New Cover Art

We have it! Special thanks to Valerie Tibbs

The First Review Is In! The Strix gets a 5/5!

The first review is in and we are so pleased!

This is what Ezrabet Enchantments had to say about "The Strix"

Ezrabet:

If you enjoy books with a historical and contemporary flair, then give this one a whirl. Witches, gladiators, blood, curses, betrayals and of course, some sexy vampires with attitude problems. I loved it. When the book opens up, we are in the past as a priestess tries to find her calling. It comes in the form of blood and fire. Next, we are in the present, wandering the streets of Salem. I am a sucker for witch stories, especially in Salem. 

I loved the flow of this story and the imagery. You can smell the arena, the gladiators and feel the anguish of the characters. The dialogue is spot on and the erotic scenes are super hot. I hate giving too much away, but if you enjoy an adventure that crosses time, curses, vengeance, hot sex and some hotter vampires, then this book is for you. There are some elements of f/f erotica and anal play, but that only made the story even hotter.

5/5

Thank you Ezrabet!

XXOO Kat

Erzabet’s Enchantments blogspot:

http://erzabetsenchantments.blogspot.com/

New Excerpt of "The Strix"

This week has been so busy. Last week was too. I'm on round two of edits for book two of The Bag Of Tricks book series, "Claimed By Dragons", which I promise is shaping up into a big, crazy, erotic adventure of a book.

But today I want to share a little more of The Strix.

Short blurb for The Strix: 

After drawing a piece of amber from a witch's wish bag, Arcona awakens to a past life as a vengeful Celtic witch - a Strix, who used blood and sex magic to get her way. She turned the gladiator Tyr into a bloodthirsty Slayer. Now Tyr wants his revenge.

The Strix is a vampire tale told through the eyes of one woman who comes in contact with her past life as a witch and vengeful captive of Rome. It’s a contemporary and a historical tale at the same time.

This excerpt takes place in Pompeii 78 AD. Arcona is a young Germanic woman who has been captured by Romans and sold as a pleasure slave to the owner of gladiatorial school. In this scene she breaks the rules and escapes her courtyard prison to peek over the balcony into the ludus or gladiatorial school attached to the villa. She sees Tyr below.

…She crouched low and crept toward the back balcony that overlooked the ludus, where enslaved gladiators were quartered and trained. Surprisingly there were none of the expected sounds of clashing shields or wooden practice swords. The drill yard was silent of the usual clang of battle craft and the sounds of men arguing.

The villa’s rear balcony hovered high above the fray and was safely separated from the ludus by thick earthen walls topped with iron spikes and barred gates below, yet it provided an unencumbered bird’s-eye view of the daily mayhem that took place in the dirt yard beyond.

The August heat of the drill yard, and the scent of men’s sweat hung heavy in the air. Arcona peeked over the top of the balcony and into the sunbaked ludus below. Most of the gladiators were leaning against a far wall, standing in the shade, their swords and shields cast on the ground.

She couldn’t believe the always strict Cilician trainer would allow such slothful behavior, until she scanned the drill yard and saw the Cilician was nowhere in sight.

A dark Gaulish gladiator named Rog stood at the barracks door, pounding loudly on it with his fists. His angry words were so garbled she could hardly make out what he said.

A small crowd of gladiators gathered around Rog, and they too shouted threats and pounded their fists against the sealed door. She watched the events carefully but couldn’t figure out what the enraged commotion was about.

Only one man, a murmillo, the largest and most powerful class of gladiator, remained active on the drill yard. The man had sandy-blond hair and a beautiful sweeping back, which made him breathtaking to look at. She had studied this same man on many occasions and found him fascinating to watch. He was so unlike the others who tended to clump together in groups and speak as a mob.

The murmillo stood apart. He was quiet and solitary. All the times she had spied on the ludus she had never heard him speak, yet she noticed the other gladiators looked to him constantly as an example, which he quietly provided. Any martial skills he mastered the others were quick to imitate.

For such a large man he moved with power and grace, holding a sword in one hand and a heavy, iron-rimmed shield that stood nearly as tall as he in the other. He advanced with calculated steps across the packed dirt of the yard, thrusting and parrying his blade against an imaginary foe.

He ignored the angry chaos surrounding him and worked through his practice drills with concentrated precision. His skin glistened golden under the noon sun. His focused gaze remained lethal and aloof. He looked incapable of distraction, as if he occupied an entirely different realm from the others.

He swung the sword in tight, controlled circles as he stabbed and sliced at his own shadow. He moved beneath the balcony and paused. His sword arm stilled. He held the shield high between him and the others and glanced directly at her.

His clear hazel eyes made such forceful contact with her she felt as if she’d been touched. She was left breathless. Despite her caution about remaining unseen, he seemed to possess another sense that alerted him to her presence. Perhaps she was not so stealthy, because he often noticed her crouching behind the balcony while the others remained oblivious.

She gazed into his eyes and froze, unable to look away. She wondered how it was possible for such a formidable man to become enslaved to Rome.


A slight smile curled the edge of his lips. He gazed at her with scorching intensity as if he meant to bolt over the wall and grab her.

She felt a little flutter of anxious tension and desire and struggled to extinguish it.

The barrack door burst open with a loud bang, and a wailing, hysterical woman staggered into the yard with tears streaming down her face. Her tunic was rumpled and hung from her shoulders, exposing her breasts and back. She tried to wrap her head shawl around her body to cover herself. She ran straight toward Rog and threw her arms around his neck, and clung to him.

Rog snatched the woman into his arms. He crushed his face against her thick, dark hair and appeared to be sobbing.

The Cilician trainer strode out the open door with a churlish smile on his swarthy face. He gazed at the gladiators resting in the shade. A look of rage hardened on his harsh mouth. “Pick up your weapons, you slothful oxen! Just because I took a pleasure break doesn’t mean you get one.”

Rog glared at the Cilician, bared his teeth, and snarled. “I hate you! I’ll stuff a blade in your gut the first chance I get!”

“I don’t think so.” The Cilician dismissed Rog with a rude wave of his hand. “By the way, I enjoyed fucking your wife. Tell her to come back next week.”…

Obviously the ludus is a demoralizing place to be imprisoned but believe it or not a kernel of real love does take root here.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt and will check out The Strix.

XXOO Kat

You can find The Strix here:

      The Strix book trailer on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHkumnAXaiQ&list=UUKWmBpg3YYPkdrDkpTpEj1Q&index=0&feature=plcp

Loose Id LLC: http://www.loose-id.com/bag-of-tricks-the-strix/

All Romance eBooks http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thestrix-882524-139.html

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Katalina+Leon

"The Strix" New Excerpt

This is an excerpt from “The Strix”. In this scene Arcona has escaped a witch’s shop and fallen straight into the hands of handsome stranger, who happens to be waiting for her in a dark alley the moment she steps outside. The man she meets owns an odd bar named Slayers that’s peopled with more strange men…

“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” he called out to her.

She turned. “Why?”

“It’s a dead end.” A sly smile crossed his face. “Unless you’re carrying a grappling hook and a climbing rope in your purse, you’ll never get over the eight-foot brick wall waiting for you around the corner.”

He lifted his hand into the air and slowly motioned for her to approach. “Come here.” His tone softened. “A beautiful woman really shouldn’t be walking alone at night; it’s not safe. You can take a shortcut through my bar and walk straight onto a lit street.”

She relaxed her tensed shoulders. There was something dangerously intriguing about this Nordic beauty that drew her toward him. “You own Slayers?”

“Yes.” A proud smile warmed his sharply chiseled features. “You’ve heard of Slayers? My name’s Varn.” He thrust his palm forward in greeting.

“Hello, Varn.” She was too nervous to grasp his hand.


“Come inside and stay for a drink if you like.”


“I thought Slayers was some sort of private gentlemen’s club?”

Varn’s brows arched. He laughed softly as if he were enjoying a private joke. “Slayers is a gentlemen’s club by nature, not by choice. We’d welcome the privilege of entertaining an attractive female patron.” His eyes glittered in the darkness, almost as if they were casting their own light. “By the way, I’m not sure it’s accurate to describe us as gentlemen.”

He looked intense but seemed good-tempered. She silently admitted it was a heady thrill to have such a striking, semidangerous-looking man flirting with her. She loved the whole underworld attraction of ultratough guys but had never found one she could actually trust and relate to; most were just trouble, plain and simple.

A cool breeze funneled through the alleyway and blew Varn’s long hair away from his steep cheekbones. This guy sure looked like a big, burly bushel of trouble. His knuckles were raw with scars like he got in a fistfight every Saturday night, and won. Her imagination was really running away with her, but what the hell? He was just a bar owner in a touristy town, not a world-class mercenary, for God’s sake, though he certainly looked like one. The touch of danger called like a Siren’s song to her attention-starved libido.

“If you don’t mind, I think I will dart through.” God help, she was already thinking of staying for a drink and maybe more. Why rush back to an empty hotel room when a little fun might be had? She tried to be stealthy as she swept her gaze over Varn’s thick forearms. His sleeves were rolled up, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the chill.

In her mind she cataloged each exciting detail, loving everything she saw. Solid, tough, and steely described Varn perfectly. How much would Jael love this guy’s icy good looks? A lot. She owed it to Jael to at least check this guy out.

Varn reached toward her and offered his hand a second time. “Be careful stepping over the crates. There are a couple of broken bottles. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

She took hold of his hand. His grip was iron, and his hands were heavily calloused.

Varn grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to his shoulders with an easy swoop.

She gasped in surprise as Varn effortlessly elevated her high above the crates and set her down gently at the threshold of Slayers’ back door.

He opened the door for her with a flourish. “After you.”

She breathlessly planted her boots on the ground. Men didn’t just pick her up and twirl her through the air every day, especially gorgeous ones in black silk shirts. This was a special thrill. What else could this guy do to make her heart race faster?

She felt a little shaky as she entered Slayers and immediately noted the building was chilly and dimly lit by old-fashioned kerosene lanterns. The scent of fresh-cut cedar hung in the air. Her first impression was Slayers felt like a men’s outdoor camping trip.

They walked down a narrow service hallway lined with wooden casks, dark cubicles, and storage closets, and past a small, candlelit room strewn with earthy red cushions and a curved lounge, before entering the main part of the bar.

Her gaze narrowed as she entered the room. The interior of Slayers was an odd, ultramacho ensemble of an old West saloon complete with a naked lady etched into an antique Parisian-style mirror hanging above the bar, a Viking longhouse with exposed wooden beams and dragons carved into the individual booths, and a military barrack embellished with Roman shields, medieval swords, weapons, and artillery shells of every description.

“Wow.” Every bizarre detail dazzled her. She couldn’t settle for long on a single thing. Slayers’ decor seemed to chronicle every great moment in warfare and mayhem. “Who’s your decorator?”

She began to worry she was barking up the wrong tree. When Varn had said gentlemen’s club, had he meant gay? This place definitely looked like it was a testosterone-drenched, chest-thumping, dick-swinging, war-craft-loving, all-male celebration, no-pink-panty zone.

A few of Slayers’ patrons sat in dark booths quietly playing cards and drinking from an eclectic selection of pewter-topped beer steins or wooden tankards. The rough- faced men casually looked up at her before returning their full attention to the card game.

There seemed to be a lot of combat boots and leather worn in this place along with steel rivets and fur. The whole place looked a little too Road Warrior, even for her tastes.

Varn leaned close to her ear. “Would you like a Humpen?” 
His deep voice sent thrilling shivers up her spine.

“Would I like what?” she asked in alarm.

Varn pointed toward a row of polished stoneware beer mugs lined up on the bar. He walked toward the bar, picked up a chunky mug, and began to draw a trickle of rich black beer from a keg. “A Humpen is a half-liter beer stein.”

His gaze dropped toward the dark, liquid filling the mug. “This is Slayers’ signature brew. It’s an ancient recipe and the only brew we drink. You can’t get it anywhere else. I want you to try it and tell me what you think.”

He handed Arcona the weighty mug with a tall head sloshing over the rim.

She accepted the drippy mug and fought the impulse to wipe her wet fingers on her pant legs. “Thank you.” She hoisted the mug in a toast. “To Slayers.” She paused before taking the first sip. “Are you going to drink?”

A dreamy, sexy expression briefly crossed Varn’s face. “I’ll drink later.”

****

I hope you enjoyed it! Have a wonderful. This week I'm editing book two "Claimed By Dragons" and that's a fun story too.

XXOO Kat

“The Strix” Katalina Leon & Amber Skyze

Book one in “The Bag Of Tricks” book series.

Loose Id Publishing

"The Strix" Katalina Leon and Amber Skyze Loose Id Publishing

http://www.loose-id.com/The-Strix.aspx

Strix Excerpt.

This summer is going too fast! It's been another busy week and I'm nearly finished with my half of the first draft of "Claimed By Dragons".  Amber and our editor have both been very patient with me while this book grew and grew. Thank you ladies it will be done this week.

Today I want to share a excerpt from "The Strix" book one in "The Bag Of Tricks" book series.

In this scene Arcona has inadvertently returned to the same occult shop she was in earlier in the day. Dame Bishop is a witch in authority who enlightens her about exactly what a Strix is.

(Dame Bishop) “Are you familiar with the legend of the Strix?”

“No.” Arcona shook her head, noting that the amulet was warming almost too quickly in her cool palm.

“You won’t find this myth in many books; few know or speak of the Strix. The Strix was a compilation of all ancient Rome’s guilty fears about the so-called barbarians they enslaved, punished, and brought under their own roofs as domestics, lovers, and lethal entertainment. The Strix combined fearful barbarian lore and Roman superstitions in a single horrific creature that traveled the night as a grotesque bird of prey, sucking the blood from innocent people and turning them against Rome.

“The Strix might start life as a worshipper of Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft and necromancy. She could be born Roman or Celtic and work as a healer, witch, or midwife, but somewhere along the way, hatred and the need for revenge against the oppressor corrupted the witch’s capacity for doing good. Rage and destruction took the place of healing acts. Stray witches made bargains with dark forces in exchange for the power to grant invincibility in battle to others, who in turn would walk the earth in violent wrath.”

Arcona grimaced. “The Strix sounds absolutely repulsive.”

“She isn’t, and by the way the Strix is always a she. The essence of Venus imbued the Strix with the power to seduce and sexually torment any young man she approached. She sought out strong, battle-worthy men. Her victims were powerless to refuse. At the climax of the sexual act, she’d drink their blood and send them into a violent rage. During these unnatural couplings, rarely but sometimes a male, Upir Likhyi, was created.”

Arcona was almost afraid to ask. “What’s an Upir Likhyi?” She struggled to pronounce the unwieldy words.

“It’s an old pagan Baltic term for wicked or foul vampire. It is a revenant, or undead soul, that seeks the thrill of blood sport and warfare. In ancient times many were recruited to secretly serve Mars.”

A shiver trembled up her spine. “We certainly don’t need any more of those violent, bloodsucking sorts hanging around, that’s for sure.” She laughed with nervous self-consciousness until she noticed Dame Bishop’s serious face. It was apparent she did not share the dismissive attitude.

Arcona struggled to compose herself. “I don’t mean to sound so disrespectful, because I love mythology too. It’s had a huge influence over human history, but myths are just a way to explain human desires and behavior. I’m a bit puzzled that you’re talking about the Strix as if it’s a real entity.”

Dame Bishop blanched. “It is a real entity. Make no mistake; every myth carries a grain of truth within. There are realms loosely tethered to this one far stranger than anything you can imagine. To say these realms are less real than ours is to profess the Earth is flat. It is a statement only the ignorant can speak freely.”

“I’m sorry.” Damn, she really put her foot in it. Arcona gently lowered the amulet back into its box. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s fascinating.”

She gazed at the skeletal bronze birds and strange craftsmanship one last time. “How exactly did you come across this? A rare artifact of this age seems like it should be safely stashed in a museum.”

“I agree.” Dame Bishop’s expression brightened. “Some associates of mine at the Universita di Roma know my interest in such things and were kind enough to allow me to examine the amulet.”

“I’m familiar with the University of Rome! My ex-husband once taught there. Who are your contacts; perhaps I know them?”

“I highly doubt it.” Dame Bishop’s mouth drew tense. “My colleagues are very private people.” Her gaze dropped toward the amulet. “Tomorrow it’s headed to the Smithsonian in an armored car. I just wanted to share it with one last soul before it continued on its journey to lie locked away in some sterile vault until the curators can figure out what to do with it.”

A heightened gleam shone in Dame Bishop’s eyes as she lifted the amulet from the box and held it toward Arcona. “Why don’t you try it on? Just to see what it feels like.” A sly smile crossed her lips. “This is a bit of living history. You may never get an opportunity like this again.”

Something about the amber riveted Arcona’s attention. The center of the amulet was translucent and glowed like a fiery ember. Against her better judgment about carelessly handling antiquities and possibly ill-gotten property, she reached for the leather thong and looped it around her neck.

The amulet hung heavy and prominent atop her breasts. Arcona glanced downward. This was a big, bold piece of ornamentation obviously meant to immediately identify its wearer as a witch who had wandered over to the dark side.

A loud knock pounded on the front door of the shop.

Arcona started.

“Excuse me.” Dame Bishop pulled the curtain to the back room aside. “Let me see who’s at the door.”

Arcona was left alone in the back room to gaze down at the amulet and decided that in spite of the somewhat disturbing bronze motifs it was actually very beautiful and must have made a strong impression in its day.

The warm, subtle scent of amber resin reached her nose. She sniffed again in disbelief, knowing there was no way this ancient piece of fossilized amber could possibly be emitting a scent.

She inhaled the mystery fragrance, and sure enough, the rich scent of earthy amber was filling the air. She glanced around curious to know if there was anything near that could possibly be the source of the aroma and saw nothing she could hold to account.

She glanced toward the curtain. What was Dame Bishop up to? She didn’t hear anything going on in the front of the shop. All was silent.

She turned to leave the back room, and her knees buckled. A moment of extreme dizziness knocked her off balance and sent her flailing toward the dusty countertop in a scrambling attempt to keep from falling to the floor.

She blinked in shock as she doubled over the countertop. God, it was getting warm in here. Her skin felt burning hot. She gasped and tugged her coat away from her body, but it didn’t help.

A terrifying sensation of thousands of vicious needle jabs prickled the tender soles of her feet and spread upward. She struggled to kick her tall leather boots free of her feet but couldn’t. The burning sensations licked higher up her legs. She gulped air, fighting rising panic. Her skin felt crispy as if it were being cooked. The pain escalated until it was unendurable. “Help!”

The curtain of the back room was thrown open, and Dame Bishop appeared. “What’s wrong, dear?”

Arcona pulled herself upright. Suddenly nothing was wrong, except the sleeves of her trench coat were covered in dust up to the elbows from writhing against the countertop. The horrid burning sensation left as swiftly as it had arrived. “Dear God, that was weird. For a moment it felt like I was on fire.”

“Really?” Dame Bishop didn’t look the least bit surprised.

“Really. I think this amulet is cursed. Wearing it feels awful.”

“Cursed?” Dame Bishop balked. “I thought you were a skeptic?”

“I’m still a skeptic, but I’m telling you there is something unwholesome about this piece of jewelry. Perhaps it should be kept in a sterile museum vault.”

“Hold on a minute. Don’t be so quick to judge.” Dame Bishop wagged an admonishing finger in the air. “You were the one who was burning. Maybe we should concentrate on that.”

“Are you implying that what just happened to me was my fault? I put the amulet on and immediately felt like I was on fire. That never happens to me. Does that sort of thing happen to you? It’s kind of weird. I think I’m entitled to blame the amulet.” She half listened to herself, cringing at the childish tone of her argument.

Arcona took told of the leather thong and tried to yank the amulet over her head, but it tangled in her long auburn hair. She grasped the bronze setting and tried to untangle the thong. The setting hooked onto her sweater and clung like a bur. “Look at this thing!” She tugged at the amulet in exasperation. “It’s like an octopus grapping me.”

“Leave it alone,” Dame Bishop said tersely. “Don’t provoke it.”


“What?” Arcona frowned. “I want it off.”

“It’s not coming off, at least not until it’s ready.”

“No way.” Arcona grabbed the thong and gave it a sharp upward yank. A hellish burning sensation reminiscent of having cooked skin peeled from her bones racked her. “Oh my God!” she wailed.

She let go of the amulet, and the pain stopped in an instant.

Dame Bishop’s brow creased with serious concern.

“You didn’t know this would happen, did you?” Arcona fought a rising sense of panic. “Please take it off me. I don’t want it near me, and I’m afraid to touch it.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Dame Bishop took a cautious step backward. “I can’t take it off you. You’re the only one who can free yourself.”

“There must be something we can do? It hurts too much if I try to remove it, and I can’t walk around wearing something the Smithsonian is waiting to receive. I’m supposed to be at the airport bright and early tomorrow morning! What can I do?”

“You’re not leaving Salem with the amulet. That is unacceptable and cannot happen.”

Arcona huffed. “I don’t want your amulet. I’d love to take it off and hand it back to you; please just tell me how to do it.”

“It’s not my amulet. I’m just a caretaker.” Dame Bishop’s gaze was piercing as she spoke calmly. “You’re the only one who knows how to break the curse. I’m not the Strix--you are.”

“Whoa, wait a minute, this is nonsense. Is this a Halloween joke?” Arcona glanced around. “Is this being filmed? Are you having fun jerking a tourist around? Because I’m not enjoying it. Whatever you’ve rigged up to this amulet is causing real pain. If this is a prank, it’s getting abusive.”

Dame Bishop gently shook her head. “I’m not doing anything to exploit or harm you; I swear it. It hurts because you’re in the process of remembering your most regretful deeds. Take note that you came to me. I saw you were in need, but I let you go, and you quickly returned to the shop of your own volition.”

“I was lost.”

“Yes, you were, but a clear path has opened to you, and I heartily encourage you to use this brief opportunity on the eve of All Souls’ Day to walk the path and set your wrong deeds right.”

Arcona’s temper and deepest fears flared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is it exactly that you think I’ve done? I know I’m not perfect, but honestly my misdeeds in this life have been petty. I have no idea how you would know any of this, but if you’re talking about the potato I shoved in Principal Ross’s tailpipe in middle school, I apologized profusely for that. I had no idea a potato could do that kind of damage to a car, a plank fence, or a plate-glass window.”

Dame Bishop closed her eyes and clasped her hands in front of her face, almost as if she were absorbed in prayer. “I’m not talking about projectile potatoes, and I’m not referring to this life. I’m talking about the deeds of the past that have come full circle.”

A sickening and sad feeling gripped her. “I just want to leave. Please tell me how to safely get this amulet back in the box so I can go back to my hotel,” she pleaded.

“I can’t tell you how to free yourself from the amulet because I don’t know the secrets of the Strix.”

Hearing Dame Bishop pronounce her a Strix caused a wave of melancholy to wash over her. At that moment Arcona wanted to go home so badly, though her little bungalow near the beach was practically empty and there was nothing waiting for her there, not even a pet. “How do I know if any of this is true? I’m not sure I believe in reincarnation, let alone any of the rest of this wild tale.”

“Everything in the universe recycles itself. You can see it with your own eyes. A human being is a single soul with many facets that returns to life again and again to polish itself. Would you like a chance to look back at one of those facets?”

“Can you do that?” Arcona’s mood lifted. “Will it help?”

Dame Bishop motioned for Arcona to follow her into the front of the shop. “It might help to know what you’re dealing with.”

They returned to the cozy, firelit shop. Dame Bishop walked toward the front window and tugged the velvet curtain aside. A blaring red sunset glowed in the west. “It’s already nightfall.” She bent forward and retrieved a Romanesque bronze dagger from the front window display and turned with the polished blade clutched in her hand.

Arcona gazed warily at the elegant but dangerous-looking blade pointed at her. “What are you going to do with that?”

“We are going to do some scrying, my dear.” Dame Bishop closed the curtains and invited Arcona to sit at a small table.

The Strix is available now:

Loose Id LLC http://www.loose-id.com/bag-of-tricks-the-strix/

All Romance eBooks http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thestrix-882524-139.html

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Katalina+Leon

XXOO Kat