My psychological drama, Billy’s Bones, has been released today!
It can be found at Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, All Romance eBooks, and other resellers.
It also received a 5-star review from Live Your Life, Buy The Book, calling it “Brilliant.. Gripping.. Suspenseful.. Emotional.. Page turner..”
I’m so excited about this release!
Filed under Drama, gay, Occult/Paranormal, Pets, Psychological Drama, Reviews, Romance, Writing
So I hear it’s a good idea to do a blog tour, when your novel comes out. This consists of guest posts on other author’s blogs in a fairly organized sequence, promoting your book and generally giving away free copies.
Well, I’ve been trying to do that with Murderous Requiem since it came out, but the “organized” part has completely eluded me. Some of you may have seen some of the posts go by, but I utterly failed to present them in any kind of orderly manner.
However, for anyone interested in Murderous Requiem, there has been some interesting information in these posts, concerning magick, Marsillio Ficino, herbalism, Renaissance music, and other subjects that come up in the novel. So even though many of them are no longer giving away free copies, I thought I should post them in a list here, just so they’re easily accessible.
I intend to post one or two more, before I’m done with it. And the one on Renaissance music (on Shira Anthony‘s blog) still has a free giveaway going on until July 7th!
The Chaotic Murderous Requiem Blog Tour:
April 15th: Magick and the Occult on Grace Duncan’s Blog
April 27th: Excerpt on Butterfly-o-Meter Books (L.E. Olteano)
May 8th: Herbal Teas and Remedies on Kim Fielding’s Blog
May 10th: Marsilio Ficino on K.Z. Snow’s Blog
May 20th: Greek Musical Notation on Skylar M. Cates’s Blog
June 30th: Renaissance Music on Shira Anthony’s Blog (free giveaway until July 7th!)
Filed under Bloghop, gay, Guest Blogger, Murderous Requiem, Mystery, New Release, occult, Occult/Paranormal, Romance, Writing
I just received the cover design for my upcoming psychological drama, Billy’s Bones!
The cover is by Lou Harper and I love it!
We went through several variations, some of which might have been terrific for a lighter novel. Unfortunately, this is a fairly dark book, with Kevin tormented by repressed memories that break through in his nightmares and cause him to have panic attacks in certain situations—memories of abuse in his childhood.
One thing I insisted upon was the dog. Shadow is based upon my own black Lab, Kumar, who went through a period of adjustment when we got him home from the shelter—getting over an irrational fear of going up and down stairs and peeing on boxes indoors. In the novel, Shadow’s adventures parallel what Kevin is going through to be with Tom.
When I decided to write a story for the “Love Has No Boundaries” event on Goodreads, and picked a picture/prompt involving medieval knights, I realized it would be a challenge. I’d never written anything set in that period before. But I’ve always been drawn to knights and Arthurian legend. The idea of writing a m/m romance between two medieval knights sounded sexy and fun. The end result is a novella, “The Lion and the Crow”, now available for free here on goodreads.com with free downloadable ebooks to follow here.
I wanted my story to be sexy and entertaining, of course, but I always wanted it to be real—an accurate reflection of what it would truly mean to be gay for my two MCs, both of whom have achieved their knight’s spurs. So I researched.
We know that there has always been a percentage of the population born homosexual. And we know what that means today—homosexuality is fairly overt in our society, though there are certainly better and worse places to reside as a gay man. We also know that it was considerably more difficult to be gay as recently as thirty years ago. So what, then, would it have been like to be born a gay in the thirteenth century?
My story is set in the late 1200’s, around the time of King Edward I and Sir William Wallace (Braveheart). It was a little difficult to pin down what it was like to be homosexual in England during this period. Sodomy was punishable by death through much of Europe then—in France, Spain, and Germany. But in England it was not a high offence yet. Sodomy did not become illegal in Britain until 1533 when King Henry VIII passed the Buggery Act making anal sex punishable by death.
It is true that Edward II (1284-1327) was rumored to be at least bisexual. But he was assassinated at age 43. Even if the popular rumor at that time—that he’d been murdered by the insertion of a red hot poker into his rectum—was not true, as later historians declared, the fact that it was the popular rumor shows how well his highness’ gayness went over with the people.
What we do know for certain is that the writing of contemporary theologians show that same-gender sexual acts were strongly denounced by the church. Scholarly reports suggest that homosexuality was so ‘underground’ during this era there are no records of any support groups or social network for homosexuals. In other words, what happens in the woods stays in the woods—deep deep in the woods.
Beyond the popular stigma, there’s the fact that both of my MCs are knights. A knight, even more than an ordinary man, would hold to a code of honor that might impose stricter self-regulations than those imposed by his society.
I took two slightly different approaches with my MCs. Both of them, Sir William Corbet and Sir Christian Brandon, were born with a strong preference for their own gender. Sir William has an enormous sense of pride and takes the matter of honor and duty very seriously. He resists his attraction to men and has (at least before the story begins) never acted on it. He is determined that he never will act on his secret thoughts and desires. Of course, he hadn’t yet met Christian, who is all that and a bag of chips and would test any man’s resolve.
Sir Christian is a bit younger and much more practical. He was raised in a household where he was severely mistreated. As he puts it, “I keep faith with those who have kept faith with me.” Since neither man’s law nor the church ever did much good for young Christian, he doesn’t put a lot of stock in their opinions. Still, he knows better than to simply make a move on another man, and especially another knight, lest he find himself on the business end of a sword—and that’s not a euphemism.
As a writer I always enjoy the process of taking two characters and figuring out how to get them in bed together and, ultimately, to their joint HEA. The bigger the obstacles, the more intriguing that journey tends to be. I pray you’ll take the journey with Will and Christian. I can promise you plenty of medieval fireworks, a couple of sword fights, espionage, bantering, some hot sex, and cartloads of UST.
Eli
About Eli Easton
Eli Easton is a new nom de plume for an author who has primarily published mystery thrillers in the past. As an addict of m/m romance, she decided to tip her size-nine toe in the water and write in the genre herself. “The Lion and the Crow” is her first published m/m novella. She has two short stories out now and three new m/m romance books coming out from Dreamspinner in 2013. You can get news about her books on goodreads here: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7020231.Eli_Easton
Or visit her blog:
Excerpt:
CH 1
The first time William saw him, he was riding onto the tournament field on a red horse. His tunic was brilliant blue with a white eagle spreading its wings on the front, identifying him as one of Lord Brandon’s sons. Glinting silver armor was plated over his shoulders, his arms, and the tops of his legs. Underneath he wore black leggings and boots.
It is a warrior’s habit to size up an enemy— or a rival. So William felt no shame in staring as he took the youth’s measure. The armor he wore was polished but functional. It was well-used, not that of a mere peacock. A black velvet girdle was slung low on his narrow hips. His shoulders were broad for his frame, but his chest was slender and his waist slim. There was nothing of the larder on him. He rode his mount as light as a feather. William’s eyes dropped to his spurs— gilded. He was a full knight. But William knew well enough that such a thing could be all but bought by the nobility.
The round was archery, and the young knight had foregone any protection or decoration for his head— neither helmet, beads, nor braids. His hair was nearly black, chopped shorter than was fashionable, and bristled on top in a barbaric style. It was a harsh warrior’s cut, but on him it only made a more open frame for his face. It was the finest face that William had ever seen. It was long, narrow, and delicate, with full, quirked lips, a straight nose, a dimpled chin, and broad arched brows over large, dark eyes. His skin was as pale as a bucket of cream. There was a rosy cast on the proud bones of his cheek that any maiden would kill her own dam for. It was a battle flush perhaps, in anticipation of the contest.
William was used to forming an impression in an instant, and he rarely changed them. In his mind there were men made for battle, craggy and crude. Those were the men you wanted by your side— if their tempers were not too odious whilst in their cups. And then there were men made for the pleasing of women, as if God had put such men here for the sole purpose of warming a woman’s blood for her husband’s bed, thus guaranteeing the spread of the human race. The later might well claim to be the former— as good in battle as any man. But rarely had William found it to be the case. Perhaps it was a problem of motivation. What man, given the choice, wouldn’t rather be thrusting between a woman’s thighs than thrusting a spear on the practice field? Beauty was most oft lazy.
This young knight was definitely a woman-pleaser. He was beautiful in a way William had never seen on a man. In truth, he’d never even seen it on a woman. That did little to inspire his trust. He registered the distinctly feminine cheers of welcome the crowd afforded the rider, aptly proving William’s point. And then the young knight rode past William— and looked at him.
It wasn’t a mere glance. His eyes met William’s when he was still ten paces away and held them, unrelenting, as he rode in front of him. He even turned his head as he passed before letting his gaze finally slip from William’s. William did not back down from the stare. He dropped his eyes for no man. But he stood stoically, nothing showing on his face. It seemed forever that the knight passed, that those eyes were locked on his. They were a rich, dark brown and full of warmth and life. Even with the knight’s face placidly composed, those eyes seemed to speak volumes in a language William didn’t understand. They reached inside him and made his stomach clench hard with feeling.
Confusion? Curiosity? Outrage?
What did he mean by looking at William thus? They’d never met. Was it a challenge? A welcome to a stranger? The admiration of a young warrior to an elder one? Had he heard tales of William’s prowess? Or had he mistaken William for someone else?
William had stopped to watch the procession of archers on his way to the stables, where he’d been taking his tired mount after the last victorious round of jousting. Now he found himself in a crowd of the castle’s laborers. One of them was a blacksmith, his beefy form wrapped in a scarred leather apron.
“D’ya know ‘im?” he asked William. “The Crow?”
“No.” William frowned as the name sank in. “The Crow?”
The man chuckled. “Aye, poor lad. He’s the youngest of seven and his brothers took all the more favorable names.”
Another man, craggy and shrunken with age, spoke up. “Lessee, there’s a bear, a hound, a fox….”
“Badger,” a third man said brightly. “That’s Sir Peter Brandon.”
“Aye. Badger. Vulture’s one, innit?”
“’Tis Sir Thomas,” the blacksmith agreed amiably.
“Lessee. Must be one more….” Craggy Face pondered seriously.
“Lion?” The third man suggested.
The blacksmith glanced at William knowingly. “Nay. None of the Lord’s sons has earned that title. And if the first two don’t, you can bet the latter won’t. Elder brothers won’t be outdone.”
“Hence ‘the Crow,’” Craggy Face snorted.
“Boar,” the third man supplied helpfully. “’ee’s the biggest ’un.”
“Sir Stephan! That’s got it done. Boar suits him too. Even the teeth.” Craggy Face barred his teeth and chomped. A stench wafted on the breeze.
William’s eyes were drawn back to the Crow as he moved away, tall and straight in the saddle. From the back his shoulders looked broader still. They narrowed in a defined V to an almost delicate waist. “And that one? The Crow? What’s his Christian name?” William asked.
That earned him guffaws of laughter from all three of his new companions. William looked at the blacksmith in annoyance, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. The blacksmith held up his large paws placatingly. “No offense, Sir Knight. Only his name is Christian. Sir Christian Brandon. ’Tis that what’s amused us.”
William smiled and relaxed. “I see. I must be getting prescient. He’s young to have his spurs.”
“Not so young,” Craggy Face said.
“What has Sir Christian, twenty summers?” the third man questioned no one in particular.
“Say what you like, ’ee’s earned them spurs,” the blacksmith said firmly. “Them brothers of his gave him no quarter. Hard as iron nails, every last one of ’em.”
“Let’s go watch ’im shoot,” said Craggy Face, with eager anticipation. They hurried away from William, following the general flow of the crowd towards the archery targets.
William almost followed. He was curious to see the Crow shoot, to see if he had any skill to match that noble bearing. But then he thought better on it, changed direction, and headed for the stables. He did not know what to make of the youngest Brandon, knew not the meaning behind his look. But an uneasy feeling warned him that keeping his distance was the most expedient course. He was here for a purpose. He needed to put his cause to Lord Brandon and earn his help. He couldn’t afford to antagonize any of his sons. And he couldn’t afford to get led astray with wenching, gaming, or fighting either. His suit was too important— to Elaine and to himself.
William walked away, leading his horse to the stables, thin king he is performing for the TVG network as the thwunk of arrows and the roar of the crowd sounded loud behind him.
The Lion and the Crow links:
Read an excerpt: http://elieaston.com/books-by-eli-easton/the-lion-and-the-crow/
On Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17855574-the-lion-and-the-crow
Read online for free on the m/m romance group page (must join the group; it’s free): http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1354989-the-lion-and-the-crow-by-eli-easton-6-4
Free Downloadable ebooks: http://www.mmromancegroup.com/?page_id=1121
Filed under Drama, gay, Guest Blogger, Love Has No Boundaries, New Release, Romance, Writing
Murderous Requiem has been released!
It is now available for purchase at Dreamspinner, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other retailers.
Over at MM Good Book Reviews, it’s received 4 out of 5 stars! “The mystery and suspense are good and leaves a thread of tension throughout the book. There’s death and betrayal, love and hope and occult dealings. I actually think this is an intriguing story that shows a ‘whiter’ or good side to the occult. It has informative information and you can see that the author has done a lot of research. I will recommend this to those who love mystery and suspense, occult dealings, twists, betrayal, underhand dealings, murder and manipulation and a happy for them ending.”
Here’s the Blurb:
Jeremy Spencer never imagined the occult order he and his boyfriend, Bowyn, started as a joke in college would become an international organization with hundreds of followers. Now a professor with expertise in Renaissance music, Jeremy finds himself drawn back into the world of free love and ceremonial magick he’d left behind, and the old jealousies and hurt that separated him from Bowyn eight years ago seem almost insignificant.
Then Jeremy begins to wonder if the centuries-old score he’s been asked to transcribe hides something sinister. With each stanza, local birds flock to the old mansion, a mysterious fog descends upon the grounds, and bats swarm the temple dome. During a séance, the group receives a cryptic warning from the spirit realm. And as the music’s performance draws nearer, Jeremy realizes it may hold the key to incredible power—power somebody is willing to kill for.
Filed under gay, horror, Murderous Requiem, Mystery, New Release, occult, Occult/Paranormal, Reviews, Romance, Writing
I just signed a contract with Dreamspinner for my psychological drama, Billy’s Bones! For those who haven’t been following my progress on that novel, here’s the “blurb” I sent in my cover letter:
Kevin Derocher was just thirty-two when he walked into Tom’s office, newly married, a baby on the way, and the collar of his red flannel shirt pulled up in an attempt to hide the bruises around his throat caused by hanging himself in his garage. After this initial encounter, therapist Tom Langois is convinced he’ll never see Kevin again, until the man turns up three years later to make repairs on Tom’s new house.
The two men become fast friends and Tom begins to suspect that Kevin may be interested in more than just friendship. But Kevin is haunted by something from his distant childhood—something so terrible that he’s blocked it from his mind. Not only do these suppressed memories make it impossible for Kevin to get close to anyone without panicking and lashing out, sometimes violently, but as they begin to surface, it becomes apparent that Kevin may hold the key to the disappearance of a boy from his neighborhood twenty-five years ago.
The picture on the left is what I pictured Kevin looking like. Tom looks like this guy:
We’re looking at a release date sometime in late July or maybe early August!
So this week I decided to go back and re-read the novel. I’d already had a conversation with my mother, who is a psychologist with experience treating PTSD, and I learned that I’d handled several things incorrectly in the therapy scenes. Or you might say I had Tom and Susan doing things the way they used to be done, and psychology has learned a thing or two since then. For example, it’s no longer considered essential (by many therapists) to pressure the client to remember suppressed memories. That can cause them more trauma than simply leaving things alone. And giving someone something to relax him, such as Valium, before experiencing a possible trigger in a controlled setting isn’t as good an idea as I’d thought. It can do additional harm by distorting the memories further. (Some therapists don’t believe in repressed memories, but my mother has worked with enough cases to take them seriously.)
So I sent Mom the specific scenes in question to get some feedback on how to make them more realistic. Hopefully, since the novel is already contracted, we’re just talking about tweaking things a little. In the future, I’ll remember: always check with Mom!
In re-reading the novel, I’m still finding it engrossing. But Tom is seeming a bit more like an asshole than I remembered. My beta readers didn’t seem to hate him, so maybe I’m just seeing him from a bad angle at the moment. But I may try to make him a bit less pushy in edits.
Of course, the really frustrating thing about re-reading a novel after it’s been submitted, but before the first edits come in from the editors is that the typos and mistakes I find, I can’t correct.
How on earth did I not notice that I’d failed to capitalize one sentence?
Hi everybody! Gus here. A big hug and a huge thank you to Jamie for letting me stop by!
For today’s post on my tour to support my latest release, Ice and Embers, I’m going to attempt to tackle what can be tough and prickly subject: point of view.
A lot of readers and reviewers consider “head-hopping”—switching from one character’s point of view to another—an error and an amateurish mistake. In some cases this is true; in my other role as an editor I see it often and suggest authors change it—when it isn’t used consistently or with good reason. That is to say, when it’s actually an oversight and not used intentionally by the author to convey something.
The third person omniscient point of view is a method of storytelling in which the author dips into the heads of all the characters and knows their thoughts and can look through their eyes. One of the most famous examples of this type of fiction is Anna Karenina. Terry Pratchett also uses it frequently, and it is a legitimate, if difficult to pull off, point of view. Of course the author has to be very careful to let readers know which character’s head they are in, and it can become confusing unless the narrator is very clear.
Third person limited point of view sticks to looking through the eyes of a single character, and it’s the style of storytelling I usually prefer. When I wrote Ash and Echoes, the book before Ice and Embers, I realized early on that my characters were so vastly different that each of them needed his own voice. I decided against the third person omniscient point of view because the characters had such disparate thought processes and world views. Instead, I chose the third person limited, though I opted to alternate between the characters, just not in the same scene. I chose to stay with a single character within a scene and switch to another when the scene changed.
I took some heat from some reviewers for this decision, as they felt it was “head-hopping” and assumed I just didn’t know any better. Even so, I chose to stick with this approach for the second book in the series. Why?
I believe everything a person, or a character, experiences colors how he sees the world. People are, to an extent, the sum of their pasts. This can affect everything from what a character thinks or feels in a given situation down to the details he notices. An excellent example of how peoples’ perceptions can dictate how they view events is Akira Kurosawa’s stellar 1950 film Rashoman, in which several characters recount their experiences regarding the murder of a samurai. Because of their different backgrounds, each of these people tells a vastly different story. The film poses the question of what is truth, and whether truth is different for each person based upon his or her perceptions. After all, a notorious criminal will see things differently than the wife of a murdered samurai.
I’d like to make it clear that I’m not comparing myself to Kurosawa! But his insight into the human psyche is valuable to anyone hoping to depict the human condition. Who we are, what we believe, what we’ve experience, and what we value affects how we perceive the world. This is why I needed to give readers the opportunity to look through the eyes of each of my characters. Their backgrounds are varied, and it colors not only what they think and feel but how they see the world and the events around them. Yarrow, my mage, grew up as the third son of a noble family and was largely ignored and dismissed. This taught him to rely on himself and his own opinions over those of others, and it made him a little defensive. Duncan trained for the knighthood from a young age and holds close to the sense of honor he learned there. Sasha was raised almost from birth by a cult of assassins, and they taught him to suppress and mistrust emotion. In some ways, he’s the polar opposite of Duncan. I wanted my readers to have a chance to experience the world through each of the character’s very different minds and perceptions.
Sasha doesn’t see the world as Duncan sees it. A prime example of this occurs when Duncan is meeting with his vassals in his hall. He sits in an alcove surrounded by three tall windows which afford a wonderful view of the sea. Duncan and most others see the beauty in the architecture and the surroundings, while Sasha sees a strategic weakness: those windows are a prime opportunity for an archer and hard to protect against. Because of how he has been brought up, Sasha looks for potential threats everywhere and formulates plans to defend himself and his friends. It isn’t easy for him to abandon this mindset and start to appreciate the pleasures the world can offer.
It’s been said you can’t know someone until you walk a mile in his shoes. I want my readers to know my characters by walking in their shoes and seeing through their eyes, and that’s why I chose to alternate between their points of view. Authors, how do you differentiate characters from one another? And readers, what point of view brings you closest to the characters? First person? Third limited to a single character? Omniscient? What do you prefer and why?
Don’t forget my Dreamspinner Press titles are all 25% off from March 15th to the 22nd in celebration of this release. You can see what I have on sale here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_366
And stop by my blog and sign up to win a copy of Ice and Embers and a cell phone charm or bracelet!
http://www.booksbyeonandgus.com/2013/03/12/ice-and-embers-blog-tour-and-giveaway/
And here’s the blurb and an excerpt from Ice and Embers:
Despite their disparate natures, Yarrow, Duncan, and Sasha united against overwhelming odds to save Prince Garith’s life. Now Garith is king and the three friends may be facing their undoing.
Distraught over Yarrow’s departure to find the cure to his magical affliction, Duncan struggles with his new role as Bairn of Windwake, a realm left bankrupt by his predecessor. Many of Duncan’s vassals conspire against him, and Sasha’s unorthodox solutions to Duncan’s problem have earned them the contempt of Garith’s nobles.
When word reaches Duncan and Sasha that Yarrow is in danger, they want nothing more than to rush to his aid. But Duncan’s absence could tip Windwake into the hands of his enemies. In addition, a near-mythic order of assassins wants Sasha dead. Without Yarrow, Duncan and Sasha can’t take the fight to the assassins. They are stuck, entangled in a political world they don’t understand. But finding Yarrow may cause more problems, and with his court divided, King Garith must strike a balance between supporting his friends and assuaging the nobles who want Duncan punished—and Sasha executed.
Excerpt:
THE bairn of Windwake cast off his golden ceremonial cloak emblazoned with the crag eagle livery and let it fall heavily to the stone floor of his chambers. Duncan collapsed into an upholstered chair by the inglenook and rubbed his forehead. The fire had long ago diminished to embers, leaving the expansive suite dark and chill on this early spring night. Ruling Windwake had turned out nothing like he’d imagined, and the stresses of yet another day of listening to the demands of squabbling nobles wore on him. When Duncan had been granted his lands and title, he’d anticipated protecting and providing for his people, much as he’d done when he’d been a knight. The reality clashed hard against his expectations. He’d rather face an entire field of soldiers than those nattering, duplicitous aristocrats any day. At least men with swords were honest about wanting to destroy him, and he knew how to counter them.
Duncan had no sooner let his eyes fall shut and his head rest against the padded velvet of the chair when he heard a sound, even softer than the flutter of a night bird’s wings, on the balcony opposite his hearth. He tensed, his exhaustion replaced by alertness. Many of his vassals couldn’t be trusted; he found them avaricious, their only loyalty to their own treasuries. Some of them still owed fealty to Taran Edercrest, the traitor whose mantle Duncan had assumed after the man’s death in a failed attempt to overthrow Selindria’s true king. Duncan knew at least a few of the backstabbing nobles might stoop to murder if they could profit from it. He crept as quietly as he could to the weapons stand and picked up his greatsword. He held it in both hands as he approached the balcony, ready to defend himself.
With the sole of his boot, Duncan nudged the wooden double doors, and they swung open with a rasp and a groan. The red-tinged crescent moon provided little light as he glanced from one end of the parapet to the other. Nothing moved except a few leaves tumbling across the stone in the light breeze. Duncan blinked hard as sweat dripped into his eyes. He knew he’d heard something, but now he wondered if the combination of his weariness and the ever-present threat of treachery toyed with his mind. He’d never been a paranoid man, but as he stood looking out from the western side of Windust Castle, over the deep, round Barrier Bay, sheltered on three sides by high cliffs, he heard nothing but the gentle lap of the waves against the strong, gray ironstone that made up so much of Windwake. On a clear day, Duncan could see almost to the southern shore of Lockhaven from this balcony, but the gloom of the night and the chill mist rising from the water restricted his vision to the dozens of ships huddled close to the shore, bobbing gently on the calm tide.
“You should be more careful.”
Duncan started and turned toward the low, velvety voice. He scanned the shadows but couldn’t locate the speaker. Then, at the opposite end of the terrace, a sliver of shade separated from the wall, and a lithe silhouette tiptoed along the thin, stone railing before leaping down in front of Duncan without even disturbing the leaves. His boots met the stone silently, and the leather armor he wore didn’t even creak or rustle.
Duncan blew out an extended breath and lowered his weapon. “Goddesses, Sasha. Why must you sneak around like that? I could have cut you in two before I recognized you.”
Sasha answered with a sensuous laugh devoid of any genuine amusement. “I don’t think you could have.”
“Perhaps not,” Duncan conceded, his happiness at his lover’s return trumping his slight annoyance. Besides, he knew Sasha spoke not out of arrogance but simply stated the truth. Sasha had been trained by a cult of assassins so legendary and feared most doubted they even existed. The Order of the Crimson Scythe held mythical status throughout Selindria and Gaeltheon, and Duncan had witnessed Sasha’s lethal skill on more than one occasion. If he’d been inclined, Sasha could have cut Duncan’s throat while Duncan stood watching the boats like a dull-witted child.
Sasha’s training was also responsible for what Duncan saw when he stepped closer to his partner: a face that, while exotically beautiful, betrayed no hint of emotion. Shrewd, black eyes offered no clue of the intentions behind them. Though they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, Duncan looked into the cold face of a killer, not the warm smile of a lover. He tried, unsuccessfully, to staunch the hurt by reminding himself Sasha had been taught almost since birth not to feel love or attachment, let alone show evidence of what he’d been told was weakness.
Duncan reached up and stroked the soft, black hair that fell to Sasha’s slender shoulders. Sasha batted his long, thick lashes and smiled mischievously. He had the most amazing, full, dark lips Duncan had ever seen, and the sight of them curling up and parting slightly sent a tremor of desire down Duncan’s spine. He hoped Sasha showed sincere pleasure at his touch, as much pleasure as he experienced feeling the smooth skin of Sasha’s cheek again after what seemed like forever. Sasha had no reason to perform with Duncan, but Duncan knew old habits held on tenaciously sometimes, like a cough that lingered after the fever had passed.
“I missed you,” he said, pressing a kiss to Sasha’s forehead. “But you could try using the front gate like a normal man. Or are you trying to impress me?”
Sasha curled his body against Duncan and brushed their bellies together. He rubbed his face against Duncan’s whiskers and whispered close to his ear. “Did it work?”
Duncan glanced over the railing at the sheer, four-story drop to the sharp rocks surrounding the fortress. A wide gravel road wound out around those cliffs from the docks to the gate at the southern wall, on the opposite side of the fortress. Aside from that entrance, Windust was virtually impenetrable. “I suppose it did. Did your—” Duncan still felt uncomfortable discussing Sasha’s work. “Were you successful?”
Sasha snorted as if insulted and crossed his arms over his slim chest. His devastating smile widened. “Pym Goodsal and his associates will cause no more trouble for your friend Garith.”
“His Majesty will be pleased,” Duncan said, taking Sasha’s gloved hand, careful of the thin blades hidden at his wrists and the razor-like spikes over his knuckles, and leading him inside.
Sasha shrugged. “So long as he produces the agreed-upon gold.”
Duncan almost asked what Sasha would do if Garith, High King of Selindria and Gaeltheon, the largest and most powerful kingdom in the known world, withheld the payment. He thought better of it, though, and went instead to add logs to the fire and stir up the coals. By now, Duncan knew Sasha regarded a prince and a beggar alike only as men who bled and died for his Cast-Down god.
Sasha removed his gloves, loosening the buckles and then tugging them off one finger at a time, while Duncan poked at the ashes in the hearth. Sasha unbuckled the belts over his hips that held daggers and pouches likely full of poisons, and then he unfastened the strap crossing his chest, along with the weapons it held, and let it drop onto a wooden bench. Sasha effortlessly disarmed himself in absolute silence. Duncan admired Sasha’s grace and fluidity of movement from the corner of his eye as he tended the fire. The room soon glowed warm and bright as the flames flickered and grew. Orange light reflected off the snug, deep-red leather wrapping Sasha’s slender limbs and made shadows dance across his face. The fire couldn’t melt the icy mask the assassin wore, but Duncan knew what might. He replaced the iron poker and crossed the room to Sasha, who stood only a few feet from the balcony door, as if waiting to be invited inside, seemingly unsure of his welcome.
Duncan curled his big hands around Sasha’s waist, almost encircling it. He drew Sasha’s chest against his, rubbed his palm up Sasha’s back to his neck, and guided Sasha’s head to his shoulder. Burying his face in the top of Sasha’s hair, he inhaled the spicy fragrance that almost masked the scents of leather, steel, and blood. “Sasha, this is your home as much as mine. I wouldn’t have any of it if it hadn’t been for you. You don’t have to enter it in secret.”
Sasha laughed icily, but his lips and nose felt warm as he nuzzled against Duncan’s neck. The tickle of his breath against Duncan’s dampening skin when he spoke made Duncan shudder. “So, you’d parade me before your nobles and officials? Claim me as part of your household, as your friend?”
Holding Sasha’s cheeks in both hands, Duncan tilted his face upward and made Sasha meet his eyes. He searched for some trace of emotion in those glittering, black orbs but saw only his own conflicted face reflected back at him in distorted miniature. “I would. Why do you make it sound so absurd? I’ll tell them anything you like, anything that will make you happy. Sasha, you know I love you.”
“I know.” The assassin tried to look away as he furrowed his brow and turned down his lips, but Duncan held him, not letting him hide what he felt.
A fake smile replaced Sasha’s concerned expression. “You’d lose your bairny if anyone discovered the nature of our association,” he said with false cheer. “I understand better than most the need for secrecy. It’s of little consequence how I enter the castle, anyway. I’m used to standing in the shadows.”
Duncan hated it when his partner walled himself off, but he didn’t know how to breach barriers that had been in place so long. Battering them down would not do, he’d learned. If he pushed too hard, Sasha would instinctively close him out, so he slid his hands down Sasha’s lithe arms, clasped his hands, and led him to the massive bed canopied in gold and black velvet. They sat facing each other on the edge. Sasha pulled his heel to his crotch.
“Are you hungry?” Duncan asked, stroking up and down Sasha’s thigh, savoring the feel of taut muscles beneath buttery leather. “Shall I have something sent up from the kitchens? My servants, at least, still respect my wishes.”
Sasha edged closer and draped his hand over Duncan’s knee. “Thank you, my friend. But not just now. Is there nothing on your mind besides food?”
Filed under Bloghop, gay, Guest Blogger, Point of View, Romance, Writing
Join me on the Guys Like Romance, Too! blog this week, as I talk about the connection between music and alchemy and the human soul in the Renaissance, in my blog post entitled Music, Magick and Murder!
I’ll be sending the final galley proofs back to my editor tonight, after which it will be out of my hands until publication. The novel will be released on April 8th!
In other news, I just signed a contract for Billy’s Bones! That makes my sixth full-length novel! The tentative release date for that will be sometime in late July or early August!
Filed under gay, Guest Blogger, Murderous Requiem, Mystery, occult, Occult/Paranormal, Psychological Drama, Romance, Writing
I’ve been working on the final novel in my YA fantasy trilogy over the past couple months, along with editing Murderous Requiem for it’s scheduled release of April 8th, but over the past week or so I’ve been bitten by the Japanese culture bug again. I’m not sure why, but every year since I was about 17, I have a short attack of Japanese culture. I get obsessed with Japanese movies and dig out my Japanese language books and CDs and start eating Japanese food.
It was during one of these “attacks” that I began an adaptation of a Japanese story written in the 17th century by Ihara Saikaku called “The Tragic Love of Two Enemies,” about a samurai in love with a young man who doesn’t know that the samurai killed his father. It’s been difficult going, because of all the research I’ve had to do to keep the feudal setting believable and I’m probably only half done with it. But I dug it out and dusted it off yesterday and was very pleased with what I’ve written so far.
Here’s one of the scenes I like. Shinosuke is the young man (18-years-old in my story, though he was younger in the original) and the samurai is Senpachi. At this point in the story, the attraction between the two characters is clear to both of them, but Senpachi has been resisting it. They’ve decided to take a break from sword-fighting practice to relax in the shade of a cherry tree.
Senpachi stretched out on the petal-strewn grass, alongside Shinosuke. This brought them physically closer than he’d allowed them to be, since that first evening in the ofuro. But the moment seemed to warrant it.
“Let me tell you a story. When I was about your age, there was a man—Sato Haruki. He was…older, and very experienced on the battlefield. He’d fought at Seikigahara. We were both assigned to the same unit, under the command of your father. Haruki took me under his wing. He taught me how to fight and the way of bushi….” Senpachi hesitated a moment, concerned that what he was about to say might encourage the youth in his attentions. But he would not dishonor Haruki’s memory by hiding their relationship, as if it were something he was ashamed of. “He also taught me how to love.”
The word hung in the air between them, Shinosuke saying nothing, but his expression indicating that he understood. Senpachi cleared his throat and continued. “Haruki also taught me how to face death.”
“What do you mean? Did he die?”
“Hai.”
“On the battlefield?”
“On a hunting trip. There were six of us, all on horseback. Something spooked Haruki’s horse, as we crossed through a field. Before he could get the animal back under control, he fell off. We all thought it was funny, at first, and we laughed.” The samurai smiled faintly at the memory, though there was little joy in it. “Haruki had landed badly, and we soon realized that his back was broken. He couldn’t move, and he felt nothing when I squeezed his hands and legs. Though he could still speak and even joke about us having to strap his sword to his forehead for his next battle, we all knew—he knew—that he would be dead soon. I don’t know how long he might have held on, but Haruki saw no point in dragging out his death. He asked me to kill him.”
Shinosuke drew in his breath involuntarily, and his eyes expressed a small amount of the horror Senpachi had felt at that time. Senpachi was only fifteen. He’d never killed a man. And now the first man he killed was going to be the man he loved. All these years later, the pain the memory brought back to him was still agonizing.
“Our friends led the horses away from us,” Senpachi said, when he trusted himself to speak, “so we could be alone together, in Haruki-kun‘s last moments. Then I drew his wakizashi and leaned down to kiss him. While our lips were still touching, I pierced his heart with his own blade.”
He realized that his hands had clenched themselves into fists so hard that his nails were cutting into his palms, so he forced himself to relax them. Haruki-kun…. He still longed to beg his lover for forgiveness, though he knew Haruki hadn’t blamed him—had, in fact, wanted him to do it. It had been necessary. And it was, after all, merely the first in a long, long line of painful regrets.
Shinosuke spoke quietly. “It must have been terrible.”
For a moment, Senpachi couldn’t answer. Then at last, he said, “It was. I couldn’t eat or sleep for several days, and I wept until…I had no more tears to weep.”
“I could never have done it.”
A gentle breeze shook some cherry blossom petals down upon Shinosoke, and some stuck in his ink-black hair. It was a soft, beautiful image that contrasted sharply with the story of pain and death Senpachi was relating to him. Without thinking, the samurai reached up and plucked some the petals out of Shinosuke’s hair. “I wouldn’t have thought I could, either. Not until that moment. But being a samurai means putting your duty ahead of your own needs. Haruki deserved an honorable death, and it was my duty to give it to him. Had I failed, he would have died, anyway. But his death would have been slow and painful and undignified.”
As if they had a will of their own, Senpachi’s fingers floated along the youth’s hair, barely touching, until they came down to touch skin, gently following the line of Shinosuke’s cheek. The youth closed his eyes, making no attempt to pull away. But as soon as Senpachi realized what he was doing, he jerked his hand back.
His voice was gruff when he spoke. “We should get back to practice.”
This week my guest is F.E. Feeley, author of the new supernatural romance The Haunting of Timber Manor. After the interview, he’s provided us with some information about the novel and an excerpt, and of course where to get it! Welcome, F.E. Feeley!
Interview:
Is this your first novel?
Yes it is.
What inspired you to write it?
Gosh. Well, I’ve always been writing things here and there. Starting something but never finishing it. One day I sat down at the computer and started to piece a story together and before I knew it, I had written quite a bit. As for inspiration? I’ve always loved a spooky story, ever since I was a kid reading R.L. Stein’s Fear Street novels. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of ghosts and hauntings. So, I combined my two great loves and there you have it.
So who are your favorite authors in the horror genre?
Stephen King hands down is my favorite. John Carpenter is good. Anne Rice is all right but Stephen is the best in my humble opinion.
Did you find it a challenge to mix romance into a horror novel?
Sure. I think that I was able to do it with Timber as a means of lightening up the story. Giving Daniel a safe haven in the arms of Hale. But yes writing romance and horror together can be a little daunting. Remember the movie scream and all the rules about horror flicks, I sort of broke the cardinal rule of having sex and surviving. Oh well, it’s my book lol.
That’s true. Romance/Horror does seem to break that “rule.”
Right
Had you read other novels published by Dreamspinner before submitting your novel to them?
To be honest, no. About three quarters of the way through my book I inquired about m/m publishers just to see if any existed. I didn’t know about the genre. I had known there were erotic publishers out there but that wasn’t what Timber was.
So what’s been your experience working with Dreamspinner, as a new author?
Oh my gosh. It’s all been surreal for sure. Everyone has been so nice even when I inundated them with my noob questions. Really professional, really patient, really cool to talk to and I’ve gotten to meet so many different authors and get their support and words of encouragement….. Overall I can say it’s been an amazing experience and one I hope to relive.
I’m sure you will—many times! Do you have any advice for new authors looking to get published?
I’m such a new guy and I feel like my publication is a bit of a ghost thing that’s happened, I still don’t feel like I can provide anything useful other than never listen to naysayers. If you want to be a writer and that’s all you can think of when you wake up, then write.
That’s interesting. You often hear the advice to plow through, even when things aren’t flowing well. What do you find is the hardest part of the writing process?
The hardest part for me is that the muses want to start gibber jabbing late at night and until I write something down, they won’t let me sleep. Other than that, learning to ignore the manuscript while I have nothing to write. Otherwise all I do is frustrate myself.
So are you working on a new project? Can you tell us anything about it?
Well I’ve started a few and set them aside for now to work on my current novel called Objects in the Rear View Mirror. It’s another ghost story about a couple in Kansas whose house is haunted. But the ghosts have a huge role to play in the married couple’s lives.
And one last question to throw out there: what book are you currently reading?
Actually a biography about Abraham Lincoln called Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin. It’s what the movie with Daniel Day Lewis is based off of in part. It’s amazing I gotta tell ya. You fall in love with how gentle he was. I’ve never had a biography make me cry before.
It’s been good chatting with you!
I hope that people enjoy the book and a thank you to you of course for conducting the interview.
Blurb:
While recovering from the recent loss of his parents, Daniel Donnelly receives a phone call from his estranged aunt, who turns over control of the family fortune and estate, Timber Manor. Though his father seemed guarded about the past, Daniel’s need for family and curiosity compel him to visit.
Located in a secluded area of the Northwest, Timber Manor has grown silent over the years. Her halls sit empty and a thin layer of dust adorns the sheet-covered Ivy and Wilde furniture. When Daniel arrives to begin repairs, strange things happen. Nightmares haunt his dreams. Memories not his own disturb his waking hours. Alive with the tragedies of the past, Timber Manor threatens to tear Daniel apart.
Sheriff Hale Davis grew up working on the manor grounds. Seeing Daniel struggle, he vows protect the young man who captured his heart, and help him solve the mystery behind the haunting and confront the past—not only to save Daniel’s life, but to save his family, whose very souls hang in the balance.
(Click on the image to the left, or go to http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3509 to get the novel!)
Excerpt:
“Sure. I’ll even buy you some cotton candy,” I said. He smiled, and I leaned in for a kiss. His mouth met mine, and it was warm and inviting. He sat up straighter to lean into me, and I wrapped my arms around his body and dragged him closer to me. Our mouths ravaged each other, and the heat between us threatened to consume our bodies. His hands ran up my chest, held my face, and ran through my hair. I reached over, lifted him, and sat him in my lap, and as the passion intensified between us, I leaned into his neck and moaned. My lips hurt from the intensity of our kissing. We both were breathing heavily, and he held my head close to him. I could feel my pulse running through my whole body and felt every nerve on edge. I wanted him so badly, but I was determined to take it slow. To do things right. Dammit, stupid standards.
He sat back from me, and I stared up at his face, so handsome, and those lips, so kissable.
“I gotta get going soon,” I said.
“I know. I know.” He sighed and stood up. I had to adjust myself quickly. He reached for his laptop, turned it off, and unplugged it. “I’ll walk you out.”
I stood up, and as we were walking toward the door, Danny set his laptop down on the desk and, before I knew it, pitched forward and fell hard. He braced himself with his hands, but as he rolled over, he was holding his wrist and scooting back from the desk with a confused look on his face.
I leaned down to help him up, but he wasn’t budging, and his eyes were fixed under the desk, where nothing but a lamp cord was plugged into the wall. The winds outside howled, and the wolves howled with it. The look on his face disturbed me, and I said, “There is nothing there, Danny.” But the evidence on his ankle belied my words. Five distinctive red scratches were present along the foot, as if someone had grabbed it. “I didn’t stumble on anything; something tripped me,” he said. I was going to reiterate that nothing was there, but the scratches on his ankle defied anything I could have said. Finally, I was able to get him to his feet. He dusted himself off, and we headed out of the library, shutting the door behind us.
Filed under gay, Guest Blogger, horror, Interviews, Occult/Paranormal, Romance, Writing
Jamie Fessenden's Blog 