Seven Clues Your Love Might Be an Amaru
I had a blast writing “The Seventh Sacrifice.” The story is set in modern day Bolivia and in it I use some of the stories and myths I learned through my many visits there. One of those myths that fascinated me was that of the amaru, a giant serpent deity that native women told me still dwell underground. They told me the river in the city was once sacred to the amaru, though the Spanish built a church over the huaca, or sacred place. I combined this with a story my mother-in-law told me about that church and… shifters! Because shifters are fun and I wanted my native sorcerer/amaru to be hot.
Sooo… how would a man recognize that he’s treading near danger? How does one recognize an amaru?
Here are some clues from the story:
7. The gorgeous shaman you meet in the market performs black magic, guaranteed to work.
6. You see a lot of people you don’t know giving you pitying looks.
5. Your prospective lover lures you at night to the roof top of a church.
4. The church is built on the foundations of an ancient Inca temple.
3. The man you meet for hot anonymous sex encircles your package with a pure gold cock ring.
2. He thinks having sex on the altar is the way to go.
1. The man you are with turns into a creature with a llama’s head, wings, and the scaled body of a serpent-fish. The picture gives you a good idea.
Beltran is a peaceful man, but when his Bolivian cousin is brutalized, he seeks out a native sorcerer in a quest for vengeance. He doesn’t know the attractive shaman, Katari, is an amaru demon, a serpent shifter determined to break an ancient spell. Beltran’s about to discover the price of black magic.
And a sexy little excerpt:
Katari turned back to the box and began to sort through its contents. Beltran could not help but watch. He had never seen such beautiful hands; they seemed fashioned not from sinew and skin, but of dark, polished wood, just like the carvings sold in booths along the Calle Sagarnara. Katari placed chosen objects on the table. A charred feather, possibly condor. A small amber bead like a snake’s eye. What appeared to be some kind of tooth. When asked for something belonging to the man, Beltran handed over the small envelope Marisol had given him.
Katari opened it and removed a fouled square of cotton. Arching an eyebrow, he took a sniff, then grunted and added it to the items on the table.
“Can you make it work?” Beltran’s stomach clenched at knowing what was on the bit of cloth.
“Yes. Semen is very powerful and the woman’s essence is polluted because he hurt her. I could do even more with it.”
What he was doing was enough. Beltran felt himself believing in this spell, despite the fact it could never really do what Katari promised. Or maybe he was just in thrall to the beautiful tones of the sorcerer’s dark voice.
“This is black magic. Illegal to sell… and the church could come after me. I will make this charm for you to take to your cousin on one condition—” Katari lifted his hand from his work, taking the opportunity to skim the backs of his fingers across the shape of Beltran’s erection, bulging toward him through a layer of denim. “Meet me tonight.”
“Tonight?” The word had him dreaming of moonlight and skin.
“I will show you the roof of the church.”
“The church?” Neither angry nor alarmed, Beltran simply shivered with restrained pleasure. He understood the message perfectly. The sorcerer’s touch was making his cock leak with excitement.
“We will be all alone with no one to see us. I know the night watchman. I make charms for his family’s health.”
He wanted to refuse. Every warning he had ever heard about not going off alone with strange men clamored in his head. It was just… he had never felt such a powerful physical attraction before, to any man, not even his last lover. Katari’s smell, strong and sharp, might as well have been incense, it so permeated the room. Just to look upon those masculine features and full, proud lips stole away his will. He wanted to experience all this man had to offer, and his body refused to utter words of denial.
“We can meet outside, in front of the church,” he said. Even at late hours there was ample vehicle and pedestrian traffic in the Plaza San Francisco. “We can talk, and maybe go to the roof,” he added, already knowing that he would.
“Bueno,” said Katari, giving him a smile filled with lust and promises.
Tali Spencer fell in love with writing at an early age and never stopped. Thanks to a restless father, she grew up as a bit of a nomad and still loves to travel whenever she can. Her longest stint in one place was Milwaukee where she went to college and enjoyed a series of interesting careers while raising three surprisingly well-adjusted sons. She later married her true love and put down new roots in Philadelphia, where she lives in an ongoing Italian American family sitcom. At least she’s learned how make good pasta. When not writing, Tali reads everything from sweet goofy romances to Lebanese cookbooks, manages her fantasy football team—go Gekkos!—and takes long walks with her loving, if slightly neurotic, poodle.