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“>Yes, it’s true. ONCE A KNIGHT, one of my early medievals, has been re-released with an eye-popping new cover. Personally, I think the guy looks like Val Kilmer. That works for me. Here’s a short synopsis, and make sure you read the excerpt on my website!

“Once a prince, always a prince, but ONCE A KNIGHT is enough.” Actually, once a night isn’t enough for Sir David of Radcliffe. David is a legend in his own time, the knight who saved the king from an attack of 15 murderous villains, and who intends that the proper and wealthy Lady Alisoun will take his measure and be … impressed. But it’s the size of Sir David’s legend that interests Lady Alisoun, for an enemy is threatening and England’s finest warrior is required to confront the challenge.

When ONCE A KNIGHT came out in 1996, Kathe Robin, the reviewer at Romantic Times, gave me a lovely quote: “This love and laughter medieval romance is pure delight; a truly scrumptious tidbit to brighten your day and lift your spirits.”

Visit my website to read excerpts, play games and watch my electrifying book videos. While you’re there, please accept my invitation to join my mailing list, and make sure you visit my Frequently Asked Questions page for all the answers to everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Christina Dodd! Well, except for my weight and age. www.christinadodd.com

You’re invited to a Squawk Radio Reunion!

When: October 3rd all day long

What: Celebration of the premiere of the first Squawk Radio Video at Romance Novel TV There will be new segments every Wednesday in October!

Where: Romance Novel TV

All the Squawkers will be rejoined for one day to talk and reminisce with you!

“When I wrote Rurik Wilder, the hero of TOUCH OF DARKNESS, I pictured Indiana Jones, the dashing archeologist who seeks adventure and finds romance. Here, Rurik is excavating a tomb on an island off the coast of Scotland, a tomb that has already proved deadly.

Rurik knelt before the window into the tomb, removing the stones one by one, brushing away the dust of a thousand years. Concentrating on his work, and all the while, along the edges of his mind, he was aware of Tasya Hunnicutt. He heard the clicking of her camera as she recorded his movements. Listened to her voice as she recorded notes on his progress. Felt the heat of her body as she knelt beside him.

He didn’t want her here.

Every bit of research he had done on Clovus the Beheader told him the warrior had been nothing better than a medieval serial killer: a cannibal, a savage, a bully who scorched a path of destruction across Europe.

Traps? Yes, for all that Clovus was most certainly burning in hell, and had no use for his plunder there, he would have made sure no one else would ever have a moment of pleasure from his plunder. Working here was nothing more or less than waiting for the next blow to fall, and if Rurik weren’t careful, Tasya would be the next one lying dead on a slab in the church.

At the same time, he rejoiced to know they labored together again. He would keep her alive, and somehow make her pay for making a fool of him. Make her pay with her lips and her body and her mind, over and over, until she had no strength to walk away again.

As he eased each stone away, opening a larger and larger door into the home of the dead, he kept his attention away from the treasure chest. The placement was suspect. Why put a treasure where it would be so easily seen by any casual grave-robber? A thin sheet of hammered gold covered the box, and the brass lock held a key, waiting to turn. The treasure chest was a lure.

“Wait, Rurik.” Tasya turned and handed Ashley, their assistant, the camera. “Step back carefully and take pictures of the project as a whole. I want a wide frame of the walls, the path, and the hole we’re opening here.”

“Right.” Ashley sounded glad to move back. She must truly frightened.

As he placed his fingers on the next stone, Tasya laid her hand over his, and spoke softly in his ear. “Don’t pull that one loose.”

He turned to look in her eyes.

The bright blue had turned gray and grave; she knew something he did not. “It doesn’t feel right. Step away, and pull it with a stick or a grappling hook.”

It doesn’t feel right? What the hell did that mean?

“Why should I listen to you?” Why should he listen to a warning issued by a woman concerned with nothing but herself and her career?

Tasya’s hand clenched on his. “It’s not like I give a damn whether you live or die. But I am not anxious to see another man dripping blood while he hangs on the tip of a sword.”

“Charming.”

“Right. So what have you got to lose?” Her sarcastic tone belied the intensity in her face. She was sure. So sure.

And while he wanted to dismiss her, he had seen his mother, the most prosaic woman in the world, clutched in the jaws of a powerful prophecy. On that day less than two weeks ago, his life had broken in half. Again.

A man learned from his experiences. Rurik would not dismiss Tasya’s warning, but he would use the opportunity to discover more about her, and about her past, the past about which she never spoke.

Moving with care, he removed his hand from the stone. He turned his palm within hers, and grasped her fingers. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Tasya shrugged and looked away. “I have a feeling,” she said in a low tone. She pulled her hand free, and he let her. She avoided his gaze, not wanting to give him an opening to question her about her intuition, as if he would while Ashley stood behind them, camera in hand, recording every movement and word.

“Ashley, get the grappling hook,” he called. As Ashley scurried up the path toward their storage shed, he smiled at Tasya. “Alone at last.”

Her gaze flashed to his, then away. “Don’t.”

He relished in the upper hand. She had abandoned him, run without a word, without a note, without a call. He had awakened from a long night of making love to discover a cold bed and not a sign of the woman he’d so carefully, craftily courted and claimed.

Now here they were, face to face, alone, and she desperately wanted to avoid an intimate discussion. What sweet revenge. This was a resumption of the chase, but this time, he didn’t bother with subterfuge or subtlety. This time, she knew he was in hot pursuit, and she knew he was pissed.

Naturally, being Tasya, she tried to take command of the situation. “This is not the time or the place to discuss personal matters. We have a job to do.”

“I agree. We’ll discuss our personal matters later.” He allowed his gaze to wander from the crown of her head to the toes of her scruffy running shoes, touching all the important points in between. He smiled, the smile of a sultan approving of a new purchase. “This time, it will be difficult for you to run away.”

She flushed a painful red. “I did not run.”

“>

“Like a scared rabbit.” He spaced the words, taking care to emphasize each syllable. “Look at you. You can’t even lie about it successfully.” He laughed softly, with an edge of menace. “I intend to take possession of what is mine.”

She leaned toward him, her chin jutting. “I should have let the trap take you out.”

“Would you save the world and let me go to hell?” he mocked.

“From where you’re sitting, I promise, it’s short trip.”

“But Tasya, I’m taking you with me … everywhere I go.”

Order TOUCH OF DARKNESS from:

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If you haven’t had a chance to read SCENT OF DARKNESS (“Scintillating and superb!” — Romantic Times Magazine), book 1 in the Darkness Chosen series, it’s on the shelves at stores everywhere, or

To order SCENT OF DARKNESS online:

Amazon | B&N | Wal-Mart

For more excerpts and info about the Darkness Chosen series, visit my website!

Please enjoy an extra excerpt, especially for you, with my compliments!

Continued from the first excerpt at http://christinadodd.com/excerpt.php?excerptid=000041 :

Using every ounce of courage she possessed, Ann ran back toward the house, grabbed the door and slammed it shut.

Let Mr. Wolfman claw his way through that.

As she sprinted toward the car, she sorted through the keys. The wind-blown rain slapped her in the face, clearing her brain … what good did a clear brain do her? Everything she believed in, everything she knew as true, was vanquished by the reality of that thing in the house. That wolf. The man she loved.

Jasha.

The Miata’s lights flashed as she unlocked the door with the remote. She slid into the seat, and scraped her knee on the steering column. She knew it must hurt. She just couldn’t feel it. Not now. Not yet. She didn’t have time.

She slammed the door. Glanced at the house. Tried to get the key in the ignition. Tried again.

Her hand was shaking too hard to make the connection.

She glanced at the house again — and saw the wolf leap through the sidelight beside front door. The glorious, expensive, leaded glass sprayed outward as his sleek body arched through, head outstretched, teeth bared.

Magically, her hand steadied and the key slid into the ignition. She started the car; she’d never heard a sound as wonderful as her engine turning over. She put her foot to the floor. The car leaped forward and she whipped around the circle drive with the verve and expertise of a driver in the Grand Prix.

Rain sluiced down the windshield. She fumbled with the wipers, got them on … in the intermittent mode. As the wipers slid unhurriedly across the windshield, she cursed the new car, the unfamiliar controls, the desire that had brought her here.

She should have known better. She was an orphan, abandoned and alone, marked by evil, rejected by the Almighty. Sister Mary Margaret had urged her to accept her fate and live her life alone, but Ann had rebelled.

Now she swore she’d thank God if she lived at all — especially since she hadn’t even put on her seatbelt.

Then she glanced into the rearview mirror.

The wolf raced across the grass after the car.

To hell with the seatbelt.

He couldn’t catch her. She knew it was impossible. Wolves couldn’t move as fast as a car.

But men didn’t turn into wolves, either. Maybe Jasha was a freaking transformer. Maybe he was going to turn into a giant mechanized robot and stomp on her and her car.

She bent her attention to the road, driving faster than she ever had in her life.

The wind buffeted the tiny Miata. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. Her hair dripped into her eyes. Her hands slipped on the steering wheel: from the rain, from fear-induced sweat. She squinted through the blurry windshield, taking the winding curves too fast, seeing the ocean cliffs flash past as she cleared the forest then, as she turned inland again, the trees loom above her. Soon she would skirt the cliffs again. She needed to concentrate, to remember the route she’d driven only once …

Without warning, the road rose, then dipped, then rose. The car was airborne. She was airborne. With a jaw-snapping impact, the wheels hit the asphalt. The airbag exploded in her face, smothering her in white for one vital moment.

As it subsided, she desperately clawed it out of the way. Then she could see. The car was headed straight — but the road curved. Curved to the left, and ahead she saw nothing but rain and clouds and the edge of the cliff.

She slammed on the brakes. The car hydroplaned, the rear wheels sliding sideways.

At last the tread caught. She was in control.

But too late. Too late. The rear wheels dropped off the precipice. Half the car hung over the cliff, over the rocks and the ocean. The undercarriage screamed as it scraped the asphalt.

I’m going to die.

The side panel smacked something. Something big. A boulder. A tree trunk. Metal crunched. The car stopped. Stopped so suddenly she slid sideways into the passenger seat. She lost her grip on the wheel. Her legs tangled with the console. She sat frozen, waiting for the car to tip, to plunge her into the ocean.

Nothing moved. The stench of hot metal and burning rubber filled her nose. She was still alive — and if she wanted to stay that way, she had to get out. Get out before the car plunged off the cliff. Get out before it burst into flame.

She put on the emergency brake, then closed her eyes. Taking care not to suddenly shift her weight, she grasped the handle and opened the door. All her care was wasted; the wind caught it and jerked it wide. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable shift and tumble.

Nothing.

Distantly she noted that her hand was now steady. Somewhere on this wild ride, she had transcended terror.

She slid her leg out, inched her butt along the seat, then gradually stood.

The car hung there, suspended over the cliff, resting on the front tires and the frame.

She stepped away from it. Backed away, waiting for it to take the plunge.

The Miata remained still.

She stood alone on a one-lane private road. Her new car was smashed and unsalvageable, a testament to her bad driving — and a sign to Jasha that she was helpless and on foot. She was barefoot, rain lashed her and — she faced back the way she came —nothing made sense, especially not the wolf who was Jasha.

I have to hide.

On one side of the road, the ocean lashed the base of the cliff. On the other, the primeval forest loomed, dark and thick, branches lashing in the wind. She didn’t want to go in there.

Then in the distance, a wolf howled.

He was coming for her.

Ann sprinted across the road and into the forest.

Click here to order SCENT OF DARKNESS from Amazon.

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Visit Christina’s website!

Why are you back? I thought you guys were completely and totally like Pouff!

Not so, grasshopper. Squawk Radio has ceased existence as a “daily blog” but as all karmic experiences, now that we have mastered this existence, we are recreated in another.
Yeah, yeah, right. But what does that mean to ME, the Squawk Blog reader?

Well, you’ll have to go other places for a daily blog fix. The obvious choice is to trundle right on over to the Squawkers’ individual blogs. Both Teresa and Liz have their very own blogs.  Right now Teresa has simply gathered all of her Squawk blogs there but if she gets wildly inspired, she may post a couple of blogs a month.  She’ll try to alert you with her newsletter, so be sure and sign up.  And the beat goes on with Liz, who has promised to keep posting her music blogs.  I do know both women well enough to be confident that there’ll be plenty of babbl---er, writing going on.

Teresa’s blog is at:
http://www.teresamedeiros.blogspot.com
and Liz’s blog is at:
http://bevarly.blogspot.com

and forget not that Christina,too, will be recycling her blogs but she’ll be doing so on her own site at
www.christinadodd.com

and Eloisa has a smokin’ bulletin board at:
www.eloisajames.com

and I am starting to play with videoblogs and making my own trailers, so soon (like this week) for those of you who are into campy amateurism, check out:
www.conniebrockway.com

Lisa has a different approach to this whole promotional thing. She works without pause on her books. Huh.

We also like:
http://www.romancebuythebook.com
http://www.runningwithquills.com
http://www.thegoddessblogs.com
http://www.jauntyquills.com
http://www.wordwenches.com
http://fogcitydivas.typepad.com/
http://romancebytheblog.blogspot.com

Where else can I go to get my Squawk Fix?

Websites. We all have websites. And we all have made fresh commitments to creating six Fabu Multi-Media Cyberganzas for your edification and entertainment. You can visit them at:

http://www.elizabethbevarly.com
http://www.conniebrockway.com
http://www.christinadodd.com
http://www.lisakleypas.com
http://www.eloisajames.com
http://www.teresamedeiros.com

Well, that’s good news but what’s going to happen to this site?

Like I said, it will transform (and despite Terri’s pleas, it will not transform into a never-ending loop of Russell Crowe sweating it up in Gladiator.) Squawk Radio may no longer be a daily blog, but it’s going to be here. In addition, you can check out the archives at any time. Just use the search function to find a blog by author or keyword. 

That’s it?  That’s all there’ll be here? Archives?

No. Right now, the plan is to use Squawk as a sort of Squawker’s Hub--- a place to post what’s happening on our individual websites, to stick links to any new content we add on our sites and list appearances we’ll be making. And, of course, we’ll be beating the drum whenever we have a book about to be released. The major difference being that we’ve turned off the comments to avoid those nasty spammers.

If you never joined our Member List, NOW is the time because we’ll be using those mini-e-newsletters to alert you to any new content posted on Squawk. 

But no more group blogs…?

“Never say never”—just “not daily” which in Squawk-speak translates to “randomly and sporadically and possibly occasionally.” Any of the Squawkers who don’t maintain a personal blog (and those who do) can always write a blog here just for grins or when the spirit moves. In which case, the comments will be turned on for a day or so.

So fret not! We love it too much to let Squawk Radio become a black hole.

Besides, we’re paid up on the site until next April…

Dearest Friends,
During this, our last official day as Squawkers on a daily blog, we wanted to leave you with the most important information of all--a way to keep in touch!  So if you’ll scroll down, you’ll find a brief note from each of the chicks plus one last chance to win some amazing Squawk prizes!  (And just in case you’re already suffering from withdrawal the Squawk chicks will be giving one last hurrah over at Romance:By the Blog at http://romancebytheblog.blogspot.com/ on Monday.)

FROM TERESA:  When we first started SQUAWK RADIO, we thought it would be a great promotional tool for our careers.  We had no idea it would snowball into this extraordinary community that would spawn countless other author-driven blogs and make best friends of complete strangers.  The last thing I want to do is lose track of the friends I’ve made here.  I hope you’ll visit my website at http://www.teresamedeiros.com to keep up with what’s happening in my own little corner of the universe.  You can sign up for my bi-monthly newsletter on the home page or just click on the button below and leave your name and e-mail addy.  (Which I promise not to share with anybody else...not even Xtina...well, not unless she begs...)

I’ve also gathered every one of my blogs from Squawk Radio plus blogs I’ve done on other sites into my own blogsite CHARMED LIFE:  http://www.teresamedeiros.blogspot.com I have no plans to actively blog right now but if I ever get bitten by the bug again, I’ll have a place to post my meanderings.  And if you have a really lazy Sunday afternoon, you can find all of my non-fiction offerings gathered in one place for your enjoyment.  As the resident geek, I’d like to leave you with the words of Mr. Spock to Captain Kirk at the end of STAR TREK: THE WRATH OF KHAN:  “You are, and always will be, my friends.” May God bless every one of you.  See you in cyberspace!

Later this evening, Teresa will be privately contacting 2 lucky winners from our Member List who will win an autographed Teresa Medeiros book! 

FROM ELOISA: I find the idea of saying goodbye to all the Squawkettes incredibly sad.  I keep staring at this computer screen and not typing.  I guess I want to repeat what I said the other day:  friendship is never a mistake, even if it doesn’t last forever.  I truly believe that.  I also truly believe that many of you will find ways to hang out with us.  We’d love to see you at a signing or a romance conference.  We’d love to see you at our websites.  The Squawkers fully intend to be wobbling over to see each other in our walkers, a few years down the road (a leeetle earlier for Kitty maybe than for the rest of us)—so come to a booksigning with any Squawker and we’ll give you an update on the whole crew!  Plus I’ll try to drag the Squawkers over to my Bulletin Board whenever I can.

I wish I was as organized as Teresea and sent out a bi-monthly newsletter—but mine goes out at least twice a year, which is pretty good for me.  Please sign up.  I’d love to be able to tell you when I have a new book out, and what contest is happening on my site (right now there’s a lot of chocolate up for grabs!).  Plus, if you’re signed up for my website, your password will get you into my Readers’ Pages—full of extra chapters, free short stories, crossword puzzles (there’s a new one coming), and other fun things to do.  And I won’t share your address, even if Christina BEGS!

Eloisa’s Mailing List Sign-up

Finally, whenever I’m doing a signing, I post a meet-and-greet time, about an hour before, on my Bulletin Board.  New York and New Jersey this month, and then Texas in July—I’d love to see you!

FROM CHRISTINA: Yesterday I called a family friend. Lillian lived next door when I was born, she’s 92, and she never stops going. She has the best memory of any person I’ve ever met. She uses it to make people feel special — she remembers the birthdays of every person she’s ever met. At one of her family gatherings, they announced it was talent night, and she named the birthdays of everyone there. When we talked, she was fretting because this year, she didn’t manage send a birthday card to her grandkids and great-grandkids (and their spouses) and great-great-grandkids for their birthdays — and she has 19 grandchildren, 35 great-grandchildren and 12 great-great-grandchildren (and 2 on the way.) A huge family? Yes, but she only had three children. It’s just that all three have been married twice, and she considers their exs and their exs’s families still part of her family. I’m part of her family. My husband and kids are part of her family. Think about it — she remembers the birthdays of every person she’s ever lived next to (she’s lived in different homes in Missouri, California and Alaska) and their children and their mates and their childrens’ children … and more important, she considers them all friends. Lillian just lost a friend of 78 years, a friend she visited every day. And once you’re Lillian’s friend, death is the only way she’ll lose track of you (temporarily, I suppose) because she always calls, always cares, always remembers.

Those are the kind of relationships we’ve formed at Squawk Radio, built from generosity, kindness, thoughtfulness, with bonds that will last 78 years. Squawk Radio’s legacy is that out of our friendships — Lisa, Connie, Liz, Terri, Eloisa and me — so many other friendships have formed.

Okay, let me toss my damp wad of Kleenex in the trash and give you the info you need so we can continue to see each other around the internet. Click here to see my new video for the DARKNESS CHOSEN series — very cool! — and while you’re there, sign up for my mailing list to receive news about my books, chats, and signings, play the games in my exclusive “Members only” section, and have the chance to watch the more book videos, including the upcoming videos for SCENT OF DARKNESS and TOUCH OF DARKNESS. Oh, and did I mention that one of our commenters today is going to receive an arc of both SCENT OF DARKNESS and TOUCH OF DARKNESS?

Dear Friends,

When my fellow Squawkers and I decided to blog together, I wasn’t altogether clear on what a blog was. But they told me it would be fun, and I believed them.

And they were right, it was definitely fun. Fun to be a chicken, and fun to engage in all the cheerful debauchery that was Squawk Radio. I sort of expected it would be like that.

What I didn’t expect was how personal this blog would become. We’ve all shared our experiences, our insights and feelings . . . and even when the subject was delicate, or potentially explosive, there was always respect and caring. Squawk Radio was something rare on the internet: a safe place to be.

So thanks for your generosity of spirit. Thanks for the gift of your friendship. And most of all . . .

Thanks for the memories.

--From Lisa, with love

FROM LIZ: Okay, appropriately, I tossed back a couple glasses of wine before writing this, so forgive me if I stray off into incoherence from time to time or start typing like Connie.  I am amazed, truly, at the adventure that was Squawk Radio. Of the six of us, I think I was most reluctant to get involved with this blogging thing, because I just didn’t think anyone would be interested in what I have to say that isn’t between the pages of a novel. I’ve been surprised by how much I enjoyed writing something from the heart that didn’t involve imaginary characters. And I have loveloveloved getting to know all of you.

It wasn’t until I started writing romance that I really started collecting women friends and enjoying the community of women.  And the community that has evolved from Squawk has been extraordinary. Frankly, I don’t want to let you go. So, like Terri, I’ve set up a blog of my own at Blogger.  But my hope is to keep actively contributing to it. Right now, I’m only going to post something new once a week, interspersed with old blogs from Squawk. Eventually--soon, I hope--I want to go back to a weekly music blog. So if you want to check in with me at my new digs, I’ll be at:  http://bevarly.blogspot.com At some point, too, I’ll be updating my web site that hasn’t been updated since...um, I really don’t want to say. But I hope to see you guys again SOON. And I thank you for making the last two years incredibly special.

FROM CONNIE: Hey. What’s wrong with typing like Connie? Connie intends to keep typing that way, and she intends to keep typing on her website at www.conniebrockway.com and when she is finally harangued into submission, she has a cool new medium to loose upon the unsuspecting cyberverse--- videoblogs! That’s right, Connie bought that MAC and now she is going ape with its fun and richly appointed video and graphic capabilities. She also promises never again to refer to herself in the third person if you are kind enough to sign up for my mailing list. However, I will not lie: if Dodd pays me enough, I will sell your name to her (and regardless of what she says, so will Terri) but only to Christina. See? Wasn’t that refreshingly above-board?  How can you resist such candor? You can’t! Why would you even want to? Please do visit. The only down side is that Kitty is taking hacking lessons and has threatened to “visit” me. Just ignore her if this happens. Finally, thank you for two years of being here. My life is the richer for it.

“> To one lucky winner, Christina is giving an arc of SCENT OF DARKNESS and TOUCH OF DARKNESS! And the winner is ... drum roll, please ... Ana Maria for her wonderful comment, “Dime con quien andes, y te diré quien eres”.  Tranlated that means - tell me who you hang out with, and I’ll tell you who you are. That being the case, it means that I’ve evolved over the past two years into someone funny, sassy, strong, smart, irreverant, poetic, sharing, caring and just plain fun.” What a lovely tribute to all of us who read and write Squawk Radio. Thank you, Ana Maria.

“> And I know I promised only one prize, but let’s face it, there are a lot of reasons to give Mike the arcs, too. We’ve never given a prize to a guy. He always buys our books. And he flattered me, which I find works sooo well. So Mike, you win another set of the arcs.

Ana Maria and Mike, send your snail mail addresses to me at and I’ll get these out to you next week. And everyone else, if you haven’t already, Click here to see my new video for the DARKNESS CHOSEN series. It’s the best I’ve ever seen.