Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Bad Blood by Shyla Colt


Inspiration For My Writing

My writing is inspired by a number of  things. It can be a way for me process and discuss the things going on in the world openly in a way  that could be tough to do speaking in person.  On paper, I’m able to take my time, think about and express my point of view in a way I never could with speech alone. Writing allows me to have a level of freedom; I don’t believe I’ve ever achieved in any other form of media.
  On the opposite end of the spectrum, things happening in my life , or inside me, act as a spark of life in my stories. I’ve explored emotions, personal experiences, and worked my way through grief sitting in front of a keyboard. It can be a cathartic procedure. If you’ve journaled, you understand what I mean. At times writing can be much the same, only the recollections are woven into stories, and kept like secrets few know how to decode. We do write what we know, and that means each write leaves a bit of themselves behind on those pages.
Travel, and learning has always acted as a catalyst for new ideas. For me, there is something special about being on the road, taking in new scenery, discovering new and unique sites, and historical facts that have always stirred my muse.
I recently took a trip through Michigan, and the Mackinac entranced me. As I drove home, concepts for a story swirled around in my brain. Songs, movies, and at times just a word, or a name of a particular place ignite a concept in my brain.

I’ve always been interested in the paranormal. Lore, legends, and unexplainable events draw me in and allow my imagination to run wild. You’ll often find a hint of that in my work. Inspiration is all around sounds cliché but really proves to be true.  It keeps my writing living varied and excited. 

Urban Fantasy
Date Published: Sept 28th, 2018
Publisher: Inspired Ink ( Self published)

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A reluctant knight.
A magical descendent.
A race against time.
A freak accident thrusts Nakeeta Alva into a dangerous world of secrets, ancient spells, and a legacy she never wanted. The last in a magical line, she’s tasked with restoring the balance to a supernatural world poised for ruin.
Tasked with the care of their savior, Crewe’s main focus is survival. Used to giving orders, the knight isn’t prepared for the sassy witch’s mouth or her lure. The powerful woman reminded him of his humanity and challenged his beliefs. Keeping her safe is his mission, but the real danger may be losing his heart.
Together, they will save the world … or die trying.

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The holy water laced rungs burned his hands. He stumbled back from the bar, staring down at his blisters and burned skin.
“You will not act like as a savage here. Being turned on a battlefield with the stench of blood and death in the air would’ve driven any new fledgling into bloodlust. We won’t hold that against you. However, if you can’t get a hold of yourself, we will execute you. You understand what I am saying?”
Crewe snarled at the large, blond Viking with a long, wheat-colored braid and beard to match. Two braids stood out against his long beard. His brilliant blue gaze held a hint of battle lust he knew all too well as a mercenary knight. The authority sliced through the never-ending hunger.
“I’m hungry.” His voice was garbled, guttural
“And you’ll continue to be. There’s nothing that completely slakes the thirst.”
He clutched his stomach, rocking back and forth as the stabbing pains grew worse.
“You’ll weather this, or go insane trying. There’s nothing more anyone can do. It’s up to you now whether you live or die. I saw you on the battlefield in action. Your reputation precedes you. You’ve the heart of a fighter. Use that to defeat the hunger.” With that, they’d retreated, taking the light from the torches with him. The pain increased, and he curled into a ball. Moisture coated him. He touched his skin and came away with blood.
He could no longer sweat, yet he could do this? What kind of fiend from hell have I become? Is this my punishment for all of the death I brought in wars waged? His stomach clenched and he shook like a man with a fever. Rolling onto his stomach, he expelled a red river. The metallic scent enraged him. He lapped at the puddle only to oust it again. Disgusted, he pushed himself away from the area and crawled toward the other side of the cage. Convulsing, he watched the ghosts of his enemy fill the space, sneering down as he relived the killing blows he’d dealt. Shame kicked in as his life played in front of him. He spent a lifetime chasing coin and never helped anyone for no gain. He lent his lances to any cause that gained him profit. It was a soulless existence. Perhaps this was his punishment.
Time blurred. A brilliant light drew his attention to the opposite side of his stone prison. The light sped closer, pausing just outside of the cage. He squinted, and the light dimmed, revealing a woman. White wings stretched out behind her. Sleek, black hair tumbled to her waist. She carried a large broadsword and wore a shiny metal helmet.
“You were chosen for greater things, young warrior. Agree to fulfill a mission, and I will take away your pain.”
“Anything,” he croaked.
“Now is not the time. You will know when.” She knelt beside his cage and touched him with icy hands that soothed his broken mind as he eased into a blissful unawareness.

About the Author

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Shyla Colt is the sassy USA Today Bestselling author of the popular series Kings of Chaos and Dueling Devils M.C. This genre-hoppers stories feature three of her favorite things: strong females, pop culture, and alternate routes to happy ever after. Listening to her Romani soul, she pens from the heart, allowing the dynamic characters, eccentric interests, and travels as a former flight attendant to take her down untraveled roads.
Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, this mid-west girl is proud of her roots. She used her hometown and the surrounding areas as a backdrop for a number of books. So, if you're a Buckeye, keep an eye out for familiar places.

As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.
She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.

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