From the Ashes Cover

Mina Carter outdid herself on my new cover for From the Ashes. Henri is sexy, sensual. And Cinder? Cinder is exactly how I and his godmothers pictured him.

From the Ashes is a Cinderfella. A m/m Cinderella story. Cinder's grasping stepmother forced him into a dress when his father died a decade earlier. Since then he has been a servant in his father's house, known as Cinderella. But soon his stepmother will be unable to continue the charade. What will be his fate then?

Blurb:

Cinder never thought that he could rise from the ashes of his life, but an unexpected encounter with a woman claiming to be his fairy godmother may be just what he needs. Finding himself flung into his very own fairy tale, she sends him off to meet his Prince Charming. But was the gown really necessary?

Excerpt:

Cinder glanced around. Paper lanterns floated in the trees, lined the walks, and graced the gazebo near the reflecting pool, giving the grounds a mystical air. Their warm glow caught the dancing jets of the fountain splashing merrily to his right. The musical, crystalline tones carried on the night wind’s breath. He was reminded of the enchanted gardens in the fairy tales his father had read to him when he was a child. What would happen to him if he dared walk there?

Henri led him toward the gazebo. Soon he would find out.

The cool breeze caressed his uncovered neck. Cinder shivered at the ethereal touch. Henri turned to him, the question clear in his eyes, but he didn't know how to answer. Instead he breathed in the tangible scent of rich earth and flowing water, hoping to calm his bounding heart.

Henri lightly stroked his arm. Cinder’s breath caught at the silky brush of the other man’s fingers. He drew another shaky breath. Henri may have meant to soothe him, instead his touch set Cinder’s wayward body aflame.

They left the last of the courtiers behind as they entered the dim interior of the fanciful pavilion. Vines climbed its intricately carved posts, perfuming the air within. The music and voices of the aristocrats faded away. Only a single intrepid nightingale could be heard over the cheerful babbling of the fountain. Hidden from the rest of the court, an unworldly sense of peace filled him. Was his very own fairy tale about to come true?

Bespelled and bemused, he could feel the magic in every beat of his heart, in every trembling breath he drew.

Once inside the bower, Henri reached to cup Cinder's cheek. Unused to being touched, he nearly flinched away but managed to still, heart pounding, before giving himself away. The older man's thumb slid across his cheekbone and came to rest lightly on his mouth. Why did he want to lean into that caress?

The other man's warm, slightly musky scent filled his nostrils, drowning his senses.

Henri's other hand wrapped around his waist and drew him close while tipping his face upwards. Cinder's breath left him in a rush, stirring the noble’s hair. Henri was all that he could see, his mouth slowly, carefully descending toward Cinder’s. If he allowed this, the other man might discover his deception. He couldn’t risk that, so why then did he ache to feel Henri’s kiss? Their lips brushed, light as thistle down.

Surprisingly, Henri's mouth was soft and warm upon his own. After a moment, Henri's pressed more firmly against his. Something fluttered in his chest, trying to get out.

Cinder didn't think to pull away until he felt Henri's tongue seeking entrance. The hand on his face slipped to his nape and held firm. He froze in shock, not even daring to breathe, as flames rushed through his body. The very beat of his heart betrayed him.

The questing tongue stroked his lips and pushed between them. It slid over his teeth, seeking to enter. When he protested, Henri's tongue swept in and began a lazy, sensuous exploration that left him breathless.

Soon he found himself stroking Henri's tongue with his own. Henri responded to his fledgling attempts by pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth. He had never experienced anything so deeply sensual and erotic. He fed his own needy pleas to the other man one at a time.

Finally they separated slightly, Cinder panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. Was Henri as affected by their kiss as he was? A quick glance confirmed Cinder was not alone in his arousal. Flushed and gasping, Henri gazed at him with eyes full of wonder and something unnamed smoldering in their depths.

A New Old Short Story

Back when I first started writing slash, Linda Reilly told me about a submission call for m/m fairy tales. At the time I thought "Yeah, right! As if anyone would publish me. I only do slash." But I came up with a plausible story line for a Cinderfella.

Then Cinder wouldn't leave me alone. He insisted that I stop part way through a chapter of my Samurai Champloo slash and write his story.

And it just flowed onto the paper, metaphorically speaking, of course. In one night, I must have written about 5K. That was as much, if not more, than I had written in my entire "career" as a slasher.

By that time it was 3am, and I had to get up for work in another three hours. So I grudgingly told the boys goodnight and got some sleep.

Apparently my prince was a true prince. He took offense and wouldn't talk to me the next night. I struggled getting the last of the story down. In fact, it was so traumatic, that it colored my perception of the story. When I reread it a few days later I was pleased to see that it didn't suck.

I missed the call, but that's okay. I was still very new to the whole writing gig. (Read: the story is good, but needs reworking.)

His godmothers, Linda Reilly and Rebecca Leigh, encouraged me to keep writing and have always wanted him to find a home. So I am applying everything I have learned editing Alexios' Fate and will be submitting Cinder for consideration.

Wish me luck!

Review: Sculpting Clay by Linda Reilly

The title is a delightful play on words that lets the reader know that Ms Reilly is a wordsmith with a playful sense of humor. Her command of the language and good story telling skills make this a definite must read. It is hard to believe that "Sculpting Clay" is her first novel and only one short story preceded it. To have this depth usually requires more extensive writing experience.

The three men in her love triangle are all very different. They have different, sometimes indecipherable, motivations. Their expectations and responses to the world around them varies widely as well. And one of the men is even more different than one might expect.

She does a good job of limiting the use of the paranormal in her story. That is only an element, and not what this story is really all about. "Sculpting Clay" is about the interactions between the three men and how one has to live with one's choices. 

I'm very sorry to say that there will be no future works by Linda Reilly. The woman behind the pen name was persecuted and forced to give up her writing. The m/m world lost a good author.