My dark and gritty side...

Being called a bitch was the least of her concerns. She had been called worse by better men than the corpses left in the alley. Snorting, she kicked dirt into their shattered, bloody faces.

Hours would be wasted identifying the Pinks’ remains. Sariah made sure of that. She’d smashed their teeth into their braincases, and chunks of their flesh soured in her stomach. Severed fingertips jostled against each other in the churning acid of her guts. Digested fingerprints were impossible to read. Dental records weren't much good on gum lines. DNA tests were costly and time consuming.

Bastards.

They hurled vulgarities on the one night she couldn’t control the beast raging in her blood. The name they threw at her did not offend--in truth, they were tragically right--she was a bitch. It was the tone of their taunts, the rude gestures, the puffed chests and bulging jeans. Her blood surged, pounding against her eardrums. And, with the full moon mocking her, Sariah could not tolerate the offensive verbal swagger, or the eager musk hanging heavy in the air.

She turned on her heel, lips parted and ready to match their sarcasm. Then, the tattooed blonde grabbed his crotch, she lost her restraint on the killer she contained. Her transformation was sudden and painful; one moment human, the next raging beast. Sariah was a werewolf, muzzle curled, teeth bared and blood pumping with rage.

She growled, low and long, her hackles up from the ridge of her skull, down her spine to her ass. Even her tail bristled. Her nostrils flared. The men, leaned up against a building, had no where to run. She launched from her bunched hindquarters and slammed into them with an audible crush of concrete and bone. Pavement churned beneath her heels as she ravaged the rudeness out of them--along with their lives.

Even in her altered state, Sariah had enough presence of mind to disguise her crime. She crushed their skulls with bashing blows of her back feet, then snapped off their fingertips. The murders were crimes of passion, desecrating the corpses was intentional.

She shook her head to clear the tainted images. High pointed ears waggled and blood flew from her snout, spattered the ragged blouse hanging from her neck. She looked down--tawny hide, curved claws, a ripped blouse, barely recognizable now, shoes gone, but the leather skirt still clung to her hips with a savage fit. A dark laugh caught in her throat.

Carnage and leather look good on me.

Copyright, AE Rought 2008

Tuesday TIDBITS--and excerpt!

This Tidbits concept from Shell has become a weekly feature! So, here are this week's bits of randomness. :o)

1.) Did you know that basket bottoms can totally look like a character from a Tim Burton movie?? Me, neither, until I started weaving them. That one over there is destined to be a Christmas gift. Guess I better get cracking on it, eh? *sigh*

2.)Snow sucks. Yeah. I know. But AE, it's so pretty! Yes, I know, it's lovely to watch, but when it dumps heavy wet stuff in multiple inches...it just sucks.





3.)There is a big contest give-away starting next week! Included are two baskets (one hand woven by me), a custom-blended perfume oil of jasmine, lavender and sage, and a similar scented crystal shaped soap, PLUS a leather pouch, a lavender sachet and a silver ring from Cassandra Curtis, PLUS lots of bookmarks and goodies from the gals at The Midnight Moon Cafe!!

(details coming next week when Slade and Kally releases--check back here on the 16th!)

4.) A family friend is a rockstar! Seriously. Check out the band Pop Evil, the guitar player Tony Greve used to be my hubby's karate student! He was so cute in his little white uniform. Now his pierce, tattooed and in a rockband. *sigh* I wallow in a funny, displaced sense of pride. :o)

5.) Here's the official excerpt for Slade and Kally:
Goose bumps coated my skin, my breath rose in thin plumes and my feet were numb in winter’s grip. I kept looking for a house, a car, anything to show signs of life. I must have marched along the loneliest road in Wyoming, because my search proved to be more hollow than the new moon above me. Then, running on the inside of the fence and off into the property, I found a path. I took off my sweatshirt, threw it over the barbed wire and scrambled over the fence and face first into the snow.

The barbs released my shirt from their nettled grip, and I pulled the holey sweatshirt back on. The path was narrow, meandering over the uneven terrain and in-between stands of aspens and pines. Hillsides poured into little valleys dotted with scraggy bushes and full Christmas tree pines before climbing again. After the third or fourth incline and fast slide down the other side, I noticed my chills were gone. A detached feeling replaced them. I raised my hand to the cut on my head. It was dry. Either the cut had frozen, or the blood just wasn’t getting there.

Even I knew in my frozen, muddled consciousness, decreased blood flow and no more chills were dangerous.

Drowsy weight settled in my limbs. My eyes drooped, then flew open wide at the sight of a light and a low roofline. It was a small building, maybe just a barn. At least it could provide shelter. I left the path I had followed and plowed through a flat field of pristine snow. Yards from a roofed cattle pen, my left foot slipped and sank. I didn’t realize until icy water gushed over my calves and into my boots, that I’d floundered into a pond. Instinct ticked in my muscles, and I fell backward instead of face first into the frigid depths.

Mud seeped through my clothes, caked my scalp. Water dripped from my body when I crawled from the muck. I managed to collapse on the bank, where the damp mud held me in a wet embrace and fresh snow blanketed me. I panted, watching the plumes of my breath rise in the faint blue glow of the halogen lamp while the cold soaked into my bones, into my guts, which lay inert beneath my skin.

Irony struck me like an icy club. I’d left Matt because I was afraid he’d kill me. Now here I lay, dying. A sick, strangled laugh escaped me. Though a ray of light flashed across the pond, black fields encroached on my vision and a chilly invitation to a long cold sleep tempted.

“What in the world?”

A voice rang in the little snow filled dell. I lifted my head from my icy bed and saw a man in a low profile Stetson hat riding toward me on a white horse. The image of him sitting astride the horse framed in snowfall was etched like ice in my mind. He trained the beam of his flashlight on me and our gazes locked. “Gid-up!” He spurred the horse and it charged around the edge of the pond I’d stumbled into.

The man dropped from the saddle and pushed his hat from his head. He nestled his Maglite into the snow so that it shined on me. Steam rose from his dark hair, and his expression flared hope in me. His eyes were polar ice blue and angel robe soft. No matter how I wanted to look at his face forever, my eyelids sagged. His hands were clear in my hazy vision. Hands weren’t always good. Matt had hit me with his hands. A little knot of fear tightened in my gut, but this man was gentle. “Come on, girl. Stay with me.”

“Car crash.” I muttered. I couldn’t say more. Nothing came out but a shaky breath. He nodded, and a frown knit his brows together.

He pulled the gloves from his hand and patted my thighs and arms. “You’re soaked to the bone and freezing.”

I wanted to nod my head in agreement, but my fine motor skills were frozen too. His fleece-lined jacket smelled of Stetson cologne when he pulled it off, the scent of sweat sweetened with fabric softener rose from his long underwear shirt. “Let me help you.”

I couldn’t have fought him if I wanted to. I had no strength left. My field of vision narrowed when my eyelids drooped again. He wadded the shirt into a soft mass and patted my face dry. Despite the sting of his shirt against my cheek, I was grateful for his touch. My head lolled to the side while he wiped down my arms. I was less appreciative when he used the shirt to sop water from my shoulders and chest. Pain blazed from my shoulder socket and radiated through my arm and chest. A weak cry escaped my lips, but the onset of hypothermia had iced over my tear ducts.

“Hush now.” He stopped, placing a warm hand on my cheek and shushing me. “We have to get you dry you before you freeze to death.”

It might be too late.

He stood, more silhouette than man to my increasingly fuzzy vision. Putting his hat back on, he bent to wrap me in the clothing he’d removed. I couldn’t feel him touching me. I was beyond feeling, slipping into the numb, quiet dark. The pain eased. The cold eased. My vision failed. There was only me and him. His chest was the last thing I saw when he wrapped his arm around my back. The last thing I felt was the warmth of his bare skin.

Me and him.

Me.

…black…

Tuesday TIDBITS

Well, I'm sitting here looking at a blog going stale, and I just can't have that. So, to remedy the situation I'll post a few random tidbits about me:

1.) Thank goodness this movie comes in DVD format. Between Thanksgiving and New Years, if I'm home alone, I play it at least once a day. Sad isn't it? I LOVE the Grinch. There's a large talking Grinch on my sofa right now, and a small stuffed one on my desk. I think Jim Carrey did an excellent job, and Ron Howard did a fabulous job of taking a classic and expanding it for a more modern crowd.

2.) My major pet peeve in life is being pushed, or feeling like I'm being rushed. I can get all kinds of ugly. Funny, though, because I work well under pressure.

3.) Writing under one name isn't enough for me. I have an erotica pen name where I put the really naughty stuff. I'm afraid if my mother-in-law got her hands on some of my erotic work, she'd stroke out--my mom, too, for that matter. Especially if they knew every m/f scene is rigorously field tested for accuracy. Snort.

4.) Totally random factoid here. Onions and I do NOT get along.

5.) I once met the guys from Night Ranger. They signed the inside of the jacket I wore when working at the Meat Market...er, I mean bar. The leader signer tried to drag me back on their tour bus, even. Seriously. Of course, I didn't go.

NEVER

Never say "Yeah, I can do that" unless it coincides with "Yeah, I want to spend the time to do that."

Last year, I told two friends of mine, "Sure, I can sew fleece jackets for you." Not a direct quote, mind you. Well, one year, three books and 5 Renaissance Faire dresses later, I'm hunched over my sewing machine, spit and snarling because I'm making good on my "I can do that" promise.

What makes me particularly frustrated is I really want to write in my penname erotic/fantasy story with the tattooed warlock. *cue the whining* I can feel the story pressing against every Gotta Write nerve I have. It's...consuming me.

Then, there's a collaborative erotic/time-travel fantasy romance project I'm working on with an author friend--another, "Yeah, I can do that." The time-line sounded totally plausible. Then life got in the way. Her health issues, our kids band/soccer schedules, etc. Now, she's on me to write a love scene that I can't get to because I'm trying to clear out these other "I can do that" projects. And the surrounding tensions have completely chased the sensuality of the scene from my mind.

I have to wonder if I'm masochistic and unaware of it. A sap. A sucker. A doormat... I keep agreeing to things when I shouldn't. And then putting them off until the last possible moment. Thank goodness I perform well under pressure.

Check with me next year. I'll be just as nuts. *sigh*

Random and wacky facts--Tidbits

I'm snitching this blog idea from Shell, a blogger I ran into yesterday while blogging over at the MMC. Shell posted some 'random and wacky' tidbits about herself.



1.) I'm addicted to tea. Not just any tea, mind you, but Celestial Seasonings' Morning Thunder. I bring it everywhere I go. I brought it to the hospital after I had my hysterectomy. I even brought it with me to BookExpo when I stayed in the swanky hotel with my agent.


2.) Ages ago, when I was single, I used to wait tables and occasionally act as a female bouncer at the local bar (read: meat market). If girls got into it, if they passed out in the loo, it was my job to get them sorted out. I guess bitchiness has it's benefits. Snort.


3.) I once tanned the ta-tas on the French Riviera. That's right. I went to France in the summer of 1987, and "when in Rome, do as the Romans." So... I went topless on the beaches of Cannes, France. Let me tell you, sunburns THERE sting like hell!


4.) Stuffies. Plushies. Stuffed Animals. Dust collectors. Call 'em what you want. I'm a closet stuffed animal lover. The Build-a-Bear Workshop is one of my favorite haunts. (Go ahead. Giggle. I would, too.) I'll even deepen my shame by telling you, I sleep with a stuffed animal. Currently, it's a Stitch.


5.) I am, at this moment, playing Christmas music. *gasp* Yes, I know. It's not even Thanksgiving. But, 'tis the season, for me. I LOVE Christmas--the lights, the decorations, the FOOD, the pretty music and family gatherings. Don't get me wrong, I bitch profusely while sewing gifts, and trudging through the snow, but I still love this time of year.

FLEs

LMFAO

OMG I found this over at www.roflrazzi.com and laughed myself sick.

I mean, come on people! if you're going to snark on a classic like Star Wars, you damned well better do it properly. Seriously. If you're going make a sarcastic statement about Yoda's backward sentences, you had better spell the entire thing correctly--especially the focal word of your commentary. Gramar?? No. G-R-A-M-M-A-R. It's like the proverbial pot calling the kettle black.

Snort.

Casuality of war

There's a battle raging in my brain. Perhaps not quite good vs evil, or even dark vs light. But, the story I SHOULD be writing is locked in head-to-head combat with the story that I should leave alone. It happens to me often, and it seems the more I know I should be focusing on one the more seductive and bewitching the other becomes.

Normally, it's a split down the center--sweet, contemporary romance versus dark, gritty paranormal romance. Hubby always said I'm a split personality, and I guess it really shows in my writing. *sigh*

This time... not so much.

Right now, my contemporary (western) romance sequel and a new contemporary/fantasy romance are at odds. Beau Carlson, a hot kickass sexy cowboy is embroiled in a battle with Adriel, a mysterious warlock. The two contemporary heroines are in the background, hair pulling over who gets written first: The one filled with quiet rebellion who needs to learn to stand up for what she believes in despite the possible consequences, or the one who refuses to believe she is the reincarnation of the warlock's wife.

Is there any question which file is open right now??

Nope.

See that black cat up there, his name is Basement Cat and he's the lolcat version of the devil. Yeah, he's winning.

Warlock, past lives, and fantasy realms here I come!

Maybe tomorrow I can focus properly...

Pretty bit of flash

This is my favorite seasonal piece. I hope ya'll enjoy...

The angel breezed by, her wings sparkling and her halo askew. She giggled, a high sweet sound in the deepening twilight. A devil followed close behind, his tail dragging in the gravel, his pitchfork snagged on the angel’s skirts.

Then, their mother walked past. Each engrossed in their pursuit of sweet treats, and all oblivious to me.

I lay beneath a golden maple, upon the carpet of autumn’s splendor. A chill breeze unsettled my costume in its passage. And, the fallen leaves whispered softly beneath my weight--complaining, displeased that my blood stained them crimson…

The joy of covers

Nothing makes a book feel real to me like a good cover. Well, feeling it in print in your hands is the ultimate, but when it comes to ebooks, the cover is the inch-thick frosting on top of the cake. (Yes, around here, if I make a cake, I'm making the frosting as thick as possible.)

These two recent covers have stories behind that make them very near and dear to my heart. Not only are they for the 'first' book in that particular genre for me, but they have direct ties to my family. DEAD BY DAWN, for example, is my first release in the horror genre and has my gorgeous (but horribly mouthy) thirteen old-year daughter, Kat gracing it's cover. (Thank you to Renee for letting me use her!!)

For me the cover really does depict the stories. These two tales are spooky, atmospheric, like the ones you here gathered around a campfire, or legends passed down. They are about young, tragic heroines, hence Kat in her chemise, and the trees behind her represent the wild untamed beauty of Michigan, where the two stories take place. The title?? Well... Sunrise doesn't always promise salvation.

The second cover is for my first straight contemporary romance (with HEAVY western underpinings). No paranormal and no fantasy in this one, folks. (Don't gasp) The only magick is in the growth of the characters, and in new love depsite all odds. But there is a magickal bit on the cover now, that will forever elicit a happy smile from me.

The bottom half, the peaceful winter scene is a great representation of where Slade finds Kally suffering from injuries in car crash and hypothermia. BUT, the uniquely special part is that my hubby actually took that picture last fall, the week I started writing the book! How cool is that?? The photo my husband took, to bring some of the beauty of the West, is now gracing the cover of my contemporary (western) romance! And, in October, to be immortalized in print!

So, yeah, these covers are forever among my favorites, because they are little bits of my family shared with the world. :)

Love you, Kat! Love you, Kevin!

Cowboy humor

Have to share the giggle Candice Gilmer sent me:

A Montana cowboy walks into a bar and takes a seat next to a very attractive woman. He gives her a quick glance then casually looks at his watch for a moment.

The woman notices this and asks, "Is your date running late?"

"No," he replies,
"I just got this state-of-the-art watch, and I was just testing it."

The intrigued woman says,
"A state-of-the-art watch? what's so special about it?"

The cowboy explains,
"It uses alpha waves to talk to me telepathically."

The lady says,
"What's it telling you now?"

"Well, it says you're not wearing any panties."

The woman giggles and replies,
"Well, it must be broken because I am wearing panties."

The cowboy smiles, taps his watch and says,
"Dang thing's an hour fast."

This kinda fits Beau Carlson, the hero of the second Letting Go of the Reins book in my weatern series.

Sequestered

I've been chasing the same rung on this wheel for a while now and I'm making the tough choice of going into seclusion, folks. It's time to 'go back to the salt mines' as my agent would say, time to put the nose to the grindstone. I'm close enough to the end of my contemporary western to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and will be sequestering myself to get the book finished.

I will still come out of hiding for Lyrical Press's launch day festivities. I can't miss the momentous occasion of my first paranormal romace being released, or my friend launching her company!

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

(Well...not totally wordless. I use this as an inspiration pic when writing my contemporary western. My hubby got this shot while hunting in Colordao.)

WESTERN SAMPLER

For those readers out there hankering for some western action:


Mud seeped through my clothes, caked my scalp. Water dripped from my body when I crawled from the muck. I managed to collapse on the bank, where the damp mud held me in a wet embrace and fresh snow blanketed me. I panted, watching the plumes of my breath rise while the cold soaked into my bones, into my guts which lay inert beneath my skin.

Irony struck me like an icy club. I’d left Matt because I was afraid he’d kill me; now here I lay, dying. A sick, strangled laugh escaped me. Black fields encroached on my vision, and a chilly invitation to a long cold sleep tempted.

“What in the world?”

A voice rang in the little snow filled dell. I lifted my head from my icy bed and saw a man in a low profile Stetson hat riding toward me on a white horse. The image of him sitting astride the horse framed in snowfall was etched like ice in my mind. Our eyes locked. “Gid-up!” He spurred the horse and it charged around the edge of the pond I’d stumbled into.

The man dropped from the saddle and pushed his hat from his head. Steam rose from his dark hair, but it was his expression that flared hope in me. His eyes were as blue as polar ice, but as soft as an angel’s robes. I wanted to look at his face forever, but my eye lids sagged. His hands were clear in my hazy vision. Hands weren’t always good--Matt hit me with his hands. A little knot of fear unwound in my gut, but this man was gentle. “Come on, Girl. Stay with me.”

I tried to speak, but when my jaw unclenched nothing come out. He nodded, and a frown knit his brows together. He pulled the gloves from his hand and patted my thighs and arms. “You’re soaked to the bone and freezing.” I wanted to nod my head in agreement, but my fine motor skills were frozen, too. His fleece lined jacket smelled of Stetson cologne when he pulled it off, the scent of sweat sweetened with fabric softener rose from his long underwear shirt. “Let me help you.”

I couldn’t fight him if I wanted to. I had no strength left. My field of vision narrowed as my eyelids drooped again. He wadded the shirt into a soft mass, and patted my face dry. The brush of the shirt stung my cheeks, but I was grateful. He wiped down my arms as my head lolled to one side. I was less appreciative when he used the shirt to sop water from my shoulders and chest. Pain blazed from my shoulder socket and radiated through my arm and chest. A weak cry escaped my lips, but onsetting hypothermia had iced over my tear ducts.

“Oh my, I am so sorry!” He stopped, placing a warm hand on my cheek and shushing me. “We have to dry you before you freeze to death.”

It might be too late for that.

He stood, more silhouette than man, to my fuzzy vision. Putting his hat back on, he bent to wrap me in the clothing he’d removed. But I couldn’t feel him touching me--I was beyond that, slipping into the numb, quiet dark. The pain eased. The cold eased. My vision failed. There was only me, and him. His chest was the last thing I saw when he wrapped his arm around my back. The last thing I felt was the warmth of his bare skin.

Me and him.

Me.

black

EXCERPT from Prey for Mercy

I promised you an excerpt from Prey for Mercy, and here it is!:

“I get the winner.”

Her jaw dropped, but his rose in a grin. He winked. “We’ll see about that.”

Ooh, playful banter? My soul sang with his implied challenge. He was an excellent choice of prey. I batted my eyelashes and leaned forward to allow him a generous peek down my top while I studied the shot he was lining up. His line of sight traveled from the cue ball, across the green felt to the flesh I exposed. I inhaled an exaggerated sigh, thrusting my breasts all but out of my top.

Take the bait, pretty boy.

He took a long look, then allowed his gaze to roam my body and face. The blonde, who still stood feet away, reached a boil. “Chase Rogers! Quit looking at that bitch!”

He threw her a silencing glare, and then looked back to me, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “So...” He sidestepped his pool cue, and leaned close enough for the warmth of his cheek to penetrate mine. “Do you have a name, or will ‘bitch’ do?”

“Call me Mercy.” I closed the distance between us, brushing my lips against his cheek and my breast against his arm.

Time froze. I lived within his heart beat, my mind and soul whirring. A feminine voice within argued against the monster in my blood. Chase’s body by mine, warm and alive, pumping precious blood through his veins. I should have craved his flesh, desired to cut open his vein and drink, but I was bewitched. He was handsome, engaging, spirited enough to ignore the shrew and flirt with me. Perhaps bed sports would be better than bloodshed?

“Mercy me…” Chase’s voice rang in my ears, but it was his touch that broke the spell. His fingers traced a warm path along my cheek bone.

“If you’re lucky.”

Chase’s eyes remained locked on mine but his hand dropped from my jaw, brushing against my breasts on the way back to his pool cue. He diverted his gaze to the white ball, drawing the stick in his hands back before striking the ball. Blue chalk scattered from the force of contact. The cue ball rocketed forward, clipping a solid orange ball on the side and sending it into the side pocket with a snap.

“Nice shot.” His friend’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“I have to win.” Chase shot a glance at his friend, and then winked at me. “Because Mercy gets the winner.”

FRESH NEW COVERS!

Yes, I am spoiled. Renee gave me a second cover for Prey for Mercy, and I love love love this one because it has Mercy's love interest on it, too. *sigh* Man beauty is good. And, as an added bonus, I have the official tagline and blurb for you, too! :)

TAGLINE:

Immortality is not enough.

BLURB:

Vampire Mercy Callahan wants more from immortality than sex with strangers and an eternal string of lonely nights. Something's missing until she shares a sizzling one-night-stand with Chase Rogers. His blood is ambrosia, his soul a match to her own, and his presence a talisman against the biting loneliness within.

Chase wants everything Mercy can give, but he's not free. He's betrothed to Angel Macoby, a dangerously unbalanced mortal who's stalked Mercy for years.

Only one woman can survive the deadly rivalry, and if Angel wins, she may walk away with more than Mercy's life.

CHECK IT OUT ON LPI's SITE!

And my short horror story has survived AA's sad demise, resurrected with LPI.

It will be part of my Dead by Dawn series that will eventually be bound in a print collection. Straight horror here, folks, none of that mushy stuff. :)

TAGLINE:

Sometimes you can't go home.

BLURB:

In the black heart of the forest lies a forgotten house. Decayed and deserted, it is home to only dark heritage. The rooms have long been empty, its owners lost, but not yet gone.

Something exists in the shadows. A hunger grows, an aching need calling out for sustenance, calling out for blood.

The homestead awaits.

CHECK IT OUT ON LPI's SITE!

Wow

All I have to say is this bitch should be singing rock and roll.

NEW COVER

My friend Renee has started her own publishing company and I am so thrilled for her and proud to say that DragonSpell Publishing will be releasing my first vampire story Prey for Mercy this upcoming spring!

More news, maybe a blurb and excerpt, coming soon!