Tuesday, October 23, 2012

My Editor Has Corrupted Me!

I LOVE my editor at Ellora’s Cave! Love, love, love! She is like the Conan-Do-You-Want-to-Live-Forever-Valkyrie editor, I swear. She goes all bad-ass over my books, that’s for sure. Not only is she hilarious, sarcastic, efficient and willing to tell me that yes, I am a brilliant ar-teest who happens to have exquisite taste in shoes, but she is damn good at her job! So far I’ve learned I have a love affair with “that”, am an overstater of the obvious and can’t seem to filter out those doggone pesky filters…did I mention she has the patience of a saint?? Did I also mention the last manuscript I got back from her looked like a holy stigmata?? She is so thorough and so knowledgeable I felt like apologizing for being such a non-specific, filtering, pronoun-abusing schmuck! In a nutshell? She’s awesome!!

One of the cool things about having an editor who knows her stuff is learning from her/him with each book and round. Suddenly I’m aware of certain word choices that may take a reader out of my character’s head. Or I’m able to pinpoint superfluous words or phrases that just muddy up a sentence. I’m learning to write cleaner thanks to her… Yet there is a downside to her brilliant attention to detail. Once the awareness has kicked in, it is impossible to shut off. Self-editing is wonderful—especially when it enables you to turn in a tighter manuscript. But there are certain uh, things, one just should not edit…

* The bible. Do you know how blasphemous it feels to sit during service or bible study and critique scripture? Seriously though has anyone besides me noticed there are a ton of unnecessary “that”s, ambiguous “you”s, “thou”s and “him"s? While I should be concentrating on the patriarchs of faith, I’m restructuring the sentence so the correct nouns are modified and entering proper names instead of pronouns…am I going to hell? ‘Cause I kinda feel nitpicking God is like 10a. of the Ten Commandments…

* School newsletters and memos. A veritable smorgasbord of dangling modifiers, preposition-ending sentences and not enough commas! Okay, the last one is just my personal preference…

* Text messages. As one who is a hater of auto-fill, text messages send my inner editor into a tail spin! I know it is way more expedient to type “ure” and “u” and “btr” and “ty”…but I…can’t…do…it. And when I get a text with those—and a plethora of other abbreviations—in them, I need to type them out. Which makes my return message the size of 3 texts long. And if I notice I made a mistake after I hit send, it’s a compulsion to send a follow-up email apologizing, saying “I meant…” Yes. Really. I am this anal…

I sooo blame this on your beautiful mind, Violet!!

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

An Unveiling!

So I’ve been super, super busy with edits and revisions. Very excited! As this is my day to post, I’m going to be the promo-slut of the week and post an excerpt from Under His Wings, my upcoming paranormal release with Ellora’s Cave Publishing! Hope you enjoy!


Under His Wings Cover
Mundane and boring are seriously underrated, so sixth grade social studies teacher Tamar Ridgeway believes. After surviving a horrible plane crash and enduring years of painful therapy, she’s entitled to a couple of phobias and a normal, humdrum life. So what, she’s afraid of the dark and refuses to ever step foot into anything that flies… At long last, she’s happy—until the night she and a friend are attacked by a mythical creature out of her worst nightmares. Suddenly she’s on the hit list of a homicidal half eagle-half horse monster, and the sexy warrior with chocolate and gold wings who steps out of her dreams—literally—is vowing to save her, whether she wants his protection or not.

Nicolai Abioud, Dimios of the hippogryph, is stunned to realize that the human he saves from a vicious attack is the woman he has shared dreams with for the past six months—very erotic, hot dreams. Five hundred years ago, he failed to protect his wife and swears not to allow the same fate befall Tamar. He’s fascinated by her beauty, and mesmerized by the warrior spirit that burns bright inside her eyes. Yet he refuses to submit to the stirring in his body and heart. He’s had his one, true mate and lost her, and falling for a human—no matter how hot and demanding the desire—is foolish and doomed. Yet the choice to accept this unexpected love may be snatched out of their hands. Danger is closing in, and somehow they must find a way to conquer their fears or lose the love of a millennium.


Dusk bullied its way across the skyline, the rolling bank of gray and black clouds forcing daylight to pick up its ball and go home.

Nicolai Abioud studied the fast-moving mass as several stories beneath him the denizens that awakened with the dark stirred and crept out of their hiding places, ready to go about the business of the encroaching night. The rundown five-story building he crouched on top of probably hosted all manner of illicit activities. Drug addicts and prostitutes peered out of windows as jagged as their souls, scouting the dirty, garbage-littered streets for patrolling cops or predators more vicious then they.

He was such a predator.

Only he had bigger prey to bag.

He scanned the obsidian alleys, his raptor’s eyes sighting even the smallest scurry. Below, a scantily clad woman led an old man down the passageway. As she maneuvered him behind the large dumpster, she glanced toward the sky as if sensing the hunter who perched above her. Even if she could spot Nicolai, he wouldn’t be her concern. Her wariness was better reserved for the other one who stalked these streets.


He didn’t glance over his shoulder as the low, sandpaper-over-gravel voice echoed inside his head. The heavy strokes of wings against air had reached his ears several moments ago.

“Yes?” he asked aloud, noting that the prostitute had finished her transaction and was headed toward the mouth of the alley. Either she had a blue ribbon talented mouth or the man had a two second fuse. Nicolai was betting on the latter.

“There’s no sign of him,” Lukas Gallo reported along the telepathic link they shared. “Maybe he’s moved on.”

“No.” Nicolai met the steady, ice-blue gaze of his second-in-command and one of the three males he led. Tonight Lukas hunted with him. The other two warriors—Adon Laskaris and Dorian Zarides—searched for traces of their prey on the east side of the city. Together the three males formed the krinos, the select, highly trained fighting unit that served under the Dimios, their people’s executioner. Or Nicolai. On the rooftop, Lukas’ obsidian plumage, wings and body seemed to swallow the shades around him, a worm hole sucking the shadows into his huge bulk. Only his arctic gaze and the distinctive three white stripes across his back relieved the midnight feathers, equestrian hindquarters and tail. “This is prime hunting ground for him. He’s not finished.” Nicolai murmured.

A sigh whispered down their connection. “We were almost too late to cover up his last kill. Even Evander wouldn’t risk the exposure another would bring.”

“No?” Nicolai arched his eyebrow. “He’s a rogue, Lukas. By the very definition of the word he doesn’t give a fuck about rules. And he damn sure doesn’t care if he reveals us to the human world. It’s a game to him,” he rasped, his gaze returning to the streets that grew more active, teemed with more people…more quarry for the kill. “Us. Them. We’re all pawns in this screwed up version of Clue to which only he knows the rules.”

Lukas remained silent at the words that sounded bitter to Nicolai’s own ears. Evander Agnew, the latest of his people to go rogue. Over the last four months, he’d cut a bloody trail through Europe and now here to North America. The kills had been spread out and Nicolai, Lukas, Adon and Dorian had worked swiftly to cover them up. But Evander didn’t show any signs of stopping. The humans had no idea a monster out of their mythical lore—and their worst nightmares—had been unleashed on them.

And Nicolai had trained the sadistic bastard.

As the Dimios, the race’s judge, jury and executioner, it fell to Nicolai to hunt Evander and bring him down just as Nicolai had done all other rogues who’d gone off the proverbial reservation. Hunting his brethren, executing them and preserving the secrecy of his people’s existence were Nicolai’s responsibilities—had been for eight hundred years. As long as the hippogryph had been in existence, there had been those who’d gone rogue for one reason or another—resentment over the restrictions governing their exposure to the world, exile or bloodlust. Whether they were angry, power hungry or deranged, he’d pursued them all. Yes, he experienced regret over some of the punishments, but it had never been personal.

Until now.

Until Evander—an elite warrior Nicolai had trained and a trusted soldier he’d commanded—betrayed him by preying on the weak and defenseless.

Until four months ago when Evander had started his rampage with the murder of Nicolai’s best friend.

Grief writhed in his gut like snakes on a Gorgon’s head. Nicolai, Lukas, Adon, Dorian—they accepted that their deaths were possible every time they pursued a rogue and engaged in battle. But Bastien hadn’t signed up for that. He’d been a healer, not a warrior. Yet Evander had targeted Bastien because he’d been Nicolai’s friend. Just to hurt Nicolai, Evander had stolen the life of a good man. For that the betrayer would die. If Nicolai had to track him for the rest of his existence, he would destroy this rogue.

“Nico, let me take this one,” Lukas urged. “You’re too personally involved—”

“Forget it,” Nicolai snapped.

A loud crack rent the air and he glanced down, startled to see his black talons stabbing into the edge of the roof. Fine fissures zigzagged over the railing and chunks of cement littered the ground. Lifting his head, he met Lukas’ censorious gaze. Juveniles half-shifted as they learned to dominate their beast. For an adult—especially a nine-hundred-year-old warrior—to do so meant a loss of control. Dangerous for one whose duty required he discipline not just himself but an entire race of people.

“Forget it,” he repeated, voice grim. He eyed his second-in-command until Lukas lowered his sleek, black head, a sign of the male’s submission. “We hunt here tonight. And we’ll keep on until we find this demented bastard and take him out.”

The cold, grim words echoed in the night air as Nicolai leaped onto the narrow railing, landing in a crouch. He splayed his fingers on the rough ledge, maintaining his balance as he again examined the murky expanse of sky. The dense blanket of pollution hid the twinkle of stars and obscured the moon’s pearlescent glow. A shaft of longing for the clean, fresh air of his home pierced him. If he breathed deep he could almost taste the rain-scented breeze that blew over the private peninsula off the Washington state coast. There the stars glittered like bright diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth by a celestial hand.

As different from this place as shit from shine.

“Lukas.” Nicolai squinted at a sizeable, dingy cloud that sailed at a slightly faster clip than the others. Something about the odd shape…and when the moon’s beam struck it…

“That’s him,” he growled.

Not waiting for Lukas’ reply he dove off the ledge, arms outstretched, head thrown back. Magic sizzled from the soles of his feet, blazed a path up his legs, thighs to his gut and chest, and shot to his shoulder blades and legs. It consumed him. Bone snapped and popped, muscle and tendon contorted as his head rounded and formed a large, high-arched beak and shaggy crest at the same time feathers sprouted along his arms and back. Two pairs of legs—the front pair talon-tipped and the back hoofed—stretched and kicked as his wings beat hard one, twice, and the hippogryph’s powerful, magnificent body climbed high into air. At the same time he cast a gyges, a magical net that rendered him invisible to the human eye.

Beside him, Lukas’ black half-eagle-half-stallion beast appeared, and together they streaked through the sky after their prey.

“Stay back,” Nicolai ordered through the telepathic link. Lukas’ head snapped to the side, his onyx eyes glittering with shock and growing anger. Before the other hippogryph could voice his objection, Nicolai cut him off. “Don’t interfere. That’s an order.”

Lukas’ rage crackled down their link but he spread his wings wide and reared back on his hind legs, talons clawing the air. Nicolai launched forward, all his attention focused on the smoky billow several feet beneath him. The mist—too thick to be natural—didn’t hinder his search. Tonight he would end this, damn it. He would end Evander.

A warning whispered through his head. The same warning he gave those who trained under him.

Never let emotion enter the hunt. If you do, you’re dead as fuck.

Well he was as dead as a damn doornail because there was no way he could separate the hatred, the overwhelming grief and thirst for revenge….for blood.