Wickedly Yours
Erotic Romance Fiction Magazine
 MIDNIGHT
TRYST
Ellen
Ashe
Genre: Paranormal Romance/Thriller
Format: eBook
BUY THE BOOK
This book is available at the following location(s):
New Concepts Publishing
From The Back Cover:
Her
dreams of intimacy are vivid, explicit, and violent- a cruel mixture of a
lonely heart and the scenes of six gruesome murders that Detective Regina
Page is at a loss to solve. But when she receives a mysterious phone call,
from a man who calls himself Dorantes, a man who states he is a witness, her
grip on reality begins to change. She agrees to meet him at an abandoned
warehouse on the waterfront, not far from where the bloodless corpses were
found, and when he begins an eerie seduction that sweeps her through time's
portals, she believes he is more than a witness--he is of the undead. But
each carnal midnight tryst reveals horrifying secrets, and one-by-one ornate
masks are discarded, and she must face not only her own forgotten past, but
a future ensnared in the embrace of sheer evil.
The Buzz...
“Midnight Tryst is what I would call a horror
story. The hero is a demon of sorts determined to get what he wants, and
what he wants is Regina. As the story unfolds, the tale grows slightly
confusing and nightmarish. Although feeling somewhat confused tends to be
extremely annoying, the author manipulates it successfully, creating the
right atmosphere and making the reader understand the heroine’s emotions
perfectly. I literally had a case of the creeps to such a degree that I just
had to keep reading until the last twist was unfold, despite the fact that I
am not particularly fond of this genre. Extremely dark, with highly erotic
yet somewhat disturbing and nightmarish scenarios, this is the sort of book
that will appeal to those of you looking for a quick chills and creeps sort
of read."
--Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Midnight Tryst was a pleasure to read, and really showed off Ellen's
intriguing writing style which blends erotica with the supernatural into a
rich mosaic that few other writers could pull off successfully.
--Mike Moore: Editor of Descending Darkness e-zine
 Meet The Author:
Three generations crowded into the old farm house where Ellen Ashe spent her
youth in Nova Scotia, a house that whispered constantly with the voices of
ancestors long buried. Telling ghost stories became more than a hobby--it
was simply a part of every day life. After securing degrees in English,
History and Elementary Education, Ellen traveled to Thailand to teach, a
year of absorbing a culture's somber belief in the spirit world. Her next
teaching position took her to London, England, and oddly enough, eventually
she ended up in the ancient city of York, reputed to be the most haunted
city in all of Europe.
Home again to the eastern Canadian province, she began writing,
recounting personal experiences, weaving thin strands of truth into fanciful
tales of mythological creatures, spirits, ghosts, demigods and deliciously
barbaric men with insatiable desires. The possibilities are endless. So too,
is her inherited passion for story telling.
Book Excerpt ~ Part One:
At the end of the
soundless dock was the building where he had told her to meet
him. Every window had been broken, cruel acts that had emptied
the structure’s spirit, defacing its aged dignity. She peered at
each in turn. No lights. This Dorantes obviously liked the dark.
But so did she. She smiled, gripped the weapon, and crept
through the open door. Pausing just inside she waited for her
eyes to adjust to the dim light, the full moon shining through
several smashed windows. Shattered glass crunched beneath her
shoes. Something scurried past, making her flinch. A rat. The
place must be swarming with them. Evil, foul creatures finding
homage within destitution. How appropriate. She tried to swallow
but her mouth was too dry.
“Hello?” she
called weakly. She cleared her throat. “Anybody here?”
Water dripped
methodically, mimicking her pounding heart. The interior
resonated vastness, the outer edges blurred in murky dreariness.
She took several steps, heal to toe, deeper into the stagnant
gloom. A silhouette moved. She froze.
“Dorantes?”
She squinted to where the blackness had shifted. Except for the
dripping water she heard nothing.
“Ishabella.”
She spun
round. Muscle taut, she was coiled like a spring. The source of
the voice was nowhere to be seen. Slowly she reached into her
jacket and pulled out the gun. “Talk to me,” she demanded. “I
didn’t come here to screw around.”
A wry laughter
reverberated all around her.
She made a
three-sixty, the gun arm’s length in front, poised. She peered
into the vastness that seemed to be growing increasingly heavy.
Hair on her arms fluttered to attention. Her skin crawled as
though the slithering nocturnal creatures were exploring her
flesh. “Show yourself or I walk.”
It occurred
to her suddenly, as she searched the shadow for the elusive
form, that she was dealing with more than a witness to the
recent murders. Like a quick punch in the stomach she reeled--he
was the evil that all else spurned--that this was his lair. For
the first time in recent memory she suffered an immobilizing
fear, and her heart sunk to isolation. Undeniable. He was
involved. He killed those young men, and he was stalking her!
Dorantes was
of the undead.
With such a daunting thought she felt a paralyzing stress.
Her senses were no less acute. However, the registration of what
was around her slowed down. So, as her eyes swept the gloom in
an erratic slow motion, she missed him, until the arm clamped
around her waist, and a hand stifled her scream.
Book Excerpt ~ Part Two:
“Let go of the weapon,” the voice purred. “Trust me. I mean you no
harm.”
She flinched, a futile attempt to free herself, efforts which awarded
her with nothing more than a firm squeeze, like a lover’s frantic hold.
She dropped the gun. He didn’t release her. It seemed he was enjoying
their locked stance--his chest tight to her back, his groin hard,
pressed against her backside. She suspected that at any second he would
lessen his grip, allow her to turn, face his proven dominance over her,
but he did not. The palm that cupped her mouth had now lowered to her
breast, the arm around her waist had dipped as he stroked her outer
thigh. His lips brushed across her hair. As shocking as this blatant
molestation had become she didn’t refute any of his advances, for they
were far from unpleasant. The heat from his hands caused a flash of
electricity to surge through her every fiber, a throaty sigh was
saturated with desire, the puff of breath against her hair was like
silk. Her breast warmed to his fondling and her legs slightly parted to
permit further intimacy. “No harm,” he repeated.
He swayed, a slow rhythmic dance, the caressing lighter, tender, no
less lulling. She drifted, seconds only perhaps, until his voice woke
her from a semi-slumber of inability.
You are more beautiful in my arms than from afar,” he whispered, his
full lips wet upon her throat, a wash of thick hair feathered her skin.
“Much more beautiful.”
She felt the brush of teeth on her skin, and stiffened.
The details of homicide scenes flipped like gruesome photos through
her mind. Two tiny punctures, bruised skin, bloodless bodies. A surge of
adrenaline poured through her veins, the very veins he was no doubt
preparing to taste. She prepared to pitch, obey the instinct to survive,
when his velveteen voice changed.
“Such thoughts of me!” he cried. “You think that I have lured you
here to weaken you with my affection and suck your body dry? Oh,
Ishabella, you hurt me so! I had hoped we could get to know each other
better before our journey began. I had hoped you could feel my love
before even looking into my face.”
A hand went over her eyes. “Hidden fires burn in the darkness.” The
words were his, against her ear, yet his lips- they hadn’t moved!
And then she saw nothing but blue-gray fog, as though a great thick
curtain had dropped. Her eyes were opened and they neither burned nor
stung, yet she was dizzied by sudden blindness. “No!” she pleaded, and
it was then he let go.
The silence was broken only by a mournful sigh. “You are all I want,
Ishabella. All I ever wanted.”
Interview:
How did you get started?
I have always enjoyed writing- letters, diaries, and research papers.
Then one summer my best friend and I spent a leisurely summer afternoon
sitting on the beach discussing our favorite movie stars. (We are recycled
teenagers whenever we get together.) I didn't know it at the time but that
day was a turning point for me. I decided it'd be fun to write a short story
for her for a Christmas gift. We'd be the heroines and our heroes, of
course, were our film idols. By the time I finished, the short story was
90,000 words long. I was hooked. That was in 1999. Since then I have pounded
out eight manuscripts and dozens of short stories. The Sorcerer’s Mark I
felt was my best. The rest, they say, is history.
Why the paranormal?
The unexplained fascinates me. As a child it terrified me. My grandmother
told true ghost stories that would keep me awake for weeks. To make matters
worse, the old farmhouse where we lived creaked and moaned unnaturally. One
night I awoke to hear a muttering monologue in the living room. My first
thought was that the radio was inadvertently left on. But when I sneaked out
of bed to have a look, the voice suddenly stopped. I spent the next year
sleeping with my mother! Incidents such as this have a tendency to linger
with a person. And I discovered that you can really get someone's attention
with a scary tale. There's an insatiable appetite for that sort of thing.
Add to this the literary freedom- unlike historical novels where facts need
to be accurate- the paranormal's boundaries are blurred. When a fictional
character sees a ghost materialize right in front of her eyes no one can
come back to me and say, "This could never happen." Why? Because it can
happen!
Have you ever seen a ghost?
Thankfully, no. Hearing them is frightening enough. One of the spookiest
incidents, luckily for me, was witnessed with my husband. We had come home
to Nova Scotia from England for a holiday. I warned him that my house was
haunted and he predictably rolled his eyes. "No such thing." Yet one night
he grabs my arm, waking me, and together we hear the steady ascent of
footsteps on the stairway. "Who is that?" he asked and I could hear the
trepidation in his voice. The only other person in the house was my mom and
she was softly snoring in the other bedroom! There was a short pause on the
landing and then the footsteps continued to the side of our bed. Not only
that, but the bedsprings squeaked as the presence sat down against Stuart's
leg! He switched on the light and everything went back to normal. "See," I
said, feeling vindicated. "The place is haunted." But he refuses to talk
about the incident. My witness went into denial.
However, it was one mystery added to a list of others- cupboard doors
opening, broken clocks chiming, voices muttering- and of course the
footsteps. My inspirations are endless.
Did these things really happen to you?
This question took me a bit off guard. I write spooky little short
stories for a community magazine called "Northern Views". Having been a
regular for several months, people have begun to refer to me as a ghost
magnet. That's not quite true. I take local folk tales and weave them into
fictional stories. There's a mystery ship that appears on the Northumberland
Strait, sails for a few minutes before bursting into flames and then
disappears, usually before a Nor'easter sets in. Hundreds of people over the
last century have witnessed the apparition, and several theories abound. My
favorite is that it was a Pirate Ship. Nova Scotia's rugged coastline was
apparently a haven for them. (Oak Island is an example where suspected
buried treasure still hasn't been found.) I've never seen the Ghost Ship,
but my friend's uncle did and I soaked up every word he had to tell. Then I
penned Notable Haunting. It was my first ever published piece!
Who are you and what have you done with my wife?
My husband is a very patient man. Not only is he my computer technician,
he is my story-line sounding board, my biggest fan, and my proof reader. I
value his opinion, and after writing a section of a manuscript I sit
anxiously by his side as he pours over my material. More than once he'd peer
quizzically at me. "Where do you get all this?" he'll ask. All I can do is
shrug. I don't know myself. Once my characters start to talk to me, I write
on their behalf as though I'm a conduit. After almost two decades of
marriage I guess Stuart thought he knew everything about me. Maybe he does,
but he's also getting to know the host of characters swirling around in my
imagination! "You're a very scary woman," he said once. My response- "Thank
you!"
Why did you choose to have your book published online instead of going
the more conventional route of having it published in hard copy format?
I didn't. It chose me. New Concepts isn't afraid to push the envelope,
especially when it comes to carnal desires. Lucky for me, neither am I! It
just so happens that New Concepts is an e-book publisher. And a popular one
at that. I’m thrilled to be part of their family.
Would you recommend that others have their books published online?
I recommend submitting to every publisher that accepts your genre, whether
traditional or electronic. The key is to get out there.
What advice would you give to aspiring new writers?
Write, write, write. Don't stop. Ever. Find time every day, even if for
only a few minutes. Keep going. Read incessantly. Join groups. Find
fellowship with other authors. Always be open to constructive criticism,
even if it hurts. And most of all- BELIEVE.
Do you feel that parts of your personality or life experiences show
through in your writing?
Yes, to an extent. There's no escaping this. But my characters are based
more on idealism than reality. Writing can be therapeutic; it helps to
exorcise the ghosts inside the machine called my mind. I have the power on a
keyboard to fix what once went wrong, sooth regret, speak to those who are
gone, answer unanswerable questions. Love triumphs, evil pays. Writing gives
me the ability to create satisfying conclusions. Real life experiences don't
always follow that rule.
What are your plans for 2006?
I have several ideas swirling around in my head so my goal is to get them
sorted out and started. If I don’t then the character’s voices will begin to
demand: WHY? I am their slave so I have busy year ahead! But I love the
prospects of telling their wicked tales! I can only hope that my readers are
as anxious as I am to get the stories out there!
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