Thursday, December 20, 2012

Trial by Fire--by KB Forrest

Back Cover:
Chief Melik of the Scythian Paralatae tribe is dead, horribly mutilated. Evil Zohak leads the warriors in accusing Atar, who must now run for his life. Atar decides to go to the great One Hundred Year Festival with his lover, the werewolf Bulliwuf. Arriving at the festival with no money, Atar joins several competitions, which have significant prizes. Atar's quest for money brings him to the attention of the evil wizard Dahaka, who first mistakes him for his long lost son. The Summons will be heard by all qualified mages at the end of the festival, but only one can be awarded the title and power of the Firestarter. Zohak and his father Dahaka plan to see to it that Atar never hears the Summons.

The shame of rejection beating down on him, Atar must still rise to face challenges, or death at the hands of a wizard.

Excerpt for Trial by Fire: The night air was cool against his over-heated body. It glided over him like liquid silk. They stopped by an icy creek and lapped the water like animals. Atar had his head bent over the clear water, when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Ishria, as if knowing that it was time to rest, began to pull on grass. "I have suffered through so much, my friend," Bulliwuf said in a voice so smooth and luscious that Atar gasped. "I have seen you succeed and I have wanted to take you so many times. Do you know how hard it is for me?" He took Atar into his strong arms and pushed him against the trunk of a dark, ancient oak. "I want you now. I can't wait." Bulliwuf's silvery-blue eyes had the eerie shine of an animal. He stared into Atar's eyes and cupping his chin, he kissed him. First lightly-so lightly that it was as if a feather passed over his lips. Atar pushed against him now. He hadn't realized how much his own passion had been pent up. His hands moved over Bulliwuf's powerful body. He could feel the nakedness of the werewolf rubbing against him, and it was more than he could take. He ran eager hands through the silver hair that was soft-almost like a rich fur, but so long. His ears were hot. His whole body seemed too hot. Atar had never taken the lead in their love making, but now he moved with aggression. Bulliwuf chuckled in his deep baritone, and this excited Atar. How sweet he tasted. Atar kissed him all over, panting as his hands moved over the muscles. He knew Bulliwuf's body so well. It was as if it had just dawned upon him. He wanted nothing more, and he knew that for all of his bragging about women, that Bulliwuf only wanted him. Atar wanted to own Bulliwuf. He wanted to take him in and adore him forever. The stars shone brightly in the night sky and the air hummed with life as it had done on a night, many, many years ago. As their bodies came together and they cried out in passion, the world seemed to join with them. The cacophony of night animal sounds, the babbling of the water in the creek, even the sounds no human could hear enveloped them as Bulliwuf shared his awesome power with Atar. For that moment, Atar saw and heard things through his werewolf. The night cried out with them and pulsated with eternal life.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Son Of Fire

In a world lit only by ancient fires, passion and danger await.

Dragons and sorcerers populate Atar’s world. A lost prince taken in by a tribe of savage Scythians, he is hated and abused because of his disabilities. He does not know that he is to be the next Firestarter. As he is forced to confront evils he never imagined possible, he also gains the strength to find his voice and his honor. Watching and hating him, his half-brother, son of the evil wizard Dahaka, waits for the opportunity to take away Atar’s destiny for himself. How will Atar and his werewolf companion and lover, Bulliwuf, thwart an evil they cannot see?

Atar crept out of the camp. He could feel the night wind. It still had a chill of winter. The moon was waxing high in the clear sky and it shone on the landscape like an eerie noontime sun. Atar felt his breath quicken. Tonight was a time of celebration, especially since he had been miraculously granted his boon. 

He was dancing, he realized with a distant part of himself. He was moving his graceful, muscular body in the moonlight to the sweetest sound he had ever heard. It was the sound of a young girl, sighing as she discovered the passion of love for the first time, yet this voice was deep, ancient, and eternal. He laughed richly, throwing his head back, delighted with life. He was alone, he knew, and this knowledge allowed him to dance in honor of that odd, achingly beautiful voice without any inhibitions.
Out of the dark emerged a tall form, resplendently silver in the moonlight. Atar stood suddenly dazed as he recognized the werewolf. 
His silvery hair shone in the dark. His eyes, so cunning in the face of a wolf, still held a deep mystery. In one large hand he held a bouquet of exquisite flowers. These he handed to Atar, who was too stunned to speak.
“Is this how it is done, my dear Atar? I saw you give such a thing to the girl. I was hoping…”
Atar was used to speaking with Bulliwuf mentally. This was perhaps why he never spoke to the others. Only Bulliwuf understood. He struggled to speak. He opened his mouth, but only a sigh emerged as Bulliwuf pulled him closer, so that their bodies met. Atar felt the hardness of the werewolf, and his heat. The flowers fell from his hand as his arms instinctively embraced Bulliwuf’s strong back. The werewolf buried his nose in Atar’s hair, snuffing as he usually did. His hot tongue, so familiar, lapped around his ear. Hot desire emanated from the silvery form. Atar went stiff with the sensation. He held on as if his life depended on it, and the heat from the naked werewolf seemed to seep into every part of his willing body. 
He’d always found acceptance with Bulliwuf. To be loved fully, to be an object of desire, rather than of scorn made him feel confused and weak. Bulliwuf took his face in his large hands and held him as he kissed Atar deeply. He took of him hungrily, until Atar was breathless. Their hot bodies intertwined, and Atar felt his soul rise to places he’d never imagined existed.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Sorcerer's Secret

{WARNING} Contains scenes of extreme violence that may be offensive to some readers. Fire—dreams of Fire—visions of Fire. Where do they come from? Aryazate doesn’t know why, but he fears the power secretly growing in him. Am I a demon, or a sorcerer? Kavada, the blacksmith, seems to be the only one he can trust, but even he doesn’t know the extent of Aryazate’s secrets. What would he say if he found out that the beautiful maiden Aryazate, is really a young man forced by circumstances to conceal this truth, which day by day becomes more evident? Just when he thinks Kavada is ready to hear the truth, Aryazate’s worst nightmares become reality. The Head-Mage Monushir accuses him of sorcery and has him imprisoned. What will this trial reveal? Is the truth so horrible that Aryazate will welcome torture and death by fire—by the same fire that haunts his dreams?

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Pride of the Beast

 Fleeing a charge of murdering his master, Artavan, the orphan slave boy, joins his noble friend Tork, on a mission beyond the village—where it is rumored that demons and monsters roam. They soon encounter two sinister strangers who may have a link to Artavan’s unknown past. The Sorcerer Angraminyu, a powerful mage bent on killing one of the strangers, Prince Devdata, will not allow Artavan and Tork to part ways with them, not that Artavan wants to. Although he once thought that Tork was his only comfort, now he begins to see something concealed in his shifty eyes. Does Tork know something about him, which he wishes to hide? Who really is his friend? When he finds himself in the strong arms of Prince Devdata, Artavan’s heart disobeys his mind, even though grief will surely be the result.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

New Book!! Seeing Crimson by KB Forrest

What do the Barrios of New York City and Harvard University have in common? Turi Sepulveda soon realizes that it is murder and madness.

Turi knows that it’s a fluke that he’s been accepted as part of the First Year Class at Harvard University. At age thirty, he’s had his share of bad luck as a rodeo bull rider before returning to school to simply get his G.E.D. He never expected to be at Harvard, and he certainly never expected to be accused of murder, despite all of his dark secrets. When Justin Anderson, Turi’s gregarious and popular roommate, finds his social life crashing in on him after he’s paired with the brooding Hispanic, he thinks he’s discovered a new meaning to the label the roommate from Hell. When the murders begin, they look at each other as suspects. Whoever is to blame, the only sure thing is that he is a madman whose insanity is escalating. 
When Justin’s admirer—Kumari Sethi, a freshman woman with orthodox Hindu parents—is brutally murdered, Turi becomes the prime suspect as detectives battle to unwind the series of murders. It seems that Alison, Turi’s new girlfriend, is the only one convinced of his innocence. Can she prove it before she too, becomes a victim? 

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Still Waters: Novel by KB Forrest

Charlie Stillwaters thinks Yoshifumi Murakami is cuter than a sack full of puppies, even after he learns of his connections with the notorious Japanese Yakuza mob, and the fact that he’s so mean that if a rattlesnake struck him five times, it’d die. There is something Charlie just has to have. He’s bad after Yoshi – he’s as hot as a billy-goat in a pepper patch, but will they live to do it … or will they die and become haints of the worst sort? With the New Orleans-based mob hot on their tails, and suspicions mounting, Yoshifumi is forced to pair up with Charlie, who insists that he can “learn him plain an’ fittin’ American,” and who thinks ‘possum in the half-shell, a.k.a. road-kill armadillo, is good eatin.’

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Taino Ti: Novel by KB Forrest

Back Cover:
Yuis Rosales can't remember a time when he wasn't haunted by dreams of strange people, jungles, and the gods whose forms only he can create. Just when these nightmares are threatening to overtake him, he meets Felipe, who quickly invades both his waking, and his sleeping hours. Yuis only wants to see his art hanging in a gallery, but when he leaves for Puerto Rico, he discovers a history so horrifying that his dreams pale in comparison. His past as a Taíno shaman collides with a madman's lust for mystical dominion... Summoning his own power, Yuis must learn to trust his totem beast, Mukaro...and his passionate lover.

Omens delivered in dreams. Undecipherable words whispered into unwilling ears. Monstrous visions from the past, and a strange attraction to a strikingly handsome man force Yuis to face his shamanic future.

Yuis stared out beyond the concrete walkway toward the beach where couples were walking hand in hand. The gentle waves lapped at the sand and the smell of the ocean beckoned to him.

He descended the concrete stairs, but just before he reached the beach, he cried out as powerful dizziness made him lose his balance. The steps seemed to dissolve and his body floated down. He fell onto the soft sand of the beach, and fought to regain his equilibrium. What was happening to him? He felt like he was in the grip of a nightmare and he was struggling with a heavy weight. He gasped as the feeling left him abruptly. The thumping salsa music had stopped. A tropical bird called out into the night and the sound rose high and then died away. Yuis stood and looked behind him, but the concrete stairs were gone. All he saw were rough slabs of stone that cut through the verdant jungle as they ascended through the dense mist of the evening.

Eyes were on him.

He whirled around as the haunting call of the owl rent the silence of the night.

Silhouetted against the moonlit waters was the form of powerful man. He could tell that he was as unclothed as nature had created him. Yuis took a step backward, but the man ran forward and grabbed him. It was Felipe, but Yuis's heart beat fast when he saw his long hair and the untamed look in his eyes. Felipe bent and kissed him. Yuis tried to pull away, but the heat from his kiss made his body remember what it felt like to have Felipe inside of him. He held Felipe tight and he could feel his throbbing erection on his belly. His passion escaped him in a moan of anticipation. Yuis's fingers were buried in Felipe's long hair and he arched his back as his tongue crept into his mouth.

Yuis pulled back to look at him, but he cried out in protest.

"Yuis, I must have you. It's the will of our ancestors that our souls be forever joined."

His ragged voice and the tension in his powerful frame made Yuis ache for him. The heat of his skin and the magic in this wild air uncoiled desire inside of him like he'd never known. He pulled Yuis down to the sand and kissed his neck. Felipe's hands roamed over his body caressing him, making him scream out his name in longing. Ceaseless desire that was as endless and primal as the ocean exploded in Yuis's head.


The word, spoken with such passion, seemed to fade, but it resonated within him as the dizziness came over him again.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Calor del Amor: Book by KB Forrest

Gabriel Palacios flees his abusive father’s clutches, even though he’s been warned that the mad cop will stop at nothing to control him. He lands in New York City after enduring a trip with a demented admirer, only to find that he immediately comes under suspicion for a horrible crime. Detective Alejandro Cardoza investigates this crime, but finds himself caught in a web of deceit and desire that threatens to ruin his career. He is determined to nab Gabriel, the prime suspect, but he finds his own heart under siege by love for this mysterious and tragic young man. Will he find the culprit before the true murderer finds Gabriel?
 Detective Cardoza walked over to the laptop and peered at the screen. He hit a key and looked up at Gabriel. “Murder? What is this?”
“No … nothing! I’m writing a novel. It’s none of your business!”
“Have you been overseas in the past five years?” Cardoza narrowed his eyes and continued grilling him. Gabriel was frightened, and he tried to hide his shaking hands.
“Well, I visited Puerto Rico when I was twelve, but that’s not overseas. That’s part of the U.S. It’s not a foreign …”
“Alright already!” Cardoza grimaced in annoyance. “Gabriel, I am Puerto Rican, so you don’t have to convince me.”
“So never been to a foreign country? Never to South America?” Cardoza moved closer. His hand reached for Gabriel’s face and he stroked his cheek with his thumb. He bent closer. Gabriel felt his hot breath, and looked into his intense eyes until he could no longer stand it.
Gabriel stood up from the bed suddenly and backed away from him. He stepped back nervously and the back of his leg struck the leg of a rickety chair. Before he could regain his balance, Gabriel began to fall.
Detective Cardoza’s notebook fell from his hands as he dashed forward and grabbed Gabriel by both shoulders. For a moment, Gabriel’s knees buckled and Cardoza was holding him close to his broad chest. Gabriel’s arms instinctively wrapped around him and the anxiety that had been eating away at his soul overwhelmed him. He began to sob into Cardoza’s chest and he held Gabriel tightly so that he heard the steady thumping of his heart. 
With his left hand, Cardoza began to stroke Gabriel’s hair, and for a moment, he felt his warm breath near his ear. They were silent for what seemed to Gabriel like an eternity. For that moment, Gabriel felt as if he had died and was floating in a place where nothing bad could touch him. His father couldn’t hurt him and the questions were far away. All he was aware of was the spicy smell of Cardoza’s skin and his strong embrace. He wanted to stay like that forever. 
Cardoza held him with one arm, and with the other tipped his head back. Gabriel couldn’t stop his lips from parting in welcome as the man dipped in and tasted him. With their faces so close, Gabriel felt the soft, hot breath of the man inviting him to come closer, to join with him. His tongue, which had avoided the one being thrust into him, now had a mind of its own and it shyly ventured into the other man’s mouth, but retreated hastily. 
The act seemed to fuel Cardoza’s passion. He bent in so that Gabriel felt his balance slip. He was held by one strong arm around his waist and another holding him by the back. He sighed deeply as he felt the man’s erection poke his belly. His own rubbed against the man’s thigh. For a few breathless minutes, they joined, lips to lips, and hot bodies against unwanted clothing. Gabriel felt that he would burst, and the thought embarrassed him out of the man’s spell. It was like when you wake from a good dream and you want to continue sleeping, but it’s too late. Gabriel pushed away from him and saw that Cardoza’s eyes were slightly moist. Gabriel wished that they’d met under different circumstances, but then he remembered; Cardoza was the hunting dog, and he was the frightened fox.
“Enough for now,” Detective Cardoza said in a husky voice. “I’ll see you again soon, but take care of yourself. You better …” He broke off as if he were unsure of what to do next. Then he was gone.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Fire Demon: New Book by KB Forrest

Korin feared a real fight. She’d had so little training, but her inner demon took over before she could be killed. Now she is terribly scarred, inside and outside. But now she is also a feared general and the head of the rebels. Zohak has fallen prey to madness, having accepted the forbidden fruit of power. He is a slave to the same devil who entrapped Vorak, only he is also possessed by the demon snake-dragon Kaliya. He now feeds on terror—literally. Only Korin can stop Zohak’s reign of terror, but he calls upon Vorak to lead his armies. When confronted with such a challenge, Korin fights with Vorak, who spirits her away. He simply cannot resist her. The unexpected awaits them both as they manage to form a plan to vanquish the Devil Eblise and win freedom for themselves and for the kingdom. Can they join forces to defeat the arch devil Eblise, or will he devour them along with their powers?

The group of seven wizards had locked hands, making them too powerful for the magi to defeat. They glowed with a greenish iridescent light as they enveloped themselves in a mist that made them invisible to human eyes. They walked forward toward the woman who could feel their approach. She began to scream.
The wizards on both ends of the hand-holding line held sacrificial daggers. This must have been part of their plan—the plan B, if the head sorcerer somehow lost his head. If they succeeded, Eblis would be restored to his power completely. Korin ordered her mount to descend, but she was quite far from them. Now Korin saw with a jolt of horror that in the confusion of the battle, Eblis himself had escaped. He shimmered briefly through his cloak of invisibility. Korin shuddered involuntarily when she saw his true form. 
He was shucking himself out of the boy body, and as he did, his head elongated into an angular mask of rage. His skin was old—as ancient as parchment, but it glistened with putrefaction that would have left a corpse that long dead. His ears were mostly cartilage, and they were very long. Pointed at the top, the devil’s ears were pendulant on the bottom. He wore earrings made of human bones. The ear holes writhed with what looked like maggots, but as she looked closer, Korin realized that they were festering, squirming naked humans covered with the slimy effusion of death.
His eyes were black hellholes from which fires spiraled. Occasionally the burning arms or legs of some damned person could be seen thrashing about in hopeless pain. Bags of flesh hanged from his eyes, making him look even more ancient and evil. His long, pointed nose was warted heavily and appeared like a pendulous, rotting gourd. The mouth of the beast was the most horrific. Thin, cracking lips surrounded sharp, but decayed teeth swarming with creatures ranging from naked humans to insectoid creatures who fed on the humans, while the humans fed on the cheesy decay between the teeth. 
Eblis walked awkwardly in a cross between the knuckle walk of an ape, and the dragging of a disemboweled monster. Indeed, his gut bobbed over the ground as his obscene genitals trailed a slimy track as he walked. His distended anus stuck out of the flat buttocks that hung loosely. Worms and maggots dropped from it as he made his way to the woman who struggled and screamed anew, although mercifully, she could not see Eblis’ real form.
Vorak thundered from his position in the army. “No! Korin, stop! Don’t approach that devil!”

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

The Sorcerer Gaumata-King of Kings

Amid the turbulent times of the Achaemenid Dynasty, the Sorcerer Gaumata has set his sights on the highest jewel—the throne of the King of Kings. He plans to murder King Cambyses with his sorcery. Then Gaumata plans to take advantage of a complex scheme to seize the throne. Chaos and brutality grip the land as Gaumata abuses his power, but in the back of his mind a terror of his own lurks. He has crossed powerful witches and sorcerers who are now determined to bring him to his knees. The sorceress Spenta and her powerful mage brother Mihr are caught in Gaumata’s trap, but they have allies in the two witches, Indrayani and Apuyani. They have finally discovered the key to his sorcery, and they plan to use it against him to save the kingdom.
Prince Darius, the real heir to the throne, is in danger when Gaumata understands that he has seen through his disguise. Will he be the next to face his worst nightmares in the world of horror only Gaumata, the fiendish sorcerer, can construct?

The sweat was dripping from Cambyses’ forehead as the suffocating dank air of the tomb pressed down on him. It seemed that the smell was so thick in the air that he could almost see it. The cloying smell of putrefaction became stronger after the inner case covering the corpse was exposed and he felt the saliva begin to collect rapidly in his mouth. He could not retch in public, no, that would not do.
He heard the noise faintly at first, but then it became louder and louder. It was a buzzing that sounded filthy, like when one disturbs flies that have been feeding and laying eggs on excrement. The atmosphere pressed down and the sound increased even as the unbearable stench was forced into his nostrils.
Cambyses began to look about the walls of the tomb, not because he was interested, but because he needed to distract himself. He saw that the intricately painted small figures were beginning to move now. It began very slowly, but he suddenly realized that they seemed to see him too, and some of them were making obscene gestures in his direction. One little man pulled up his robe and wagged his genitals at him while women stood by laughing. Some of the servants behind the little painted oxen that were pulling plows began to point and gape at him. They now seemed to be talking, their rough, guttural language grating on his ears. Somehow he could almost understand what they were saying.
Cambyses turned away from the walls, only to find that the chanting was still droning on. He shifted slightly and felt his face color as Matwa, the high priest, glanced at him. Things were getting bad. He just had to get out of this tomb—out of the festering, nauseating atmosphere of that corpse house. The buzzing was steady and strong now. It seemed to be coming from the inside of the closed inner sarcophagus. He held his hands stiffly against himself to hide the shaking, but then his left eyelid began its tremors anew.
Now the high priest was reaching for the lid of the sarcophagus. Why? Why? Cambyses looked down slightly and saw that his knuckles were white and visibly shaking. The box was opened for the last time and the King of Kings could see the linen wrappings of the mummy, who had a brightly painted mask over its face. Its arms lay crossed over its chest and they had placed the two royal scepters in them. The linen wrappings were discolored already, although they appeared to be quite dry. He blinked, hoping that he wouldn’t see it, but he saw it just as he feared.
The buzzing sound had increased dramatically when the lid was raised and he saw it. Struggling to free itself from the wrappings that bound the body, a large creature began to emerge. It was wet, as if it had been born from the hideous, festering, rotting body. It stroked its front feet together as it looked about. Its many faceted eyes seemed to take in the scene as the almost transparent wings stretched out, slimy tendrils breaking off and making quivering puddles under them. The smell of the creature was one of festering liquid putrefaction. It was coming out of the crotch area of the dead man, just as it had been said in the words of the Holy Avesta.
Cambyses was paralyzed. The many knobby knees of the creature stretched tentatively and he could see the flat buttocks and flabby abdomen that swung slightly as it rose. It was now looking at him. When the faceted eyes settled on him, his paralysis was lifted. He took up his sword to defend himself. The creature began to buzz savagely as if it could divine his intensions. Cambyses ran at it with his sword poised to strike. Expertly he slashed at the thing, but it was as fast as lightening. It flew at his face and he smashed it with the blunt end of his sword. It rolled on the floor as if it had been hurt seriously, but then recovered and tried to attack him from behind.
Cambyses was in a frenzied fight for his life, but not one of the other people in the tomb seemed willing to come forward. Again and again the creature attacked. It seemed to be trying to burrow under his clothes—yes, as the legends said, the Demon of Death, if not contained by the sight of a dog, would try to enter the body of the nearest person by burrowing into his ****. The vile feel of it was enough to make his fight desperate, but the thought of it entering his body! He managed to strike it directly in its abhorrent face. Its feelers were bent now and a loathsome liquid dripped from the sharp teeth that were exposed.
Suddenly, the head priest Matwa leapt up to the dead Pharaoh and threw his arms around the body protectively. The creature seemed now to turn his attention to the priest, who appeared to be sobbing and frantically clutching at the frayed spot where the thing had made its way out of the mummy wrappings. It buzzed excitedly and flung itself at Matwa’s back. The man writhed in frenzied terror as the thing began to burrow and the man’s lower garment dropped to the floor as the creature tore at it. Matwa’s scream was unlike that of a man. It sounded like that of a goat whose life is being tortured out of it. Again and again the hysterical shrieks reverberated in the stone pyramid tomb. The thing deftly pulled Matwa’s tightened buttocks apart and then began to burrow nose first into the man. Matwa struggled, desperately squeezing his buttocks against the repulsive thing, but it still fought its way in. Soon only a few of the hairy, repulsive feet remained and then they also slid in, leaving a slimy trail, as the buzzing finally died away.
Cambyses panted in his terror and looked at the people who stood there gaping in horror. Matwa lay dead and the mummy was torn to shreds. Debris from the struggle littered the floor of the tomb and several canopic jars lay smashed, their fetid contents smeared where a foot had slid in the decaying matter. Matwa lay near the mummy, his torn clothing bloody. One of his legs twitched and then relaxed again. The bones under the mummy wrappings stuck out like white branches.
Cambyses was suddenly seized with rage. Why had they not tried to help him and the high priest? What kind of cowards were these Egyptians? He roared his orders now. They were to bring dogs in to watch for the creature and then clean up the mess. He ordered that they take special care of the body of Matwa, now the home of the Demon of Death. Cambyses felt sad for the noble high priest. He had been the only one who had tried to help, but he now lay dead.
What a terrible way to die. He shuddered as he looked around at the craven Egyptians who had failed to help him to fight against the Demon of Death. He was exhausted and heartsick. What was he thinking venturing into this evil place without the magi? They would never have let this terrible thing happen. They would have insisted on having dogs present. They would have known the proper spells to ward it off! Cambyses felt the tremors in his body subside somewhat. Now he would have to undergo a lengthy purification process.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Sorcerer in Egypt--New Book by KB Forrest

Fear yourself, for your deepest fears are his most deadly weapons.

    Cyrus the Great, King of Kings, is dead. Like the Sorcerers Rustem and Anahita, he has been humiliated and killed by the powerful sorcerer Gaumata. The perverse sorcerer is not satisfied with his victory. He has his black heart set on the throne of the King of Kings. It doesn’t matter who he has to kill to get his wish. Mihr and Spenta, son and daughter of the sorcerers Rustem and Anahita, begin to exhibit signs of unusual power. They become the threat Gaumata must now fear.
    Spenta makes moves to protect her brother, but she also finds the love she has longed for in the adoring and passionate Emperor Cambyses, a tortured soul who worships her. Spenta faces danger, passion, and epic historical battles with competence, bravery, and cunning. The Sorcerer Gaumata’s machinations yield fear, insanity, and horror for Cambyses.
    Delving into other people’s most private fears may come at a price. Will his forays into the minds of his victims leave Gaumata unscarred?

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

New Book--Oni Devils

Folklorist Andre Minamoto has returned to Japan to gather data for his doctoral thesis. Most of what he comes across has already been studied. He needs a breakthrough. He needs something new and wonderful. When he discovers a man who claims to be the legendary yin-yang wizard, Abe no Seimei, he is skeptical. After all, a man born in the year 920 has to have been dead and turned to dust by now. Little does he know that he is about to enter an uncharted world where what we think is fantasy is only too real.
Andre is forced to open his mind to the existence of devils, demons, ghosts, and monsters that defy description. He also finds himself opening his heart to the greatest of wizards who has ever lived—Abe no Seimei.
Seimei, the son of a magical one-thousand-year-old fox and a human, lived during the rich Heian period, when the Imperial family still held its power with the help of mighty magicians. Andre takes notes madly as Seimei regales him with tales of his exploits. Andre hears them with new ears as he finally begins to absorb the insane notion that they aren’t just tales, but true stories. As he melts in Seimei’s hot embrace, he wonders still how to learn of his powers of immortality.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

The Sicilian Undead

When a powerful vampire leader hands out penalties, it is terrifying, like thunder and lightning, and even the demons and spirits cannot undo his work: Eliade.

Life sucked more than Tony thought possible. When Vampire Dragomir Eliade sucks out his mortal life, he finally fights back and wins in his own way. No longer bound by the awful curse of being a street fruit vendor, handsome Tony sets his sights on the goal of starting his own detective agency. He and his worshipful sidekick, Eliade, take a bite out of crime.
When a fearful father seeks help from the duo, Tony realizes that he is up against harsh odds. A statue looted from an Iraqi museum turns out to be an image possessed by the Evil Spirit, Iblis himself. The man, an antiques broker, knew that he was purchasing a stolen item. What he doesn’t know is that a Satanist cult wants the statue for its own, and to get it, its members have brainwashed his daughter and won her over to the side of evil. Will Tony have the power it takes to go up against the Evil Spirit, or will he and Eliade become the unwilling servants of the newly risen monster?


“You fools!” Eliade boomed in a preternatural voice. “How dare you bring this thing,” he pointed at the statue. “How ever dare you bring this thing into my Master’s domain without his permission! Do you think you can summon an evil more terrifying than my Lord?”
Some of the people were shaking with fear. A few had fallen to their knees, but there were real demons among the hapless, foolish youth dressed in Goth clothing with their black dyed hair and garish makeup.
One of these demons sneered and challenged Eliade. “Your Lord? Your powerful so-called Master? What a joke. If you were a demon of any merit you would know that this,” he pointed to the statue, “is the original Evil Spirit. There is no demon more powerful. Bow before your real lord and master, lest he kill you and your entire family.”
Eliade smirked. “I am already dead, as is my entire family. If this piece of excrement you call Iblis is so powerful, then let him prove it. My Lord, Master Manichino, can take this statue and shove it up your anus, you butt-dick!”
Tony smiled. He had tried to teach Eliade how to use modern cuss words, but the man always got it wrong. What the hell was a butt-dick?
The demon looked a bit perturbed, but he said, “Lord Iblis created all demons. As our creator, he is above all. He created evil thoughts, evil words, and evil deeds. That is his power.”
Eliade’s gaze bore into the demon. “Master Manichino is more powerful than any demon in this world and in all of the underworld. He can even go to church, although he chooses not to do so because of a great calamity called Vatican-Two. He even wears the cross of the Christians on his very neck and it burns him not. He walks about in the sun, yet he sucks the blood of both men and immortals. He does not fear holy water…no, he drinks it in small green bottles. He communes with the spirits of both heaven and earth. I have heard him conversing even with the being called God.” Eliade gulped so hard that Tony heard him.
“He is…” he paused as if about to make a huge announcement, “he is the son of a Pope! He has a ring kissed by his father! He takes and absorbs the souls of creatures to make their cunning his own. Do you wish to confront this greatest of all demons and be tortured as you are forced to serve him for eternity? He might even absorb you and then pass you out into a toilet like so much human waste. He can do that,” Eliade said with a shiver.
The demon glanced around uncertainly. “You lie. If there was such a creature, why have we not heard of him?”
Eliade looked at him as if he were a simpleton. “Why indeed. Why would such a great personality bother to make himself known to fleas like you? He is too great for that. I am his mere servant, but even I could pummel your buttocks with ease.”
The demon glanced around, probably signaling to his comrades. Tony watched as they shoved the humans aside and crowded around Eliade, who now stood looking like Dracula.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

La Bruja Excerpt

The stone walls dripped with moisture. The hall was hollowed out of the mountain itself, and was dark. It was lit only by the light of candles that dripped tallow, as the walls dripped with water. Uriah was the god and Marisol was the goddess herself. This was the true meaning of Tantra, he knew. This would be the ultimate union of cosmic elements. They, he and Marisol were the two tremendous forces, the yin and the yang that together made up the stuff of the universe. He was the sun and the sky, and Marisol was the moist earth, ready to receive him into the dark fecundity of her passive, yet yearning cave. He had chosen her well. They had to be complete opposites. Uriah knew that as he was the noblest and the most precious, Marisol was base and most common.
In the center of the cave floor there was a low bed made of rushes. It had no sheets, for it was meant only for sex. Oil, garlands, and perfumes had been placed in crystal bottles around the bed. In the shadows of the room, he saw the twinkling of eyes as the candlelight caught the moist eyes of the watchers.
Uriah stood near the bed, completely naked. The ritual called for him to avoid arousal for the first part of it, but he was unable to comply. This did not seem to void the ceremony, as the watchers remained silent. He was the god, after all. He could make the rules, he realized. He looked down at himself, feeling like a great bull ready for coitus, but he saw instead the beginning of a potbelly, under which a small penis surrounded by thin brown hair poked forth.
Looking into the gloom again, he saw Marisol entering the cave. She was naked, and her black hair spilled over her shoulders. She shyly held one arm and hand over her breasts, and the other hand covered her private part. She walked into the middle of the room and the watchers began to close in around them. They were arranged so that there was a ring of pairs of males and females. All of them were naked. Each pair functioned together. Each pair held items for worship. One pair held lamps of ghee oil, which were in the shape of a maiden with six arms. Each hand held a plate whereupon a cotton wick drenched in oil burned. Another pair held camphor-burning lamps in the shape of peacocks. Yet another pair held flowers, and another pair fans made of peacock feathers. The last pairs held yak tail fans and garlands respectively.
These pairs of men and women took turns worshipping Uriah and Marisol. The man of the pair worshipped Marisol, while the woman worshipped him. When this part of the ritual was over, the watchers waved sticks of incense of the most rare and precious sorts. They were then presented with gold cups of fine wine, which they drank.
Now the ritual turned to the most secret of all secrets: the union of the holy couple. They were to perform the most titillating of sexual acts, and all the while, he, the god, while absorbing the shakti, the power of the goddess, must never release his seed. In this way, his power would increase one-hundredfold. He would have to exhibit divine power. He would hold his seed as the yogis of old did. She would give unto him, and he would take from her. He drew a breath as he coached himself mentally. He knew he was well prepared, for he had read the necessary books. Usually, such secret acts had to be performed under the strict direction of a guru, but he had become the guru once he had ended the cycle for Lama Lhodrag Rinpoche. He was master unto himself.
First, he was going to have to sit in the lotus position. His shakti would have to mount him while he meditated, and take him in herself, while he sat unperturbed. She had been taught many tricks by which she could tighten her vagina in such a way as to heighten his pleasure to the point of ejaculation, but he would persist and never give up his holy seed.
He would stand and she would have to wrap her legs around him and strike him on the chest while she positioned his penis in her vagina and increased her friction. He had to stand balanced with one foot bent and set against his own thigh so that she could use it to support her vigorous gyrations.
Finally, he would be required to use various “strokes” to cause the ultimate arousal in her. Yet again, he must remain equipoised. He began to review the various positions he would be required to perform. At this stage, he would have to act as the aggressor, although again, he was required to hold back.
The position called the “dagger” required that he thrust into her, and then withdraw. Then he would have to thrust again quite forcefully. The “boar’s thrust” would be from either side. He would then raise her legs above his head and thrust down. One leg would then be placed upon his shoulder, while the other leg should be forced outward. Her eyes would then roll around in pleasure. She would flail her arms, bite him, and push him deeper and deeper into her.
His entire body was tense and trembling as he reviewed the path he would have to take. He opened his eyes now. A woman approached Marisol with a pot of oil for the preparation of her place of worship. A tall man, the partner of that woman, approached him with a pot containing sandalwood oil laced with aphrodisiacs. This was a necessary part of the preparation, for it would prove that he was indeed the god able to both receive and absorb the woman, without losing even a drop of himself.
The man knelt on one knee and Uriah noticed how the man’s large penis hung down and jiggled slightly with the movement. The man dipped his hands into the pot, and reached for Uriah’s erect penis. He rubbed the oil first up and down, and then he massaged the opening slowly. Uriah’s mouth opened into a scream of primal passion as his semen sprayed up onto his heaving abdomen. His cock shook with a few small spasms before it slowly drooped down.
The man stepped back, as if in shock. All of the watchers stood stunned for what seemed an eternity, as Uriah’s cock shrunk back to a small organ that hung off to the left. Semen dripped from it. They began to walk away, grabbing garments from the darkened recesses of the room. He watched in horror as Marisol joined another naked man. He had rich, tousled black hair. His chest was powerful and his thighs muscled beautifully. He placed an arm that sported a strong bicep on Marisol’s shoulder in a proprietary gesture. As he turned with her in his arms, Uriah started to feel the beginnings of arousal again. The man’s hard buttocks and powerful thighs made his legs weak, while in his heart, black anger roiled. The man was Ramon. The thief was Ramon. The man who had taken everything that belonged to him.
Uriah fell to his knees weeping as he felt the silence of the cave closing in around him.

La Bruja--the Witch

The power of the witch is alluring, but you can't choose to possess the power of witchcraft. It chooses to possess you, and when it does, you do not have the power to resist.

Marisol Milagros sees things. She does the impossible, for she is a witch from a long line of Puerto Rican brujas. The problem is that she wants nothing to do with magic and brujería. Choosing a career in science seemed like a good way to embrace reason, but her magic still calls to her. She knows she must pay attention to the spiritual part of her--the part that refuses to be quieted. Buddhism seems so logical to Marisol after having taken a few classes at the university. As much as she hates to admit it, another fascinating discovery related to the classes is a cool DJ who is a student by day: Ramon Rivas. He has a magic of his own that refuses to be quelled.
The discovery of her new path is threatened, as is her life, when she meets a new guru in town who calls himself Master Lama Ananda Rinpoche. The so-­called Lama is a deranged killer who has become convinced that Marisol must become his tantric partner. DJ Ramon stands in the way of his victory, as does Marisol's magic. When the killer decides to take what he thinks is his, can Ramon and his power save her in time?

Thursday, October 11, 2012

New Book by KB Forrest

The Sorcerer Gaumata has a score to settle with the King of Kings, Cyrus the Great, and the court Sorcerer-Mage, Rustem. He will stop at nothing until he destroys these men and their entire lineages. The problem is that his opponents also have considerable power. Gaumata, a user of black sorcery, has the ability to possess people by entering their minds. He ferrets out a person’s deepest fears and uses them to terrorize and confuse his victim. Once he has accomplished this, he can control a person. Despite his power, he has a weakness. He too, is terrified of something. The Sorcerer Gaumata fears women. After successfully eliminating Rustem and his sorceress wife, Anahita, the Sorcerer is horrified that his plan is going awry. Women may yet be his downfall.
The orphan twin children of the couple find themselves separated. The brother, Mihr, becomes Advisor to Cyrus the Great of Persia. The sister, Spenta, finds refuge with a powerful witch, Indrayani. As they grow older, they come into their parents’ magical powers. Somehow, they are again pulled into the court of the Achaemenid Empire, a world that their parents fled because of a powerful menace. It still lurks, waiting for them. Can Spenta save her brother, or will they both fall prey to madness?


It was the very early morning of the next day and the queen had an army composed of the Scythians, both men and women. All of the remaining Massagetae men and women who could fight, and many outlanders who had come, having heard of the attack were arrayed. Even the Man-Eater tribe had come, hoping to make human meat jerky with the remains of the Persians that would be killed. They had heard that Persians had flesh that made the most delicious of jerked meat because of the fine wines that they drank and the exotic fruits they ate. They would have a good winter stock here.
The scouts had reported that the Persians were still unaware of their presence. Apuyani thought that that would be fitting. Silently, the army approached until they were close enough for the archers to announce their presence. The front line of Scythian archers unleashed a volley of fiery arrows and the horrible war cry was screamed from every eager throat. The Scythians were renowned for their savagery and their war cry was enough to make some of the Persians wet themselves. They stormed the encampment as the Persians scrambled to get their weapons and horses.
Paror the Round-Footed, the keeper of the Scythian horses, expertly began to lead his men in the theft of the horses. The Scythian steeds were so well trained and aggressive that the Persian horses followed them almost passively. Vardak the Stout was seen swinging his mace from side to side as heads flew off the enemy. His wife, Musa the Golden Haired, was intent on retrieving some beautiful cloth for dresses. She wielded a sword in one hand and held the reins with another, all the while carelessly chopping off the heads of the Persians. One man lay with his head cut down the middle and another ran for a moment after the very top of his head lay in the dust. Demonax the Mean’s face was set in exhilaration as he skewered five men at one time with his spear.

Spenta had never seen such a sight. At first, she was so frightened by the war cries and the carnage that she felt the gorge rise in her throat. Her stallion reared indignantly when the vomit hit his side and then he pawed the earth, impatient to join. Suddenly, Spenta felt the horse take off in an exuberant gallop. She almost dropped the sword that she held as he lurched forward. It was not that she hadn’t had plenty of practice. Indrayani and the Scythian women had taught her by having her slash small trees and then bigger ones with her sword. She had also learned by butchering sheep and goats with one tremendous blow of her sword. The sight of real men being cut open made her sick, but her war stallion was too eager to stop.
She was unexpectedly face-to-face with a fierce looking Persian, who raised his spear to throw it at her chest. In his eyes for that instance, she saw the sneer she knew was there because she was a woman. In a flash, a skeletal visage stared at her in surprise as her stallion ripped the man’s leering face off with his teeth. Another Persian struck at the brave horse, making a large cut in its chest. This finally galvanized Spenta and the fog lifted from her head. Giving a shrill war cry, she plunged into the battle. She screamed savagely and attacked another Persian, her sword a blur of deadly silver fire. As her weapon struck home yet again, her eyes took on the wild, misted look of battle fury. Those Persians who saw her and lived swore that she was the warrior Goddess, Spenta Armaiti, after whom she had been named.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Tanuki Demons

My dear friends, this guy really has balls....

Tanukis—Raccoon Dog Spirits 
Raccoons are a big problem on my farm. They look cute and furry in pictures, but they are ruthless killers. To protect my exotic chickens, at night I put them into cages with ½” very tough rabbit wire. That was fine for a while, but the raccoons figured out a way to kill them anyway. First they frighten the chickens by banging on the cage and growling. This sends the chicken off their roosts, running—well, like chickens without heads. Then the raccoon will squeeze a stealthy hand through the wire and wait until they can grab a chicken’s foot. When that is accomplished, they simply keep pulling and eating so that the poor chicken is eaten slowly and agonizingly. For this reason, I hate raccoons. At first I tried humane trapping and dispersing a mile away, but they always came back. Now I double cage the poor birds…but I digress…
I wanted to talk about Japanese Raccoon Dogs, better known as Tanukis. These creatures resemble the real Raccoon dog very little. Some people say they look more like badgers. The mythical Tanuki is roguish and mischievous. A tanuki can disguise itself as a Buddhist monk, begging for offerings, which it may also steal outright. In my Fox Sorcery series, it is depicted as a musical creature who will use either its inflated abdomen or scrotum as a percussion instrument. It is depicted in popular Japanese myth this way. One can buy images of lewd looking tanukis playing with their scrotums in Japan. The little guy above has a big sack indeed!

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Water Demons

Kitsune Tsuki—Possession
In this book, one of the many demon characters is the Kappa, a Japanese water demon. The kappa is fond of grabbing children and drowning them, but nobody can really be safe from their attacks near water. They have long hair, and bodies like a cross between a monkey and a turtle. They may be about four feet tall, but don’t weigh more than 80 pounds. Some say that they drink only blood, but others insist that they like cucumbers as well.
Kappas are profligate and thus they like to chase women, and eat them after they use them. They also torment horses, sometimes pulling out their intestines out through the anus.
 Kappas can't remain out of the water for long. They have a depression on their heads that they use to hold water. This allows them to live on land longer. In my book, the daughter of Ashiya Doman is being tricked to come closer to the water by a kappa. Her friends tell her to bow to the creature. For some reason, a kappa must return a bow, and this will make the water spill. The kappa will weaken. The girl is too entranced by the demon, and she ignores the good advice, causing her to be taken. 
Kappas have useful knowledge such a bone setting. Anyone wishing to set a bone might obtain the knowledge by bribing a kappa with an offer of cucumbers. Above is a mummy of a Kappa found in Japan in the 18th century.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

New Book! Free with registration!
All of KB Forrest's books are now 25% off. Extasy Books is giving a $5. coupon to any new readers registering now, as well as a 10% reward! This means you can get this new book free!!

The hunter knew that he was not going to make the same mistake twice.
His hands were covered in blood. Saucy Calf was lying at his feet with her life pouring out. Her eyes were wide, full of a knowledge that scared him. She coughed, and her lips were stained red with her blood. Her eyes were shining with a kindness that he knew would slide away from him and be gone.
“I’m never gone,” she said. But her lips hadn’t moved. Her voice was piercing, and unspeakably beautiful. “You just can’t see me. Open your heart to me, beautiful one. All I want is for you to see me.”
Red Crane screamed. The night swallowed his cry.
She was dead.
There was no compromise. He had seen death so many times. The rocks around the cave entrance glowed with the light of the moon. His eyes found Grasping Raccoon.
“What have you done to your lover? Look at that. You did that.” Grasping Raccoon jumped up and down, laughing. “Now you’ll know the pain you caused me.”
Red Crane felt himself coiling to strike. But the Ukteena struck him first.
Grasping Raccoon screamed and was tossed high in the air. The Ukteena shook him in his jaws and flipped him almost playfully into the air.
Then it turned to Red Crane, sinewy scales sliding past each other. Blood dripped from the jaws of the monster. When it opened its mouth, teeth as long as first year antlers gleamed at him. The Ukteena was death. Yet, there was an innocence in its lack of knowledge, a grace in the pure rage that spoke of deeper realms of pain, of deeper redemptions than he could see. The Ukteena’s light burst forth from the forehead of the beast.
And for the first time, Red Crane could see.
And it was all just as they said it would be. His world fell apart and his mind shattered like a mirror fusing into a shining surface from a million tiny pieces. 

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Onmyoji Abe no Seimei--a Japanese Magician

All Books by KB Forrest now on sale 25% off!!! Sale Price already marked off all books and 

The Onmyodo Magician


Onmyodo is the Japanese name for a kind of magic based on the Chinese yin/yang Daoist art used for fortune telling astrology, healing, exorcisms, providing protective amulets or papers called o-fuda, and much more. The specialists in Onmyodo are called Onmyoji or Shomenji. Abe no Seimei, c. 921-1005, was the most famous Onmyoji. He practiced his art during the Heian Period, 794-1192, in Japan, during the heyday of the imperial court. His magic was thought to be extremely powerful as he was the son of a magical fox and an onmyoji of the Abe family.
In my story, Andre Minamoto, a doctoral student, is working on his research into Japanese folklore in Japan. He comes across some people in a small village who know of the existence of an ancient by the name of Abe no Seimei. Hungry to know more, Andre ventures into a remote area to find the reclusive sage. When he finds the man, his entire belief system is shaken. He is forced to admit that he has come across something science just can’t explain. Fables claim that Abe no Seimei lived for an extraordinarily long time. Some stories claim that he still lives—but how can a man over 900 years old be alive, so young looking, and so attractive? As if this were not enough, he finds that Seimei is in the company of a host of demons, ghosts, devils, and goblins Andre thought were the stuff of myth. Thus he begins a journey into the unknown world of Japanese spirits. With Seimei as his guide, he experiences sights he never thought possible. 
Read about Abe no Seimei and

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The Mind of a Devil--the Oni

The Mind of a Devil

As an oni can shape-shift, why do they appear in a horrid form? The answer is that they are evil by nature. They are cannibals, and enjoy human flesh cooked or raw. Onis were once human, at least some of them. These humans may become onis because of something horrible that has happened. The oni can be a monster deserving pity, because it is quite often the cruelty of humans that has caused the transformation to this form as a devil. For example, in Fox Sorcery II, a young woman’s father makes up an elaborate ruse to make her believe that her lover had died. He does this because he doesn’t think the lover is her equal socially. This causes her intense grief. Women in particular are thought to be given to jealousy and shame. Japanese people were taught to avoid emotions such as anguish, longing, frustration, anger, or resentment, because these strong sentiments can cause one to wander in the world after death. The Buddhist idea of samsara, an Indian philosophical concept literally meaning to wander, is expressed in the concept of a ghost wandering ceaselessly in search of closure. While samsara referred to transmigration, even Indians understood the state of being a ghost as one of the possible bodies one might have to endure.
To avoid this cursed existence, one should avoid situations that might cause one to become distraught. As a devil, an oni is capable of violence, but at the same time, it is a soul aching with some sort of unimaginable pain. Only such anguish can cause a human to take such a form. This is the reason that onis are so often represented in Japanese stories as having human frailties and very human grief or anger. In Shinto this malevolent quality, aramitama, arises when a human or kami feels insulted or wronged. The oni is ensnared in the world of humans, being unable to move on to another body or to the realm of the ancestors, because of a strong emotion such as grief or rejection. The oni is a liminal creature—a part of the world, yet not of the world.
If one were haunted or possessed by an oni, there were specialists who could deal with the problem. The Onmyoji was a ying-yang magician skilled in exorcism. One might also approach a Buddhist monk for help. I will explain how they exorcised demons, devils and other spirits in my next entries.
See my book:
Oni Devils at 

Saturday, September 29, 2012

On Japanese Devils-Oni

On Japanese Devils

The way that Japanese understand the world of spirits, kami, is very different from our understanding. The world teems with spirits. They may be good, bad, or neutral with many shades in between. In my series, Fox Sorcery, I delve into this world to show just how varied these spirits can be. In the next few days, I will explain some of these entities. My first will be Onis, a kind of devil.
The kanji character for the word comes from the Chinese character for the spirits of the dead. The character can denote a spirit that is ancestral or an evil ghost. In common Japanese belief, an oni is a spirit that is terrifying, and looks rather like the Western idea of a devil. These creatures might be thought of as coming from a hellish abode to frighten humans who sometimes deserve to be haunted. Onis are sometimes illustrated in popular Japanese art as having horns on the forehead, and sometimes a third eye in the middle of the forehead. They have horrid faces with gaping maws sporting one or more rows of sharp teeth. The skin of an oni may be black, yellow, blue, or red, but quite often it is red. Red is the color of a common oni mask used in the performance of the Japanese Noh theater productions.
Onis can be shape-shifters. They can appear as normal humans until something forces them to reveal their real forms. An oni can be a male or female, but they are often depicted in art as male. There is one sort of female oni called the Yomotsu-shikome oni, who is the result of a woman who is shamed by her husband.
Next, I will talk about the nature and psychology of onis.

Read Kitsune Tsuki-Possession at

Thursday, September 27, 2012

The fox spirit is revealed in its shadow—Japanese folk wisdom.
Andre sees things in his dreams and his heart yearns for more, but he doesn’t know it yet. Bent on gathering data for his doctoral thesis on Japanese folklore, Andre finds more than he ever hoped for. When an informant suggests that Abe no Seimei, an Onmyoji, or yin yang magician of the Heian Period, is still alive as myth claims, Andre is intrigued. Legend claims that Seimei was the son of a magical fox, and that he cannot die. Andre is not so gullible as to believe such nonsense, but he checks it out anyway. When he meets the man who calls himself Seimei, the very foundation of his belief system crumbles under his power. His world changed forever, Andre finds that he cannot be satisfied until he knows it all. He must know Seimei, and he gets what he wants, but the cost of it was not what he expected. 
Read at: 

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

New Book Release--Daughter of Fire

You can’t ignore your inner demon.

Korin is a slave—beaten and abused, but never broken. Every day she watches the soldiers of the Imperial Army practice and wishes she were one of them. One day, her slave supervisor attempts to blame her for the catastrophic loss of the army’s herd. In the resulting dispute, she accidentally kills him and flees to the army camp, where she is mistaken for a minor officer.
Thus begins Korin’s journey in the land of free men. She doesn’t ever want to return to her old life. When crazy Antiochus, a superior officer, takes her in and covers for her, she takes up her duties with a passion. All is threatened when a fellow slave recognizes and reports her. Will they call her bluff and engage in a sword duel meant to uncover her real identity? Worse yet, the last of the pureblooded demons, Vorak, has taken an intense interest in her. He suspects, like the others, that there is more to Korin than meets the eyes.
Could Korin’s uncanny strength and affinity for the night have a more sinister meaning than she realized? Could she be a demon? Korin must discover the meaning of her strange powers before she gets caught up in something she can’t control.
Available at:

Monday, May 21, 2012

A Simple Question of Humaneness--a short story

Confucius: A human is one who acts with humaneness

Eliza was waiting at the edge of the cafeteria with the other lunch ladies.  She fidgeted with the spray bottle in her gloved hands, thinking about the way her hair net seemed to pull her hair so that her white roots showed.  She decided that she’d give herself a dye job at the end of this work day.  And then she’d watch her favorite television show and eat the delicious scalloped potatoes she’d gotten into the habit of making.  If she was lucky, Ralph would spend the evening at the bar and she could have the house to herself for a while.

She stared at the clock that hung on the wall, wishing the workday was over so she could relax a little. 

The table on the end emptied first.  These were the fifth grade boys who sat together and made the most noise.  There was a flurry of activity around the large trash bins as they smacked the edges of the can with their trays and stacked them in a pile.  Elisa saw one boy throw his entire tray away.  He was the leader of these boys.  He’d done this before.  Elisa felt a flash of anger. 

“Hey you!” she called out. 

He turned to face her. 

“You got a problem old woman?” he said.  He started to walk toward her and all of his friends turned as well.

“You’re not supposed to throw the whole tray away.  Pick it up and put it where it belongs.”  She tried to speak in an authoritative voice, but to her shame, her voice shook.

The boys laughed at her and the leader repeated her words in a falsetto.  This made the other boys laugh.  Eliza flushed.  With his friends flanking him on either side, he swept out of the cafeteria.  Eliza stooped and fished the tray out of the trash.  Another lunch lady, Cindy, had started to clean the table they’d vacated, so Eliza resumed her place on the wall with as much dignity as she could muster. 

Eliza tried to remember her scalloped potatoes and how pretty she was going to feel after she fixed her hair, but the mockery had shamed her so much that she could think of nothing else.  The minutes dragged on.

The table closest to the door was always the last one to be vacated.  Second graders sat here, and they were cute for the most part.  But there was one foreign looking girl who spent at least a half hour pulling her string cheese apart.  Elisa grit her teeth as she watched the girl pull the string cheese out of her brown paper bag just as the last of her classmates got up and filed outside for recess.

“Look at that,” Eliza said to Cindy.  “There she goes again with the string cheese.” 

The girl didn’t look at them, but Eliza liked the way she flinched. 

“These kids don’t give a damn about their elders,” Eliza said.  “She does this just to piss us off.  I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Tell me about it,” Cindy said. 

Eliza straightened her shoulders.  “She does this every single day and I don’t know what she expects us to do about it.  Are we supposed to wait around while she picks at her food?  Who does she think we are?  Slaves?  Look at her.  She can hear us, but she still keeps doing it.  I don’t know, maybe that’s how they treat their elders in her country.”

The cafeteria was empty except for the lunch ladies and the girl with the cheese.

“Hey, girl!  We have jobs to do you know.  We can’t just wait around while you pick at your cheese,” Eliza snapped. 

The girl didn’t answer her.

“Look at how disrespectful she is!  I’m sorry, but I can’t just wait around for her.  I’ve got to clear this table out before the next round of kids comes in here.”

Someone had spilled their helping of corn onto the table, and Eliza swept the food toward the girl who gasped as the corn hit her.  Eliza hadn’t expected the food to hit her so hard.  One of the corn pieces stuck to the teddy bear on her multicolored sweater.  The girl dusted herself off, but still didn’t look up at them.

“I’m sorry.  I told you to move.  I don’t know what you expect me to do.  I’m just trying to do my job.  It’s not like the whole world is here to wait on you.”

“Come on Eliza,” Cindy said in a disapproving tone.  “Maybe it’s part of her religion or something.”

“I don’t even know what she is.  Hey, what country are you from?” Eliza asked, pitching her voice louder and talking very slowly.  “Is that way you eat part of your religion?  Do know the word religion?”

The girl nodded. 

“Now that’s a weird religion.  I can’t imagine why they do things like that, but I guess that’s not PC to say,” Eliza said.  “She’s not even eating, she’s pretending to eat.  I’m the one who’s going to get blamed if the tables aren’t cleaned.  You should just eat your food.  Why are you picking at it?  Wait, do you understand English?”

“She doesn’t understand you,” Cindy said.

“She understood me before, didn’t you see her nod?  I don’t know why they let people like that into the country if they can’t even speak English.”

The girl was watching them. “I can speak English,” she said in an unaccented voice. 

“Look at that, she does speak English.  Why did you try to trick us?” Eliza demanded.

“I didn’t.  I-I just wanted to make the slivers really tiny,” she said. 

“The slivers?  What are you talking about?” Eliza said, looking at Cindy as if the girl had lost her mind. 

“The slivers of cheese, see?” she said, holding up a filament of cheese so thin that Eliza could barely see it.

“Well hurry up and get out,” Eliza said.  “It’s not healthy to sit inside while all your classmates are out there playing.  In this country we play at recess.” 

“Come on Eliza, don’t be mean,” Cindy said.

“I’m not the bad guy here,” Eliza said.  But Eliza felt like it. 

“Ask her what her religion is,” Cindy instructed.

“What is your religion?” Eliza asked slowly, shouting.

“I’m a Sikh,” she said.

“You’re sick?  No wonder.  I thought you said this was a religious ritual,” Eliza laughed.  “Gosh and here I was giving her a hard time about this.”

“No I’m a Sikh,” the girl said. 

“Oh, so it is religious,” Eliza said.  Instantly, she was suspicious again.    

“No I told you, I just want to eat the cheese like this.”

The girl was starting to turn red.  Eliza felt a stab of annoyance and pity.  “So what do you believe in?  I’m not trying to pick on you. I’m just trying to be friendly.”  The girl just stared at her and Eliza felt her pity evaporate.  “What do you believe in?” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” she said. 

“How could you be part of the religion and not know?  You must have some kind of beliefs like in Christianity.  Do you know what Christianity is?” Eliza said, saying the word slowly for her benefit.

“I know what that is,” the girl said.  She started to cry. 

 “Oh look at that,” Eliza said.  “I didn’t mean to make her…it cry,” she said to Cindy.  “Oh my God, is it a boy or a girl?”  She looked at Cindy, and held her hand in front of her face.  “I just insulted him by calling him a girl.”

“No, don’t worry, it’s a girl.  I’m pretty sure I heard the teacher say so.  Ask for its name,” Cindy instructed.  “We’ll be able to tell by the name.”

“What’s your name?” Eliza asked. 

The girl mumbled something unpronounceable into her hand. 

“You’re going to have to speak louder honey, I can’t hear you.”

She said the name again, but it was so foreign sounding that Eliza couldn’t remember it. 

“Say it again I still didn’t get it,” Eliza said.

“Never mind,” Cindy hissed.  “We still can’t tell if she’s a boy or a girl with that foreign name.”

“I’m just going to ask her.  I’m sorry to have to ask, but are you a girl?”

The child rolled its eyes.  “I’m a girl!” she practically shouted.

“Okay, sorry, my mistake.  We’re just trying to learn about other cultures.  I’m very open minded.  This is instructive for me.  I hope you don’t mind.  Okay, let’s get back to what you believe in.  What are the basic ideas in your religion?  Just give me a quick summary.”

The girl shrugged, staring at her string cheese.  “I know my religion. It’s just hard to explain.”

“Let’s just leave her alone,” Cindy whispered. 

“I’m not trying to be mean.  Do you think I’m being mean?” Eliza asked the girl.

“Everyone asks me the same questions.  Every day, all the time.  I’m scared to go outside,” the girl said.

“Because of the questions?” Eliza said. 

“No,” the girl said.

“Then why?” Eliza said.

The girl turned her attention back to the string cheese and started picking again.  She shook her head, but didn’t speak.  Eliza realized that for the second time that day she had been manipulated by a bratty kid.

“She’s been playing games with us this whole time,” Eliza said.  She felt her anger and shame at her own ignorance bubble over.  “I don’t know if you’re sick or religious, but you shouldn’t be here.  Eat your food and go outside to play.  Maybe if you hung around some American kids you’d learn how to be a little normal.”