As a fan of the steampunk genre and all its intriguing settings and devices I'm pleased to bring you Theresa Meyers and her second book in The Legend Chronicles entitled The Slayer. Courtesy of Bewitching Book Tours Theresa is here for a return visit today with a yummy recipe that she enjoys while reading and writing awesome books. Not only that but she's got an awesome giveaway for all those visiting today. So let's get this party started.....
Scrumptious Reading – Why I write Steampunk
By Theresa Meyers
I adore tea. I’m not ashamed to admit it. In fact most weeks it’s tea with my non-writing mommy friends that keeps me sane and enables me to write. It’s probably one reason I enjoy writing steampunk. The other, well, that’s pure fantasy. And since I write steampunk (which is Victorian-era-like settings with fantastical inventions, science and for me, romance) tea is a very appropriate pastime. I also happen to collect teapots and spend far too much at the Market Spice store in Seattle’s Pike Place Market on things like their chocolate mint tea, apricot tea and world famous Market Spice tea (which is both spicy and sweet enough not to need anything extra). But I digress.
What makes scrumptious reading is more than just the flavor of a story, it’s also the tart tang of the dialogue or the spicy heat in the sensual moments between characters. We like the texture of the setting and the scent evoked by description. For me, writing steampunk blends the best of all the things I enjoy most about writing. Since I started out writing historical romance, the idea of setting a story in the late 1800s appealed to me from the beginning. What can I say? I like bustles and think corsets are fun. But in steampunk we get to go even further. Why wear a beautiful corset under your clothes? Wear it out the outside and show it off!
I also write paranormal romances. Because steampunk has its roots in science fiction, I could easily adapt my steampunk romances to include paranormal creatures of the night – Victorian monsters if you will--which was utterly appropriate because the Victorians were fans of the paranormal. They loved séances and tarot cards, crystal balls and mummies, exploring the ancient mysteries and uncovering new scientific discoveries that made our normal seemed out of this world (hey – Jules Verne did talk about flying to the moon).
Steampunk isn’t something you can easily explain. Believe me, I’ve tried. The best I’ve been able to manage when people ask me what I write is to tell them, “Did you ever watch Wild West with Will Smith? What about the television show Supernatural? Well if you mashed those two together, that’s what my books are like—only with more sexual tension.”
Afterall – I can’t earn the moniker of “putting the steam in steampunk” if it doesn’t have something steamier than a tea kettle or engine boiler, can I?
Well, in honor of the release of THE SLAYER, my second steampunk romance for Kensington, I’d like to share a favorite tea-time recipe with you. I hope you enjoy both it and reading whatever scrumptious stories you love most!
Teatime Cranberry Orange Scones
Makes 12
Ingredients:
2 cups flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
4 tablespoons butter
¼ cup sugar
2 teaspoons freshly grated orange rind
1 cup dried cranberries (sweetened are best)
¾ cup milk
Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Grease a baking sheet. Sift together the flour and baking powder. Rub the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles bread crumbs. (Alternatively put it in a food processer and whir it around a bit – does the same thing.)
Stir in the sugar, orange peel and cranberries.
Add enough milk to make a soft sticky dough. Pull the mixture together and then turn the dough onto a well-floured work surface.
Shape the dough into a circle and roll out to a 1-inch depth. Using a floured cutter, cut out scones.
Place on the prepared baking sheet. Brush the tops with a little milk and sprinkle with sugar.
Bake for 10-12 minutes until golden.
Alternative: once completely cooled, you can also ice the scones if you want. Use 1 cup powdered sugar with 1-2 teaspoons orange juice (from the orange you got the rind off of). Drizzle over scones.
The Slayer by Theresa Meyers
Brothers Winchester, Remington, and Colt know the legends—they were trained from childhood to destroy demon predators, wielding the latest steam-powered gadgetry. It’s a devil of a job. But sometimes your fate chooses you…
Chasing Trouble
Winn Jackson isn’t interested in hunting nightmares across the Wild West—even if it’s the family business. Unlike his rakehell brothers, Winn believes in rules. As sheriff of Bodie, California, he only shoots actual law breakers. That’s what he’s doing when he rescues the Contessa Drossenburg, Alexandra Porter, a lady with all the elegance of the Old World—grace, beauty and class. And then he sees her fangs.
Alexandra isn’t just some bloodsucking damsel in distress, though. She’s on a mission to save her people—and she’s dead certain that Winn’s family legacy is the only way. Luckily, aside from grace and class, she also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. So like it or not, Winn is going to come back with her to the mountains of Transylvania, and while he’s at it, change his opinions about vampires, demon-hunting, and who exactly deserves shooting. And if she has her way, he’s going to do his darnedest to save the world…
Chasing Trouble
Winn Jackson isn’t interested in hunting nightmares across the Wild West—even if it’s the family business. Unlike his rakehell brothers, Winn believes in rules. As sheriff of Bodie, California, he only shoots actual law breakers. That’s what he’s doing when he rescues the Contessa Drossenburg, Alexandra Porter, a lady with all the elegance of the Old World—grace, beauty and class. And then he sees her fangs.
Alexandra isn’t just some bloodsucking damsel in distress, though. She’s on a mission to save her people—and she’s dead certain that Winn’s family legacy is the only way. Luckily, aside from grace and class, she also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. So like it or not, Winn is going to come back with her to the mountains of Transylvania, and while he’s at it, change his opinions about vampires, demon-hunting, and who exactly deserves shooting. And if she has her way, he’s going to do his darnedest to save the world…
EXCERPT #1:
Branches cracked and snapped as Alexa tore through them on her way to the forest floor. Fortunately the drop wasn't too great. She landed in a crouch on the ground, letting her knees absorb the shock of her fall. She slowly rose and glanced up at Winchester, still suspended in the ruined glider. From this distance he reminded her of a Christmas ornament in a very tall tree.
"Are you going to join me?" she shouted up at him, enjoying the opportunity to dig at him.
"Not like that, I'm not," he replied as he carefully maneuvered his way out of the pod, loading his pack and the holstered rifle onto his back. Hunters. They were nothing without their toys.
She sniffed the wind, trying to scent out their distance from the Castle Barranoch where the captain had adjusted their course. It lay on the edge of the border with France. The moldering smell of ancient stone and fresh blood reached her, but it was tainted with the feral scent of wet wolf. The castle was fifteen miles to the northeast, and the wolves were no more than a few miles away, between them and the protection of the castle. She swore heartily in Russian under her breath. For herself she wasn't afraid. She was stringer and smarter than any were. But the Hunter was merely human, with all the frailties that entailed.
"Insufferable creatures," she muttered to herself. When they later retrieved the wreckage of the airship, she had no doubt that it would be Sidhe bolts recovered. No one else but the dark fae who lingered in the Black Forest could shoot that distance accurately, which was bad news. It meant the Sidhe and the Russian werewolves had formed an alliance in her absence. While the werewolves were brute strength, the Sidhe had more powers. It was a formidable combination. Now that the Sidhe had brought down their airship, the werewolves were closing in for the kill.
Where are you? Are you harmed? Enric's insistent voice, edged with worry penetrated her mind.
The Hunter and I are fine, for the moment. How far are you from Castle Barranoch?
We transported there, per your instructions.
Excellent. Inform Count Vernay that we have landed and need an escort through the forest. There are werewolves on the ground and I suspect Sidhe in the forests. We shall be arriving shortly.
His majesty is not going to be please his airship was wrecked.
Pfft. He can have another built. He'll be more worried if we allow these werewolves to kill the Chosen.
She kept a close eye on Winn's progress down the tree. A crackle in the underbrush caused her to tense. Alexa sniffed the air, her gumline beginning to throb. The wolves were still a few miles away; this was a different scent altogether. Gun powder, oil and leather.
From the bushes sprang five men, all armed and pointing their weapons at her. Helsing crossbows, loaded with silver tipped arrows that could pin her to a tree in less time than it would take to transport herself away from the clearing. Each of them had a scabbard at his side, the handgrip of their swords easy for her to see even in the gathering gloom.
"I think we have us a lone vampire, men, and one worth ransoming from the look of it," said the blonde man, German by the sound of him, a glitter of avarice in his eyes.
Alexa hissed at them. Damn Hunters. "Where is your honor? Do you not have treaties with his vampiric imperial majesty?"
"What that old vamp doesn't know won't bother him," the blond Hunter sneered. "Take her." Two of his comrades lowered their crossbows, shifting them to their backs, then pulled out their swords and started forward.
There was a crack just above her and Winn dropped from the tree between her and the Hunters. He sprang up, armed and ready to fight, the Amanarath stretched and loaded.
"Not so fast, boys. This vampire happens to be off limits."
The blonde Hunter stepped forward, brandishing a blade with a twist and flourish of his wrist, making the metal flash.
"Drop it." Winn held the Amanarath poised and pointed right at the Hunter's chest.
"Identify yourself," the Hunter demanded.
"You first. I'm gettin' a mighty itchy trigger finger. Takes a lot of thought to control it. Might hit everyone of you before I get my control back."
"I'm Lieutenant Victor Van der Hoff, a Hunter with Saxe-Coburg regiment of the Legion. And this vampire is in our custody."
"Is she now? How do I know you aren't just making that up?"
Van der Hoff quickly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, pulling it aside. A tattoo of the triple cross bracketed by a lion, palm tree and raven at the points was inscribed over his heart. He was definitely a Hunter. No one else would want a tattoo that ugly. "Satisfied?"
Winn nodded and lowered the crossbow slightly from his shoulder. "I'm Winchester Jackson, part of the Legion out in the western territories of America."
"A Slayer?" One of the others behind Van der Hoff said, a note of derision in his tone. Two of the others snickered as if it were some kind of a joke.
Winchester frowned. He didn't know what they meant, but he knew he didn't like it. Choosing to ignore them, he locked gazes with Van der Hoff. "Our airship went down. We're trying to get to Castle Barranoch."
Van der Hoff jerked his chin in the Contessa's direction. "What about the vampire?"
Winn's hands tensed on the Amanarath, ready to aim and fire in an instant if it became necessary. "She's my guide."
One of the Hunters in Van der Hoff's party gave Alexa a lewd appraisal. "To what?" he interjected.
Van der Hoff glared at the other member of his hunting party. "Hold your tongue, Werner. I'll ask the questions." He turned back to Winn. "What are you looking for? Perhaps we can help you and you can give her to us in exchange."
Winn raised the barrel of the Amanarath an inch from Van der Hoff's face. "No deal."
Van der Hoff smiled, but it didn't reach his pale green eyes. They remained as unyielding and cold as deep lake ice. "Alright. No harm, no foul, Slayer. But you can't possibly want to protect that Darkin."
For a moment the irony did sink in. Here he was protecting a Darkin, and a vampire at that, from other Hunters. Pa would have risen out of the grave and kicked his ass if he'd known. But this wasn't a normal situation. He needed her help. "My bow begs to differ with you."
A blood curdling howl tore through the night and all of them turned to peer at the dark maw of the forest. "Werewolves!" Alexa shouted as she ran up and grabbed Winn's arm, almost causing him to misfire the bow. "We're running out of time!"
"Correction," Winn said as the shadows burst from the trees. "We're outta time."
The twenty or so wolves were far larger than any Winn had seen before. They were the size of grizzly bears, and while most of them were gray, there were a few brown, white and black wolves among them as well. With coordinated movement they circled him, the Contessa and the small band of German hunters.
"Insufferable Weres," the Contessa muttered, her voice turning more guttural and growl-like as her face shifted and changed.
By now it didn't shock Winn as much, even thought the sight of her in her fighting mode still disturbed him. She hissed, and the wolves came to a stop. They were close enough in their formation that Winn could see no easy gap for him and the Contessa to get through.
He changed his target for the crossbow, grateful Marley had offered it. Winn's mind quickly calculated his options. With only fifteen shots in his rifle he would have been out of ammo before dispatching all of the wolves. He had that pathetic water shooter, but he didn't trust it to do more than slow the wolves down. And it wouldn't do anything to the Hunters. If he ran out of bolts, he could likely take out the other Hunters with his rifle butt first, backed up by his fists if necessary.
"Kill only if necessary," the Contessa warned under her breath.
Winn nestled the crossbow against his shoulder ready to let it release. "They attack, then it's all necessary."
"Hold your bloodthirst, Slayer." Van der Hoff's voice itself was irritating right now.
Winn wanted to tell the Hunter to go screw himself. This was no time for being some pasty yellow-bellied mama's boy. It was kill or be killed. That's how it always went in these kinds of situations. Negotiation was done by who had the least dead. Period. "This ain't bloodthirst. It's survival, and I swear I'll kill every damn one of them if I have to."
The wolves glanced at one another, ears twitching as if they talked to one another the way the Contessa did with the other vampires. The hair on the back of Winn's neck prickled up like an agitated porcupine.
A few of the wolves growled low and belly-deep, their black lips curling up to reveal razor sharp yellowed teeth. It was a veritable Mexican standoff with the furries on one side and the Hunters, and vampire on the other. "They don't look like they're here for a tea party, Van der Hoff. What do you wanna do here?" Winn prompted. His finger was getting itchy to pull the trigger on the bow as tension pulled at the muscles in his neck and shoulders.
"Hold," Van der Hoff ordered.
"You don't even know what they want." Winn's thigh burned with the tension of the muscles beneath his skin.
"Does it matter? They're Darkin."
Winn's mood darkened further. He didn't see a good way out of this. He edged closer to the Contessa. "I thought you said there were treaties for this sort of thing."
"That's the problem with treaties. They get broken all the time, and usually when it's most inconvenient," she said with annoyance.
"What the hell do they want?" Winn asked. "They're just holding back."
"Why don't you ask them?" the Contessa growled through her fangs.
A loud howl broke the standoff. Winn didn't wait another second. His Hunter training kicked into gear, taking over both his body and his mind, making his movements as automatic as breathing. He shot down three of the Werewolves in quick succession. The thwang of the crossbow jolted up his arm with each rapid release of the bolts. Thunk. Thunk, thunk. Three of them fell. The others kept coming, a blur of movement.
Winn cranked the bolts into place and shot off three more. The Contessa leaped forward into the fray, fangs at the ready. For an instant Winn's heart forgot to beat as he watched a bolt graze past her, shearing off a lock of her hair. An inch closer and he would have hit her square in the head. She tore every Were within reach with her bare hands, sending fur, muscle and skin flying as she ripped away limbs.
His heartbeat returned twice as hard and Winn turned away from the grisly sight to glance in the direction of Van der Hoff and his men. The Hunter hacked and slashed at anything with fur that came within striking distance. Winn's chest burned. His blood was pumping hard. The fighting had turned hand to hand now, wolves and men in mixed battle. Winn swung his crossbow to his back and pulled the bowie knife from his boot.
A great gray wolf coiled his back legs a split second before he launched into the air, seeming to sail toward Winn in slow motion. The dinner-plate sized paws connected like a solid punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him and leaving him gasping as he fell backward into the fir needles of the forest floor. But he didn't need to breathe to act. Winn pulled hard and fast, slashing the blade of his Bowie across the exposed throat of the wolf, looming over him.
Hot blood splattered his face and the weight of the enormous dead wolf crushed down, smothering him. Winn's lungs burned as he scrabbled to lift the huge beast off of himself. Cries of anguish and pain from Van der Hoff's men were followed by the sickening crunching sounds and abrupt silence.
"Winchester!"
Winn managed to shift the weight enough to crawl out from beneath the wolf carcass. The Contessa was surrounded. He scrambled up, hacking a bloody path to her. He and the Contessa stood back-to-back against the ten remaining werewolves.
The growls of the largest wolf shifted and warped into words Winn could comprehend, stunning him. "Slayer, cease your resistance. Rathe wants you taken alive, but he didn't say unharmed. Put down your weapons. Come with us now and we will let the vampire live."
Winn twisted the handle of the Bowie in his extended hand, still brandishing it against the werewolves. Tessa was snugged up tight against his back, her derrière brushing the backs of his thighs. "Let me get this straight. You expect me to just give in and come quietly?"
"Yes."
Winn let out a brittle, caustic bark of laughter. "Clearly you've never met an American Hunter before. We don't quit, and we sure as hell don't give in."
"Are you going to join me?" she shouted up at him, enjoying the opportunity to dig at him.
"Not like that, I'm not," he replied as he carefully maneuvered his way out of the pod, loading his pack and the holstered rifle onto his back. Hunters. They were nothing without their toys.
She sniffed the wind, trying to scent out their distance from the Castle Barranoch where the captain had adjusted their course. It lay on the edge of the border with France. The moldering smell of ancient stone and fresh blood reached her, but it was tainted with the feral scent of wet wolf. The castle was fifteen miles to the northeast, and the wolves were no more than a few miles away, between them and the protection of the castle. She swore heartily in Russian under her breath. For herself she wasn't afraid. She was stringer and smarter than any were. But the Hunter was merely human, with all the frailties that entailed.
"Insufferable creatures," she muttered to herself. When they later retrieved the wreckage of the airship, she had no doubt that it would be Sidhe bolts recovered. No one else but the dark fae who lingered in the Black Forest could shoot that distance accurately, which was bad news. It meant the Sidhe and the Russian werewolves had formed an alliance in her absence. While the werewolves were brute strength, the Sidhe had more powers. It was a formidable combination. Now that the Sidhe had brought down their airship, the werewolves were closing in for the kill.
Where are you? Are you harmed? Enric's insistent voice, edged with worry penetrated her mind.
The Hunter and I are fine, for the moment. How far are you from Castle Barranoch?
We transported there, per your instructions.
Excellent. Inform Count Vernay that we have landed and need an escort through the forest. There are werewolves on the ground and I suspect Sidhe in the forests. We shall be arriving shortly.
His majesty is not going to be please his airship was wrecked.
Pfft. He can have another built. He'll be more worried if we allow these werewolves to kill the Chosen.
She kept a close eye on Winn's progress down the tree. A crackle in the underbrush caused her to tense. Alexa sniffed the air, her gumline beginning to throb. The wolves were still a few miles away; this was a different scent altogether. Gun powder, oil and leather.
From the bushes sprang five men, all armed and pointing their weapons at her. Helsing crossbows, loaded with silver tipped arrows that could pin her to a tree in less time than it would take to transport herself away from the clearing. Each of them had a scabbard at his side, the handgrip of their swords easy for her to see even in the gathering gloom.
"I think we have us a lone vampire, men, and one worth ransoming from the look of it," said the blonde man, German by the sound of him, a glitter of avarice in his eyes.
Alexa hissed at them. Damn Hunters. "Where is your honor? Do you not have treaties with his vampiric imperial majesty?"
"What that old vamp doesn't know won't bother him," the blond Hunter sneered. "Take her." Two of his comrades lowered their crossbows, shifting them to their backs, then pulled out their swords and started forward.
There was a crack just above her and Winn dropped from the tree between her and the Hunters. He sprang up, armed and ready to fight, the Amanarath stretched and loaded.
"Not so fast, boys. This vampire happens to be off limits."
The blonde Hunter stepped forward, brandishing a blade with a twist and flourish of his wrist, making the metal flash.
"Drop it." Winn held the Amanarath poised and pointed right at the Hunter's chest.
"Identify yourself," the Hunter demanded.
"You first. I'm gettin' a mighty itchy trigger finger. Takes a lot of thought to control it. Might hit everyone of you before I get my control back."
"I'm Lieutenant Victor Van der Hoff, a Hunter with Saxe-Coburg regiment of the Legion. And this vampire is in our custody."
"Is she now? How do I know you aren't just making that up?"
Van der Hoff quickly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, pulling it aside. A tattoo of the triple cross bracketed by a lion, palm tree and raven at the points was inscribed over his heart. He was definitely a Hunter. No one else would want a tattoo that ugly. "Satisfied?"
Winn nodded and lowered the crossbow slightly from his shoulder. "I'm Winchester Jackson, part of the Legion out in the western territories of America."
"A Slayer?" One of the others behind Van der Hoff said, a note of derision in his tone. Two of the others snickered as if it were some kind of a joke.
Winchester frowned. He didn't know what they meant, but he knew he didn't like it. Choosing to ignore them, he locked gazes with Van der Hoff. "Our airship went down. We're trying to get to Castle Barranoch."
Van der Hoff jerked his chin in the Contessa's direction. "What about the vampire?"
Winn's hands tensed on the Amanarath, ready to aim and fire in an instant if it became necessary. "She's my guide."
One of the Hunters in Van der Hoff's party gave Alexa a lewd appraisal. "To what?" he interjected.
Van der Hoff glared at the other member of his hunting party. "Hold your tongue, Werner. I'll ask the questions." He turned back to Winn. "What are you looking for? Perhaps we can help you and you can give her to us in exchange."
Winn raised the barrel of the Amanarath an inch from Van der Hoff's face. "No deal."
Van der Hoff smiled, but it didn't reach his pale green eyes. They remained as unyielding and cold as deep lake ice. "Alright. No harm, no foul, Slayer. But you can't possibly want to protect that Darkin."
For a moment the irony did sink in. Here he was protecting a Darkin, and a vampire at that, from other Hunters. Pa would have risen out of the grave and kicked his ass if he'd known. But this wasn't a normal situation. He needed her help. "My bow begs to differ with you."
A blood curdling howl tore through the night and all of them turned to peer at the dark maw of the forest. "Werewolves!" Alexa shouted as she ran up and grabbed Winn's arm, almost causing him to misfire the bow. "We're running out of time!"
"Correction," Winn said as the shadows burst from the trees. "We're outta time."
The twenty or so wolves were far larger than any Winn had seen before. They were the size of grizzly bears, and while most of them were gray, there were a few brown, white and black wolves among them as well. With coordinated movement they circled him, the Contessa and the small band of German hunters.
"Insufferable Weres," the Contessa muttered, her voice turning more guttural and growl-like as her face shifted and changed.
By now it didn't shock Winn as much, even thought the sight of her in her fighting mode still disturbed him. She hissed, and the wolves came to a stop. They were close enough in their formation that Winn could see no easy gap for him and the Contessa to get through.
He changed his target for the crossbow, grateful Marley had offered it. Winn's mind quickly calculated his options. With only fifteen shots in his rifle he would have been out of ammo before dispatching all of the wolves. He had that pathetic water shooter, but he didn't trust it to do more than slow the wolves down. And it wouldn't do anything to the Hunters. If he ran out of bolts, he could likely take out the other Hunters with his rifle butt first, backed up by his fists if necessary.
"Kill only if necessary," the Contessa warned under her breath.
Winn nestled the crossbow against his shoulder ready to let it release. "They attack, then it's all necessary."
"Hold your bloodthirst, Slayer." Van der Hoff's voice itself was irritating right now.
Winn wanted to tell the Hunter to go screw himself. This was no time for being some pasty yellow-bellied mama's boy. It was kill or be killed. That's how it always went in these kinds of situations. Negotiation was done by who had the least dead. Period. "This ain't bloodthirst. It's survival, and I swear I'll kill every damn one of them if I have to."
The wolves glanced at one another, ears twitching as if they talked to one another the way the Contessa did with the other vampires. The hair on the back of Winn's neck prickled up like an agitated porcupine.
A few of the wolves growled low and belly-deep, their black lips curling up to reveal razor sharp yellowed teeth. It was a veritable Mexican standoff with the furries on one side and the Hunters, and vampire on the other. "They don't look like they're here for a tea party, Van der Hoff. What do you wanna do here?" Winn prompted. His finger was getting itchy to pull the trigger on the bow as tension pulled at the muscles in his neck and shoulders.
"Hold," Van der Hoff ordered.
"You don't even know what they want." Winn's thigh burned with the tension of the muscles beneath his skin.
"Does it matter? They're Darkin."
Winn's mood darkened further. He didn't see a good way out of this. He edged closer to the Contessa. "I thought you said there were treaties for this sort of thing."
"That's the problem with treaties. They get broken all the time, and usually when it's most inconvenient," she said with annoyance.
"What the hell do they want?" Winn asked. "They're just holding back."
"Why don't you ask them?" the Contessa growled through her fangs.
A loud howl broke the standoff. Winn didn't wait another second. His Hunter training kicked into gear, taking over both his body and his mind, making his movements as automatic as breathing. He shot down three of the Werewolves in quick succession. The thwang of the crossbow jolted up his arm with each rapid release of the bolts. Thunk. Thunk, thunk. Three of them fell. The others kept coming, a blur of movement.
Winn cranked the bolts into place and shot off three more. The Contessa leaped forward into the fray, fangs at the ready. For an instant Winn's heart forgot to beat as he watched a bolt graze past her, shearing off a lock of her hair. An inch closer and he would have hit her square in the head. She tore every Were within reach with her bare hands, sending fur, muscle and skin flying as she ripped away limbs.
His heartbeat returned twice as hard and Winn turned away from the grisly sight to glance in the direction of Van der Hoff and his men. The Hunter hacked and slashed at anything with fur that came within striking distance. Winn's chest burned. His blood was pumping hard. The fighting had turned hand to hand now, wolves and men in mixed battle. Winn swung his crossbow to his back and pulled the bowie knife from his boot.
A great gray wolf coiled his back legs a split second before he launched into the air, seeming to sail toward Winn in slow motion. The dinner-plate sized paws connected like a solid punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him and leaving him gasping as he fell backward into the fir needles of the forest floor. But he didn't need to breathe to act. Winn pulled hard and fast, slashing the blade of his Bowie across the exposed throat of the wolf, looming over him.
Hot blood splattered his face and the weight of the enormous dead wolf crushed down, smothering him. Winn's lungs burned as he scrabbled to lift the huge beast off of himself. Cries of anguish and pain from Van der Hoff's men were followed by the sickening crunching sounds and abrupt silence.
"Winchester!"
Winn managed to shift the weight enough to crawl out from beneath the wolf carcass. The Contessa was surrounded. He scrambled up, hacking a bloody path to her. He and the Contessa stood back-to-back against the ten remaining werewolves.
The growls of the largest wolf shifted and warped into words Winn could comprehend, stunning him. "Slayer, cease your resistance. Rathe wants you taken alive, but he didn't say unharmed. Put down your weapons. Come with us now and we will let the vampire live."
Winn twisted the handle of the Bowie in his extended hand, still brandishing it against the werewolves. Tessa was snugged up tight against his back, her derrière brushing the backs of his thighs. "Let me get this straight. You expect me to just give in and come quietly?"
"Yes."
Winn let out a brittle, caustic bark of laughter. "Clearly you've never met an American Hunter before. We don't quit, and we sure as hell don't give in."
EXCERPT #2:
Winn stared down the length of the table at the Contessa. Her hair was upswept in a complicated creation of curls and twists, leaving her elegant neck and her collar bone and the tops of her creamy shoulders tantalizingly bare just above a swath of red silk. A whiff of onions tweaked his nose and he looked down to see a steaming bowl of soup had materialized unannounced in front of him.
Winn found himself at a loss as to which of the spoons he should use. He’d never found a need for more than one and certainly not three. And there were just as many forks. Which should he use? A prickle of sweat began to itch his neck beneath the stiff starched rim of his boiled collar.
“Do you approve of our first course, Mr. Jackson?”
Winn glanced up and saw her lightly tap the spoon to the farthest right of his place setting. He picked it up and waited for her to take the first bite, then followed suit. Hunting had taught him a lot, but never anything about the ways of high society. Who needed to know which spoon was used for soup when it was a properly packed shotgun shell that was going to save your ass?
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a bite of the onion soup. “It’s tasty.”
He could tell she tried to suppress her smile. She took another bite, then lightly patted her lips with her napkin. “You seem surprised.”
“Wasn’t anything I expected, that’s for sure.”
Her laugh was husky and genuine, wrapping around him and making him even more aware of how very feminine she was. Winn was out of his element. How did one make fancy dinner conversation? It wasn’t as if he could talk about work at the jail, or hunting. Ma had taught him enough to know those weren’t appropriate at the dinner table. The sudden memory of her pierced him, turning his stomach with regret. He put down his spoon and pushed the bowl away from him.
“Is something wrong with your soup?”
“Little rich for my blood,” he murmured.
One of the crystal goblets to his right began to fill with red liquid out of thin air. “That’s a mighty fancy trick.”
“Materializing objects is not a trick, Mr. Jackson, it is a power we work to achieve.”
He took the glass and sniffed the contents, making sure it was wine. The pleasantly tart flavor of grape swirled in his mouth, but he nearly choked when he saw what the Contessa had in her own glass. She held her own goblet to her lush mouth, but the red liquid was too bright, too viscous, to be wine.
“That a special vintage?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone. She pulled the glass away from her lips and nodded.
“Anything I’d want to try?”
The Contessa arched a brow and shrugged. “I’m not in the habit of telling men such as yourself what you can and cannot do.”
Winn was momentarily distracted by the disappearance of his soup bowl and its replacement by a dinner plate filled with braised beef, tender asparagus and roasted red potatoes. It smelled better than anything he’d eaten in months. The back of his mouth ached and watered. His stomach growled. He didn’t bother trying to figure out which fork he was supposed to use to be proper, he just grabbed one and tucked in.
“It’s good to see a man with an appetite,” she said softly.
Winn glanced up at her as he chewed a bit of beef so tender he could cut it with his fork. He swallowed. “You say that like it hasn’t happened in awhile.”
She sipped at her wineglass thoughtfully. “Perhaps because it has been a long time. I’ve been a widow now nearlytwo hundred years.”
Winn choked, and launched into a coughing fit. “Two--two hundred years?”
She wove her hands together and rested her chin on them. Her gaze danced with amusement. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little,” he muttered. “You don’t look a day older than one-fifty- one-sixty at most.” He knew she’d had to be an old vampire to have the powers she did, but there was no way a man looking at her could have guessed her age. The smooth unblemished complexion, glossy hair, thick fringe of lashes about her eyes, and lush figure hinted at someone likely in their twenties, if that. “Not that I mean any disrespect,” he added quickly, then started eating again. Perhaps if he was eating she wouldn’t expect any more conversation from him.
She gifted him with a generous smile that fisted straight through his chest and squeezed his heart hard and for a second Winn forgot how to swallow.
“No offense taken. In fact, it pleases me enormously.”
“That I can’t guess your age or that you surprised me?”
“Both. You aren’t like any other Hunters of my acquaintance.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Absolutely.” A flicker of anger flared deep in her eyes then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“You don’t like Hunters much.”
“Before meeting you, no. You see, Mr. Jackson, Hunters killed the Count, my mother and father, my brothers and sisters. My cousin, the emperor, is really all I have left of my original family.”
“Hard to forget those who’ve done you wrong, isn’t it?”
“Which is why I find you so refreshing, Mr. Jackson. The Hunters in Europe will smile at you while they stab you in the back. They are well versed in the arts of politics and intrigue. While they profess to live as equals among us, they can never be truly trusted.”
The fork slipped from Winn’s grasp and clattered on the plate. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling every inch a sod-buster sitting with royalty, than an accomplished law man.
“You are everything you appear to be, Mr. Jackson, and you say precisely what you think. That is what I like best about you. I will always know where I stand with you, whether enemy or ally.”
Her words were simple enough but wormed their way down into the deepest parts of him, pricking his conscious and bruising his honor. She was wrong. There were dark parts of him that never came to the surface, were never allowed to. He’d done things he was horribly ashamed of. How could she accept him so completely when he didn’t even accept himself? “I can honestly say, Lady Drossenburg, you’re not like any vampire I’ve ever met before either.”
She leaned forward slightly, the light from above causing a slight shadow along the velvety upper swell of her pale breasts. Her long tapered finger lightly brushed her full lips, making Winn think seriously about what it might be like to kiss her. With her finger she traced around the edge of her crystal goblet making it sing. The vibration of it went straight through him. “True, but then how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you had dinner with?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Winn’s mouth and he couldn’t stop it. “Only one.”
“And how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you danced with?”
Her question took him aback. He didn’t dance. Climb trees, scale the rock face of a cliff or crawl through a forest on his belly, he’d done, but not dance. The promising start of his smile flattened. “None.”
“Well, clearly we shall have to remedy that immediately.” She rose elegant and fluid from her chair, and Winn automatically stood out of courtesy.
As she walked by, the tantalizing scent of sweet female filled his nose and the satin of her dress made soft slithering sounds, bringing to mind the sound of sheets moving on a bed. Winn discarded the thought with annoyance. He’d been far too long without a woman. That was all.
The Contessa glanced over her bare shoulder at him, her amber eyes half hidden behind luxurious sable lashes. “You will dance with me, won’t you, Mr. Jackson?” The words were simple. Easy. Something any female could have said, but her husky tone, slipped like smoke through his defenses making him far too aware of just how truly female she was.
Winn’s pulse sped up and he tried to ignore the distinct pressure building in his groin. She might be a vampire, but Lady Drossenburg was much, much more than just a vampire. How could he tell her no without appearing impossibly rude? he told himself. Besides, he could certainly find her attractive without trusting her. The two didn’t have to go together like meat and potatoes.
Winn found himself at a loss as to which of the spoons he should use. He’d never found a need for more than one and certainly not three. And there were just as many forks. Which should he use? A prickle of sweat began to itch his neck beneath the stiff starched rim of his boiled collar.
“Do you approve of our first course, Mr. Jackson?”
Winn glanced up and saw her lightly tap the spoon to the farthest right of his place setting. He picked it up and waited for her to take the first bite, then followed suit. Hunting had taught him a lot, but never anything about the ways of high society. Who needed to know which spoon was used for soup when it was a properly packed shotgun shell that was going to save your ass?
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a bite of the onion soup. “It’s tasty.”
He could tell she tried to suppress her smile. She took another bite, then lightly patted her lips with her napkin. “You seem surprised.”
“Wasn’t anything I expected, that’s for sure.”
Her laugh was husky and genuine, wrapping around him and making him even more aware of how very feminine she was. Winn was out of his element. How did one make fancy dinner conversation? It wasn’t as if he could talk about work at the jail, or hunting. Ma had taught him enough to know those weren’t appropriate at the dinner table. The sudden memory of her pierced him, turning his stomach with regret. He put down his spoon and pushed the bowl away from him.
“Is something wrong with your soup?”
“Little rich for my blood,” he murmured.
One of the crystal goblets to his right began to fill with red liquid out of thin air. “That’s a mighty fancy trick.”
“Materializing objects is not a trick, Mr. Jackson, it is a power we work to achieve.”
He took the glass and sniffed the contents, making sure it was wine. The pleasantly tart flavor of grape swirled in his mouth, but he nearly choked when he saw what the Contessa had in her own glass. She held her own goblet to her lush mouth, but the red liquid was too bright, too viscous, to be wine.
“That a special vintage?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone. She pulled the glass away from her lips and nodded.
“Anything I’d want to try?”
The Contessa arched a brow and shrugged. “I’m not in the habit of telling men such as yourself what you can and cannot do.”
Winn was momentarily distracted by the disappearance of his soup bowl and its replacement by a dinner plate filled with braised beef, tender asparagus and roasted red potatoes. It smelled better than anything he’d eaten in months. The back of his mouth ached and watered. His stomach growled. He didn’t bother trying to figure out which fork he was supposed to use to be proper, he just grabbed one and tucked in.
“It’s good to see a man with an appetite,” she said softly.
Winn glanced up at her as he chewed a bit of beef so tender he could cut it with his fork. He swallowed. “You say that like it hasn’t happened in awhile.”
She sipped at her wineglass thoughtfully. “Perhaps because it has been a long time. I’ve been a widow now nearlytwo hundred years.”
Winn choked, and launched into a coughing fit. “Two--two hundred years?”
She wove her hands together and rested her chin on them. Her gaze danced with amusement. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little,” he muttered. “You don’t look a day older than one-fifty- one-sixty at most.” He knew she’d had to be an old vampire to have the powers she did, but there was no way a man looking at her could have guessed her age. The smooth unblemished complexion, glossy hair, thick fringe of lashes about her eyes, and lush figure hinted at someone likely in their twenties, if that. “Not that I mean any disrespect,” he added quickly, then started eating again. Perhaps if he was eating she wouldn’t expect any more conversation from him.
She gifted him with a generous smile that fisted straight through his chest and squeezed his heart hard and for a second Winn forgot how to swallow.
“No offense taken. In fact, it pleases me enormously.”
“That I can’t guess your age or that you surprised me?”
“Both. You aren’t like any other Hunters of my acquaintance.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Absolutely.” A flicker of anger flared deep in her eyes then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“You don’t like Hunters much.”
“Before meeting you, no. You see, Mr. Jackson, Hunters killed the Count, my mother and father, my brothers and sisters. My cousin, the emperor, is really all I have left of my original family.”
“Hard to forget those who’ve done you wrong, isn’t it?”
“Which is why I find you so refreshing, Mr. Jackson. The Hunters in Europe will smile at you while they stab you in the back. They are well versed in the arts of politics and intrigue. While they profess to live as equals among us, they can never be truly trusted.”
The fork slipped from Winn’s grasp and clattered on the plate. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling every inch a sod-buster sitting with royalty, than an accomplished law man.
“You are everything you appear to be, Mr. Jackson, and you say precisely what you think. That is what I like best about you. I will always know where I stand with you, whether enemy or ally.”
Her words were simple enough but wormed their way down into the deepest parts of him, pricking his conscious and bruising his honor. She was wrong. There were dark parts of him that never came to the surface, were never allowed to. He’d done things he was horribly ashamed of. How could she accept him so completely when he didn’t even accept himself? “I can honestly say, Lady Drossenburg, you’re not like any vampire I’ve ever met before either.”
She leaned forward slightly, the light from above causing a slight shadow along the velvety upper swell of her pale breasts. Her long tapered finger lightly brushed her full lips, making Winn think seriously about what it might be like to kiss her. With her finger she traced around the edge of her crystal goblet making it sing. The vibration of it went straight through him. “True, but then how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you had dinner with?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Winn’s mouth and he couldn’t stop it. “Only one.”
“And how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you danced with?”
Her question took him aback. He didn’t dance. Climb trees, scale the rock face of a cliff or crawl through a forest on his belly, he’d done, but not dance. The promising start of his smile flattened. “None.”
“Well, clearly we shall have to remedy that immediately.” She rose elegant and fluid from her chair, and Winn automatically stood out of courtesy.
As she walked by, the tantalizing scent of sweet female filled his nose and the satin of her dress made soft slithering sounds, bringing to mind the sound of sheets moving on a bed. Winn discarded the thought with annoyance. He’d been far too long without a woman. That was all.
The Contessa glanced over her bare shoulder at him, her amber eyes half hidden behind luxurious sable lashes. “You will dance with me, won’t you, Mr. Jackson?” The words were simple. Easy. Something any female could have said, but her husky tone, slipped like smoke through his defenses making him far too aware of just how truly female she was.
Winn’s pulse sped up and he tried to ignore the distinct pressure building in his groin. She might be a vampire, but Lady Drossenburg was much, much more than just a vampire. How could he tell her no without appearing impossibly rude? he told himself. Besides, he could certainly find her attractive without trusting her. The two didn’t have to go together like meat and potatoes.
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Raised by a bibliophile who made the dining room into a library, Theresa has always been a lover of books and stories. First a writer for newspapers, then for national magazines, she started her first novel in high school, eventually enrolling in a Writer's Digest course and putting the book under the bed until she joined Romance Writers of America in 1993.
In 2005 she was selected as one of eleven finalists for the American Title II contest, the American Idol of books. She is married to the first man she ever went on a real date with (to their high school prom), who she knew was hero material when he suffered through having to let her parents drive, and her brother sit between them in the backseat of the car. They currently live in a Victorian house on a mini farm in the Pacific Northwest with their two children, three cats, an old chestnut Arabian gelding, an energetic mini-Aussie shepherd puppy, several rabbits, a dozen chickens and an out-of-control herb garden.
You can find her online on Twitter, Facebook, at her Web site or blogging with the other Lolitas of STEAMED!
http://www.theresameyers.com/
http://www.theresameyers.com/blog/
http://twitter.com/Theresa_Meyers
http://www.facebook.com/TheresaMeyersAuthor
http://www.ageofsteam.wordpress.com/
**********GIVEAWAY**********
Enter to win an Advanced Reader Copy of Theresa Meyers' second book in her Legend Chronicles steampunk romance series, THE SLAYER, along with an autographed cover flat and an antique china cup (cups will vary) accompanied by an assortment of teas and decadent Bliss chocolate. Giveaway ends at 11:59 CST PM on 4/30.
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Hehe, I love the Author Pic!!! LOVE your style Theresa!!! Very Victorian-esc :D
ReplyDeleteThanks for the post - The Slayer looks good!
ReplyDeleterobindpdx(at)yahoo(dot)com
Appreciate you stopping by! You'll have to try the scones and let me know what you think. ;)
ReplyDeletei love reading your books because they keep me on the edge of my sit until i am done reading and i then want to read more by you.
ReplyDeleteI LOVED the first book in this series, and I'm sure this one will be just as good:) Discovering steampunk has been so cool because I collect tea sets, and love the idea of afternoon tea, but I never quite fit in with the traditional fans of tea. Steampunk combines so many things I love-- it's awesome:) Thank you so much for your books and the contest.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing the recipe and excerpt. They both sound good.
ReplyDeleteI LOVED the excerpt...can't wait to read more! I love it when an author mixes genres...makes for fascinating and entertaining read! Thx for this AWESOME and VERY generous giveaway opportunity!! :)
ReplyDeleteCan't wait to read the book...loved the excerpt!!!
ReplyDeleteYvette
yratpatrol@aol.com
wow thanks for this awesome giveaway!!! Gale
ReplyDelete