I am so stoked to finally get to introduce my friend Serena LeBeaux. Her first book just hit the shelves and it is amazing. She wrote the part of the beast and I’m telling you right now, this girl has a bright future as a writer. Please welcome my fellow Twisted Hearts Productions author…..
Secret Face, Secret Life, Secret Fantasy… Just a sweet southern gal who loves to read and dream…
I’m what one would call a national mutt. Born in Florida, raised in Georgia, moved to San Francisco, and then transplanted to New Orleans where I attend college as an art major. I’m fascinated by the macabre, so when I found out that this was the home of Anne Rice, I was able to indulge in exploring my secret fantasy of BDSM. My eyes were opened to incredible authors who wrote with authority in the dynamic; people who knew the lifestyle that I so desperately wanted to be part of. They became my inspiration and my role models, and encouraged me to pursue my dream- to design book covers, write and (when I was brave enough), find me a man worthy of my mischief.
I’m so blessed to be working with the people of Twisted Hearts Productions who both push my limits but also shower me with praise and encouragement. Because of them, I’ve not only fallen in love with cover art, but now I’m in love with writing. The only thing left is to fall in love… with a real Dom!
Buy Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NCLI2I8/
“Little you know what this rose has cost.”
If on your bed, you lay and dream
With this book upon your breast
Things will not be as they seem
When you seek your heart’s request
Night will fly, and Faeries flee
With snakes below and bats above
Discover not, the way back home
Until you find your one, true love
What would happen if you fell asleep while reading a book and awoke to find that your life was no longer yours? Or that the story didn’t exactly follow the words written on the pages?
An ancient curse is set upon the shelves where first editions of classic books are lovingly nestled in a secured cedar room known as the Paddle Closet. But, like most works of fiction, there is always more than meets the eye. Lost, lonely, miserable and unhappy souls are drawn to this place to find refuge in the joy of a simple story—as long as they stay awake.
Mirabelle Villeneuve, the great-granddaughter of the Gabrielle Barbot-Villeneuve, author of Beauty and the Beast, returns to France with her husband after he experiences a series of terrible betrayals from family, friends, and his job. Once arriving at her grandmother’s old mill, Belle is gifted by a library built by Adam as a symbol of his love and devotion. The shelves are fashioned from ancient timber and antiques found throughout Europe, and he even hand-carves a faerie desk of wood taken from sacred ‘Leprechaun Groves.’ The shelves are then filled with first editions of every classic piece of literature known to man.
Unknown to Belle, Adam has a secret. He had made a deal with the Archdruid that if he is given the perfect woman as his wife, he will sacrifice five of his greatest treasures- fame, fortune, family, fairness, and future. Little did he know that this deal would end up costing him and Belle their only daughter, Gabby.
Distraught, Belle seeks solace in her grandmother’s book. Despite the warning of Patrick, an old friend, she falls asleep while reading the handwritten volume and awakens in the past as though she was taken into the story. Her memory of the book lasts only long enough to learn that the only way ‘home’ is to find her true love, but even that memory soon disappears.
Adam, plagued by guilt for failing to trust Belle with the truth of the deal which would have broken the spell, offers the ultimate sacrifice—his life. Instead of death, he is transported to the time and place of the story as the Beast. His punishment for his selfish deeds begins with his memory remaining intact. Telling Belle the truth about the past would result in her demise, so the only way to save her is to help her discover her true love—even if it isn’t him.
The Paddle Closet is about new beginnings, the power of love, the consequence of deceit, taking risks and forgiveness—toward other and oneself. It twists fairytales to a level never seen before, each one unique, unexpected and unexplored.
Just remember this: Once the story is finished, the book will be returned to the shelves—with or without its reader…
“Where’s Alice? She’s late!” The March Hare complained as he looked at his golden pocket watch and thumped his large white foot against the ground with irritation.
“She’s always late,” the Dormouse yawned as he nodded to sleep with his head in an empty teacup.
“Yes, she is. I’m tired of her holding up tea time,” The Hatter snarled. “It’s time we do something about this. It’s making me mad.”
“You’re already mad, my friend,” the Cheshire Cat grinned, fading in and out around the frowning host. “What do you intend to do that will make Alice stop being Alice?”
The Hatter pushed up his sleeves and crossed his arms. “My Alice would never be so inconsiderate. By being late for tea, that means she isn’t Alice and needs to be taught how to be Alice again.”
“Did somebody call my name?” The young blond woman asked. She trotted up to the table laden with tea cakes and sandwiches, pulled the Dormouse’s head out of the cup, and kissed the Hatter on the temple. “Sorry, I’m late. I lost track of time.”
“To lose track of time means you ventured off your course through distraction, ” Chesire purred. “The Hatter is mad.”
“Yes, I know. Mad or not, he is still my dearest friend,” Alice answered, glancing at Hatter’s scowl. “Hatter? Are you cross with me?”
“You’re not Alice. Alice would not be so rude as to make us wait every day.”
“I said I was sorry. I was chasing Wonderland Butterflies to see what they looked like up close. The way they change their wing color made me curious.”
“Everything in Wonderland makes you curious.”
“What I mean to say is that there are things here that I’ve never seen elsewhere and I get caught up in discovering them.”
“Then you should say what you mean,” the Mare Hare went on.
“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I say—that’s the same thing, you know.”
“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the March Hare, “that ‘I like what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”
Alice placed her hands on her hips. “Are all of you cross with me?”
“We are,” the Hatter nodded. “My Alice wouldn’t care about butterflies when she knew her friends were waiting. Therefore, it’s time I find My Alice again.”
“What are you talking about?” The blond girl was obviously becoming frustrated.
Hatter stood and walked to a Wonderland Willow. Using his ever-present sheers, he snipped off a branch that was a long as his arm and as thick as his thumb. Alice’s eyes widened as cleaned it of branches.
“W, what do you intend to do with that?”
“You used to be much more…”muchier.” You’ve lost your muchness, and I am going to bring it back using this switch.”
“You’re crazy! You all are” Alice said, backing up until she was blocked by a wall.
“We’re not crazy,” Cheshire Cat floated around her body. “Our reality is just different than yours.”
“No!” Alice yelped as he pushed her to the table, forcing her to lean over it. “Let me go!”
The Hatter tsked, lifting the hem of the blue dress. “We will let you go when you become Alice again, and your muchness returns. These won’t do.”
Alice shrieked as he parted her underclothes at the seam, exposing her pale, naked bottom. “You will let me go! I don’t think…”
“Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter, raising the switch in the air. The swoosh was louder than the Dormouse’s snoring, but not as loud as Alice’s cry when it landed cleanly across her white globes.
“Ow! I’m sorry!”
“How late was she, Hare?”
“Ten minutes. As always.”
“Then ten switches it will be. Count them, Alice who is not Alice.”
“Please, Hatter, don’t…. Two!”
“That was only one, not two. Start again.”
“But you had already switched me once,” the girl tried to twist away, but Cheshire Cat held her in her spot over the table; his grin never leaving his face.
“That was one, not two.” Hatter said, striping her again.
“That’s three! I beg you, no more.”
“That was only one. Start again.”
Another three strikes fell before Alize finally cried out “One!”
“It’s about time,” the March Hare scolded.
“I can’t take any more.”
“You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to take more than nothing. Back to one.”
The Hatter completed the switching when the stick broke and the piece flew into the pot of honey. Cheerfully, he sat down, poured himself and Alice a cup and began to sip it.
“Aren’t you going to sit down and join us for tea, Alice?” he asked as the Cheshire Cat released her.
Her face was red from crying. Slowly, she stood up and shakenly straightened her clothes.
“Sitting is not an option for me right now,” she sniffed.
“I see. Would you like some wine?”
“Yes. That would be lovely.”
“We haven’t any and you’re too young. Sit,” the Hatter ordered.
The girl tenderly lowered herself to the hard chair and winced. Cheshire Cat, rubbed his body against her back and peeked over her shoulder.
“I think we found Alice. I also believe that she will never be late for tea again after sitting on her sore, switched bottom.”
“I promise; I will never again be late. Please, tell me when tea time starts and I will be here.”
Hatter smiled. “It’s always tea time.”
“But that mean that if I go anywhere, then I will always be late. That’s not fair!”
“It’s quite fair. But have no worries—the Wonderland Willow has many branches and won’t mind our using them. Tea?” he asked.
Alice put her head on the table and groaned.