I can almost guarantee your muse will pick that moment to go on an extended vacation. I don’t know about you, but for me the ideas tend to hit while I’m hip-deep in a sticky plotline, slogging my way from scene to scene without benefit of a map. I suppose I could whip up an outline first, but that would mean I know where I’m going, and where’s the fun in that? Must be a pantser thing.
I have had those burst-of-light moments all writers dream of and pray for. Full plots have hit me while I’m out driving, and me without a notebook on the passenger seat. Some writer I am. I once had a character’s entire backstory come to me while I was vacuuming. I’ve heard some writers literally dream up their plots (famous example: R. L. Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). Now that’s convenience plus. Mr. Subconscious does all the work while you’re snoring away. In a perfect world, it would happen like that all the time.
Sadly, that’s not the case with me. If I waited for inspiration to hit before I started writing, I’d never start writing. For me, the only way to get the juices flowing is to dive in and start committing words to the paper or the screen. Eventually, some word or phrase will spark a useable idea. It may have nothing at all to do with what I’m working on, but that’s okay. I can either jot it down and save it for later, or switch over to the new track and see where the train takes me. Either way, I get words written and can stave off the guilt for another few hours. Plus it diverts me off whatever I started with, thus satisfying the procrastination need. Winning all around.
I had it happen to me last week. I was working on one of the three stories I’m jumping around between. The hero abandoned his ranch and is living in a cave/den up in the mountains (he’s a werecougar, so it’s not as bad as it sounds). Why is he out there? I knew he had a wife or a girlfriend or something, and something happened to her, but not what. Did she leave him? Did she die from Cliché Writer’s Disease? I had no idea, and was looking forward to this lack of knowledge to bring my efforts to a halt before I got too far in. Until that moment happened, though, I struggled gamely on, writing the parts I did know, like him finding the Bengal tiger girl and hiding her from the abusive asshat she’s been promised to. That’s just plot. You can do plot on autopilot.
Then he went off to fight the tigers and left her to wander around the den. In search of clothing (shifters come off their animal forms nekkid), she pokes around the bedroom and finds a trunk full of blankets and sheets, including a lovely set of satin sheets still in the packaging, never opened. That came as a surprise to both of us. I didn’t know they were in there until she opened the trunk, any more than she did. What’s the story here?
Here’s the story, and here’s where inspiration unexpectedly kicked in. Rick was married to a jaguar shifter. Her brother, the controlling type, didn’t approve. One day, while Rick was out getting supplies, her brother showed up at the house. He murdered his sister and burned the house to cover his tracks. Rick came home to a smoldering ruin and a dead wife. (And a dying brother-in-law. Idjit got caught in his own fire. Served him right.) Unable to bring himself to rebuild, he took off into the mountains and went cougar for a while. Now he’s living up there and defending his turf with a vengeance, the way he failed to the first time.
The sheets? Those were a surprise gift for his wife. All he had left after the fire was whatever he’d had with him in his truck. He kept the sheets but never used them. They’re his only reminder of her.
At some point Bari the Bengal tigress is going to use them to fashion a sari, to surprise and maybe tempt the man who saved her. Rick’s going to come home and find this girl he’s falling in love with wrapped in the sheets he bought for his murdered wife. Can’t wait to get to that scene.
All because I had her open a trunk, and she found something I hadn’t planned on. That’s what inspiration can do for you.
None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been writing to begin with. If I’d waited for inspiration to solve all my problems, I’d probably be watching TV right now. Inspiration did hit, but I had to kick-start it. That’s how it works for me. If this is how it works for you, sorry. There’s no other way around it. You’re just going to have to write.
Look on the bright side. Once you start writing and inspiration starts igniting all those plot and character ideas, you’ll have something tangible you can put off. Things do tend to work out.
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