Fear of Flying

By Lisabet Sarai

 

It would have been much faster to fly.

Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek, viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for the best.

Hence the current tedious journey. Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.

***

Thus begins my most recent release, Rajasthani Moon, a book that deliberately defies categorization. It contains elements of the steam punk and paranormal sub-genres, plus quite a lot of moderately extreme BDSM and a M/F/M ménage. It features a kick-ass Rubenesque heroine, a billionaire Rajah and a sexy, deliciously disreputable bandit. It flirts with non-consensual fantasies and lesbian attraction. It has some funny moments, not infrequently associated with sex. Oh, and it's a romance, with what I hope is a sublimely satisfying happy ending (although I won't tell you who ends up with whom!)

Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I'm breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?

Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.

Rajasthani Moon is like nothing I've written before. Well, that's not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I've never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.

The result? Well, I'm pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won't worry. That's out of my control.

And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually.

***

(Rated R)

The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

***

Rajasthani Moon is available now from Total-E-Bound, where you can download direct to your Kindle or other e-reader. You can also buy it at Amazon, Amazon UK  and All Romance Ebooks. Oh, and if you like things hot, you can find a more explicit excerpt (the book is rated five flames) at http://www.lisabetsarai.com/rajasthaniex.html.

I'll be doing a GoddessFish tour for the book from June 10 through the 21st, with different excerpts at every stop. The grand prize is $50 bookstore gift certificate. I'll also be choosing one person who comments at each stop to receive an ebook from my back list.

And speaking of prizes - if you leave a comment on this post today, you could win a $10 GC to your choice of Amazon, Total-E-Bound or ARE.

If you'd like to be kept informed about all my (many) contests, just join my Yahoo group, Lisabet's List.

Thanks for reading! Be sure to include your email address when you comment.

Bio

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.

Lisabet has more degrees than anyone would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre. She has traveled widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.

For more information about Lisabet and her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)

Man of her Dreams...Suzzana C Ryan...Rebel Ink Press

The Man of her Dreams; someone to love

Blurb:

            Karen Spencer was a habitual daydreamer. At night her dreams where filled with the image of a man and a creature. A large magnificent tiger roamed the wilderness searching for something.

            Karen wanted love-the earth shattering kind of love. But Karen wasn’t your average young single woman; she was a bit cat-like. That’s because she was a shape shifter, a sleek black panther.

            Now how can a woman like Karen find love? Victor Cummings might fit her image, tall, dark, handsome, rich and not at all human. He lurked in the shadows of humanity, concealing deep dark secrets. Vampire? Shape Shifter?

            Love comes to those who wait, to those who give of themselves freely, willing to be what nature intended them to be. Yet, one night, another deadly creature, will seek revenge and take what belongs to the dark beautiful shape shifter

             Karen Spencer will find the nemesis and be willing to fight to the death to save the love of her life. Love, the most powerful emotion known to man, woman and creatures alike, will it be her strength? Is the man of her dreams worth perhaps the greatest sacrifice of all, her life? Karen will forfeit all, for someone to love.

Where you can find me:

http://www.suzzanacryanromanceauthor.blogspot.com

http://www.suzzanacryan.blogspot.com

http://www.suzzanacryan.webs.com

Twitter, Pinterest

http://www.facebook.com/suzzana.c.ryan?ref=tn_tnmn

Philip's Watcher: What Makes a Hero + Give-away!

The first Hero:

Hero (mythical priestess), in Greek mythology, priestess of Aphrodite, goddess of love, at Sestos, a town on the Hellespont (now Dardanelles). Hero was loved by Leander, a youth who lived at Abydos, a town on the Asian side of the channel. They could not marry because Hero was bound by a vow of chastity, and so every night Leander swam from Asia to Europe, guided by a lamp in Hero's tower. One stormy night a high wind extinguished the beacon, and Leander was drowned. His body was washed ashore beneath Hero's tower; in her grief, she threw herself into the sea.               

-Wikipedia

In this legend, it seems to me that Leander was the true hero, risking his life to be with the person he loves. I think this holds true for every hero I’ve ever fallen in love with. A hero not only has to be strong and brave, but also caring for those he protects. I write m/m erotic romance and this seems to be especially true for my heroes. No matter how wonderful they may be, there must be that touch of gentleness and vulnerability to make them real.

In PHILIP’S WATCHER, my hero is the stone gargoyle Adrian set on the walls of the Agenor castle to protect the young heir Philip from his enemies. To involve the reader and make Adrian’s part more believable, I began the story by putting Philip in danger. I wanted to gain sympathy for the young heir right from the start, so when he accepts the wonder that is Adrian the reader will also.

After this, I wanted to bring Adrian from stone into living flesh. This is a hard feat to accomplish! How to make a fanciful creature not only become real to a reader but also believable. I really wanted to keep away from the flash and glitter of movies. So I had it happen without magic at all, but by a ‘gift’ all Watchers possess, part of their nature. And to breathe life into this gargoyle I decided to make him as flawed as the rest of us with his own insecurities and strengths, joys and heartbreaks. A person we can relate to. My story, Philip’s Watcher’ is about two young men caught up in a war neither is prepared for but find the strength to succeed in each other.

In PHILIP’S WATCHER my hero gives everything he has for the man he loves. What more can anyone want in a hero?

GIVE-AWAY! Please comment for a chance to win a PDF copy of PHILIP'S WATCHER!

Philip’s Watcher
m/m erotic fantasy

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
ARe Books

Blurb:

Darkness is spreading in the world with only the powerful Agenor family to oppose it. In the guise of a stone gargoyle atop the castle walls, Adrian has protected Philip, the young heir, since birth, watching him grow from childhood into a strong but lonely man without love.

When the clan chief, Philip’s father, is murdered by those he trusted, Adrian resumes his human form to better protect his beloved Philip. And finds his love returned. As lovers, their passion is all-consuming, but as they fight against treachery from within, will their love be enough to stem the dark tide sweeping the land? And will it be enough to keep Adrian’s heart alive…          

Excerpt:

Philip chewed his lip as he watched the storm clouds gather in the leaden sky. The wind picked up, cold and heavy with rain. It whipped the hair from his face and distracted him from the study of the desolate landscape spread below his feet. How he longed for spring! But winter lingered long past when it should have given way to new growth in the valley. He guessed the reason for it, and a cold finger of dread touched his heart.

An icy gust buffeted him on the exposed balcony, and Philip gathered the long strands of his hair and tied them at his neck. He bit hard on his bottom lip to stop its tremble and welcomed the pain against the ache in his heart. “He’s not coming back, is he?” he whispered as the first fat drops of moisture struck his face. He pounded a fist on the stone railing in frustration and impotent fury. “Father should have let them come to us, where we’re prepared.”

But their enemy had thrown down the gauntlet, and in his pride, Philip’s father picked it up. Jonathon Agenor had always been that way, as far back as Philip remembered. He supposed the gravity of being the Agenor Chief had made his father distant. The man kept his own council and wouldn’t listen to Philip’s cautions against a trap. The bait had been a threat against Philip’s life, something the proud man couldn’t tolerate. His life had been the forfeit. Philip closed his eyes and let the grief wash over him.

 The rain swept against the walls of the stronghold, and Philip leaned his head against the stone statue on the railing beside him. “I still have you, and that’s a comfort.” He turned his gaze to the familiar face. There were many gargoyles on the high balconies of the castle, but this was his favorite. The onyx eyes glittered as if in sympathy. Distraught, Philip trailed a finger along the crack in the stonework from the creature’s forehead to its muscular chest. He flattened his hand over the cold heart and willed it to beat as he had hundreds of times before. The stone stayed firm under his palm.

“I know one of you is my Watcher,” Philip said, and he searched the stone eyes for any flicker of life. They remained fixed on some distant point, and he sighed. He rested his head on a powerful shoulder, which supported the draping wings and ran his fingers up and down the strong arm nearest him. Philip remembered arms holding him, once upon a time, soft and warm and comforting. He’d felt safe and loved in his mother’s embrace. Philip tilted his head to the creature’s ear. He’d whispered his secrets to this gargoyle all his life and saw no reason to stop now.

“I miss her,” he confessed. “Every day. I’ve been…lonely. But more than that, I could use her wisdom, now more than ever. With Father gone, my enemies will come here. What if I’m not strong enough to hold them back? They can’t be allowed to make a stronghold here.” A frown creased his forehead. “Why are we enemies, Gargoyle? Can you tell me that? Mother explained good and evil to me. Good wants to protect and cherish the earth. Evil would seize power and bend nature to its will. But which am I? I don’t know the earth. I’ve lived my life in these protected walls. Perhaps evil lives in me as well.”

Philip turned his head, hoping to catch a response to his outrageous statement. The stone remained cold, and a fey mood came over him, desperate. “You remain silent?” His gaze swept the heights of the castle. Dozens of statues stared down at him or looked out over the land his family protected. He laughed, and it sounded bitter to his ears. Rain pelted the castle and struck his face, and Philip railed against a fate he had no control over. Was he a mere puppet in this war for power? He had seen his family killed one by one. Would he be next?

In defiance, he climbed up on the balustrade and opened his arms. The storm seemed to increase in fury. Rain pounded against him, the wind seemed bent on pulling him from the wall. He shouted and shook his fist at the sky.

“If I fell, Gargoyle, would my Watcher catch me?” Rainwater poured from the spouted demons on the towers down to the valley far below. Mother had said he had a Watcher, a protector given to him at birth, but he’d never seen him. Never felt his presence. Alone, bereft, Philip wondered if he shouldn’t step off the edge…

At once a blanket of warmth engulfed him. He was cherished, guarded, needed. And beneath that he sensed love, deep and pure. “Come down.” A voiced thrummed inside him, full of fear. Philip climbed onto the balcony and stood with his back to the storm. He hung his head, ashamed of the childish, dangerous act.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The knowledge that his protector was near was a balm to his sore heart, and he straightened. He took a steadying breath. “Evil is moving in the world, Gargoyle. Father had gone to see the wise woman in the village to see if she knew who threatened me. Perhaps I should go see her myself, when the storm passes.”

He ran a hand over his face, cold and discouraged. He touched the gargoyle’s arm. “I’m young and naive to the ways of the world. I need guidance, and if you are my Watcher, dear friend, then it’s cruel not to tell me.” Philip sighed when he received no answer and retreated to the empty rooms within the thick walls of his home.

Dianne Hartsock

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