As both a reader and a writer, I'm constantly looking for new authors. When I first asked Sheri Ross Fogarty, my Editor-in-Chief at Changeling, what erotic authors she suggested I check out, the first words out of her mouth were "Joey Hill". I immediately picked up a copy of Joey's Holding the Cards, Book 1 in her Nature of Desire series at Ellora's Cave -- and yep. Once again, Sheri shows phenomenal taste!
The award-winning author of over a dozen books for EC, Joey W. Hill released her first Berkley title, The Vampire Queen's Servant, in July of 2007. The Mark of the Vampire Queen, book 2 in the Vampire Queen series, just released in February and is already generating rave reviews and incredible reader excitement. I am delighted to have Joey joining me as our featured author this month!
Sierra Dafoe: Joey, first, congratulations on your Love Romances Café wins for The Vampire Queen's Servant! It won both Best Erotic Book of 2007 and Best Book all around. You also won the Best Alternative Lifestyle Book for Rough Canvas, book 6 in the Nature of Desire series. How does it feel to have so many readers passionate about your books?
Joey Hill: Thank you for that, and for that wonderful welcome. I owe so much of where I am today to Sheri – she was my very first editor, way back when my first book was accepted to the long-gone Dark Star Publishing. As far as how it feels, it always feels wonderful. Every step up the career path, every award, every email from a reader who says reading one of my stories was an emotional and rewarding experience...that's a feeling I can't describe, except it rates right up there with understanding the meaning of the universe. You get to grasp the wonder of it for just a blink, before you plunge back into the next book to see if you can grasp it again.
Sierra: The Vampire Queen's Servant has been described as "dark, evocative and feral", "absolutely breathtaking", and "incredibly original". Tell us a little bit about how the world and the character of Lyssa developed -- do you remember the first idea or image that made the story start happening in your own mind?
Joey: It was a vignette in my head, of a woman at a salon, having a pedicure done by a gorgeous man clad only in trousers. I could see the way her bare toes would grip his back as he massaged one of her feet, and worked his way up with fingers and mouth, giving her a full spa treatment (chuckle). From there it evolved into her being a vampire queen lacking a human servant. She’d lost her previous one under tragic circumstances and, unbeknownst to her, the salon was a planned audition to introduce her to her new servant. Interestingly, in the first draft, I'd gotten away from the pedicure and gone for a manicure. I think it was my terrific agent who suggested directing it back toward the feet, and it was apparently a wonderful suggestion, since Berkley picked up the contract based on those first several chapters.
I've always loved vampire stories, but I felt so many of them stopped short of portraying the vampire as edgy as he or she likely would be. It made sense they would be very sexual, and being predatory in nature, they keyed right into my interest in BDSM romance. They wouldn't view humans as equals, but they are dependent on them, which sets up a potential for the relationship to become more than either the vampire or the human expects. Hence, the conflict dynamic that drove Jacob and Lyssa's relationship.
Sierra: I have to say, I was absolutely blown away by my introduction to your writing with the Nature of Desire series. Your characters bring such a wealth of emotion to their stories, exploring the emotional give and take between Dominant and submissive with a courageousness and sensitivity that is amazing and completely captivating. The sensuality is searing, but (if you'll allow me to gush a bit!) if there was one thing that truly set these books apart for me, it is the depth of love and commitment between your characters, expressed through a form of sexuality that has so often been sensationalized and misunderstood. Was there ever a conscious choice on your part to combat those stereotypes?
Joey: Writers often use their work as their personal therapy field (laughter). Initially, my forays into BDSM romance were explorations of my own personal choices, trying to make sense of them in a world where BDSM is presented in such a demeaning, cheesy way. It was hard to reconcile that with the deeply emotional and psychological motivations I discovered in myself, within a loving relationship with my husband. At some point, when I made that peace, I think it embedded itself in my writing, so that it was automatic to provide situations in the context of the story that would help non-BDSM readers relate to the needs of a practitioner, because at its heart, our need for connection and love is always the same – it just takes a lot of different forms, like faith.
Sierra: And how does the sexual interplay of power and dominance affect the world of The Vampire Queen novels?
Joey: Greatly. I had a reader point out that it's wonderful to explore D/s in a paranormal setting, because you don't have as many rules, and that is true. To the vampires, as noted above, humans are an inferior species, useful as servants and food. Lyssa has a high regard for humans, having been very attached to her previous servant, Thomas, but she still has to make a substantial leap in perspective when Jacob starts affecting her heart in unexpected ways. And even when she makes that leap, she's a woman in a position of power, watched closely by those vampires who want to take it from her. On top of that, Jacob has to come to terms with how she treats him and views humans, and learn to love her, oftentimes in spite of that.
Sierra: Mark of the Vampire Queen just released a few weeks ago, and I don't know if you've looked at the Amazon page for it recently, but readers are loving it! A reviewer at Dearauthor.com says Mark of the Vampire Queen "harkens back to the old days of Anne Rice", which raises a very interesting question -- what, for you, is special about your vampires? Not necessarily what's 'new' about them (I think the reviewer's point is precisely that these are more 'traditional' vampires than we've seen for a while), but what makes them uniquely yours?
Joey: Well, I think they take the issue of Dominance/submission, and its interplay with love and emotions, to a much keener edge than I've seen done elsewhere. I also haven't seen much done with the female vampire/male servant relationship. Most vampire books seem to focus on the relationships between vampires, whereas I find the vampire-servant relationship one of the most fascinating things about the vampire lore. As noted above, I also think my vampires are also probably a little less politically correct than most (grin).
Sierra: Tell us a little about your process as a writer, how a story develops for you. Where do you find your inspiration? At what point in the process does a book really start to 'zing' for you? What do you do when the first draft is finally done and off to your editor/agent -- any celebration rituals?
Joey: I handwrite the first draft (though with degrading handwriting due to hand issues, I'm working on trying to overcome that without upsetting my muse - it's terrible to write a great scene and then have NO clue what I've written!). The story usually germinates with a specific idea for a character, or a vignette, as noted earlier. It usually doesn't develop in a straight line. At a certain point, my brain starts dumping ideas for the story willy-nilly, and I usually have to employ something like Microsoft Notes (an online index card system) to keep track and shuffle them all into a reasonable plot line). I was ecstatic to find MS Notes, because before then it was like assembling a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces thrown across a field by a monkey (laughter). Then, once I handwrite that first draft, I type it in, run through 2-3 full edits, and off it goes to the editor.
That "dump" phase is usually where it starts zinging, where I know I have a story I really want to write. It's reassuring, because by the time I get to the first edit I'm gnashing my teeth, tearing out my hair and spitting "It's crap! It's crap!" I usually work my way out of that somewhere between edits 2 and 3.
For the past few years, I've been working two jobs (writing being one of them), so once I finish one book, I plunge into the next. Now that I'm writing fulltime (hooray!), I'm under a more aggressive deadline schedule, so I essentially have the same problem – not a lot of celebration time between books. But I try to "cleanse the palate" by taking about 24-48 hours before I start the next one. I might reward myself by reading one of the books on my TBR list, or doing a movie marathon (love movies), or just having a day where I "do whatever I want", but those are tough. I still haven't found the secret to relaxing.
Sierra: Book 3 in the Vampire Queen series, A Vampire's Claim, is scheduled for release in spring of 2009. In it, we shift to Australia with a new vampire, Daniela, and her human servant Devlin. And I know readers are going to want to know, so I'm gonna ask -- what's the scoop on book 4, A Vampire's Promise? How is it going?
Joey: For Danny and Dev (Vampire's Claim), I'm going to be relying heavily on my Australian contacts, particularly critique partner and fellow author Denise Rossetti, to ensure I don't screw up the Oz mannerisms too badly (she helped me "authenticate" these two immeasurably in Mark of the Vampire Queen). However, I've been finding the research on her country fascinating, and am looking forward to the challenge of locating the story there. I've already got him rescuing her from an attack on her caravan in the bush, being chased by a pack of nasty vampire children, and helping Danny overthrow a psychotic vampire overlord. And of course, Dev will have to learn, as Jacob did, what serving a vampire mistress means, in a way unique to his and his lady's personality.
Mason is another story I'm looking forward to writing (Vampire's Promise). He's spent 300 years grieving the loss of a woman, and the only thing that knocks him out of mourning is an amateur archaeologist, determined to find the grave of his lost love. That alone wouldn't be enough, but Jessica is a fugitive, an escaped human servant, carrying a powerful hatred of all vampires, which is unfortunate, because she needs Lord Mason's protection. Almost as much as he needs her to help him heal his heart.
Right now, Vampire's Claim is on the front docket. I've done several weeks of intensive research, to give me enough ideas to outline the story and complete the proposal which is due February 28. So now I'm working on the first draft, and continuing the research on the side. It will be turned in April 30 and I'll start Vampire’s Promise, which should be less research intensive.
Sierra: A little bird also told me that your upcoming Berkley Sensation book, A Mermaid's Kiss, is a must-read. (I have friends in high places; they tell me these things, lol!) Can you tell us a little about the story? And what about that gorgeous cover -- do you as author get input on the Berkley covers?
Joey: Jonah is an angel. He's served the Goddess as Prime Legion Commander for hundreds of years, and the angels he's lost during that time have taken their toll. When he is overcome during a battle against his enemies, he falls into the sea and is rescued by a young mermaid. Unlike Jonah, Anna will not see a long life – she lives under a curse that will end her life at twenty-one, but she lives her life with hope and a vibrancy that penetrates his jaded darkness. This was a marvelous story to write. I was able to research different lore regarding angels, the sea and mermaids. And Anna was one of those characters that allowed nothing to dispel her faith and desire to help Jonah find himself again, no matter the obstacles. I'm eager (and anxious!) to see how my readers receive this sensual romance. I love writing BDSM romance, but if the story's right, I will write sensual, mainstream, fantasy...you name it. The main thing is having a wonderful romance idea, with engaging characters to write!
I do get to provide ideas on the covers, but I've got to say that both for this book and the vampire covers, the artist exceeded my best imaginings. They're marvelous. I'm hoping to get a couple prints in the future and offer them as contest offerings (after I get my own framed copies, of course!).
Sierra: Speaking of the future, what else do you have planned for 2008?
Joey: Isn't that enough (lol)? Seriously, we have Vampire's Claim and Vampire's Promise, to be delivered April 30 and July 31, respectively. I've also just completed an anthology contribution, called Controlled Response (for the Berkley anthology Unlaced, which I've heard will come out toward the end of 2008), which will share the cover with Jasmine Haynes, Jaci Burton and Denise Rossetti. This will be Lucas's story from Board Resolution (Behind the Mask anthology), so it was delightful to visit with "the boys" from Board Resolution again.
Sierra: And what do you do for fun and relaxation, when you get the chance?
Joey: See that earlier comment about relaxation (chuckle) - I'll let you know when it happens. Seriously. I really am a big movie person – love to watch DVDs. Like tonight, while treadmilling, I watched my favorite parts of the movie Hardball again (Keanu Reeves and Diane Lane) and last night it was Moonstruck. That's how I unwind. I also read when my brain isn’t fried by editing and writing. My husband and I enjoy boating and spending time with our seven animals. We have a golden retriever, a hound and a lab mix, as well as four cats, who keep us busy and entertained.
Sierra: Joey, thanks so much for joining us! Where can readers find out more about you and your books?
Joey: My website is the hub of the wheel. You can get to my publishers, blog, etc. all from there. They'll also find excerpts, free short stories, blurbs, etc. to determine what books they'd most like to explore. The site is www.storywitch.com. Thanks for having me today – I enjoyed it!
Books by JOEY HILL
(click covers for ordering info!)
Excerpt: Mark of the Vampire Queen by Joey Hill
This is the opening chapter of Mark of the Vampire Queen, released February 2008. It is a flashback Lady Lyssa, the vampire queen, is having about a knight she met one evening centuries before. A knight whose reincarnated soul she is fairly certain resides within her current human servant, Jacob, which means he has come back to save her life once again...
The vampire hunters had been swift, their numbers considerable. Despite their foolish decision to launch their attack just before dusk, their commitment had bordered on fanatical, making them dangerous. The day might not have gone in Lady Lyssa's favor, but a knight had charged out of the golden desert sands still shimmering with the day's heat, his bloodcurdling battle cry reminding her of the wildness of the Irish moors. When the clash of weapons and the spilling of blood were over, he'd turned the tide against the attack.
"I wish to thank him," she commanded her retainers. "Bring him to me."
They'd obeyed her quickly, as they always did. The knight hadn't seen her at first when the lackey guided him just inside the flap of her tent. The first notes of his voice had curled pleasantly in her stomach like warm blood.
"I am not presentable for your Mistress. I should prepare myself first."
"But I desire the audience now."
He turned as she materialized out of the shadows. The servant retreated. She noted that the knight's tunic and mail still bore the blood of those he'd vanquished. So did the gauntlets he pulled off to reveal callused, capable hands. Sweat had dampened the hair on his head, but there were hints of true red in the brown. When he found her, those blue, blue eyes and the pale lashes with the same hint of auburn on the tips gave her steps a pause. The power of his gaze washed over her like a familiar embrace.
She'd thought she'd share a goblet of wine with him. Perhaps even hypnotize him into being her dinner tonight and then send him to a bed with several of her maidservants to reward him for his trouble on her behalf. Only two hundred years old, she nevertheless wasn't impetuous. But the idea of dismissing him melted away as she sent a mental compulsion to her staff to bring the precious bathwater to her tent instead of setting up a guest quarters.
He bowed. "My lady."
"Sir Knight." Composure reclaimed, she stepped to the carafe of wine and began to pour her best vintage into a goblet. "I find myself in your debt."
"The chance to rescue a lady of such fair countenance suggests just the opposite."
She turned, raised a brow. "A deft tongue. Far more appealing than my countenance." Particularly if he was equally deft with it in other ways.
Her gaze lingered, apparently communicating her thought well enough that the first hint of desire rose in his eyes. However, something else was in his expression as well. Speculative awareness.
"It was an odd attack, my lady. These men seemed to be seeking your death specifically. Not a ransom."
"Men fear what they do not understand." She finished pouring the wine. "I have enemies. That is my business, not yours. I'm simply grateful you were willing to put your sword into my service."
"Mmm." As he made the noncommittal noise, she offered the goblet, cupping the bowl with both hands. When he reached for it, she didn't relinquish it. He studied her, then put his hands over hers, lifting the goblet to his lips, allowing her to move two steps closer, the tips of her slippers just inside the span of his boots. As he drank deeply, she watched his throat work. He was not mannerless. While he thirsted, he showed restraint. He didn't spill it on himself or the rug beneath his feet. She almost wished for one red rivulet to run from the corner of his mouth down the side of his throat to give the lust in her belly more to stir it. Though in truth, watching him drink seemed to be enough. He paused, pressing his moistened lips together, distracting her.
"When the battle was over, I'd killed many. But not as many as were lying on the ground."
"My servants are not untrained," she said, wondering how he would taste if she lifted on her toes and pressed her lips over his wine-stained ones. "While they are not all warriors, I would have been ashamed if they hadn't been some assistance to you."
"They were. With pike and sword. Even your cook wields a pot well." A light smile touched his firm mouth, but didn't reach his eyes. "As stout of heart as they all were, I didn't see any of them who looked strong enough to break the neck of a full-grown warrior, or snap his back like a rotted branch."
When he lowered the goblet, she was aware his grip had tightened perceptibly on her hands, keeping them overlaid with his own. "One man... I pulled my sword out of his gut just as his comrade came upon my back. He would have run me through, I've no doubt of it. There was a wind like a passing spirit, on what has been a cursedly breezeless dusk. I felt a softness, much like the brush of a maiden's hair on my face." His gaze traveled to her raven tresses, tied loosely back on her shoulders with a twisted trio of ribbons. "The man spun away from me, so violently his feet left the ground. When he landed, his back was broken, his head wrenched back."
"I think you have been out in the sun far too long, Sir Knight."
"Perhaps you've never been in the sun at all, my lady. Your skin, like the palest cream," he murmured. "What manner of creature are you? Should I fear you as well?"
He looked more curious than apprehensive. Almost...amused. Disturbed, she drew her hands from beneath his and stepped away, reclaiming her haughty reserve. "Do you fear me?"
Her retainers slipped in, bearing a washtub and full water buckets. Rather than answering, he noted them, his brow raised. "You are preparing to bathe, my lady. I should leave you your privacy."
"I am preparing to bathe you, Sir Knight." At his surprised look, she tilted her head. "A traditional courtesy, is it not? The lady of the house attending to her guest's bath?"
She saw the significance of that flash through his expression and wondered if he could imagine it in as great a detail as she could. His muscular, naked body glistening with water, the beads of it tempting her to suck on his tanned, sun-soaked skin. He shifted, swallowing.
"My lady..."
"Do you intend to insult my hospitality, Sir Knight?"
She could almost hear the snick of the trap, and from the charming amusement in his gaze, she knew he could as well. "No, my lady."
"Then please remove your weapons and clothing and I will have my servants see to their cleaning."
That gave him pause for different reasons. She stepped toward him. "You may certainly keep the weapons with you here, if it reassures you. Or perhaps it's just that you've been wearing them for so long you've forgotten how to remove them."
Another step, and she was right in front of him again. The way those piercing blue eyes seemed to be contemplating her mystery roused things in her. It seemed as if he understood her fully, even as she played with him in this way. She reached out and fingered the trailing end of his sword belt, beginning to work it out of its loop, very conscious of what other delights waited under the skirt of the tunic.
While he didn't move, his expression maintained an intriguing blend of curiosity, desire warring with caution. He was obviously no fool.
Since he held the goblet, only one hand was free, but she suspected he was capable of putting up a good defense to stop her if he wished to do so. When she freed the weapon, she stepped closer to pull the belt away and bring it around to one hand, letting the tunic fall loose at his waist. She handed the sword, dagger and belt to a retainer. "Please see that the blade is properly cleaned and sharpened, and the scabbard well oiled."
Heaven knew, her scabbard was getting well oiled, just from this brief touch. He stank of blood and sweat, the heavy musk of days of travel, and yet she wanted nothing more than to be the hands that scrubbed all that off his skin, as if unwrapping a gift for herself.
She took the goblet from his hands then. "If you'll remove the rest and step into the tub, we shall attend to your bath."
Making herself turn away and cross the tent, she heard him shift, rustle, telling her he was removing the tunic and undergarments, untying the mail and handing it to the outstretched hands of her servants. She wondered at his willingness to give up his weapons, but then she realized the tent was well decorated with her own armaments. He could outfit himself if needed, and if she was telling the truth, she was saving him the time of preparing his weapons for his next battle. Even so, she suspected he was not a man who easily trusted another to do that, and that uncomfortably suggested he might be feeling some of the same strong pull toward her she was feeling toward him.
Setting aside the goblet, she heard him step into the tub and her servants quietly take their leave, leaving her alone with her prey. Her dinner. Her pleasure. She turned.
Holy God... And she meant it in the most reverent sense.
Even crusted with blood and grime, it was obvious his body was God's creation. Muscled haunches, broad back, long arms, wide chest and a cock already semi-erect, giving her a mouthwatering idea of its size and thickness when fully aroused. It had already lengthened at her regard, even as he obviously tried to look anywhere but at her. Perhaps he was thinking he shouldn't presume she was trying to seduce him, since she'd yet to make any direct overtures that way. But oh, that was fully her intent. She was hungry on two very vital levels.
She'd sent her marked human servant ahead to make arrangements for their stay, but there was something about this man that told her even if she'd had a meal readily at her fingertips she'd have sent it from her presence in favor of this one. She wanted to bid him stand still as she poured the water over him, watch it sluice over hard muscle, taking away the dust and making his skin gleam in the candlelight.
As she approached, she cast her eyes down, ostensibly a modest maiden, but really to get a better view of that impressive organ. Despite his best efforts to be chivalrous it was still rising, particularly when she took her time raising her gaze, letting it linger on all the terrain from thigh to throat. She was close enough to reach out to graze his flat abdomen with her fingers and she did, her nails scraping him.
"My lady." He caught her wrists. She was surprised to look up into a face that, while avid with a man's desire, was also filled with male laughter. "You are teasing me."
She smiled. "I am. I find myself ravenous, my knight. As you have suggested, my hungers are rather unusual. I wouldn't presume upon you to fill those hungers, because you have saved my life and the lives of many of my people tonight. But I admit I tend to be a selfish creature."
Studying her, he lifted a hand to cup her face. The sheer impact of that touch made her go still. Her eyes closed of their own accord, her mind wondering at her trembling response as he stroked along her temple. When his thumb passed over her lips, she drew it into her mouth and bit.
He started a little, but didn't draw back. She wasn't using any compulsion at all, and yet she felt him just watching her curiously, tightening his grasp on her other wrist.
"My mind tells me what you are," he whispered. "It tells me I should have helped them end you. But my heart tells me I would give the last drop of my blood to protect you. Is it a spell? Are you using your beauty to cloud my eyes to truth?"
She kept her gaze lowered, lashes fanning her cheeks, and sampled his blood. Finding it to her liking, she drew his thumb in further, licking the welling drops away, suckling at him in a manner suggesting how she would like to suckle other parts of him. She heard him mutter a curse. When her eyes rose at last, he was still watching her draw the tiny trickle of sustenance from him. After she let him go, he looked at his thumb, bemused, before lowering the hand to her hip, drawing her closer to him, her shins pressing against the edge of the standing tub.
"You are a mystery, my lady. I ask myself why I'm not running from the temptation of you, so great that fighting in a dozen Crusades wouldn't eradicate the sin from my soul."
"You never answered my question. Do you fear me, Sir Knight?"
He smiled, and this time the response reached his eyes, lighting them like sapphires in the firelight. It astonished her. He sensed what she might be, and yet he truly did not fear her.
"I will die in these lands, but not by your fair hand. Though I think it would be a far better death to die with my head in your lap."
Excerpt: A Mermaid's Kiss by Joey Hill
This is an excerpt from A Mermaid's Kiss, in which Jonah, a powerful angel who commands the Dark Legion, is wounded during battle and falls in the path of a young mermaid named Anna. This book will be out in Fall 2008.
Lightning flashed, the sky unnaturally dark. His doing, or his enemies'? He couldn't orient his mind. But bloodlust required instinct, not thought, and pain could be ignored. As he roared his fury, the resulting heat that shot through his sword blade illuminated his surroundings briefly. A hundred shadows converging, almost indistinguishable from the black clouds, but the nearest one got close enough to become an opponent. The Dark One's death scream made Jonah's lips curl in a satisfied, feral smile, despite the foul taste of the creature's blood splattered across his mouth.
Good or evil, what did it matter? It all came down to this in the end. Battle. Those who were the best would be left standing, if luck and skill held.
But the Lady didn't stand with them on this ground. He fought for Her, but he never sensed Her presence in this. It was that lonely thought which defeated him, took his attention for a blink and let his enemies strike the sword from his hand. It went end over end through the heavens, arcing and then arrowing down toward earth. He spun, twisted, but they closed in, sensing victory, their rattling whispers scraping away at his sanity. The sweep of the battle axe he couldn't evade was a dull gleam among a malevolent tapestry of red eyes and bared fangs.
Perhaps they'd aimed for the spine, intending to cleave him in half. An irony, since that reflected his mind these days. But instead they severed one of his wings. Struck it from him with a terrible hollow thunk like the chopping of a tree, sending a bolt of agony rocketing through his upper body, numbing his legs and arms for a key moment.
His balance disappeared, sending him hurtling down among a thick net of them. Jonah struck out through the blinding pain, snarling, fighting with bare fists. Blood ran down his back, dripping down his thighs as rough, brutal talons tore at his flesh, the open wound.
Using the last reservoir of concentration he had, he electrified the air around him. The shattering flash jolted his own muscles and nerve endings, wrenching a hoarse cry from his throat that was lost in their shrieks. The smell of burning flesh could be grimly sweet.
He was falling free, spiraling down and down, unable to control anything as he dropped for miles, his one wing unable to do more than make the descent an unpredictable, wild twisting that tore away his ability to stay conscious.
It didn't matter. He'd prefer death to dismemberment. Another lightning flash, not his this time, outlined the demonic forms of his attackers. A few had recovered enough to dive after him. They would try to take him alive, he knew. And then all Hell would break loose. Literally.
His body fell into the sea, his velocity sending up a plume like a geyser. As he hit, he knew the wake would become a storm surge impacting the shoreline a few miles away. It would come out of nowhere, baffling the ever ignorant and oblivious humans.
A pebble dropped in a pond created ripples, affecting everything it touched in subtle, but undeniable ways.
The fall of an angel could drown the very heart of the Earth.
* * * * *
Anna paused, her hand resting on the grey whale's side. The humpback made a keening noise and kept moving at a sedate but determined pace. The animal's flank moved under her hand, forward and away. She'd been traveling with the whale pod tonight, keeping company with them, keeping her mind open to the silent world around her. The sea was ever moving and changing, unlike her relationship with her own kind. She wondered that anyone sought the company of other mermaids, then chided herself for the uncharitable thought.
But by the Goddess, she didn't go to the palace that often. Was it too much to ask her cousins not to be so insular and self-centered? She'd just wanted to see them. And they acted like they wanted her gone within minutes of her arriving.
Maybe she should have phrased it differently. Hello, all. I'm visiting because I'll likely be dead in the next ten or eleven months and just thought I'd let you know I'll miss you.
But she wouldn't, would she? She missed what they'd never given her, and had hoped for one fleeting moment of that, now that her time was getting short.
So she wouldn't regret tying their hair in knots while they slept before she slipped away. Or pressing her hand and forehead for one long moment against the solid door to Neptune's throne room.
Glad for the distraction from her disturbing thoughts, she turned. Something felt odd, as if plates had shifted, sending a seismic wave through the water. The whale had detected it, surely?
A storm had blown up above about a half hour ago. Too suddenly. When Anna saw the whale's mate holding back, testing their surroundings as she'd been doing, she knew he had sensed the strangeness as well. The mother must be moving the baby to safety while her mate guarded her back. She wondered what it would be like to have someone like that.
Oh, Great Lady, she did not want to think about that, either. She was alone now. She would always be alone. It was time to make peace with it, with all of it. And really, she had been fine for all these years, knowing. It was just that now, there was nothing-
She cried out as an object shot down through the water before her, seizing her in the turbulence. When something slashed against her hand, she convulsively closed her fingers on it as she was somersaulted backwards. Though a somersault suggested a circular pattern, predictable in its track. She was twisted, upended and thrown while the sea boiled and heaved as if the projectile had been a bullet striking the ocean's heart.
Ramming into a coral reef, she was punctured by the sharp edges, then the wake seized her and dragged her body along the coral, pulling several scales loose from her sensitive tail. Her left tail fin was spliced, wresting a full scream from her.
When the wave passed and she was floating clear, a fine mist of her own blood swirled about her like the inky passing of a squid. Trembling, Anna saw she still held what she'd reflexively clutched, the blood from her hand flowing around it.
It was a feather.
But not just any feather. She forced herself to keep her wits about her and hold onto it, for it was obvious this did not belong to a seagull or swan haplessly plunging to earth. It had an iridescent milky gleam, with a blue aura that shone even though it was apparently detached from its owner. She swallowed, her eyes wide, her pain momentarily forgotten as she realized what it must be.
An angel's feather.
There were fanciful things said of angels. Like how a merchild might see one at night, winging through the sky like a shooting star. If that should happen, the child should only chance a look and then duck her head, make her wish. If one had the remarkable experience of being in the presence of an angel, speaking was forbidden, unless the angel commanded it. Otherwise, the tongue would simply disintegrate in your presumptuous throat.
An angel was the highest echelon before the Goddess Herself, doing Her will. Lords of the air, the skies, even the earth and water. Nothing limited them but the Lady. They could be agents of destruction or life, depending on Her Will, grim reapers or saviors.
Humans were the only species that treated the existence of angels as belief instead of fact. It was grimly amusing, how many real things humans considered myth or wishful thinking. Or nightmares. No one knew why the Deity allowed humans to exist in such childish ignorance of what the rest of them knew. Though Anna, who was as much a part of the human world as that of the merpeople, had her theories.
While she knew angels existed, she might have scoffed at some of the stories, for no one she knew had interacted with one in any significant way for decades, but her great aunt had been saved by an angel. It was still one of the most vivid memories of the old merwoman's life, though it had happened when she was little more than a child. Trapped in a lost shrimp net, she'd fallen into the Abyss, a series of reefs and caverns that went down so far no one knew how deep they went. Currents had taken her into the caverns, tumbling her over and over. She'd fought the net until exhausted, she'd been resigned to her own death, for the more she struggled, the deeper into the tunnels she was carried.
Then she'd found herself in a place of fire. Heat, far below where heat existed in the ocean. Instead of dying by fire, Aunt Judith, or Jude as they all called her, had been untangled and led out of the place by an angel. He'd been so beautiful that, whenever she remembered him, she cried at the memory. Jude had been blind ever since, a sea creature dependent on others to be her eyes. While she thought the angel had taken her sight to keep her from coming back, she bore him no ill will for it.
"He cut himself when he helped free me from the net. I remember his blood was blue, like the sky..."
The feather Anna held was stained with that blue. The water could not dislodge the fluid, as if the feather refused to release an intrinsic part of itself, realizing its surroundings were not where it belonged.
Perhaps the blood was simply from where the feather had gotten pulled out. Though thinking of an angel being plucked like a chicken seemed almost...sacrilegious. But they weren't gods. Just incredibly powerful beings compared to everyone else, like the whales to plankton. But they could be harmed, couldn't they?
She was sure that was a thought that most...no, no mermaid had ever had. Underscoring yet another reason why she was out here by herself.
But what if the sudden storm above was one of the battles between angels and the Dark Ones? Everyone knew they were happening more frequently of late, creating violent weather patterns that made her glad she could seek the shelter of the ocean depths.
Yes, angels were beings of terrible power. Their ways were a mystery, but they were essential to the balance and protection of everything. Anna hesitated, watching the track of bubbles from the unknown missile settle, disperse, while the ocean still heaved uneasily.
No, she should follow the whales. Stay out of this. Whatever this was.
Then she saw the wing.
Except for the ethereal glow, she might have thought it a manta ray, the lazy flow of its wings rippling like a blanket dropped into the water, or the long strands of her vain cousins' hair, moving like thick ribbons of silken seaweed.
But it was turning in uneven circles, heading down, down. It had the same blue fluid not only clinging to it, but drifting around it in a way that reminded her of how her own blood had clouded at the coral reef. Only an angel's blood simply made the wing more beautiful, colors of sky and moonlight together, pieces of the firmament severed and drifting in her world.
She was swimming toward it before she could think of the wisdom of doing so. As she did, she realized she was completely by herself. A glance showed all other sea life had vacated the area. It was as if she'd found herself in a quiet oceanic chamber where she faced a challenge, something that called to her alone.
She caught the wing in her arms as it came down. It startled her, for it had such substance, a weight that immediately started to take her down with it. It felt limb-like, the arch and spine covered with layer upon layer of feathers. The feathers tickled her bare back, drifted over her breasts, the line of her bare stomach, the nip of her waist. As she turned with it, bemused, the elongated tip curved around her hip. Almost as if the wing were holding her as much as she was holding it.
She realized then she was warm. Not a warmth caused by temperature. This sensation came from the inside. It called up a vision of strength, protection. A sense of...connection, making her acutely aware of the loneliness she always carried within her, like a vital but despised essential organ. The warmth helped soothe it, the feathers whispering over her cheek and her lips like a lover's regard. Understanding, acceptance, love. And more than that.
Her mouth suddenly felt needy for something...a kiss, the heat of another's mouth. Firm lips on hers, demanding pressure, coaxing hers open, filling her. It was a startling and yet languorous yearning, like the first press of a lover's body. Not that she had much knowledge of such things, but this feeling made her feel as if she did, and her fingers curled into the feathers, holding them as she would a man's hair. Was it her imagination, or did the curve of the wing where the bone held its shape feel like an arm, drawing her closer?
It must be the power of that incandescent light, the magical heat of it. She realized abruptly she was sinking with the wing, had been the whole time she was experiencing that heady feeling that seemed to make her aware of all the parts of herself that could stir a lover. Her mouth, her throat, her grasping fingers, the undulation of her hips...
Even as the wave of sensations amazed and confused her, a tingling sense of unease penetrated them, warning her that the pleasurable light was struggling, fading somehow.
There was also a definite urgency to its downward motion that couldn't seem to be explained by the weight of waterlogged feathers, mainly because it did not appear waterlogged at all, the feathers floating as easily as the tendrils of her own hair. And didn't birds-or birdlike creatures-have hollow, nearly weightless bones?
The ocean floor here tipped off into a much deeper cavern. Down there, the light from above wouldn't penetrate, and the water grew far, far colder. She started out of her reverie, realizing where they'd drifted. The Abyss.
The wing was pulling her down, seducing her like a siren, and sea creatures knew all about the danger of sirens.
Wriggling out of its grasp, she leaped away from it. She whipped around, half expecting pursuit because of her sudden surge of apprehension, or some type of sinister attempt to bind her to it.
It did appear to hesitate, but, getting a grip on herself, she told herself it was just the movement of the waters she'd stirred, holding it in a momentary vortex. When it drifted down and landed on an outcropping of rock, it immediately began to slide, tumble toward the edge of the Abyss. As it drifted in that direction, it left her with a hunger in her heart she couldn't explain. A need not only to grasp it in her hands again, but the creature to whom it belonged.
Danger...
The sonorous call reverberated through the waters, the whales signaling one another, the message picked up and carried by a school of fish that exploded out of the edge of the pit and cut past her on all sides.
The instinctive spear of terror through her vitals made her look up. She couldn't see anything, but somewhere above her, she sensed dark, shifting...monsters. There. Red lights, glowing at a distance like signal lights from boats. Red eyes.
Every creature had a honed fight-or-flight sense, necessary to live in a world governed by survival of the fittest. But this was more than the hair-raising alarm caused by a predator's natural hunger closing in on her. This was personal, creeping into the marrow of her bones, a dark anxious poison spreading out from her internal organs. Even as she was able to identify that the intent was to paralyze her with her own fear, she could not seem to counter it, which made it even more terrifying.
Leave him... You cannot help him... No concern of yours... He cares nothing for your pathetic kind...
The power of the compulsion was overwhelming, and it was not a single voice, but many, a malevolent force. As she struggled against it, she managed to throw up a weak protection spell, enough to give herself the space to realize they were not targeting her specifically, but any creature in range that might be giving their target aid.
But she knew nothing of the battles angels fought. Why should she defy the will of that voice of darkness?
As Anna watched the wing make its tumble, she realized it was being drawn to its master, like an innocent child betraying its parent. It was just an amorphous glow now, falling into darkness, like a candle being extinguished. The darkness of the Abyss was total. Final. It would swallow it.
The owner of that wing was unprotected, wounded. She was as sure of that as she was that much of the fear battering her senses was real, not just the effect of those creatures.
Abruptly she shot forward, using the powerful propulsion of her midnight blue tail to send her over the edge and arrowing down into the Abyss. Seizing the floating wing, she increased the speed of its descent, taking it down, herself with it.
Take me to your master. We must save him if we can.
As both a reader and a writer, I'm constantly looking for new authors. When I first asked Sheri Ross Fogarty, my Editor-in-Chief at Changeling, what erotic authors she suggested I check out, the first words out of her mouth were "Joey Hill". I immediately picked up a copy of Joey's Holding the Cards, Book 1 in her Nature of Desire series at Ellora's Cave -- and yep. Once again, Sheri shows phenomenal taste!
Sierra: A little bird also told me that your upcoming Berkley Sensation book, A Mermaid's Kiss, is a must-read. (I have friends in high places; they tell me these things, lol!) Can you tell us a little about the story? And what about that gorgeous cover -- do you as author get input on the Berkley covers?
