Why You All Need To Take Heed Of Faleena Hopkins and #Cockygate

So, as it often does, a storm has blown up on social media these last few days.  If you’re active in the writing community on Facebook or Twitter, you can’t have failed to hear about Faleena Hopkins and #cockygate – hell, even the Guardian here in the UK has picked up the story today, running a decisively biting assessment of her attempt to prevent other authors using a titular word that she’s laid trademark to (even if they have crushingly failed to spell her name correctly throughout!).

If you have somehow managed to miss the furore, Courtney Milan has written a thread with a succinct summary of precisely how this all went down.

The long and short of it is that an erotica author by the name of Faleena Hopkins managed to file a trademark for the stylised word ‘cocky’ as a series title, and by a succession of strong arm tactics and downright bullying behaviour, has tried to stop other authors using that word in their own titles – even those whose stories were published prior to her series, which incidentally, seems to have been referred to by Hopkins as ‘The Cocker Brothers’ series until she filed for the trademark. Even if the trademark can stand up to the separate legal challenges being prepared by author Kevin Knuepper and the RWA, to attempt to retroactively prevent authors like Jamila Jasper from using the word in their title with threats like the one below are, quite frankly, abhorrent.

And it isn’t only about the titles, even though Hopkins is surely on shaky legal ground with those alone. As of today (8th May), authors are reporting that even the use of ‘cocky’ as a keyword is resulting in their book being removed from sale.

This is people’s livelihoods at risk, and quite rightly, the romance community has rallied around each other to support authors who have been targeted by Hopkins, who, at the time of writing, has refused to apologise or withdraw her threats, claiming instead to be the victim of a sustained bullying campaign. However utterly delicious it is that the community has come together over a controversy by the name of #cockygate, the mere fact that at this moment in time it seems to be possible to trademark a word means that authors and publishers across every genre need to sit up and pay attention.

Imagine how many sci-fi books have ‘stars’ in the title? Fantasy books with ‘tower’, ‘mage’ or ‘witch’? Horror books with ‘dark’ or ‘shadows’? There’s a reason why those titular words are so prevalent, and that’s because they work. They clue the reader in as to the genre of the book, tell them what they can expect and stand up in the search listings as a flag for the story’s content. They work for both the author and the reader, and in my opinion, they can never be allowed to become the sole property of one overreaching, narcissistic author alone.

Right now, this is a one-off that will hopefully see justice done when all the dust settles. What’s most concerning, though, is the thought that right now, hundreds of entrepreneurial chancers are racing off to the USPTO to try to file copyright claims just like Hopkins before them. This sense of self-interest goes against everything I love about the supportive writing community. There’s limitless room for beautiful, well-written literature across all the genres. We need to support each other and build each other up, amplifying everyone’s success to promote the world of publishing as a whole. Divisive tactics like this harm authors, publishers, and the readers who invest their time and money in the stories we write.

I suspect that in a year or so, Hopkins’ name will be no more than a footnote in the annals of publishing history, one of those memes that everyone rolls their eyes at when they look back at the ashes of what was once a successful indie publishing career. We can only hope that she hasn’t unleashed Pandora’s Box on her way down.


RELEASE DAY! Beautiful Lies, Painful Truths

I’m excited to share with you all the news that Left Hand Publishers have released their new anthology, Beautiful Lies, Painful Truths, Volume 1, featuring my story, ‘Family Ties’. The stories were all inspired by the following quote:

Life asked Death, ‘Why do people love me, but hate you?
Death responded, ‘Because you are a beautiful lie, and I am a painful truth.

The anthology features a wide range of authors, each with a different and fascinating take on the prompt. As well as myself, Shaun Avery, S.R. Betler, J. Ryan Blesse, Devin Bradley, Terri Bruce, Steve Cameron, Douglas Clark, JCC Downing, Carrie Gessner, T. Gillmore, S.D. Hintz, LJ Hippler, Michael J. Hultquist, Robert James, A.G. Lopes, Paul K. Metheney, Robert Petyo, EB Pollock, Brandon L. Summers, Timothy Vincent and J.M. Williams all share their response to the quote to produce an anthology ranging from the macabre to the quietly thoughtful, beautifully collated by the professional team at Left Hand Publishers.

Reviews are already flooding in, and I’m delighted by how well the anthology has been received, as well as proud to be a part of it.

The quality of the stories read are amazing, with intricate plots in a short story form coming off as so perfect in their construction. The scope of the imagination of the writers just boggles the mind in the executions of stories that make you think. What might be considered ‘good’ isn’t. What is seen as dark and painful is honestly the way it should be. Major kudos to these stories. These stories will challenge everything you thought you knew.

Bruce Blanchard, book reviewer.

If your interest is piqued, head on over to Amazon to pick up a copy for yourself – and don’t forget to let me know what you think!

Story Notes – Life In Sepia

My story, ‘Life In Sepia’, was recently published by Fluky Fiction in their anthology, When Glints Collide. It’s a short piece – a little over 1000 words – but it’s a story I’m rather fond of, so I’d like to share with you all a little of the background to the story and how it evolved.

The initial spark for the idea came from a childhood memory of long, lazy summer days spent weaving in and out of the legs of the grown-ups at the village fair. I grew up in a quintessential English village, a stone’s throw from the green and the local church that was the centrepoint of village life. The summer fair was the highlight of the year, but for a wistful six-year-old with a head full of sunshine, stories and unicorns, and no concept of danger, it was all too easy to become lost amongst the crowds.

No harm came to me, of course – I’m clearly a well-adjusted adult human, whose love for horror and all things weird in no way indicates any pathological tendencies to seek out fear at every turn. Right? That aside, the memory that came back to me of looking up at so many unfamiliar faces closing in on me was the spark of the story that eventually became ‘Life In Sepia’. Lifting that memory away from the 1980s, I shifted the story back 150 years and placed it firmly in the Victorian era, adding a dash of superstition before transferring the viewpoint to the father desperately seeking his wayward child.

And so the story was born. It’s one of the shortest stories I’ve written, but I think that done right, flash fiction can have a powerful impact on the reader. Every word counts to set the scene, illustrate the characters and draw the reader in towards the story winding around them. It has certainly stayed with me since I wrote it, and I was delighted when it found a home with Fluky Fiction in their anthology. It’s amongst great company with the other authors there – if you pick up a copy, please do consider leaving a review on Amazon/Goodreads to let us know what you think!

The stranger smiled. Tall and thin, his limbs were gangly and jerked as if he were nothing more than a puppet under the spell of a child’s hand. His looping, elaborate moustache twitched with excitement as he swept his ebony top hat from his head, and his dark eyes shone with a feverish lustre that made the baker’s blood run cold as the man spoke again.

“Yes, I have seen her. You need not fear for your daughter. I have saved her.”


When Glints Collide is available to purchase now: Amazon US/UK

When Glints Collide Pre-Sale!

The Fluky Fiction anthology featuring my story, ‘Life In Sepia’, is just a couple of weeks away from release! Available from October 10th, When Glints Collide is a collection of science fiction, horror and oddities with something for every fan of quirky fiction that sends a shiver chasing down your spine.

There are two special pre-order deals available now. If you order your Kindle version before the release date, you can get it for the special price of only $0.99!

Alternatively, for those who prefer to have a paperback copy in their hands, you can order direct from the Fluky Fiction Etsy store for the special pre-release price of just $10. Readers from the USA can also get free domestic shipping with the special discount code FREESHIPFOX.

An Anatomy Of Fear

For horror authors, the definition of fear and how to invoke it is the most important question to answer. I’ve had the privilege of reading the slush pile for Gallows Hill Magazine, and in the course of doing so I’ve read some truly fantastic and powerful stories that have stayed in my mind long after finishing them. I’ve been reflecting upon what made these particular stories stand out from the rest. There was no particular theme running through them, but the one thing they did have in common was the author’s ability to understand precisely how to play on the reader’s instinctive fears.

In my opinion, the greatest horror is psychological. Gore certainly has its place in the genre, but for me, the most successful horror is that which has the ability to sink its tendrils into the reader’s mind and captivate them entirely. To do that, the author has to comprehend the concept of human fear. We all have phobias, some stranger than others – mine is cotton wool – but tapping into a universal fear across that spectrum is incredibly difficult. You might write a spine tingling piece about spiders, but for someone who isn’t afraid of them in the least, however well your story is crafted, it won’t hit the spot. To hook as many readers as possible, you have to appeal to humanity’s base instincts.

We’re complex individuals, but as a species we have the same instincts for self-preservation. That instinct has developed a variety of hard-coded fears that are hard to shake even when we become rational adults with a harder skin than the child we once were, peering tentatively under the bed for fear of what might lurk there unseen. It’s those seemingly simple fears that can lift a well-written piece of horror into something truly fantastic; the monster in the shadows, the menacing stranger, confined spaces, deprivation of senses, contagion…the list goes on, opening up endless possibilities for the imaginative horror author to weave these fears throughout their stories and speak to the reader’s innermost fears.

Of course, there’s far more that goes into creating the ultimate horror story, and I won’t pretend to be an expert – far from it. But I do have a few more tips to share from an editing perspective, and I’ll be doing so over the coming weeks.


Interview with Joshua Demarest of Gallows Hill Magazine

I’m delighted to welcome horror author and editor Joshua Demarest to the blog today. Joshua Demarest is a professional writer, editor, publisher, and filmmaker out of Atlanta, Georgia. In his spare time, Josh collects and repairs antique typewriters, because he couldn’t think of any other stereotypical writer activities to participate in. Josh believes in ghosts and the power of positive thinking, though he has his doubts about the latter. He used to work in theater, where he switched on microphones and hung lights at enormous heights, though he had his doubts about the ladder. He lives with his wife, who loves and supports him, and his two cats, who don’t.

I’ve invited Joshua to talk to us about his work and his exciting new project, Gallows Hill Magazine. Here’s what he had to say!

Hi Josh! Could you introduce yourself to our readers?

Sure. I’m Joshua Demarest, writer, editor, and publisher of all things horror at Gallows Hill Magazine.

Who are your favourite authors and why?

I have a deep love for Tolkien. He truly is a master wordsmith and is an inspiration to generations of writers all over the globe. When I’m talking to highbrow literary people, I pull out George Saunders and Shirley Jackson, two genuine masters of the short form. To the horror of all of my classmates in 10th Grade English, I fell in love with Henry David Thoreau on the shores of Walden Pond. Honestly…this question is unfair! I have so many authors that I want to fangirl over and I don’t have nearly enough time!

So, why horror? What first drew you to the genre?

Horror, to me, is the genre that can affect the reader the most. Great horror will often make the reader have physical reactions. Think about that – physical reactions from words on a page. The power to move the reader to the point where their body triggers fight or flight is truly amazing. I also think it is the genre that allows us to confront the darkness of human nature, society, and (perhaps most uncomfortably) ourselves. We’ve got to reconcile the fact that humans are capable of incredible evil, but also incredible goodness, perseverance, and endless hope. Horror gives me a place to do that. Every story is really just a projection of our own fears, and I think getting that out on paper is cathartic.

Horror, to me, is the genre that can affect the reader the most. Great horror will often make the reader have physical reactions. Think about that – physical reactions from words on a page.

Which horror trope would you like to see eliminated?

Man, where to start. I’m actually going to do you two better and list my top three annoying tropes. First up, sex=death. I’m not sure why this trope is still around. Horror is a genre where we revel in watching people suffer. Can we please drop the false conservatism of killing any character that has sex on-screen or on-page? I don’t know. It seems tired and outdated. Second is the brooding vampire. I get it – life leaves you jaded. Eternal life must leave you…super jaded. But can we PLEASE come up with something more interesting than the dark, quiet, struggling-with-the-weight-of-guilt, super sexy loner vampire? Please? Third has to be exclusively Catholic exorcisms. I want to see exorcisms from every faith on the planet. Almost every culture in the world has some sort of exorcism-like ritual. I’d love to read them.

If you could have created any fictional character, which one would it be?

Norman Bates. I think he is the most complete horror character ever created.

That’s a great insight into what makes you tick as a horror author! Thanks Josh. Can you tell us now about Gallows Hill Magazine – what inspired you to launch a new magazine?

I think there is a wealth of hidden talent that isn’t getting the recognition it deserves. I think the traditional horror genre has done a disservice to countless writers that aren’t as marketable as King or Koontz. And I think that traditional publishing is becoming less and less relevant. The horror genre is going through incredible changes. Technological advances and vast increases in accessibility of independent content are creating a new generation of writers who create experimental, experiential stories. Gallows Hill is the magazine for those writers. Of course we’ll have some of the best fiction in the market. But we’ll also have genre news and reviews, resources for writers, and articles on how the genre is evolving. Gallows Hill was created to be the one-stop shop for horror readers and writers who want to keep a finger on the pulse of cutting-edge horror.

I think that traditional publishing is becoming less and less relevant. The horror genre is going through incredible changes.

What sort of submissions would you like to receive for the magazine?

I want to read fiction that compels me further. I want to read a submission that demonstrates great pacing and leaves you unable to look away. Give me your exorcisms, your creature features, your deranged serial killers. Give me your weird cults and psychological destroyers. Cross the line between horror and fantasy or science fiction or whatever genre you choose. Don’t just cross the line – erase it. I want stories that make me question who the real monster was. But I don’t want gore for the gore.

That sounds great! Do you have anything exciting lined up for the inaugural issue?

Of course! Our featured author is Richard Chizmar, founder of Cemetery Dance, author of A Long December, and (with Stephen King) Gwendy’s Button Box. You’ll be able to read an interview with him, read one of his short stories, and see what he answered in a rapid-fire game of word association. There will also be articles that focus on non-fiction horror – plenty of inspiration fodder for all of our readers. There is a writer’s resource section with interviews, tips, and tricks of approaching the industry and building your career, and a reader’s resource section that recommends and reviews the best new horror on page and in theaters. And of course, a selection of the absolute best horror fiction from around the world.

How can authors submit their work to you for the magazine?

Whether you want to submit fiction or poetry, artwork or reviews, head over to https://greensubmissions.com/956/gallows-hill-magazine/index.php and send them over.

Let’s wrap it up here. Tell us one last thing you want the readers to know about you!

I love working with new writers. Please let me know if you have not published professionally yet and would like some feedback on your submissions. I’ll be happy to provide what I can. I also am easily reachable by Twitter – @JDDemarest – and am always available to answer questions and connect with other writers!

Thanks Josh!


I’m sure you’ll all agree with me that Gallows Hill Magazine sounds fantastic. I wish Josh every success with his new project and I’ve no doubt he’ll do well. Remember, if you want to get in touch with Joshua Demarest and Giles Press, you can reach him via Twitter at @JDDemarest, and that link again to find the guidelines, rates and submit your work to Gallows Hill Magazine is here. Issue 1 is scheduled to be released in October 2017.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Naming my characters is at once the most fun and the most frustrating part of writing. I swear I found it easier to choose a name for my kids than to get all the names right for all the characters in each story.

A name is so much more than just a label. If you get it right, it tells the reader about their background, their character, and just as importantly, the genre of your story. Take Count Vlad Dracula as an example. Say the name out loud; roll the syllables around your tongue and listen to the harsh consonants amongst the long, soft vowel sounds.

Count. Vlad. Dracula.

It really is the perfect name for the aristocratic vampire of legend. Stoker lucked out, for his Dracula was based on the historical Wallachian Vlad Dracula, but there are many other examples in literature of names that use this principle to work in the same way. Peake’s Steerpike, Lovecraft’s Cthulhu, Kesey’s infamous Nurse Ratched, even Dahl’s Agatha Trunchbull. Come on – you just can’t imagine a romantic heroine named Miss Trunchbull, but as a sadistic headmistress her name fits like a glove.

Drifting away from horror, I’ve always admired JK Rowling for the sheer amount of thought she put into naming even the most insignificant characters. Take Phineas Nigellus Black, whose portrait hangs in both Dumbledore’s office and in 12 Grimmauld Place. Nigellus is rooted in the Latin word niger, meaning black, and the Hebrew translation of Phineas is “mouth of a snake”. Phineas was a Slytherin, the portrait his only remaining mouthpiece.

The right name can make or break your character. When I sat down to plot out my new steampunk novella this week, there were eight main characters I wanted to name, from a Moulin Rouge dancer to the shadowy ringmaster of a travelling fair passing through Montmartre. And so Clemence Fontaine and Ignatius Demorte were born.

Shakespeare wrote that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. As much as I love his work, I would have to disagree. Getting the right name for your characters is key.

I would love to hear your favourite names you’ve come up with for your characters! Let me know in the comments below.

Lair – a sneak peek.


Today I’m delighted to share with you all a sneak peek at my erotic vampire novella that was published by Memento Mori Publications, ‘Lair’. Read, enjoy and let me know what you think!


Her eyes wide, Dixie stopped for a moment to steady herself and finally catch her breath. Now she knew why Jamie was so determined to come here. Castle Vancura was, quite possibly, the most spectacular sight it had ever been her fortune to behold.

The moon hovered low over the castle in the clear night sky, the castle’s numerous towers stretched high up towards her like a lover’s fingers reaching out to steal one last touch from the one they craved before they slipped out of reach. The dark stone blended in effortlessly with the night and the lush, verdant green ringed around the castle called out to something deep inside her.

It was easy to see why Jamie couldn’t see away from Castle Vancura. The space of just one heartbeat was enough to have her hooked, and before she even knew what she was doing she found herself putting one foot in front of the other again, the path rapidly slipping away in front of her as she stared wide-eyed at the castle ahead.

For all intents and purposes though the castle seemed to be abandoned. The path towards the door was worn and covered with all sorts of tangled undergrowth, thick ivy clung tenaciously to the castle’s stone walls and not a single light could be seen in any of the hundreds of windows.

Whether or not there was anyone there to help her, she had to press on. This was her last hope.

Dixie stumbled up the uneven path when it narrowed further still as it wound its way towards the door that was swinging open on rusted hinges. The castle wasn’t abandoned. Clearly someone was inside after all, and it seemed they had caught sight of her.

Out of nowhere the compulsion to turn and flee nearly overwhelmed her. She shook her head to clear it. She had come this far against all the odds. The answer to Jamie’s fate lay behind the door now opening, and there was no way in hell that she wouldn’t reach out and take it.

More determined than ever, Dixie squared her shoulders and then came to an abrupt halt when her eyes finally focused in the darkness. A stranger stood framed in the vast, arching doorway, and she couldn’t take her wide-eyed stare away from him.

He was tall; intimidatingly so. Jamie was nearly six foot, but this man was taller still. He would tower over her. His dark hair reached down past his shoulders, and he wore a loose, billowing white shirt tucked into the waistband of his old-fashioned breeches. Despite that formality, though, he was barefoot.

That strange juxtapose made it feel as if they weren’t strangers at all.

The shiver that chased down her spine had nothing to do with the cool night breeze.
He stared past her into the distance, almost as if he hadn’t even noticed her, but she took a hesitant step closer to him.

“Ah – do you speak English?”

She let loose the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding when comprehension flitted across his pale face. The moon passed behind a cloud overhead, briefly throwing the pair of them into total darkness, and some deep instinct made her breath catch again as the stranger tilted his head to the side and ran his thumb across his lips before he spoke, his heavy accent unable to mask the clipped, perfectly polished words that made her heart soar.

“You seek the Englishman, yes?” he said.

“Yes!” Her tired eyes alight once more, Dixie took another step nearer. “Do you know something about Jamie?”

His face was inscrutable. “If that is his name.”

This was far from promising, but she pressed on nonetheless. “Please!” she said, blinking back the fresh tears that threatened to fall. “I’ve come a hell of a long way and I’ve got nowhere else left to go but here. I’m begging you, if you know something then tell me.”

The stranger leaned against the doorframe. His arms were folded across his chest and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. A low sob built deep inside her and as the thick, oppressive silence stretched out, she turned away from him and buried her head in her hands to hold it back. It was no use. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t going to tell her.

Dixie twisted the diamond solitaire on her finger and closed her eyes tightly, preparing herself to set off back into the night. She had no idea where to go or even what to do, but it was clear she would find no answers here.

Before she could put one foot in front of the other, though, the stranger spoke again.
“He is inside.”

Hope flared anew and she whirled back towards him. “Then can I come in?!”

“If it is your wish,” he said without moving aside.

It was hardly the warmest of invitations, but she was too damn tired to care. As she neared the door she unzipped her jacket, for her temperature was steadily rising despite the thin mountain air, but as she did so she realised the stranger was making no effort to welcome her inside. In fact, he had positioned himself now so that he was directly blocking her way in.

Dixie inhaled sharply. Growing deeply frustrated now, she fixed her stare onto him despite the fact he was still gazing past her down the path behind her. “Much as I appreciate the hospitality, you’re making it impossible for me to get inside,” she said curtly.

The faintest of smiles finally drew back the corners of his thin lips. “Believe me, that is not my intention.”

“Then will you stand back so I can get in?”

The stranger inclined his head, but instead of stepping aside he came out onto the path – the path that was barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. As he drew near, he ran one hand through his loose hair and looked directly at her for the first time.

A fresh shiver chased down Dixie’s spine, dancing down each and every one of her vertebrae this time. When their eyes locked and he took another slow step towards her, her head rolled to the side. The stranger breathed in sharply and her eyes widened. There was nothing more imperative than making her way into the castle and away from this strange, ethereal intimacy that sprang out of nowhere.

As she darted up the path, she brushed against him and her breath hitched violently, a sudden twist of heat coursing through her veins that made her face flame even before his hand reached out to steady her. He spoke not a word, but the fierce, almost covetous expression on his pale face made her heart race. For a moment she forgot the reason why she was here, but then the moonlight glinted off the ring on her finger.

It was as if she had been doused with ice cold water. Backing away from the stranger, Dixie fumbled behind her until she felt the reassuringly solid frame of the castle’s door. With a strangled cry, she whirled around and darted through it, her heart beating so fast that she could barely even breathe.

No sooner did she find herself inside the castle, though, than she realised that far from fleeing danger, she had walked straight into it. She was inside now. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and she was entirely at his mercy – and when Jamie had gone missing since coming here, following the stranger inside with no way to defend herself was surely the worst thing she could possibly have done.

She swore softly and looked around the vast, cavernous hall as she slowly turned to face the door. Maybe if she was swift she could make a break for it and come back in the daytime. No sooner did she think that, though, than she realised that the stranger was already was at her side.

Dixie backed up towards the nearest stone wall, shaking from head to toe, but without speaking he reached out for her hand. The instant his fingers threaded through hers she could no longer remember why she felt so afraid just a few moments before.

Her lips parted uncertainly and he bestowed the smallest of smiles upon her as the heavy door swung closed in their wake, sealing out the moonlight and plunging the vast hall into darkness. It offered an intimacy that almost made her believe no one but the two of them existed.

The stranger’s hand was unnaturally cool against hers. Maybe it was because they were inside of the castle now, locked away from the lingering heat of the late summer’s day. A faint draught danced around the cold stone floor beneath their feet, and a whispered musty scent was carried upon it. Dixie swallowed hard, badly unnerved by the realisation she had made no effort to pull away from the stranger’s touch.

The cold air didn’t seem to trouble him, but she shivered again, aware now that her nipples were painfully taut. Maybe that was because of the cold castle too. She feared it had a different, far more powerful cause, one that could be directly attributed to the man whose fingers were still wound so intimately through hers.

“You are shivering, my lady,” he said under his breath, far closer to her than she anticipated him to be. “Is the cold air troubling you?”

In truth, the chill in the air was proving to be a welcome if inadequate balm for the fever she felt that was steadily spiralling out of control. It was the fact she was entirely blinded that frightened her. “I think it’s the darkness, actually,” she heard herself say.

“Forgive me, for my eyes are accustomed to the gloom. If it would suit you, though, I will gladly light a candle for you to see by.”

Dixie drew a shallow breath. “I’d appreciate that, yes.”

The stranger moved away without another word, and to her consternation the loss of his hand on hers was a physical pain. Her heart was in her mouth as she heard him strike a match and within moments a candle to the left flamed into life. Hugging herself tightly, she watched him in the flickering light as he moved around the hall, lighting all of the half dozen or so candelabras nearest to the front door.

It came as no surprise that the ancient stone castle wasn’t powered by electricity. Modern light bulbs would be jarringly out of place here. The candles were a perfect fit for the castle, as was the man whose face she could now see clearly once more.

When he came back to her side he bowed deeply to her, a spark of something indefinable in his eyes as he straightened back up. Perhaps it was just the candlelight’s reflection. Dixie couldn’t help but think she saw something more.

As she stared at him, he broke the tense silence that had settled over them. “May I introduce myself, my lady?” he said.

She forced herself to draw a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, of course,” she said, though her voice wavered.

The stranger smiled and reached out to take her hand again. “My name is Maxim Vancura, and this is my castle. I live here alone, the last of a long and spectacular dynasty, but of all of them I am the only one left. Castle Vancura is my prize – and my penance.”

There was no denying it now. She was intrigued, and Maxim’s enigmatic words were the hook that had her caught. “Your penance? In what way?”

“The lonely life it forces upon me. I rarely receive guests, being as isolated as I am.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed the gentlest of kisses against it. “I am glad, though, that you have somehow found me. May I take your bag, my lady?”

The contrast to his earlier cool demeanour now she was over his threshold couldn’t be more marked. It left her on the back foot, and before she could think of any excuse she found herself mutely shrugging the battered rucksack away and handing it over to him.
Maxim. Dixie found herself silently repeating his name inside her head as he left her side, rolling it round her tongue again and again until a deep crimson flush rose from nowhere to burn her skin. The old-fashioned European name suited him. She couldn’t imagine herself shortening it, but what she could imagine very clearly was crying out his name as he took her into his arms and buried himself inside her.

Her breath caught in her throat.


Copyright 2016 Memento Mori Publications


Everyone knows that if you willingly walk into the monster’s lair, you won’t come out alive – or untouched. When Dixie goes in search of her missing boyfriend, her journey leads her straight into the dark and mysterious castle of the enigmatic Maxim Vancura, and he has no intention of letting her leave again…

Cara Fox’s first vampire novella for Memento Mori Publications is an outstanding debut. Dark, ethereal and wickedly sexy, the simmering undercurrent of danger running throughout is everything a vampire romance should be.

Amazon US

Amazon UK