Sharon Buchbinder: Gay Romance

Monday, June 11, 2018

New Release: Weapons of Redemption By Saloni Quinby

Weapons of Redemption

By Saloni Quinby

Saloni is offering a $15 Amazon GC to one lucky winner during the tour. The winner will be chosen by Rafflecopter. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember you may enter every day for a chance to win so be sure to follow along with the blog tour. You may find the locations for the rest of the tour here.

About Weapons of Redemption:

Five men, enslaved by a vampire pirate and forced to do his bidding, rebelled against their master and earned the wrath of a monster. Now, while plotting to destroy the man who, centuries later, still thinks he owns them, they use their powers to protect other victims. Whips and Chains: In a seedy underworld of sex and violence, a serial killer is stalking men and Guy is called upon to find the murderer. Ryan, a professional Dom known as the Beast Tamer, specializes in meting out pleasure and pain to oversized men. Is the sexy young man with a mysterious past the next victim — or the killer? Sword and Shield: Rule coped with his abduction by the vampire pirate Tarun by cutting off his emotions. After centuries of self-control through punishment, he found a man who finally reached his heart. Now it’s up to Rule to save his former lover, but once he sees Joel again, will Rule be able to resist him? Cloak and Dagger: When police detective Bryce Tarunson arrests a man who looks just like his lover from two thousand years ago, he’s pulled closer to the vampiric master he hates. The bond between Bryce and Shane forces them into a battle that might end in the destruction of the Weapons of Redemption. Marksmen: Ansley and Brayden were stolen as boys by the hated vampire pirate, Tarun, to work aboard his ship. As men, their friendship blossomed into a deep, undeniable love. In the final battle between the vampire pirate and the Weapons of Redemption, Ansley and Brayden’s love for each other will either save or destroy them. Fangs and Floggers: To lure his rebellious blood children back into the fold, ancient vampire Tarun abducted the hunter Adrian. He hadn’t bargained on his human prisoner being a match for him in every way — including his darkest desires. Though Tarun warns Adrian he won’t like what he hears, the hunter is determined to uncover the secrets of the vampire’s twisted past. Publisher’s Note: Weapons of Redemption includes the previously published novellas Whips and Chains, Sword and Shield, Cloak and Dagger, Marksmen, and Fangs and Floggers.

Buy Links:

Ebook:

Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Changeling Press / kobo / itunes

Paperback:

Amazon ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Excerpt: Guy released a breath as he let his whip fly. It struck his old friend, Ruliff, or Rule, as he preferred to be called. Rule stood, his hands suspended from manacles dangling from chains overhead. Even if Rule screamed, no one would hear him, deep in the cellar of this mansion owned by their vampiric kin, Ansley and Brayden. Rule wouldn't scream, though. It wasn't in his nature to show what he believed to be weakness. To drag more than a groan from Rule, Guy would be forced to practically kill him and his sessions weren't meant to cause permanent damage. They had already been at it for longer than usual, even for someone with a supernatural constitution. Five more times Guy struck him with strategically placed blows before he paused and approached Rule. Using the handle of his whip, he traced an especially fierce-looking welt on Rule's sweat-slicked back. Rule had a tremendous capacity for pain. Always had. Guy recalled the days when they, along with Brayden, Ansley and the fifth member of their "family," Bryce, had sailed with Tarun, a genuine monster. The five men had shared a strange and violent past, one that could have destroyed them, but together they had overcome it. Still their days at sea with the vampire pirate -- the master who had tried to mold them in his image -- had left scars on their souls as well as their bodies. These sessions with Rule reminded Guy of how strong yet vulnerable they all were, even if they refused to admit it. Rule could be stubborn to the point of stupid. Guy tightened his hand around the whip and struck Rule again with a blow that would have had most men screaming. A strangled groan escaped the tall, dark-haired man and Guy curled his lip in disgust. He loved the whip and was an expert with it. Like his vampire kin, he had taken what he'd learned about pain and battle from their hated master and made it a form of expression. They had ultimately used their skills to fight back, not only for themselves but for victims who crossed their path. Each of the five men had mastered certain weapons. Guy's obsession was the lash. From bullwhips to floggers, all were slaves to him, bringing pleasure or pain as he saw fit. His love of leather had melded into every part of his life, including sex. He used his floggers to pleasure and punish, sometimes separately, sometimes both at once. Long ago, Guy had honed his skills on his willing brothers, except for Bryce, who refused to submit to anyone, even for fun. Only Rule to this day came to Guy for regular sessions. Guy decided this one had gone on long enough. He knew Rule would push himself past his limits. He needed a strong but sensitive Dominant who knew when to stop. Glancing at Rule, Guy noted that he seemed to be in a trance. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, his lips parted and his breathing shallow. Wet black curls clung to his perspiring forehead and neck. Blood trickled from his lower lip where he'd pierced it with his fangs. "Our session is over for today," Guy said without room for argument. Rule ignored his authoritative tone and said in a deep, hoarse voice, "More." "Your name might be Rule, but you don't rule here," Guy said. "Fine. Release me then." "Not until you calm down." "I am calm." "You forget how well I know you." Rule's cool facade snapped. Bellowing, he yanked at his bonds. Now he screams, Guy thought, but he knew it was probably a good thing. Rule wouldn't allow Guy to comfort him like some clients enjoyed after a session. Guy worked mainly with supernatural beings -- vampires, wizards, and even an occasional werewolf paid well for him to tease and torment them with his leather and chains. But even those creatures had a tender side. Rule's was buried deep and Guy hoped that eventually someone would reach it. Despite Rule's impressive strength, he couldn't break the chains. Guy's survival often depended on knowing how to properly bind supernatural beings. Guy placed his whip next to a heavy purple flogger on a table covered in red plastic. He'd clean his tools later. He was about to clean Rule's back when his cell phone rang. He knew who it was by the ringtone. He picked up the phone and said, "What's up?" "It's Bryce. I need your help. It's business." Although the five men had different careers in the human world, their true purpose was to protect those in need. The weapons they had once used as criminals were now their means of redemption. Bryce worked as a police officer in the city. Sometimes he called upon his brothers to help him resolve crimes in which the human world could offer no justice. "What does he want?" Rule asked, having ceased his rampage when the phone rang. "Is there a case for us? Let me go!" "Do you have Rule strung up in the dungeon again?" Bryce asked. "Yes. I'm putting you on speakerphone." "You don't have to. I can hear him quite well," Rule said, straining to look at Guy over his shoulder. Though keen senses were an advantage of vampirism, the speakerphone would make a three-way conversation easier. "I've been working on what we believe are serial killings," Bryce said. "You've probably heard about them. The media calls them the Bodybuilder Murders. We've found a common denominator and, Guy, I believe you can get the evidence I need. Will you help?" "You have to ask?" Guy said. "Can you use me?" Rule asked. "Right now this is a one-man job," Bryce said. "But thanks." Rule looked a bit disappointed, but with all the trouble in the world, he was sure to have another case to work on soon. "Guy, can you meet me in an hour?" Bryce asked. "Absolutely. Where?" "Stay put. I'll come to you." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ About the Author:

The child of a painter and a psychic dreamer, Saloni Quinby feels spirituality and storytelling go hand-in-hand. She loves the scent of gardenia, the sound of wind chimes and the taste of honey. By listening to what isn’t said, she creates works based on unspoken desires. Saloni prefers blurred gender lines and many varieties of romance. In a world where passion must at times be restrained, she believes erotica is a pleasure to be shared. With her stories she would like to make her fantasies yours and hopes you enjoy the ride. She also writes under the name Kate Hill. Please visit her online at:

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Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Interview with Clancy Nacht, Author of Immortal Sins (written with Thursday Euclid)

What made you decide to be an author? I kept writing novels and someone said, “You know, they have a word for people who do that.” Before I threw my wine in their face, they said that word was author and I thought that sounded reasonable.

What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least? Best is creating my own little world, throwing my people in there and seeing what they’ll do. I usually have a plan for what they’ll do, but they’re usually much cleverer than I am about how things should go. Sometimes it’s not so much that I’m writing the book as the book is writing me.

Least is when people tell me their awesome book ideas that they’re sure will be best sellers if only they had the time to write. For every freewheeling moment of a book writing me, there are about 5 hours of editing, wondering where I learned the English language, and listening to people tell me I have it easy.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? I learned early on that I had to have a thick skin. That membrane can be Teflon one minute and, well, skin at others. I read a lot as a child. That’s really some of your best preparation. Read the books you want to be.

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? A few times. I usually start out with a big idea and kind of a rough outline. Pride & Justice came in scenes, bits and pieces were written, the characters were always bickering and teasing each other about everything and that was a lot of fun. I had to cut some of it out just so the story wasn’t just them harassing each other. I love banter. The TV show Moonlighting was one of the highlights of my childhood.

You’ve written 14 novels and are working on a 15th novel. What’s your favorite time management tip? Time is a flat circle.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer? Both. I’m open to however a story comes to me. I try to write with organs when I can.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? It’s a trap! But really, if you’re going to publish, really research your publisher or agent before submitting. Make sure it’s somewhere reputable. Consider the terms you’re agreeing to very carefully. It’s tempting to be excited someone’s accepted your work and look, it is super exciting, but it can get ugly.

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 have whole playlists for books. The one for Immortal Sins is https://open.spotify.com/user/clancynacht/playlist/3MdEAellfoaJnDUH1KwGu5

There was a lot of Hozier and Nicki Minaj at the time. A little Lana Del Rey.

Tell me more about Immortal Sins.

Olen Clark is a nighttime security guard at the Houston Museum of Natural History, tormented by a dark past and painfully alone. His beauty and secrets attract the notice of an ancient vampire, Lysander of Sparta--known to Olen as Ander, who enters Olen’s world under a shroud of mystery and captures the spiritually wounded Olen’s imagination. Starry-eyed, with visions of pop culture vampire love filling his head, Olen takes the ultimate risk for love only to discover unlife is nothing like he imagined.

Rather than becoming Ander’s lover, he’s reborn into a cruel vampiric family with sibling rivalry and dangerous lusts beyond his worst fears. With his love for Ander unchanged but his maker keeping him at arm’s length, can Olen make peace with his new brothers and sisters and discover a way to win back the master vampire who still holds his heart? And how far is Olen willing to go to make Ander his and his alone?

How about an excerpt from Immortal Sins?

One moment, all was silent. The next, footsteps rang across the tiles, disturbingly close. Olen turned to see a dark-haired man walking toward him, looking so similar to the artwork he’d been admiring that he might’ve stepped out of a display case. A guard should have escorted him from the museum entrance, but he looked rich enough to get away with dismissing anyone he wanted. The aura of power he exuded left Olen’s skin itching.

As the man—ostensibly Mr. Smith—made eye contact, Olen balanced himself against the wall against an overwhelming sensation of falling. He tore away his gaze on instinct. The feeling lifted, leaving him with a queasy gut and the impression of deep eyes so intense they seemed lit from within.

For a breath, the urge to introduce himself seized him. His throat constricted with the need, irritating him with its insistence. Rather than letting the patron frazzle him, Olen decided to complete his rounds. What was wrong with him?

As he neared the exit to the next exhibit, a resonant voice like none he’d ever heard washed over him. It echoed from the marble walls in a trippy cascade of honeyed notes. “It would please me if you remained until I leave.”

A refusal shaped his lips, but it wasn’t as if Mr. Smith had asked him to do anything unusual. Olen wanted to ask why, but instead he stood near the exit from the exhibit, his arms crossed and his senses working overtime.

Staring at the floor, Olen could see the man’s face as if it had imprinted on his retinas. And, somehow, Olen couldn’t sense the man without looking directly at him.

The tall-heeled, handmade boots should’ve clattered against the floor, but now they seemed to make no noise until Olen stared at them. Nor did the man’s capacious silk coat, though it ought to rustle, and his long, loose hair should slither against it. Instead, it was almost as if the man existed only when Olen’s gaze was on him, compelling him to look despite his lingering dread. Instead of sharing space with another human—a comforting notion—he felt as if he were sharing space with something otherworldly.

In the moments between Olen’s peeks, the man moved from one end of the exhibit to the other, requiring Olen to move as well if he wished to keep him in sight. Sometimes the man sighed, and the soft exhalations tore at Olen’s heart, as if he had no choice but to share in sorrow.

Olen longed to head toward the brightly lit greenhouse exhibit. There was something claustrophobic about being near the man, even several yards away. Yet, the thought of leaving his presence filled Olen with anxiety.

Without registering he was doing it, he found himself in step with Mr. Smith, close enough to hear his murmurs, but not so close he could make out words. He looked at the relics when the man did, subconsciously mimicking him, and shoved his hands into his pockets to fight a growing urge to touch the man’s silk coat.

They stood before a case of artifacts dating to the fifth century BC, but the man gazed at them as if he knew each item intimately. He lifted a long-boned hand as if to reach through the glass and seize the shield on the other side.

Then Mr. Smith’s head turned toward him, and their gazes met just long enough to leave Olen trembling. This time the man broke the contact, releasing Olen as if from some transient bondage. He spoke in what sounded similar to the same Greek written upon the labels at either side of the items, but the words tripped from his lips as a song rather than a catalog of relics. For just an instant, Olen thought he saw the shield lift from its stand as if it would fly toward the man, but when he shook his head to clear it, it remained lifeless on its display.

Had Olen slept well the previous night? In spite of feeling watched, he’d actually worked on his art. He specialized in creatures: Minotaurs, gargoyles, strange dragon beasts. What he worked on now, inspired by the display, was a Spartan warrior, but it had a wolf’s head with a lion’s body, standing upright with sword and shield at the ready. The work came from the clay faster than it usually did, and while Olen felt rested and content, now that he was seeing things, he wondered if he shouldn’t set aside that piece for a day or two.

Yet, his fingers itched to be immersed, his mind raced to the lines that needed completing, more definition. It was as if he were home already, rewetting the media, fine-tuning with his wire-end tools to finesse the fur.

And the eyes. Big, dark eyes, wide and heavy-lidded. Liquid. Like the man. When Olen’s fingers met flesh, he realized he was tracing the man’s brows. He snatched his hand away and mumbled an apology.

The man only laughed, melodic and sweet as the most beautiful music Olen had ever heard. It washed away his embarrassment as if it had never existed. Then the man touched Olen, his fingertips hard as marble and almost as cold. He traced along Olen’s jawline and pressed the ball of his thumb to Olen’s lips.

“Why do you resist?” The question echoed in Olen’s mind as if sounding from distant caverns of thought. He couldn’t look away from the man’s rosy, sharply defined lips, and he hadn’t seen them move. The voice in his mind asked, “Do you not dream of me yet?”

The man dropped his hand and turned back to the display case, leaving Olen wondering whether he’d imagined the exchange.

Dreams, though… Olen couldn’t remember any details, only the mad frenzy to create. He dreamed of blood and war and fighting bears. But the man? While there was something familiar about him, he couldn’t say he’d dreamed of him.

But then, why would he? Even if this wasn’t all in his head, did he need another rich, older dickhead to abuse him? He’d been through that already. Never again.

Olen touched his forearm where it had snapped, remembered the bite of the cuffs. It all came back with such nightmarish force, stinging tears rose to his eyes, and he grew light-headed.

No. That asshole did not dictate the rest of his life. He was the past and could no longer hurt Olen. This was the present, and no one would control Olen again.

A gentle touch to his shoulder jolted him from his brooding, and he looked up to see the man already walking back the way he’d come, exiting the exhibit without another word. As the footsteps faded into the distance, his hands ached to capture that face in his art before it too could fade from memory. Words rose in his mind, but they weren’t Olen’s.

“I will return to you tomorrow. Be patient, and leave the lights on.”