Series: The Djinn Order, Act One
Publication Date: April 27, 2015
Genre: Steampunk Fantasy/Romance
When the snarky Glory St. Pierre discovers the gold mechanical vase in her deceased grandmother’s basement, she has no idea that she has uncovered a priceless treasure: a genie lamp. With a real genie inside. A very sexy genie with a not-so-sexy grudge against the entire human race.
Irving Amir hates being called a genie. He’s a Djinn, and he is none too happy to be in the service of Glory, who is as intolerable, and beautiful, as humans come. Now he owes her his gratitude for freeing him and three wishes. Damn his luck.
But an arrow through the shoulder alerts Irving to the fact that he is being hunted, and after a truce dinner with Glory ends with them both almost being killed, hating each other goes right out the window. As feelings change and love starts to develop, they must dig through the secrets and lies to find the truth...a truth neither of them will ever see coming.
WARNING: Not suitable for ages 18 and under. A significant source of bad language, sexy times, and dirty jokes. If you suffer from a lack of a sense of humor, take with plenty of wine. If the symptom persists, see a doctor.
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I felt Irving before I saw him. My stomach fluttered with the usual nervous excitement and I knew he was nearby. Shifting my bag with Irving’s Chronolier to the other shoulder, I went to stand on the sidewalk in front of my building, looking both ways down the street while I anticipated his arrival.
Irving finally appeared…beautiful as ever…riding the baddest fucking motorcycle I’d ever seen. It sat low to the ground, so low that the gold piping nearly scraped the road. The thin front tire was positioned a good two feet out in front of the rest of the bike, held in place by two gold arms, while the fat rear tire was kept close by an arch of gold that acted as a protective cover for the wheel. Gold and black fiberglass made up the main body of the bike, and there was just enough of a seat that two could sit comfortably. This bike was bad, and I was sure I would never even glance at my little moped ever again.
Irving was in his usual gear, though it was glamoured behind the facade of jeans, a leather jacket, and a motorcycle helmet for any humans in the vicinity. I almost wished it was real, because glamour or not, Irving looked damn good.
As he brought the bike to a halt and killed the purr-fect engine, he pushed his gold-rimmed goggles to the top of his head.
“Am I late?” He checked his pocket watch and frowned. “I am. It is three minutes after sunrise. I apologize, Glory.”
“What? Dude, nobody gives a shit.” I pointed at the bike. “What the hell...”
He grinned and swung himself off of the machine. “Do you like it?”
“Are you kidding me?” I practically screeched. “This is the single most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen!”
He leaned down to kiss me. “My raptor is pleased with your compliment.”
“Your raptor? As in, a velociraptor?”
“Precisely. Velociraptor means ‘swift seizer’.” His hand glided over the gold handlebars. “There are no two words in existence to better describe this treasure.”
I stooped down to check out the wheels. They were gold rimmed and double-plated with gears connecting the spokes. On closer inspection, I could see that the gears had a very important function. “I have to agree, Irving. It’s priceless. I mean, look at it. The steam engine powers the gears, and it’s the gears that propel the bike forward. They all work together to produce the ultimate speed machine, and the engine doesn’t even have to work as hard.”
I looked up to catch Irving smiling at me. “You have industrial knowledge.”
I raised a brow. “Industrial knowledge is pushing it. I know a little bit about sikes and that’s it.”
“Yeah, cycles and bikes.”
Irving chuckled. “You are an interesting character, Glory St. Pierre.”
“You should talk, Irving Amir.”
A. Star is a fan of dirty passion. She loves to read it, and she damn sure loves to write it. She is the author of the Mythos: Gods & Lovers series, the Djinn Order series, and the Knights of the Joust series. She is a night-owl and a coffee junkie, and the only sneaker she would be caught dead wearing are Converses.