Sharon Buchbinder: Interview with Kryssie Fortune, Author of To Break a Warrior King's Curse

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Interview with Kryssie Fortune, Author of To Break a Warrior King's Curse

What made you decide to be an author? I've always being a voracious reader. Add in that I was the kid who lined my dolls and teddys up to tell them stories, and it's no surprise I write stories now.
Of course, my stores are a lot more complex and a damn sight sexier now.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least? I love researching ideas and crafting words that make the story flow. I enjoyed building my paranormal world of sexy werewolves and hot Fae who bond with dragons. My contempory heroes are more of a challange since they're mostly ex-military and living in North Carolina. I mentally moved a town I know well to invent Westhorpe Ridge. Every time I tell a story, I fall a little bit in love with my hero. The worst thing is that writing is a solitary occupation.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? Well... I started writing paranormal romance. You don't meet many werewolves in day-to-day life. At least I hope not. I drew on real experiences, like using the setting for my son's wedding for To Wed a Werewolf. The heroine in to Mate a Werewolf is a runner.My daughter ran the London Marathon and is convinced the character is based on her.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with?Always. My charactors sometimes refuse to do as they are told. That's when I know I've got them right.

You’ve written 14 novels and are working on a 15th novel. What’s your favorite time management tip? Avoid social media. It's a time suck. Excuse me while I pop off and check my Facebook feed.
Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer? I'm somewhere in between. I know what's going to happen at certain stages of the book. How I get there sometimes surprises me.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Never give up.

Did music help you find your muse with this book? If yes, which song did you find yourself going back to over and over again as you wrote? I like to work in a quiet room. I love lively music and would want to join in, so I'm better working in silence.

Tell me more about To Break a Warrior King's Curse.
Leonidas can fight anything except dark magic.

He inherited his father’s curse along with the Fae throne. Thanks to a rogue witch, if he doesn’t bed a different woman every month, he’ll turn feral. A man can only stand so much meaningless sex. No wonder he hates witches.
When he meets Meena, he intends to seduce her, not love her.

Meena’s a witch who never developed any powers.

Banished to the mundane world, she masquerades as human. When she accidentally bonds with an escaped war dragon, Leonidas comes to reclaim it. His enemies strip him of his powers, and his month’s almost up.

What happens when he discovers she’s a witch? And how will this warrior king cope when his curse kicks in and forces him into another woman’s bed.

PLEASE NOTE This book was previously sold with the title CURSE OF THE FAE KING.

How about an excerpt from To Break a Warrior King's Curse?

Chapter One

“That’s my bloody dragon!” The Fae stalked across the cliff top, his emerald shirt billowing beneath his black leather waistcoat. “And I will be having him back.”

Meena’s curls tumbled over her shoulders, an ebony waterfall streaked with rainbow colors. She’d come up to the abbey ruins for solitude and peace, and as usual, she’d found it. Unless you counted the little lost dragonet at her feet. A large dog would have dwarfed him, but he was definitely the cutest otherworld creature she’d ever seen. And now his owner wanted him back.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the main entrance to see who’d provoked the Fae’s fury. There wasn’t another soul to be seen, which meant…

Sweet Hekate. He’s yelling at me.

Okay, her life was… Well, it wasn’t good, but no one snarled at her like that. Meena clenched her fists and squared her shoulders while the dragonet rested his head on his paws and took another bite of her sandwich.

The Fae’s arrogance chafed, but she refused to take her anger out on the dragonet. The way he mewled and flopped down at feet made her smile.

Meena removed her gloves and fondled his pointy ears. “Cheer up, Lipstick. daddy’s come to take you home. What a pity he didn’t take better care of you in the first place.”

“Lipstick?” The Fae warrior thundered. "You named a powerful war dragon Lipstick. He should bear a noble name like Dreadnought or Valiant.”

With his uptight expression, corded muscle, and stiff spine, he had to be Fae royalty. That didn’t bode well for an outcast like her.

Meena smiled her professional customer-service smile—the one that had let her down earlier. “But he's the same color as my new lipstick. Scarlet Kisses, see?”

She brandished it like a talisman, expecting smoke to come out of this overbearing Fae’s ears. How satisfying was that? Whenever Fae passed through Whitby, they dissed her completely—but that wasn’t always a bad thing. Eight years ago, when her powers didn’t manifest at puberty, the Witch Council put a price on her head. Her mother moved them to the mundane world, but it had taken Meena forever to adjust to life in Whitby. A life without magic.

Despite his bad temper, the Fae’s sculptured cheekbones and kissable lips made a dangerous combination—one she struggled to resist. His voice flowed over her like melted chocolate. She loved how he’d braided his hair back in a neat queue at the nape of his neck, and now he stood like a Spanish hidalgo—all uptilted chin, disdainful pride, and gleaming white fangs. How dare he look down his nose at her? Carved of granite and steel, he radiated menace. Definitely not as cute as his dragon. More mouthwateringly masculine, but otherworld creatures usually dissed a reject like her.

She stared at the bullwhip coiled Indiana Jones-style at his narrow waist, then at the black-handled dagger sheathed on his right hip. An obsidian rapier—Fae-forged and unbreakable—almost merged with one of the taped seams that ran down the sides of his pants. He even wore a dagger gunslinger-style at his hip. Dear Goddess, the man was a walking arsenal, but he was sexy as hell.