Good morning, everyone!  It's DERBY DAY!!

And for this racing enthusiast, there couldn't be a better day.  I love, love, love kicking off the run for the Triple Crown.

This year's Derby is interesting on so many levels.  We have a woman jockey, a black jockey, horses that could be full of surprises, and what promises to be a sloppy track.  We have turf runners, unproven candidates, and some last minute jockey change-ups.  All in all... very fun times.

Have you made your choice on who's going to take home the trophy?

Here's my picks, along with my very brief whys:

WIN - Revolutionary
I'm a Pletcher fan, for starters, and Calvin Borel is a world class jock, and they have a post position that suits Borel.  But when it all boils down to why I picked this dark bay contender, it's strict gut feeling.  For more solid reasons: it's all in the pedigree.  This horse is born to win.

PLACE -- Orb
I don't want to like Orb, because everyone else does.  But, damn it, I do.  He's done really well, really recently, and while I just can't see him overcoming Revolutionary, I can't see anyone else in the field who can overcome him.

SHOW -- Palace Malice
Now, before you laugh, look at the running history on this colt's sire side.  By Curlin, he's bred to improve with age, and he's just now three.  His recent performances show betterment in more difficult stakes.  I'm totally behind this horse, not to mention, he's also a Pletcher horse :)

4th -- Normandy Invasion
I think he's a dark horse waiting to surprise us all.  He's performing well in exercise runs and showing a lot of vigor.  The only surprise I see happening is he might just place in the money.

5th -- Goldencents
Really, Normandy Invasion and Goldencents, to me, have about equal odds.

And as a mention... I would really like to like Charming Kitten, simply because I am a huge Prado fan.  It would please me immensely if this horse would pop into the money.  But as much as I would like for that to happen, I just don't see this turf running cutting it on synthetic track.


So.  All that said, I'm celebrating the Derby with the re-release of Seduction's Stakes!  It's a little-known book I published, my first book folks, and I hope you'll grab a copy!

Seduction's Stakes

""Hot, Hot, hot. Seduction’s Stakes is a sexy race to the finish line." USA Today Bestselling Author, Nana Malone"


McCleery Racing didn't become a Thoroughbred racing powerhouse by betting on longshots. Maddie McCleery made it a multi-million dollar player through hard work, logical decisions, and a commitment to never involve herself with men who lived on the sport of kings. But when she sets her sights on a two-year-old colt her rival owns, she never imagines the lengths she'll go to, to bring the future champion home.

Riley Jennings wants unobtainable Maddie almost more than the Triple Crown. After his Kentucky Derby win, however, he sees a way to sure-fire victory. His proposed wager stacks the odds in his favor - if her horse wins the Preakness, he'll accept her terms. If his horse comes in first, they'll negotiate his way.

When the dust settles on the wire, will love claim final victory, or will unexpected tragedy stop them in the gates?





~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Claire Ashgrove , Contemporary , Contemporary Romance , Horse Racing , Kentucky Derby , New Release , Racing , romance , Seduction's Stakes , Thoroughbred , Triple Crown

Please welcome author Meggan Connors to the blog today, and her new Western Steampunk Romance.  Did you hear that?  I'll say it again.  Steampunk.

Everybody squeal with me.  (And for you just visiting the blog today, I'm a huge steampunk fan.)




She's about to become a pawn in a brutal game between nations... 

Her cheeks heated and she sniffed. “I wouldn’t try the patience of my very generous benefactor, if I were you. I might also mention a bath could make your presence a little more tolerable. You’re lucky I didn’t sic Muha on you.”

Luke looked at the wolf, who thumped her graying tail in eager canine devotion. “You wouldn’t bite me, would you, old girl?” Scratching her head, he caught Jessie’s eye. “See, she still loves me.”

“Well, that’s one of us.”

“Right.” He dug into the pocket of his vest, removed a small, folded envelope, and extended it to her. “I brought you something.”

The paper trembled, and it took Jessie a moment to realize his hands shook.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I don’t want anything from you, except your promise that tomorrow you’ll leave and you won’t come back.”

“Can’t promise you that, but I can give you this.” He shoved the envelope at her.

“Don’t overstay your welcome, Bradshaw.”

“I always do.”

A nervous laugh escaped before she could stop it, and she took the letter from Luke’s outstretched hand. It was well worn and wrinkled, the edges charred, as if it had been rescued from a fire.

She ran her hands over the paper, and she sensed smoke and the heat of flames.

With shaking hands, she opened the envelope. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t a photograph and a flood of memories.

Two young men. Union soldiers. Luke, clean-shaven and an older version of the boy she remembered, smiled broadly at the camera, his free arm around the shoulders of the young man standing next to him.

Gideon. His black hair and eyes, skin and high cheekbones showed the native blood he and Jessie shared. His mouth was set in a somber line, but she recognized the mirth in his eyes. Luke had never failed to amuse her brother.

On the bottom of the photograph, written in Gideon’s strong, precise hand, was, Me and Luke. October 28, 1867.

The day he died.

She put the photograph down beside her and turned to the second piece of paper, and her throat tightened as she began to read.

Jessie,

We leave for South Carolina today. Luke and I are assigned to different airships, but we’re both expected to be there by this afternoon. We don’t expect much resistance. There are rumors the Rebs have developed a weapon against our airships, but I’ve been working on something with Pop’s blue silver alloy. If it works, the Rebs will never be able to take us out of the sky. I only wish Luke were on my ship.

Don’t worry about us. Any day now, and we’ll be back where we belong. Luke sends his love. I’ll take care of him for you—don’t you worry. You take care of yourself and Pop.

–Gideon

The letter they’d received from Gideon’s commanding officer had assured her father that her brother had died quickly when his ship had plummeted to the earth and burst into flames. She had pretended to believe the lies for her father’s sake.

She traced Gideon’s words with the tip of her finger, trying to feel some remnant of her brother’s presence in the strong lines of his penmanship. New pain built in her chest when she realized her efforts were futile—his energy wasn’t there. His letter contained his words, but no trace of him.

“I always meant to come back.” Luke’s voice sounded rough. “I walked all the way back to the crash site, looking for him or something of his. I was given this. I’ve carried it ever since. I always meant to give it to you.”

She set the photograph in her lap. She memorized this last image of her brother, dressed as a solider with his best friend by his side.

Luke put his hand on her shoulder.

She flinched. “Don’t. You should have sent this when you found it.”

He dropped his hand. “I wanted to give you the letter in person.”

“Go away.” The words came out strangled.

“Jessie—”

“I wish you had been the one to die that day.”

This one small memento of her brother ripped her open and tore out her heart all over again. The pain was as raw as the day she’d learned of his death.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished the exact same thing.”





Meggan will be awarding a silver pocket watch pendant and a cameo choker, and a signed paperback copy of The Marker, her historical romance to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US/CANADA ONLY). So don’t forget to leave a comment and follow the tour.  The more you comment, the better your chances of winning!

Complete tour dates can be found here.





About The Author:


Meggan Connors is a wife, mother, teacher and award-winning author who writes primarily historical and steampunk romances. As a history buff with a love of all things historical, she enjoys visiting both major and obscure museums, and reading the histories of the Old West and the British Isles. She makes her home in the Wild West with her lawman husband, two children, and a menagerie of pets. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found hiking in the mountains, playing in the snow, or with her nose in a book. Favorite vacation destinations include the sun-kissed hills of California, any place with a castle or a ghost (and both is perfect!), and the windswept Oregon coast.

Links:

Website: http://www.megganconnors.com

Twitter: @megganconnors






~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Claire Ashgrove , Goddessfish Promotions , Meggan Conners , new fiction , New Release , New Voices , romance , Steampunk

Good morning, readers!

I hope you've all had an opportunity to pick up Immortal Trust!  If you have, I'd love to hear which book is your favorite so far.  There's three others to choose from:  Immortal Hope, Immortal Surrender, and don't forget Immortal Protector, the companion novella to the series.

Since it's Tuesday, our teaser this week is the conclusion of chapter one from last week.  With much, much ado, let's see what happens with Chloe and Lucan.

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Purchase Now!


****

Lucan’s eyes hardened like steel and clashed with Chloe’s annoyed scowl. She turned her back on the three imposing men, unwilling to let Lucan’s handsome face sway her into better spirits. Held back by the insistence from the Vatican that she wait until their representatives could be present, her team had missed a full day. A delay that would cost them dearly if the overcast sky made good on its threat of snow.

She stomped inside the trailer, letting the door bang shut behind her. Determined to ignore the twinge of guilt her unprofessional attitude brought, she dropped into her desk chair and folded her arms across her chest.

As expected, Lucan and the other two blocks of stone ducked through the doorway and entered the single-wide’s makeshift office. They formed a triangle in front of her desk—two blond corners at the rear, with Lucan as the point man. She let her gaze wander across the masculine faces. At Lucan’s right, the slightly taller, sandy blond wore a haggard expression. As if he had seen more from life than his midthirties warranted. He regarded her with subtle curiosity. Like a colleague who assessed a competitive peer. Beside him, the other blond’s expression brimmed with humor. Soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he enjoyed some inside joke.

Her gaze shifted to Lucan, and a strange tightness possessed her skin. Her work took her to the four corners of the world. She’d seen, spoken to, and even worked with handsome men. For that matter, her brother had been known to make women titter stupidly when he walked into the room. But this man . . . His broad shoulders screamed strength. His narrow waist said he knew the meaning of a hard workout. Yet, the way he looked at her, as if he could read her very thoughts, made her wholly uncomfortable. Behind the unmistakable sharpness of annoyance, interest fringed his unusual gray eyes. And the raven hair that fell almost to his shoulders suggested an uninhibited nature that contradicted his neat attire.

A shiver raced down her spine as the word naughty flitted through her thoughts.

He quirked a dark eyebrow. One corner of his mouth threatened to yield to a self-assured smile.

Heat crept into Chloe’s cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze and shuffled a stack of papers from one side of desk to the other. Handsome maybe. Cocky she could do without. Particularly if she had to work beside him for the next several months. She’d had her fill of trying to prove herself among her colleagues.

Fixing her stare on the less threatening face to Lucan’s left, she cleared her throat. “Is there a particular reason you decided to show up today?” Sarcasm crept into her voice. “Why not tomorrow? By then we might have a foot of snow to dig through and three extra pairs of hands would be welcome.”

With the smoothness of brandy, Lucan’s deep British accent washed over her. “I fear we are both victims of miscommunication. We were instructed arrive this evening, milady.”

Milady? Chloe blinked. The antiquated title prickled her arms with goose bumps. She left her chair to give herself a bit of breathing room and drifted to the long countertop behind her. Picking up a printed copy of the Vatican’s communication, she flicked the corner of the paper. “It says here Sunday the nineteenth. I assumed we’d start the week promptly this morning.” Turning, she strode back to the group of men and thrust the paper at Lucan’s wide chest.

He pushed it gently aside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a folded square of paper. As he pressed the creases smooth, Chloe groaned inwardly. She didn’t have to look to know what that sheet of paper would say. Inevitably, his copy would read Monday the twentieth. Her luck wouldn’t have it any other way.

She accepted his outstretched offering and scanned the paper, confirming her suspicion. Her angry sails deflated, she let out a heavy sigh. “I apologize.”

“No apologies are necessary.” Lucan’s mouth lifted with a smile. His eyes sparkled with the gesture, not unlike silver beneath bright sunlight. “’Tis understandable you would be upset.”

For a moment, Chloe could do no more than stare. If he’d been handsome moments ago, that warm smile made him breathtaking. Her gaze skipped down to his boots, making note of the thick expanse of his thighs, the way the denim fitted snug. As she again met his discerning stare, and that dark eyebrow quirked as it had before, her cheeks heated once more. Good grief, he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable by her appreciative appraisal. If anything, she half suspected he’d have no qualms mentioning it aloud if his friends weren’t present.

He took a confident step forward and extended his hand a second time. “Shall we try this again? I am Lucan.”

Swallowing hard, Chloe slid her palm into his. His fingers tightened just enough to make the strength in his hands obvious, but his grip came nowhere close to painful. Pleasant almost. If it weren’t for the overwhelming masculine presence that flooded her awareness. She tugged on her hand, anxious to be free of the unsettling sensations that accompanied the scrape of his skin.

The pressure around her fingers strengthened, trapping her in place. Lucan nodded over his left shoulder. “This is Caradoc.” He tipped his head at the other man. “And Gareth.”

Chloe offered the other two men an uncomfortable smile. “A pleasure, gentlemen.”

Lucan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. The light gesture carried entirely too much intimacy for her liking. She pulled back, and this time, Lucan’s fingers let go. Her palm slipped free, but his gaze imprisoned her. Suggestion glinted in those steely depths. A silent, yet bold statement that invited her to enjoy a bit of wickedly sinful abandon.

She broke free from the rush of heat that infused her blood by returning to her desk. He might be drop-dead gorgeous, but colleagues and sex didn’t mesh. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Nothing short of absolute desperation would let her entertain the notions Lucan’s eyes conveyed. And she hadn’t reached desperate yet. Two years without a man left her a bit hungry for physical satisfaction, but the lack of orgasms hadn’t erased all sense from her head.

Determined to communicate strict professionalism, she summoned her no-nonsense business demeanor. “So, gentlemen, since it’s so late, what do you say to an early start in the morning—assuming the weather cooperates?”

Lucan glanced toward the door. “There is nothing you require of us this evening?”

Chloe shook her head and forced her irritation aside. “No, we’ve done nothing today. I was instructed to wait until you arrived before we excavated any more relics that could belong to the Church.”

Caradoc gestured at the closed crates stacked on the countertop. “We would like to see the artifacts you’ve already unearthed.”

“Those?” She chuckled softly. “Those aren’t what you’re here for. Anything that could possibly carry religious significance is in the other trailer. My brother, Julian, already left for the hotel. He has the keys, I’m afraid.”

Lucan’s gaze narrowed with suspicion. “But the cars outside—no one is here with you?”

At the reminder she’d have to close up the field office alone, Chloe’s chest tightened. Out here, especially at night, the presence that had hounded her the last eight years intensified. She didn’t know what, exactly, it was, but she understood one thing clearly—it didn’t like her.

She ignored the chill that inched down her spine. “I’ve been doing paperwork all day. I’m used to working alone.” Just not at night. Never at night.

A slight frown pulled at Lucan’s brow. “Do you have much work remaining?”

“Oh, not much.” She gestured at the open record book on her desk. “I need to transfer notes on three more artifacts into the computer. Then I’ll head on back.” Forcing brevity, she laughed. “Just me and the trees. The quiet’s nice.”

The tight downturn to Lucan’s mouth evidenced his disbelief. He twisted to address Caradoc. “Go on. I will stay with her.”

“No!” Chloe blurted out. Lord no, not alone with him. She’d take the presence in the darkness over ten minutes alone with him. He posed a far greater risk. “I mean, thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ve been here for a full month. I’m quite capable of locking up on my own. Rest assured, I won’t be fiddling with anything that would interest you.”

Lucan eased out of his coat and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. “’Tis not the Church’s interest that concerns me, milady, but your safety.” Leather creaked as he sat down.

“Till morn then,” Gareth chimed, his eagerness to be free of the trailer evident. He exited swiftly.

Caradoc clamped his hand on Lucan’s shoulder in a brotherly gesture of support. “I shall inform Merrick we have arrived.”

To Chloe’s horror, he too vanished out the door. Unable to look at Lucan, she stared at her blank laptop screen. “Maybe work can wait until tomorrow.”

 Her feeble excuse met a wall of determination. “Nay. Do what you must. I will . . .” Trailing off, he glanced around the trailer. On spying Chloe’s coveted, specially shipped from Tucson, latest edition of Cosmopolitan, he picked up the magazine and scanned the cover. A smirk drifted across his sensual mouth. “I will learn how to turn a weekend getaway into an erotic paradise.”

Sheer mortification scalded her face. With a fierce push, she swiveled her chair around so she wouldn’t have to look at him and pressed the button to bring her laptop out of sleep mode. Torture. Not only did the Church seek to insult her ethics by demanding she cease excavation until their representatives arrived to oversee her work, they sought to torture her with a man who could define erotic paradise.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning, everyone!

We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from Immortal Trust, the third book in The Curse of the Templars, which released on March 26th!  If you haven't purchased it yet, here's another little tidbit.  One of my favorite snipetts.

His body tensed as she drew nearer to the bed. She poured into his awareness, suffocating all thoughts but those of her. Of what he would like to do to her. Experience with her. His hands itched to slide through her hair as they had the night before. He craved the taste of her sweet mouth. If he could but draw her close, sample the honeyed flavor, take them back to the night before.





~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning, everybody!  Today is release day!  YAY!

I'm so excited to have this third book out and share Lucan's story with everyone.  A little secret here:  In Immortal Hope I didn't particularly care for Lucan.  As Immortal Surrender came around, I remember really being uncomfortable with having to write Lucan's story because I didn't have much of a feel for him.  By the time I finished Immortal Trust...I had fallen in love with Lucan.  He surprised me now and then, and that really made the writing fun and enjoyable.

It's Tuesday, and that means more Teasers.  Last week I shared the prologue.  This week, I'm sharing the first half of Chapter One.  So let's dive in!

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Purchase!



Ornes, France
February


Winter cast a gray pallor over snowcapped fields as the SUV wound down a narrow country lane. Lucan reclined in the passenger seat, outwardly the picture of perfect knightly composure. Inside, however, naught remained at peace. In the passing of nine miles, he would set his eyes upon his seraph. The weight of her identifying serpentine torc pressed into his palm. Though he kept his hand tucked into his coat pocket, his anxiety seeped out through the clench of his fingers. Would she welcome him? Or would he face the trials Merrick and Farran had when they found their eternal mates?

He shifted in his seat, crossed the opposite ankle over his knee. His right hand tapped against the passenger door’s armrest. Four days’ travel, and he had never known a more indefinite passing of time. Even after centuries of existence, when he had become accustomed to the never-ending setting suns, the short span of time was unbearable. Salvation came with this Chloe Broussard. Escape from the eternal suspicion that plagued his wakefulness.

Love too might grace his life—if the archangel Gabriel paired him appropriately. Though, in truth, Lucan cared little about the sentimental bonds. ’Twas the tie to brotherhood, the knowledge his fate would remain in the Almighty’s hands that mattered most. All else was naught but fancy. A trifle enjoyment of comfort the Templar cast aside long ago.

He breathed deeply to quell the rapid beat of his heart. If they did not arrive soon, he would rather shove open the door and walk. Whilst a foot journey would delay his inevitable meeting further, his mind would not be preoccupied with questions. Nor would he suffer this unexplainable hope he could not seem to cast aside.

“Rest easy, brother, we have but a few more miles.” Caradoc shifted behind the wheel. The grimace that crossed his face as his aching bones settled into the leather seat belied his own suffering.

For a heartbeat, guilt swamped Lucan. He should not be so eager to embrace healing when those he cared about suffered. As a former commander and the second unto Merrick, Caradoc deserved his soul pairing far more than Lucan. Merrick and Farran each found theirs—Lucan had become convinced Caradoc would follow. But nay, Gabriel came to him. Bade him to take Caradoc, enlist Gareth from Europe, and deliver the serpents to Chloe before Azazel could ensnare her.

Laughter in the backseat washed away Lucan’s brief unease. He glanced over his shoulder to find the younger Gareth grinning broadly. “Bah, Caradoc, you expect him to rest easy when he waits to discover whether his mate bears the face of an old crone or that of an angel’s grace?”

Caradoc shrugged, but the hint of a smile fringed his grim expression. “’Tis naught more than a betrothal. We have all been down such paths. Tell me, Gareth, when you were pledged as a lad, did you pause to consider what the maid would look like?”

Gareth’s laughter deepened. “Nay. She would bear me sons. More comely wenches were made for my pleasure.”

The reminder of lives left behind tightened Lucan’s chest. Banter that should have lightened his heart only brought bitterness. Scenes of the family he had once known, and their violent demise. The maid he would have wed had killed those who shared his blood. Or rather, the forbidden love she gave to a man Lucan believed capable only of generosity and kindness. She brought that man, the one he had called brother, to an early grave as well.

As if Caradoc sensed Lucan’s discomfort, he murmured. “Leave Enid behind, Lucan. She has no place in this.”

Lucan nodded long and slow. Enid resided in the grave. Next to her beloved. He had thought little of her through the centuries. He would not make the mistake of allowing her to rise from the dead. Yet the irony of circumstance did not escape him. Chloe posed the same risks. She held the same power to bring brothers to blows. To shred ties that ran deeper than blood and destruct families. For he would kill for her, as he had killed to avenge his murdered father.

She was his seraph. His to protect against all others, including his Templar brethren, should jealousy override sense and oaths. Already the fierceness of his preordained bond filled his blood.

The road curved around a sharp bend, then flattened out once more. Tall pines sheltered the asphalt from the recent snows. Ahead, a row of vehicles tucked into the landscape marked their destination. Caradoc slowed the SUV and eased into the gravel parking lot. He shut off the engine, then swiveled in his seat. His gaze flickered between Lucan and Gareth.

“Whilst we are here for Chloe, we cannot forget the Veronica. With it, Azazel can decode the angels’ language. Once Chloe uncovers the reliquary that protects it, he will stop at naught to obtain the sacred cloth.”

Lucan met Caradoc’s heavy stare, understanding all he did not say. If Chloe were oathed by that time, she would remain untouched. If Azazel discovered her seraph’s blood before she spoke her vows, a fate far worse than death awaited. The previous attempts on Noelle’s life lent credence to the archangels’ belief Azazel wished to replace his lost lover, Lilith.  Worse, should he possess a seraph, should he break the prophecy by claiming this one, Azazel’s ascension to the Almighty’s divine throne would all but become guaranteed.

Gareth broke the heavy silence by opening his door. Cold air washed into the comfortable heat. Caradoc winced as the gust cut through his heavy coat, and Lucan braced himself for the wintry outdoors. He stepped out into the snow.

Two mobile trailers sat beyond the memorial stones that marked this tiny village as a casualty of Hitler’s greed. Bits of rubble, chunks of buildings that once stood straight and proud, edged the gravel path to the trailers’ doors. Lucan surveyed the protruding rocks, sadness filling his heart. Such unnecessary destruction. Ornes could have become a great city like its sister, Verdun. ’Twas a good thing the European Templar commander, Alaric, deigned to accompany their quest. He would hate to see the nothingness his homeland had become. But like so many other strongholds that had once known glory, the le Goix legacy crumbled beneath the fist of time.

Like Lucan’s beloved Seacourt.

He shook off the momentary melancholy and fixed his gaze on the smaller trailer’s front steps. With purpose, he strode for the door. His brothers followed behind, their distance respectful.

Halfway down the path, the door burst open. Dressed in a coat so large it dwarfed her, a woman bounded out. Her long auburn hair caught in the breeze and streamed out behind her. She approached at a determined pace, arms folded across her chest.

Lucan’s pulse jumped as Chloe Broussard marched directly toward him. ’Twas time. Four days finally came to fruition with this moment. He found his smile, hoped it did not falter like the anxious stuttering behind his ribs. Letting go of her torc, he withdrew his hand from his pocket and extended it in greeting. “I am Lucan. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you.”

She came to an abrupt halt two feet before him. Her gaze dropped to his hand, before lifting to his face. Amber eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed just as quickly. “You were supposed to be here this morning. It’s almost five, almost dark, and my team’s sat idle all day waiting on the Church’s representatives to supervise what we’re perfectly capable of not only excavating, but also documenting, cleaning, and preserving for shipment. But it seems the Church didn’t trust our integrity.”

Lucan clamped his teeth together, silencing a defensive bark. God’s teeth, for once ’twould be nice if Gabriel made the bonding of seraphs easy.

****




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning, everyone!

We're back with another Sunday Seven clip from Immortal Trust, the third book in The Curse of the Templars, which releases on March 26th!  Two days from now, Yeah!!

Infuriated by her unwarranted attack on his honor, he strode across the room, grabbed her elbow, and spun her about. All thoughts of Julian forgotten, he stared hard into her eyes. “Two of us were present, Chloe. As I recall ’twas you who put your lips to mine first, and I who put things to a stop.”

Color flooded into her cheeks. Her eyes flashed like brittle pieces of glass. She jerked on her elbow, but Lucan held fast, denying her escape.




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , Sunday Seven , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Hi, everyone!

So last week Immortal Protector came out--I hope you've been enjoying Iain's story.  This week we're keeping the Templars going, but changing up to the coming release on March 26th, Immortal Trust, The Curse of the Templars, Book III

So with much ado, let's dig right in!

Immortal Trust
The Curse of the Templars, Book III
Pre-Order Now!



With the fate of the Almighty hanging in the balance, Lucan must find faith in something more terrifying than the dark lord's creations. He must learn to believe his heart.

"The engrossing Curse of the Templars series hits another high note with its third installment, packed with the tension and passion fans have come to expect..." - Romantic Times Reviews 4/4





Ornes, France
January

Julian Broussard glanced out the frosty window at a distant mound of rock and cursed his sister’s ridiculous fear of the dark for the hundredth time. If she weren’t such a goose, he’d have someone to share the nightly rounds. Another pair of hands to pick up tools their team of student archaeologists left lying in the mud. Another set of eyes to check the waterproofed markers that identified bits and pieces they’d chiseled out of frozen ground.

But no, as usual, Chloe and her imaginary demons managed to find sanctuary in the hotel’s ample warmth before the last student left the site. Leaving Julian an hour’s worth of work with only a flashlight to guide his way around the exposed medieval structures.

He muttered and thumped open the mobile trailer’s lightweight door. A frigid northern whipped across his face, stealing his breath. The scent of snow lingered in the air. With luck, it would skip over Ornes and carry on into Paris. Now that they were finally into the guts of what they’d come to find, a snowstorm would only piss him off further. He’d had his fill of melting ice, moving snow, and needing a jackhammer to break through frozen soil.

Pebbles crunched beneath his feet as he trudged down the steep path that led to the excavation site. Hunkered down in his coat, muffler about his ears, he followed the bold white beam of light. His breath billowed out before him, and he wished once more that they could transport the whole damn project to Arizona. He despised the cold.

His light caught on the narrow shelf of stones that marked the boundary. Forty-two days of excavating ground, moving aside the crumbled remnants Hitler’s bombs left behind, and at last, the feudal castle rose from the depths of the earth. With every exterior nuance recorded, tomorrow they would begin scaling off the interior. Rebuilding walls. Laying out stones and whatever else they found in the fortified enclosure.

If luck was on their side, they’d locate the stash vagabonds reported at the start of the year. Damn shame he couldn’t force the man who’d been jailed for stealing artifacts into identifying the exact location. Even more damning, the other thief died out here. Supposedly of fright.

Fright, my ass. They probably fought over the take.

In any case, the rumor fueled Chloe’s paranoia to exceptional heights. She hardly ever neared the forest’s edge, day or night. Locked away in the field trailers, she catalogued bits of pottery, fragments of stone, and detailed their discoveries in their required logs.

A glimmer of gold halted his walk. He swung the flashlight before him and cocked his head as the light glinted off a jutting fragment in the earth. Julian stepped over the remnants of what had once been a thick stone wall and squatted before the golden chip. With the butt end of the flashlight between his teeth, he plucked his trowel from his back pocket. Using the point, he loosened the ground around the object. Chunks broke free. He brushed them aside with his thumb.

A handle? He frowned at the exposed scrollwork design. The thieves had brought in a golden chalice with a similar design. Could this be a serving pitcher? In gold? Julian scraped at the earth with the flat edge of his tool.

The breeze picked up, stirring the overhead branches. He tucked his chin deeper into his coat, determined to ignore the near-freezing temperature. A few more carefully placed wedges of the point, and he’d have . . .

His hand stilled as the gravel crunched behind him. Though thick clouds obscured the sky, an even thicker shadow descended over his shoulder. The hair at the nape of his neck lifted, and an unexplainable shudder rolled down his spine. His heart stuttered into an unnatural cadence.

Closing his fingers around the trowel’s wooden handle, he poised the weapon to defend himself and turned.

A hand shot out. Fingers dug into his shoulder. Julian lifted his gaze across a blackened chain-mail-clad chest, up a thick neck, and onto a coif-covered head. Shadows marred the man’s face, blocking all features save for his eyes. But the eerie green light that filled a malicious gaze closed Julian’s throat.

Not human.

The illogical thought drifted across his mind seconds before the hand on his shoulder tightened and dragged him to his feet. Despite the utter lack of heat in the air, sweat broke over Julian’s skin. He swallowed hard, told himself ghosts only lived in his sister’s mind.

“Azazel sent for you.”

The hollow empty laugh that issued from the ebony-clad man’s throat silenced the feeble protests of Julian’s mind. Nothing living made that sort of spine-chilling sound.

“Wh-who?” he croaked.

“You will bring him the Veil.”

“The veil? What veil?” Julian twisted his shoulders, attempting escape.

The man’s grip clamped into bone. Pain shot down Julian’s arm, wrenching a pitiful cry from his throat. As he stumbled against a rush of dizziness, a fist slammed into his face. Pinpricks of light burst behind Julian’s eyes. Distantly, he recognized he was moving. Leaves crunched beneath the being’s boots. Chain mail clinked in the stillness. The revolting stench of death assaulted his nose.

Grasping at the last of his strength, Julian fought off the pull of unconsciousness and opened his eyes. What stood before him justified every irrational fear his sister possessed. Red-orange eyes gleamed with wicked hunger. Yellowish fangs protruded from an unholy face.

The thing that had brought him into the forest thrust him into a deadly embrace. Claws raked across his back, slid between his ribs. Agony lanced through his body. An anguished cry tore from his throat.

“Yes, scream,” the creature murmured. “It is so much better when you scream.”

Tendrils of darkness fingered at Julian’s mind. He grasped at them, desperate for the promised escape. But seconds before he succumbed to blissful oblivion, he felt the invasion. The foul, horrific, glorious presence of death pressed against his mind. A whisper of command more comforting than any cessation of his heart.

Then nothing.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Trust , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance , Tuesday Teaser

Good morning everybody!

It's Tuesday, and that means teaser time!  Immortal Protector is just around the corner!  For those of you just stopping by today, this is the companion novella in The Curse of the Templars that falls between Immortal Surrender and Immortal Trust (Mar 26).

We're catching up where we left off on Chapter One last week.  Catch Up Here

Immortal Protector
The Curse of the Templars, Companion Novella
March 12, 2013
Pre-Order Now! ($1.99)





“Catherine Grady.” Catherine answered the officer’s inquiry as confidently as she could and passed him her driver’s license. But the devastatingly handsome man to her left made confidence almost impossible. He was so big, so there, her skin tingled with awareness. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in a good four years or more. And the way he’d stepped in to protect her made her heart do all kinds of flip-flops.

Iain. Iain Donnelly. His introduction played through her mind, distracting her from the embarrassing position of having to confess to this cop that the convoluted city streets confused her and she’d caused a serious accident. It also kept her from dwelling on how she was going to break this news to the sisters at Mount Saint Scholastica. Her novitiate director wouldn’t hesitate to point out this would be God’s way of handling her refusal to part with her car, the last tangible memory of the only family who’d ever loved her. On the heels of that reminder would come the piercing stare and the remark she’d heard one too many times lately: Perhaps your calling is with children, not the community.

Catherine took her driver’s license back from the officer and nervously stuffed it into her purse. The last time she’d gotten a ticket for anything, she’d been sixteen. After that DUI, she lost her license, lost her freedom, and had only regained the right to drive three years ago.

“And the man who collided with your vehicle, you say he assaulted you?” The officer changed the direction of his questioning with a severe frown.

Catherine glanced at Iain. “Not . . . exactly.”

Officer Martinez’s frown deepened as he cocked his head and squinted at Iain. “I thought—”

“We really aren’t certain what his intentions were,” Catherine rushed to explain. “He grabbed at me. He didn’t touch me physically.” Fidgeting once more, she twined her hands together at her waist. “It’s really nothing. He’s just angry. I have insurance—I’m sure it will smooth over.”

The cop scrutinized her for a moment, then offered a slow, reluctant nod. “If anything happens—”

“’Twill not,” Iain interjected. His firm, unyielding tone sent an unexplainable thrill rolling down Catherine’s spine.

“Yeah, well,” Officer Martinez continued, “If it does, you contact me. Okay?” He gave Catherine a pointed look.

“Yes, of course.”

“You have a towing company you prefer? Or are you good with these guys?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tow truck parked at the corner, waiting to hook on at first opportunity.

It didn’t really matter in the scheme of things. Her adoptive father’s car was toast. Insurance wouldn’t touch it. She sighed inwardly. At least she could put whatever money she received toward the classroom. For six months now, she’d been trying to persuade the school board to invest in new textbooks next fall.

“They’re fine,” she answered with a forlorn look at the destroyed convertible.

Before he wandered across the street to join his partner, Martinez waved at the driver, and in seconds the tow truck’s engine purred to life. Beeps echoed down the clogged street as it backed toward the lamppost where Catherine stood.

Iain clasped her by the elbow, pulling her gently away from the wreckage. “’Twould be my pleasure to offer you a ride, Catherine. Surely you were headed somewhere?”

Criminy, one simple touch and her head swam with newfound sensations. Tingles zinged down to her toes. Warmth flooded her veins, making her oddly dizzy. And looking him in the eye—good grief, she’d faint, she was certain of it.

Instead, she glanced at her sandals. “I was on my way back to the school where I teach.” No way would she ask this stranger to drive an hour to her home. He seemed safe enough, but that was foolish. Besides, it would be rude. Grabbing for a smile, she braved meeting his warm brown eyes. “I’ll call someone to come get me.”

Iain chuckled. “You would arrive sooner if you did not have to wait to be retrieved.” He beckoned her to follow. “Come. I must deliver this sofa to the teens’ shelter. Perhaps you could tell me how to get there, in exchange for a ride.”

Not smart—this wasn’t smart at all. She’d learned this lesson the hard way. But that stranger wasn’t anything like Iain. Not once had he seemed helpful. Certainly not in the way any normal human being would define the word.

Catherine’s gaze strayed across the street at the man whose car she’d inadvertently destroyed. Evidently too good for the first-arrival towing companies, he waited beside his Jeep—which now sat near the opposite curb—glowering at her.

That malicious stare was enough to make up her mind. She’d rather chance a ride with the man who’d prevented whatever that jerk had in store, than stand here while he was still around.

“Okay.” She blew out a hard breath. “I need to go to Atchison, though.”

“Atchison? I was there three days past.”

Catherine grinned. “It’s quaint. I like it a lot.” Falling into step behind him, she crossed the street.
Iain opened the passenger door of his silver pickup truck and gestured for her to climb inside. “You are a teacher then.” It wasn’t really a question, more a reaffirmation of what she’d already said.

“Yeah.” It was true . . . for the most part. She did teach. She held a specialist’s degree in secondary education with a specific emphasis in the needs of special circumstance children. Teens and tweens who, for whatever reason, lacked stable home environments, and in some cases, homes at all. But for some unexplainable reason, Catherine couldn’t bring herself to voice the first response that came to mind: No, actually I’m a nun.


~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: angels , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Immortal Protector , Knights Templar , new fiction , New Release , Paranormal , Paranormal Romance , paranormal romance series , romance , The Curse of the Templar , Tor Romance

Good morning, friends!

Lately, I've seen a lot of books through Finish The Story that come in labeled 'romance' only to discover that, in fact, they are not.  They are good fiction, some even good fiction with romantic elements, but they are not...romance.

This coincides with some observations I've made at some different conferences I've gone to, where the majority audience isn't a romance reader.  There seems to be a common misunderstanding that if a book involves romance at all, if that human emotion of love is present, the author is composing (or has composed) a romance.

Unfortunately, that's not so.

So what constitutes a romance?

There is a generic 'formula' that is often espoused as being the core of romance: boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy looses girl, boy wins girl for a happily ever after.  This is mostly true, but that really over-simplifies things and doesn't always cover all the bases.  I prefer this:  A romance novel is centered on the developing relationship between the hero and the heroine.  Everything that happens in the book therefore relates and impacts that relationship in some way.

Conversely, in other genre works where there are romantic elements, the core of the book is not founded on that romantic relationship.  In other words, the romantic relationship is secondary to the plot.

One Key Determinant

It's true -- to be a romance the book has to have a happily ever after ending.  The girl has to get her guy.  Really, I'm a pretty hard core believer that there are no exceptions to this.  (excluding a series where the hero/heroine are dancing around each other and that romantic relationship carries over into the forthcoming books...but that's a fine-line and not generally applicable to this discussion.)

So, if your book is like dear Mr. Tearjerker Sparks.... you don't have a romance.  You may have a love story, but you don't have a romance.  If your book ends like Gone With the Wind, you don't have a romance.  If your book ends like I Am Legend, you don't have a romance.

The couple must be together, solidly, at the end of the book.

Do I have to have all that mushy / hot sexy stuff?

A romance does not need to have graphic sexual scenes included.  There are many, many romances that do not.  Many are inspirational (faith-based), many will allude to the dirty deed and leave the reader to imagine what happened.  Others go all the way and throw that bedroom door wide open.  The heat level doesn't relate to whether it's a romance or not--which is also why erotica is not erotic romance.  It all boils down to the focus of the plot.  If you're saving the world from flying monkeys you're not writing a romance, unless that is an external conflict to the core plot of two people building a forever relationship.

It really is that simple.

So to sum it up, it really is that simple.  Look at your manuscript and answer these two questions:

1.  Is my entire plot goal to bring two people into a forever relationship
2.  Do I have a happily ever after

If the answer is yes to both, chances are you have a romance on your hands.  If it's not, you're probably writing something else and have incorporated a human emotion everyone in this world can relate to -- love.




Looking for a freelance editor?  Check out Finish-The-Story.com  We're proud to announce we've reached our first milestone-- our client Nana Malone is now a USA Today Bestselling Author!




~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Editing remarks , Editing Tip , Finish the Story , romance , romance novel , what is a romance , Writer Wednesday

For those of you just tuning in, this week we're discovering what happens to Taran when he walks across the street, intent on killing the woman who reminds him of the one woman he can't forget.  It's the second half of chapter one from Marked for Death, the last book in the Inherited Damnation series, which releases January 16th.

~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Ancient Celts , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Inherited Damnation , Marked for Death , New Release , Paranormal Romance , romance

Happy New Year for those of you who haven't visited the blog since last week.

Here's another six from Marked for Death, my release coming January 16th, the last in the Inherited Damnation series.

When he lifted his lashes again, sorrow reflected in his dark eyes.  “I’m…afraid…Solène.”

His rough whisper shot daggers into her heart.  In all their time together, he had never confessed fear, never let down his prideful walls and admitted something so honest.  She arched her back and rose off the mattress to press her lips to his.  “There’s nothing to fear.”




Marked for Death
Inherited Damnation, Book VIII






~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Ancient Celts , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Inherited Damnation , Marked for Death , New Release , Paranormal Romance , romance , SundaySix

Well, it's that time...a bittersweet time for me.  My Inherited Damnation series comes to a close on January 16th with the release of Marked for Death.  I've had a wonderful time with these characters, and more so with the darkest sibling, Taran.  I hope you enjoy his story as much as I did writing it.  It's really a very emotional journey.  Very emotional.

Here's the first part of Chapter One, to whet your appetite!

Marked for Death
Inherited Damnation, Book VIII





Chapter One


Come back next week for the continuation of chapter one!


~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Ancient Celts , Claire Ashgrove , demons , Inherited Damnation , Marked for Death , New Release , Paranormal Romance , romance

Hi everyone!  Power outages about here on the homestead with this winter snow blast - our first of the year. But the upside is, it's beginning to look a lot like...

Anyway, please welcome Jerrie Alexander to the blog today.  She's talking about her book, The Green-Eyed Doll, which I think would be a great choice for a new Kindle or a last-minute holiday add-on!

The Green-Eyed Doll


Claire, thank you for inviting me over. I appreciate the opportunity to introduce you and your readers to Catherine McCoy and Sheriff Matt Ballard. If everyone's comfortable, let's get started.

Jerrie: "Tell us about this year's Christmas plans."

Catherine: "Christmas time in Texas can mean light snow, sheets of ice, or 70-degree days. Thank goodness, it's cooled off enough to kill a few mosquitoes. We're getting a tree this weekend."

Matt: "That's correct, and maybe you can help me convince her there's nowhere around here to cut our own tree! We can buy one right off a lot here in town."

Catherine: "Stop that. People will think you're a scrooge. We have tree farms, so what if they're not close by." She drops a hand on his knee and pats. "Don't you want a fresh tree for our first Christmas?"

Matt: His gaze drops to his leg. "I want you to be happy. So, if we have to drive a hundred miles to get the right tree...so be it."

Catherine: "See, he's not gruff all the time."

Jerrie: "Will you have family over?"

Matt: "Both our parents are gone," he answered quickly. "Catherine's brother sent his regrets. The only family I have is Catherine and Benedict," he said with a chuckle.

Catherine: "That's Matt's dog. He follows him everywhere." She brightens, and her green-eyes sparkle. "Ash Hunter isn't blood family, but he'll join us for the holiday. He helped save my life. Oh, that reminds me. I have to buy him a gift."

Matt: Matt made a scoffing sound. "You saved yourself, but it will be fun having him visit. He's a good friend."

Jerrie: "What's for lunch Christmas day?"

Catherine: "I'm a decent cook." She glanced at Matt, waiting until he nodded his agreement. "We're having old-fashioned turkey and cornbread dressing. My mama's recipe was simple and delicious. Matt's requested sweet-potato pie, which means I'm on the hunt for an easy recipe. You wouldn't happen to have one. Would you?"

Jerrie: "I do. I'll email it to you. Have you bought presents for each other?"

Matt: "Can't tell you with her in the room. She's already about to pester me to death." He leans close and whispers, "New eel skin boots and a weekend in San Antonio."

Jerrie: I whisper back in his ear, "Your secret is safe with me."

Catherine: "Awe. No fair." She crinkled her nose at Matt. "I'm a last minute kind of shopper, but I have a couple of special things in mind."

Jerrie: "So you're staying at home?"

Catherine: "Absolutely. We remodeled the inside of Matt's house. He did the carpentry, and I shopped for furniture. Got decorations for the inside and out while I was buying."

Matt: "It will be a small, quiet Christmas, but I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than at home. The crowd will grow in time. Someday the yard will be full of kids." He rested his hand on Catherine's stomach. "Right?"

Catherine: "Right." Her smile was a cross between impish and angelic.



~Claire
www.claireashgrove.com
www.toristclaire.com

Labels: Contemporary Romance , Goddessfish Promotions , Goddessfish Tours , New Voices , romance