Timeless Desire Tour: Bryl R. Tyne

  

IMMORTAL by Bryl R. Tyne
Genre: paranormal/fantasy/m/m
Noble Romance Publishing
(c) 2011 Bryl R. Tyne

Blurb: Found abandoned as a child and taken in by the Nevsky clan, the man Ivis now feels the call of the water, the sea, but Sefton and his family, one of the most influential vampire bloodlines in Russia, isn’t about to let Ivis go. As Ivis’s powers grow stronger—powers unknown to him—Sefton’s instructed to detain Ivis at all costs to tilt in his clan’s favor the balance of power in an endless struggle between the Bogdanov water gods and Nevsky vampires. Sefton’s left with a choice: power or love. Which is the greater desire?

(unedited) Excerpt:
At the edge of the great forest, wild fields stretched to the south and to the east, ending as they tapered into a great sea. Though I could see only long grasses to the horizon, rumor spoke of such a place, the place where the Nevsky hunters had found me as a child of four seasons, with not a stitch of clothing or clan to lay claim and the letters IVIS scored across the point where my left collarbone met my shoulder. Few from the nearby village had dared venture out that far since, and those with a will to try had never returned. I dreamt of returning there someday. Though to what, or to whom, or precisely where, I had yet to learn.
“Again, I fear I am losing you, Ivis.” Sefton’s breaths cut cold and hard across the dampness between my shoulders.
Tepid skin graced my lips as I kissed the back of his hand. “Unfortunately, glimpses of my past remain with me to this day, as they should. Should they not?” I asked but got no reply at my back. “I can no more forget them than the sight of my own face in the water.”
But no matter how often I uttered those words, in truth, my past reached no farther than the tip of my nose, for how was it possible a child, no taller than waist high, should remember such places or events . . . or names? It was vain for me to try, but even now, as a young man, I continued to do so. More so, the closer Sefton drew to me for the power, though I knew not this power he claimed to seek . . . but his seeking me out for yet another romp in the forests happened more often than not of late.
“When I am with you, I am alive as never before.” Sefton tugged me against his chest, as he had done each night and many a carefree afternoon for as far back as I could recall. His lips found the juncture at my neck and shoulder, while he fondled me with the most skilled of touches. “You are the very air I breathe.” His words danced across my skin, graceful and confident. With his other hand, he found and teased my entrance, and pushed into me with a whisper, “You are mine, now and for always.”
“Yes.” I barely recognized my own voice under his assault. Yet, I wanted him as totally as he claimed to want me. “Always.”
He stroked my manhood and plowed into me relentlessly, over and again. “Tell me you are mine.”
By the goddess, I wanted to. I wanted nothing more than to accept his invitation to stay forever. But to do so would be a lie.
“Do not speak, my love,” he said, entering me again and again, working himself, faster and faster, until I could not tell where his body ended and mine began. “My love is enough to carry us both.” And he sank his sharp bite into my neck, took from me as much as he gave me elsewhere, and sending me into the bright abyss that only a lover can do.
“Sefton . . . .”
He withdrew his fangs, sealed the tiny wounds with a loving touch of his tongue. My body quivered in his embrace as he brought me back to earth with his sure caress. Yet, I lay there in his arms, fully aware of my plans to leave. How could I tell him that I could not stay, no matter how promising, how tempting . . . how pleasurable his touch.
“I am troubled, not understanding how each time can be better than the last, yet it is a truth I cannot deny,” he said and kissed the top of my head, then my shoulder; his hips pressed firmly to my backside. “Ivis? Promise me. Tell me that every day will be like today only better. Promise to never leave my side.”
His words were at once as a thick plume of smoke, suffocating, no matter how quickly I maneuvered through them. How could he promise me what was not his to give? I removed his less than reassuring arm and pulled myself up to stand. The rocky ground outside our grassy circle of body-warmed foliage stung the soles of my feet. “For the Lady’s sake, I am no Nevsky, and I belong to no one in your villages. To this day, I know not even my family name.” I leaned, one hand clinging, toying with a low-hanging branch. “Until I know who I am, I cannot make such promises. You know that I would die for you if I could.”
I turned and found the ever-present doubt his gaze increasingly held.
“I love you, Sefton Nevsky, like no other. Is knowing that not enough for you?”
For the briefest of seconds, his eyes flashed the color of fresh-spilled blood, and I looked away. He shot to his feet and with a firm grip, carried my face nose to nose with his own in a move that left me panting with fright. Yet I did not retreat, nor show the fear he had instigated and likely craved. Instead, I met his sternness with my own. “You are neither my keeper nor my brother.”
“I am a Nevsky and you—a bastard son found amongst the reeds. Do not push me, lower than low.” He pounded his chest with a knuckled fist. “You will not defy my wishes.”
Against my knotted gut, I stepped around him and retrieved my tunic and breeches. Oxen more stubborn, I had never witnessed in my supposed twenty-some years—I kept that knowledge loosely, also, for I had as much recollection of my true age as I had of the day I was born. Despite Sefton’s stance and his curses to the contrary, I dressed, slipping my tunic over my head. “Your proclaimed ‘two years’ on me makes you no wiser than I, though, with each passing day, you do resemble more and more a donkey’s behind.”
His reaction came swift and sure as he backed me against the nearest stone birch; Sefton tightened his grasp on my tunic with a shove surely meant to meld his fist to my chest. My still-naked buttocks encountered rough bark. His gaze remained locked with mine. “One day”—he wiped the spittle from his bottom lip—”one day I will make you know how infuriating a man you can be, Ivis Bogdanov.”
Sefton’s mouth covered mine, leaving me forgotten moments better used for breathing, but I could no more deny his needs for all the talk in the forest. He pulled away, as breathless as I. “Curse our lives,” he said, grimacing in obvious disgust. “Were I not born the ass that I am—were you . . . had we met under different circumstances—”
“But we have not. That is the hand the Fates have dealt us.”
Sefton pulled me into his arms. “Do not do this. No good can come of your curiosity. Are you so unhappy that I cannot expect you to share this life we have?”
“Life?” I wrenched free, backed out of his embrace. “You call this a life? I roam your fathers’ countryside by day and your castle by night as if in search of something, though I know not what.”
The look Sefton bore frustrated me further.
“You do not understand. I am a man. Do you not see that I have no need to be by your side both day and night? Can you not see your constant concern is smothering? I turn a corner; you are there. I close my eyes only to open them to your face. Is it I you do not trust, or is it yourself?”
Sefton’s steely eyes flared to deep crimson, and in that flash of color, he stood a hair’s breadth before me. “Rue the day I found you among the marshes bordering the eastern fields.” His nostrils flared as he turned away. “I need you beside me, or you would not remain . . . .” His stance turned aloof, and his stare grew cold. “You are no one special. No one would have you but I; no man is as accoutered as I to keep a—a man, such as yourself.”
Heat pooled in my chest, and a chill, the likes of which I had never experienced, consumed my shaking limbs. “A burden you claim, then I fear a burden I shall become.”
“Do not speak the words, Bogdanov”—he bore his elongated teeth in anger, a rarity in my presence—”or feel my wrath!”
In a move unseen, he was upon me, the sting of his bite upon my flesh, and I hardened instantly, despite my struggle.
“Damn you, son of Nevsky.”
But my words came on a fleeting breath, for my body could not mask my desire, and I pressed into his touch, his bite . . . his embrace, wanting him near with the same ferocity I wanted him to stay away, the same longing I had felt the first time we had coupled. And he reciprocated, penetrating my flesh deeper as he rolled his hips, revealing his desire, even as he assuaged his anger with the blood drawn from my shoulder.
“Damn you.”
He pulled away, withdrawing his fangs. His gaze, obscured by a haze of lust, met mine, and it was my blood that trickled from his lips as he said, “Too late.”
His expression told of his pain—decades, centuries, an eternity—for how long, I had no knowledge. So much had passed between us, years of growing—more, I’d grown from boy to man; Sefton had remained as youthful and handsome as ever—still, I knew few details of his life or circumstance. Uneasiness swallowed me whole with one look into his eyes. In spite of his protests to the contrary, I could never be what he desired. It hurt to love him as I did, but it hurt more to know not who I was, where I had come from, to whom I might belong.
“You belong with me, Ivis.” His voice was but a whisper as he wiped the blood from his chin.
“Get out of my head.”
“Your own thoughts betray you, for freely they gave themselves to me. I had no need to pry my way in.”
“You are an insatiable and arrogant man.”
“I’m no more a man than you—” He stopped abruptly and turned his back to me.
“What is this you once again allude to?” He removed himself from my reach. No man could keep one such as me . . . . Had he not meant riches, for admittedly, I had wants, and Sefton seemed always to have the need to fulfill each and every one of them? Before my next breath, Sefton had dressed.
“Son of Nevsky, what are you hiding from—?” But before I could finish my question, he was gone. And hence, so was I.

CONTEST: Leave a comment to win a Bryl R. Tyne Swag-pack!

Continue the tour by clicking the Noble Tour button

Celebrating Hard as Teak!

Hard as Teak is Kevin Marks' coming out story. As I was creating Kevin, I kept envisioning this man who was really twisting and turning inside. He'd followed his professional dreams to the point of alienating his father, yet, he'd ignored his true self. Some of his successes as a nature photographer have made the failures of his personal life less painful, but he's reached that point, and all of us do, where what used to fire him up, and get him out of bed eager to face the day has lost its appeal. Something has to give. He can't deny that once he lays eyes and hands on Teak Hildalgo.

Teak is a sexy beast. Confident, soft-spoken, beautiful. Teak recognizes what Kevin doesn't. He picks up on Kevin's inner turmoil and desires right away because he's been through it. Teak gives Kevin a taste of what he knows he desires, and then backs off, letting Kevin make the choice. They play a sensual game until Kevin comes to grips with what he's feeling. When they come together, it's erotic and powerful. Teak is totally at ease with himself, has a wry sense of humor, and brings calmness to Kevin when his world is blasting apart.

You didn't think there wouldn't be trouble, did you? That would be boring and predictable. And my books never are. 

 With Sincere Thanks

 It's always exciting and terrifying to try something new. Hard as Teak is one of those books for me. It is my first m/m romance, and I didn't write it or get it to market without help from the following people.

Jill Noble, thanks for contracting another unconventional romance by Margie Church. I'm proud to be a Noble author.

A.B. Gayle, thanks for your detailed observations and insights. I have so enjoyed getting to know you and the collaborative efforts we have since forged.

Paul Hoffman, thanks for being a beta reader and for your encouragement. You are a wonderful friend and I wish you well always.

Kate Richards, you're always first to say yes when I need a page or two read (or more) and always so succinct and clear with edits. You were one of my first Internet friends and I know we'll always be pals.

Margie Hall, you are one of my best friends and biggest supporters. MOTS, your generosity humbles me.

Bryl Tyne. My friend, my editor. You nabbed this book the second you got your hands on it. You helped me navigate some of the final tricky spots. I've enjoyed having you work on all my Noble books, and I've learned so much from you. I will always treasure some of our late-night chats. Yeah, I love you.

Now let's enjoy the blurb and a sexy excerpt. Be the first to win a copy of this book, too. Answer the question at the end.

Hard as Teak by Margie Church

Kevin Marks escapes to the north woods to reignite his passion for photography and women. But the only flame he seems able to spark is for his latest photography subject, Teak Hildalgo. Kevin's never been in a man's arms before.

Teak, the raven-haired, photographer's dream come true, is hell bent on capturing Kevin's heart. He takes Kevin, body and soul, on a romantic, sexual journey previously lived only in Kevin's fantasies. And no dream was ever this good, no truth this undeniable.

How will Kevin react? When the camera's put away, will Teak live up to his name?

EXCERPT:

Teak rocked back in his chair, studying his new friend. Kevin had that all-American-boy look. Blond hair and blue-grey eyes the color of the sky just before sunset. His coloration fit right in with almost every Scandinavian person living in the area. Except for that all-over tan. Great shape, tall, clean-shaven—everywhere from what Teak had seen—and a dick that could definitely get someone's attention. He's certainly got mine.

His body had reacted strongly when he'd come upon Kevin lying naked on the dock. The cold-water bath took the edge off the throbbing in his cock this afternoon, but what about now? When Kevin smiled, his whole face lit up. Great lips. Thinking of Kevin going down on him made his balls tense. Wonder what he'd do if I made a move?

Teak got back to the subject of having his photo taken. "You know what? It's cool. No offense taken. I'm flattered, I guess. The chicks are always on me, but it's nice to . . . ."

"To what?"

"To know they're not entirely full of shit just because they wanna get laid." Teak slid his chair back and picked up his plate. He set it on the sink. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're not leaving are you? You probably shouldn't drive."

Teak leaned against the counter. Kevin's interest in him was apparent, but he wasn't sure Kevin was tuned into his own feelings. Kevin's behavior reminded him of a first date. Does he realize it? I'll take it slow. If it's a mistake, I'll say it's the beer talking. "If you don't mind, I'll stay. I'd hate to spend the night in jail. Even the DNR guys are a pain in the ass this time of year."

* * * * *

While Teak used the bathroom, Kevin grabbed his camera and went outside. The half-moon provided perfect illumination on the frost clinging to the wildflowers. Careful not to breathe on the tender crystals, he knelt next to his subject and adjusted the camera to capture the perfect moonlit conditions.

Kevin glanced over his shoulder when the front door opened and shut with a heavy thud. Teak rubbed his hands together and then shoved them under his arms. "What are you doing? It's freezing out here."

Kevin clicked the shutter one last time and rose. The effects of his last beer made him stumble back a step; Teak grabbed his arm. Kevin broke into an alcohol-induced fit of laughter. "Just what I need—to drop this camera—and break it—or my shutter finger." Kevin wiggled his index finger a few times while laughing at his own joke.

"I suppose that thing is pretty expensive."

"Very. Let's go inside before I die of thirst, too."

"We've probably both had enough beer for one night, but I won't argue about going inside. There'll definitely be a hard frost tonight."

Opening the cabin door let out a blast of warm air. The sharp temperature contrast hit Kevin in the face, making him woozy. "Shit, it's hot in here." He peeled off his jacket and shirt and tossed them one at a time onto a nearby chair. "Do you want a bottle of water or some coffee or something?"

"I'll take the water. Wouldn't hurt to sober up a bit," Teak said. "I hate hangovers."

"You and me both." He retrieved two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one to Teak. "And if the night's still young, we can get drunk again later." Kevin laughed with his half-smashed friend and took a swig of water. "I'm going to make up the guest bed." He couldn't resist making another wisecrack. "The maid service sucks around this joint."

"You probably look stupid as hell in an apron anyway. Go make the bed."

"You're not helping? Shit, the assistant to the maid service sucks too." Chuckling, he walked to the closet to dig out some bed linens.

Kevin turned on the light. He'd used this bedroom countless times growing up and even got laid in here a couple of nights. The fitted sheet snapped as he shook it open. He made his way to the headboard to tuck in the corners.

He couldn't believe what a turn-on Teak was. The realization startled him. He'd never been sexually attracted to any man he'd met. At least not this strongly. He didn't mind watching a couple guys getting frisky with each other while they were messing with a woman in videos. But, I never really wanted to touch another guy's junk. He'd tasted his own cum many times. But from a cum-soaked pussy. He'd fantasized about sucking dick—countless times. But never thought I'd want it if I could actually get it. He unfolded the flat sheet.

With the sheets tucked in, he reached for the comforter and spread it on the bed. Lost in his lusty thoughts, he didn't hear Teak arrive and Kevin stumbled against him. Teak's arms wove around his ribs, preventing him from falling. Like the proverbial deer in the headlights, Kevin froze and didn't say a word. Pleasure whip corded his dick. His heart hammered. Resting his head rested against Teak's bare shoulder, he wondered when Teak had taken off his shirt. The trimmed hair felt stiff and foreign against his skin. No other man had ever held him this way. Kevin noticed rough calluses between softer patches of skin on Teak's hands. He soaked in the new sensations, enjoying them.

Silence thundered in Kevin's ears as he turned and met Teak's gaze. The intensity he saw nearly choked the breath right out of his lungs. What little air remained ran for cover when Teak's lips met his. The feelings reminded him of his very first kiss, heady and surreal. His lips twisted with Teak's. He'd never experienced the force of a man's tongue in his mouth or the scrape of another man's beard on his face. Not this way. Guttural sounds filled Kevin's throat. His breath hissed through his nostrils. These were the sounds of an aroused man. Except another man is turning me on.

Teak kept a loose hold on Kevin's waist. The non-threatening hold gave Kevin free reign to accept or deny him. For a long minute, he participated in the kiss as though moving with a partner in a choreographed dance. He knew what to do and how to do it, but his brain and his dick were going in opposite directions. Kevin's cock was so hard he wanted to take it out and come. His brain kept screaming at him to slow down. Confusion filled him. He broke from the kiss and focused on Teak's tattoo, glad for the distraction.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Teak asked in a soft voice.

"This is the most amazing tattoo." How fucking lame was that?

"Touch it."

With nervous hesitation, Kevin traced the pronounced veins on the dragon's side, and higher to its curved neck. Continuing to follow the dragon's neck with his index finger led to Teak's nipple. The hardened nub looked ready to be clenched in the dragon's sharp teeth. Or mine.

"Taste me," Teak said, his voice hoarse and hushed.

CONTEST: To celebrate the release of Hard as Teak, I'm giving away a copy. Tell me what appeals to you about Kevin and Teak and you could win. Don't forget your email address! 

Buy Hard as Teak 

Visit me at Romance With SASS

What's Love Got to do With It?

What's love...?

A secondhand emotion, according to the immortal Tina Turner.

But to many Romance authors?

It's everything.

My friend and co-author of the upcoming Johan's Quest series, Brita Addams, gave me some thoughts on the subject. See, to her, love is truly everything. She's lived it, felt it, breathes it in each day. Whereas, I tend to lean more toward Tina Turner's take on it, for love--romantic love--remains but a dream... a hope in my life. But then if we were all cut from the same mold and lived similar lives... how boring would this world be, right?

Love is defined as many things by many people. There's the grandiose hearts and flowers, wine and expensive trips. That works to acquire love, maybe, but to keep it, well, that takes something more.

Brita says:

I prefer to accept a more conventional explanation--the all-important emotion that seems to make the world go round. As romance authors, we write about it in glowing terms: commitment, a lifelong need that burns in all of us.

To me, love is that understanding that there is someone in the world who knows me and cares for me anyway. Whoever I am today, I'm accepted and I live in someone else's thoughts. Love is that one person who's by my side when the chips are down, slogging it out, whatever the adversity. It's caring for someone more than you care for yourself, because you know they feel the exact same way.

It's getting down to the end of your life and knowing you've lived a life that touched others and that touch had an impact. You meant the world to someone else, you were their world, the reason they got up in the morning.

Bryl says:

The above rendition of LOVE is exactly how Brita has managed to gain my attention, worm her way into my heart, and earn my trust, which I do not offer freely. Personally, I have no clue how to define love. Even after thinking on it an entire day, I came up at a loss for words.

The closest I think I come to knowing love is that protectiveness that overcomes me when someone hurts anyone I care about. Or maybe it's that smile that crosses my face when others would cringe from walking in on Sugar Daddy making a complete ass of himself.

Seeing my dismay, understanding my struggle, Brita went on to further try and explain, and in doing so by painting such an apt picture, finally helped me to understand:

How many funerals have you attended where people stood up and spoke about the deceased? I've attended many and the one common thread through all of them is striking. Never, has anyone ever said "Oh, what a wonderful carpenter he was," or "What a wonderful nurse she was." Instead, the folks who stand to speak, do so with tears, their sense of loss deep and heartfelt. The words they speak are of the importance of the deceased's life, the impact that person had on those who loved them.

The answer to the question, "What's Love Got to do With It?" I'm sure the answer is different for everyone, but my answer is Love has everything to do with it. Without love, a person's life is empty. Love is all that makes things worthwhile, all that, when things are said and done, is most enduring.

So, now that I've been laid bare, you tell me,

What does love mean to you?

Leave a comment today and  be entered in a drawing to win one Love Revisited: Rye and Chal Tee or a pdf copy of today's release.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, STARbooks Press, Untreed Reads Publishing, Changeling Press, and Amber Quill Press. Check out Bryl's bi-monthly column: My Way   Find out more about the author at: bryltyne.com