Of Water and Dragons, a high-stakes romantasy

Two empires clash. Two destinies entwine. A love written in the stars—and forged in blood.

Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BYB1FGL8

He’s a Roman soldier. She’s an enemy of Rome.

The Romans call the land they want to conquer Caledonia. Nemu calls it home. The half-human, half-water faery has a second chance to save the Celtic people from the Roman legions, but the cost might be too high.

Ambiorix is torn between his duty to Rome and his growing affection for a mystical Caledonian woman. He questions everything he’s been taught about the barbaric Celtic tribes.

Their worlds collide in a fury of fire, blood, and darkness.
*

Excerpt:

The ash trees stood around her, gray branches spread wide like open arms. She pressed her palm and cheek to the thin, furrowed bark of the trunk, silently calling to the spirit that inhabited the tree.

The leaves swayed back and forth, pushed by a light breeze. Vibrations coursed through her body and she closed her eyes, listening to the whispering of the trees.

The trees remembered what happened the last time the dragon was summoned.

Enter a world of enchantment and passion.

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A Wanton Club Where Alpha Males Dominate & Pleasure Women

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Three powerful men will ensure her submission…

Surrender is the lifestyle club where professional women seek alpha males to dominate and pleasure them. A concept Bree envisioned from the moment she fled her impoverished past. However, dreams don’t come easy. To fund her wanton Malibu club, she needs partners.

Enter Lucius, Tav, and Cody, three wealthy and imposing males who know what they want and that’s Bree, stripped and submissive to their will. Bad boy Lucius has billions but what’s money when the right woman isn’t at his side to pleasure him sexually, while he uses her in the most provocative ways. Laid-back Tav isn’t so easygoing between the sheets, his dominance irresistible. Cody’s an adrenaline junkie, enjoying extreme sports in and out of bed.

Hot and kinky play is on the sexual menu, pulling Bree deeper into a shameless fantasy that can’t possibly last. Until and unless she’s willing to offer her heart.

 

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Excerpt:

Lucius pressed close, his thighs to hers, his hand cupping her neck. “Like this?”

He captured her mouth, their lips fitted perfectly, his bristly cheeks scraping hers, tongue plunging inside.

Gawd. She sagged against him, powerless to resist his strength, scent, and taste. Something minty but also unique, a flavor belonging to him alone.

She gripped his lapels, needing them to keep steady and to get closer. The moment she had, she ground indecently against him.

A breath couldn’t have slipped between them, her breasts crushed to his chest, not allowing her to inhale fully.

Who the hell needed air?

He deepened his kiss, taking rather than asking, using, enjoying, his roughness a thrill rather than something to worry about, and precisely the behavior she required.

Yet she still desired more.

Once she pulled the leather tie from his hair, she drove her fingers through his thick, silky locks.

A lusty grunt rose from deep within him.

She’d rarely heard a better sound.

He tempered his passion, gentling the kiss.

That was awesome too.

They enjoyed each other as she’d wanted from the moment they’d met, her feelings for him building each time he smiled at her or they shared laughter she’d tried to avoid, their friendship deepening despite her attempts to keep an emotional distance. During those empty days when she’d denied herself physical contact, she never would have believed a kiss could be so wondrous.

The world faded away, sounds retreating, leaving them clinging to each other, savoring closeness and intimacy.

Wasn’t enough. If possible, she would have crawled inside his mind, heart, and soul. Barring such nonsense, she stopped herself from coming on too strong.

He struggled for breath, the same as her, then pulled his mouth free and gulped air.

Lucky him. She couldn’t draw in enough to clear her head.

Tav slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her into him.

Whatever air she’d taken poured out and mingled with his, his mouth on hers, tongue slipping inside, his beard rasping her skin.

Her knees sagged, bumping into him, his fresh, woodsy scent surrounding them, bringing to mind a forest, reclining on fragrant grass, leaves floating down, sun winking through countless trees to bathe their naked flesh.

She wreathed her arms around his shoulders, wanting him as a shelter against doubt and everything bad.

Holding her in a firm but gentle embrace, he angled his mouth for greater penetration, his passion as deep as Lucius’s, yet also carefree. As if necking with her here was the most natural thing in the world, even though she’d kept her distance when they’d worked together. Not once sharing a meal unless they bumped into each other at lunch in the employee break room.

Those times had prepared her for now, their intimacy exciting yet comfortable and necessary.

Unable to resist, she pushed his tongue from her mouth and filled him instead.

Rather than protest, he allowed her to enjoy his clean flavor and suckled her deep.

She hadn’t expected anything less from him. Tav took life as it came, greeting whatever was in his path. For the moment, she was his sole focus and wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

He eased her closer, his strength impressive yet subdued. His effort at containing it, making him tremble.

She wanted him as unleashed as Lucius would be.

And Cody.

He separated her from Tav.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished.” Tav shot him a look.

Cody shrugged. “You are now.” He grasped her wrist.

Surely, he wasn’t going to kiss it. He’d never seemed the romantic type to her.

And wasn’t now.

After he’d trapped her against the wall, he held her wrists above her head and cupped her breast.

Her nipples peaked, straining against her suit jacket.

He thumbed one rigid tip, his lime fragrance and sweet breath stoking her desire.

She wrapped her leg around his and pressed against him.

His grin spoke volumes. “Bad girl.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He brushed his lips over hers, their softness and heat striking, his smooth cheeks a balm, his tantalizing foreplay increasing her excitement.

Whoever thought wild monkey sex was the only way to go for a good time hadn’t experienced this.

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Going into a sultry South Carolina summer

Hubby and I lived in South Carolina for about three years, and sultry describes it perfectly—in the summer. Hot, steamy. Hear the cicadas? Hold a cold glass of tea to your neck and feel a bead of condensation roll between your breasts as a drop of sweat simultaneously swirls down your back. Late nights on the front porch after birdsong has died and crickets sing instead. Fireflies flicker across the yard. Your lover takes your hand, pulls you to your feet, and whispers what he wants to do to you once you get to bed. Suddenly, you can’t get inside fast enough. That’s sexy. That’s sultry. That’s South Carolina in the summer. I hope you enjoy The Man of Her Dreams.

Blurb:
A woman who has traveled thousands of miles searching for a tall man with brilliant blue eyes. A man she’s been dreaming of for months.

A man whose life is in danger—or so the screwy woman having dreams and visions says—but who doesn’t believe for one minute in the occult.

A man who has been thought dead for two years and who disappeared with a bundle in stolen cash.

How will these three come together? And who will be left standing at the end of their encounter?

  

 

Buy link:
Amazon KU https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09K4SSBY7

Excerpt:
She looked up at the shape backlit by the sun, and once again had to shade her eyes in order to see anything other than a silhouette, although she recognized the voice immediately. “Yes. Dill worked very fast, and as you said, he was quite reasonably priced.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Dan turned a chair around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back. He called out a request for sweet tea to the woman behind the counter, who seemed to know him and was unsurprised by his manner of ordering.

“Please join me,” Cassandra said dryly, though she might as well not have said anything for all the attention he paid her words.

“So, when are you leaving?” He smiled tightly, and his voice was anything but friendly.

Cassandra responded in kind. “I’m not sure yet. But if you’ll leave me your number I’ll be sure to call when I’m ready to go. You’ll be prepared then to start the celebration.”

“What, is the town in one of your hocus-pocus dreams, too? Is that why you’re hanging around?” He took a sip of his tea, which the waitress had just set in front of him. “Thanks, Mindy,” he said.

“I fail to see why that’s any of your business.”

“Look, you told me you have a dream where you see me die. Seems to me that makes it a personal issue and my business. I’d just prefer not to have you hanging around spreading tales that might get some people upset. This is home to me, not some research location for a parapsychology experiment.”

“Mr. Morgan, I have no idea why you’re being so rude.”

He snorted at her comment.

“But I can assure you that I have no intention of talking to anyone in Greenwood about you, or harming your reputation in any way. I also had no intention of speaking with you again and thus taking the chance of piercing your obviously very thin skin, but since you have invited yourself to drink tea at my table, the least you can do is be civil. I was sitting here minding my own business and enjoying the peace of your town when you forced yourself on me. In a manner of speaking.”

His eyes took on a darker glint.

“I know you know how to carry on polite conversation, since you did so Saturday night. If you choose not to prove that you can do it again, please drink your tea in silence. Or better yet, go somewhere else and drink it.” She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and shifted her gaze across the street.

Dan took a sip of tea and looked at her over the glass. His gaze, in fact, proved so intense that she squirmed involuntarily. She glanced down to make sure she was dressed appropriately, and of course, she was. She had on jeans again and a white blouse that had small sprigs of flowers stitched on it. The sleeves just covered her shoulders and the band collar stood up high on her neck. What was it with this man that threw her so off kilter?

“Well in fact, Ms. Hudson, I can be civil when I choose to be. That’s a very pretty blouse you’re wearing. See?”

“Thank you.” She directed her green gaze back to him. She could almost see the strain it took him to sit there speaking to her in a normal tone of voice.

“I like all of that fine embroidery work.”

“I did it myself.”

“All of it?” He sounded surprised. “It’s very nicely done. We pride ourselves here on knowing something about textiles and good work on fabric. It’s been the lifeblood of this part of the South for a long time.”

“I know that. I’m interested in textile work.” Cassandra sighed. “Mr. Morgan, why are you sitting here talking to me? It’s plain that you’d rather be anywhere else. Don’t you have a root canal or some other minor torture you’d rather be off to?”

“Why, Ms. Hudson. Beautiful and astute.” He grinned as she straightened in her chair and once again directed her attention to a storefront across the street.

More quietly he said, “I don’t know why I’m here. There’s something about you that has me intrigued, I guess. I drove past the motel half a dozen times yesterday trying to decide why I was even on that side of town. I kept hoping I’d see you out and have an excuse to ‘happen’ into you. But I didn’t. So I drove home and used up frustrated energy in the shop. Messed up several good boards before I finally wound down. Lucky I didn’t cut off a damn finger in the process.”

Cassandra snapped her head around. She hoped the astonishment she felt wasn’t plain on her face.

Reviews:

“Surprises, secrets, explicit sex and a man that needed a kick to his rear end, stubborn and unwilling to accept that there are things beyond what we can imagine. He loves her, she loves him but can he ever accept that she will know things before they happen.

This a wonderful book and I highly recommend it.” 5 Stars

“I have read some of the author's other work, and I knew I liked her writing style, but this one seemed different. I picked it up to read on my vacation, and boy am I glad I did! This was a wonderful paranormal romance, and the characters were very likeable. Cassandra in particular made me smile, and her psychic powers were so cool. The sex scenes were steamy, and the characters showed great chemistry together. I would highly recommend.” 5 Stars

A little about me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for my newsletter and have access to free reads.

 Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

 

Out Now - Taken by the Lady of the Lake by @meganslayer #romance #pnr @changelingpress #hotread

 

Taken by the Lady of the Lake (Taken 12) 

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction Novel by Megan Slayer Sale Price: $4.24

She's an urban legend. He's adrift. With a little magic, they'll discover their fates are entwined.

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She’s an urban legend. He’s adrift. With a little magic, they’ll discover their fates are entwined.

Amanda Fortune never expected to be left in the lake, but after her murder and subsequent dumping, that’s exactly where she is. She’s become an urban legend, her ghost seen only by a very few. She longs to have a second chance at life, but that’s not possible when you’re dead. Is it?

With the right circumstances, anything is possible.

Sawyer Gibson doesn’t know what he’s meant to do in life. He has abilities to read the Fates, but his talents aren’t needed in the town of Eerie. Everyone here has magic. He’s nothing special. But Aunt Chloe is dying, and she knows more than Sawyer ever thought possible. Amanda is -- was -- her best friend. So Aunt Chloe sends Sawyer on a chase to find Amanda’s killer.

But Amanda’s a myth. A ghost. And ghosts can’t be seen, right?

The moment Sawyer lays eyes on Amanda, he’s smitten. There’s the tiny problem of her being a ghost… but that detail won’t stop Sawyer, even if someone else thinks it will.

EXCERPT!!

All rights reserved. 
Copyright ©2026 Megan Slayer

 “Who?” She snapped her mouth shut. She’d wanted to stay hidden, but her curiosity would get her into trouble again.

He sank onto one of the rocks at the edge of the water. “I hear you. Where are you?”

“I can’t show you.”

“Please?”

“No.” If she could have this conversation with him, then something was different about him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know you. Can’t trust you.” It was the truth. Others claimed to be looking for her, but they hadn’t found her. Not the detectives, the amateur sleuths, or anyone else.

“You can,” he said. He scrubbed the back of his hand across his forehead, then sighed. “When I was a little boy, my aunt told me about her friend, Amanda. She said her friend was a lovely person and so sweet, but she disappeared. For the rest of her life, my Aunt Chloe wanted to know what happened to her friend.”

“Chloe?” She didn’t venture closer, but the mere mention of the name pricked her curiosity again.

“My mother’s sister. Do you know Chloe? Or Marie, my mother?” he asked. “My mother died five years ago, but Chloe held on. Her magic is fading.”

“No,” she whispered. Chloe had the strongest magic. She should be just fine.

“She told me you liked being here. She said this was your favorite place and you’d spend hours among the trees and around the water, existing in nature. She said you might have even been part woodland nymph because you were here so much. She loved the nights you’d go dancing together, and the days spent talking and mixing spells,” he said. “She said she was never the same after you disappeared.”

“No?” She couldn’t be excited. Not yet. She needed some detail only the true Chloe would know. Something only she could tell this man. “I can’t trust you.”

“I know you can’t.” He sighed again. “Why would you?”

The last man she’d thought she could trust had murdered her.

“She knew about the abuse and that you wanted to get away. She was trying to figure out a plan to get you out of that house without him knowing. To this day, she deals with the guilt of not working fast enough. You deserved better.”

She emerged from behind the tree. “What did he steal from me?” If he knew this, then he’d spoken to Chloe. Only her best friend would remember she never let go of her locket.

“Besides your magic? He stole your necklace,” the man said. “It was your favorite piece of jewelry.”

“Why?” She held onto the tree for stability, even if her legs weren’t holding her up.

“Because it came from your mother and was one of the few things you had to remember her by.”

If she’d been standing on her feet, she would’ve collapsed. “Who are you?”

“Sawyer Gibson.” He stood and held out his hand. “I don’t know where you are, but I hear you and I want to see you. I want to help you.”

Question the Revision Premise

Becca Symes has a great podcast where she discusses assumptions authors make about the process and if they are valid. Every month she debates a new notion, or premise, that many authors act as if it is fact without even considering why or if it was right, such as books can’t market without being on social media or writers have to write every day. She asks why this belief exists, if it’s true, can it be changed, and if this premise is serving writers.

I’ve listened to Becca Symes question these premises for years, and I’ve learned a lot. As someone who has a less traditional writing style, I’ve always thought I was good at questioning the ideas that I have. The notions that have been unintentionally spread by the masses. But this month, I realized I had a huge belief of my own that I’ve never questioned, and that definitely wasn’t serving me.

Revising has always been my least favorite part of the process. I love writing. The exploration, the fun, the lack of limitations in the first draft. But having to turn all that enjoyment and free creation into something that makes sense to everyone else has always been a struggle for me. While writing flows out of me fast and exciting, revisions take forever and can be painful. Especially that first revision.

One of the reasons I think writing goes more smoothly for me is because I allow myself to work on whatever part of the story I want to work at that time. I usually start in the middle, with a sexy scene, and work my way out (though not in any kind of organized manner). I allow myself to explore whatever scene I want to write that day. But when it comes to revising I’ve always thought I had to start on page one and work my way forward. It makes sense. Or does it?

As I’m staring down the barrel of a lot of revisions (not just the books I’ve written over the last few years, but also all of my older works that I am trying to republish), I’m desperate for a way to not only speed up the revising process, but to make it less painful as well.

That’s when I thought back to Becca Symes, and her QTP podcast,  and wondered do I have to revise this way? Do I have to revise starting on page one, or can I move around, working on whatever scene I’m inspired by?

It’s an interesting idea. I’m not sure yet if it will work. I certainly think that I’ll have to do a round of revisions the whole way through at least once. But maybe starting out with revising certain scenes, especially the fun ones in the middle, might help speed up the process, or at least make it more enjoyable.

As I get started on revising these next few books, I’m going to give this a try, and revise in the order my brain and heart want to go and see how it goes. It might blow up in my face, or just simply not make enough sense to keep going, but it’s worth a try. And even if it doesn’t work, at least I’ll know I questioned the premise and the premise is correct. At least for me.

What beliefs do you have in your head that you’ve always assumed have to be true? What can you question about your processes that might open up a whole new world?

Summer of Science Fiction #ScienceFiction #AmWriting #SummerReading

Approximately every ten years, I have an existential crisis. I will turn half a century old soon, and the current catastrophic philosophical questions on my mind are about whether humanity in general is hopeless or if, perhaps, there enough decent people to turn the sad state of things around to build a better system. What would that system look like? Would we build something that we thought was the perfect solution, only for it to be a true dystopian nightmare where choice is taken away and callousness is ingrained into every single aspect of the society, like in Lois Lowry’s The Giver?

As I get older, I don’t have as much faith in progress or in humanity in general, but I can never seem to give up hope for, not only progress, but hope that people can continue to find ways to find joy. A few years ago, I started writing horror and science fiction short flash fiction stories. I turned some of my major questions into “what if” scenarios. Like, how would greedy people try to seize power after a disaster hit? How would people fight back? What would the aftermath look like and how would life and the possibility of love, begin to flourish again?

This summer, while I write, and procrastinate, and take on the daunting task of moving house, I am also going to read as many science fiction stories as possible.

Here’s a few summer reading suggestions:

For a speculative look at how the environment and social structure can be affected by scarcity and disaster, check out-

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler

The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. Le Guin

For a look at people finding love in the midst of the fight to just survive another day after zombie-style viruses wreak havoc on the world, check out-

Say You’ll Stay (Flowers from Ashes series) by Anna Calloway

Caitlyn Can’t Die (Serial Survivors series Collection) by Liz Hambleton

For a gentle, magical YA story with lovely imagery, read-

The Faraway Inn by Sarah Beth Durst features a teenager who discovers her inner strength and career passion while working for the summer at her great aunt’s supernatural Inn

 

If you’d like to follow me on social media for my latest book updates and recommendations, poems, contest info, and other fun stuff, you can find me at:

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A Matter of Taste

 

I keep running across interesting quotes that make me think. I suppose that’s the idea behind them, to get your brain working and provoke meaningful discussions. Our local newspaper publishes these under the heading Thought for Today. Here’s a recent one, credited to Dame Edith Sitwell, English poet (1887-1964).

“Good taste is the worst vice ever invented.”

I read this in the morning and was distracted for the rest of the day, because I wasn’t sure what she meant by it. I always thought good taste was a preferred quality in a person. It’s certainly better than bad taste, which we seem to be experiencing in abundance these days. If you doubt this, check out social media and cable news networks.

A weekly column I follow touched on a subject I’ve blogged about before. The columnist had seen some recent films, and penned an open letter to Hollywood screenwriters, suggesting that they could effectively tell a story (especially a romantic story) without dropping so many “F” bombs. I could relate to what he said, because I’ve made the same observation about literary works, and I’m not a fan of some stand-up comics for that reason. Using coarse language sparingly to make a point is one thing, but a lot of entertainers and writers overdo it.      

Is peppering your daily discourse with four-letter words an example of bad taste? I was raised to think it is. So is telling off-color jokes in mixed company, unless you’re with friends who won’t be offended. I once had a job as a newspaper editor, working for a publisher who felt it was his daily duty to berate the office staff, using every variation of the “F” word imaginable. He even came up with some new uses for it. When my birthday rolled around, it was the first time I had ever gotten “Happy f-ing birthday!” as a greeting. I shudder to think what he said during the holidays.   

To be clear, I’m no prude. I know the bad words, but I exercise caution when I use them. The same with adult jokes. As the late Milton Berle once said, “I’ve got a million of ‘em.” I’m not sure if I know that many, but when I tell them, I check the crowd first. I’ve also found it wise to read the room before joining a conversation about anything topical, thanks to the current political climate. I wish more people would follow that guideline.     

I’ve known people who were obsessed with showing what good taste they thought they had, whether they actually possessed it or not. This includes friends and some family members who couldn’t resist bragging. In every instance, it boiled down to how many material things they possessed, and how they could let everyone know about it. Cars, clothes, jewelry, homes, luxury vacations—it was all for show, something to make up for a basic insecurity. It was a spotlight they shone on themselves, a sort of “Hey, look at me! Like the flashy bracelet I’m wearing? Want to know how much it cost? I’ll tell you anyway.” 

You know, I think I’ve figured out what Dame Sitwell meant by that quote. Perhaps if you’re fabricating good taste to cover up your inherent bad taste, it really is the worst vice ever invented. 

Your thoughts?

 

Tim Smith is a bestselling award-winning author of romantic mystery/thrillers and contemporary rom-coms. He is also a freelance writer, editor, and blogger. His author site is AllAuthor/Tim Smith