Backlist Bash: Alexandra Christian

We’re winding down, but not so much that we don’t have a few things left to enjoy… in the spotlight on this crisp November 1st is my good friend and partner in crime, ALEXANDRA CHRISTIAN. On tap is a bit of information about her debut novel (and one of my favorite angel/demon books ever), Hellsong.


SK: What makes this particular book your favorite?

AC: Hellsong is probably my favorite book just because it was my first.  This book is the one that proved to me that I could actually write a novel length piece with a cohesive plot.  I felt very close to the characters and much of it was written during a particularly difficult time in my life.  Therefore, it’s a constant reminder of survival.


SK: Who published it? When?

AC: Hellsong was published by Sugar and Spice Press in October of 2010. 


SK: Tell us a little about what you went through to get it published.

AC: My husband, author Tally Johnson, was a guest at the ConCarolinas sci-fi convention in Charlotte, NC and I had gone with him to support his budding career as a writer and ghost expert.  I had no idea that there would be so many authors and as soon as I stepped in, I was fascinated.  I talked to everyone I could and finally managed to meet the fabulous Kelly Ann Pearson.  We were sitting beside one another on author’s alley, her promoting her new publishing house, Sugar and Spice, and me babysitting Tally’s books.  We got to talking about writing and I shared some of my ideas and goals as far as being a writer.  She was so encouraging and urged me to finish up the piece I was working on and send it in to her submissions department.  To my incredible surprise, she liked it!  And the rest, as they say, is history.

SK: On writing in general: What’s the hardest part for you? Why?

AC: Promotion is, by far, the most difficult thing for me as an author.  For one thing, I’ve never been very good at tooting my own horn.  For another, I’d rather be writing an imaginary story than writing a blog post or a character interview. 


SK: Unrelated: What’s your favorite color?

AC: Red. Definitely Red.



Paranormal Erotic Romance


Can mercy be a sin?

Lonely bookstore manager Theo Chandler lost herself in Hurricane Katrina. Found wandering alone in a swamp with no memory of her life before the storm, she has spent the last few years building a half-life where no one touches her so no one can guess her secret. Only Father Jerome, a voodoo priest who witnessed her birth, and the minions of Lucifer know her true identity and the monster she could become.

As the last of the Grigori, Heaven’s guardians of humankind on Earth, the angel Saraquel should destroy beautiful Theo before the forces of Hell use her to destroy him, humanity, or even Heaven itself. But like Jerome, he sees the humanity in her that far outshines the hidden demon. He forms a connection to her that he has never known with anyone else through all his immortal life. Choosing to protect her, he joins Theo and Jerome in a fight to bring down hell’s design and save her human soul.


Her mind began to wander to the man who had helped her down on the street. How lucky she was that he had been walking by at the exact moment that she needed him. Like some kind of guardian angel. And he was everything that one would expect an angel to be. His frame, tall and angular with wide shoulders and squared hips. His hair so blonde that it reminded her of strands of crinkly silk that fell across his brow. And his eyes. His eyes were so blue that she seemed to see right through them and into his soul. She had trusted him upon seeing those eyes. His voice still echoed in her head, his touch still burning on her skin even though it had only been a moment’s caress. She put her arms around herself, goose bumps popping out all over as she thought of him. She breathed, closing her eyes and imagining what his arms would feel like encircling her shoulders, holding her tight, his lips on her skin.

She laughed nervously under her breath. She shouldn’t be thinking of him like this. She didn’t even know his name, for God’s sake. He could be anyone, but she could remember every subtle nuance of his voice. His smell had permeated her skin and still hung heavy in the air. She picked up the sweater she’d been wearing and held it to her nose, inhaling. The bittersweet scent of red wine mixed with soap and clove cigarettes. It was unlike anything she’d smelled before and it took her back to the moment when he’d grabbed her, keeping her from falling.

Theo hugged the sweater to her body as she crossed the room. It was worn and soft—her favorite—the color of pomegranate seeds. It was still warm from the heat of her body and she pulled it closely around herself. She lay down with it, holding it against herself. If only she could feel the warmth of his body atop hers, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so cold. Theo inhaled again, taking his scent into her, letting it fill her up. She could imagine him breathing into her, his kiss keeping her alive in this concrete tomb she’d created for herself. She opened her mouth to let him in and her mind’s eye made it real. His lips crushing against hers, his teeth scraping across the delicate skin. She groaned, her fingertips trilling lightly across her shoulders and down her arm. If she closed her eyes and blocked out the rest, they felt as she imagined his fingers would, desperate and sure. They slid over the rough threads of the sweater, pressing it into her flesh as they sought out the curve of each breast. She could feel their centers hardening under the fabric and she arched into her own fantasy. She raised a hand to her mouth, covering it to muffle the sounds of her cries, then flicking her tongue over the pads of her fingers. She could almost taste him where he’d taken her hand before and she tasted the smoke tobacco flavor that lingered there.

With her other hand, she pushed the sweater higher, sweeping it aside to rest by the pillow. This way she could still smell him, but her body, now burning with the heat of her waking dream, could cool in the nighttime chill. Taking her fingers from her mouth, she slid them down, working them beneath the fabric of her camisole and using them to caress each nipple. They were so stiff that, at the first touch, they seemed to shrink with pain. But soon they warmed to her delicate teasing and she became bolder. She touched them the way she imagined he would—cautiously at first, then more urgent as his need for her grew. She rolled them between her thumb and forefingers, pulling at them gently until the sensation drifted down in waves to settle at her center. She could feel the pleasure sitting heavy over her sex, the heat becoming so intense that she had to open her thighs to calm it. She could hear his voice echoing in her ears. He called her name, tempting her to touch herself. She could see his eyes, burning blue fire as he watched her. He smiled, almost guiding her hands to her center.

Before she could stop herself, her fingertips were playing at the edges of her sex, pulling the small, dewy petals apart. She moaned softly as the cool air trilled over her overheated skin. The edge of her fingernail scraped over the tiny, swollen nub of flesh at her center and she gasped at the intensity of sensation. Before she knew it, she was crying out, falling faster into a chasm of pleasure built by his suggestion.


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