Larriane Wills a.k.a. Larion Wills

For romance soft or hot, comtemporary and historical.

The first of my western romance series (yet to be named) Mark of the Sire is a historical, soft romance to be released in Dec. (Pop over to the contest page to take part in naming the series.) The following are unedited excerpts so please forgive any typos. When Catherine left Chicago leaving behind shame and heart break, she never expected to be thrown into chaos or for the source of her heartbreak to follow.

Excerpt 1--Epilogue

The quirt swished through the air and cracked to viciously split cloth and skin. The child, a gangly adolescent, did not cry out. He ground his teeth together to keep the screams of pain trapped in his throat. The screams of helplessness and horror came from Lars, a child of the same age, and his Mama. Neither was strong enough to stop the brutal whipping though both tried desperately. Despite Sam Fetchen’s skeletal build, both were thrown back repeatedly. The only consolation for Clyde was that they wanted to help, but it only eased the pain of mind. His father didn’t stop until Clyde was in the dirt, too weak to get up when Sam dragged him away.

Excerpt # 2

Never in her life had Catherine seen a man more filthy or mean looking. He was of medium height and gaunt. His hair was long, uncut, unkempt, and matted. He had a growth of facial hair, not long enough to call a beard, and it was encrusted with partials of food from past meals. All the creases in his face, hands, neck, and even his clothes were filled with dirt, and his clothes were patched and worn to rags.
            “Looken fer my boy,” the man said.
            “No Fetchen in here,” Brivers retorted. “I don’t want my place smelling. You get out."
            “Ya’d let Clyde in,” the man said with a glint in his eyes.
            Brivers gasped and paled. Fetchen chuckled and moved closer. He taunted maliciously while Brivers backed away. “Might be he’s har now, waiten fer his ole pa.”
            “No, no,” Brivers said faintly.
            Catherine backed off as well. Not because she felt threatened as Brivers obviously did, but because the man’s body odor was offensive. Her movement took his eyes to her.
            “Who you be?”
             “Who I am is none of your concern.” His manner and condition disgusted her so she turned away.
              His bony fingers clutched her arm. “Ya won’t be talking like dat ta Clyde,” he hissed at her.
               She hissed back, “If he is as dirty, smelly, and rude as you are, I will,” and jerked to free her arm.

Except #3

The man was Lars’ age, middle twenties, and he hesitated at the door to get his bearings. He was tall, nearly as tall as Lars, with broad shoulders. Under the heavy sheep skin coat you could tell where Lars was thick and massive of muscle, this man’s body tapered to slim hips and long legs. He had light brown hair peeking out from under his hat, but his eyes were dark brown.
            His looked to be a man coming in from the cold in search of a warm place to sleep. Saddle bags and blanket roll were over his right shoulder, and a rifle was in his left hand. His right hand was still on the door knob and both hands were still covered with gloves against the bitter cold outside. To hesitate before entering a strange room was normal. The next wasn’t. He glance fell on Catherine, and her expression of hatred held his attention in puzzlement.
            Lars jumped to his feet, turned over his chair and yelled. The room exploded. The roar of multiple gunshots was deafening, and the man was flung back out the door by force of the slugs tearing into his body.

Excerpt # 4

“That man is a gun fighter,” Charles said stiffly. “Get him out of my house now.”
            “You don’t know who he is, and you do not have the right to judge him,” Catherine told him and turned Charles’ rage back on him.
            “You repay our kindness by defying me, flaunting your indiscretions, and—”
              “You didn’t take me in; you sent a request for help. If Papa had known what you had in your mind, he would never have let me come. If I had known, I never would have accepted.
            “You had little choice after the way you shamed yourself and your family.”
            “I came for reasons of my own, not because of some petty gossip.”     
            “That man is as bad as the other one.” He pointed at Chancy. “He makes his living with that.” He pointed to the gun still tied to Chancy’s thigh. They had not taken the time to remove it, and the twisting from Lars attempting to lift him had uncovered it. “They’re both murderers.”

For those who like alittle more spice in their reading there's 'Thirteen Souls". Look for this in Nov.


She was Heather Winstrobe for the con, known as a little eccentric, but a genius in her narrow field of North American 17th and 18th century archology. With the right credentials the plan was get in, gain their confidence, get what they wanted, and get out fast. She didn't count on Gene DuBois or her attraction to him.
Gene, cynical and distrusting by nature, was fascinated with Heather from the first moment he saw her. He didn't believe in ghosts, spirits, mediums or clairsentience abilities. He most certainly didn't believe a warning from Heather or a two hundred year old spirit  that he was in danger. Heather still drew him in, almost made him believe, and made him feel like a fool who let his desire for her blind common sense. After sending her away he discovered whatever else Heather was, she was right on one point. Someone did want to kill him and that was just the beginning.
 

                                         

direct to Amazon, click here Mourning Meadow

Steven jumped at the chance to see the Morning Meadow Mansion even if he had just met Caroleigh and did suspect he would have to fend off her amorous attentions for the weekend. The house, one of the few left designed by DeBain, was worth the possible discomfort, and the estate had never been open to the public. There was the added possiblity of landing the job of developing the property for a resort/hotel. Forewarned that Caroleigh's sister, Kari, was a little strange and taking his own transportation in case Caroleigh's advances became too much, he wasn't warned of possible hauntings until the party of four arrived to find themselves locked out and waiting for Kari to make an appearance.  There was no doubt Kari was remote and distant. Steven found out why and that there were many more secrets, dangerous and deadly, to the meadow than visits from the hereafter.

Excerpt:

Candles lit the room and a fire was built, again courtesy of Kari and with the same degree of appreciation shown as there had been for the two meals she had provided for them. The four sat at a small table, Steven reluctantly. Kari's single refusal to join them had been accepted. His four attempts to refuse had been rejected. Even when Kari came in and took a seat off to the side on a delicate settee to watch in that intent way of hers, no invitations were made for her to join them at the table.

Caroleigh took charge. "We start by calling forth the spirit."

"How does one do that?" Evelyn asked.

"Here ghosty, ghosty," Edward teased, drawing a nervous giggle from Evelyn and a scowl from Caroleigh.

"Be serious or it won't work," Caroleigh ordered.

"I must say I'm not sure I want it to," Edward drawled. "He did give Emily rather a nasty start."

"Because she wasn't expecting it. It would help if we knew his name."

"I don't believe introductions were made, but one would assume it was daddy."

"One must never assume. Now join hands, close your eyes and concentrate." She waited long enough for her orders to be obeyed, then began. "Oh, spirit of the house, speak to us. Speak to us now."

They all fell into silence with the only other sound the abnormally loud ticking of a mantle clock. "Oh, spirit, speak to—"

A noise started. Low at first, it gained in volume as it drew nearer them. A sharp, irregular wail pierced the ears and a chilled cold swept over them, puckering flesh with goose bumps and causing chills.

"Oh," Evelyn gasped, letting go of hands to rub her arms and look around frantically as the sound grew in volume, heading towards them.

"Whatever…?" Edward began and strangled off with a gasp of his own.

The sound of a crash reverberated off the walls followed by a violent buck of the table beneath their hands. Edward was suddenly on his feet with another crash slamming their senses. Evelyn screamed, jumped to her feet, stood for a moment in indecision and then started to run. A split second later, she screamed again and fell with a thud to the floor. Before one scream faded, she screamed yet a third time when the room blazed into bright light.

Reviews:

This well thought out plot is heightened by several bite-sized chunks of family history, supplying the sturdy and intelligent cast of characters with credibility and warmth. The possibility that the mansion could be haunted also adds to the tension and drama, as does the pressure put upon Kari who is deeply involved with a suspect. This novel has romance, mystery, intrigue and portrays a sense of 'who done it?' to keep you hooked right through the end. Another aspect I enjoyed about this lighthearted mystery is Larion Wills' portrayal of the droll, British Edward Van Philips. He has a dry, but highly amusing sense of humour that made me smile along with him, and you can’t help noticing his heart is in the right place.

http://tjbook-list.blogspot.com/2008/02/review-mourning-meadow-by-larion-will.html

The segments of action and mystery, the character development, along with the writers unique writing style only adds to the emotions you feel while reading. I, at no time, felt the book was predictable. Even after finishing the book you almost feel there is still mystery left, and leaves you guessing.

http://www.bookpleasures.com/Lore2/idx/0/3415/article/Mourning_Meadow.html