Lots going on. Darksoul is with an editor. The release date will have to be pushed back to sometime in January. I won't know exactly when until the time draws closer. I did have the cover updated to include "The Complete Novel" and to include better details of Sunder's eyes and nose. Yay!
I'm also working with Kenzie Cade on a Dystopian/Futuristic/CyberPunk-ish/Urban Fantasy/Outlaw Motorcycle Club series called Devil's Dawn (six books planned). The first book is titled Devil's Heart and we're about 75% finished, I'm guessing. It has been a blast working with Kenzie. She hasn't killed me yet, which is a good sign. (You can catch Kenzie on Facebook or Twitter.)
A while back I threw an idea for a sub call to LT3 and in August they posted one for Roughhouse Raiders which is due December 31st. I thought I had plenty of time to get a couple of projects off my desk before I started, but before I knew it, October was gone and I had to hurry my ass up. The sub call's max word count is 40k which works out great for me. At this very moment the manuscript is at 14k and I'm hoping to be at 20k before the end of the weekend.
For today, I thought I would post a little excerpt of my manuscript for Less Than Three Press's sub call for Roughhouse Raiders. I went back and forth over the titles and decided to call it Death Mask. I worry the title might be too dark for a romantic urban fantasy, but it fit the story so perfectly. I hope it doesn't scare anyone off. I can't wait until I can spew details without giving spoilers away. I'm so in love with this story which is a mixed bag of Motorcycle Club, Urban Fantasy, and a European Fairy Tale jumbled together with my my take on... well, I can't tell you because of *points a couple sentences up* that whole spoiler thing.
But, I can give you a bit of an excerpt. Hope you like it. It is UNEDITED, so please forgive the mistakes (reading through it right now and suddenly I want to rearrange things--it must wait). Should I note here this is safe for work (SFW) but has foul language? Enjoy!!
Copyright © 2015 by Lexi Ander
"Prez, you're to want to take a look at this." Nightingale, my second, called to me from the tail end of the boxtruck that just arrived from the docks. The goods the truck carried included the much awaited shipment of illegal drugs for the city's elder vampires. Late by one week, I had some agitated vampires on my hands and if someone so much as fucked with the shit, they would be in a world of hurt because I had no qualms feeding the assholes to the vampires.
The clubhouse for the MC was repurposed three story library. The building had been slated for demotion to make way for a strip mall or some such. I loved the building with its Grecian columns, marble floors, and the liberal use of dark wood. She had character and after I greased a few palms she became the home of the Black Harbinger Motorcycle Club.
To the rear of building on the ground floor were two bay doors. One of them the trucks could back up to, allowing people to walk into the bed without using a ramp. The second bay, vehicles could be brought completely onto the dock. Unloading the boxes was much harder but we didn't have to worry about prying eyes. For this shipment we need complete privacy.
By the tone of Night's voice, I wouldn't like what I would see. Prospect had been the one sent to retrieve the truck from the docks. He stood off to the side looking concerned but not afraid.
When I rounded the rear corner of the white non-descript vehicle, the rear door was rolled all the way up exposing the back of the compartment stacked with boxes. Night stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his cut hidden by the muscular bulk of his arms. At one time, Night had been a Noble Fae. From which court, I'd never asked. When preternaturals come to the Black Harbingers looking to join the club, they abandoned who they once were. The brothers only cared about the here and now. We all carried secrets best left undisturbed, and we concentrated on the present.
Those who didn't know of Night's origins wouldn't believe he belonged to that waif-like race. He'd left his litheness behind him and became a motherfucking powerhouse of strength and muscle. Even his unnaturally white hair, which many people assumed he'd gone gray early, didn't soften his appearance. Bikers didn't have facial piercing because we stumbled into too many fists fights, but not Night. He wore two rings on his bottom lip and one in the right nostril of his nose. When he met my gaze, his green eyes were troubled. Then the scent hit me.
When I went to ask what the fuck he was waiting for, Night placed a pale finger over his lips, biding me to listen. The sound was faint but the soft whines of some kind of dog or… Well, fuck me sideways.
"Someone find Hog and Lalios." My request was made in a low voice, but the brothers jumped to it as if I had yelled. Perhaps they could feel the tension coming off of me or they too scented the blood wafting from the back of the truck now the door had been raised.
More than one brother drew a weapon. Grabbing the handrail on the side of the door, I readied to climb into the back.
"Misery," Night called to me softly, but I ignored him.
Even if werewolves hid in the truck, I didn't worry about my safety. The sound of the pitiful tiny snarls and growls intensified when my heavy boots struck the bed of the truck. Pausing to listen, I couldn't hear an adult werewolf voice among the pups. With the scent of blood heavier in the confines of the cabin, I could only surmise the adult was severely injured. A werewolf in pain was a dangerous creature, more animal than man. Blinded by the agony, instinct would take over and he or she would attack first to protect the pups. If that were to happen, then I was the only one of the brothers best equipped to handle the werewolf. Sure, I could be hurt like anyone else, but I was very hard to kill. Living for over two hundred years had proved that.
Thank you for stopping by and reading!!