Sesha acknowledges her Master
Later this week, I'm scheduled to participate in a big digital book sale but it's so miserably gray today, I decided to cheer myself up by sharing an excerpt and starting the sale early. Now through May 3 (maybe longer, maybe not), you'll be able to read my darkly erotic fantasy romance Desert Sacrifice for less than $1*. Intrigued? Read on to learn about the book, about the characters, and where you can find your copy today.
Once a thriving, wealthy land, the desert empire Egybirael has fallen into ruin. Year after year, an aging and weary population clings to two symbols of hope -- the golden light that shines through their Faroah, and the pounding rains that fill the Nile to overflowing.
As the newest Season of the Inundation nears its peak and the Faroah's people rejoice in the promise of renewal, one man dreads the coming storm.
He is Ven al-Venu, the Sun God's voice and the Faroah's poet, a necromancer bred to work the dark magic of resurrection. When the Nile swells with rain and the Faroah succumbs to death, Ven will sacrifice one life to preserve another…except he has taken a vow of silence and refuses to speak the magic again.
When the Faroah’s priests choose half-human acolyte Sesha ne'Hephara and assign her the task of seducing Ven back to his duty, she bares herself to him, body and soul. Only by sacrificing her own life can she preserve the peace of an empire and the heart of a man she cannot help but love. Buy it now at Amazon , Barnes & Noble , and Smashwords .
Excerpt copyright 2012 - Emily Ryan-Davis
She'd recognized him the instant he entered the room. Master Ven al-Venu's empty heart wept like none other among the Faroah's herd. If she hadn’t reinforced the barrier around that part of her that could feel him, she believed she would have broken. When the tea bell sounded, Sesha unfolded her body and concentrated on rubbing sensation back into her limbs. Part of her hoped he would retreat silently while another part wished for the opportunity to finally assume her role in the cycle of seasons and dynasties. In the end, he did not leave but he did wait until the last student left and the Artist in Attendance had drawn thick drapes across the windows. Once they were alone he came to her, tall and imposing in his black master's robe. He retrieved her acolyte's garb and offered it without speaking. Sesha flexed her toes. Needles of discomfort prickled the soles of her feet. She studied his hand, with its long fingers and prominent knuckles, the dusting of black hair that softened a wrist she would not be able to encircle with her fingers. His forearm, corded with muscle, vanished inside the dark bell of his sleeve. Angular shoulders, a broad chest. The robe’s voluminous folds concealed his musculature but she imagined his body was solid and defined beneath the uniform. His throat worked under her scrutiny. The square set of his chin and jaw spoke of both determination and resignation. Sesha stopped short of meeting his eyes. "Master," she said simply, acknowledging him. Did he recognize her outside the parameters of her assignment as his acolyte? When her temple sister Caris had answered to him as first assistant, then lover, Ven had once visited the chamber she shared with Caris. The memory of the ragged groan he'd released upon climax, no more than an arm's length away from Sesha's bed, heated her cheeks and loosened her knees. "You know who I am," he said, nothing in his tone or expression affording her insight to his thoughts. "I do." But he either did not know who she was or he regarded the knowing as inconsequential. Feeling returned to her feet, the needles of sensation as prickly as her twinge of disappointment. Did he know why the advisors had assigned her as Caris's replacement? She was not certain, herself. Ven, wounded by guilt and loss, needed not only someone to repair him, but also someone to supply the sense of beauty he'd lost. Since Ven was no student, and his wounds were not physical, she could not help but wonder at her qualifications. She was more than willing to hear his words, but what could she teach him? What therapy could she offer? Sesha accepted the gray robe and drew the coarse cloth around her shoulders. Still counting her shortcomings, she lowered herself from the table and caught herself against the edge when her legs objected to her weight. Ven's palm settled at the nape of her neck, steadying her. Confusion jolted past the barrier she'd built--suddenly he was there, inside her mind, brooding, reluctant, uncertain. Someone she wanted very much. A wave of panic crested at the base of her skull. "You're trembling," he said. His touch fell away. Sesha inhaled and drew the panels of her robe across her body, securing the garment with a tie. She studied the floor between them. "When you touched me, I felt you. You must know you do not feel...light." "Tell me what I do feel." Sesha frowned. She risked raising her eyes and met his, which were gray and solemn and not at all as dark as the presence that had invaded her. "You do not feel as murderous as you believe yourself." His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. Instead of acknowledging or denying her assessment, he asked roughly, "Are you prepared to serve me?" Heat coiled tight in her limbs, disturbing and inappropriate. Sesha swallowed. Images of them together slid through her mind. She easily pictured herself kneeling at his feet and easing her shoulders between powerful thighs. She struggled to bury the unexpected arousal beneath devotion. "I am at your disposal, Master."
Desert Sacrifice is available now for 99c at Amazon , Barnes & Noble , and Smashwords .
*If Barnes & Noble's price hasn't changed to 99c, please check again in a few hours, or buy your copy from Smashwords. I apologize for e-tailer pricing delays.
Once a thriving, wealthy land, the desert empire Egybirael has fallen into ruin. Year after year, an aging and weary population clings to two symbols of hope -- the golden light that shines through their Faroah, and the pounding rains that fill the Nile to overflowing.
As the newest Season of the Inundation nears its peak and the Faroah's people rejoice in the promise of renewal, one man dreads the coming storm.
He is Ven al-Venu, the Sun God's voice and the Faroah's poet, a necromancer bred to work the dark magic of resurrection. When the Nile swells with rain and the Faroah succumbs to death, Ven will sacrifice one life to preserve another…except he has taken a vow of silence and refuses to speak the magic again.
When the Faroah’s priests choose half-human acolyte Sesha ne'Hephara and assign her the task of seducing Ven back to his duty, she bares herself to him, body and soul. Only by sacrificing her own life can she preserve the peace of an empire and the heart of a man she cannot help but love. Buy it now at Amazon , Barnes & Noble , and Smashwords .
Excerpt copyright 2012 - Emily Ryan-Davis
She'd recognized him the instant he entered the room. Master Ven al-Venu's empty heart wept like none other among the Faroah's herd. If she hadn’t reinforced the barrier around that part of her that could feel him, she believed she would have broken. When the tea bell sounded, Sesha unfolded her body and concentrated on rubbing sensation back into her limbs. Part of her hoped he would retreat silently while another part wished for the opportunity to finally assume her role in the cycle of seasons and dynasties. In the end, he did not leave but he did wait until the last student left and the Artist in Attendance had drawn thick drapes across the windows. Once they were alone he came to her, tall and imposing in his black master's robe. He retrieved her acolyte's garb and offered it without speaking. Sesha flexed her toes. Needles of discomfort prickled the soles of her feet. She studied his hand, with its long fingers and prominent knuckles, the dusting of black hair that softened a wrist she would not be able to encircle with her fingers. His forearm, corded with muscle, vanished inside the dark bell of his sleeve. Angular shoulders, a broad chest. The robe’s voluminous folds concealed his musculature but she imagined his body was solid and defined beneath the uniform. His throat worked under her scrutiny. The square set of his chin and jaw spoke of both determination and resignation. Sesha stopped short of meeting his eyes. "Master," she said simply, acknowledging him. Did he recognize her outside the parameters of her assignment as his acolyte? When her temple sister Caris had answered to him as first assistant, then lover, Ven had once visited the chamber she shared with Caris. The memory of the ragged groan he'd released upon climax, no more than an arm's length away from Sesha's bed, heated her cheeks and loosened her knees. "You know who I am," he said, nothing in his tone or expression affording her insight to his thoughts. "I do." But he either did not know who she was or he regarded the knowing as inconsequential. Feeling returned to her feet, the needles of sensation as prickly as her twinge of disappointment. Did he know why the advisors had assigned her as Caris's replacement? She was not certain, herself. Ven, wounded by guilt and loss, needed not only someone to repair him, but also someone to supply the sense of beauty he'd lost. Since Ven was no student, and his wounds were not physical, she could not help but wonder at her qualifications. She was more than willing to hear his words, but what could she teach him? What therapy could she offer? Sesha accepted the gray robe and drew the coarse cloth around her shoulders. Still counting her shortcomings, she lowered herself from the table and caught herself against the edge when her legs objected to her weight. Ven's palm settled at the nape of her neck, steadying her. Confusion jolted past the barrier she'd built--suddenly he was there, inside her mind, brooding, reluctant, uncertain. Someone she wanted very much. A wave of panic crested at the base of her skull. "You're trembling," he said. His touch fell away. Sesha inhaled and drew the panels of her robe across her body, securing the garment with a tie. She studied the floor between them. "When you touched me, I felt you. You must know you do not feel...light." "Tell me what I do feel." Sesha frowned. She risked raising her eyes and met his, which were gray and solemn and not at all as dark as the presence that had invaded her. "You do not feel as murderous as you believe yourself." His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. Instead of acknowledging or denying her assessment, he asked roughly, "Are you prepared to serve me?" Heat coiled tight in her limbs, disturbing and inappropriate. Sesha swallowed. Images of them together slid through her mind. She easily pictured herself kneeling at his feet and easing her shoulders between powerful thighs. She struggled to bury the unexpected arousal beneath devotion. "I am at your disposal, Master."
Desert Sacrifice is available now for 99c at Amazon , Barnes & Noble , and Smashwords .
*If Barnes & Noble's price hasn't changed to 99c, please check again in a few hours, or buy your copy from Smashwords. I apologize for e-tailer pricing delays.
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