The
Eyes of Bast
by Lisabet Sarai
Paranormal/shapeshifter
erotic romance
Approximately 54
pages
Published by Books
We Love, Ltd.
May, 2014
Blurb
Trust your
heart. Follow your dreams.
Shaina Williams'
grandmother bequeathed her that wisdom, along with a old pendant from the
Islands, carved from an ocelot's tooth. When instinct tells Shaina to visit the
feral cat trap she'd set in Central Park, she listens to that inner voice, She
discovers she's caged a magnificent black tom, but the cat inexplicably
vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina
encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on
fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover
is forced back into his true shape - the tomcat she'd rescued.
Born a cat, Tom
was transformed into an unwilling shape shifter by a sorceress who craved a
human plaything to satisfy her perverse lusts. Centuries old and irresistibly
powerful, Delphine Montserrat will stop at nothing to find her runaway
familiar. Shaina vows to do whatever is necessary to defeat the vicious but
seductive witch and save the man she believes is her soul mate – even though it
might mean losing him forever.
Buy Links
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Channeling the Cat
It's almost a joke – the common association between authors
and cats. I haven't done a systematic survey, but I would estimate that at
least 75% of the authors I hosts as blog guests mention feline companions in
their bios. I'm no exception. I currently have two cats who traveled with us
from the United States to southeast Asia ten years ago, and who have settled in
quite comfortably.
Of course, many famous writers were renowned for their close
relationships with their felines.
Colette, Papa Hemingway, Jean-Paul Satre, Ray Bradbury... the list goes
on and on. The inspiration for my erotic
writing career, Portia da Costa, is a huge cat lover – that's one of the things
that forged a bond between us.
Many explanations have been offered for the feline-author
affinity. A cat doesn't need to be walked, so we can spend our time at our
desks as opposed to trucking around on the street scooping up their business.
Cats are mysterious creatures with many layers of personality – rather like
effective characters. Cats have an elegance and precision of movement we
writers might use as a model for our prose. Many authors have cited their
felines as sources of inspiration. Noted Canadian writer Robertson Davies once
said “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, lovable, wise creatures,
and cats like authors for the same reason.”
The other day, I was suddenly struck by a new theory. I was
thinking about the fact that so many authors report hearing “voices”. “I just
listen to my characters, and write down what they say,” one of my guests
commented. Writing sometimes feels like something driven from outside, beyond
our conscious control. Well, what if that's true?
What if it's not our characters who are dictating the story?
What if it's our cats?
Ridiculous, right? But Mr. Toes sits behind my monitor most
days I'm writing. He pretends to be asleep, but if I should get up for a
bathroom break or a drink of water, he stirs and gives me a look, as it to say,
“Where are you going? The story's not done yet!”
I grew up with cats. I grew up writing fiction. When I went
off to college and then grad school, I left the felines behind, and although I
wrote lots of poetry during that period, I didn't pen a single story. Then I
met my husband, a confirmed ailurophile, and filled my life with felines once
more. Next thing you know, I was a published author.
Ever tried to write when your cat was sick? Tough to
concentrate on the tale, isn't it?
And wouldn't this explain why our characters are larger than
life? Why they have so much vitality, such powerful passions, such intense
adventures? How could a mere human imagine such creatures? Cats, though – they
have superhuman abilities. Just ask them.
Of course to really test this, we'd all have to get rid of
our felines and then see if we could still write.
That might be informative. It might restore our
self-respect. But it's simply too painful to contemplate.
If I'm channeling my cats, I'm okay with that. As long as
they don't want their names on the cover.
Meanwhile, I've
finally written a story in which a cat has center stage. The Eyes of Bast is
a shifter tale with a difference. Read on to learn more.
Excerpt 3 –
Rated X
It was near dawn when I woke again. In the pearl-gray light
filtering through the blinds, my familiar furnishings were strange and ghostly,
shrouded in shadow. Stretching, I realized I was no longer on the floor. My bed
had been unfolded, and I lay stretched out on the sheets, nude. Alone.
Groggy with sleep, I raised myself on my elbows to scan the
room. It appeared to be empty. “Tom?” I whispered. There was no answer. A sense
of unreality seized me. Had I dreamed the entire scene – the handsome intruder,
the overwhelmingly sensual kiss, the orgasm that had shot me straight into the
stratosphere? I recalled my devastating arousal in the stranger’s presence.
What was going on? Could I be suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance?
This seemed like something more than the normal horniness of a woman who’d been
celibate for a while.
Thinking exhausted me. I sank back into my pillow, closing
my eyes as if that might make my doubts and confusion vanish. Sleep, I
told myself. I’ll figure things out in the morning. I was already
drifting back into slumber when the sound of running water roused me.
I peered into the dimness. A tall, male form emerged from
the bathroom. My heart did a somersault in my chest.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His low, musical voice melted me. I propped myself up to a
sitting position, heedless of my nakedness.
“You! You’re real...You’re still here?”
He’d discarded his clothing as well. In the half-light, I
drank in the sight of his smooth, muscled limbs, becoming more intoxicated by
the moment. He seated himself beside me and circled me with his arms. Heat radiated
from his dark skin.
“Why would I leave, my beautiful one?” he murmured in my
ear. Bending a bit, he flicked his tongue across one of my nipples. Lightning
tore through me. “There are still a few hours left to the night.”
Before I could reply, he’d fastened his luscious mouth on
mine. His firm lips coaxed rather than demanded a response, one I was only too
willing to give. I opened to the prodding of his rough tongue, letting him
taste me, savoring his wild, sweet flavor in return.
Once again a sort of delirium swept over me. It seemed we
were back in the park, sheltered by trees more than a century old. My nostrils
filled with the perfume of dew-soaked grass and damp earth, laced with a hint
of animal musk. I felt light as dandelion down, drifting in the night wind.
Only his strong grip kept me grounded. The moon rode above the clouds,
invisible but palpable, stirring tides in my flesh. Desire ebbed then surged,
cresting higher with each cycle.
His hands molded my breasts like moist clay. Blind with
need, I groped along his furred chest and taut belly, down to his gloriously
erect cock. When I squeezed, he moaned into my mouth and bit the corner of my
lip. The iron-tinged flavor of my own blood simply added to the stew of
sensation.
I smeared my thumb over the slippery bulb. His answer was a
savage twist to an already aching nipple. Moisture gushed from my pussy. I
tumbled backward, dragging him down on top of me.
“Shaina...” he murmured, breaking the kiss to lick his way
along my throat. His saliva felt like liquid fire. He nuzzled in the hollow of
my cleavage, then captured one breast and began to suckle. Electric pleasure
arced through me when his hardness brushed my inner thigh. I squirmed beneath
him, trying to align his cock with my hungry cleft.
“Please....” There was no need for me to say more. The
stranger rose above me, supporting himself on his powerful arms. His eyes
gleamed like phosphorescent jewels in the grayness. He smiled down at me,
baring those sharp, white teeth that had already drawn my blood. An almost
inhuman glee painted his features.
He hovered at my
entrance, his rigid flesh teasing my engorged clit. I spread my thighs wide.
Without a word, he sank his cock deep into my drenched pussy.
About the
Author
When I was a
little girl, my dad would make up stories for my siblings and me, fabulous
sagas about ghosts and monsters, magical races with mysterious powers, heroes
on impossible quests, hidden treasures awaiting only the most courageous
seeker. I blame him for my lifelong fascination with the magical and
miraculous.
Now that I'm grown
up, I create my own tales of wonder, weaving in generous portions of human
desire with its potent enchantments. In my paranormal tales, love works the
most powerful magick.
Find out more
about me and my books at my website, Lisabet's Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) and my blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com). I also hang out on Goodreads (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/83387.Lisabet_Sarai) and Amazon (https://www.amazon.com/author/lisabetsarai). I
also have a VIP readers email list where I share release and contest
information and run exclusive monthly giveaways. To join, just email me:
lisabet [at] lisabetsarai [dot] com.
Thanks for helping me get the word out, Erzabet!
ReplyDeleteHugs!