Ghosts of Yuletide Past by Jane Kindred

It’s that time of year again. I’m watching my Christmas ghost stories: A Christmas Carol and It’s a Wonderful Life. I have several copies of ACC (my goal is to own every version ever made), and I watch all of them every year, from the 1951 Scrooge with Alastair Sim (hands-down, the best traditional version) to A Muppet Christmas Carol (which is honestly the best version, period) to Bill Murray’s quintessentially 1980s Scrooged to the I'm-not-crying-you're-crying Doctor Who: A Christmas Carol. I wish there were more of them. And I wish there were more winter holiday ghost stories in general.

I understand it’s a British tradition—Brits, feel free to weigh in on this—to enjoy ghost stories around this time of year (particularly on Christmas Eve), of which Dickens Carol is the most famous example. In thinking about why ghost stories might be particularly associated with this time of year, as opposed to at Halloween, as is the custom in the US, I happened upon my own blog post from December 2017, talking about the research for The Dragon’s Hunt, Book 3 in my Sisters in Sin series, which has to do with The Wild Hunt.

Leo Ström, the hero in that book, was Swedish (a thousand-year-old Swedish Viking, to be exact), so his Wild Hunt tradition came from the Norse legends. Odin’s Hunt rides at the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead is considered to be at its thinnest, from Álfablót (the Norse equivalent of the Day of the Dead around Halloween time) through Yuletide, a twelve-day festival starting with the Winter Solstice—from whence came The Twelve Days of Christmas. But there are other Wild Hunt traditions, such as the Welsh tradition, over which my half-Welsh hero, Oliver, in Kindling the Darkness bonded with Leo.

To follow that meandering tangent back to where I started, it occurred to me that maybe the pagan response to the darkest quarter of the year—that feeling of being in the presence of the dead during the thinning of the veil—was one of the inspirations for the tradition of Christmas ghost stories. Christmas, after all, is really just appropriated Yuletide. Sorry, Christians, but it is; Jesus was born in June. But it’s okay. We pagans understand why you like our stuff. ;) As much as the holiday has been sugarcoated, it’s still about whistling past the graveyard and hanging little twinkling lights to ward off the darkness and offer up sacrifices to ensure the return of the sun.

Whatever the reason, I wish ghost-stories-at-Yuletide was a bigger thing in the US—and that paranormal romance had more Christmas ghosts. Maybe it’s time to write my own holiday haunt.

By the way, if you’re looking for a Christmas-themed paranormal romance, The Dragon’s Hunt is set at Christmastime in Sedona, Arizona (and it’s lovely there). The Carlisle sisters are all big fans of the Yuletide holiday, whatever anyone wants to call it, and there are trees and lights and wassail. Psst, Hallmark, maybe you’d like a nice paranormal Christmas movie for your lovely channel? My agent is Sara Megibow at KT Literary. ;)

For more holiday-themed paranormal romance, see Abigail Owen's post about the Christmas After Dark anthology, featuring her story "The Wolf I Want for Christmas."

* I typo-ed this as The Dragon’s Hung at first, and now I have an idea for a Leo Ström erotic short. Ha.

Paranormal Romanticus Interruptus by Jane Kindred

I’ve been in yet another writing slump this year. Neo, the cat that I’ve mentioned on the blog before—the elderly one with dementia who yowled constantly—died in April. He was the second of the two who had been my constant companions for more than two decades; Urd, my calico girl, left me at age 21 two summers ago. Still having Neo after Urd’s death kind of delayed the mourning process. There was still a cat in the house. Urd’s things were still mostly Neo’s things, so I didn’t get rid of anything. But when Neo was gone, I kind of lost it. My anxiety went into overdrive, and I had such severe panic attacks every night that I was sure I was having a heart attack and almost went to the emergency room several times. It was my GP who put the two together when I had a phone consultation with her—that grief could be the trigger.

I decided I had to get away from my cat-empty apartment and took a trip up the coast from San Francisco to Mendocino, where I could sit and watch the waves pound against the rocks and soak in a hot tub in my room watching Underworld: Awakening and not have to do anything else. It was heavenly. But I still couldn’t stop thinking about how empty my house was without cats. As soon as I came back, I started looking at rescue kittens. And on Memorial Day weekend, I brought home Sophie.

Sophie is the best medicine. She’s a ridiculous brat, and I love her.

At any rate, that’s why I’ve been AWOL from the blog for a few months. The words were just not there. And when I can’t seem to focus on words, I binge TV. Which is how I discovered my new favorite show (that I somehow only just now realized the awesomeness of): Lucifer.

When the show was cancelled on Fox and the outcry of loyal fans got it picked up again by Netflix, I figured it was time to give it a try. This show is a-MAZE-ing. (See what I did there, Lucifer fans?) For the uninitiated, Maze, short for Mazikeen, is one of the characters on the show, a demoness who leaves Hell with Lucifer Morningstar and tends bar at his nightclub in Los Angeles. And also kicks a lot of ass. She’s just one of several unfairly sexy characters in this ensemble cast that includes the marvelously snarky and blithely narcissistic—as well as unapologetically kinky and bisexual—Lucifer Morningstar; Lucifer’s uptight brother, the angel Amenadiel (played by a moody, conflicted D.B. Woodside, just to kill me); Detective Chloe Decker, who takes Lucifer on as a “consulting” sidekick in solving homicides; Chloe’s ex-husband Dan, another homicide detective with secrets; Lucifer’s therapist, Linda, who has a sexy librarian-in-glasses thing going on; and Lucifer’s mom, the Goddess of All Creation, played by none other than Tricia Helfer. And I haven’t even mentioned the adorkably perky forensic scientist Ella Lopez yet or the surprising character arc of Smallville’s Tom Welling that I won’t give away here. And then when Eve shows up after escaping a boring Adam in boring Heaven…

Well, I think you get the picture. This show is chock full of really well-written characters with a lot of unexpected emotional vulnerability—the kind of characters I strive to create in my writing. (I’d be lucky if I could do it half as well.) I understand that Netflix has renewed the show for one more season, but Season 5 will be its last.

Watching and getting caught up in this series made me think of other paranormal TV series that were prematurely cancelled: Dracula, with its titular character played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers, was obscenely cancelled (again by Fox) after one amazing season. Sleepy Hollow was cancelled after the disastrous decision by (checks notes)—uh, Fox—to kill off the female lead, played by Nicole Behaire. Tom Mison and his eyebrow were amazing, but Behaire was crucial to that show’s success. I didn’t even bother watching Season 4, and I wasn’t surprised when I heard it wasn’t coming back. Then there was Penny Dreadful on Showtime (hey, not your fault this time, Fox!) that had amazing actors and boasted such fabulous characters as Frankenstein and his monster, Dr. Jekyll, Dorian Grey, and Dracula, among others, but was apparently too expensive to be worth continuing with for the ratings it was getting. It was cancelled at the end of Season 3.

Paranormal television series, of course, aren’t the only ones that suffer this fate, but when they do, it always feels like the networks didn’t quite get their audience—or maybe didn’t respect it. Though sometimes, like with NBC’s Grimm and Fox’s Fringe, the shows just seem to have run their course. Thankfully, in those latter cases, they ended with what I consider to be two of the most satisfying conclusions in paranormal television history. It’s worth mentioning that none of these shows were actually billed as romances (because when was the last time romance got any respect on television outside of the Hallmark Channel?), but there are some lovely romantic elements in all of them.

As with television series, it often seems that paranormal book series have a tendency to get prematurely cancelled. (As all of Harlequin’s Nocturne authors sadly can attest.) I hope to one day have a chance to write Laurel’s, Rosemary’s, and Rowan’s stories to finish up the Sisters in Sin series, but right now I’m just starting to get back to work on some other projects that have been languishing—my out-of-print House of Arkhangel’sk and Demons of Elysium series, which I’m hoping to get back into print someday, as well as a paranormal romantic suspense series I set aside back in 2014 to do Sisters. Over the past few days, I’ve been able to keep up my old daily word count of 1K per day. Here’s hoping that will continue. (Even if playing with Sophie instead is really, really tempting.)

Are there any television or book series whose cancellations you still pine over? Let us know in the comments so we can check them out and be sad together. ;)

Merry Christmas! (Wait, What?) An (Un)timely Giveaway From Jane Kindred

I know what you’re thinking. Isn’t this a little late? Not at all! Today is Russian Orthodox Christmas (and I guess also just plain Orthodox Christmas as well, but I celebrate the Russian one). That’s my excuse for my little tree (isn’t it cute?) still being up. It’s also my excuse for not having remembered to write my blog and for offering a “Christmas” giveaway! Even though I am not Russian. Nor am I in collusion with any. ;)

On this lovely Orthodox Christmas, and in keeping with the fresh start offered by the new year, I’ve been taking stock. Literally. One wall of the hallway in my apartment is stacked halfway to the ceiling with boxes of author copies of my books. I have never been good at promotion, I don’t go to conventions or conferences anymore due to reasons, and I have the classic inability to make decisions and finish tasks (or, you know, do anything) that comes with clinical depression.

The boxes are now taking over my life, and they’ve got to go. That’s where you come in.

I want to give you my books! I’m offering all five books in my Sisters in Sin series to one lucky commenter below. The winner also has the option to choose any of my other series instead, including The House of Arkhangel’sk, Demon of Elysium, and Looking Glass Gods (not including the prequel novella, which is not available in hardcopy) or even a set of my two standalone novels, Lost Coast and The Water Thief, if you prefer.

GIVEAWAY: Leave a comment to be entered to win a complete set of signed hard copies of my Sisters in Sin series (or the book set of your choice, as detailed above)! Giveaway ends at midnight PST on January 10, 2019. Winner to be determined by random drawing and will be notified here in the comments by 9:00 am PST on January 11, 2019, so check back. Winner will have 48 hours to respond. (Don’t forget to let me know which set you prefer to receive!)

P.S., I stole this post idea (and most of the above paragraph) from the lovely Lea Kirk! :D

Hot off the Presses! Release Day for KINDLING THE DARKNESS by Jane Kindred

Today is a bittersweet release day: Kindling the Darkness is the last in my Sisters in Sin series from Harlequin Nocturne, which closed in early 2017. The three half sisters of the Carlisles—Laurel, Rowan, and Rosemary—were destined to take things to their conclusion—and possibly change the world. Maybe at some point in the future, I’ll decide to revisit their stories, but for now, I’m happy to have the series finale tell the story of Lucy Smok—twin sister of Lucien Smok, aka the Prince of Darkness.

Lucy may be one of my most difficult heroines. I won’t be surprised if some readers don’t care for her. She’s prickly and conflicted, and she’s super hard on herself. But she’s also one of my favorite heroines, for those same reasons.

From a young age, she’s had to take on too much responsibility, taking the brunt of her father’s authoritarian abuse while Lucien played the irresponsible rake. At only 25, already having spent years managing the family’s paranormal consulting business and now the head of Smok Pharmaceutical in the wake of her father’s death, she finds it impossible to make human connections. Lucy is used to having one-night stands for practicality’s sake—scratch the itch when it’s needed so she can get back to concentrating on business. Feeling betrayed by her father and abandoned by her mother—and left holding the bag when Lucien descended to Hell’s throne—she’s resorted to dangerous coping mechanisms, including projecting a cold, caustic personality. Her one pleasure is hunting down Hell’s escapees—and choosing her favorite gun to do it. Frankly, she’s a mess. And I can totally relate to her.

Oliver Connery, on the other hand, is probably one of the most grounded heroes I’ve written. He’s older than my usual hero, and he’s had time to work out what he believes in and what’s important to him. He brings his groundedness and calm to Lucy as a stabilizing force—even when she resists that stability—and, more importantly, he doesn’t try to take the lead—in business or in love. As young as Lucy is, Oliver quickly recognizes that she’s as experienced as she claims to be in tracking paranormal fugitives—and can not only hold her own against monsters but can kick Oliver’s ass if she needs to.

Oliver, of course, isn’t without his own problems. He’s spent years blindly following orders—first in the Marines and later in a secret paramilitary organization whose mission was tracking and capturing paranormal creatures for experimentation. It was the death of his wife and fireteam partner that finally made him take stock of what he was doing and what he wanted out of life. Now he’s happily hiding out in the small mountain town—and thriving “ghost town”—of Jerome, Arizona, acting as the unofficial protector of Jerome’s paranormal community. That is, until Lucy shows up, shooting first and asking questions later.

While we’re on the subject of Oliver, I need to say something about the cover. Oliver is half Navajo and half Welsh, with cinnamon-brown eyes and skin to match, and his hair is a heavily salted dark brown. As you can see, the Oliver on the cover is blond and blue-eyed with light skin. The design process didn’t permit me to see the cover until it was final, so although I tried to get it changed, there wasn’t really anything they could do at that point. Harlequin has done a wonderful job with my covers, and this is the first time they’ve missed the mark, but I just wanted to acknowledge that this is not representative of Oliver.

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Kindling the Darkness (Sisters in Sin, #5)

He Wants Redemption... She Only Knows Damnation

Oliver Connery left a secret paramilitary group because he couldn't stand the thought of torturing supernatural beings. Lucy Smok's mission is to send infernal creatures back where they came from. When Lucy learns that Oliver has been harboring hellhounds, she wants to think of him as an enemy—and Oliver wants to think the same of her. But their feelings for each other are another story...

Available now from the following retailers:

Amazon | B&N | Book Depository | BAM! | Booktopia | iBooks | Kobo

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Excerpt

Climbing back up to the car took a monumental effort. Lucy leaned back in the driver’s seat and closed her eyes just for a moment. When she opened them, the stars visible through the windshield had shifted significantly. The clock on the dash read two in the morning. Her muscles ached, and her shoulder was killing her. She touched her fingers to the torn cloth over the bite; it was soaked with blood. There was no way she was going to make it home like this. And she knew the address of exactly one person in Jerome. He’d said he lived in the building his shop was in, which meant the upstairs must be his residence.

Lucy drove back to Main Street in Jerome and managed to find parking in front of Delectably Bookish once more. Her head swam, and the ground dipped and swayed as she got out of the car. Lucy gripped the post beside the entrance of the shop to steady herself and pounded on the door.

A light came on above, followed by the lights in the shop a moment later. Oliver Connery appeared, shirtless, salty hair askew and glaring furiously out of those cinnamon-brown eyes as he unlocked the door.

“What the hell is—?” He stopped, staring openmouthed as he took in her appearance. “Jesus. What happened? Come inside.” Oliver put an arm under hers and led her in to sit on one of the couches. “The werewolf?”

“I’m even more sure now that it’s not a werewolf.” Lucy rubbed her brow with the back of her wrist. “It’s incredibly fast and resilient—and strong—and it shifts with the wind, like it just decides when it wants to be human.”

Oliver had gone to the café counter to grab some towels, and he returned with them, shaking his head as he pressed one to the shredded shoulder. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of handling this thing now that I know what I’m up against.” She was sure of no such thing, but she wasn’t about to listen to more of his criticism of her age and experience. Or implicit criticism of her sex.

“So you didn’t kill it.”

Lucy grabbed the towel from his hand. “It wasn’t for lack of trying. You need to get over this idea that all lycanthropes are misunderstood people who need to be given a chance. This thing is a monster.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Oliver frowned down at her. “You’re going to have to take that suit off. We need to disinfect the bite, and you’re probably going to need stitches.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Lucy bit back another retort about being fine and not needing any help and instead took his hand to let him pull her up from the couch. Because as much as she hated to admit it, right now, she was not fine.

Upstairs in the bathroom of Oliver’s apartment, Lucy peeled off the torn suit and blood-soaked white shirt—both of them ruined by her transformation before the creature’s teeth had even sunk in—and sat begrudgingly on the covered toilet to let Oliver clean the wound and sew her up. “I can do that myself,” she complained between gritted teeth. “I know how to stitch up a wound.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop trying to impress me. I get it. You’re experienced. You’re tough as nails. You’re a total badass.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“That wasn’t sarcasm.” Oliver glanced up, his cinnamon eyes dark with concern. “I am impressed. I’m also very worried about this bite. If it’s a werewolf—”

“It’s not a werewolf. And…I happen to be immune.”

Oliver’s dark brows drew together. “Immune?”

“One of the perks of owning a biotech firm that specializes in parapharmacology.”

“I see. I don’t suppose that particular pharmaceutical is on the market for ordinary folk?”

“It’s part of a limited trial.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing else.

As he tied off the stitches in her shoulder, Lucy became acutely aware of the fact that she was sitting here in his bathroom in her bra and underwear while he was wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. One of the other aspects of her heightened senses at this point in her cycle was unusually intensified sexual desire.

After putting the first aid kit away, Oliver glanced up and seemed to realize her state of undress as well. “Let me get you a robe.” He slipped out of the bathroom and returned with one in blue-and-black flannel that matched his pants.

“Thanks.” Lucy rose and attempted to slip her left arm gingerly into the sleeve and nearly pitched forward into him.

Oliver steadied her, instinctively avoiding her arm and shoulder, instead catching her about the waist. His hands nearly circled her. Lucy looked up into his intense russet eyes. There were similar-colored highlights in the salt-and-pepper hair, and what she’d thought of as a tan was a matching cinnamon-bark undertone in his skin, evenly warm…everywhere.

So I Wrote a Devil Book... by Jane Kindred

When I started writing Sisters in Sin, I knew the Devil would eventually show up. After all, these sisters seem to have an uncanny ability to attract serpent-identified dudes, and Satan is the ultimate serpent. What's more, the Carlisle sisters are linked to the original temptress—not Eve, but Lilith. But I didn't expect to be writing Theia's story quite yet. There were three other sisters' stories still to tell.

The publishing biz being what it is, we didn't quite get to sisters five, six, and seven. Which I'm actually okay with. I may come back to them at some point in the future, but their stories are complicated and maybe aren't mine to tell. But I did manage to write a final companion story, Kindling the Darkness, which comes out later this year.

At any rate, Theia's story, Seducing the Dark Prince, had to be moved up. Which meant Lucien had to make his appearance. Now, Lucien isn't literally Satan, but to elaborate would mean giving too many spoilers, so suffice it to say, Lucien has issues. As you might infer from the cover, he has a bit of an Oliver Queen (the Green Arrow) complex. What he's doing nocking an arrow with his shirt off, I don't know. But who's complaining?

One of my favorite things about Lucien is that he isn’t an alpha hero. He tries to project an alpha façade, but Theia sees right through it. And when he gets in over his head with one of my actual alphas, well, let’s just say, that was my favorite scene to write.

The whole gang is here in Book 4—all of the Carlisle sisters and their dragon-shifter beaux. And a certain character you probably wish was dead rears his ugly head again. But I promise, he’ll get his comeuppance. As Evie says to Beni in The Mummy (the good one, with Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz), "Nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance... Always."

Hell Might Be Heavenly...for One of the Sisters in Sin

Lucien Smok is heir to the Smok fortune. He's also the crown prince of Hell, a legacy he despises. Clairvoyant Theia Dawn tries to convince herself that she's only interested in Lucien because of his family's role in the persecution of her ancestor, not because he's the most beguiling man she's ever met. The attraction that burns between them might be her downfall. Or it might be his salvation.

Seducing the Dark Prince is available now from the following retailers:

Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble | BookDepository.com | BAM | Booktopia | iBooks | Kobo

Downtime by Jane Kindred

I’ve been writing nonstop for more than 10 years—professionally for 7—completing almost 3 books a year for the last 6. Last week, I reviewed the galleys for Kindling the Darkness, my final contracted book in the Sisters in Sin series. And now I have no idea what to do.

It’s kind of nice to be able to take a breather, to not have a deadline looming. On the other hand, I don’t know what normal people do with their time. I’m pretty much doing nothing (other than the day job). I have time to read, finally…and I don’t know what I want to read.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had stories running constantly in the background of my mind, like a program that’s always running on your computer while you’re using other applications. It’s how I’ve always fallen asleep at night, dreaming up worlds and watching love stories play out in my head. And for the first time, I have no characters in there jostling for my attention. It’s quiet. And weird. Quite possibly, I'm depressed. But I don't really care. (Which is probably a sign that I'm depressed.)

You’d think all this existential contemplation would give me plenty of time to come up with entertaining content for blog posts, but, haha, joke’s on you.

Absent any productive ideas, I’ve been watching a lot of Murder, She Wrote. It’s different now, watching Jessica Fletcher deal with life as a published author. When I watched the show the first time around, it was my dream to be her. (I’m also much closer to Jessica’s age. Today, at Walgreens, the checker asked me if I qualified for the senior discount. Okay, so I‘ve been going gray since I was in my 30s, but at 51, I’m not ready for senior discounts yet, thanks. Or as the lovely lady on the Estroven commercial that plays constantly during my old-lady show, Murder, She Wrote, says, “I’m not ready for elastic waistbands!” Now, where was I? Oh, right; insisting that I’m not old. At any rate, I was buying this at the time, so you be the judge:

I also recently bought hair color to match. But that’s neither here nor there, I’ve been doing that for years.)

So me and the Peep (of course it's "the Peep and I," but I must admit, I like the sound of Me and the Peep; it’s a buddy cop show waiting to be written) are sitting here watching Jessica go to writers’ conferences and work on deadlines and snap at her best friend for interrupting her writing flow and put up with mansplaining dudes who belittle her genre, and I’m just nodding along. This is, in many ways, my life (minus the murders and the mad success). But I am, it seems, living the dream.

It isn’t exactly what I expected, but I edit for a steady paycheck by day and write fantastical romance by night that a few people read, and I think my teenage self would be pleased. Now if I could just snap out of this “four-poster dull torpor” and get back to making things up for strangers, that’d be grand.

Deadlines, Laundry, and Yowling Cats by Jane Kindred

That’s what my life consists of right now. Book 5 in the Sisters in Sin series, Kindling the Darkness, is due to my editor on Wednesday. I managed to finish the first draft on Christmas Eve, but since 40,000 words of it were written during NaNoWriMo, it’s requiring a LOT of work to get it submission ready. My revision process involves reading through for typos and errors and making comments on the big things that need fixing. Then I take all of the comments and put them in a to-do list. This one had 41 to-dos, ranging from “add more mentions of the weather and time of year” to “why are there no guests at this B&B, ever?” to “what is the nature of the hell beast and what is it actually doing in this town? Delete all of this and try to make sense!”

Mentions of the weather I can fix pretty quickly. The B&B is now a bookstore and café, because guests would only get in the way (which is probably why I forgot to have any). But the nature of the evil that’s hunting my heroine and being hunted by her? Probably should have figured that out on page one. Sigh.

I’ve fixed all but five of these disasters (and added three, because, sure, let’s change the damn bookstore again), but the big one is still looming. I’ve worked out the beast’s nature, but the actions it’s taken are still a problem. That’s okay. I have one last weekend and two day job workday evenings left. I can do this.

But not if this cat doesn’t shut up. Have you ever had a seventeen-year-old, half-deaf cat? This one is bored, clingy, and loud. And he does not approve of writing novels. Or blog posts. Or answering email. He pretty much only approves of being fed and sitting on my lap while I watch television. (No reading Twitter while the cat is sitting, please!)

Despite the feline disapproval, I had a good start on the revisions this morning. But it was laundry day, and with only one pair of clean underwear left, I could no longer put it off. (I seriously envy anyone who actually owns a washer and dryer. I’ve been going to Laundromats for 34 years and I am really, really tired of it. When you reach your 50s, you get tired of a lot of stupid things. Like this virtual doughnut of fat that’s collecting around my middle. But I digress. Because doughnuts. Dammit. Why did I think of doughnuts??)

So I’m back from the laundry, and I remembered another deadline: writing this blog post. How does it always manage to surprise me each and every single month? Well, lucky you, you got to read about how I ended up writing about deadlines, laundry, and yowling cats.

I would like to say that my New Year’s resolution is to write my blog posts in advance, but that would be an utter lie, so let’s just pretend my resolution is not to eat any more doughnuts.

As a bonus, my favorite line from Kindling the Darkness: “Well, actually, hell isn’t really that different. It’s just on another…” He stopped and rolled his eyes. “Oh, for f***’s sake. I’m devilsplaining. Never mind. Let’s eat, drink and be merry!”

Nazi-Punching New Release for the Holidays (and a Devilish Cover Reveal!) by Jane Kindred

My slightly dumb but gorgeous Viking dragon shifter, Leo, is on the loose! Leo is hot AF and does not like Nazis. That is all you need to know.

But I’ll tell you more anyway, because I’m awesome like that. When I wrote Leo, I had two versions of Chris Hemsworth in mind: Hemsworth as Thor and Hemsworth as Kevin in the 2016 Ghostbusters remake. And because Leo himself has more than two versions, this makes sense. (Boy, am I on a cryptic roll tonight.) Both are totally adorable. He also has multiple Norse tattoos, which, as Leo and I discovered together, can give people the wrong idea, because certain deplorables have coopted the Norse gods for their own purposes over the years. Leo is not down with that.

Rhea, the heroine, is also adorable, tattooed (and a tattoo artist), with Riot Grrl (is that still a thing?) “mermaid” hair, and, as my editor commented, she is salty AF. (I added the AF, but I know that’s what she meant.) Particularly to Leo. But he kind of has it coming.

And all of this is just in time for the holidays, as the Wild Hunt, which Leo leads, rides from the Day of the Dead (or rather the Norse equivalent, Álfablót, a sacrifice to the elves) through Yuletide. Leo just happens to lead his Hunt through the Arizona desert among the snow-capped red rocks of Sedona, inspired by Johnny Cash’s Ghostriders in the Sky.

So, to recap, Leo looks like Thor, can be not-so-bright on occasion like Kevin, leads Odin’s Wild Hunt, has more than one personality, can shift into a Norse dragon, punches Nazis, and wears a cowboy hat and boots with a brown leather duster while riding through Sedona’s snowy nights. And Rhea has the blood of Lilith in her veins (oh, did I not mention that?), can read people’s fates in their tattoos, looks like a Riot Grrl (cuz I'm old), and is salty.

Oh, and for readers who like “Easter eggs” in their books (of a sort):

Dressler means Turner in German.

And that reference is timely right now, but that’s all I have to say about that, or I’ll just have a rage fit.

Never mind me; it’s been that kind of a year.

The Dragon’s Hunt, Book 3 in the Sisters in Sin series from Harlequin Nocturne, is available now from the following retailers:

Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
BookDepository.com
BAM
Booktopia
iBooks
Kobo

Note that this series should be read in order! You can find the series order and buy links on my website.

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As a special bonus, I’ve just received the cover for Book 4 in the series, Seducing the Dark Prince:

Hell Might Be Heavenly...for One of the Sisters in Sin

Lucien Smok is heir to the Smok fortune. He's also the crown prince of Hell, a legacy he despises. Clairvoyant Theia Dawn tries to convince herself that she's only interested in Lucien because of his family's role in the persecution of her ancestor, not because he's the most beguiling man she's ever met. The attraction that burns between them might be her downfall. Or it might be his salvation.

Seducing the Dark Prince is available now for pre-order from the following retailers:

Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble | Booktopia | iBooks | Kobo

Pardon the Mess, Writer in Progress by Jane Kindred

It’s November, which means scores of manic authors trying to write 50,000-word novels in 30 days. For some, ain’t no thang. For writers like me, it’s damn near impossible. But I have done it once, with The Prince of Tricks.

Although my current WIP was already at 10,000 words, I decided to take advantage of NaNoWriMo to try to kick my butt into gear because my deadline is looming. As I leap headlong into my latest book in the Sisters in Sin series, Kindling the Darkness, I’ve also been finishing up the revisions for Book 4, Seducing the Dark Prince.

Since a meaty blog post is beyond me at the moment, and Lucien, the dark prince, is still fresh in my mind, I thought I’d introduce you to him.

Excerpt from Seducing the Dark Prince

Like the ethereal substance his last name evoked, Lucien Smok was breathtaking—literally. The moment Theia saw him across the temple reception hall, the air rushed from her lungs as though it had been sucked into a vacuum. Pale blue eyes like pieces of ice locked on hers from beneath long lashes, dark brows in an ivory face lifted in amusement above them as if he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.

She’d seen him before somewhere. In a dream or a dark premonition. Beneath the reception hall’s Baroque quadratura-painted ceiling—invoking the blessing of the gods of Olympus—he reminded her of a painting by Waterhouse, Narcissus winking just for a moment at the viewer before returning to his reflection.

But beautiful or not, this wasn’t some breathless lust at first sight. She really couldn’t breathe.

Theia clutched at her throat and tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. Her lungs were locked in a spasm, convulsively trying to take in air against some obstruction.

Her dark-haired Narcissus crossed the reception hall in two swift strides and embraced her from behind, arms wrapped around her waist and hands clasped tight beneath her breasts, a gesture of intimacy. Vertigo swam over her, making her feel as though she were floating within herself, a lighter-than-air balloon encased in a human frame, bobbing against its edges.

He hugged her forcefully, jolting her against him, almost off the ground—once, twice, thrice.

Another spasm of her diaphragm forced what remained of the air in her lungs through her windpipe and dislodged the champagne grape she’d swallowed wrong. Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.

Air rushed in so quickly that she choked on it, gasping and coughing until tears ran down her cheeks.

“All right now?” The soft voice at her ear brought her fully back to herself. His hold around her hadn’t loosened and was decidedly more intimate than it had been when he’d been performing the Heimlich on her.

Theia realized she’d relaxed into his embrace, her arms sliding around his, and she let go with a jolt and bolted from his grasp. Though the moment had seemed epic and prolonged, none of the other guests were paying any attention.

His smile was one-sided—a slight leftward lift that combined amusement, smugness and a hint of offense. “You’re welcome.”

About Seducing the Dark Prince

He’s the man of her dreams…too bad they’re all nightmares

Lucien Smok is the heir to the Smok fortune—ostensibly made in biotechnology but secretly amassed by providing “paranormal cleanup” services since the 15th century…for a price: Lucien must collect a soul from every client. Hating the family business, Lucien secretly hunts down the unnatural beings the family has allowed to get away with murder. He’s never spared anyone with a demonic connection. That is, until he meets Theia Dawn, a clairvoyant whose power comes from demon blood.

After finding out that Lucien’s family was instrumental in the downfall of her distant ancestor who was burned at the stake, Theia takes a job at Smok Biotech to find out more about his family and what they’re really up to. She tries to ignore her growing attraction for Lucien and the suspicion that she’s seen him somewhere before. Her dreams have warned her about falling for a dark prince, and she fears Lucien is the one. But when Theia learns about Lucien’s secret rebellion against his family, she’s drawn deeper under his spell.

Lucien tries to resist the fate foretold by the Smok family legend, but he finds he can’t resist Theia. But will she save him from his fate or end up being the catalyst for the transformation that will send him straight to hell?

On Punching Nazis and a Cover Reveal by Jane Kindred

If you follow my posts or tweets, you may have noticed a recent theme of mine, and that is punching Nazis. I am unequivocally in favor of it. There are plenty of people who are better at explaining why Nazis need punching, but suffice it to say, I don’t believe in tolerating intolerance. Anyone calling for the genocide of others has already thrown the first punch. 

My ancestors came from Sweden and the British Isles, so Vikings are in my blood. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always found them so fascinating. My hero in The Dragon’s Hunt, Leo Ström, is a Viking warrior lost in time. And as I discovered along with Leo, the gods of the Vikings suffer from an unfortunate association with certain deplorable groups in the modern age. I’ve recently begun to embrace my Norse heritage, and, like Leo, I don’t take kindly to having anyone pervert that heritage for their own racist agenda.

In a way, writing The Dragon’s Hunt was a way of reclaiming Norse symbolism. It was also a catharsis. The villain in Hunt is a bonafide Nazi from the Third Reich, a "Red Skull," if you will, who’s used magic to prolong his life. And he’s also obsessed with Norse mythology. Through Leo (and Rhea, the heroine), I got to experience the satisfaction of punching Nazis.

As it happens, my publisher surprised me with the finished cover art for Hunt just as the Nazis were marching on Charlottsville, where their violent ideology resulted in the murder of activist Heather Heyer. It’s too late to add an official dedication to The Dragon’s Hunt, but Heather, this one’s for you.

The Dragon's Hunt

Coming December 5, 2017

Awakening the dragon...

By day, Leo Ström works as an assistant in a tattoo parlor. By night… Well, he isn’t quite sure what happens at night. He just knows that it’s best if he restrains himself.

Ink is more than just superficial decoration to Rhea Carlisle. Her ability to read her clients’ souls in their tattoos gives her work its special magic—and it allows her to see that there’s more to Leo than his brilliant blue eyes.

The passion that kindles between them might be Leo’s salvation. Or it might be the end of the world…

Available for pre-order now from the following vendors:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BAM! | Booktopia | iBooks | Kobo

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Excerpt:

Blood ran into his eyes as he struggled to his feet. The groans of the maimed and the dying around him were eclipsed by the battle cries of his comrades who remained, and by the crack of iron against leather and wood—and against flesh and bone. They never should have followed their enemy into the woods. They’d been set upon by forces they couldn’t count, swarming out from behind every tree and every rock like a band of brigands, surrounding them with no room to maneuver, no way to stand in shield formation. It quickly became every man for himself.

Through the blood and mud caking his vision, he caught sight of the sudden arc of a battle-axe swinging down on him from his left. He’d lost his shield, and he turned and parried with his sword, but he’d taken a fierce blow to his sword arm from the last man he’d killed, and he stumbled back under the force, pain radiating like fire through his arm to the shoulder. The next swing from his opponent’s axe he couldn’t evade, and the blade caught him under the ribs, hooking in the links of his hauberk. He prayed to the Allfather as he went down that he might take one more enemy with him as he died. Let him die an honorable death. The axe descended, and he summoned all his strength, thrusting his sword to meet the bastard’s gut as his enemy fell on him.

The blade should have split his skull. He thought he’d felt the blow. But he was blind as a newborn kitten in the muck and mud. And then he realized he must have gone deaf as well. Silence fell over him like an oncoming bank of fog, muting the clangs and cries, engulfing him in an utter lack of sensation. Perhaps he’d died. But this was no Valhalla. This was…nothing. Had Odin not chosen him after all? Could this be Fólkvangr, the field of the slain in Freyja’s domain? Or was he in cold and empty Helheim? Surely he’d not been consigned to the Shore of Corpses. He was no oath-breaker; and murder—it didn’t count in war.

A hand, cool and feminine, touched his forehead. Perhaps this was only the in-between place where warriors waited for the Valkyries to come for them. He tried to clasp the hand but found he couldn’t make his limbs work. A cool kiss now brushed his forehead.

“Beautiful one.” The whisper at his ear was a soothing breeze, quieting the fire in his veins with the beauty of its cadence. “You shall not die.”

Was he to go back out to the battle? He must be in the tent being tended by his father’s slave girl. He’d lost consciousness.

“Did I kill him?” His voice came out in not much more of a whisper than his benefactor’s, though much rougher. His throat still felt the fire that had eased from the rest of him. A fever, no doubt, had taken him. He’d lain delirious and was only now coming around. Yes, this made sense. “Did I send my foe to Hel?”

“You were victorious. And I have claimed you.”

Before he could ask her to repeat the odd phrase, a searing pain encircled his heart, not fire this time, but the burn of ice, accompanied by the sensation of pins and needles in the flesh of his forearms. He could neither move nor speak, and the pain was becoming intense.

“Hush, beautiful one. Now they cannot have you.”

“They?” He managed to croak out the single word, though his tongue felt like wool batting.

Soft lips breathed against his. “That Which Became, That Which is Happening, That Which Must Become.”

The Persistence of Wonder by Jane Kindred

As I hinted in my last post, there are times in a writer’s life when the words don’t come easily. The months during which I wrote The Dragon’s Hunt, beginning in November 2016, were some of the worst. When I finished Hunt, I assumed I was over that hurdle, that slogging through mental mud for words. But the next book in the Sisters in Sin series is proving to be just as difficult to write.

But as I said before, writer’s write, regardless of whether the words come easily and regardless of what’s going on in the world around them—and sometimes they write because it’s the only thing they can do.

After my first and second novels got rejection after rejection, I spent eight years in a creative depression, writing nothing. Well, not exactly nothing; I revised both books incessantly. And that did finally come to something with my first break in publishing with my novella The Devil’s Garden; and later, one of my endlessly revised novels was published as the Looking Glass Gods trilogy. But those breaks didn't come until I’d finally written something new. And those years of not creating anything felt like not being truly alive.

It’s the main reason I keep going even when I’m not feeling it. Like Buffy Summers sang in Once More With Feeling, sometimes going through the motions is all you can do, with the hope that you’ll feel alive again at some point and regain that sense of wonder that makes you create in the first place.

On Saturday, I was lucky enough to see someone else’s wonderful creation: the new Wonder Woman movie. There were a lot of moments in this fantastic movie that reminded me how important even the smallest acts of resistance are in a dark world. As Steve Trevor said when Diana asked him why he was bothering to do his small part to end the war, “You can do nothing, or you can do something. I tried doing nothing.” Me too, Steve Trevor. Me too. There’s one particular moment later in the film when Diana takes that advice to heart and makes an effort against the darkness that seems impossible, and that impossible effort inspires everyone around her to do the same.

So we do what we can do, even if it may not change the world, and my little bit of something, my act of resistance—against my own darkness and the darkness in the world—is writing about love…and occasionally about punching Nazis.

Writing romance can be a revolutionary act, believing in love and hope when they seem almost impossible. As Diana discovers in Wonder Woman, “only love can truly save the world.” And I am still on the side of love.

The Trouble With Dragons

And when I say dragons, I mean my two personal dragons, Depression and Anxiety.

But first, good things are happening. The second book in my Sisters in Sin series, Bewitching the Dragon, was released on Tuesday, and yesterday, the following announcement went live in Publishers Marketplace:

Author of BEWITCHING THE DRAGON, Jane Kindred’s THE DRAGON’S HUNT, about an immortal Viking cursed to lead the Wild Hunt and the tattoo artist who reads the tapestry of fate in the ink on his skin, to Kayla King at Harlequin Nocturne, in a nice deal, in a three-book deal, by Sara Megibow of kt literary (World).

Now, I look at that description, and I think, “Hey, I’d really like to read that!” And I wrote it. Which puts me in a panic, afraid the book can’t live up to that one sentence.

A lot of stuff goes by in a blur of sulfurous smoke when your Depression and Anxiety dragons are spiraling out of control. And the mad state of affairs in the world right now really isn't helping any, to be perfectly frank.

But writers write. So I keep pushing myself onward. Onward and upward. Or, in the words of my least favorite Narnian chronicle, The Last Battle, “further up and further in.” The latter is C.S. Lewis’s exhortation to fully experience God’s abundance. In those scenes, set in the afterlife, the Narnian dwarves steadfastly refuse to see any of the good around them, insisting they’re being fed straw and dirt instead of delicious fresh fruit from Aslan’s kingdom.

That’s kind of what being depressed is like. Not that having a book published tastes like straw and dirt, but it doesn’t taste delicious, either. It doesn’t taste like much of anything. I just have to hope the book tastes good to everyone else. Or at least someone else. Meanwhile, I’ll just sit here in this dusty barn and chew on an old root and hope for the best.

But enough about my personal dragons. The dragons I really want to tell you about are the ancient Sumerian demon, Kur, in Bewitching the Dragon, who turns out to be surprisingly endearing despite his namesake, and the Jörmungandr-esque dragon in the forthcoming The Dragon’s Hunt. Jörmungandr is the sea-encircling ouroboros from Norse mythology destined to kill and be killed by Thor during Ragnarök. (As an aside, I cannot wait for that movie to come out—and by the by, my Viking Leo looks quite a bit like Chris Hemsworth, just so you know.) But the other inspiration for my Norse serpent-dragon happens to be my favorite Narnian chronicle, The Silver Chair.

I have to confess, I’ve always had a thing for the witch—“the Lady of the Green Kirtle”—who enslaves Prince Rilian and enchants him as the Black Knight, only to allow him to return to himself during a single hour a day while tied to the accursed silver chair in the underworld. (Okay, so she was going to dig her way up into Narnia with goblins and gnomes or whatever and invade, but except for that, I totally would have stayed with her and her soothing harp-playing and incense, denying that I’d ever seen the sun in the sky and swearing it was only an exaggeration based on my knowledge of a lamp and a ceiling.)

But my weird fantasies aside, the curse my Viking hero Leo is under in The Dragon’s Hunt was inspired by Rilian’s curse, and the dragon in the story is, in my head, none other than the one the witch turns into in The Silver Chair. (If you’ve been following my books since my debut, The Fallen Queen, you may have noticed I have a thing for enslaved, moody princes under spells who wear black and the delightfully sweet-voiced wicked ladies who own them.) ;)

If you’re a dragon fan (or just a fan of hot, moody dudes), Books 1 and 2 are available now.

The Millionaire's Redemption… 

When Sedona's most eligible bachelor is accused of murdering a local psychic, medium Phoebe Carlisle finds herself drawn into the danger that surrounds him—by the meddling of the shades she channels and by his irresistible charms. A public defender and a gifted medium, Phoebe is devoted to justice—and not just for the living. Proving Rafe Diamante's innocence means conjuring up two shades who were former lovers and now ignite the chemistry between their hosts.

Rafe can't afford to lose control and act on his feelings for Phoebe. His unfulfilled sexual tension begins to stir something inside him—the legacy of Quetzalcoatl. But as these newfound abilities awaken a dormant power in Rafe, can he stop the real murderer in time to claim his true destiny?

One Night with a Dragon...

Ione Carlisle worked hard to be accepted by the Sedona Covent, but now everything is falling apart. Especially when she lets loose for a wild night on the town and ends up with the one man she should be avoiding at all costs—the man who came to Sedona to fire her. He ignites in her a carnal need that she can’t and won’t ignore...

Buttoned-up assayer Dev Gideon’s loyalty to the Leadership Council should be reason enough to resist Ione. Never mind that she stirs the ancient demon secretly bound within him. But their blood connection is undeniable. And now Dev must risk his reputation, and his soul, to save Ione from a vigilante intent on destroying her and the entire Covent, even if it means unleashing the monster inside.