Once again, I have decided to participate in Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenge, at Terrible Minds. This one is particularly interesting because he gave parameters, but had the participants use a random generator to choose the numbers that corresponded to the various options. My numbers were 2 (Erotic Fairytale), 1 (High School Prom) and 5 (A Talking Sword), and it can be no more than 1,500 words. Umm. Putting the capital C in Challenge! Here is what I came up with:

I ducked under a tangle of crepe paper hanging from the rafters and glanced around the darkened high school gym. The room was crowded with young couples swaying awkwardly to a slow song as the disco ball overhead threw flashes of light everywhere.

Ugh. High school hadn't gotten any better over the last 500 years, and I wanted to the hell out there as quickly as possible.

Of all places to hide the item I was searching for, this would have been the last I'd have thought to look in. Doc was a pain in my ass, but the dwarf's vast knowledge of esoteric crap did come in handy once in a while.

I edged my way through the gym, attempting to be inconspicuous. Get in, retrieve the item for my client and get out without making the evening news. That was my goal tonight. A boy, no more than seventeen and stupid with it, stepped into my path, a self assured smirk on his face. Did I look like a cheerleader to him? I narrowed my eyes and he backed away immediately, going pale.

Using the dim lighting as cover, I slipped behind the bleachers and began to count the bricks along the wall.

12...13...14...Ah. Here it was.

Marked with a faint X in the lower right corner, and looking a bit loose around the edges, was the chunk of stone that proved the dwarf's theory out. A frisson of excitement shivered through me. I carefully worked the brick from the wall, then pried out the ones surrounding it, creating a long rectangular open space. I blew away the grit and peered inside. A slender bundle, almost the length of my arm, lay wrapped in cloth. I reached in and drew it out with careful hands, hardly daring to breathe.

The Lost Sword of Spraak.

Cautious not to disturb the wrapping, I shoved it into the large pack I carried. The payment from this job would be more than enough to tide me over for the next few months. Maybe I could even stay in my rental for more than a few weeks. It wasn't exactly a dream apartment, but I was so tired. The constant looking over my shoulder, the running, the fleeing, had worn me thin, down to the very essence of my soul. I was afraid if I didn't get some rest soon there would be nothing of me left.

And although it wasn't my death, in a way, it would mean that she had won. I couldn't allow that.

Hitching my pack onto one shoulder, I turned to go. A shadow blocked my exit from the bleachers as a large man, his dark hair tied in a queue at the nape of his neck, ducked under. He straightened, narrowly missing bashing his head on the metal risers and crossed his arms, a smirk on his full lips.

"Going somewhere, Snow?"

Shit. I was so sure after the dumpster incident in Cincinnati that I had lost Hunter, but the man seemed to have a preternatural ability to track me down.

I dropped my pack and the sword slid out partway, hitting the floor with a clang as the cloth rolled back a little, revealing the ornate hilt. Drawing a dagger from the small of my back, I grinned, a rush of adrenaline heating my blood. We had been doing this dance for half a millennium, ever since I had fled the Palace at sixteen. The False Queen had murdered my father in his bed and then set her sights on me, thinking to shore up her claim to the throne. But she found it harder than she had thought to kill me and after several failed attempts, she set Hunter on my tail.

Where he had been ever since.

"I'm on a job, Hunter, and if I have go through you to finish it, I will."

After a few centuries, he had stopped really trying to behead me and I had mostly stopped attempting to gut him. It was more of a game now, a test of our skills.

Or maybe foreplay.

The music had changed. The scream of guitars and thunder of drums echoed through the gym, pumping through my blood, as we circled each other carefully in the dim light under the metal risers. Despite the poor lighting, I could see the play of muscles beneath his shirt, the way his powerful thighs flexed under a worn layer of denim. It was always like this for me; attempting to ignore the heat of my attraction for Hunter while avoiding the deadly slice of his jagged blade.

But there was no glint of metal in his hand tonight.

I glanced up and met his eyes, my throat going dry at the reflection of my own desire I could see roiling within the brilliant green depths. I licked my lips, tightening my slack grip on my weapon.

"The Queen is dead."

His words froze me in place. The woman who had murdered my beloved father, stolen everything I had ever held dear and driven me to the very ends of the earth was...dead? I raised my gaze, terrified to hope, fearful that his announcement was just another way to put me off my guard. But Hunter stood stock still in the shadows, his hands open at his sides, burning intensity written across his face.

"Dead?"

My voice sounded rusty, as if it hadn't been used in a decade.

"Very, last time I looked." One smile curled the side of his mouth, and Hunter stepped forward. I brought the dagger up but it was more of a reflex and he ignored it, moving closer until our bodies brushed. "Do you understand what this means, Snow?"

I stared up at him, shaking my head in confusion. The sensual movement of his lips, framed by the dark glitter of his trim beard, sent a shiver of desire sliding down my spine, wrapping around my limbs and settling in my belly with a warm glow.

"This means—" Hunter's lips brushed my forehead, then my cheekbone, as he worked his way toward my mouth. My fingers went numb, and the dagger landed at our feet with a clang. "This means that the Queen's geas is broken. And I can do what I've been dying to do for the last four centuries."

His lips came crashing down and he wrapped his arms around my ass, hoisting me up. I automatically wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing myself against the hard, heated length of him entrapped in denim. We ripped at each other's clothing, panting with the need to feel skin against skin. Hunter tripped over my pack, nearly sending us both to the floor, slamming my back against the cement wall.

"Sorry, sorry!" His voice muffled, Hunter never lifted his head from where it was buried in my now bare breasts.

I winced at the soreness along my spine, knowing it would hurt more tomorrow, but couldn't stop the snickers that spilled out as I struggled to wrestle his tee shirt over his head.

"It's fine, I'm fine, don't stop."

Finally, we managed to shed our clothes, for the most part. He thrust, invading, conquering, giving me exactly want I needed. I moaned, dropping my head back against the wall, all amusement gone. Now, there was only the beat of the thundering music and the feel of him moving in me. He gripped my ass, pressing my back against the chill wall and I held him to me, my hands buried deep in his loosened hair. Sensation built, spiraling, pushing and I knew I was almost there. Hunter must have felt the ratcheting tension of my body, because his hips pumped faster, shoving me over the edge.

I bit down hard on the sleek muscle of his shoulder as I came, sending him into spasms of pleasure as he shuddered, his mouth pressed against my throat.

There was an odd sound, almost like a bell.

I blinked, glancing down at the pack where it sat next to Hunter's abandoned jeans. The Lost Sword of Spraak was glowing, the eerie noise coming from it building into a shrill ringing. Before we could move, there was a flash of green light that had me throwing my hand over my eyes as a searing pain stabbed my head. Hunter swore, letting go of me and I slid down the wall as he pressed the heels of his palms to his own eyes.

The light began to fade, almost as if it was folding itself back into the sword, leaving us both shaken and unsteady. Just before it disappeared completely, a deep voice extolled, "Done, and done."

And then it was just a sword again, the metal glinting dull in the dim light under the high school bleachers.

Hunter and I stared at it, then each other. What the hell was that?

"I think we're gonna need clothes for this."

I'm back!
I was tagged in The Next Big Thing blog tour by Roxanne Ravenel and Megan Paasch, and if you've been to Lady Scribes, you know how much I like a good interview. No matter what side of the table I'm on! I couldn't possibly say no. It would be rude. 
*Ahem*
Anyway, I'm going to answer a few questions about what I'm working on, have worked on, will work on, etc, etc, so on and so forth, cheese and sprinkles, Amen. 
And away we go...

1. What is the working title of your book?
Bad Intentions. I love this title. It makes me want to read the book, so I figured it might draw a reader's attention too.

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?
I'm not sure anymore. It's been so long since I started the book. Most likely a song, though. I almost always get the kernel of my ideas from a song. Even the pop and rap songs. All I need is a good hook, or even just a phrase.

3. What genre does your book fall under?
Regency Romance, or possibly Historical Romance.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
The hero, Gray (The Earl of Belhaven), has always been Ian Somerhalder. Always. With a little less eye and nostril  flaring, though. That smirk, that lazy, sarcastic, bitter facade, hellbent on revenge no matter who gets in the way? Gray, to a tee.
I have an image of Lady Charlotte on my Pinterest page, and I have no idea who she actually is! But she is perfect. Same coloring and everything. I was drawn to the picture immediately and knew exactly who she was- for me.
The only other character I have cast is Ryland Walsh, Belhaven's younger bastard half-brother. He's Irish, gorgeous, disillusioned and angry. That was an easy pick! Jonathon Rhys Meyers, of course.

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
The duplicity of a friend and the woman he thought to marry has left Gray Brantford, the Earl of Belhaven, with only one option; the subversion and seduction of his enemy's sister, the intractable and delicious Lady Charlotte.
(Okay, that was incredibly hard. Two or three sentences would have been perfect. One? Gah!)

6. If you plan to publish, will your book be self-published or published traditionally?
I don't know yet. I'm planning to submit it to agents and publishers once I'm done with my revisions, but who knows what the future will hold?

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Ha! Yeah. Hmm. Eight months, maybe? A year? It was very stop and go. I had (have?) no idea what I was doing! It's the first full length novel I've ever written. Since I finished I have written two novellas and they are being sold on Amazon, etc. But that first draft was tough. And terrible. Ooo. It was BAD. And not in a good way, but bad bad. Yikes. It's still a bit messy and needs some cleaning up, but the first chapter won The Heart2Heart contest for Historical Romance this year, so I take that as a sign of encouragement! 

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
Worst question ever. You're asking me to compare myself to authors I love. I can't do it. But... I've asked around and here is what people tell me.
Tessa Dare
Mary Balogh
Suzzane Enoch
Julia Quinn
(Eep! I should be so lucky!)

9. Who or What inspired you to write this book?
I ran out of books to read at the library? Haha! Hmm. Just the love of a good story, I suppose. I've always had little scenes floating around in my head, characters that come and go, act out their parts and dialogue, then drift away. One day I just figured I should try to get them to stay a while...

10. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Let's think... Bad boys and good girls, fancy parties, fabulous fashion, art, gilded and frivolous Regency England, the dark and dangerous underbelly of London, seduction, retribution and redemption, and a whole lot fun in between. The road to revenge is paved with bad intentions... 


Now...
To tag the next batch of writers for The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. Have fun, ladies!
Gina Miel Heron
Maire Claremont
Erica Monroe
Samantha Grace 
Catherine Gayle

I'm really late announcing this on my blog, but in late October, I found out that I won the Historical Romance catagory in the Heart2Heart contest! You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard the news. SO. EXCITING!
The Heart2Heart contest is held every year by the lovelies at SFA Romance Writers of America. The contest has several different categories for unpublished authors to compete in, historical only being one. It was a huge honor just to final in the contest (along with one of my critique partners Robin Delaney- how fun is THAT?!) and to win feels amazing.
People keep asking me what I won, haha! Umm. Bragging rights? Confidence? Validation? Yes. All of it!
It's a heady feeling, a contest win. Enough to send my tiptoeing to the edge of contest-whoredom, but I decided to just take my win and be happy. I don't need ten wins or finals. I got exactly what I wanted: a good feeling and some great feedback from the judges.
I'm now working on polishing a Regency romance novella, which should come out in the next two weeks. (Crossing my fingers!) I am also revising the full book length Regency romance, Bad Intentions, that won the Heart2Heart. They only saw one chapter, thankfully, because...it still needs some work. I hope to finish that soon and get it out the door, on its way to agents and editors!
I have several other projects in the works and many, many ideas lined up in my mental queue. I'm just not happy if I don't have at least three projects going at once, although it makes it hard to keep everyone's names straight sometimes!
So, that's what's up with me. Drop by Lady Scribes sometime and say Hello, okay? ;D
www.ladyscribes.blogspot.com

This is my entry for the Terrible Minds Halloween Flash Fiction Challenge (http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/10/26/flash-fiction-challenge-game-of-aspects-halloweenie-edition/). I've never written horror in any form before, so this was a fun mental stretch for me! And damn Chuck Wendig and his "must not exceed 100 words" rule- cutting the piece down from 1,146 to 1,000 was like tearing small, vital chunks of my soul out. No, I am in no way dramatizing this. Anywho, here goes nothing...

New Orleans, 1802

"Bonsoir, cher. What is a handsome man like you doing walking all alone?"

The whore's call pulled Ethan from his musings, and he glanced up. A woman stood a few feet away leaning against the wooden wall of a seedy tavern, her face hidden by shadows.

"Need a woman?" she asked idly.

Clearing his throat, Ethan shoved his spectacles back up his nose and blinked. He looked over his shoulder but the darkened New Orleans street was empty, willows drooping over rickety, crooked fences.

Women never talked to him. He was invisible. Well, not really, but he might as well be. Ethan was...forgettable.

He cast around for something to say. "Um. Thank you, but...but I am...late."

"I can give you pleasure like you've never known."

Her voice was throaty and smooth, like fire-warmed whiskey, but it scraped along Ethan's skin like a rusty metal comb.

The back of his neck itched, a persistent little sting.

Shadows swirled around the woman as she moved forward. Nerves snapped as Ethan edged back half a step, one hand going to the spot on his neck now itching with a vengeance. He massaged absently, all his focus on the form sliding through the dim light.

The whore stepped into the yellow glow of the gas-lit street lamp, her long skirts swinging gently, and relief eased through him.

A trick of the night. An over-active imagination.

The young woman in front of him wasn't alarming at all. Why, she was quite charming, in fact. He couldn't fathom how he had thought her a prostitute at all.

Blond ringlets were tucked up under a trim little hat perched on her head at a jaunty angle. High cheekbones, a delicate frame, and a distinct elegance declared that this woman was a lady.

She called to him. A fascination with her gilded curls and lush figure took root and dug deep in a matter of seconds. His blood crackled and heated.

"Mademoiselle," he breathed, moving toward her. Such a tiny thing. She needed to be protected, sheltered. Worshipped.

Cocking her head to the side, a smile played on her red, red lips as the woman pressed herself to him, her curvaceous body soft and warm. Unthinking, Ethan slid one arm around her tiny waist. She smelled like night jasmine, a heady scent that enthralled him.

"Would you help me? I just need a small favor."

She looked at him with hope on her exquisite face. Ethan swelled with reckless, almost drunken pride. She needed him. He would do anything for her, anything at all.

"Of course, mademoiselle. Your wish will be my very command."

The lady's smile widened now, pearly teeth flashing in the gloom. "You offer me aid in any form I should choose, of free will?"

Strange wording, but Ethan's wits flowed sluggishly, his natural caution dulled. Desire surged through him, sharp and jagged. He touched one golden curl where it lay against the tops of her pale breasts.

 "I am yours."

Satisfaction flared brightly within that cerulean gaze, and the woman's expression turned fierce. Her lids lowered, giving her a sensual, slumberous look. His trousers grew even tighter. Ethan wanted her desperately, his muscles rigid with anticipation and sweat dampening his brow. He held her closer, but she slipped from his grasp with a low laugh, her eyes dancing with wickedness.

"Now, now, my darling. All in good time."

But he wanted her now. He needed her now.

Ethan stepped forward again, confused by her sudden withdrawal, but she paid him no mind.

"Ah, I hate to do this in such a dirty place. So vulgar. Ridicule," she muttered.

Ethan's confusion grew, and the beginnings of unease stirred within him. He shook his head, muddled as if he had been drinking, but he hadn't had a drop this evening. Had he?

"My lady...?"

This never happened to him. Women didn't choose Ethan, for anything, to be frank. He was just a barrister's clerk, and a poor one at that.

Ethan shook his head again, the skin on the back of his neck prickling hard enough to draw a gasp from his lips. The lady turned back sharply, her blue eyes narrowing.

"Oh, no you don't. I'm starving."

"I don't...I don't understand," Ethan said weakly. Everything stilled, as if the night itself held its breath. Murky fog hung in the air, and even the muffled sounds of the nearby tavern were silenced.

The woman's skin seemed to thin until she looked almost cadaverous, bones protruding sharply, gleaming teeth elongating. Breath strangling in his throat, Ethan staggered back as she glided forward, sinuous, as she stalked him.

"You will understand everything, Ethan Richard Hadley, in but a few moments." The thing in front of him captured his wrist in a lightning motion, her grip as unbreakable as iron. The sensual spell she had cast over him snapped. Menace poured off her, its strength frightening Ethan. The ravenous blue of her eyes now burned with an unearthly evil.

"How do you know my name?"

Her grin was hard, victorious. "Everything you are is mine now...or it will be very soon."

Fear clamored and horror screamed inside Ethan's mind. He pulled frantically against her, but he couldn't break the creature's grip. He must get away. She was danger; she was death. His death. He could see it now in her eyes.

"Come now, darling," the thing crooned, inexorably drawing him out of the light and taking him with her into the inky dark of the alley. "Come, come..."

Ethan fought her, cursing and jerking against his bondage like a wild animal caught in a hunter's snare, but soon the darkness swallowed him. A scream rent the air, full of despair and pain, dwindling to whimpers before it was silenced.

The street was quiet again. Peaceful. The fog slid away and the stars came out, twinkling down on the city and her inhabitants, who were blissfully unaware of what walked amongst them.

I've taken this excerpt from The Lady and the Duke, my current work in progress. Here's a small lead up to the passage I've lifted:

Lady Audrey is in a bit of a muddle. Just a few days ago she had been kissed nearly brainless by an eligible, intelligent, amusing man, one William Langston, Duke of Halford (with a dimple, no less). However, his lips had barely left hers before apologies and decrees were being thrown all over the place. She couldn't help but be insulted. One moment he's staring at her with that intense, melted chocolate gaze, in the next his back is stiffer than a post and he's attempting to send her from his presence.
It's enough to give a girl a complex.
Less than a week later, Audrey encounters Will at a garden party and is uncertain of what to do. Ignore him? Freeze him out? Pretend nothing happened? None of that is her style, which consists more of saying whatever happens to occupy the forefront of her mind at the moment. Will asks her to walk in the garden and to her surprise, she finds herself accepting. Perhaps it's the dimple. Perhaps it's the way he always seems to be watching her with those dark eyes. Or, perhaps it's the kiss that she just can't shake...


A little frisson of shock went through her at his words and she studied him a moment, then a tug of reluctant amusement lifted one corner of Audrey’s mouth. “So, what you are saying is, you are apologizing for the apology?”

He seemed to consider this carefully.

“Yes, that sounds right.”

Audrey snorted. “You’re cracked in the head, do you know that?”