Welcome to Julia Talbot's blog!

Welcome, everyone! Here's where I blather about writing, life with my wife BA, and my two basset hounds! I love to hear from readers, so comment here or email me!

Monday, November 25, 2013


We got our first snow of the season!

How cool is that?



Thursday, November 07, 2013

Third Time's the Charm out at Changeling

Hey y'all!

Third book in my Keeping Score demon hunter book is out today!

Check it out here!

Here's a wee bit of it!

“Let me out of the cocoon, man.” He sucked up the juice, letting the energy fill him. Sweet and cool, it soothed him deep inside.

“No. No, I think you’re good where you are for right now.”

He frowned, wriggling, but there was nowhere to go. In fact, after the juice was gone, Laurent stretched out on him, holding him down, and he couldn’t shift around at all. “What are you doing?” Why the fuck was he allowing it?

“Keeping you still. Your body needs rest. You could barely dent me last night.”

There were bruises on Laurent’s face. Considerable ones. An open cut on one cheekbone. He’d dented Laurent. “I was giving you a break.”

“Bullshit.” Laurent snorted. “That was just foreplay.”

He wished. There wasn’t much left of him, his reserves were so far used that he was afraid he was burning his own bones just to breathe.

“I got you, okay? We can do this. I can’t afford to lose another good hunter. Janus retiring threw everyone for a loop.”

“Janus was a spoiled brat.” And Skye adored the grumpy old fuck with the passion of a thousand suns. The man could throw back some beers, and he could kill demons with his one good eye closed.

“Yeah, and he and that white-haired batshit crazy Cillian set a dangerous precedent.” Laurent chuckled, bouncing against him.

“They just pay us to kill the bad guys.” That was it. No thinking, no planning. Go and kill and then kill more.

“Exactly.” Propping up on his chest, Laurent warmed to the subject. “Janus got all emotionally involved.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with me.” His involvement had died with Star, no matter what she said to him in his dreams.

“I do, though. You talk in your sleep.”

Damn, that was dangerous. He would have to stop sleeping. “Good to know.”

“Yeah. I had a guy tell me I did that once. I recorded myself for a week after that just to see. I don’t.”

This man was insane. Totally fucking insane. “Untie me.”

“Oh, I kind of like you like this.” That grin was scary, manic and a little evil.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Promises, promises.” Laurent was pushing him, testing him.

He forced himself to relax, his fingers searching for weaknesses in the cloth, the edges of the sheet. He could get out of this, strangle this freak and go meet Star in the great hereafter after wading through as many demons as he could. That actually sounded fun. He grinned, flexing his muscles, listening to the cloth creak in preparation of ripping.

“You don’t look like you’re being good, Skye.”

Being good never got you anywhere. Skye strained, a vein in his forehead bulging. The sheets started to give way and he dug deep, trying to mine more energy. He thought about Star going down under those demons, and the noise in his brain roared to life, drowning out everything else, red filling his vision.

“Seriously? Again?” Laurent’s voice snapped him back to the present. “You’re going to have a blowout or something. Like --” Laurent trailed off, wincing.

“Fuck off. Let me go!” Skye started to struggle in earnest, his body moving without his permission. At some point, his legs popped free, the sheet giving there first. Of course, that meant Laurent slid right between his thighs, hips pressing to his. “Get off me…”

Laurent’s eyes went wide, and for maybe thirty seconds Skye felt Laurent’s body taking an interest, that long cock hardening. Then the man rolled off him, sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him.


Okay, wow.



Sunday, November 03, 2013

Absinthe is out! BA Tortuga co-write

Yay! It's a top 20 bestseller at ARE, too!

Here's a wee bit

Rene headed up the rickety stairs to his beloved salon off Frenchman's, intending only to grab some of his clothes and what cash he had left before heading west.

The deep South had not been kind to him, non, not a bit.

He'd run from Bartholome for well over a year, once the big male had caught scent of him in New Orleans, and he had thought he'd be safe in the sticks, but no.

His mate had found him.

He'd run until his pads were torn, until his fur was gray from soot and mud. Then he'd found his stash of clothes and ID and come home, hoping Bartholome was still heading east.

God, he just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep. Just sleep.

He got his locks opened and stumbled inside, the scent of home perfect. Oh. Shower. He could shower first. He tore off his filthy clothes and limped to the bathroom, hand slapping on the hot water tap.

Cold water spurted from the tap, but it didn't take long for the steam to pour out. Oh, yes.

Rene climbed in, knees buckling as he landed on the floor of the tub with a soft sob. Better. So much better. He lifted his face to the spray, so tired of running. His bones hurt.

"Oh, chiot, you're all skinny and bruised." The voice was low, husky, but tickled, and Rene groaned.


Fucking seriously?

"You can't be here. This is my house." His place, and he hadn't even noticed that Bartholome was there, goddamn it. The moon was playing tricks on him.

"It's a tiny little bolt hole." The big one, Bartholome, was right there. Right fucking there. Huge and dark and beautiful, like the river at night.

"It's mine and you're sitting on my toilet."

"Well, you don't have chairs." Shifting his weight, Bartholome stared at him, dark eyes crinkled up with a tiny smile.

Rene was so tired, so tired, and the thought of running again made him want to whine. "How did you find me so fast?" Why won't you go away? You sent me away. You told me to go. They all laughed.

"You just ran, chiot. You didn't hide."

"Give me until morning and I'll do better."

"I can do that. We can nap together."

It was a terrible idea. Awful, but it sounded so appealing. Bartholome had never wanted to share a bed before now.

"The bed is good, soft." And he was worn to the bone.

"Then come on, chiot." Bartholome held out a hand. A big, square, hard to resist hand.

A voice in the back of his head insisted this was a huge mistake, a stupid act, but he took it anyway. Bartholome pulled him to the bed after turning off the shower.

The top blanket was dusty and they tossed it, but the rest worked and Rene collapsed into a fuzzy pile as soon as he climbed up, body refusing to go another single step. He snorted a little, wiggling around to try to get comfy.

Bartholome settled him once and for all by flopping down on top of him.

"Ooph." Bossy old man. Rene was going to bite him. In his dreams. After he'd headed west.