Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Dark Days with Arya Grey

Hello all, and a big thanks to Alyssa for having me over at her blog. J

I'm here today to talk about my latest story, "Dark Days", which releases today with Evernight Publishing. I had a lot of fun writing this book, especially concerning the dialogue…

Dark Days is set in the northern part of Louisiana. Although I was born and raised in Scotland and live here now, I lived in Phoenix, Arizona for ten years, but unfortunately never made it over to the Pelican State. And that meant that when Regan created herself I had to brush up my research skills and really look into how Louisiana natives speak and what words they use. Wyatt was a little easier, being that he is a Texan and I have a few Texan friends to know their natural drawl and speech.

And I'm not sure I've laughed that much during research, maybe ever. Regan Steele is a sassy demon hunter who strips at a small club part-time. She's hot headed and speaks before she thinks, so I really had to make sure the words coming out of her mouth were natural for someone living in the bayou. And it was just that that made me fall in love with her. I have a lot of characters (both written and still inside my head), but Regan Steele is by far my favorite heroine. She's strong and independent, and her quick tongue throws Wyatt off more times than he was ready for.

I'll leave you with Wyatt to show you a little bit of Regan, in a small teaser for my dark little paranormal story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Regan Steele is a young stripper who has gone through life assuming she's the only one who can see and annihilate the demons that have plagued her since childhood. She certainly doesn't expect to meet another Hunter, let alone fall for his insufferable ass.
Wyatt Recker has walked the earth for most of his life. Alone. When he stumbles across Regan he knows his attraction to the girl can mean only one thing—trouble. But, he soon realizes that no matter his rules and regulations, he cannot deny her for long.
When the demon world shifts, stakes are higher than ever. Can Regan and Wyatt come out of it alive, or will their love for one another endanger them further?


She turned the key on the lock of the front door, glared back at him, and huffed. She creaked the door enough for her slim figure to squeeze in, and he pushed it open further with the tip of his boot.
Well, this isn't exactly what I'd expected...but then, what did I expect?
It was a small studio apartment with plain white walls and a standard beige carpet. An old dark green love seat was shoved against the wall, and the only bit of character this place had was a Fight Club poster that hung crooked over the smallest TV he had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow and looked over at her as she threw her keys on the kitchen counter.
"What?" She curled her lip, defensively.
"This is a real nice place you got here."
"Carry on and I'll have your nuts for breakfast. It serves its purpose, that's all it needs to do."
She huffed again and slid her jacket off as she disappeared behind the only door—in a corner that might be considered a hallway. He laughed to himself, huskily, and wandered into the kitchen. He bent to the small fridge next to the sink and opened it. The smell almost knocked him flat on his ass. The light didn't even flicker on and the heat was almost stronger in there than it was outside. He squeezed his hand around the open milk carton, which was solid.
Jesus, hasn't she heard of cleaning?
He stepped back and almost tripped on a large unzipped suitcase that was sprawled out across the floor. Underwear of every color and assortment were messily strewn over something else that caught his eye; something shiny. He pulled his glove off of his right hand and crumpled it in his pocket. He leaned over, taking a sheer black thong in his hand—intending to move it so he could see what was underneath—but her voice startled him. He dropped the panties and stood rigidly.
Her breath fanned across the back of his neck. "Fancy tryin' a pair on?" She hummed in his ear.
He turned around, only to be centimeters from her. Without her heels on, the top of her head stood at the round of his shoulders. Her naked breasts pressed against his stomach. Her eyes, a pale gray with blue speckles, stared up at him.   She traced her hand over his hip and across the zip of his jeans. The corner of her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth.
Don't even look at her face. Oh God, stop thinking of her altogether! Now is not the time...
Her hand cupped his embarrassingly growing cock and squeezed.
He swallowed the saliva that burned at the back of his throat.
"Or maybe you're too big for them." She smiled, deviously. He shuddered. She dropped his manhood from her steel grip and pushed him out of the way, tossing the magnum on top of her clothes. Right in front of him she began to roll down the fishnet stockings, in a much more sensual manner than she needed to. The studded thong was so tiny that she might as well have been completely naked.
Is she trying to torture me? I'm only human, god dammit.
She tossed them to the suitcase and wriggled her way into the smallest jean shorts he'd ever laid eyes on. On either side of her thighs lay a sort of circular sheath made of old brown leather. She buttoned the top and leaned over the suitcase again, showing her perfect ass that peeked out the bottom of the frayed denim, just like she had at the bar. He wrapped the coat ends tightly around himself, praying that his excitableness would soon fade.
Good lord...a woman hasn't made me feel like that in...well, I can't remember how long. No doubt, the second she kicks off again, this feeling will disappear.
"Have you ever heard of throwing something out when it's old and rotten?"
She stood straight, with a thin cotton t-shirt around her head, still bunched in her hands at her shoulders and smelled the air. "Did you open the fridge? Didn't your momma ever tell you it's rude to snoop?" She pulled the rest of the shirt down. It was tiny, very much like the shorts. If she were to reach for something high her breasts would fall out the bottom. The thin material did nothing to keep her pierced nipples, which were permanently erect, from poking through either.
He shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it and was met with her lips.
She parted them as if she were going to kiss him and began to laugh, so loudly that his ears rang. "Ah! Men are all the god damn same!" She stifled the last giggle as she moved herself back.
He clenched his jaw in anger and ground his teeth. His ungloved hand grabbed the top of her arm, wrapping his fingers so easily around it that they folded over one another. She frowned and he pulled her closer again, so close that his quiet intake of breath moved a few loose tendrils of her hair. "Listen here, bones. No one makes a mug outta me. Get your shit together and let's move on."
"Alright, cowboy. Hold your horses." She stepped back and he let go. She shook her arm and slipped into a pair of old dirt-crusted biker boots with a large copper buckle.
"Wyatt Recker," he said. He pulled an unfiltered cigarette from his inner pocket, hoping he would actually get to smoke this one.
"Sorry, what?" She looked up at him through her mess of wavy hair as she bent into the suitcase once more.
"My name…is Wyatt Recker."
"Seriously?" Her voice pitched and he turned so he no longer had to look at her scantily dressed body bending over at every given opportunity.
"Well, Wyatt..." The sound of metal sliding against metal made him look over his shoulder. In each hand she had a blade, shaped perfectly like a crescent moon. The edges gleamed brightly and the ring of the previous sound echoed throughout the small space. Her wrists dropped them lower to the ground, exposing the smooth black handles, before spinning them into the sheaths on her thighs. Her speed and grace left him speechless. "We got us some demon shitheads to kill." She smiled, so sinister.
The aching pain in his groin grew rather than dissolved.
Every dog has its fleas, but a girl with an attitude the size of King Kong, a body that screams to be touched, and an insatiable thirst for violence? Well, I'll be damned!
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