Wolf Becoming
Rory Ni Coileain
Release Date: February 24, 2016
Pages or Words: 28,871 words
Categories: Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, M/M Romance, Paranormal, Romance, Wolf Shifter
Pages or Words: 28,871 words
Categories: Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, M/M Romance, Paranormal, Romance, Wolf Shifter
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Maria Fanning
Blurb:
Volyk learns very young that he has to hide what he is—oboroten’, shape-shifter—after his father is killed and skinned by a hunter, and the pack that takes in his pregnant mother is hostile to his kind. When Volyk is ordered to fight the pack’s beta to prove his fitness, but instead obeys his hormones and tries to mount him, he’s declared an abomination and forced to flee.
Ilya, too, hides a secret. Being young and gay in modern Russia is dangerous, and he knows it. But the truth eventually gets out, and his brothers lure him into the forest to kill him. They’re stopped by Volyk, who hides the mortally wounded Ilya in his den. The only way to heal the human is to turn him into an oboroten’.
Unfortunately, Ilya’s gentle nature is ill suited to the life of a wolf. But when Volyk’s old pack returns, seeking to take away Volyk’s magickal den, Ilya will have to embrace – truly become – the wolf Volyk made him, to save both his mate’s life and his own.
Excerpt:
And the angel said unto them, be not afraid…
Ilya was not afraid. Enraptured, yes. Entranced. But not afraid. He had been ready for death when he closed his eyes in the wolf’s embrace. Instead, he was whole, and awake, and in the arms of a man more handsome than any angel. Volyk’s long thick hair was the brown and gray of the wolf’s pelt, his cheekbones angular, his lips full. And his eyes were the same beautiful fiery amber as the wolf’s.
Maybe he had only dreamed the wolf. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Surely he had done nothing in his life to earn the gift this moment would be if it were real.
Meet the author:
Rory Ni Coileain majored in creative writing, back when Respectable Colleges didn’t offer such a major. She had to design it herself, at a university which boasted one professor willing to teach creative writing: a British surrealist who went nuts over students writing dancing bananas in the snow, but did not take well to high fantasy. Graduating Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, she sent off her first short story to an anthology that was being assembled by an author she idolized, and received one of those rejection letters that puts therapists’ kids through college. For the next thirty years or so she found other things to do, such as going to law school, ballet dancing (at more or less the same time), volunteering as a lawyer with Gay Men’s Health Crisis, and nightclub singing, until her stories started whispering to her. Currently, she’s a lawyer and a legal editor; the proud mother of a budding filmmaker; and is busily wedding her love of myth and legend to her passion for m/m romance. She is a three-time Rainbow Award finalist.
Where to find the author: Facebook / FB Author Page / Facebook Author Group (Rory’s Three Rs) / Twitter / Goodreads
I mention in my bio that I’ve taught Irish dancing. Specifically, I teach Irish ceili dancing. Don’t think Michael Flatley – this isn’t Riverdance. *winks* Ceili dancing is group or couples dancing, the kind of dancing Irish people do for fun rather than for performance. It has a lot in common with square dancing – there are some figures that are exactly the same, in fact. And the dances generally have a caller, someone to get you through the dance even if you don’t know the steps. That’s my job. Herding cats.
I started out as a student, at a pub in St. Paul called the Dubliner. I’d gone to my first ceili on St. Patrick’s Day – I think it was 2004, and I’d tried a few dances and wanted more. And every Wednesday night at the Dubliner was dance night, with live music and an enthusiastic crowd, a tradition that had been going on for many years before I stumbled on it. I’d been attending for a year or two when the teacher had to give it up – this was before the Clean Indoor Air Act had been extended to bars in Minnesota, and the teacher’s asthma was threatening to do him in. Another teacher stepped in for a little while, but attendance started falling off – the first teacher had been a really popular guy – and for a while it looked like the dancing was going to stop. So I took a deep breath, and said hey, if anyone still wants to stick around, I’ll try my hand at teaching. And that lasted for a good six years, until I finally had to give it up under the combined pressure of the Evil Day Job and my writing schedule.
I’d start out every night teaching the basic steps to any newcomers. You could come alone, or with friends, or with a partner – we’d always find people for you to dance with. Usually our new students were women, but every once in a while a guy would find his way to us. And one night, my only new students were two men – one with a big bushy beard and one bald as an egg and built like a bulldog. Now, when I would start teaching the steps that are meant for couples, Irish dancing puts the man on the left and the woman on the right. So if I was teaching a man and a woman, I could just ask the gent to stand on the left. If it was two women, I’d say “okay, the woman on the left is the gent.” This was the first tine I’d ever taught two men… and I looked at the bearded gent and the bald gent and I said “I guess the man without the beard is the lady?” To which the bald gentleman replied, with a grin, “Hey, I was in the Nay for 20 years, I can handle that.”
I damn near needed oxygen, after that….
Cover Artist: Maria Fanning
Blurb:
Volyk learns very young that he has to hide what he is—oboroten’, shape-shifter—after his father is killed and skinned by a hunter, and the pack that takes in his pregnant mother is hostile to his kind. When Volyk is ordered to fight the pack’s beta to prove his fitness, but instead obeys his hormones and tries to mount him, he’s declared an abomination and forced to flee.
Ilya, too, hides a secret. Being young and gay in modern Russia is dangerous, and he knows it. But the truth eventually gets out, and his brothers lure him into the forest to kill him. They’re stopped by Volyk, who hides the mortally wounded Ilya in his den. The only way to heal the human is to turn him into an oboroten’.
Unfortunately, Ilya’s gentle nature is ill suited to the life of a wolf. But when Volyk’s old pack returns, seeking to take away Volyk’s magickal den, Ilya will have to embrace – truly become – the wolf Volyk made him, to save both his mate’s life and his own.
Excerpt:
And the angel said unto them, be not afraid…
Ilya was not afraid. Enraptured, yes. Entranced. But not afraid. He had been ready for death when he closed his eyes in the wolf’s embrace. Instead, he was whole, and awake, and in the arms of a man more handsome than any angel. Volyk’s long thick hair was the brown and gray of the wolf’s pelt, his cheekbones angular, his lips full. And his eyes were the same beautiful fiery amber as the wolf’s.
Maybe he had only dreamed the wolf. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Surely he had done nothing in his life to earn the gift this moment would be if it were real.
Buy the book: Dreamspinner Press
Meet the author:
Rory Ni Coileain majored in creative writing, back when Respectable Colleges didn’t offer such a major. She had to design it herself, at a university which boasted one professor willing to teach creative writing: a British surrealist who went nuts over students writing dancing bananas in the snow, but did not take well to high fantasy. Graduating Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, she sent off her first short story to an anthology that was being assembled by an author she idolized, and received one of those rejection letters that puts therapists’ kids through college. For the next thirty years or so she found other things to do, such as going to law school, ballet dancing (at more or less the same time), volunteering as a lawyer with Gay Men’s Health Crisis, and nightclub singing, until her stories started whispering to her. Currently, she’s a lawyer and a legal editor; the proud mother of a budding filmmaker; and is busily wedding her love of myth and legend to her passion for m/m romance. She is a three-time Rainbow Award finalist.
Where to find the author: Facebook / FB Author Page / Facebook Author Group (Rory’s Three Rs) / Twitter / Goodreads
Being a “Irish dance teacher”
Guest Post by Rory Ni Coileain
I mention in my bio that I’ve taught Irish dancing. Specifically, I teach Irish ceili dancing. Don’t think Michael Flatley – this isn’t Riverdance. *winks* Ceili dancing is group or couples dancing, the kind of dancing Irish people do for fun rather than for performance. It has a lot in common with square dancing – there are some figures that are exactly the same, in fact. And the dances generally have a caller, someone to get you through the dance even if you don’t know the steps. That’s my job. Herding cats.
I started out as a student, at a pub in St. Paul called the Dubliner. I’d gone to my first ceili on St. Patrick’s Day – I think it was 2004, and I’d tried a few dances and wanted more. And every Wednesday night at the Dubliner was dance night, with live music and an enthusiastic crowd, a tradition that had been going on for many years before I stumbled on it. I’d been attending for a year or two when the teacher had to give it up – this was before the Clean Indoor Air Act had been extended to bars in Minnesota, and the teacher’s asthma was threatening to do him in. Another teacher stepped in for a little while, but attendance started falling off – the first teacher had been a really popular guy – and for a while it looked like the dancing was going to stop. So I took a deep breath, and said hey, if anyone still wants to stick around, I’ll try my hand at teaching. And that lasted for a good six years, until I finally had to give it up under the combined pressure of the Evil Day Job and my writing schedule.
I’d start out every night teaching the basic steps to any newcomers. You could come alone, or with friends, or with a partner – we’d always find people for you to dance with. Usually our new students were women, but every once in a while a guy would find his way to us. And one night, my only new students were two men – one with a big bushy beard and one bald as an egg and built like a bulldog. Now, when I would start teaching the steps that are meant for couples, Irish dancing puts the man on the left and the woman on the right. So if I was teaching a man and a woman, I could just ask the gent to stand on the left. If it was two women, I’d say “okay, the woman on the left is the gent.” This was the first tine I’d ever taught two men… and I looked at the bearded gent and the bald gent and I said “I guess the man without the beard is the lady?” To which the bald gentleman replied, with a grin, “Hey, I was in the Nay for 20 years, I can handle that.”
I damn near needed oxygen, after that….
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congrats
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