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Announcement: Bound Volume 1, by Amy Lane

Bound Volume 1Amy Lane has a new paranormal book out:

Humans have the option of separation, divorce, and heartbreak. For Corinne Carol-Anne Kirkpatrick, sorceress and queen of the vampires, the choices are limited to love or death. Now that she is back at Green’s Hill and assuming her duties as leader, her life is, at best, complicated. Bracken and Nicky are competing for her affections, Green is away taking care of his people, and a new supernatural enemy is threatening the sanctity of all she has come to love. Throw in a family reunion gone bad, a supernatural psychiatrist, and a killer physics class, and Cory’s life isn’t just complex, it’s psychotic.

Cory needs to get her act and her identity together, and soon, because the enemy she and her lovers are facing is a nightmare that doesn’t just kill people, it unmakes them. If she doesn’t figure out who she is and what her place is on Green’s Hill, it’s not just her life on the line. She knows from hard experience that the only thing worse than facing death is facing the death of someone she loves.

Loving people is easy—living with them is what takes the real work, and it’s even harder if you’re bound.

2nd Edition. 1st Edition published as Bound: The Third Book of the Little Goddess Series by iUniverse, 2007.



Ou’e’hm & Due’alle

“I’VE MADE calls and put a compulsion on all of your paperwork to make sure it goes through,” Green assured me earnestly, the planes taking off overhead making it difficult to hear. He was dressed in classic business sidhe—crème-colored wool suit, a dark green brocade tie, and a darker crème-colored trench coat to keep off the steady rain that made this mid-January day just a little drearier. The only thing that wasn’t plain and classic about Green’s outfit was the green and gold scarf I’d knitted him for Christmas and, of course, Green’s hip-length braid of butter-yellow hair. As for the scarf, what else would I give an immortal sidhe lover who ruled all of Northern California and the central coastlands to boot? And maybe because he had enough magic and power at his disposal to make concrete jungles erupt into fantasy gardens, he lived simply, with clean bare wood and homemade quilts and few decorations in his room. In fact, I thought wretchedly as he searched my plain human face with his fantastically large and wide-spaced green eyes, the only indulgences Green seemed to have in his life right now were that raggedly hand-knit cashmerino scarf and me. He touched my hair restlessly with his long fingers, interrupting my thoughts. The inhumanly beautiful, clean, anime-perfect and heartbreaking lines of his face were marred by worry. I reached up—way, way up, because he was in the top half of six feet and I was in the bottom half of five—and stroked the pointed curve of his elven ear. Nobody else could see those pointed ears—only the preternatural, or me, a human with preternatural gifts—and I felt an ownership of this part of him that the rest of the world couldn’t have. But he was leaving, and the rest of the world was going to have him, and right now all I could do was try very hard to smile and let him know I would be all right.

“You should get right in,” he was saying. “You’ll be able to register by phone tomorrow, but you must take the classes we picked out or it won’t work.” Including Renny, Nicky, Mario, LaMark, Bracken, and me, there were six of us from Green’s hill enrolling in classes at Sac State. The commute from Foresthill was over an hour—so, in the best interest of time and gas, we scheduled ourselves through the early afternoons Mondays through Thursdays, with breaks in between to meet. Before I’d begun dating a vampire, I had been alone—a mean-spirited punk-goth bitch who hated the world. But once you’ve truly loved another, as I had loved Adrian, and once his family has taken you in as theirs, well, you’re never truly alone again. My family and I were planning to stick close, out in the big bad human world.

I nodded to ease Green’s worries, and tried to keep my face from crumpling. I’d assured Green that I’d be able to handle his traveling, because his traveling kept our people consolidated, and it kept enemies from descending on us like nightmare plagues from hell, and I didn’t want him walking into those strange sidhe and faerie halls (or human boardrooms) worrying about me falling apart. However, I’d just spent four months living in another city, and it had—in a very physical, magical, and literal way—almost killed me to be apart from Green for that time, in spite of our visits back and forth. Now I was back in the foothills and I had two other men bound to me by supernatural and emotional ties, and watching him get out of the SUV and unload his luggage was still like watching my right lung rip itself out of my body to go toddling off among the vampires in play. It was excruciatingly painful, and it just plain felt wrong.

“What name is it under?” I asked, trying to be practical. My full Christian name was Corinne Carol-Anne Kirkpatrick. Since I was essentially a super-magically charged human, the elves were afraid that I was as susceptible to preternatural influences as the fey but without enough experience to know what was hostile and what was not. The general assumption was that anyone who knew my full name would have way too much power over me. Mostly, I agreed. Unfortunately, which name I was supposed to take had been a big fat meaty bone of contention.

“Whatever name you like,” Green said gently, knowing exactly where my thoughts were headed. A part of me wished he had stepped up and claimed me, writing “Cory Green” on my paperwork with absolute authority, because he did things like that sometimes when my health or my safety was at stake. But the more grown-up part of me was glad, very glad, that he trusted me to follow my heart, and trusted that my heart would always beat for him. Still, I had never been good at lying, and my misery and indecision must have been written plainly on my face.

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Author Bio

Amy Lane is a mother of two college students, two grade-schoolers, and two small dogs. She is also a compulsive knitter who writes because she can’t silence the voices in her head. She adores fur-babies, knitting socks, and hawt menz, and she dislikes moths, cat boxes, and knuckle-headed macspazzmatrons. She is rarely found cooking, cleaning, or doing domestic chores, but she has been known to knit up an emergency hat/blanket/pair of socks for any occasion whatsoever, or sometimes for no reason at all. Her award-winning writing has three flavors: twisty-purple alternative universe, angsty-orange contemporary, and sunshine-yellow happy. By necessity, she has learned to type like the wind. She’s been married for twenty-plus years to her beloved Mate and still believes in Twu Wuv, with a capital Twu and a capital Wuv, and she doesn’t see any reason at all for that to change.


Yarning to Write:

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