The
Underground
by Roxanne
Bland
Date of Publication: October 1st 2019
Publisher: Blackrose Press
Cover Artist: Zelena
Genre: Paranormal Urban Fantasy/Romance/Science Fiction Hybrid
Tagline: There’s no room for morals when survival is at stake.
BLURB
In an alternate Seattle,
communities of “exotics”—shapeshifters, witches, elves and vampires—live among
the murderous human population and are ruled over by the cruel vampire Master,
Kurt.
The powerful alpha male of the
werewolf pack, Parker Berenson, is one of the Master’s enslaved servants and he
would like nothing more than to hasten the downfall of the vampire overlord who
stole his love, the beautiful mage Garrett Larkin.
But in a night city already on
the razor’s edge—in the midst of a spate of bloody murders—Parker’s passionate
encounter with a stunning interstellar assassin could upset the very delicate
balance and ignite a war neither exotics nor humans can survive
Excerpt:
CHAPTER 1
“Stay
human. Stay human. Stay human.”
Parker
Berenson, alpha of Seattle’s werewolf pack, slammed the door to his aging brown
Chevrolet Caprice. “Stay human. Stay human.” Hands clenched into fists, his
feet pounded the icy pavement leading from the driveway to his blue-gray stucco
house. Though the February fourth night was unusually bitter and he wore
neither overcoat nor jacket, he didn’t feel cold. Sweat streamed down his face
and neck. His white dress shirt was soaked, as were his trousers. Tiny tendrils
of steam rising from his muscular shoulders made him look as if he were
smoldering.
His
wolf’s hard push against the mental bonds that held him inside their shared
body and mind made Parker stumble. Fuck staying human. I want out! he roared.
Regaining
his balance, he ignored his beast as best he could and kept walking. “Stay
human. Just stay human.”
I’m—
“At
least wait until we get inside,” he said through his teeth.
The
porch light was out again, but Parker could see by the streetlamps’ ambient
glow. He shoved his key into the front door lock and gave it a savage twist.
The bolt didn’t move. Using more pressure, he tried again and nearly snapped
the key in two. “Open, you sonofa…” he muttered, jiggling the key in its slot.
That’s
it, his wolf snarled and gave another hard mental shove. Tear the sucker off—
“No!”
The
key finally turned. Parker threw the door open, stormed over the threshold,
then banged the door shut.
One
day, I swear-to-God, I’m gonna kill that—
“You
and me both.” He leaned against the door, panting. “Now calm down, will you?
Calm—”
Calm
down? After what he did to us tonight? Again? Calm down my—
“Shut
up. We need a drink.”
I
don’t need a drink. I need—
“Shut
up, I said.”
His
wolf didn’t reply. That was a good sign.
Parker
strode away from the small patch of faux-slate tiles that served as a tiny
foyer. The room he marched across comprised nearly all of the main level. White
walls supported glass and metal sculptures with jagged edges sharp enough to
carve a holiday roast. These stood in stark contrast to the rest of the sparse
furnishings—the clean, straight lines and ninety-degree angles formed by industrial-grade
steel pipe. The black leather cushions on the sofa and chairs did little to
soften the interior’s threatening appearance.
The
decor wasn’t pretty but it had its uses. The lack of furniture allowed enough
space for all of his wolves to sit when the pack met at his place. And in case
his neighbors discovered what he was and decided to do something about it, the
wall hangings and furniture could be broken into makeshift but lethal weapons.
Parker
headed for the freestanding bar about twenty feet away. He grabbed the
jumbo-sized Jack Daniel’s bottle from the counter and then snatched a double
shot glass from a nearby rack. Pouring the glass full, he drank it in one gulp,
ignoring the liquid fire searing his throat. He tossed down two more shots.
After
his fourth drink, he felt at least some of the tension leave his shoulders.
Holding the glass in two large, strong, and trembling—but very human—hands, he
set it down on the upper counter. Leaning against the marble, he closed his
eyes. “Okay. We’re okay now. Right?”
His
wolf remained silent. Another good sign. The last thing he wanted was to morph
into his other, a gargantuan man-wolf eight feet tall. A forced morph was
triggered in werewolves by the full moon and sometimes, like now, by powerful
emotions. And the greater the size differences between the human and were
selves, the more agonizing the change. Parker-the-human stood six feet, six
inches tall in his stocking feet. Morphing into his eight-foot were hurt like a
knife-wielding bitch.
Parker
had been just about to let out a sigh of relief when he caught a whiff of
cologne clinging to his shirt. It wasn’t his. He ripped the still-wet shirt off
and threw it across the room. His broad, hairy chest heaving with anger, he
watched the discarded garment land in a crumpled heap about ten feet away.
No,
we’re not okay, his wolf growled. Human, when are you going to wake up and
smell the blood? That bastard is driving us insane.
“That
bastard” was Kurt, the vampire Master. Old and extremely formidable, Kurt
extended preternatural protection from Seattle’s human horde to just about
every exotic—zot—that lived there. The smell Parker had picked up was the
vampire’s favorite scent.
He
poured a fifth shot of whiskey into the glass. “Quit calling me ‘human.’ Besides,
what do you suggest we do about it? We’re Kurt’s servant. Bound to him by
blood. Day or night, he calls, we come, and then we do whatever he wants.” He
downed his drink and grimaced. “Like we’re his damned dog or something.”
His
wolf’s anger surged. Guess you like it, huh? Like this, maybe? A mental picture
flashed in their shared mind’s eye, one Parker would rather not have seen.
Kurt’s grinning face was poised above him. He heard the seductive whispering in
his ear and felt the sweet ecstasy of fangs piercing his flesh.
Parker’s
face reddened. “You think I wanted to go down to Kurt’s nightclub tonight?” he
shouted. “You think I wanted his hands on me? No. You know what he does. Takes
over my mind and twists my head around until I’m practically begging for it.”
He tossed down a sixth shot. “And while he’s doing it I sure don’t feel you
trying to stop him.”
That’s
bull and you know it.
“Shut
up.” He poured himself an seventh shot and drained it, which was followed by an
eighth. But Jack wasn’t doing the job. The humiliating images of what had
happened to him and his wolf in Kurt’s office beneath the vampire’s Last Chance
nightclub refused to fade.
Parker
gripped the shot glass harder. His blood pressure skyrocketed. Rivers of sweat
burst from his pores and ran down his face and chest. His wolf’s snarling
inside their shared mind swelled into a howl. He started grinding his teeth, a
sure sign he was going into a forced morph.
“Oh,
shrrit!”
Author Info
Award-winning author Roxanne Bland was born in the shadows of the rubber factory smokestacks in Akron, Ohio but grew up in Washington, D.C. As a child, she spent an inordinate amount of time prowling the museums of the Smithsonian Institution and also spent an inordinate amount of time reading whatever books she could get her hands on, including the dictionary. A self-described “fugitive from reality,” she has always colored outside the lines and in her early years of writing, saw no reason why a story couldn’t be written combining the genres she loved and did so despite being told it wasn’t possible. Today, she writes stories that are hybrids of paranormal urban fantasy, romance, and science fiction. Enamored of Great Danes, she has been owned by several and lives in Maryland with her current owner, Daisy Mae.
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Interview with Roxanne Bland . . .
How would you describe your style of writing to someone that has never read your work?I want to say musical. Not like poetry, but with cadences and motifs that make the prose flow in a reader’s mind. There are some instances in a story, certain scenes, where only a hard-hitting, staccato effect will do, usually where there’s heavy-duty action going on. I guess you can sort of say I write novels the way composers write symphonies.
What are some of your writing/publishing goals for this year?
Considering it’s November already, let’s call it what I hope to accomplish by the end of the year! I really want to finish the edits to The Moreva of Astoreth, a science fiction romance I wrote four or five years ago. I read it last year for the first time since it’d been published and decided to update it, especially with respect to terminology. Like substituting the term laser debrider for scalpel.
Do you feel that writing is an ingrained process or just something that flows naturally for you?
It’s both. After all, I had to learn the mechanics of writing before being able to write anything that made sense—like how to string words together in the right way to make a sentence, how to string sentences together to make a paragraph, and so on. Beyond that, writing comes natural. It’s something I’m very good at. This isn’t to say I couldn’t be better, because I’m sure I could. It’s just I’ve never taken a writing course, creative or otherwise. I hope to take a course sometime next year or the year after. I want to take my writing “to the next level,” as they say.
Do you have a character that you have been working on for a long time that still isn't quite ready, but fills you with excitement to work on the story?
No, not really. The main characters in my published novels have been with me for decades, so I’ve gotten to know them intimately. There are characters that I’ve conceived of for future novels that will need fleshing out, though. I’m looking forward to that.
If you could spend one-week with 5 fictional character, who would they be?
Wow. Five? That’s a bit of a tough one because there are so many. Okay. Lazarus Long, an immortal being created by science fiction writer Robert Heinlein. Hercule Poirot, the Belgian detective created by mystery writer Agatha Christie. Pournelle, a demon created by Kelly A. Harmon from her series, Charm City Darkness. Xena, Warrior Princess (of course!). Slippery Jim De Griz, a “reformed” criminal created by science fiction writer Harry Harrison from his Stainless Steel Rat series.
Where would you spend one full year, if you could go ANYWhere? What would you do with this time?
Cruising the galaxy on a self-sufficient spaceship. We wouldn’t get far in just a year but it’d be enough for me. What to do? My goodness, there’s so much to learn! So many story ideas! Collect them all in one place and have enough to write about for the rest of my life!
Can you share you next creative project(s)? If yes, can you give a few details?
Once I’ve gotten everything else cleared from my plate, I’ll start on “The Final Victim,” a novella (or maybe novelette) set in the world of The Underground. Basically, it’s The Underground story told from the elves’ point of view. This isn’t to say The Final Victim tracks The Underground, though there are two or three scenes where it intersects with The Underground’s action. The Final Victim is my gift to readers who sign up for my newsletter at http://www.roxannebland.rocks (hint, hint) and will not be for sale. Once that’s out of the way, I’ll be working on a novel, “When Gods Die,” the sequel to The Moreva of Astoreth, which I mentioned earlier. After that, I’m going to try my hand at writing a science fiction thriller, as yet unnamed. I’m looking forward to that one!
Webpage: http://www.roxannebland.rocks
Blog: https://roxannebland.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RoxanneBland2
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