Shifters in the wild woods #PNR #shifters #shifterromance #paranormalromance

I live in beautiful Virginia, near rushing rivers and forests full of streams and lovely, old trees. The beauty I see in nature has served as the inspiration for much of my work.

The town of Great Oaks, where the majority of steamy, paranormal Stranger Creatures series takes place, was once an abandoned former factory town near Roanoke, Virginia. Shape shifters were attracted to the wild, beautiful forests and streams that run through Great Oaks, so the town is in the process of being rebuilt and revived in a way that protects and preserves the land as much as possible. Wolf’s Challenge (Stranger Creatures book 1) is Derricks and Sydney’s story. – When Derrick, a powerful wolf shifter, dares shy, single mom Sydney to take a chance with him, will she rise to the challenge or will she run for safety, leaving him in the dust?

I ended up creating the Haven Forest Resort series because I had two characters from the Stranger Creatures series, brothers AJ and Greg Shepherd, who needed their own stories. Each book in both of my series features a different couple in their fight for a happily-ever-after.

In Bear’s Dream, (Haven Forest Resort book 1), AJ and Greg are pursuing their dream of opening up a shifter resort. Ellie Ortiz wants nothing to do with AJ until a chance encounter on New Years Eve reveals he's not the heartless man she once thought. After a new job puts her in contact with him every day, the sparks between them threaten to catch fire. When Ellie ends up in danger, she and AJ must work together to survive.

 

What I’m working on now:

I’ve been busy writing steamy, paranormal romance, Hawk’s Heart. This will be Jordan and Luke’s story, and the very last book in my Stranger Creatures series. I’ve also been working on a couple of romantasy novellas featuring women in their forties navigating unexpected new paths in life, as well as writing more poetry and learning how to write flash fiction.

 

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

Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Christina-Lynn-Lambert/e/B01MCYK0K7

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/christina-lynn-lambert

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

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Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/cllambauthor.bsky.social

Writing a Book Versus Readers Reading a Book

Have you ever noticed that what you write is not necessarily what readers read?

I find reviews very revealing. In For the Love of Jazmin, I thought I was writing about a strong man, a protector who would do anything for his wife, even if it meant going against his beliefs. Readers focused on the man's wife, telling me they were impressed by her strength, her perseverance, her search for a way to escape the evil drug lord and save her husband. Jazmin was seen as the strong character who didn't give up and kept her head up.

Throughout the story, I was told, she fought a silent but effective battle against her captor and won in the end.

Here's a look into the book...

 

A loving couple are kidnapped by a schizophrenic criminal who is out to play off one against the other. What must they give up to get free?

Nine years ago, Jazmin brought a Colombian drug lord to justice. His son, Raoul, finds out where she lives and kidnaps her husband, Ethan, knowing she won't refuse his invitation. As Jazmin enters Raoul's lair, she doesn't know if she can save her husband and herself, or if they will both die trying to escape the schizophrenic criminal who is determined to play one off against the other.

 

Excerpt

Raoul had refrained from showing Ethan around before, and the guests were eager to follow him down into the dungeon. Due to the mass of people standing around Raoul and talking to him, he couldn’t keep her from going to Ethan’s cell quick enough and she pretended to not have heard his command.

Jazmin held fast to the bars. “He’s much better prepared,” she told Ethan, who was already dressed to fight. The gloves hung outside the cell door. “He’ll go for you full blazes. A second knock out would ruin much of Joaquin’s reputation, so he didn’t come with second class this time.”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled at her lopsidedly while he bandaged his hands. “Hey, don’t worry too much about me. If he comes full force at me I’ll greet him the same way. I only have to think about this morning to be mad with rage.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“So tomorrow night then?”

“If I can get Raoul’s keys, yes. Please, Ethan, don’t bet your life on this. It’s just a chance, not a guarantee. If he stays away from me the whole day I can’t do anything.”

“But you’ve got a plan?”

“It’s a hazard game.” She lowered her gaze, weighed down by what he expected of her. “I’ll try everything, Ethan. But up to the moment when I open your cell it’s all... vague.”

“I’ll be here.”

Jazmin’s throat was too constricted to speak. His trust as well as his need to be finally freed broke her heart. She nodded and turned away when Pascual and Sosimo came to bring out the fighter.

Raoul suddenly grabbed her arm. “How dare you stand here? I ordered you at my side! Now come and pretend you like to be with me, or this’ll be a bad night for your pet!”

She saw Adrián standing near the row of chairs, looking at her intently, hands in his pants’ pockets. Raoul guided her through the aisle and smiled the whole time as if he already knew the outcome, not to mention that he was showing off his beautiful girlfriend all the time. Jazmin made an effort to lighten up her expression. She had gone a long way to alter Ethan’s fate.

She wouldn’t falter on the last hurdle.

****

 

The Price of Talent has a new installment!

Hey all, AK Nevermore back with you! Last month I had a slew of releases and Binder, book 2 in The Price of Talent Series was one of them.  If you're a fan of Spicy Dystopian Romance, then this is the series for you! 

Home is where the heartache is...

On an alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population. Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations, giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting them…

Flynn and Kara have made it to the north, but they’re far from safe.

In the city of Glynfyls, the ruling body known as the Assembly has become ineffectual at best and treasonous at worst, leaving the Northern Territories ripe for invasion. Under the threat of blackmail, Flynn Scot is forced into a leadership position to combat the corruption and to protect his family. Titus is coming, and unless Flynn can convince the Assembly that the threat from the Source is real, every Talent in the North faces harvesting.

Meanwhile, Kara is floundering.

Thrown into a completely new environment, Talent Kara Jester questions her place in the North and everything else. Plagued by wedding preparations and without the ability to bind her resurfacing memories of trauma, she’s a mess. Then, with the arrival of someone from her past, tensions skyrocket between her and Flynn.

And it’s mirrored within the city.

After a string of grisly murders and abductions, Glynfyls is in turmoil. With the Original Houses playing games and setting their machinations above the common’s safety, no one is free from recrimination and rumors abound. So do threats of civil unrest. And if Flynn can’t find a way to get out from under his blackmailer’s thumb and set things right, their fairytale wedding being planned amidst the madness won’t end in a happily ever after.

Excerpt:

Flynn sat, head hanging, hand running up the back of his neck.

He’d fucked up.

Eyes stinging, he collapsed into the plush wing-backed chair, fingers trembling over cracked lips. The wicked contusion staining his flank jolted fire alongside his spine. He grimaced, accepting it as penance. He’d promised he wasn’t gonna do that again…be that animal.

Christ, it’d felt good.

It always did. Until he came back to himself and saw the aftermath caught in the half-moons of his nails, the creases at his wrists. The memory of what he’d done leaving him shaking with that goddamn gnawing in his guts for a drink, trying to forget how much he’d liked it.

They’d deserved it.

He chewed his lip. What right did he have to make that determination? Shit, he’d earned worse…but Kara hadn’t. Neither had his kid.

If he still had a kid.

His gaze slid across the expansive room to the curtained fourposter bed. Her form lost in shadow, an extension of self, taking up every bit of talent he was pushing her, searing his insides raw. He didn’t care, the burn was nothing. He’d crawl through hell to save them. His eyes dropped to his hands, knuckles ragged and swollen.

He had. Jumped right into the fire, and it’d only made things worse. Goddamn his temper.

They’d all know what he’d done.

What he was.

“… I swear to God, I wish I was a fucking twist, then I wouldn't have to pretend…”

Flynn scrubbed a hand over his face. For once in his life, he hadn’t, and he’d pissed away House Scot’s political power in the process. If he confessed and registered, Cal might be able to salvage some of it. Maybe enough to protect her.

There was a soft knock at the door, and the massive oak slab was pushed inward on well-oiled hinges. French wheeled in a sterling coffee service. The flickering light from the marble hearth bounced off its polished curves onto the glossy pastries at its side.

Christ, he’d just wanted a cup.

“The constable major will be in his office within the hour, per your request, sir,” the man intoned, working the cafetière. He’d gotten old. Flynn took in the familiar livery and stiff mustache waxed into precise loops, bone white instead of the salt-and-pepper grey he remembered. “I’ve brought suitable garments. Will you require assistance?”

Flynn’s eyes went to the freshly brushed jacket and trousers hanging from the bar of the cart. French handed him the cup and saucer with a flourish, then stood, awaiting his pleasure.

The enameled china chattered in Flynn’s hands, and he fought the urge to wing the fucking thing into the fireplace. “You’re gonna have to find a different jacket. The last one I borrowed from Lot didn’t work out so well.”

The seams would split when they cuffed him. The press would love that. He took a sip of coffee. Christ, it was a far cry from freeze-dried.

French began making him up a plate of pastries. “That shouldn’t be an issue, Lady Breakspear sent over several options, along with this.” He took an envelope from his breast pocket and held it out to him.

Flynn’s stomach lurched. Shit. There was only one thing the First Breaker could want to speak to him about. He stared at it for a long moment before taking it from the man.

It was unaddressed and heavier than it should’ve been, thick cream parchment with a raised wax seal the color of dark cherries. She’d used her signet to stamp a stylized ‘B’ into the blob. French held out a slim blade before he could ask.

Flynn’s hands went through the motions, opening it by rote, though it’d been years. No exotic perfume rose up with the gold-lined flap, and the page within was free of ill-conceived prose. Two words stared back at him.

Breaker Business.

What the ever-loving fuck?

They weren’t outing him… Anger devoured his bewilderment. It had to be blackmail. He flung the missive into the flames. Not up here ten goddamn hours, and he was already hip-deep in political fucking intrigue. They’d expect something in return for keeping this quiet…if they could. There’d been more than just Breakers kissing the ground out there. Flynn bit into one of the pastries French had set beside him. Still…it gave him time.

“What’re they saying in the city?”

“The aid-workers are reporting any number of improbabilities, everything from aliens to the second coming of Christ, but those whom survived the Sons’ attack have been markedly silent. One wonders how long that will last.”

“Until their wallets become noticeably thicker. How many nobles were on the train?”

“Just your party. The hour was a bit too raw for your brethren,” French said, topping off his coffee. “I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling Ernesto to attend to your needs before Assembly begins.”

Flynn glanced at the butler, reading all he needed to in his eyes. Bastard had known exactly what he was planning. Had he known what was in that note? Christ, he wouldn’t put it past him. Man was worse than Cal with that shit.

And now it was time to play the part.

Get Binder Here:

 https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0D2SQSGFV

Want more? Download the Breeder, the series prequel, for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/91ffk852qo

And Destroyer, Flynn's origin story for free here:

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/982bgzz15j

and get your copy of Breaker here: https://books2read.com/BreakerOne

You can find out more about my books on my website, https://aknevermore.com/ or see what I'm up to on my sadly neglected socials:

Facebook    Twitter

Instagram   Tiktok

YouTube    Goodreads

BookBub     

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. 

AK pays the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She belongs to numerous industry organizations, volunteers for far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion, sleeps.

Summer of Love and Writer’s Block #RomanceNovels #AmWriting #LoveStories

 

This summer is about love. It has to be, because that’s the only way to survive.

The world is always a mess, but lately, all the different fires seem to be raging and collecting new fires. The disastrous state of things made me take a moment to question the future of humanity, which led me to question why I write about love when people don’t seem to love one another. How do I write a dystopian scenario when it feels like we’re living in the beginning of a dystopian novel where systemic greed caused massive destruction? How do I write a poem about the beauty of nature when developers continuously tear down all the forests to make more houses and strip malls? When everything seemed hopeless, I began to wonder why my words even mattered.  

I left my laptop closed. My pen and multitude of composition notebooks stayed on my desk, untouched, for days that bled into weeks. Instead of writing, I spent every second of my spare time completing mindless tasks and minor home renovation projects. In the evenings when everything was quiet and my body was too tired for more mindless tasks, I turned on the tv and found a few good shows. I devoured Carnival Row, Maxton Hall, and other shows and movies where love came for people who weren’t ready, for people who weren’t supposed to be together, often appearing during times of difficulty when a relationship should have been the last thing on anyone’s mind. Sometimes love comes searching with teeth and drags the unsuspecting into the light, other times, it’s hidden in plain sight, waiting to be discovered.

Often, I get busy moving along, trying to make some kind of difference and getting angry that so little progress gets made. I’m often distracted, trying to get through my list of chores and responsibilities for each day and I don’t see the good things that exist among the difficulties and uncertainties. Sometimes, reminders have to come for me with teeth and hold me still.

One morning, after several weird dreams, thanks to some nice green herb enjoyed the previous evening, the stillness caught me. I opened my notebook and words spilled from my multicolored dollar store pen. My sloppy handwriting filled page after page. My mind had somehow been collecting a river of ideas even though I hadn’t ever seen the rain.

There are books that I have read and reread over the years because the words were a heart and soul to hold onto and I remembered, I don’t know how I forgot, that I write in order to bring about characters whose stories are something for people to hold onto. The world isn’t getting any better, but in my stories and in my poems, there’s a place for hope.

Love stories can provide a world of escape during troubled times. Also, love stories are about the best parts of us— our kindness, our courage, our capacity to take a risk, and our ability to find the magic moments hidden in the fog. It’s the summer of love and I’m hard at work writing stories where people find the courage to hope and the strength to love and be loved.

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

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Christina-Lynn-Lambert/e/B01MCYK0K7

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/christina-lynn-lambert

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

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15900423.Christina_Lynn_Lambert

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/christinalynnlambert

Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/chris4lamb

Wordpress: https://christinalynnlambertwordpress.com