(Anathema #1)
Publication date: November 28th 2014
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Suspense
Synopsis:
The only thing more dangerous than the Anathema MC is the club’s president.
Trapped.
For twenty-one years, Rose Darnell’s family dedicated their lives to the Anathema MC. For twenty-one years, she’s searched for a way out.
Bound to a world of bloodied knuckles and drug money, Rose believes her musical talent will rescue her from an abusive father and overbearing brothers. A chance audition and promising gig would free Rose from the outlaw 1%, but her brothers won’t let her escape the club’s shadow.
A rival chapter threatens Rose, and only Anathema’s president, Thorne Radek, can protect her.
Betrayed.
A traitor lurks within Anathema’s brotherhood, and Thorne will burn the world to scorch the rat. When an innocent diva with baby-bunny eyes and dark secrets needs his help, Thorne offers his protection and is rewarded with the ultimate bait. He may be the only man to distract Rose from her music, but helping him find the traitor will damn more than the club.
It will tear her family apart.
Trapped.
For twenty-one years, Rose Darnell’s family dedicated their lives to the Anathema MC. For twenty-one years, she’s searched for a way out.
Bound to a world of bloodied knuckles and drug money, Rose believes her musical talent will rescue her from an abusive father and overbearing brothers. A chance audition and promising gig would free Rose from the outlaw 1%, but her brothers won’t let her escape the club’s shadow.
A rival chapter threatens Rose, and only Anathema’s president, Thorne Radek, can protect her.
Betrayed.
A traitor lurks within Anathema’s brotherhood, and Thorne will burn the world to scorch the rat. When an innocent diva with baby-bunny eyes and dark secrets needs his help, Thorne offers his protection and is rewarded with the ultimate bait. He may be the only man to distract Rose from her music, but helping him find the traitor will damn more than the club.
It will tear her family apart.
Excerpt
#1
“Why are you
protecting me?” I hadn’t moved from the
door. Thorne didn’t care. We both knew I didn’t have the courage to bolt. “Am I
really in that much danger?”
He studied me. My
freckles. The curls of my hair. My frantic breathing that wavered my chest and
pushed it high as I savored a greedy breath of his scent. The masculine,
leather and wind tease of his body suffocated me in heavy promise. The muscles
of his arms tensed around me. What might have terrified me before now thrilled
me with a freeing shiver.
No one would ever
challenge this man and win.
He pushed away
from the door with a scowl. He grabbed the gun from the table and tucked it in
the holster around his waist.
“You better hope
you’re not in as much trouble as I think you are.”
“What aren’t you
telling me?”
He frowned.
“Things are going to get real fucking messy, real quick.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Be glad you’re
here. Believe it or not, I’m not fucking with you. I’d rather grab you now when
I only have to wade through shit instead of saving your ass when we’re knee
deep in blood.”
“And you think I’m
going to be...what? Some sort of target?”
Thorne laughed. He
grinned, the coldness of his smile binding me with lacey rime against the door.
“Target? Sweetheart, you’re the bait.”
Excerpt
#2
“I might be able
to keep you alive long enough to get some use out of you.”
He backed away,
and I sucked in a relieved breath. The air caught in my lungs and I lost myself
within Thorne’s wild scent.
He was serious.
Absolutely serious. Not only did he think I was in danger, he thought he would
protect me from it. He offered to save me from the demons lurking in the
shadows.
And I believed
him.
He trapped me
within the heart of Pixie. In the very lair of the beast, tucked inside the
darkest corners and under the gaze of the dangerous man balancing loyalty,
anarchy, and violence. No one dared challenge Pixie, not even during the worst
battles with Exorcist.
His gaze seared
through me, trailing heat everywhere it looked. I couldn’t speak. My throat
burned over my questions. He liked that. Reducing me to silence. Stealing my
song. Proving him right and me wrong and savoring all the confusion in its
wake.
The victorious
smile suited him. Predatory. An amused crack in the mask of hardened rage. He
didn’t offer it with kindness. He transformed a vulnerable quirk into a hostile
threat, and, despite the darkness hardening his expression, even the cruelest
of smiles only enhanced his features. It was a look that fractured pavement and
ricocheted a bullet, and the unwanted heat burning low in my belly had no
defense.
My pulse
quickened. The halo of understanding cracked, and what should have blessed me
in sweet offering instead tormented me with profane truth.
I feared Thorne.
But so did
everyone else.
And that made him
my greatest ally.
Excerpt
#3
Thorne rose before
I made it to the door. I reached for the knob. His hand slammed against the
frame above my head.
“I didn’t say you could
leave.”
No strumming of a
guitar, beating of a drum, or raging of a thrash metal line matched the rawness
of his voice, a baritone of authority that rumbled over my skin and tempted me
into trembles. The banded ink coiling from his middle finger and up his arm streaked
his skin with a rage of darkness. As if the thick muscles hadn’t stolen enough
of my breath, the threat of the ink, just the power radiating from the black,
eroded my resistance. Many men were tattooed, but the designs meant nothing
beyond their imagined sentimentalities.
Thorne’s tattoos
marked him. Claimed him. Blackened his blood until the branding of Anathema
raced through his veins.
I didn’t turn to
face him. I doubted he wanted me to move. His heat framed my body, layering me
in his presence, his very scent. Leather. Salt. Shadows and pain. I slowed my
breathing, as if he sensed the fluttering of air pitched within my throat. I debated
staying silent. I braced to call for help.
“You want to go to
your little performance?” His words rocked me with each syllable, and I fought
the urge to collapse under the weight of his intention. “Then start obeying
me.”
“And if I don’t?”
The answer came
suddenly. Harshly. The slap to my backside cracked the silence of the room.
I spun around,
protecting my bottom more than my crimson face. Thorne captured me, his palms
flat against the door on either side of my arms.
“Let’s settle this
now.” His eyes glistened with the cool
gray of an aiming pistol. “You have nothing you can offer, nothing I want, and nothing
I need. You whine, complain, or bitch, and you’ll get smacked again. And
harder. You understand?”
Excerpt
#4
I stilled. My
chest weighed heavy with silenced songs and muted fear. I stared at Thorne, but
I imagined more than just the man before me.
In Thorne, I saw the
rushing pavement barreling toward my head.
The trail of smoke
coiling from a recoiling gun.
A prince donning
leathers and denim instead of a cape, searching for the princess who left her
helmet at the patch-over gala.
A monster.
A devil.
A man who made my
heart pound in terror and crash against my chest with the secrets I sang only
in songs.
“Sit.”
It wasn’t a
request. He didn’t stand or pull the chair out. He didn’t wave a friendly hand.
Didn’t smile.
My refusal tasted
so good on my tongue I decided to keep it clenched between my teeth. Better to
let Thorne think he intimidated me than reveal the desperation simmering in my
silence.
I slid across from
him. Close enough to study the worn scratches on his vest, to sense the
strength resting within his stretched-taut shirt, and to savor the baritone of
his voice harmonizing in my thoughts.
The quiet broke
me. I didn’t have the courage to stare him down, but I had more pride than to
lower my head and allow his appraisal. The breathy whisper was not the pitch I
wanted, but, cast upon his altar, it was fortunate I didn’t simply scream.
“What do you
expect from me?”
Thorne’s gaze
shifted over my body. “What are you offering?”
I swallowed.
“Nothing.”
“What a bargain.”
“You wanted me
here. I’m here.”
“Your brothers
were very prompt.”
I savored a
particularly harsh remark and tucked it deep within my chest. “They kicked my
door in, packed my bags, and dragged me here.”
The twitching of
his lip was a remnant of a smile that might have once been attractive—before
the prison term and the violence, the responsibilities of the club and the
retaliation that consumed his every desecrated breath.
“They always were
loyal.”
“Right. After
today, I’m not sure I would consider them my brothers.”
“We’ll see.”
The weight binding
my chest only constricted my words in a hush of panic. I ignored his gaze.
“I’m not a whore,”
I said.
Thorne leaned
away, resting his arm on the edge of his chair. His chest tensed, and the shirt
stretched taut over his strength. The leather cut rode stiff over his muscles.
“I didn’t call you
a whore.”
“And forcing my
brothers to deliver me to you? In the middle of the night? Bringing me to
your bedroom?”
“You can take your
clothes off if you like. It’d make this conversation more interesting.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you stay
dressed.” His eyes narrowed, a threat of
chilled indifference. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
I flinched at the
word, but I leapt at the sincerity in his voice.
“You aren’t?”
“Disappointed?”
Excerpt
#5
“You’re lying if
you say you want out of this life,” he said.
I wished I hadn’t
stared at his lips. Or concentrated on the baritone threat of his words. Or
willed the twisted beat of my heart to slam against my chest.
“I’m not part of
Anathema,” I said.
“No, but it’s part
of you. And all the concerts and college loans and temper tantrums won’t get
you out of the club. So what is it? Why
are you so desperate to leave?”
His fingers teased
along the too-pink lace of my panties. My cheeks flushed with the same
innocence, but I didn’t let him scare me.
“Why are you so
desperate to keep me here?”
He liked that
challenge. “If you knew what was good for you, you’d go running back to your
big brothers.”
“We’re not talking
at the moment.”
“Maybe you should
be a good little girl and apologize.”
“And if I don’t?”
I stilled as his
hand brushed my cheek. But Thorne wasn’t gentle. His calloused touch claimed
when it should have caressed, and his forearm flexed with the rigid strength of
a man barely containing the demon of lust corrupting his intentions. I gasped
as his hand tangled in my wet hair and yanked.
“I don’t play
nice, sweetheart.”
For the first time
in my life, a raw, untainted, pure heat rushed within me. His hand gripped hard
on my hair, and he pulled my head to expose the delicate hollow of my neck. To
kiss. To bite. To slit. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. His hands rough, his
touch unashamed, and his need completely, absolutely, unequivocally natural.
“I don’t want
nice,” I whispered.
He tightened his
hold. “What do you want?”
“To feel safe.”
He laughed. His
hand jammed against my throat. He squeezed, just enough to frighten, just
enough to threaten where I was most vulnerable, just enough to clear my mind of
the lingering memories of the last time I was touched.
“Now do you feel
safe?”
I’d rather fear
one man than live the rest of my life afraid of the world. I shook my head as
much as his grip would allow.
“You won’t hurt
me.”
Purchase:
Dark Romance
Occasionally, I like to
bounce ideas off my husband while I’m writing.
He’s a good sport, and he has a lot of decent suggestions. Then…I started to write Motorcycle Club
romances.
“Hey honey, how many
bullets are in a clip?”
“Bub, if you get shot, do
you think you could still drive a bike?”
“Sweetie, how long do you
think someone could hide a Meth addiction?”
Before my husband had me
committed, he finally asked, “What the hell kind of romance are you writing?”
The best kind, I suppose?
I’ve never been a romantic
person. No candlelight dinners or
sonnets at my window; I prefer passion and excitement—any way I can get
it. And dark Romances offer that tingly,
dangerous excitement.
Passion comes in all
forms. Fear, rage, injustice, desire. It’s a beautiful, powerful expression, and
the best dark romance will recreate that passion in all forms. From capture fantasies to thrilling romantic
suspense to even the darkest erotic romances—anything that challenges a reader
to explore a side of the world, their personality, or their sexuality is an
amazing expression of the romance genre.
Love is the most powerful
motivator and healer. Even the worst
abuses, betrayals, and situations are tempered through the passion between the
hero and heroine. That is why I love the
genre. Call it a silver lining or the
reluctant romantic in me, but the darker the romance, the greater the danger,
the more powerful the book.
So, what are your favorite
dark romances? What makes them so
exciting?
Criminals As Heroes?
Romance seems to be
getting darker and darker, and the male protagonists? Harder, arrogant, and
more dangerous than ever before.
And I love it!
Let’s be honest. I work an eight-to-four job during the day,
and park my butt on the couch at night to write. That doesn’t leave a lot of time to get into
trouble…unless you count forgetting to switch over the laundry. My most recent brush with the law? The time I
drove around for a day without the new registration sticker on my license
plate.
Hard. Core.
So, I’m not the wildest
girl out there. But when I’m reading?
Give me the 1% bikers and made men, the criminal masterminds and the MMA
fighters, and don’t forget the sinister and devilish billionaires with dungeons
in their basement and helipads on their roof.
These are men who live
outside the norms of society. The alpha
males who not only seize life—they conquer it with a flash of a blade or the
curl of their fist. They’re ruthless and
brutal, pulsing with masculine energy, and they want nothing more than to
dominate, punish, and reveal their desires to those wide-eyed heroines trapped
in their web.
These “heroes” are the men
our mothers warned us about, the stereotypes Tumblr posts about, and the
featured criminals on the FBI Most Wanted list.
So why do we love them so much?
I think it’s just a
combination of the danger and the unknown.
Growing up, we yearned for Prince Charming to kiss us awake. Gallant and brave and perfect.
But where’s the passion in
perfection? It’s the flaws, the danger,
the darkness that offer the most excitement and danger and hope. Redeeming the unredeemable, and loving the unlovable. Whether it’s Christian Grey or Jethro Hawk,
the criminals, bad boys, and dangerous men are the ones who make a book fun,
thrilling, and super sexy.
Who is your favorite bad boy?
Strong Female Protagonists
A romance just isn’t a
romance without a strong heroine.
Sure, we swoon over the
bad boys, crush on the charismatic charmers, and love the wounded alphas, but
the heroine makes the story worth
reading. The days of the bodice rippers
with timid and weak heroines are just about over.
Nowadays, it seems
everyone wants the kick-butt heroine: the determined worker, the intelligent
rival, and the challenging and passionate partner. I couldn’t agree more. The heroine/hero relationship dynamic is only
successful if both characters prove their worth to each other.
But… lately, does it seem
like the only way a female character can demonstrate her strength is through
physical feats? A woman isn’t strong
unless she knows martial arts, can shoot a gun, and charges into the vanguard
with the hero at her side.
I like to cheer for that
woman, but I’m missing the gentle
heroine. The woman who would never grab
a weapon but can lash the hero with her quick wit. The sweetheart who abhors violence but is
desperate and determined to defend her ideas, projects, and body from any who
would challenge her. The woman who has
no special training in marital arts but can dominate without intimidating
through physical strength.
A woman can be tough
without becoming a clone of the hero, and a heroine can be sympathetic even if
she’s unable to defend herself from violence.
Just being defiant, being undefeatable even when all hope is lost and
unconquerable even when overpowered, establishes an independence that is
stronger than any bullet or blade.
So what do you think? Do you have a favorite kick-butt heroine?
Romance in Dark Stories
I love a good dark
romance. A novel that’s twisty and achy
that leaves me falling for the hero, cheering for the heroine, and experiencing
something that might make me a little uncomfortable, confused, and tingly. Not many genres offer that many emotions in a
single read.
But sometimes the story
can get too dark, and the themes a bit too uncomfortable. The romance might be
overshadowed by crime, violence, abuse, or psychological issues. Authors tread
a very thin line between drama and taboo, and the successful ones can balance a
tale of horror with redemption.
But does the darkness ever
hinder the romance? How far can we teeter over that line before we tumble past
taboo and into revulsion? Lots of novels deal with very difficult
issues—physical and sexual abuse, addiction, abduction, death, murder. Does the
line shift from acceptable to uncomfortable, or do authors keep pushing the
boundaries?
For me, I look for that
redemption, the penance, the understanding a character has when their actions
have turned too dark and their desires shift from selfish pleasure to
experiencing a moment with their
partner. No matter how dark the story, a
good romance—a love that endures beyond even nightmare—is what shields the
characters from their torment and me from those uncomfortable feelings.
Do you have a favorite
dark romance? What glimmer of hope did you find in the pages that kept you
reading?
Lana Grayson was born to write anything and everything to do with romance. Her favorite genres range from the dark and twisty to the lighthearted and sentimental—as long as the characters are memorable, the story is fun, and the romance is steamy. Lana lives in Pittsburgh with her husband, and, when she isn’t bundled in her writing chair, she’s most likely cheering on the Steelers or searching for the ‘Burgh’s best Italian restaurants.
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