New Release! Midnight Rodeo: Belonging

Woo!

The sequel is finally here!

A few years back, Kiernan Kelly, BA Tortuga and I put out Midnight Rodeo's first book, Homecoming. We recently republished that book on our own, and now we have the sequel, Midnight Rodeo: Belonging.

Look at this cover by the amazing Kris Norris!

Strangely enough, I'm not responsible for the tiger shifter on the cover. That's BA Tortuga. I wrote a cheetah shifter and a spirit guided rodeo rider named Raven Walkingman.

You can buy it here at ARE and here at Amazon!

And here's a bit from my story, Light a Rocket. Special thanks to Jaymi for being our amazing editor.

“Rocket, you cannot keep this up, kid.” Thack, the head of all things in the arena, looked bitchy on the best of days, but the stock contractor was positively livid. The huge black horns curving over his head actually sort of pulsed. Cool. Terrifying, but cool.

“Keep what up?” Rocket went for innocent. It wasn’t his best look, but it was rare enough around these parts that he thought it could work.

“Kid, you weigh, what? Eighty pounds?”

“Stop it. I’m at least a buck and a ten-spot.” Pretty much.

“You can’t bulldog. You can’t do the timed events. Stop being a turd with a death wish. You rile up the stock.”

Rocket tried hard not to let his hurt show. Or his panic. He had to make some money. Had to. “I’m not trying to upset anyone. I’m bulking up, I promise.”

“Bulking… okay. Okay. You get one more chance, but the physics say it can’t work.”

“Physics say the girls can’t ride the barrels and they sure as shit do.”

“Mmm.” Thack was good at the noncommittal noise. “Well, just do me a favor and don’t get hurt.”

“Right. I’m on it. Totally.” Hell, he wasn’t sure his three broken ribs were ever going to recover. They did tend to stick out. Rocket was a cheetah shifter. Ribs were a thing.

“I’m serious. One more catastrophe on the timed events and I’m sending you to Eshelman.”

The shifter doc was… intense. Difficult, at best. Strict. Rocket just nodded, feeling like a bobble head doll.

He slunk passed the bullfighters, the scary as all fuck ghost riders, and then headed to his truck. He thought he was safely out of everyone’s way, which was naturally when he slammed right into a solid, lanky body.

“Whoa, kiddo. Watch where you’re putting those boots down.” Raven Walkingman caught his upper arms when he bounced.

“I. I—”

Oh, God. God. That was— He’d just bumped into…

Right. Breathe. “Sorry.”

That bronze face split into a wide, white smile, the king of the Midnight Rodeo not seeming at all put out. “No problem. Rocket, right?”

“Yeah. Yes, sir. Rocket Ugara.” He held out his hand, the urge to sniff this man overwhelming. He panted a tiny bit, his usual reaction to stress more than a little embarrassing.

Walkingman shook his hand, making shivers run up his arm and down his back. Hello.

His kitty purred inside him, its tail lashing, and he had the urge to do his best sexy dance. Rocket fought that compunction, but he couldn’t cover it completely, obviously. Walkingman’s nose quivered, and he grinned wider.

“You riding tomorrow?” Rocket asked. He had to stop being an idiot. You didn’t come onto the most famous cowboy in their world. It didn’t happen.

“I am. What about you?” Walkingman let him go, the lack of touch such a disappointment.

“Gotta make my pennies, so yeah. Totally.”

“Well, watch those ribs. I was you, I’d sit out the bulldogging this week.”

“Yeah. Thack was pretty clear about that.” Still, he needed to get enough cash for gas to make it to the next event and pay his entry fees.

“Then why are you still doing it?” The man sounded genuinely curious.

“Same reason every broke-dick cowboy does it, I reckon.” And didn’t he feel about two inches tall admitting that?

Throwback Tuesday

Today I want to spread the love for Tomb of the God King. Click here to link!

This one is an odd one for me, but it's the one book all the authors I know have read. You know, when you're sitting around at cons introducing yourself and they say, hey, I know you. You did that Tomb book. I love that it has a custom, hand drawn cover, that it's first person, and that it's my homage to Lovecraft and H Rider Haggard (King Solomon's Mines). I love penny dreadfuls and Weird Tales. And first person? That shit is tough, y'all. Only knowing what one character knows writing the whole novel! And Christian isn't the most reliable witness, I'm telling you.

Here's the blurb

When Christian arrives in Egypt as the man Friday to an eccentric American, he's hoping to get his chance to make history and establish his name in archaeology. What he doesn't count on is meeting brash hired gun, Eric Lawless, and falling into an uneasy partnership and ultimately love.

He's not ready for what their digging exposes either, leading him, and Eric, into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, where old spirits and older gods lead them on a dance of deception and terror deep in the tombs of the Valley of the Kings.

Here's that amazing lurid cover

And here's a wee bit to get you going!

“I think it may be a copy.” Wavering, to be sure, but there was something about the map that made me think it had been real at one time.

“So, where is it?”

“Somewhere in the West Valley?”

His brow furrowed even more deeply. “I thought only a few folks was buried in the West Valley.”

“Well, it’s true that most tombs lay in the East Valley, certainly. But this is Egypt. I never rule anything out.”

“Never?”

Something in his tone alerted me, and I looked up just in time to see his face blot out the light in the room when he bent and put his lips to mine.

Startled, I jumped back, my hand going to my mouth. “What are you about?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he replied, advancing.

“But this is, I mean, we have the map to decipher, and really, it’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? I promise, you can leave right after and pretend to be virtuous and all.”

“You self-righteous bastard, I left last night because I knew it was unwise, what we did. I have never claimed false virtue.” Leaving the map on the small bedside table I stalked to him and put a hand to the middle of his chest, shoving him hard.

“No? You sure acted like you had the moral high ground this morning, with my boss.” His gray eyes went dark, storms rolling in them. “He reamed me but good.”

“Well, you deserved it. You were a churl this morning.” I poked him in the chest again. “That was why I was so upset.”

“Well, then,” he said, putting his hands on my arms to pull me closer. “Let me apologize.”

His kiss bruised me, pressing my lips back against my teeth. The sting had me gasping, had me pressing forward to get more, my arms going up about his neck. I am not good at self-denial, no, indeed.

We kissed harder and harder, his tongue invading my mouth to taste me, rubbing against my tongue in the most suggestive manner. It had my prick hardening, my hips moving in a rhythm as old as time, already too aroused to last long.

“Oh, Chrissy, you’re something else.”

“Stop calling me that ridiculous name.”

He grinned wildly, kissing me again, backing me toward the bedstead. The sense of unreality was huge; so was the sense of déjà vu. He had herded me about last night like a sheepdog with a lamb.

Determined to take a more active role, I pushed him about and shoved him down on the bed. The studs on his shirt gave way easily, one of them dropping to the floor and rolling off under the bed. The tiny ping distracted me just enough that he could grab my bottom and pull me up against him, his teeth sharp and hard at my throat.

“Stop. I want to get these off.” Tugging at his shirt, I managed to get the thin linen off his shoulders, baring his not-inconsiderable charms. The planes of his chest fascinated me, and I traced them with my fingers, the difference between rough hair and soft skin utterly lovely. His nipples stood in hard little points, stiff and hot.

I touched those little bits of flesh, rubbing my thumbs over them and smiling when he gasped for me. “Yes. Oh, that’s lovely.”

“Decided to invest fully tonight, did you?”

“I invested full last night as long as we still…well.”

“Uh-huh.”

If he did not shut it quickly, he would make me angry, so I kissed him again, closing my eyes and sinking into him. The silence broke with the beating of my heart, and with his moan, shockingly deep in the sudden quiet.

I touched him wherever I could, and he struggled with my clothing. I fear I was no help, twisting and turning to taste more of him, all of him.

Finally he pinned me down with one hand, using the other to strip me nude, until I lay there exposed to him, a little shocked at the feel of it. I had not his breadth of chest, or length of leg, but I represented well, with muscles built through years of digging.

Thanks for reading! Look for it on ARE and Amazon, too!

XXOO

Julia

Paranormal month!

It's October. Do you know what that means? It means the high is 86 degrees today, 20 degrees cooler than it was a week ago. It means we might be able to turn off the air and open windows by the end of the month. It means fall recipes like soup and pumpkin bread. It means bullriding finals and hot guys in chaps...

And Halloween!

It surprises no one, I'm sure, to know that Halloween is my favorite holiday. I love spooky bats and cats and costumes. I love carved pumpkins and twinkly orange lights. I love scary movie month on AMC and the however many nights of halloween on whatever channel that is!

So, this month is paranormal month at Torquere

Look for my Sip, Crate Trained, in late October