Monday, January 22, 2018

For a ghost, he's not very dead -- #SciFi #Pietas @kayelleallen #Giveaway

Forged in Fire banner

By Kayelle Allen (Guest Blogger)

Thank you for letting me visit with you and your readers, Lisabet. I'm happy to be here! Since I conducted an interview with Pietas on another site recently, I thought it would be interesting to ask the same questions of Six, one of the major characters in Bringer ofChaos: Forged in Fire.

A short background on Six: he's human--or he was--but after being killed in battle, he was resurrected in a secret process, and inducted into the Ghost Corps. His mission was to fight Ultras, who are immortal beings with various psychic abilities and incredible strength.

When Six is marooned on Sempervia with an Ultra, the two of them have to depend on each other to survive. That story is in Bringer of Chaos: the Origin of Pietas. Forged in Fire is book two. Here's a bit about the story.

Forged in Fire...

When the immortal Pietas is marooned on a barren world with no food and few survival tools, he knows it could be worse. He could be alone. But that's the problem. He's not.
Half a million of his people sleep in cryostasis, trapped inside their pods and it's up to Pietas to free them. He can't release one at a time. It's all or nothing. He's facing over five hundred thousand hungry, thirsty, homeless immortals who will call on him for rescue and he has no way to answer.

It's not all bad. The beautiful telepathic warrior he's loved for lifetimes is at his side. He's bonded with a sentient panther. He hates humans but the one dumped on this planet with him has become a trusted friend.

Before Pietas can build shelter, figure out how to grow food, or set up a government, he must take back command from a ruthless enemy he's fought for centuries. His brutal, merciless father.

Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever...

Interview with Six

Six, how old are you?

I would have been thirty-nine, if I'd lived. You're wondering what I mean, I guess. I was special ops. A secret group highly trained to fight Ultras. I was killed in action, but I'd signed on with Ghost Corps. They resurrected me in a secret process Kayelle won't let me talk about on here. Anyway, I died when I was thirty-eight, but I'm not dead anymore. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

When you look in the mirror, what do you see?

Brown skin. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Sturdy kinda guy. Always needing a haircut. I'm not so ugly I can't get a date on payday.

What is people’s first impression of you?

I'm going with "who?" I tend to blend into the background and keep a low profile. You stay alive that way. Or you should.

Name three of your favorite things.

I always liked fishing and I get to do a lot of that where I'm at. I hunt too, for food, not sport. Is that one thing or two? I'm sayin' it's two. So for third, I'll go with dancing slow with a fast woman.

Name three things that tick you off.

Hope this doesn't sound stuck up but being ignored. You know, when people look right through you like you're not even there. Man, I hate that. Being lied to. Being used by one person to hurt another person. I can't tell you details, 'cause Kayelle says that's a "spoiler" so I'll just say you'd know right away what I'm talking about if you read the book. You come up to that scene, you're gonna go, "Ah ha! That's what Six was talkin' about. That's it right there." And trust me, it'll make you plenty mad too. Yeah. Just read it. Man, that cranks my jaw.

What would you like it to say on your tombstone?

He had a lot of chances and he took every one of 'em.

What is your favorite song?

I would have said something completely different before I heard this one song the other day. It's called “Forged in Fire”. Thing is, the song isn't all that special. What made it unforgettable is who sang it. Kayelle shared it in her book about Pietas. You should read that. I'm not admitting to anything in public.

What would you most like to forget?

That I ever believed the lies I was told about Ultras. Man, I had it all wrong. All of it.

Are you close to family?
My grandmother raised me. I had a lot of cousins and other family before I joined Ghost Corps. I'll never see any of them again. Once you're a ghost, you're as good as dead.

What is your most prized possession?

I can't tell you how I got it 'cause that's another one of those spoiler things. But I can tell you it's a rusty knife. I know, I know. A warrior ought to have a good blade. But this one... let's just say I get a real kick out carrying it where a certain person can see it. You'll like that scene too, same as me. Read the book. You'll know it when you get to it.

In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire, we get a peek at the weird weather on Sempervia. It's not like Earth's. It's dangerous to be out in a storm. When a mini-tornado wreaks havoc, Pietas, the immortals' king, finds himself in an awkward situation. This scene is from his point of view. He and Six are with four other Ultras who are trying to reach shelter.


The sky turned tornado-green. A few fat drops of rain slid down Pietas's neck, leaving a cold trail in the heat. A few others smacked his hair and face. These scouts warned of the threatening army advancing. Higher up, ominous thunderclouds glowed a menacing pink and orange.

They picked up the pace. In the distance, the oncoming storm blackened the sky. The wind whistled, calling its dogs to hunt.

Icy fingers dragged down his spine. Pietas swallowed, fighting back bile.

The hill they'd crested led down to a jagged claw-rip of darkness, a slash in the velvet forest forming a lightless, foreboding tunnel. The coffin-shaped slice emptied into an abyss of shadow, swallowing every indication of depth and life.

Despite knowing he needed to hurry, Pietas slowed his step, dragging his bare feet through straw-colored grass. Turning in a slow circle, he held out his injured arms as high as he could and lifted his face to the cloud-covered sun, a child wanting one more minute outdoors before bedtime. He cherished the open air and light, unwilling to relinquish the beauty of his freedom.

"Pietas!" Joss called to him. She'd gotten far ahead. "Come on!"

He started toward her. The forest maw ratcheted open like the unhinged jaw of a snake. An uneven patch of ground beneath a foot cost him his balance. Pietas stumbled, tripped, and threw out his hands to break his fall. He landed on hands and knees and then sat, cross-legged. His scraped palms stung and bled. A potent swear word flew to mind, but he denied it voice.

His sister slowed as she passed, but didn't speak. If an Ultra did not ask for help, none was offered.

The twins, however, tasked with guarding the party, did stop. Aid was their duty.

"Guys." Six stooped next to him. "You go ahead. I'll stay with Pi."

Pietas flicked his fingers. Without a response, the twins joined Dessy.

Joss looked up and around at the sky. "Pietas, I'll wait for you."

"No, go ahead. The rain's almost here. I'll join you under the trees."

When she had gone, he examined his palms. The injury had healed.

"How's the ankle?"

"Fine, ghost." He wiped off his hands.

His friend studied him, glanced toward the forest. "Gotcha." Six stood.

When Pietas shifted to rise, Six offered a hand.

"Thanks, but I can manage." He stood and brushed himself off.

The wind picked that moment to set a dust devil whirling into the sand and dried grasses around them. It flew up, stinging exposed skin.

Six covered his eyes. "Oh, man!"

Pietas shielded his own. The whirlwind ripped the cloth tie holding back his hair and whipped strands into his face. He tried facing into the wind, but the circular current spun the tresses back into his eyes. As fast as it had risen, the wind subsided.

His long hair, full of static electricity from the wind and storm, settled over his shoulders and adhered to his neck. He was unable to lift his arms to gather it himself. He refused to let the others see he needed help and he did not want Six fretting over it.

The man blamed himself for the injury. Yes, Six had bound Pietas. It had been Six's duty to do so. In truth, those who had placed Pietas inside the pod and refused to release him were to blame, but no matter how often he reminded Six of that, the ghost refused to relinquish his guilt.

Six dug into his pockets. "I have another strip." They had torn several from a ragged shirt. Six wore the biggest piece around his neck. He set down his pack and opened it.

"Six," Pietas hissed. He did not turn his head, but looked toward the others. "Leave it!"

The ghost glanced up at him, then the immortals, waiting ahead. "You want the women messing with your hair? Is that it?"

He closed his eyes, counting to ten. To a hundred would not erase this embarrassment. "No." When he beheld Six, the man had the discourtesy to smirk. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

Forged in Fire is on Amazon and in print.  

Free on Kindle Unlimited

This book has no profanity or explicit content, but lots of angst, a little humor, some sweet romance, and a ton of betrayal with plenty of vengeance. Plus a ginormous, sentient panther who wants to be Pietas's "kitty."



Here is a free adult coloring book to download and print, based on my character, Pietas. If you like dragons, you will love this. I hope you enjoy it! It contains original art.

Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with misbehaving robots, mythic heroes, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she's tenured.

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Sunday, January 21, 2018

Sizzling Sunday: My most transgressive scene? #MirandasMasks #Billiards #Bikers

Sizzling Sunday banner
Welcome to another Sizzling Sunday! 

My excerpt today comes from what may be the most transgressive scene I’ve ever written. It’s a snippet from my erotic romance Miranda’s Masks. If you want to know what happens next (a lot...), you can get the book at Amazon, Smashwords, or Barnes and Noble.

Here’s the blurb:

Shy and serious by dayinsatiable by night.

Betrayed and abandoned by her first lover, shy and studious Miranda Cahill freezes in response to any sexual attention from someone she knows and likes.

During the day, she works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, she finds herself drawn into increasingly extreme sexual encounters with strangers. Public coupling, multiple partners, age play, spankings, bondage, lesbian lust—each experience reveals new dimensions of her depravity. Her anonymous secret life begins to take over when she discovers that the masked seducer she meets in a sex club and the charismatic young professor courting her are the same man.

Dickens scholar Mark Anderson seems like an affable, uncomplicated Midwesterner, but he has hidden depths, myriad talents, and an unlimited appetite for erotic variety. With Mark as her guide, Miranda gradually comes to understand and accept the intricacy of her own desires, as well as to trust her heart.

Miranda turned her attention to the two pool players. Their looks were much more in keeping with the environment. Both wore tight jeans and T-shirts that had seen better days. Both had lurid tattoos on their biceps. One of them was small, lithe and wiry, with a drooping mustache and a red bandanna on his head. The other was a huge, bear-like man. He had a luxurious mop of ragged, greasy-looking black curls. A livid scar ran down one of his cheeks, giving him a disquietingly crooked smile that was almost a grimace. As if responding to her attention, he looked up from the game and directed one of those smiles at her. His teeth were sparkling white.

Miranda felt strange, hot and cold simultaneously. Her nipples tightened, pushing out the fabric of her top. Moisture gushed into her panties. Normally she would find these men either frightening or repulsive. Tonight, she saw them quite differently.

Hey, baby!” said the thin one. “Come on over and play a game with us.”

Without hesitation, she picked up her beer, slipped off the stool and strolled over to the billiard table. She was acutely aware of the way her hips swayed, clad in tight denim. She felt her unfettered breasts bounce with each step. I must look like a slut, she thought, ridiculously pleased with herself.

Hello, guys,” she said. “How’s the night treating you?”

The burly man winked at her. “Better all the time,” he said. “So, you know how to play pool?”

More or less. You try to get the balls into the holes.” Miranda smiled archly, and her companions snickered.

Yeah, right, using one of these sticks.” Gypsy-hair handed her a cue, and pointed to the white ball on the green baize. “Go ahead, babe. Give it a try.”

Miranda took her time. Slowly, she rubbed the little blue nugget of chalk over the tip of the cue, as if she were rubbing her finger over her clit. The image had the expected results. Her sex throbbed in time with her pulse.

She bent over the table to take aim, her buttocks in the air. She found it hard to concentrate on the shot. She could feel the denim riding up over her thighs. Her bikini panties were probably visible. Did her companions catch a whiff of her musk as she leaned forward? She was pretty sure she could smell herself.

A lock of her long hair fell across her shoulder, interfering with her aim. Before she could react, Bandanna lifted it with one finger and flipped it back. He smoothed her rippling mane down her back, then brazenly fondled her butt. She looked him in the eye and smiled. “No fair. You’re messing up my concentration.”

Bandanna grinned. “Sorry, baby. Go ahead, shoot.”

She made one last calculation, and sent the cue ball precisely in the desired direction. The six ball caromed off the far rim and headed straight into the closest pocket. The seven ball rolled directly into the corner pouch, just as she had intended.

Her audience applauded. “That was some shot! You’re really good.” Their lascivious stares seemed tempered by genuine admiration.

Miranda looked from one to the other. The heat between her legs was unbearable. She hiked herself up so that she was sitting on the billiard table, and spread her thighs wide. “Boys, you have no idea how good I am.”

The two bikers looked at each other in disbelief, then back at her. Impatient, Miranda pulled her skirt to her waist, lifted herself off the table, and pulled off her underwear. Playfully, she threw the wisp of silk at Gypsy-hair. “What are you waiting for?” she said. “I haven’t got all night, you know.”

Bandanna had his fly open first. His cock was slender and smooth, rising up from a nest of reddish frizz. Miranda took hold of it and began to pump, feeling the already swollen tissue grow even harder.

The bigger man was not far behind. He grabbed her other hand and wrapped it around the erection now jutting from his jeans. His cock was like the rest of him, huge. Miranda could not encircle it with her fingers. He was uncircumcised. His foreskin slid back and forth over taut, veined flesh.

Miranda worked them simultaneously, enjoying in their grunts and moans. Meanwhile, her juices ran out of her, staining the felt under her bare behind. She caught a glimpse of the young man hovering behind the bar, his eyes wide, transfixed by the scene. She smiled to herself and stroked the two cocks more vigorously.

Enough!” groaned Bandanna. “I’ve got to fuck you, baby.”

I thought you’d never ask,” said Miranda. “Come on!” She lay back on the table, her legs spread wide.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

From Coconuts to Confessions - #Contest #SriLanka #Vietnam @AdamMannAuthor

Love in the Rain
By Adam Mann (Guest Blogger)

About twenty years ago I was just finishing working on a project in Sri Lanka when I came across a book in Colombo entitled “an historical relation of CEYLON” which had been written and published in 1680. I’m not a historian, but the title intrigued me and led me to find out about the history of that area, and I also had the time and facility to visit some of the places mentioned in that book. It was a bit like surfing the web – one place led to another, and some of the recorded history in that region went back thousands of years!

The descriptions of people at those times – both men and women – began to make me think about their real personal lives. They must have had families! But recorded history is usually very quiet about their wives, concubines and mistresses, or indeed their husbands and lovers.

At that time I was living on the edge of a coconut estate in North West Sri Lanka, just before I moved to a new project here in Vietnam.

What a change!

I was suddenly confronted with hoards of beautiful ladies, who did nothing to hide their shapes and everything to make themselves more attractive, presumably to the opposite sex.

I had started to write novels based on the history I had discovered about the Indian sub-continent, and I was trying to find a traditional publisher, and fortunately managing to avoid the vanity press. So I still had my manuscripts intact.

I read the books again, and began to wonder again about their social and family lives. I also managed to “surf the web” as then the internet was slowly developing, and I found that people were writing about anything!

Now I’d better explain. My parents and their parents weren’t Victorian, but pretty close to it. Sex was a taboo subject. Simply, one didn’t talk about it – although they all must have participated in it or their children, including me, wouldn’t have existed.

This intrigued me and I must confess I wanted to dip my “finger” into the local society with all those lovely ladies, and I wasn’t short of volunteers!

I thought that language would be a problem, but in that climate nobody needed to talk about anything.

I steered away from people in my office, and friend’s offices. I also stayed away from the ‘red light’ areas. I was working in an agricultural area where reproduction is fairly close to the surface, and people are more than happy to talk and joke about it. But I was too busy working to manage to meet any participants for what I had in mind. In fact I was too busy for the next fifteen years before I completed my first manuscript.

I wrote my first adventure novel based on a man meeting several ladies at an embassy reception, which is also a location where ladies dress to kill!

I arranged for my hero in this book to meet his heroine several times socially before either of them decided that closer inspection, with or without clothes, would be a good idea.

Then I found online that several “on line” publishers had emerged, and the electronic novel had been developed – now called an eBook. I needed a front cover and again the web came to my rescue as I managed to buy several pictures of semi-dressed or undressed ladies. I taught myself to add the title of the book and the name of the author to the cover.

I also found several publishers who offered eBooks and printed paperbacks on the market, and they also had art departments who produced much better book covers than me. They also employ a team of the essential editors and proofreaders.

Today, with the New Year upon us I have looked back on my life and productivity over the last twenty two years:

Three murder or mystery novels.

Three historical novels.

Ten novella eBooks from on-line publishers, like eXtasy, Phaze and
Global Publishing and,

Twenty two eBooks that I have self-published using the name Butterfly
Books as I couldn’t wait for the publishers to make a decision.

If you’ve read this far please take a look at some of these books:

From a personal point of view I did mention that I lived and worked in Vietnam, but not in Hanoi. I have always preferred mountains to the coast, and I’m not too far from the highest mountain in Vietnam known as Fansipan, which is 3,143 meters, or 10,312 feet, above sea level, and is a favourite destination for tourists. At this mountainous location the residents are from ethnic minority groups, like Huong or Dao, who actually account for fifteen percent of the total population, but many don’t speak Vietnamese as their family language.

On recent visit to Sa Pa with my wife we stopped at a restaurant in the town for dinner, and I was momentarily delayed in the restaurant paying the bill. When I went outside I saw my wife was buying a locally made memento. The vendor was a local Huong lady wearing her traditional and colourful clothes, and my wife who is from the ethnic majority Kinh, both Vietnamese, but both haggling the price loudly in English!

Excerpt from my latest eBook:

I’m often asked to leave an excerpt from one of my books. I like offering these and the following is extracted from the beginning of one of my latest novellas:

It was very early morning when the flight finally arrived in Taipei, and Charlie walked with Sue-Ling to the Arrivals Hall.

Wait a minute,” she said and disappeared into an airport shop.

Here,” she said a few minutes later, “something from Taiwan so that you remember me!” and she laughed.

He handed him a small locally made toy farmer.

As she was standing close to him he kissed her forehead, and she blushed, but made no effort to move away.

Bathroom,” said Charlie, and Sue-ling took his bag and said, “I’ll wait for you,” which was kind of her.

She watched him walk away, and made a mental note.

Tall, she decided, probably six feet, brown wavy hair, slim build, intelligent and with a lovely smile. She guessed he’d be late thirties.
She knew he wasn’t married as he’d told her during the flight, as she’d told him she was nearly thirty and single, but she had also said there was an old boyfriend waiting for her at home.

Charlie, for his part, thought about this charming and attractive lady he’d met on the flight. She was quite tall compared to other Taiwanese ladies, kept her black hair shoulder length, wore thin gold ring earrings, and was still very slim. But with winter clothes covering her he could not tell anymore. Still she did have a lovely smile with sparkling black eyes.

Sue-ling was waiting for Charlie, and she gave him her bag as she in turn went to the ladies washroom.

Wrong way round,” thought Charlie, “I should have asked her first!”
And he admonished himself, and when she came back she was a bit deep in her own thoughts. They walked on together.

You have to go that way, but I’m going over there,” Sue-ling indicated the overhead signs, “Oh yes, here’s my mobile phone number so if you give me a ring sometime, and then I’ll have your number,” and she handed him a small card.

Good-bye Sue-ling,” said Charlie, “thanks for your time and help on the flight.

Sue-ling smiled and on tip toe kissed Charlie on his right cheek, and she walked away.

Charlie followed the signs leading to the Departure Hall, but was still thinking about her.

He dialed her number in his mobile phone, and it rang;

Is that the attractive lady I met on the flight from Vancouver?” he asked into the phone.

No, sorry, I can’t see her around here,” she replied, “but I’ll give you a call if I do.”

Readers will have to buy this eBook to read what happened next so try this link at Amazon: Or at Smashwords:  

Links to all Adam’s books:

And at Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and other eBook retailers.
Try Adam’s website:  


Readers are probably aware that most of my books are based in Asian or African countries where I have lived and worked.

Please send Adam the names of any country from Asia or Africa and the correctly spelled names of ONE of the languages that they speak, apart from English.

The author will send free copies to the first five readers in any format they like: epub, mobi (Kindle), lrf, pdf, pdb.

Don’t forget to send the author your email address, or you can send a Direct Tweet to @adammannauthor

Good reading and please have a happy and successful 2018.

Friday, January 19, 2018

Dreaming True - #magic #dreams #paranormal

Winged Dreamer

I’ve always believed in magic.

My dad may have had something to do with this. He used to concoct wild stories about monsters and ghosts, ogres and trolls. I remember sitting cross-legged next to my brother, on the floor by my father’s chair, held spellbound by his tales of heroes tasked with magical trials and elementals battling one another for control of the planet.

Maybe I inherited his imagination.

When I was in elementary school, I had a garnet birthstone ring that I believed could grant wishes. Mostly I remember asking for simple, silly things—like a blizzard, so we’d get the day off from school. Then my mom came down with pneumonia. She was so ill that at eight years old, I had to take over cooking for the family. I was terrified by the sudden helplessness of the woman who was at the center of my world, who could, and did, do everything. The ring got a workout during that period. My mother recovered fully, solidifying my faith in the unseen and the effectiveness of asking for one’s heart’s desire.

I’ve written many times here about the mystical quality of my first BDSM relationship. At dinner on the night before my initiation, my soon-to-be Master told me he was descended from a family of sorcerers—that his Germanic ancestors had practiced the dark arts back in the old country. I’m still convinced I experienced true magick that night, though he often teased me about being suggestible.

Most of my life has been ordinary and mundane, of course, like everyone else’s. I’ve never been convinced I had any special powers. There’s one area, though, where I have experienced the uncanny, more than once. Every now and then, I have prescient dreams.

The first one I remember involved my Master. We didn’t see one another very often, since we lived on opposite coasts. After not having talked to him for several weeks, I had a deeply disturbing dream about him. In the dream, he was hospitalized, bandaged, unconscious and immobile on the bed. I recall everything being pale white, drained of color and life. I sat beside him, holding his hand, willing him to wake. He roused, at least enough to squeeze my fingers, but on his face was a look of absolute despair. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there, being with him, holding him, loving him the best I could.

I called him the next day, worried. He told me his father had hanged himself in the basement the night before. I didn’t tell him about my dream, not then. As I had in the dream, I held him in my thoughts, soothed him with my words, and hoped that he’d heal.

Another, later case involved a dear female friend, a woman I met on a ride board, with whom I drove halfway cross country in the dead of winter. Jeanie was the epitome of a free spirit—an author, artist, actress and musician, a fascinating creature who seemed to exist outside the boring realm of jobs and responsibilities. She married a guy as crazy as she was. They had wild parties, a rock and roll band, and a pet pig.

One night I dreamed that she told me she was going to have a baby. I was astounded. I tried to talk her out of it. “You’re not the motherly type,” I told her. “Think of all the responsibility! The constraints!” In the dream she just shook her head and smiled.

Two days later, I learned she actually was pregnant. (She turned out to be a fabulous, if unorthodox mom, by the way.)

These are two examples that stick with me, but I know they’re not the only ones. Indeed, I’ve had multiple less traumatic dreams about my Master that turned out to have elements of truth. “How did you know her name?” he asked me when I confided I’d dreamed of him with another woman. To be honest, I’m not sure he believes in magick, at least not the way I do.

Over the years I’ve published quite a bit of paranormal erotica, including my recent release Damned If You Do, my MM novel about the burden of seeing the future NecessaryMadness, my urban shifter romance The Eyes of Bast, and my collection of dark paranormal tales Fourth World. My paranormal worlds are mostly ordinarymostly indistinguishable from our own. Every so often, however, bright power streaks through them, like lighting illuminating a thundercloud from within. That powerit’s easy for me to write. It feels natural, true. I hardly have to think about it.

In the realm of fiction, my dreams also shape reality.