Hunter of the Heart - A Sampler

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Over on Goodreads my 'About the Author' says this:

What I hope you’ll find in my books are entertaining stories with characters you can root for, emotion, humour, intrigue, loads of sexual tension and heat and, always, a satisfying ending.

Kinda generic, maybe a little too earnest, I know. :/

My favourite ‘About the Author’ is in my St. Valentine’s freebie, Careful What You Wish For:

The lone survivor of a Tibetan plane crash, Vanessa Jaye was rescued by a now extinct rogue sect of shape-shifting monks.

As the only female in this revered group she can categorically state that the sound of one hand clapping was how those sexist Neanderthals asked her to get another beer from the fridge.

After the incident officially known as The Breaking of the Sanctity of the Sanitary Napkins, the prank playing chauvinistic monks were never seen again.

Coincidentally, Vanessa Jaye is the only survivor of, and eyewitness to, the Shangri-La Massacre.

And she ain’t talkin’.

She now spends her time contemplating the meaning of life—and whose job, really, is it to do the dishes—in between making stuff up, writing it down, and sending it into her editor.

But that doesn’t really tell you anything about me, except that I’m a goof. :-P

On the other hand, the statement on Goodreads is true, no matter what subgenre I tackle I believe most, if not all, of those elements will be included in varying degrees in the story.

For fun, figured I’d post some sample/example snippets from Hunter of the Heart:


“Come on, Romeo.” There was more urgency in his steps as he headed back to the hotel. From behind, he caught the tail end of Mitch’s muttered cussing.

“You’re a real buzz-kill, Scooby. You know that?” But in the few feet it took Mitch to catch up with him, his partner forgot his ire. “Damn. I am so loving this scenery.”

“I noticed.” From Nate’s vantage point, Mitch couldn’t swivel his head fast enough to take in all the hot-looking women.

“You gotta admit this is better’n some of the places that furry bastard child of Hannibal Lecter picked to party in. Remember Russia? Colder than a mother-effer. And that damn Sikhote-Alin forest had ticks as big as my balls.”

“It’s a wonder you don’t furrow the ground as you walk.”

“Hey, whatever, man. All I’m saying is that ain’t what I’m plowing.” Mitch mimed slapping an ass while moving his hips suggestively.

Sexual tension:

“And I don’t like the way you’re looking at me now either. You’re practically drooling.”

Nate grinned wider in response, gave her a little flash of the canines and felt the tiny thrill in her response. His senses expanded to explore her reactions more, the rush of blood through her veins, the increased pulsing of her heart, and the faint scent of her arousal. Intoxicating.

“Do you like this better?” He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers, but he delayed the moment by turning his head slightly aside. A predator by nature, he understood all about the hunt, about timing and how it could sharpen the appetite and make the feast to come all the sweeter.

“You’re a woman of many dislikes, Tessa,” he whispered against her ear. “I’ll have to work hard at discovering what delights you.”


“You’ll have to do better than hide in stairwells, Tessa.”

She gasped, his voice was clear as a whisper in her ear and his anger brushed up against her skin, raising goose bumps like a hot rash.

The sound of the door opening above her was enough—Tessa raced down the stairs in a panic. Oh God, she could almost feel his sharp teeth at her neck. There were no erotic images this time, just the cold knowledge of death. She’d actually been lonely and feeling a bit sorry for herself? She’d give anything right now to be safe and bored, watching some stupid sitcom in her living room with a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream for company.

“Tessa, no! Come back to me, now!”

She looked up and saw two points of lights shining down at her from Nate’s face. He looked murderous. Terror clawed into her gut. “Leave me alone!”

Tessa paused long enough to see, really see, the beginnings of the change in him, the lower half of his face became elongated, the tanned skin disappearing behind a spread of black hair. She screamed, and stumbled down the stairs blindly. Her sides stitched with pain, each gasp of breath not nearly enough. Had she actually kissed him? It? Her prayers for deliverance muffled his voice that continued to stab into her brain, demanding that she return to him.

He was insane.

No, she was.

But it wasn’t her imagination. It was true. He was a monster and he was going to kill her.

She came to the bottom of the stairs. Should she turn left or—

Feet raced down towards her, echoing in the narrow space till they sounded like an army. But they weren’t human feet. The rhythm was all wrong, overshot with a constant scrabble of nails hitting metal.

Hide. Anywhere. She ran, frantically trying doors left and right. One of them opened.

It was the wrong one.

A satisfying ending:

The End.


(Obviously there’s more to the ending than a kiss, but if you want to know what it is, well you know what you'll have to do….)
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