Wow this month has flown!
I just got an email from Shadowfire press that my first ebook, Nashoba’s Hope, has just gone live today on this site. It’s novella length, so great for as quick read. It's listed as historic romance, but as a shapeshifter novel there's plenty of paranormal.
Nashoba's Hope by Moondancer Drake
Genre: Historic Erotic Romance
Heat Rating: Warm
Warnings: GLBT f/f
Length: Long Story-12,300 words / 67 pages
Price: $3.75
Coming April 17th from Shadowfire Press
The sins of the past and desires of the present collide for two women caught in a war between their people.
Blurb
Nashoba is a shifter, a warrior with the gift to take the form of both woman and beast. She is also the last of her tribe after smallpox killed everyone she ever loved, including her wife and sons. Now gathered together with other shifter kin, she battles to make a home for them all, and to seek revenge on the white soldiers she blames for the death of her family.
May came to America in the wake of her sister's death to look after her brother-in-law and their farm. May is working to find a place far from the European universities she was buried in, a task she fears is as hopeless as finding love. A nighttime attack on her brother by a mysterious Indian woman threatens to undo everything May has ever known. In the wake of the attack, May finds herself inexplicably drawn to the woman responsible for it.
Is there hope for these two women to find common ground coming from worlds so far apart, or will deep-set hatreds and old wounds doom them and their people to a bloody war no one can truly win?
It took time for her eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight that crept in through the cracks in the door and loft so she could to scan the barn for a better source of light. On a bench was an oil lamp, and once she lit the wick, the lamplight proved to be enough to allow Nashoba to continue her search without drawing too much attention.
Most objects in the sturdy structure were unremarkable-feed bags for the animals stacked on boxes in the corner and bridles hanging from the walls just above them. Shovels and pitchforks leaned against the far wall near buckets and mounds of hay. Nothing out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. Had she somehow mistaken the crow's message? Had she been away from her people so long she could no longer read the signs?
And then she saw it, hidden under a pile of canvas. It was a large saddle with the familiar U.S. stamped into the polished leather. Just beneath it lay a weathered blanket with the same symbols dyed into the thick gray wool. This place held one of her most hated enemies. A soldier.
Nashoba gripped the edge of the blanket as if to crush it with her strength alone. She and the others of her new pack bore their scars as a price for their survival, marking them as the women chosen to avenge the people. Many soldiers died under the tooth and claw of her new pack, but still, it never seemed like enough. Nothing would ever be enough to wash away the memories. The pain of watching her pregnant wife die in her arms, struck down by the poisoned blankets of the white soldiers. The torment of watching her two sons slowly wither away in misery until she fed them poisoned tea just to end their suffering.
So caught up in her rage and the wounds of her own mourning, Nashoba never heard the double doors of the barn open, nor the footfalls as the man entered. The sound of someone cocking a rifle drew her gaze. When she saw the figure in the doorway Nashoba reached slowly for her belt sheath.
Even as his meaningless words passed over her, Nashoba's gaze traveled down the steel muzzle of the rifle and over the ivory shirt, to rest on the man's face. His grip on the barrel was steady, but his deep blue eyes held worry as he stared at the hand that still gripped the antler handle of the blade. She understood bits and pieces of the White man's tongue, and this one rambled on like they all did…when they knew they were about to die.
Nashoba continued to study the man. He was built like a farmer. The cut of his form was lean, and she could see his heavily muscled upper arms and shoulders through the white shirt he wore. It wasn't until she noticed the familiar deep blue wool pants marked on each side with double yellow stripes that she knew that she'd found the soldier. Not just any soldier, a cavalryman. The enemy.
Her anger boiled up inside her so quickly, Nashoba didn't even bother to shift into a battle form for the attack. She leapt at the soldier, startling him and nearly making him lose footing in the slick snow as he took a step back. She heard the blast of the musket, felt the heat, but it didn't matter. The man cried out as her blade sunk deep into his shoulder, missing its mark at the last minute as he twisted desperately out of the way of her blow.
The deadly grapple took both combatants back through the open double doors where they struggled for dominance in the snow. Fresh blood tinged the carpet of white pink as her blade tore across his skin. The soldier's fist connected several times with Nashoba's jaw and the side of her head. She felt nothing, saw nothing, too numb with hate to notice the hand that slowly lifted the rifle off its resting place in the open doorway and raised into the air.
Click HERE to buy
Nashoba's Hope by Moondancer Drake
Genre: Historic Erotic Romance
Heat Rating: Warm
Warnings: GLBT f/f
Length: Long Story-12,300 words / 67 pages
Price: $3.75
Coming April 17th from Shadowfire Press
The sins of the past and desires of the present collide for two women caught in a war between their people.
Blurb
Nashoba is a shifter, a warrior with the gift to take the form of both woman and beast. She is also the last of her tribe after smallpox killed everyone she ever loved, including her wife and sons. Now gathered together with other shifter kin, she battles to make a home for them all, and to seek revenge on the white soldiers she blames for the death of her family.
May came to America in the wake of her sister's death to look after her brother-in-law and their farm. May is working to find a place far from the European universities she was buried in, a task she fears is as hopeless as finding love. A nighttime attack on her brother by a mysterious Indian woman threatens to undo everything May has ever known. In the wake of the attack, May finds herself inexplicably drawn to the woman responsible for it.
Is there hope for these two women to find common ground coming from worlds so far apart, or will deep-set hatreds and old wounds doom them and their people to a bloody war no one can truly win?
It took time for her eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight that crept in through the cracks in the door and loft so she could to scan the barn for a better source of light. On a bench was an oil lamp, and once she lit the wick, the lamplight proved to be enough to allow Nashoba to continue her search without drawing too much attention.
Most objects in the sturdy structure were unremarkable-feed bags for the animals stacked on boxes in the corner and bridles hanging from the walls just above them. Shovels and pitchforks leaned against the far wall near buckets and mounds of hay. Nothing out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. Had she somehow mistaken the crow's message? Had she been away from her people so long she could no longer read the signs?
And then she saw it, hidden under a pile of canvas. It was a large saddle with the familiar U.S. stamped into the polished leather. Just beneath it lay a weathered blanket with the same symbols dyed into the thick gray wool. This place held one of her most hated enemies. A soldier.
Nashoba gripped the edge of the blanket as if to crush it with her strength alone. She and the others of her new pack bore their scars as a price for their survival, marking them as the women chosen to avenge the people. Many soldiers died under the tooth and claw of her new pack, but still, it never seemed like enough. Nothing would ever be enough to wash away the memories. The pain of watching her pregnant wife die in her arms, struck down by the poisoned blankets of the white soldiers. The torment of watching her two sons slowly wither away in misery until she fed them poisoned tea just to end their suffering.
So caught up in her rage and the wounds of her own mourning, Nashoba never heard the double doors of the barn open, nor the footfalls as the man entered. The sound of someone cocking a rifle drew her gaze. When she saw the figure in the doorway Nashoba reached slowly for her belt sheath.
Even as his meaningless words passed over her, Nashoba's gaze traveled down the steel muzzle of the rifle and over the ivory shirt, to rest on the man's face. His grip on the barrel was steady, but his deep blue eyes held worry as he stared at the hand that still gripped the antler handle of the blade. She understood bits and pieces of the White man's tongue, and this one rambled on like they all did…when they knew they were about to die.
Nashoba continued to study the man. He was built like a farmer. The cut of his form was lean, and she could see his heavily muscled upper arms and shoulders through the white shirt he wore. It wasn't until she noticed the familiar deep blue wool pants marked on each side with double yellow stripes that she knew that she'd found the soldier. Not just any soldier, a cavalryman. The enemy.
Her anger boiled up inside her so quickly, Nashoba didn't even bother to shift into a battle form for the attack. She leapt at the soldier, startling him and nearly making him lose footing in the slick snow as he took a step back. She heard the blast of the musket, felt the heat, but it didn't matter. The man cried out as her blade sunk deep into his shoulder, missing its mark at the last minute as he twisted desperately out of the way of her blow.
The deadly grapple took both combatants back through the open double doors where they struggled for dominance in the snow. Fresh blood tinged the carpet of white pink as her blade tore across his skin. The soldier's fist connected several times with Nashoba's jaw and the side of her head. She felt nothing, saw nothing, too numb with hate to notice the hand that slowly lifted the rifle off its resting place in the open doorway and raised into the air.
Click HERE to buy