A Tiny Taste

(Photo courtesy of photo bucket)

Today I thought I'd give you a tiny taste of my full length paranormal romance, Circle City:Lord of the Wolfen ~ Book I. Wow! Could you imagine feeding a kitty cat like this? Yikes!!!



You can still purchase Circle City for .99 at both Amazon and Barnes and Noble. The Hour Glass Witch is also on sale for .99 for your Kindle or Nook. If you read either book, drop me a line. I love to hear from readers and promise to write back!

All of my contact information can be found HERE as can information for ordering autographed copies of my books. Buy links for both books can be found on the right of this blog. Click the banner below to go to the Kindle Profile Page for Circle City: Lord of the Wolfen and more links to purchase.



Excerpt for Circle City: Lord of the Wolfen ~ Book I
Zoe stacked frozen venison steaks into the oversized freezer on the back porch while the puppy relieved himself near a frozen boulder. She heard a twig snap then the sound of crunching snow. The puppy didn’t weigh enough to crunch snow and wasn’t near the woods. A chill snaked down her spine. She felt eyes on her. Someone was watching. In a rush of panic, she reached for her rifle leaning against the cabin. A gray blur flew past her. She grabbed the rifle and raised it, blinking, scanning.
Nothing.
And then the puppy was yelping, held in the jaws of an enormous gray wolf. Zoe took a step forward, cocked the rifle. The wolf growled, baring his fangs while the puppy dangled helplessly, kicking like a frenzied jack rabbit. She took another step forward and from out of the woods and rushing from the sides of her cabin, a circle of wolves emerged, all of them growling, approaching with canines flashing.
Huge wolves.
Like the one she’d killed by the creek. Like Jack’s mother.
She blinked and realized in a split second that she’d never kill them all. She took a step backward onto the porch, reaching blindly for the door behind her while she struggled to hold the rifle up with one arm. And then one of them from the left pounced on her and both of them fell into her open doorway. She screamed and fought as the wolf snapped at her throat, spilling blood, nicking her with one sharp canine. Her world swam before her. The panic and fear was all too much. She knew she’d soon die and though it would end her pain, she realized in that final moment of consciousness that she wanted to live.
More than anything.
Jacob’s face flitted through her mind and she felt the sensation of her husband holding her close, breathing into her ear.
Another wolf bounded into the cabin and changed into a man when his feet hit the worn wooden floors. He grabbed the wolf by the scruff of his neck and slammed him against a wall. “I want her alive!”
Lord of the Wolfen turned and growled at the lesser wolf now shaking his head in the corner. “Take her to the caverns,” he ordered.
The wolf nodded in answer and was changed in two steps, now a bulky man with black, spiky hair. He grabbed a quilt off the bed and wrapped the woman carefully. Blood oozed from her neck. He licked it clean and then hauled her over one shoulder. When the three stepped outside, the wolves were now all standing in human form. All of them were men except for the young woman who carried the whining puppy.
Dacien withdrew a wooden flute from his coat pocket and blew three silent notes. From both sides of the cabin came four dog sleds, led by a fleet of rambunctious, glorious, white Alaskan huskies, blue eyed smiling creatures of servitude. Kory took the puppy in his hands and hugged him, breathing in his scent. “We’re going home, grandson.”
The Wolfen boarded elaborate sleds with red velvet covered seats and fastened fur lined hats over their heads. This part of the woods was secluded with only a few homes between Zoe’s cabin and the caverns, but they could not risk being seen as wolves, particularly during hunting season. The few times they’d actually come across people, Kory used his Russian accent and had said they were vacationing in the area. He’d remembered to erase the person’s memory on all but one occasion. And it had been a grave error. The local sheriff had stopped them, looking for some hunters who had reportedly killed two polar bears. And it had been true.
Lord of the Wolfen had killed two of the creatures for the waxing ceremony, celebrating the young males coming of age in the clan. The bears had been the main course for the feast. The sheriff had let Kory go, bidding him a safe trip but the wolf had smelled the man’s disbelief, a scent akin to dry earth. The Wolfen were now being watched and Kory continued to curse himself for failing to hypnotize the man and erase his memory when he’d had the chance.
A fierce north wind blew the snow into their faces, but the dogs knew the way. Night had fallen when they reached the caverns. Dacien leapt from his sled, turning into a wolf in mid air, springing into the cave and down the narrow, freezing pathway that led to the secret snow covered entrance. Upon arrival, he shifted back and unlocked the circular roof, allowing the clan passage into their home underground.
The caverns of the Wolfen were fifteen hundred years old. A mansion beneath the earth with two dozen rooms, housing Lord of the Wolfen, his family, his brothers and their families. It was their loyalty to one another that had kept them alive and thriving for so long.
Tisa’s banishment had been hard on all of them and now her death had plunged them all into darkest mourning. But there was much to celebrate tonight. One of the pups had survived. The woman’s sacrifice to the Holy Trinity would at least now be delayed. She would die for killing Tisa.
But not tonight.
Kory would allow his grandson the grand honor, but first he had to grow into a man.
A Wolfen man.
The Kontar and Ivan would be dealt with soon. And Kory knew just how to punish them all for his daughter’s death.

~Have a Terrific Tuesday!
****Spread Love,
Alisha ****

M. Patrick Watson and Lazarus Slade ~ A Modern American Poet and Works of the Master

I'm very excited to have one hell of a writer on my blog today! M. Patrick Watson, also writing as Lazarus Slade is one of those guys who always has your back. Funny, sweet, charming, strong, and romantic; the kind of girl everyone dreams of and the kind of writer who brings it all to the table. Please welcome him to my blog today. He's talking about perseverance, something we all need. And for a special treat, enjoy the excepts I chose from his new releases.

Perseverance

The easiest advice to give, is the hardest advice to take, especially when it comes to writing.

Persevere, dream every dream, but dreaming alone will bring you nothing, each dream becomes a goal to work for, to strive for, to make real.

Every successful author I have ever asked for advice, be they wildly successful or simply have been published, each of them gives me the same advice, “Just write”

“Easy for them to say” I'd think to myself, disgruntled that yet again the magic key to success as a writer wasn't laid in the palm of my hand. Writing without inspiration, writing without motivation, writing when you feel down, when you feel stressed, when you feel tired or angry, it's just HARD.

But the simple truth is, regardless of what you write, one genre or many, the only way to get to a point of critical mass is to write, over and over, you might throw away a months worth of words at a time, but eventually, in time, and it may take years, it will happen, some spark will catch and when it does, wildfire!

I write poetry, horror, erotica, romance, fantasy and biographical works, and I tell you, sitting down, without a clear idea, without a plot point or a character or even just a theme to follow, is one of the singularly most difficult things I have ever set myself to do. But, I have gotten to the point where I write, daily, I hate most of it, but now and then, I'll find something worth saving, to work over, expand on or use as inspiration for an entirely different idea that sprouts.

I am not a fully published author yet, by no means, but I am selling books, e-books, as a self publisher, but it's a beginning, and some of the most amazing success stories have much humbler beginnings than that. Spend time with other writers, share ideas, tips, learn from them what you can, and teach them what you can in return, these relationships will serve you well throughout your career, writers are an odd sort, but once we find like minds, we stick together through thick and thin.

So, if writing is your dream, if the written word is your brush, a blank page your canvas and language your palette, then sit down, clear some time each day, and write.

Keep dreaming your dreams, and with each word you write or type or dictate, you come a little closer to making that dream real.

My dreams are starting to be a reality for me, and soon, I will have all I dreamed of and more, I just feel the momentum building, but you can't build momentum if you don't move, so, I say it one more time, because it will always be true, “Just write.”


Ode to Woman by M. Patrick Watson, taken from the collection, A Modern American Poet


You watch her carefully, the way the fabric of her clothes glides over her skin, the way the lines of her body contort and sway as she moves with that effortless grace. Her beauty is subtle yet stunning, she turns your head then moves your heart. Her body is the perfect expression of divine femininity, lean and strong, but soft and full, curving and supple, her curves flair sensually, drawing you into the contours of her body. She makes you realize why ancient pagans believed that a woman was a mans path to god, through the one act that allows we mere mortals to have the power of a god and create a life, through sex do man and woman truly bring themselves to the power of the divine.

She seduces you with her calm confidence, her soft smile, the dancing mirth in her deep alluring eyes. She sees you watching and her cheeks color softly, she drops her eyes but not before you see that she's more pleased than embarrassed. Her full lips purse up into a demure smile as she composes herself and lifts her eyes to meet yours openly, accepting your interest and returning it. She tilts her head exposing the line of her neck, offering her skin to you, her pulse thrumming and strong, she smiles and watches your eyes dance over her.

She is beauty embodied, she is the keeper of humanity's soul, within her lies the womb from which all life springs, her strength sustains us, her wisdom guides us and her compassion heals us.

She is our balance, her gentle care, her patience and wisdom, her passion and strength. Without her we are mere mortals, angry and uncivilized. In the perfect union of man and woman lies the key to all things. In the balance of masculine and feminine is the one truth that will never change.

A Modern American Poet for Your Nook

A Modern American Poet for Your Kindle



Excerpt from short story, Primal, taken from Works of the Master by Lazarus Slade


He stalks the club for prey like a lion on a dark night in the savannah. His senses heightened, eyes scanning the crowd, scenting the air with his tongue, casting for the tingle of power and passion that sets his hunger aflame.
Like a secret kept within her soul the scent dances across his taste buds, saliva flowing, nostrils flaring to pull more of her scent in, she's close but careful, this prey is power, sensuality and savagery hidden beneath pretext and protocol.
His eyes slow their scan and begin to consume the form of each woman near him, drinking in their posture and bearing, small details that give away hidden truths, displays of strength and confidence in movements and gestures, each woman a complex puzzle revealing some details and obscuring others.
He stops as his eyes find his prey, she is thick and round but her body is firm and hard, full of strength and power.
Her back is erect and proud, her shoulders back, breasts proudly displayed. She moves in small motions but each movement is confident, strong and concise. Her eyes look into the eyes of each person she addresses, there is no demure looking down or away, she does not challenge with her eyes, but she does speak of her own place clearly and undeniably, yes, this is his prey, without question.
She is fragile feminine beauty coalesced with the power and strength of the primal goddess, mother to us all. Dark hair flows like a stream of onyx down the sleek muscled lines of her neck and shoulders, soft curls bouncing gently across the top of her back. Her eyes are deep warm walnut brown, inviting and compassionate with the heat of passion dancing in their depths for a man with the reach to grasp it. Her body is a poem of sex and power, muscles ripple and flow beneath voluptuous feminine curves, she is compact and solid.
He licks his lips, allowing her scent and taste to drift into his nose and mouth, she tastes of smoke, amber, musk, beeswax and rose petals, beneath the perfumed oil lies the woman, sex, power, confidence and hunger.
A smile slowly dances across his cold dark face as the anticipation of the hunt grows warm within him.
His sites set, a calm settles over the blazing hunger roaring for satiation within his soul, he strides towards his prey openly, wanton expression of sex upon his face, eyes cold and hard betraying a darker intent than mere innuendo filled flirtation. Her body tenses with subconscious alarm at his approach, she has not seen him yet but she is aware and on guard.
Their eyes meet through the crowd, he smiles his devils smile, teeth showing, hunger and intent clear in his eyes, she meets his gaze steadily, an open acceptance of the challenge he cast to her.
The gap between them closes and they are now within each others space, their auras mixing and sparking, tension building thick and heady between them.
He leans in close letting their body heat intensify and mingle, their scents mixing into a heady brew of sex and aggression, whispering "Tonight you shall be claimed"
Her eyes seek his, she has a bemused smile on her face "Better have made the attempt and here I still stand, unclaimed." Her lips curl into a mocking sneer of a smirk.
"You have an odd calculation of a mans worth, calling those that have failed where I will succeed better, but then everyone is entitled to be wrong kitten." his condescension visibly rankling her.

Her lips parted, voice a vitriol filled hiss issuing forth but before she could speak his hand was on the back of her neck pulling her towards him, her parted lips pressed hard against his mouth in a ferocious kiss, he pulled her away quickly as he felt her teeth begin to clamp down in a flesh rending bite before she could tear his bottom lip off.

Works of the Master for Your Nook
Works of the Master for Your Kindle