Zayne Michaels is a small-town girl who grew up and ran off to the big city. She currently resides in the Midwest where she spends her days dreaming up dark, sexy adventures in between soccer games and the never-ending pile of laundry.
Zayne’s fascination with old and discarded treasures has always been a source of inspiration for her tales. From antique clocks to old, dilapidated houses, her imagination turns to the “what ifs” and “what used to bes.”
Maybe this love for the abandoned is why she is a firm advocate of second chances, or perhaps she’s just a little crazy. Whatever the reason, Zayne believes everyone chooses their own path, creates their own destiny, and is the author of their own story.
Once Upon a Midnight Moon
Declan Collins never wanted to be a vampire. He certainly never wanted to be a pawn in his Maker’s games of cat and mouse. When their hunt for a rare and elusive breed of werewolf leads them straight to Declan’s mate, however, it’s game over.
Lincoln Chastain never imagined the infamous Red Siren would turn out to be his intended. He can’t deny the attraction between them, but nor can he allow a pretty face to distract him from his quest for retribution.
Sometimes, things aren’t as black and white as they seem and finding the truth will come with a price. Will the secrets they discover give the mated pair the happy ending they desire? Or will the lies and greed of others destroy them before they’ve even started?
Lincoln, big badass he professed to be, actually stumbled backward. “What are you doing? Are you…are you seducing me?”
“Depends.” Declan shrugged. “Is it working?”
“Are you doing that siren thing you do?”
“Lincoln, I’m not actually a siren. I’m a muse.” Adding a little extra sway to his hips, he gripped the hem of his oversized sweater—Lincoln’s sweater to be exact—and slid the fabric up his torso. “Are you inspired yet, or should I keep going?”
Unlike a siren, a muse didn’t seduce with his voice. When Declan amped up the juju, he secreted pheromones through the exhalation of each breath. These pheromones didn’t create obsessive behaviors but had more of an influential effect, creating a sense of calm, tranquility, and enlightenment. Hence, his ability to inspire creative minds.
In Lincoln’s case, though, he really was just seducing him. Sue me.
“I think it’s working.” Lincoln’s voice dropped an octave and took on a husky quality that sent a shiver of desire down Declan’s spine. “Maybe you should keep going.”
Almost there. Stripping the soft cotton shirt off over his head, he tossed it behind him and smoothed one palm down his flexing abs. “How about now?” Abandoning his powers as a muse, he simply allowed his body to do the talking. “Come on, Lincoln. I’m not so fragile. I promise I won’t break.”
“I think I’m starting to feel something.” His hand went to his groin to cup his swelling cock. “Yeah, definitely feeling something in this general region.”
Declan tugged the string on his sleep pants, loosening the waistband so that the fabric slid down his hips. “And now?”
Lincoln’s control finally snapped, and he took two long strides to close the gap between them, wrapping Declan in his strong, capable arms. Game over, cowboy. Oh, Declan did love winning.
“You make me crazy, angel.”
The heat pouring from his mate scorched him, but he reveled in the burn. No one had ever wanted him like Lincoln wanted him—pure, true, and without reservation. Okay, maybe with a little reservation, but he felt they were moving past that.
Fisting one hand in Declan’s hair, Lincoln jerked his head back on his shoulders and laid siege to his mouth, coming up long minutes later to gasp for breath. “This probably won’t end well.”
“Probably not,” Declan agreed.
Sure, the idea of a real relationship scared the hell out of him. He could crawl back to Cashel if things didn’t work out with Lincoln, but frankly, the idea held no appeal. He didn’t hate Cashel necessarily, but nor did he want to continue to be someone’s puppet. Things weren’t like that with Lincoln. Declan never had to worry that the next order would be the one that finally broke him.
The silence stretched on while Lincoln considered him, clearly warring with himself over how to proceed. “Be sure, mon bel ange. Be very sure.”
Yes, he understood the risks, but from where he stood, the benefits far outweighed the potential consequences. “I am.”
A fierce, possessive growl was his only warning before Lincoln lifted him off the floor and encouraged Declan’s legs around his waist. One hand tangled in his hair while the other held a firm grip on his ass, and Lincoln attacked his mouth with an urgency that left Declan’s head spinning.
Their tongues tangled and twined, sliding together in a passionate duel, and Declan moaned in wanton delight as he rocked against his lover. Raw, untainted desire possessed him, and he dug his fingers into Lincoln’s shoulders, desperate to be closer.
The response surprised him, even startled him a bit. He couldn’t catch his breath, but the scary part was he didn’t care. No one had ever elicited this kind of response from him. No one had pushed him so close to the brink with nothing more than a kiss.
“Lincoln, please.” His plea came as a breathy whimper while his mate kissed along the column of his neck. “I can’t wait.” His insides burned like molten lava, and his nerve endings sizzled with every touch.
“Patience, angel,” Lincoln rasped before nipping at his earlobe.
A knock at the door pulled an uncharacteristic growl from Declan’s lips, and Lincoln’s answering chuckle did nothing to improve his mood. “Who the hell is that?”
“My guess would be the delivery guy.”
“Tell him to go away.” Declan was starving, but not for fried rice or egg rolls.
Lincoln scraped his teeth over Declan’s shoulder and laughed again as he spun them toward the door. “Grab my wallet.” He nodded toward the end table beside them.
With a grumbling sigh, Declan leaned to the side to retrieve the wallet, but once upright, he couldn’t resist another taste of his lover’s lips. Lincoln didn’t protest, even sliding his fingers into the waistband of Declan’s cotton pants to skim along his crease as he stumbled toward the front door.
With their mouths still fused together, Lincoln secured Declan with one hand and reached behind him with the other to turn the knob. “Pay the man,” he ordered, grabbing both bags and dropping them to the floor inside the foyer.
Declan threw the wallet at the delivery man’s head, reached over Lincoln’s shoulder, and slammed the door before returning to his task with a needy groan. Threading his fingers through his lover’s hair, he delved between Lincoln’s lips, leaving no crevice unexplored.
“Now?” he begged. His dick ached, throbbing painfully between his thighs as he rocked against his mate’s cobblestone abs like a bitch in heat.
“Now,” Lincoln rumbled in response, tripping toward the sofa and virtually throwing Declan down on the cushions.
Rummaging through the drawer of the end table while he attempted to undress himself one-handed, Lincoln proved to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Though distracted by the sight of his lover’s long, thick cock, Declan still had enough sense about him to question the availability of the lube Lincoln tossed onto the couch beside him.
“You keep lube in the living room?” He held up the clear, plastic bottle and arched an eyebrow.
“I live alone,” Lincoln answered as he dove on top of him, insinuating himself between Declan’s legs. “Where else do you think I watch porn?”
Behind the Scenes
Q: What do you feel is the hardest part of the writing process?
Knowing when to let go. With every story, I always think there is something that could be just a little bit better. I could spend forever tweaking my stories if I don’t stop myself, and then they’d never see the light of day.
Q: How do you keep your characters and stories organized?
Whiteboards, spreadsheets, notes, tables, and just about anything else I can find to write on. Plus, my betas are amazing at keeping me organized and on track.
Q: Are you plot or character driven? Please elaborate.
That’s a hard one, and I really think it depends on the story. If the characters come to me first, the story tends to follow the personality of the characters. If I get an idea for a storyline before the characters come to me, then that book is normally more plot driven. I suppose you could say I’m versatile.
Q: What is the one thing you must have to be able to write?
Re-runs of some of my favorite shows on in the background. I’ve watched them so many times, they don’t distract me. I can’t write when I’m listening to music, and I can’t write with absolute silence. This seems to work for me, though.
Q: Have you ever gotten writer’s block? How do you get past it?
Yes, I absolutely have. Though, I prefer to think of it as writer’s distress. I had stories in my head to be told, but I couldn’t concentrate or focus long enough to get them down on paper. So, I took a leave of absence, if you will, and gave the Muse some time to settle and recharge before diving back into the writing pool.
Q: What are you currently working on? How is it different from other books you’ve written?
Writing as Zayne Michaels is a lot like having another personality. These stories tend to be darker, and things aren’t always tied up in a nice pretty bow. I just finished the second book in the Once Upon a Midnight Moon series, and am currently working on a M/M contemporary.
Q: When is your favorite time of day to write?
I usually take the graveyard shift when it comes to writing. I’m not a morning person, and the earlier I wake up, the longer it seems to take me to get moving. So, I usually sleep during the day and write during the night when everyone else is sleeping.