I've been writing fast & furiously. But wanted to take time to touch base with everyone and offer a contest. From the excerpt below, answer the 2 questions and send answers to firstname.lastname@example.org with BLOG CONTEST in the Subject line and winners will be drawn randomly from the correct answers on November 1st. 2 winners will each receive a copy of BOUND BY SHADOW.
An excerpt from BOUND BY SHADOW by Anna Windsor
© Copyright Anna Windsor, 2008
All Rights Reserved, Ballantine Books
Creed looked past Andy, to the brownstone matching the number Andy had given him—the place where Riana Dumain lived. Five steps up to the front door. Three floors. White curtains.
Odd, but the energy around the building felt flat—or rather, dense. Thick, like the bark of an ancient tree. Even more odd was the fact he couldn’t see through those white curtains, even though they appeared to be lace. He narrowed his eyes and increased his focus, but he still couldn’t see through the openings in the lace.
On the third floor, one of those lace barriers twitched. A shadow moved past, just a flicker of darkness, so fast it almost escaped Creed’s enhanced scrutiny. The signet ring on his right ring finger hummed against his skin, hot and urgent.
He glanced down at the ring.
A hot, solid wave of energy slammed against his expanded thoughts.
Creed’s head snapped back from the rush of power. His mind folded in on itself and his perceptions screeched down to normal speed so hard he almost stumbled. His ears rang. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth—and from—from what?
A mental slap?
Had somebody really slapped him?
He rubbed the space between his right eye and his chin. Damned if it didn’t burn.
What the hell?
Some kind of barrier. Some kind of elemental protections?
The beast inside him wanted to snarl and retreat, but he couldn’t let that happen. He was here in New York City with his partner Andy, poking around on the ritualistic murder of a senator’s kid. He was Creed Lowell, a detective in the modern world, and he had to do his job. He had to atone, and keep atoning, for as long as he lived. Forever.
He looked at the brownstone again as he hitched up his jeans and adjusted his leather blazer.
The curtains lay still against the windows, as if the house had its eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.
Andy finished locking the car and tucked the folders under her arm. “You coming?” she asked when he looked at her.
Creed scrubbed his hand against his stinging jaw, then followed her as she wove through cars, cabs, and busses on the busy street. Andy pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and raised her hand to use the big brass knocker, but the door eased open before she grabbed it.
“Nice touch,” Creed muttered, twisting his ring, still trying to get his mental balance. “Thought you said she didn’t play psychic.”
Andy’s sharp stomp on his toe helped him focus.
The door opened a little farther, and a woman stepped into the morning sunlight. A tall, striking woman who looked like she just walked home from a fashion photo shoot.
Creed found himself grateful for the aches in his toe and jaw. Without the pain, his teeth wouldn’t have been clenched, and his mouth would have dropped open like a stunned schoolboy.
Soft, tinkling music seemed to play from somewhere inside the brownstone. Maybe a radio with classical music, or even distant church bells. The woman’s polished jade eyes captured him completely as her loose black hair billowed in the breeze. Gentle curls brushed her lightly tanned cheeks, and the full shoulders of her brown cashmere sweater suggested an athletic build. The sweater tapered to a snug fit at her waist, and her black slacks and boots exactly matched the sensuous, silky shade of her hair. Around her neck hung a long chain with a silver and gold crescent pendant. The moon glittered in the sunlight, just like the deep red of her nail polish. Her enticing lips, the same deep red and beautifully curved, parted ever so slightly, as if she was immediately aware of her effect on him.
He was only dimly conscious of Andy saying hello to her friend—God, what friend—then the woman spoke. Her words came out in a rich, slightly-accented flow, that enticing kind of voice more appropriate for dark restaurants, candlelight, and fine wine than bright city streets at bright, early hours.
“So this is your infamous partner.” Once more, Riana Dumain’s jade eyes caught him in some invisible net. Creed felt the sound all over his skin, like gently-traveling fingernails. “I was beginning to think you made him up.”
Creed knew he was supposed to say something. He tried not to look at her prominent cleavage and the obvious swells of her breasts, failed, then managed to gather himself enough to extend his hand and say, “Creed Lowell. Nice . . . ah . . . to meet you.”
1. What kind of ring does Creed wear on his right ring finger?
2. What color are Riana's eyes?
Remember: Send answers to email@example.com
Good luck to all!!