My newest release, Hounded By Love, is also set to come out on May 15th. Enjoy an excerpt below the April Martinez cover art.
Chapter One Excerpt
The music pulsed through the
Hound’s veins as hundreds of hands reached up in the air, some waving back and
forth, others pumping fists, all over heads nodding to the beat with lips
either chanting lyrics or screaming, squealing, and hooting satisfaction and
encouragement. The Hound wailed into the microphone one last time as the music
crashed to a close around him. The stage lights, on cue, swung from him and the
band to bathe the crowd in long strokes of disorienting light and darkness.
Warm, sweaty bodies surged against the stage with adulating expressions on
upturned, pretty faces.
The Hound crouched at the edge
of the stage, shaking hands and blowing kisses. Adrenaline raced through his
system. He flew on its high, and, as with every performance, he felt like he’d
never touch down again. Behind him, his band toyed with instruments, chords
shooting out of huge black speakers to dive and swoop over the crowd, combating
their own noise while punctuating applause and teasing the senses. They waited
for him, the other musicians. The band called themselves Hecate’s Hounds, but
he was the Hound, their hound, the face, the voice, and the irresistible magnet
for the screaming fans. And the Hound loved every minute of it.
He squeezed a hand and drew a
beautiful redheaded woman closer. He leaned in, staring into her bright green
eyes, but only after taking a long stare deep into her damp, plump cleavage.
“Party with me,” he said with a husky, show-worn voice.
His proposition rang out over
the speakers. The crowd approved. Screams rose, crested, and waved away as the
audience shouted themselves hoarse. The redhead nodded, and the Hound kissed
her hand, letting his gaze fall over her breasts once more before he backed
away.
He lifted the microphone to his
lips and shouted, “Thank you!” He raised a hand. “What a great crowd of sexy,
sexy people!” They answered louder than before. “Hush…” He paused. They
simmered but didn’t quiet. “Hush,” he whispered again. They cheered and
screeched, but the Hound didn’t really want the silence he requested. The
celebration of joy undulating through the audience buoyed his mood like a drug.
They were his addiction. He smiled. They squealed. He lifted a hand. They
shouted. He shook his head and opened his mouth, prepared to speak over the
noise, because he’d never expect them to wait quietly for him to continue.
“Because you’ve been so wonderful.” He paused, flashing a wide, wicked grin.
“We have one more song. Just. For. You!”
The band blasted into a
high-energy song with a quick, deep bass beat and a hypnotizing rhythm. The
Hound forgot about the redhead and did the one thing he could always rely on to
set his soul ablaze. He sang.
* * * *
The long hallway between the
drop-off behind the stage and the dressing room had been built with a low
ceiling and close walls, made narrower with fans packed in along both sides,
all waiting and hoping to be picked by the band to attend their aftershow
party. Hecate’s Hounds had a reputation, and they rarely failed to live up to
the rumors.
Sebastian Korba, Bas to his
friends and the Hound to his fans, led the procession through the throng. He
paused in front of a short young woman in a lime-green minidress and black
boots sporting buckles that matched the thick black dog collar around her neck.
Her bleached-blonde hair, piled high on her head, trickled down in skinny
tresses to frame her flushed face. Her wide-eyed gaze openly ravished Bas as he
paused in front of her. He raised a hand and brushed his thumb down her cheek
and along her full pink lips. “Wanna party?” he asked in a deep, gravelly stage
whisper.
She bit her lower lip, her
excitement leaking through in a soft, muffled squeal. She nodded her head
vehemently. “Oh yes,” she said. She turned her head to grin at her friend, who
managed to look both happy and disappointed.
Bas held out a hand. The blonde
took it and asked, “Can I bring Callie?”
Bas glanced back at his band. Each
member, including Phee, the one woman in the band, stood by chatting with fans
and choosing companions for the evening. Phee had her hand on the thin chest of
a pretty young man with heavy eyeliner and blackened lips. Another lovely
choice. Bas wondered how he’d walked right past the guy, who was usually his
type when he ached for a sexy mouth to relieve his postshow adrenaline rush.
“Who’s Callie?” Bas asked,
trying to remember if he’d met a Callie recently. The guy was cute, but Phee
had her bright pink claws in him now, and Bas found he didn’t much care that
she did.
“My friend, silly.” Bas looked
at the blonde smiling up at him and realized he didn’t know her name. He
couldn’t remember the last girl either. Or that hot androgynous guy in riot
boots and mesh sleeves who’d blown his mind blowing his—
The girl shook his arm,
snapping him out of that nameless memory. “So…you, me, and Callie?” She lifted
her hand, her fingers intertwined with her friend’s. Both girls wore black
leather bands around their wrists, and black stringy bracelets slid over them
as they moved. A package deal. A common fantasy of his, and yet his high from
the stage faded as he contemplated the two girls before him.
Bas snorted and dropped her
hand. “Never mind,” he said and started toward the dressing room door.
“Okay,” she shouted after him.
“Just me.” He barely heard her words as they sank past the jumbled memories of
faces, all blending together into sweat and sex. “Hey, what the heck! Aren’t
you the dog?”
“The Hound,” he muttered under
his breath. He slammed the dressing room door hard enough for the sound to
reverberate through the small space despite the cacophony of screams, shouted
words, and offers of endless pleasures just outside. He stalked into the middle
of the room, looking for something to hit, throw, or otherwise vent his
frustration on. The only thing within reach was Daisy, her tail curled around
her legs as she watched him with her soft dark eyes. He would never hurt her.
“Don’t give me that look,” he
told her, and turned his back to his best friend. Hound eyes could appear so
full of pity, and Bas certainly felt pitiful tonight. He hadn’t started out to
become the dog his nickname implied. It was, after all, just a nickname, and
only because of the band’s name. Yet he’d never complained about the attention,
the infatuation, the obsession. He’d reveled in it. The scantily clad women,
the pretty young men, the constant drinking, fucking, and singing had all come
together so well. Too well. Yet now Bas sneered at nothing and no one,
disgusted with the thoughts barking for attention in his mind; being nothing
but a dog meant nothing.
He flopped down beside Daisy
and aimlessly stroked her long, soft ears. “If I have to be a dog, I’d rather
be you, girl.” Daisy yawned and stretched before settling down with her head
resting on his thigh. He smiled and cooed softly to her. “You’re loyal and
loving…nothing like me. Why do they call male sluts dogs anyway?”
* * * *
Hounded By Love will be released by Loose Id on May 15th.
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2 comments:
Thanks, Pia! Love your cover, too, and I can't wait to read the book. I'm v.v. intrigued by the excerpt!
Thanks Keira :)
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