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Author Q&A ft Marina Simcoe | The Demons Series Book Tour | Paranormal Romance

The Demons Series by Marina Simcoe is on virtual book tour.  The paranormal romance stops at Readeropolis with an author ...





The Demons Series by Marina Simcoe is on virtual book tour. 

The paranormal romance stops at Readeropolis with an author interview and an excerpt from Demon Mine. 

Be sure to enter for a chance to win the giveaway and follow the Silver Dagger book tour (for other dates see the link at the bottom of the post).





What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?

Becoming a writer was hardly a conscious decision for me.

The story of Demon Mine built in my brain over the course of several months. The more I thought about it, the more details emerged, complete with characters and dialogues. I started writing it down, not knowing if I’d ever finish it and without having any intentions of publishing it.

Once I did finish it, however, I wondered if there were other people who’d love to read it. I never considered finding an agent or a publisher for it. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the self-publishing, the story would still be collecting dust in my desk. As it was, I found self-publishing process fairly straight-forward and released it last year.

Demon Mine has been out there for over a year and a half now. I’d never anticipated there would be that many people who’d read and love it. And I certainly never thought I’d be asked to write more. When it happened, though, I realized, I did have more of a story to tell about the demons, and was more than happy to turn the book into a series.
No regrets here.

What is your writing process? For instance, do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first?

I didn’t outline until my fourth book. Now, I don’t think I’d ever be able to write without it. For me, outlining means getting all the main points of the story on paper, so I can focus more on the details when I begin writing. As my stories and characters get more complex, I find it impossible to keep everything only in my head. Many plot points need to be threaded in at specific times through the story, and having an outline helps me keep it all in order.

In my outline, I focus on main story and characters’ arcs. I find that thinking it through from the beginning helps to minimize the amount of re-writes I have to do later.
I don’t worry about the chapters right away, though. I write the story in one continuous piece, using only scene breaks when necessary. I only break it into chapters after all developmental edits have been completed. As a result, I never know the final number of chapters the book will end up to be and often surprise myself: “Wow, 42 chapters this time! I thought it’d be like 20.”

I don’t think there is a right or a wrong way to do this. This is just how I find it works best for me.

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

I’m convinced I can only write books I want to read. I can’t write on demand. The joy of telling the story I want to tell is one of the main reasons I write at all.

Likely for me, my books have managed to find a group of readers who enjoy them. It’s not a huge group, but we seem to be on the same brainwave.

Actually, this would never cease to amaze me. The fact that I could pour my inner-most thoughts as words on the paper and another human being, maybe thousands of miles away, would read them and feel what I felt while writing them.

How a complete stranger’s mind can resonate with mine like that is simply amazing.

What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?

Everything.

That’s the reason I write in 1st person the parts written in female POV and in 3rd person the male part of narrative, even as most of my books are written in dual POV.  There is just no way I could get as deep into a male psyche as 1st person POV requires.

Every single editor and proofreader I ever had pointed this out as POV inconsistency. However, the readers don’t complain. Some actually told me it makes reading easier for them: even if they resume reading in the middle of the chapter, they know whose POV it is without having to check the beginning of the chapter.

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

About 4 to 6 months, including the full editing process and proofreading. The only reason I managed to publish 3 books last year was because I wrote one of them in 2017, and I overlap my work often: write the first draft of another book while the current one is with the editor.

My goal for 2019 is to publish 3 books also, as well as to finish the rewrites of The Real Thing. I hope to accomplish it by applying everything I learned last year, so my first drafts would require less re-writes.

Do you believe in writer’s block?

I don’t believe I’ve ever had one.

I did have “editing block” or “re-writing block” when I would takes days, searching for a better way to connect two parts of a story or finding a better motivation for character’s actions.

Writing the first draft or simply putting the story on paper doesn’t have any hurdles for me. It’s like sailing through an open water, free and elated… until the rocky part of editing comes next!



Demon Mine
Demons Series Book 1
by Marina Simcoe
Genre: Paranormal Romance

They are big, strong and silent. Their faces are hidden behind masks and their bodies are enclosed in armor suits. They took me from my home in the middle of the night and have been holding me in isolation for months. I don't fully understand the purpose of my captivity. No one explains anything to me. No one even talks to me.

Nearly driven to madness with no more hope for freedom, I no longer care if I live or die.



And then he speaks to me. Just a few words . . . He throws me a lifeline and helps me find my way back to sanity. He becomes my only companion. My light in the darkness.



I suspect they may not be entirely human. What's worse is that he may be one of them. 
New Edition, 2018




Warning: Demon Mine is a paranormal romance with dark elements. It contains sexual situations, graphic descriptions of intimacy, and potential triggers. Intended for mature readers.






The Forgotten
Demons Series Book 2

I’ve been abducted, twice in as many months.


The world of my captors is a dark and mysterious place, but for me it also holds forbidden pleasures I’ve never experienced before.



Still, when I get a chance to run, I take it.



A rebel and a convicted criminal, he has spent most of his existence suspended between two worlds, in a state his kind call Deep Sleep. Nearly forgotten by all.


Until I disturb his slumber.

The touch of a demon awaken is always dangerous. And for me, it turns out treacherous in more ways than one.

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. LET THE SLEEPING DEMONS LIE.







Marina Simcoe likes to write sweet and sexy love stories about characters who may or may not be entirely human. She firmly believes that our contemporary world could use a little bit of the extraordinary.

She has lots of fun exploring how her out-of-this-world characters with their own set of beliefs, values, and aspirations fit into our everyday life.







Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!








Demon Mine, Book 1


I was abducted one January night. Startled, I woke up with a leather-clad hand covering my mouth. I didn’t even get a chance to panic, my heart just dropped into an abyss and stayed there, frozen in horror.
There were two of them. They scooped me up as if I weighed nothing, and hauled me out of the bedroom.
I realized later that the alarm system I religiously armed every night before going to sleep did not go off. I had no idea how they got inside—the door was locked and my place was on the seventh floor of a high-rise building.
They opened the front door and exited into the brightly lit hallway as if they had no reason to worry about being seen by anyone. That was when the alarm finally blared.
The one carrying me threw me over his shoulder, and they ran towards the stairwell at the end of the hallway.
I couldn’t see much, but my mouth was now free. My heart exploded inside my stomach into a full-blown panic, and I screamed at the top of my lungs. I thrashed with all my might, slamming my fists into my captor’s back and kicking my knees against his chest. There were cameras, and I was hoping that somebody had already called the police.
Then I felt it—a cool sensation against my naked thigh. Darkness took over my mind, like a cloud of ink dissolving in water, and I passed out.
The last thing I remembered before waking up in my cell was being in the backseat of a moving vehicle. However, every time I’d woken up and opened my eyes in the car, someone would touch me plunging me back in the darkness again.


* * *


I did talk to him again. In fact, I talked to him every chance I got, which was often since he was now the only one who brought my meals and bath water. The only time the other two guards showed up was to accompany him to take me to the arena in the evening.
I was still trying to get his name and stood in front of him, blocking his way to the mattress when he delivered my lunch.
“I need to know your name,” I insisted. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Or maybe you do want to talk, but you’re not allowed?”
I waited for a second, giving him a chance to reply, but he remained silent.
“Well, I’ll talk to you anyway. It wasn’t my choice to be locked up in here with only you for company. But if you’re all I’ve got, I may as well get to know you. Right? Let’s start with your name. What would you like me to call you?”
Apparently determined not to be distracted from his task by my talking, he took a step to the side in an attempt to walk around me and deposit the lunch tray by the mattress. I let him but then turned around and faced him on his way out, blocking his exit.
“Come on, it’s not like I can call you ‘dude’ or ‘buddy’. It really doesn’t suit you.” I kept my tone light and casual, making a huge effort not to let my desperation seep through.
No reaction. He stood calmly in front of me with both arms hanging loosely, legs parted in a military stance, and said absolutely nothing.
Of course, he could have easily moved me aside on his way to the door if he really wanted to leave, but he didn’t do that either. Instead, he just stood there and listened to whatever nonsense came out of my mouth. Not much of a silver lining, but I’d take all I could get.
“Okay then. I can always make a name up for you. If you don’t want to talk, just nod if you like it.” No reaction, as expected. “So what should I call you? How about Josh? I knew a boy in elementary school called Josh. He wasn’t very bright . . . and a bit of a bully actually. But you remind me of him, for some reason. Or Tank? My friend had a dog named Tank. He was very friendly,” I said brightly. “Tank would actually suit you really well, with all that armour you wear.”
He remained unresponsive and just stood there, as if frozen in time and space.
“Okay, fine,” I mumbled defeated. Feeling disappointed once again and a little irritated, I stepped aside to let him pass. “I’ll just have to make up a name for you, without your approval. And I’ll make sure it’s something really stupid, too.” I glared at his back as he exited the cell and tried but failed not to take his rejection personally. “See how you’d like being called Tin Man, or Kettle Head, or Dumbass With Zero Brains And a Black Hole For a Heart!”


* * *


My cousin’s husband picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi Jim. It’s . . . it’s Alyssa,” I started and continued since he didn’t reply right away. “Sorry, I haven’t been in touch sooner. It’s a long story. I’m on my way to Calgary now, and I was wondering if I could stop by—”
“Are you kidding me?” His voice thundered into my ear, startling me for a moment. “You people have no shame!”
“What? Jim—” I was confused and a little hurt by his yelling.
“Alyssa is dead! Can’t you let the poor girl rest in peace?”
What?
“But I’m not dead! Jim, can I talk to Sarah, please?”
“No way in hell! I’m not putting Sarah through this again. She got over the death of her cousin and moved on with her life. Leave her alone and don’t ever call here again. Yeah, and tell that creepy boyfriend of yours to stop calling here looking for her too or I’ll call the police next time!”
The line went dead.
I kept pressing the phone to my ear, my mouth open in protest.


* * *


“In the dream I got to touch you without the fear of harming you.” His thumb slid along the front of my throat. “I tasted your skin.”
A flash of heat, ignited by his touch, travelled through me. I swallowed hard and gently traced the fabric of his t-shirt over the bite mark.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Yes,” he answered truthfully.
“So, immortal doesn’t mean invincible?”
I moved my fingers up the side of his neck and traced the edge of his jaw, feeling the slight prickling of the stubble there.
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch, then turned his head and kissed the inside of my hand.
“Alyssa.” His voice grew rough and low as he drew me closer.
My hands linked behind his neck, I felt his breath in my hair as he ran his palms down my back.
Melting into his touch, I allowed myself to simply enjoy this moment. The closeness of him. The scent of the man whom I could never resist. The warmth of his hands sliding under my shirt and up my back. The soft press of his lips, just above my ear. He was my drug of choice, and I was getting my fix. Just for one short moment.
Then I took a bracing inhale.
“Sytrius . . .” I touched his face with my shaking hand. “Please . . . Take it,” I begged.
He knew immediately what I meant. I couldn’t do it on my own. I was too far gone in my constant need for him. He had to take these feelings away from me to make me stop.
Leaning back a little, he yanked his glove off with grim determination then covered my hand with his. A spike of anxiety mixed in with excitement in me at the sight of his bare hand.
“I’d break my own arm before I hurt you, Alyssa,” he vowed in a tone not allowing for any doubt.
I waited for the calming cold sensation, but it never came. Instead he slid his bare hand up my arm and curled his fingers around the back of my neck.
“Take it, please,” I implored him. “I can’t fight it anymore. I can’t stop on my own.”
“I don’t want you to stop.” With his teeth, he ripped the glove off his other hand. “Please, let me touch you. I want to feel you. I want to make you feel.”
Realizing what he was asking of me, I shook my head in panic even as the need for him flared bright and hot inside me. “No, just take it.”
“It won’t last. If I take your desire now, it will only come back. Please, let me give you the release. I don’t want to stop touching you.”
His words broke through my flimsy defences, and my heart beat faster when I whispered, “Touch me, Sytrius,” in complete surrender, flying straight into the flame, hoping against all odds that I could still emerge on the other side of it unscathed.
“Touch me any way you want . . .” I gave him my permission.
He made a noise deep inside his throat, not unlike a tiger’s growl, and grabbed me then lowered me gently onto the bed.
“No gloves.” I hurriedly whispered my only condition.
“No gloves,” he repeated in a hot whisper.
“No mask.” He placed his knees on either side of my hips.
“No hard suit.” He lowered his head and placed hot, tender kisses along the side of my face down to my neck.
“No one else. Just me.” He opened the buttons of my top quickly.
“And you.” Moving his palms up my stomach, he removed my shirt and cupped my breasts. I arched my back, welcoming his touch.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He lowered his mouth to my breast, warm tongue circling the nipple and driving me mad with need.
“I’ve touched, but I couldn’t feel,” he breathed against my skin as he slid his hand up along my back then buried his fingers into my hair on the back of my head, propping himself on his elbow directly over me.
Gently, he massaged my breast. “I wanted to feel this so much.” He rolled my nipple between his fingers, making my hips jerk under his as I gasped and moaned. “I wanted to taste this.” He moved his mouth down my stomach, covering my skin with kisses. “And this.” He whispered, sliding his hands under the elastic band of my pyjama pants, and dragging them down.
Then I felt his hot, wet mouth between my thighs as his tongue skimmed along my folds, sending electrifying waves of desire through me.
“Oh my God . . .” I gasped, breathless, as he moved his tongue in circles then dipped it inside me. Only it was not a god in that bed with me but a demon unleashed.
I curled my fingers in his hair, desperate to hold on to him in the approaching whirlwind of sensations as the full force of orgasm hit me, shuddering my body.
Lips parted in ecstasy, I rolled my head on the pillow, while Sytrius continued to drag his tongue through my folds languidly, chasing the last ripples of pleasure through me.
Through the post-orgasmic glow, I felt his hand move up to my breast again, kneading it gently, his thumb stroking my nipple, while he rained short little kisses on the sensitive skin of the inside of my thigh.
I released his hair and fisted the bed sheets, feeling the pressure building up inside me yet again.
“Sytrius.”
He looked up at me—his hair disheveled from my fingers, the bright crimson light deep in his eyes—and grinned wickedly. His lips hovering mere millimeters from where I needed him most, he whispered, “Again, my angel,” and lowered his mouth on me.


* * *


He brushed loose hairs away from my face and peppered light kisses on my forehead.
Calming under his caresses, I was slowly regaining the clarity of thought. His breath felt like a minty-cool breeze against the skin on my temple, leaving behind a subtle chilling sensation like melting snowflakes. And I recognized the reason of my unexpected calmness—he was taking my stress and worry away from me, soothing me in the most efficient way possible.
“Don’t, Sytrius!” I gasped, recoiling away from him. “You can’t afford to get sick right now.”
But, he drew me back to him. “None of your feelings could ever hurt me again. We are one and the same, Alyssa. You and me.”
The door opened, and Andras walked in. Lost in each other, neither of us offered him any greeting.
“You don’t have to go through with this.” Sytrius’s voice sounded firm, as if he had made a decision. “We’ll leave. I’ll take you away from everything here.”
“What?” I exhaled in shock. “We can’t—”
“What is going on?” Andras stood behind Sytrius.
“I need to get Alyssa out of here. We’re leaving the country,” he replied to Andras, without taking his eyes off me.
Andras’s chest rose with a deep inhale.
“You may never get another hearing.” He frowned, but his voice remained even.
Sytrius ignored him.
“We’ll leave. Right now.” He made a move to get up.
“Sytrius, what are you talking about?” I stopped him, my mind reeling from the sudden change in him.
“I’ll take you far away from this place. We’ll never have to come back.”
Was it possible? Did a place where we could be truly safe exist? Could we raise a family in peace? Would they ever leave us alone?
I desperately wished with all my heart for it to be true.
“They will never stop hunting you,” Andras said gravely.
Sytrius paid him no attention.
“Eighty years, Alyssa. You’ve asked me for eighty years, and I’m giving them to you. We can hide. I will keep you safe.”
Run, again. Hide.
I glanced at Andras.
“Do you honestly believe we have a good chance tonight?”
He met my gaze straight on.
“No one would guarantee it. But I do believe the mood in the Council is sympathetic, yes. I would never urge you to come if I believed it was hopeless, Alyssa.”
“This is not just about me, is it?” I replied slowly and turned back to Sytrius. “Not even about us. The hearing, tonight . . . It may help others—”
“I don't care about others.” Sytrius’s voice rose, his fingers dug into my arms. “Don’t you see, Alyssa? You are the only one who matters to me. You are my everything. Your happiness is my mission in life, my purpose. Without it, none of it makes sense.”
“Sytrius.” Andras stepped closer. His frown deepened. A note of steely determination cut through his voice. “If you don’t show up tonight, you’ll have both Councils on your heels. There is no place on Earth where they won’t find you. Sooner or later—”
“Eighty years, Andras,” Sytrius threw over his shoulder. “I can outrun them for eighty years.”
“And then?” I whispered, sensing that his resolve was born from desperation.
“Then, it doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me. Your life, your happiness matter to me, Sytrius. If we run, they may forget about me after a while, but they’ll never forget about you. Sooner or later, they will find you. And they will punish you.”
Capture him, sentence and torture him . . . And, I might not even be around by then to be able to make any difference at all.
“Alyssa. Look at you. I don’t need to have the insight of a demon to see that you’re terrified. You’re shaking. Your face is white like the walls in this room. And I’m supposed to drag you right into the snake pit tonight?”
“It’s not about me!” I repeated, louder this time to match the volume of his voice.
No, it was so much more than me. Even more than I had thought. Now, there was a baby, too. What would he do if I told him about the baby right now, frantic as he was? Would anyone be able to reason with him at all? At the moment it seemed the news of this magnitude would just send him into a tailspin, stripping him of any control.
Everything is about you, Alyssa!” He bellowed, rising to his feet. I could see his body vibrate with strain as he began to pace in front of me.
“Sytrius. You need to calm down.” Andras’s words had the exact opposite effect. Sytrius spun on his heel to face him.
“Calm? Calm!” He roared, his hands fisted at his sides. “Calm is lack of emotion, Andras. A void. An absolute nothingness! I’d spent centuries in it before she drew me into the light. I’m not risking a hair off her head for either demons or humans.”
Andras’s eyes narrowed, and his hands formed tight fists, too.
Anxious that their fists might be put to work next, I jumped off the bed and circled my arms around Sytrius’s middle, pressing my face to his back.
“Don’t. Please.”
His chest heaved, his heart thundered frantically against my cheek, and I squeezed my eyes tight. How on Earth could I spring my news on him now, even if it tore me apart to keep it inside?
“You need to calm down, Sytrius.” Andras repeated, inhaling deeply himself. “I understand more than you realize what you have at stake. But tonight, you need to keep a level head. It may mean all the difference between your freedom and incarceration. Between her life and death.”
Sytrius’s back stiffened under my cheek, and Andras continued before he could interrupt him.
“The hearing is your chance. Both of you. I give you my promise to get Alyssa out of there safe and sound, no matter what. She will be safe.”
Sytrius held still in my embrace, even as his body shook with tension. I wished I could do for him what he had done for me so many times—take his stress and his worry. I would gladly suffer his pain for him.
He had been my rock—my constant source of hope and strength—ever since he came into my life. Now, it was my turn to be strong, to give him faith.
I braced myself before voicing my decision.
“We’ll go to the hearing tonight,” I started. He stirred in my arms, but I tightened my hold around him, not ready to meet his penetrating gaze yet. I needed to rein in my emotions first, before I could let him see them.
The baby.
The thought shot through me again, and I forced it back with everything I had.
Not now.
I couldn’t tell him now. I had to believe that tonight would be the beginning of our new life and that I would have the chance to share the news with him when all of this was over. I needed to have this faith, because I had to give it to him now to help him win tonight.
“Together, Sytrius. We’ll go through all of this together.”
“Alyssa.”
Finally, I let him turn around in my arms to face me.

“It’s our chance for freedom, Sytrius. Yours and mine.” I let him stare at me, my emotions on display. My decision made, the messy hurricane of fear, worry, panic, and anxiety was still there, but it was now buried under a solid concrete block of focus and determination, which I used to strengthen my voice as I spoke. “If we run, we’ll never be free. Living in hiding, constantly looking over our shoulders in fear of being captured and separated would be just another kind of jail.” I raised my hands to his face, letting my voice cradle him in softness now. “We need to have faith, my love. I believe in you.”



4 comments

  1. Best of luck with the series and book tour! I included the tour in the Sunday, Jan. 20, 2019 edition of The BookTube Your Shelf Daily Reader: https://paper.li/Readeropolis/1517059010#/

    ReplyDelete
  2. It's great cover with this very cold weather romance is so great. I love it so much.

    ReplyDelete
  3. great excerpt and very pretty covers!

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