Spotlight & Giveaway: Druid Cursed by C.J. Burright

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome romance author C.J. Burright to HJ!

Hi C.J. Burright and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Druid Cursed!

Hiya – it’s such a pleasure to be on HJ!
 

Please summarize the book a la Twitter style for the readers here:

A druid cursed to an enchanted prison has seven days to earn his freedom, but to get the key ingredient needed to break the curse he must literally sacrifice the woman he loves.
 

Please share the opening lines of this book:

Kellen Ravenwood opened his eyes to the gentle bloom of dawn, not the aching, glaring emptiness that had surrounded him for the last fifty years. Birdsong and the whispering of leaves in the wind filled what had been utter silence a mere heartbeat before. He drew in a deep breath of air scented with herbs, moisture, and loam. The unholy urge to weep nearly
overcame him.
Home. At last, he was home again.

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

• My initial trip to Ireland (for *cough, cough* research purposes only *cough, cough) was canceled ONE WEEK before we were scheduled to leave due to Covid and border restrictions. Wait…that’s an anti-fun fact! But being denied my Eire dream only made it all the sweeter when I finally made it there three years later.
• When I was a wee girl, my dad gave me a Valentine’s Day card with a cartoon knight riding a dog. On the front, it said “Forsooth! Might I come forth and be thine valentine?” And the inside said, “You wouldn’t turn away a knight on a dog, would you?” I loved that card, and it inspired my love for outdated speech…which much later inspired Kellen’s outdated verbiage. It was so much fun for me to hear him talk, even though I don’t believe he ever said, “forsooth” in Druid Cursed…a wasted opportunity, for sure.
• I listened to Blackmore’s Night so much while writing Druid Cursed that I woke up to Under a Violet Moon playing on repeat in my head more than once.
• My nod to one of my all-time favorite shows, Supernatural, was nixed in the final revisions of Druid Cursed. Sadness! But no amount of revisions could completely remove the Winchester fingerprints.
• In researching all things Samhain, Irish, and druids, I discovered a new-to-me name for hell: Ifrean. Learning new names and words get me all atingle.

What first attracts your main characters to each other?

For Maggie, right off the bat it’s his Old World charm (she might have inherited her attraction to ancient words from me) and she says it best herself, “If the night could weave a man into life exclusively for her, he would be it—solemn and mysterious with an undertone of sensual darkness.”

For Kellen, he’s immediately attracted to All That is Maggie, but suspects some witchy interference, so he doesn’t trust his instincts. Keeping her close while he figures it out seems like the best option—a completely rational reason, right?
 

Using just 5 words, how would you describe your main characters”love affair?

Unexpected, irresistible, sizzling, destined, bewitching.
 

The First Kiss…

Electrifying, moonlit, bargained, daring, velvety-soft.
 

Without revealing too much, what is your favorite scene in the book?

I LOVE the masquerade ball scene. There’s just something about masks, gowns and dancing, especially when magic and romance are involved.

She turned and bumped into a hard chest, and all her willpower drifted away. Kellen caught her bare arms in a strong, steady hold, and every nerve throbbed at the contact. Her head spun with the need to jump into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist, and kiss him while the rest of the world burned. She grabbed his lapels as her knees trembled.
“Maggie.” His rough voice whispered through her like silk and sin. He took her hand in his and stroked the inside of her wrist in lazy circles. “Do you know how many centuries I have longed to have you in my arms? To feel your breath on my skin, your hair in my hands?” He twirled her around and pulled her back against his chest. The feathers of the raven mask brushed her bare shoulder as he brought his face close to her ear. “To know the pleasure of your touch, your sweet, lovely mouth on me?”

If your book was optioned for a movie, what scene would be absolutely crucial to include?

Definitely the final showdown. It’s the culmination of Maggie’s life up to that point, her aha moment when she finally faces all her demons and fears to become the woman she’s meant to be.

How was that fair? Evil wasn’t supposed to win. Lying jerks weren’t supposed to get everything in a divorce. Wicked witches weren’t supposed to get away with ruining families, possessing best friends, stealing magic, and killing true love. Nothing about this was right.
Good isn’t supposed to lose.
Anger swelled inside her, scorching away the sorrow. Maybe it was too late for them all, but she wouldn’t simply watch while evil won the day.

Readers should read this book …

If you love gothicy-fall vibes, spicy romance, and a modern magical tale of a brooding druid with a good thick…brogue. The “good thick…brogue” came from a reviewer, and I loved it so much I can’t resist using it.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m working on getting my fingers back on the keyboard to finish a couple of lingering projects, one in Kellen’s world, the other in my Hearts and Haunts series. If only I didn’t have bills to pay and a day job to keep happy…

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: A signed copy of Druid Cursed, a handmade (by moi) bookmark, and a fun sticker.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Have you ever been to Ireland, and if so, what did you love most?

This giveaway closes 3 days from the date of this post.

Excerpt from Druid Cursed:

Kellen remained gargoyle-still on the garden bench where he’d been mentally checking the three boundary wards. Despite Sorcha’s earlier taunting, beyond a brief anomaly, each ward remained intact, a state he would ensure personally on the morrow.
Even so, since the moment his bare feet had touched soil, a peculiar awareness rubbed at his skin, as though he’d stepped into a familiar place now owned by a foreigner. In his absence, with Caedmon as sole caretaker, mayhap the land had momentarily forgotten him. He suspected the sensation would fade soon, yet the thought of pretending he was not unsettled whilst playing host to the coxcombs and upstarts Caedmon invited into their home was beyond all tolerance. He would rather dine with a knot of toads.
And now one of those visitors encroached on his privacy.
The screen of bare-limbed rowans planted around the bench revealed glimpses of the woman drifting ever closer on the pavestone path. Her sweater matched the decorative red berries clustering the trees, and miniscule gemstones at her slender neck sparkled bright enough to challenge the stars above. The remainder of her attire was utterly inappropriate. Shoes that revealed delicate toes and did little to protect against the elements.
She donned blue-toned breeches, offering a visual feast of curves for a man’s fancies. Not his, of course. Women were naught but a vexation, a hard lesson learned centuries ago when he had the misfortune of catching the warped attention of Sorcha’s daughter.
While not overly tall, neither was the approaching woman willow-thin like the usual female guests his brother preferred. Nor did she have their false, painted faces. Nonetheless, he liked it not that she interrupted his labors.
Perchance, if he remained utterly still, the intruder would pass him by without notice.
But the woman stepped abreast of his hiding spot and paused. She turned toward the bench. Her summer-sky eyes widened at him.
Fie. It seemed ill luck still hounded him through the centuries.
She lifted a shiny, rectangular contraption and aimed it at him. With a soft click, lightning shot from the device, burning his eyes, temporarily blinding him.
He squeezed his eyes shut then quickly recovered and leaped up with a snarl, swiping the weapon from her fingers. She squeaked in surprise and jumped. He took advantage of her shock, crowding her back through the lavender row and against the brick wall.
Looming over her, he growled. “Sorcha grows weak indeed if you are what she deigns to send against me.”
“Holy shit on a stick.” She gasped, one long-fingered hand planted on his chest, directly over his heart. She blinked up at him, all innocence. “I thought you were a statue.”
She was too close, within dagger range, and yet he possessed no desire to move away as he oft did with other humans. The warmth of her hand seeped through the layers of his clothing to brand his skin. Her thrumming pulse set the beat for his heart. He sucked in a ragged breath, drawing her lily scent into his lungs, and a ripple of tension traveled from his jaw down to his toes. Who was this woman to affect him so?
More importantly, what was she?
“You must be Caedmon Ravenwood’s brother,” she said on a breathy laugh, as if to push back any fear. “The goatee and sinister vibe threw me off, but I see the resemblance now.” She dropped her hand, but the prepared-to-flee spring of her body remained unchanged. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your…skulking.”
Her mouth, carnation pink and plump, parted as if inviting a kiss. By his ancestor’s bones, the temptation to accept nigh staggered him. He stiffened and cleared his throat, needing to say something to break this spell she cast, for it must be a spell. His reaction to her was too fierce, too swift. It was not possible to want someone this powerfully, this quick. He took a step back, forcing the distance even as the urge to close it again strangled him.
“I am Kellen Ravenwood,” he rasped. Was that his hooves-grinding-gravel voice? She must think him a beast. “And you are?”
“Nobody important.” She lifted her eyebrows, and her gaze flicked beyond the cage of his body. “Alrighty then. I’ll let you get back to your post. Excellent work scaring me. I’ll be sure to leave a five-star review on any upcoming guest satisfaction survey.” She held out her hand. “My phone—”
“Stay.” Not the word he meant to utter, yet startlingly true. The need to persuade her, keep her by his side for at least a few moments longer, was too strong to resist. “I, too, sought escape from the fiends within. Let us form an alliance against peacocks and prigs and linger in the garden until sunrise chases them back into the depths where they belong.”
Even as he cursed the overly poetic words leaving his mouth, she laughed. The sound was so musical and bright, he could not regret his wayward tongue.
“Introvert, huh?” Her eyes sparkled, and her shoulders relaxed. “Is that why you’re in the garden instead of at the formal dinner, where you can intimidate any random guest who wanders too near? You should really wear a cape or cowl. A tux doesn’t exactly scream ‘ominous.’”
“Indeed. Although I have no wish to frighten you.”
“Little late for that. I’m pretty sure you spooked me into my forties when you leaped at me from your bench.”
“My apologies.”
Fear held no place in what he wished to do to her…touch, taste, claim—
He shook his head and smothered an annoyed growl. This was not normal. She was not normal. Aye, he knew bewitchment stirred his desire to flames—a compulsion spell ’twas the only explanation—yet he could not detect a single spark of evil defiling her aura. Not from this distance. He would need to get closer to know for certain, a tricky feat considering they were strangers.
Still, he leaned nearer, as if pulled by invisible threads, threads he had no inclination to break even knowing he should. Their breaths merged, and his voice dropped to a husky rumble. “Allow me to remedy my actions.”
“I don’t think so.” Her expression shuttered. “Midnight trysts with shadow-lurking bachelors I only just met aren’t my bag.” She licked her bottom lip, and every part of him jerked to attention. “My friend Wendy, however, would love to meet you. She’s under the weather tonight, but tomorrow—”
“Nay.” A growl entered his voice, but he refused to contain it. “I am not a philanderer. A woman has not seized my attention in years.” Centuries. Ever. Not like this. Wisdom screamed at him to be cautious, yet he could not resist his next words. “You…cleave me in twain.”
“Cleave? Twain?” She cocked her head, studying him with slightly more interest than before, a shadow of a smile returned. “You’re the Dungeons and Dragons type, I bet. Makes sense, not that I’m judging. I’m a non-recovering Assassin’s Creed addict myself. You’re lucky I left my knives at home.”
He frowned, uncertain how to respond. He had unwillingly become acquainted with a dungeon or two, had not yet encountered any dragons, and what sort of self-respecting assassin would confess to wandering without weapons?
She huffed a breath, clearly growing impatient. “No offense, you may be a Nobel-prize winning Citizen of the Year, but my man meter right now is stuck on suck.”
His gaze dropped again to her perfect mouth. Suck. An exceptional word.
“Suck in the bad way,” she said quickly, the blush staining her cheeks faint beneath the starlight. “As in lowlife. Jerk. Scuzzball.”
He preferred his version.
“Aye, men are fools,” he said. And well he knew it, himself included. If he had rejected Sorcha’s daughter in a more courteous manner, perchance he would not be in his current predicament. A scorned, spoiled, black-hearted woman was naught compared to her enraged witch of a mother, whether her wrath was justified or not.
The stranger ducked under his arm and stepped through the lavender to the pavestones. “I really need to get back to my sick friend and rest up for the competition.” Her blue eyes flashed. “I aim to win, no matter the distractions put in my path. What’s the fastest way out? This place is a freaking maze.”
In no manner was he ready to part from her, and if ’twas some mild manner of bewitchment, he would be remiss not to investigate the source and intent. Aye, he needed a valid reason to get closer to her—intimately close, skin to skin—to test her aura, and she had unwittingly provided a method to do so.
Kellen slid her lightning-wielding contraption into his breast pocket, leverage for later should his plan fail.
“The garden is most difficult to navigate for one unfamiliar with its paths and does not always cooperate with where one wishes to go, Miss…?”
She shook her head, stubbornly holding back her name.
“Nor is it safe,” he continued, “especially during the days before Samhain. I suggest a proposal. I will accompany you out of the garden on the fleetest route…in exchange for a kiss.”

Excerpts. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Every fifty years, Kellen Ravenwood escapes his magical prison for seven days. This Samhain is his last chance to break the curse, or he’ll be bound forever. All he needs is a sacrifice: the blood of Maggie O’Malley, the last living descendant of the witch who cursed him.

Maggie, desperate for cash after a brutal divorce, jumps at the chance to win a $500,000 prize at a mysterious Irish estate. She never expected ancient rituals, strange magic, or Kellen, the dangerously charming man who claims she’s the key to his freedom.

But Maggie won’t be anyone’s sacrifice. And if there’s another way to break the curse, she’ll find it.

Because some destinies are meant to be rewritten.

And some love stories are worth defying fate for.
Book Links: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Goodreads |
 
 

Meet the Author:

Once upon a time, a girl with flat hobbit feet dreamed of adventures in the woods with an elven hero, fighting off orcs and saving magical rings. All grown up now, C.J. Burright resides in Oregon (at least she got the trees). While she faces her duties at the law office day job, she avoids writing legal thrillers and instead turns toward romance—contemporary (sometimes with a supernatural flair), paranormal or fantasy. With a 5th Dan Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do, it’s no surprise she prefers feisty heroines who aren’t afraid to jump into the fight. Her slivers of spare time are spent working out, gardening, playing the latest Assassin’s Creed, and rooting on the Seattle Mariners, always with music. She shares a house with her husband (not elven, alas, but a fine alternative) and a devoted cat herd while missing her daughter from afar. C. J. is represented by Brittany Booker of The Booker Albert Literary Agency.
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