Can I just take a moment to shout? Oh, wait–why am I asking? This is my damn website.
IT’S RELEASE DAY!
She calms the beast in him. Haunted by a single act of vengeance, Incubus Chamos longs for only one thing—the peace found in death’s embrace. But when Satan targets the one woman to make him believe in redemption, he must not only reveal his biggest regret, but fight his overwhelming need to possess the enticing shaman.
His touch awakens the darkness in her. Raised to conceal her shamanic gifts, Shula Blackfox doesn’t trust the darkly sensual Chamos, especially when he reveals that she is part of an ancient prophecy to unleash mankind’s darkest enemy. With a deadly power stirring to life inside her, Shula must put her faith in a demon that makes her long for sinful pleasures while confronting a sinister past to save a future she may not live to see.
This damn demon has been dancing around in my head for approximately six years–six #$%^ing years. Chamos was there from the start, causing mayhem and running amuck (of course he was–he was the villain not so long ago), but now it’s his turn to claim center stage and woo the heroine.
Quite honestly, I was starting to doubt we’d ever make it this far. Chamos did not cooperate in the writing of his story. In fact, he was kind of a prick about it. I’d write one direction, and he’d cross his arms, insolent and stubborn. Making the wrong assumption that I was in charge, I did the same. Surely, my own character couldn’t out last me.
Yeah. About that. He not only held out longer, he convinced me his version was better. It took me a while to pull my head out of my… first draft and listen, but I did. And I’m so pleased with how things turned out.
I truly hope you love Chamos and Shula as much as I do. Their story has been a looong time coming.
I cannot wait to share Demon Undamned with you! Chamos has been lurking since the beginning, whispering sweet everythings into my ears. Not about me, unfortunately, but we’ll ignore that.
In anticipation of a VERY coming-soon release, I thought I’d share one of the darker scenes in the book. I hope you like!
He pulled her to a stop before the stone but didn’t release her. “Can we discuss this?”
“We have.” She sat on the edge of the altar and swung her legs up, aligning them with the straps and buckling them around her ankles.
Then she lay down and positioned her wrists. Staring straight ahead, she said, “I can’t do this by myself. Please, Chamos.”
His hesitation gave her a moment of trepidation, but he did as she asked, and then moved behind her head, placing the leather band across her forehead. For some reason that last strap was the hardest and she nearly cried uncle. Instead, she bit down on the inside of her cheek.
As if sensing her agitation, Chamos pressed into her field of vision. He cupped her face, an awkward fit from their upside down position. His thumb drew a line along her nose to her mouth. “It’s to keep you from struggling. And hurting yourself.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t petrifying at all.
He peered down at her a long moment, resignation bright in his gaze. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tears threatened. With every wistful move he made, her resolve weakened. Not because she didn’t want to follow through—although, she couldn’t say she was enjoying the experience so much—but because she hated seeing him surrender to it. She wanted to assure him she’d be fine, but it was a lie and they both knew it. Even if the ritual went off without a hitch, she’d never be the same.
He swept his mouth over hers, a tentative brush, asking for nothing more. Until her lips parted and he deepened the kiss. His mouth was hot on hers, his teeth grazing her lips and tongue as he kissed her with abandon. Nothing stood between them in that moment—no fears, no expectation. He claimed her with his kiss and devoured her every breath like a man possessed.
Never had she resented the straps more as she was near desperate to glide over his skin, running the lines of every corded muscle. “Chamos.” His name slipped off her tongue with a low moan.
Hands tightening in her hair, Chamos gave her a chaste peck and then pulled away with a muttered curse. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“Is that what that was, an incentive?”
“No. That was something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.”
Me too. Let’s do it again. And possibly never stop.
Instead, she said, “I’m ready.”
Chamos didn’t argue this time. His sword shifted into his hand. The large blade reflected the flickering flames, making it appear more sinister than a simple knife, though both could bleed her dry. That the ruby colored stone set in the hilt of the sword seemed to glow with the fire didn’t help to ease her anxiety.
Her demon positioned himself between her feet. He set the sword aside to remove her boots and socks. Lifting one foot as much as the strap allowed, he dragged the blade against the back of her ankle. Her leg jerked at the sting of pain. She sent him an apologetic, “sorry,” but he had already moved on to the other foot.
Expecting the sting, she controlled her body’s response. The warm rush of blood pooled under her leg after he placed it back on the stone. The sound of her blood plopping onto the altar brought her gag reflex to the surface and she had to swallow convulsively to keep from heaving. How long had it been since she’d eaten? She couldn’t remember. There was nothing to throw up but that didn’t stop her stomach from trying.
By the time he’d finished with her wrists, her skin was crawling with the need to escape.
Her teeth chattered. She clamped her jaw, but the energy moved on to her limbs in the form of shaking. If not for the all cold and no numb, she’d think it was shock. But the aloofness one had with shock wasn’t with her—she felt everything in Technicolor.
Chamos’ boots scraped over the dirt as he came to stand at her at her side. Shadows danced across his face, giving him a look devoid of emotion. Or maybe he really was as detached as he looked.
He cupped the base of her skull with one hand, angling her head so as to expose her neck. She squeezed her eyes tight, breath held in stasis, anticipating the cut which would catapult her into the unknown.