View Full Version : May 7: All-Day Chat (with PRIZES GALORE!) with author Sara Reinke
May 7th, 2008, 09:07 AM
Good morning, Coffee Time Romance & More Readers! I'm delighted to be here at the Paranormal Board! I'll be giving away PRIZES all day , including signed cover flats, FREE ebooks and more! Check out excerpts from DARK THIRST, the first in my Brethren Series from Kensington/Zebra Books that Romantic Times magazine calls a "new twist on the vampire legend" and "a fascinating and unique romance."
In DARK THIRST, Brandon Noble is one of the Brethren, an ancient sect of ruthless vampires. Horrified by his birthright, he shuns the ritual of the first kill, earning the Brethren's wrath. When he runs away and falls in love with a human named Angelina -- forbidden among the Brethren -- his fate is sealed. Can he protect Angelina from his enemies and his own DARK THIRST?
I'll also be sharing some sneak peeks today at DARK HUNGER, the second installment in the Brethren Series, which will hit bookstore shelves in September.
So come on out and join in the fun! Lurkers are welcome, but if you want
to win goodies, you have to post on the boards. ;)
May 7th, 2008, 09:36 AM
I can highly recommend Dark Thrist to everyone, who hasn't read it so far. The book really knocked me out of my shoes. Once you start reading you won't be able to put it down.
I am so curious about Dark Hunger.
Maybe I should mention that Sara's covers are real eyecatcher with yummy heroes
May 7th, 2008, 09:40 AM
I also loved Dark Thirst and cannot wait for Dark Hunger to come out.
May 7th, 2008, 09:44 AM
Just checked out your website, Sara. I thought Rene might be the next hero -- glad to see you're giving the poor guy his own happy ending. ;)
I'm curious though, you've written both of these wonderful, but "disabled" heroes...did you set out to write a different kind of hero or did it just happen?
May 7th, 2008, 10:31 AM
*hugs* It's so good to "see" you again!!
As far as heroes, no, I didn't set out deliberately to write stories with disabled heroes. They've just turned out that way, LOL. The idea for "Dark Thirst" has been in my mind for well over 10 years. From the very earliest incarnations, Brandon has been deaf and mute. I've never imagined him any other way, just like I've never envisioned him as anything other than with dark hair and dark eyes.
While some of the secondary characters I originally imagined didn't make it to the final version of the story, Rene is one who did, and like Brandon, I've always pictured him as an amputee. I don't think it even occurred to me when I was thinking about the story that this made both Brandon and Rene disabled in some way; again, to me, their respective disabilities were pretty much like their eye color or hair color, something that was a part of them, inherent to their character development.
I have to say that although while writing disabled heroes proved to have its own unique set of challenges, both books also provided eye-opening and educational opportunities for me, as well. For example, being mute, Brandon's dialogue is delivered largely through hand-written notes and sign language, so I really had to evaluate the world around him through his "eyes," so to speak, particularly when he was interacting with other characters.
The biggest difference between Brandon and Rene in terms of their disabilities is that Brandon has been deaf and mute since childhood, so by the time of "Dark Thirst," he's very much comfortable in his own skin. In fact, he considers being a vampire his disability, not his deafness and muteness.
Rene, on the other hand, is a relatively recent amputee when we meet him, and in "Dark Hunger" in particular, he deals with a lot of emotional and physical insecurities. He's still very much learning to adapt to the loss of his leg and his subsequent reliance on a prosthetic.
May 7th, 2008, 10:33 AM
Hi, Dannyfiredragon! Hi, Meg!
As my first official participants, you get prizes, o' course! I'll give you each the choice of any of my available ebook titles. (Which is any of my books except "Dark Thirst.") You can check out my website at www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com) to learn more about my books and let me know which title you'd like! Drop me an email -- firstname.lastname@example.org and I'll get your prize out to you right away! Thanks for joining me today! :)
May 7th, 2008, 10:39 AM
I'm looking forward to reading those books! Bouncy Icon Smilie
May 7th, 2008, 10:42 AM
this is my first time visiting a chat here even though I have been invited many times. I haven't read either of these books, but these sound really interesting and will have to be put on my wishlist to aquire.
May 7th, 2008, 10:50 AM
Thanks so much Sara.
I am heading off to your website to check your back list. I already got a few of them.
May 7th, 2008, 11:13 AM
*HUGS* Sara! I couldn't pass up the chance to join your chat today. :)
I was fascinated by the way you portray your heroes -- very sexy, very strong and yet not physically 'perfect' as so many heroes are. And it seemed natural ... not like you set out to make a statement about disabilities.
Your writing is so riveting! Can't wait to see what characters you bring to life in book three. :)
May 7th, 2008, 11:14 AM
How wonderful! I'll check out the list and let you know. :)
May 7th, 2008, 11:27 AM
This sounds so good! I am getting into paranormals lately and would love to win an ebook or something else! Ebooks are a great value and don't take up a lot of space. I like what I've seen so far and will be checking back. Have a great day!
May 7th, 2008, 11:42 AM
I thought I'd share the Prologue from "Dark Thirst" for my first excerpt of the day. Remember, you can check out the promotional video, find quick and easy purchase links and more at my website, www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com).
Remember, too, that I love giving away free stuff. :orange: So chances are, if you post a comment here, you're gonna get one...
Enjoy the following excerpt from "Dark Thirst." PLEASE NOTE: This excerpt may contain mature subject matter, adult content and/or language. It is intended for readers ages 18 and over.
<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:City><ST1:pBrandon sensed the Grandfather coming before he ever appeared in the doorway; like the way the electrical charge from an encroaching storm would shiver through his form, Brandon felt the hairs along the nape of his neck raise, and he knew.
</st1:City><st1:City>His gift of telepathy, something that came inherently to other members of the Brethren, had never been strong within him. The Grandfather had always told him it was because he was damaged, that like his ears and voice, his extrasensory perception was long-since ruined. His brother, Caine, had always told Brandon it was because he was weak -- in body, mind and spirit. </st1:City>
<st1:City>No better than a woman, Caine would sneer, his own mental prowess already formidable despite his relative youth. Or worse than this -- a human. You’re as weak and wretched as the fetid meat of humanity, brother.
<st1:City>Brandon was in his room with his youngest brother, Daniel, who was four years old. Daniel was sitting in a broad patch of sunbeam beneath Brandon’s window, coloring books and crayons spread around him in a messy circumference. Brandon knelt, watching the boy draw wild, looping circles in red, blue and green, his mouth open in a wide smile, moving nonstop with chattering words Brandon could not hear.
<st1:City>When he felt the odd, ominous, prickling sensation in the air, tingling around him, Brandon lifted his head. Daniel didn’t notice it; he was too young yet, and it would still be many long years before his mind allowed him such uncanny awareness. The boy saw the Grandfather, however, as he stepped into the doorway beyond Brandon’s shoulder, and his dark eyes widened, the happiness in his face fading abruptly to fright.</st1:City>
They were the last of their kind, Brandon and his family, two hundred and twenty-three of them living in close quarters in neighboring horse farms in central Kentucky. Humans might have called them vampires, were they aware of their existence, but to Brandon and his people, they were simply called the Brethren.
The Grandfather seldom visited the younger members of the clan -- and never Brandon. He was always too busy or otherwise preoccupied, and he had never made any secret of the fact that he considered Brandon a disgraceful blight among the Brethren.
Brandon had been Daniel’s age when he had come upon a trio of burglars in the middle of the night as they had robbed the downstairs parlor of the great house. He had been four years old when they had attacked him, beating him mercilessly in attempt to keep from being discovered. He had been only a child when his throat had been cut -- rendering him mute for life -- and his head battered, leaving him deaf in both ears. Just as Daniel’s ability to sense his fellow Brethren had not yet fully matured, Brandon’s healing abilities as a member of the Brethren -- the accelerated capacities that would seem to grant them immortality -- had not been developed enough. They had kept him from death, but had left him ruined, at least in the Grandfather’s stern regard. Brandon was a constant symbol of weakness to most of his family, and particularly to the Grandfather; one to be disdained and ignored.
That afternoon, however, he didn’t intend to ignore Brandon. But at first, Brandon couldn’t fathom what the Grandfather might want.
Is he lost? Does he want to see Daniel? he wondered rather naively and stupidly. He rose to his feet, lowering his eyes to the floor in polite deference to his elder, at a complete loss as to the reason for his presence.
And then he saw the paper in the Grandfather’s hand, a single sheet, with a distinctive logo atop the page that Brandon recognized even from across the room.
He had been diligent about getting the mail every day, taking Daniel with him and making a trek out of it as they went together down the two-mile-long, winding drive leading from the great house through the rolling acres of the Grandfather’s Thoroughbred farm, to the roadside mailbox at their gated entrance.
He cut his eyes quickly, frantically toward his bedside clock and saw it was only one o’clock in the afternoon. The mail must have come early, he realized in dismay, feeling his stomach twist inward upon itself, tightening into a tense, painful knot. Oh, God, it came early.
“Take Daniel to his room,” the Grandfather said. Brandon couldn’t hear his voice, but he could read his lips. Worse than this, he could sense him plainly in his mind; the Grandfather was the strongest telepath in the Noble family, but he seldom forced his thoughts upon the younger Brethren unless he meant to be taken at murderous severity. Take him now, Emily.
Brandon’s younger sister, Emily strode briskly past the Grandfather and across the room. She reached for Daniel, but the little boy shied behind Brandon’s hip, his small fingers clutching anxiously at the belt loops of Brandon’s jeans. Brandon looked down and saw him whimper his name, frightened.
It’s alright, Brandon tried to convey in a gentle smile, as he brushed his hand against the cap of his brother’s hair to draw his fearful gaze. Even though his telepathy was weak, he could speak to Daniel with his mind, but it was strictly forbidden by the mandate of the Grandfather. Not until Brandon’s bloodletting. Normally, Brandon was helpless to use his telepathy unless another Brethren member deliberately opened their mind to him. Otherwise, his extrasensory perceptions were as deafened as his ears, and it felt as if a heavy cowl lay draped constantly within his mind, stifling him.
It will be different once you’ve gone through the bloodletting, his twin sister, Tessa had tried to tell him. Your powers will strengthen, just like mine did. You’ll see.
However, Brandon suspected the Grandfather and Caine were right; his abilities were damaged from the same injuries that had cost him his hearing and speech. He didn’t want to see if they would strengthen after his bloodletting. He didn’t want to go through the ancient, brutal ceremony -- even if it meant he’d be able to communicate freely with him mind.
Daniel was too young to control his own mental abilities, and his mind was always open. Brandon ordinarily shared his thoughts with Daniel freely and without rebuke, as a result, but he could sense that today, such defiance -- and particularly in the presence of the Grandfather -- would be a foolish mistake.
He stroked Daniel’s hair again nodded once toward Emily, smiling in encouragement. Go with her, he tried to convey in the simple gesture. I’ll be okay.
Daniel looked unconvinced, but he wasn’t too young to understand one didn’t disobey the Grandfather. He slipped out from behind the shelter of Brandon’s long legs and hooked his hand against Emily’s outstretched, awaiting palm.
Brandon glanced toward the doorway and found their oldest brother, Caine watching from the threshold, his brows narrowed, his dark eyes glittering meanly, the corner of his mouth hooked in wicked triumph. Like most of his siblings -- except for his twin sister, Tessa, and Daniel -- Caine considered Brandon unfit to hold a place among the Brethren. In that moment, as the two brothers locked gazes, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who had discovered that the mail had been delivered early -- and who had brought the letter from Gallaudet University to the Grandfather’s disapproving notice.
Brandon had wanted to go to the all-deaf school for years, even before he had earned his high school equivalency. The Grandfather hadn’t allowed him to go to elementary or high school, however, and had permitted Brandon’s instruction only under the supervision of a private tutor. Jackson Jones, Brandon’s teacher, who was also deaf, had told Brandon about the college in Washington, D.C.; it was Jackson’s alma mater, and to Brandon, it had seemed a place of impossible promise and wonder.
Of course, the Grandfather had no intention of allowing Brandon to leave the Brethren to go to college. He’d made this vehemently clear. Brandon had known it. He had applied to the school anyway. He had planned on leaving on his own, running away, abandoning the Brethren and going just the same.
Though there was no way the Grandfather could know all of this simply from the letter, Brandon knew that he did. He could see it in the man’s cold, unflinching gaze, the way his coal-black eyes seemed to bore into Brandon’s skull, to grasp him firmly and hold him fast, without the Grandfather laying as much as a finger on him. He knew, and he was enraged.
Oh, God, Brandon thought, as the Grandfather swung the door closed behind Emily and Daniel, slamming it with enough force so that although Brandon couldn’t hear the sharp report, he could feel it resounding in the floorboards beneath his feet. Caine remained in the chamber, as if by unspoken invitation, and his smile grew wider at the mounting dismay in Brandon’s face.
The Grandfather was more than three hundred years old, but had the prowess and build of a man no more than his mid-forties. He was strong; like all of the Brethren Elders, he commanded the well-honed strength of more than twenty human men. He had a heavy sheaf of white hair that fell nearly to his hips, standing out in stark contrast to his black shirt. Ordinarily, the Grandfather always wore sport coats and suits, no matter the occasion or weather. Today, he had abandoned his tie and jacket and turned back his shirt sleeves to his elbows.
Oh, God, Brandon thought, his body paralyzed with fright, his mouth gone dry and tacky with it, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
What is this? the Grandfather asked, with a demonstrative waggle of the letter from Gallaudet. His mouth did not move; his voice fell with cold remonstration through Brandon’s mind.
Grandfather, Brandon thought, blinking down at his toes. Please, I can --
The Grandfather’s hand whipped around, a blur in his peripheral vision before it plowed into the side of his face. The blow sent Brandon flying. He slammed into a bookshelf, knocking the wind from his lungs, and crumpled to his hands and knees on the floor. He blinked at the polished hard wood beneath him, at the tiny pinpoints of sudden light that danced in his line of sight. Droplets of blood peppered down from his nose, spattering between his hands. His mind was swimming; the Grandfather had struck him hard enough to leave him witless.
He felt the floorboards tremble beneath his palms at the Grandfather’s approach, and he cowered, just as the Grandfather’s hand closed fiercely in his hair, forcing his head back.
Close your mind to me, boy, the Grandfather said. That gift is reserved for a full-fledged and fed Brethren. You disgrace your bloodline -- and me -- to use it otherwise, even in your pathetic and limited capacities.
He released Brandon’s hair, and Brandon crumpled to his hands and knees again, trembling. Get up, the Grandfather said, and Brandon obeyed, stumbling to his feet. A glance promised he’d find no rescue from his brother; Caine remained rooted in place by the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, watching in silent, thinly veiled amusement.
Did you think I wouldn’t find out about this? the Grandfather demanded, shoving the letter into Brandon’s face. Brandon had a momentary, dazed glance at the words, “Congratulations! You have been accepted to Gallaudet University, the world’s only university for deaf and” and then the Grandfather jerked it away again.
Brandon wore a notebook on a chain about his neck, in an engraved brass case his father had ordered custom-made for him. Writing notes in its small, three-by-five pages was the only means by which he was allowed to communicate in the house, by the Grandfather’s directive. Although Brandon knew sign language, the Grandfather had strictly forbidden it, and threatened to sternly punish anyone else who learned it.
Brandon reached for the notebook. His hands were shaking as he flipped back the brass lid. He carried a matching gilded pen tucked at the hinged end of the notebook. He pushed it out with his thumb and began to write, struggling vainly to think of some appeal the Grandfather might consider, some explanation that might spare him what was about to come upon him in undoubtedly brutal measure.
Please, Brandon wrote. Grandfather, please, I’m sorry
The Grandfather snatched the notebook and jerked it. Brandon gasped as the chain cut sharply into the back of his neck and then snapped with the force of the Grandfather’s pull. The notebook sailed across the room. He had a split second to blink at it, startled and dismayed, and then felt the whip of sudden wind as the Grandfather struck him again, sending him crashing across the room. He fell against a table, his feet skittering over the crayons Daniel had left scattered on the floor, dancing against half-finished drawings of houses and horses. The edge of the table caught him squarely in the gut, and he stumbled backward and fell, gasping futilely for breath.
All of your life, you have been spoiled, the Grandfather said, and again, his hand fell against Brandon’s hair, wrenching him to his feet. Your father has coddled you because of your weakness, and I have let him for far too long.
Again, his hand smashed against Brandon’s face, and again, Brandon crumpled to the floor. He could feel blood coursing from his nose. He could taste it in his mouth, bitter and salty, but he did not fight or resist his grandfather. Jackson Jones, his former tutor, had taught him the martial art of aikido, in addition to reading, writing and sign language. Although Brandon had never officially tested, Jackson had told him that he was proficient enough at the sport to likely attain at least a first-degree black belt. But he couldn’t fight the Grandfather; wouldn’t fight him. Whatever further punishment the Grandfather intended for him would pale in violent comparison to anything meted out if Brandon dared to defend himself.
The Grandfather clamped his hand against Brandon’s throat and shoved him back against the wall, rapping his head painfully. He hoisted the younger man aloft and held him there, strangling against his palm, with Brandon’s feet dangling helplessly a good foot off the floor.
You disgust me, boy, the Grandfather seethed in Brandon’s mind. His eyes had turned black, the dark of his irises seeping outward, swallowing any hint of his corneas from view. His canine teeth began to drop as his face flushed with fury. You are a disgrace to your family -- a disgrace among the Brethren. I thought you could bring me no greater shame than the night you abandoned your bloodletting -- let your sister, Emily, take your place in the hunt, but this...!
I’m sorry...! Brandon thought, struggling vainly, wheezing soundless around the crushing weight of the hand collapsing his windpipe. Grandfather, please...I...
The other Brethren laugh at us, the Grandfather said, leaning toward Brandon, watching the young man’s face flush purple with the strain for air. They laugh at the Nobles, that we abide by you, keep you among us, keep you from those rites of passage that are customary and expected of a Brethren of your age. And now you think you can just leave these walls -- abandon a birthright that has been fought and sown for you for more than one thousand years -- so that you can harbor the paltry ambitions of the human stain?
He opened his hand, and Brandon crumpled to his knees, clutching at his throat and dragging in whooping mouthfuls of air.
I do not know why I bother with you, boy, the Grandfather said. Or why I continue to let the least among us tax my patience the most.
I am sorry, Grandfather, Brandon thought, still gasping to reclaim his breath.
There will be no university for you, the Grandfather said coldly, and he ripped the acceptance letter from Gallaudet into pieces. Brandon blinked at them, his eyes flooded with involuntary tears as the shreds fluttered to the floor around him. Not now, boy, not ever.
Brandon hung his head, still shuddering for breath. I’m sorry, he thought, over and over. I’m sorry.
Give me your hand, Brandon.
Brandon held up his right hand and felt the cool press of the Grandfather’s fingers as he wrapped them about. You will go through the bloodletting, the Grandfather told him.
Brandon blinked down at the floor, numb, hurting and dazed. He nodded. There would be no fighting it, no protest now. His father -- who had kept him from it for so long -- would be helpless against this, a direct mandate from the Grandfather.
If you ever run from me, know this, boy, and mark it well, the Grandfather said. There is no corner of this earth, no measure of time that can keep you hidden from me. I will find you. I will return you to this house, and I will punish you a thousand-fold what you have suffered today. And when I am finished, I will cast you into the Beneath, boy, and leave you there to rot.
Brandon nodded, trembling.
When your hands are healed, you will succumb to the bloodlust. You will know your first kill.
Brandon looked up, startled, bewildered. My hands...?
And then the Grandfather closed his hand into a fist, crushing the bones in Brandon’s right hand, splintering them inward beneath his brutal, forceful grasp. Brandon jerked against him, screaming soundlessly in bright, brilliant agony. When the Grandfather turned loose of him, he pitched forward, cradling his shattered hand against his belly, gasping for breath as his mind threatened to abandon him.
Give me your other hand, Brandon.
Brandon blinked up at his grandfather, his eyes stricken and terrified. No, he thought, shaking his head, desperate. No, Grandfather, please don’t...!
He was left-handed. He wrote with his left hand, signed primarily with his left hand, held a tooth brush, fed himself, scratched his ass -- everything with his left hand.
This fact wasn’t lost upon the Grandfather. “It would be cruel,” he said aloud, pinning Brandon with his icy gaze. “The height of cruelty, in fact, to damage them both, would it not? You wouldn’t be able to write. You wouldn’t be able to defy me with the sign language I’ve banned -- that you continue to use, in spite of this. I’m neither blind nor stupid, boy. I know of your transgressions. You hide nothing from me.”
I’m sorry, Grandfather, Brandon thought, trembling in pain and fright. Please, I --
The Grandfather caught him by the throat, firmly beneath the shelf of Brandon’s chin, forcing his head back. “Even your worthless modicum of telepathy would be even more so, because I would forbid anyone to open their minds to you. Who would dare defy me and try, with you as testimony to my reprisal?”
His hand tightened, crushing Brandon’s windpipe, and Brandon whimpered soundlessly, breathlessly. “You would heal, of course,” the Grandfather said. “But it would still take months -- grueling, agonizing months in the meantime. You would be crippled.”
I’m sorry, Brandon thought again, his mouth open as he gasped vainly for air.
“As I said -- it would be cruel,” the Grandfather said. “And I am not.”
He released his grip on Brandon’s throat. Brandon crumpled forward, choked for breath, wheezing. He huddled against the floor, trembling, waiting for the Grandfather to leave. He’d had his fun; he’d made his point with brutal emphasis and Brandon waited for it to be over, to feel the floorboards beneath him tremble as the Grandfather walked away.
When several long, excrutiating moments passed, and the Grandfather didn’t move, Brandon looked up at him, hesitant and wary.
“I will let your brother decide,” the Grandfather said, and he glanced over his shoulder toward the doorway.
Oh, God, Brandon thought, as Caine stepped away from the threshold, moving at the Grandfather’s beckon. He strolled slowly across the room, moving like a cat closing in deliberately on some helpless prey. His face betrayed no emotion, but his dark eyes gleamed with unmistakable glee.
“Surely Caine might find some compassion in his heart for you in your plight,” the Grandfather said. “My mind is so clouded with rage at the moment, I’m afraid I might mistake vindictiveness for justice.”
Caine looked down at Brandon, his expression impassive and unmoved. He held out his hand, expectantly. “Give me your hand, brother.”
Brandon locked gazes with him, his brows furrowed. Fuck you, Caine.
The Grandfather struck him, slapping with enough force to snap his head toward his shoulder. You will show your brother respect, he told Brandon sharply. He has earned it, and you will demonstrate it -- the same respect you offer me, or any other member of our Brethren who have embraced the bloodlust and made their rightful, honorable place among us.
Brandon looked up at Caine, his vision bleary, fresh blood spilling from his nose. Caine held out his hand again patiently. Give me your hand, brother, he said once more, his voice mockingly gentle inside Brandon’s mind. There was no fighting him; no defying the Grandfather. Brandon held up his left hand, his entire body shaking with terror.
“If you plead with me, I will listen,” Caine said, closing his fingers slowly, firmly around Brandon’s. “I’m not cruel, either, or without mercy.” He smiled at Brandon. “Beg me for it, Brandon.”
Brandon spat a thick mouthful of blood against his shoes. Fuck you, Caine, he thought again.
Caine crushed his brother’s left hand, shattering the bones in his fingers and palm, making Brandon shriek again in soundless, breathless pain. When he was finished, the Grandfather draped his hand fondly against Caine’s shoulder and they walked away, leaving Brandon huddled against the floor, surrounded by the shredded acceptance letter, his broken hands tucked against his belly, his breath escaping him in sodden, sob-choked gasps.</st1:City>
(c) 2007 Sara Reinke
May 7th, 2008, 12:09 PM
"Dark Thirst" isn't available in ebook format right now, but you're more than welcome to check out my backlist of titles at www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com). I'll give you one free ebook of your choice, too! :)
None of my other titles are paranormal, alas. I've worked my way up to paranormal romance, so to speak, starting with fantasy, then moving to historical romances, and finally to paranormals. I think I've finally found my niche as a writer, LOL, though it took some time to get here!
May 7th, 2008, 12:18 PM
The excerpt really got me into the mood for a re-read of Dark Thirst.
May 7th, 2008, 01:01 PM
Hello everyone,first time posting here,sure hope im doing in right,maybe ill get the hang of it soon,avid reader an live in Vermont so during the long winters I get to read a lot since im a Southern girl who moved up here 5 yrs ago an dont know how to drive in snow!So happy to see some writers that I havent read before an anxious to read their works,thanks for letting me in
May 7th, 2008, 01:33 PM
:womancomputer: Woohoo I can't wait to read your exceprts!
May 7th, 2008, 01:45 PM
Wow - I loved that excerpt, very moving and heart racing. The first thing that caught my eye was the name Brandon (my son is a Brandon and he's constantly complaining he's the only one he knows!)
And I am completely intrigued by a "damaged hero" - not your typical perfect alpha male sounds like a great twist.
Good luck with it - I'm off to take a peek at your website!
May 7th, 2008, 02:29 PM
Excerpt #2 from "Dark Thirst" is taken from the first chapter, and introduces our hero to Angelina Jones -- "Lina" to her friends -- who is the heroine of the story. Lina is younger sister to Jackson Jones, Brandon's former tutor. Brandon has fled Kentucky and sought refuge at Jackson's apartment, not realizing until he arrives that Jackson is out of town. Brandon decides to hole up in Jackson's apartment anyway, but unbeknownst to him, Lina has a key and has been charged with taking care of Jackson's house plants in his absence. Lina isn't expecting anyone to be staying at Jackson's crib, so to say the least, she's somewhat...surprised upon her introduction to Brandon... ;)
Lina walked across the living room, still humming along with Mary J. as she headed for the kitchen. A breakfast bar was all that separated the two. If it wasn’t for the small bedroom and bathroom down a nearby corridor, the condo would have passed as an oversized efficiency, in Lina’s estimation. But Jackson loved it, and he was the one who had to live there, she figured. Him and his stupid damn plants.
She flipped on the kitchen lights and walked toward the sink to grab the watering pitcher. She halted in mid-step as soon as the bright fluorescents flooded the room, glaring against the immaculate white linoleum floor, glazed against the polished surfaces of the stainless steel appliances.
Somebody’s been here.
There was an empty glass sitting in the dish drain that had, as of last week, been empty. Three empty beer bottles were turned upside down to drain in the plastic rack, and a plate had been propped against them to air dry.
Lina’s left hand moved for her iPod while her right moved toward the small of her back, reaching beneath her sweatshirt hem for the butt of her pistol. She turned off the music, cutting Mary J. off in mid-croon. She pulled the gun out, settling her index finger lightly, reflexively against the trigger as she thumbed off the safety, and reached with her other hand to pull the headphones out of her ears. With the plugs gone, the music off, she heard what she had been oblivious to since walking in the door―the sound of water running from the bathroom, the shower in use.
Somebody’s still here.
Lina frowned, walking slowly, cautiously out of the kitchen and down the corridor toward the bedroom. No one was supposed to be there. Jackson would have told her if he’d given anyone permission to use the apartment. He didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment, or many close friends for that matter―certainly no one he would have awarded a key to the apartment, or to whom he would have revealed the location of his hidden key.
Somebody was trespassing; somebody who clearly knew Jackson was out of town, and thought their presence would go unnoticed.
Think again, asshole.
She stepped carefully into the bedroom, holding the gun between her hands, the muzzle aimed before her as she cut her eyes about, surveying. The bedclothes were turned back on Jackson’s queen-sized mattress; someone had been sleeping there. A peculiar little notebook rested on the bedside table; no bigger than an index card, it was housed in a decoratively engraved brass casing, with a long chain affixed, as if someone wore it about their neck. She saw an oversized duffel bag on the floor, with a tangle of clothes, a pair of jeans, a discarded t-shirt, a beige barn jacket crumpled beside it.
She saw no evidence of anyone having gone through Jackson’s drawers or closets, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t, and had simply cleaned up after themselves. Her frown deepened as she crept toward the bathroom, and she paused, her breath drawing abruptly still as the shower suddenly cut off.
She heard the soft dripping of water and the creak of the shower door hinges as it swung open. She heard movement, the rustling of a towel. The door was half-way ajar, and she saw steam curling out in a warm, moist cloud. She sidestepped toward the door and used her shoulder to ease it open further, awarding her an unobstructed view of the bathroom beyond, and its occupant.
Its naked occupant. Its naked male occupant.
He stood with his back to her, rubbing a towel against his dark hair. He was white, tall, lean, and built magnificently. Lina stood, momentarily dumbfounded, blinking in stupefied admiration at the well-etched musculature of his back and shoulders, his sculpted buttocks and legs. The sight of him sent a shiver through her, along with the startling realization that it had been three months since Jude had left her; three months since she had been with a man, or even caught a glimpse of one in such a state of undress.
She shook her head, forcing herself out of her reverie. What the hell is wrong with me? She cleared her throat, narrowing her brows and putting on her most stern, businesslike façade. “Police officer,” she said. “Put your hands up and come out of there.”
He didn’t turn, startled by her voice, as she might have expected. He didn’t comply with her command, either. He didn’t do anything, in fact, except keep toweling his hair dry, as if she hadn’t even spoken at all.
“Hey, buddy,” Lina said, her frown deepening. God, does he not speak English? Is he drunk or on meth or something? That’s all I need. She considered ducking out and calling for back-up, but decided against it. In addition to being a cop, and armed, she was also a second-degree black-belt in aikido. Jackson had taught her, being a fourth-degree black-belt himself.
“I’m a cop, buddy,” Lina said, more loudly this time, as the guy still didn’t as much as flinch. “Soy policia, hombre. I’ve got a pistol in my hands and I’m telling you to put your hands up. Turn around to face me―nice and slow. Do it now.”
He bent over, rubbing his calves with the towel. Why in the hell did he have to go and do that? Lina thought, because it awarded her an admittedly pleasant view. She shook her head again and reached forward, tapping him with her fingertip.
“I’m talking to you, asshole,” she said, poking him in the back. “I said put your hands―”
He whirled, startling her, moving so quickly, she had no time to react. She felt the blade of his left hand strike the side of her pistol, battering it from her grip and knocking it toward the bathroom sink. His right hand darted forward, with the heel of his palm presented in an aikido-style punch, and Lina parried the blow instinctively, swinging her own arm up to block. The force of his punch sent her staggering backwards, and she crashed down onto her ass.
Again, she moved out of instinct, punting out her right leg and smashing the heel of her Reebok squarely into his knee. He uttered a soundless grunt of air and stumbled sideways, catching himself against the sink vanity.
Lina scrambled to her feet a split second before he came at her again, swinging at her with a volley of swift, sudden, powerful punches. Whoever he was, he was trained in martial arts, and he was goddamn good at it, too. She had never seen anyone move so fast before in her life, not even Jackson.
She swung her arms again and again in a blind panic, ducking and weaving, trying desperately to prevent him from landing one of those powerful, brutal blows to her face. She tried frantically to fend him off, sending her own punches flying whenever she could, striking at his eyes, his throat, the vulnerable plate of his breastbone. She kicked at him, driving her feet around again and again in sweeping roundhouse kicks, but he danced around them, blocking them with his hands, using his legs and feet to counter her best attempts.
He forced her toward the bed, and she floundered when the backs of her knees met the mattress. She sat back, using her momentary loss of balance to her advantage. She swung her legs up, punting him with both feet squarely in the midriff, pummeling the wind from him. He doubled over, gasping sharply, and then tripped over the tangle of clothes piled on the floor. He fell forward and against her, knocking her back onto the bed. Lina struggled but he recovered enough from her kick to grasp her firmly by the wrists, pinning her arms helplessly against the mattress.
She thrashed beneath him, bucking her hips, struggling to draw her knee between them to drive into his groin. “I’m a police officer!” she screamed. “Get off of me, you son of a bitch! Get off of me!”
She locked her legs around his midriff and heaved mightily, managing to throw him sideways. They rolled together on the bed, and she wound up on top of him, straddling his hips. “You’re under arrest!” she shouted, her voice hoarse and winded, her baseball hat long-since tumbled from her head, her dark curls splayed in a disarray about her face. She clasped her hands against his wrists and leaned over him, putting her full weight against him, struggling to hold him down. “I said you’re under arrest, goddamn it!”
He fell still beneath her, blinking up into her face, and for the first time, she saw him―dark eyes, dark hair, strikingly handsome, no more than his early twenties at the most. There was a faint but distinctive scar running beneath the shelf of his chin, a thin, pale line cutting nearly from ear to ear. She loosened her grasp around his wrists and her mouth dropped in stunned surprise.
“Brandon?” she gasped.
He nodded once, looking rather sheepish all of a sudden, and moved his hand, his fingers sweeping in erratic patterns in the narrow margin of open air between them. Sign language.
Hi, Angelina, he finger-spelled.
May 7th, 2008, 02:30 PM
P.S. -- Vickie, Debora and Karen -- Hello and welcome!! I'm so glad you joined in the fun today! To say thanks, I invite you to check out the "Books" page at www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com) and pick any book from my backlist (excluding "Dark Thirst") and I'll send you a FREE ebook copy! Just drop me an email at email@example.com and let me know which title you'd like! :)
May 7th, 2008, 02:31 PM
It sounds like this is going to be a good series. :-) Larena
May 7th, 2008, 02:35 PM
This sounds like a great premise. When exactly are the books coming out?
May 7th, 2008, 03:51 PM
now he sounds like my kind of vampire :huepfen017:
May 7th, 2008, 04:11 PM
Love the excerpts. :-)
May 7th, 2008, 04:44 PM
Hi, Larena -- "Dark Thirst" is available now. "Dark Hunger" comes out in September! :) (I'll have a sneak peek at "Hunger" later on this evening.) Both are mass-market paperback. "Dark Thirst" is only $3.99 and "Hunger" will be $4.99. You'll find quick and easy purchase links at my website: www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com).
Thanks for joining me today!
May 7th, 2008, 04:47 PM
Larena, Hollie and other guests who are joining in the fun --
I love to give things away. So as a token of thanks for coming to my forum party today, I'll give each of you an ebook of your choice from my available ebook titles! (Which is all of my books except "Dark Thirst" and "Dark Hunger." *g*) Visit the "Books" page at www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com) to check out my backlist, then drop me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org to let me know which one you'd like!
May 7th, 2008, 04:51 PM
I already have Dark Thirst. After reading the excerpts- I need to start reading it! I love the vamps.
May 7th, 2008, 05:15 PM
i've just put Dark Thirst on my amazon wish list so next time i'm allowed to order i will get it smilies/cloud9.gif
May 7th, 2008, 05:25 PM
sorry i can't stay later Sara it nearly 10:30 here and my head is pounding cos i got sun burnt today so i'm going to bed i hope the rest of your chat goes well and that i get chance to chat to you again
May 7th, 2008, 08:21 PM
I would so love to read any of your books. I review for Enchanting Reviews and am learning alot about it from them.What I have read of your excerpts sound excellent.
May 7th, 2008, 08:56 PM
Oh wow! You guys look like you have had fun today- see what I get for spending the day outside LOL. Sara I love the books and your vamps!smilies/butterfly.gi
May 7th, 2008, 09:28 PM
Hi, guys! Sorry to take so long in reposting. Had to pick the kids up from daycare, come home, fix dinner, clean up the kitchen then get everyone into bed, LOL. :dizzy:
I think it's time for another excerpt from "Dark Thirst," what do you say?
This is one of my favorite little scenes from the book. In it, Lina is getting ready to go to her best friend's wedding, where she is to be one of the bridesmaids. Keep in mind that Lina is not much of a "girlie" girl. She's tough as nails and no-nonsense, and the idea of putting on a satin gown, much less high heels, pantyhose and make up is like torture to her. Brandon is going to accompany her to the wedding, and she's found something for him to wear -- a prized Dolce & Gabbanna suit that belongs to Lina's ex-boyfriend, Jude Hannam. In this scene, Lina is trying to beat the clock and get ready to go to the church...without much success. It's one of my favorites because I could really visualize it in my mind as I was writing it and I think it came out kind of cute and charming.
Twenty minutes later, Lina decided she looked like a hooker. “Goddamn it,” she muttered to her expression in the mirror. She looked down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand. Dusky amethyst, my ass, she thought, because that was what the label had said. This is Barney-the-Dinosaur-Purple if I ever saw it.
And it was too late now to just dunk a tissue into some Vaseline and scrub the entire mess from her face. She had forty minutes to finish dressing, grab Brandon, hail a cab and make it to the church. The wedding wasn’t until six o’clock that evening, but there were photographs to be taken in the meantime. As a dutiful bridesmaid, Lina was expected to flutter about Melanie while the photographer took shots of them readying for the ceremony.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered again, wriggling out of her T-shirt, trying to be mindful of her hair. She grabbed a package of pantyhose off the back of the toilet and bit the corner with her teeth to rip them open. She shook them out, a wrinkled and pathetic mess of sheer nylon, and danced clumsily from one foot to the other as she yanked them on. Just as she wriggled the hose up toward her waist, she felt her finger punch through, tearing them. “Goddamn it.”
She pulled the hose up and looked in dismay at the wide runner that had shot from the hole and careened down the outer contour of her thigh. “Goddamn it,” she muttered, reaching for her dress, jerking it off the hanger against the back of the bathroom door. She shrugged her way into it and gritted her teeth as she craned her arm backward, groping for the zipper. The dress had been altered supposedly to Lina’s measurements, but she still thought there was enough free space through the bustline to park a small mini-van. She frowned, tugging at her bra straps, hoping vainly to summon some inkling of cleavage to help fill the top of the gown. “Goddamn it.”
She looked in the mirror when she was finished. I look like a hooker, she thought unhappily, surveying the messy splay of her hair, the garish eye make-up and plum-colored lipstick, the glossy purple satin ruffle that seemed to explode off the right shoulder of her dress. Or a drag queen. And not a very good one, either way.
She reached for her shoes, a pair of sandals dyed to match the dress, tucked in a box atop the toilet seat. She stepped into them one at a time, and felt herself wobble for uncertain balance. She hated high-heeled shoes. Already, she could feel the straps of the sandals digging into the sides of her feet, and she began to take a mental account of all of the spots in which she could expect to find blisters by the time the ceremony was finished.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered, opening the bathroom door and tromping outside.
The Dolce and Gabbana suit was gone from her bed. Brandon had dressed quietly and without her notice. She hoped to God the suit fit him okay, and Jude’s shoes, as well. If they don’t, we’ll both just go barefooted―screw it, she thought, shaking her head as she teetered down the hallway. We’ll make a hell of a couple.
Brandon sat reading again, but looked up when he caught sight of her approach out of the corner of his eye. He rose to his feet, his brows raising, and Lina drew to a sudden halt.
Wow, she thought. Her mother had an old saying she was fond of: “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.” This is definitely one of those moments, Lina thought, immobilized in the doorway.
Had she ever thought Jude had worn that suit well? The lengths of dark wool draped and hugged Brandon’s form as if they had been custom-tailored to fit him. He looked immaculate, the white shirt and dove-grey silk tie beneath crisp and striking complements to the black planes of the suit. He’d combed his dark hair back, tucking it behind his ears, leaving wayward strands to droop loose and lay against the high arches of his cheekbones.
My God, he’s a beautiful man, she thought.
She realized she was gawking at him, and, to judge by the way he was staring at her, he was aware of it, too. She forced herself to tear her eyes away, to blink across the room toward her television set, the empty fish tank in the corner, anywhere else. “I…uh…it fits,” she said. “The suit, I mean. The shoes, too?”
He blinked, giving his head a slight shake, and at last, cut his eyes away. Yes, he signed, miming a nod with his fist. The shoes were a little big, but I shoved paper towels in the toes. It will work.
He kept stealing curious little glances in her direction, and, feeling self-conscious, Lina crossed her arms over her bosom, frowning slightly. “What?”
He shook his head again and motioned toward his face, drawing his fingers in a counter-clockwise circle. Beautiful, he said. He gestured again, pointing to her, then turned his palm first outward then in, finally letting his fingers sweep around his face once more. You look beautiful.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man had said that to her, not with the earnest candor she saw frank and apparent in Brandon’s eyes. Lina felt her face flush all the more, and she smiled, caught off-guard and utterly charmed. Thank you, Brandon, she signed.
(c) 2007 Sara Reinke
May 7th, 2008, 09:33 PM
I wish it had been pretty enough to go outside here, Sabrina! :P It rained all day, with some thunder-grumbles around supper time. Yuck!
May 7th, 2008, 10:26 PM
As promised, here's an exclusive sneak-peek at the upcoming sequel to "Dark Thirst." "Dark Hunger" hits bookstores September 2, and is available for pre-order now through Amazon. You can check out another sneak peek at my website, too!
Rene Morin and Tessa Noble are traveling together from New Orleans to Lake Tahoe, California. Rene and Tessa have developed a "love-hate" relationship along the way -- they love to hate each other. In this scene, they've stopped at a deserted rest stop in the middle of nowhere. As a footnote, the Brethren vampires are telepathic and often communicate with one another through their minds. This ability comes into play in the following scene. Tessa is also about four months pregnant, which is also good to know jumping into things here...
I hope you enjoy!
Rene squinted as he walked out of the rest stop men’s room. It was goddamn bright outside and he wished he hadn’t left his sunglasses in the center console of his car. He forked his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his brow, then shoved his hand into his hip pocket, fishing for change as he limped toward some snack machines. He hadn’t seen an exit off the interstate in more than two hours, and from what he could tell by checking out the map mounted on a bulletin board in front of the building, there was nothing ahead of them for at least another fifty miles.
Looks like it’s Cheeto’s for lunch, he thought, frowning as he studied the snack machine. He glanced down at his palm and began to poke through the assorted loose change he’d dug up. Have to grab something for la pischouette, too, he figured. She was awake now and with the baby, she needed to eat.
No matter how much Tessa infuriated him, how much she grated on his last fucking nerve like fingernails scraping across the surface of a chalkboard, something in him always softened when he thought about her pregnancy. Probably because he hadn’t been able to enjoy much of Irene’s. She’d left him, though he could hardly blame her. He’d suffered what was now known as post-traumatic stress disorder when he’d returned from Vietnam; between his hellish tour of duty, the catastrophic wound he’d suffered and the subsequent, horrifying realization of what he was—a vampire—he’d been a wreck by the time he returned stateside.
Hell, I’m still a wreck.
Irene had been about as far along as Tessa when she’d left him. She’d lost the baby shortly thereafter, a miscarriage he hadn’t learned about until later. He’d been heartbroken, and remained so even now. Not much had given him hope back then, or a reason to live, but the promise of his child had. That had slipped through his fingers, as had any happiness he might have known with Irene. Seldom a day went by that he didn’t wish he could take it back somehow, that he could have made things right for all of them.
A wire coil inside the machine rotated slowly, dropping a foil bag of Cheeto’s, and Rene leaned over to retrieve it. He didn’t see anything in the machine that resembled the sticks and twigs healthy crap that Tessa seemed to favor, so he hoped that dehydrated cheese powder would constitute nutritious enough to satisfy her. And a snack might make for a sort of peace offering on his part, a way to smooth things over from earlier that morning.
He’d made her cry and even though she’d provoked him—par for the course—he still felt like shit about it. He’d been too hard on her—yet again par for the course—and he knew it, but sometimes…
Like whenever she opens her mouth.
…he felt powerless to stop himself. She was a smart girl, high-strung but also wide-eyed and innocently oblivious to a lot of world’s more unsavory aspects, thanks to the privileged, sheltered life she’d known in Kentucky. He’d known too many people—himself included—who had been beaten down by reality’s harshness, made jaded and cynical because of it, and he secretly found that naiveté sort of charming and endearing about Tessa. Nice, even. Not that he’d ever admit this aloud.
God, I’d never hear the end of it, he thought.
“Hey, you got a light?”
Rene looked up to find a young man in his early twenties standing between him and the restroom building. The kid had long, dirty-blond hair caught back beneath a red bandana tied over the cap of his skull. He wore an old AC/DC T-shirt, grease-spotted, ratty blue jeans and a pair of faded black Chuck Taylor sneakers.
Rene had been a police officer long enough to recognize the nervous, darting light in the kid’s eyes. Strung out on something, he thought, wishing all of a sudden that he hadn’t left his Sig Sauer in the glove compartment of the car. “Sorry, pal. I don’t smoke.”
The kid nodded, cutting his eyes to the snack machines. Rene decided to hedge his bets and get the fuck away from him. Just as he turned, presenting his back to the younger man, he heard the distinctive snict! of a gun hammer being drawn back.
“I guess I’ll just take your wallet then, pal,” said the kid, with pointed, sarcastic emphasis. “And your car keys, too. Hand them over.”
Rene pivoted, stepping in a slow semi-circle toward the kid and found himself facing the business end of what appeared to be a 45-caliber Smith and Wesson revolver.
“Your wallet,” the kid said again, giving the gun a little demonstrative waggle in emphasis. “And your car keys, too. Come on.”
Rene could see beads of perspiration beading along his brow line below the edge of his bandana. He could smell the kid, a mix of sweat and adrenaline, and could sense the mounting, anxious rhythm of his heartbeat.
Christ, he’s wired. What’s he on?
“Take it easy,” Rene said, keeping his gaze steady on the kid as he reached slowly for his pocket. Unbeknownst to the young man, he opened his mind.
Tessa, where are you?
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked aloud, because he had no fucking intention of handing over his car keys if she was still sitting in the front seat. The gun would be a problem he’d then have to deal with somehow, but he figured he’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it.
The kid glanced beyond Rene’s shoulder at the sleek Audi sports car, then back to Rene, his brow arched slightly. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”
Tessa? Rene thought again.
I’m using the bathroom! she snapped back, sounding irritable. Jesus, I’ll be right out!
No, that’s okay. Rene slipped his hand into the hip pocket of his jeans and hooked the ring to his car keys with his fingertip. Just stay there for a few minutes. Take your time.
Don’t tell me what to do, she groused in his mind. I’m sick and tired of you doing that—bossing me around.
Goddamn it, I’m not bossing you around, he thought, bristling as he held up his hand, the key ring around his middle finger. The key dangled against his palm for the kid to see. I’m just asking you to stay put for a bit.
“And your wallet,” the kid said, jabbing again with the gun. “Give me your wallet, too.”
Don’t you curse at me, Tessa said. I’m tired of you doing that, too, goddamn it. Asking means you phrase something as a question. It means you say ‘would you mind to do this, please, Tessa?’ Not just ‘do this’ or ‘do that.’ That’s telling, Rene. You were telling me what to do. Again.
The kid’s eyes cut about uncertainly, wide-eyed with startled fright as a semi roared by on the interstate. “Hurry the fuck up, man. Give me your goddamn wallet.”
“Take it easy,” Rene said again, moving his free hand for his back pocket. “I’m getting it for you.”
He didn’t give a shit about the car or his wallet. What mattered was Tessa; getting the kid, his pistol and his hyped-up, itchy trigger finger the hell out of there before she came out of the ladies’ room, even though she was picking the absolute worst time to pull one of her Miss High-and-Fucking-Mighty routines on him, and if she had been standing in front of him, he might have been momentarily tempted to shoot her himself. He pulled out his wallet and held it up with the key. “Take them. They’re yours.”
“Damn right,” the kid said, stepping forward and reaching for the wallet. Right about that time, the door to the restroom swung open wide and Tessa marched out, her brows narrowed, her face twisted in a scowl.
And furthermore, you asshole… her voice began in his mind. She skittered to an uncertain halt when she saw Rene, then shrank back, her eyes flying wide when the kid whirled to her in surprise, pointing the muzzle of the pistol directly at her face.
“Don’t move!” he screamed, and she dropped a bottle of Diet Coke she’d been carrying. She’d opened it in the bathroom, and it spilled in a sudden, frothy puddle around her feet.
“Rene…!” she hiccupped, looking to him in bright, desperate fright.
“You don’t move, either!” the kid screamed, whipping the gun back to momentarily aim at Rene. “Both of you just stand the fuck still!”
“Take it easy, kid,” Rene said, keeping his voice calm and quiet, locking eyes with the boy. “We don’t want any trouble. There’s more than five thousand dollars in my wallet. It’s yours. Take it—the car, too.”
The kid cut a glance at Tessa, letting his eyes crawl along her body, his gaze lingering at her bosom. Rene didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. “Maybe I just found something else I want, too,” he said, the tip of his tongue darting out to swipe across his lips. He shoved the gun toward Tessa and she flinched, hunching her shoulders and crying out softly. “Move, bitch. You’re coming with me.”
May 7th, 2008, 10:32 PM
Thanks to everyone for joining me today. I've had a blast and hope you've enjoyed the excerpts from my Brethren Series books. You'll find more excerpts, purchase links, promotional videos and more at my website: www.sarareinke.com (http://www.sarareinke.com). While you're there, check out the latest and greatest in my blog, enter for your chance to win some fantastic prizes in my regular monthly contests, download my FREE novel-length historical romance ebook, "Heart's Ransom" and more!
May 7th, 2008, 11:13 PM
The Dark Hunger excerpt above is great Sara
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