Kirk ‘Ender’ Brentwood is a hard man bound for a short life and an eternity in hell until the fates cross his path with that of Evelyn Day, the innocent young daughter of a merchant run afoul of the Russian Mob. Spirited, idealistic and beautiful, Evelyn is everything that Kirk is not.

When her father seeks to trade his daughter for a sizable debt, Kirk’s decision to protect Evelyn means that he stands to lose everything. If that weren’t bad enough, his attempts to keep her safe aren’t helped by the headstrong antics that inevitably lead her into danger. He’s going to have to find a way to make her obey him before she gets them both killed. Fortunately he has a few tricks up his sleeve – and over his lap.

Excerpt:

Kirk strode down the sidewalk, a predator amongst the people who streamed by him lost in their own existences. To most he was a man unseen, perhaps noticed for a moment, appraised favorably for his broad shoulders and long legs, and then forgotten just as promptly. His footsteps fell with a thousand other footsteps on the busy city streets as he strode towards his destination. A slight breeze caught the tip of his silk tie, but left the close-cropped, thick, black hair on his head untouched. His face was pleasant, but not model handsome. It was the sort of face that always seemed familiar. If shown a picture of him, most people would say that they’d seen him recently, perhaps in a hardware store shopping for nails, perhaps assisting customers at the self-checkout in a supermarket. If one questioned the general public, he was everywhere. He was a taxi driver, a bank manager, that guy who’d taken their parking space the other day. He was their kid’s swim coach, their ex-wife’s new boyfriend. In truth, he was none of these things. He was no-one to anyone and that was just the way he liked it.

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MILITARY DISCIPLINE by Loki Renard

Captain Savage is a man with a problem. A Bulgarian terrorist cell has a nuclear missile in their possession and it’s up to his unit to retrieve it, but the encryption on the missile’s defense system can only be broken by someone in the room with the missile, someone with a mind like a machine.

It looks like an impossible task, until the discovery of a little known mathematical genius with just the skills needed gives Savage hope. With any luck, Zora Matthews will be able to help Savage’s team secure the missile without initiating a launch sequence that would devastate the developed world.

It’s a difficult, dangerous mission and things become even more complicated when Zora turns out to be anything but your typical nerd. She’s used to a life of hard partying and even harder rebellion, and she doesn’t care for Savage’s no nonsense attitude. Together they just might save the world, but he’s going to have to subdue her to the useful and the good first.

Excerpt:

It was midday and Zora had not moved from the futon. Both she and her pounding head agreed that it wasn’t worth the hassle. The depressing news had given way to infomercials. Whilst she watched an elderly couple wax poetic about the joys of shoving whole fruit into a juicer, Zora found herself wondering if there was any point to it all. Had the species really emerged from the primordial sludge only to spend their days looking for another shiny plastic device to clutter up the counter?

Her stomach growled. She was hungry. If she’d had one of those juicer things she could have prepared nutritious, allegedly tasty juice in just thirty seconds. As it was, she had to settle for toaster tarts. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled back to the kitchen. Much to her pleasure, she found that she managed to get the tarts out of their plastic wrapping and into the toaster in under twenty seconds. That was a saving of ten seconds over potato corn juice and a triumph for convenience food.

Whilst her tarts toasted, Zora watched the toaster carefully. It was old and not very good at toasting anymore. It also had rather disturbing habit of ejecting its contents at inopportune times with a loud clanging of springs that had threatened to give her a coronary on more than one occasion.

She was keyed up for the inevitable ejection when a loud banging at the door made her shriek with fear. After realizing that she was not under toaster attack, she tossed the blanket from her shoulders and tip-toed to the door. She was ever so slightly behind on rent, which was terrible form for an accountant, but drinks didn’t buy themselves. Carefully, she peered out of the peep hole and was relieved when she saw that it was not her landlord. Her landlord was short and barrel shaped and perpetually wore short sleeved shirts that showed his hairy forearms like trophies. There were two men outside her door and neither of them matched that description. One was so tall that she could only see his shoulder, the other was a fresh faced young man in a neatly pressed olive green uniform.

They were military, that was obvious enough. What were they doing at her door though? Zora thought about that for a moment, but her thoughts were scattered when the big man knocked again. Putting the safety chain on, she opened the door and peered out the small crack. “Can I help you?”

“Ms Matthews?” The voice was deep and sonorous, pleasant even. The man attached to the voice looked wildly out of place in her hallway. His face was chiseled and worn in a way that suggested hardship. He was a huge man and instinctively Zora felt the kind of fear that one experiences when one is face to face with someone or something much more powerful than oneself. The fact that he was handsome and smiling warmly took some of the edge off her reaction, but still the anxiety lingered.

“Yes?” She regretted having answered in the affirmative almost as soon as the ill considered word slipped out between her lips.

“We’d like to talk to you for a bit.”

Zora frowned. What had she gotten up to last night? Casting her mind back, she remembered the bar, but not much else. She couldn’t even remember how she’d made it home, now she thought about it. “Why? Who are you?”

A government ID was pressed up against the crack. “I’m Captain Brett Savage. It’s a matter best discussed privately.”

A feeling of foreboding was creeping over Zora. There was no good reason for them to be at her apartment. She must have done something really terrible to earn herself a visit from the military. A police officer at the door was bad enough, but this, this was some deep shit. “This isn’t really a good time for me,” she explained apologetically. “I’m home sick today.”

Captain Savage’s expression remained impassively neutral. “That’s unfortunate Ma’am, but we only need a few minutes of your time.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a few minutes to give,” Zora replied stubbornly. The insistence was beginning to irritate her. “Besides, you might get sick.”

“I hate to intrude on your time off, Ma’am, but this is a matter of some importance. We’ll take the risk.”

“Okay,” Zora sighed. The guy was just not going to let the matter drop. She must have really fucked up this time. “Come back in an hour. I need to get tidied up in here.”

Captain Savage did not seem overly pleased by the idea of waiting an hour. He fixed her with a stern look that she found reminiscent of the look her old headmaster used to give her when attempting to extract a confession about some prank or another. “It is something of a time sensitive issue, Ma’am.”

“It can’t be anything that can’t wait an hour,” Zora said, closing the door firmly in his face and bolting it securely. Stepping away from the door, she realized that she was shaking. The guy hadn’t said an unkind word and yet somehow he’d managed to rattle her. Something was afoot. She sniffed the air. Something was burning.

She turned toward the kitchen where black smoke was rising from the toaster, along with a licking orange flame. “Shit!” Zora squealed and rushed over to unplug the appliance. Her breakfast had become a carbohydrate loaded inferno. She tipped the toaster over and tossed the burning tarts into the sink just as the door burst open, the lock kicked right out of the frame by a solid size ten shoe.

“What the fuck!” Zora screamed. “What are you doing?”

“I heard a scream,” Captain Savage explained, striding towards her. She took a step backwards and found herself pressed against the counter top as he reached in front of her turned the water on, dousing the flames that had been burning merrily in the sink.

“I was going to do that,” she frowned, craning her neck so she could glower at him with maximum efficiency.

He looked down at her calmly, not at all disturbed by her explosive temper. “You were busy cursing me, so I took the liberty,” Savage explained with just the slightest touch of a dry wit.

“Okay, well you can get out now,” Zora said. “Now that you’ve fucked my door.”

“There’s no need to be upset, Ma’am,” Savage gave her some space and held his large hands up placatingly. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought you might have been in danger.”

Slightly mollified, Zora nodded. “Okay, well I need to get sorted out here. Just give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

“Take your time,” Savage replied courteously. Zora watched as he walked away, back into the hall. She was alone again for the time being, but he was still outside and the feeling deep in her belly that something was wrong was growing ever more. This was too much to deal with, she decided. Too much to deal with on an empty belly and a hangover.

She went to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Whilst the men waited outside her battered front door she picked out some unassuming clothing, a pair of blue jeans and a red hooded sweater. Pulling them on quickly, she grabbed a knapsack and tossed a a few handy things inside it, wallet, cell phone, net book, deodorant, passport just in case. A couple of spare sets of underwear followed and she was set. Glancing over her shoulder one last time at the now busted front door, she pushed the window above the bed open and dropped out onto the fire escape.

Or, as the blurb says: In the sequel to Orphan Ivy, an increasingly spoiled and petulant Ivy pushes every boundary she lays eyes on, attracting the punitive attentions of the clan at large. As Jon struggles to deal with her ongoing destructive rebellion Ivy must learn to behave herself before she destroys that which is most precious of all, her relationship with the only man she’s ever loved.

Excerpt:

In a grand chateau, a long established balance of power was being overturned by the regulated movement of small pieces of plastic. A small plastic horse dangled above a black tower, then descended upon it. Mercilessly knocked over sideways, the tower rolled across the board uselessly before being snatched up gleefully by slim fingers.

“White Knight to Black Rook. Checkmate.” A smirk and triumphant toss of the head accompanied Ivy’s announcement. Looking at her, it would have been hard to imagine that she was once an abandoned fledgling left to fend for herself. In the months since she’d been scooped up off the streets, her appearance had changed a great deal. She had once been a slim, pale little wretch, now she was a slightly more full figured young woman with clear skin and dark mischievous eyes. In spite of her newest chosen past time, she did not look like a typical chess player. She wore a tight t-shirt over a striped thermal top and a dark denim skirt that brushed the top of her knees. Her hair, once dull and frizzy, had been styled to sit close around her head and colored with streaks of blue against a silky black backdrop. A few strands of her longer fringe framed her face, giving her a more impish appearance than ever.

Blaze made a snort of irritation, sat forward with his forearms resting on his knees and brushed a few strands of his long blonde hair out of his eyes. Unlike Ivy, he had not changed in the slightest. He was still the same tall, imposing vampire he had always been. As usual he was overdressed for the occasion in a dark tailored suit. He hadn’t even so much as removed the jacket that gave him the perpetual appearance of formality. “Ridiculous,” he insisted, scanning the board for an open move.

Sitting back and folding her arms across her chest with the utmost satisfaction, Ivy grinned. “Let me know when you’ve submitted to your inevitable defeat.”

The ancient vampire’s head snapped up suddenly at the mention of the word ‘submit’. She’d chosen it purposefully to needle him. Blaze was of the old school, he believed in hierarchy and order. He believed that he was owed both respect and obedience and he had no qualms about ensuring he received both. Ivy, on the other hand, was not of the old school. She probably wouldn’t have known the old school if it had walked up to her and boxed her ears. “Yet again, you try my patience, fledgling,” Blaze snapped, his tone becoming crisp and curt as it always did when he felt the need to demonstrate his relative seniority.

Too wrapped up in her victory to be concerned, Ivy’s smile grew all the wider. “Yet again you loose at a game you’ve had hundreds of years to master. How terribly embarrassing for you.”

With the utmost dignity, Blaze rose from the board, making a gesture that would have served to wrap a cape around his body with an impressive swirl, had he been wearing one. There was no cape however so the movement translated into a dramatic swatting motion. “You edge ever closer,” he threatened her direly.

“Yeah? Well you edge ever loser,” Ivy replied pertly, not dissuaded by the fact that her sentence made no sense at all.

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When frustrated scholar Katherine Weaver takes a walk in the countryside and happens upon what she thinks is a friendly gathering of gypsies, she gets a great deal more than she bargained for. Notorious outlaw Idric takes an instant fancy to the naive young woman who firmly believes that all problems can be solved with logic and seems utterly unaware of anything below her neckline – or the effect it has on the opposite sex. Katherine is a young woman who desperately needs to be taken in hand before she hurts herself, and he’s just the man to do it.

Excerpt:

After what seemed like a lifetime, the crowd parted and a tall man stepped into the circle with me. His dark curls and sinful thin lips spoke to a cold, keen temperament. Short, thick hair cropped into a widow’s peak sitting low on his head, brown eyes and light stubble around his chin contributed to the appearance of dashing demonry. For a moment I did not know whether I looked at a man or a devil incarnate on the green. I shuddered instinctively as he drew closer. The scars on his face and arms showed that he was no stranger to violence and the glint in his eye told me beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did not fear any man.

“What are you doing here?” He addressed me with a surprisingly well spoken demeanor. He was definitely of the Idrii, but the inflection he used when he spoke hinted at some level of formal education. I was not particularly relieved by that discovery, if he had been taken and forced into the schooling system and later returned to his tribe it was safe to say that he did not look upon scholars like myself with any fondness.

“I, er,” I stammered. How to explain the curiosity that had driven me here? How to explain that I was not a threat? How to stay in one piece? “I was, er, well, taking a walk because of my thesis and…” I waved my arms in a manner I hoped would convey my general confusion.

His cheeks dimpled as I looked for an answer, as if he had already anticipated my inability to reply. He would be used to stammering and stuttering, I imagined. I noticed, to my extreme discomfort, that the crowd had not only grown considerably, but also edged forward so that they might not miss a moment of the exchange. When Idric moved, these people paid attention. When he spoke, they hung on his every word.

“Does anybody know who this is?” He raised his voice and looked around as if he half expected some male to step out from the throng and claim me. My studies had informed me that women had no autonomy amidst the Idrii. They were owned, attached to a male from birth. First father, then husband. When nobody replied, he looked back towards me. “Who did you come with?”

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I was in the checkout line at a Maryland Wal-mart when I saw my first Twilight tattoo. I recognized the inverted red-and-white tulip from the cover of New Moon. My daughter, who was twelve at the time, was reading the books along with 90 percent of other American tweens, so seeing a Twilight tattoo didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that this particular tattoo was on the hefty calf of a woman at least ten years my senior.

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Ace is new to the kink scene, but already she’s made quite a reputation for herself. Unlike other submissives who’ll do anything to please tops, Ace is argumentative, obstreperous and an all round pain in the ass. At the rate she spurns tops, hell will freeze over before she gets the spanking she’s secretly been craving for years.

When she meets Blake, a top who sees right through her ‘out of control’ act, Ace is forced to swallow her pride and learn that there’s more to getting the spanking she needs than simply aspiring to be the worst brat that ever lived.

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Regular visitors might have noticed that my zombie spanking series is rather sluggish at the moment, that’s largely because I am rather busy at the moment writing one romantic M/F novella a month for Spanking Romance. To keep motivation and quality up, something had to give. On the bright side, I do have a free series running over on Sappho’s Brats called Eventide. If you enjoy lesbian and gay spanking (and the occasional spot of M/F) then you’ll be feasting your eyes for quite some time. But back to the spanking novella at hand!

Orphan Ivy

Timid, sweet little Ivy isn’t your typical arts graduate. Sure, she’s chronically under employed and living in an over priced hovel – but that’s where her affinity with the stereotype ends rather abruptly. Unlike other twenty-somethings trying to get by, Ivy doesn’t subsist on cheap noodles and beer, she needs fresh human blood on a regular basis if she’s not to end up as a pile of ashes.

Pushed to the limits of self preservation in a modern world where even vampires need to get the rent paid, Ivy takes a job in a coffee shop. But when owner Jon spots a vampire fledgling on the brink of self destruction, he steps in, determined to lay down the law whether feisty Ivy likes it or not. The resulting battle of wills is fought on a losing battlefield for Ivy – her bare rear end.

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Ivy clasped her resume nervously to her chest, her clammy hands threatening to sweat through the paper. It was a hot summer’s evening and she was desperate, desperate for a job. Rent was due and the last dregs of her savings had just stretched to cover her power and phone bill. If she didn’t get a job today, she was proper fucked. After hours of tramping through town, applying at various places and being turned down at almost all of them, she arrived at a place of last resort.

‘Help Wanted’ the sign said. It hung in the window of a contemporary grungy coffee shop, one with the words ‘Coffee Wrex’ written on the awning in distressed text. The whole shop frontage had been painted black then treated so that the grain of the wood still showed through darkly. It was a vortex of sweet smelling darkness on the high street and though Ivy had never entered it herself, being far too poor to afford luxuries like coffee from a coffee store, she’d always been somehow drawn to the place.

It was dark out, but the interior of the shop was lit with a cozy glow that put Ivy in mind of candlelight. Peering through the slightly swirled glass panes of the shop door, she saw that the place was largely empty aside from a couple of customers lining up for coffee.

Help Wanted. Ivy bit her lower lip nervously. Her degree in Classical Studies hadn’t gotten her anywhere, but Ivy had seen a coffee machine once and she was pretty sure she could figure out how to use one.

She pressed open the dark door and stepped inside. It was more pleasant than she’d expected. Instead of being tacky and filthy, the wooden floors were well polished and the tables clearly saw a good wiping down fairly often. There was a slight hint of incense in the air, but it was innocuous, not like the sticks her old roommates used to light that gave her headaches.

The customers were still at the counter so she hung back, waiting patiently as the line dwindled. As she waited, her eyes were drawn to the man serving the customers and making their coffee. He was working by himself and he was probably busy, but he seemed perfectly calm and in control as he expertly drew off cup after cup of designer coffee.

He was probably in his early thirties and he had a presence that drew every eye in the place to him. Imposing, that’s what he was, Ivy thought to herself, though she couldn’t quite figure out why. He was tall, but not so tall as to be noteworthy, and though he appeared to be well built he was certainly no body builder. No, it wasn’t his physical presence that made it almost impossible for her to take her eyes off him. He was dressed simply in a short sleeved black button down shirt and black jeans. It certainly wasn’t his clothing that drew her attention either.

Maybe it was the tattoos on his right bicep. Ivy found her gaze drawn to those, they weren’t your typical tattoos of dragons and barbed wire and tribal symbols, instead they appeared to be religious in origin. A multi-limbed goddess took pride of place on the hard muscle of his bicep and Ivy found herself squinting to see it better.

The sound of the barista clearing his throat brought her eyes up to his face where she met his deep gaze. She’d been caught staring. With a barely muffled squeak she leaped back behind the last customer in front of her and did her best to pretend that nothing had happened. As the customer droned his order however, Ivy’s curiosity got the better of her and she found herself peeking around the customer to get a better sense of the man.

He was undeniably attractive with a hard, square jaw and large brown eyes surrounded by long dark lashes and set in milk coffee skin that was pleasing indeed. His hair was longish, just brushing the top of his collar and dark as night.

Finally the customer in front of her received his coffee and Ivy found herself called before the barista’s bench.

“What can I get for you?”

The wicked eyes fell on her and for a moment, she was tongue tied.

“I … er… I…”

The man, wearing a name tag Ivy now saw read ‘Jon’ looked at her expectantly.

“A um.. flat white please,” she stammered.

Why had she done that? Why hadn’t she just asked about the help wanted sign? She didn’t have money for coffee!

Her heart thudded in her chest as he nodded and began brewing her coffee. Frantically, Ivy scavenged about in her purse, hoping that she would have enough to cover the coffee. With an inward sigh of relief she pulled out a few crumpled dollars. She’d be walking home, but at least she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself.

“There you go,” he slid her the coffee with a professionally polite smile.

“Thank you,” Ivy handed over her precious last few dollars and retreated to a corner of the coffee shop to enjoy the hell out of the caffeine buzz that was going to have to get her home.

Sitting in the shadowy corner she savored the scent of the brew, which was beautifully made and moped to herself for a bit. ‘Suck it up, Ivy,’ she lectured herself quietly. ‘Just go and ask.’

She didn’t just ask though, not for a long time. For a long time she sat, pretending to drink her coffee, watching Jon out of the corner of her eye.

It wasn’t until long past midnight when every customer in the place had left and the barista started going through the motions of closing up the shop that she approached him timidly. He was busily wiping down the counter with something of a frown on his face, as if he were thinking very deeply about something that concerned him.

“Excuse me?”

“What can I do for you?” He looked up, his expression clearing as he looked at her.

“The sign in the window…” Ivy pointed towards it, as if he might not know what she was talking about.

“Yeah?” Jon leaned against the counter and looked at Ivy with his arms folded across his chest, a friendly expression on his face.

“Well I’m.. I mean.. I could be help.”

Jon’s pierced brow rose ever so slightly at her, as if he didn’t quite believe that she could be of help to anyone. “Know how to make coffee?”

“Yes,” Ivy lied.

“Show me,” he stepped back, allowing her space to get behind the counter and swept his arm in the direction of the machine.

“Okay,” Ivy agreed, approaching the coffee machine. She didn’t know the machine from a flight deck, but she had a plan. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have tried bluffing her way into a job, but desperate times and desperate measures and all that.

“Oh,” she said when she was in arm’s reach of the monstrosity, which appeared to be all knobs and pipes. “This is a slightly different model from the last one I used. Maybe you could show me how you use this one?”

Jon shot her an incredulous look. “It’s the standard layout.”

“Oh, well, yes, I suppose it is,” Ivy said agreeably. “Well I suppose…”

She picked up a cup and placed it under what looked like a nozzle then selected a button at random and pressed it. With a horrid scream that sounded like beasts being unleashed from the underworld, a cloud of steam billowed around her. Ivy shrieked in surprise and leaped back, closing her eyes tightly, as if closing her eyes would protect her from the havoc she’d unleashed.

When the ringing in her ears subsided, she realized that someone was laughing. It was Jon. Deep rumbling laughter rolled out of him as he bent over, half doubled with mirth.

“I’m so sorry!” Ivy spluttered. “I don’t know…”

“That’s obvious,” Jon straightened, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “Why would you lie about knowing how to make coffee?”

Terminally misbehaved apprentice Rayna is the worst thief in the world. That won’t stop her trying to gain access to the notorious Thieves Guild though, even if she has to rob every vault in the city to do it.

If she’s to survive the Thieves Guild, Rayna will have to have more than just a tough hide, she’ll need to find a way to make peace with those in power, a task that will push her feeble powers of obedience to the very limit.

Excerpt:

“Damn kid. How much trouble have you been in?” Peta swore, frowning at Rayna’s rear end as Rayna see-sawed back and forth over the stool. Lesser young ladies would have been mortified being bent over like that with their lady parts exposed, but Rayna was hardly one to be mortified, especially as she was more than accustomed to the position she found herself in. It seemed that barely a day went by that one instructor or another wasn’t finding fault with her and dragging her off to be punished.

Craning her head over her shoulder and looking in a large gilt framed mirror hanging on the wall Rayna saw her own behind displayed and looking for all the world as if someone had been running small carts across it all morning. There were a few dark lines and between them, blotchy pink red marks.

Rayna shrugged. “They like to take out their frustrations on me, what can I say?”

Peta’s eyes met hers. “Is that so. You’re simply a poor victim of the system, are you?”

“Absolutely. I never had a chance. My mother didn’t love me enough and my father never attended a single dance recital,” Rayna said in pitiful tones.

“Save it for a judge, kid,” Peta said, snorting back what might very well have been laughter. Rayna held her breath and hoped that she was being sufficiently charming. Charm was pretty much her only weapon. She was useless at climbing and swinging, and armed robbery was completely out of the question. She barely knew the pointy end of a dagger from the non pointy end and there wasn’t a single instructor still willing to teach her after one of them almost lost his ear.

“But you are the judge, Ma’am, you are the judge, jury and executioner,” Rayna said with wide, earnest eyes.

Peta’s eyes remained locked on her bottom for a long moment and Rayna felt herself begin to squirm with embarrassment. There was getting beaten and then there was just hanging about the place half clothed in front of powerful people.

“When did this happen?” Peta asked eventually.

“Uhm, some this morning,” Rayna tried to remember as best she could. “And some yesterday evening.. and some yesterday morning.. and I think maybe the day before that…”

Peta held up her hand to stop her. “I see,” she said.

Rayna held her breath. Maybe the fact that she was so marked would save her. Maybe Peta would take pity on her. Maybe she was a really nice woman after all.

“OWW!” A sudden cut of the rod across the spot where her bottom and thighs met dissuaded her of that notion.

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Candid, talented, adaptable and prolific. Oh, and let’s not forget opinionated. These words all describe Loki Renard, who’s unabashedly, unapologetic about her full-time job of writing “solid lesbian and hetero disicplinary” romance. For this plucky author of books like Nocturne, The Rebel Princess and her popular Finn the Devourer series, the writer’s life may not be the easiest career, but that doesn’t mean she can’t find humor in it.

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