xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Kryssie Fortune: June 2016

Friday, 24 June 2016

Me, Tom Sawyer, and That Damn Fence #book #amreading #excerpt

I was hot. I was sweaty. The sun beat on my back. My arms ached and I wanted to stop. That’s what I get for painting the fence. My brain started to wander. I remembered Tom Sawyer in  Mark Twain’s book, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, had to whitewash the fence. Not just any fence either. It was nine foot high and 30 feet long. And there I was feeling aggrieved.

Me? I’m not clever like Tom. Plus I was in my enclosed back garden. If I’d been out by the road, I might even have tried Tom’s tactics. I’d have hummed and smiled, so happy to do the painting that I never wanted to stop. And, no, I was having such fun that I didn’t want any help. Of course, if you were to pay me, I might let you have a go.
This scene’s stuck with me since I first read the book back in my early teens. I started to wonder why. Maybe it was the way Tom manipulated other boys. Perhaps it was because he’d been brave enough to skip school—something I can honestly say I never did. Maybe he just sounded fun to be around.
That got me thinking about my favorite books. I always cry at Little Women when Beth dies. I hate Romeo and Juliet, and by default West Side Story. No happy ending, then it’s not for me. I’m not a George Orwell fan either.

Agatha Christie's more my line. A neat little mystery bought about by well-drawn characters in a setting that draws me in. The big reveal at the end always makes me think, “I knew that” or “Why didn’t I see it?

That got me wondering about the books I’ve written and if I had a stand out favorite. And I did. My second “Scattered Siblings” book, Curse of the Fae King is a standout for me. Why that one?
Well, I’m no Agatha Christie, but  I did some serious world building in this one. It moved the story on from To Wed a Werewolf, had a great romance, a bad guy that people fell for and a heroine that can’t stick to her diet. And did I mention Lipstick?

He’s the Fae King’s newly hatched war dragon, but if there’s trouble he’ll find it. Dragons eat six or seven times their body weight daily, more when they hit a growth spurt. Poor Lipstick’s one hungry little dragon, but boy is he cute. There’s a bit of a mystery too. In short, it meets my criteria for a book I’d love to read. 

Leonidas’s nightmare: when he inherited the Fae throne, he inherited the curse a witch cast on his bloodline. No wonder he hates witches. His dirty secret: if he doesn’t bed a different woman every month he’ll turn feral – and he’s bored to death with mindless sex. 
When he hunts down his escaped war dragon, his enemies trap him on earth and strip his powers. His month’s almost up and if he doesn’t bed someone soon, his beast will rise. 
Meena’s dream: to be good at something. Anything. Even sticking to a diet. Her secret: she’s a failed witch masquerading as human. She accidentally bonds with Leonidas’s escaped dragon. Sparks fly when he wants it back.

Plunged into a world of stuck-up Fae, evil elves, and high-adventure they must solve a twenty-two year-old mystery. Along the way, they tumble into bed, and lust leads, unexpectedly, to love. When Leonidas’s curse kicks in again, he’ll have to abandon Meena and bed another. Is their love strong enough to survive their secrets and break the ancient curse?

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“That’s my bloody dragon!” The Fae stalked across the cliff top, his emerald shirt billowing beneath his black leather waistcoat. “And I will be having him back.” 
Meena’s curls tumbled over her shoulders, an ebony waterfall streaked with rainbow colors. She’d come up to the abbey ruins for solitude and peace, and as usual, she’d found it. Unless you counted the little lost dragonet at her feet. A large dog would have dwarfed him, but he was definitely the cutest otherworld creature she’d ever seen. And now his owner wanted him back. 
She glanced back toward the main entrance to see who’d provoked the Fae’s fury. There wasn’t another soul to be seen, which meant... 
Sweet Hekate. He’s yelling at me. 
Okay, her life was... Well, it wasn’t good, but no one snarled at her like that. Meena clenched her fists and squared her shoulders while the dragonet rested his head on his paws and took another bite of her sandwich. 
The Fae’s arrogance chafed, but she refused to take her anger out on the dragonet. The way he mewled and flopped down at feet made her smile. 
Meena removed her gloves and fondled his pointy ears. “Cheer up, Lipstick. Daddy’s finally come to take you home. What a pity he didn’t take better care of you in the first place.” 
“Lipstick?” Leonidas thundered. "You named a powerful war dragon Lipstick. He should bear a noble name like Dreadnought or Valiant.” 
With his uptight expression, corded muscle, and stiff spine, he had to be Fae royalty. That didn’t bode well for an outcast like her. 
Meena smiled her professional customer-service smile--the one that had let her down earlier. “But he's the same color as my new lipstick. Scarlet Kisses, see?” 
She brandished it like a talisman. She expected smoke to come out of this overbearing Fae’s ears. How satisfying was that? Whenever Fae passed through Whitby, they dissed her completely--but that wasn’t always a bad thing. Eight years ago when her powers didn’t manifest at puberty, the Witch Council put a price on her head. Her mother moved them to the mundane world, but it had taken Meena forever to adjust to life in Whitby. A life without magic. 
Despite his bad temper, the Fae’s sculptured cheekbones and kissable lips made a dangerous combination--one she struggled to resist. His voice flowed over her like melted chocolate. She loved how he’d braided his hair back in a neat queue at the nape of his neck, and now he stood like a Spanish hidalgo--all uptilted chin, disdainful pride, and gleaming white fangs. Only how dare he look down his nose at her? Carved of granite and steel, he radiated menace. Definitely not as cute as his dragon. More mouthwateringly masculine, but otherworld creatures usually dissed a reject like her. 
She stared at the bullwhip coiled Indiana Jones-style at his narrow waist, then at the black-handled dagger sheathed on his right hip. An obsidian rapier--Fae-forged and unbreakable--almost merged with one of the taped seams that ran down the sides of his pants. He even wore a dagger gunslinger-style at his hip. Dear Goddess, the man was a walking arsenal, but he was sexy as hell. 
This Fae warrior was battle honed and ready. When the wind whipped his shirtsleeves against his biceps, Meena barely stopped herself from licking her lips or, better yet, his. When she imagined his arm curled around her waist--dominant, possessive yet protective--her pussy clenched with desire. 
Otherworld species--the Witches, Vampires, Lykae, and Fae--used Whitby the way aircraft passengers do a transport hub. Sometimes she wanted to scream, “I’m here. Talk to me.” Deep down, she knew better than to draw attention to an outcast like herself. Humans never noticed their comings and goings, but she saw every one of them, silent reminders of everything she’d lost. Life without her Witch friends or her magic was hard. Living in Whitby was difficult enough, then just a couple of hours ago, life kicked her in the pants again. 
The abbey ruins dominated the picturesque harbor town, and ever since she’d arrived in the mundane world, she’d found peace among its ancient stones. Until today. Damn it, she wouldn’t let some high and mighty Fae spoil her refuge, no matter how loud he shouted. 
His lips narrowed into a stern, kissable line, and his voice dripped deadly menace. “Woman, you will give me back my dragon.” 
“Okay, jackass, enough. I’m having a really bad day here,” Meena snapped. “And to top it off, your dragonet just polished off my lunch.” 
“You bloody fed him? Elves’ blood, don’t you know they bond with whoever first feeds them? You’ve poached my damn dragon.” He seethed with fury and frustration along with the sort of take-charge sexiness that could make a girl weak. Make her crave all the things her exile denied her--and that definitely included sex. 
Fangs bared, he marched toward her. His don’t-fuck-with-me confidence made her mouth water, but provoking him might prove...fatal. 
Meena’s courage almost deserted her, but she stood her ground. “Someone had to take care of him, especially since you didn’t. And don’t you dare glower at me like that. Hello? Already stressed out here, so why don’t you flash off back to Fairyland?” 
He went quiet and still, so mean and moody he made her heart race. “No one”--he took the arrogant bad-boy vibe up a gear--“speaks to me with such disrespect. I am Leonidas, and that is my dragon.” 
“Get over yourself, and go annoy someone else.” She smirked in his face. 
His expression frozen in haughty grandeur, he rested his hand on his rapier’s hilt. His curled lip and narrow-eyed glower said he’d happily run her through with his blade. Then when he truly looked at her, his eyes glinted like emerald stars, and magic swirled around him in waves. Tiny lightning flashes zigzagged around him in a full-body halo that even a witchy reject like her could see. 
His voice turned deep and sensual--an earthy rumble that made her pussy pulse with need. “A man would die for speaking to me like that, but it would be a shame to rob the world of a beauty like yours.” 
What do you know? The warrior’s a poet. That was the prettiest compliment she’d ever received. Come to think of it, it was the only compliment she’d received since she’d fled the otherworld. That’s it, rub it in that I’m lonely. He oozed Latino charm just like Antonio Banderas when he played Zorro. Indiana Jones? Zorro? What is this? Hollywood’s Sexiest Men? 
Thunderbolts rumbled around him, and the lightning flashes turned electric blue. He was danger and fury, a mountain of sensual hunger--as proven by the tempting bulge in his tight leather pants. Then he closed his eyes, shuddered, and extinguished the storm cloud of desire he’d just invoked. Tight leather trousers weren’t designed to hide a hard-on, especially not one that size. Only what’s with the light show? Come on, Fairy king, give me a clue. 
Without sparing her another glance, he reached into his belt pouch and tossed the dragonet a slice of raw meat. “Eat up, boy; then I’ll take you home.” 
Full from Meena’s cheese sandwich, the dragonet growled softly and turned away. Leonidas’s clenched jaw and raised eyebrow made Meena smirk again. His face was too harsh to be handsome--all angular planes and aquiline nose--but despite his atrocious manners, she didn’t want him to leave. Her cheeks heated when his green-eyed gaze swept over her, and again his lip curled. “You’re not human. You’re too slender in places and too curvy in others. What species are you?” 
Too thin? Too curvy? Come on, jackass, make up your mind. 
So much for the compliments--and did he just call her overweight? She wasn’t skinny, just sort of middling and normal, unless she gorged herself on chocolate. Okay, she watched her figure, but then what woman didn’t? Maybe she packed a few extra pounds, not that she’d admit it to this aren’t-I-just-perfect Fae. 
Determined to give as good as she got, she smirked again. “Perhaps I’d be fatter if Lipstick here hadn’t scoffed my lunch. And for your information, I’m Goth.” 
He raised a questioning eyebrow. 
How insular could one Fae be? Meena rolled her eyes and smiled just wide enough to show her tiny fangs. “You’re standing in the Mecca of British Gothdom. Whitby Abbey? The place that inspired Bram Stoker? Spiritual home of Dracula? I’m a Vampire wannabe, supposedly. The New Age shop that just fired me wanted me to dress the part, so here I am, all swirling woolen cape, bloodred lips, and dark brows.” 
“Vampires thrive on war and bloodshed, and with every year their king is missing, their bloodlust gets worse. They are the deadliest, most despised of species, and you are soft and curvy in all the right places, but you look like you’d break in battle. And who is this Bram Stoker? Is he the one who spoiled your day?” 
Wow! Was that another compliment buried beneath all that disdain? I could definitely get used to this. 
She shot him a quick, puzzled glance, then grinned and shook her head. “Stoker’s the man who invented Dracula. And I messed up when I told some idiot teenager she didn’t need to be sky-clad to work her spells. She told me her so-called coven, mostly her gullible school friends, meets up on the North Yorkshire Moors. I mean, it’s bleak up there even on midsummer’s eve, and spell-craft doesn’t need gale-force winds and goose bumps to work. How was I supposed to know she’d take the hump? Or that her uncle was the head of the town council? Anyway, my boss’s planning application comes up next week, and she needs him on her side. She kind of lost it when little Miss I Know More About Witchcraft Than You kicked up a fuss. In fact, my boss called me stupid and fired me on the spot.” 
Leonidas frowned. “We do not speak the same language, even though the words are the same. No wonder the Fae hate this world. Return my dragonet, and I’ll leave.” 
Lipstick mewled, coiled his tail around Meena’s leg, and rummaged in her bag with his snout. 
“Greedy guts.” She laughed. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m all out of cheese sandwiches. Time you went home. Besides, if any tourists spotted the pair of you, they’d freak.” 
Fae usually looked as if they were sucking ice cubes, but she’d have sworn Sexy and Gorgeous over there just rolled his eyes at her. 
“Human eyes can perceive neither me nor my dragon, but you do. Again, what are you?” His tone was long-suffering, so cold she shivered beneath her thick woolen cloak. 
“Peeved, fed up, and angry,” Meena answered. She turned her back and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck. “So long, Lipstick. Be good for Daddy. And you. Feed your beast when you get home.” 
She gave the dragon’s ears a final scratch, and when he uncoiled his tail, it dropped so low it brushed the ground. With a rueful smile, she stepped back--straight into the Fae warrior’s arms. 
“You dare attack me?” he teased, more sexual predator than lethal warrior. 
There he went with the lightning-storm thing again. Up close, she could feel his magic tingle over her skin, and she basked in a taste of everything her life lacked. Everything the Witch Council had stripped from her. Her heart fluttered, and her lips parted. Her breasts perked up, and her cunt ached with need. Truthfully, if she only knew whether she was immortal, she’d have taken a lover or two by now, but she didn’t dare risk falling for a man she’d outlive by centuries. 
“Love me,” he demanded. “Open your legs for me, and let me make recompense for my previous angry words.” 
Where the hell had that come from? One minute he stared at her with murder in his eyes, and the next he wanted to screw her senseless. She should shove him off and tell him to get stuffed, but the beauty running though his voice enthralled her. Her nipples pearled, and she’d have given anything to feel his mouth on her breasts or his fingers on her clit. 
His arm locked like a steel band around her waist. Was that his cock pressing against her back? He must be one well-endowed male if she could feel it through her cloak. When he ran a trail of kisses down her neck, spikes of pleasure tingled through her spine. She moaned and moved in closer, and even that small surrender made her pussy clench and demand more. What in the name of the Goddess was she doing? Getting close to a Fae was madness--even one who made her ache with wicked, wanton desires. 
Pushing him away was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she refused to be some passing Fae’s easy lay. “Get your hands off me, jackass. I’d never willingly touch you, especially not after you’ve just handled fresh meat. Besides, you’re the one who crowded against me.” 
“Aggressive argumentative female.” He stepped closer and nibbled at her earlobe. “You definitely attacked me, and I demand a forfeit.” 

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

To Wed a Werewolf

The warriors called him Caleb the Cold.
The women knew he was Caleb the Hot.

An all Romance best seller

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To Wed a Werewolf by Kryssie Fortune - Romance>Erotic Romance eBook
Genre: Shapeshifters, Fantasy & Paranormal

Sylvie's more human librarian than half-blood Fae princess and she definitely prefers books to men. Then, she learns her unwanted Lykae fiancée is marrying someone else. If she doesn't stop the wedding, the Fae will resume the border war with the Werewolf nation. A high-handed Lykae security guard blocks her every move, and when her plans go awry, she's kidnapped, stripped, and bound for his pleasure.

Caleb the Cold, King of the Lykae, will do anything to make his younger brother's wedding special--even pretend he's a security guard and kidnap his brother's former fiancée. Punishing her is pure pleasure, until he realizes she's his mate. Now he needs to woo the woman he's tormented to the edge of madness, but is it too late to claim her heart, and make her his?

Thursday, 9 June 2016

Think Orgy – Think Rome. #deviant #orgy #rome #adult #excerpt


We know the Romans held orgies, but they got up to some other shocking stuff too.
Nero was an expert in sexual deviancy. He invented a game where he’d be locked in a cage wearing an animal skin. When released, he attacked the genitals of male and female prisoners tied to stakes. Any that survived were killed by his former slave, Doryphorus.
He took his depravity a stage further when he met a young boy named Sporus. He ordered the poor lad castrated and actually married him. Your heart has to go out to the youngster given a dowry and forced to wear a wedding veil.

I always thought Tiberius was one of the good guys—a great general with many victories under his belt. Apparently other things were under there too, and  they were pretty shocking. 

 Apparently he liked to swim naked and have small children swim between his legs and lick his genitals. The mind boggles. 
Then he took things further. He’d have babies taken from their mother's breasts and let them suck on his penis.

For once, I’m lost for words.

One of my heroines, Viola from TO SEDUCE AN OMEGA attends an orgy despite her being an innocent. To quote, Just thinking about the coming orgy tied Viola’s insides in knots.
She found the whole thing shocking.

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The Healer’s Hall reminded Viola of a barn with its wooden walls and exposed beams. Groups of masked warriors flirted with the assembled women. Some slow danced with their chosen partners, holding them so close they came together in sensual heat.
As her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, she realized couples leaned against the walls, legs and arms entwined as they kissed. Farther back, a couple of women had bunched up their skirts while four warriors simultaneously screwed them—two from the front and two from behind.
Somewhere nearby, one healer shrieked as she climaxed. Viola blushed when she realized almost half the women had their tops off and flaunted their bare chests. She swallowed and tugged hers farther up onto her shoulders.
In the far corner, two naked females danced on a table while their masked companions urged them on. Embarrassed, Viola turned away, only to find her gaze riveted on a woman who’d spread her legs to let a warrior lick her cunt. In public too.
No way would Viola let someone suck on her clit while people stared. Not again. With Titus, it had been an unexpected delight. With a stranger, she’d die of mortification. The atmosphere seemed supercharged with sexual tension and redolent with the scent of women’s musk.
Across the room, one blond warrior leaned against the wall and glared at her. He looked dangerous and deadly, alert for the slightest threat. The way his blond hair spilled from beneath his mask and flowed around his shoulders fascinated her, but she preferred her men dark-haired and sporting a crew cut—just the way Titus’s hair looked.
Not wanting to antagonize the angry-looking blond, she gave him a slight smile, then turned away. She felt exposed and vulnerable enough to wish the women wore masks too. Being impersonal and partly hidden would be easier than standing here pretending she didn’t wish the ground would open up and swallow her.
The walls closed in on her, and she struggled to breathe. As she edged toward the door, her gaze rested on a woman who knelt at a warrior’s feet while he pumped his cock into her mouth. Too public. Too much, but… Viola’s nipples turned painfully hard beneath her gown. Her womb clenched, and her clit ached. Doing that with Titus would be…ecstasy. With anyone else, she’d probably puke.
One warrior strolled over to her and rested his hands on her breasts. “Dance, my lady?”
She froze, too stunned to speak. How dare he manhandle her without her permission? If she’d any Fae powers left, she’d strike him with a thunderbolt and run. Worse, he mistook her horrified silence for consent.
Once she’d shoved his hands off her tits, she shook her head and backed off. With a casual shrug, he moved on to another female, but Viola felt besmirched by the way he’d fondled her body. Unattached warriors, all dressed in the Fae’s favored peacock shades, stared at her from every corner of the room. Any moment now, they’d lick their lips and pounce…on her.
Panicked, she glanced toward the door. Two more warriors headed in her direction, their appreciative grins showing their intent. Across the room, the blond warrior started forward, but he looked more likely to throttle her than dance with her. Viola felt light-headed and nauseated. This gathering overwhelmed her, and she needed to leave. She spun around, straight into the arms of another masked Fae. “Will you dance, my lady?”
Dance? She could do that, especially since he hadn’t put his hands on her body. It beat being double-teamed by sex-hungry Fae. Since, for the first time in decades, her knee wasn’t hurting, she’d snatch a moment’s peace and enjoy the music. Deep down she wished her first-ever dance could be with Titus.
As she let the warrior lead her onto the dance floor, she noticed the blond with the predatory stare had taken another step in her direction. His whole body bristled as she leaned into her partner for a slow dance. What the hell’s his problem, anyway?
As she swayed to the music, her partner’s breath warmed her ear. He held her so close his erection pressed into her stomach, but she hid her mounting panic behind a saccharine smile. He maneuvered through the crowd, heading for the door. “Shall we take a walk? Then I’ll fuck you under the stars.”
Her feet felt glued to the floor. She couldn’t do this, even if her refusal angered her newfound family. Better to be powerless and proud than some masked stranger’s whore. These women with their low-cut gowns and lack of panties might enjoy an evening of unbridled sex, but spreading her legs to stoke up her power wasn’t for Viola.
The blond warrior forced his way toward her, his gaze still fixed on her. Something about his possessive glare sent nervous shivers running down her spine. She pulled out of her dance partner’s arms and raced through the crowd. The back wall barred her way.
Beside her, a woman panted heavily, eyes closed as her partner pounded his cock into her. He looked at Viola, winked, and mouthed, You’re next.
She wanted to scream and run out the door. Blond and Brooding stalked toward her, but the stern twist of his lips didn’t bode well. No way did she want a man like him for her sexual partner. And still he bore down on her.
His movements were slow and deliberate, his jaw set, and his lips pursed as he tracked her. She pressed against the wall and hoped he’d forget her and stalk someone else. Her heart pounded and her hands shook. Maybe if she stayed still, he’d forget her and move on to someone else.
Arms crossed at the waist, she shut her eyes. It didn’t help. He grabbed her wrist, his grip a little too tight, and tugged her close. His musky vanilla essence made her mouth water. Her eyes flew open, but before she could say a word, the blond heaved her over his shoulder and flashed away from everything oversexed and Fae. Truly terrified, Viola thumped her fists on her captor’s back. She kicked hard at his chest and sank her teeth into his broad back. “King Leonidas will kill for you this.”
Her captor set her down and backed off. Fury radiated from him in waves. His voice sounded rough with anger, but that deep, angry rasp seemed achingly familiar. “He’ll kill me just for coming near you. So, how many Fae did you fuck before I grabbed you?”

Thursday, 2 June 2016

Little Things That Mean a Lot #words #books #sayings #bard

Good writing’s about using the right word in the right place. Not sure what I mean? Let me give you some examples.
Ever called someone as mad as a hatter? Do you think this comes from Alice in Wonderland? Then you’re mistaken. Lewis Carroll based his character on the hat makers of the time.

They used mercury on a daily basis when felting fabrics. Unfortunately, exposure to mercury causes mood swings, aggressiveness, and antisocial behavior. Just by adding the word mad, Carroll shows us a pale-faced character who shakes constantly and shouts out as inappropriately as a modern day Tourette’s syndrome sufferer. 
Here’s an exercise for you. Imagine a renaissance knight and his weapons. What do you see? A long sword wielded two-handed as he smites his enemies? How about a sumptuously dressed noble with a rapier at his side? Or the more common sword and buckler? Never heard of them? I hadn’t either. A visit to the Royal Armouries museum in my hometown of Leeds, England gave me a new take on the Mercutio and Tybalt fight in Romeo and Juliette.

A buckler is a small shield about the size of a dinner plate. It has a handle at the back and a boss or round bulge front and center. Usually, they were made from metal, but some swordsmen used a cheaper, leather version. These were the weapons of the common people.

SCENE I. Verona. A public place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers.
If you know the weapons, as Shakespeare’s Elizabethan audiences certainly did, you instantly know these retainers fight Spanish style. That’s freer and easier than the classic Italian styles.

The swordsman uses short stances and attacks from different angles. Some tutors of this style fell back on mathematics and suggest angles for the swordsman to strike at. To knowledgeable Elizabethans, these weapons mark the swordsman as a barbarian. That’s why the Mercutio calls Tybalt, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! 
In contrast, Romeo says, “Gentle Mercutio put thy rapier up.” Instantly, the audience knows Mercutio fights in a more gentlemanly style, using his rapier and dagger. He’ll move with quick thrusts in and out that require wrist action and balance. His technique took training, dedication, and skill. Even in Regency times, gentlemen wanted Italian fencing masters.

A knowledgeable audience got all that just by looking at the combatants. Shakespeare didn’t need long explanations. He let his characters’ weapons do his talking for him.
In another of Shakespeare’s plays, Julius Caesar, Casca sits through one of Cicero's orations. I picture him shuffling on the bench and yawning from boredom. Why? Because Cicero spoke in Greek and Casca didn’t understand anything Cicero said.
Casa dismissed the entire speech with his off hand, “It’s all Greek to me.”
Interestingly, this tells us more about Casca than he’d like.
Back then, language split the world. Thanks to Alexander the Great and his conquests, Greek was the language of Asia Minor while the Roman Empire spoke Latin. Well-educated Romans learned Greek for diplomatic reasons.
Not Casca though.
Either he lacked the skill to learn another language or his education didn't include Greek. Casca, the man who struck the first blow in Caesar’s assassination, held the office of Tribune of the People. He came from a different background to the rest of the Senate, and his role was to look out for the Plebian or middle-class interests. Look how many words I used to tell you about him. Shakespeare summed him up in one line. “It’s all Greek to me.”
 One thing great writers know is it’s the little details that make up the big picture.
I've tried to think of the details when I wrote my best selling E-book, To Seduce an Omega 
While I'm proud of my books, I'd never compare my writing to the bards, or even Lewis Carroll's. Then again, they didn't write about werewolves. .

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The Rock Prowler alpha condemns Viola for her inability to shift. Forced into poverty and isolation, she ekes out a meager existence as a healer. As the pack omega with a crippled knee, she’s forbidden to mate. Her first heat beckons, but no wolf will dare to bed her.

Titus, a wolf rejected by his true mate, overflows with violence and anger. The Lykae King sends him to take over the Rock Prowler pack. He condemns Viola for wanting payment before she treats her patients and threatens to bring in a new pack healer. With her crippled knee and no other income, she’d starve.

She-wolves from families who disagree with the alpha have vanished. When Titus investigates, the alpha’s allies imprison both him and Viola. To escape, he must seduce Viola—the she-wolf he insulted and reviled. If that’s not bad enough, she despises him for his seeming allegiance to the alpha. As he gets to know her, she steals his heart, but after all that’s happened, how can she accept him when even his fated mate refused him?