No costume can hide who you truly are – #BDSM #EroticRomance #Menage

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

Happy Halloween!

I may be a septuagenarian but I still get excited about October 31^st. Like my heroine Bella in my excerpt below, I love dressing up and becoming someone else... especially someone mysterious, powerful or seductive.

I’ve been sharing snippets of my paranormal books all month. Today I’ve got a bit from my BDSM erotic romance tale Coming in Costume. There’s nothing supernatural in this spicy story – but it does showcase the magic of love and trust between a woman and her Master.

Meanwhile, over at Sweet N’ Sexy divas, I’m giving away your choice of one of three paranormal books to every visitor. All you have to do is ask!

https://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/2023/10/making-magic-halloween-freebooks-dreams.html

Don’t miss this chance for some delicious treats!

 

Blurb

No costume can hide who you really are

When her dominant husband Greg proposes that they attend a company Halloween gala, Isabella is too excited to be suspicious. Unlike her introverted master, she adores parties and dressing up. Greg provides the perfect costumes―a schoolgirl and her stern professor―outfits that are not too revealing or risqué while still celebrating the nature of their relationship. Only after they arrive at the party does Bella learn her Dom has planned a kinky, semi-public scene involving both pain and pleasure―a Halloween masque that includes a starring role for Greg’s best friend James.

This volume includes two bonus stories featuring the same characters. In Silver Bells, Greg gives his long-time friend James a spectacular Christmas gift―Isabella’s body and obedience. In On the Beach, the two dominants join forces to chastise Bella for her lack of self-control in coming without permission―and to reward her for her willing surrender.

Excerpt

“On the desk, Miss Archer. Arms out, palms flat.”

I should have realized Greg had something up his sleeve. Normally he hates big parties. His work requires him to interact with all sorts of people, but I know he finds it stressful. To relax he prefers more—how should I put it?—intimate gatherings. So I really should have understood he had some deviant plan in mind when he told me about the Halloween masquerade.

“Samson-Sewell Advertising—you know, Bella, they’re one of our biggest accounts—anyway, they’re throwing a huge Halloween party. Pulling out all the stops, I gather, to impress their clients. They’ve actually hired the Roosevelt Rotunda at the Natural History Museum for the event. I’m surprised that’s even possible, but I guess money talks, and these days they’ve got plenty. Which is great for our firm, of course.”

“And you’re going?” I looked up from my breakfast to scan my husband’s darkly handsome face. A half-smile played on his lips.

“We’re both going. It’s next Saturday night. And they want everyone to come in costume.”

I clapped my hands in delight and his grin broadened. Greg knows how much I adore costumes and role-playing. “Oh, wonderful! Maybe we can go as a pirate and his captive! Or the sheik and the harem girl… Or how about a Roman aristocrat and his slave?”

“You want everyone to know you’re my sub? My filthy, kinky, obedient slut?” He revved the motor of the vibe strapped to my clit. I moaned and clenched my muscles, struggling against orgasm. Fortunately, he released the switch before I lost control.

“Greg—sir—please!” I gasped. “It’s Halloween. The one night we can be someone else!”

“Sounds to me like you want to show off your true self, Bella.”

“I—you know, I just like to play with those fantasies.” Rising from the table, I went to hug him, moving carefully so as not to dislodge the BenWa balls he’d slipped into my pussy before we got out of bed. “But we can wear less—um—revealing costumes if you prefer.”

He nuzzled my hair; I burrowed deeper into the warmth of his arms “I guess that might be better,” I continued, fighting to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “For your business and all.”

“Leave the costumes to me.” His lips grazed mine, triggering a sweet spasm between my legs even though the vibrator was off. “You’ll be pleased, I promise. Trust me, love.”

“You know I do, sir. Always.”

Buy Links

Kinky Literature - https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/364-coming-in-costume/

Amazon US - http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Costume-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B017A4L2KK/

Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Coming-Costume-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B017A4L2KK/

Smashwords - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/588590

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/coming-in-costume

B&N - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/coming-in-costume-lisabet-sarai/1122870808?ean=2940152434743

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27388039-coming-in-costume

Charity Sunday: Rejecting War – #CharitySunday #PeaceIsPossible #PeaceNotWar

 

As I sit down to write this post, a week before Charity Sunday, I’m fighting despair. The situation in Israel has overshadowed all the other disasters and crises currently afflicting our planet and people – not because there are more individuals affected (in fact, other wars and catastrophes are endangering tens of millions of lives) but because of the virulent hate unleashed by the Hamas massacre and Israel’s fierce retaliation. Protests around the world – copycat acts of violence and terrorism – swelling Islamaphobia and anti-Semitism – shrill voices on both sides calling for ever more abhorrent acts of inhumanity – even if there were a straightforward way to extricate the world from this escalating conflict, there are plenty of people who’d reject it, calling instead for revenge.

I’m sick at heart, because I believe that war – even a so-called “justified” war – is never a solution. Each conflict sows the seeds of the next. In truth, there are no winners or losers, no matter who surrenders to whom. War is cruel, incredibly wasteful, and ultimately irrational. The same amount of energy directed toward dialogue and compromise and focused on activities that alleviate the sources of conflict would provide massive benefits to all the parties involved.

This may seem like an utopian view, but I am not the only individual who believes this. That’s why my Charity Sunday efforts this month will support the War Resisters’ League. Founded 100 years ago, WRL advocates for peace, trains people in direct non-violent action and publishes educational material that exposes the roots of war, highlighting how institutions derive benefit from violence that destroys ordinary lives.

 When I went to the WRL website, I was heartened to read dozens of calls for a ceasefire and serious peace negotiations in the Middle East, from a range of organizations and individuals on both “sides” of the conflict.

https://www.warresisters.org/war-crime-against-humanity-stop-violence-immediately-israel-palestine

These calls give me some hope. We can oppose war on both moral and practical grounds. Therefore, I’ll give two dollars to WRL for each comment I receive on this post.

People get satisfaction out of anger, especially when they’ve been victimized. That anger accomplishes nothing, however. It just feeds the fires of hate and interferes with efforts to address the root causes of injustice. I hope readers will join me in putting aside their outrage and working toward just resolutions that will consider everyone’s needs.

Usually I include an excerpt in my Charity Sunday posts. I don’t have anything at all appropriate, though. Looking through my backlist, I was amazed to note that I do not have any books or stories that focus on war, though I have written on occasion about prejudice and ethnic divisions.

Anyway, I thought I’d lighten things up by including a bit of flash fiction I wrote a while ago, which deals in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner with Islamic extremism. I have often thought that people would be happier, healthier, less angry and less violent if they had satisfying and enjoyable sex lives. The flasher below plays with that notion. (I do hope that this will not offend anyone. That is not my intention at all.)

Image by Khusen Rustamov from Pixabay

We Were Promised Virgins

By Lisabet Sarai

(May 2018)

“By the Prophet, you are beautiful!”

“I’m Miriam. I’ve been assigned to your case.”

“Lie down, woman. I shall take you now, before the others arrive.”

“No, no, Abdul—you mustn’t rush! Let’s begin with your licking me between my legs.”

“What? How degrading! No man would lower himself to such an act.”

“If you use your mouth on me, I’ll do the same for you. I see you need relief.”

“I will find relief in your virgin cunt!”

“Abdul? Will you lick me or should I leave?”

“Don’t—I’ll... Mmm! You are sweet as ripe pomegranate. Oh! I never...”

“Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, Abdul, YES!”

“Are you well, Miriam?”

“Very! Excellent job! Now you...”

“May the Prophet preserve me! What a wicked mouth! I can’t hold back...”

“No need to.”

“No virgin would use such tricks!”

“I never said I was a virgin.”

“But we were promised virgins in heaven.”

“The bomb didn’t kill you. You’re being rehabilitated.”

“This isn’t paradise?”

“You’ve been transferred to the School for Healthy Attitude Generation – S.H.A.G.”

“I’m alive?”

“Very much so. Mmm. Tasty cum!”

“Whore!”

“No, I’m a volunteer. When you recover, we’ll continue. Meanwhile, I’ll go work with the pussy grabber in the next room.”

* * *

Please do leave a comment and do a bit for a more peaceful world. Thank you!

---

The Trouble with Tropes -- #ArtificialIntelligence #Cliches #Publishing

The other day I asked ChatGPT to help me strengthen the blurb for my newest erotic romance. It failed miserably – but that’s a different tale. What’s really interesting to me is what happened before I gave it my blurb.

Me: Can you write me an effective, punchy two sentence summary for the blurb of my romance novel?

[I then hit return, planning to enter the blurb text in the next paragraph. The LLM jumped the gun, creating perhaps the most generic blurb in existence.]

ChatGPT

"Passion ignites when an unlikely pair of strangers cross paths, but as secrets unravel and pasts collide, their love story becomes a heart-pounding journey of desire and destiny."

Pay attention: this is what you get when you give the model no context, other than the genre. Basically, we have a naked list of tropes:

• Instalove
• Opposites attract
• Strangers to lovers
• Secrets of the past
• Destined lovers

How many romances do you think would fit this mini-blurb? (Could I ask ChatGPT for a list?) Thousands, I’d imagine. Perhaps tens of thousands. (Just searching Amazon for “romance novels”, I get over 70,000 results.)

Lately, books have started listing the relevant tropes in the title or subtitle. A fellow romance author recently offered me a spot for one of my books in her newsletter. “Send me the cover, a short blurb, buy links and the tropes,” she said.

Hmm. I’ve never thought about the tropes in my stories.

Well, actually I have, occasionally. When I think about tropes, it’s usually because I’m trying to subvert them.

The same thing seems to be happening in the world of erotica. Subtitles have gotten ridiculously explicit, and now blurbs are following suit. A recent ad I saw in the Excite Spice newsletter provided the following list rather than a real blurb:

This story contains:

Milk & Ice Play
Double Daddies
Taboo Age Gap
Untouched Brat
Rough Men
Too Big to Fit
Messy Finishes Deep Inside
Forced & Stretched
Spanking

Of course, in the case of smut, tropes might be called kinks, but the objective is the same: to let readers select stories that are similar to ones they’ve read and enjoyed previously.

So why is this a bad thing? Don’t we want our readers to be satisfied and happy? Given how busy everyone seems to be in this digital age, why not make it easy for people to find what they’re looking for? One search, a couple of clicks, and Bingo! You’ve got a story just like the one you read last week, that you liked.

And next week, you can find another instance with the same themes and plot elements. Satisfaction guaranteed?

Not my satisfaction, certainly. I don’t want my reading to be predictable. I seek originality, not sameness. I don’t want to read the same book over and over again. Sure, I have my own favorite genres and kinks, but I’m happiest when a writer surprises me.

I may be a curmudgeon, but I believe that tropes make people lazy, not to mention risk-averse. A slavish adherence to tropes (and an over-reliance on them for marketing) also impacts the overall quality of the books that are out there. It’s pretty easy to assemble a story from a list of tropes – not necessarily a good story, but one that will tick the boxes of a reader’s expectations. The story might not be very deep. It might not feel genuine. It might not even totally make sense. But hey, it’s what the reader asked for, right?

Many authors are (rightfully) concerned that the rise of LLMs like ChatGPT will make it even harder for humans to write books that sell. AI can already generate stories that a fairly non-critical reader would deem acceptable.

Tropes make that much, much easier. The more stereotyped the framework of a story, the more likely it is that AI’s predictive capabilities will match the expectations. After all, the models have been trained to find and regurgitate patterns.

Just for the heck of it, I asked ChatGPT to write me a four paragraph romance using the tropes instalove, strangers to lovers and past secrets. This is what it came up with:

In the heart of a bustling city, two souls collided on a fateful afternoon. Amelia had always been a firm believer in love at first sight, and when her eyes locked with Oliver's from across a crowded coffee shop, she knew that she had just experienced it. He, too, was struck by a magnetic force, as if their connection was destined from the start. As strangers to one another, their hearts embarked on a journey neither of them could have predicted.

Amelia was an open book, her emotions displayed for the world to see. She wore her heart on her sleeve, but Oliver was the complete opposite. Mysterious and reserved, he had a past filled with secrets that he guarded with utmost care. Yet, as they spent more time together, their connection deepened, and Amelia's curiosity grew. She couldn't help but wonder about the enigmatic man she had fallen for, wanting to unlock the mysteries that shrouded him.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Amelia and Oliver's love blossomed. Their shared experiences and whispered secrets drew them closer, but the weight of Oliver's hidden past loomed over them. He knew he couldn't keep his secrets forever, and the time had come to reveal the truth. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with regret, he finally opened up to Amelia about his past, laying bare the secrets that had haunted him for so long. It was a pivotal moment in their relationship, and the way Amelia responded would determine the course of their love story.

Amelia, though taken aback by Oliver's revelations, held him close, offering forgiveness and understanding. Their love had grown stronger through their journey from strangers to lovers, and now, by confronting the secrets of the past, they had cemented their bond. As the sun set on that unforgettable day, Amelia and Oliver realized that their love had triumphed over the obstacles in its path, and they were ready to face the future together, hand in hand, as a testament to the power of instalove and the strength of love that conquers even the darkest of secrets.

Clichés, anyone?

I think tropes may make writers lazy as well. If readers do not in fact care about novelty or creativity, why should authors bother? Just write yet another secret baby story, yet another hotwife adventure, yet another tale about getting it on with my step-brother, and get it out there to satisfy the public’s appetite for sameness.

I know I probably sound bitter. I can’t change the public, or the market. Over the last few weeks, though, I’ve been browsing through my author’s copies of the annual Best New Erotica series, edited by Maxim Jakubowski. These were published during the first decade or so of the twenty-first century, the golden age of erotica—or so it seems now. 

 

Some of the tales in these volumes are simply marvelous—luminous, arousing, clever, disturbing, uplifting. The thing that strikes me most, though, the diversity—diversity of style, mood and content. Plus the fact that the best stories could never be summarized in the few words of a trope.

 

Married by Necessity … BRAZEN by @carol_burnside #westernromance #historicalromance #sensualromance

Blurb

Because of a secret not hers to tell, spinster Rachel must marry quickly, and Angus is the first man who comes to mind. He’s a hard worker and strong. She’s seen him eyeing her and senses hunger in his gaze. Rachel goes to Angus, the local blacksmith, alone at night and asks him to marry her.

Although eager to accept her brazen offer, Angus is suspicious, thinking it's some kind of prank and she's been put up to this to embarrass him. After all, what would a lady like Rachel want with the likes of him? His work is hot and dirty, and his lineage doesn’t exactly have the pedigree ladies look for.

When he realizes she’s sincere, his heart won’t let him refuse her, but even the road to a quick, convenient marriage isn’t smooth. Angus keeps his feelings for Rachel hidden. After the ceremony, Rachel finds a distance she can't bridge…until tragedy strikes.

Will they ever find the courage to declare their love, or will their stubborn need to protect their hearts prevail?

Univeral Buy Link: https://books2read.com/Brazen-MBN1

Excerpt

Angus had finished washing the last of his supper dishes when he heard a soft knock at his back door. Who the devil could that be?

He opened it cautiously, seeing the hem of a fancy lace-and-lemon dress in the slice of light from his doorway, quite similar to the one he’d seen Miss Dunn wearing tonight. Of course, it wouldn’t be her.

“Who’s there, Miss? Show yourself.”

“It’s Rachel Dunn, Mr. Brody.” Her voice held a slight tremor, but she made no move to obey him. “May I speak with you?”

His heart thumped faster upon hearing her soft reply. Rachel here? “And John? Is he with you?”

“I come unchaperoned with a matter of some importance.”

She risked her reputation to speak with him? “I see.”

But he didn’t see, couldn’t fathom why she would seek him out. The fact that he was this close to her, alone and having a conversation, stunned him.

“Might I gain entrance before someone happens along and sees me, Mr. Bro—”

“Angus. My name is Angus.” His breath hitched at the thought of hearing his given name pass her lips. Calling himself all kinds of a fool, he stood aside. Rachel rushed past him like a flash of sunshine, and he shut out the night.

Her gaze darted around the room much like a rabbit seeking the nearest escape route. Angus stifled a sigh and moved from between her and the door. His size frightened most women.

The oil lamp he’d placed on the bedside table threw a dim glow around the room. He turned up the wick, enough that he could see color had risen high in her cheeks.

“Oh, dear! This is your…”

“Uh, yes.” He grabbed the lamp and gestured to the doorway on the opposite wall. “The kitchen is through there. I’m sorry. This is a shotgun house. I built my room at the back, as far away from the heat of the smithy as I could get.”

And he was running off at the mouth. Not his finest hour.

She turned to him with a tight smile. “Not your fault I turned up unannounced at the back door.”

Damn, but she was a pretty thing with her large, upturned eyes and high cheekbones. Not a short bit of fluff that hit him mid-chest like most, but willowy. Sturdy and soft at the same time.

“Nice place you have here, Mr. Bro—” She pressed her lips together. He held his breath. “Angus.”

“Thank you.” He praised whatever had sent her to his door.

About the Author

Carol Burnside is an award-winning author of "Sizzling romance with heart and humor." Her personal second-chance-at-love story resulted in an enduring marriage to her high school sweetheart. They reside in the Texas hill country, where Carol enjoys visiting wildlife from her covered back porch. Like any true southerner, she drinks tea in some form year-round. Carol's novel length manuscripts have placed in numerous contests and won several, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. She also writes as Annie Rayburn.

Amazon reviews say Carol's books are:

"Highly captivating!" "intriguing and a wonderful read" "Emotional and heartwarming" "Engaging!" and "Great reading!"

Carol blogs on her website at www.CarolBurnside.com. Connect with her via Facebook / Newsletter / Goodreads / Twitter / Pinterest / Google+ / Threads / IG

Join us for Charity Saturday, 29 October 2023! #CharitySundaySignup #Altruism #Marketing

 Image by Gundula Vogel from Pixabay

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 month’s Charity Sunday blog hop will take place this coming Sunday, the 27^th of August.

Charity Sunday is a meme designed to give authors and bloggers a chance to give back to the world—as well as, hopefully, 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 October 29th, just 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.

I’ve created a new banner image for 2023. You can download it from here: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/2023CharitySundayBanner.jpg

For more detailed instructions, go here:

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2019/08/sign-up-for-charity-sunday.html

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

https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2023/09/charity-sunday-where-is-help-needed.html

---

A quest and a companion – #ScienceFiction #Gaming #NewAdult @EBBrooksFiction

 

Blurb

Two Worlds. One Future.

Ewan O’Meara is no stranger to death: in recent months, he’s found his way to limbo at least once per week, much to his parents’ concern. It’s a necessary price for getting experience to become the greatest adventurer his homeland of Veridor has ever known, but the overbearing Veridian Church has him pinned down, soaking him for the penance gold to unlock his stats each time he respawns. And because the Church’s ancient war put an end to both the godlike Gems and the epic quests they once bestowed, Ewan has no better alternative.

That is, until he encounters a young woman fleeing arrest from the Church’s soldiers. At first glance, Treanna Rothchild needs it: she’s clueless about Veridian life. But she has other skills that defy Ewan’s understanding, and she knows things. Unsettling, seditious things the Church wants kept secret at any cost.

And she’s in Veridor to raise an army, to fight an enemy only she can see.

Risking both life and soul, Ewan follows Treanna where no Veridian has ever been and there is no respawning. But for him to have a chance at making a real difference in the strange, harsh world she reveals to him, he must first come to terms with it. Especially as he and Treanna discover how much it has in common with Veridor—and how much they depend on each other to survive.

New-adult science fiction, wrapped in gaming and fantasy around a hopepunk core, Emissary is an immersive, thought-provoking adventure with a little teen romance and a lot of heart.

 

Excerpt

Ewan didn’t know why he did it. He had plenty of reasons. He was angry about getting censured, annoyed with Paul’s warning to keep his head down, and embarrassed by how quickly he’d ignored it. No one took him seriously as an adventurer, much less understood when he asked the big questions.

But, more than anything, looking into those eyes, he simply knew this girl was in trouble, and that he wanted to help her.

She flew past as time resumed its normal flow; Ewan shouted and leaped in front of the Swords to draw their aggro. He called up his menu, winced when he remembered he’d given Kate his armor, then equipped his blades anyway.

An ominous tone sounded in his mind, and a warning flashed across his vision that he now had a bounty, along with a reminder that only Swords were permitted to equip weapons in the cathedral. As if to prove the point, the soldiers slowed as they saw the blades flash into being on his back, but with grim smiles they equipped their own and changed targets.

Ewan spared a quick glance behind him to see the girl vanish down the steps, then turned to face his opponents.

The crowd was whispering excitedly now, but he focused on the Swords, quickly calling on his own basic aura-reading skills to scan them. They were stronger than him, and bigger too, but neither had bothered to bolster their defense beyond their armor, clearly seeing him as an easy mark.

Time to see what agility’s all about, he thought with a nervous chuckle.

About the Author

E.B. Brooks lives in the southeastern USA, where he splits his time between writing, research, and homesteading. He enjoys building fictional worlds, real houses, and landscape models, but he’s most at home with his wife and children, and their many, many pets.

Website: http://ebbrooksfiction.com/

Twitter: @EBBrooksFiction

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCG2vFKJoCSoJaP6qCECwPIA

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19919752.E_B_Brooks

The StoryGraph: https://app.thestorygraph.com/authors/d82b9abb-6a6a-48a7-8563-a84689316df7

Bookbub

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/e-b-brooks-df6155fb-c7c4-4568-b612-ac5ae2eeb86b

Buy Links (Amazon): https://www.amazon.com/stores/E.B.-Brooks/author/B087D6C88X

One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $25 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Help me celebrate my new release! – #NewRelease #Mayan #Shifter

 

Today’s is release day for my new paranormal erotic romance Serpent’s Kiss. This book originally grew out of my desire to write a different kind of shifter romance. Then I started researching Mayan mythology and got hooked.

I’ve got an exclusive excerpt for you, not available anywhere else. Plus I will give away a copy of the book to one lucky reader who leaves me a comment. Be sure to include your email address so I can find you if you win!

Blurb

When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire.

From the first, Dr. Elena Navarro senses that the wounded man she discovers outside the gate of her rural clinic is not an ordinary mortal. With his chest ripped open, Jorge Pélikal still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Elena is irresistibly attracted to Jorge, although he warns her their coupling could open the gates of chaos and cost her life. Despite his dire predictions, they fall in love. Gradually Elena comes to understand that Jorge is a supernatural player in a cosmic drama that will determine the fate of the earth and of mankind—and that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.

Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised and expanded.

Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.

Exclusive Excerpt

“Querida! Are you hurt?” Jorge broke their embrace and swept his eyes over her. “I was on the way to you when I smelled smoke…”

“I’ll be all right. But the clinic… oh, Jorge!” She clung to him as violent sobs shook her frame. “I couldn’t stop him. The clinic is gone, gone! All my work, everything. Burned to the ground.” Her tears dried in the heat of her anger. “That bastard! I’ll pay him back, I swear. No matter who, or what, he is!”

“Remorros?” Jorge considered her final words. “You saw him, didn’t you? In his beast form.”

“Yes,” Elena hissed. “It was terrible. But mostly, I was afraid for you—he was planning an ambush.”

“Something told me I should stay off the path. As I started up the hill, I saw him through the undergrowth. Following the trail. Stalking me. Fortunately I was downwind from him.”

Jorge stood tall and looked around him, his nostrils flaring. “I think he’s gone, for now. But we should leave, too. He’ll probably be back. I know a safe place…well, a safer place, at least. Damn him! I should never have left you alone.”

“What about the village? We’ve got to raise the alert, try and stop the fire, before it consumes the whole mountain—their crops, their homes, everything.”

“It’s too late. The people can’t do anything now. They’ll see the sky. They’ll understand. We need to go. Now.” He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her after him, down the hill. She clutched at him, resisting.

“No! Please. Isn’t there anything we can do? Anything you can do?” She reached into her cleavage and pulled out the feather. It glowed with a green radiance, illuminating Jorge’s proud features. “This—it’s obviously some kind of power object. It kept me safe from the flames.”

Jorge took the quill. When he touched it, it blazed even brighter.

“You’re amazing, woman. How did you know?”

Elena shook her head. “No idea. I just knew. Anyway, maybe you can use it to extinguish the forest fire.”

“No,” he said softly. “It doesn’t have that kind of power. But I have another idea. Hold this.” He returned the feather. “And this.” Elena noticed for the first time a braided leather strap crossing his chest. He lifted the strap over his head. It was attached to a scabbard that hung down his back. Elena returned the feather to its resting place and reached for the article with both hands. It was far heavier than she had expected.

“Be careful with that. It’s irreplaceable. And dangerous.”

She sat on a fallen tree just off the path, settling the item on her lap, and returned her gaze to her lover.

Jorge stripped off his coarse shirt and trousers and hung them on a nearby branch. He stood naked in the middle of the path, back straight, thighs apart. Despite their desperate situation, Elena felt her nipples peak and her sex moisten at the sight of his glorious body. He flung his hair back away from his face, took a deep breath that swelled his magnificent chest, and closed his eyes. Then he raised his arms above his head, in a gesture of supplication, and began to sing.

At the first notes of the weird melody, the feather trembled, fluttering against her skin like a trapped bird trying to escape. As he continued, his voice rising and falling in half-tones, the whole world seemed to vibrate. Elena’s blood quickened in time.

There were words, in Q’eqchi or some other language she didn’t know. The tempo quickened. Jorge’s voice grew louder, climbing towards some climax. Elena felt something rise inside her, from her belly to her chest to her throat—wonder and awe made visceral. Jorge’s sleek form gleamed orange with reflected fire. Her own skin flushed an eerie green from the pulsing feather.

“Xonecuilli!” Jorge yelled suddenly. He clenched his fists and shook them at the sky. Lightning tore the heavens apart, blinding Elena. An instant later, a massive thunderclap shook the mountain, leaving her deaf. As she struggled to regain her senses, rain began to fall, a pounding deluge that nearly knocked her over. She was drenched in an instant. She hunched over the scabbard, trying to protect it, peering through the shifting veil of rain for some sight of Jorge. A fierce wind whipped her hair into her eyes, stinging her cheeks.

He knelt in the middle of the path, head bowed, long hair covering his face. Elena swung the scabbard over her own shoulder and went to him. Muddy water coursed down the steep path and reached halfway up his thighs. She helped him rise, struggling against the flood, raindrops pelting her skin like pebbles tossed from the sky.

Universal Buy Link: https://bit.ly/serpentskiss

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A warrior angel addicted to love – #FallenAngels #FantasyRomance #Armageddon @LNightingale

 

By Linda Nightingale (Guest Blogger)

Azazel means "God strengthens". In the Dead Sea Scrolls the name Azazel occurs in The Book of Giants, an apocryphal Jewish book expanding a narrative in the Hebrew Bible, which was discovered at Qumran. The text's creation dates to before the 2nd century BCE.

In Enoch I, he is one of the chiefs of the 200 fallen angels. Azazel taught men to fashion swords and shields and women the finery and art of beautifying the eyelids. (So girls next time we buy Cover Girl, we can thank Azazel!)

In the Zohar, the rider on the serpent is "evil Azazel." Here he is said to be the chief of the bene elohim (lower angels, "men-spirits"). Irenacus calls Azazel that "mighty but powerful angel." (A Dictionary of Angels by Gustav Davidson, © 2005, The Joy of Satan Ministries).

The story of Azazel's and his angels' imprisonment within the Earth is the basis for the legend of demons confined by King Solomon in a magic bronze vessel. This legend is told in a 17th Century grimoire called The Lesser Key of Solomon. Generally, he is considered a fallen angel and, as such, using his characters and seal can be invoked in magic.

Zodiac Sign: Capricorn/Aquarius

Tarot Card: Ace of Swords

Planet: Saturn

Candle Color: Blue, Black

Metal: Lead

Element of Air

Symbols: The Eagle and the Scorpion

Number: 20

Before this becomes too deep and, therefore, boring, let me change the subject to my new release Yesterday's Angel from Raven Tale Publishing, released October 4, 2023. Azazel is the narrator in first person, but, though he might be fallen in this book he is not evil. It is set in current day Las Vegas. Azazel goes out on the town but is soon reminded of how much he has lost.

Blurb

I am, and always have been, addicted to love. ~ Azazel

Azazel is a warrior angel, the leader of the Grigori when they fall from Grace for marrying mortal women. Their other sin is revealing the secrets of Heaven. Azazel gives the women the arts for seduction—mirrors, paints, perfumes. He gives men the weapons of war.

Fast forward to the current day. Azazel lives in Las Vegas, but he’s bored and seeking a Purpose. He finds Ninian—badly in need of his talent with beauty. She’s a sad, faded woman working double shifts in a diner. He determines to polish this diamond in the rough. Azazel never fails. His problems begin when he falls in love with his lovely (but married) project…and Gabriel’s Trumpet announces the Second War in Heaven.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/Yesterdays-Angel-Linda-Nightingale-ebook/dp/B0CKJ4T8NK/

 

Excerpt

“You made me feel like a princess, made me feel pretty for a while. You’re a special man, you know, but it’s time for Cinderella to pick up her broom.”

I shook my head. “You are beautiful, and I intend to show you how special you are.”

Lips trembling, she planted her hands on my chest and pushed. “Goodbye, Azzi.”

I backed away. “Never goodbye. You work for me, remember? In the morning, I’ll pick you up at eight sharp-ish."

Laughing, she paced my retreat. “Sharpish? Does that mean you’ll be late? You talk funny, eh?”

“You talk funny, eh?” I halted, and she put her hands on my shoulders.

Her mouth brushed mine in a sweet kiss spiced with the magnetic attraction between us—and I lost control. I bent, cradled her face in my hands, and brought my mouth down on hers, as I’d wanted to do since that night in the diner. Her lips parted, resistance melting. She buried her hands in my hair, her tongue meeting my thrusts. Ninian trembled against me. Through the cheap perfume, I smelled her arousal, and desire flamed hotter.

“No.” She shoved at my chest. “No.” Breathing hard, she said, “I can’t do this. I can’t resist you, and I can’t do this.”

She wheeled, disappearing into the apartment. The lock clicked. On the street, voices rose in an argument. Drunks doing what drunks do.

“It has begun, My Fair Lady.” I blew a kiss at the closed door, skipped down the stairs, and burst into the afternoon sunshine.

Red lights blinking, a school bus spilled children onto the sidewalk. Their laughter blended with the song of a lone bird. Before Man was ousted from the Garden, Eden had owned birdsong and innocent laughter. Leaning against a chipped stucco archway, I studied the kids disembarking from the bus. Three of them—two boys and a girl—weren’t laughing. They clung close to each other. Their clothes were clean but showed signs of wear. None of them had a cell phone glued to an ear.

A boy of thirteen strode across the street, dodging a car. A girl of twelve and a lad of ten followed. Her children looked as wary and downtrodden as Ninian had this morning. Losing your home robbed one of more than a place to live. How well I knew. The older boy glanced at me, whisked by, and bounded up the stairs. Edward Clyde bore a strong resemblance to his father, big-boned and stocky with a rather prominent jaw and curly dark brown hair. The girl and the younger boy looked like their mother though Amy Elizabeth had dirty blonde hair. Our eyes met. She gripped her younger brother’s arm and hauled him to a stop. Daniel James looked up from rummaging in his book bag. He had his mother’s grace, her beauty, and her coal black hair. My heart caught. For a couple of seconds, he stared at me before his gaze fled to his sister.

He swallowed hard, shaking Amy’s arm. “There’s an…an angel in the doorway.”

“You’re nuts.” She shot me a wary look, seizing her brother’s hand in a protective gesture.

Hello Daniel. I spoke in his thoughts, and his stunning eyes widened.

As his sister propelled him past me, he murmured, “Hello, angel.”

Amy elbowed him and frowned at me over her shoulder. “Mom told us not to talk to strangers.”

“I wasn’t talking to him.” Daniel adjusted the strap on his book bag. “He was talking to me. He knew my name.”

“You’re too weird. The stranger didn’t say a word.” The girl cuffed him on the arm.

“I’m not a stranger,” I muttered, watching Ninian’s children hurdle up the stairs. “I’m the man who should have been your father.”

The full realization of what I’d said struck me, and I turned to stone. If I’d sired her children, they would all be male, and it would be a tragedy of grand proportions.

About the Author

After 14 years in Texas, Linda returned home to her roots. She is a multi-published author, writing compelling stories across the subgenres of romance. For many years, she bred, trained, and showed Andalusian horses. So, she’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck towing a horse trailer. She has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers’ Magnolia Award for Excellence and the SARA Merritt. She retired from a career as a legal assistant at MD Anderson Cancer Center to write full time.

She has two wonderful sons—both of whom are ex-pats, living in England. She has been blessed with five amazing grandchildren.

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