Category: Shifters, Weres

New Release Tour for Sins of the Son (Arcadia Trust, #3) by Christian Baines (excerpt and giveaway)

Sins of the Son (Arcadia Trust #3) by Christian Baines

Expected publication: January 20th 2019

Buy Link:  Amazon

 

Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is happy to host Christian Baines on tour with his latest novel, Sins of the Son.  Welcome, Christian.

 

SINS OF THE SON Blog Tour #3: Sloth

WHAT’S TAKING SO LONG? ARE YOU EVEN WRITING? HELLO?

Welcome to day three of my Sins of the Son blog tour. Thanks for joining me, and thanks so much to Melanie and the team at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words for hosting me today – where the theme is… sloth.

Yes, I know. Sloth? Others get exciting sins like wrath, envy, pride, and lust. I get sloth? Really, Christian?

Okay, I know sloth might not seem like the most exciting sin, but besides being a favourite sin of many (you know who you are), I decided to make this the ‘sloth’ post in honour of a question Melanie asked me in an interview about the last Arcadia Trust book, The Orchard of Flesh about the lengthy time span between books in the series. It’s usually a couple of years between Arcadia Trust books, which is slow compared to romance authors who put out a new release every few months, or even those ‘Big 5’ authors faithfully putting out one book a year.

First off, I want to promise you it’s not sloth! I’m attaching this topic to today’s theme in jest. But just in case anyone thinks I’m being mean or sitting on my hands, making my readers wait, I promise you, I’m not. I’m always working on something, even if it’s not an Arcadia Trust book. I love these books and these characters. If you like paranormal and want an introduction to my work that’s easy to get into and comes with a romantic streak, start with them. But I also love weirder, more experimental work, which has led me to do books like Puppet Boy and Skin. My current WIP also isn’t an Arcadia Trust book (though work on book 4 in the series is on the way).

When The Beast Without came out, that was my first introduction to the MM romance world. The book itself is a weird fit to that world, because while romance is an important part of its story, it doesn’t really follow romance beats and tropes, so I don’t sell it as a ‘romance’ novel. It’s urban fantasy with some male/male action. Possibly love. That’s it. No false advertising here. One of the things that hit me on entering this world was seeing the speed at which some authors pumped out new releases. Every four months, three months, or even less. I had no idea if this was ‘normal’ in romance world, but it was kind of intimidating. While I tapped away on the second Arcadia Trust book and Puppet Boy at the same time, I started to wonder how I was going to keep up. Did I have to keep up? Would people just forget about me if more than a year passed between releases?

When a friend reached out, asking if I had any short stories or other material that his publisher could take a look at, I bit. I spruced up a story I’d been playing with as an erotic short, gave it an ending I sort of liked and sent it off. To my astonishment, the publisher accepted it, and I had a contract, cover, and editor within a few days.

I like that short. I think it’s the beginnings of a great story. But it had no business going out into the big bad world on its own. It was like a short film that’s really just a teaser for producers you hope will invest in a feature. Yet the pull to produce something and keep my name out there was so strong, I felt compelled to release it. Critics were… confused, to say the least. I’m not embarrassed by it. It’s a good story. But it was also a valuable lesson that rapid-fire releases aren’t for me.

Anyone who seems to write and publish at lightning speed (and there are some fakes, but most just develop a solid habit of working quickly – I recommend L A Witt’s book Writing Faster FTW) will tell you

is that there is no good or bad speed at which to write. The ‘right’ speed is the one that allows each book you put out to be as good as it can be.

So what takes so long with the Arcadia Trust books? Planning. Insane amounts of plotting and planning.

The Arcadia Trust is essentially a serial. I make each one self-contained enough that a new reader can pick it up and get a complete narrative, but they will find references to a plot that unfolds over several books. If you’ve read either of the previous Arcadia trust books, you know my protagonist, Reylan, has a soft spot for troubled young men. The one he meets in Sins of the Son however, bears a startling resemblance to a lost friend. Reylan also receives help from an unexpected new ally. Or has Iain Grieg been in the picture longer than Reylan knows?

When writing a series, I try to drop hints, Easter eggs, veiled clues ,references to other books… anything I think will make it fun for loyal readers. That means knowing what’s going on in behind doors 1, 2, 4, and 5 while your camera is fixed and rolling on door number 3. Working out interesting ways to reveal that to the reader without switching point-of-view or spoiling whatever mystery you’re building. Having a character who subtly influenced events in book one come back to bring their plan to fruition later. It’s fun, and it forces you to dive deep, knowing your characters so well you can follow their actions and thoughts the whole time they’re ‘off-screen.’

And it’s time consuming for the author to keep it all clear and easy for a reader to follow. But it’s worth it, I think, for both reader and author, particularly in this genre.

In Sins of the Son, things are gearing up in the Arcadia Trust universe. The background players are emerging from the shadows and making their agendas known. Reylan and other characters you know and love have more at stake than their own safety and happiness. In short, Sins of the Son is where it all changes and things start to get real for the night-time denizens of Sydney.

I promise it was worth the wait.

GIVEAWAY: WIN your choice of one e-book edition of either of the first two Arcadia Trust novels, The Beast Without or The Orchard of Flesh. NEXT: Which trope keeps coming back to raise the WRATH of LGBTQs? Find out at Queer Sci-Fi on January 20, release day for Sins of the Son.

Blurb

Abandoned by his werewolf lover, the only thing Reylan wants is to return to his vampire life of blood and beautiful boys. It’s a solid plan, until his first meal as a single man tries to kill him.

Hoping to free his young would-be assassin from the religious zealots that sent him, Reylan enlists the help of Iain Grieg, a charismatic priest with unsettling knowledge of the night’s secrets.

Surrounded by conflicting agendas and an army fuelled by hate, Reylan fights to secure his future, if he can only trust the mysterious priest and bury the ghosts of the past.

Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy

Release date: January 20, 2019

Series: The Arcadia Trust #3

Setting: Sydney, Australia

Length: 282 pages

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Excerpt

I ducked in time to avoid the stake that shattered the glass cabinet behind me. When I looked up, my young attacker was already closing in, a shining blade in each hand. Balancing my weight on the kitchen counter, I pushed my feet hard into his chest. A blade nicked my ankle. I leapt upon my target and pushed him the floor, gripping his chin and pinning his right shoulder.

He blindsided me across the jaw with the dull edge of the other blade, breaking my hold.

I staggered, sizing up the left-handed assassin. Narrowly avoiding his weapon as he lunged again, I grabbed hold of his hair and threw him into my dining table with a crash.

I clapped a firm hand over his mouth, muffling his cries as I slammed his left wrist against the table, forcing him to drop the knife. The blade in his opposite hand flashed as he struck out with it.

I yanked him off his feet and dragged him across the floor before he could find his mark. Ignoring muffled roars of protest, I buried my teeth in his shoulder, puncturing through his flimsy mesh vest. His youth, his anger, his alarmingly good health, all brought such a warmth and sweetness to…

The foul taste of bitter roots spoiled the stream. Poison. I shoved the boy away, spitting rancid blood over his face. When he came at me again, I used his momentum to topple him into the living room. I snatched up the knife he’d left on the kitchen table and trained it on him as he regained his feet.

The boy had to have known the true nature of his prey. Why else would he lead with a wooden stake, knowing he was far outclassed for natural speed and strength? Or was he?

He lunged again, this time happily using his right hand. Was he ambidextrous? I couldn’t tell, not while ducking his blows. He kicked me in the gut before pivoting his back foot up and into my chest.

I dropped to the floor just in time to sweep his legs out from under him. His forehead glanced off one of the side tables, though this didn’t stop him from grabbing the lamp and throwing it at me with a force that plunged the room into darkness. I caught his weight as he came at me again, spinning him into the living room, bound for a set of shelves which splintered and collapsed, spilling their contents and my attacker to the floor. He sprang to his feet and snatched up a piece of broken wood.

Contrary to the myths of horror fiction, it would take more than a splinter of wood through the heart to kill me outright. I was not, however, in a rush to be paralysed, nor left unconscious at the mercy of whatever lethal objects remained in the boy’s backpack. The one he’d collected from the club’s cloakroom, that he’d so adamantly held onto when I’d offered to carry it. The one he’d taken with him, when he’d retreated to my bathroom to change.

Did I have to start bag checking my trade now?

He sliced the air before me with his knife, following it up with a staking attempt. I grabbed his knife-wielding hand, but he twisted his arm out of reach, nicking my hand in the process. I licked the wound as I backed off, kicking away a broken cat figurine from the rubble that had once been my bookshelves.

“Alright, you little bastard,” I muttered under my breath. “Are we going to talk, or does this get nasty?”

“Maledetto.” He raised the stake once more.

“Excuse me?”

“Maledetto!” He cried, striking out at me.

I ducked to avoid it only to have the hand holding the knife slam into my jaw. I barely realised I’d been faked out before the stake plunged into my chest, missing my heart by inches. Choking down the pain that shot through my entire body, I caught the boy’s arm before he could slice my throat. Not that that would have killed me either, but to quote a wise and much underrated human expression, that which does not kill me still stings like a bitch.

About the Author

Christian Baines has written on travel, theatre, film, television, and various aspects of gay life, factual and fictional. Some of his stranger thoughts have spawned novels, including queer urban fantasy series The Arcadia Trust, the horror novella Skin, and Puppet Boy, which was a finalist for the 2016 Saints and Sinners Emerging Writer Award. Born in Australia, he now travels the world whenever possible, living, writing, and shivering in Toronto, Canada on those odd occasions he can’t find his passport.

Web: http://www.christianbaines.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/christianbainesauthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/xtianbaines

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7024194.Christian_Baines

Giveaway

The author is offering an e-book of either The Beast Without or The Orchard of Flesh to one winner.at each blog stop. To enter to win, leave a comment along with a email address where you can be reached if chosen.  Must be 18 years of age or older to enter.

A Caryn Review: Trysts and Burning Embers (Lijun #2) By Freddy MacKay & Angel Martinez

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

I have to say, this series is growing on me, and though I still have issues with some of the writing, the pacing, and am still getting bogged down in the unfamiliar Japanese elements of the book, I am now in that happy/unhappy limbo of being so completely immersed in a story that when I reached the end of the book I just wanted to get to the next one NOW!!  The ending of this one was incredibly sweet and satisfying – even though the forces trying to bring down the Bastille clan are just as strong and mysterious as ever…

At the end of Fireworks and Stolen Kisses, Haru and Tally were married, and had become parents of 3 orphaned opossum lijun children.  They were just starting to understand and trust each other, Haru was gaining the respect of the Bastille clan, and was coming to understand the American culture as Tally was learning how Haru’s traditionalist upbringing informed his actions and thoughts.  Tally was cautiously hopeful that he was breaking through Haru’s walls, and all he needed was time and patience and his em’halafi would grow to love him as Tally loved Haru.

Time, unfortunately, was something they were not to have.

Although most of the elements that set up the conflict in this book were introduced in the first of the series, there were some new ones that were a little jarring.  There were extremely dark elements of Haru’s past introduced (although not exactly explicitly, so there is still a little revelation that may come later) that I truly did not pick up on in the last book, so I wonder if the authors created them after the first book was written.  The plot also took a decidedly violent turn that I did not expect, and though it was shocking, from that point on I could hardly set the book down – prior to that point, it was moving really slowly, to the point that I might have DNF’ed it had I not committed to the review.

I think what engaged me so much in this book was the focus on how Tally and Haru continued to function in the limbo of excruciating waiting after the initial tragedy and violence.  It was truly heart-wrenching.  In so many action novels, the characters are moving so quickly from one event to the next that they never have the chance to react and absorb what just happened.  Tally had spent his entire life learning to temper the extremely threatening power of his Uktena (snake) nature with restraint in order to fulfill his role as leader of the clan in a way that fostered trust and cooperation.  Violence had become anathema to him, so his reaction was as much bewilderment as it was grief.  Watching Tally find the balance between violence and restraint in response to the threats to his family was also fascinating to read.  At the end of the book, I might have been a little frustrated with Haru, but Tally was my hero.

The cast of characters is still quite large, but seemed a little more comprehensible in this book than they did the first.  I felt like I finally had them all straight, which was a definite improvement over the first book!  And though the players and the setting are much more defined than they were at the end of the first book, there is still a wide scope of possibility for the next one.  Which I am anxiously looking forward to reading now!  Overall, a slow start, but well worth the time to read this second installment of an epic series.

Cover art by Emmy@studioenp uses the same models from the first book of the series, but the poses have a deeper meaning this time.  The models are still excellent representations of Tally and Haru.

Sales Links: Pride Publishing | Amazon

Book Details:

ebook, 1, 444 pages
Published November 20th 2018 by Pride Publishing
Original Title Trysts and Burning Embers (Lijun, #2)
ISBN 139781786516978
Edition Language English
Series Lijun #2

Love Shifters and Romance? Check out Ta Weezo’s Blues by Layla Dorine (excerpt and giveaway)

Title: Ta Weezo’s Blues

Author: Layla Dorine

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 24800

Genre: Paranormal, college, professor, student, shapeshifter, teacher’s pet, poet, author, ferret shifter

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Synopsis

Sabre never had any intentions of becoming the teacher’s pet. In fact, most of his school years have been spent trying to avoid attention. The scar that mars his cheek has made him wary of strangers, their questions and prying eyes leave him feeling exposed in ways he’s uncomfortable with. Accustomed to blending in, he lurks around the shadows in the back of classrooms, turning in exemplary work but rarely taking part in discussions.

Professor Locklear’s Native lit class is different though. Sabre’s interest in the subject matter, coupled with a dedicated scholar’s need to turn in the best work possible, leads him to seek out a more advanced reading list, much to the delight of Professor Locklear. When he comes across Sabre reading material beyond even the advanced list, Professor Locklear invites on a fieldtrip to a nearby village. Along the way he learns more than just the knowledge contained in the books. He learns about trust and discovers that there are others out there just like him— shapeshifters.

What he believed was an individual anomaly turns out to be something beyond legend and lore, a whole different culture he’d never known existed. The only way he can move forward is to let his shields down long enough to trust the man whose conversations he’s come to enjoy, but to do that, he’ll have to stop distancing himself from everyone.

Excerpt

Ta Weezo’s Blues
Layla Dorine © 2018
All Rights Reserved

The hallway smelled of old dust and coconut curry, setting Sabre’s stomach growling as he trudged the last few feet to Professor Locklear’s door. Instinctively, he pulled his hood low, casting a shadow over his eyes, and with practiced ease, he swept his hair forward. It would have to do. Sucking in a deep breath, he counted to five before letting it out slowly, then licked his lips, and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

The voice was slightly muffled by the wood that Sabre partially shoved open, only enough to poke his head in about halfway.

“Excuse me, professor, do you have a minute?”

Sabre kept his head angled, watching Professor Locklear out of the corner of his eye. Several moments passed before his professor stopped writing and placed the pen beside his notebook, raised his head, adjusted his glasses, checked the clock, and then brushed a stray strand of hair back from where it had fallen over one eye.

“I have a few, so you might as well come in. No sense hovering half in and half out of the doorway.”

Sabre shuffled forward, carefully keeping his eyes lowered as much as possible.

“So, what can I help you with? Are you in one of my classes?”

“Yes sir, I’m in your ten o’clock Introduction to Native Literature class.”

“Ahh, you must be the one who sits in the corner by the emergency exit, where it’s nice and dark. I have to admit, when you first chose that spot, I assumed you were looking for a place to nap, but you’ve since proved me wrong. Whenever I look your way, you’re focused intently on me or the power point.”

“Yes, sir. I enjoy the material and some of the discussions are pretty fascinating.”

“Really? In that case, why is it that you’ve never taken part in any of them?”

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Sabre carefully contemplated the question before responding. “I try to let my papers speak for me. I’m bad at public discourse. I get tongue-tied and trip over words or end up being so hesitant that people talk over me. When I’m writing, I can organize my thoughts and present a more complete analysis of what I’ve read.”

“Sounds as if you are extremely self-aware. Not a common trait these days, I’m afraid. Still, if you feel you have something to add to a conversation, then I hope you won’t refrain from doing so, er… I’m sorry. You’ll have to help me out with your name.”

“It’s Sabre.”

“Ahh, yes, one of the more unique ones this year. You’re right; your papers are remarkably organized, well thought out and quite complex in their reasoning. I must admit, you’ve had me rereading a few things I haven’t gone through in years just to understand why you’ve presented some of your comparisons in the manner in which you’ve organized them.”

Sabre grinned, a surge of pride rushing through him. “Thank you. That’s actually why I stopped by. I was wondering if you had any books you could recommend, similar to the required material for the course. I’ve finished reading everything on the syllabus, plus the referred texts I came across when I was researching; killed a couple piles of sticky notes and pens in the process, too, so now I’m hoping for more.”

The professor’s eyes went wide and he steepled his hands on the desktop calendar, tapping his fingertips together as he slowly scrutinized Sabre, making him shuffle more and tug at his hoodie to ensure it shadowed his face.

“Try as you might, I don’t think you’re going to change colors and blend into the woodwork. If you do, I think I’d have to take a half day off and schedule an immediate exam with my optometrist,” Professor Locklear remarked with a chuckle. “You can grab a seat, you know. I’m not a fire-breathing dragon about to roast you for stepping into my lair, though I wish I could singe a student or two when I catch them snoring.”

Sabre chuckled softly but didn’t come any closer.

“I guess not. Well, I must say your question caught me a bit off guard. It’s not one I’m used to, at least not from someone who wasn’t required to take my class. Are you considering adding Native Studies as a minor? You are a junior, correct?”

“No, sir. I’m a senior.”

“Ahh, okay. So are you looking for something specific?”

“Well, I, umm, really enjoyed Reservation Blues, so I found the other Sherman Alexie books and read them too. I loved the myths and legends book you assigned, and Fools Crow and Love Medicine were extremely fascinating. I read House Made of Dawn twice, not because I didn’t understand it the first time, but because it resonated with me, and I was compelled to reread it. I didn’t dislike any of the assigned reading if that helps at all?”

A long, low whistle emanated from the professor, who cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly impressed at all the reading Sabre had already done in just the first five weeks of the semester.

“It does, though there was no reason to finish the course load in a few weeks’ time; wouldn’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“It was easy, though. I always work ahead. My work-study job is in the library, shelving books and working at the research center desk, answering phone calls and emails. I usually have a ton of downtime and write most of my papers there. Plus, I’m carrying a light course load, four classes, since that’s all I need for graduation.”

“Well then, let me see what I can do to find you something.”

Rummaging around on his desk, Professor Locklear began moving neat stacks of paper until he finally found something of interest. Sabre watched as he perused the list before finally holding it out for him to take.

“Try these; it’s the reading list for my Native Literature 103 class, since I’m pretty sure between your papers and what you just told me, you’ve read most of the books for the 102. See if any of these interest you, and if you have any questions or would care to discuss them, please feel free to come back, or you can stop in my Native Lit discussion group. We meet in the atrium every Wednesday night at eight. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll be inspired to participate.”

“Thanks, I’ll umm… I’ll think about it,” Sabre said, still staring at the proffered paper. Reaching it meant he’d have to move closer, into the brighter lights above Professor Locklear’s desk. Biting his lip, Sabre took the three steps to the desk hesitantly, keeping his eyes on the paper and not the man.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

The concern in his voice was what made Sabre raise his head, and the moment he realized what he’d done, he ducked it again, took the paper, and backed away until he felt the door at his back. Twisting around, he fumbled for the doorknob.

“Wait.”

Pausing, Sabre gripped the knob, never turning back.

“If you’re hiding in the shadows because of that scar, please know it isn’t necessary.”

Sabre touched his cheek, stroking his fingertips along the rough edges of the raised, puckered skin as the memory of moonlight striking glass from a busted bottle flashed through his mind. Almost instantly, his breathing picked up, and his chest felt tight as the first stirrings of panic surged through him.

“I’ve got to go,” Sabre muttered, nearly smacking himself in the face with the door as he wrenched it open. “Thanks, professor.”

“You’re welcome, but…”

Sabre took off before he heard the rest, sprinting up the curry-scented hall, the stench making him gag. Bursting through the outer door, the fall air hit him like a gut punch, carrying with it the scent of dying leaves. He gagged, bile rising in his throat. Skidding to a halt beside a bush, he vomited, grateful nothing but acid remained in his stomach. By the time he finished, he’d broken out in a cold sweat and felt gross and tired, wanting nothing more than to get back to his dorm room and take a long, hot, shower and climb into bed with a movie.

Glancing at the slightly crumpled list he gripped in his fist, Sabre sighed before smoothing it against his thigh, folding it carefully, and tucking it into the pocket of his hoodie. Shoulders slumped, he turned and trudged back toward his dorm, grateful the day was at an end. All in all, it had been both a success and a disaster. Next time, he’d just email his request, he decided, as a cold wind made him shiver and debate what the hell he’d been thinking, going to see his professor in person.

“Stupid,” he muttered as his short walk came to an end at his dorm.

For a so-called genius, he sure could be an idiot sometimes.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Layla Dorine lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, cooking, and dabbling with several artistic mediums. In addition, she loves to travel and visit museums, historic, and haunted places.

Layla got hooked on writing as a child, starting with poetry and then branching out, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

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