Samhain Publishing

Danielle Devon is a multi-published author who has settled comfortably into her unique realm of romance. She looks to each new title as a chance to explore her own creativity and enchant readers with her fanciful stories. Her writing has been hailed by reviewers as “darkly poetic and erotically moving”, her stories “vividly painted with a colorful canvas which comes to life before your eyes”. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America and several local and special interest chapters.

Visit Danielle’s website at http://www.danielledevon.com and for tons of fun, giveaways, serials and more visit Danielle’s blog at http://danielledevon.wordpress.com

Most of my writing tends to venture more into the realms of paranormal or fantasy, always with a heavy romantic touch, but DIVINITY IN CHAINS was quite an undertaking because it encompassed them all. A love story of epic adventure with heartbreaking romance, dark paranormal undertones and wondrous flights of fancy. It was a true labor of love and an adventure to write. I hope that you all will enjoy journeying with Eliyn and Aramon through the dark and deadly world of Kinra. Please enjoy this sneak peak from DIVINITY IN CHAINS: It was hours before Eliyn finally heard her chamber door creak open. She kept her back to him, seated before her drawing table as she dragged the charcoal stick across the parchment in a sweeping gesture. The dark sketch depicted tangled bodies, embraced in passion under luminous beams cast down from the heavens. She felt his hands slip up over the back of her neck to softly brush aside the tendrils of her hair. He bent to trail whispered-kisses along the slope of her neck. “A portrait of our love?” She smiled slowly as she set down her charcoal. “Of our forbidden desires.”

“But never love,” he said as his hands slipped away.

She rose and turned toward him. The despair within his emerald eyes flickered under the candlelight. “Aramon, you know I care for you deeply. More than any other, but we cannot speak of love.”

“I can speak of love. I could climb to the tallest towers and shout my love through the skies of Kinra, if only you should let me.”

“And that I never will.” Eliyn let out a heavy sigh as she wrapped her arms about his waist and rested her head against his chest. “Please, Aramon, I do not wish to argue about the things we cannot change.”

“The things you do not wish to change. You deny me and your own heart’s desire, and for what, I do not know.”

Eliyn tilted her chin upward so that she could look into his eyes. “You know my station binds me.”

Aramon turned away from her as though he could no longer bear to look upon her. “As my station so binds me, yet still I find room for love.”

She could hear the heartache seeping out through his words. He could speak so easily of love for he was not bound as she. He could love whom he chose while she was bound by the laws that governed their lands. She was of humble blood, her heritage untrue. Her father, though a good man at heart, had no proper lineage to his family name. That her mother was now unknown only added to her tainted line.

The laws clearly stated that no commoner shall be permitted to bond with a person of royal station. As head of the entire Kinran army, Aramon had risen to the highest station one could obtain without being born of the divine family. There was nothing either of them could do; the laws that governed their people could care less for their heart’s desire.

Aramon crossed her chambers to light a fire in the hearth as the night chill swept in through the window. He kept his back to her, and Eliyn wondered what he could be thinking. She crossed the distance toward him. Silk clung to her chest then released to flow like waterfalls down the length of her thighs. Her fluid movement sent a ripple through her gown, making it billow like a curtain stirring in a midnight wind. As she neared him, firelight spilled over her, casting a warm glow over the porcelain features of her face.

She moved in behind him, letting her hand trail down the length of his arm. Every muscle in his body tightened in anticipated response. Her heart pounded fiercely like the tide below, threatening to break through the confines of her chest.

The symphony of the ocean tide drowned in a sea of rushing blood within him as her lips brushed softly against the nape of his neck. She came around from behind him, dragging a light finger across his arm and over the carved ridges of his abdomen. She dragged his linen shirt over his head and leaned in, pressing her soft, small breasts against him.

His gaze was drawn upward. A hint of her soft pink tongue taunted him from beneath her slightly parted lips. She pressed her lips to his skin, taking a nibble of flesh between her teeth.

She knew they needed no words, no exchange of devotions, for they knew the depths of each other’s emotion. A sigh, a muffled moan, whispered more than any mere words could ever hope to capture.

Buy DIVINITY IN CHAINS in ebook or print!

Visit Danielle’s website at http://www.danielledevon.com and for tons of fun, giveaways, serials and more visit Danielle’s blog at http://danielledevon.wordpress.com

Often times I find that while the desire to write may encompass my total being, the creative energies are seemly guided by some mysterious outside force and far beyond my control. Some days the well of creativity and words seem as endless as the Pacific Ocean and others it is as dry as a Nevada deserts in August. And as a writer, there is nothing more frightening or frustrating than sitting down to write only to find a blank page and that black cursor blinking angrily at you.

What determines the ebb and flow of this creative energy? For it truly has no care for the depths of my desire, as my intentions may be plenty, the words will still cease to flow. Some authors call it inspiration, some divine intervention, me I like to call it the muses. That ancient myth that some mystic being holds the key to unlocking my creativity and unfortunately often indulges in spiteful games of keep-away. Although the creative blocks most likely stem from a unconscious garbage bin of stresses such as chasing an upset toddle through the cereal aisle, fighting five o’clock traffic or answering that age-old question, “what’s for dinner Mom?”, I still like to blame the muses.

Some days my muses smile down upon me sweetly and a deeply inspired 4,000 words makes it way onto the electronic paper. Other days, they laugh almost devilishly, refusing to let even a single decent sentence flow from my fingertips. So I’ve learned like everything else in life, the creative spurts ebb and flow like the changing tide. And I am like the patient surfer, bidding my time until the next creative ride.

Not to worry when you find me sitting at my keyboard, staring blankly at the screen, you’ll know that I’m just minding my muses and waiting for inspiration to guide me.

Danielle Devon

http://www.danielledevon.com