Saturday, November 30, 2019

Meet the inhabitants of Underlayes... @GothicMoms #fantasy #erotica #magic

Underlayes Omnibus cover


Underlayes is another dimension where all sorts of nocturnal creatures reside; witches, vampires, fae, shifters, werewolves… The dimension was created by all these creatures working side by side to escape the scrutiny and danger to their existence that stemmed from the human world. And they most definitely reek tons of havoc on a regular basis. While there is no racism, discrimination, or bigotry, there's still tons of ignorance, foolery, and good old fashioned jealousy. Including, but not limited to a magical, dysfunctional family. A strong hybrid couple with baby mama drama. Another hybrid that's kidnapped by her own great-grandmother. A female with a second chance at life after suffering domestic violence. And a romantic rendezvous with hellhounds as chaperones.

This special addition not only takes you deeper into the world of Underlayes, it also includes the first four books in the series along with a special Mother's Day short story. That's not all! There's also an Interview with a Demon.

Get ready to laugh, cry, cringe, and maybe even fall in love.

"Fans of Charmed, BlackPanther & Immortals After Dark are sure to fall in love with the new Underlayes series. Full of magic, vampires, witches, demons, & one dysfunctional family nobody would voluntarily cross."


Yes. No. Just stop!” I shouted in his face, barely able to think, to breathe. “Tonight is the beginning of my courtship with Bran. We have to stop.” Even though stopping was the last thing I wanted.

You think Bran can make you feel like this?” he damn near growled as he grabbed the back of my head, gripping my hair and rubbing his face in the crook of my neck. He inhaled deeply, sending chills down my spine. “I can smell your lust, Tia, your desire for me. Me, not him.”

It doesn’t matter,” I replied weakly.

The hell it doesn’t matter. I am not giving up that easily, Tia. If this is the last chance I have with you, I am taking full advantage. I will make it so that every time you look at him, you will wish it was me.” He ground out each word slowly and precisely through clenched teeth. “Every time he beds you, it will be my face you’ll see, my hands you’ll long for, my name on the tip of your tongue.”

Grimm, please…”

And then he was kissing me again, harder and faster than before. His tongue exploring every inch of my mouth. Our tongues twisting together in a wild, exotic dance. My body felt like it was on fire, and so did his. Then we were sliding down to the floor to our knees. He gently laid me on my back, never breaking our kiss, my legs opening seemingly of their own accord to accommodate his girth. Slowly, oh so slowly, he broke our lingering kiss. He was on top of me, hands on the floor like he was doing a push up, eyes as black as pitch; I could see my blazing eyes reflected in those dark pools.

Still balancing on one arm and looking into my eyes, he was sliding his other hand down my body, pulling off my pants. Very slowly, he slid his hand up the inside of my thighs, spreading them apart. His hand crept up my inner thigh until he found that spot that let him know just how hot and wet I was for him. Then he was nipping and licking his way down my neck while flicking his thumb over my clit, making my body shudder against his. When he found my breast and took as much of it into his mouth as he could, he drove two fingers inside me. Then he released my breast and kissed his way down to my navel, licking delicately down toward more sensitive regions, all the while his fingers caressing, rubbing, and probing. Suddenly, just when I thought I was about to explode with pleasure, his fingers were replaced by his tongue, going deeper than I would have thought possible, and he was drinking me like I was the finest wine.

Somewhere in all of that, he must have taken off his own pants, because suddenly he was once again hovering over me, and with our gazes locked he thrust every inch of himself inside me—and trust me, there were a lot of inches—leaving me gasping for air and wanting to beg for more.

If you want me to stop, tell me now and I will,” he snarled, pulling out slowly until only the tip of him was left inside, making a small sound escape from my lips. “But if I am only allowed this one last time, allow me at least this much to keep with me. Allow me to have every piece of you, if only once more.” He gave another deep, powerful thrust, making me cry out. “Allow me to give you every inch of myself for just one final time. Allow me to feel every hot, sweet spot that is all you. Even if you do go on with this foolish plan, he will only have your body. Only I will forever own your heart.”

He kissed me again, then said, “I swear, you will regret leaving me.”

About the Author

When you become a Mom, you begin to put yourself last, and your combat boots begin to collect dust. Going to your child's PTA meetings in full Gothic, especially industrial, regalia is pretty much frowned upon. Especially by your own children, and your teens would die of a heart attack. But, one should not have to completely stop being themselves, uniqueness is greatness. So all of that darkness is put into words in her books, and designs in her jewelry sold in her Gothic Moms Dark Charms shop on Etsy and Rebels Market. 

Best-selling and Award Winning Author, also a single mother of five beautiful children, but by far more than just that. T. A. Moorman is an artist, a former violinist, a seamstress, a crafter, a writer, a blogger, a reviewer, a dark confidant and a darkly dangerous, fiercely protective friend. And now also a student of the University of Phoenix! She still hopes to one day find her Dark Knight in shining armor, since Prince Charming would never be able to handle her. And currently broke, so go buy something of hers and tell everyone you know how much you love her books.

Author Links

Friday, November 29, 2019

A sensual fight to the death -- @skye_warren #ballet #eroticromance #giveaway

audition cover


Blood and sweat. Bethany Lewis danced her way out of poverty. She’s a world class athlete… with a debt to pay.

Joshua North always gets what he wants. And the mercenary wants Bethany in his bed. He wants her beautiful little body bent to his will.

She doesn’t surrender to his kiss.

He doesn’t back down from a challenge.

It’s going to be a sensual fight… to the death.


Blinding lights. Aching lungs. Thunderous applause. The final show concludes the same way we rehearsed for months, the same way we performed for weeks. My muscles know the movements better than they understand rest. The prospect of after, of what comes next, makes my breath catch. Even as the primas take their bows, relief echoes around the stage. Vacations are planned. Relief for strained muscles. Everyone needs a break, even professional athletes. I’m the only one onstage dreading it.

We bow and curtsy with practiced grace. The curtain descends to the floor. Almost to the second we break formation—a flock of crows startled from the woods. The more exuberant among us, the young ones, the new ones, the ones using steroids, prance and jeté toward the dressing rooms. Most of us limp our way out. One hundred percent of NFL players are injured every season. Professional dancing is the same. We hurl our bodies through the air, forcing massive impact through tired joints night after night. I catch my friend Marlena in my arms. Her face is white with pain.

Ice,” she says. “Or better yet—tequila.”

I push my shoulder under hers as we exit the stage. “Don’t sell yourself short. You can have both.”

A delicate snort. “Not likely. We have to smile and flirt with the old men with big, fat wallets. And for what? I won’t be here next season. You won’t be, either.”

The reminder clangs inside me like a copper bell. I won’t be coming to the New York City Ballet after the break. We fall into our creaky chairs in the dressing room. “Are you going to miss it?”

Miss it? Of course I’ll miss it.” Marlena turned twenty-eight last month. It’s comfortably retirement age for a dancer. “When the little children do their terrible pirouettes, when they sneeze and throw up and cry all over my leotard, I’ll think fondly of the beautiful art I left behind. Then I’ll be able to walk home. That won’t happen if I try to dance another season.”

You’ll make a wonderful teacher. You know you were mine.” She didn’t teach me to dance. It was my first love, before I learned to flip and contort myself. Before I ever leapt from a trapeze bar.

Marlena taught me the ropes of the ballet company when I joined two years ago. Most of them thought I wouldn’t last a week. Some of them didn’t want me to. It’s a rigid world, the hierarchy stacked with graduates of Juilliard or the John Cranko school.

I don’t have a pedigree.

All I have is a body that does what it must, no matter how much it hurts.

Which means changing out of my sweaty leotard into a fresh one. We’re contractually obligated to attend the ball. Like Marlena said, we should smile and flirt with the high society people who attend. Both the male and female dancers have to do it. It’s what convinces the sponsors to write checks that will fund the next season. By the time they’re rehearsing The Nutcracker I’ll be in New Orleans, the place I swore I’d never return.

About the Author

Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.

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Skye Warren will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, November 28, 2019

Abundance - #Gratitude #Thanksgiving

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay   

For all our blessings,

let us be grateful!


Wishing you love, joy, comfort and laughter, 

during the holidays and always...

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Prizes and a free book? Just join my VIP email list! #FreeBook #Giveaway

Bird delivering mail

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
I have a group of very special friends – the readers who belong to my VIP email list. Some of them have been following me for years. I know them well enough that I recognize them, just from their email addresses. I’m very grateful for their loyalty and support.

I’d love to have you join this select group. You’ll get first notice about all my new releases and giveaways. I also announce guests whom I think my readers will particularly enjoy (especially other authors who are offering attractive prizes!)

In addition, at least four times per year I run exclusive contests, just for them. There’s one in progress right now: first prize is a $10 gift certificate, second prize is a $5 gift certificate and third prize is the winner’s choice of any of my indie published titles.

Want in? Just click the link below to join, and I’ll send you the details.

In addition, anyone new who joins my list will receive a free copy of my holiday erotic romance Gray Christmas, in your choice of ebook formats.

Youre never too old for some holiday naughtiness

Widowed author Emma Granger has reconciled herself to spending Christmas Eve in snowy Boston, with a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio and her cat Vronsky. Her daughters have their own lives on the West Coast. Emma knows she can’t expect them to visit every holiday.

A loud crash from the apartment above her overturns her plans for a quiet evening at home. When she investigates, she meets Nick North, an energetic iconoclast with a gray ponytail, a silver earring and bright blue eyes that kindle feelings she’d thought were gone forever. Nick is her own age, maybe older, but his lean body and impish grin affect her as if she were a horny teenager.

Although Emma makes her living writing spicy romance, sex with a stranger seems ludicrous when you’re an arthritic grandmother in your sixties. Still, the attraction she feels for her charismatic upstairs neighbor appears to be reciprocated. A Christmas fling might be just what Emma needs to brighten her holiday.

Join today, and I’ll send you your free book tomorrow!

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Review Tuesday: In Another Place by Susan Mailer - #memoir #ReviewTuesday #NormanMailer

In Another Place Cover
In Another Place: With and without my father Norman Mailer by Susan Mailer
Northampton House Press, 2019

I don’t usually read memoirs—in particular, the sensational and exploitative memoirs often penned by the children of celebrities. However, In Another Place was highly recommended by a close friend. Meanwhile, I’ve always found Norman Mailer intriguing. Brilliant author, legendary bad boy, respected intellectual and feminist whipping post, his influence still looms large over twentieth century culture. I will admit to being curious to see him through the eyes of his eldest daughter.

Susan Mailer’s memoir could hardly be further from those whining exposés I try to avoid. Rather, it is a delicately balanced, emotionally subtle account of the author’s complicated relationship with a father who clearly loved her but was not always successful in expressing this love, either in words or in deeds. The author avoids hysterics and hyperbole. Her account is dignified and restrained, even when she’s recounting severely traumatic events. Nevertheless, one closes the book with a strong sense of both Susan herself and her paradoxical parent. Her measured treatment does not mute the memoir’s powerful impact.

I suspect that this was difficult book to write. The awkward title encapsulates the problem. Ms. Mailer spent her childhood and teen years shuttling between two countries and two cultures: vibrant, sociable Mexico, where her mother lived and practiced medicine, and trendy, competitive New York, her father’s domain. Wherever she was, she felt the pull of her other life. Of course, children of divorced patterns often experience this sort of conflict. In her case, geographic distance and her father’s fame exacerbated the pain of the split. Hence the memoir’s subtitle. Including the name “Norman Mailer” is more than just a ploy to sell books. As the child of an acknowledged literary genius, Ms. Mailer felt special pressure to impress her father with her intelligence, her talent and her “guts”. At the same time, she was trying to find her way as an individual, to build a life in which she was more than just “Norman Mailer’s daughter”.

It took great courage for the author to revisit her psychologically turbulent early years as she does in this volume.

The book also explores the destructive effects of fame on private life and personal relationships. Norman Mailer, it appears, sometimes believed in his own myth. Propelled into the limelight before he was thirty by his best-selling debut novel The Naked and the Dead, he faced the problem of topping his own personal best. Ms. Mailer does not shy away from portraying his egotism as well as his insecurity. At the same time, she shows how sincere he could be, how charming, loving and generous, as well as diligent, almost driven, when it came to his writing.

In Another Place follows a linear trajectory in time, starting just before Susan’s birth and stretching to her father’s death in 2007. The book includes many of the well-known (and sometimes infamous) incidents in Mailer’s life: his stabbing of his second wife; his run for Mayor of New York; the ad-lib weekend making the experimental film “Maidstone”, including his violent brawl with co-star Rip Torn; the infamous Town Hall- “A Dialogue on Women’s Liberation” - where Mailer moderated, and baited, a panel of renowned feminists. However, Ms. Mailer also chronicles other, more private moments with her father: ski weekends in Vermont, bullfights in Mexico, late night conversations, angry tantrums, and memorably, fun- and love-filled visits at the “Big House” in Provincetown, where Norman Mailer played benevolent patriarch to his nine children and their offspring. The portrait that emerges is fascinating, nuanced and multi-faceted, enlightened by the author’s professional knowledge as a practicing psychoanalyst as well as by the insights and perspective that come with age.

The description above might suggest that this is a book about Norman Mailer, but in fact Susan herself is at the center of the tale. The memoir is an effort to put her own life in perspective, using the mirror of her relationship, to reconcile the fact that she will always be Norman Mailer’s daughter with the recognition that she is much more.

I have not said much about the writing. Ms. Mailer’s prose is crisp, concise and evocative. The structure of the book balances drama with history in a pleasing alternation. The author’s reminiscences do not shy away from negative emotion but are never self-indulgent.

In short, I was deeply impressed by this brave, honest, skillfully crafted work. Even if you’re generally not a fan of memoirs, I recommend it.

Monday, November 25, 2019

Dream lover in the flesh.... #soulmates #eroticromance #giveaway @RoxanneDHoward

When you close your eyes cover

Dreams are the perfect shelter for fantasies, safe havens to step inside without changing our daily lives. For Lark Braithwaite, all that is about to change. During the last six months, Lark has dreamt of a mysterious Irish lover who knows what she wants and gives her exactly what she needs. In her waking life in busy London, things aren't as ideal as her long-term relationship with her controlling fiancé Charles has hit a dry spell.

When Lark is called home to Oregon for her father's funeral, she comes face to face with the demons from her past, but she never expects to meet her dream lover in the flesh. Niall O'Hagan steps straight out of her fantasies and into her life, and the powerful connection they share rocks her foundation. Although she's dealing with the bitterness of her fiancé's betrayal and his jealousy, Niall soon stirs Lark's awareness of her superficial existence and reawakens her sexuality....and her soul.


If the kiss had stayed careful and guarded, she might have continued to question it. But the blindfold disappeared. She’d fallen asleep. Her eyes flew open, and he was there. Oh, my God. He was there! Heated eyes watched her. Rakish dark hair fell over his forehead as he breathed hard, and the morning sun lit up the world behind him. She shuddered and took a deep breath to speak, but his hands moved to cup her face. He held still and closed his eyes as his lips took her mouth. Right then and there, she knew with crystal clarity this was real. This was the weight of a real man on top of her, clothed. He smelled citrusy and freshly laundered. What in the hell is this?

How did he get here? He was only her dream lover.

Or was he?

Confused beyond all comprehension, Lark didn’t have any time to contemplate a single thing. His lips delivered a breath-stealing, soul-shattering kiss, and then they were all over each other. This, ah, this she knew. Lark hooked her ankle over his, put a hand on his shoulder, and tried to rid him of his jacket as she drew him closer. She fisted his hair as he devoured her mouth. He tasted the same as her dream lover, and she put her tongue in his mouth to savor more of his tangy sweetness.

They both made noises they never had in her dreams, breathy gasps and blasts of air as their mouths met and separated as they sought new angles and depths to their passion.

He made a disgruntled sound as he tried to get more comfortable in the cradle of her hips over the hindrance of clothes. This wasn’t a dream. He nibbled on her lower lip as she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, but then he carried her away in the undercurrent of his large, warm hands, which caressed the skin of her stomach beneath her hoodie and T-shirt. She continued to accept his kisses but pawed her zipped-up sweat jacket. Okay, so she was still clothed. He was rock hard against her, and he ground his hips into her. A disbelieving grunt escaped his lips. Lark shivered at the jolt that went through her.

Wh— Mmm. Whoa. Stop,” She managed against his mouth. She furrowed her eyebrows and scrutinized him as he breathed in and out. He braced himself on the weight of his hands above her, his bright green eyes bearing into hers. His face was the face of her dreams—the sensual bowed lips and cleft chin, the built body, and the thick hair. His hair… She blinked. His hair was cut at the nape and styled for a day at work. She glanced at his clothes.

Um, why are you wearing a suit and tie this time?” She squinted against the sunlight. Please, God, let this be a dream. He moved his head and put her in shade.

FROM PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY: "Howard (The Longer They Last) explores the concept of fated love in this skillfully woven contemporary erotic romance. Lark Braithwaite, an American in London, is living with her British fiancé, Charles Chase, when she starts dreaming of a sexy mystery man with an Irish brogue. After Lark gets word that her estranged father has died and she returns to her Oregon hometown for the funeral, she meets the dream man in the flesh: he's her parents' widowed lawyer, Niall O'Hagan. Lark quickly falls in love with Niall, struggling to decide whether she should follow her heart or the commitment she's made to her fiancé-a decision that gets easier when Charles shows his true and ugly colors... Explicit sex scenes crackle with heat, and Howard's characters invite readers to come in and get lost on the pages with them as the plot hurtles toward a shocking, but not unbelievable, climax involving Lark's father's past and her future. Erotic romance fans will devour Howard's suspenseful and heart-filled story."

About the Author

Roxanne D. Howard is a U.S. Army veteran who has a bachelor's degree in Psychology and English. She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. Also, she is an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and marine biology geek. Roxanne resides in the western U.S., and when she's not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and children. Roxanne loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.

Author Links


Buy Link 

Roxanne D. Howard will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, November 24, 2019

Charity Sunday: KIND (Kids in Need of Defense) - #CharitySunday #immigrants #legaldefense

Charity Sunday banner

I’ve been really busy this month – as the holidays approach, I suspect that’s true of most of you – but I didn’t want to let November go by without a Charity Sunday post. After all, this is the month where we particularly celebrate gratitude, when we’re more aware than ever of our own blessings, and want to share.

My chosen charity for today is KIND – Kids In Need of Defense. This organization, founded more than ten years ago with support from Microsoft and Angelina Jolie, has a very specific focus: providing legal services and assistance to unaccompanied children caught in the U.S. detention system. KIND organizes pro-bono representation for kids who have been separated from their families, children facing deportation and children who’ve been trafficked. They also work at the policy and education level, for more humane and responsive laws and regulations that do not further victimize migrant and trafficked youth.

My heart aches for the thousands of kids torn from their families and trying to survive in hellish conditions in immigration detention centers. I’m deeply ashamed that my country is responsible for this human rights catastrophe. Of course, none of us can change the system alone, but I believe that every bit helps. Hence, I will give two dollars to KIND for every comment I receive on this post.

Meanwhile, as usual, I have an excerpt for your entertainment and to thank you for visiting. I don’t have any stories about immigrant children in the U.S., but here’s a bit from Refuge, which takes place in a refugee camp on the Thai/Myanmar border.

She found me the next morning. I was sitting on the steps of the barracks, reviewing Daeng’s last letter. I insisted that he write to me, even though we talked by phone once a week. He needed the practice. I always sent his letters back, with spelling corrections. I was determined that, somehow, I’d help him go to university. That was the only way to save him from the trap I was in.

I had expected excitement and gratitude from her, but her face was twisted by worry.

Hello, sir...” she began, tentative.

Nu. You can call me Nu. And your name?”

People call me Preean.” She pronounced it as two syllables.

Pleased to meet you, Preean.” I tried to put her at ease. She stood there with her eyes downcast, her hands knotted together nervously. I stuffed the letter in my shirt pocket and waited for her to speak.

Sir... Khun Nu... thank you so much for the pencil and paper.”

Never mind. I think you needed it more than I did.”

Still—your kindness means a lot, to me and to the children.”

Forget it. Really.”

She raised her eyes. I was startled to see that they were dark blue, like dusk behind the mountains. Also they were glistening with tears. “I need to ask your help again. Something much more serious.”

On impulse, I grasped her hands, gently releasing her tense grip. Her nails were bitten down to the quick. The creases in her palms were embedded with grime. Nevertheless, her skin was deliciously soft. Sympathetic tears pricked at my eyes. “What is it? How can I help you?”

It’s Su. One of the children. She’s very sick. Diarrhea and a high fever.”

Did you bring her to the infirmary?”

They said it was probably just some bad fish. That they couldn’t do anything. I think she needs to go to the hospital. She’s burning up.”

The hospital? In Mae Sot? That’s more than two hours away!”

I went to ask the commander for permission to take her. He wouldn’t even let me into his office.”

She tried to kneel before me. I stopped her, terribly embarrassed, not to mention worried that someone would see her. “Please, Khun Nu. She’s much worse today than she was last night. She doesn’t even know who I am.”

What can I do? I started to answer. I can’t do anything. I’m practically a prisoner here myself. But the desperation and hope I saw mingled in her face stopped my voice.

We would need a jeep...” I remembered when the commander sent Kai and me to town, a month ago, to pick up mail and supplies. Maybe I could convince him that we needed to make another run.

Let me see what I can do. I’ll let you know. Where can I find you?”

If you can get a jeep, tie this around one of the supports on the water tower.” She held out the shoelace that had been securing her ponytail. It has once been red. Her jet locks flowed over her shoulders in a shimmering cascade. A lump gathered in my chest as I gazed at her, so small and vulnerable, so brave. “I’ll meet you at the turn off for Baan Huay Bua, half a kilometer along the road. Around noon.”

But how...?”

She smiled. “There are exits. Gaps in the barbed wire. Places where it’s rusted away. We all know them.”

Then why don’t you leave?” I imagined her, free, dressed in bright, clean clothing, laughing with friends. Teaching in an actual school.

Where would I go? My village across the border? It’s gone, burned to the ground by the generals’ thugs. My parents were murdered. My sisters were raped. I have no idea where they are now. Without an identity card, I can’t get a decent job. Oh, maybe I could make it to Bangkok or Phuket and work in a bar. Flirt in exchange for drinks. Have sex with tourists. Would that really be any less of a prison than here?”

All proceeds from sales on Smashwords 
will be donated to Amnesty International

Don’t forget to leave a comment. 
Every one helps kids stuck in legal limbo.

Saturday, November 23, 2019

An irreverent interview with the Hot Sqad -- #urbanfantasy #adult #babes #demons

Splendificent Cover
Hi, everyone! I’ve got a special treat for you today.

Gathered around for another thrilling Beyond Romance interview are the girls of Splendificent! Fleur Flannagan, Dusty Blackwood, Tristabelle Elvrina, and Sofi Poe. Not to mention the delicious Giselle Nyfall, California girl in residence. On hand to interview them is Dacy Alex.

DACY: Hot Squad, welcome back to Beyond Romance. We're going to talk about the retelling of your adventures from the erotic novel Giselle and The Hot Squad in the brand new urban fantasy adventure Splendificent!

FLEUR: “Retelling” eh. The first book sold like shit, so you change genres and reboot the series to make money?

DACY: I got a lot of gambling debts.

FLEUR: Same. But don’t ask me about this book because I was drunk as shit for most of it. I don’t know what the fuck happened.

SOFI: I’ll loan you some money, Dacy. One of my fans just Cash App’ed me 500 dollars just for being so pretty.

GISELLE: Well, I’m still the main character so I’ll talk about the book! I’m a super popular girl from California with tons of friends and I don’t trip over stuff, or break expensive objects, or accidentally start fires, or perv on Snap, or have an unhealthy fear of my mother.

DACY: Literally that was all lies.

GISELLE: Shhh! Anyway, I go out to Hemera University in Manhattan and thanks to a computer glitch I wind up rooming with these five gals. Only it turns into like a school girl battle manga because all of them but me are supernatural! Sofi is a fox spirit, Princess Tristabelle is a pure elf, Fleur is a succubus-vampire hybrid, and Dusty is a pixie. There are jokes, there’s sex, a cute prince who was totally feeling me, there are demons, there’s violence! It’s like Sex In The City meets Vampire Diaries meets a Sex In The City porn parody.

SOFI: And most of all there’s…me! And speaking of me, let me tell you about my social media empire.

DUSTY: Be quiet, Sofi. Did someone say violence? That’s where I come in. We had to tangle with some demons in the book. And it didn’t go too well for them. And it ain’t gonna to well for anyone who reads this interview and don’t buy the book. So lemme put ya’ll readers on notice, if any of you yellow bastards go to Amazon and buy a different book than Splendificent then I hope the good lord above has mercy on your soul, because ain’t no prayers gonna save your ass from Dusty Blackwood!

DACY: What the hell kind of sales pitch was that? You can’t threaten people on Lisabet’s blog.

DUSTY: Son, I’m Dusty Blackwood and I’m gonna do whatever I want.

FLEUR: Testify.

SOFI: That’s why you’re only a pixie, Dusty.. The fairy council said you’re too violent to be a fairy. And your mother is the Tooth Fairy and she must feel so ashamed.

GISELLE: But in the end, I think our story is about friendship and bonding. We're all just trying to work together to maybe save and change the world for the better. But we're connecting at a deeper level.

FLEUR: Exactly, that's very important for kids in college. I was talking to some sophomore and she was complaining about eating her girl's ass. Just on and on about how her girl makes her eat ass. And I asked why do ya do it, and she said “because I want companionship.”

(Dramatic pause by Fleur.)

FLEUR: People eat shit to stave off loneliness. And that's what our story is about.

DACY: You don’t want me to sell a single book, do you?

FLEUR: I hope you never make a nickel.

SOFI: I got ya, Dacy. Another one of my followers just Cash App’d me 300 dollars.

DACY: Princess Tristabelle you’ve been awfully quiet, and your sort of the leader-

FLEUR: Leader? Leader of what?

DUSTY: Of the group, silly.

FLEUR: Silly me. I forgot we voted on that. Oh, wait... we didn’t.

GISELLE (nervous laughter): And we never will because we’re like The Three Musketeers: all for one, one for all! Right, girls?

(Giselle smiles wide waiting for affirmation. Awkwardness ensues. Thankfully Tristabelle breaks the

TRISTABELLE: Let the record show I, Tristabelle The Bright Eyed of Clan Elvrina — princess of Golden Land, Jewel of the Realm, Sister of the Goddess Freyja, the Heartbreaker, Arterial Sprayer and Mistress of Mistlewoe — was not “awfully quiet” but rather seated calmly internally screaming.

DACY (laughs): And why, may I ask?

TRISTABELLE: Because violence against the press is generally frowned upon in your country. Misrepresentation is a serious offense in my homeland. This “retelling” of our adventures is far too kind to certain individuals.

FLEUR: *cough* Prince Gorick Asshole. *cough* My dad. Mega asshole. *cough* Dusty. Dumb ass. *cough*

DUSTY: At least I got looks and big knockers, you old hag.


SOFI: Aren’t looks everything? Opens doors and wallets!

DACY: Forgive me, Your Highness, but I must remind you this is just the first of a series of books.

TRISTABELLE: And I remind you, sir, the whistle of a sword cuts sharper than the clack of a keyboard.

(Dacy gulps.)

TRISTABELLE: Now allow me to echo what Dusty has said. Hear this, readers of Beyond Romance, and hear it well! If you do not buy the book, Splendificent, you will be stripped of your lands, your titles, your clothes, and your head in that order. That is how you sell a book.

DACY: I need that money more than ya’ll need that head, for real for real. But we’re out of time. Good talk, ladies!

Buy Links – Better get ‘em out there now, right?

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Amazon Canada:


Lusted over by men, hunted by demons

California girl Giselle Nyfall arrives in the Big Apple to attend Hemera University, but instead of a higher education she finds herself in a dangerous situation when a computer glitch lands her in an Upper East Side penthouse for extraordinary young women. And her sexy new roomies aren’t your ordinary college girls. One is an elf princess with a love for skating and the art of war, the other a B.B. gun toting fairy exiled to the human world for being too violent by her mother — the Tooth Fairy —, a social media obsessed shapeshifter, and finally, a vampire succubus demon with a big gambling problem

Together they uncover a curse which has men in their condo behaving even stranger than usual. And the only cure in this splendidly magnificent tale is…themselves!

Warning: Splendificent is a raunchy, wild comedy intended for mature readers only!

About Dacy Alex

A native of Maryland, Dacy Alex has taken home several screenwriting awards under a different name. He loves the possibilities of the supernatural but also the inherent weirdness of the everyday world and likes to combine the two whenever possible. Dacy likes to focus his stories on new adults, which might explain why he can subsist on a steady diet of CW shows and cans of Starbucks for days at a time.

If you want to contact Dacy he can be reached at: dacyalexandria [at] gmail [dot] com.
Visit Dacy on Instagram at roxy_kitten
And check out Dacy’s website: