Lisabet Sarai has a New Release!

 

Please welcome Lisabet Sarai and her New Release!

Serpent’s Kiss

 

A Father's Inspiration

      My latest book, Serpent’s Kiss, is dedicated to my father. He has been gone for for nearly fifteen years, but I still feel his presence, every day. During the time since his passing, the pain of loss has healed. I’ve come to understand that he'll always be with me, in my memories and in my heart.

More than any other individual, it was my dad who inspired me to read, and to write. He had the gift of words, and passed it on to his children. I recall him reading aloud to my siblings and me—folk tales, fairy stories, adventures like Treasure Island and Robinson Crusoe. He told his own stories, too, inventing worlds and characters for our pleasure. There were the Gulkons, terrible demons who lived in the fire on the hearth, and Houligan, the god of snow. (I grew up in chilly, stormy New England.) I still remember sitting spellbound while Dad recounted his story of the hapless wizard Thomas Carl Sefney who had to touch his wand to every one of the monster's thousand tentacles before it consumed him.

Both my parents encouraged me to write. My first poems date from about third grade. During my childhood I wrote fantasies about Martians and ghosts, and plays about the Beatles and politics. In my adolescence, too shy to speak to any of my crushes, I poured out my adoration in anguished free verse. In my twenties and thirties, I wrote science fiction and first tried my hand at romance. Finally, in my forties, I actually managed to publish something (other than in my high school newspaper). My first thought was to call my father.

My dad and I shared favorite books, characters, and authors. When he and I got talking about Sherlock Holmes or Frodo Baggins, H.P. Lovecraft or Edgar Allen Poe or Anne Rice, the rest of the family would roll their eyes and leave us to our obsessions. I never had any difficulty figuring out what gift to get him for his birthday or Father's Day. There was always some book that I had seen or heard about that I knew he'd love.

I never did introduce him to my erotica, though. I was so tempted to show him the pile of paperbacks with my name on the cover, the multiple volumes I had penned or edited. I wanted to autograph a copy of my first novel for him, telling him how much he had contributed to my literary endeavors. I wanted him to be proud. However, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. I recalled the way he reacted when I gave him Anne Rice's BDSM classic The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty - an embarrassed grin and an "oh, that's interesting". We didn't discuss that book much. Though I would have welcomed the opportunity to open up to him about my own pursuits in the world of sex and sensuality, dominance and submission, I sensed that he would rather not know.

I guess that there are just some things you can't share with your parents, no matter how close you are. But at very least, I can acknowledge him as my lifelong inspiration.

 

Blurb

When a woman atoning for past sins heals the human avatar of an ancient god, she’s drawn into a perilous dance of destiny and desire. Though mortally wounded, Jorge still demonstrates unnatural strength and power. Irresistibly attracted, Elena risks everything for his love. Gradually she realizes that even if he triumphs in his apocalyptic struggle with his nemesis, she may lose him forever.

A Serpent’s Kiss

Paranormal Erotic Romance

Five flames; 36,000 words, 136 pages

Smashwords and Amazon KDP

ISBN (Smashwords): 9798215674734; ASIN: ‎ ‎ B0CL2HPVV4

Hashtags/Keywords

#Paranormal #Shifters #Mayan #Mythology #Guatemala #FatedMates #Tikal #Ritual #Quetzlcoatl #Reincarnation #Apocalypse

Excerpt (PG): Remorros

The waiting room was dim. An unfamiliar smell lingered in the air, some kind of petroleum smell, like tar or kerosene. She sniffed suspiciously. She kept two Coleman lanterns in the storeroom, in case the generator ran out of diesel. Could some animal have got into the place and knocked them over?

Elena moved cautiously towards the door of the infirmary, not wanting to alarm a possible animal intruder. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, she heard noises behind her—footsteps, and the sound of the front door bolt being thrown.

She whirled around. “Who’s there?” In her sinking heart, though, she already knew.

“You lied to me,” Teodoro Remorros growled at her. He looked as affluent and dapper as ever, but his handsome features were twisted into a grimace of rage. “You told me that you didn’t know Jorge, that you hadn’t seen him.”

Elena tried to swallow her fear. He might be only guessing, threatening her in order to get her to talk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s been here, here inside this pathetic clinic of yours. I can smell him.”

The man’s nostrils flared, exactly like a beast’s.

“How can you smell anything? The place reeks of kerosene. I was just going to check the storeroom…” Elena began inching backwards, toward the infirmary, the rear exit and freedom.

Remorros lunged forward and grabbed her arm. His nails bit into her flesh like talons. “I warned you, woman. You don’t know what you are dealing with. Jorge is not a normal man. He doesn’t have a man’s heart. He’s a power, a force of nature, hard and pitiless, implacable, vicious, evil.”

“No, he’s not! He’s not evil!”

“Fool!” Remorros dragged her into the infirmary and threw her on the cot. “You’ve been meddling in matters far beyond your puny mortal capabilities. And now you will pay the price.”

Note: Serpent’s Kiss was previously published by Totally Entwined. This new edition has been re-edited, revised and expanded.

Reader Advisory: This book may not be appropriate for individuals with a fear of snakes.

Buy Links

Kinky Literature: https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/1317-serpents-kiss/

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL2HPVV4

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CL2HPVV4

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1465062

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/serpents-kiss-lisabet-sarai/1017488008?ean=2940166119209

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/serpent-s-kiss-26

Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6469359665

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199721219-serpent-s-kiss

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/serpent-s-kiss-by-lisabet-sarai-2023-10-15

About the Author

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance: over one hundred titles and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, LGBTQ, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, BookBub and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh

A Visit with Arlene Culiner and The Turkish Affair

Please welcome Arlene Culiner, who is going to tell us about her fabulous mystery/romance The Turkish Affair. 

The words Romantic Mystery often conjure up serial killers, car chases, shoot-outs, and gun-packing super heroes and heroines. I, however, prefer reality. When finding myself in terrible danger, do I contemplate romance? Can I count on the sudden appearance of a sexy secret agent who puts all villains out of commission? Of course not. Instead of all that action, I transport readers to unusual places, give them unconventional intelligent heroes and heroines. In The Turkish Affair, Anne Pierson is a former American journalist who, after a scandalous affair with the wrong man, lost her job and her reputation. For the last ten years, she’s been hiding in backwoods Turkey and working as a translator. My hero, archaeologist Renaud Townsend, is passionate about his work and ancient history, but he’s determined to keep his independence.

Like Anne, I once lived in a small community in central Turkey, and I worked as a translator (then later, as a belly dancer—but that’s another story altogether). I was in Turkey at a difficult time: the police were corrupt, there was political unrest, and there were frequent arrests. Several times I found myself in danger, and once, as related in The Turkish Affair, a brave young woman rescued me. I was also present when archaeologists were called in to identify stolen coins, and the thefts from an archaeological site did happen in the way I describe them.

   Of course Anne’s story is very different from mine. And one morning, while passing through an archaeological site, I caught sight of a man ambling in the direction of a tumble of ruined pillars. He was lean, supple, and the torrid sun caught the golden blaze of his hair. He became Renaud Townsend, the hero of The Turkish Affair.

Blurb:

Priceless artifacts are disappearing from the ancient Hittite site of Karakuyu in Turkey, and the site director has vanished. Called in to solve the mystery, archaeologist Renaud Townsend is hindered by both his inability to speak the language and the knowledge that the local police are corrupt. His attraction to translator Anne Pierson is immediate, although he is troubled by her refusal to talk about the past and her fear of public scandal.

But when murder enters the picture, both Anne and Renaud realize that the risk of falling in love is not the only danger.

 Excerpt:

The sound of insistent knocking penetrated through heavy layers of sleep. Anne fought her way out of the world of dreams and back into consciousness. The knocking persisted. It was real. Louder. Longer. Someone out in the street was hammering on the door of this house. What time was it? Not morning. This didn’t have the feel of morning. Beyond the skimpy curtains imperfectly covering the windows of her room, the sky was black. So it was still night. Anne’s fingers fumbled blindly, searching for the little clock on the table to her left.
      Two o’clock? What was going on? She lay still in her warm bed, fearing the unknown. There was nothing to do but wait. Durmuş, the male head of the family, would attend to the matter. He was the only one qualified for such a job; here, one conformed to strict rules.
      The knocking stopped. She strained her ears, desperate to know what was going on. Silence. It was probably nothing at all. Perhaps someone—a relative, a neighbor—was ill and needed to call a doctor. Not everyone, particularly older people, possessed a telephone out here. Perhaps it was something simple: a burst pipe, a birth? Perhaps a cousin, an uncle and aunt had just arrived from distant place like Germany. Or France. She stopped speculating and tried to calm herself, well aware of how tense and frightened she was.
      One never knew what was really going on in this part of the world. This wasn’t a major city like Istanbul or Ankara; this was nothing like the south coast with its tourist hotels, foreign-owned apartments, and the modern dwellings of middle-class Turks. This was the backwoods where everyone relied on rumor, speculation, or mumbled stories. Too many of those stories told of arrests and interrogations—arrests that often took place at hours like this, when everyone’s guard was down.
      Pointless, ignoring the reality of life. Yes, people here were kind and generous, and the countryside was outstandingly beautiful. But there were dangers. The political situation was unstable. There was no check on police power, and human rights barely existed. Everyone, even those from upstanding families, feared the knock on the door. And she, a foreign, unattached woman, could always be deemed a bad influence in this conservative society.
      “Anne?” Durmuş was outside her door, calling her softly. “Anne, wake up.”
      As if she could have slept through such a din. Leaping out of bed, she raced to the door, opened it. Durmuş’s pale, lined face didn’t look particularly anxious. That, at least, was a good sign.
      “Some people want to see you. It’s urgent, they say.”
      Of course it would be, at an hour like this. “Who?”
      “Yıldız, from the Tourist Board. The police.”
      “The police?” Her heart caught.
      “Another man, too.”
       “I’ll get dressed.” She closed the door with trembling hands and hastily scrabbled around for clothes—how did shoes manage to hide themselves when you needed them most?—then headed down the corridor toward the vestibule. Under the naked bulb, she saw Yıldız Bey and the police officer. The third man…
      Her astonished eyes met Renaud’s apologetic ones. “Sorry for waking you at this ungodly hour, Anne,” he said quietly. “I would have telephoned, but no one seems to have a number for you.”
      “I don’t have a cell phone.” She preferred being well off the world’s radar.
      “Well, that’s the answer then.” He smiled faintly. “We couldn’t wait until morning. Mr. Yıldız was good enough to bring me here, and we have to get going.”
      “Going? To where?”
      “We’re driving to Denizşehir where you’ll be doing some translating. I’ll give you the details when we’re on the road. Pack an overnight bag, just in case we have to stay longer.”
      “Denizşehir?” That city was hundreds of miles away, down on the coast. What did Denizşehir have to do with her? With Renaud and the police? And why leave now, at this crazy hour? How unreal everything seemed at this time of the morning—or was it night?      She was hardly in a position to protest. This was an emergency of some sort, or Yıldız Bey wouldn’t have brought Renaud to this respectable family home where she lived.
      Back in her room, she stuffed essentials into a traveling bag. A blouse, light skirt. What else would need? A nightgown. A dress—something elegant, pretty, and feminine, just in case they would be seeing important people down on the coast…unless this was pure coquetry on her part. The thought made her smile.

What they say about The Turkish Affair

Glittering descriptions, magical settings, and enviable characters. Culiner’s mastery of the English language and sentence combinations form an enchanting read for lovers of romance and adventure. Readers’ Favorite

 

Work has gone into making sure the historic facts and archaeological details are spot on. This is an excellent book that was an easy read. The pace was steady and the mystery kept me gripped to the unexpected ending. Whispering Stories Book Blog

 

Buried pasts and questionable reputations, vulnerable hearts, fragile feelings, suspense, fear, and intrigue—they are all here. I didn’t want to put it down. J Livingstone 

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zkQ20uC4eg

Purchase Links: https://books2read.com/TheTurkishAffair

About the Author

 

J. Arlene Culiner

Writer, social critical artist, and impenitent teller of tall tales, J. Arlene Culiner, was born in New York and raised in Toronto. She has crossed much of Europe on foot, has lived in a mud house on the Great Hungarian Plain, in a Bavarian castle, a Turkish cave dwelling, a haunted house on the English moors, and on a Dutch canal. She now resides in a 400-year-old former inn in a French village of no interest where, much to local dismay, she protects spiders, snakes, and weeds.

Observing people in cafes, in their homes, on trains, or in the streets, she eavesdrops on all private conversations, and delights in hearing any nasty, funny, ridiculous, sad, romantic, or boastful story. And when she can't uncover really salacious gossip, she makes it up.

Social links:

Website: https://www.j-arleneculiner.com/the-turkish-affair

Author: https://linktr.ee/j.arleneculiner