Sunday, September 22, 2013

Eight Days To Go!

Long time, no chat. Sorry about that. Blogger and I have been having a running battle over whether it was going to actually post what I put on the page. Lots of things to report.

"Catching The Hunter" will now be released on October 1st. It was pushed back a bit and to be honest, I wasn't sure we were going to be ready to go by then, either, because I just barely got my final approvals on Thursday. They are done and off to the publisher, so Tuesday of next week is doable. It's also available for pre-order. For those who prefer to use Amazon or B&N, the wait's going to be a it longer, as my publisher usually has a slight lag going out to third party distributors. However, if you buy it directly from, you will get a 10% discount between now and October 8th. They do sell it in any format and it will open in your e-reader's native browser just fine.

Here's a close-up of that cover:

Next bit of news, I will participating in a month-long blog thingy, celebrating October, Halloween and all things spooky. My post date will be October 5th. I will be contributing a deleted scene for my bit 'o flash fiction. I can't tell you what the scene is because that would be an inexcusable spoiler and authors really shouldn't spoil the surprise. But tune in to the blog on the 5th and you'll get a peek and a chance to win a $5 gift card.

Last but certainly not least, a snippet!


One last good hunt, Connor groused as he watched the wealthy and bored of the realm fill the courtroom below. Was it too much to ask for one last good hunt before I die?
He had seen much and done more. He was tired. He was apathetic with every part of his life. Connor suspected Conchobar, the spirit brother he shared a body with, was going insane with nothing to hold their interest. Human spirits did not seem to be as content to live long pointless lives as elfin ones, much to Connor’s dismay.
Since Faolchu, the high lord of the hunt, had delegated him to escorting prisoners rather than leading a hunting party, it was a good bet he had noticed the change in behavior, as well. It wouldn’t be long before someone, probably Faolchu himself, came in the middle of the night to put the mad dog down. An insane hunt lord was a scary thing indeed.
Connor understood and even agreed. It would have been nice to have one last good hunt, though. Let them remember him as a warrior rather than a mad dog, too long at the tooth to be of use to anyone and too dangerous to let live.
As he watched, the two mountain elves he had brought to Bhaithcreig in shackles were led in. They had not exactly been tidy when he turned them over to the Citadel guards, but now they looked like they had been rolling in mud. He shook his head, not able to bring himself to care what they looked like. All I wanted was one last good hunt, he thought. Instead, I get to play gaoler.
The soft murmuring began to grow as the would-be spectators noticed the prisoners, distracting him from his silent moping. A snippet here and a whisper there let Connor know that most everyone was pretending to pity the young crown prince while they gossiped behind fans and raised hands. It was Lucan’s mate who had been maimed and nearly killed, and one of the conspirators was Lucan’s own father.
No one felt any real sympathy, though. Lucan Hawk’s sarcastic tongue and stormy disposition ensured he was respected and feared but not loved by anyone but his mate and his brothers-in-arms, the lords of the hunt. Connor and the other hunt lords felt no pity, either, only rage on behalf of their younger brother and bemused respect for his mate for surviving an assassination attempt that should have killed her. Lucan may be a crown prince now, but he would always be counted as one of them. There was no point in pitying the strong.
“Excuse me, milord,” a cool, low voice murmured from behind him. Connor looked over his shoulder, raked his gaze over the speaker disdainfully and then turned back to the spectacle at hand, dismissing her before she’d really registered in his mind. She was a servant of some kind, forest elf by the looks of her. He wasn’t interested in delaying his return to the hunt and her kind was usually looking to convince a buck to do just that.
“Milord?” she repeated insistently. “May I have a moment of your time?”
He heaved a sigh meant to show her his annoyance and then turned away from the stone railing he had been leaning on. The whole point of coming up to the highest balcony was to be left alone. He was amused when he realized she wasn’t intimidated by his theatrics. He lifted one eyebrow, not willing to give up the game completely quite yet.
The game quickly turned to a battle of wills when she said nothing, waiting for him to verbally acknowledge her. Silly chit, didn’t she realize that as a shifter lord—an eight-hundred-year-old wild lord of the hunt, at that—he would rather chew off a limb than lose a dominance contest?
She was cute, he realized suddenly. He looked her over more carefully. She was tall for a female, the top of her head coming only to his chin. She had the slender build typical of forest elves with sharp, prominent cheekbones, a firm jaw, and slightly larger than normal brown eyes. Her features, combined with her peaches and crème complexion, made her almost look like a pixie.
He turned back and looked down into the hall and watched the trial unfold with only half an eye, his attention now focused on the female.

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