THE SEDUCTION OF ROGAN BY SYNDEY WHYTE *REVIEW

The-Seduction-of-Rogan_cover-AW_2-inches

‘Faelings Doom – Interlude One’

There was one thing Rogan had desired for most of his life.  Not status or rank, or the esteem of his peers.  Not wealth or privilege, such things were afforded him as acolyte to The People’s priestess.  No, the thing he wanted above anything else was a woman – a special and intriguing creature.  His closest and dearest friend; she was beautiful, an enigma, power-filled – and his elder by at least a score of years.  Not that it mattered.  Age was relative when one was of The People, of the descendants of the Ancients.  Sometimes it felt their lives went on for ever; forlorn and desolate, without the possibility of fulfilment… He wanted Dana, the Weaver.  The wife of another.  And not only that, but the wife of his brother.

 

The infamous events of her youth had marked Dana – wounds that ran deep and painful.  She knew her error.  Foolishness dogged her every step and not least that she had bonded herself to the wrong brother.  But soon it would be over, the consequences of a lapse of judgement.  Five days, that was all and she would be free.  Hope soared.  No longer would she be shackled to the man who had left home and village the very day after their bonding ceremony, not to be seen again for nigh on seven years.  And once free, then what?  Could she do it?  Risk all again, risk her greatest friendship for something that promised everything and yet had the potential to leave her with nothing.

***

Set in the world of Abod le A’nor, this erotic fantasy interlude to the ‘Gift of the Blood God’ series explores the effects of a restrictive and oppressive culture on long-time friends who are trying to come to terms with the depth of love and the physical desire they have for each other.

Meet Rogan Farsight, a reluctant adherent to the teachings of the first disciple.  Forced to give up his beloved craft – an artisan of wood – to submit to the townships incumbent priestess and become her acolyte because more than any other his gift of the Mavishan farsight is already greater.

Revisit Dana, now known as the Weaver, an accomplished woman.  She is the barer of many gifts and talents revered by the Mavishan people – not least the ability to cast illusion by the mere facility of ‘weaving’ the vision together with her mind, and her perfect memory.  Her youthful indiscretion still haunts her, her foolish mistakes leading her astray and into continued infamy in her home village.

How will they fare when the annulment of her infamous marriage draws nigh – when she is free and the possibility for their friendship can blossom into something far deeper…?

“Rogan?”

His head snapped up, his hands stilled in the mixing of the liquid honey and tobacco with the soft call of his name.  Dana!  What did she here?  Few would dear to interrupt work they thought part of their Holy Rites.  Sans Thyne, Rogan’s body still hardened at the sight of her, yet he rose from his chair in greeting sure the leather apron across his lap offered sufficient decency.  Dana’s skin was soft beneath his lips as he kissed her cheek and surreptitiously inhaled her sweet lavender scent.

“Is aught wrong?”

“Nay,” she smiled, her grey eyes sparkling as she lifted a cloth covered basket.  “Naught but that your dam does think you eat improperly, or not at all, and I did volunteer to bring her offering to you.”

“And you came here?”

“Yes.  I was curious.  Never have I been past the sanctuary.  Tis little imposing.”  Glancing around the room critically, she sank to the chair opposite and pushed the basket toward him. “Though what I expected, I know not.  Tis just a kitchen.  Somehow I expected… well, more.”

“Such opulence is saved for the public areas,” Rogan snorted and pushing the preparation equipment aside flipped the cloth back on the basket to reveal a number of fresh golden buns.  The waft of just baked bread tantalised his taste buds making his mouth water and reminding him again of his failed intentions to eat.  Silently he thanked his mother.

Without asking permission Dana dived into the basket before he had chance and snagged one, “I do so love your dam’s cooking.  Ah, look, see always the surprise, has she not filled it with shred pork and apple.  Naught is better than the delicious savoury and the sweet.”

They ate for a moment in companionable silence, Rogan’s gaze never leaving her face, hers never leaving his.  Her eyes were the most beautiful, expressive, volatile grey he had ever seen, the colour was as storm clouds roiling and thunderous, changing hue with her mood, darkening and lightening.  Now they sparkled and glowed with contentment as he reached boldly out to flick a piece of meat and juice from the side of her lip into her mouth.  The tip of her tongue inadvertently touched him.  Shards of awareness coursed through his body.

“What do you here?” she asked offering him a cup of water to wash the sticky residue down when they had finished.  “Gods, is that what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“Be that Thyne?”  She picked up the bowl of crushed leaf and fine shavings and sniffed curiously.  “It has little scent.” She frowned.  “Did I think somehow it would be more potent.”

Rogan’s heart nearly stopped.  “Leave it be!” he scolded, fear, yearning nearly swamping him for the thought of what it would do should she inhale it as it burned.  Heat, anticipation flushed from his groin to his head.  “Tis but the basics of the preparation.  Once mixed with these others here, and breathed through water, fire and the pipe, will it do its work and not before.”

For a moment an awkward silence filled the room.  Dana sat across the table her eyes alight, intent; lips pursing as if she were undecided and on the verge of asking something.  Raising his brows in question, Rogan tilted his head.  She took that as permission to speak.  “Have you… ever partaken?”

“How can I?”

“Know I that it is forbidden to you as unclaimed, but…”  She reached out and gripped his wrist, “but you are there, at the Ritual.  You have seen its effect, smelt its allure… surely…”

“Dana…?”

For a moment confusion swirled as a grey whirlpool in her eyes, longing and sadness.  “I have seen…  I would…  Never…  Never once…”

His breath hitched.  Did she want this?  Did she long for unfettered coupling, to have passion run through her veins as fire?  This confession seemed on the verge of her tongue.  His tension mounted.  She would confess this to him!  On life she did not need Thyne, and he would tell her so.  She had fervent desire in abundance.  He had borne it witness.  Hers was pure, unadulterated need spinning from her heart, her head, her body…

Her eyes veiled suddenly beneath long dark-blond lashes as her gaze fell to her hand on his arm.  Awkwardly she lifted it, offering him a quick pat.  “Pay me no mind.  I do but ramble, and now beg forgiveness.  Tis not a subject appropriate…”

At a loss, Rogan could only stare but she did not immediately meet his gaze until he said, “naught is there to forgive, Dana.”

Her smile was watery.  His heart bled.

“You are the best of men, know you that, Rogan.”  Soft fingers caressed him and instinctively he turned palm upward, capturing her hand.

“I miss you.” She continued.  “That you come no more to the Collective.  I did love to smell the ghost of lacquer, the scent of fresh turned wood, and hint of ash upon your hands…”

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry.  “Tis still there.”

As if this were an invitation, she pressed the tips of his fingers to her face, and eyes closed, she breathed him in.  “Tis true.  Faint.  But there be a definite hint.”

“Dana…”  He felt the soft brush of her lips as a whisper across his pads, the flush and fullness of her cheek as she laid it momentarily in his palm.  The desire to lean across the table and kiss her was overwhelming.  To speak, to tell her his greatest secret fired in his blood but the words would not come for within seconds as if she remembered herself, her place, propriety, she released him with a faint embarrassed smile.

“Buba came to me this day.”  She changed the subject, quietly.

His heart sank.

*****

review2

Erotic tale of Rogan and Dana.  Rogan has secretly been in love with Dana, the only problem is that she is married to his brother, Bothain.  Bothain has abandoned and shamed Dana, leaving Rogan the opportunity to get close to Dana. They live in a society of magic but there are rules preventing Rogan from acting on his feelings.  When Rogan finally has his chance with Dana their lives will never be the same. Rogan introduces her to the world of love, lust and sex that she had never experienced.  They must face ridicule from others, tragedy, and danger together.
This is a good story but the language it is written in is a little hard to follow.
Reviewer for Paranormal Romance and Authors That Rock!
4 out of 5 fangs

Available ‘free’ from the following vendors

 

Kobo

https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/gift-of-the-blood-god-the-seduction-of-rogan

 

Nook

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gift-of-the-blood-god-the-seduction-of-rogan-sydney-whyte/1123130403;jsessionid=F0B45019509E4EBAD6C0FE6E3DC8050C.prodny_store01-atgap12?ean=2940152698657

 

I-Books

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1067625534

 

Scribd

https://www.scribd.com/book/293131120/Gift-of-the-Blood-God-The-Seduction-of-Rogan-Faelings-Doom-Interlude-1

 

24Symbols

https://www.24symbols.com/book/x/x/x?id=948329

 

Author Bio

Sydney Whyte is a ground breaking new talent to arise in New Zealand erotic literature.  A vivacious reader and passionate creative writer since early childhood, she began writing paranormal and fantasy stories as early as ten years old. As a shy and reserved child, she immersed herself in writing complex, fantastical worlds full of magic, mystery and intrigue as a means of escapism. When she reached her teenage years, thoughts of love and romance entered her life with an obsession known only to the hormonal and young, her writing took a significantly saucier (although highly naive) turn. Her increasingly shy demeanour and strict upbringing allowed her few opportunities to openly explore her youthful sexuality; writing became an important means for shaping her philosophies on love, men and romance. As she set out on her own into the world she never ceased to write, but her life, prose and perspective changed drastically. Widowed at twenty-three, re married by twenty-seven, and a single mother of two before thirty five, her untainted youthful outlook on love, life and sex gave way to the exploration of the interconnectedness between beauty and pain, sensuality and shame, and love and despair, that shapes the unique human experience.

 

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Posted on January 8, 2016, in Paranormal Romance & Author's That Rock. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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