A little fun with Cynnara Tregarth

Today being my last day on the blog, I figured I’d end things with a bang. So you’re getting a very close and personal friend of mine, Cynnara Tregarth. She’s the author of the awesome Maurader Series (two books are currently sitting on my phone as “treats” for when I finish WIP!) She spent a little naked time with me and…oh wait that’s a fantasy come reality Coffee Time doesn’t need to know *wicked grins*

Anyway, Q/A followed by an excerpt of “Twin Flames of Imbolc”  Enjoy!

Hi Cynnie 😉

 

1.      Tell us about your current  release

Twin Flames of Imbolc is a story co-written with my best friend and soul twin, Sharyn Tregarth. The story is about twin sisters, Synthia and Sharyn who are known collectively as the Twins and separately as Phoenyx and Jeharra. Imbolc has come and due to an incident, both women have to tell a story from their pasts. To fail to do so would mean banishment from Ambrosia Tavern, something neither wants to have happen.

 

2.      Give us some background, why Imbolc?

Imbolc is a Celtic holiday. It’s celebrated February 2^nd and is celebrated in honour of Brigit, Goddess of Fire. It’s a time to celebrate as spring approached and the baby lambs are often born at this time. For the story, it’s a time of renewal for Synthia and Sharyn. Though they’re unaware of what will happen come the future, this night- Imbolc, begins a series of events which will eventually bring them to their own separate books.

 

3.      Care to share an excerpt?

Buying Info: http://redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=145&products_id=186

 

Blurb: The Twins, Synthia and Sharyn Tremayne are forced to tell a story from each of their past lives before an audience at Ambrosia Tavern. For each of them, they tell a story of love and passion that ended.

However, what they speak offends many, and gets many thinking about what could be if given the chance.

For Synthia, it means one night with a heartmate that she thought was gone. For Sharyn, it means a night with two men who attract her thoughts and attentions.

 

 

Excerpt:

Sharyn stared at the gilt-edged invitation Hermes had delivered moments earlier in disbelief.

 

Rena Kai respectfully requests your presence at Ambrosia Tavern tonight to celebrate the blessed Sabbat of Imbolc. Special entertainment has been arranged. I look forward to seeing you…bear in mind severe consequences await those who refuse my gracious invitation.

 

::Did you receive an invitation for Rena’s Imbolc celebration as well, sismine?:: she asked her twin Synthia via mindlink.

::I did.:: Her twin’s voice sounded slightly muted as if she was trying to control her emotions between them.

It was a waste of time, she knew what Synthia was feeling, and she was not going to let it just slide by. ::You are so dead!::

Synthia huffed on the link. ::This is your fault. You’re the one who got us into this mess!::

::I am not!:: Sharyn retorted. ::Are so! You picked the fight with Set. Ergo this is your fault.:: She could sense Synthia’s smirk and somehow, Sharyn knew her sister was somehow right, yet wrong.

::Alright so maybe being forced to entertain at Ambrosia is my fault…yet you are the one who threatened to tell Rena’s story to the tavern. And look where that got us! We have to tell a story from one of our many lives, wear an outfit from said life , not to mention we have to use glamour so we looked just like we did in that life!:: Sharyn stomped her foot as she stripped off her clothes. She was not happy about this, but there was no way out of what was demanded of them. They had tried, and had been threatened with more punishment if they continued. Punishment Rena-style was so not acceptable. The last time they had been punished by that woman they had made a pact to never get that out of line. Ever.

::Stop your whining and get ready. Rena wants us there a bit early.: Synthia ordered before severing the communication between them.

Sharyn growled at the invitation in her hand and tossed it on her bed as she strode to her closet. A rainbow of colors greeted her as she flung the doors open. Satins, silks, leathers, and linens…all perfect replicas of clothes she’d worn in her past lives. Trailing a hand over the garments, reveling in the feel of the different textures, she realized there was only one story worth telling. A red and gold linen choli and a matching skirt joined the dreaded invitation on the bed. A red Yelek of lightweight brocade, embroidered in gold was laid with reverence beside the other items. She stood silently staring at the items, remembering. The faint footsteps of an approaching nymph broke her reverie. “Nyara, draw a bath. Use the cinnamon and jasmine oils. When you have done that, would you mind finding some jasmine blossoms to weave into my hair?”

With a final glance at the clothes on the bed, she prepared herself for a long night. I don’t think there’s anything that can make this night better. Not when we’re going to be telling the stories of our lives. The darkened streets were practically deserted, a rare occurrence on Imbolc Night. The westerly winds and stormy weather kept most of the city’s inhabitants indoors. Only the brave, or desperate, braved the inclement weather. A drunken man stumbled down the street, searching for another bar to visit. The stillness was broken when two women appeared as if from thin air at the end of the street. “You’re not going to tell the story of the Djinn are you?” Synthia asked in a tone bordering on pity.

Sharyn Tremayne turned to glare at her twin sister. “Like yours is any better? The Oracle of Delphi?”

“At least, I’m not trying to get back into my father’s good graces.” Synthia rolled her eyes as she spoke.

“No, you’re kissing Apollo’s ass. And that’s just wrong on so many levels.” She shuddered.

Synthia sighed then responded, “Basically, we’re both kissing ass and hoping to come away with a bit of pride intact.”

Sharyn arched an auburn eyebrow. “What pride? If it didn’t mean being on Rena’s shit list, I wouldn’t be here.” “True. Might as well get it over with.”

Synthia pushed open the ornate doors and stopped short. “By the goddess!”

“What?” Sharyn peered over her sister’s shoulder. “Thor’s Hammer!”

“How many pantheons are here?” Synthia whispered in a horror-filled tone.

Sharyn scanned the room. “I see Norse, Celtic, Greek, Egyptian, Hindu. Thor’s Hammer! Darius and some of the other Djinn are here.”

“Come on!” Synthia grabbed her sister’s arm and pushed through the guests to the bar. “Rena! What the hell is going on? Why is everyone here?”

“It’s Imbolc,” Rena replied, setting two mugs in front of the girls. “Your costumes are wonderful.”

“Forget our costumes!” Sharyn said. “Why is everyone here?”

“I sent invitations, and like yours, they all carried the reminder that not to appear wouldn’t be wise.” The bartender nodded to them before turning away to take care of other orders. Ambrosia tavern was special, and Rena even more so. To argue with Rena was to argue with a power that even the gods feared. The sisters groaned and sank onto the barstools behind them.

This was much worse than they thought it would be. Had they known Rena planned on inviting all pantheons and all the major players in their various incarnations, they’d have done anything to get out of it.

“Tell me…would you have chosen this particular story if you’d known everyone would be here?” Synthia asked, passing her sister a mug filled with mead.

“Not a chance. As it is, I know there’s going to be hell to pay.” “Cheers.” They clinked the mugs together before drinking the contents. Sharyn drained her mug and held it out for a refill. Rena returned, took the mug, her gaze compassionate but at the same time stern. Then handed the refill back to Sharyn’s waiting hand. “Sharyn.” Her sister nudged her shoulder and tilted her head toward the door.

She turned, watching the new visitors as they stood by the door looking for a table to accommodate their large group. A self-satisfied grin crossed her face as recognition dawned. “I’ll meet you on the dais.”

 

 

4.      Give us a powerful reason as to why you write romance

 

I write romance because everything is connected to love. You either have love or want it. Or deny the need for it, perhaps indulging in hate, a complement of love. For me, I write romance because I enjoy exploring how falling in love not only changes people, but in many cases makes them better. Romance allows you to fall in love again emotionally and sometimes feel what you read in a physical manner. Everyone needs romance—every person, regardless of beliefs, desires and needs.

 

5.      Lastly, (before an excerpt) leave us with something most readers (myself included) do NOT know

 

Most people know that I’ve been writing since I was a child. In fact, I learned to read because my parents skipped pages of books they read to me. *sniffles* But what most people don’t know is that I used to love telling scary stories, especially dealing with ghosts, goblins and more. I first read Tolkien at age 8 and he’s a yearly read for me. One day, I want to write a story that truly impacts people on such a level that I’ll always be remembered for changing the thinking of many people.

 

Share an excerpt (500 words) and give us something fun and quirky about the background of the story:  Like for example, Covenant of Wolves 1: Stalker (Dub Mix) is titled after a song by the Darkwave band, Covenant!

 

This is something I’m working on currently. It’s entitled “Beg” and it’s a BDSM oriented story. Though I normally do not write contemporaries, this story just wants to be written—depending if I can get my butt in gear. What’s funny about this story is that not only did my male in my life inspire part of the scene, but that the book mapped itself out in 2 nights of talking on the phone to my two best friends—who contributed to the storyline. Of course, they’re thinking it should be made into an erotic film for women who want plot with porn. *grins*

Excerpt:

 

“Beg.”

The male voice was firm, even a bit demanding, which was unusual during their sexual play. Aislynn Gallante lifted one chestnut brow in question. No one, but no one ever told her what to do sexually- especially not a submissive. In this dungeon, in this specialized club, she was the Dominant, and she was never to be commanded.

Pushing her current submissive male lover, Bryden Petrov away, she growled, “Fuck that. I beg for no one.” Before he responded to her, she moved behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair. Pulling backwards, she bit him hard where his neck and shoulder met on the right side, his neck exposed in one of the submissive poses. His sudden shiver and relaxation to her touch encouraged her to punish her sexual partner who had delusions of becoming a sexual dominant. 

Swiftly taking advantage of Bryden’s minute relaxation, Aislynn continued the assault, kicking the back of his left knee, forcing him downwards towards the floor. A rush of control filled her, reminding her just how much being in control sexually meant to her.  She’d never abuse her submissives, but this power rush was nothing like anything she could explain. Knowing that this man trusted in her to bring him pleasure, bring him emotional happiness and it all centered upon her needs and her knowing him better than he knew himself.

“Kneel, slave.” Without a word of protest, her slave slid down on both knees before her. She loved this—the give and take of sexual power. Somehow, it always amazed her that some of the most alpha-looking men enjoyed allowing women take control sexually and set the tone. In fact, it had been a fluke that had brought this particular man into her life and into her bed. Bryden had been her sexual partner now for over four months and still she found him amazing in how his muscles flexed under his smooth skin as he tried to obey her every command. Yet, for all that they were lovers; there were times when she felt things were spiraling out of control.

Bending over him, she bit him from the shoulder, down the center of his wide back, until she reached the top of his ass. It was time for her to press the issue of ownership and who truly was the submissive in this relationship or whatever it was.  He needed to realize what was there was nothing more than a fantastic sex game they shared.

“Who are you?” she whispered against his slick, muscular body. Tell me who you are, what you want, what I can do to make you want me as much as I want you. What can I do to make you feel about me as deeply as I’m beginning to feel about you?

“I’m a slave,” Bryden responded hoarsely. “Only the strongest of mistresses can tame me. Nothing I do is without the permission of she who owns me.”