I'm so excited. Two major reasons. One, my new erotic futuristic dragon story debuts Jan 14 from Ellora's Cave and I had such fun writing this that honestly it felt effortless. That never happens for me. Secondly, I've got the rights back to the first book I've ever written, a sensual paranormal story called Rapture which features Sirens and Titans and is set in Atlantic Canada. I'm seriously thinking of self-publishing Rapture on my own and the second book in the series is almost finished. I love writing paranormal and having the opportunity to write about Atlantic Canada thrills me - trust me it is an exotic place to live. Below is an excerpt from Beastly Passion and you can check out the coming soon page at Ellora's Cave at http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-9004-50-beastly-passion.aspx.
Beastly Passion Excerpt:
Shards of ice nestled into her heart, followed by a torrential flush of melting heat. She gasped. Her body quaked with desire.
The lightweight silk sheet brushed her skin…a tangle of unfocused thirst and mind-numbing want caused her legs to involuntarily buck off the covering. Her hand slid down her throat, a sensual sweep as foreboding and significant as the rising temperature of her skin. Light fingertips skimmed over breasts, playing with the rose-colored peaks of her nipples until she answered the throb—the call and pulse that heated and thrummed through her entire body. Her fingers delved into her wet, soft folds of inviting flesh.
Honey-warm nectar lubricated her fingers. She used them like drumsticks…focused to the call of the song her body recognized at the molecular level. The rhythm and intensity of an ancient, inherent part of her evolution that yearned for her body to change, fly and soar through the realms of her tightly controlled consciousness. Her breath quickened to a fiery puff of soft, gray smoke. A singe of torrid heat caused her to move her fingers out of her sheath to tweak her hard-as-polished-stone nub. Her body, spirit and mind fractured—levitating her to that other plane of existence she fought daily to avoid.
The shift, instant. White-hot fire engulfed her spirit, mind and body. The flame morphed to solidify into what she truly was—dragon. Gone was the woman—discarded and chained away—so that the dragon beast with the long, golden-hued leathery wings stretched. She sought the heat of her thoughts. Clarity. Large, clawed talons pivoted on the marble floor. Her spiked tail slid into position behind her, but when her head swiveled to the front with the mirrors blanketing her gaze she froze. The vision of her new reality snared her like a cage of old. She caught dragon thoughts that yearned for the feel of sky and the need for the moisture-drenched orange clouds that radiated warmth from the moons.
She leashed those traitorous thoughts and screamed, squelching fire that threatened to spew forth. Instantly, she chastised her body for the lust of desire while her rational mind absorbed the impact of what had dared to happen. Shaking, she shifted back into a woman, and grasped the sheet that had fallen to the floor. The cool silk material was exactly what she needed to ground her. Anchor her.
The large, wide iron-fitted door to the chamber gave a mighty creak as it was forced open. Geirsson, her Captain-at-Arms, stormed in, armed and ready, followed by her maidservant.
“Get out!” Maeja didn’t care that her manner was totally uncharacteristic. She had mastered the art of being in control, as serene as polished steel. Born with beastly emotions, they would not control her. She would not allow that to happen. No one knew what a struggle that had become of late. Evidence this morning. She hated what she had dared let slip. Shifting into dragon was forbidden. She had been the one to issue that decree. While some of her people objected, the majority saw her reason. Her world, her people were prospering and if they had to hide their true identity then so be it.
Maeja had worked centuries to ensure others saw her the way she wanted them to. It had become such a part of her skin that sometimes she questioned her own identity. Lately, the haunting, wild animalistic urge to shift had become a steady ache. Often she fled to the safety of her chamber. That is exactly what she had done last night after that horrible scene at her annual Harvest Ball.
Geirsson’s eyes darted warrior swift around the room. “You screamed.”
“I did not. Get out.” At least this time I did not yell at them. Maeja regally enveloped the sheet around her and stood. “My clothes, prepare them…but first a bath. And ensure its cold, ice cold.” She directed herself to the maid, trying to ignore Geirsson.
The thought of even lukewarm water caressing her skin left her feeling slightly breathless and flushed. She struggled to regain her composure. Pursing her lips together, she hugged her arms. Her maidservant nodded, bowed low and left to do her bidding. Geirsson remained.
“You may leave, Geirsson.”
“I may…may I?”
She fought against the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. His rumbling voice always reminded her of churning stones being teased to become bright polished gems, something her beast loved. This morning its intensity was doubled, leaving her with the oddest urge to rub her body up against his. I did not succumb to his charms years ago and I most certainly will not now.
Geirsson looked down at the floor. Two long gouges bore evidence to her swift transformation. She said a silent prayer of thanks when he simply walked over them. Then he edged forward to where she stood. She blinked. What was he doing?
“Fare thee well, my lady?”
He knows. Her nostrils flared, inhaling and tasting his scent. Woodsy smoke mixed with salt, sand and the metallic taste of jewels and minerals sailed into her. She knew he caught the slight, ever so infinitesimal inhalation on her part. Her anger instantly sparked. The spurt of that churning emotion spewed forth within Maeja and she had to close her eyes against the heat enveloping her rational senses, again. She bowed her head, hoping he would give her a moment to collect her thoughts and clamp down hard on the pebble of desire that threatened to break free. What by the Jewels was happening to her?
“I am fine. No need to concern yourself.” She turned, needing the space to breathe, fearful of the animalistic urge that told her to simply push Geirsson to the floor and straddle him. Take what she knew he could skillfully offer. As always, she denied herself.
She was Maeja III. A royal Queen of Castra, descendant from a dynasty of dragon queens. And she was the last of her line.
That sad, hard rock of reality as always robbed her of breath. She had tried everything—a hundred or so draconic men through the long passage of time—and about a century ago when she had ushered her planet into the computer age, she had even resorted to in-vitro fertilization. But nothing worked. She was a good queen, and maybe the Blessed Jeweled Scribe scholars would record her reign as the best but she was barren. All my work will not be for naught. It was a recitation that had become her own dreaded motto.
Maeja didn’t have anyone she could leave her dynasty to and she wanted to be able to do that. She wanted a child of her own to nurture with the understanding of what her race needed. A firm hand.
Again, the image of what had transpired last night flashed through her. Note to self, check on the witch in the dungeon and find out which faction sent her to infiltrate my royal palace.
“I questioned the witch.”
Lost in her own turmoil of thoughts, Maeja was astonished when Geirsson spoke. She had assumed since she had turned her back to him that he had left. She should have known better. Lately Geirsson seemed always to be under foot.
He crossed his arms and she tried hard to ignore the play of muscles on his forearms. Maeja felt her throat constrict with longing and her heart accelerate. She pivoted and moved farther away from him, not wanting Geirsson to assess her reaction. Both were beasts to the core and he was not blind. To pretend he knew nothing of her desire for him would not benefit her rational mind.
“She claims she was not sent by any factions. I’m not one hundred percent sure. She claims she came of her own free will. She also…”
Geirsson’s long pause forced Maeja to turn and face him. “Yes, what?”
“She wants to speak with you alone.”
Maeja tugged the sheet around her tighter. “Alone. I don’t think so.”
Geirsson paced her bedroom. It was so uncharacteristic of her stoic guard that his movements caused her to examine him again. The thought she should replace him with someone else flashed hotly through her. She was beginning to admire his strong, muscular physique far too much for her own good. Often during the day she found herself fantasizing about him and it was beginning to annoy her.
“Stop that. Why are you doing that?”
