Saturday, January 21, 2017

Swoon Sunday

For this weeks Swoon Sunday we will meet Hayes and Rex in False Start(Love & Skate Book 5) . You can find the book HERE



“Do you want to take a walk,” I asked him.  He nodded and we walked outside. My mom always kept her yard just right and she grew Mayhaw trees in the back. My treehouse was in an old Oak tree all the way to the back of the property and I had a plan to fulfill my fantasy.  I pulled him by the hand and walked the winding stairs up to my round treehouse. My father built it when I was a girl and Hazel was too busy putting on make-up and dresses.  “It’s cozy,” he said, having to duck to get inside. “It is. I stayed here all the time and read. Sometimes I’d lose track of time and end up spending the night.” “Why? You have a great family. From where I stand, you’re damned near perfect.” Exasperated I retorted, “No one is perfect, Rex. No one. Please don’t call me that. Anyone who seems perfect is either faking it or unaware of their own sin.” “Do you have a knife or something?” He asked, his eyes on the trunk of the tree my treehouse was built around.  “Yeah, in the little pencil box.” I answered. He had no idea what he was asking. That was my secret stash of blades in there. Even my parents didn’t know about that stash. “Can I carve something in the wood,” he was bashful again.  “Yeah, what are you gonna do, ‘Rex was here’?” “You’ll see.” I knew what he was doing as soon as I saw the H and the M. I started crying silently. He had no idea what he was doing with just a few strokes of that knife. He was turning the object I used to self-inflict wounds to engrave something beautiful. I bet he didn’t know with every cut, he also carved a way deeper into my heart. “There,” he finally finished his masterpiece and moved back, proud of his work. The letters read H.M. & R.M. 4 EVER. It made me cry more. “Oh man, I made you cry. Shit. I can carve it away. If you hate me one day, just take a hammer to it. Maybe it will make you feel better.” “Don’t you dare carve that away,” I demanded through tears. “Come here. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He dragged me over to his lap and situated me sideways on his lap.  “Give me this,” I reached for the knife and put it back into the box. I loved that knife before, for the pressure it relieved beneath my skin. But now I love it because it allowed Rex to replace a horrible memory with a beautiful one. “Tell me why you’re crying,” he used his thumb to wipe away one of my tears. “I’m falling for you hard,” I covered my difficult confession with a easier to swallow confession. He let out a sound of unbelief, “It’s too late for me. I think I’ve already fallen.” “You’re just trying to get me to make out with you in the treehouse.” “You doubt my feelings, lady?” He took on a Shakespearian tone. “No. I’ve never heard anything so heartfelt in my life.” “Good. Because it’s true. And I want to make out.” I’d never laughed so much as when I was with Rex. He wasn’t particularly funny in groups, but when it was just me and him, he was funny as all get out. Grabbing his collar, I pulled him down to me. He smiled before covering my lips with his own. One of his hands squeezed my thigh and I giggled into his lips thinking of the ‘no thigh’ rule the night before. I didn’t intend to give anything away before I was married, but it would be hard to deny Rex any part of me. I moved to straddle his lap and made a big deal of pulling his suspenders down one by one.  “I was hoping you’d do that,” he breathed onto my neck. And then his lips sucked and nibbled on the same spot, in the curve of my neck. I shivered, overcome by the sensation. It made him moan. “You can’t make that noise. It drives me insane.” He pulled back, “Bad or good?”
“Oh, very good.” I felt his smile against my neck, “I could eat you up, like cake.”




Thursday, January 19, 2017

Throwback Thursday

For today's Throwback Thursday we have Seeking Havok. Here is Chapter 1. You can find your copy Here
Chapter 1

I was about 98.973% sure I wouldn’t get accepted into college because of my name alone. Seriously, what college administrator in their right mind would admit a person named Havok, a name that not only portrayed a troublemaker, but one that was also clearly spelled wrong; I’m sure the bong my mom smoked before she went into the hospital, while in labor, didn’t help the name she came up with either. I could just imagine an enormous cherry wood collegiate boardroom table surrounded by gray browed administrators sipping Bourbon and discussing how ludicrous my name was. Every time I wrote my name on a college application, an essay, Calculus homework or even my own shoes, I wanted to clock my mom in the face with a dictionary opened to the page with the correct spelling: HAVOC. And let’s say, just for argument’s sake that she liked the name Havok, and that it was spelled right, a nice middle name would’ve sufficed. I would be giddy as a freckled kid with a lollipop to have a middle name like Susan or Michelle, hell I would take something a little quirky like Paige. But what did I get named? Havok Jocelyn Daniels. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, huh?
Maybe it would roll off a cliff. Maybe I’d push it—just a little. And I’m sure if my mom knew who my dad was, surely he would’ve put a swift stop to naming me Havok. I can’t imagine that she didn’t know who he was; she just didn’t want to tell me. And honestly, I didn’t blame him one damned bit for not sticking around —it wasn’t exactly cloud puffs of heaven around our tiny, apartment. I sat in my closet and finished my homework by the light of one of those ‘put it anywhere’ light bulbs sold only on TV , complete with its own sticky tape, even though I bought it at the drugstore. I kept having to swat the hem of a flowered dress from my face. It was the same dress she wore to funerals and mandatory parent meetings. Floral wasn’t exactly funeral material but then again, my mom never did exactly fit in anywhere. She’s not that bad of a mother. She doesn’t make me stay in the closet. It’s my choice. Because what’s outside of this closet? The things that happen between the sliding mirrored doors of this closet and the apartment door were vomit inducing. Plus, I kinda liked the closet; it was my own personal safe haven. And she always sounded like a better mother when I constantly excused her. Hell, sometimes I made her seem like she was a confirmed saint. But I wasn’t perfect either—but I sure as hell wasn’t shaking my ass for drug money. If I was gonna dance on a metal pole, I’d at least live in a better apartment—with food. I pressed the button on my watch to make it glow for me, five thirty. I had to wake her up in an hour and a half, no earlier, no later. I had plans to meet Ali at her house for dinner. Ali was my best friend. She had twelve brothers and sisters and usually, if they didn’t outright count the heads at the table, I was overlooked. It worked to my advantage because if it weren’t for the Blakely family, I probably wouldn’t eat dinner at all. Wait, do crackers count as dinner?
No, I didn’t think so. I snuck in the kitchen an hour later to turn on the coffee pot, and then ducked back in to finish my homework. She always made sure there was plenty of coffee in the house. I listened to the radio on an old Walkman all while watching the time like I was on the watch’s salary. I stared at six fifty nine until the minute finally ticked by. For some reason, that damned minute between six fifty nine and seven crept like an iceberg. I slid the door open and looked both ways before crossing the room. There’s no telling what waited for me outside of those doors. And the traffic through this place was fast and furious—and icky. But icky was a hazard of her profession—well, her side profession. I crept over to her bed, really just a box spring and a mattress on the floor and patted her foot to make her wake up. She always, always had white sheets so I could bleach them, because gross. I really didn’t want to be on the propeller end of my mom waking up. She flailed her arms when her motor started and I was liable to lose an arm or the tip of my nose. Just because I was spelled wrong didn’t mean I was stupid. “Ugh—coffee.” She moaned, dragging her body up to a sitting position while keeping her face firmly planted on the pillow for as long as possible. Her platinum box blonde hair was fanned out across one side of her face like she’d been clobbered upside the head with a flat frying pan. As usual, she had to hug the sheet to her body, still naked from her last ‘payroll in the hay’. I’d seen her run around this house naked so many times, I’d pretty much become immune. Black gunk still clung to her eyelashes making her look like some Egyptian princess gone very, very wrong. Did anyone lose a vial of black ink? I found it. “Ok, I’m getting it.” That poor coffee maker was on its last leg. The little swivel job that held the filters, yeah, I broke the hinge on it last week on accident and had to duct tape it together. But thank God it still worked and somehow she hadn’t noticed. Even if she did, I would blame it on her. It’s not like she remembered anything after she snorted, smoked, or shot up—whatever the night gave her. At least that was my hope—that she wouldn’t notice until I could replace it. I poured the thick black stream into one of those huge coffee cups meant for coffee
connoisseurs and dumped obscene amounts of sugar and creamer into it. I carried it, along with a stray granola bar into the bedroom where she had already started her wake up line of coke. “Get my clothes, will ya?” She slurred at me while wiping the bottom of her nostrils and taking the steaming cup from my hands. She’d now wrapped the sheet completely around her, toga style, more convenient for sniffing and downing caffeine. She had her legs crossed like she was interviewing for a secretarial position instead of holding the sheet together in some resemblance of modesty. But really, what was the point? “Yeah, Mom.” I went to the dresser and pulled out jeans and a halter top for her. It was raining outside, and a halter top and jeans was the equivalent of a nun’s garb in my mom’s book. I might as well have handed her a monk’s robe by the repulsion written on her face. “Ugh—I hate jeans.” She said, disgusted with my choice. “It’s raining outside. It’s just until you get to the club, you know. Then you can change. You don’t want to get sick. Snot’s not sexy.” “Yeah, yeah, you should come to the club, let the girls make you over. You dress like a tomboy.” I looked down at myself. I didn’t really try to stick my style in such a stereotypical cliché like she did. But truth be told, I tried to dress boyish. I wore semi-baggy jeans and hoodies outside of the house. I never wanted to draw the attention of men. She did plenty of that for the both of us. “Um, I don’t think they’d let me wear that stuff to school, Mom.” She over-rolled her eyes, “Well, I guess not. But six more weeks and you can start working, putting in around here. I mean, you’re eighteen already, but I guess we have to let you finish high school. I don’t really consider your little paper route putting in. I suppose we’re gonna have to get a two bedroomer now.” A revolted shudder broke through me and floated across my skin. She can’t be serious. Then again, I said that to myself every time she mentioned my future career path.
What was she, the college and career advisor? Most mothers wanted their girls to be wives, nurses, teachers, doctors or lawyers. My mother expected me to follow in her footsteps and as I looked across the room at her neat shelves stacked with mile high stilettos, I renewed my vow to myself. Don’t be like your mother. And it wasn’t the dancing that made her a less than lucrative role model. It was the drugs and the prostitution on the side. “Um, yeah, Mom. It’s seven thirty, better get in the shower.” “Ugh—you’re such a goody goody. I’m going, I’m going.” I heard the water as the pipes squeaked alive and I put on some sterile gloves, a mainstay at this abode, and changed the sheets on her bed. I threw them in the hamper. Around here we needed one of those bins like they had at hospitals marked ‘hazardous materials’ or ‘soiled linens.’ Because when your Mom’s a stripper/prostitute/druggie, there’s just no telling what will make an appearance.

You can find all my books on Amazon

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

2017 Events

I thought I would update everyone about the Events I have lined up so far this year.

Booking in Biloxi will be on March 25, 2017. You can grab tickets HERE

Supernatural Con In New Orleans, LA will be on October 26-29, 2017. You can grab tickets and get more information HERE

I will be at the NOLA Para Fantasy Con in September. I will update everyone with when I get the date and time.

To keep up to date with my events you can check my Website


Friday, January 6, 2017

Social Media News


I want to share all of places you can stalk, well follow me to keep up with all my antics. I will be sending out a newsletter soon to update everyone on my new projects. 2017 is going to be a busy year for me and I am looking forward to sharing new stories with you.

As you know I did finish Beholden and its available now. That was the final book of the Bayou Bears Chronicles. If you would like a copy you can find it HERE.


Thank you all for your continued support.

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Thursday, January 5, 2017

WizardWorld Comic Con

I am beyond excited for WizardWorld Comic Con in New Orleans this weekend. If you are in the area come see us at booth #1237. I hope to see you there.






Monday, December 19, 2016

Beholden


Chapter 1

Acacia


“Aspen. What kind of name is that? It’s like his butt owns a writing utensil. Or is a writing utensil.”



Aspen's name is now synonymous with vomit.
I swear to all that's holy if Dahlia says Aspen one more time I'm going to projectile blow chunks all over her. It can't be helped. The physical reaction to--him--is involuntary and violent. She's across the room trying to console me and it's not working. Nothing works. Her precious shifting and running, swimming--none of it do a damn thing to get him out of my head. Eating certainly doesn't help--my stomach rejects it all.
"Cia, you have to get out of here. Tarrow says that As.."
I jump to my feet and point in her direction. "Dahlia, I can make it the five feet over to you and my aim has become extremely precise over the last few days. I could puke into a straw from a mile away. Go ahead. Say the name. But you've been warned."
She rolls her eyes. They are going to get stuck like that sooner than later the way she’s been pulling that move on me lately. She knows nothing about what I’m going through. None of them do.
She has this beautiful mate who is loving and caring and takes care of his shit.
I have Ass-Pen.
That’s the only way I will say his name.
Like he corrals donkeys for a living.
Like himself.
Because he’s the biggest jackass of them all.
“He wants to come see you.”
Well, guess what? I want a lot of things-like a punching bag with Aspen’s face on it. Do I get it? No…
This is the hard part. The part where my bear and I are having a Mexican stand-off. Because she’s fighting herself too. It’s like having a dream about a dream—except it’s a nightmare.
She wants at him—to rake his eyeballs with her claws but also to have him near her and tell her it’s going to be okay.
That one day she and I will be able to forgive him.
Mostly me—the human part of me holds grudges as long as the Mississippi river—maybe longer.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t even sure if I wanted it to be okay.
I wondered if this feeling would ever go away. Would I be sitting next to him while we were surrounded by grandchildren and still not be able to see anything except him with that tramp at the very moment when he was supposed to be only mine?
Because right now that was all I could see.
“I’m not surprised. He likes to see a lot of girls.” I turned to the window before wiping away the ever-present wetness from my cheeks.
“Don’t do that.” Her voice carried concern. All their voices were laden with worry.
“What? Lia? Don’t tell the truth? Don’t say that he is a two-timing, three-timing, maybe even a twenty-five-timing man—slut?
In the reflection of the window I saw her pull the collar of her shirt over her mouth to stop me from seeing her smile even though my back was turned,
My sister clears her throat and shakes her head. “A man slut. That’s a new one. I almost want to write that one down and tell Tarrow.”
“You should. It’s a new one.” One side of my mouth pulls up into an almost grin. Almost is the closest it gets lately.
The silence that followed choked me.  I couldn’t help it. There I was on the verge of something great-something that I’d wanted my entire life and he ruins it.
He ruins the Precious.
Oh, Creator, I was starting to sound like Gollum. If my hair falls out and I start that hacking and gagging thing, Aspen’s ass is mine to beat.
It was time to move on. I’d known it for a while, but, to be honest, I’d run out of foul names for my beastly mate. That meant the holding out was over.
“I’ve decided some things, Dahlia.”
She got up and I could hear the squeak of clothes hangers as she filed through my outfits in the closet. Aspen had even ruined shopping for me. I went out a week ago and tried to buy a dress to console myself, but it didn’t work. “Oh yeah? Tell me.”
“Tomorrow I’m going to register for the Fall semester and get a job on campus—and if it’s not too late, try to get a dorm room.”
The last hanger stopped dead.
“Come on, Cia, you’re taking this too far. At least speak to him before you decide to run out like this.”
The vomit bubbled up in my throat again. “No, taking it too far would be moving to Chile and becoming a professional cliff diver. This is preserving my sanity—whatever is left of it. I know I’m going to catch hell from everyone else. Can’t you be the one that doesn’t give it to me? Please?”
She sighed, heavy and long. “So that’s it? You’re ending the mating?”
“There never was a mating.”
Thank the Creator my sister couldn’t sniff out a lie.




Wednesday, December 14, 2016

About Beholden


Just a quick note: If you downloaded Beholden, please download the more recent version on 12/14 in the morning. Some lovely readers were kind enough to let me know that I had uploaded the wrong version the first time. Thank you!