Good morning, everyone!  It's Thursday, and you know what that means -- a new voice (sometimes just to me) for me to share with you.  Please welcome author Liia Ann White, who's here today to talk about her new release, Dark Waters.  (I'm seriously liking this cover, by the way.  It's gorgeous!)

Dark Waters
Liia Ann White




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

Labels: assassin , Claire Ashgrove , Dark Waters , Fae , Faery , Goddessfish Promotions , Goddessfish Tours , Liia Ann White

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, everyone!  Please welcome Marie Astor, and her new book, To Catch A Bad Guy!

To Catch A Bad Guy
Marie Astor




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

Labels: Claire Ashgrove , Contemporary , giveaway , Goddessfish Promotions , marie astor , New Voices

Good morning, everyone!  Welcome to Writer Wednesday, where I share my little tidbits about craft and fiction writing. Today, I'm carrying on about the Antagonist.  In other words, the villain.

We all love to hate him, but have you ever stopped to think that as much as we hate the villain, we love the villain.  Yes, it's true.  For me, one of the worst villain's I've encountered is Hannibal Lector. I fear him, he repulses me, I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy...and yet, I don't want the feds to capture him again.

Why is that?  Well, I like to think it's because I'm not truly sick.  He's incredibly brilliant--course the true psychopaths are--and the fact he was able to get free from such a condemning situation is also, well, brilliant.  And that intelligence is a draw in some weird (sick?) way.

So let's talk about what makes a villain successful.

We've all met this guy...

A Villain Doesn't Just Wander Into The Pages

A villain is not the random guy stuffed into the plot who does atrocious deeds out of the blue.  He cannot be stereotypical like our friend Snidely Whiplash to the right.  A villain who does this is just...annoying... and a reader wants to swat him like a fly and get on with the plot.

Creating a true chaotic evil character is exceptionally hard in fiction, though totally plausible in gaming tables.  A villain cannot "do" something "just because."  He cannot be stereotypical and cartoonish like Mr. Whiplash.


A Villain Has Motivation

If he can't be chaos personified, he must have motivation.  By motivation I mean a goal, and a chain of actions, that the reader can relate to.  He must be human.  Even if that humanity is defined far different than our own.

One of my other favorite villains is Claudius in Gladiator.  His humanity is different than mine, but his motivation is something I can, as a human being, understand.  He felt betrayed by his father and wanted the same respect and success his father knew.  He was denied his birthright, and in that era, it was an insufferable shame.  Therefore, anyone who knew the truth and who could cast suspicion about his father's death, would be eliminated.  When he acts against his nephew and sister, he has suffered the deepest of betrayals, and you understand, as that is transpiring, that when he finds out the fit is going to hit the shan.


A Villain Does Not Set Out to Be Evil

Nobody ever decides they are going to be evil.  In a villain's mind, he is doing the right thing, even if he knows society is against his actions.  Think Waco.  Think of all the pirates we love so much--they were villains to society.  This all goes back to motivation and the very important question the author must know, without a doubt, why is the villain doing this?  He is infallibly right at the core of his existence, and this must go back to his ideals, moral perspective, and perspective of the world around him.

I watched a National Geographic special about big cats where clearly the majestic lion was the villain.  He purposefully and brutally hunted four cheetahs, which to the photographer (a cheetah researcher) was completely unlike lion behavior.  In later analysis with a lion researcher they concluded one simple fact:  Though the Cheetah does not impose upon the lion's hunting grounds or 'menu', it stands to reason that the Cheetah kills lion cubs if able, to protect its own population.  Therefore the cheetah has become a mortal enemy of the lion, and made the horrific massacre completely plausible.  Did the lion set out to be evil in the eyes of mankind?  No.  But to me, who saw the brutality and understands how terribly fragile the cheetah population is, this lion was a huge villain.  (We'll say nothing about the fact the cheetahs fell into the Too Stupid To Live category in this particular scenario.  Ahem!)


A Villain Has Emotion

A memorable villain has emotion readers can bond with.  The author can pull this out, making the villain more ...unforgettable.  Again, we can go back to Claudius for this example--he is in pain with every betrayal.  Yes, we want him to die and pay for his crime, but we understand and his suffering pulls at us.  Another renowned villain is Magneto from X-Men.  He's a holocaust survivor and he knows what evils humans can wreck upon the world.  He is afraid of humans.  And he is willing to do anything to protect the mutants.

The more emotion an author can wrest out of a villain, the more a reader can relate to him.  So don't be afraid to dig deep and get into his mind.


A Villain is Proactive

Just like your main characters, a villain cannot be reactive.  I would go so far as to say the entire core of your plot is your villain.  He must drive the action.  Otherwise, he is ineffective and doesn't create the threat the author desires.  This also somewhat translates to a villain must be alpha -- at least in his psyche.


Most Villains Have A Streak of Goodness

If your villain has a soft spot (of the normal not deranged kind) for puppies, this makes him more likeable.  If the author can portray this, even when he's at his most wicked, (or even better if a wicked moment is pre-empted by an unexpected softness) he again becomes more human.  Like in Silence of the Lambs, the serial killer has a pet dog who he clearly adores.


This is really just the surface of villains, but if you, as an author, can keep these points in mind you're one step closer to mastering The Villain.  The better you craft your bad-guy, the better your overall plot will stick in reader's minds.


Looking for a freelance editor?  Check out Finish The Story!

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

Labels: Claire Ashgrove , Fiction Villains , fiction writing , Finish the Story , On Writing , Understanding Villains , Writer Wednesday , Writing Craft , Writing Villains