Have you ever been set up on a blind date? If you were and enjoyed yourself, chances are the matchmaker knew you and your date really well. Finding a new author to your liking is a bit like a blind date. You pick up their book and hold high hopes for an evening spent in a delightful company. Sometimes the hopes come true. Sometimes they don't.
To avoid the latter in our case, let's see without more ado, if I can entertain you with stories to your taste. If we find out that we're a good match, I have two gifts for you, but all in the right time. Let's do the reader-writer matchmaking part first.
I'm your kind of a writer:
• if you love gay historical fantasy and/ or gay romantic suspense
• if you know that in the name of love, a man can build or destroy, nurture or hurt, live or die, and sometimes all of that in the course of one story.
• if you know that one man can be both cruel and gentle, brutal and kind, fierce and fearful, open and restrained, good and evil, strong and vulnerable, as what face of his he lets you experience depends on his feelings for you and on his circumstances.
• if you love reading about immortals who have passions and fears just like mortal men.
• if you don't avoid violent scenes in your reading.
• if you love stories full of intense sensual charge and vividly portrayed sizzling passion that goes beyond the boundaries of vanilla lovemaking.
• if you like reading about dominance and submission, and understand that in a historical fantasy setting modern BDSM as we know it today doesn't exist.
• if you believe that love is stronger than death but rarely walks straight paths. In my stories, the men who are together in the beginning of the tale, may not be together at its end. They may find their true love much later in the course of a story than in a classical romance.
• if you believe in the power of forgiveness in true love, and don't condemn a man for flaws he has or mistakes he has made.
Sounds good to you? If it does, I'm glad you've read your way through to this point. Let's spend some delightful evenings together. We can start right away with Throne for the Idol, the Compulsion Reads-endorsed prequel to my gay historical fantasy series Guardian Demon. You'll get it from me as a welcome gift if you sign up for my Circle of VIP Readers at: www.ciarandwynvil.com
Here's the book blurb:
Throne for the Idol (Guardian Demon) by Ciaran Dwynvil
Publisher: Ciaran Dwynvil (July 9, 2013)
Amazon Kindle: Throne for the Idol (Guardian Demon)
Let the tale carry you to the Lindisfarena Monastery to witness a dark romance between Brother Rikard and High Demon Semiazas, the First of the Fallen.
A chaste virgin and a devoted servant to Maker, Rikard leads a quiet life in the monastery until the days of his sexual awakening. Haunted by desires he can’t name yet, he finds a release for his suppressed longing in music.
The low, dark, tortured tones coaxed forth by his fingers fill Semiazas’ ears with an urgent, irresistible, red call. In different red than blood this call pulses, and Semiazas can’t resist the strange allure of a misalliance with a mortal man.
A single kiss, so unlike anything either of them has expected, sets events in turbulent motion. Rikard’s ultimate surrender to his dark idol is just a question of time. But there is only one punishment his order has for those who leave Maker’s path. Death.
Will Semiazas save Rikard? Find out in this story that interweaves dark fantasy and romance that will make your heart beat faster.
But wait, I've promised you two gifts. So, here's the second one: everyone in my Circle of VIP Readers is going to get a free copy of Unalloyed Love, Part 1. This book is going to be released just a couple of days from now: on the 1st of May. That's the date when I'll e-mail my VIP Readers a free download code. If you have an itch for reading a nearly 110-thousand-word-long, super-sexy gay romantic suspense about love, death, and redemption for free, make sure you sign up for my Circle of VIP Readers here: http://www.ciarandwynvil.com/
The book blurb:
In a world where Light and Darkness gave birth to the Skies and the Void, to the Earth and the Waters; in a world where the first betrayal tore them apart and robbed them of their home, Darkness has been waging war on their blood children for four thousand years. When High Demon Belial embarks on the quest to understand an unalloyed power that may give his liege lord Darkness the final victory, Archangel Endingale will do anything to destroy the unknowing mortals who hold the first key to Belial’s enlightenment and true understanding of the powers of Love.
Master Viktor, a tortured murderer who has escaped justice, has built a new, respectable life for himself as the Reformer in a Reformatory for Young Gentlemen.
Wild and stubborn Amedee, Baron Drakeson’s grandson, acquiesces to a stay in Master Viktor’s institution only with reluctance, but his latest betrothal gone awry in a most unfortunate manner doesn’t give him any other option.
Haunted by concealed guilt, Master Viktor recognizes signs of torments that Amedee holds locked deep inside, and sets out to cleanse his new ward’s invisible festered wound.
As he takes control over his ward’s body and carnal urges, Amedee’s heart is touched too. When shy affection is born, Master Viktor at last cuts open the source of Amedee’s pain and guilt.
But can their feelings blossom into true love? Will they and their bond survive the destruction unleashed by Archangel Endingale?
And an excerpt:
A manservant opened the door. If surprise even touched him, he hid it well. “My Lord, welcome home,” he said and stepped aside.
Amedee slipped in. So did Belial. Side by side they vaulted a broad oak-wood staircase and didn't stop in their ascent until they reached the second story. There Amedee took a turn into a long hall. His boots were still squelching as he hasted to the third door on the right.
Belial followed soundlessly, curious why Amedee didn't slow down even when he was already home and might have given himself a moment to unwind. It seemed unlikely to happen soon as the young man halted his steps before the door for just a heartbeat, cleared his throat, and burst inside.
A mere step behind him, Belial saw they had just invaded somebody's bedchamber. A man lay sound asleep in his four-poster bed, snoring quietly, regularly, and... feebly.
Amedee slipped on a rug that he couldn't see but caught his balance readily and made haste to the sleeper. “Grandpapa.” He shook the man's shoulder. “Grandpapa.”
Baron Drakeson, the man in the bed, stirred and groaned.
Amedee straightened, laced his hands behind his back, and announced most formally, “You must cancel the plan for my betrothal to Lady Erzebet.”
The words clearly woke his grandfather for good, for the man pushed himself into a sit under his blanket. Steel hit a flintstone, and a roll of char caught flame. In mere moments, a candle flame dissolved the dark. In its dim light, Baron Drakeson looked Amedee up and down, then very slowly nodded. “I am quite afraid you and her father might, for some reason, share that view.”
“Good.” Amedee's voice didn't quiver.
But Belial saw what Baron Drakeson couldn't. The tightly-laced hands behind Amedee's back. His knuckles growing white. Expecting disagreement? Very good. That'll show you naked. Belial licked his lips and turned his attention to the man in the bed, for he would make Amedee bare himself. Or not. That remained to be seen.
Baron Drakeson shared little of Amedee's likeness. The age difference apart, the deep wrinkles on his brow apart, his face was much manlier in shape. His jowls hid beneath a short-trimmed beard, just sprinkled with gray though he must have seen some sixty winters come and go already. Even in his hair beaver-brown still warred with silver, reluctant to let go of vigor and submit to the decay that old age brings. He was rugged and hard where his grandson was soft and graceful. Nothing hinted that the two were kin. But for their voices. The old man's bore a touch of resemblance with Amedee's. Once upon a time, it could have had the same beautiful lilt to its sound. Now it rasped when he said, “I do not think so, Amedee. I most positively do not think so.” His eyes once more glanced his grandson up and down. “Would you now be so kind to enlighten me as to the reason why you are dripping water on the floor of my bedchamber? Better still, would you dispel my sudden concern about the momentary condition of Lady Erzebet's dress?”
It sounded half-resigned. As if these two had gone through similar conversations before. If they had, there was much to be learned here, and Belial promptly found himself a good vantage point from where he would see both men well. The opulent leather sofa by the cold hearth promised just that and he glided over, listening to their words, watching their bodies talk.
“She has wanted me to take her for a spin,” Amedee volunteered. Stiff like a plank in his body posture. “With her father's permission, of course.”
“Of course. So, you took her for a spin, I must assume. And?”
“And it all spun faster and wilder than I thought it would,” Amedee said. Without a blink.
His grandfather carefully smoothed the blanket covering his legs. “I have a sad reason to believe that it all spun exactly as fast and wild as you thought it would. Has she been harmed?”
“Maker, nay. She is just wet.”
“And?” The long tones in the single word anticipated worse news to come.
“Her father's gig is drowned.”
“That gig,” Amedee confirmed with a firm nod. And had the decency to bite his lip.
Baron Drakeson scrambled out of the bed and set out straight to the cut-glass carafe full of Black Velvet that stood on a low table between a leather-upholstered armchair and the sofa. He sank into the armchair heavily, poured himself a full glass of the bitter liqueur and took a good draught before he asked, “And?”
“The horse is gone.”
Baron Drakeson didn't ask which horse. He seemed to know. And washed that knowledge away with another draught of the drink. “Anything else?”
“Nay,” Amedee answered fast. He was staying by the bed, still keeping that stiff posture that must have been growing rather uncomfortable heartbeat by heartbeat.
“Were it the first case of your betrothal going awry just before its announcement, I would be inclined to believe it all has been a mere accident.”
Amedee's chin suddenly seemed to jut out remarkably more than before. “I am too young to marry.”
“You were too young two years ago, I give you that,” his grandfather allowed, sagging deeper in the seat. “Lady Lianon spent her eighteenth birthday in the privy for you gave her what–”
“Sweetsmokes.” Amedee supplied the right word helpfully.
“Sweetsmokes, yes. That present loosened her up slightly more than you had thought it would.”
“Let him have his sweetsmokes, his cards, his wild rides, his freedom for just a little longer, I thought. I thought you would mellow.” Baron Drakeson shook his head. “I thought you would come to understand what is expected of you as the next Baron Drakeson.” He gave Amedee a look that urged him to come to such understanding right now.
“I might.” Amedee cast his gaze down, searching for something on the ground. “Eventually.”
Belial settled back in the sofa, gaining more distance from the talk unfolding before him. This is it? If so, Amedee would be allowed to keep his guard well up tonight, for Baron Drakeson's hard countenance didn't match the leniency shown so far. But then, surely the old man had a reason for this unexpected softness, and Belial resolved to let the talk run its own course. For now.
“Next, Lady Ygraen,” Baron Drakeson grumbled. “You vomited into her mother's ancestral vase.”
Belial almost choked on a guffaw. Amedee had apparently applied even more desperate means to avoid a kiss than throwing himself and the lady into a river.
Baron Drakeson shared none of his amusement. “That damn vase has been standing on their high table for three hundred years,” he complained. “Solid gold, crusted with sapphires. Pride of their House. Mere moments before Lady Ygraen's father announced your betrothal, you emptied your stomach right there.” He shook his head, staring into the glass. As if the black fluid could give him some insight into Amedee's doing. “It amazes me still how you staged it with such perfect timing...” He took another draught of the drink, then glanced at his grandson again. “Tell me, it was not staged,” he demanded. “Tell me, it was a bout of nausea.”
Amedee stood there silent.
“At least you do not lie.” Baron Drakeson sighed and motioned him to join him by the hearth. “At least that damn vase has a wide neck.”
Amedee started to the right of the sofa and Belial scooted to the left, unwilling to let his young plaything sit right through him. The soul state of being didn't have only advantages.
“That was quite fortunate.” Amedee flunk himself onto the sofa. “I would have hated to cause more damage. To their gold-gilded cutlery, I mean.”
I think I've usurped Elisa's blog for long enough at this point. I'll be delighted if you take me up on my offer, but now it's time for me to handover this place back to her. After all, a guest is only welcome if he doesn't stay too long.
Thank you, Elisa, for having me and my books over today. It's been a pleasure for me to come for a visit.
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