Meet the Author

I’ll be over on the Dreamspinner Group at Goodreads today from 1:00 to 6:00 (eastern time) to chat, answer questions about Wolf’s-own, and whatever comes up. (Or, you know—stare at the walls and listen to the crickets.) The direct link is HERE. Stop by and wave, if you can. Also, I’m still at the YA LGBT Books group at May Featured Author and Aisling - Guardian, talking about Aisling (and fantasy and world-building and Lois McMaster Bujold, among other things) until the end of the month. Hope to see you!

The Erotic Romance Scavenger Hunt is a blog hop featuring nineteen authors, a ton of exclusive material and fantastic giveaways, and an amazing grand prize for one lucky scavenger hunter. Just joined the hunt? Click here to start from the beginning. RULES: Hidden within each post on the hunt will be a single letter that is red. Jot those letters down because they're part of the following mystery phrase you'll need to unscramble: _ _ _ _ I _ _     _ _ _ _ _ _ _     _ _ R     _ _ _ _ At the bottom of each post will be a link to your next stop on the hunt. Once you've completed the hunt, read all the fantastic exclusive material and entered all the individual giveaways, unscramble the letters you collected to reveal the mystery phrase. When you've uncovered the phrase, fill out the entry form in order to qualify for the grand prize. Grand prize is open internationally. You must be 18 or older to enter. The hunt will only be open for 72 hours so play fast! Entries sent without the correct phrase or without contact information will not be considered. All entries must be received by May 28 at noon Central Time. On with the hunt! It’s my very sincere pleasure to introduce Ms. Ava March!" ----- Ava March is an author of smoking hot M/M historical erotic romances. She loves writing in the Regency time period, where proper decorum is of the utmost importance, but where anything can happen behind closed doors. She is published with Loose Id, Amber Quill Press, Samhain Publishing, and Carina Press. Ava loves to hear from readers. Please visit her on the web at www.AvaMarch.com. She can also be found at her blog www.avamarch.blogspot.com, www.facebook.com/avamarchbooks/ or www.twitter.com/ava_march. NOW FOR AVA'S EXCLUSIVE MATERIAL!

The second scene in chapter 7 of BROOK STREET: THIEF was originally started in Benjamin's POV. Then I got into writing the sex and realized the scene needed to be from Cavin's POV. Because I'm one of those who saves everything, I kept the old intro to the scene. And here it is, Benjamin's thoughts as he takes Cavin up to his bedchamber after a short stay in the study....

Benjamin stopped short in the corridor and opened the door at his right. Moonlight streamed through the windows, providing enough light for him make his way to the side of the bed. With each step, his cock, still wet from Cavin's mouth, rubbed against his drawers, keeping the lust roused in the study honed to a razor sharp edge. As he quickly pulled back the coverlet and sheet, he heard footsteps enter the room. The door snapped shut. A familiar pair of hands palmed his hips. "Not here," Benjamin murmured, though he belied his own words by pushing back. The hard arch of Cavin's erection pressed against the crease of his arse. Benjamin let out a little grunt. "My bedchamber's at the end of the corridor. This one is officially yours, but in the event my housekeeper checks the room in the morning, I want it to appear as if you actually spent the night here." Lips nuzzled the small space behind his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Wise man." Benjamin turned in Cavin's arms. "I try, though it's my first time displaying such wisdom." With a tug on Benjamin's hips, Cavin brought their bodies together, his mouth covering Benjamin's. He gave himself a moment to indulge, but only a moment, then pushed on Cavin's chest. "Let's get to my bedchamber so we can get rid of these clothes." Cavin nipped at his lower lip. "I couldn't agree more." A handful of minutes ago, he'd discovered how to gain Cavin's agreement to stay the night – a repeat of their prior activities on the study floor, except this time he'd had the presence of mind to stop before Cavin's seed had coated his tongue. Cavin had only hesitated long enough to take Benjamin's cock out of his mouth before he'd replied with a hasty, "Yes. Bed." Determined to keep Cavin's mind focused on satisfying the erection tenting the placket of his trousers, Benjamin grabbed Cavin by the hand and quickly led him down the corridor. Mrs. Gilroy never entered his bedchamber until after he'd made an appearance at the breakfast table, and he rarely had guests stay the night – most of his friends resided on the same street, within an easy walking distance even for those who left foxed – so the housekeeper wouldn't assume there'd be a need to check the guest bedchamber. He barely had time to notice the fire in the hearth in his bedchamber was already lit when Cavin shoved him back, using Benjamin's body to snap the door shut. Cavin's lips slanted across his, hungry and eager. As Benjamin shoved his tongue into Cavin's mouth, he blindly slapped the door near his hip. His fingertips found cool brass, and he turned the lock. They made very quick work of divesting each other of their clothes. Hands tugged, buttons gave way, fabric was pushed down and off and over heads. They tumbled onto the bed, mouths crushed together, hands roaming over bare skin. Cavin shifted, moving onto his back and taking Benjamin with him. Sprawled over Cavin, Benjamin pushed and looked down into Cavin's shadowed face. That wouldn't do at all. He leaned left, toward his bedside table. "Need to light a candle." "But the fire's lit." "Not enough," he said, grabbing the tinderbox. "I want to be able to see you in all your glory." Cavin let out a sound that was halfway between a snort and a chuckle. "All of my glory?" The candle flared to life.

------------- Mm, yummy, yeah? Many thanks to Ava for sharing and participating in the hunt. Keep following the breadcrumbs and collecting your clues, and maybe you'll win Ava's book along with many other fabulous reads. Ready to move on? The next stop on the Erotic Romance Scavenger Hunt is... Marie Sexton! Good luck!

New release

Now available in paperback and ebook at Dreamspinner Press. (Don’t forget—download the free read Rapport and look for the easter egg before you buy!) The Kindle version is also available at Amazon. Also—the winner of the random drawing for the ebooks of ghost and Weregild is Kym B. (Kym, if you’re here, I’ll be contacting you shortly.)

and the winner of the Koan eARC is...

I want to thank everyone very sincerely for playing along. This was great fun for me, and so interesting to see what you all came up with. I’m going to share the answers with you, but let this serve as a warning to anyone who hasn’t read Ghost or Weregild that there are some major spoilers to follow. There were a ton of great answers to the question What happened to the braid after Malick cut if off? Some of them surprised me, some of them didn’t, but there were plenty to pick from—hilarious, thoughtful, a little bit bizarre, poignant… they ran the gamut. There were many variations on ‘Malick secretly kept it’, though Marleen’s was the one that stood out there: Bitch, please, the answer is so obvious. Malick keeps the braid. Helloooo? Can you say 'FETISH'? Pretty soon, (when Fen's a little more stable), he'll be using it to tie Fen up during sex. Duh. *snicker* She definitely knows Malick. And Fen, as you’ll see when you read chapter two of Koan. Addie, Aaron, Jelena, Russ S., Brandi, Dawn, Jeff and Michelle all gave similar answers, though Marleen gets points for the duhness of hers. ;) To be quite honest, this was the first answer that popped into my head when I asked myself the question, so it’s definitely not wrong. But there were others. Addie kept me entertained this morning as I went through all of hers: There was 1) It was donated to the cancer society of Ada for wigs. And then there was 2) It was used at Immortals’ parties to play ‘Pin the Braid on the Untouchable.” OMG. *falls down* For whatever reason, I started picturing piñatas and all the unfortunate possibilities that come along with them. But then she sucker-punched me with 3) It was kept in a glass case at the Court building in Fen’s honor and as a reminder to all citizens of what the Untouchables suffered. Oooooh. That one hurt. In a good way. Nikki R. thought Shig stole it, though Shig’s so weird, who knows why? Even she doesn’t know. Somehow, I think Joori would agree with that assessment. Speaking of Joori, Erin B. thought he took it and is keeping it hidden away in case he ever has to disguise himself as Jacin. I’m not sure if that’s kinkier than Malick taking it or not. Though Erin also thinks there’s “twin-cest” going on off-screen, so I’m thinking yes. ;) Nikyta almost took it with this one: After Malick cut off Fen's braid, the braid took on a life of its own and started attacking people and causing them to freak out because now they were hearing the ancestors in their heads. It spread like wild-fire. Poor people had no idea what was coming when Malick freed Fen. Sad, sad. I mean, come on! The mental pictures alone are going to keep me chuckling for a week. And then Robin caught me off my guard with this one: Husao took it and dropped it into the remains of Subie along with the amulets. Husao never even crossed my mind, so that one made me sit up and really think about it. And it’s very plausible. It might have been what happened. But then CindyR completely blew me away with her answer, and I think you’ll see why when you read it: After Subie was destroyed, after the Ancestors went home to Wolf, after Malick cut Jacin-rei's braid, after Jacin-rei wasn't dying anymore, after, after... The braid was a symbol, and maybe the way to take power away from a symbol is to ignore it, let it be trampled into the earth. But Morin didn't feel that was right. Didn't Jacin-rei bind Asai's spirit to the earth by stomping his heart into the ground? Maybe for Jacin-rei to be free, the braid must be burned. Well, Morin wasn't going to give the damn thing it's own pyre, but maybe there was a more fitting way. When no one was paying attention, Morin gathered the braid up. When he found his mother, he would put the braid in her hands, send her to the afterlife with the proof that her son was free. She would like that, Morin thought. She had tried to shield her Untouchable son from the Ancestors. She would want to know that he was free of them. That's what Morin would do when they found what was left of her. After he'd ended her tormented existence. After. Because he would be the one to do it. Jacin-rei wasn't able, and Joori was mostly concerned with Jacin-rei. Damn this thing was heavy. How had Jacin-rei been able to move with the braid weighing him down, physically as well as symbolically? Maybe Jacin-rei would be just Jacin now, no longer the ghost. His mother would have liked that, too. I know, right?! That’s it. I mean, tears. Actual honest-to-god tears *sniffle* That’s the one. I wish I could give everyone who entered a copy, but this one has to go to Cindy. Thank you to everyone who played, and thank you so much for your support of this series. I hope the rest of it makes you as happy as you all have made me. xoxo Carole P.S. The random drawing giveaway for Ghost and Weregild continues until Monday. I'll announce the winner when Koan is officially released.

eARC

Two days left to enter to win an advance reader copy of Koan. See THIS POST for details. The random drawing for Ghost and Weregild goes until Monday.

GHOST, WEREGILD and KOAN giveaway

For those of you who have not read them but were thinking about it: GHOST and WEREGILD e-book May 14th - May 21st Random drawing for e-books. That's it. To win both books, just email me at carole AT carolecummings DOT com (SUBJECT: Ghost/Weregild) or leave a comment here within the timeframe and I'll choose a name at random on the 21st and notify the winner. One entry per person, please. You will need an account at Dreamspinner Press in order to collect your e-books. If you don't have one, it only takes a minute, and there is no credit card info or anything like that required. Now don’t peek at the next one, because there are spoilers. ;) For those who’ve read the first two: KOAN e-ARC May 14th - May 18th Simply answer the question: What happened to the braid? and email it to carole AT carolecummings DOT com. Make sure you put KOAN CONTEST in the subject line. You will need an account at Dreamspinner Press in order to collect your e-book. If you don't have one, it only takes a minute, and there is no credit card info or anything like that required. A winner will be chosen by me on May 18th and awarded the e-ARC for Wolf's-own, Book Three: Koan. Just in time for weekend reading. ;) There is no right or wrong answer. There is no answer at all, which is why I'm asking the question. And there will be no blind drawing or objective criteria for awarding the prize. 'Wow' me, entertain me, make me think--whoever gives me an answer that makes me laugh or groan or say 'Ah-ha! That's it!' gets the advance copy of book three. You can enter as many times as you like, but please do not comment here with your answer. Email only to the above address. My daughter will be screening my email for me so that all I see are the answers with no names attached to them.

Cover art

By the always fabulous Anne Cain

Two Temshiel walk into a bar…

I still like that synopsis better.

RAPPORT—just a little short about Malick’s first meeting with Skel—is now available for free download from Dreamspinner Press.

SYNOPSIS: Life for an immortal can get a little dull. But Skel has just found a new spark of interest in Wolf's new Null, and he's taking another look at life, love, the world, and Kamen Malick.

Anyone who plans to buy any book in the Wolf’s-own series should go take advantage of the offer, even if you’ve already read this particular story, and be sure to check out every last page. (*cough*easter egg*cough*)

Also, while I’m here, I want to do a quick FAQ for anyone who might be paying attention. These are a few questions I’ve had posed to me consistently since before the first book in the series even came out, so here are the answers:

Is this a shifter story?
No. The possibility of the misconception hadn’t even occurred to me until someone asked the question when I announced the contract for publication. Oops. No shifters.

When will you be done writing the last book?
I was done before I even submitted the first one. I don’t submit anything in a series until all of the story is complete. There are four books in the series, and there will only be four books in the series.

Cliffhangers between books?
Well, it depends on your definition, I guess. I really didn’t think so, but some readers begged to differ. Strenuously. So you’re probably better off listening to them on that one.

Books one and two are one complete story arc, and books three and four are a different but intricately related and complete story arc. So, if you’re wary of cliffhangers, you might want to read one and two together, and then wait until four is out to start three.

Four books? Four? Really?
Sorry, but it’s the reality of small press publishing. Small presses cannot economically handle more than 150K words in one shot. The first story arc clocked in at around 350K and the second arc finished at around 200K. And that was after some pretty hefty cuts.

You should know, though, that you can read the first two books and walk away with a complete story. Books three and four are necessary additions to the overarching story as a whole, but not to that first arc.

Also? If you’ve read one and two and Fen got on your nerves, you can pretty much just pack it in now and not bother with three and four. The first arc was about Malick becoming who he needed to be; the second is pretty much about Fen learning how to be an actual person.

When are the publication dates for books three and four?
The contracts specify May/June for book three and June/July for book four. Last I heard, everything was ahead of schedule and the plan was for mid/late-May for book three and then mid/late-June for book four, but it’s possible the dates could get pushed out for unforeseeable reasons to June and July. (For instance, I haven’t gotten the cover art yet, and I believe they wait to schedule an actual print run until that’s done and approved, so delays are possible.) So if things keep to the pattern set with the first two books, the last two should be out no later than the end of June, but you never know. I’ll post when I’ve gotten cover art and specific dates.

Any other questions, let me know.

Wolf's-own, Book Two: Weregild

Now available from Dreamspinner Press HERE.

John Carter

So I’ve been really looking forward to seeing John Carter when it comes out. In fact, I think it’s out this weekend, so yay! Or maybe it’s next weekend. Hm… Anyway, so I’ve been looking forward to it and reading any preview reviews I’ve come across—as you do—and I have to say, I’m getting a little tired of reviewers who don’t know WTF they’re talking about.

You have to understand—I read the John Carter books when I was a kid. John Carter was my pre-adolescent not-quite-lust object and kind of my friend. He was cool, he was tough, he was smart, he had a big squishy heart, and—at least in my mind’s eye—was at least as handsome as Natty Bumpo. Maybe not quite as handsome as Frodo, because, y’know—Frodo. *dreamy sigh* (Hey, shut up, he was just about my height back then.)

Anyway, so I’ve read two reviews in two days that have completely panned this movie, and that have in the process missed the point so badly that I want to write to the magazines these reviewers work for and demand their resignations. I mean, saying that John Carter has echoes of Star Wars and Avatar is like saying Socrates has echoes of Bertrand Russell. Because dude! Edgar Rice Burroughs was around way before George Lucas and James Cameron. He paved the way for them, ferchrissakes! Some of those things you’re whining you’ve seen before and been-there/done-that? Yeah—he came up with them in the first place. You don’t get to take points off for ‘copying’ when you’re reviewing the story they copied from.

The flashbacks (character development OMG the horror!) made the story too confusing? All that tells me is that you’re not smart enough to multitask and understand how past experiences inform and motivate present actions. I mean, I don’t recall having any trouble understanding that, and I was twelve!

And then! AND THEN! (!!!!) One of them whined that Taylor Kitsch was ‘too pretty’. *boggles* I mean, really? And my first thought was, You’re a straight guy, aren’t you? but my second thought was, when was the last time you heard a reviewer complain that a female hero was too pretty? I don’t remember anyone complaining that Leeloo was too pretty, or that she spent a great deal of The Fifth Element walking around in strategically placed bandages. And anyway—WTF has that got to do with anything? I can’t have eye candy while I’m watching my SF/F action flick? And if I get some, that’s just another reason why the movie sucks? Would they have been happier if Harrison Ford and his manboobs were the ones in a chest plate and loincloth? ARGH!

Did the movie fall down on characterization? Did it fail to realize its plot? Did the world it built crash and burn on too many logic flaws? Well, I don’t know, because these reviewers were too busy complaining about their own misinformation and the ‘too pretty’ thing to tell me. (Seriously—an entire paragraph of a three-paragraph review spent on ‘too pretty’. *bangs head*)

Maybe the movie does suck. Maybe the acting is horrible and the effects are awful and you can see the zippers up the backs of the aliens’ suits. Maybe the director completely mishandled a classic I grew up with and love to this day. It wouldn’t be the first time. *cough*LOTR*cough* Maybe John Carter is cheesy and predictable and juvenile. Maybe I’ll end up throwing popcorn at the screen and groaning out loud. (Or crying, like I did when they wimpified Frodo.) But it won’t be because it’s using ideas that the author of the books dreamt up, and it certainly won’t be because the protagonist is ‘too pretty’. It’ll be because… um, well, I don’t know, because I haven’t seen it yet.

You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.
― Harlan Ellison

I would have figured reviewers actually getting paid for having an informed opinion should be more informed than I am. Just sayin’.

(Of course, now that I’ve opened my mouth, the movie probably will suck. I hope not. John Carter deserves better.)

On a more optimistic note: in my review/trailer-seeking, I came across a couple of animated movies that I'm really looking forward to. Brave looks like a movie every mother should take her young, impressionable daughter to see (Disney! Whooda thunk?), and ParaNorman just looks like some kick-ass fun.

'Weregild' excerpt and 'Ghost' give away

Wolf’s-own, Book Two: Weregild is now available for pre-order from Dreamspinner Press HERE

EXCERPT from Chapter One:


Chapter One


Storm-month, Year 1322, Cycle of the Wolf


HE HADN’T been expecting to see Jacin again so soon. He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him before the small hours, and yet here he stood, rain-soaked and hollow-eyed, in the doorway of the little hut, blinking about himself like he’d forgotten why he’d come. Joori’s mouth quirked up in an uncertain half smile—right up until he saw the two men who came up to stand behind Jacin in the doorway.

His first instinct—hunters? bandits? was Jacin some kind of hostage?—was to yank Jacin through the door and slam it shut. Too bad his body’s first reaction was to freeze like a rodent beneath the shadow of a hawk’s wings.

“Jacin!”

Joori was still gaping like an idiot and didn’t catch Caidi before she made a run at Jacin, so she was rather open prey for the man who stepped forward to intercept her. Jacin didn’t move—Joori couldn’t. Just watched the man swing his little sister up onto his hip with a grin Joori didn’t quite believe—more wolfish than friendly—then cut a narrow glance at Morin and a mocking one at Joori.

“Kamen Malick,” the man said, “you can call me Malick,” then he tipped a nod at Morin and spared a quick smile for Caidi as he tweaked her nose before turning his cool glance back on Joori. “Friends of your brother’s. We’re here to take you somewhere safe.”

The other man, the big one, pursed his mouth in clear disapproval. “You plan on telling everyone you meet your real name?”

You-can-call-me-Malick just grinned. “It’s Fen’s family,” he said, like it was a perfectly reasonable retort.

Handsome. Friendly-seeming enough. The other man was big and blocky, a little bit scary, maybe, but not threatening, though a broadsword hung at his hip. The one who called himself Kamen Malick was armed, as well, but no weapons were drawn, which had to be a good sign—right? With Jacin just standing there, somewhat glassy-eyed, You-can-call-me-Malick smiling, all amiable amusement, and the other waiting in the doorway like an attentive steward, it all seemed absurdly unthreatening for a sudden appearance in the dark of night with a storm rolling steadily. And the statement—safe; could it be possible?—really should have set elation through Joori, not raise his hackles the way it did.

It was the hand on Jacin’s shoulder that made Joori’s eyes narrow. The casual way You-can-call-me-Malick tipped in and spoke something quietly into Jacin’s ear as he set Caidi down and gave her a pat between the shoulder blades, then gently pushed her away from Jacin. The impossible to mistake marks just below Jacin’s ear. And then the way Jacin merely peered at Joori, then at Morin and Caidi, said, “Take what you can carry; the cart’s only big enough for Caidi and a few provisions,” then angled stiffly away from the door and out from under the grip on his shoulder to direct Caidi and Morin with the packing.

Joori had had his suspicions for years about what Asai had wanted with his brother—hell, he’d been pretty sure he knew exactly what Asai was about the night he stepped arrogantly into their dooryard—and Jacin’s reticence and unwillingness to talk in detail about the man at all in the weeks they’d spent in this little hut had drawn conclusions of every sort of abuse and exploitation Joori could fathom. And he’d be damned if he’d see it done again—not in his name, never again.

He pushed past the cocky stranger with the too easy grin, growling a little at the way the man tried to angle himself between Joori and Jacin, like he was trying to keep Joori away—keep Joori away from his brother; how dare the man—and took hold of Jacin’s elbow.

“Jacin, what’s going on? Who are these people?” And then he peered a little closer. “Are you drunk? Or…?” His eyes narrowed, and he wheeled on the grinning stranger. “What’ve you got him on?”

You-can-call-me-Malick’s eyebrows drew down. “What’ve I got him—?”

“I can barely see the color of his eyes for the pupils, and he looks like he’s about to fall over.”

“Joori, not now.” It was snappish and short. Jacin pulled his arm away from Joori’s grip. “They’re who they say they are. This is Malick. And that’s Samin.”

He waved at the man still standing like a block of stone just outside the door. Good thing too, because the hut was only so big, and Caidi was taking up half the floor with the pile of clothes through which she was sorting with Morin’s help. Caidi was chattering excitedly, while Morin kept half a cagey eye on everyone in the room.

“Yori and Shig are keeping watch outside,” Jacin went on. “We’re taking you to a safe place in the city. Get your things.”

“A safe…?” Had he really said “a safe place”? In the city? Was there such a thing? Joori looked around. At Caidi and Morin obediently throwing together all the clothes Jacin had brought. At the man Jacin had called Samin standing out in the rain on the other side of the door, watching everything going on inside while simultaneously scanning the yard. At the other man—this Malick—smiling that self-satisfied smile, eyes far too focused on Jacin, even as he crouched down beside Morin to help shove balled-up clothes into a sack. At Jacin, making his stiff way over to the rickety board and staring down at the piles of food, like he couldn’t decide what to do about them….

“Leave it,” Malick said quietly. “You won’t need to worry about it anymore.”

…at the way Jacin just nodded vaguely, compliant.

Joori gave Malick a bit of a glare as he stepped up behind Jacin, annoyed when Malick simply widened his smirk and shook his head, like Joori’s distrust amused him. “Jacin,” Joori said, leaning in so he could speak softly, for Jacin’s ears only, “are you sure this is real?”

Jacin turned to Joori slowly, gaze a touch murky, but by no means muddled. He was pale, going sallow, with twin spots of color on each cheekbone. “As real as I can manage,” he muttered, dropping his glance guiltily to the floor. Half moons like bruises blotted the thin skin beneath his eyes, and his jaw was clenched so tight Joori would swear he could hear teeth squeak.

“What’s wrong with you?” Joori demanded. “You looked fine last night.” A little shredded around the center, but otherwise all right. No, that wasn’t true, really—he’d looked exhausted, too, and there’d been… something. Something in his eyes.

“Nothing that won’t keep.” Jacin tried to smile a little, but the ghastly thing that crooked at his mouth only knocked up the worry blooming in Joori’s gut. “We don’t have much time,” Jacin said. “I didn’t know… I had no idea….” He paused, dipped his head again, and rubbed at his temple. “Asai… Fuck, Joori, I’m so sorry, I never—”

“I think that’s got it all,” Malick cut in, shouldering past Joori to pull up beside Jacin. That too-possessive grip went once again to Jacin’s arm. Tawny eyes settled far too keenly on Joori as long fingers curled around Jacin’s braid. Smirking. Silent laughter bubbling just beneath it. Like he knew exactly what Joori was thinking, and thought it terribly funny. “We should go, Fen.”

“Yes,” was all Jacin said. He reached out and gave Joori’s shoulder a quick brush as he squeezed around him.

Biddable. Like what this Malick person said mattered.

Joori took hold of Jacin’s elbow and stopped him, leaning in to speak softly into his ear again. Joori kept his narrow gaze locked onto Malick’s smug one. “Jacin,” Joori whispered, “are you sure this is real?”

Jacin turned his head, met Joori’s eyes. “It’s real.” Then why did he look so damned miserable? “It’ll be all right, Joori. I… this wasn’t… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Joori shot a look at Malick, who was still holding onto Jacin’s braid like some kind of leash. Joori set his jaw and tugged a little until Jacin took a step away. “Why are you sorry, Jacin?” He dropped his voice as low as it could go and still make sound. “What are you paying for this?”

Rising dread turned to unfocused alarm when Jacin whiffed a tired laugh. “No price,” he murmured. He craned his neck around to meet Malick’s even gaze for a long, heavy moment, face unreadable, then straightened and pulled away. Joori was ridiculously relieved when Jacin irritably yanked his braid from Malick’s fingers, and even more so when Malick let go. “We have to leave now.” Jacin turned to face Joori squarely, eyes flicking quickly over Joori’s shoulder at the smirking man who watched a little too closely, then back again to Joori. “Please, Joori.”

Joori looked at Jacin hard then turned his glance once again on Malick, let it narrow at the steady look he got back. “I don’t trust him,” he said, voice deliberately loud enough that Malick could hear. Joori kept his gaze steady, even as Malick shrugged, indifferent.

“He never asked you to,” Malick said, then he sauntered on past and made it a point to drop a quick touch to Jacin’s shoulder as he angled around them both and out the door, collecting Samin as he went.

Joori turned back to Jacin, anger receding and worry crowding back in at the weariness and wan cast to Jacin’s face. “Jacin—”

“Brother,” Jacin cut in, closing his eyes for a moment as he sucked in a deep breath, then he leveled his gaze with Joori’s. “Please.”

Joori could only stare, mouth tight and unease roiling up his backbone. He nodded. Because really—what choice did he have?





FOR all the rush and worry, Yori concluded, this “job” was turning out to be the most boring one she’d ever been on. Not for the first time, as she rolled her neck irritably, mouth pinching tight as rain trickled down between her shoulder blades, she wondered why she’d even been necessary to carry it out. The conclusion she drew was that she wasn’t—neither were Samin or Shig, or even Fen, when it came right down to it. Maybe Shig, now that Yori thought about it, since Malick seemed to keep Shig close while he was using his magic, laying hands on her more than Yori thought entirely necessary, but Shig didn’t mind and Malick was Malick, so Yori didn’t say anything. Still, though, it seemed Malick could have done this job all by himself.

Well… all right, she supposed Fen’s presence had been necessary, or Malick might have had some trouble getting the three refugees to come along as compliantly as they’d done, but other than that….

She didn’t suppose she was too put out. She’d only gotten to see Malick do his trick with the Gates once before—most of their jobs fell inside the city’s walls, and he used his magic so rarely she sometimes forgot he had it at all—and she rather enjoyed the high the aftereffects gave her. Nothing she understood, and nothing she cared to understand, but Malick had half explained it as fazing their corporeal realities while altering the perceptions of any who might cross their paths. Yori had just sort of nodded a, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” at him, and enjoyed the bit of euphoria.

It didn’t work with Fen, which surprised Yori a little, but wouldn’t have done, had she stopped and thought about it. Magic didn’t work on an Untouchable. Maybe she forgot because she hadn’t thought of Fen that way since after that first night. She’d only noticed the braid anew as something compulsory and not really a part of him when they’d had to wait for him to make his own stealthy way over the Gate. Too bad for him. It was a heady thing while it was happening, Malick’s magic, a little like coming down from poppy afterward, but even that bit of a thrill—and the knowledge that there would be another like it when they returned—wasn’t enough to offset the squishiness in Yori’s boots now, the too-steady rain seeping through her oiled cloak, and the annoyance that was Fen’s little brother. And Yori had thought Fen was hard to get along with. She snorted.

“Why couldn’t they have gotten a cart big enough for all of us?” Morin was snarking at Fen.

Fen mumbled something back at him that Yori couldn’t hear, and though the tone sounded almost mellow to her own ears—or at least as mellow as Fen got—Morin’s mouth still shut up tight and didn’t open again.

Yori shook her head.

The strangest reunion she’d ever seen, though admittedly, she couldn’t recall ever having seen one before. Still, though, she’d sort of expected hugs and shouts of relief; what she’d actually witnessed were intense looks between Fen and his twin, some sort of silent plea that the brother had accepted with clear reservations, and distrust and hostile looks at all of them, but particularly at Malick. The little one, Caidi, seemed to be rather a limpet where Fen was concerned, to which Fen submitted with some softening of his usual stony expression, and stiff embraces when she demanded them, but the other one, that Morin, was a bit of a puzzle. Not hatred in his eyes when he looked at Fen, but… Yori couldn’t tell, really. He was too obviously afraid of both his elder brothers, and Shig engendered harsh distrust from the second he laid eyes on her—the hair was apparently too much for him—which turned to outright anxiety when she spoke. Though, Yori mused, the fact that Shig’s first words had been, “Damn, but you’re an angry little rabbit, aren’t you? Stop thinking so loud, you’re giving me a headache,” probably hadn’t helped. Not the best way to introduce herself to a boy who’d been taught that magic, or even one’s proximity to it, meant painful death. Pretty amusing, though, at least to Yori, but then, lots of inappropriate things amused her.

Samin terrified the boy, with his granite face and hard eyes, though that might have been because Samin had made the mistake of trying to smile at him. Not a pretty thing, Samin’s smile, at least not ’til you got to know him. For whatever reason moved little girls, it had stirred a giggling fit in Caidi, and she’d allowed Samin to lift her and plop her on top of the things they’d packed into the dray, and even obediently complied when he gruffly directed her to fan out her cloak to cover what it would. Yori thought perhaps she better understood the girl’s good humor when she saw Caidi surreptitiously poke her tongue out at Morin as Samin settled her in for the ride.

The boy hovered about their edges now, sticking to a loosely defined middle ground between his two elder brothers. Fen kept his head down, jaw set, silent but for occasional monosyllabic answers to Caidi’s chatter behind him in the cart that he refused to allow anyone else to help him pull, all the while pretending not to limp. The twin, Joori, had engaged Malick for a while in a conversation Yori hadn’t been able to hear above the rain and the squishy grind of the dray’s wheels on the road, but she’d heard Asai’s name spoken sharply twice—first by Joori then later by Malick—before Malick had stopped abruptly. He’d jerked his head at Yori to take point while he pulled the brother to the side to growl something at him, low and intense and strangely cross. Malick’s eyes stayed on Fen the whole while, though Fen hadn’t seemed to notice anything but his own feet and the death grip he had on the dray’s handles since before they’d even gotten to his family. Samin had offered four times now to pull it for him, and four times had been ignored, until Samin had given up and dropped back to slog along beside Shig as rearguard.

“You’re Yori, right?”

Yori shifted a glance sideways and tipped a little nod. “And you’re Joori.” She couldn’t help the silly grin. “Sorta rhymes.”

The chuckle out of the dark sounded more tense than sincere. “So, how long have you known my brother?”

With an irritable swat at some fringe that wouldn’t stay put beneath her hood, Yori blinked rain out of her eyes, squinting at the blob of murk walking beside her that was Fen’s twin brother. “About….” She paused.

Besides whatever had passed between him and Malick, she’d watched this one trying to wring conversation out of Fen since they’d maneuvered the little cart out of the scraggy yard of the hut where they’d been staying, and had been surprised that he’d been just as unsuccessful as she’d ever been. She would’ve thought Fen would be more communicative with his family, at least, considering what he’d apparently gone through to protect them. All things considered, perhaps it wasn’t her place to be blabbing things Fen himself didn’t choose to disclose.

“A little while.” She slanted a look sideways at the sigh that was nearly a growl, and steered the subject in another direction: “Has anyone told you we’ve a hot-spring bath where we’re going? Bet it’ll be nice for you to sink into that, won’t it? I know I can’t wait.” And she hadn’t been living out in the middle of nowhere for weeks and weeks with no apparent bathing facilities but a half-full barrel in the dooryard.

“You’ve come very well armed,” Joori observed, ignoring her comment altogether, his voice just as deep as Fen’s, but with a different nuance she couldn’t quite ken yet. “I take it you don’t have the same magic as that other one, with the hair.”

Yori snickered at the description. She’d have to remember to tell Shig later. “That’s Shig,” she told Joori. “My sister.”

“I figured,” Joori replied. “You look a lot alike.”

“Except for the hair, yeah?” Yori grinned.

“And you’re prettier.”

Yori only just kept from rolling her eyes. Honestly—men were so transparent. “So, you tried wringing answers out of Fen, then arguing them out of Malick, and now you’re down to flattery.” She shook her head. “You’re not even very good at it.”

“Huh,” said Joori. “Strange, because I meant it.” Yori could just make out a shrug in the dark, then frowning features momentarily illuminated by a fleeting streak of lightning. “I won’t say I’m above it,” Joori said over the quiet rumble of thunder, “and I certainly do want answers, but it’s still the truth.”

Yori gave him a slit-eyed stare as he walked along beside her, looking right back, his eyes a mere dull gleam in the night. She had to admit he was attractive. Identical to Fen in respect to facial features, but there was something about Fen—his hardness, maybe; that all-consuming rage too often in his gaze—that had… not repelled her, really, but at least put her off from the start. Unlike some infatuated dimwits, Yori had never had a single carnal thought about their newest duckling. This one, though….

“Fen works with us,” she told Joori.

“And you rescue the families of everyone who works with you?”

“Everyone who works with us is family.”

Joori went quiet for a few moments, taking that in, then he turned his head to look at Yori. “He’s been looking for our mother.”

“I know.”

“And you—?”

“Yes.”

Silence again while Joori pondered whatever he was pondering, turning every now and then to walk backward for a second or two, likely eyeing his brother, before turning back. “He looks like shit,” he told Yori, low and just for her. “What’s going on with him?”

Yori looked back over her shoulder, squinting, but all she could make out was Fen’s hunched figure, stubbornly pulling the dray and trying to keep up with the pace she and Joori were setting. Malick was walking beside him now, and Morin hovered a little closer than he’d done before. Fen had stopped even the quiet, one-word answers he’d been giving his sister, a chore that Malick had seemingly taken to himself, though Caidi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed charmed, which almost made Yori roll her eyes, but the girl couldn’t be much older than ten, and it was Malick, after all. Samin had moved up to walk behind the cart, leaving Shig to watch their backs, which he wouldn’t ordinarily have done unless Malick had told him to. It appeared Fen’s brother was not the only one waiting for him to collapse, though Yori was putting her koin on Fen—he was too mulish to let his body stop if he wanted it to keep going. In Yori’s observation, when Fen hit a wall, he just rammed until it fell down.

“He got a cut on his leg last night,” Yori said. “Umeia had to sew him up. Probably just needs a painkiller. And to stop insisting on pulling that dray by himself.” Bloody bonehead.

“I saw him last night.” Joori had turned again, cloak billowing around his knees as he pivoted to walk backward. Yori could see more of his face now, though he was still little more than a dim smudge against the foggy black. “I didn’t notice anything wrong with his leg, although….” A shrug. “He was covered in blood.”

It was the accent—that was what was different. Joori had the same voice as Fen, but Fen didn’t have the twangy Jin accent. Huh.

“Yeah?” Yori shrugged too, but didn’t volunteer anything. Like how Fen’s descent from the top of the Gate had been more like a fall, and that he’d landed awkwardly then snarled off any concerned attempts to help. And how she was almost certain she’d heard a strangled wheeze of a scream when he was trying to drag the dray from the culvert where he and Shig had stashed it, and then nearly bitten Malick’s hand off when he bulled his way in to help. Obstinate idiot. She’d have to make sure Umeia knew about it when they got back. Umeia would take care of it, whatever it was. He’d probably gone and gotten the thing infected, and Yori would bet some stitches got pulled when he was wrestling with that cart. What the hell were they supposed to do with all these people if Fen up and died on them? And anyway, what would…?

Wait.

“You saw him last night?” Yori frowned. “How? When?”

“Is he sleeping with that man? That Malick?”

Yori blinked, eyebrows snapping upward. Apparently, flapping from subject to subject was a family trait. She almost barked a laugh, but the question had been posed so… almost angrily, and the tone of it, the suspicion inside it, roused something oddly protective in her. Fen’s brother or not, this Joori wasn’t theirs, at least not yet, and what Malick and Fen got up to wasn’t even her business, let alone his.

“I’m not quite certain that’s your concern,” she told him, her own tone deliberately even and unruffled. “Or mine. Perhaps you’d best ask Fen.”

Joori turned his head from his scrutiny of his brother, stared at Yori for several strides, then waved a hand vaguely over toward Fen, said, “Pardon me for a moment,” and he walked off.

Damn. Yori wished she could warn Fen, and apologize in advance for apparently setting his brother on him, but…. Well, maybe it would make him stop dragging that stupid cart for a little while, at least. Joori was right about that—Fen looked like shit.

Deliberately, Yori looked away, sent a glance ahead and to all points, scanning the shadows, but if anything was going to come at them, she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to see it before it saw them, not tonight. No moons, a low-hanging fog, and trees bloody everywhere. She’d have to rely on Shig and Malick twigging in time. Anyway, they were halfway home, and nothing had happened so far, and she had more magic at the Gates to look forward to.

Biting back a bit of a sigh, Yori ignored the steadily rising sound of Joori’s voice as he chastised his brooding brother, tried to ignore her numbing toes with rather less success, and tucked her hands up under her cloak to warm her fingers. If there was trouble, she’d need them flexible. Although, she mused, trying not to snort as Joori’s voice rose again, and the sound of the dray’s wheels on the road ceased abruptly, perhaps any trouble that might come wouldn’t be from anything lurking out there in the dark.

Then again….

“Yori, look sharp!” Malick snapped as he flew past her, sword drawn and stalking ahead, a hot welter of power like she’d never felt in her life nearly swatting her aside when he brushed her arm. Had that come from Malick?

Body moving before she even told it to, Yori swung her bow around and nocked an arrow, feet planting themselves into an offensive stance, even as she squinted ahead in the direction Malick was striding. Trees and more trees, shadows and more shadows, and she’d been looking right at them only a second ago, but now… well, bloody damn. Now they were moving. And not in any way people moved—at least not people with bones beneath their skin. Vague man-shapes then hunched… somethings. It was fascinating and revolting all at the same time, and she hadn’t even got a good look yet. She wished for a flash of lightning, just so she could see what the hell they were dealing with.

She spared a quick glance behind her, taking in the configurations, so she’d know if things got messy. Fen had shoved all of his siblings behind him. Morin and Caidi both huddled in the cart with Joori between them and his brother. Samin still stood behind the dray, sword drawn, watching Malick, and Shig had turned to face the rear, bright head atilt in the way it did when she let her own magic loose, seeking. Satisfied, Yori turned back, eyes flicking back and forth between the smoky curls of… whatever they were farther up the road and Malick as he stalked up to them, planted himself mere paces away, and drew himself straight. Threatening. Frightening in a way she’d never seen him before. Powerful.

“Three of you?” he taunted, swinging his sword lazily in a figure eight about his shoulders, smirking. “That’s all?”

Rolling hisses gathered from the writhing murk as it wound into three distinct shapes then fanned out again.

“No,” Shig called from behind. “There’s more.”

Yori glanced back again, just long enough to see more of them pooling to either side of the dray, like twisting pieces of the stormy sky, thrashing themselves into shapes she almost recognized but couldn’t quite settle in her head yet.

“Fucking Husao,” Malick muttered, jaw clenched. “Manipulative prick. Whatever you see,” he called, voice deep and resonant, almost eager, like he was looking forward to whatever was coming, “remember that it’s all glamour. They’re only maijin. They bleed and die just like everything else.”

Terrific, Yori thought sourly, good to know, then sucked in a long breath and sighted down.

~~~~

Wolf's-own, Book Two: Weregild is scheduled for release March 26th.

To win an e-copy of Wolf’s-own, Book One: Ghost, simply leave a comment on this post, including your file preference (.epub, .mobi, .prc or .pdf). All entries will be thrown into a metaphorical hat and a winner will be chosen at random on Saturday, March 10th.

Wolf's-own gift art

FIRST MEETING
by the multitalented J. Tullos Hennig
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NOTE: Wolf’s-own, Book Two: Weregild has been scheduled for release March 26th and is now available for preorder from Dreamspinner Press.

Synopsis: The amorality of gods makes it hard to tell bad from good and right from wrong. Fen Jacin-rei doesn’t care. All Fen cares about is saving his family, and he’ll sacrifice anything that gets in his way. Including his own soul.

No longer willing to wait for the machinations of the gods’ minions, Fen accepts the trade Kamen Malick offers. Together they set out to rescue Fen’s family and kill the man who betrayed them. But Fen is an Untouchable, one whose mind hosts the spirits of long-dead magicians, and with Voices of the Ancestors screaming in his head, Fen finds it harder and harder to stave off madness.

Malick has his own reasons to hand over everything Fen wants and equally compelling reasons to withhold everything Fen needs. In over his head with his timing as bad as ever, Malick must devise a way to do his god’s bidding without breaking his god’s laws—and keep Fen sane and on Malick’s side in the bargain.

Wolf's-own, Book One: Ghost

Available now in print and electronic formats at Dreamspinner Press.

V-DAY SALES!

In honor of Valentine’s Day, both of my publishers, Torquere Press and Dreamspinner Press are offering discounts.

TORQUERE is offering a 15% discount now through Sunday, February 19th. Just use the code ‘val2012’ in the coupon code box upon checkout and the discount will be deducted from your total.

And DREAMSPINNER is offering a 20% discount for today only. BUT. If you hunt about the site for little hearts and flowers, and click on the icon, you’ll receive a code that will be good for 20% off through February 29th.

As a side-note/incentive, Dreamspinner does allow preordering, so if you had any plans to purchase a certain book due out Friday, written by a certain someone you know and love (*whistles*), you can order it today at the 20% discount.

What? *looks innocent*

Okay, fine, there are tons of other good books you could get instead. Whatever you choose to buy, it’s a great deal.

FYI--The first twenty to order the paperback of Wolf’s-own, Book One: Ghost from Dreamspinner will receive a signed copy, fresh from the printer. (No, I don’t actually know how that works. They sent me things to sign weeks ago and said the signatures will somehow end up printed right into the covers. *shrug* (If anyone here gets one, I want a picture to see what it looks like.) The signed copies are only available from Dreamspinner, not Amazon or B&N or other distributors.

Anne Cain is a goddess!

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I want to have Anne Cain’s babies.

…Okay, no I don’t. But still. So perfect I could just die.

Cover art

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by the fabulous Anne Cain.