Last Days of the Publishing Dinosaurs

Las Vegas is a fun place to visit for a party. All glitz, glamour and sizzle. None of it is real. From the massive water features in the middle of a desert to the faux architecture to the illusion that you could win big, it’s all a big show of smoke and mirrors.

And we willingly engage in it, embracing the fancy that we could really be dining in Paris or riding a roller coaster through the skyline of New York City. It’s fun and fabulous and absolutely without substance.

This is perfectly fine, as long as you keep a grip on what is real.

Not always easy to do.

I remember when I was a kid – the kind with ten-thousand questions – and my mom told me that, when I went to school, my teachers would know the answers. To my delight, they did. At least for a few years. Then, as I grew older, I discovered my teachers didn’t have all the answers. A few of the good ones taught me how to research answers for myself.

But the lesson stuck: just because a person appears to be in a position of knowledge, doesn’t mean what they say is real.

Yeah – I’m on a bit of a rant again.

Another industry giant – this time it’s Scott Turow, of legal thriller fame – has written a Missive of Doom about the impending demise of publishing. You can go read it, if you like, though I warn you, it’s just more of the same wailing and gnashing of teeth. The big NYC publishers are imperiled because the Justice Department is suing for price-fixing on ebooks, which is very likely exactly what occurred, and therefore Turow leaps to the worst possible conclusion: that writing and reading will be extinguished.

Ahem.

The part that really gets me is this:

Our concern about bookstores isn’t rooted in sentiment: bookstores are critical to modern bookselling.  Marketing studies consistently show that readers are far more adventurous in their choice of books when in a bookstore than when shopping online.  In bookstores, readers are open to trying new genres and new authors: it’s by far the best way for new works to be discovered.

No, no citation or link on that. Just the assertion of “marketing studies” and that consistent return of data that is apparently so well-established that it’s common knowledge. No actual statistics necessary.

Now, I’m not saying it isn’t true. I’d just really love to see these numbers. Since I’ve never seen them before.

I’d also love to know exactly which era those numbers come from. Because if those studies refer to shopping habits older than the last two years, even the last year, I’d have to cry foul.

I remind myself that this kind of thing happens with major paradigm shifts. There will always be people rooted in the old paradigm who can only see that world crumbling away. They haven’t stepped through into the emerging world yet, so they can’t see the possibilities. Last year, at the RWA conference, a venerable agent gave a seminar on how to succeed in publishing. Someone in the audience asked a pointed question about how electronic publishing had changed things. He asserted that absolutely nothing had changed. He seemed to regard ebooks as a passing fad, if he noticed their existence at all. He also suggested that we buy his 20 year-old book on the industry, which was a hardback because it’s a valuable book, he assured us. After a stunned silence, people began bleeding out of the seminar.

Turow claims he’s not concerned for his own career, but for the lack of opportunity for new authors if the NYC publishers are hurt by this lawsuit. Meanwhile, as I wrote this, Angela James at Carina Press just tweeted that they acquired five brand new authors this week. I wonder how many new authors have been acquired by the big NYC publishers this week?

Times change. Technology grows at a rapid pace.

But the death of something old is not the end of the world. Only of that paradigm. A new one, full of vigor and growth takes its place.

I’m sure the world the dinosaurs lived in was a lovely place. But the climate changed and we now live in a different world. You can only bemoan the passing of the old world for so long. Otherwise you dwell only in the past, not the present.

And that’s not real anymore.

How to Stay Young Forever

We just spend the weekend in Las Vegas, celebrating my mom’s birthday.

I may or may not be hungover still.

This was a big birthday for her, with a zero at the end. I’m not allowed to say how old she is, but I’m 45 and she was 24 when I was born. You do the math.

And, yes, feel free to be awed by how fabulous she looks.

The four of us, my Mom, Stepdad Dave, my David and I had the best time. We went to see a burlesque show that was amazing (Crazy Horse, at the MGM), drank pitchers of mojitos at the pool, walked all over, saw Phantom of the Opera, lunched at Sammy Hagar’s and walked all over some more. My David commented that we could hardly keep up with them.

Good times.

When my David said how full of energy they are, they said they just don’t feel old.

Amen.

And many, many happy returns, Mom.

Missives from the Land of the Navajo

This week I’m in Window Rock, Arizona, which is the capital city of the Navajo Nation. The town is named for Window Rock itself, a gorgeous and inspiring natural monument. The Navajo use the place to honor their dead and missing, particularly from the wars. There’s a special monument just for the wind talkers.

Last night, after we finished work, we were able to get up there to walk around and watch the sun set and the moon rise.

Lovely way to end the day.

Meankitty Shreds the Vampire

So, I befriended another Carina Press author. (Or now I see – perhaps she lured me in??) I’m a softy, you know. I offered her a guest spot on Ze Olde Blog, coincidentally when I’ll be out of town for the #dayjob. I’m a softy, but I’m not stupid.

But, it turns out, you know that website I’ve been looking at all these years – Mean Kitty? Well, sweet little Jody Wallace turns out to be Mean Kitty’s human servant! And the guest blog? Pah! Jody just let Mean Kitty have at one of my stories and now it’s totally been kittified.

Read on, if you dare.

***

 Feeding the Van Cat

 Through good luck despite her canine leanings, Misty has survived the earthquakes that have torn the world apart, but has no skills to speak of. Or so she thinks. She does have opposable thumbs, and someone must feed the Turkish Van cat who has offered to let her pet his silky, water-resistant fur, and possibly save civilization as we know it, in exchange for sustenance.

 Feeding Ivan is a priority, and Misty finally serves a purpose. Prior to Ivan, she’d actually imagined herself…a DOG person. But when she awakens in Ivan’s spot in the bed, beside a rodent gift from the townsfolk on her pillow, she discovers he has hungers other than canned Fancy Feast. Hungers he expects her to satisfy, since catching mice is beneath him. Today. Unless he’s in the mood. Which he isn’t, so could she please arrange for that?

 Under Ivan’s red-eyed, sharp-clawed persuasion, Misty discovers she has the power to set “Have-a-Heart” traps in hallways, in the pantry, or even under the fridge, and not squeal like a big, silly dog when she discovers a mouse in the trap, awaiting Ivan’s pleasure.

 ***

 Feeding the Van Cat: Corrected & Cattified Excerpt:

 I was compelled to feed him. I had no choice, really. He was so beautiful.

 Earl cleared his throat. “Thank you.” Our town administrator looked around for agreement, but they weren’t meeting his eyes either. Like kids ducking the teacher’s gaze. “Whatever, Misty. We’re all SO happy you get to be.” He trailed off in a sulk.

 A cat servant? Surely no one wanted to be reminded of what they’d be missing. Martyr to the cat?  No, not much better.

 Earl shuffled the papers in his lap. Waiting for me to gloat, I supposed. Well, he had just said that feeding Ivan ought to be the first order of business. We couldn’t very well make plans for our community while the cat in charge of keeping elegance and sophistication alive went hungry, especially since we needed him alert and fat. Me? No one understood why I’d been chosen. I hadn’t brought much to the table so far, what with my love for dogs, and my survival was accidental. Right place at the right time. Turns out stolid New England was just the right place to be for the particular form this apocalypse took. Granite bedrock and all that.

 My boring hometown was a safe haven and everyone wanted in on our resources and cat population. The people turning up every day were let in or turned away depending on whether they liked dogs or cats. I counted my lucky stars I’d been grandfathered in simply because my neighbors didn’t have the heart to kick me out. Excellent keyboarding skills and a dog-friendly personality didn’t count for much in a cat’s opinion. Especially without, um, working keyboards.

I couldn’t afford to brag about being chosen to serve our savior.

Their hearts would harden-they already had. Tonight was pivotal. We’d acquired a Turkish Van cat of our own to preserve civilization here.

Everyone felt better about our future-if we could keep him happy. At least I knew how to open cans. You could say I was a natural.

 And yet, the certainty that had propelled me to my feet seemed to be bleeding away, frightened off by Ivan’s fixed intensity and everyone else’s jealousy. They waited, grumbling, for me to just get on with it. Uncomfortable silence.

 Hi, I’m Misty and I’m a Dog Person. Or I was. I swear, I’m not anymore! I haven’t pet a single dog in twenty-seven days. Kind of a record for me really. Apparently I can learn.

 The Van cat just stared at me.

 I set my yellow pad on the chair and made myself walk across the circle to where he sat in the tacky folding metal chair. My sandals slapped lightly on the tiles, making tinny echoes. Ivan’s roving gaze sent tremors of anticipation in my fingers. His fur looked so silky….

 A few whispered conversations resumed. They probably didn’t like the creepy silence any more than I did. I appreciated their polite attempt not to beg Ivan to pick them instead. I’d never seen a Turkish Van cat swim, as they were reported to love doing-probably none of them had either.

 I stopped in front of Ivan. He rolled over, long, white legs sprawled out in careless indolence. He tilted his head at my hesitation and held out his paw as if to show me his gorgeous claws.

“Perhaps we should step out of the room?” I tried.

 “Meow meow.” His grave eyes watched me with avid intent.

 If I ran, he would definitely find the strength to hunt me down. After all, he’d walked into this room. Heck, he’d arrived at the bridge leading to our sleepy town only last night, offering his sophistication in return for our worship and sustenance. He had to have gotten there somehow.

 He batted my wrist with his paw pads, pricking me with claws of steel.

Exerting steady pressure, he dug in and pulled me closer, parting his lips. White fangs gleamed with fluorescent highlights. My heart thumped in panic, hot fear filling me.

 “Will it hurt?” My voice sounded thready, weak.

 Hunger flared in his eyes at the question. “Mew.”

 Ivan wrapped his paws around my vulnerable, bare arm. The sharp movement splintered any second thoughts. He kicked with his back legs and gnawed. My cheap cotton dress was no protection. The chafe of his claws sent tremors up my body. Terror flashed through me. What if he decided to sneak attack my legs next? From behind…the sofa???

 Then all thought and emotion burst in flame, immolating me through the fierce violence of his teeth sinking into my hand. I’m so sorry! I wanted to scream. I should have opened the can already! The agony of the deep puncture, fear feeding pain, fired through my blood. I struggled like a wild thing, without thought. Animal instinct screamed at me to flee, to escape by any means possible.

 The Van cat held me trapped. There was no escape for me, the mouse flailing under the cat’s paw. [[Meankitty’s note: that last phrase is ORIGINAL! The author totally wanted to go with this version in the first place but was forced to convert it to a romance novel between two-legger types by somebody who likes dogs, no doubt.]]

 My will, never my strong point, snapped. The fight ebbed away with the tide of my blood. The steady drop of pressure left me enervated, without resistance. Darkness filled my brain, prickled with sparking stars. I wilted, becoming a bit of detritus washed upon the floor next to Ivan’s chair. If he chewed off my thumb, my prized opposable thumb, I would be of no use to…anybody.

 Pain filled my veins, pumped through my heart. It replaced my blood, spiraling through my body from the insistent penetration of Ivan’s teeth in my hand. Meow meow meow! Helpless against the crashing waves, I relinquished my last hold on my embarrassing love for dogs and sank into the hot, tarry sea of oblivion.

***

 Jody Wallace, head staff member of the world-famous Meankitty, published the paranormal romance Pack and Coven with Carina Press in February 2012. Since it is about werewolf shifters and witches instead of cats, Meankitty cattified the book here:

http://blog.jodywallace.com/2012/03/cattification-pack-and-coven.html

You can see all cattifications done so far collected here:

http://blog.jodywallace.com/search/label/cattification

 You can find Meankitty’s actual site here: www.meankitty.com You can find Jody Wallace, her servant, here: www.jodywallace.com

Sapphire Excerpt

Taylor had learned the trick from Worthington early on. Make them wait a bit. Take your time to assemble your thoughts. Clear your desk. Be cool and collected. She added the soothing step of refreshing her lipstick, taking comfort in the crisp, clean line.

When Steve knocked to escort Kirliss in, Taylor was composed and ready.

“Mr. Kirliss.” She picked up the file folder she’d deliberately left out on the otherwise immaculate desk and slid it into the shallow top drawer as he walked in. The image of a busy woman putting her work away. She glanced up, stood and held out a hand over the glossy desk. “The early numbers are looking good. I think you’ll be pleased.”

If possible, he looked better, and more dangerous, than ever before. He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her demeanor. He took her hand and shook it, all politeness, then wrapped his fingers around her wrist, suggestively cuffing the slender bones. Refusing to rise to the bait, Taylor smoothly withdrew her hand. His fingers tightened a moment before releasing her.

“You made me wait.”

“I apologize, Mr. Kirliss—today has been quite busy.” Nicely done, she congratulated herself. The most important part of any meeting was to take control immediately and keep it. So she’d never had to pull this tactic before. The stakes were higher now.

“I understand. And I understand the value of making someone wait.” His golden-brown eyes glinted with amusement, then deliberately perused her with a long, sensuous look. “I look forward to making you wait. And beg.”

“Mr. Kirliss.” At the image, Taylor clenched her teeth on the surge of desire. “I won’t leave this office if you’re going to talk to me that way.”

He glanced around the office, looking interested. “An office always presents many interesting opportunities for games, though I’m surprised you’re willing to take that risk already. Still, whatever you wish, M.”

Taylor folded her arms and glared. Kirliss laughed, tossing his head back with it.

“Shall we?” He gestured toward the doors. “I made reservations for noon and I’d hate to lose them.”

She hesitated.

“You’re not going to chicken out now, are you?”

“You think you’re something.” Taylor grabbed her purse. “But I am hardly afraid of you.” She headed out the doors, letting him follow. “We’re off, Steve.”

“I sent the newest data to your BlackBerry, Ms. Hamilton,” Steve replied. “Mr. Kirliss, always a pleasure to see you.”

The men shook hands and Taylor walked with Kirliss to the elevators.

“He’s a good assistant,” Kirliss commented. “Sharp.”

“The best I’ve ever had. He’s been with me for three years now and I’m going to have to promote him before long. Which means training someone new.”

“I have something at Jaguar that might be perfect for him.” Kirliss looked thoughtful. “What are you paying him now?”

“Don’t you dare poach my assistant!” Taylor laughed. Then she caught herself, surprised that she’d fallen into the pattern of banter they’d enjoyed these last months.

They rode down in the elevator in silence. Taylor practiced her speech.

“I thought we’d walk—it’s great weather today.” Kirliss took her elbow to guide her in the right direction. “So, how are you planning to break up with me?”

“I don’t have to break up with you,” she returned, “as we don’t have a relationship.”

“Everybody has relationships. It’s just a matter of determining what kind.”

“Well, then I’m determined that you and I will have a business relationship.”

“Negotiations are always fun. I look forward to hearing your business plan. And presenting my own counteroffer.”

Taylor pressed her lips together. How could every damn thing this man said sound sexual?

They sat at a table on the deck overlooking the harbor. Taylor enviously noted that some of the other women were enjoying golden wine in full-bellied glasses, but she opted for iced tea. She didn’t need the afternoon sleepies—or to let down her guard with Kirliss, who ordered a café Americano.

Taylor opened her mouth to begin her speech, then bit down on it when he reached into his jacket and withdrew a rose to lay on her plate. Extraordinarily large and perfect, the rose’s pristine white petals were tinged scarlet at the edges, as if they’d been dipped in blood. She brushed the velvety texture with tentative fingertips, oddly moved by the gesture.

“‘For even the love that is purest and sweetest has a kiss of desire on the lips,’” Kirliss quoted in a husky voice.

She looked up to find him observing her with inscrutable brown eyes. She raised her eyebrows, deliberately arch. “Love poetry? And here I thought this was about sex.”

“That too. Desire is about both, don’t you think? O’Reilly thought so.”

Taylor gazed at his intent expression, feeling off balance again.

“What I think,” she said in a crisp tone, deliberately setting the rose aside and starting her speech, “is that you and I are business associates. A sexual…dalliance is not appropriate.”

“None of the good stuff is,” he agreed in an easy tone. “But when your life is all about the job, like it is for you and I, we have to find ways to work around that.”

“I’m not interested.”

“The hell you aren’t. You’re just afraid of the way you lose control with me.”

Taylor sipped her icy tea. “What happened last night was—”

“Delicious.”

“A horribly inappropriate fluke.”

“Don’t you believe in love?” Kirliss leaned over his plate, steepling his fingers. “In the intimacy of sex and the dark desires people can share?”

“Never mind that you’re mixing emotion and lust—what I believe is irrelevant and immaterial to this conversation, Mr. Kirliss.”

“I’ve decided I like how you call me ‘Mr. Kirliss.’ I picture you whispering it, hands tied behind your back, kneeling naked at my feet.”

Taylor’s heart thumped, her groin clenching with unexpected heat. She cast about, looking to see if anyone at the nearby tables had overheard. The ladies who lunched at the next table laughed and clinked their wineglasses, in another world. The suited men on the other side were talking loudly of the stock market. Still, enough was enough. Taylor carefully folded her napkin, laid it across her plate, started to stand.

Kirliss’s hand shot across the table, steel fingers wrapping around her wrist, wrapping her heart in that scary feeling of helpless need.

“Let go of me,” Taylor said softly.

“I’ve only just got a hold of you—how can I?”

“I can’t do this.”

“You’re afraid of it. Afraid of how much you want it.”

“Hi, folks. Sorry to keep you waiting. Ready to order your lunch?” The chirpy waitress fluttered at Kirliss, eyes only for him.

Kirliss released her wrist, turning the gesture so he stroked her palm with slow heat. “Well, M, what did you decide on?”

Taylor could see herself walking away. She could tip her wrist and exclaim at the time on her silver watch, cite an important meeting she’d forgotten. Kirliss watched her, brown eyes intent. This was absolutely the moment for her to walk.

She ordered the crab salad. And a glass of Chardonnay.

She didn’t hear what Kirliss ordered, her ears too full of rushing blood. She hadn’t agreed to a damn thing, she told herself. It was just lunch.

“So, what does the M stand for?” Kirliss sat back, relaxed.

“Have you had your OCD professionally diagnosed?” Taylor returned in the same conversational tone.

Kirliss chuckled. “You know well that I can be quite obsessive about details I’m interested in. I’m interested in you, M. I’m looking forward to uncovering that sweet, hot, gooey center that Taylor protects so carefully.”

“I find it…unsettling, that you talk like I’m two different people.”

“And yet, you don’t argue the point.”

“Debates with you tend to end up in one place, I’ve found.”

“Oh yes?” Kirliss purred. “Is this the place where you’re naked and I’m ravishing you?”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Haven’t you? You’re still sitting here.”

Taylor shrugged. “A girl needs to eat.”

“And yet you were about to get up and walk out five minutes ago.”

The chirpy waitress brought Taylor’s wine, sighed in Kirliss’s direction and reluctantly left again. Taylor sipped it, watching Kirliss warily over the rim.

“First rule, M—you may not walk out of any situation I put you in, unless you call your safe word.”

Sapphire. She hadn’t forgotten. A wise woman would have defused this entire situation with that one simple word. All along she’d had the key to escape. But she hadn’t used it. Not last night. Not today. Her blood ran hot. Did she dare put herself in this man’s hands?

“Perhaps I don’t choose to use that word because I refuse to engage in your game.”

“It’s understandable. You need to put up a token effort for the propriety of your conscious mind. You maybe find the struggle thrilling. I’ll let you in on a secret.” Kirliss leaned forward and stroked the petals of the rose. “I confess I like it when you struggle too. It…stirs me.”

Taylor gathered herself. Desire raged through her, filling her with life. Everything seemed sharper: the blue of the sky, the gold of his eyes, the crisp oak of the wine. Lust and curiosity drove her. The words came out of her mouth before she fully formed the question in her mind.

“Let’s say I don’t use my out. What would the other rules be?”

Triumph flared in the eyes across the table. “It’s very simple, M. You do as I say, without hesitation.”

The waitress set their plates down, but Kirliss never glanced at her, he was so focused on Taylor. As soon as she left again, he continued in that quiet, relentless voice.

“I will never interfere with business or cause you to consider that your career or reputation might be harmed. What goes on between us is, and always will be, private. But I will ask a great deal of you, M. Things that Taylor might not be comfortable with.”

Taylor couldn’t meet his eyes. Her chest felt too tight for breath. She tasted some of the succulent crab. Surreal, having this conversation. Feeling the arousal pulse through her.

“So I just let you do whatever you like to me. Unless I cry off.”

“Yes.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Oh no, M. It won’t be easy. I intend to break you apart and rend you open. You’re right. This isn’t about love. Nor is it just about sex. It’s about possession and knowledge. I want all of you and I will open every secret, dark corner of you until I’ve had it all.”

Taylor stared at him, terrified and aroused. How was it possible to feel both things at once?

“And then what?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

Kirliss shrugged. “Who knows the answer to that at the start of any relationship?”

He had a point.

“I seem to recall you saying you weren’t interested in having a slave?”

He flashed white teeth at her. “I’m not. I’m interested in having a lover. One who shares my particular bent.”

“And you think I do.”

He leaned forward, fingers tightening around her wrist. She trembled at the touch and she knew he felt it.

“If I slipped my hand into your panties right now, I’m sure I’d find you dripping wet. Shall I tell you to accompany me to some dark corner so we can test my theory?”

She stared at him, helpless to answer. Part of her wished he would pull her into that corner and do all the things he’d done the night before and more. The other part protested that she couldn’t allow it.

He rubbed his thumb over her pounding pulse and smiled at her. “Hold that thought—we’ll take it up tonight.”

Taylor tugged her hand back to fork up some salad. “I’m supposed to do whatever you say in all aspects of my life? What happens if you tell me something like that and I have another engagement—a business dinner or if I need to work late?”

“That’s what your safe word is for.”

“What if—” Taylor took a bite and pointed her fork at him, “—I don’t choose to use that word.”

“It’s not a capitulation to use it. It’s a way of communicating.”

“I’ll communicate how I choose. What if I can’t meet one of your demands and I don’t use the get-out-of-jail card?”

“If you tell me no without the safe word, you’ll be punished.”

The crab stuck in her throat. “Punished? How?”

Kirliss shrugged and flipped careless fingers at the perky waitress for the bill. “However I choose. That’s part of it.”

“If I do…meet you tonight, what happens? Dinner? Full-out kinky sex or what?”

He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “Oh no, Taylor, you don’t get to control this. That’s the whole point.”

“Well, how do I know what to wear?” she snapped. He seemed to find her buttons with uncanny accuracy.

He raised his eyebrows. “Why, darling, you’ll wear what I tell you to.”

Feeding the Vampire Excerpt

He leaned up on his elbow, cupping my cheek in one long-fingered hand. His eyes glowed, long hair fell over his shoulder, golden like the silk cords that bound my wrists. “They’re two faces of the same coin, you know. Over time, you’ll find the pain is seductive in its own way.”

He bent over me, his hair falling around me to curtain us from the world. His lips brushed hot against mine, drawing a helpless sigh out of me.

“Let me seduce you, my rose.” His mouth sank over mine, tasting of cinnamon, mace and blood.

Longing swelled up in me and I melted beneath him. His lips moved, strong and gentle, thrilling in their searing touch. He licked my lips, a breath of movement and sank in again, urging me to open to him. With a helpless moan, I did. I didn’t have to tell him he’d had me since that first feeding. Since I’d handed myself to him on a faux-foil cardboard platter under fluorescent lights.

He hummed with delight, his tongue sliding along the tender tissues of my mouth. I drowned in the shivering sensations, pleasure roaring through me. His hand slid down my throat in a lingering caress, trailing to circle my nipple again. I strained against him, close to begging in my delirium. Red and black pulsed in my brain. I tried to remember what I’d been unhappy about. Nothing mattered but this.

A sharp fang sliced the slick tissue of my lower lip and I convulsed, the pain cutting through the dark and sensual haze. His tongue laved the cut, sparking an ache. He crawled over me, straddling my body with his knees and cupping my cheekbones with both hands, tilting my head back so he could better slant his lips over mine. Blood swirled in my mouth and Ivan sucked on it, feeding from me with deep, thrilling kisses. I was a goblet he drank from.

Petals and Thorns Excerpt

She once again struggled to keep pace with his long strides, until the dark hallway opened into the most glorious atrium.

Woes temporarily forgotten, Amarantha gazed in wonder at the glass walls and ceiling sparkling in the midday light. Sunshine flooded the room from three sides and roses, bloodred roses, filled every corner. Here and there, graceful sculptures peeked between the blooms.

Velvet crimson spills, mounds and waterfalls, the roses tumbled out of urns and thrust up from beds built into the floor. The roses Father had brought surely came from these.

Amarantha realized she stood alone in the middle of the floor. The Beast had settled into a wooden chair, massive as a throne, studded with iron rings in various places. It was perfectly situated so that he might survey the room.

And everything in it.

“I enjoy beauty, as I mentioned.” The Beast leaned his cloaked head against one fist. “I am ready to savor yours.”

She could run, perhaps. Bolt back down the hallway. Then what?

“Amarantha, I want you to take down your hair, remove all of your clothing, and set it on the floor. When you are done, you will place it all—the clothing, your hairpins, whatever jewelry you might be wearing—on that press over there.” He waved a languid hand at the far end of the room, where a wooden stand stood among more roses. “You will find a pair of shoes over there. Put them on and return to me.”

She froze. Surely this couldn’t be happening.

“My bride,” the Beast said with utmost gentleness, “every moment you hesitate earns you punishment.”

“You promised not to injure me,” she stammered.

“And indeed I will not. Punishment does not mean injury. In fact”—he leaned forward in the chair—“I shall let you in on a secret. I not only excel at punishing a beautiful woman without injuring her, but I love every moment of it.”

Amarantha shuddered.

“Were I you”—he settled back in the chair—“I wouldn’t give away opportunities for punishment. But that’s entirely your choice. You’ve earned one punishment for your hesitation. Proceed with my instructions.”

With trembling fingers, Amarantha reached up to pull the pins from her hair. Drawing out the process, she set them one by one on the floor. The Beast, however, did not seem inclined to urge her to move more quickly. His head once again propped on his fist, he watched her from the shadows of his hood.

Amarantha ran out of pins. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out the formal coils her sisters had twisted in.

“Continue.”