#TeaserTuesday: Would Have Been Romantic

 

I evilly can't wait for everyone to read some of the big reveals in this installment. 

Almost there! Just a couple more chapters. Today's teaser is a rare calm moment. 

Alfie wasn’t thrilled about toting a second passenger. She tolerated Rune, because Tessa loved him, and had stroked her face and assured her that he would be a gentleman. She even liked him, ordinarily, her affection a genuine ripple of pleasure through the bond when Rune scratched behind her frill or offered her a scrap of meat from his dinner. But the distribution of weight on her back was different. She didn’t struggle, per se—Tessa would have put her foot down about taking Rune along if the test flight had proved unsuccessful—but there was an adjustment period, when they first started climbing into the sky.

Now, morning officially underway, the sun a washed-out lemon wedge along the horizon, they’d reached altitude and Alfie didn’t have to flap her wings so hard. She conveyed her comfort to Tessa, and Tessa, sitting forward in the saddle, hair streaming back from her face beneath her helmet, finally began to relax.

The view was breathtaking.

Jagged, snow-capped peaks pierced a layer of cloud so thick and opaque it looked like a fluffy bearskin rug rolled across the earth. The air was frigid up this high, as cold as the height of winter in Aeretoll; it stung her cheeks, made her eyes water. She was glad of Rune’s arms warm and strong around her; the heat of his chest pressed tight to her back.

Had they not been riding to their certain doom, it would have been romantic. 

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

Finally, our long sojourn to the past comes to a close. Did anyone have to go back and peek at what was happening pre-flashback to get up to speed? No shame; i did it, too. It feels like an age has passed while we witnessed Ava and Mercy's disastrous first attempt at romance. But it means that, going forward, we know exactly what happened between them, and not only do their actions in the first part of the novel make sense, but we have underlying context for everything that's about to happen. Stylistically, I enjoy that gut punch of Part Two. You know from chapter one that they're exes, but now you know how painful it is to be around one another again. 

In Chapter Twenty-Eight, we have a sweetish brother/sister moment.

               “He’s outside, you know.” Aidan pretended to find the contents of his jerky bag fascinating.

               “I know.” She sighed again. “How f***ed up is it that I miss him?”

               “Pretty f***ed up.” He bumped her shoulder with his in what amounted to a big show of support from him. “But I get it.”

               “You do?”

               “Not even a little bit. Just being nice.”

               She snorted. “That’s a first.”

               “Hey, I’m nice. I’m super fucking nice.” Wicked half-grin. “Just ask Monique.”

               “Ugh.” She let her head fall sideways, so it was supported on his shoulder. “You’re hopeless.”

               “Kinda great, huh?”

               Ares looked between them, thumping his tail on the floor, hoping for another handout.

               “Hey, Aidan? Thanks for running the creep show off.”

               He made a dismissive sound.

And we have some world-building and plot movement on Maggie's end of things. 

The casket showcase had a view of the street through tall windows Maggie had always found ill-placed. Because of them, she and Jackie had been sitting ducks while they shopped. Flanders’ wasn’t the nicest funeral home in town, but it was one that had always served the Dogs, and for that, they were all loyal customers. Down a short, carpeted hallway, they found the owner, Byron Flanders, waiting for them amid the potted urns in the sunlit lobby. Bright rays slanted in through the front, white-swagged windows, finding the delicate hollows of the orchids and lilies.

               Flanders – narrow, petite, immaculate, almost effeminate – glided toward them in a tan summer suit, his footfalls silent on the short-napped carpet. “Ladies, I trust you found something that will suit?”

I love the world-building scenes. While I do use some real-life Knoxville landmarks, the shops and restaurants are all fictional. I feel like creating a tangible environment beyond the main characters' homes grounds the story in a way that lends credibility to the wilder, more extreme moments of action. Once you're fully submerged in the setting, and it feels like a real, walkable place, the plot is easier to accept. 

The chapter ends on a "dun-dun-DUN" note with the knowledge that the Carpathians are back in town, and likely out for revenge, given what Maggie tells Jackie here. 

Maggie bit down on her lip as one of the bikers plucked at her memory. “That one.” She tapped a finger at the glass. “The old president’s son. Jasper Larsen.”

               “How do you know that?” Jackie asked.

               Maggie sighed. “Because Mercy killed his father and uncle on Ava’s bedroom floor.”

White Wolf Read-Along: Chapter Six

Sasha was nineteen, and foolish enough to think his life would always be his.

In 1942, after the Battle of Moscow, Soviet leadership began conscripting young men and women from Siberia to refill the decimated ranks of the Red Army. The sad truth is, even if Nik and co. hadn't ventured to retrieve Sasha, he would have wound up a soldier regardless. 

It's hard to imagine, even as someone living in the United States, the incredible vastness of Siberia. It's true that they did, and do, think of themselves as "free," compared to their fellow Russians. The tsars largely left them to their own devices, and even the Bolsheviks failed to bring them under the boot heel the way they did with western Russia and the steppe lands. The weather's brutal, summers and winters severe in extremes, with short-lived springs and falls. But they were far removed from the revolutionary politics of Moscow, St. Petersburg, or Stalingrad (now Volgograd), and Sasha's attitude reflects this. He's not known the starvation and subjugation of urban Russians, and that furthers his already-natural sunny disposition. 

In this chapter, Sasha "meets," or is accosted by, rather, Nikita's strike team of Chekists. He obviously has no fine feelings about Nikita, but he notices him.

A few years older than Sasha, dark-haired, snowflakes melting on his jacket, his eyes hard and blue-gray. His face was handsome, but cruel. Shut up like a summer dacha, revealing nothing.

I tend to be what George R.R. Martin calls a "gardener" when it comes to writing long-form book series. I let relationships develop organically, and this oftentimes leads me away from an initial idea, and toward a more natural romantic pairing. As a character grows, so too does my idea of what a happily ever after might look like for them. 

But in this case, I planned for Nik and Sasha to end up together from the very beginning. It was just a sloooooow burn. I wonder how many people suspected that's what I was doing, or if it came as a surprise as the series unfolded. 

Sasha also meets Philippe, and is rightly suspicious of him.

His smile made Sasha think of the hunt, the moment of stillness when the sights were leveled and the trigger finger was ready. The held breath before the shot.

The Chekists were in the business of searching homes, confiscating valuables and daily staples alike, and raping wives and daughters. There's no way Sasha can refuse to go along with them, and he and his parents both know this. So does Philippe, which is why he uses fear to manipulate them.

"I don't think I have to tell you that they are not gentle men."

It's a quick peek into Nik's POV, but we see his extreme guilt complex at work. At this point, he just wants out, no matter what shape that takes.

This line of work would get him killed one day.
And it would be a relief. 

I got such a kick out of writing this first meeting knowing where the characters would end up down the road. Knowing that things get better, and that they find a little slice of happiness amidst the crazy. Also knowing how abrupt, frightening, and seemingly careless this meeting is, and how important they'll be to one another later. 

Substack Exclusive: Inherent Violence

Substack subscribers, it's here! Chapter One of Alex's story, Inherent Violence, is now available. This first chapter is free for everyone, so you can go read it and decide if you'd like to subscribe for future chapters. 

Here's the blurb:

Three months ago, former FBI agent Alex Bonfils buried his mentor, quit his job, bought a Harley, and followed his half-brother back to Knoxville with a brave idea that he would prospect the Lean Dogs MC. But now, living at an extended stay motel, the harsh reality of upending his life starts to take hold. He still hasn't made peace with his bloodline - with the violence that lives inside him - and he's exploring all options before turning fully toward the club.

Miranda Reddy is on the run. With her six-year-old daughter Casey in tow, she takes a job as a jumping instructor at Briar Hall Farm in Knoxville, working for Emmie Walsh. She likes her new boss, loves the farm, loves working with students and horses. But her frightening past is still very much a part of the present, and she can't decide if trusting the Lean Dogs - specifically Alex - is a safe bet, or even more dangerous than the threat she's fled. 

This is very much an experiment for me. I've had lots of questions about Substack, about how to subscribe, and about whether or not this book will wind up being published on Amazon. As for Substack, follow the link in line one to go read the chapter, and it'll prompt you to subscribe once you finish. You can subscribe for free, and have access to any free content I post, but will need to become a paid subscriber to read the rest of this story. 

As for a book version - I'm undecided. I'm still working on the Drakes and SoR, but I'm going to see how it goes with Inherent Violence before I make a decision on that. For now, I hope you'll join us on Substack, and I hope you'll enjoy Alex's story. 

 

Lord Have Mercy on Sale!

 

Today’s Throwback Thursday features Lord Have Mercy, which is on a massive one-week sale. The compiled ebook version, all 1,609 pages, is on sale for just $5.99. If you haven’t read Dartmoor Book Ten yet, now’s your chance to grab it for a greatly reduced price. Next Wednesday, the price goes back up to $15.96, so get it while you can.

In Lord Have Mercy, you’ll meet Alex, and he’s the star of my first Substack exclusive story, Inherent Violence, which starts posting tomorrow! Chapter One will be free for all readers, but the rest of the novel will be for paid subscribers only. I’ll post links and more info about it tomorrow. If you’re already familiar with Agent Bonfils, come join us over on Substack for bi-weekly chapters, Wednesdays and Fridays.

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Twenty-Seven

 She’d been at school three weeks when Maggie’s usual phone call took on a shivery edge. They talked about class and Aidan’s typical stupidity back home as Ava picked through a microwavable lasagna at her tiny apartment table. All alone. No roommates. Just her and her books and her mother’s voice.

               Maggie said, her words becoming tiptoe careful, “I got a phone call today.”
               Ava knew, before she swallowed her burned hunk of noodles, exactly who’d called. “Really?” she asked, tone casual, as her heart accelerated.
               “Ava,” Maggie said. “I gave him your address.”

And here we have Maggie Teague once again winning Mother of the Year. 

Okay, that's not fair, and I don't really mean it. I always let the readers decide whether Maggie is a "good" or a "bad" mom. For me, she's not only a sympathetic one, but an empathetic one. She understands Ava's heartbreak acutely. When she cries when they drop Ava off in Georgia, she's sad to be away from her baby, yes, but mostly she's very afraid of Ava's mental state. From detachment, to outburst when Mercy left Knoxville, and back to complete and total detachment - shutdown, even - Ava presents a portrait of very shaky mental stability. Likewise, she knows Mercy isn't doing well, to put it mildly. When he calls, she weighs the pros and cons of telling him where Ava is. She decides - or hopes, rather - that, out from under Ghost's judgmental gaze, they can comfort one another. 

Needless to say, the comfort's a little cold. 

               Mercy’s large, rough hand settled in the middle of her back, a warm brand against her skin, some silent communication she didn’t know how to read.

               “I don’t know you anymore,” she said again, voice broken and shivery, “and that’s the worst part.”

               She listened to him get to his feet, straighten his clothes. He kissed her, one lingering stroke of his lips against the top of her head, and he left. Again.

               The next morning, as she pressed a cool washcloth to the dark circles under her eyes, she cut him out of her heart for good.

               At least, she thought she did.

There are always things that I know that the audience doesn't. If we play the What If game with this chapter, Mercy would not have broken down the door if Ava hadn't opened it. Both of them know this, but the threat of it offers Ava a glimpse of his pain. A small one, and one that, after they've crashed together on her apartment floor, she's able to dismiss in the face of her own pain, and post-coital clarity/regret. 

Instead of reconciling, Mercy and Ava both walk away from this moment with nothing but another helping of hurt. 

I've said it before in these read-along posts, but going back ten years later and truly reading the book, word for word, as opposed to keyword searching to write later books, hits totally different than when I was writing it. While writing, I'm mentally rubbing my hands together. "Haha, yes, this is going to be so angsty!" But coming at it from a reader, it's just sad. It's tragic, and stressful, and frustrating. I find myself most frustrated with Mercy, because he won't tell her here what happened; he should have totally thrown Ghost under the bus, professed his undying love for her, and lived happily ever after. I understand now why I get all those "I was so angry!" responses. And I love it. 😈

This marks the last of the big flashback chapters. Next time, it's back to present day, and all the chaos that's about to unfold. 

A New Venture

 

I started a Substack! 

If you're asking yourself "what the heck is a Substack?" you're not alone. I've had lots of questions about it on FB and Insta.

Substack is a digital newsletter platform that allows readers to subscribe to an author and receive regular updates, essays, articles, and, in my case, fiction stories. I posted a two-part Reel on Instagram yesterday in which I talked about the struggle of maintaining something like a paycheck as an indie author. 2024 and 2025 have been slow - downright glacial - years as far as sales and audience growth go, and so I'm going to try something new. With Substack, I can expand readership through exclusive, paid content; a safer, monthly income approach as opposed to spending six months writing a book and then failing to meet a sales quota. I still plan to release books, the Drakes, for instance, but I'm going to use Substack as a way to provide future Dartmoor content.

For more info, head over to me welcome post, see what you think about what I've laid out, and, if you'd like, subscribe! I'd love to see you there. It's free to subscribe, and as a free subscriber, you'll always have access to my free content.

Welcome to my Substack

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Twenty-Six

“Mercy.” Her voice was breathless now. “What’s the matter?”

               His cut was hanging off the doorknob, on the inside of the front door, and he plucked it up, shrugged into it. When he faced her, he did so decorated with all his patches, the stains and scars in the old leather. And his face hardened. The worship, the sweetness, the tenderness – all replaced by a professional steel. This was Mercy the extractor. Mercy the club man, the Lean Dog. Not her companion and protector, her lover and friend.

               Ava felt her heart become a drum inside her chest, beating out a dire rhythm. Danger. Danger.

               “I’m going back to New Orleans,” he said. “I’m moving back there.”

               Her brain refused to compute that. “You hate New Orleans.”

               “I’m heading out first thing in the morning.”

               “But…you hate New Orleans.”

               “Bob down there says he has work for me.”

               “You love Knoxville,” she insisted. “You have work here.”

               Mercy gave her one long, flat look. “I’m leaving, Ava.”

               It hit her then. She surged to her feet. Her voice trembled. “You’re leaving me, you mean, right?” 

This chapter is short, but anything but sweet. The heartbreak's been brewing since that first afternoon in Ava's bedroom, when Mercy gave in to temptation, and it's even more painful when it finally arrives thanks to what happened at Hamilton House. 

This is why I love multi-POV storytelling. Thanks to spending time in Mercy's head, we know how much this is killing him. We grieve not only for Ava, but for him as well. Perhaps worst of all, neither of them has had the chance to share their grief over the miscarriage with one another. 

I don't ever hate any of my own characters, but I come pretty close with Ghost in this instance. However...I wonder how many parents of girls Ava's age would have done something similar, hypocrisy be damned. It's a bad situation all the way around, and I think that's what makes it feel authentic. All that thorny, lose-lose energy results in honest reactions from characters, as opposed to "correct" reactions. 

Dartmoor At A Glance

If you're new here, welcome! There's lots to explore here on the blog. If you're after info, insides, and bonus content, you can find it all under the "Dartmoor" tag. 

Here's a quick visual rundown to get you started.

As mentioned in the slide, the series is complete, and ready to be binged all at once! It's available for paperback, Kindle, Nook, and Kobo, and can be ordered through your local indie bookstore if you prefer. 

Thanks for being here, and happy reading! 

Fearless Special Edition Alert!

 

Over the past few months, I've had the very exciting opportunity to work with Beyond the Pages Book Box on a special, limited edition of Fearless, and it's finally time to share it with y'all! 

Fearless is part of The Buddy Box, along with Good Gone Bad by Giana Darling. These are gorgeous hardcover special editions with limited run covers, endpapers, and dust jackets. Charli is offering several ordering options, so you can buy the books individually, or as a complete box, along with custom swag. Proceeds go to a charity hand-picked by Charli, and this one sounds like a wonderful organization. 

The front and back Fearless covers above are for the hardcover book, and I'll drop a look at the reversible dust jacket and chapter heading pages below.

This is the full, uncut version of Fearless available on Amazon, all four parts put together, unabridged, plus stunning, one-of-a-kind artwork! It's going to be gorgeous!

I've never had a book in a box before, so I am pumped! And Charli has been wonderful to collaborate with throughout. 

Here's her price breakdown and instructions for ordering:

 All the details for the Buddy Box! 

Available to purchase separately (book only) or as a full box with both books + matching swag items!

 Optional Extra: Choose hand-sprayed edges (limited to just 30 full boxes) for an additional cost — each set hand-sprayed by my husband!

 Prices (AUD):

 Good Gone Bad – Book Only $95 + shipping (≈ $82 USD total)

 Fearless – Book Only $100 + shipping (≈ $88 USD total)

 Buddy Box with BOTH – $185 + shipping (≈ $150 USD total)

Final checkout will be in AUD! But there is a currency converter on the website to give an approximate conversion to your local currency. 

 Available Sunday 19th October, 8:30am AEST

(Sat 18th: 3:30pm PT | 6:30pm EST | 11:30pm GMT)

 Proceeds will go to the Red Rose Foundation, supporting victims of domestic violence. Let’s help #ChangeTheEnding.

 

Head over to Beyond the Pages to pre-order your copy. It's a limited run, so you'll have to jump on it. And good news for my Australia folks: the books ship from Australia, so you'll get the domestic shipping price. 

Be sure to follow Beyond the Pages on Facebook and Instagram for updates! 

White Wolf Read-Along: Chapter Five

 

"Perhaps your story is as full of twists and turns as my own. Perhaps not. Either way, I think both of us have many secrets." 

We're finally on the way to Siberia! There's something delightful about the Trans-Siberian Railway. Iconic before Agatha Christie, there's a certain mystic quality to it, a magic that makes it more interesting than your average train. It's also spooky, too: all that empty distance, all that snow, so far from civilization. 

Logistically speaking, the boys are taking the main line to Tayga, where they'll switch to a smaller train and go into Tomsk directly. In the way of all long journeys, it's a trip filled with lots of monotony; I didn't want to linger overlong on the drudgery of travel, and chose instead to offer a few important character-building moments. 

First: Nikita and Philippe. 

Obviously, Nik's distrustful of the dear monsieur, in part, because he's distrustful of everyone. We haven't yet learned all the ins and outs of Nik's past or politics, but we know his part of a small, tightknit group of men, and he has no love or respect for his commanders. But also because, in the midst of a war that decimated the fighting population of Moscow, and in a country living beneath the boot of a communist government, it's rare to run into anyone as cheerful as Philippe. 

Nik's also suspicious of the fact that he's French. Under Romanov rule (multiple generations of it), St. Petersburg became steadily more Westernized. French fashion, cuisine, entertainment, architecture, and general culture were popularized by the nobles of the city. There was also a heavy British influence, given both Nicholas and Alexandra were Queen Victoria's grandchildren. After the Revolution, French influence was ripped out (save, of course, all that fabulous French wine that the Bolshevik leaders continued to enjoy at their leisure); the double-headed eagle that symbolized the bridging of Byzantine and Muscovite culture was replaced by the red star. Nik, of course, knows all of this, and so he's startled to see Stalin assign a Frenchman to his task force. 

"It's a tank?"

"No, no." Philippe laughed. "Dear boy, it's much more subtle than that." He stroked his beard and leaned back in his seat, considering. "Think - ah, yes - think of a tank as a blunt instrument. A club. By comparison, my weapon is a scalpel. Surgical, precise. It can go where a tank cannot, and do the things a gun never could. It requires a special sort of man to wield." 

Key word here being "wield." 

We also met the rest of the crew: Pyotr - whom we learn is the deceased Dmitri's younger brother - Ivan, and Feliks. But the most important member after Nik is Kolya. 

One of Nik's little tics is that he has chronic low blood sugar, and he doesn't like to eat when he's worried about something, which is always. In his exchange with Kolya, we learn about this bad habit of his, and quickly understand the easy intimacy of two people who've lived and fought together for a long time. Nik might be serious, but he's also a martyr; he's anguished. Kolya isn't simply serious, but he's settled. Some of this comes from not being a leader; he only has to follow, not to make the big decisions. But that's also just him. He's cool, and strapped-down, and readily steps into Dima's shoes to ensure their leader gets a little bread and vodka so he doesn't pass out in the street anymore. He's one of my favorite secondary characters in the series, and that's why...well. I won't spoil it if you haven't read the whole series yet. 😉

The chapter ends on a bleak and foreboding note. A little (admittedly) heavy-handed metaphor on my part. It's difficult for me to stick to the chapter at hand when I talk about this book, and this series; I keep wanting to jump ahead! 

For now, though, we'll leave it here, on a train in the dark, bound toward someone special. 

Next time, we'll meet Sasha again. Properly, this time. 

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Twenty-Five

         

 

Collier and James stood just outside the chapel doors. Collier gave him a halfhearted half-smile. James clapped him on the shoulder, but said nothing. He’d relented, then; whatever Ghost had wanted in this case, James had approved it. Already, Ghost was casting his shadow over the president’s chair, eclipsing his predecessor with brute force.

               Inside, the chapel was dark as evening, the lamplight finding places to hide in the deep corners, the folds of the velvet-seated chairs. Ghost stood with his back to the doors, behind Troy’s favorite chair, a lit cigarette smoldering in one hand.

               “Take a seat,” he said, his voice emotionless. 

 

Here we are, when the sword falls. Mercy's day of judgement has arrived. 

His chapel conversation with Ghost is one of those make-or-break scenes that I knew would be pivotal long before it came time to write it. I needed it to have a certain vibe: the immediacy and tension of the conflict between Ghost and Mercy as men, yes. But I also wanted to tap into that Knights of the Round Table, king-and-warrior mythos at the core of the civilian fascination with motorcycle clubs. They're organizations "out of time," and I wanted the ghosts (no pun intended) of the past to sit deep and dark in the corners of the room. 

   

           Ghost was a man out of time, some displaced warrior king deserving of better vestment than denim and leather, more dignified than the wallet chain at his hip, in need of an audience more tractable than his one-man punching bag. 

 

I think it's a scene that speaks for itself, without need of a play-by-play breakdown. Even ten years later, I'm very happy with it.

The rest of the chapter is Ava slowly cracking. Maggie absolutely knows that she's detached from reality as an emotional defense mechanism, and that a big crash is coming, and she's trying to gently guide her through the day to day. 

Ava's fast-tracking the early stages of grief - but in a distinctly blunt, Ava-like way. I wanted the audience, like Maggie, to sit back and watch her process and think "oh no, this isn't going to end well," but in Ava's POV, she's behaving in a rational, grownup way. (She's not, but that's the fun of unreliable narrators.)

I've always enjoying using nightmares to portray underlying anxiety or grief because I personally have lots of nightmares. I hate dreaming in general because I don't have good dreams. Not ever. I've been plagued by detailed nightmares ever since I was a little girl, everything from sharks, to aliens, to ghosts, to home invasions, and armed robberies. Nonsensical and Lovecraftian and deeply disturbing. I even have the full-blown sleep paralysis BS every few weeks. So I think they make for useful tools when it comes to pulling back the curtain on a character's subconscious. 

Leah blinked, and gave her that same odd look everyone had been giving her.

               “Oh, not you too,” Ava said. “Come on. Everyone’s acting like I’m some sort of freak show.”

               “Sorry. Totally not doing that.” Leah was the first person to let it drop and change the subject, but that look…Ava was so tired of that look.

               And still, nothing from Mercy. 

At this stage in the book, Ava is blaming herself. Hindsight tells her she should have been more suspicious of the texts from Carter and protected her baby better. What she needs right now more than anything is Mercy's comfort and reassurance. The simple balm of his presence. 

But, well, we know how that goes. 

White Wolf Read-Along: Chapter Four

His mother would have given her last heel of bread to see the inside of this place. Nikita had given the life of his closest friend - though not willingly.  

Shortly after I published White Wolf, a concerned reader reached out to let me know that Chekists were "the bad guys." I assured her that I knew that, and that, if she read the book, she wouldn't find me sympathizing with Soviet secret police. Chapter Four, "The Captain," is a short one, and so this gives me a chance to highlight some of the real history, and inspiration, that went into the novel. 

I don't want to bore anyone with an annotated history paper, so I'll try to keep things as breezy as possible. Here's what you need to know: post-revolution, Stalin formed a secret police whose main function was to ensure that Russians behaved like good little Soviets. They weren't out there walking beats, apprehending criminals; for the Bolsheviks - for any communist leadership - independent thought, action, and self-determination are the enemies of the collective. The Cheka spent their days pillaging the homes and secret stores of the Russian people. They pulled up floorboards, took squirrelled away grain, vodka, jewels, valuables...and if there were women in the house, they availed themselves of them, too. There were Chekists who enjoyed this - like Commander Beria, who I include in later chapters, and who was killed by his own men, eventually - but there were lots of young men who went along to get along. I can't believe I'm about to quote The Mummy here...but "better to be the right hand of the devil than in his path." Thanks, Benny. 

We don't learn anything about Nikita's political affiliation in this chapter, but we see his leashed anger, and grief, and we know he doesn't want to be doing what he is. If you're thinking, why did I make one of the series' main characters a Chekist? There are a couple reasons. 

I always wanted Alexei to be a central character. It would have made sense to start the Russian leg of the series pre-revolution. But Nik and Sasha needed WWII to happen, so they could exist. And I was inspired by two things. One: the real history of the USSR's search for supernatural artifacts. Everyone knows that Hitler had his boys experimenting with the paranormal. But I don't think it's common knowledge that, under Stalin's orders, the Soviets were quietly but seriously searching for a paranormal answer of their own. Keep in mind that at the beginning of the war, Germany and the USSR were allies. Communism and fascism are nothing but separate branches on the same Marxist tree. After their falling out, the Soviets decided to concoct their own supernatural answer to whatever the Germans cooked up.

Obviously, they didn't create a werewolf. Or did they? We'll never know. But that was a huge inspiration for me. 

The second bit of inspo was, somehow, nerdier. My divorce from the Marvel Cinematic Universe was finalized years ago. But in 2014,15, 16, I was obsessed. I loved the concept of the Winter Soldier so much that I went out and bought comics. 

These two panels actually gave me goosebumps. "We have our winters." 

I always find it irritatingly short-sighted when I see people on social media say that the Soviets were "good" because they fought Hitler. Soviet leadership was evil, but in WWII, the West was going to take whatever help it could get. And one thing history has taught us about Russia is that no one can conquer it over land via traditional, old-school methods. I'm looking at you, Napolean. There are some really cool stories about some badass Russians who took on the Germans, most especially the female sniper units, which inspired Katya's character, but it was Russia itself, the landscape, its winter, that bogged the Germans down in a permanent two-front war. You aren't just fighting men, you're fighting winter. You're fighting the land. 

We meet Nikita here, fresh off another failed mission to find a supernatural artifact. He's dressed as Chekists were back then, meant to intimidate: all black, long leather trench coat, gloves, hat. We'll learn later that he's a White, rather than a Red, and what that means for him personally. But in the meantime, we're with him when he first meets Monsieur Philippe, the first of many real-life historical figures to grace the pages of this book. The major general here is also a real-life dude. 

Timeline wise, this meeting takes place after the Red Army managed to hold off the Germans at Moscow. The Nazis never made it all the way into the capital, but the army took a major manpower hit. At this point, conscripts were brought in from Siberia to fill the ranks, so even if he wasn't turned, Sasha would have wound up a soldier anyway.

There's so many characters in this series, but I see Nik as the central character. Like I said last post, he's the glue that ties it all together, so I'm super excited to be digging into the flashback section of this book. Nik might be my absolute favorite of all my many characters, so it'll be fun to spend some time in his head. 

Also, far warning: I view myself as an entertainer, and I don't comment on politics or current events, because no one is here for that. I want to provide an escape for readers. But I'm not down with the Soviets, or communism in general, so...be prepared for that. 

#TeaserTuesday: See Something

 

It's a been a tippy-tappy sort of effort, but book six is slowly but surely nearing THE END. 

“Where did he go?” She tried to sound demanding, but could hear the shrill note in her voice. “Where did you send him? If he’s hurt…”

“He’s quite well. I didn’t send him anywhere; he’s merely been banished from this plane back to his rightful one. At this moment, he’s doubtless waking up beside his handsome king.”

She hadn’t known for certain until he’d just confirmed it that he’d been the one to dispel Oliver from the meeting. Why? What did he want with her?

Her mind conjured a half-dozen images of prisoner torture: racks, and hammers, and nails, and boiling oil.

“Be calm,” Romanus said, which made her less calm.

“Can you read my mind?” she blurted, before anything like logic could guide her toward a safer topic.

The corners of his pale lips quirked upward in the faintest of smiles. She had no idea how old he was, if he was truly immortal, as legend claimed, but his face was smooth and unlined. Even his attempted grin didn’t offer any smile lines or dimples; no sign of a life spent finding anything humorous.

“No. I cannot,” he said. “But you reek of fear. It’s unnecessary.”

“Considering your men attacked mine on the road, through a massive hole in the sky no less, I think I’ll beg to differ.”

He stroked his chin, expression considering. “I’m surprised you survived that attack.”

A cold child skittered down her back. She pictured her pallet in her tent, the camp where her body lay sleeping, but when she tried to send herself there, she came up against a hard wall. He was keeping her here. And the twitch of his mouth for a second time said he’d felt her attempt to flee.

“I have a drake,” she said. “I have five drakes. I won’t be easy to kill.”

“Who says I mean to kill you?”

“Don’t you?”

“No. Quite the contrary.”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

He leaned forward, and she leaned back in automatic reaction. “Give me your hand.” He extended his own, large, elegant, and long-fingered. White as fresh cream.

She’d rarely seen something more frightening.

“No.”

His fingers curled and uncurled in invitation. “Come now. If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t need your hand to do so.”

“Then what do you need it for?”

“I want to see something.”

Her grip on the chair arms slipped, and she closed her fists tighter around them. “You can see.”

“No.” Again, he beckoned with his fingers. “Your hand, please, my lady.”

She found it both hilarious and terrifying that he was so mannerly. How many nations had he invaded? How many men had he slaughtered? His soldiers were slaves born into captivity, forced to fight, and yet he said please.

It was curiosity rather than obedience that finally lifted her hand and placed the back of it in his palm. She didn’t think he could hurt her here—though, truly, she had no idea of what he was capable. But she wanted to see what he would do. What he wanted to see.

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Twenty-Four

 

Mercy felt a prickling up the back of his neck when Ghost walked in. He heard the bell above the door, and he knew it was his VP, before Ghost came around the table and rested a forearm on the back of the opposite stool.

               Mercy was full to bursting with guilt, with remorse, with the kind of raw, familiar pain of Louisiana, but none of that was connected to Ghost in any way. He didn’t feel anything as his vice president fixed him with a freezing look, his jaw locked. He sipped his coffee with lifted brows, waiting, refusing to even hint at an apology.

If this book had chapter titles, Chapter Twenty-Four would be "A Series of Confrontations." There's not a single pleasant conversation in this one. 

The whole situation here just plain sucks, for all parties involved. I wanted it to be messy; I wanted none of them to have the right answers. My goal with every scene was to write them as a real family, not one that quickly and neatly comes to the correct decision. 

The events of the night before shocked everyone. Daylight is for ramifications. To Mercy's credit, he doesn't run, nor does he go to Ghost to apologize and beg forgiveness. At this point, Ghost hasn't decided to transfer him back to New Orleans, and had Mercy groveled, he wouldn't have, because he does see him as an asset for the club. Ghost spent the overnight hours rationalizing that Mercy didn't respond to his command in Hamilton House because of adrenaline. It was a crazy scene, and Mercy was in redzone attack mode. In the harsh light of day, though, it becomes quickly apparent that, when it comes to Ava, Ghost has zero control over Mercy. If he'd been able to threaten him, and forbid him from seeing Ava, and keep him around, he would have. But the moment in the bakery tells him all he needs to know. Plan B it is, then. 

Cut to Ava and Aidan in the hospital. 

He lifted what smelled like a sausage biscuit in offering. “Food?”

               “Not hungry.” She pushed the covers down to her waist and frowned at her hospital gown. “When are they going to release me?”

               More of that careful look from Aidan. He took a biscuit for himself, put the first on the side of her bed, and dropped into Maggie’s abandoned chair. “Probably when you’re ready to be released.”

               She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. I have so much schoolwork still to catch up on. I can’t afford to take any more days off.”

               Aidan paused with breakfast halfway to his mouth. “Um…you know what happened to you, right?” He cringed, like he hated the thought. “Or did the bump on the head - ?”

               “I know exactly what happened to me.”

               He took a bite, chewed slowly. “Okay.”

               “You’re the one being weird about it.”

               He swallowed. “I expected–”

               “Crying? Screaming?”

               “Yeah.” Some of the usual snark came back into his voice. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to be a girl?”

               She twitched a thin smile. “No. I was raised by Dogs and the women who take care of them.” She glanced at the door, the freedom that lay down the hall. “I want to see Mercy.”

               Aidan snorted. “Yeah. That’s not happening.”

Over the years, both Ava and Aidan have caught their fair share of heat, and even some hate from readers. Not to be That Author, but I think, at times, neither of them get enough credit. I also think it can be easy for readers to say that they would do things differently in the given situation, when the given situation is a bad one. People have a habit of thinking of themselves as mature and rational at all times, when, really...well. You know. 

I love this scene because the thing about Aidan is that, at his core, stripped of all outside influence, he's a goofy, sweet sort of guy, with a little of his dad's mean streak, granted, but basically a decent person. He loves his sister. He brings her breakfast. His worry is genuine. But he also grew up in this violent, unforgiving outlaw world, and he's spent his life both consciously and unconsciously trying to fit into it, and so he's always at war with himself. He checks those kinder impulses and replaces them with assholery enough times that he starts to be an asshole. The push-pull of inherent personality and circumstantial environment makes him seem immature. And he is, to be sure. But that's to be expected when you're a club nepo baby rather than someone who sought out the club after a traumatic past, like Michael or Mercy. 

Ava is Aidan's inverse: she's naturally ferocious, and struggles with comporting herself in a societally accepted feminine manner. She doesn't have Maggie's natural social grace - but that's partly because Maggie grew up in a house where it was forced upon her, and Maggie in turn let Ava be herself. Ava only had to put on a performance outside of the house, and so she's clumsier with it, and more quickly resorts to bluntness. The funny thing is that her same ferocity is seen as valuable in Maggie, but earns Ava the label of "bratty and spoiled." *shrug* Writing books about women for women is a minefield. The fact that there's never a consensus on why some readers hate her tells me she's a very real character, and that if she strikes a nerve, it's about outside perspective, and not my execution. Also, it's okay to dislkike a character; it doesn't mean she's poorly crafted. In this scene she goes full Maggie - and full Ghost. Miss Scarlett O'Teague is going to "think about that another day," remember? The wallowing will come, but for now she's compartmentalizing like a mother, and she's not going to take any lip off her brother, of all people, Dog or no Dog. 

Cut to Maggie at the DAR meeting. On SoA, Gemma went around hitting people with skateboards and threatening bitches constantly. Maybe that's how they do things in California, but Maggie's a Southern gal. She'll pull her gun when she needs to, but her first approach is going to be beating these women at their own game. She's going to poison enough wells with a cotilion smile so she doesn't take the fall for anything. Don't let the Southern drawl fool you: things get bloodthirsty down here...we just do it elegantly. 

In the hospital, Mercy already senses what's coming.

How strange, she reflected, that it was her comforting him in this moment, that it was Mercy struggling, and her doing the petting.

               “It’s okay,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his temple.

               She felt his lashes flicker as he blinked. “No it’s not,” he said. “Oh, fillette, no it’s not.”

Not to come to Ava's defense yet again, but she's young. She's still convinced things can work out in their favor. 

This last scene contains one of my favorite moments of the book.

 

             “She is seventeen–”

               “So was I!” 

There's something delightful and rewarding about getting readers angry with a character; it's stopped feeling like words on a page, then, and the characters are real people you want to shake. Every time someone says, "Ghost is such a hypocrite!" I smile. He is! I love it. To be a parent is to be a hypocrite, at least to some degree. Do as I say, not as I do. And outlaw or not, a father seeing a distinction between his own romantic past and those of his kids feels terribly universal, especially when it comes to daughters. 

“That was different.”

               “How?” Maggie demanded. “Please, for the love of God, Kenneth, explain to me how that was even a little bit different.”

               “It just was,” he growled. “You knew what you were doing. You–”

               “I was a slut? Is that what you’re reaching for?” She slammed the closet doors and went to flounce down on the end of the bed, arms knotted across her middle. “I’d been pawed at by two boys” – she held up two fingers – “in my class, and you knew exactly how much I didn’t know. Age didn’t seem to slow you down then.”

               “It’s different,” he insisted, but she could see some of the fight bleeding out of him.

               Maggie softened her tone. “Because she’s your daughter, and it’s always different with daughters.”

               He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple punching in his throat. “After everything I did for him…”

               “There’s two different kinds of bodyguards,” Maggie said. “The ones who care, and the ones who don’t. You picked one who ended up caring…and now you want to crucify him for caring too much. You can’t have it both ways, baby. If I’ve learned anything from club life, it’s that.”

               Ghost shoved away from the wall and left with his shoulders set at high angles.

I didn't write up any discussion questions ahead of time, but feel free to hit me with any of your own questions. Thanks for being here!