February Update a.k.a. Atlantis is my Kink

Hey Everyone! I’m back!

If you saw my social media posts (fyi I tend to only hang about Instagram these days) you would’ve seen I went on a much needed social media hiatus and went full Hermit mode. The constant bad news stream was messing with my word count and anxiety too much so I had a big break to get my head back on straight. While away I had a big ‘Atlantis’ binge. You would think I would’ve had enough after writing 300 k words of ‘The Magicians of Venice’ series, but no, Atlantis is still one of my fave kinks. Also, because I was writing so much of my own interpretations of Atlantis I kind of forced myself to steer clear of any other Atlantis media as much as possible. So here is a round up of my fave Atlantis stuff from the binge-fest.

Okay so it’s no secret that I love Disney’s ‘Atlantis’ movie…so much so I went to buy it on Blu Ray only to discover THERE IS A SECOND MOVIE. I was shook that I had no idea of it’s existence! And its so freaking good. It has relics, sass, a freaking Kraken, Odin and lost cities. I loved it and watched these back to back more than once. And will again because Milo is just so nerd hot and its got everything I love.

I finally started watching BBC’s ATLANTIS, which is a really cool take on famous Greek myths like Herakles, the Minotaur, Medusa etc. I am almost finished season 1 and have season 2 lined up because its so much fun, the same way MERLIN was so hilarious and full of really good looking dudes. I love Greek myth retellings so highly recommend.

I watched ‘Aquaman’ again and still really enjoyed it despite the ‘Atlantis still being under the ocean’ trope isn’t my fave in the Atlantis tropes. I love the DC universe and Jason Momoa is just perfection and brought something extra to the character of Arthur. I’m not fussed on Amber Heard but its still a fun movie and love the idea of lost Atlanteans colonies in other parts of the world.

Moving into books, my absolute fan Atlantean myth retelling is without a doubt, Stephen Lawhead’s Taliesin. It’s book one of his Pendragon Cycle (my fave Arthurian myth books) and the first half is about Charis, a princess of Atlantis, it’s destruction and her being a refugee to Britain. Stephen Lawhead is next level with his Celtic Historical fiction and his take on Atlantis will always be my favourite. I got onto this series when I was 14 and very angry at the world and it pretty much inspired me to stop fucking about and get serious about writing fantasy. I could literally talk about this series forever so I’m going to stop here, but you’ll never regret picking up a Lawhead book.

I’m a sucker for indie romance and I love Domino Taylor (loved ‘Daughter of Fortune Series’), so when Amazon threw ‘Return to Atlantis’ at me I had to give it a shot. It follows the ‘Underwater Kingdom of Atlantis’ trope but also tied in alot of cool fantasy stuff like mermaids and shark riding and underwater battles. It has romance streak in it but it isn’t dominant, it really follows the main female character Kai and her journey so its more a fantasy with romance as opposed to romance fantasy. There is another book out so mind the cliff if you decide to pick it up. You can check it out here.

The next book on my to read list has been on it FOREVER is ‘Atlantis’ by David Gibbins. For obvious reasons, I’ve held off on reading a book about an archaeologist who is looking for remnants of Atlantis. Now that I have a draft of ‘The King’s Seal’ that I’m really happy with, I finally feel comfortable giving this one a go. I’ve been a bit reluctant too because of the male archaeologist/ historian/adventurer and ladies man trope isn’t my favorite (apart from Indie because INDIE PUNCHES NAZIS) … I’m willing to give it a go though because I haven’t read David Gibbins, and maybe I’m in for a pleasant surprise and not a cringe fest on how the main character describes and treats smart women in the story.

So that’s my Atlantis media round up. 

In other news I am busy trying to get my head in gear and write something that’s not ‘The Magicians of Venice’ but I haven’t settled on a project as yet. I have a lot of fun ideas and a few that scare the shit out of me, which is pretty usual for me. Also, I know that I’ll start receiving final edits and galley proofs of ‘The Sea of the Dead’ book 2 of ‘The Magicians of Venice’ that I’ll need 110% brain power for. I can’t WAIT to share this book with you. It was such a next level book for me in all areas of research, plotting, character development etc. It tried to kill me and I love it because of it. I really love Atlantis and magic and Venice, and I’m so proud of how the series has come together. I’m still getting people messaging me about how much they enjoyed ‘The Immortal City’ and this sparks endless fucking joy for me because I know how much it ramps up from there. You can read more about ‘The Immortal City’ here, and if you are reading it and enjoying please leave a review, as they help other readers find my books.

Cheers

Ames x

 

 

Digital ARCs for Wylt !

Hello Readers,

I am run off my feet like a crazy person at the moment juggling work and a final assignment on the Dead Sea Scrolls but I wanted to stick my head in for five seconds and let you know I’ve put up an Exclusive ARC promotion for Wylt on Instafreebie!

I will be writing a proper post about Wylt closer to the date with various inspirations and what not but right now I am checking paperback formats and generally running about.

wylt2final-fjm_kindle_1800x2700Wylt is going to be out on the 10th of March (a paperback giveaway will be announced in a few weeks) but I would love to drum up some reviews on Good Reads so if you like the idea of a gothic romance that’s like the love child of Jane Eyre, Beauty and the Beast and a horde of blood sucking Fae…please click here and check it out!

 

 

 

 

WYLT: Chapter One – Sneak Peak

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Prologue

In the dream, the man smelled of horses and wood varnish as he gathered the little girl close in his arms. Wind whipped off the lake, but in her father’s arms, she was warm and safe. She held her stick sword firmly in one plump hand as he lowered her to the ground.

“You see these stones, Rhosyn?” he asked with a thick Welsh accent, placing a hand on the smooth black rock that rose out of the ground. “Do you know what they are?”

“Aye, Roger said they are faerie stones,” the girl answered, prodding one with her stick.

“Oh, did he now? And when did you have time to talk to the stableman?” her father questioned, heavy brows drawing together.

“When I went to see Mr. Eli’s horses,” she answered truthfully, knowing that her father wasn’t really angry with her. “Are they doorways to the Other Lands?”

“There are, God’s truth, little one.” Her father crouched down to be level with her. “Some nights, when magic is thick in the air and the time between times opens the worlds, the Seelie come through to dance at the lake. It is on those nights, my Rhosyn, that you must lock your window and your door, and pray that they don’t try to steal you away.”

“How can I tell if it’s a faerie?”

“They are so beautiful and terrible to look upon that there is no mistaking them for anything else. If you ever see such a one, dancing or hunting through the forest, you must find Mr. Eli as soon as you can.” Her father’s voice lost the storyteller’s warmth and became serious, “Promise me, Rosa. Promise me you will find him.”

“I promise, Da,” she swore, wondering what Mr. Eli could do that her father could not, should the faeries come.

“Good lass.” He kissed her head and got to his feet. They were almost back at their little cottage when the wolves came.

Then there was only blood, screaming and monsters, and her father was gone forever.

Chapter One- The Bad Omen

Rosa’s ears were ringing as she stepped out of the fire escape door and into the cold night air. She needed to get away from the noise of the crowded kitchen and the endless thrum of the party upstairs. She had been plagued with nightmares for the last three nights, and the bass of bad dance music was making her head pound.

I don’t know why you let Lucy talk you into these things, Rosa thought as she walked down the damp service alley behind the mansion and passed the expensive cars that had been parked wherever there was space.

She had agreed to do the catering gig for the high society party in The Boltens, but with the control freak hostess, it was shaping up to be more trouble than what they were paying. She pulled her coat tighter around her as she breathed in the autumn night air and tried not to wish for the cigarettes that she had sworn off three years prior.

The wind was rising, scattering the golden leaves off the ornamental trees and over the finely clipped yard. This kind of wind always reminded her of her childhood in the north, the sharp crispness holding the scent of wood smoke and lightning. With the wind came the nightmares every year without fail.

“A bad wind, that is,” a voice said, making Rosa jump. A homeless gypsy woman was an odd sight in an area as flash as The Boltens, but she leaned against a Porsche as if she owned it.

“I don’t know about a bad wind, but it’s bloody freezing,” replied Rosa.

The woman smiled. “Tell your fortune for a pound? You’ve destiny hanging over your head like a storm cloud.”

“I’m good, thanks. I don’t believe in fortune telling or destiny, but if you wait here, I can nick you something to eat from this party. Posh bastards ignore most of it at a gathering like this one.”

Rosa hurried back to the kitchen and placed rosemary lamb shanks into a large Styrofoam container. The catering staff were only going to throw out the leftovers, so Rosa filled another with pastries and cheesecake.

Outside, the gypsy was smoking a hand rolled, clove cigarette. She muttered under her breath as she glared at the security guards near the front entrance of the house.

“Don’t worry about those guys. They won’t bother you,” Rosa said as she offered the containers.

“Thank you, lady,” the gypsy said and gripped them in her bony hands. “You won’t accept a reading, but accept a warning…they’re watching you, girl.”

“Who is?” Rosa asked, looking about and trying not to laugh.

The gypsy checked over her shoulders before hissing softly, “The dead.”

“Everything alright down there, miss?” A tall security guard shined his torch at them from the end of the alley.

“Course, mate, everything is fine, just seeing my kitchen staff off for the night,” Rosa waved at them before calling out to the retreating gypsy. “Thanks for your help tonight, Susie!”

The security guard didn’t look convinced as he switched off his torch and continued on his rounds.

“What a weird old lady,” Rosa said as the gypsy disappeared around the next street corner. She was about to head back inside when a black Mercedes pulled up in front of her, and a suited man stepped out.

“Good evening, are you Miss Rosamund Wylt?” he asked formally.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

The man reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and took out a letter. Rosa took it between trembling fingers, her stomach dropping to her ankles as she spotted the heavy black seal and the ‘V’ insignia that haunted her nightmares.

“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Wylt,” the gentleman said before climbing back into the car and continuing down the lane.

Rosa looked at the letter for a long moment before swearing viciously and stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

***

Rosa was paralyzed. Fear shot through her body, robbing her of thought and breath. The shadows of the room crept over her like exploring fingers, threatening to choke her if she moved or cried out for help. Her body convulsed, pushing her out of the dream with a hard jolt and back into the land of the living. Dawn was making its way through the cracks in the curtains and her thrumming heart slowly stilled in her chest.

Rosa wiped the sweat off her face and looked accusingly at the letter sitting on her mirror table, its elaborate black seal broken in two. It had been a week since she had received her summons to go home to the north, the last place on earth she wanted to go back to.

Your mother is unwell, she needs her daughter at home, the letter had said, compounding her guilt. Rosa’s nights had been restless with dreams of never-ending corridors, dark forests and the feeling of drowning in long buried memories of her father’s bloody face. It was like living in a bad Poe poem every night and waking up feeling afraid and angry.

Home.

That word meant the tiny flat near the culinary school she had attended for the last three years. It wasn’t the dreary estate in northern England that didn’t even have decent Wi-Fi.

Who sends a letter these days anyway?  She thought before her inner voice prompted critically. Maybe they knew you wouldn’t answer your phone.

Rosa had hoped she would be left alone after she graduated from Oxford four years ago. She had studied literature and could speak Old and Middle English, but what she hadn’t been able to do was get a job in that field. The student wage in her account didn’t disappear, so she decided to follow her secondary passion for cooking and attend culinary school instead.

After years of education, she wanted to travel the world, work in the finest restaurants in each city to learn their delicacies, before moving on to another location. Graduation had gone as unnoticed by her mother as her university degree had, and Rosa had picked up catering jobs as she gathered her savings to leave London. Once the money from the last job had cleared, she would have left England behind her.

Now Rosa knew she had no choice but to go back to Gwaed Lyn. Her benefactors would send people to fetch her no matter where she ran. She had tried to escape to France as a teenager, and even though she was careful to cover her tracks, they still found her. Rosa had stepped off the train in Paris, and there had been a man in a black suit waiting to take her back to London.

In the last few days, Rosa had been forced to lie to her few friends, all who were going to Ibiza to celebrate their graduation. They hugged and teased her, calling her Nigella as they often had, and hadn’t questioned her further. What could she have said? They would never believe that she had no choice but to do what the letter asked.

Getting out of bed, Rosa washed her face in her small bathroom and pinned up her dark curls. Pulling on a green sweater, jeans, and high-heeled boots, she studied herself critically. She would turn thirty next month, and the plump softness of her youth had never quite left her. Her hair was her most redeeming feature; naturally, a rich curling auburn that framed her round face and dimpled chin. In her opinion, her hair made up for the size fourteen dress tag.

“Well, Rosa, that will have to do,” she told her reflection after drawing some eyeliner around her hazel eyes.

Pulling on her leather jacket to ward against the wind, she picked up her overnight bag with a sigh of resignation. The rest of her things had been placed in three large suitcases and had been picked up two days beforehand. She wondered if her mother would rummage through them before she arrived to try to discover what her daughter had been up to in the three years they had been apart. Rosa grinned at the thought of prim Cecily’s face finding her collection of vintage style lingerie. She may have had to wear drab uniforms in her job, but underneath was another matter entirely.

The train to Penrith would take four hours. Four hours of worrying what she was going to do, how sick her mother was, and how long she would be forced to stay at the estate.

“The Wylts have always served the Vanes, it is our honor and our duty,” her father had told her the month he had died. It was one of the only memories she had of him from her childhood, and the Vanes had to own that too. A family’s life lived in the shadow of another was no life at all.

What kind of an archaic concept were generational servants and masters anyway? If a Wylt didn’t serve them, it wasn’t like they couldn’t find someone else. The estate of Gwaed Lyn was hours away from anywhere. She would be resigning herself to a life alone with no friends and no chances of meeting anyone.

When Rosa reached Penrith, there would be a driver waiting for her, as the letter had instructed. She took it out of her pocket, running her fingers over the thick stationary and the carved V in the broken seal.

She could barely remember the estate, an ancient stone mansion that seemed ridiculously opulent for the times, but she remembered seeing that V stamped into gates and stone work. There was no question of who owned the place and everyone in it.

The only member of the family she could recall was the patriarch, Eli Vane. He had found her hiding in the stables one day, and she would never forget her fear as his sharp eyes had looked down his nose at her. He was imposing and wore the kind of authority that could never be fabricated. He had sent the letter, and the tone with which it was written had left no room for argument.

Rosa put her feet up on the train chair opposite her and pouted in annoyance at the bleak scenery flashing passed her. She would go to Gwaed Lyn for her mother, but after that, she was leaving, even if she had to take on Eli Vane himself.

 

“Seat taken?” A voice asked, jolting Rosa out of her snooze.

“Argh, no sorry,” she mumbled, quickly brushing the seat down in case she had left any dirty boot marks.

When Rose woke up enough to study her companion she wondered why she bothered. The woman was filthy. Her long dress and coat were splattered with mud, smelling of dogs and camp smoke. She was holding an empty takeaway coffee cup filled with coins. If living in London had taught Rosa anything, it was to ignore beggars, but in an empty carriage, she found it impossible.

“Hey, I know you,” Rosa said with a smile. “You were the woman the other night who was trying to read my fortune.”

“Of course I am. Where are you traveling to?” the gypsy asked.

“Home, I suppose. My mother is unwell,” Rosa answered awkwardly.

“You only suppose it’s home?”

“It’s not my home exactly. My mother is the housekeeper for a rich family.”

“Which family?” the gypsy persisted rudely.

“You wouldn’t know them, they are the old money types,” Rosa said. “She works for the Vanes.”

“Gwaed Lyn.” The gypsy spat a ball of yellow phlegm on the train carriage floor.

“You know it then.”

“It’s a cursed place. You’re better off getting your mother out of there, girl. No wonder the dead are following you.” The carriage door slid open, and an inspector stepped through. He frowned at the gypsy.

“Tickets please,” he said firmly.

“Here’s mine,” Rosa said brightly and then pretended to fumble about in her pockets. “Just give one moment, and I’ll find my aunt’s ticket. I know I’ve got it here somewhere.”

“Your auntie, you say?”

“Of course, she is my Auntie,” Rosa laughed. “My forgetful auntie who loses her ticket all the time.”

The gypsy pulled out a Snickers wrapper and slapped it into the inspector’s hand. “Here’s my ticket,” she smiled up at him with dirty teeth.

The inspector turned the wrapper over and handed it back. “Everything seems to be in order. Have a pleasant trip, ladies.”

“How’d you do that?” Rosa asked once he had left the carriage.

“He’s an idiot and doesn’t see what’s right in front of him,” she replied with a huff. “You’ve got a kind heart, girl. Maybe that will be enough to shield you from that evil place.”

“Gwaed Lyn isn’t evil; it’s just full of self-indulgent rich people.”

The gypsy took off one of her dirty silver necklaces and pushed it into Rosa’s hand.

“You did me a good turn the other night, so now I repay the debt. Wear it, it’ll protect you,” she got to her feet. “Remember, girl, it’s not called The Blood Lake for nothing.”

Then she was gone, moving about the carriage shaking her cup, leaving Rosa holding the sticky pendant.

Hours later, Rosa got up to stretch her legs, the uneasy feeling in her chest growing the further north they traveled. In the tiny bathroom, she scrubbed the necklace with industrial pink hand wash. As she scrubbed, the ridges in the silver disc became the shape of a face surrounded by six wings. It was an odd trinket, but something in the gypsy’s eyes had unnerved her. Despite all the voices in her head telling her she was being a superstitious ninny, Rosa clipped the chain around her neck, tucking it into her sweater to sit cooly against her skin.

It was late afternoon by the time Rosa stepped off the warm train and into the freezing winds at Penrith. The working day had finished, and the station was packed with people and students staring at their phones. Standing soldier straight in the crowd was a tall man in a black suit and hat. He looked more like a bodyguard than a driver.

“Miss Wylt,” he rumbled, taking her carry bag. “I’m Caruthers, this way please.”

In the car park, he opened the back door of a black Mercedes. “You’ll find refreshments in the cooler bag should you require them.”

“Thank you,” Rosa said as he shut the door behind her. She settled into the deep seat as he moved silently through the streets and headed west on the A66 highway.

Rosa sensed her mother’s handiwork as she opened the cooler bag and found a flask of tea, sandwiches, and freshly baked ginger cookies. Rosa sipped on the herbal tea, relieved to wash the taste of watery train coffee from her mouth, and watched the sun go down. The radio was playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations, and she felt a fresh wave of exhaustion.

“We are here, Miss Wylt,” Caruthers announced jolting Rosa awake. A sense of dread settled on Rosa’s shoulders as the electric iron gates opened in front of them and they wound their way through a neatly manicured park lit by elegant lampposts.

Gwaed Lyn’s lights were glowing as it rose up in a stone fortress in front of them. The story was that a Vane ancestor had built it after their return from fighting in the Crusades. It was a monstrous, sprawling mansion of gray stone with four square towers. It had been renovated during the centuries in various stylistic whims of the Vane descendants, and now it looked like a neo-gothic castle, with a flare of art nouveau when it came to the more recent addition of the greenhouse. It was exactly how she remembered it, as if time had stopped completely.

Rosa could make out the hedges that hid the Wylt cottage, and further down the white road were the large stable yards. Caruthers drove around the back of the mansion, stopping at the kitchen service entrance and she climbed out into the cold twilight.

The forest had grown taller in her years away, and for a moment, Rosa’s nightmares came rushing back. Her mother called out as she waved excitedly from the top of the steps. She had aged, and Rosa felt another wave of guilt for not visiting sooner.

“Rosamund!” Cecily said warmly and wrapped her arms around her tightly, still smelling of lavender soap and Chanel perfume. “You look absolutely bone tired, but don’t worry, because I have food inside ready for you.”

“Hey Mama,” Rosa managed. She turned to thank Caruthers, but he was already back in the car, her bag beside her on the steps. “What a strange guy.” She shook her head.

“A man of few words is our Caruthers,” her mother chuckled. “Come on then, and I’ll show you around.”

Rosa turned to pick up her bags as a huge black horse broke through the trees, white gravel scattering as it hit the driveway. Its rider sat tall and broad in the saddle, moving easily with the galloping beast.

“Oh, don’t let him frighten you. That’s Mr. Balthasar coming back from his afternoon ride,” Cecily said, ducking her head politely as the rider slowed his horse to a walk. Rosa tried to remember a Vane called Balthasar, but her memory was stubbornly blank.

As he moved passed them, he touched the brim of his hat in an old-fashioned acknowledgment, and with a flash of a smile, he disappeared towards the stables leaving Rosa staring after him.

 

Like it so far? Preorder it here.

WYLT Preview – An Origin Faerie Tale

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For the first Wylt preview I thought I would share a faerie tale, found in an ancient book in the library of the Gwaed Lyn estate….

During the beginning of the world, the Great Creator God of the Aos Si fashioned night with a moon and stars to brighten the dark sky, forming the Guardians of the Night and naming them the Unseelie. All things must balance, so Day was created, and the sun was born with a brightness and a warmth to illuminate and nourish all of the Aos Si, and the Guardians of the Light were called Seelie. In Day, the Creator also crafted shade, dark places that could hold the balance.

It was foretold the world would move in four great seasons and that the rule of these seasons would fall to the Guardians accordingly. Summer would be ruled by the warm light of the Seelie, and the dark, cold winter would be ruled by the Unseelie. During the time of the autumn, the Seelie would slowly relinquish its power to the rule of the Unseelie, just as with the coming of the spring the Unseelie would relinquish its power back to the Seelie. This was the Great Accord, and during the First Cycle of Summer the Seelie thrived becoming stronger, more beautiful and their magic powerful. But with power also came corruption, and as the summer began to wane the Seelie Court started to despair at the weakening of their magic. It was not long before their voices were shouting their distrust and discontentment at having to relinquish their rule to their Unseelie brethren.

Autumn began to move through the lands, the green that the Seelie cherished so dearly began to turn to gold, red and brown. Furious that the Unseelie were taking their power a great war ensued breaking the land and soaking it in the blood of both sides of the Fae.

In the final days of the Last Battle, with both sides nearing extinction, the Seelie Queen created a spell that would have the power to hold the remaining power in her court forever. She convinced her King to hold a court with the Unseelie with the promise of a peaceful discussion to try and come to a new accord. Then, as the two kings sat down together, the Queen of the Seelie took her husband’s sword and slew them.

The Queen knew that all things must be balanced and mixing the power of the two kings, she cast her curse over all of the Aos Si. The seasons within the lands would move no longer, sealing it into an eternal autumn, making it so she would never have to relinquish her power to Unseelie kind.

The Unseelie King was survived by three sons; Bleddyn the eldest and the heir to the title of Seren Du, the Black Star, Trahaearn and Gwaen. Taken by the Seelie, they were made hostage slaves to the Autumn Queen. Unlike the other Unseelie kindred, the princes were fair to look upon, and as they grew their pale white skin, soft black hair and bright eyes became admired by the court and the Autumn Queen.

To all, the three seemed compliant and content in their situation. They never flinched at the sneers and insults dealt to them by their enemies or fought back when they were abused by the Queens consort, Ryn Eurion.

Deep in their hearts, the princes were dreaming of escape and none more so than the eldest, Bleddyn Seren Du. In their chambers at night, he would tell his young brothers stories of their kingdom and of the great land through the portals, a land where there was no war against them, where the Autumn Queen had no power or influence. Bleddyn practiced his father’s magic in secret, teaching his younger brothers the secret powers of their kind, how best to fight the Seelie, and all the while, he planned their escape.

Knowing that the only way to protect his brothers was to be above suspicion, Bleddyn set about earning the favor of the Autumn Queen. There had long been whispers around the court that the Queen’s appetites had become insatiable and distorted in her proclivities since the death of the King, many fearing to become the object of her desire. Bleddyn began to pay the Queen attention until at a ball, Ryn had men hold him down, and they beat him. Through the heavy blows, Bleddyn continued to watch the Queen, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise.

“Why do you not look away though you are beaten for it, insolent slave?” she asked on the fourth day.

“My glorious, Queen, how could my eyes look at anything else?” he replied. That night, instead of being dragged back to a cell, Bleddyn was taken to the Queen’s chambers. Dismissing her attendants, the Autumn Queen took the Unseelie prince into her milk baths and gently tended to his wounds. He watched her silently with the same intensity that he wore during his beatings.

“You do not fear me,” she said, “You do not fear pain or retribution.”

“No, my lady,” he answered as she ladled the healing milk over his battered body. Her white fingers dug into the bruises on his arms. His breath sucked in sharply but he did flinch or pull away from her. Her red lips curled.

“Do you find the pain exciting, Unseelie?” she asked lifting herself up so that he could see the beads of milk dripping down the sloping curves of her breasts. Bleddyn grabbed the Queen by her long white neck, pinning her to the stone wall of the bath.

“Do you?” he demanded.

The Autumn Queen’s eyes flashed in anger, and she struck him, her nails opening his pale skin. He did not move as the crimson drops of blood fell to mar the white milk. Bleddyn watched her, his body towering over hers and the anger in her eyes melted under the heat of her own desire. She kissed him, biting his lips in her eagerness. Bleddyn allowed it only a few moments until he held her back firmly.

“No.”

The Queen was shocked, her fury growing inside of her. “I am your queen. I own the very breath in your body.”

“But you do not own my heart or soul,” Bleddyn whispered in her ear. “And if you take me unwillingly you will never know the secret to the greatest pleasure that only the Unseelie can give you. It is dark magic, and it has never been given to a Seelie before. It is not something you can take like you took our lands. It must be given.”

Bleddyn walked from the pool, leaving the Queen wondering what the secret magic could be, for the only thing she really loved was power.

From that night the Autumn Queen forbid any of the Court from touching the Unseelie princes. They no longer had to wear the chains and slave collars around their necks and hands in the ballrooms. Bleddyn acted no differently from this special allowance only to bow to her in silent thanks on behalf of his brothers.

This act sparked malcontent in many subjects for the Unseelie princes were beautiful, unusual creatures that they had enjoyed using for whatever pleasure they saw fit. All were afraid of the older prince, but the Queen’s edict had robbed them of their treasured entertainment.

As he knew she would, the Queen summoned Bleddyn two nights later. She was wearing a fine gossamer shift that accentuated, rather than hid the nakedness underneath it. Her attendants were dismissed, leaving her alone with him once more.

“Come sit beside me,” she commanded.

“I would rather stand, my queen,” answered Bleddyn politely.

The Queen’s eyes flared. “You would deny me this one small thing after the great favor I have shown you?”

“I am grateful, my queen, but the chambers that Lord Ryn has locked us in are very cramped. We enjoy being able to stand properly when we can.”

The Queen’s red brow furrowed as she got to her feet and walked slowly about him. She snapped her fingers and his threadbare shirt melted away. Bleddyn did not move as she scraped her long nails down his back.

“Why do you resist me so much, dark one? Why do you hold yourself back from the pleasure I offer you?”

“I mean no disrespect but it is my awe of you that I must control myself. The Unseelie lovemaking is far more passionate than the Seelie and I would not wish to harm the queen for fear her wrath would turn to my brothers. It is a far better thing to resist what you offer.”

“I will not harm your brothers if you lay with me,” she said as she put her hand in his long, black hair, pulling it hard as she kissed him. His hands gripped her hips roughly, lifting her up. He carried her over to her bed of red silks, pushing her down onto it. Gripping the front of her shift, he tore it in half. He bit her breast hard enough for her to cry out in sudden pain. Bleddyn let her go and got back to his feet. A bruise was already blossoming like a purple autumn flower on her pale skin.

“I am sorry, my queen, but I cannot come to you as I am. You are the greatest queen in the entire world. I will not touch you with my soiled hands and body. It would be insulting to you.”

“You insult me by denying me,” the Queen said, touching the bruise, “but this last request I will grant you.”

The Unseelie princes were moved that very night to one of the finest chambers in her court. There they had servants bring them hot water for baths and new clothes of the finest silks and velvets. An elaborate meal was brought to them, and the princes ate well before hiding their knives in the folds of their clothes, listening as Bleddyn laid out his plans to them.

The next night, they went to the ball, the younger princes given free rights to roam where they pleased. Bleddyn danced with the Autumn Queen and made her laugh with his observances of the dour-faced courtiers. When she retired, she took Bleddyn’s hand openly in front of her advisors and led him to her chambers.

“I have given what you asked for, Unseelie, now give yourself to me as promised,” the Autumn Queen demanded.

Bleddyn took the knife he had stolen from the banquet dinner and held it against her chest. The Queen gasped as he ran the flat side of the cool blade down her skin.

“You mean to kill me, Unseelie?” the Queen asked, laughter bubbling out of her.

With a steady hand, he slid the blade down the front of her jeweled bodice and cut the ties one by one until her body spilled free from it. She tried to move, but he held the blade to her throat, stilling her as he kissed her breast through her thin undergarment. Two quick flicks of his hand and the shoulders of her gown tore away. A thin line of blood welled up where the blade had caught her, and he quickly put his mouth over it, drinking a drop of her blood before it healed. The Queen kissed him, viciously.

“Tell me what the Unseelie magic is,” she demanded breathlessly.

“Can you not feel the spell beginning to move through you?” Bleddyn asked as he ran the blade between her breasts, shredding the fabric and leaving a line of welling blood. Her back arched as he licked it, her eyes clouding, unseeing of the small cuts he was making in her. He cut the skirt of her dress to shreds, the Queen trembling with fear and excitement to be in the hands of her armed enemy. Wherever she felt the cold touch of the blade was followed by the sensation of his tongue until she was dizzy with need.

Bleddyn felt strength returning to his limbs, the magic in the blood filling him. With every cut, he grew stronger, and the Queen, caught up in her own desire, grew weaker.

Every moment he spent with her, his brothers were making their way to their agreed meeting place. Taking strips of her ruined dress, he tied her arms above her head, her legs to the posts of her bed.

“You mean to make a prisoner of me, Unseelie? I could burn these bonds with a thought,” she mocked.

“I would never want to imprison you, my Queen. My power is no match for yours,” he said as he ran his long body along hers, making her shudder with anticipation. He gripped her hair in his hands, lifting her pale white neck up toward him.

“Do you want to know want to know the secret magic of the Unseelie, my Queen?” he whispered against her skin.

“Yes…yes, my prince, tell me,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming.

“Then you shall have it,” Bleddyn watched her face change in fear as his teeth lengthened. Before she could cry out, he bit hard into her exposed throat, sucking the scream from it.

In her blood, he saw all the wards, the guards and the ways to escape their underground prison. He saw the spells she had cast, felt her magic in every drop. He saw memories and drew the one of the night of his father’s death to him. He saw how Ryn Eurion had killed his mother and delivered the heart to the queen. He watched as she ate it, stealing all of his mother’s magic into her.

He bit harder, his urge to kill more potent than anything he felt before but he saw the magical ties she had within the palace itself. If she died, it would turn against them and he and his brothers would never escape.

He drained her until all of the youth shriveled out of her and her true age was revealed. Red hair turned to white, her plump lips and body shriveling underneath him. A single drop of blood he left in her before he let the body go.

Upon the wall hung the sword of this dead father and Bleddyn held out his hands, whispered a word and Widow’s Fury flew from its bonds and into his hand. He heard it call out to him for Seelie blood but he silenced it and placed a glamour spell upon it so none of his enemies could see it. He did not spare the Queen a glance as he left her chambers.

“The Queen asked not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening,” he instructed her guards and they shared a knowing smile.

Under the gaze of the Seelie courtiers and warriors, Bleddyn walked through the halls of the court and he and his brothers escaped through the supply tunnels. Using the Queen’s magic, he passed through the wards until they ran out into the crystal night. So overwhelmed they were to see the sky and stars again that they stood in awe.

“Come, my brothers, our new world awaits,” Bleddyn said and they ran through forests to a doorway between the worlds. Not knowing where they were going or what lay before them the three brothers took each other’s hands and walked through the spaces of the world until they found the land of the creatures called Man.

They were free from the rule of the Autumn Queen but she did not die as Bleddyn had hoped. She recovered her strength and sent warriors in between the worlds to hunt and kill the Unseelie that evaded her and the prince that tricked her.

She hunts them to this day in her relentless pursuit to try to reclaim what was stolen from her: her pride, her dignity and her heart.

Liked this preview? Pre-order Wylt here 

Free Fantasy Book Promos on Instafreebie

Hello Everyone

I just want to drop a quick line to let you know that I have two Instafreebie promotions running over Christmas. As a writer, I highly recommend Instafreebie for promotions, they are easy to use and a lovely company to work with. As a reader I’m up to my  eyeballs in amazing new books thanks to them.

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Cry of the Firebird

A firebird hatches in the far corners of Russia, where gods still walk and magic slumbers, sparking a supernatural war that will tear the worlds apart.

Inspired by Finnish and Russian Mythology, ‘Cry of the Firebird’ is a noir paranormal series that brings to life the bloody fairy tales of the North in a new modern setting.

Born on the crossroads between worlds, Anya’s magic is buried under grief until one fateful night it causes a firebird to hatch on her farm. Through a twist of dark magic it is sharing its body with Yvan, an ancient prince from legend.

With Yvan’s dark magician brother Vasilli and other powerful enemies closing in around them, Anya has no choice but to sober up, follow Yvan into Skazki, the land of monsters and magic.

Find it here: https://www.instafreebie.com/free/Q9gh6

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The Eagle Key

In the spirit of “The Princess Bride,” “Stardust” and “Howl’s Moving Castle” comes a story of adventure, redemption, magic and the ever perilous True Love.

After a hasty wish on the Evening Star, pensioner Martha Brown finds a key with the power to open the heart of all that it touches. When the Eagle Key opens a door to Faerie Martha is spurred to action. Fuelled by her anger at growing old without any adventures at all, Martha packs her bags and heads into Faerie determined to find one.

Saved from a carnivorous rose bush by Greyfeather, a wanted criminal, blatant flirt and scoundrel, Martha agrees to give him the use of the Eagle Key in exchange for helping her navigate her way through the pitfalls of Faerie.

Find it here:
https://www.instafreebie.com/free/zT28x

Thanks

Amy xo

Stone Circles, Gothic Mansions and a Touch of the Fae

Hell0 Everyone

I kind of owe you all a update on the Land of Amy, a proper one, not just lots of stuff about exorcisms.

I’ve been super busy the last eight weeks getting together structural edits on the upcoming release called Wylt. It’s my about as close to a romance you guys will ever get from me and its book one of a new series. I’m not going to say too much about it just yet but I can tell that it involves the following:

  • Gothic Mansion
  • Ghosts
  • Plucky Heroine
  • Blood
  • The Fae (not the nice kind)
  • Family drama
  • Stone circles
  • Welsh Myth

Also, I am completely in love with it. I know it’s kind of narcissistic to admit it but I am. I finished its sequel Blaise in July. For those who have read The Firebird Fairytales yes, THAT Blaise.  I’ve always been a classic gothic genre junkie so I’m really excited that I’m finally going to release something…especially mashed up with a bit of Welsh myth. It’s in cover design at the moment so really can’t wait to see how it turns out.

In other news, I’m winding down one semester of uni (publishing – don’t get me started how disappointed I am in it) and winding up for another (The Dead Sea Scrolls – dying of excitement) so I am a bit hit and miss.

I am doing NaNoWriMo officially this year for the first time. I’m okay on a writing challenge but November is always an odd, busy month for me so I’m plugging away on the new WIP. It’s about an exorcist that lives in Melbourne and is like an unofficial prequel to a Mychal book (yeah that Mychal). This is why you are seeing all the random exorcist articles on the blog. I’m re-blogging so I can mostly find them again and keep track on various chunks of research. So far it’s a rather random book. I am moving between really liking it and being really worried about it. More so than I think any other book I’ve written. I’m about 35k words in. We’ll see how it turns out by the end of the month.

What else? I’ve been watching some amazing TV at the moment, but the ones that have been really rocking my story teller boat are:

  • AMC Preacher. (quality watching. Weird. Awesome. Violent and the best kind of wrong).
  • Fox’s The Exorcist (so effin good, pacing is on point every single episode).
  • HBO Westworld (oh man, this show needs its own Blog. Seriously so many questions. Anthony Hopkins at his finest.)
  • BBC America Dirk Gently (adapted from Douglas Adams books. Delightfully weird. Tight script writing.)

What else?

I’m worried about America. It’s like a dependable sibling has gone bat shit fucking cuckoo banana pants and humming in a faintly cult vibe of sheer madness. Patrick Rothfuss has a good blanket fort solution. I highly recommend that.

I’ll let you know when I have release dates on Wylt. You’ll get some teaser snippets and other treats, I am going to try and get a promotions only newsletter up and running soon too.

Stay safe in your blanket forts peeps

Amy

The Blessing of Dark Things

Twitter can be the unexpected giver of delightful gifts and random connections. A fortnight ago I saw a photo shared by Laini Taylor of a parcel she’d received containing a copy of Dark Things by urban fantasy writer Sukanya Venkatraghavan. I read the back cover of the photo and thought ‘Gosh, that sounds like my cup of tea.’

Oh how little I knew what I was about to discover:

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Somewhere on Prithvi, a mortal survives a supernatural attack. In the dark realm of Atala, an evil goddess prepares to do the unspeakable. And a Yakshi finds herself at the heart of an other-worldly storm.

Ardra has only known life as a Yakshi, designed to seduce and kill men after drawing out their deepest, darkest secrets for her evil mistress Hera, queen of the forsaken realm of Atala. Then, on one strange blood moon night, her victim, Dwai, survives, and her world spins out of control. Now Ardra must escape the wrath of Hera, who is plotting the unthinkable, ready to throw the universe into chaos.

To stop Her, Ardra must find answers to questions she hasn’t dared to ask before. What is the significance of the blood moon? Do Gandharvas and Apsaras exist or are they as much a myth as the sky city of Aakasha? Who is the mysterious Dara and what makes Dwai impervious to her powers?

Combining fantasy with the rich tapestry of folklore, Dark Things is a strange fairytale wrought of intrigue and enchantment, of shadows and secrets, of evil and those who battle it.

For starters I know surprisingly little about Indian mythology and this book ties in a lot of different myth tales. My ignorance of the root stories added to my intense enjoyment of the reading. As you all know myths and folk tales are my passion so to be able to be drawn into something so new was a continuous source of wonder.

I’ve started talking (argh fan girling) Sukanya on Twitter who much to my delight has become my spirit guide of book recommendations and an advice giver on where to start wading into the rich and varied world of Indian folklore. Its opening up new worlds and ideas for me which my story teller heart is feeding off like a Yakshi on a secret (see what I did there).

Alright, back to Dark Things.

Those of us who read a lot of paranormal fiction know there is an ocean of succubus books out there. To set the record straight this story is on a whole different level. It’s not simply a book about a succubus who rebels against her maker, or falls in love with a human, or fights to stop a terrible tyrant. It’s a story thats focal point is stories and the power of secrets.

A concept that really spoke to me in the story is that of the Untellable Secret- something that if spoken the hearer and the teller are never the same again. As someone who has carried the burden of such a thing I know the gravity of the secret that binds Ardra, Dara, Hera and other characters together. Some secrets leave a stain, they shape who and what we are and what we become. Once told they are like a drop in the ocean and you can’t stop the ripple effect they have. It is also a story of memories of things lost but not forgotten. I’ve got strong memories linked to frangipani flowers so this symbol within the story also really spoke to me and helped set the scene.

As I read Sukanya’s words I felt like someone with a kindred spirit was telling me a story over tea (black, strong and floral). “Listen up Know it All,” Sukanya says to me,”I’m going to tell you something that you’ve never heard before so be quiet, pay attention and try and keep up.” It’s presumptuous of me, I know, but all I could think was; Finally, here is someone who really gets it, who believes in the power of storytelling and the old tales, who will understand what I’m trying really hard to do…we want to write the new myths. The kind of stories that tease the back of your imagination because they feel like they are a story you once knew and have forgotten. They aren’t the kind of stories where everyone gets out alive, where the lovers are always triumphant or the heroes don’t pay a massive price for being a hero.

There is a deep melancholy sense of loss in Dark Things…all the characters feel it on some level. They don’t want to be the heroes but they are the only ones that can be.

After I finished reading it I knew I was going to suffer from the worst book hangover. I cleaned the house as cleaning is when I work out the messy problems in my brain. I’m melancholy. I’m undone. I’m hardcore in love with a Gandharva. I fear for the next book I pick up because I know that whatever it is I’m going to be disappointed. It’s not it’s fault.

I don’t think I’m writing this review very well because I know I haven’t finished processing. I know there are things I’ve missed and I’m going to have to re-read it again in a few months time so I can appreciate the finer flourishes. It’s hard to find an urban fantasy book with such complex storytelling.

Okay, I’m going, but I’m going to leave you with my favourite paragraph of the book, from an enchanted Forest of Fireflies:

“A story is only as true as you believe it to be,” said Dara. “A myth is only as wondrous as the imagination of the people who pass it down through the ages. I don’t know if the story of the sun, moon and stars is true. I don’t know if the stars were once cold, in a time before time was even born; I don’t know if the Sun pines for the Old Moon, my mother. But I know this – the universe is full of strange,beautiful stories, some untellable, some forgotten, and some written in a language that nobody can read, not even the Gods. These stories exist because the universe does, and the universe blazes on because these stories keep it alive. You and me, are the stories. We live and so does the universe. One does not exist without the other.”