There are vapires (or vampyres), weres, witches, ghosts, faeries, demons and angels to name a few. And then there are the combinations and variations of all of the above. So which do you like best?
Do you like to switch them up? Read a vampire novel followed by a ghost story, following by something about the fae? That’s what I do.
It depends on my mood what I want to read. Some days I feel like getting in deep with the undead, other days it’s exploring faery magic, and some days I just want a little animal mixed in with my reading. But most of the time it depends on whether I feel like reading a mystery, thriller or historical because all paranormal books are about more than just the paranormal being that is the protagonist. There’s got to something more, something interesting, grabbing in the story that keeps me reading—more than just the fun of the author’s take on the supernatural.
My biggest problem, though, is that I love historicals. I love to read about another time and place. And there just aren’t that many paranormal historical books. Which is why I write.
Since I couldn’t find the paranormal historicals I wanted to read, I started writing them. I’ve always been fascinated with the fact that some people just have an amazing talent (whether it be painting, music, science or politics) and so I created a world where those with talent aren’t ordinary, but magical. Their talent is their magic. I called them Vallen (Latin for powerful) and have so far written three full length novels and one novella about them in my Storm series and, more recently, in my Children of Avalon series (the two series are set in two different time periods—the first in Regency England, the other in post-Arthurian England).
So, what do you enjoy in your paranormals? Witches? Vampires? History? Mystery? I’d love to know! And just for your enjoyment, below is an excerpt (the proglogue) from my Regency set paranormal, Magic in the Storm (available wherever you buy ebooks).
June 21, 1794
The wind whipped through Tatiana’s hair, prying it free from her forehead where it had been plastered with sweat. Heat swirled around them threatening to burst into flames. Vallentyn jumped as a bolt of lightning shot into the ground just feet from where he stood coddling that infant in his arms.
“Tatiana, stop this! Stop it right now. You cannot kill our son.”
“Our son?” she repeated, fury burning through her. “And what of my daughter?” she shouted over the gale of hot wind that wove around them. “What of the prophecy? What…” her voice faltered.
She was tired. Too tired. Although the birth had been easier than many of the others, she was getting old. Only her fury at this injustice kept her awake now.
How could this have happened? Her child. Her beloved. Her daughter. Seventh child of the seventh child in the seventh generation—a boy!
Tatiana shoved down the pain that threatened to overwhelm her and instead burst forth with another bolt of anger, coming even closer to Vallentyn this time.
“I don’t know, Tatiana. Truly, I don’t know. But you cannot kill him!” Her husband stood his ground and pleaded with her even as the sweat poured down his forehead.
In a very brief moment of weakness, Tatiana almost felt for him. But then she caught sight of the abomination in his arms and the hot wind picked up once more.
“I can and I will,” she shouted. “He was not meant to be. I was to have a girl. She was to be the most powerful Vallen in generations. As powerful as Morgan Le Fey.” Tatiana could barely keep the tears from her voice. “My Morgan. She was to be…”
“I know, Tatiana,” Vallentyn’s voice filled with soothing magic. “But he is still our seventh child. Perhaps he will be powerful. Perhaps the prophecy will still hold…”
“Perhaps? Perhaps nothing! Perhaps he will burn in hell!” The temperature around them rose even hotter.
“Perhaps we all will, but you cannot kill him. Swear to me that you will not.” Vallentyn’s pale blue eyes looked deeply into her own and she could feel herself crack and cool. How could he do this to her? He was not nearly so powerful as she, and yet…
“I swear.” The words burned through her. They scorched the air and hung there dripping sweat and then were blown away on his cooling breeze.
The child peered at her from within the protective cocoon of his father’s arms, his large dark eyes framed with black lashes so like her own. He reached out a small fisted hand toward her, but Tatiana turned away. She hated him as she had never hated before.