This fortnight, it is my pleasure to welcome Erica Hayes, with A Bite of... her latest novel Demon Chained.
Can you, in less than five words, describe your book?
Reanimated gangster vs. feisty djinni.
It's a grown-up Warm Bodies, with fairies, and demons… It has m/m and m/f elements. Oh, and I promise: no body parts fall off. No zombies were harmed in the making of this book.
What inspired you to write it?
Well, y'know. Everyone says dead guys can't be sexy. Challenge accepted *grin*
You had me a Djinni, I'm hooked already!
So without further ado, here's the excerpt!
Cautiously, I wiped blood from my throat, smearing my choker. My pulse thrummed under my fingers. My throat swelled, tense. I didn't know what to say, how to calm him down. "Are you—"
"That asshole murdered my daughter." His voice was toneless, soft, and on the last word it cracked, but he didn't lower his pistol.
Great. I'd stumbled into a personal vendetta. Still, my heart melted. I knew how much it hurt to lose the one you loved. I'd even have felt sorry for this guy, if he wasn't aiming a gun at my face.
He stepped closer. I backed off, only to bruise my shoulder blades against the wall. I smelled sweat, piss, something else not quite fresh, and my mouth watered. A ripe smell, but any smell was chocolate cake tonight.
I swallowed. "Put the gun away, all right? I didn't mean anything."
Very smooth, Jewel. For a girl who persuades for a living, you've got a rotten line in wheedle-the-crazyman. I tried to spark my magic again, searching for a glimmer of persuasion to ward him off.
But nothing ignited. My blood slithered cold like a snake in my veins. So many years in my lamp, not casting a single spell. What if I was broken?
What if I couldn't survive alone?
He slapped his palm into the wall beside my head. His gun hovered inches from my face. I jerked back. My skull smacked the metal. I didn't want him to touch me, not with a weapon in his hand and that unsettling smell so strong. But I couldn't help noticing he'd be damn fine, if he'd only take a shower. Exotic. Strong cheekbones, curvy lips, hot dark eyes with a hint of oriental mystery, acres of long straight hair just perfect for trailing over me if it wasn't thick with dirt.
His body wasn't half bad either, despite the weird pearlescent sheen on his skin. Lickable body art, inked black thorns curling over his bunched biceps and down the inside of his forearm. Strip him off, soap him up, rinse him off . . . mmm. My skin puckered into stinging goose bumps, and delicious remnants of my arousal sparked.
Did I mention that bad men are my weakness?
I could have smoked out of there, left him to his dark revenge games. But something about his steely determination stopped me. I felt like he deserved more than my cowardice. More than just some broad who waltzes in, ruins his day and vanishes in a puff of screw-you.
I tried again. "Look, I know how you feel. I'm sorry."
"You know nothing." He leaned closer, muscles straining, and the fleshy smell intensified. Not perfume, nothing artificial or tacky. Just him, hot and male and delicious. I gritted my teeth as he prodded the cold metal barrel into my chin. I wanted him to do it harder, to feel my soft skin bruise. I wanted to kick him in the face for threatening me.
His chest hitched, like he gulped a breath, and his black gaze burned sweet acid trails over my cheekbone, my jaw, my mouth.
I shivered, and tried not to let him see it, clenching my thighs immobile. I'd expected rage, sarcasm, violence. Not this.
He looked like I felt. Deprived. Ravenous. Desperate.
Can you, in less than five words, describe your book?
Reanimated gangster vs. feisty djinni.
It's a grown-up Warm Bodies, with fairies, and demons… It has m/m and m/f elements. Oh, and I promise: no body parts fall off. No zombies were harmed in the making of this book.
What inspired you to write it?
Well, y'know. Everyone says dead guys can't be sexy. Challenge accepted *grin*
You had me a Djinni, I'm hooked already!
So without further ado, here's the excerpt!
Cautiously, I wiped blood from my throat, smearing my choker. My pulse thrummed under my fingers. My throat swelled, tense. I didn't know what to say, how to calm him down. "Are you—"
"That asshole murdered my daughter." His voice was toneless, soft, and on the last word it cracked, but he didn't lower his pistol.
Great. I'd stumbled into a personal vendetta. Still, my heart melted. I knew how much it hurt to lose the one you loved. I'd even have felt sorry for this guy, if he wasn't aiming a gun at my face.
He stepped closer. I backed off, only to bruise my shoulder blades against the wall. I smelled sweat, piss, something else not quite fresh, and my mouth watered. A ripe smell, but any smell was chocolate cake tonight.
I swallowed. "Put the gun away, all right? I didn't mean anything."
Very smooth, Jewel. For a girl who persuades for a living, you've got a rotten line in wheedle-the-crazyman. I tried to spark my magic again, searching for a glimmer of persuasion to ward him off.
But nothing ignited. My blood slithered cold like a snake in my veins. So many years in my lamp, not casting a single spell. What if I was broken?
What if I couldn't survive alone?
He slapped his palm into the wall beside my head. His gun hovered inches from my face. I jerked back. My skull smacked the metal. I didn't want him to touch me, not with a weapon in his hand and that unsettling smell so strong. But I couldn't help noticing he'd be damn fine, if he'd only take a shower. Exotic. Strong cheekbones, curvy lips, hot dark eyes with a hint of oriental mystery, acres of long straight hair just perfect for trailing over me if it wasn't thick with dirt.
His body wasn't half bad either, despite the weird pearlescent sheen on his skin. Lickable body art, inked black thorns curling over his bunched biceps and down the inside of his forearm. Strip him off, soap him up, rinse him off . . . mmm. My skin puckered into stinging goose bumps, and delicious remnants of my arousal sparked.
Did I mention that bad men are my weakness?
I could have smoked out of there, left him to his dark revenge games. But something about his steely determination stopped me. I felt like he deserved more than my cowardice. More than just some broad who waltzes in, ruins his day and vanishes in a puff of screw-you.
I tried again. "Look, I know how you feel. I'm sorry."
"You know nothing." He leaned closer, muscles straining, and the fleshy smell intensified. Not perfume, nothing artificial or tacky. Just him, hot and male and delicious. I gritted my teeth as he prodded the cold metal barrel into my chin. I wanted him to do it harder, to feel my soft skin bruise. I wanted to kick him in the face for threatening me.
His chest hitched, like he gulped a breath, and his black gaze burned sweet acid trails over my cheekbone, my jaw, my mouth.
I shivered, and tried not to let him see it, clenching my thighs immobile. I'd expected rage, sarcasm, violence. Not this.
He looked like I felt. Deprived. Ravenous. Desperate.
Thank you so much for sharing Erica...
Hosting A Bite Of... is so bad for my TBR pile!
If you'd like to buy Demon Chained, or check out what Erica is up to lately, you can find her at the links below!
Buy Links
~~~
Lovely excerpt, Erica. Really enjoyed it.
ReplyDeleteEeep!!!! I can't wait to read this one! :D
ReplyDelete{waves} thanks for visiting, ladies :)
ReplyDelete