Hi, as some of you know I'm very close to an author of erotic fantasy books. The fourth of the Pale Breed Series has been released. Below are three excerpts. The first is a orgy scene where orgasm powers the Sorceress of the Pale Breed called Despair (for good fucking reason...lol)...the second is a pit fight between Riya the Daughter of Kali and a female soldier...its more cage than anything else but of course tamed for "legit' fiction, and the third excerpt is part of the plot as a young Herder sees for the first time the Legion of the Pale Breed called the Little Mother.

Anyway, as before, buy this and contact me at [email protected] and give me the last sentence in the book and I'll send you a 4600 word catfight between black and white high school cheerleaders. Okay, Bribing and Begging is done. Maybe I'll be able to get back to posting stories.



Blade for the Pale Breed by K. R. Jones
Fourth Book in the Pale Breed series
Genre: Erotic Fantasy
Heat Rating: Fire
Length: Novel-117,000 words / 622 pages
Price: $7.50
Released 17th April 2011 from Shadowfire Press
http://www.shadowfirepress.com/

Timothy must kill a God, a Pontiff and a Pale Breed Sorceress or the Dark Mother will execute his pregnant lovers.

Blurb
Given an ultimatum by the Dark Mother, ?kill or see your women die,? Timothy has no recourse but to do as he's ordered. If Timothy fails in his mission it could bring about the End of Days. But the assassinations aren't going to be easy with so many powerful people like the Pale Breed Sorceress Old Mycenae and the Master of Lies out to stop him.

Excerpt
The Lady of the Flowers groaned in fear as one of the male House Breed's entered her sex from behind. The Ladies only took men as breeders, but Despair's Pale Breed Touch had taken away everyone's compunctions. The other two House Breed males were immersed in a rolling tangle with the four remaining women. Veracity fought to protect some part of her mind, but the initial need demanded surrender to the madness of the struggle of all life to reproduce, even if mentally she knew no pregnancy would result from this or other couplings.

In the twisting of bodies she found one of the Companions, the older one, on his knees. Beneath him the young Companion grunted and jerked as the dominant man thrust back and forth slamming his belly against his younger lover's firm ass cheeks. The dominant Companion looked back over his head as a House Breed male, face dripping with what must have been a woman's juices, smiled brutally before pushing the head of his dripping cock into the older man's ass.

House Breed males of the Markov Family seldom specialized between men or women. This one seemed to have a desperate need to take the Companion, a trained killer. Veracity smiled and tried to crawl to the young man on the bottom to touch his sweaty face and experience his exquisite agony, but a woman grabbed her hair and pulled her back into a split leg grinding that quickly became a contest as to who would spasm first.

The first few climaxes merely slowed the crowd. The Pale Breed Elemental had fed on the excess of Spirit created by orgasmic pleasure. Now it sent some of the purloined life incarnate back into the revelers. An orgasm produced far more Spirit than it could use. The male orgasm produced the greatest excess accounting for the life span difference between the sexes. But in return they required more to revive them than the females did. Veracity thanked the Creator that she had been born female because she saw no way she could have survived more of the liquid fire that the unseen Despair fed into her hungry soul.

Insane with desire, Veracity dragged a House Breed off another woman and sat on his turgid cock, daring the woman to fight for him. The woman snarled and started to claw at her, but the Lady of the Flower fell on top the growling bitch and wrestled for dominance, rolling into the Companions who had shared a woman sandwiched between them.

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UNDER THE HIGH PLATEAU, EMPTY CAVERN LOWER LEVELS:

Riya twisted under the woman. As usual her opponent outweighed her and out-muscled her, but this bitch was fast, way too fast. Riya slipped out of the constricting arms and sank a rapid series of short punches under the woman?s right arm trying to paralyze her temporarily. The bad angle shielded the nerve clusters or the bitch?s bulk provided just flesh to save her the use of her right arm and hard fist. The fighter?s left hand had Riya?s hair and the right fist rained down three brutal punches adding to the swelling around Riya?s eyes.

The fourth punch came for her nose, a bone breaker for sure. Riya jerked and ripped out a wad of her own hair to get the crown of her head in front of the soldier girl?s knuckles. The blow hit hard, stunning her, but she felt the small bones of the back of the hand give and the knuckles shift perhaps even before the pain reached the other fighter?s brain. The woman screamed almost drowning out the sound of her bones breaking.

The crowd roared or moaned in respective excited approval or sympathetic disappointment. Golden Marks were being wagered every second and Riya had looked to be the sure loser for the last ten minutes. Odds had gone high and now the odd givers were suffering as the odds takers whooped. Everyone knew what a broken hand meant in a fight like this.

Riya finally escaped from the woman?s suffocating embrace, twisted on a hip and drove a heel into the woman?s extended ribs. The fighter now had a choice of broken bones to favor. The woman cried out again and caved in around Riya?s bare foot. Riya could have killed the bigger woman a dozen times, but these soldier fights were strictly ruled brawls, killing with a skilled technique was illegal. And, to be fair, the woman could have killed Riya a dozen times as well in the too long battle in the sand pit carved into the floor of the unused cavern.




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Caleb considered Jonathon Rivera, son of the great man Richard, who had yet to appear. He was a big man, just fully past his youth, but strong in the fullness of manhood. What truly stuck Caleb were the shared loving glances that the human Jonathon shared with the Pale Breed Sorceress. Grandfather had long ago told stories that men who loved the Pale Breed did not live long, but this man had been her husband for many years, eight children so far. He had come to the Midlands alongside his wife with her dogs, cats and small guard of deadly Red Robes stepping through the Little Mother?s black door. He revealed it had been his first trip, indeed his first trip outside Clan Bane.

Rivera?s hands were rough and his muscles hard, so Caleb knew it was true that he was still a farmer despite being married to such a woman. Even more amazing he had nine other wives and a family the size that would shame a Herder by comparison.

?When I was young Southfort barely fielded a Century, of course we didn?t call it that then. Now we field a Wing, a Quartermaster Century, two Merchant Centuries and three Archer Centuries, plus support, well over eighteen hundred men. Our trade with the lands of the south has made us rich and many of my men are not farmers, but tradesmen. Still, Old Horatio?s reforms and Father?s training has hardened them. Militia Day comes every Seventh Day and while there is still a communal feast, and a bit of strutting, it is no longer a party. They will do their duties. We will hold the battle line long enough for the High Plateau Legions.?

The boys and men looked excited despite their heavy burdens. Each wing snapped a salute and gave a cheer for the Red Skulls, Southfort, Clan Bane and the Little Mother as they passed. Jonathon chuckled and returned their salutes as his guards dipped a great red banner emblazoned with misshapen red skull on a stick inside a circle of white. The skull itself rested on a spear struck in the ground and guarded by a dozen grizzled old men a few steps behind the Grand Captain. This was the famous Red Skull taken in battle by Richard Rivera himself. The skull was half again larger than a man, horribly thick and misshapen, but still humanoid. Great canine teeth gleamed white, but the bone itself was indeed red, like rust. This was the totem of the Red Skulls as sure as the Skull of the Long Horn was the totem of the Long Horn Clan.

Someone in the ranks shouted out, ?Let?s sort this out Jonathon and get back home to a warm fire, steaming winter ale and winter-bored women.?

By then five hundred men had marched onto the Midlands and their deep laughter startled Caleb. He felt the Old Men and Wise Women stiffen as well. This endless march of heavily armed farmers was unsettling. Very soon there would be far more male strangers in their camp than there were Herders, man and women. Not for the first time Caleb wondered what they would do if the Little Mother did not simply go home.


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