Birthday Bash! #Giveaway #Survey

Image by Dorothe Wouters from Pixabay

Greetings! I’m in a great mood since today is my birthday. Made it through another year! In fact I’m off at the beach relaxing right now, but I wanted to include you, my readers, in my special day.

Want to be part of my birthday bash? I am giving away a $10 bookstore gift certificate. To enter, do one of the following (or both):

• Leave a comment on this post, telling me what book of mine you would most like to read. Be sure to include your email address. Otherwise I won’t be able to contact you if you win.

• Send an email to contest [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com with the same information.

But wait a minute! I’ve published close to 100 titles in the 26 years I’ve been an author. How can you choose, especially since I write in so many different sub-genres?

As it happens, my website has a cool feature that lets you see all my books that fit into different categories. Just go to https://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html

Select your preference from the Genres and Categories drop-down list. The site will display the covers from all matching books; click on a cover to read the blurb and excerpt and see the buy links.

For instance, here’s what you get if you choose Paranormal. (They won’t all fit on one screen.)

Here are my Sci Fi, Speculative and Steampunk titles. 

 

Lots of my books have LGBTQ content.

 

The category list also includes different book lengths and entries for my series.

And if you really have no idea what you’re interested in – click on Surprise Me! for a random recommendation!

So – join me in celebrating another year of writing by telling me what you’d like to read. You could win a birthday present, from me.

Remember: if you leave a comment, you must include your email (obfuscated is fine).

Let me take you out for coffee – #EroticRomance #Taboo #MFRWBookHooks

Welcome to this week’s edition of MFRW Book Hooks! Today I am featuring a bit from one of my oldest books. Incognito was the second novel I wrote, originally published (by Blue Moon Books, in print) in 2002. It has been through four editions since then, improving (I believe...) with each one. I’ve made the dialogue smoother and the emotions more believable. What hasn’t changed is the heat.

Incognito is definitely a romance. It follows the development of a serious, committed, loving relationship and ends with honeymoon. At the same time, it also fits the definition of erotica, chronicling one woman’s journey as she tries to come to terms with her own desires. In fact, there are two journeys here, since my heroine Miranda finds her own experiences mirrored in the secret diary of a Victorian gentlewoman in Boston.

I seem to have a lot of difficulty writing books that fit neatly into genre pigeonholes.

Anyway, here’s a short blurb and a PG excerpt. Hope you enjoy it.

Blurb

Shy and serious by day—insatiable by night.

During the day, Miranda Cahill works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, she has sex with strangers. Her secret life explodes when she realizes her masked partner at a kink club and the charismatic colleague courting her are in fact the same person – the one man who can teach her to accept her diverse desires, as well as to trust her heart.

The Hook

The grizzled head of Harold Scofield poked through the door. “Hello, Miranda. I am sorry to intrude, but I have someone to whom I would like to introduce you.” Miranda smiled to herself; her genial thesis advisor always sounded like a grammar textbook. The gray-bearded figure in suspenders bustled in, followed by an attractive young man in dark-framed eyeglasses.

“Miranda, I would like to present Mark Anderson, our new lecturer. Mark will be handling the Dickens course for the summer session.”

“Mark, this is Miranda Cahill, my most promising graduate student.” Miranda blushed, and Dr. Scofield’s eyes twinkled. “Miranda has chosen a rather controversial topic for her thesis, a new interpretation of the corpus of Victorian erotica.”

The newcomer’s polite smile expanded to a grin. “Really. That’s fascinating. Sounds far more—stimulating—than my dissertation on the metaphorical significance of orphans in Dickens and his contemporaries.”

Miranda’s blush deepened as she noted the double entendre. She met his teasing gaze, almost defiantly. “Yes, it is an intriguing topic, and I believe one of considerable literary and social significance, as well.” He had thick, dark hair, slightly tousled. His eyes behind the glasses were velvety brown with glints of gold. In his face, she saw intelligence, energy, and humor.

“Miranda has championed an unusual theory, that the explosion of sexually-oriented writing during the latter half of the nineteenth century was a reflection of actual practices, rather than a reaction against repressive public morals.” Her advisor appeared to be enjoying the role of agent provocateur. “She believes that the detailed accounts of sexual adventure and aberration published during the era chronicled real experiences, not merely fantasies.”

“Hmm.” Their bespectacled companion looked both amused and interested. “What evidence do you have to support this proposition?”

“Well, to begin with,” said Miranda, automatically adopting an academic tone, “a significant fraction of these writings are first person accounts. And a surprising number are related from a woman’s perspective. If this were primarily a literature of fantasy and titillation, I would expect a male point-of-view to dominate, as it does in modern pornography.” Miranda was encouraged to see that her audience listened attentively and gave due consideration to her points.

“Secondly, these tales are full of real-world details and commentary that would be superfluous and even distracting in fictional erotica. The protagonists discuss social issues such as poverty, child abuse, oppression of the lower classes, things that can only detract from a work intended as escapist fantasy. Even a hack pornographer knows better than to mention the unpleasant or the mundane, illegitimate pregnancies, unpaid bills, rising damp. Yet references to such items are common in the corpus.

“Finally, I find in many of these writings a thoughtfulness that conflicts with the conventions of the pornographic genre. The narrators are engaged in a wide variety of sexual activities, which are described in vivid and provocative detail. At the same time, in many cases, they reflect on their own desires and behaviors, sometimes justifying themselves in the face of the official morality, sometimes castigating themselves for weakness and sinfulness. Either way, there is a psychological depth that would be redundant in fictional erotica.”

“So, what you are saying,” interposed Mark with a grin, “is that a fictional character would simply go ahead and bugger his maid, whereas an individual writing a clandestine diary would spend some time and effort wondering why he wanted to bugger his maid, before he got around to actually doing it?”

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Miranda, embarrassed and flustered, wondered if the new instructor had been reading her manuscript over her shoulder. Her eyes flashed. “You’re not willing to take me seriously, any more than the submission review committee for the Association for Modern Literature!”

“Now, Miranda,” soothed her advisor. “Mark was just teasing you.” Looking again at the attractive stranger, Miranda saw that Scofield was telling the truth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Mark held out his hand like a peace offering. “I really am delighted to meet you. Your theory is unconventional and provocative, but who knows, it might actually be true.”

His skin was cool and dry, the pressure of his fingers firm and confident.

“Let me take you out for coffee, and you can tell me more about what your research has turned up thus far.” As he released her hand, he brushed his fingers lightly against her palm.

The secret, sensual gesture terrified her. Miranda found herself reacting as she so often did in the presence of a man who desired her. She felt herself tense, contract, her fears and uncertainties condensing into a dense, cold knot under her solar plexus. Her face was stiff and wooden as she tried to smile. “Thank you, but I can’t right now. I have an incredible amount of work to get done.”

“Diligent, industrious Miranda,” her advisor scolded her lightly. “You need to take more time for yourself. It is Saturday, after all.”

“Thanks, but I need to work harder. I need more evidence to support my theory. Deeper study, of a larger number of texts.”

“Please…” Mark began, disappointment plain in his voice. Then he saw clearly that she would not be swayed. “Well, maybe another time.” He smiled so warmly that the icy knot thawed slightly. “I’d definitely like to get to know you better, Miranda.”

After they left, Miranda sank back into her chair and put her face in her hands. Her reactions were crazy and inconsistent. On the one hand, she nervously rejected the attentions of an attractive, educated, appealing man like Anderson. And on the other—she could not bring herself to review the events of the previous night, but she was acutely and uncomfortably aware that she had acted outrageously.

Buy Links

Ebook

Kinky Literature: https://kinkyliterature.com/book/362-incognito-secret-lives-forbidden-loves

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B1N7CTMQ

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0B1N7CTMQ

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1147874

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/incognito-secret-lives-forbidden-loves

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61138791-incognito

Audio - Narrated by Freya Victoria

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Incognito-Secret-Lives-Forbidden-Loves/dp/B0BMWG2XQK

Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/Incognito-Audiobook/B0BMWDKQH2

Paperback (Amazon) - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D57SFNSF

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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Charity Sunday: For the Wild World – #Conservation #Wildlife #CharitySunday

Welcome to the first Charity Sunday of 2026!

I got some good news today. In my inbox I found an e-newsletter from the World Wildlife Fund (now known as the World Wide Fund for Nature outside of the U.S. and Canada). Headlining the newsletter was a link to this incredible video of a mother tiger and her litter of five tiger cubs.

https://www.worldwildlife.org/news/stories/an-astonishing-five-tiger-cubs-captured-on-video-in-northeast-china/

This is more than just entertainment. Tigers usually give birth to only two or three cubs. The size of this litter is testimony to the health of the environment in which they were born. China has been very active in conserving its natural resources; the video was captured by scientists’ camera traps designed to monitor wildlife. Their efforts are paying off.

For more than sixty years, WWF had been working to stop the degradation of the planet's natural environment and to build a future in which humans live in harmony with nature. They’re the largest conservation organization in the world, operating in more than 100 countries. They’re also quite wealthy. One might ask whether my small contribution will make any difference at all. Those of you who frequent my Charity Sunday events will know my answer to that: if each of us gave a little, the total would be substantial.

In any case, I wanted to share the tigers with you. They are enough to cheer anyone up! (So pass the link on to your friends!)

For today’s Charity Sunday, I’ll donate two dollars to WWF for every comment I receive.

Surprisingly, given my ailurophilic tendencies, I don’t have any books featuring tigers. I have written one story which includes a were-jaguar, though. Unfortunately he is the villain! But I thought I’d share part of the apocalyptic conclusion of my Mayan-themed paranormal romance Serpent’s Kiss with you anyway!

Excerpt

“So,” the old woman murmured, “it has come at last. In my lifetime. The end of the great cycle.”

“Yes.” A terrible fear swept like storm through Elena’s heart. “He is there now, at the summit of the volcano, struggling against the one who would destroy us all.”

The priestess was still for a moment, looking inward. “You must go to him, then. Now.”

“But how? He took his feather away from me.”

The crone laughed. “You need no power object. I told you, you have his soul. Picture him clearly. Reach for him with your mind.”

Panic rose like bile in Elena’s throat. “I tried…”

“Calm yourself, child. Call him with your faith, not your fear. Imagine him as you love him, not in the midst of a deadly struggle, but full of strength and power.” The old woman took Elena’s hand in both her own. Her skin was soft as the petals of a flower.

The touch soothed Elena’s shaking, slowed her hurtling heartbeat.

“Breathe,” murmured the shaman. “Breathe deeply, and reach for what you desire.”

Elena closed her eyes. An image took shape behind her lids—Jorge, nude, magnificent, calling down the rains the night of the fire. She remembered the jet locks tumbling over his powerful shoulders, the ripeness of his mouth as he sang his entreaties to his gods. In her mind, she knelt before him, reaching out, eager to caress his firm, smooth body.

The ground lurched under her feet, throwing her down on all fours. A deafening roar welled up from the earth. Thunder answered. Lightning shot through the cloudbank, painting the grey walls a lurid white before plunging everything into blackness. I’m too late, Elena thought, her body tossed about like a rag doll by the unsteady ground. It’s already the end.

Her knees and palms stung, lacerated by the coarse surface beneath her. She opened her eyes. A cloud of sparks exploded into the night sky. Hot ash rained down on her bare arms. The earth shook itself and bellowed like a wounded beast. Red and yellow tongues flared up, hissing, silhouetting the black edge of a ridge in front of her. The air reeked of sulphur.

Volcán de Fuego. She had made it.

She tried to stand, but the frenzied earth kept casting her down. She finally had to crawl to the lip of the crater, ignoring the sharp pumice that abraded her skin. An explosion tore at her eardrums. Flames snapped above her head. New sparks pelted down. Burning embers landed in her hair, but were smothered by her thick mane. Blisters rose on her skin.

Warily, she peered over the edge into the broad, shallow bowl of the caldera.

This depression, perhaps fifty meters across, was the remnant of an old eruption that had blown off the top of the mountain. At its center, a cinder cone belched sparks and flame from the active vent. Clouds of steam and ash swirled above the basin, stained a dirty orange by the seething fires below. The sulphurous stink clung to her nostrils.

The concave space was paved with grey pumice and black ash, interrupted by basalt boulders meters high that had been ejected in past ages. It reminded Elena of a Roman amphitheatre. Within its confines, gladiators fought to the death.

They wore their beast forms. The enormous jaguar, orange as the volcanic flames, circled the winged snake. Quetzlcoatl hovered above the ground, his wing-beats sending sparks circling around them. The were-cat’s roar of challenge echoed across the basin; the earth growled in answer. He lashed out at the serpent with a vicious paw. Even from her distant vantage point, Elena saw the claws flash.

Jorge darted out of the way. The cat’s talons sliced through smoky air. Remorros roared again, this time in frustration. Meanwhile, Jorge drew back his massive head, then struck like lightning. The jaguar tried to evade the strike, but the snake’s fangs raked a pair of deep grooves across his flank. Blood gathered in an opaque pool on the glittering black sand.

Remorros backed away, not taking his eyes off his opponent. Jorge stilled his wings and settled to the ground, awaiting the next assault. The cat limped slightly. He bent to lick at his wounds. Suddenly, he gathered himself into a crouch and launched himself into the air, toward his opponent. His jaws closed on the serpent’s throat.

Elena struggled desperately not to cry out. She knew that distracting Jorge now could be fatal. The snake did not seem badly hurt, however, perhaps due to his scaly armour. He unfolded one of his bird-limbs and ripped into the jaguar’s belly with a dagger-like talon.

Remorros bellowed in agony. Jorge shook him off and whirled away to a safer distance. His wings beat slowly as he watched his antagonist. Elena did not see any wound, but it seemed from Jorge’s tentative movements that he too was in pain.

The jaguar lay on its side, panting. Had Jorge won?As she watched, hardly daring to hope, the cat-form blurred and shrank. The naked body of Teodoro Remorros stretched out on the floor of the caldera, a gaping hole in his abdomen.

He can’t possibly survive such an injury, thought Elena, rising to her knees in order to get a better view. This must be the end. But even as she watched, the man pushed himself to a sitting position, then to a hunched stand. He placed his hands over the terrible wound. Elena could see the blood seeping between his fingers. Then he began to chant in some alien tongue.

The volcano rumbled and belched cinders. The flow of blood slowed, then stopped. Remorros stood tall. He took his hands away from his belly. The wound was gone.

Remorros’ laugh rang out in the sulphurous air. “Kulkulcan! See my power! My god-flesh is indestructible. You cannot defeat me.”

Jorge still wore his serpent-form. As she watched, though, the towering column of scales and feathers began to whirl, coiling faster than the eye could follow. The wings faded into mist that swirled away. The green blur slowed and dwindled. Jorge’s tawny, muscled form emerged, apparently unscathed.

His long hair streamed behind him, carried by the hot winds from the vent. His eyes reflected the volcano’s fire. He held aloft the gleaming black sword. “Tezcatlipoca! You always were a braggart. Come meet your fate.”

Please don’t forget to leave a comment! We need a world with more healthy tigers—and other creatures, including human beings.

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The Alien Commander and the Delivery Girl – #SciFi #Comedy #Giveaway

Blurb

I was sixteen when I found out not only am I an alien hybrid, but monsters called the Tai-Kok were getting ready to invade our world. Guess who gets to stop them? Me! How?

My uncle, the mad scientist, created a machine called the portal that instantaneously sends a test subject from one location to another by converting them into energy. His idea is to port me onto a Tai-Kok ship. All I have to do is leave a bomb, hit the retrieval button on my spiffy traveler’s belt and poof! I’m back on Earth before the Tai-Kok ship goes kaboom. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Uncle Ben doesn’t have a clue where I’ll actually appear on the ship. It could be the engine room, the crew quarters, or even the bridge. It’s like playing Russian roulette. The Tai-Kok don’t like surprises or uninvited guests.

To make things even more fun, I have an alien battle commander stuck in my head and I’m related to a powerful Coletti warlord. Yippee. The chances of me living to see eighteen aren’t good.

Excerpt

“Give ‘em hell.” A wild look in his eyes, Uncle Ben tapped on the console.

The circles of light surrounded me, but this time it felt like a zillion fire ants were crawling over my body. Holy hell! Something had gone wrong! I appeared in midair and dropped like a rock. Smack! I slammed into someone, and my Glock went flying.

My eyes bugged. I was on the bridge of a futuristic warship, and the viewscreen showed one hell of a space battle going on. To make things even more fun, I was lying across the lap of a huge, muscle-bound male wearing black battle armor. Since he was sitting in the captain’s chair, I was assuming he was the boss.

A very angry-looking boss. I blinked. Holy cow was he good-looking, if you were into the whole merciless predator thing. Huh? The red chains woven into his black warrior’s braids matched the communication device on his left wrist. Who knew aliens accessorized and why did I care? I took a deep breath trying to control the panic streaking through me.

A low growl rumbled in his chest.

One look into his disturbingly hostile amber eyes and I knew I was in big trouble. I reached for my retrieval button.

His arms clamped around me painfully, and he spat a bunch of gobbledygook.

"Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” I replied mentally. Somehow, I knew he was psychic.

A harsh voice sounded in my head, “How did you get through our shields.”

“Dunno. My uncle is the scientific genius, not me. I’m just the delivery girl.”

“What do you deliver?”

Did I look stupid? The minute I told him bombs; he’d kill me. I pasted a friendly smile on my face. “Stuff. I’m Lexi and you are?”

“Battle Commander Kaelen. I serve Zarek the Coletti Overlord.”

About the Author

I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department and to keep from going totally bonkers – I mean people have no idea what a real emergency is. Take this for example: I answered, “9-1-1 emergency, what’s your emergency?” And this hysterical woman yelled, “My bird is in a tree.” Sometimes I really couldn’t help myself, so I said, “Birds have a tendency to do that, ma’am.” The woman screeched, “No! You don’t understand. My pet parakeet is in the tree. I’ve just got to get him down.” Like I said, not a clue. “I’m sorry ma’am but we don’t get birds out of trees.” The woman then cried, “But… What about my husband? He’s up there, too.” See what I had to deal with? To keep from hitting myself repeatedly in the head with my phone I took up writing.

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1598719.Gail_Koger

https://twitter.com/Askole

https://www.facebook.com/Colettiwarlordbooks/

https://www.amazon.com/Gail-Koger/e/B001K838BY

https://www.gailkoger.com

Gail Koger will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Join us for Charity Saturday, 25 January 2026 #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

Since 2017, I’ve been devoting the last Sunday in each month to a post which features some worthy cause. Often, other bloggers join me in this effort, turning the event into a blog hop. This Sunday, January 25^th, is the first Charity Sunday of 2026.

In honor of the new year, I’ve created a new banner, which you can download here: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2026CharitySundayBanner.jpg

Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give authors and bloggers a chance to give back to the world, as well as to attract new readers.

How does it work? Each participant selects a favorite charity. Before the date, you should prepare a blog post that: 1) talks about the charity and why you support it; 2) provides a link to the charity; 3) includes an excerpt from one of your books; 4) includes the code to show links to other participating blogs.

It’s fun if you can make the excerpt relate somehow to your chosen charity, but this isn’t required.

For every comment left on your post, you commit to giving some amount to the relevant charity. The specific charity and the amount to donate are up to you. You can set an upper limit to your donation if you want.

If you’d like to participate in the next Charity Sunday on January 25^th, sign up using the Linky List below. Please be sure that the link you enter will lead directly to your Charity Sunday post, not just to the home page of your blog.

Be sure to use the new Charity Sunday banner!

For an example post, check out this link from my last Charity Sunday:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2025/12/charity-sunday-shelter-for-all.html

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A seductive spy and a cursed prince – #MFRWHooks #ParanormalRomance #Steampunk

Welcome to the MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! Every Wednesday the talented authors who belong to the Marketing for Romance Writers community share their favorite bits from their work. The list of links at the end of each post lets you jump from one excerpt to another. Who knows, maybe you’ll find your next romance read!

Today I am featuring an excerpt from my multi-genre erotic romance Rajasthani Moon. This exciting novel combines steam punk, paranormal, ménage, BDSM, Rubenesque and Bollywood elements. I guarantee you’ve never read anything like it...

Blurb

A bandit prince cursed into beast form under the full moon.

A brilliant but sadistic Rajah whose robotic sex toys mingle torture and delight.

A voluptuous spy on a mission from Her Majesty, tasked with discovering Rajasthan’s secrets.

She has never faced such a challenge.

When Rajasthan refuses to remit its taxes, the Queen calls on her most lethal and seductive secret agent, Cecily Harrowsmith. Cecily expects to have little difficulty persuading the rebellious Rajah to submit once more to the Empire. Instead, she is the one forced to submit – to endure unprecedented extremes of pleasure and pain.

Kidnapped by the ruler's half-brother Pratan and delivered into the hands of the handsome but depraved Rajah Amir, she soon finds herself fighting against her own lascivious nature as much as the schemes of her captors. Her sympathy for the moon-cursed wolf-man Pratan only complicates her situation. Cecily has never failed to complete an assignment, but now she risks betrayal by both her body and her heart.

The Hook

The prince-bandit most definitely looked the worse for wear. His normally-keen eyes were bloodshot, with grey circles of exhaustion beneath them. His long hair was matted and tangled. Dirt smeared his only garment, a pair of homespun trousers, and a long, rust-hued abrasion disfigured his chest, from his left breast down to his navel. A livid bruise darkened one cheekbone. Blood-crusted bandages wrapped both his hands.

Amir made a noise of concern. Before she knew what was happening, he had released Cecily and tumbled her out of bed, back onto her pile of cushions. The men ignored her squawk of protest.

“Come here—sit down, brother. You definitely did put up a fight, I’ll admit. Took six of my strongest guards to get you into the cage.” The Rajah’s voice took on a more serious tone. “Has this happened before—changing at the new moon as well as the full?”

Pratan lowered himself to the opposite corner of the bed from where Cecily was bound. His normally graceful movements were stiff, as though he was in pain.

“At the Vaishaka new moon, I felt some symptoms of the change, but the beast never arrived. Last month—Jyaistha—the new moon passed without incident, so I figured the previous time was some anomaly. Obviously I should have been more careful. If I’d known…”

Cecily read regret and embarrassment in Pratan’s features. She almost didn’t recognise him.

“I’m so sorry I put you at risk, Amir-ji. If I’d changed during the ceremony—if I’d injured or killed some of your subjects—” The brigand dropped his battered face to his bandaged hands. Cecily experienced a flicker of sympathy, though she didn’t fully understand their conversation.

“Never mind, brother. There’s no harm done. Though perhaps this should be your last new moon ceremony, until the curse is lifted.”

“What curse?” The men had seemed to forget her presence, and she’d sensed she was acquiring useful information, but Cecily’s curiosity got the better of her wisdom.

Pratan and Amir locked eyes. “Should I tell her?” the Rajah asked, no trace of a smile on his succulent lips.

The royal brigand shrugged. “Why not? It’s scarcely a secret. Everyone else knows the story. Perhaps the clever Miss Harrowsmith will have some ideas about how I might change my fate.”

Another extended look passed between them, intimate and full of pain. It was Amir who spoke next.

“Pratan’s mother was a high-ranking courtesan, while mine was the queen—the Maharani. That’s why I’m officially the Rajah. My father loved them both. As the supreme ruler, he was entitled to bed as many women as he wanted. The queen, however, did not agree with this custom.

“She came to my father from the land of the high snows. Daughter of a lord whose palace soared above the clouds, the princess Ziya was cultured, learned and exquisitely beautiful. She was also, unbeknownst to my father, a sorceress with considerable skill in the dark arts. Some say that she enchanted him to bend him to her will. Certainly, for many years, she was the only woman who could arouse his desire. Then, after I was born, he met Pratan’s mother and brought her to court to be his concubine.

“Queen Ziya’s jealousy was icy as the peaks of her distant home. She pretended to welcome the newcomer, while practising her charms to weaken Lady Chameela’s hold on her husband. As Pratan’s mother grew pale and sickly, though, my father’s devotion to her only increased. Finally, my mother burst into their bedchamber with a poisoned dagger, determined to slay them both. As they coupled, she stabbed at my father’s labouring back—but the gods protected him and the knife slashed the sheets, which burst into evil-smelling flames.”

Pratan rose from the bed to pace the carpeted tiles as he picked up the thread of the tale.

“Maharani Ziya was condemned to death for her attempt on the Rajah’s life. The people say that when my father pronounced judgment upon her, there were tears in his eyes. On the pyre where she was burnt alive, she cursed my mother and me. ‘Your son shall be a rutting beast like his father,’ the witch cried as the fire licked at her perfect body. ‘And you, whore Chameela, will die without ever seeing his face.’”

Cecily watched Pratan’s restless progress, back and forth in front of the bed. Dark emotion ravaged his handsome face. Clearly, he couldn’t continue. The tendrils of sympathy she’d felt earlier burst into full flower.

Amir resumed the narration in the stead of his stricken sibling. “All she had predicted came to pass. Pratan’s mother expired in childbirth—weakened by loss of blood, she sank into unconsciousness and never awakened. My father sent both of us to England, to educate us but also in the hope that in that distant country, so far from my mother’s home, Pratan could escape his fate.”

“A vain hope,” Pratan added. “My sixteenth birthday fell upon a full moon. That night I changed for the first time, from a mostly innocent youth to a fierce, lustful animal—an enormous wolf with just enough human in my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.”

Pratan sank to the floor, as though he could no longer bear the weight of horror and guilt. Cecily laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You couldn’t help it,” she soothed. “You didn’t know what to expect.” She understood now the solitude of his life in the wasteland, the cage she’d seen in his mountain den. “You’ve paid for that unintentional crime many times over, I’m certain.”

Amir swung himself out of bed and helped Pratan to his feet. “Don’t blame yourself, brother.” His voice was taut with anguish, too. “The fault lies with my damned mother and her evil magic. The blood you’ve spilled stains her soul, not yours. May she be reborn as a blind worm in a pile of dung.”

“Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden now.” Pratan shook off his brother’s consoling hand, strode to the window and threw open the latticework grille. Sunlight poured unhindered into the room. “For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full. Once a month was bad enough, but now it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. Will there come a time when I must wear my beast-form every night?”

Cecily’s chest ached with vicarious sorrow. She wanted to go to Pratan and enfold him in the comfort of her arms, but her bonds would not allow that. “Is there no way to lift the curse?”

“Sorcery is forbidden in Rajasthan,” Amir thundered. His voice faded almost to a whisper. “Of course, it’s too late for that now.”

Buy Links

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/363-rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance/

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09DBMLQQG

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1100493

Barnes and Noble - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rajasthani-moon-lisabet-sarai/1140045684?ean=2940165000041

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rajasthani-moon-steampunk-shifter-bdsm-romance

Apple Books -

https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id1582490320

Add on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58835067-rajasthani-moon

Print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D8CDFSZ5

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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Look into your mind and soul – #Poetry #Giveaway #GuestBlog

 

Lisabet: Greetings, Intensia. Welcome to Beyond Romance!

How did you get started writing poetry and songs? Why do you continue?

Intensia:

Thank you so much for having me and for this thoughtful question.

I must have been about six years old when I realized that music and writing would become something very important to me. It all began with a blue radio double cassette recorder I was gifted with. That device instantly fascinated me. From the moment I received it, I would spend countless hours listening to music, recording my voice, and creating melodies of my own. At that point, I did not really know or even realize that this was actually a job, and part of what songwriters do. But what I truly and deeply felt was a sensation of comfort, calmness, freedom and joy that I had never experienced before.

In elementary school, I started writing little poems, and in middle school I began singing in a choir. From then on, I never stopped exploring my crafts and encouraging others to discover and nurture their artistic side. I’m, among others, an officially recognized vocational teacher in Germany, guiding aspiring singers and songwriters on their path to professional artistry, as well as an award-winning vocal coach.

I write and sing poetic pop songs that feel like after a meaningful conversation with a good friend. Songs to inspire, connect, and entertain. Lines that linger a little longer and carry emotional weight, created also for the deep feelers, the intense ones, the passionate thinkers, the curious minds, the heartfelt souls, the kindred spirits who read every line carefully and let it become a part of them. The lovely, sensitive people who think they are too much, feel too much, muse too much.

Life inspires me and emotions drive me to always go further, to support and give my best through music, to evoke something in my fans, the lovely people in my community.

This award-winning book is an introduction to my art and journey. You are warmly invited to join me on Substack for this creative unfolding adventure. Completing the lyric fragments and turning them into full songs to stream at a soulful and deliberate pace, one track at a time.

Blurb

Have you ever wondered how your favorite songs really began?

Not with the words, not with the melody, but with a feeling.

Becoming a vision, becoming lines, becoming a complete piece of sonorous truth meant to be shared to unite people who resonate with it.

A mystical, fascinating process you can now be part of.

INTENSIA, a new heartfelt, poetic singer songwriter likely to belong with your favorite pop music companions, is turning the traditional release model upside down, inviting you to look into her soul and mind before anyone else.

Be among the first to witness this spark before her distinctive voice echoes through the world. This unique approach offers an unprecedented glimpse into evolving art, so you can feel and enjoy the essence of her songs before they are even complete.

Dive into this curated collection of lyric excerpts and emotional snapshots from pop songs in progress. Each piece stands on its own as a modern, poetic message, paired with brief reflections about the meaning or emotions behind the words.

It is more than something to read. It is a space to pause, reflect, and connect, with room for your thoughts and reflections too. Write what moves you, what you feel, what you dream. This book and its songs to be are meant to accompany you wherever you go.

For even more space to express yourself, the companion notebook PLACE TO THINK. OR TO WRITE. (ISBN 978-3-911445-02-3) is available as a dedicated space.

WORDS TO THINK. OR TO SING. out 26 June 2025 on Amazon. Paperback (ISBN 978-3-911445-00-9), eBook (ISBN 978-3-911445-01-6).

Join INTENSIA’s free Intense Inside Club at www.intensia.music and discover this special music developing experience as it unfolds, where connection begins as songs come to life.

 

Excerpt

S T A I R C A S E

I saw red while you held my hand

on that hill in a castle of sand

being nice, coming out of the blue

you were losing me, undeniably true

I was just another trophy for your shelf

overloaded by the further rusty twelve

Dissociating from this charming place

you are a mess inside, I know it’s the case

this romance had better leave no trace

but at sunset we sat here on the staircase

THE HIGHER THE STAIRCASE, THE CLEARER THE VIEW.

 

About the Author

 

From Munich’s vibrant core, Intensia is sparking a poetic, tuneful movement with a unique glimpse into her evolving pop songs-to-be book, “WORDS TO THINK. OR TO SING.”. It combines lyric snippets with heartfelt reflections, inviting readers to discover her art in progress in a new and unexpected way.

INTENSIA’s story began in childhood with a simple radio cassette recorder, a portal to a mesmerizing world where her voice became a powerful way to explore emotions and transform them into melodies.

Her lyrics delve into self-reflection, personal growth, relationships, and empowerment. Themes that reflect the vision of her boutique flagship label, Intensia Music International, which is also dedicated to inspiring others to explore their creative side.

With a high art, down-to-earth attitude, INTENSIA stands for emotional pop tunes that feel like after a meaningful conversation with a good friend. Step into her world at www.intensia.music and you will find a new sonorous companion for life.

Artist Website: http://www.intensia.music

Publisher Website/Music Label: http://www.intensia.international

Author Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B09HZ6HCH9/about

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24676392.INTENSIA

Find reflections, impulses, and progress on the lyric excerpts from the book as they turn into cinematic, emotional pop songs to stream and experience: https://substack.com/@intensiawords 

Book buy link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9RR5TK9

Intensia will be awarding a $10 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn winner during the tour.