Monday, March 18, 2024

Eric Swett Talks About the Importance Hobbies and Painting To Take a Break from Writing


When I first started writing, it was purely for the pleasure of writing. As time went on, writing became a passion more than a hobby. Writing stopped being something I did to relax in the evening and became something I had to do. There was no gun to my head, no deadline I was staring down, but an internal imperative pushed me back to the keyboard and left me feeling incomplete if I did not make that time.

As much as I love writing, I still need a break from it from time to time. 

Now, I work a day job and have plenty of time when I’m not writing. Even when I’m at home, I can’t always dive straight into my current WIP. Being a husband and dad of three means my time is not always my own. Cooking dinner, taking care of pets, checking homework, and more keeps me away from the keyboard more often than not, so I take my writing time seriously, and when I need a break from it I usually fill the same time slot with my other hobby activities.

So, what do I do when I need a break from writing?



My first choice is painting miniature figures. If you are familiar with Dungeons & Dragons or other tabletop games, you know all about the miniatures used for keeping track of your characters or the monsters that are being faced. As a lifetime DungeonMaster I paint more monsters than anything, but I also paint miniatures for other games such as Battletech. But I also paint miniatures that will never see the tabletop, because I do them just for my own enjoyment.




Something about the hyperfocus of painting allows me to detach my thinking from all of the writing work I have to do or the dead end I have written myself into. For those precious hours it is all about the colors and bringing something else to life. When I am done, I feel a bit recharged and ready to tackle my writing again. A good painting session can descramble my brain enough that I can get myself out of whatever jam I find myself in.




Lately, I’ve felt a bit guilty about the time I spend on painting because I have so much writing I need to get done as self-imposed deadlines get closer, and I know it will be a struggle to get the work done. I sit down to paint and I almost stop myself, but I keep at it because I know I need it.



Recently, I went to Ret-Con, and during one of the panels, a panelist said that you don’t have to write every day to be a writer (we’ve all heard that little fallacy now, haven’t we?) because it is not all about getting words on a page. Sometimes you will spend your writing time thinking about a scene, looking for inspiration, or finding ways to recharge. They mentioned painting, photography, and jewelry making as other creative acts that may be just as important to your writing as banging away on the keyboard.



It was like a bomb went off in my brain. Painting was not just an escape from writing, a necessary distraction, it was part of my process. Diving into creating something else fed into the creativity of my writing, not something I needed to feel guilty about. Rather than feeling like I was letting myself down by taking the time to paint, I started looking at it as an important part of my process. Maybe it’s not right for everyone, but for me it  was the perfect release and I have given myself permission to make time for it, no matter what.




I guess what I am trying to say is that it is important to take breaks from your writing, especially when the stress levels are high. I’m not saying you should use your hobbies as an excuse to avoid your responsibilities, but you might just find that taking that break to pursue your hobbies will make writing more pleasurable in the long run. When I sit down to write, I want to enjoy it as much as I did when I was writing as a hobby, so I let my other hobbies help me get there. 



So, find something that energizes you when you need to take a break from writing, and you’ll be happy you made it a part of your process.




A Murder of Wizards: Apocalypse Rising Year Two
Armageddon Angels 
Book Three
Eric Swett

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Haileybug Publishing 
Date of Publication: 12/9/23
ISBN: 979-8867576660
ASIN:B0CN7HJCGN
Number of pages: 251
Word Count: 95,789

Cover Artist: Eric Swett

Tagline: The Grim Reaper looks for a serial killer who is ritually murdering wizards and taunting them in the process. He needs to find the killer and stop him before his plot comes to a disastrous conclusion.

Book Description:  

Apocalypse Rising: A Murder of Wizards is an Urban Fantasy about a fallen Angel named Justin. He just happens to be one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the Grim Reaper himself, Death. 

Two years have passed since he remembered who he was and what he is. He is regaining  abilities and memories he lost when he chose to fall to earth and live among humans, but he has a long way to go before he can fully reclaim his title. When Justin is asked by a friend to investigate a string of supernatural murders he can't say no. Justin discovers he has a connection to the murders and has to find the murderer before their plans come to fruition.

Amazon      Books2Read      MyWritersCramp

Excerpt:

“Don’t look.” Justin turned and pulled Lilly to him. He tried to shield her from the gore splattered about the alley. The copper stink of fresh blood assaulted them as they stood across the street from the scene. As the Grim Reaper, eons of death dulled the impact for Justin. He wanted to keep Lilly from it if possible.

“I can’t.” Lilly looked away, but it did not help. Despite being blind, the murder shone in vivid technicolor to her. Being Justin's Oracle gave her sight far beyond what any normal person enjoyed.

The pull of death drew her attention, and in her mind's eye, the scene coalesced as clearly as if she stared at it. The violence and butchery lit the aura surrounding the dead body in angry tones of black and red that shone like a spotlight upon the murder.

She placed her hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting.

The splayed open corpse's entrails hung about the alley. The smashed kidneys hung from the side of a dumpster. The lungs sat in a pile against the alley wall. The liver dripped blood into a shallow pool beside the corpse. The buzzing of flies grew louder as the dead man's evacuated bowels drew them to the feast.

The callous mess made of another human left her uneasy.

She wanted to block it out, bury her head in Justin’s chest, and flee the scene. She tried to look away, but ancient instinct forced her to bear witness to the death of a fellow human. Her instincts buzzed with warning. Her palms sweated, and her lips trembled. A predator lurked nearby, and she needed to be aware.

“Lilly.” Justin put an arm around her shoulders and turned her back to the horrific scene playing out in the alley. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Justin wanted to go home and leave it all behind them. Lilly wanted to know what happened and needed him to tell her so she did not have to face it alone. The closer they got to it, the more apparent the full extent of the horror became.

“What…what is it? What happened, Justin?” Lilly held onto him tightly, seeking comfort in his strength.

He apprised the situation with a practiced stare. His experience on earth gave him some insight, but his familiarity with death brought everything into focus. He scratched at the stubble on his chin as he considered the dead man. “Looks like a sacrifice of some sort, a ritual, but not one I’ve seen before. Doesn’t appear demonic, but it could be part of a summoning. Maybe something geographical...”

“Can we go? I don’t like the way this feels. There is something wrong about this. I can't put my finger on it, but there is something dark here. It's tickling my senses, tempting me, drawing me toward it like an inevitable conclusion.” She turned her back on the scene and shuddered.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure. Let’s get out of here.” Justin guided Lilly away from the murder. Justin held her hand gently as they walked. “Sorry about that. Hazard of the profession. As the Angel of Death, I've seen a lot of corpses. It’s not every day you come across something this unusual.”



About the Author:

Eric Swett is a husband and father. He has a beautiful wife named Tracy and three fabulous children (Zachary, Connor, and Kaitlyn). Between the four of them, he has absolutely everything he really needs in this world. If everything else went away and he still had them, he could die and count himself a fortunate man.

He works in IT, streams video games, and dabbles in 3D printing.

He is a self-proclaimed Geek and does not adhere to a single form of geekdom. He likes roleplaying games, tabletop games with painted miniatures, video games, comic books, science fiction and fantasy, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Doctor Who. 










Friday, March 1, 2024

Guest Blog- Storm's Convergence by Valerie Storm #Fantasy


The old adage of “don’t judge a book by its cover” can be utter nonsense when it comes to books. Speaking as a reader, I have set so many books aside because the cover did not look appealing to me. I’m sure I’ve missed many great books this way! But in a world where time is so limited, I have to be choosy—and inevitably, that means I will be drawn to covers that appeal to me.

In fact, I still remember a book (that I won’t name) that I grabbed off the shelf because the spine was so pretty. I read the back, then read the first page or so and bought it, no hesitation. I did end up finishing it with some exhaustive effort—it ended up not being for me at all. But still! That author’s had gotten a sale out of me, and I’m sure there are lovers of the book and its sequel out there.

When I started planning my first book’s release, I realized I had to have a cover that would be strong, thematic, and show readers my inspirations and intention. Kari and her series are so heavily imbedded with anime inspiration, I wanted to make that very clear. Birth of the Storm’s cover is dynamic, colorful, and dramatic with Kari’s pose and the storm on the horizon. I love everything about it, and I’ve had friends tell me it makes them think of Miyazaki’s art. Occasionally it gathers the attention of anime lovers, which is all I had ever wanted!

Since then, I have meticulously planned every single cover and will continue to do so. I want my covers to tell their story across the series—I want Kari’s growth to be evident as each cover comes and goes. On Birth of the Storm, she starts off alone, facing a storm—now, with book 5, Storm’s Convergence, she is standing side-by-side with Ari, her beloved. They’re still facing a storm—a worse one—but now they are together. And since Kari’s whole journey is about learning how to find strength in her bonds, this cover is VERY important.

I know not everyone will see the magic that I have tried so very hard to craft here. Yet just like with writing the story itself, the effort and love behind the scenes will reach certain people, and those people are my people. As a writer, an author, that is all I’ve dreamed of.

I will always be an advocate for strong covers. They need to draw interest, they need to tell a story, they need to prove the pages within are worthy of someone else’s attention. While the craft of writing is hard and sometimes lonely, we need to understand we are not deserved any form of recognition for the work we’ve done. Just like anything else, that needs to be earned—and a powerful cover made from the soul is absolutely the first step to that.


Storm's Convergence
Demon Storm 
Book 5
Valerie Storm

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing
Date of Publication: 2/13/24
Cover Artist: @Ginkahederling
ASIN: B0CRYQJRN1
Number of pages: 313
Word Count: 78962

Tagline: The Fire Witch ruined Kari's life once before
                Now she's back
                And she's not alone

Book Description: 

The calm can only last so long.

Now a member of Freehaven's Council, Kari tries to put her past behind her and settle down in her new home with her ever-present Lord and love, Ari.

Cracks in her mind, parting gifts from the heart eater, make planning the upcoming Spring Festival a struggle, but Kari is determined to do her best, even after Guine departs the town.

When a mysterious child appears at the festival and marks Kari, all semblance of normalcy is banished.

A triple threat from her past awaits beyond the walls of Freehaven and options are thin. Not willing to spill any more blood, Kari takes it upon herself to stop them—with Ari by her side.


Excerpt:

The girl grabbed the neckline of her shirt and jerked her closer with too much ease. Kari stiffened as the girl’s cheek touched hers.

“Funny wolf demon, hiding in this wretched town.” Her voice was low and cruelly amused. Kari tensed, prepared to jerk free and throw a fist, but the girl hissed, “Ah, no, don’t move. There are many innocents here, though I would not call demons innocent. I know you would not want them hurt.”

She suddenly realized the closeness of so many villagers, as if she’d been ripped out of reality and dropped harshly back into it again.

Kari bit back a growl. “Who are you?”

She knew, though, before the small girl laughed. The boastful yet righteous arrogance of someone who believed truly and wholly in her cause—it could be no one else.

“I feel your defeat. You’ve answered your own question.”

Kari’s throat was dry. “Ri…Riniko. What are you doing here? Why—”

“Since you’ve yet to heed our warning, I’m here to play a little game.”

“Kari!” Ari called.

Riniko’s small hands tightened. “Tell him to leave. We’re busy.”

She hesitated. Ari yelled for her again, and now she envisioned him pushing through the crowds, looking for where she’d gone.

“It’s fine,” she yelled back. “I…I’m helping someone. I’ll catch up!”

Riniko’s grip didn’t loosen. “Your boy is insistent.”

Kari turned her head with some difficulty, given Riniko’s grip. The little witch traded, wrapping her arms around Kari’s neck with a giggle that cracked against her eardrums.

Visible between passersby, Ari made his way to them. His brows raised at the sight of the girl around her neck.

“Who is…”

Kari smiled, big and wide, and prayed he didn’t notice her trembling lips. “She’s lost. I’m part of the Council, so she came to me. Go back to Rathik and Essie, I’ll catch up.”

Ari saw something in her face; his eyes constricted, his jaw pulsing, uncertain of what to do.
Please walk away, Ari. It’ll be okay this time. I promise.

When she did not say anything more, he relented. “Alright. Meet us over there, okay?”

Kari nodded, jostling Riniko. Ari glanced between them, then jogged off.

Riniko giggled again, quieter this time. “Good.”

Kari grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off. There was something insanely surreal about holding a small child in her hands, a child whose eyes burned with unmatched cruelty and fire.

“What do you want?” she snarled.

Riniko wrapped too-small fingers around Kari’s wrists and met her eye with a cool, even gaze.

“You know what we want. I’m only here to set the fire of action a little higher for you.”
Her palms, pressed against Kari’s skin, warmed. Kari’s eyes widened, and she struggled with the instinct to fling the small child away.

“We do not want to burn this entire village to the ground. Despite the way these villagers associate with demons, they are still good, innocent people. The demons can be excused as long as they remain thusly. But you cannot. You must come and face your fate.”

Her arms were burning; Kari bit back a scream. “I keep telling you, I don’t want to hurt anyone! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Tell that to those poor people in the east. They probably thought you didn’t want to kill them. But now they’re very, very dead.”

Kari staggered back. There were fewer villagers out now, less to see this odd pair, but Kari dreaded what Riniko would do if even one was drawn to them. She inched away from the square, edging toward an alley between two buildings.

“Isn’t it enough that I died once? What more can you want?”

Riniko laughed. “Oh, yes, but Zina got cold feet. Superstition, I guess. She couldn’t let it die with you. No, she believed it would go on, despite having no body. So here you are, her little pet wolf demon, but she won’t be here to save you a second time.”

Cold feet? Let it die with her?

The burning on her arms increased, snapping her attention back to Riniko’s young-girl face.
“I’ll come to you,” Kari croaked. “Does that make you happy? I’ll leave and find you.”

Riniko’s eyes lit up, though she did not remove her hands. The heat continued to rise until Kari thought she could smell her flesh cooking.

“Oh, do you promise?” Riniko asked, her voice girlish, sickeningly sweet. “Pretty please?”

“Please stop,” Kari whispered between her teeth.

Little hands lifted, releasing her from the agony of fire. Kari trembled, then froze as those hands touched her cheeks.

“It was easy to infiltrate this place, Kari. It would be even easier, now, to set it all ablaze. You remember my previous work.”

Kari’s hands around Riniko’s waist shook with the effort to not squeeze her into pieces. “You’re the monster, witch,” she snarled.

“It takes a monster to slay one,” Riniko responded. “Remember that if you decide to hesitate any longer. I’m tired of waiting for this final show. My sisters have both seen that I was right and now it’s time to end this.” Riniko raised her hands. “Put me down.”

Shaking profusely, Kari set Riniko on the ground, where the little witch-girl brushed off her plain, brown dress. She fluffed her hair, then raised a finger to her lips.

“Remember your promise,” she said, then spun and skipped away into the darkness.



About the Author:

Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the path to sharing with other children & children-at/heart looking for a place to call home.












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Friday, February 23, 2024

Five Tips for Querying Publishers and Agents with K.R. Gastreich #PNR #AuthorAdvice





Don’t give up. No matter how many rejections you receive, never stop believing in your story. If you want to publish via the traditional route, you must exercise patience and persistence and no small amount of faith. Every time you receive a rejection (and you will receive them), pick yourself up and try again. Have another look at the opening chapters. Tweak the synopsis. Tighten (or expand) the query letter. Then send out an even stronger package to someone else. 

Do your homework. Research agents and publishers wish lists and preferences. Many are also very explicit about what they are not looking for. You will save yourself time and heartache by making sure the story you have to sell matches the editor’s or agent’s interests and strengths. 

Keep editing. Yes, you have a final completed manuscript. Yes, it’s already taken you years to write! But don’t be afraid to keep polishing your work even as you query. On rare occasions, you may get feedback from an agent or editor that will shed light on why your manuscript might not be as strong as it could be. If so, pay attention. The more polished your manuscript is, the more likely you are to land an offer (or at least a request for the full) the next time you query.

The first five pages matter. Many agents and editors don’t read past the first five pages. You must hook them with the opening lines of your manuscript, or they will go onto the next item in their slush pile. I know this sounds unfair. I know we all believe that if the publisher would just stay with the story for ten or twenty or thirty pages, they’d see the genius in our writing. Unfortunately, this is not how publishing - or marketing - works. Identify the earliest, best scene you’ve written for the story, and find a way to make that the beginning of your novel. 

Cast a wide net. Knock on every door that seems appropriate for your manuscript. Keep in mind that some doors that appeared close may open at a later time. There’s often turnover in agencies, so the agents you looked at six months ago might be slightly different than the agents available today. Similarly, there’s always another press you haven’t heard about. Or, a press you looked into last month that has since opened to unagented submissions. No matter what happens, keep looking. Keep trying. Keep querying! 


Soul Masters: The Hunting Grounds
Soul Masters
Book One
K.R. Gastreich

Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Date of Publication: February 7, 2024
ISBN: 978-1509253302
ASIN: B0CP6GMWRK
Number of pages: 320
Word Count: 90k
Cover Artist: Kristian Norris

Tagline: He wants to claim her soul. But can she capture his heart?

Book Description:

On a hike through the forest, Mayela stumbles into a terrifying world where immortals hunt souls. To survive she secures protection from a Soul Master. When he demands payment, Mayela fights back. But how can she fight the desire consuming her heart?

Every soul Nathan claims expands the power of his realm. In Mayela, he finds a rare gift that could guarantee his place among the Soul Masters. All he must do is secure her allegiance without losing his heart. And Nathan has no heart to lose. Or does he?  

With eternity at stake, Mayela and Nathan ignite a transcendent passion that breaks all the rules. Among the Soul Masters, a malevolent force awakens. The final hunt is on…

Amazon      BN     Bookshop

Excerpt:

Then everything froze. Joni, the customers, the cars outside. All movement simply stopped. The chime on the front door sounded. My throat went dry. Somehow, I knew what was happening. I knew who had arrived, though I didn’t understand how or why.
Twisting around, I peered over the rim of the booth. Standing in the doorway was the man from my hallucinations, a creature of the dark plains. Tall and slim, broad-shouldered, dark in aspect. That same man had beheaded a snake in my kitchen. Not my kitchen, I reminded myself. The illusion of my kitchen, part of the same hallucination of an impossible world. The Hunting Grounds, he’d called it. Where we go to hunt souls.

My mind spun with the impossibility of what I was seeing. He couldn’t be real.  Yet here he was, in Joni’s shop. Except, he looked different. His hair was peppered gray instead of black. His skin seemed a shade darker. Or maybe lighter? It was like wrapping my head around a mirage, trying to remember what he looked like in my nightmares. But the simple force of his presence, the quiet luminescence of his spirit, was unmistakable. That was him.
Without so much as a glance in my direction, the man stepped into the shop and started toward the counter. Everything stirred at once. Several people looked his way. Joni let go a long, low whistle.

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaimed. "We haven’t had anyone that drop-dead gorgeous walk in here since…Well, ever!”

She kept staring, mouth agape, as he ordered coffee. Then her face lit up, and she jumped into action, wiping down the table next to me.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. “I think you should go for him.”

“What?” I croaked.

“He’s totally your style.”

“I don’t date men in suits.”

“What are you talking about?” She laughed. “Look at him! It’s fate. I can feel it.”

“Joni –”

“Sir!” She called. “Sir, we’ve got an empty table right over here. Next to the windows.”

Holy crap! I sank deeper into my seat. “I’m serious, Joni! Send him somewhere else.”

“Straighten up, beautiful.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Give it a shot. What’ve you got to lose?”

Then she was gone. I cast about frantically for an escape, but there was no back exit from the booth. Unless I wanted to crash through the window. Could I do that? Crash through the window?

Yeah, I could do that. But I’d have to leave my insects behind, and –
And there he was, taking the table next to me. His chair scraped against the floor. His clothes rustled as he settled in. Minutes passed while my heart pounded inside my chest. I kept my face turned, pretended to stare out the window, wondered whether it would hurt to feel the glass shatter against my skin.

Idle talk filled the coffee shop. Customers came and went, orders were taken, steam forced through frothing milk.

Still the man said nothing.

I snuck a glance in his direction. Damn, he was handsome. Heart stoppingly so. Desire tugged at my gut, a strangely familiar sense of attraction, as if we’d known each other before this moment. As if I’d been bound to him in a time before memory.


About the Author:

K.R. Gastreich is a recipient of the OZMA Award for fantasy fiction and the Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency, as well as a winner of the Women on Writing Flash Fiction Contest. Her fantasy novels feature high-stakes romance, gripping battles, and darkly lyrical prose. In addition to Soul Masters and The Silver Web trilogy, she has published short stories in Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman, 69 Flavors of Paranoia, and World Jumping.

A proud native of the American Midwest, K.R. Gastreich lived for many years in Texas and then in Latin America before returning to the Kansas City Metro where she grew up. When not writing she enjoys hiking, camping, studying dance, and spending time with her family.

To learn about new releases and other events, visit K.R. Gastreich’s website at krgastreich.com, or follow her on Instagram @EolynChronicles.









Tuesday, February 20, 2024

Guest Blog - A Sword of Blood and Roses by Jessica Ash #DarkFantasyRomance

Hi, I’m Jessica Ash and I’ve been writing books since before the social media age. Back in the day, the best way to get in touch with readers was packing up all your books, getting in the car, and driving to bookstores, festivals, and coffee shops. It was hard work and time consuming, and you were lucky to get a decent cinnnamon roll, let alone a true romance reader. Fantasy romance wasn’t a genre back then and I had to explain to people what a wolf shifter was, or why you would even have romance in your fantasy to begin with!

Those days are gone. While I still love to pack up the car and have coffee and tasty treats with readers, we now have dedicated romance conventions where everyone understands what the difference between enemies to lovers and grumpy sunshine tropes, and how you can have both in one book. And that’s fabulous, but you still might not get a lot of your true fans at any one place. But now we have social media, and it’s amazing for finding your tribe!

While blogs and Tik-tok are places you can socialize, my tribe get’s to follow along with me on my Facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/jessicaashromance . That’s where I love interacting with readers. And I mean, interact. It’s not just a matter of “Buy my book!” desperation. My Facebook page is the place I share character traits, fun excerpts, and what’s going on behind the scenes with the edits. Its where you can find out all the secrets...what’s coming up next, what I’m doing for fun, and yes, all about the books.

Because promoting books is still essentially about exactly what it was when years ago we sat down together across the coffee table and chatted, only now, I have my coffee at my breakfast table, and you have it at yours, and together, we’re on the internet socializing. We still get to chat about the fun ins and outs of fantasy romance. What makes a good fairy tale romance? Do you love Cinderella, Snow White, or Beauty and the Beast fantasy romance twists the best? And how dark is too dark for a romantic hero? Hint: my readers love the dark and twisty ones!

So, I promote my books the way I’ve always done it, one on one with readers. I interact with comments and let them know what’s going on in my life, and they love to let me know what’s going on in theirs too. And we still sip coffee and devour cinnamon rolls, but now we get to choose our own coffee and creamer and sit in our cozy homes. At the heart of it, sharing my fantasy romances with readers is still the same as it’s always been, it’s a reader and myself, and our love of books.


A Sword of Blood and Roses
Hunted by the Faerie Queen 
Book One
Jessica Ash

Genre: Dark Fantasy Romance
Date of Publication:  June 30, 2022
ISBN: 9798201496227 
ASIN: B0B1XQTX28 
Number of pages: 322
Word Count: 85,000
Cover Artist: Firda Graphic

Tagline: When the Queen of the Fae is after you, sometimes your best bet is falling in love with the enemy.

Book Description:

Enemies to Lovers Dark Fantasy Romance...

He was supposed to kill me...Now I'm his prisoner.

I was supposed to hate him...Now I'm falling in love.

But neither love nor magic can save me. And Now time is running out.

When the Queen of the Fae is after you sometimes your best bet is falling in love with the enemy, even when he's your kidnapper…

Read all five books in Kindle Unlimited. Discover enemies to lovers romance like you've never read before.


Excerpt:

Riding into the dry-as-bones mountains on the back of the puca, Logan’s anger seared bitter in his chest. It rolled off him in waves, pulling thunder down from the sky. He toyed idly with the storm letting his anger draw the danger of the lightning to him as he seethed.
Fifteen years away from his hounds. Fifteen years of Solanum’s running wild, the puca causing havoc wherever he went. Fifteen years of Logan’s life eaten away in the hole of the queen’s dungeons.

And now he was to kill witches for the queen—a fact that rubbed him raw.

Humans were amusing companions, why create trouble? Irritated with the brief flare of morality, he smothered it with brutal force. It didn’t fucking matter what he wanted. It never had.
Lightning cracked. The eerily silent hounds of the Dark Hunt tightened around him, their tense glances and snapping teeth reflections of his flaring emotions.

He had no room for second thoughts tonight. The Black Queen had given him no reason why she needed these witches killed, but if he satisfied her it might give him his freedom. At the very least it would give him some space. Maybe some time to figure out a way to stay out of the dungeons. And time to figure out how to truly extricate himself from her bloody dominion.

Because no matter what she had promised him, he knew, there was no way she would simply let him go. Not after the way he had betrayed her.

Solanum tossed his head and bucked. “Quit squeezing my ribs.” Lurid green faery flames leapt from his hooves, igniting short-lived cold fires in the dry Wyoming brush.

“Cease, horse,” Logan said, squeezing his legs a little more. Punching Solanum’s buttons felt good, really good. Just like his wrath at the queen felt good. Justified.

The puca tossed his long mane into Logan’s eyes. “Lay off, or you’ll be eating dirt,” he snarled, nostrils flaring red in the dimming light.

Solanum’s irritation put a hard smile on Logan’s lips. He tightened his legs and drove the puca harder down the hill through the brewing storm.

A hound pushed in too close. Solanum’s hoof lashed out, connecting with a solid thud. The hound’s yipe sounded inside Logan’s head as he regained his balance, cursing the hound’s behavior and the puca’s intolerance.

He was back. The hounds would get used to him again. And Solanum too.

Thunder crashed in the sky, following him down into the shadowed hills as he approached the witches’ lair. Nostrils burning from the ozone, nerves tingling, he distracted himself with the dark moist wind, manipulating it to blow through the dry autumn brush like a child's tantrum.

He laughed, the spiteful wind stealing away the dark sound as cracks of thunder echoed off the mountains. He let the anger simmer and the lightning moved further away. He wasn’t free yet, and he wasn’t suicidal. What he was, was trapped. And it pissed him off, the frustration riding him like a hag.

What could he do when the queen changed her mind and refused to release him from her service? What if the bitch thought she could use him then put him back into her dungeons Underhill, calling him to her side like a lapdog? He needed a way to show her there would be repercussions. He needed leverage.

In the distance, thunder rumbled. They tipped over the edge of the valley in search of the witch. A wavering glow of candles shone above the last few rocks.

Almost there.

The telltale traces of a spell raised the hair on the back of his neck. He extended his Gift to perceive what he couldn’t yet see. A labyrinth set by a single inexperienced witch. His lips twitched. As protection it might have worked, had the Faery Queen sent her regular henchman. Unluckily for the witch, the queen had unleashed him. The Dark Huntsman.

He would kill the wench, and be done with this thing between himself and the queen of the Tuatha De Danann. And when the queen refused to release him? He’d deal with that when the time came.

The wind carried the hot dry smell of sage mixed with the smell of fear and musky female. He inhaled the raw flavor of the witch, the taste of her fear and anger and power, slid down his throat, easing his rage.
The anxious hounds shifted around him, sensing the proximity of their prey. Solanum rounded the rock.

And there she was.

The sight of her rocked him back like a blow, almost knocking him to the ground. And he realized—despite the stasis, fifteen years had been too long a time to be without a woman.

Glimmers of power limned her naked body and the silver blade of the athame that gleamed between her breasts. Her legs were spread slightly apart, tensed for battle. Long black hair crackled and lifted with static. Her expressive face was poised on the edge of dilemma, her body caught between the need to hold the spell and the need for action.

He paused to let the feel of power and woman roll through him.

Beautiful.

Unexpected.

Green, almond-shaped eyes widened. Her stance firmed, her shoulders pulled back, and her full breasts rose, nipples tightened with cold or fear. Something wild and raw he hadn’t felt in a hundred years stabbed low in his gut.

His agenda changed.

The queen wanted to kill the witch. Why? His plan of placating the queen suddenly seemed weak. She’d never let him go without leverage, and here was leverage standing naked and lovely before him. He had a new plan.

Screw the queen.

 

***

Thunder boomed.

Trina glanced up the valley. The dying light made it impossible for her to see much more than the silhouette of a horse and rider barreling through the boulders and uneven terrain, tearing down the rocky hillside at an impossible speed. But no barrel racer would endanger their mount careening down the mountain in a thunderstorm. Or ride a horse the color of the absence of light with freakish red eyes. Only something truly inhuman would light up her inner sight with that particular eerie blue glow.

The acid in her stomach rose into her throat.

An elven lord.

Oh fuck! I’m screwed.

She swallowed the fear down. Her trap, her best effort, all her hard work. Dumb. Stupid.

Pathetic. None of it would hold an elven lord—a full adult fae whose power would make her trap look like an art project. She wished she could hide the evidence, like a small child wiping up the crumbs of stolen cookies.

Horse and rider skidded and slowed in a shower of ricocheting rocks. The enormous red  hounds flowed out, surrounding the labyrinth as the cloaked rider and his dark mount advanced.

She held still, athame at the ready in sweaty hands, prepared to bolt if she had the chance. Her eyes flicked from the approaching rider, distracted by the lesser threat of the huge, sharp-toothed,  yellow-eyed hounds encircling the labyrinth like silent sharks waiting for the command to take their prey.

Her.

“Damn shame to kill you, witch.” His voice was smooth, well-aged whiskey with a hint of brogue.

 “Then don’t.”

“What will you give me instead? A life requires a powerful exchange. And I was sent for your death.”

Trina tried to keep her face even and not reveal her panic. She had nothing he could want.

Anything of true power that a fae like this one might consider valuable, was safely out of reach and driving down the road in the van. Gone. Along with any reinforcements.

“How about honesty?” She offered in desperation.

“Funny girl.” The dark presence leaned forward, his impatient mount’s feet shifting on the gravel.

The nervous sweat on her back grew cold.

“Although I would enjoy taking the time,” his voice carried easily over the wind and thunder, “we shouldn't stand here bargaining. The queen awaits my report.”

The lord’s level tone distracted her and she was unprepared when the horse moved. The pair crashed effortlessly into the labyrinth, cutting a destroying swath across the short, brushy sage and heading for her at the center. Spectacular violent explosions burst into cascades of colored lights, as if her carefully constructed wards were merely firecrackers, instead of huge magical grenades.

The overwhelming smell of crushed sage rose, and she swore the evil-eyed horse laughed. She reached inside for what was left of her power, losing her grip on it when he leaned over and grabbed her arm. With no apparent effort, he hoisted her up.
She scrabbled for a handhold in an effort to not fly over the horse into the waiting sea of teeth and dogs. She tangled one hand in the long black mane and held tight to her slippery knife with the other.

Strong arms wrapped in leather tightened around her, forcing her upright, her toes dangling sidesaddle. Everything happening too fast. She barely had a grip in the long black mane when the creature flexed under her and they flew over the candles.

The flames blew out.

They landed on the other side of the labyrinth in a hard jolt. She slipped.

If I fall, I could run.

Before the thought had been and gone, her grip on the mane loosened. She slid to the side. Hot breath and the scrape of teeth on her ankle warned her, just in time. She yanked her foot out of range of the snapping jaws, and lost her balance. Making an instinctive grab for the mane with her right hand—she dropped the knife.

Her kidnapper growled and tightened his grip on her stomach.

She gasped for her voice. “Put me down!”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I either kill you or take you with me.” The sparkling black blade of his laughter cut deep into her soul.

Accelerating faster and faster, they wove in and out of the treacherous rocks in a mad, blurring rush up the side of the valley. If she fell off now and hit a rock, she’d be roadkill. She anchored both hands firmly in the mane and leaned back into the solid chest of her attacker.

They raced on, licks of green fire lighting up the hill behind them. A deep maw of black within purple mist formed ahead, transforming the familiar landscape into a horror. The knowledge of where they headed slammed inside her brain.

Trina’s heart sped into a sharp staccato.

Words of denial formed in her constricted throat, gone long before she had a chance to know what they were.

Don’t make me go.

They rocketed to the top of the valley, the piranha hounds schooling tightly around them as they raced to the looming mouth of the portal. Steely muscles bunched and flexed under her.

Launching into the air, they flew into the mix of fog and darkness encased in the sound of her scream.


About the Author:

Jessica Ash loves dragons, magic, and romance, and is lucky enough to write about all three while consuming boatloads of chocolate. Her favorite fantasy is taking a luxury cruise up the Rhine where she could stare at the castles along the water and dream of faery. She writes dark fae fantasy romance where evil queens are on the hunt and strong heroes and heroines fall in love.



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