Oh Jesus.

If I had the sense God gave a gnat, I wouldn’t be approaching this dark house in an isolated section of Dublin, Ireland by myself…at night…armed with nothing but an Ipad and a recorder. Not that a gun or sword—or hell, a freakin’ nuclear bomb—could protect me from what waits on the other side of this door. Let’s face it. If the creature I’m here to see is in a bad mood, I’m screwed.

And soooo not in a good way.

One more knock on the door. Just one more, than story or no story, I’m outta here…

Day-aamn.

A petite, slim female with long, dark hair stands motionless inside her open doorway. Eyes the color of brilliant lightning stare at me, unblinking. Measuring. As if determining which of my body parts she should cleave off first.

Sinéad, the cruxim—the Black Angel—who hunts  in the territory of Dublin for vampires, the cruxim’s mortal, or rather immortal, enemies.

And the person—using that term veeery loosely—I’m here to interview.

Sinéad: (crossing her arms) Well aren’t you brave?

Me: Umm…excuse me?

Sinéad: Just showing up here… And assuming I won’t kill you on sight.

Me: Er, uh…wow. I think that’s against the rules…isn’t it? I’m human. You protect me, not slice ‘n dice me.

Sinéad: (shakes her head) You chroniclers. You totally miss the meaning behind “secret race”. And for the record, I don’t protect you. I hunt and execute vampires who just happen to find you a tasty snack. Let’s face it, if they decided to become vegetarians tomorrow, there would be a surplus in crops and you’d be on your own.

Niiiiice. I would respond, but as she shuts the door and turns around, the sight of the scabbard strapped across her back with the hilt of a silver gladius jutting out steals my voice. Nervously, I circle my throat with my hand and heave a silent sigh of relief. Whew. Still intact.

Me: (clearing my throat) Duncan MacLeod has a watcher, you have me.

Sinéad: (snorts) Turn off your fear, chronicler. The stink of it is offensive. I haven’t killed you…

“Yet” hangs in the room like a string of gaudy Christmas lights in mid-February. I swallow—hard—and try to summon a smile and hide my fear. Snicker. Riiiight. I’d forgotten the female is an empath as well as a fierce warr—

Me: (gasp) What the hell?

Sinéad: (whirling around in a crouch, her hand reaching behind her head) What? What?

Me: (horrified, pointing to the table in the living room) Potato chips. Cereal? What the hell? You drink vampire blood not, not…snacks! And what’s that on television? Television? Since when did you start watching—what is that? Twilight?

Sinéad: (slowly straightening and grumbling something totally unintelligible) Mimeumingow.

Me: What did you just say?

Sinéad: (whirling around with a snarl) I said, I’m human now. All I do is sit on the couch, eat and watch television. And cry at those damn Hallmark commercials.

Maybe my face says all the WTF racing through my head because she huffs out a breath and shoves a hand over her head. Another shock. On any other woman the gesture would be frustration, but cruxim don’t do frustration. They’re emotionless. They don’t do…anything.

Sinéad: Stop moving your mouth up and down like a fecking fish. Shite.

Fecking? Shite? Fu—Ohhh. The Irish accent through me off for a bit… Then the import of all she’s confessed rolls over me like that first wave of 4 am Black Friday shoppers at Walmart.

Me: Good. God. You’re, uh…I mean, what happened?

Sinéad: (sigh) A wounded hippogryph male. Blood. The only kind act I’ve ever done in my life and now I’m…this. Humans are right. No good deed goes unpunished. Now I’m a damn walking meat suit.

God. I feel so sorry for her. So sorry I don’t even take offense at being called a “walking meat suit”. I probably will be later, but not now.

Me: You should be out hunting. But obviously…

Sinéad: (viciously rubs the heels of her palms over her eyes. I can’t help but wince) All I’ve known for three hundred years is fighting, killing…blood. Now I’m in an unfamiliar body, with out-of-control emotions and an appetite for flat, deep fried potatoes. I’m so. Damn. Lost.

Me: (whispering) Are you scared?

Sinéad: (drops her arms and stares at me) I’ve never been afraid. Never feared dying. I still don’t. But I am terrified of every morning when the sun rises and it’s another day in this skin. Another day when I can feel my soul screaming…

As she trails off an uncomfortable silence fills the room. She’s probably horrified at the display of emotion, and I… Well I just don’t know what to say. Hallmark doesn’t have a card for “I’m sorry your life just went to hell in gasoline drawers. Thinking of you!” Yeah. Words are pretty much inadequate. Really there’s only one thing I can give her...

Me: Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.

Sinéad: (her eyes narrowing) A chronicler? Not telling a story?

Me: (shaking my head) Not this one. It’s yours to tell.

There’s a slight softening on her face that I would have never thought I’d see on one of these Black Angels.

Sinéad: (bows her head) Thank you then.

Me: No problem. I’m going to, uh, y’know, go. Leave you to your (I do a finger crinkle at her snack buffet and television marathon) whatever.

I turn around to leave, but damn… I just have to ask. I have to!

Me: One thing. (she arches an eyebrow) Are you Team Edward or Team Jacob? (My eyes widen as she slowly reaches for the sword behind her back) Gotcha. Nunya, right? Nunya bizness. Okay. See you, um, well. Yeah. See you.

I rush out of the room and the house as quick as my boots can slap the floor. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I need a drink.

Buy Bitten by Ecstasy here!

Dark Judgment, Book Two

A brutal attack left Bastien Sarris for dead. But a chance encounter with a mysterious female drags him back from the brink of death—and transforms the hippogryph healer into a monster he doesn’t recognize. Now a terrible hunger consumes him—one that is becoming impossible to satisfy. Desperate for a cure, he hunts the cruxim who cursed him to a hellish existence. But the petite warrior ignites a fierce desire for her body that overwhelms the sweet call of blood.

For three hundred years Sinéad lived and hunted as a cruxim—a winged vampire hunter. But one sacrificial act stripped her immortality, leaving her human, vulnerable and unprepared for the reappearance of Bastien in her life. The hippogryph is harder and colder than she remembers…and he triggers an onslaught of need within her that is as powerful as it is unfamiliar. She craves his kiss, his touch. Yet even as she surrenders to this newfound passion, she faces a crucial decision—betray the man she’s come to love and regain her immortality or save Bastien and condemn herself to a human life and death.

Headed to God's Country! Ooh! And My New Cover!

Ireland, here I come!

Yes! I'm going back to Ireland! God's Country! Eire!

Sigh.

I love Ireland. The history. The beauty of the land. The people. I first travelled there in 2007, and have been so eager to return ever since.



St. Patrick's Bridge

Why Ireland? I've had a grand passion for this country for years, and the blame can be placed squarely on Nora Roberts' shoulders. I fell in love with God's Country from her Born In series. How she described the beautiful land and people, the myths and history... She made me believe I could find my own Rogan or Murphy in this land of tragic lyrics, haunting music and never-say-die warriors. Well, I ended up finding my hero in Alabama, but still...



St. Finbarre's Cathedral

I leave for Cork City this July, and one of the things I'm looking forward to is carrying my notebook around and jotting down notes about pubs, landmarks, people and stories. I want to capture my impressions of the historical structures to the sounds and accents on Winthrop Street. Because when I return home, all of it will be applied to a new book set in my favorite country! A brooding Irishman with dark hair and blue eyes. A sexy brogue. Green, patchwork fields and rolling hills. A large bed and roaring fire as rain falls and mists outside. Yeah... I have no idea what the plot or character arc will be but it will have my sexy hero with an accent and a big bed!

But before I bow out to go dream about my trip and new hero, guess who has a new cover and release? ME! That's right! The second book in the Dark Judgment series, Bitten by Ecstasy, is coming out on June 21 2013!

Blurb:
A brutal attack left Bastien Sarris for dead. But a chance encounter with a mysterious female drags him back from the brink of death—and transforms the hippogryph healer into a monster he doesn’t recognize. Now a terrible hunger consumes him—one that is becoming impossible to satisfy. Desperate for a cure, he hunts the cruxim who cursed him to a hellish existence. But the petite warrior ignites a fierce desire that overwhelms the sweet call of blood.

For three hundred years, Sinéad lived and hunted as a cruxim—a winged vampire hunter. But one sacrificial act stripped her of immortality, leaving her human, vulnerable and unprepared for the reappearance of Bastien in her life. The hippogryph shifter is harder and colder than she remembers…and he triggers an onslaught of need that’s as powerful as it is unfamiliar. She craves his kiss, his touch. Yet even as she surrenders to this newfound passion, she faces a crucial decision—betray the man she’s come to love and regain her immortality—or save Bastien and condemn herself to a human life and death.

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!

Blurb:


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.

Excerpt:

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.

"Nico.”

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.