Tuesday, June 17, 2008


Hi All,
Well, I'm betting Miz Ging will never invite me back to her blog site again after this week...she probably never intended but for me to pay her one tiny little visit then be on my way, but I'm like the bad penny and just keep popping in to say hi. I thought I'd take the opportunity to post a couple of excerpts from my witch books, so without any more jabbering, here's the blurb from Witch's Brew, Book One of the Winslow Witches of Salem....Enjoy...Tabs

Witches, wizards and magic! Saylym Winslow regains forgotten magical powers, but is determined to ignore them. No way is she a witch; magic brings nothing but trouble. But when Talon, Waken Prince and assassin of witches is assigned to terminate Saylym by stealing her soul, she discovers being a real, spell-casting witch is only the beginning of her problems. Talon is enchanted by Saylym’s beauty and charm and refuses to do his duty. He is given a choice by the powerful Waken Guild: Handfast with the trouble making witch to keep her in line or they will send Drayke, the most ruthless waken assassin, to hunt her down.
Sparks fly in this bewitching, sexy battle of the sexes—witch-style.


“There’s something not right about that witch, Prince. I can feel it.”
With a casualness he was far from feeling, Talon extended his right arm. His flesh was protected from the owl’s sharp claws by a long leather glove that reached half-way up his forearm. The miniature violet-colored owl landed smoothly and walked its way up to perch on his shoulder.
Talon stroked the downy feathers on its wing. “She’s half-illumrof,” he replied. “But I’m a big boy, Vox. I can take care of myself.”
Vox gave what amounted to an indelicate snort. “You’re supposed to be house-hunting, Prince, not witch-hunting. You can’t get involved with a half-mortal creature. You know very well illumrofs are not to be trusted. Especially half-breeds, who have no loyalty to either race. You could end up dangling from a rope in the mortal world. Your parents and the Waken Guild will forbid a courtship!”
Talon issued a low rumble of impatience. “I know why I’m here, Vox. There’s nothing that says I can’t take advantage of the opportunity to park my wand for the night.” He grinned. “Besides, I don’t think they hang people in the illumrof world. Mortals don’t believe in witches any more, Vox.” He shrugged. “And who said anything about involvement?”
“It isn’t you I’m concerned about, Prince. I know you. It’s Beltane, a time for building relationships and bonding. You’d never willingly bind yourself to an Impure. ‘Twould be madness. Absolute, frigging you have lost your ever-lovin’ teeny-weeny Princely brain madness—an insanity of the worst order.” The owl slanted its fierce gaze on him. “You’ll break her heart, Prince.”
“You keep persisting as if there’s something permanent here. I’m not interested in her heart. I’m thinking mating.”
“I know what you’re thinking.” The owl flapped its purple-tipped wings. “Are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying, Prince?”
Talon’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. “Nothing wrong with mating.”
“Nothing wrong with bonding, either, and it’s certainly past time for a baby prince in the royal palace.”
The smile faltered and vanished. “Shut up, Vox. No matter how beautiful she is, I’m certainly not going to risk breeding an Impure. Anyway, you know how impossible it is to procreate with so many witches infected with the virus. Once the desire is slaked with this little beauty, a man would become quickly bored.” He gave a long sigh. “Besides, if I should happen to dilute the royal bloodline with an illumrof child—well—like you said, the King and Queen won’t allow it.” He shook his head. “No. All that domestication isn’t for me, at least, not with her. She’s ripe for bedding, but that’s it.”
The owl lifted off his shoulder and hovered near Talon’s head. Its wings stirred the air with a gentle flutter. “I’m going to the Waken’s Library of History to research. Leave her alone, Prince. Do not touch her until I’ve tapped into her past. Without knowing her ancestors, even a simple mating could have serious consequences, particularly if you give her a child.”
Vox flapped his wings. “And that is what Beltane is all about. Isn’t it, Sire? Nature’s summons to reproduce?”
Talon studied the owl for a moment. “You know her name,” he accused. “Don’t you?”
“I’m the Wise Owl, aren’t I? Leave her alone.”
Talon shook his head. “I can’t promise that, Vox. You’d best hurry with your research, because I’m claiming her for the season. She’s mine.” He laughed softly. “I don’t need to know her name to bed her.”
The Futhar lifted off, circled the tops of a group of majestic Ark Trees, and then turned north in the direction of Droth.
“Do not claim the witch. Not before tomorrow. Give me time to check her history.”
Talon grinned as the Futhar’s words drifted through his mind. “Sorry, Vox,” he whispered. “I’m afraid it’s already too late. She is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”


Ginger Simpson said...

You lose that bet, girlfriend. You and your work are always welcome as featured items on my blog. :)


Tabitha Shay said...

I knew that's get you stirred up....lol....Tabs

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