Meet West Carmichael

October 17, 2016

I Met the King's Assassin & I Didn't Die. Go Me.

 

I met with West Carmichael at his extremely impressive garage. I snuck in some questions while he worked on a very beat-up but soon-to-be-beautiful Triumph motorcycle and he didn't kill me. I think Evan's making him soft. (But shhhh! don't tell him I said so.)  

You had a very meager start on this earth. How are you dealing with the 180 degree change in your circumstances?

 Don't start off gentle for my sake, Annie. 

Well, I don't know how many questions you're going to let me ask, so I have to get the good ones in early. I get a shrug and nod, and settle in for the long wait for my answer. West isn't someone who just let's his answers fly without thought.  
 I guess I'm dealing just fine. I have my woman, I get to lead my people, and every once in a while I get to work on these beauties. I'd say I'm dealing pretty good.

Do you wish you and Evan would have mated earlier?  
Always, but the regret I have has been tempered somewhat by the fact that I have her now. Do I wish things were different - that we figured it out sooner? Yes. But I can't change it, so I don't dwell on it.

I know your backstory - the horrors you endured as a young boy. How did you manage to keep your courage through all of the hell you went through?
I want to say I just had a strong presence of mind, but I'd be lying. My mother, Merina, was a very strong woman, and it was my mission in life from a very young age to make hers easier. I didn't succeed in that endeavor, but I knew she would have wanted me to be strong in the face of all I had to go through. It was her memory and a healthy dose of blind rage that got me through it.

Blind rage always works in a pinch, huh?
Pretty much. I wandered for a few decades before John found me. By then I'd already began my career path. John just focused me in a healthier and more socially acceptable way. And the rest, they say, is history.

Okay, enough with the heavy stuff. Before I go, tell me your favorite thing to work on.
Probably my absolute favorite automobile to tinker with would be my 1950 Chevy ICON Thriftmaster. I got her at a junk yard and fixed her up from the frame out. I touched every single inch of that truck.

You named her didn't you?
Of course, I named my baby. What kind of question is that?

Okay, what did you name her?
That's easy. I named her Evangeline.

Thank you so much for speaking with me today. I'll let you get back you your work. 

 

Are you dying to meet the King's assassin? You just might. 
Need a teaser to whet your pallet? Look below!

 

~ Rising Ashes ~
Ashes to Ashes
Book Three

 

West

Perched on a stool in my garage in front of the most beautifully beat-up wreck of a motorcycle – a newer model Triumph Bonneville some stupid fucker decided to neglect – I should feel at home. This is my place – my safe haven. The fact that my garage is twice the size of my cabin is a testament to how much I love it here. It makes me wonder why I even have a house. I don’t sleep there. I don’t eat there. And I’m thoroughly afraid of opening the refrigerator, because who knows what’s growing in it.

My cabin is just a place; my garage is home.

Two stories tall and four bays wide, the garage is a car lover's dream – slate gray epoxy floors, vaulted ceilings with pendant shop lights hanging from steel cables, coal black 24-gauge steel cabinets lining both the north and south walls, and the best car lift money can buy in the south bay. I even have a bed and a shower in the back room – everything I need under one roof.

Torquing a wrench is the only time I feel at peace, but the waiting has yanked my attention so much I’ve lost the skin of three knuckles already. Yeah, I’ll blame waiting instead of what I’m really doing – thinking of Evangeline.

Damn that woman.

I’ve been dancing around her forever it seems. Fighting my baser instincts to avoid tearing my fangs into the delicate column of her porcelain neck. Just thinking about that line of soft skin makes me fight against my dick getting hard. The way that line follows her slim shoulders and petite body, the full curve of her breasts and the gentle swell of her hips that I just so recently got a glimpse of.

A tiny glimpse. Then again, any time looking at her would be too short. I could look at her for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t be enough time.

 

Click HERE to see what happens next!

The Ashes to Ashes Series

 

 

Aurelia Constantine is having a rough century. 
Plagued by visions of murder, death and destruction, she has resigned herself to the nightmare her life has become. When an enemy from her past comes to her rescue, she must let go of old wounds and heal the breach so she may survive the evil poisoning her mind.

Rhys Stevens is guilty. 
Murder. Betrayal. Treason. Take your pick; he’s guilty of them all. On the path of redemption, he must beg for forgiveness from the one person he fought to save - the woman he has always loved. 

Thrown together in the trenches of war, they must work as a team to stop a monstrous puppet master from pulling their strings.

Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.
Get ready to burn.

 

 

 

 

 

Mena Constantine is pissed off.
Finally freed from her fifty-year imprisonment by a maniacal leader, she is desperately trying to recover and get her life back. Problem is, the life she had is long gone. Struggling under the weight of her memories and healing from the wounds of her captivity, she can't seem to catch a break. Every waking moment, death seems like a relief she would welcome.

Asher Crane is a dead man.
As a Guardian to the King, his only purpose in life is to keep the King alive. And he's failing. Miserably. With the King ill, the Queen dying, and zero plans for a successor, he's pretty much screwed. Because if the King dies, the law says Asher dies, too.

As these two wounded souls collide in a series of bloody and unfortunate events, they will clutch to the last shreds of life before death beats down their door.

 

 

 

West Carmichael is not my real name.
It is the name I pulled from thin air over five hundred years ago. I don’t come from royalty—I come from the dregs of the ethereal. As the King’s assassin, I have more blood on my hands than most. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anyone. But I will keep her safe. 
Even if I die trying.

Evangeline Black. 
My name sounds like the heroine of a historical romance novel – not that I read those or anything. My life so far: Dead parents? Check. Broken heart? Check. Evil mistress of darkness, hell-bent on power and thirsty for my death? Big. Honking. Check. But this mess won’t get cleaned up by itself. I’ve got a job to do.

As these two reluctant hearts fight their pull, they must decide if they want to fall apart in the midst of the chaos swarming around them or yield to their hearts…
and rise.

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