Showing posts with label Sam Cheever. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sam Cheever. Show all posts

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Sam's Sunday Snippets

When your name is Valentine, February’s pretty much gonna suck.

Valentine Smith H-A-T-E-S the month of February. The constant jokes about her name and comparisons to the chubby guy with arrows are enough to make her want to run and hide for the entire month.

But, this Valentine's Day, the ultimate joke is about to be played on poor Valentine. She's supposed to choke on a chocolate heart and die. You'd think that would be bad enough. But when she misses her chance to die, she finds herself running from an overly ambitious angel and a sexier-than-hell devil named Abbadon. In the race between good and evil it's no contest. Hell has sexy green eyes, lots of yummy muscles, and a truly decadent pair of lips to ease her pain!


Don lay listening to Valentine’s soft humph, humph sounds as she slept. He leaned against the headboard, smiling as she snored. His heart was fuller than it had ever been. He felt like he’d waited several lifetimes for the woman sleeping beside him. But at the same time his heart was breaking. She was so full of energy. So vibrant. So wonderfully alive. Yet he would have to take that away from her. Would she be different in her soul form? Would she lose her appeal?

Don’s immediate reaction to those questions was denial. Looking at her lying boneless, rosy-cheeked, and seemingly content beside him, he doubted she would ever lose her appeal for him. But sometimes souls didn’t take death well. Sometimes it turned them sour. His world would end if he was the cause of Valentine Smith turning sour.

Whatever she’d done with her life, she was a bright light in the human world. A light whose loss would dim existence for those remaining behind. He frowned. He didn’t think he could do it.

Valentine wrinkled her nose, tossing her head in her sleep. Don reached over and collected the silky strand of hair that was tickling her nose, his frown turning to a smile.

He suddenly knew he couldn’t kill her. He knew it with the certainty of having lived for hundreds of years. He was a cynic -- a selfish, thoughtless man -- but he also knew a fire had started in his belly over the beautiful woman lying next to him, and that fire had inflamed his heart for the first time in his long, long existence.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Thursday Twisted Links

Ha! I must be crazy. But here goes.

Stretchy pants.    Edits.    Chicken and noodles.

God I love stretchy pants. Don't you? When I think of all the years, when I was young and stupid, that I wore tight clothes that threatened to dissect me in several places, I wonder I even survived it. But those days are over. As I get older I've learned to appreciate the wonder of soft, comfortable clothes that don't make me want to put my jammies back on by two in the afternoon.

Stretchy clothes are one of mankind's best inventions. Forget light bulbs and smart phones. It's stretchy pants all the way.

Which brings me to chicken and noodles. God's food. Okay, the connection here is easy. If you eat too many bowls of chicken and noodles you're definitely gonna need those stretchy pants. And since you now have all that extra room in your clothes, you should definitely add some mashed potatoes to your chicken and noodles, and top it all off with a slice of sugar cream pie. Yum!

What's that? You're shocked at the idea of topping a starch with a starch? You didn't grow up in Indiana did you? Really, it's the only way to go. God handed the residents of Indiana the recipe himself. Or maybe he carved it onto some rocks or something...but I assure you it came right from heaven.

So here's the hard part. How do you link something as god-awful as edits to something as wonderful as  stretchy pants or chicken and noodles. It ain't easy, let me tell you. But I'm gonna give it a go.

Think of edits as the tight waistband on your smallest jeans. Yeah, that sux. Now think of them as the salad without dressing you should eat instead of those noodles and 'tators. At first glance edits would seem to be the thing that doesn't go with the others they always talked about on Sesame Street. But that's lazy thinking. Actually edits are so much more. They're the glaze on your writing that makes it taste better. They're the plump where your writing is flat, the zing where your story yawns. They're painful, it's true, but they give you comfort in the end. Because, when you finally let that little birdie leap from its nest, you'll know it will soar through the sky rather than plunge toward the ground like a rock. Then, once your little birdie finds its wings, you can pull on your stretchy pants and fix yourself a big bowl of chicken and noodles to eat while you read the rave reviews that result. 5 Stars - with wings!

Snap! Link closed. #:0)

Happy reading everybody!

Friday, January 18, 2013

Thursday Tidbits - Join My Kitchen Team?

For today's tidbit, I'm putting out a call for anybody who wants to be a member of my kitchen team. What? You've never heard that term before? Oh yeah. It's been around...oh I don't know...ten minutes or so, at least.

A street team just seems like too much work, so I thought maybe I'd start small and just do a team that would fit into a single room. And since the kitchen is my favorite room in the house it seemed the logical place.

Anybody interested? #:0)

Still need convincing? Okay, how about this...we'll be close to the refrigerator...and the coffee maker. Besides, it's so cold out on the street right now. If you joined my kitchen team you could stay warm and toasty while we drank coffee and ate the cookies your visit would give me the excuse to bake.

This idea is really growing on me.

So we'd need rules right? Okay, here are the rules for my kitchen team:

  1. No hogging the cookies. (You can see where my priorities are.)
  2. No more than three cups of coffee per member (We don't want you pinging off the walls, I mean, you're not out on the street!)
  3. If you're on another author's street team you must sign a confidentiality agreement promising not to tell  the other author about my cozy kitchen team idea. He/she'll want to steal it. I mean, who wouldn't?
  4. Pertaining to Rule 3 above, you totally need to dish  inside info on that other author. (Come on, we writers live isolated lives and we need gossip like a fat kid needs cake.) 
  5. You must sign a pact to take my promo goodies to other kitchens and share. (And bring goodies from those kitchens back to me of course. #:0)
Is that enough rules? I don't really like rules so I'm making that enough. So what do you get out of this, you ask? You mean aside from my sparkling company and lots of refreshments? #:0(

Okay, you drive a hard bargain. I have a huge closet in my office filled with swag and stuff. I've got your attention now haven't I? I also have a couple of shelves filled with new, unread books. Oh yeah, the hook is fixed and I'm reelin' ya in. 

What's the catch, you ask?


Blink. have to like me. 

Wait...don't leave. Come back. Okay, you don't have to like can just tolerate me. Wait...shit! Okay, you don't have to even tolerate me. I'll just give you stuff. 

Okay. Phew. Sign here.

I'm so pathetic. Sniffle. #:0)

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Sam's Sunday Snippets

Valentine's Day is just around the corner! In celebration, I thought I'd highlight all my fun and sexy Cupid titles over the next few weeks. Starting with my V-day title from last year, Cupid Only Rings Twice. Enjoy!

This Valentine’s Day, Rori’s gonna meet an honest to god Cupid. And he’ll use more than arrows to win her love.

Rori Foster is too beautiful to find love. Men just can’t seem to look past her exterior to recognize the human being inside. But, this Valentine’s Day, Rori’s gonna meet an honest to god Cupid. And he’ll use more than arrows to win her love.

Unfortunately he’ll have to save her from the bad intentions of a cocky Love Demon first.

But Damios is determined to protect her. Even if he loses her in the process.

Damios lowered his head, capturing her exquisite lips in a kiss that was less a tender wish and more an urgent promise. Her mouth opened under his and he accepted her offer, slipping his tongue past her lips to savor her sweet taste.

She moaned softly as his hands slipped around her waist, up her back, and pulled her tightly against his chest. Her body heated under his kiss and her incredible scent slipped over him.

Damios broke the kiss long enough to say, “I lied. I want to come inside.”

They both stilled for a moment, Damios realizing how his declaration had sounded and Rori’s lips twitching under a suppressed grin.

He rested his forehead against hers, finding it hard to breathe. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

She chuckled huskily, skimming the tip of one velvet thumb across his bottom lip. “No. It came out just right.”

Damios bit her thumb softly and slipped his hands down her body, cupping the firm roundness of her buttocks. His lips found hers again and he groaned as she ground herself against him.

Their kiss gained heat, their bodies thrumming under the imperative of a building need. Their tongues tangled, danced, and their hands skimmed, exploring with growing intensity.

Rori pulled away and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

As she unlocked the door, Damios pressed himself against her back, reveling in her soft curves against his hard, hungry body. She twisted the key, halting in the act of pushing the door open as he swept his tongue down her neck, gently biting the top of her shoulder.

Damios felt her groan of pleasure thrum through his chest and grasped her chin, turning her to capture her scrumptious lips in an intense kiss. Placing one hand on her soft buttocks, and the other hand at the back of her neck, Damios deepened the kiss and walked them backward, into the house.

It was cool and dark inside Rori’s home and smelled of roses.

They didn’t bother with the lights, didn’t bother with anything other than each other.

Damios pressed her up against the nearest wall, clasping her hands in his and lifting them over her head. “You taste like sugar.” His lips left her face and trailed down her throat, his tongue tasting the spot where the fragrant column flowed into her shoulders. “Feel like warm satin.” He nibbled his way across the top of her shoulder, moaning. “Smell like moonlight.”

Rori leaned her head back and sucked in a soft breath as his head dipped lower, to taste the deep crevice between her breasts. He murmured, “Delectable,” the word muffled as he pressed his lips along the satin fullness of her breasts.

Want more? #:0)

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Thursday Tidbits

Book 3: Hoale Construction Mysteries
Coming Soon!
Returning to Normal - Whatever that is!

Every year I lament the seemingly endless break between Christmas and New Years. Everything seems to stop from a few days before Christmas until a few days after the new year. It's impossible to get anything done and I'm forced, kicking and screaming, from my comfortable, productive rut into the wild and woolly landscape of special celebrations and human interaction. Gasp!

Everything slows down during this time of year. Business grinds forward like sludge over icy metal -- painfully, reluctantly. Those who are on vacation are worthless to me, those who are left behind are cranky and resentful. And those of us who really want to get something done are considered addled.  LOL

So what do I do to keep myself moving forward? Sometimes nothing. A little break from work is actually a good thing, though I have to force myself to take it (or events force me against my will). Which means the day DH and I took removing all the Christmas decorations was actually (probably) good for me. And the day I spent cleaning the house afterward was also (possibly) good for me...though it certainly didn't feel like it at the time! Bleurgh!

But most importantly, I try not to beat myself up. Though my work production suffers -- I might write a third of what I would normally write -- I focus just on moving forward. On quality versus quantity. And, like the tortoise, I eventually get there. Somehow, slowly at first, and then with an audible click, I slide back into that fanny-fitting rut and become productive again. Life returns to normal.

Hmmm, after all those Christmas cookies, I just hope my rut still fits!

Happy reading everybody!

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippets

Nuria, Warrior Monad Third Level is a protector of the magical realm. She occasionally works with guardian angels when the human realm is in danger. When Nuria is called to help a guardian save a human woman from a demon, she isn’t prepared for the woman to turn on them and send the guardian to the Elysian Fields for all eternity. Now Nuria’s on the hot seat with the gods of Olympus, and to earn her way out of trouble she’s been given a task.

It appears there may be a plot to take over Olympus, and the gods suspect a human named Ian Lavelle is at the heart of it. So they send Nuria to Earth to find, question, and destroy the sexy and elusive Ian. There’s only one problem... Ian Lavelle is much more than he seems. And there’s a very good chance he may just be too hot for Nuria to handle!


"I've enjoyed this author's "Dancin' With The Devil" series enormously, and again SC has created a thrilling fantasy adventure featuring a tough leading lady who lives an extremely exciting life." 
~Book Addict Amazon UK Top 500 Reviewer


I am Nuria, Warrior Monad Third Level.

I am a spirit warrior, working for the gods of Olympus to protect their magical subjects around the universe. Sometimes I work with Guardian Angels to help them protect the fragile human race from those in the magical realm who would harm them.

It was on one of these assignments that my life changed so drastically.

Rarely do Guardians get extinguished. Rarely are they fooled by the humans they’ve been assigned to protect. But on this occasion, both rare instances occurred.

Of course, as the last woman standing in the event, I had to go before the Council of Gods and defend my actions.

Luckily for me the gods were slightly distracted while I was there, and ultimately they gave me an assignment I couldn’t refuse rather than sending me to the laundry room to wash orgy sheets for six months as punishment.

Unfortunately the assignment they gave me was almost worse than orgy sheets. And, although I met a man who may or may not have been the leader in a plot to take over Olympus and the entire magical and non-magical realms, I couldn’t fulfill my mission.

There was no way I could do what the gods asked me to do.

The woman in me responded just a little too well to the man in him to fulfill my orders and erase his existence from the Earth.

Still, there was a guardian being admitted prematurely to the Elysian fields. And a plot for power was definitely afoot. So I had to do something.

I just hoped that whatever I did it would be enough.

And, oh, did I mention that my archrival was also assigned to this task? She was supposed to keep an eye on me and tattle back to the gods if I screwed up.

Yeah. This was not going to be one of my better assignments.

Or was it…?

Book info and more...

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Thursday Twisted Links

Elf Satisfied: This Christmas, Deirdre’s
own, personal elf has a delicious
present waiting for her! 
This week's link might be more interesting than twisted. But it involves a part of our culture that I find fascinating this time of year. 

Santa.    Elves.   Reindeer

Aside from the obvious link with Christmas, why do you suppose these three characters have been linked together throughout history? I've always believed that they sprang from history fully-formed, woven together in a timeless story of love and giving and holiday fun. But this actually isn't true.

Santa Claus has been a part of US tradition since the early nineteenth century. Based on Saint Nicholas, the secret gift giver, we created him from a mix of  European Christmas traditions. In her unpublished story entitled Christmas Elves, Louisa Alcott gave us the first yule-time elves in 1850. The elves appear to have first joined Santa in his workshop in a Christmas issue of Godey's Magazine and Lady's Book, a United States magazine that was published in Philadelphia and had a circulation of over 70,000. Godey's popularized the idea of elves helping Santa prepare for Christmas with a front cover illustration of Santa in his workshop, surrounded by toys and elves. The picture apparently bore the caption, "Here we have an idea of the preparations that are made to supply the young folks with toys at Christmas time".

Much of popular fiction portrays Santa himself as an elf. In the poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, Santa is described as a "jolly old elf". In the first half of the 19th century, Scandinavian culture tied Christmas presents to elves when they associated the elves with their Tomte, a small, humanoid race that protected children in their sleep.

But there might be one other connection there.  In the way of a child's drawing, where the father is pictured larger than life, the idea of a big, fat elf being the leader among a bunch of smaller elves in the business of Christmas makes sense. If you look at the origins of the Santa figure, Saint Nicholas the secret gift giver being the most well-known, the larger-than-life history might contribute to Santa being portrayed as a much larger elf. Or, it could boil down to something as simple as perception. Children perceive someone who is as important to them as Santa Claus to be much bigger than they are.

So we've made the link between Santa and the elves. Now what about the reindeer? That one's a little tougher. Clement C Moore's 1823 poem A Visit from St. Nicholas (also known as The Night Before Christmas or 'Twas the Night Before Christmas) has been credited for the idea of eight flying reindeer pulling Santa's sled. However, there is possibly another connection. Reindeer (or Caribou) live in the areas where the Santa Claus legend originated. They predominate in the snowy regions of the northern United States and in Scandinavia. In fact, the word “caribou” comes from a Native American word for “snow scraper”. So, in snowy environs, if Santa was looking for a creature to propel his flying sled, the reindeer would probably seem an obvious choice. And anyone who has seen a deer "fly" over a fence would understand the concept of flying reindeer.

So that links Santa and the elves and Santa and the Reindeer. What about the elves and the reindeer? To answer that I'll simply ask you this question: Who cares for Santa's flying reindeer? Well, the elves do of course.

Snap! Link closed.  #:0)

Whatever the origin of Santa Claus and his helpers, one thing is sure. He embodies our better natures and inspires us to embrace the kindness in our souls for at least part of every year. And for that alone I'm glad he's part of our culture.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Fun Christmas tidbit: In Sweden, prior to the influence of St. Nicholas, the job of giving out gifts was done by the Yule Goat.  Man, am I glad I'm not Swedish! I'm thinking it wasn't a lump of coal that naughty Swedish kids got in their stockings! If you know what I mean... LOL

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippets


This Christmas, Deirdre’s own, personal elf has a delicious present waiting for her! 

Deirdre Phillips knows she's skirting trouble when she waits until late on Christmas Eve to finish up her gift shopping. But she has no idea how much trouble, until she walks out of the mall and finds herself embroiled in a timeless war between elves and dark fairies.

It seems that Christmas magic is more real than Deirdre ever suspected. And when she learns the battle somehow involves her, she quickly discovers the holiday season can be dangerous too.

Fortunately for Deirdre, she has her very own Christmas elf to help her survive the night. And he’s got very definite ideas for how he wants to spend Christmas!
Deirdre shoved the mall door open and walked out into a bitterly cold night. An icy breeze pummeled her, flinging small, bright snowflakes into her face and down the neckline of her sweater. “Damn!” Deirdre sucked air, nearly dropping her bags. Momentarily disoriented in the thick fall of snow, she looked around for her car, finding it parked at the far edge of the nearly empty lot. It was already covered in a thick blanket of snow. “Double and triple damn.”

She tucked her head and moved forward as quickly as she could with twenty pounds of Christmas bags hanging off her arms. The air swirled around her and Deirdre shivered, feeling suddenly dizzy. She stopped, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, coughing as she sucked snow into her lungs.

Opening her eyes again, she started toward the spot where she’d left her car. She walked for a few minutes and then looked up, thinking she should have gotten to her car already. She blinked. There was no car. Squinting through the dense curtain of snow, Deirdre turned in a slow circle. Maybe she’d gotten disoriented somehow.

Nothing. She realized with a horrified gasp that she couldn’t even see the mall.

Air swirled around her again and a light flashed past. A muffled explosion sprayed snow and ice into the air a few feet to her left. Deirdre gave a little scream.

What the hell?

The air swirled past and this time, something grabbed her. She shrieked, dropping her bags, as she was pulled sideways and down.

A large hand covered her mouth. “Shh! I’ll protect you, princess. Just remain quiet and let me deal with them.”

She tried to look at the man behind the husky voice but when she turned her head she saw only the inside of her fur-lined hood. Deirdre tugged the hood away from her face just in time to see a firm, round buttock disappearing into the curtain of snow. More flashes sliced through the snow and the brief illumination showed Deirdre the large rock her invisible savior had shoved her behind.

A distant, muffled scream made Deirdre cringe. What would she do if her savior didn’t survive his rescue. And what the hell was she being rescued from anyway?

She listened carefully for another minute but heard nothing. Finally the now familiar sense of swirling air warned her that someone had joined her in her hiding spot. This time when she looked up it was into the jewel-green gaze of a man with shoulder length white hair and a sexy square jaw covered in stubble. “Who are you?”

He stood, bowing low before her. “Allain Darcassan Erendriel at your service, princess.”

She frowned. “How about if I just call you Al?”

Book info and more...

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Okay, so the World Has Ended – Now What Are We Going to do With all these Zombies?

There’s no question about it, somebody should have come up with an anti-zombie spray months ago. I mean, come on, we all knew this day was coming. The Mayans told us about it last year right? Huh? Twelve hundred years ago? Really? My, how time flies when you’re up to your armpits in zombies.

So anyway, now we have this little zombie problem. There’s no spray to get rid of them, guns don’t do much, unless you happen to have zombie killer bullets, and Rural King sold out of those days ago. The only way I know of to kill them is a big knife. But really what you need is a machete. Yeah, we all have one of those lying around, eh? So what else could we use? Hmmm. A garrote? That might work. But it would require planning. And the thing with zombies is they rarely attack alone. They always seem to be in armies as far as the eye can see, right? Here, let me show you:

From Hexually Obsessed:

Just before the passageway ended, an open archway led them off into another corridor. The place was silent, seemingly empty. Archaic sconces on the wall gave off black smoke and a low, flickering light.

“This must lead somewhere,” Ardith whispered.

Draigh nodded, pulling his knives. “Smell that?”

Ardith sighed. “Zombies. Damn! I guess this is gonna be a three-shower day.”

Draigh snorted. “Next time you’re showering in your own bathroom.”

She stuck her tongue out at his back, feeling better for the childish but satisfying response.

Ardith… She spun at the sound. It had been like a breath of wind, soughing past. The passageway behind them was empty.

Draigh… Another wisp of air had Draigh slicing sideways with his knife.

They remained alone.

A deep sense of foreboding filled Draigh’s breast. “Do you feel that?”

“Repelling spell. I’m sure it’s Edana’s handiwork.”

“A damn fine one too. I’m seriously fighting the urge to run screaming from the place.”

Ardith snorted. “Pansy.”

He turned and looked at her, lifting an eyebrow in response.

She was saved from having to defend herself when a gust of grave-scented wind swept past, extinguishing the sconces.

They moved into battle formation, back-to-back, and waited. Draigh had never seen such complete darkness. He strained his ears, flaring his nostrils to compensate for being blind.

Draigh… His knife hand shot toward the faint whisper and sliced only air. Something scuffed on the other side and he slammed a fist in that direction. Nothing.

A putrid breeze blew Ardith’s silky hair across his shoulder and he barely stayed himself from shoving her to the ground.

Ardith... The disembodied voice flowed past them, physically insubstantial but emotionally devastating.

The witch trembled against his back. Though they’d begun a yard apart, circling to face whatever came for them, they’d somehow gotten so close together that they were in each other’s way when they tried to move.

His own hands were damp. He found himself continually wiping them across his shirt so his knives didn’t slip from his grasp.

The breeze strengthened, swirled, sending sound and scent whirling past at such a rate he could no longer tell what came from which direction.

Welcome... The phantom voice strengthened, no longer a whisper. But Draigh doubted it was meant as a summons.

Wel-come. The voice repeated in an amused tone. The disembodied voice was growing more insistent as they continued on down the passageway, stepping carefully sideways so they could stay back-to-back for protection. They stumbled repeatedly as the darkness and the swirling air turned their sense of direction on its head.

“I don’t like this greeting ritual,” Ardith croaked.

“Nor do I, witch. Just stay close.”

“Buddy, if I was any closer you’d be wearing me for a suit.”

Despite his discomfort, Draigh couldn’t help smiling at the thought. “Remind me to take you up on that later.”

Her snort told him she was holding on to her nerve. If only barely.

“I wish we could see where the hell we were going.”

Draigh swore. He’d been so wrapped up in the situation that he hadn’t been thinking. He opened his hand, calling forth the guide. The guide was comprised of the magic inherent in the air around them. It was a hunter’s magic to call. From the highest reaches of the passageway, even from the rock surrounding them, tiny blue sparks disengaged and danced in his direction, spinning into a solid cylinder of light that rested on his hand.

Once engaged, the guide cast a soft glow around Draigh and Ardith, a slight thickening in its depths telling Draigh the rogue witch wasn’t all that far ahead of them in the passageway.

He sucked in a relieved breath and stopped, his heart quickening.

“That’s bett—” Ardith’s words died on her lips as the light flickered, spread and illuminated the most terrifying sight Draigh had ever seen.

A sea of dead eyes, sloughing flesh and ooze surrounded them.

Silent, waiting, deadly.


As far as the eye could see.

That just sux. Okay, so nix the garrote. How about mowing them down with a crop cutter? You could chop whole armies of the nasty suckers with one of those. Of course you might need to go over the pieces a few times to get all the heads chopped off. And…well…you’d need a giant piece of farm equipment. Yeah…and you’d need to lure the zombies into a field. This is sounding less and less like an option. Of course if you do happen to have a large piece of farm equipment and a field full of zombies you’re all set.

Okay, back to the drawing board. We could use a giant kitchen knife. That would work certainly, but you’d better prepare yourself to get a little messy. And you’ll have to get all up close and personal with the nasty dead ‘uns. But hey, in a pinch a knife will work…for a while.

Here, let me show you:

Edana lifted her hands and the cavern erupted in a roar as the zombies stirred and started forward, razor-sharp teeth snapping. Hundreds of pairs of dead, glassy eyes fixed unswervingly on Draigh and Ardith as they moved inexorably forward, claw-like hands reaching. 

Ardith turned back to Edana and discovered her gone. Along with her apprentice. There would be no help from that quarter.

Draigh had his knives out, the impressive muscles of his arms bulging as he anticipated the first wave of nastiness.

Ardith pulled her power forward and waited with it tingling in her fingertips. But even as she prepared to do her worst, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She and the hunter would be overcome fairly quickly by the sheer number of the monsters closing in on them.

It would be a slow, painful and slimy death. Ardith’s mind spun as she tried to come up with a way to escape certain death. There was only one way she could think of, and she was reluctant to pull her precious familiar into such a dangerous place.

Finally deciding it wasn’t worth the risk to Sirius, whose skills and guidance would be passed to the next witch in a long line of witches in her family when she was dead, Ardith did the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She placed a block on her mind to keep Sirius from feeling her death and prepared to take out as many zombies as she could before she went down.

Claws scraped down her arm and Ardith spun, sending witch fire between the zombie’s eyes. Its spongy head exploded like a melon, dousing the dead ones around it. They came on, hands outstretched, jaws snapping, as Draigh swung both arms, lopping off heads almost faster than Ardith’s eyes could register the movements. She sent power around her in an arc, slicing off limbs and severing heads as each new level of nightmarish creatures appeared.

Blood sprayed, gore splashed and the cavern smelled like a broken meat locker filled with spoiling meat.

Still Draigh slashed. Ardith spit deadly fire from her fingertips. And zombies continued to come. Layer after layer after layer of them, snapping, clawing and swinging heavy, rocklike arms.

Draigh was rammed by a particularly large male zombie who had only half of his face and fell sideways. The hunter caught himself before he fell and cut off the zombie’s head before surging back into the battle.

Ardith wasn’t quite so lucky. She fell over a severed limb on the ground and slipped in a slimy puddle of blood. Icy hot pain blossomed in her shoulder as a disease-ridden mouth wrenched her flesh, ripping into her as she fell. Spittle flew as the zombie whipped its head back and forth, trying to rip her arm out of its socket.

Claws ripped down her side, and she was tugged sideways as another powerful jaw closed over her other wrist. Strung between two rabid zombies, Ardith was dragged in opposite directions, her bones felt as if they were being ripped slowly apart. She screamed and fell to her knees as her vision went gray from the exquisite agony.

Teeth gnawed on her fingers. Claws dug furrows in her flesh.

The pile of zombies surrounding her thickened as more and more grasping claws reached for her. She prayed for a quick end, knowing she had no more magic in her.

Cool, thick blood spurted and the pressing pile of monsters started to ripple and fall away. A knife flashed past her head and one of the arms that was wrapped around her shoulders slipped away and fell to the ground. The zombie’s head followed, nearly hitting her on its way down. Draigh’s massive, blood-coated fist reached through the zombies and grabbed her arm, pulling her free of the pile.

Shiver, shudder, blech! That’s it, I’m locking myself in the house until somebody comes up with anti-zombie spray. We can load hundreds of gallons of the stuff onto crop dusting airplanes and spray it all over the dead, slimy uglies. We'll just pretend they're huge, really ugly cockroaches. It’s the only way. I’m not going anywhere near those nasty things. Not even with a ten foot sword!

Cover for Hexually Obsessed

If lust were flames there'd be scorch marks across the ages!

Ardith is a time traveling witch, a member of the Epoch Mages. Draigh is a Sorceri Bounty Hunter. They H-A-T-E each other. When they’re thrown together by the elders to chase an evil rogue witch through time and save the world from flesh eating zombies, they quickly discover that, while their minds may tell them they don’t like being together, their bodies don’t quite agree. In fact, if lust were flames, there would be a lot of scorch marks across the ages!

Buy the book, it’s much more fun to read about killing zombies than to actually do it yourself! Trust me, I speak from experience. Ish!


p.s. If you'd like to read about how we might ACTUALLY be overrun with REAL zombies, read my recent blog post here!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippets

In this short Christmas story, Astra has been conscripted to deal with a demon that’s been sliding down chimneys after Santa leaves, stealing toys, and beating up anyone who tries to stop him. The reportedly hairy, green demon wearing a red Santa suit and hat has been really hard to catch in previous years, but the Big Guy has grown increasingly tired of his antics and, this Christmas, has called out the big guns.
Angry at having to work on Christmas Eve, Astra reluctantly trudges out to deal with The Grinch on a bitterly cold night, carrying with her some really dark thoughts. But the spirit of love and giving soon touches Astra and she discovers she’s not as alone and unloved on a cold night as she might have thought. All she has to do is reach out and embrace her blessings. Not an easy thing for a cynical Tweener to do. But Astra Q Phelps is definitely up for the challenge.

A noise in the alleyway across the street brought me out of my warm thoughts and back to the brutal reality of my task. My gaze whipped toward the alley just in time to see a flash of red disappearing between the buildings. 

I concentrated my power and shifted to the mouth of the alley, landing with my knives clutched firmly in my toasty fingers. I was happy to note that the gloves didn’t affect my grip at all.

A handsome, surprised face, over-scored by white fur, turned in my direction. Sexy lips curved upward at my battle stance. “Hello, my queen.”

I slapped my knives back into their sheaths, feeling my previous good mood slipping away. “Don’t call me that, Dialle. What’s with the garb?”

He was wearing skin-tight, black leather pants that skimmed his long, muscular legs and yummy round posterior in a truly mouth watering way. Tall, red boots with white fur on the tops skimmed his lean calves in a loving embrace. His torso was covered in a form-fitting red velvet shirt, which was laid open at the neck to showcase a truly astounding pair of pecs. He wore a fur trimmed Santa hat. Silky black hair fell in smooth waves from beneath the hat, to curl softly around a square chin with a dimple in the center.

I loved that dimple.

Dialle opened his arms and grinned widely at me. “I’m your Christmas Angel.”

I snorted in a less than ladylike way. The idea that I would have a leader of the Royal Devils as a Christmas Angel was just too funny. “You are many things, bud, but an angel you ain’t.”

Dialle stepped closer, bringing an unnatural and very welcome heat with him. He pulled me into his arms and I sighed, enjoying his scent and warmth. “That’s just because you bring out the devil in me, Astra.”

Download the whole story here!

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Thursday Tidbit: Santa's Goin' Underground!

For the sake of the embattled Christmas holiday, and to save its celebrants unnecessary pain and stress, Santa has made an extremely difficult, well-thought-out decision. He's decided to do a lateral pass to a stand-in to take the heat off the holiday. With this goal in mind, he's walked into the sunset with his evil sidekick, the brightly clad Christmas tree, and left Christmas in the capable...erm...hands of his replacement.

The Christmas Chicken.

Put down those eye drops. Stop blinking and rubbing your eyes. You aren't seeing things. The Christmas Chicken, or CC as he's known by friends and fellow holiday professionals, has stepped in to carry the banner for the holiday that approximately 95% of Americans and 33% of the world celebrates. Santa has spent some time bringing him up to scratch...if you will...and believe me, CC is definitely ready to take on this challenge. Clad in green and red plaid knickers and an elf hat, CC offers celebrants a whole new perspective on the holiday. Rather than an enormous bag full of gifts in a sleigh, the Christmas Chicken will fly around the world under his own steam on Christmas eve, pulling gifts for happy children from the depths of a large nest made of sticks and magic dust.

In honor of our new Christmas hero, homes that previously harbored the evil Christmas Tree will soon highlight big, beautiful nests filled with bell "eggs" and an earthy array of burlap wrapped gifts. Plates filled with bananas and strawberries will replace the offerings of delicious, sugary, frosted cookies on the fireplace mantle. And letters to Santa that previously traveled to the North Pole will now be rerouted to CC's humble home in North Dakota, U.S.A.  There, in his long, low, production warehouse, CC's beaked and clawed "elves" will create and assemble millions of toys and gifts for the world's joyful celebrants.

In a recent interview with the North Pole Times, CC was asked how he thought the passage of the Christmas baton would affect the season. He responded exactly as many of us who celebrate this wonderful time of year would have responded.

"While a few among us strive to remove the symbols of the Christmas season, calling them "exclusive", "archaic", and "offensive" those of us who hold Christmas dear in our hearts understand that Christmas can never truly be eradicated. Though the symbols and tradition of this joyous time of year may come under attack and may even be altered in an attempt to save it, the real meaning of the season will never die. At the heart of Christmas is man's ideal of love and the joy inherent in giving and providing happiness. Love forms the core of the season...peace is its ultimate hope...and the seed of these admirable precedents is carried in each and every celebrants' heart. Though a few have tried to wrench that seed from our breasts, it only grows stronger with every effort."

Such a smart chicken. Such an invaluable nugget of truth. And I think I'm speaking for everyone when I say, that's one chicken nugget we can all enjoy!

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippets

Continuing to highlight past Christmas free reads, Astra Gets a Lump of Coal for Christmas is from 2010. Enjoy!

In this short Christmas story, Astra is forced to spend Christmas in Satan’s backyard, helping the angels figure out how the green dragons are escaping Hell to terrorize the human realm on Earth. Astra is thrilled. I mean, there’s nothing like Hell at Christmastime. The lovely, scorched earth theme delights the visual pallet while the dulcet sound of terrified screaming serenades the lucky minions within Hell’s fiery grasp.
Astra’s body may be locked in Hell, but her thoughts are a few million miles north, where light and angelic music are the norm. And somewhere in the middle, where bright colors and happy thoughts rule the day.
So what does a kick ass demon hunter do when she finds herself holding a big, fat lump of coal on Christmas day? Why, she thumps an elf , of course!

“So…what’s an elf doing in Hell?”
He spared me a quick glance. “Are you kidding me? This is our biggest coal distribution area.”
I snorted. “Who’d you piss off to get Hades duty?”
“I’ve never been very good with politics,” he murmured.
“Yeah, me neither. What have you got there?”
He grinned at me. “The nice and naughty list.”
I frowned. This was a sensitive subject with me. “Am I on it?”
The elf pretended to peruse the list, his beady black eyes flashing with terminal hilarity. “Astra Q Phelps? Let’s see…oh yes, there you are…in the coal section.” He burst into good-natured laughter, his little shoulders rolling and bouncing with mirth. 
I frowned, not amused. “How’d you know my name, elf?”
He shrugged. “I was told you’d be coming.”
“Who told you I was coming?”
He just shrugged again and pretended to peruse the scroll.
I tried to read over his shoulder but he turned his back on me so I couldn’t see. “Why won’t you let me see the list?”
“Santa / recipient confidentiality.”
“But I’m a recipient. “
He ignored me and continued to read the scroll.
I lay down in the snow and, just for grins, made a snow Tweener. When I stood up to look at it, my Tweener had horns and a tail. I glared skyward. “Very funny.” Thunder rolled across the sky, sounding suspiciously like laughter.
Glynus lay down on her belly and flapped her wings, sending snow billowing over the elf and me. She grunted in pleasure as the snow cooled her enormous belly. I love snow, Mother Tweener.
Yeah, me too, Tadpole.
Glancing back toward the elf,  I  tried a different tactic. “Have you seen a lot of green dragons around here?”
The elf looked up, his dark, sparkling eyes narrowing on me with distrust. “Why do you ask?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve been tasked with stopping their escape into the human realm.”
His gaze, which had been harmless and bright a moment earlier, like a puppy’s, was suddenly dark and unfathomable, almost hostile.
I wasn’t aware elves did hostile.
“You do realize they’re being poisoned here, right?”
I opened my mouth to respond but he didn’t give me the chance.
“Their only hope is to get out of here. You would stop them and cause their deaths? You would really do that? No wonder you’re on the coal list.”
Sloughing off the un-elf-like dig, I ploughed onward, seeing a possible end to my stint in maximum security Hell. “You seem very informed and interested, elf. You wouldn’t by any chance be involved in helping them escape, would you?”
He pulled himself up to his full height of about four feet and not much and stuck his little pug nose into the air, puffing up his rosy cheeks. “If I was involved I wouldn’t tell you, coal girl.”
I felt a snarl building in my chest. Power tingled in my fingertips. I clenched my hands to stop myself from flinging a fireball at the vertically challenged rodent. “Look, elf. I don’t really care if you’re involved. I’m not gonna turn you in to the red guy or anything. I just want to stop the spill of greens into the human realm so I can get home and start enjoying the Holidays.”
The look on his face almost took my breath away. Through his beady little eyes I suddenly saw myself. I finally realized what I was saying, what I had been trying to do.
I was willing to sign death warrants for every green dragon in Hell so I could get back to my Champaign and cookies. I was a schmoe, a shmuck, a class A jerk. I dropped my butt onto the elf’s three legged stool and buried my face in my hands. “You’re right. I’m an ass. I do deserve a lump of coal.”
Are you all right, Mother Tweener. Do you want me to thump the elf for you?
I sighed. No, tadpole. I don’t want you to thump the elf.  I may want to do it myself. 
Download the rest of the story here!

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Thursday Twisted Links

As we head towards the end of the world and the zombie apocalypse  I thought it might be fun and interesting to talk about how we actually could be overrun by zombies...scientifically that is. Wish me luck, people, cause this one is a doozy!

Zombies.          Toxoplasmosa Gondii.           Alzheimers.    

Yeah, say that three times real fast. #:0)

Zombies. Saying the word is fun, isn't it? Zombies, zombies, zombies. And the idea of zombies definitely fires the imagination. But, while zombies are fun to read about in a novel...Hexually Obsessed... What? I didn't say anything. As I was saying...while it's fun to experience a good, gooey, fictional zombie...Hexually Obsessed...erm...the idea of facing them in real life is less fun. (How's that for understatement?) So what would you do if I told you that real zombies could theoretically exist?

It's true, or at least possible, thanks to a little thing called toxoplasmosa gondii. This little parasite is a mouthful...literally...but its potential for harm is even bigger. Transferred from rats and mice to cats, the parasite can be passed to humans through the ingestion of under-cooked meat, improperly cleaned vegetables, or contact with feline feces. The means of ingestion is so prevalent, in fact, that from a third to half of all humans are currently harboring this parasite. Ish! What does it do, you ask? Well, mostly nothing. Though for people whose systems are compromised by disease or who are schizophrenic, it affects dopamine levels and, as one fun story I read on the Internet said, can make them "bat-shit crazy". What this means in technical terms is that they may become depressed, suicidal, and reckless. In fact, rats that are infected by the parasite exhibit zombie-like behaviors. Now, we all know humans and rats are biologically similar enough that scientists use them as research stand-ins when developing human drugs. So it stands to reason that an evolved form of toxoplasmosa gondii might conceivably turn people into zombies.

Okay, technically, these wouldn't be dead people who've been re-energized by witchcraft, but hey, when a blank-eyed, pasty-faced guy stomps toward you with blood dripping from his teeth, you're not gonna worry too much about the distinction...are you? #:0)

So how does Alzheimer's fit into this link you ask? Well, it's an interesting thing. This nasty little parasite has been shown to actually stop brain deterioration in Alzheimer's patients. It's also been found to improve patients with ADD and ADHD. Go figure.

That loud clicking sound you just heard was the link closing. Phew! And I'll leave you with this final thought. When the world ends and the zombie apocalypse starts, don't stop to wonder if the zombie stomping toward you is really a re-energized corpse, or if he's just been infected by an evolved toxoplasmosa gondii parasite. My advice?


Okay, okay, since you asked #:0) here's the blurb on Hexually Obsessed. (Thanks for indulging me!)

Ardith is a time traveling witch, a member of the Epoch Mages. Draigh is a Sorceri Bounty Hunter. They H-A-T-E each other. When they’re thrown together by the elders to chase an evil rogue witch through time and save the world from flesh eating zombies, they quickly discover that, while their minds may tell them they don’t like being together, their bodies don’t quite agree. In fact, if lust were flames, there'd be scorch marks across the ages!

~ 5 Stars from SnifferWalk "I don't hand out a ton of 5 Star ratings for books. Like my Ratings Guide says, they have to be practically life changing. But if I read a book and I just cannot seem to forget it, it has to be a 5."

~ 5 Stars from My Cozie Corner Book Reviews "A hard to put down novel that will capitvate you from the beginning."

~ 4 Stars from Evolved World "Ms. Cheever makes a mean post-Apocalyptic earth which is easily credible, and unlike so many such tales, does not have the awkward "here's what's this world is all about" phase which can plague a paranormal romance. Action. Hate. Lust. Time Shift. Zombie Goo. We all win."

~4 Stars from Books and Other Spells "I really liked like book! The characters, setting and plot was just so fascinating! I could not stop reading it! I love books that have the two characters hate each other then end up together. You get to see all the side of the characters before they fall in love, so you know that they can handle each other. It also makes the book so much more interesting and lovable and of course hilarious!"

Monday, December 3, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippets

As Christmas fast approaches, and I busily work to complete this year's Christmas story, I thought it might be fun to highlight previous year's free Christmas reads. So this week's Sunday Snippet is from my 2011 Astra Q Phelps short, The Year the Grinch Stole Santa. Enjoy!


Astra is determined to take Christmas off, so she’s been ignoring the nearly constant calls from the North Pole to help them find Santa, who’s disappeared just days before Christmas.

But when a flash mob of elves show up and whisk her away to the North Pole, fresh from the shower and all nakies, what’s a Tweener to do?

Looks like Astra will be working again on Christmas after all.


Peace on Earth and Goodwill toward Men…Bleurgh!

In my world, nobody’s peaceful.


In Heaven, the Big Guy’s fighting to come to some kind of agreement with the Union of Guardian Angels and he’s worried about a major strike that will leave everybody on Earth unprotected. On Earth, violence has spiked and people are going crazy over taxes and a truly stinky economy, as well as a food shortage. And at the North Pole, there have been rumors of Elf unrest and Santa has gone missing.

It’s been all I could do to keep myself in the holiday spirit. With that goal in mind, I was currently ignoring multiple calls a day from the North Pole.

Ignoring? You ask in disbelief. Ignoring Santa!?

Yes. I’m ignoring Santa.

Or rather, his elves. The little buggers have been calling me every five minutes and I’ve been doing my best to avoid those calls. Why? you ask. because I’m sick and frunkin’ tired of having to work every Christmas.

Just for once I’d like to spend the week before Christmas shopping for gifts, attending holiday parties, and baking cookies like everybody else.

I saw that face.

You don’t think I can bake cookies do you? Huh?

Okay. You’re right. But I can frunkin’ eat ‘em can’t I?

Sigh. If I get the chance.

My televisual bleeped again and I grabbed the pillow next to me and covered my face with it. Cursing like a green Martian policeman, I climbed out of bed and headed for the personal hygiene room, intending to drown my sorrows in blissfully hot soapy water.

A few minutes later, I was soaking wet and happily soapy when the lights in the room flickered and I sensed movement. I squinted one eye open, cognizant of the soap running down my face, and started to pull my power forward.

Something light and shimmery landed on my head and my power froze on my fingertips. My eyes opened wide and I immediately regretted it as soap ran into them in a stinging stream.

“Frunk!” I lifted a hand and scraped it over my face and then glared down at my diminutive attackers, my eyes trying their best to close under the sting.

A familiar face glared back at me.


He was dressed in green tights and a green tunic and wearing a red pointed hat, a wide red belt, and red shoes with curling toes.

As usual, he looked ridiculous.

Behind him ranged several more vertically challenged rodents wearing stupid outfits to match Ralphy’s. They all had ridiculously rosy cheeks too, but their expressions were less jolly.

In fact they mostly looked royally pissed.

Ralphy looked down his pug nose at me. It didn’t take him long since it was only about an inch long. “Astra Q Phelps. I came to tell you that, this year, you’re so naughty you don’t even rate coal. This year all you’re gonna get from the North Pole is hostility.”


Want more? You can download the entire story free!

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Thursday Tidbit - The Magic of Mistletoe!

Many of us have grown up with the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe, but I’m guessing most of us don’t have any idea about the plant or the origins behind its magical aura.

First, about the plant. Mistletoe is actually a predatory plant, which evolved and prospered by leeching nutrients from other plants. It’s considered a partial parasite, because it can grow on its own, but is more commonly found growing out of the branches and trunks of trees. You might not be aware that the pretty white berries found on mistletoe are poisonous. (Hmm, there’s plot potential there!) Mistletoe’s earliest ancestor is sandalwood, another predatory plant which has also been portrayed romantically in fiction. When I hear sandalwood I think ancient Egypt, mummies, and vampires. Like mistletoe, sandalwood is a parasitic plant, stealing other plants’ nutrients to live. Harsh though this history seems after all the romance, it does make sandalwood the perfect icon for a great vampire story!

Now for the magic. The ancient Druids prized Mistletoe as an agent of fertility, luck, and peace. They hung the plant over their doors and used it in ritual sacrifices to ensure prosperity. The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe seems to have initiated in Greece, tied to the festival of Saturnalia, and originated under the belief that the plant harbored a life-giving force and had fertility and aphrodisiac powers. Scandinavian history gave mistletoe peace-enhancing properties. Often, warring factions would declare a truce under the mistletoe. Battling spouses also made up under it. In eighteenth century England, young girls standing under a ball of mistletoe at Christmas could not refuse a kiss, and if they were not kissed that night, it was considered a sign that they wouldn’t marry the following year. Kissing under the mistletoe was seen as a promise to marry as well as an assurance of a long and happy life.  

Today, kissing under the mistletoe is a fun party game. It means little more than an excuse to kiss someone you favor. But it’s no less fun and interesting for this lack of a deeper meaning. Even if we don’t know the history behind the act, the reasons for doing it have persisted for centuries. The human animal seeks love and acceptance through any means necessary. Even by kissing someone we cherish under a parasitic plant with poisonous berries!

Whatever the tradition involving this unique and tenacious plant, one thing is clear, it has inspired many centuries of hope and fun, and no holiday season would be the same without it!

Have a great holiday season everybody!


Perdition guide Damian is supposed to escort sexy Amanda to Hell. But he’d much rather keep her.

Damian Noire is a Perdition Guide. He escorts people who die to their rightful spot in Hell. Business always seems to pick up around the Holidays and this Christmas is no exception. Damian’s assignment is to bring a beautiful young woman to Hell to stand before the judgment assembly, and then take her to her assigned circle of Hell. It sounds simple. But it’s about to become the hardest assignment he’s ever performed.
Amanda Wright might have been unjustly judged. She might not belong in Hell at all. Problem is, Damian really kind of likes her. He especially likes enjoying her lush, willing body under the mistletoe. If he gets her the judgment she truly deserves, he’s probably going to lose her forever. But if he doesn’t help her, an innocent may spend eternity in Hell. It appears to be a lose/lose situation on all fronts. Proving once again that holidays truly are hell!

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Sam's Sunday Snippet

Devil Under the Mistletoe - Coming November 29th!

Perdition guide Damian is supposed to escort sexy Amanda to Hell. But he’d much rather keep her.

Damian Noire is a Perdition Guide. He escorts people who die to their rightful spot in Hell. Business always seems to pick up around the Holidays and this Christmas is no exception. Damian’s assignment is to bring a beautiful young woman to Hell to stand before the judgment assembly, and then take her to her assigned circle of Hell. It sounds simple. But it’s about to become the hardest assignment he’s ever performed.

Amanda Wright might have been unjustly judged. She might not belong in Hell at all. Problem is, Damian really kind of likes her. He especially likes enjoying her lush, willing body under the mistletoe. If he gets her the judgment she truly deserves, he’s probably going to lose her forever. But if he doesn’t help her, an innocent may spend eternity in Hell. It appears to be a lose/lose situation on all fronts. Proving once again that holidays truly are hell!


Snow started to fall in large, soft flakes that sparkled in the overhead illumination. Just ahead was the shopping district, complete with bright, multicolored lights and holiday music. The little park in the center of town was filled with happy ice-skaters, and the homey smell of hot chocolate wafted past. Amanda suddenly remembered it was Christmas Day, and her spirits plunged even lower.

She sniffed, scrubbing tears off her cheeks with her hands. The demon beside her glanced over but he didn’t say anything.

“I can’t believe I’m going to Hell.”

“Believe it.”

“I’ve tried so hard to be good all my life. I went to church…”

The demon grimaced.

“I gave money to charities. I always tried to say nice things to everybody, even when I thought they were complete ass-wipes.”

He snorted.

“I tried never to lie, unless I thought it would spare somebody’s feelings. And I’ve led a pure life.” She looked up at him. “Do you know I never even...” She stopped. Heat suffused her face, and she looked away.

“What? You never even what?”

She shrugged.

The demon stopped and turned to her, lifting a hand to smooth over her face. The stiff, sticky feel of dried blood disappeared from her face under his touch. “Are you telling me you’re a virgin?”

Amanda bit her bottom lip and looked at the skaters. She really wished she were on that pond right at that moment. Or anywhere but under the intense, smoldering gaze of a demon from Hell. To make things worse, even on the precipice of being damned for all eternity she couldn’t ignore the fact that he was truly hot. And he smelled yummy too.


He drew her name out like her mother used to do when Amanda wouldn’t admit to being naughty. Quick tears filled her eyes at the thought. She would miss her mom. She’d seen her family just that morning. They’d opened gifts and had Christmas brunch together. The unfairness of it all suddenly pissed her off. “What if I am?”

The demon moved closer, his heat and scent washing over her and making her parts throb. Amanda crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him to hide her sudden interest. “What?”

The demon’s sexy mouth curved into a slow, sensual smile. “Look up.”

Her frown deepened. “Are you going to show me more bright lights that I can’t walk into? No thanks.” She turned away, intending to step around him. “I’m not interested.”

His hand encircled her throat and she went completely still. Gently but firmly, he tipped her chin up so she was forced to look overhead. A bunch of green stuff with tiny, white berries hung overhead. It didn’t appear to be attached to anything. It was just hanging in mid-air above her. She blinked. Mistletoe? His meaning was suddenly clear.

She dropped her gaze to his, her eyes widening. “Would you care to kiss the devil under the mistletoe?” His smile quirked upward on one side and, God help her, Amanda found it incredibly sexy.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

10 Questions: The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

I got tagged by Zenobia Renquist to do a blog hop post for The Next Big Thing. So this week, instead of a Sunday Snippet, I'm participating in the blog hop. I'll do a snippet of the new book next Sunday!

Here goes...

1. What is the title of your latest book?

Devil Under the Mistletoe – Book 1 Holidays Are Hell series – Release Date 12/01/12

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?

Anybody who has survived a Christmas or Thanksgiving get together with family knows that Holidays are Hell. LOL So, when I was looking for an idea for a Christmas story, of course I thought of devils and other inhabitants of Hell. Who wouldn't  And, since more people seem to die around the holidays, I came up with the idea of the Perdition Guides. Think of these sexy devils as escorts for Hell. Trust me, once the ladies start reading about these guides, they’ll be fighting to go South when they die rather than reaching for the clouds! 

3. What genre does your book fall under?

Erotic Paranormal

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Christian Bale would be perfect to play the part of Damian and I’d love to have Molly Quinn from Castle play Amanda.

5. What is the book blurb for your book?

Perdition guide Damian is supposed to escort sexy Amanda to Hell. But he’d much rather keep her.

Damian Noire is a Perdition Guide. He escorts people who die to their rightful spot in Hell. Business always seems to pick up around the Holidays and this Christmas is no exception. Damian’s assignment is to bring a beautiful young woman to Hell to stand before the judgment assembly, and then take her to her assigned circle of Hell. It sounds simple. But it’s about to become the hardest assignment he’s ever performed.
Amanda Wright might have been unjustly judged. She might not belong in Hell at all. Problem is, Damian really kind of likes her. He especially likes enjoying her lush, willing body under the mistletoe. If he gets her the judgment she truly deserves, he’s probably going to lose her forever. But if he doesn't help her, an innocent may spend eternity in Hell. It appears to be a lose/lose situation on all fronts. Proving once again that holidays truly are hell!

6. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

It takes me two to four weeks to write a story of this length, depending on what else I have going on at the time. #:0)

7. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

It’s hard to compare this to another story because I've never read one with this premise. I’m sure there’s something out there, but I haven’t read it. If anybody knows of one leave me a comment and let me know the author/title. I'll go check it out!

8. Who or What inspired you to write this book?

I really wanted to come up with a series wrapped around holidays. Once I came up with the series premise the story line for the first book came pretty easily.

9. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

The world I created in Hell is really interesting. It consists of several layers, based on how terrible your crimes are. Hell has three suns (that’s why it’s so hot) and a boiling sea with black sand. Fortunately the boiling sea is really just the comfortably warm sea…think hot tub. And there are portals all over for really quick travel through Hell. But most importantly, if you end up going to Hell, you’re gonna get escorted there by a really sexy devil. That’s not all bad right? However, if your crimes are bad you’re not gonna like where you end up. Just sayin’!

10. And the Next Best Thing?

Now I’m supposed to send you to 5 more authors to carry on The Next Big Thing. (Rubbing hands together gleefully) Okay, my victims…er…selections are:

Lizzie T. Leaf:
Cindy Spencer Pape:
Savannah Chase:
Nine Pierce: