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About the author:
Multi-published author Kelley Heckart lives in Arizona with her musician husband, dog, and a number of backyard “pets.” Her stories reflect her passion for ancient and medieval time periods, storytelling and the supernatural. Inspired by the ancient Celts, her tales are filled with fierce warriors and alpha heroes, bold women, otherworldly creatures, magic, and romance. When not writing, she works as a freelance editor, practices target archery, and writes and records music with her husband. She can be found online at http://www.kelleyheckart.com/
What inspired you to write your book?
I have always been a writer in some form, starting out with poetry and songs, then graduating to short stories and novels. My new Shadow-walkers series is inspired by my time as a rock and roll musician and playing in various bands, including two all-female bands. I added paranormal elements, so this series is Rock Star meets Supernatural. The twist is that the girls are the rock stars, and they command the supernatural males they love. There is also real music, written my myself and my musician husband, that goes along with this series. We used the fictional band name, Hecate's Fury, and can be found on ReverbNation.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Normally, I didn’t eat much in the morning, but the blueberry muffins tempted me. I even found some hot cocoa. Once I’d prepared my breakfast, I sat at the oak table near the kitchen window, chose the seat facing the view, and became entranced by the beautiful forest scene outside. The rising sun cast golden hues across dew-kissed pines that sparkled among the amber oak leaves. The serene atmosphere embraced me, and I closed my eyes, savoring my hot cocoa.
“Bloody hell. Why is the coffee maker empty?”
I flung my eyes open and jumped at the deep male voice, dribbling hot cocoa down my chin. After twisting in my seat, I widened my gaze.
Kane Devlin stood in the kitchen. His tousled brown hair framed his handsome face and curled in perfect, delectable collar-grazing waves. His designer clothes were unwrinkled and also perfect. He looked like he’d showered and dressed for a photo shoot and not just woke up or crawled in after a night of little sleep.
And he was glaring at me. “Did you hear me?”
His slight Scottish burr had taken me aback. Usually he affected an American accent in his movies.
I slowly nodded, very aware I must look like a mess and swiped a napkin over my hot cocoa-streaked chin. “I, uh, what about the coffee maker?”
“I expect coffee in the morning. Britany knows this. My P.A. should know this. That’s you, right?”
He leaned on the granite island, his thick muscles straining beneath his long-sleeved shirt. “Are you daft, lass? You are the P.A. Britany sent to fill in for David, right?”
“No, you’re not daft or not the P.A.?” One side of his gorgeous mouth twisted into an amused grin.
I hardened my gaze. Okay, hot or not, he was being an ass. “No to both.”
He tilted his head. “Who are you then?”
“The author?” He lifted his brows, curiosity lighting his blue-green eyes.
“Yes.” I suddenly wished I had showered and dressed before coming down to the kitchen. Or at least combed my hair.
His keen, assessing gaze roamed my face and body. “Hmm. You look different from your picture.”
Heat crept up my cheeks, and I wanted to crawl under the table. Yeah, I just rolled out of bed.
“Old photo,” I mumbled.
He slanted his head, brow furrowed. “You are much too pretty to be a writer, and that picture doesn’t do you justice.”
My cheeks grew even hotter.
He pointed to the coffee maker. “So, why is it empty?”
I frowned. “Because I don’t drink coffee.”
Studying the coffee maker, he scratched his stubbly chin. “Well, maybe you know how this thing works.”
“It can’t be that difficult.” I pushed my chair back, stood, brushed past him, retrieved a measuring cup and then filled the coffee maker reservoir with water. Ignoring his presence as best I could, I found the coffee and filters in one of the pantries.
From behind me, he said, “You should be a P.A.” His words were tinged with mirth.
“And you should try not to be such an ass.” I turned and pursed my lips.
Amused laughter rumbled from him. “I like you, Katie.”
I bristled. No one ever called me that. In fact I hated that nickname, but it did sound pleasing the way Kane said it with his slight Scottish accent.