Greetings, my avid readers! Since Zareen is behind me, I have been working hard on the next title on my writing list: The Beast and the Rose. This is an unconventional twist on the traditional story of The Beauty and the Beast, with some spicier moments, of course. ;)-
But don’t pick up this title thinking this will be another dark monster romance! That’s just not how I could roll with Garald, Emeline, and Belle’s story. No. This title will challenge your notion of what makes a man a “beast” and your ideas of love, duty, and sisterhood.
This title, unlike most of my others, is in the 1st Person Dual POV with duels, curses, tyrants, and rebellions.
And, I thought I would share a glimpse at the beast with all of you.
Because I love being a tease! ❤
Garald
The Lion of the West
I freeze. My hands tighten on my horses’ reins.
We had decided to walk a few miles. Give the horse a rest and our own legs a stretch.
But the road, it went quiet in the wrong way.
I curse under my breath.
Birdsong cut off mid-note. The chatter of chipmunks quieted. My hand slid to my sword.
Riders.
Their sound reached me them before I saw them—the dull clink of tackle, the measured cadence of hooves dragged down by a heavy cart. They were merchants, of that I was sure, but I was still not willing to risk it.
Risk her.
“Hide,” I hissed.
Marco is already moving, not needing my warning.
I caught Emeline’s shoulders and shoved her into the tree next to us. She hit it with a soft gasp, more startled than hurt. My body moved on its own, shielding her from view, pressing her into the massive trunk. This had been the sixth time we had ended up this way. It was starting to become a habit. It also had me questioning the reputation of this road as being unused.
Every time she was warm. Soft and yet solid against me.
Her body curved, pressing into me as if instinctively responding to the contact, too. And curved she was. The press of her full breasts, the feel of her rounded thighs against mine, the smooth arch of her hip beneath my hand as I grab it without thinking. No longer was she shaped like the flat, frail girl she had once been. And no longer did her dress conceal all her grown-up places. They were all striking me like arrows. My jaw clenched hard. Another part of me felt harder inside my breeches.
Stop.
I fight to keep my focus on the road. To not look down and see the exposed swells of her breasts rising and falling with ragged breath. We really needed to get her new clothes. Damn the woman for not bring extras. For just stealing my horse without thinking of provisions. Being next to her like this, with her dressed as she was, it was horrid, sweet agony. More than once, I had found myself praying for more travelers on the road just so we could end up like this.
I thought prayers were supposed to go unanswered.
My eye catches the red on her cheeks. Her bottom lip clenched between her teeth.
I lick my own.
Stop.
She was Belle’s—my fiancée’s sister. I try to dredge up the memory of Belle’s sweet face, its heart-shaped curves, and full lips as it stared at me with devastation from the castle window.
I wanted Belle.
I had given an oath to Belle.
She needed me to save her.
“Soldiers?” Emeline whispered.
I suppressed a groan as her warm breath tickled my neck.
Dear god, I needed to be wed and bedded. Fast.
Alethea Geiger 