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The following story is a scene in the pre-cursed life of jinni Ashura-Goreem and was published in the WildFire newsletter produced by All Romance e-books.

Sandstorm by K.F. Zuzulo

July 24, 2009
This story is rated 1 flame. Love scenes are not consummated, or if the love scenes are consummated details are not given.

    Ashura-Goreem's laughter punched through the air.  He shoved against the coarse surface of a mammoth block of yellow limestone, sliding it off the barge and onto the straw-covered bank of the Euphrates.  Muscles rippled and pulsed across his shoulders and biceps.  He felt no strain, just a tightening sensation beneath his skin that invigorated him.

The Chaldean workers scampered backward, awe showing in their faces.  Ashura laughed again, a resonant roar that brought some of the humans prostrate to their knees.  Their faces burrowed in the sandy clay of the riverbank like crabs scuttling for cover.  Ashura scanned the crowd for the one human who didn't incite resentment to rise in his chest like bile.  He lifted his chin slightly.  A scent of jasmine and fresh lemons drifted with the molecules of the air.  A smile lifted the edges of his mouth.
 
From the midst of the crowd, a woman emerged.  The men who remained standing now fell to one knee.  Ashura watched her approach.  She seemed oblivious to the steady wind off the river that embraced her body, revealing the molded curves of her breasts and long legs.  Her hair billowed like a single sheet of black silk.  Forehead tilted back, she kept her gaze straight ahead and steady on Ashura.  Long ebony lashes shaded her eyes.  A beaten gold band, studded with rubies, crowned her head.  A long golden cord belted a pale lavender gauze sheath and swung against her thigh as she walked.
 
She stopped about a yard away from him.  Amusement played across her face.  Her milky arms rested at her sides, and she seemed confident and relaxed.  Yet, Ashura detected an acceleration in the rise and fall of her chest.  She didn't look away from him as the other humans did.  Her large brown eyes gazed at him intently, as though challenging him.

"Ashura-Goreem."  Her voice was smooth and sweet and reminded Ashura of honey.

Murmurs erupted across the crowd of genuflecting workers.  She raised one arm and the men fell silent.
"Miraphet."  He stepped closer so that she had to look up at him.  She didn't flinch.  A flash of admiration caused Ashura to raise one eyebrow.  "Why are you here?"

She cocked her head and her full lips puckered slightly, as though thinking how best to answer.  "I want to watch.  I want to see what it is you do."

Ashura looked past her and across the sand to where he would lay the cornerstone for the Temple of Esagil.  Blazing sunlight bleached all color from the horizon, but Ashura could see the pylons that marked off the perimeter, like denuded trees wavering in the shimmering heat.  The outline of the royal palace was visible in the distance.  Her father, King Eriba Marduk, had decreed that there was to be no contact between human and jinni, other than that between worker and master.
 
"I am jinni.  You are not...your Highness."  Ashura inclined his head slightly.  "Let me do my work.  There are some things that humans should not see."

"Really?"  Rippling laughter spilled from Miraphet's mouth like bells tinkling.  "And there are some things a jinni should not say.  Remember that you work for the Chaldean empire.  And I am its representative."  Their gazes locked.  Forbidden attraction surged like a sudden fever in Ashura.
 
Miraphet gestured to the yellow block next to Ashura and, stepping around him, stood next to it.  The jasmine-lemon scent wafted from her skin and across Ashura's senses.  Inexplicably, his own heart rate accelerated.  She ran a finger over the stone's rough surface.  Her gaze looked up to follow the edges of the block.  "I've come to see you move this."  She looked back at Ashura.  "It's always such a secret.  Nobody can see.  The jinn.  The hidden race, are you not?"  Her eyes narrowed.  She didn't wait for him to answer.  "Well, I want to see.  I want to know what happens when you're hidden."
 
She said it as an order, but Ashura knew he was in control.  All he had to do was turn his back on her.  He let his gaze drop along the column of her throat and settle on the valley of flesh between her breasts, sensing the heat rising off her skin.  He let his eyes course lower until he had traced her body with his gaze.  When he looked into her face again, a vibrant blush colored her cheeks.

  "As you wish."  Ashura lifted his fists overhead and splayed his fingers.  Hot waves welled in his midsection and rose into his arms as though the sun burned through him.  Beyond the riverbank, spirals of sand lifted from the desert floor and formed miniature tornadoes.  The workers shrieked and scrambled up the bank, tripping over one another on spindly limbs.

Ashura had shown the humans how to measure and chisel the rock from the cliff face; how to lash the slabs to rafts, and transport them upriver.  But the satisfaction of laying the cornerstone that would be the foundation for the geometric perfection of the tower was his alone.
 
A tingle of anticipation teased at Ashura's equilibrium.  Jets of grit blasted past the Chaldeans and formed a funnel of clear air, like a domed atrium, around Ashura, Miraphet, and the stone.  They were concealed behind a curtain of dense sand.  Miraphet's eyes widened.

"A sood Irem!" Ashura joined his hands together and he and Miraphet lifted imperceptibly from the ground, gliding on a cushion of air.  Miraphet swung her gaze to her feet, then left and right, confused by the loss of gravity.  Her hair tumbled forward, across her shoulder, to blanket her chest.

An invisible cocoon of air moved with them as they slid up the bank.  The muted squeal of wind whistled all around them.  As the torrent breached the river bank and leveled itself, Miraphet fell forward.  Ashura caught her in his arms.  Her breasts pillowed against his bicep and her face pressed into his bare chest.  She pulled away quickly, but not before her lips left a moist trace of pomegranate stain on the tattooed glyphs that swirled across the front of Ashura's chest, from shoulder to shoulder.

Miraphet's hand lingered on the tattoo and her eyes grazed over it.  She turned her face up to his, close enough so that their breath mingled.  Ashura kept one arm wrapped around the small of her back.   Her eyes glistened with some emotion and an unfamiliar pang tugged at Ashura's chest.  Her waist was firm beneath his hand.  His fingers rested on the swell of her hip.

Ashura let his hand slide lower until he cupped the firm roundness of her bottom.  Desire sliced through his abdomen, driving deeper and stiffening him.  Miraphet didn't pull away.

"Why do you do it this way?"  Miraphet's voice was a whisper.  "We have thousands of workers at our command.  Why do you use...magic?"

Ashura leaned closer and tightened his grip so that she had to lean her head back to hold his gaze.  He dropped his lips to her throat and traced them to the hollow at the base of her neck.  She sighed.  One slender arm snaked up and around Ashura's neck, pulling him tighter against her.  Ashura detected the musky odor of desire blending with the fresh scent of lemon.

 "This is magic."  His voice was a muffled whisper against her skin.

Miraphet tipped her head back further, shaking it slightly.  The hair that tumbled down her back brushed back and forth across Ashura's forearm.  "No.  I mean, why hide what you can do?"

The stream of power that flowed from Ashura to maintain the convoy of sand-curtained stones coming off the river barge shot electricity into the air.  The power of it invigorated him, but the feel of Miraphet in his arms thrilled him in another way. 

"But it is visible.  It's here."  Ashura swept one arm alongside them to indicate the weightless air that snapped with an invisible charge.  Miraphet's feet dangled several inches above the sandy floor, her body aligned to his.  "You're here.  Most humans are not brave enough to want to see."

Miraphet's voice was husky when she spoke.  "I want to see.  I don't want you to hide from me."

Her red lips parted and Ashura covered them with his own.  He felt himself sinking deeper into the moist promise of her mouth.  His tongue flicked along the smooth surface of hers and she groaned.  She arched her back, pressing her hips against his. 

Ashura ran his hand over her bottom and along her thighs, trailing his fingers around to her abdomen and finding the apex of her legs.  She wriggled beneath his touch.

He lifted his head and inhaled her scent.  The world swirled around them, but they were suspended in a moment of bliss.  "I'll show you everything."

Backlist:
The Third Wish, Sapphire Blue Publishing

Coming Soon:
The Jinni's Curse, Sapphire Blue Publishing

While this short installment, The Sandstorm, begins the story of jinni Ashura-Goreem. The Third Wish, released by Sapphire Blue Publishing in June, follows Ash on his journey after being cursed by Miraphet's father.  That tale, The Jinni's Curse, is forthcoming. For more details, go to  http://www.sapphirebluepublishing.com/

March 2010


Visit my blog for updates and info on what's up in the world of a genie novelist (besides the carpet).

I grew up in Philadelphia and went to school there, Temple University for Journalism.  I traveled a bit, lived in London, and various East Coast cities and pursued that field as a reporter for local newspapers and as a writer for Yankee Magazine and national consumer and health magazines; as a book development editor; as a media relations representative; and as a director of communications for The Center for Health Care Strategies, a Robert Wood Johnson foundation.

I've always had an interest in the mystical world inherent in every culture...the myths upon which stories are based.  This genie pursuit arose when I was managing editor of Saudi Arabia Newsletter and Quarterly, published by the Royal Embassy of Saudi Arabia in Washington, DC.


So now, when my children aren't demanding that I make a pot of pasta e fagioli soup, I write fiction about the djinn. The Shadow of Esagil is my series of paranormal romance novellas that are published by Sapphire Blue Publishing.  I'm also published by All Romance eBooks with Angels & Genies.

I'm currently finishing the second novel in my thriller trilogy that began with Zubis Rises.

   

June 2009

 

CRAFTING THE PARANORMAL ROMANCE 

We’re a multi-cultural society, a global community of varying histories and legends.  And yet, somehow, we all share a fascination with the supernatural … with the idea that the things unseen are not inactive.  The concept of myths and legends shared through storytelling is as old as the spoken word.  Among the cultures of the world, there is no shortage of fantastic tales and captivating creatures that haunt the psyches and dreams of a village’s or nation’s inhabitants.  A further binding feature in every culture is the pursuit of romance and love.  Combine the two, and you have a formula for a riveting story.  It is not unexpected, therefore, that tales of magical beings in paranormal romance continue to explode as a popular fiction genre.

 

The area of romance fiction generated $1.375 billion in U.S. sales in 2007, a five percent increase over 2006, making it the biggest fiction publishing category for that year, according to Business of Consumer Book Publishing.  The next largest market is sci-fi & fantasy, generating $495 million in revenue for the same year.  A recent article in The New York Times reported that Harlequin Enterprises had fourth-quarter earnings in 2008 that were up 32 percent over the same period a year ago.

 

The paranormal romance formula seems simple: magical being meets normal, or latently magical, potential mate àwithholding of secrets or self  àconflict à third party interference à challenge of skills ànew awareness à resolution.  Or something along those lines.  However, there are certain standards of storytelling that must be in place for the concept to work.  The most successful paranormal authors have figured out certain aspects of the storytelling that ring most true with readers.

 

Following are some general guidelines as to why some supernatural romances work so well:

 

  • The magical skills and idiosyncracies of the hero or heroine are established early on and closely followed.  This is sometimes called world building, but it’s also personality building.  A reader wants to get the sense that the character could be a real person, someone they can understand. The only way for that to happen would be if the author knows their character as well as or better than she knows herself.  So if, for instance, our hero Shazam has a fiery temper that can erupt without warning, the reader needs to be given glimpses of that before the actual eruption.  It builds tension, as well as an affinity for what Shazam is thinking and feeling.

 

  • Supernatural skills have to be super.  A reader doesn’t want a hero who can read really fast or jog backward.  Exceptional abilities make for exceptional characters.  One single ability that is carried out with unusual panache and an understanding that very few can do what he or she can do makes for riveting reading.  As an example, Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight Series focused on a family of vampires, unusual in itself.  Yet, additionally, each vampire had a unique gift that gave him increased value to his family, and to the story: e.g. the ability to read minds; the ability to influence thought; the ability to heal; the gift of foresight. 

 

  • Despite characters being in possession of such tremendous skills, the reader wants to be able to identify in some way with those characters.  These are the all-too-human traits.  Does she love dogs?  Does he notice the way she never wants to be alone?  Does an abiding anger or vengeance keep him from recognizing the feelings another has for him?  Does she want to break free from her tribe or pack or past to forge a new life, but doesn’t know how?  These very human dilemmas will make even a superstrong, shapeshifting vampire sympathetic in some way.  Without it, the reader won’t care and won’t read on. 

 

  • Finally, the atmosphere of the story sets the tone for the story itself.  Yes, this is world building; it is also world decorating. Whether it’s regency time travel or urban fantasy, the reader wants to be submerged in the very air that surrounds the characters.  What are the smells and temperature of the wind that blows in from the past, or the breeze that shuffles over the ripe fruits of the souk?  The successful paranormal author structures an environment that, though supernatural, is believable because it is consistently on display through the use of vivid description.  This is where research on the author’s part is most apparent.   A story told among the sidhe (shee) of Ireland must convey the essence of Ireland like a well-written travel article would.  Travels among the djinn of the Middle East must evoke the exotic scents and textures of locales that most Western readers will never have visited.  Research, imagination, and lush narrative combine for the successful setting.

 

Once these building blocks are in place, it’s up to the author to carry the story through.  An unpredictable plot is a sure way to hold the attention of the reader, and that really does depend upon the skill of the author.  In today’s rapidly evolving storytelling industry, one thing that is predictable, however, is that romance fiction is here to stay.

 

 All rights reserved.

 

East Coast
PA
United States