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| Romance Novelist | |
 Author: Melody KnightGenre: Contemporary/Erotic Romance ISBN: 9781897445983 Published: January 2009 Cover Artist: Amanda Kelsey Love, Lust, Life...Lost?What happens when love, lost & buried forever, comes back to haunt you? Excerpt: It was sheer gall that got her downstairs,
out the door, and into the Plaza. The whole way down the elevator she prayed
for rain, ball lightning, flood, a meteor shower, and then, God willing, Sodom,
Gomorrah, and a pillar of salt. The truth was, she couldn't remember what he
looked like. It was like she told Pam: his was more a trace, a feeling, than a
solid image. She hadn't had that much to drink, but then it didn't take much
with her, and it had been dark-ish.
And, of course, there'd been the element of disbelief. Men just didn't approach her like
that. She didn't have the elusive factor to draw in sexual encounters, and if
women were flowers, her petals had been closed for the night. Her nightclub fun
consisted of prancing on the dance floor with no one and everyone, downing a
few drinks she normally wouldn’t have, and those purloined smokes. If anything,
the mysterious stranger had been an unwanted complication. He'd required
thought and work, for what was otherwise a brainless evening. And
now, damn it--preparation. Butterfly stomach, blue outfit. Tacked down hair
stuck on her head so carefree that a stiff breeze would have acted like a sail.
It was good to know her brain had been functioning, though, even under the
alcohol fumes. That "dressed in blue" was brilliant. As she sat discreetly on a bench, she noted
there must have been a hundred-fifty women in the area dressed in some shade of
blue. If his memories were as vague as her own, he'd walk on past her, his ship
in the night anchoring in someone else's port. She sighed nervously, wishing
for the twelfth time she had a cigarette and a stiff drink, in that order. See what he's bringing me to. Men! In Trysts is at Linden Bay Romance !!! |
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The sequel to ~In Trysts~ 
REVIEWS
In Flames
1 - "Fast
paced and edgy tension highlights this passionate thriller. In Flames is
a roller coaster ride of secrets and ghosts and sizzling sensuality. The plot
line is solid and kept this reader guessing to the dramatic end. Marco and
Sophia are likable individuals that I felt an affinity with from the opening.
Melody Knight is an author whose back list I look forward to reading."
Lettetia Elasser
Affaire de Coeur July/August 2008
2 - "Her combustibility and the
secrets of her past form the basis for this intriguing mystery." Literary Nymphs http://literarynymphsreviewsonly.blogspot.com/2008/07/in-flames.html
EXCERPTS
She’d gone
down maybe a dozen stairs, following always that acrid smoke smell, her keen sense of smell
guiding her. She wound through a maze of tunnels and intersections, Ys, in the dark, arms
flailing, trusting to stink and instinct—and all the while dreading what she would find at the
end of it.
She had
been right to dread. The incinerate glow leached out into the darkness, staining the corridor red
and orange. She knew, when she felt the heat emanating from within, that she’d reached
Hell.
It was hot
and holed and cavernous, and inhabited by maybe a dozen robed figures. The wall lengths were
broken by alcoves; flattened bottoms with rounded arches above. A
The center
was an inferno—a stone altar alternately orange, yellow, blue, red, black. Flames licked it,
dancing like the wood-coal which fed it. Dying wood which glowed with that peculiar animacy of
searing orange and bred in the efforts of sweating men in motion. Their robes flapped and their
hoods slipped, as they fought to sustain illusion in the face of toil. Crackle, snap, branches
flung and logs thudding against the base. The searing heat made the scene wobble in waves of
molten air, and already heated tempers flared to incandescence at the pyre's demands for fuel.
Sophie
stood there blankly, wobbling on her feet, blood leaking down her legs. She looked from the altar
to the arched crevices around the walls. The dancing orange light picked up the dull dark brown
of carbonized bone.
Carbonizing
bone.
She was
seen…of course. By Damian and not-Damian. They were both there, but only one was hers. The other
one, she decided later in her nightmares, had been present only to show her there was more than
one demon in Hell.
Damian and
not-Damian had hit her, kicked her, pounded her, again and again.
Smoke,
fire, flames, corpses.
And the
demons danced on.
Sophie lost
him in the smoke and steam. She screamed, choked on soot and swallowed water—then it was all
gagging, paddling, churning her way through the wash. The surge was relentless, all troughs and
waves, floating wood and falling stone. She was slammed against the wall and felt her shoulder
give. Sophie shrieked and fought for air. “Marco!”
He had her.
Marco grabbed her, and clung. She held onto him weakly, and opened her eyes to find he was
smiling.
A death’s
head grin. It was Gerald Beaumont.
“Sophie!” he cried, clawing at her head, her shoulders, climbing her like a bobbing
tree. She was going under, down, when Marco snatched her out of Gerald’s grasp and flung him
aside.
But Marco’s
hold on her was tenuous, and
Of Dragons
It'll eat you alive...
REVIEWS
1 - "The story is filled with adventure, danger, and conflict. Now that Ryon and his friend know about Glynt's world can they just ignore it or should they get involved? Is Ryon really human as he believes or something more as Glynt believes? If you are looking for an unusual tale of adventure, the strength of the human spirit, and love all rolled into a fantasy story about other dimensions, then you will enjoy Of Dragons.
Reviewed by: Stephanie B." http://www.fallenangelreviews.com/2008/April/StephanieB-OfDragons.htm
No!
Her fingers clasped the adamantine dragonfly encircling her neck, as terror quickened her heartbeat. Chills raced down her limbs in spiky little arrays. That sound—that horrifying, buzzing thunder—was one she recognized, deep inside. The fear of them—and their appetites—had been bred into her through a hundred generations.
Glynt ran. Panicked, she fled the bedroom with its flimsy-looking glass and raced for the balcony doors. They were thick fire doors—surely, they could resist the impact?
Ten thousand dragonfly wings…
The daylight went. The thickness of the horde—the sheer mass—was blotting out the sun. Desperate, near-petrified, she yanked the curtains closed.
The ramming slam of ten thousand exoskeletonned bodies splintered the glass, but it didn’t stop the beating—that horrific, mechanical swish of their wings. They were driving themselves at the doors, at the glass, frenzied. Day sounds were lost in the ceaseless roar of overlying wing beats.
In the bedroom, the glass imploded. Shatters of refracted light caught her eye, as they showered the door jamb.
As they blasted through, onto the carpet.
I didn’t close the door.
Her eyes widened in horror, and she raced for the exit. She was nearly to the front door when it began vibrating. They were in the hall, in hunting mode, and desperate to get to her.
Hide.
Where?! Frantic, she ran back to the curtained windows, in hopes of fooling Them. She was out of her element, and hidey holes were nowhere to be found. She cowered down, wrapped herself in curtain fabric, and scrunched into her smallest form. Already, she knew it wouldn’t help—couldn’t help. They were lured. Starving. Driven. Those multifaceted eyes would find her.
Ever hungry, they’d hunt her…on the wing.
http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/index.php?manufacturers_id=83
Reflected Moments...Refracted Terror
"I have to say I've read this one and LOVED it. "
Debbie
Author of
Infidelity
(www.deborahgould.com
)
EXCERPT
Cate
picked up the slab of glass from its
tilted resting spot. It had dropped
nearly
intact. Her fingers shook as the
first tracings of shimmery silica
began to
move beneath the surface. All those
crystalline lattices somehow
rearranging
themselves…
She
froze, her breath frosting the glass
from the sudden chill. Gooseflesh
rose on
her skin as the air around her grew
cold.
It
had never happened this way
before.
The
man was lying there, in the glass,
his body sprawled with the indignity
of all
things dead and unburied. Cate's
breath caught in her throat, the
unspent fog
almost choking her. Oh,
God!
It
wasn't here—hadn't happened here—but
it was happening now.
There
was an argument lingering, on the
air. She couldn't see the moment of
confrontation, or the altercation,
but it had been about the mutilated
body on
the ground. About how to deal with
it, to cast off blame with as much
ease as
they'd cast away his
life.
Only,
they didn't realize he could hear
them still. Hear them and hate
them.
Because
it had always been about his looks.
His looks, and justifying what he
was. The
grave they were giving him, the
twisted notoriety they were
planning, would
leave him neither looks nor
justice.
Cate's
eyes focused on his face. What
they'd done, what they were doing to
the rest of
him didn't bear
watching.
But,
apparently, she did.
Bear watching,
that is.
The
corpse's eyes opened, to stare
straight at
her.
Cate
flinched, twitched, recoiled, but
she couldn't let go. Some part of
her was
screaming, but she was no longer
sure whether it was her...or him.
She
clung to the pane, trapped. When, a
forever it seemed, later, she freed
her
fingers enough to fling it, she
remained there rigid, staring, as
the moonglow
image shattered in a hundred spiky
shards.
Some
part of her was still recoiling, as
if in reflex to a striking
snake.
God help
me!
In
those instants of metaphysical
contact, she felt as though one
shriveled digit
had touched her. Spanned the gap
between life and
death—
I'm not a
medium!
She'd
never been a medium—never even come
close. It had been the one blessing,
in an
otherwise twisted gift, that however
conversant she might have become
with a
dead person's past, she was never
conversant with the
dead!
Until
now, it seemed. Cate backed away,
panted white puffs coiling and
twisting in
the otherwise still air.
I'm not
alone.
It
should have been comforting, that
there was a taxi driver waiting just
outside,
but somehow, it came out
differently. That "I'm not alone"
was filled
with horror. The taxi driver might
be outside, but something else moved
within.
In a dreadful moment, she knew she'd
brought this on herself—that by
coming
here she'd been willing, demanding
almost, a contact with his
person—had wanted
so badly to save him, that she'd
drawn in a soul barely severed from
its body.
Cate
backed, tripped, twisted, and ran.
She tore the length of the room as
though
the Devil were at her heels, and
slammed open the end door with a
loud squawking
thunk. Using two hands, Cate
wrenched the door closed again,
locking evil
within. She stumbled back, the small
door pane fixing her into its framed
panel.
He
wasn't within. Behind her, his
hatred ever so much more pronounced
in
proximity,
was the mutilated visage of
the recently
deceased.
***
It was midday on the second day when it happened.
According to her map, and her sources, there was a small town a mile or so
off-road, which the mine workers had once inhabited. No one had done much more
than note its existence, and Claudia felt the thrill of discovery. Who knew what
a place like that might hold? Other Mons Smaragdus
towns had yielded pottery and metals, low grade gemstones, and a variety of
other, more homely items. There were sure to be buildings, if the place had been
impressive enough to be noted on the map. Gooseflesh danced down her back. The
wadi region was laden with small piles of rubble -- the remnants of ancient
huts. This township held the promise of oh, so much
more.
She readjusted her hat, conscious of her thirst. It
seemed she was always conscious of her thirst in this wretched heat! She sucked
on her canteen then mustered ahead. No track, so she'd just have to make her
way. A couple of times she glanced back at the truck, even climbing one of the
little hills to make sure it was still within sight. It was only on the last
check that she saw it had disappeared, but that was what she expected. This was
hilly country, after all, and the town should be just ahead.
Only, it wasn't, nor could she find the truck. She
tried tracing her own footsteps, but this area was rock, rather than sand, and
it was no use. Her compass was erratic, due to magnetic deposits, leading her
nowhere. Two hours later, dragging her body through the heat, Claudia had to
admit it -- I'm lost. Lost in the damned
desert. Her water bottle was dry, but she refused to panic. If I don't check in, they'll come
looking.
The sun had never been so hot, and Claudia knew she
should have been resting midday away instead of hiking. But it was too late --
too late for anything. She rooted around in one of those piles of rocky debris,
picking up rocks that burned her hands to pile them into a wall that might offer
her partial shade -- if it didn't fall on her head first. She didn't possess the
building secrets of the ancient Romans or the Bedouin. And her blistered hands
were shaking so badly she didn't know how she'd survive the next few hours.
It was then an icy chill came on her, colder than
death.
Nigel!
She didn't speak -- she didn't have to. He was there…for
her.
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