#TeaserTuesday: A Return to Aquitainia

 

When his head listed to the side, he let it; propped his temple on his knuckles and watched, tired and helpless, as Oliver began to slowly pace the width of the rug, fiddling with the ring that Erik had given him.

“I don’t blame Askr,” he said. “Nor any of them. I’m still new to this, and there are elements of it I can’t hope to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it firsthand.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug mirrored by the humorless lift of half his mouth. “Most days I’m not sure I believe myself.”

“I believe you.”

“You’re biased.”

Erik felt a fast, but quickly-killed flare of temper. No one had ever questioned him as much as Oliver; it was his right as a paramour… but this wasn’t questioning. Not really. “If you’ll remember,” he said, levering fondness into his tone, “I was the one who told you of the existence of drakes.”

Oliver kept pacing, but shot him a sideways glance, loaded with sass.

Erik sat back in his chair, relieved at the sight. “I was raised in the North, darling. I don’t doubt magic, nor do the others.”

Oliver’s lips pressed together, a wry, flat pretend smile. “So it’s me they doubt.”

“Ollie—”

He lifted a hand in a bid for silence, and turned to walk the length of the rug once more. “No, no. They’re right to.”

“What?”

Oliver stopped, and turned to face him, hands clasped together. His expression did something tense and unfamiliar that Erik didn’t like at all.

His pulse kicked up a step, and Erik repeated, “What?”

Oliver’s look of indecipherable concentration intensified. “They’re right to doubt me. Probably they shouldn’t listen to me at all. And neither should you.”

It was, without question, the strangest thing Oliver had ever said to him. It was alarming. Erik’s heart slammed inside his chest.

He sat up straight and said, “Oliver, what is this? Where is this coming from?”

Rather than answer, Oliver resumed pacing, hands at his sides this time, using his thumbs to crack each finger with a sequence of nervous flicks. “Is the war winnable?”

Erik was beginning to wish he’d poured himself a cup of wine before beginning this conversation. “Is the… every war is winnable.”

Oliver sent him a dark look. “Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What would you have me say? That I’ve led my entire nation to war, but I don’t think we can win?”

Oliver spun toward him, brows drawn. “Did you?”

“No.” He was more than a little stung. “I’m not Náli. I’m not some—some cocksure child who thinks he’s invincible.”

“Náli is actually quite frightened and morbid all the time.”

“You know what I mean, Oliver,” Erik growled, half expecting Oliver to recoil.

He didn’t. 

It's been a hot minute since I worked on the Drake Chronicles, so I was convinced I would have a tough time changing gears and getting back to it. My paperback proofs of Beware of Dog are set to arrive today, so I'm working on Avarice of the Empire in the meantime. 

To my pleasant surprise, I was able to dive right back into this world. Book Five left us in a bit of a lurch, and plenty of readers expressed their anger/disappointment in Oliver, and even Leif. Book Six offers us some *revelations* on both those fronts, and I'll reiterate that everything is going to be okay with Erik and Oliver. And even Leif. And Amelia. I said before: let me cook. 

The good news is that I feel sure I can make Book Seven the final book in the series. Yay! So AOTE, and the one more. I'm looking forward to wrapping things up and having the whole story out there. In the way of all ongoing fantasy sagas, things have to get worse before they can get better, but they definitely will get better. I don't do sad endings. 

Once I'm finished with BoD edits, I can turn my full attention to the Drakes, and I'm hoping to get this one out before the fall. Fingers crossed! 

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Sixteen

 

She knew Carina’s type: the country club mothers for whom a child was just another merit badge on the Girl Scout vest of life, who turned to the bottle the moment their “precious darlings” needed anything more than a patented proud smile. Carina wasn’t worried about Mason, Maggie knew – after all, the doctors had said he was out of the woods as far as the whole dying thing went – but was worried about her social standing now that her son had almost killed himself with a party drug. 

The use of the phrase "another merit badge on the Girl Scout vest of life" here is a case of me folding a little bit of my real self into the fiction. I've always applied it to the equestrian world: those riders who were in it for the prestige of blue ribbons, who treated their horses as disposable vehicles. But it certainly applies here with regard to Carina Stephens and her son. 

Maggie is a uniquely Southern heroine because even though she can be a hardass, lethal when necessary, she wields soft power like a pro. Some of that's down to her formal cotillion training growing up, but most of it's simply a cultural staple. She can play nice when she needs to, all fake saccharine sweetness and "bless your heart." We see her skills at play here in this scene, and will see them more in later chapters. 

Ava, meanwhile, is still having A Time (in a bad way) with Mercy. 

Caught up in the moment, he didn't realize how badly she was hurting until afterward, and then he panics a little bit - for more than one reason. He hates that he caused her pain, and if you're thinking "why didn't he know to be more careful?" consider that, up to this point, he's only ever hooked up with club groupies: casual, unemotional sex with experienced women. Mentally and emotionally, he's still in a very immature place. He's finally slept with someone he actually loves, and he hurt her, and he feels fumbly, and stupid, and like an ass. Then layer in the panic that he's finally crossed the line with her, and OMG, how are Ghost and Maggie going to react when/if they find out? His first instinct is to get rid of all the physical evidence of what happened and put some distance between them in case her parents get home earlier than expected. 

He's freaking out. 

Ava, of course, reads this as a rejection, as him not caring, and that's the tragedy of it all. 

Happy Father's Day

 

I want to wish all dads a Happy Father's Day, but extend a special "Happy Father's Day" to all the poor horse dads out there. 😄

I started asking for a horse the moment I could talk. It was the only thing I wanted to do in life. My parents tried to sidetrack me with me other pursuits early on: ballet, jazz and tap, gymnastics, band. I was fixated. They started me out with smaller pets: finches, frogs, a dog, a rabbit. But I wanted to ride. My mom rode as a kid and teenager, and she was fully on-board, but my dad took some convincing. I finally started lessons when I was nine, and we bought my first horse, Skip (there he is!) when I was ten. Dad might have been reluctant before I became a full-fledged horse girl, but once I was in the saddle, he never once tried to discourage me. He's not exactly an animal person, but he knew that it was my dream. Over the years, friends and family members alike tried to convince me that horses were a phase, and that once I started dating, or went off to college, I'd sell my horse and pursue "adult" hobbies. 

Well, I'm thirty-seven, and just celebrated Kit Kat's second birthday yesterday, so it's safe to say it wasn't a phase! 

Thank you, Dad, for all the entry fees, and the show barn camp chair naps, and the awkward well-wishes before I went into the ring. For being there the night we put Cosmo down, and knowing how painful each goodbye has been over the years. You didn't ever ask for the equine life, but it found you anyway. 

This picture was taken by a barn friend who was starting up a photography business and wanted some practice. I'm either 14 or 15 here, and I'm glad she insisted on a group shot. Skip and Spoof have both crossed over the rainbow bridge now, Skip in 2011 and Spoof in 2023. Miss you, boys. ❤

(Also deeply regretting my choice in riding breeches.)

Happy Father's Day! 

Paperback Alert: Hell Theory

 

He sipped his drink, and after a few long moments she saw the line of his shoulders relax; saw him sink down deeper in his chair. His fingers drummed on his glass, and his nostrils flared as he let out a deep breath that had the firelight leaping down the holster straps on his chest.

Then he turned to her. With eyes that weren’t honey, or burnt sugar, no, not now. Gold eyes. Lion’s eyes. The firelight licked over them, carved dark shadows beneath his cheekbones. His hair was already starting to dry, faintly curling at the ends, framing his sharp jaw.

“Are you alright?” she asked, softly.

He dipped his head, a nod of thanks. “Yes. It just takes me a moment – after.”

After what? She didn’t ask.

First released in 2020 and 2021, my Hell Theory trilogy, and its novella, Mystical Wonderful, are now finally available in paperback! 

This series was very much an impulse project rather than a long-planned goal, but it was a lot of fun to swerve into a whole new lane and write something out of character. I've described it as a blended homage to Anne Rice, Thomas Harris, and the tales of King Arthur. It's near-future dystopian erotica, and a nice dark and rainy escape from hot, sunny June days. 

You can grab the paperbacks on Amazon, and the reading order is:

King Among the Dead

Night In A Waste Land

Mystic Wonderful 

Vanish Into Light

The trilogy is complete! And each book is around 75k words, two rarities for me! Binge ready for your summer reading needs.  

The Real Life Walshes

Did anyone watch the Belmont this past Saturday? I was excited to watch Sovereignty win it. He had an incredible Derby run, and then, after skipping the Preakness, danced his way excitedly through the post parade, and had a drawing-away, come-from-mid-pack epic win in the Belmont. I love when a trainer makes a call for the benefit of a horse's wellbeing, and Bill Mott keeping him out of the Preakness was definitely the right call, even if it meant there was no chance of a Triple Crown winner this year. And I especially loved, after the finish, watching Junior Alvarado love on Sovereignty, and then Journalism, as he and Umberto Rispoli praised one another's horses. Horse racing is dangerous, and can be a brutal industry, so I love when I see those involved show genuine care for their animals. 

But that's not the point of this post. 

Also in the field was Heart of Honor, ridden by a UK-based woman jockey. There's not too many female jockeys out there; exercise riders, yes, but race day jockeys, not so much. 

This is Saffie Osborne. Her dad, Jamie, is the trainer, and she's the jockey, and I said, "Oh my God, it's the real-life Walsh and Violet!" She's even a blonde. Come on, now. 

Obviously, they didn't win on Saturday, but getting a slot in a Triple Crown race is still a big deal, even if you don't come home with the hardware. Here she is riding Heart of Honor to a second-place finish in the UAE Derby. 

I've had more than a few readers express hope that I'll write a second gen series for Dartmoor, and let me say that while I'll never say never, I definitely do not have plans to do that as of right now. Any story about Remy would be heavily influenced by his and his family's ordeal in Lord Have Mercy, and I'm not looking to explore that given LHM's sales performance. Besides: the Dartmoor kid whose story I would most want to tell? Violet's. And I don't have any kind of club drama plot mapped out yet; only her personal journey, which I've started exploring my "Dartmoor Futures" blog series. 

The wild Belmont coincidence is: after her track accident, I envisioned Walsh taking Vi to Saratoga (where the Belmont is run), courtesy of Uncle Ian's money and connections, to see if she still wants to be a jockey. My plan is that, with her confidence badly rattled, Vi isn't ready to dive back into racing just yet. Instead, she takes on a difficult training job, working with an off the track Thoroughbred back in Tennessee, and eventually discovering a love for three-day eventing. Still a daredevil sport, but an individual one, without quite the same risks at the racetrack. 

Her romance, of course, as hinted at in the scenes I've written so far, is with Ash Teague. I don't know if/when I'll write any more of her (their) story, but the Belmont got me thinking Violet Walsh thoughts, for sure. 

#TeaserTuesday: BoD Coming Soon

 

As the youngest of ten half-siblings, Cassandra Green worries she’ll always been seen as the “baby” of the family, even though she’s about to turn twenty. Life as an art student in New York is peaceful, steady, and with the club at its most powerful and settled, Cass ventures deeper into civilian life, trying to carve a niche for herself among her fellow students. But when her roommate is assaulted, she turns to her assigned Lean Dog protector, Shep, for support.

When he was first placed on Raven Blake’s security detail almost three years ago, Shepherd wanted no part of looking after her teenage sister. Now, though, he’s finding any excuse to stay in Manhattan to keep an eye on Cass. When she lands in the crosshairs of a rich and influential family, he realizes his feelings aren’t just protective anymore.

Book Six in the Lean Dogs Legacy series takes place after Lean Dogs Legacy Book Five, Nothing More, and Dartmoor Series Book Ten, Lord Have Mercy. 

I finished writing Beware of Dog on Sunday! Pre-edits, it sits at 365 pages, and 127k words. Much more manageable than my last release, which shall remain nameless here. No sense reliving the shame. 

Right now, I'm doing a full read-through of it on the computer, and then it'll go off to my editor. Depending on how cooperative real life is, I'm thinking it'll be about two weeks until release day. 

This was a fun one to write. There's some high drama and some angst, yes, a little life-or-death action, because this involves the Lean Dogs, after all. But the romance manages to be lighthearted, and sweet, and spicy all at once. I'm excited to share Cass and Shep with you soon!

As I mentioned last week, this isn't a standalone. It can be read as one, maybe, but to be fully up to speed on who's who, you'll need to have read Long Way Down and Nothing More. 

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Fifteen

 

   

           Carter took a step back, his expression fretful, but he didn’t retreat. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

               Mercy sighed. “What are you talking about?” But inwardly, he felt the first stirrings of panic. People knew. People were noticing. He was too obvious and he didn’t know how to stop it.

               “Ava’s crazy about someone,” Carter said, voice growing wistful. “She’s too distracted and she daydreams in class. She’s into someone, big time. And it’s you.”

Boy, Mercy is at the very peak of his Asshole Era at this stage in the book, isn't he? He has an excuse, but it's still troubling to witness. 

In Chapter Fifteen, the simmering tension between Ava and Mercy finally reaches a boiling point, and they sleep together for the first time. It's a decidedly unromantic event. In hindsight, I find it sad that their coming together wasn't as sweet as I know they can be together, but I stand by the way I wrote it originally. Their first run, when she was seventeen, was doomed from the start, and their first time reflects that.

At this point in the book, readers know that Mercy is wildly conflicted, but Ava doesn't. From her perspective, Mercy's toying with her for his own amusement, pulling her in and then pushing her away again when it suits him. She feels so very young here: mature in some ways beyond her years, but very much a "girl" when it comes to romance. 

I'm obviously a big fan of multi-POV storytelling, and in the case of a story such as this, I find it necessary. If we only ever saw this play out from Ava's POV, I'm not sure Mercy's inner struggle would be clear. I very intentionally highlight the way Mercy still feels the same almost-paternal affection he's felt for Ava all along, but now with an added layer of romantic and physical attraction. He's as flawed as any human, and he's not able to tuck those old feelings neatly away just because he sees her as a woman now. His tangle of sentiment is knotted past the point of organization, and it's making him angry and resentful: at Ava, yes, and also at Ghost. 

   

           “She likes you.” Ghost made a sound in his throat that could have been contemptuous. “She likes you better than she likes me.”

               “No she doesn’t,” Mercy said, because it was what he had to say. He couldn’t say that “like” wasn’t a part of the equation anymore.

               “She trusts you,” Ghost continued. “She talks to you – tells you shit a daughter wouldn’t tell her old man.”

               If only he knew how terrible that truth was.

               “Do me a favor,” Ghost said, and Mercy was ready for the request; there’d been an air of favor-asking about this little moment staring off toward the street. If Ghost was going to grow contemplative and start unraveling the inner workings of his soul, he wasn’t ever going to do it with Mercy. No, it was only ever about the club, about work, with Mercy.

               “Go by the house a little later,” Ghost went on. “Mags sent Ava home with her books. I’m worried about her. This thing with the Stephens has got my hackles up. I don’t trust that something else won’t happen.

               “And while you’re there, see if you can get her to talk about last night. I just don’t understand how she got herself in that spot.”

               Mercy affected a bored expression and said, “Sure thing, boss. Will do.”

Ava's anguished, too, to a lesser extent. There's something tragic about them loving one another at this stage, and so I wanted their first time to be real, and raw, and as painful, emotionally and physically, as it would be in a true to life situation.