Aten, immortal pharaoh of the Two Kingdoms, keeps his eternal good looks by sucking the blood of innocents. Everyone knows it. His very existence is a blasphemy against the gods. So when Seth, a priest of Ra, is told to assassinate this tyrant at the masquerade celebration during the Festival of Opet, he accepts the task without questioning it. He seduces Aten and waits until they’re in the privacy of the pharaoh’s bedchamber before he strikes, driving a stake into Aten’s chest. But Aten doesn’t die. The stake shatters without even leaving a scratch, and Aten laughs at him for the attempt.

Seth expects to be executed for treason, but neither man can deny their attraction and Aten’s intrigued by Seth’s misguided desire to see him dead. He challenges Seth to stay, to see if he can find a way to kill him — and maybe to see that he’s not the man people say he is.

The longer he remains, the more Seth struggles with his convictions. Is it possible that all the rumors are wrong? Can a man who survives on the blood of others possibly be good and just? When the time comes to choose sides, will he honor his gods, or his heart?

And how about an excerpt? Oh, I think so!

He still didn’t stir. I kissed his chest once more, then positioned the point of the stake between my fingers.

Aten stiffened and I felt opportunity slipping away from me. I poised the tip of the stake in the space between two ribs, grasped the shaft in both hands, and leaned all my weight against it.

There was a moment’s resistance, then it gave beneath me and I fell forward. He grunted in surprise — only that, nothing more.

I scrambled up, shaking with the knowledge of what I’d done. But the sight before me made me shake even harder. The stake hadn’t driven into him, it had shattered, and Aten’s chest wasn’t even scratched.

No, I thought, dizzy. It’s impossible.

Aten picked a splinter up from his chest. His brow quirked. “That’s what this was all about?”

I could only stare at him, unable to speak.

His lips curved, a wry smile. “All this. I supposed there was some point behind it, but…” He rolled the splinter between his fingers, then flicked it away. “I admit, I didn’t expect that.”

I slid backwards to the foot of the bed, watching him, waiting for his retaliation.

He sat up and brushed the splinters from his chest and the bed. “Well? If you are intent upon killing me, the least you could do is tell me why.”

Want more? Check out a teaser here, or an extended excerpt here. You can also follow that last link to buy the book and read the whole thing.

It helped to strip off these trappings and reveal the man underneath, even if he was not a true man at all. I drew the mantle over his head, then took his hands between mine and pulled at the fingers of his gloves until they came off.

With hands and face and throat revealed, he looked more like any other man standing before me. I could face this with better equanimity than I could when he had been covered and featureless, as remote as the god he deemed himself.

But a man I could kiss, and coax into bed, and betray. I could do this, if I could think of him as only that, and nothing more.

Want to read more? Follow this link to read more about the book, including a longer excerpt, or click here to buy it.

Want to play along? It’s fun and easy!
1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published
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Raleigh squinted his eyes against the glare of the reflected sunlight, gazing out over the seemingly endless expanse of forest, snow, and rock. A man could get lost in this wilderness and never find his way out again, and only the beasts of the mountain would bear witness.

“What do you see in it?” Raleigh wondered.

Fletch’s brows shot up. He looked out over the landscape as Raleigh had, but whatever it was he saw, it made his eyes brighten and a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. “Freedom,” he said.

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Raleigh stood in the snow with the tent unpacked before him, laying deflated and sad on the ground.

“Haven’t you got that up yet?”

“Fletch,” he said mournfully, “I fear someone has played a terrible prank on you. They’ve taken your tent and replaced it with a heap of wool and sticks.”

Fletch laughed beneath his breath, but schooled his expression by the time he reached Raleigh’s side. “It’s not going to assemble itself, you know.”

Want to play along? It’s fun and easy!
1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published
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Seriously, people. Don’t be That Guy. Bad reviews suck, but the internet is forever, and acting like a big enough ass that everyone and their brother is talking about it and people are even selling CafePress items commemorating your idiocy sucks even worse.

I read an article recently about a man who runs an online shop and is horrifically nasty to his customers. Why? Because even negative chatter boosts his site’s Google ranking, which gives him greater visibility and therefore more sales. Personally, I think maintaining that level of vitriol sounds exhausting, and I don’t think the take-away from that piece should be that acting like an ass on the internet can increase your sales. It may be true in the short run, but it’s not going to get you many long-term fans.

I think the more important thing to take from that article is that even negative publicity can boost your sales. So the next time you get a review that hurts, take a deep breath and please, walk away. I’ve been known to buy a book based on a negative review, because even while it was clearly not the reviewer’s cup of tea, it sounded like mine. But I will not give my money to authors who behave badly on the internet, and even just a cursory look at the comments on that article shows that I’m not alone.

He landed against Fletch with a force that drove the air from his lungs. Fletch shrugged his weight off with a muttered obscenity and Raleigh rolled, landed hard against the sharp edge of the console.

I am going to die, he thought, and watched the ground rush toward them. I am going to die here in this iron box in the snow with a complete ass for my companion.

He didn’t shut his eyes. He braced a hand against the windscreen and watched the ground rush toward them.

Want to play along? It’s fun and easy!
1. pick a project – a current WIP, contracted work or even something readers can buy if you’re published
2. pick six sentences
3. post ‘em on Sunday

Stage 1: Denial
“This book is totally going to come in at the right length. Absolutely. Not a problem. What do you mean, you think the fact that I’ve already blown half the word count on the first 24 hours of action might be a problem? Don’t worry about it. I’ve totally got this under control.”

Stage 2: Anger
“God DAMN it! This book is going to run long. Son of a bitch. Damn word count limits! Stupid book! I hate you!”

Stage 3: Bargaining
“Well…maybe if I just run a little bit over… just a couple thousand words. Ten thousand, maybe? I could totally trim that out and get it in at the right length. Maybe it won’t be too bad.”

This is where I am right now. This book’s supposed to have an upper limit of 35k, and I’m kind of hoping that maybe if I can keep it to 45k, I can cut that extra flab out. 10k’s not so much, right? I mean, it’s only 22% of the book…

Next up, Stage 4: Depression
“OMG, this sucks. I am never going to get this short enough. I’m doomed. All this work, and it’s going to be for nothing because the stupid story’s too long. Why bother? I should just go knit instead.”

And maybe, if I’m lucky…eventually… Stage 5: Acceptance
“*whew* Well, that’s not so bad. I guess it’s not too long. And I can probably trim up that first scene, it’s a bit rambly. That’ll take care of a couple thousand words right off the bat. Oh, and maybe if I condense those other scenes… Yes, this is definitely doable.”

I really love this story. Really, really love it. I had so much fun writing it, and even after revisions and edits and rereading it at least half a dozen times, I still love rereading it.

The blurb: As prince and heir to the Samari throne, Luke puts nothing before his duty. While sailing to wed a foreign princess he’s never met to secure a desirable alliance, his ship is beset by pirates and Luke is taken captive. The pirates and their charismatic captain, Conall, throw Luke’s carefully ordered life—and his emotions—into turmoil. Conall is charming and seductive, and Luke’s iron will softens in the heat of his kisses.

Getting back to Samar ought to be a straightforward matter, but there’s trouble brewing in Luke’s absence and not everyone in his court would be pleased to see him make it home safely. Luke must decide whether to put duty before love, or relinquish his throne, forsaking crown and country, for the lawless pirate who’s stolen his heart.

Or can he somehow find a way to cling to both?

And an excerpt:

“So tell me, Luke,” Conall murmured, bracing a hand against the wall beside Luke’s head. “What was so terribly important as to justify sending a Samari prince through these treacherous waters?”

Conall stood too close, his body caging Luke in. The first time Luke tried to answer, his voice wouldn’t work. He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze out over the pirate’s shoulder, where it was safe to look. “I sail to meet my betrothed.”

“Ah. For love,” Conall mocked. “People always do the damnedest things for love.”

“No. Not for love.” Luke tried to sidle away, to put distance between them so Conall’s presence would stop stealing all the air from the room. “For duty. My father desires an alliance with her country. They could provide access to trade routes–”

“You don’t love the girl?”

“I’ve never met her.”

Conall rocked back, frowning at Luke as though he were an entirely new and incomprehensible breed of man. The corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile, and he tugged on a lock of Luke’s hair. “You’re handsome enough. I suppose you’ve left a string of heartbroken maidens trailing behind you as you go off to woo your princess?”

Luke jerked his head to the side, freeing his hair from Conall’s fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. My country needs an heir, not a litter of royal bastards.”

“A string of boys, then?” Conall mused.

“No!” Luke cried, appalled. He tried to shove Conall back. “Gods.”

Conall grinned as though Luke’s reaction had revealed something. “Celibate as a monk, are you? What a paragon you are, young princeling.” He leaned close again, though Luke braced his hands on the pirate’s shoulders and tried to hold him back. “Luke, my boy, I think it’s high time you had an indiscretion or two.”

Luke tried to duck beneath the arm Conall had braced against the cabin wall. “What are you going to do, throw me at the first disease-ridden doxy who greets us at the next port-of-call? I am not interested.”

“No.” Conall smiled faintly. He planted a hand on Luke’s chest, pinning him to the wall, bringing his body in closer. “That is not quite what I had in mind.”

Luke froze. It was entirely unfair, he thought, for a pirate to have a voice as smooth and comforting as warm milk and honey. A man so ruthless and violent ought to have a voice that scraped and grated and was harsh on the ears. But Conall’s made a shiver slide down Luke’s spine.

“I have a confession to make,” Conall breathed, so close that his lips brushed Luke’s cheek as he spoke. Luke shivered again, and forced himself to stay still. “When I said that you were not my type… I’m afraid that I was quite mistaken.”

“And what precisely is your type, Captain?” Luke asked through the tightness in his throat.

“Young.” Conall’s hand slipped to Luke’s side, fingers dragging over flesh protected by only fine linen. “Innocent.” He ventured beneath its edge. Luke sucked in his breath, his stomach jerking beneath Conall’s touch. “So pretty it hurts.”

“Unwilling?”

Conall laughed quietly. “No. I prefer my bedfellows to want to be there as much as I do.”

Luke curled his fingers around Conall’s wrist and tugged it away. “Then I am not your type at all.”

“Is that what you think?” He pressed closer. Luke’s clothes did little to mask the weight of Conall’s hips against his, the hard press of his legs against Luke’s, or the undeniable evidence that confirmed what Conall thought about Luke. “I doubt you’d take much persuading, young princeling.”

“I should like to see you try,” Luke scoffed, and realized his error a moment to late.

Conall’s mouth covered his the moment he made the challenge. The pirate’s voice may have been smooth and honeyed, but there was nothing gentle about his kiss. It was exactly the way Luke would have expected a pirate to kiss—rough, harsh and impatient, a flurry of gripping hands and coaxing lips and nipping teeth, his hips pressed close and moving in a way that Luke desperately did not want to think about.

There was no fighting Conall’s kiss, no resisting it. The pirate took what he wanted, plundered Luke’s mouth as though it was his right, and there was nothing to do but dig his fingers into Conall’s shoulders and hope to endure.

Buy it here!

Why, that would be shiny new cover art to admire and preen over. So exciting! And an interesting thing about Amber Quill, I think, is that the acquisitions editor is also the cover artist — which means he’s actually read the book. He certainly did a great job capturing Luke’s sullen aggressiveness and Conall’s sardonic humor.

Also, “A Novel” has been cracking me up all day long.

I love it! June 27th cannot come soon enough.