Spotlight & Giveaway: Ruthless by Gena Showalter

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Gena Showalter to HJ!

Hi Gena and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Ruthless!

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Heroine is a powerful fae who ends up alone in a treacherous forest at the age of five, forced to raise herself. Her only companions are the monsters she brought to life with a mystical song. Little wonder she’s feral. Hero is a scarred but powerful king who exhibits iron control, even while smoldering inside. He’s able to tame the most savage of beasts… but can he tame her?
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

“The first and only rule of taming: never be the one to break. Micah would prove the depths of his strength, or he would die trying.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

I wrote the heroine to be the human equivalent of a feral cat. Basically, the hero is the equivalent of a “crazy cat lady.” To him, everything Viori does is kind of adorable and charming.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

They meet briefly as teenagers. Both have been on their own for years, forced to fight for their provision and safety. But for one brief moment in time, they are together, not alone. Neither can forget the sweetness of having a companion.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

I like this snippet because the heroine keeps surprising the hero with her unwillingness to back down.

“Maybe I’ll keep you chained to my bed for the rest of eternity,” he rasped, tracing his thumb along her jugular.
With a husky voice, she replied, “Maybe I’ll enjoy it.”
“Now I know you lie.” Do I? The way she’s looking at me… He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on her, loving how her throat quivered as she swallowed. “There’s a lone reason you would dare to taunt me so while I hold your very life in my hand.”
“Oh? Please, do tell.”
“You hope to distract me and run away again.”
“Give the king a prize. I will run. When the time is right.” She didn’t appear the least bit abashed by her admission. “But I promise you’ll enjoy yourself in the meantime… The question is, will I?”
In that moment, he recognized the truth. She fully understood her power over him—and how to wield it well. He fought to resist her allure. Fought with every ounce of his strength. Resistance was the correct path. He recognized this truth, too. Anything else would lead to his destruction. But he smelled her each time he inhaled, all the sweet florals and citrus, and his thoughts fragmented, one after the other. Desire prowled through his veins, a hungry beast desperate for sustenance. Nothing else mattered.
“Know this, Viori. I will catch you when you run, wherever you go.”

Readers should read this book….

Yes. They should. 🙂

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I’m working on two books at the moment. (1) An edit for The Phantom, the next book in my Rise of the Warlord series. This is a wild, paranormal enemy to lovers story. I’m having fun with it! (2) The rough draft for the next Jane Ladling story, a cozy mystery series I write with the amazing Jill Monroe. I adore the cast of quirky characters!
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Prize pack: 1 copy of HEARTLESS (Immortal Enemies #1) and 1 copy of RUTHLESS (Immortal Enemies #2). US/Canada only.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: If you could give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?

 
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Excerpt from Ruthless:

PROLOGUE
Astaria, the fae realm
Five-year-old Viori de Aoibheall raced to her parents’ bedchamber, frantic. A thick, overpowering odor infused the air, stinging her nostrils. Death comes…
Tears welled as she placed a bowl of fresh water on the nightstand, next to her beautiful doll, Drendall. Viori’s most beloved possession. There was no lovelier sight than Lady Drendall, with her colorful porcelain face and lacy pink gown. A treasured birthday gift from her favorite person in all the realm, her older brother, Kaysar.
Fighting for calm, Viori grabbed a clean rag from the nightstand’s top drawer. She dipped the shabby fabric into the cool liquid, uncaring when droplets splashed her dress. For weeks, her parents had suffered with “the crimson sickness.” A plague that had decimated half their village.
As pixiepetal harvesters who worked public land, Momma and Papa made little money. But that little kept their family of four fed. No money, no food. Already supplies ran low, with only a few potatoes left.
To make up for the loss, twelve-year-old Kaysar now spent the whole of his days slaving in the fields. A backbreaking job too difficult for one person. And yet, he never complained.
Agonized moans whisked her back to the present. Momma and Papa lay side by side, a sheet tangling as they thrashed. Unnatural heat radiated from them, cooking both from the inside out.
Viori swallowed a barbed lump, pasted on a smile and hurried to her father. She wrung water into his mouth, telling him, “Don’t worry, Papa. Everything will be all right.” Kaysar had promised, and he never lied.
The frail man coughed up blood.
More tears welled as she hastened to her mother. Trembling, she squeezed the rag directly over Momma’s chapped lips.
Before this, anyone who’d met Viori and her mother had called them twins. They sported the same auburn hair and green eyes. Same delicate features and golden skin. No longer. Momma’s face had become a travesty of sunken sockets and hollowed cheeks, framed by a sallow complexion.
Do not sob. Viori tenderly cleaned the blood from the woman’s nose, then returned to her father. An ox-strong charmer too beautiful for words, admired by too many ladies in town, according to Momma. With thick black hair, darker, dusky complexion and rich brown eyes, he resembled an older version of Kaysar. Or he used to. Like his wife, he looked ready for a grave.
As gently as possible, Viori wiped his brow. He cringed from her touch, the slightest pressure seeming to bring him incomparable suffering.
Do. Not. Sob.
“Heal…us,” he rasped, his voice wretched. “Please. Must…try.”
Distress choked her. She gave her head a violent shake. “I… I can’t.” Every day Kaysar had warned her: Do not even consider it, love. Not yet.
He believed her glamara—a fae’s strongest supernatural ability—mirrored his. That she must only speak a command to force others to obey. And maybe he was right. But she had rarely practiced. With good reason!
Fear, sadness and anger delivered a bad outcome for Kaysar. The listeners might obey him, but they did it…wrong.
Her brother had explained it this way: Words are vessels containing everything we feel. Our secret and not so secret intents. When we speak, we unleash a creative force no one can outrun. A gift, if we use it right.
Before she dare attempt to control a fae, she must first harness her emotions.
“Please, darling,” her mother echoed, barely audible. “Can’t make it worse. Dying, anyway.”
“No! You aren’t allowed to die.” To stop herself from agreeing to sing, Viori mashed her lips together. Do not even consider it. Except, she had brought birds, cats and deer back to life.
What if she could do this?
What if she couldn’t? She’d helped the animals only after she’d calmed. A process that had taken days.
Momma issued a louder moan, almost a scream, and Viori sniffled. Did she have time to calm? Could she calm? Whenever she tried, she ended up hiding under her covers. But…
What if she could save her parents and didn’t? Could she live with the guilt? Could Kaysar?
What if he grew to hate her? What if she grew to hate herself?
If she succeeded, all became right, exactly as he’d promised. Momma would smile again. Papa would ruffle her hair and tell her she wasn’t allowed to marry until she reached the age of two hundred and fifty—at least! Kaysar could finally return to his studies. How he must long to do so. No one enjoyed books and learning more.
And if she didn’t succeed?
Did it really matter if emotion warped her commands at a time like this? If she was her parents’ only chance, shouldn’t she offer one?
Indecision gnawed at her. She wrung her fingers and glanced out the window, where a dirt path led to the pixiepetal fields. Should she speak with Kaysar first? A ten-minute sprint to the closest field meant another ten-minute sprint home. And if he labored in the second field, twenty minutes away? Neither of them possessed the ability to flitter—moving from one location to another with only a thought. Not yet, anyway.
If he refused to help?
“Please, darling,” Momma beseeched. “Never hurt so bad.”
Tremors starting up again, Viori pressed clammy palms against her belly. What use was her gift if she couldn’t help the people she adored? “V-very well. I will try.”
She trudged to the foot of the bed and drew a deep breath in, out. Like Kaysar, her glamara strengthened when she sang. Unwilling to hesitate, she closed her eyes and released the first note.
A soft melody floated over the chamber. Her parents went quiet. She freed the second note and peeked through a slit in her lashes. Peace fell over the pair, their thrashing easing.
I’m doing it? Relief poured through her. She increased her volume, commanding the couple to feel no pain.
Neither moved, yet ripples disturbed the bedsheet. Odd, but not jarring. With the animals, she’d felt a wind that wasn’t there.
Viori sang even louder, utilizing the full power of her glamara. And oh, wow. Black dots wove through her vision. Threads of weakness invaded her limbs, nearly toppling her.
But she refused to stop until the last vestiges of the sickness faded from her parents.
Had the pair healed at all? She focused on their expressions—and gasped, stumbling back as horror torched her relief. Momma screamed in silent agony, blood leaking from her eyes, nose and ears. Papa gritted crimson-smeared teeth. The sheet had somehow risen, taken the shape of a fae and sat with crossed legs between them. The creature had a hand wrapped around the throat of each patient.
Viori smashed her lips together, ending her song.
What is…? How can…? Impossible! And yet, she felt a connection to the sheet, as if it were somehow a member of her family. Her child, like Drendall. She even knew its name—Fifibelle.
“What are you doing?” she cried. Bit by bit, life drained from Momma’s and Papa’s eyes. “Stop that!”
The sheet held on, seemingly proud of a task well done.
“S-stop this, Fifibelle. Please.”
Too late. One parent expelled a final breath within seconds of the other, both peering into an afterworld Viori couldn’t see.
Weakness intensifying, she tumbled to her backside. At the same time, Fifibelle lost substance and whooshed into a puddle, reverting to a simple mound of cotton.
Trapped sobs escaped. Momma and Papa were…dead? She’d killed them?
Must know. Legs quaking, she lumbered to her feet and approached the bed. Slowly, she stretched out her arm to flatten a palm against her mother’s chest. The spot Viori loved to rest her head when they told bedtime stories to Drendall. No heartbeat. Ice-cold skin.
The moisture in her mouth dried. Vision blurring, she
stumbled over to check her father for signs of life. Finding none.
Realization heralded shock. Yes, they were dead. And it was her fault. She’d killed her parents with a song. Had viciously murdered the pair.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry. So—” Another sob cut her off. Tears rained freely, scalding her cheeks. Over and over Kaysar’s warning replayed in her head. Like Fifibelle, Viori had refused to listen. Now she must suffer the consequences.
And so must her brother.
He would hate her now. If he didn’t, he should. Her voice wasn’t a gift, but a curse.
Overcome by grief, she snatched Drendall from the nightstand and sank to the floor. With her friend clutched tight to her chest, she curled into a ball and rocked back and forth. Why had she done this? Why, why, why?
What if she did it again? She buried her face in Drendall’s soft hair. Was Kaysar to be her next victim? What if Viori harmed him when she tried to explain? What if Fifibelle awoke? What if she created something worse?
Panic collided with desperation, both exploding inside her. Can’t harm Kaysar. Not him. Anyone but him.
But what if she did it? Soon, he would return to the cottage…
She squeezed Drendall tighter. Must be quiet. Mustn’t say anything else.
Ever.
Excerpted from Ruthless by Gena Showalter. Copyright © 2022 by Gena Showalter. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Forbidden. Powerful. Ruthless.

Micah the Unwilling, fae King of the Forgotten, can tame even the most violent of beasts. Forged on the battlefield, this iron-willed warrior considers his soldiers his family, and he will stop at nothing to reclaim their dispossessed land. Gearing for war with a sadistic enemy, he is disciplined and focused—until a feral beauty he encountered long ago wanders into his camp.

Viori de Aoibheall wields a terrifying ability to sing monsters to life. Having spent her childhood in a forest, raising herself and her frightening creations—the only friends she’s ever known—she’s ill prepared for the scarred royal and his fearsome brutality. Not to mention the ferocity of their connection and the carnality of his touch. But the real problem? Her brother is Micah’s greatest foe. And though the sensual king makes her burn, she must stop him, whatever the cost.
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Meet the Author:

Gena Showalter is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of over seventy books, including the acclaimed Lords of the Underworld series, the Gods of War series, the White Rabbit Chronicles, and the Forest of Good and Evil series. She writes sizzling paranormal romance, heartwarming contemporary romance, and unputdownable young adult novels, and lives in Oklahoma City with her family and menagerie of dogs. Visit her at GenaShowalter.com.
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