Excerpt And Interview

For the month of April, I'm the guest author in fellow writer Kate Hill's newsletter. Please visit her site at: www.kate-hill.com

GUEST AUTHOR: RENA MARKS

KH: What are you favorite genres to read and write?

RM: My favorite genre is always paranormal. It's just the way my mind twists. I've tried to write contemporary stories, and somehow a witch gets weaved in. Or a vampire. A werewolf. Demon. You get the picture.

KH: Do you have any particular writing habits? (Listening to music, best time of day to write, etc.)

RM: I've found I work best first thing in the morning, before even getting out of bed! It's like my brain is still in dream mode. If I wait too late in the day, forget it. The sun goes down and takes my imagination with it.

KH: Please tell us about your latest release?

RM: Kiss Me Before I Die was originally slated for another publisher, strictly urban fantasy. But during the first RomantiCon Convention, I had the opportunity to pose for two covers for my next two books. Needless to say, Kiss Me was re-vamped for Ellora's!The blurb is as follows: When an experiment goes wrong, Afton is sent to release the rage built up in her system by a desire-enhancing drug. Once she finds Ethan, head of the vampires, the drug kicks in. A love affair between a vampire and an Extinguisher is doomed from the beginning, but Afton can't resist the lure of the predator.

KH: What is upcoming for you?

RM: My third book in the Demonic series, tentatively titled Demonic Kisses, is nearly complete. Holly Dewan is the product of demon eggs hidden on Earth, and since bred with humans. But now her demon side demands her return to Luciefyiore, the Hell dimension, where she discovers her own demonic power. A kiss, which sparks a powerful wave of breeding lust over all in her general vicinity.

KH: To you what makes a great hero?

RM: A great hero is a man...coming from a woman's mind. Imagine the concept: if any man willingly read romance novels for five years, he could do some real damage to the hearts of women. We pour every secret we've ever wanted from a man into our novels, he would know exactly what women want.

KH: If you could meet one of your characters, which one would it be?

RM: Hmm. I have. The three old bats from Demonic Kisses are from the future, fifty years or so. Talk to my gal-pals, Tricia and Monica. Read about their real life antics in my blogs. You'll see why this prologue begins the book:

Three little old ladies and their dogs were sitting on a park bench having a quiet conversation when a flasher approached from across the park. The flasher came up to the old ladies, stood right before them, and opened his trench coat.

Trisha immediately had a stroke.

Monika also had a stroke.

But Rena, being older and more feeble, couldn't reach that far. Author Unknown

KH: Do you have a website, newsgroup or blog where readers can learn more about you and your books?

RM: My website is www.RenaMarks.com. From that link, you can find myspace page, my blog, or facebook.

KH: Thank you, Rena!





GUEST AUTHOR EXCERPT: KISS ME BEFORE I DIE BY RENA MARKS

Excerpt: Kiss Me Before I Die
by Rena Marks
From Ellora's Cave

I should have been startled at the rush of cool air behind me. At the very least, surprised, for it had been a year. Somehow I wasn't. Time melted away, as though it had just been yesterday.

A whisper of sweet breath curled near my ear. "You cannot get away from me, bella. You'll always be mine."

"I own myself," I whispered back. "I've refused you already."

"It's not that easy. For even now, you can't deny me."

His finger trailed down my shoulder, along my bare skin, danced down my arm. Lightly skimming, reminding me of the touch I craved. I breathed deeply as the blaze kindled deep inside.

He was right. Denial was impossible, avoidance was easier. Was it his power or was it something indescribable between us? For now it didn't matter.

Heat licked against sensitive nerve endings. His palm, open and warm, pressed flat to my abdomen, pulled me back into him. I could feel the fire between us, coiled tightly inside and knew I'd soon beg for his hand to inch its way lower.

His voice, deeper than ever, taunted me with known pleasure. "I could make you come here and now. No one would ever know."

Temptation was sinful and it was what I fought hard against. The lure of the vampire. My best weapons were fight and flight.

He was right but I wouldn't acknowledge it. For the burning edge of desire struck me tenfold. It was a drug, an addiction I still fought.

Sometimes it was one I didn't want to fight.

I turned my face slightly, to look into his eyes. Deliberately, I pulled away.

His smile was sardonic but he let me go. I wouldn't be able to suppress the urge for long, the awaited anticipation would make my failure sweeter.

He knew this.

"You run, Afton. But you unknowingly head for my own jurisdictions. There's a reason. You are mine."

"No, I'm not," I said clearly. The bastard was way too cocky. And why shouldn't he be? Dark hair contrasted with lighter brown eyes against creamy skin. The distinction of his lighter eyes stood out even more when he wore carefree stubble darkening the line of his jaw. He was tall, broad-shouldered and exuded sex appeal like nobody's business.

But I belonged to no one and never would.

Instead, I sighed. "How did you find me, Ethan?"

"It doesn't matter," he whispered and wrapped strong arms around me. For the briefest moment, I leaned into his strength. Felt it envelop me like a cloud of comfort on a cold day.

The need struck even harder now. It was so easy to close my eyes and go with it. Stop fighting. Give up my independence, my humanity. Everything that made me. . .me.

I stepped away. "Stop it," I chided. "Keep your tricks to yourself."

"Tricks?" he murmured unconvincingly.

"I mean it."

He knew what I was talking about. He had been imposing his will upon me, mockery to make me believe I was willing to surrender. I would have fallen for it, if I had not given myself the conscious reminder of fight or flight.

"Play nice or I'll run again," I warned. But was his need as great as mine? I allowed him to step close to me, close enough that I smelled the aftershave wafting from his skin. He leaned his lips toward mine, silently begging, yet also daring me to take the chance. It was the tiniest opportunity and I couldn't resist, for it had been way too long.

I tilted my head back and parted my moistened lips. He touched.

And all hell broke loose.

Wants, needs, feelings. Emotions ran rampant throughout my soul, yearnings and cravings of a body that had been too long without. I gasped for sweetened air and his tongue touched mine. It stroked lovingly and yet demanded my full surrender. Only one person could be this loving and challenging all at once.

Ethan.

I felt his hunger, always carefully monitored but now ready to break uncontrollably through. It bubbled to the surface before it was tamped back down when he broke the kiss.

He strung heated kisses along my jaw before returning to my lips. I was too eager to kiss him back. I'd missed this desperately. My reservations were flung to the back burner.

The music blared and the bodies around us quickened, movements becoming jerky, like mindless zombies with limbs partially stuck in the frozen throes of rigor mortis. But only their brains were dead.

Lights flickered off and on.

Our tongues entwined, smoothly touching and dancing, sensuously sliding together, making promises that neither of us could keep.

Tables crashed, noises growing louder as chairs overturned.

Our lips meshed thoroughly, hands roaming each other's bodies. He gripped my hips, pulling me into him. A shiver of need shot through me.

Yelling ensued all around us, angrily raised voices screaming with frustrated rage.

We broke apart, breathing heavily. Hearts racing. He lowered his forehead to press against mine as he kissed the tip of my nose.

Chaos encircled us. Shattering glass, liquid spilling.

"You've upset the balance," he murmured. "Come with me."

"Never," I said gently.

Glass tinkled as a bottle crashed over a person's skull in the scuffle just a few feet away. The victim collapsed like a tree, leaving the scent of blood behind.

"Foolish," he murmured and was gone. As usual, he left me to clean up the mess we'd made.

Cleanup wasn't easy. Normally easygoing patrons of the club were stunned as to what might have happened to cause such unheard of behavior. An uproar they were involved in. How did one explain they felt the bloodlust of my lover?

The vampire who couldn't have me.

Bellydance

I was excited when I didn't flunk out - and moved up to class two. But Trish is laid up from her surgeries, which rules out Amber, and Phylandra decided to take another class on Monday nights.

Now, bellydancing isn't as much fun without my girls. The girls used to giggle when we goofed, and made it fun.

And Good Lord above, Bellydance II is hard as hell. It doesn't seem like it would be hard, we're just doing veils and zills.

Who would guess clacking your fingers together would be difficult? But I never realized they're clacked in a pattern, and that each hand has a different pattern. Add to that pattern of 1, (right hand), 3 (left hand), 7 (right hand), 3 (left hand), 5 (right hand). Start over.

In the meantime, walk. Not just any walk, but in time to the music. Swinging your hips, or twisting your hips.

Three things at once? Are you kidding? So I got the bright idea that with all those clackers clacking, no one would be able to tell if I was doing a pattern or not. I started clunking both my hands at the same time, to every clack. Pretty soon, the rest of the class starting “hmmphing” me.

Apparently, the witches could tell I faked it. Not that I fake everything, mind you. Yes, we're talking about the Big O here. I just figured I would practice later...on my own.

Phylandra and Amber would have giggled when I was busted. Trisha would have burst out laughing, and then gotten hushed herself by the crabbies all around us.

But there, by myself, I'm outnumbered. And now, when the teacher says, “Do this move again, and try not to look slutty...” I know she's talking to me.

Because my Trish isn't there to take the blame.

The Most Asked Question

I get so tired of the same question. From the male sex. First the leer, the wink-wink, the opening of their mouths, and then...wham.

“What kind of 'research' do you do for your books?”

Okay, really? Women have NEVER asked that. Do men think that one's original? And do they think they're interesting enough to entice me into naked research when there are so many other offers? I've heard The Question so often, I no longer clench my teeth. Now I just lean in close enough to let him take a good whiff of my perfume, lick my lips, and whisper huskily, “I don't do research. I just, (exhale of breath here) watch a LOT of porn.”

When his eyes glaze over, I walk towards his friend and ask to dance.

Call me bitter. Call me be-yotch. But I think writing romance tends to ruin women for real men. For how can any man live up to the standards of the heroes we write about?

It's impossible. But think of how wonderful it would be to create the perfect man. A man who is willing to listen to what women want.

Because I don't care what your drinking buddies say. It takes a real man to carry off wearing a pink shirt. Try it and see the the swivel of female heads when you walk into a room.

The drinking buddies think it's cool to wear shirts of black. That's nice. You look like everyone else out there. Blendable. Forgettable. But hey, go ahead. They know best. And they like being single.

Ladies, what do you think?