Friday, 17 October 2014

Pre-Order! Infernal - new book, new world, new sex, violence and intrigue.

It's finally almost here! Available to pre-order now, Infernal is our new venture into the world of romantic suspense :) 

Neva Raines is the only person who believes the death of her brother Daniel isn’t what it appears. Gay, sexually abused, pumped full of drugs, and dumped in a London underpass, the circumstances surrounding his murder—and their mother’s record as an addict—lead people to all the wrong assumptions. But Neva knows Daniel, who watched their mother fight her own demons for years, would never have walked that same path. 
Determined to follow leads the police have no interest in pursuing, Neva goes on the hunt for Daniel’s killers. Instead, she finds Konstantyn. He’s dangerous, seductive, and seems to know something about Daniel’s murder. Getting information out of him proves impossible—as does keeping a safe distance. 
As her world spirals ever deeper into sex clubs, corruption, and rumours of occult influences, nothing Neva has is safe: not her mind, her heart, or her life. If she can’t find a way out of the mess that claimed Daniel’s life, she’s in danger of losing all three. 

Explicit scenes of sex and violence make this book suited to an 18+ readership. Infernal is a stand-alone novel of 63K words. 

 Go grab it from Amazon now! 

Sneaky Peek

He was instantly recognisable in spite of the Zorro-style eye-mask concealing his face and the dog-collar around his throat.
Holy crap.
I couldn’t look away from the sensuous, down and dirty grind he was taking across the stage. Oiled muscles rippled as he wound out moves and pumped his hips, putting the sexuality of my dance with him to shame. We’d been fighting. Now, he was screwing everyone in the audience without even touching them.
I swallowed as heat flushed under my skin, and when he moved closer, gyrating to a bass that oozed eroticism, I sank back into the semi-darkness of the booth, openly watching, confident the shadows would conceal my shameful gawking.
But then he made eye contact.
I saw it the second he recognised me. Clearly, Infernal’s attempts at maintaining anonymity didn’t work, because he sure as hell knew who I was, from just half my face. He glared at me through the eyes of the mask, the flare of his nostrils and the punch of his hips at odds with the anger that burned in his gaze.
I couldn’t look away.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

The Rousing is LIVE! Erotic, mysterious and ready to drag you into a passionate storm

A romantic, paranormal suspense novella that will have your heart racing.



The new guy's arrival awoke something more than Darcy's lust. 

The only question is: What?

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Cover Reveal: The Rousing

Cover reveal 

The Rousing: A Celtic in the Blood Novella from Raven & Black

Hi readers and supporters. We're delighted to announce the upcoming release of our steamy paranormal romance novella, The Rousing, with a cover and blurb reveal.

In the next few days, once he's all polished up, we'll be unleashing The Rousing on the unsuspecting public.

We hope you'll consider adding us to your 'to read' lists.

In the meantime, if you're a blogger/reviewer and would like to review this short read, we have a limited number of ARCs available, on a first come, first serve basis. Please drop us an email if interested.

Very best wishes,
Paula & Jess



The Rousing
When unwelcome stranger Jack Pembroke arrives in Darcy McShane’s rural coastal village, the last thing she anticipates is falling for him, but a deadly storm, a night of unrestrained passion and the rousing of an ancient Irish myth conspire to change her life irrevocably.
From the authors of The Becoming Trilogy, The Rousing is an adult romance novella, set on the wild coast of Southern Ireland. The story blends mystery and eroticism with a paranormal twist on an ancient Celtic vampire legend said to have inspired Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Due to graphic scenes of sex and violence, The Rousing is recommended to an 18+ readership.
25,000 words; approx 100 print pages

Thursday, 6 March 2014

The Great St. Patrick's Day Giveaway

Welcome to The Great St. Patrick's Day Raven and Black Giveaway!

Welcome! March 17th is just a few days away, and this St. Patrick's Day is extra special to us here at Raven and Black, because it happens to coincide with the full moon. 

If you have read the Becoming Trilogy, you will know that the big showdown of the series occurs in Dublin on just such a night. If you haven't read the series, then what are you waiting for? Irish myths have never been sexier! (Amazon ; Barnes&Noble )

To celebrate the holiday, and to say a special thank you to all of our readers, we are doing a giveaway with some beautiful Irish-themed gifts as prizes. 

Enter now until March 20th to win. The prizes include two beautiful "Celtic at Heart" designed pendant scarves, a "real four-leaf clover" Irish Claddagh charm bracelet, a set of six Celtic hound design coasters, and a $10 Amazon gift voucher.

To gain additional entries, simply like and share this post on your twitter and/or facebook accounts.

Additionally, you can like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.

The luck of the Irish to all who enter.
Happy St. Patrick's Day from Raven & Black!

Winners will be drawn at random on March 20th and contacted via email. One prize per individual. Prizes will be shipped internationally. UK winners of the Amazon gift card can receive an amazon UK equivalent gift card. All prizes are otherwise not interchangeable. All decisions are final. 

Monday, 24 February 2014

Deleted Scene: Becoming Red

Author's note: I have an attachment to this scene from the original version of the book but I have been persuaded to share it. You better lick it like I do ;)
(This scene takes place just after the frying pan incident)   Jess xxx


Connal turned his back on the new latent and did the one thing he excelled at. He walked away. Yet, even as the front door closed on the bizarre encounter, he felt the tug of something deep stir inside of him. Something primal and addictive. The promise of a high more powerful even than the violence that breathed life into his jaded existence. No, this definitely wasn't finished.
He could still taste her mouth on him. His boots took the short flight of steps down to the basement apartment on auto-pilot, two at a time, scuffing the familiar, worn stone. He couldn’t tell if the gooseflesh raising tiny hairs on his skin was down to the chill of the night air, or the residual echo of where her hands had touched. As he fished the keys from the breast pocket of his leathers, his hand grazed the flesh, still throbbing from where she’d tugged on his piercings.

His gaze was drawn back up to the main house and the tall windows that stretched above him, steel-grey eyes reflecting the clouds in the night sky. He pictured her, spitting venom, lips curled back off bared teeth as she struggled to keep him down, those jewelled blue eyes lit up with a fury that was dagger sharp. Fuck, she was stunning, arrestingly, cock-poundingly, heart-stallingly beautiful. One look in those eyes and he knew she was ‘the one’.

And that Anann DeMorgan had set this female off limits? That was just the cherry in the pie, wasn’t it? Damn, he was predictable. The old lady’s words goaded him now and he groaned.

He crossed the threshold into the sparsely furnished interior. The place looked grim. About as warm and homey as a public toilet. For reasons he didn’t care to explore, the abrupt climate shift upstairs had left him feeling equally bereft. She’d looked at him like he was a monster.

Smart girl.

He breathed in the stale air, hearing attuned to the scuttle of tiny feet inside the walls. They said in this city you’re never more than a few feet from a rat, and yet the real pestilence was the kind that made a plague-infested rodent look like the damn Easter Bunny. The darkness was lurking unseen in the black pools beneath Dublin’s Medieval walls, and it was that darkness she’d sensed in him. He was her worst nightmare come to life, and he was living right beneath her feet.

His night vision was more than up to navigating the darkness to the cramped, single bedroom. The shabby apartment was a front that served to distract prying eyes and random callers. What lay behind the bedroom alcove was cleverly concealed by panelling as old as the house itself.

The warped panel cracked open to reveal the stainless steel of the vault door behind. It was double reinforced steel, a foot-thick and weighing in at over a ton. Built to deflect monsters, and to contain them.

Connal stepped inside the inky darkness and located the wall panel by touch, a series of codes closing him into the cellar space that held the familiar embrace of home. The tension across his shoulders began to unwind immediately as the cramped stairwell opened out onto the expansive interior. Inhaling deep, the air down here smelled of cedar and candle wax. But still, he wore her scent on his skin. They had barely exchanged un-pleasantries, yet, even in her absence, that female dominated his senses.

This went beyond the quickening they all felt with the approaching full moon. Her scent was like a chemical lure. It had drawn him to rub up on her coat like it was erotic catnip. Like a drug, biological warfare. No latent female had ever affected him this way.

His footfalls echoed off the windowless expanse, light fixtures flickering sequentially to life until the cathedral-sized space was sketched in their candle-like glow. The industrial brick and iron was offset by an eclectic mix of antiques Connal had acquired over his long lifetime. Existence, not lifetime, he corrected his thoughts. You couldn’t exactly call what he had a life. Life assumed an inevitable culmination in death. Connal bypassed the heavy drapes sectioning off the various living spaces, and made for fireplace, which was massive and flanked either side by floor to ceiling bookcases.

So Anann DeMorgan had a granddaughter. Those soft, vulnerable features had little in common with the hard-edged, calculating face of the old woman. Maybe, in Anann’s younger years... but those weren’t memories Connal wanted to touch with a ten foot pole.

That she was also a latent? That meant she had to have Fomorian blood too, and every male in the city would be gunning for her, come full moon. Nan DeMorgan and her secrets. What was the old witch playing at? Luring her own blood to this godforsaken place. Like ... bait. He had been more than ready to take a bite out of her. MacTire would eat her alive.

He hoped to hell she’d taken the time to prepare the girl, before throwing her to the wolves. But their little dance upstairs on the wood floor screamed otherwise. The weight of responsibility the old woman had dumped on him settled like an anvil across his shoulders. Not for the first time since she’d stroked out, he bared his teeth and cursed the day he struck his bargain with Anann DeMorgan.

Needing something to dull his edges, he reached for a handle of whiskey from the shelf. Pulling the cork in his teeth, he necked the bottle. Then he planted his ass on the leather couch, shrugged out of his jacket and began sifting through the cobwebbed database of his neglected memories.

Eternity seemed a manageable thing, desirable even, until you tried to walk its endless, lonely, identical corridors. Live as long as he had, and experiences became monotone, a jumble of faded prints, each blandly indistinct from the next. But this one night, more than a decade ago, closer to two decades possibly, lit up his synapses like a splash of vibrant red paint across a blank canvas. It was her velvet coat in the hallway that nudged it to the surface of his consciousness, though the memory of that night had stayed with him for another reason. Two of them, in fact.

The first was that he’d finally taken out that cocky bastard who went by the name of Crys. A vicious scrapper. Last time they’d fought, Connal took a sizeable chunk out of his neck, but somewhere, in the thick of the fight, he’d limped his way back to MacTire and gotten himself fixed up. This particular night in question, Crys had come back with vengeance burning up his blood, no doubt looking for payback on his ruined GQ cover prospects. Making shit personal was what got him killed. Connal knew revenge better than any son of a bitch walking the earth.

He’d been carrying Crys’ decapitated head in a duffle bag, and a couple of other braincases in there for company, when he’d loped up the path to Nan DeMorgan’s house. With the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, he was feeling pretty smug after a fruitful night’s work. He’d dropped the considerable weight to the footpath while he unlatched the iron gates, taking the reprieve to roll his neck on his shoulders, working out the physical reminder that heads are the heaviest of all body parts. He stopped, head cocked to the side, sure what he was seeing must be an hallucination, because Nan DeMorgan never, ever left her house.

Technically she wasn’t leaving, though, she was stepping over the threshold into the hall, and she wasn’t alone. She was ushering a small figure in a red coat inside the door, her wizened hand a claw at the child’s back. For a horrible moment he actually considered the possibility that the old bird was eating children for kicks. That was a macabre thought too far, even for him, and all the more disturbing because it didn’t seem entirely beyond the realms of possibility.

‘Nan?’ he asked.

She froze.

He paused, and tried on the scenario again. She hustled the small form into the hallway and snapped her head around in his direction. Her expression was all shadows and jowls. That was the second memorable event of that night. Mercurial on her best days, that night there was a fury in Anann DeMorgan’s eyes he had never before witnessed, or seen since.

‘What are you doing here?’ She barked and threw a hand up to where the moon was still hanging, full in the sky. ‘Don’t you have work to be doing?’

He hefted the bag and its heavy contents front and forward and moved to untie it. ‘Oh, I think you’ll like-’

She sliced off his words with a hiss. ‘Don’t you bring that here to my doorstep! Not now.’ She glared at his bag of hard-won trophies like they were so much dog shit, and his high deflated like a wrinkled balloon. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to fall on her knees, but who else did he have to share the small victories that gave his interminable existence meaning? Generally, she mustered some enthusiasm for his efforts, especially when he’d taken down one of MacTire’s inner guard. She kept the heads, for God’s sake. Demanded them of him after every hunt. He often wondered what she did with them. Mostly, he despised the fact that some part of him craved her recognition, the psychological pat on the head in return for bringing his quarry to her feet.

She’d instructed him to be here, but he didn’t call her out on it, knew better than to throw matches at that pile of tinder. So he’d shrugged it off, hefted the bag back over his shoulder and stalked away, feeling like her dirty little secret. For weeks, he’d brooded, down in his lair, the duffle bag thrown in a corner, untouched.

He’d studiously ignored the unusual comings and goings at the DeMorgan house: lights on in normally empty rooms, deliveries at odd times. Until one sunlit afternoon, a police car pulled up to bundle away the young girl. Turned out she’d been the subject of a month long manhunt, played out in sordid detail in the gutter press. After that, Anann DeMorgan summoned him back to the house where she demanded he bleed MacTire’s men with a zeal that bordered on messianic. Somebody had seriously ruffled the old woman’s feathers.

He cast his gaze up to the vaulted ceiling, locking onto the solidity of the curved iron girders, with their bolts and rivets and their patina of long-standing antiquity. Tossing back another hard draft from the bottle, he tried to fill the void that was opening up inside him.

Once again, it was her scent that reeled him back in, rising up from the ragged shreds of his shirt. He grasped at the torn fabric, breathed her in, and the air became charged, like inhaling the aftermath of a wild, electrical storm.

Connal wiped the wet residue of the spirit from his lips with the back of his hand and rose from the couch. He peeled out of his clothes, abandoning them on a path that lead to the bathroom. He cranked the handle and the shower burst into steaming life. Stepping beneath the spray, he allowed the pressure to pummel the tight muscles across his shoulders, saturating his skin, drenching the dreadlocked coils of his hair in the streaming torrent. The sound of it roared in his ears, drowning out all thoughts of anything but her. He closed his eyes and conjured up her face, imagined he could feel the weight of her gaze on him, watching him through lust-darkened, sapphire blue eyes. He fisted the substantial length of his erection, wrapping a large hand around the hard, veined flesh, cupping the heavy sac beneath with the other. Gripping just under the head, he ran the rough surface of his palm up and down the thick shaft, sliding velvet soft skin over the steel-hard core. From behind closed lids, he called up an image of her mouth, lush lips glossed and parted. She was biting on the pad of her thumb, tense with anticipation. A husky moan escaped his throat. Bringing a closed fist to his mouth, he stifled the sound, canines biting down into his knuckles. He permitted himself to feel her mouth on his again, ravaging and impossibly soft. He bit down harder, hard enough to draw blood this time. His fist tightened, pumping his shaft, imagining himself moving inside her, slapping up against her parted thighs. His spine arched, one knee flexing as his thigh trembled a contraction. His breath quickened and with his palm squeezing over the sensitive head, he dragged down once again, and felt his cock pulsing in his own grip, in time with the pounding of his heart. Now her hand was coasting down, slipping between her breasts, to the apex of her thighs, her fingers dipping into the glistening folds of her sex and her mouth was shaping the words, commanding him ... Come for me!

‘Fuck. No!’ A snarl contorted his face as his instincts rebelled against the dominance of her demand, but his body was already on its knees to her. Buckling, he reached out blindly to slam a forearm flush against the wet tile, bracing himself against the shower wall as his pace quickened. Pumping furiously now, drilling down to the base, slipping up over the head, he ratcheted up the tempo until his breaths were hard, fevered pants. He found his free hand coasting up his abs to grip one nipple ring. With a hard tug, he twisted his own flesh and cried out, a ragged, lusty rasp. His pecs tightened, the muscles standing out in corded relief, teeth buried in his lower lip as he worked that delicious friction to his head, picturing her beautiful, lush mouth now sealed around his cock. He came for her in shuddering spasms, over and over, until spent and boneless, he slumped. Head lolling forward on his shoulders, his forehead pressed against the steamed glass of the shower wall and he slowly slid down its wet surface, on a downward slope that was far beyond his control.
Becoming Red, the first in the Becoming series, is FREE!
Or you can get all three books in the Ebook Boxset Trilogy!

Friday, 3 January 2014

Irish Myths Have Never Looked So Sexy!

We know you hate cliffhangers, we know that waiting sucks, and we know how good it feels to be able to slip easily through a series without having to take a break. 

So now? 

We’ve put books 1, 2 and 3 into a boxset for you!  Grab some snacks, stock up on drinks, turn your phone off and immerse yourself in the Becoming World from beginning to end.

An exclusive cover reveal and first chance to grab yourself this newly released boxset edition!
 ‘The Becoming Trilogy’ contains all three full-length novels of The Becoming series in one. (Becoming Red; Becoming Bad; Becoming Blood) No cliff-hangers, guaranteed!
A sexy paranormal romance/ urban fantasy series with wolf shifters. Set in modern-day Ireland, The Becoming weaves a dark world in which ancient Irish myths are larger than life and roaming the streets of Dublin.

Ash DeMorgan has long since consigned the fairytale nightmares of a troubled childhood to the realm of fantastical childish imagination. Now, lured back to Dublin, the scene of her tragic past, Ash encounters a city pulsing under the dangerous sexual influence of a new street drug the locals call Rave. Nothing is as it seems. Ash is about to discover that her nightmares are real, and she has become the prey in their erotic hunt. A step back into her past is about to become a high adrenaline race for survival.

Connal Savage, outcast, assassin, and living, breathing hunk of ancient mythology, has lived a thousand years servicing a debt of revenge. Dead inside. Until he encounters his boss’s granddaughter, an infuriating woman who threatens to lead him to hell with all his good intentions, who manages to chip away at the hard encrusted defenses of a lifetime spent at war and burrow herself deep into a part of him that hasn’t breathed for centuries. He is about to discover that when it comes down to the wire, when you’re bargaining with the Grim Reaper for the life of the one you love, you will do anything. 

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Smashwords | ARe | 
Website | Twitter | FB page | Facebook |Goodreads (Jess) | Goodreads (Paula)

Wednesday, 25 December 2013

Have a very Becoming Christmas and get the gift of a giveaway!

It's Christmas!

We hope you're all having a wonderful wolfy holiday season and today is all about food, family and fantasy fulfilment.
In keeping with that, we thought we'd give a little glimpse into the Becoming world, an exclusive excerpt from Becoming Blood that's all naughty ;) 

Let's not forget a chance to spread the holiday cheer and win ebook copies of  the entire trilogy in the format of your choice! Yes, books 1, 2 and 3 could be yours, and all you have to do is RT, Like and/or Share this post on Facebook and Twitter up until the 27th December. If you do all three, that's three entries into the hat (there may be an actual hat involved.)

 Go  do!


From a corner of the room, Connal watched Ash as she perched on the edge of Liath’s bed and drew the long mane of her dark hair over one shoulder. Liath panted, lax and needy with anticipation, as though she sensed them in the room, but was too weak to react. Ash leaned in and spread her pink lips across the delicate skin of Liath’s throat. Connal’s lids drifted to half-mast, hypnotized by the sight of her sharp, white canines dimpling Liath’s pulsing flesh. With the threat of penetration, Ash’s throat bobbed on a swallow and he could taste her nervous hesitation. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be getting off on this, but damn, he was a man, and this was his mate, performing an act of intimacy with another woman. His body would have to be paralysed not to respond. Grunting quietly, he readjusted the towel on his hips, concealing the rock-hard evidence that he was well and truly cured of that ailment. He cast a sidelong glance at Madden and caught him running his fingers under the collar of his shirt. A sudden movement in his peripheral whipped his attention back to Ash.

It was Liath who struck, clutching fistfuls of Ash’s hair and crying out as she arched her throat and impaled herself on her fangs. Held fast in the crook of Liath’s neck, Ash growled into her flesh as the blonde jerked in ecstasy, milking her for the drug her body craved. Feral thrashing calmed to seductive grinding as she got her fix, her body softening, wrapping around Ash’s and pulling her closer. Liath moaned and the noise was pure sex. Her hips rocked up, her lips finding Ash’s fingers, her pink tongue laving and suckling while she sought friction for the heat at her centre. She curled around Ash’s leg, grinding her sex to the bare thigh she had trapped.

‘Enough,’ Connal snarled, lunging to untangle Ash from Liath’s clutches and drag her away from the bed. She swung about and came to a shaky halt, staring up at him. Her glassy eyes were tinged with red, her cheeks flushed, hair snagged and wild. She was feral, a tinderbox of sex pheromones that sparked a fever in his blood.

Throbbing, he swept her up in his arms and ignoring Liath’s whines of protest, carried her out of the room and over the threshold into another.

'I’m sorry, Little Red, but this is going to be rough.'

Slamming the door closed, he tossed her, face down, like a rag doll onto the chintz bedspread.

When she made to crawl away, he hitched her ass up by the belt of her housecoat and hauled her back down the bed.

'Where do you think you're going?' he growled. Yanking the belt from her waist, he tore the quilted monstrosity off her back and ran a possessive hand down the curve of her naked spine. She arched in response.

He kicked her legs wide with his knees and the towel fell from his hips.

'Gods, yes,' he groaned at the sight of her glistening, swollen lips. Grasping the sweet mounds of her ass, he drove himself hilt-deep into her tight, wet heat.

She clenched around his girth and kicked back against his abs, forcing him so deep that she whimpered and gouged her claws into the bedspread. His growl of approval was guttural and, fingers imprinting the flesh of her ass, he answered by pumping, hard and ruthless, inside her. Hips pistoning, abs tight, he slapped up against her buttocks, watching the thick girth of his cock slide in and out of the tight glove of her sex, glossed in her arousal.

But it wasn’t enough.                                             

‘Give me your eyes,’ he demanded, withdrawing only long enough to flip her onto her back.


She did.

And if looks could burn, he was raw, smouldering possession.

His gaze never left hers as he grasped the backs of her legs and spread her wide. He dropped to his knees and his tongue parted her cleft in a long, velvet stroke. Her thighs trembled as he sucked at her clit, growling into her flesh, watching all the time as the torment played out on her face.

She was already hovering on that sweet, bladed edge when he reared up, hooked her knees, and slammed back inside her. Ash came up off the mattress with a howl, her eyes still locked with his. Blistering pleasure tore through her body in waves so hard, they bordered pain. She’d never get enough of him.

Long strokes cleaved her, inner muscles fisting tight around the rigid length of his cock as he hit deep and she arched for deeper. She mewled at the friction, sparks flitting along a circuit of hyper-aware nerve-endings, broadcasting erotic pulses to every inch of her. His rhythm was relentless, passion blazing so hot that its embers licked along her skin and settled red fire in his eyes.

Ecstasy tightened her lower body.

‘Connal ...’ Growling his name, Ash pleaded, sinking her claws into his hard thighs. He punished her in quick-fire strokes that stole her breath and twisted her core with vicious pleasure. She detonated on a visceral howl, her orgasm so hard and strong, it lifted her up in a fiery wave and the only tether she had was Connal. His snarls surrounded her while she soared, quaking in bliss, the rippling power in his body unleashed as he snapped his hips to lock with hers, finding his own release, burying the hot pulses of his passion inside her.

He was sheened in the lightest layer of sweat, his powerful chest heaving with ragged, snarling breaths, fangs so long he couldn’t shut his mouth, and Ash thought he’d never looked so magnificent. Or so animal.

‘I should bite girls more often,’ she laughed huskily.

‘I’m not sure we’d survive a rematch,’ he said, stretching out alongside her in all his gloriously hard nakedness.

‘I can’t bear the thought of any other woman touching you,’ she breathed. ‘Makes me want to rip their hearts out.’

‘No killing,’ he smiled lazily against her lips. ‘I need to get that knife.’

‘Yeah, and I need to speak with this Master guy, to find out how we use it,’ she said.
Remember, just RT, Share and/or Like  up until the 27th December for entry into the giveaway.

Happy Holidays and a Merry Christmas everyone!