Honey Drop: Book 1 – Volume 1 by Krishtina Mayers – Alicia Norman - erotic historical fantasy - The worlds of gods and men collide when Love and Death embrace.
Honey Drop: Book 1 – Volume 1
by Krishtina Mayers – Alicia Norman
Genre: erotic historical fantasy
Publisher: Luv Multimedia
Date of Publication: January 20, 2023
ASIN: B0BSS4D1R1
Number of pages: 289
Word Count: 62,482
Cover Artist: Alicia R. Norman
The worlds of gods and men collide when Love and Death embrace.
Honey Drop chronicles the story of willful, beautiful, and headstrong Proserpyn Prina Katsaros, an island noblewoman with a lust for adventure and a taste for the macabre.
Prina has been obsessed with dark topics and activities, like watching executions and visiting graveyards for as long as she can remember as she believes that to appreciate life, one must also respect death.
One day, a frightening, terrifying man appears, using magic to seduce and play with her senses and heart. Proserpyn is uncertain if he is a wizard, a demon, or something much more overwhelming than that.
With the help of Abigail, her friend, and lover, Proserpyn will consult the Old Gods and try to find a solution to this lustful madness.
The brainchild collaboration of Krishtina Mayers and Alicia R. Norman, the illustrated novel promises a one-of-a-kind journey from tome to tome!
Book Trailer:
An Interview with Krishtina Mayers
Tell us about your newest book.It’s called Honey Drop. I co-wrote it with Alicia Norman. She invented most of the characters and the story idea. Essentially, in a fantasy world very loosely based on Western countries in the 18th century, a noblewoman with a slightly macabre personality gains the attention of a strange man with magic powers. Weirdness and sexual content ensues. It’s a little dark, but not too much. It shouldn’t leave the reader in miserable tears.
Writing isn’t easy. What was the most difficult thing you dealt with when writing Honey Drop?
Sex scenes. They’re always the most difficult thing in the world. I have no regrets, though.
Tell us a little bit about your writing career.
I’ve been writing fiction ever since I was around 12 or 13 years old. Only recently have I become a ghostwriter, although I’ve written a few books and stories here and there.
They say Hind-sight is 20/20. If you could give advice to the writer you were the first time you sat down to write, what would it be?
Pay attention in history class. It will help you write more realistic and engaging stories.
Most writers were readers as children. What was your favorite book in grade school?
Goosebumps books, although I don’t remember much about any of them.
Is there anything you would like to add before we finish?
I miss the 1980s and 1990s romance novel covers. They were cool. It’s just a random thought I want to share.
Thank you for joining us today. Good luck with Honey Drop.
Excerpt 2:
Rain put a soft, wet hiss into the air.The boots squished onto the grass with each step.
The oiled and hooded cloak protected the woman's gown well.
Her lamp was placed on the highest step of the mausoleum's stoop, right under a slight eave where it would be protected from the weather.
Cheerful and only a little overpowered by the rain, Proserpyn's voice sang.
"Mr. Gregor was kind to children.”
She bent down to wipe some wet leaves and a touch of mud off a step with a spare rag she'd brought.
"Madam Junio donated to all."
She folded the rag and put it reasonably close to her lamp.
"His Grace, the Duke was humble."
She tightened her hood over her head.
"Miss Trishelle loved knitting shawls."
As Prina danced and swayed in place, her steps soon moved with a rhythm that only played in her mind.
"She gave the shawls away, so kindly so openly."
One of her palms extended to catch raindrops.
"She warmed the girl's shoulders while smiling, truly."
The song went on in this manner. In fact, as Prina danced about in the darkness, she passed graves that had the names she'd used. Thanks to the lack of light, they weren't legible, but she knew they were there.
After a few more lines, her feet halted. Her hands slid back under her cloak, where they met at her belly, her arms bent. She turned back to go to where her father's body rested, where she'd placed her oil lamp. She crouched down to touch the thing when she heard a voice she hadn't wanted to hear.
"You couldn't have known any of those people."
Picking the lamp up, she faced the opposite direction. There was nothing unusual in her sight: rain, vague shadows, and outlines–her lantern. Sometimes, there was an occasional streetlamp, but not much else.
It was far too dark.
…She could smell him.
The rain and soggy earth's scent were forgotten. There was burning wood, spice ... and oddly enough hints of dark chocolate and cherries. Did his scent change every time he appeared?
Even though she knew who it must be, she asked, "Who's there?"
The answer, right in her ear, was simple.
"Me."
She quickly spun as she repeated with a higher and more concerned pitch, "Me?!"
The tone turned a little bit more impish, although she could still hear a smoldering hint.
"Would you prefer myself or I?"
He might well have been trying to lick her ear! That is how close it felt!
Shuddering, Proserpyn continued to search for the voice's owner. He must be somewhere! Growing frustration had her brow knitting, "Such cowardice! You won't face a lone maiden in the dark?! Reveal yourself!"
"Is that your wish, Honey Drop?"
Honey Drop?
Proserpyn tried to think of another way to insult the man. She stood there, rain pattering on her cloak. It took around fifteen seconds for her to finally say, "You're irritating and useless. I've no time for such a creature."
She went back to pick up her rag and folded it into a pocket, "I'll leave you in possession of the dead, Sir. No doubt, someone must want you here."
Prina grabbed her lantern and walked off, lighting her path.
Just as she made a slight turn, her heart jumped and she retreated a bit.
A figure was sitting on a rather tall gravestone.
He looked casual as he did it, and this time he wasn't shrouded in black and blue. It was as if he'd known he'd be too difficult to see. Instead, he seemed to be covered in a similar garment of red, or at least Proserpyn's lamp suggested it could've been red. It could also have been orange.
Maybe both.
Well, at least he wasn't hiding.
But ... well ...
Proserpyn's eyes followed the raindrops as they fell down onto the red and orange-clad man. His cloak was so long that it covered the gravestone's front and quite a bit of the earth. When the water landed on the fabric, there weren't any obvious signs of wetness. Neither did the fabric reject the water as if oiled, as her own protective garment had been. The drops seemed to ... disappear ... as if they were falling into something.
It was a detail many wouldn't have noticed, but Prina had been so focused on him that she couldn't help but see the oddity. However, her senses told her not to give a comment.
She stood there, her arm up and out, holding onto her lamp and waiting for the man to speak.
Certainly, he'd have a handful of more words for her, a handful at the very least.
He didn't disappoint.
About Krishtina Mayers:
Krishtina Mayers is a professional ghostwriter who hails from Bladenboro, NC. She lives in a 100 year-old house with her three dogs and Asatru Norse Pagan beau, Richard, where she pens deliciously dark and sexy works. Her goal is to fully focus on creative writing as she slowly renovates her vintage home.
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About Alicia Norman:
By day, Alicia Norman is a copy specialist at a major marketing firm, by night, she is a screenwriter and animator. She lives with her two kids and three cats in the burbs of Dallas, GA, and aspires to share her own brand of historical erotic fiction with BFF and co-writer Krishtina Mayers.
Visit Patreon to support her on her mission: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=83953924
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