Mel’s Interview with Kirby Crow, Author of Meridian (+ Giveaway)

Kirby Crow has a new book coming out, her first contemporary M/M romance, and I’m very happy to have her on the blog today to answer some questions about her new release, her plans for the future, and herself.

You can also look forward to an excerpt from MERIDIAN at the bottom of this post.

And there’s an eCopy of MERIDIAN to be won as well – good luck 🙂

Mel: Kirby, as far as I know, so far you’ve written mostly fantasy. What made you venture into new territory writing-wise and where did the idea for MERIDIAN come from?

KC: Actually, I write all over the board; romance, fantasy, scifi, horror. I was writing contemporary horror with gay protagonists several years ago, so it’s not really new territory for me, but yes, I am more well-known as a fantasy writer. I think that’s cool.

MERIDIAN came from my interest in the after-effects of catharsis in characters. Boromir is a good example. What if he had lived? What kind of man would he have turned into? It’s easy enough to introduce a character by putting him through trauma, but we don’t always see the recovery. If they even survive, that is. Those are the things that make a character fascinating; the history we know of them. We can’t help wondering how they handled some things, what they did to get over the pain, what kind of scars it left and what the future means for the people they love. That’s kind of where Matty Sawyer comes in. He’s already been through the worst period of his life, and this is how he picks up the pieces and keeps going.

What I find really interesting is that, when we start to wonder about fictional people as if they were real, we weave that imaginary loom to support their lives. They almost become our friends. We identify with them, we care about them, we even get possessive of them. It’s not always necessary to illustrate a character from birth onward to get to that point, either. Sometimes you can start in the middle. That’s what Meridian is: Matty and Grant are both in media res. They’re at a crucial point in the middle of their separate stories, and the reader drops in when they meet.

Mel: That’s something that I’ve noticed and loved about your books, that you drop the reader into a situation and deem them mature enough to figure things out for themself and to really get invested into the characters and the plot.

Talking of MERIDIAN, is there anything you’d like readers to take away from it? What from the book is most important to you?

KC: The important thing to me about Meridian is that I wanted to illustrate that BDSM is not the same thing for everybody. Not all forms of power exchange between couples require the accoutrements of ball gags, dungeons, and the whole nine yards. Domination and submission can be very subtle between couples and still be powerful and emotional. When some refer to those kinds of power dynamics as “vanilla”, it’s almost a term of derision, and that’s neither fair nor true. What Grant and Matty have may seem mild compared to the rest of the scene, but it doesn’t feel that way to them at all. It’s not about the toys, the leather, or the whips, which are absent in Meridian. It’s about what these two men feel and the roles that they decide are right for them in their relationship.

Mel: I think that is one of the strengths for me in MERIDIAN. I absolutely loved how powerful and emotional the dynamics and sex were between Matty and Grant. I was totally engrossed.

Which parts of MERIDIAN were the easiest and which the most challenging to write?

KC: I’ve always focused on writing character and relationship-driven stories. That’s my method. However, denouements are difficult for me. You spend 300 pages getting to a certain point in the story where everything comes together and then you have to pull it off in a way that’s satisfying without going over the top. It’s not easy finding that balance. The last chapter gives me trouble, too. Some authors linger too long on their endings. I don’t. I figure a book is like a movie; when it’s over, it’s over. We might stay a little for the credits but we definitely want to leave before the maintenance crew comes to sweep up the popcorn. There’s just nothing to see after the end. I’d rather leave readers wanting more than have them skimming the last pages.

Mel: I, um… watch the credits 😉 Do you have a short teaser from MERIDIAN for us?

KC:

The first chapter of MERIDIAN can be found at the bottom of this interview as well.

Mel: Tell us a bit about your writing progress. What happens between an idea for a book and the final product?

KC: Procrastination, booze, and anxiety! Wondering if you’re actually crazy enough to write this thing, wondering if it’s worth your time, if the idea is only awesome to you while everyone else will loathe it… on and on. As a writer, I have a lot of internal hatred for how my thought processes work. Maybe all writers do. We overanalyze, we fret, we lose sleep, and we try to please everyone while offending no one. None of that is feasible, by the way. At some point you just spy that cliff edge, shrug, and walk right off it, and that’s usually the day you type the first page of a new novel: When you stop caring about everything else except writing it.

Mel: I wonder how often you don’t make it to that cliff edge. Are there stories you wish you’d have told but didn’t find the guts to do it?

KC: No. Or… I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I’ve got a dozen half-finished novels on my hard drive, but they’re not incomplete out of fear. I’d love to finish them. If I don’t follow through with a book, it’s usually because I lose inspiration for the story or else I can’t find the story. The plot, I mean. I’ve never met an author with a shortage of ideas. Our problems are always time, marketability, suitability, and the need for the idea to be something that can be expanded into an interesting, cohesive tale. It’s not enough to just have an idea. We’ve got to be able to make it work.

Mel: How did you become an author?

KC: I’ve always wanted to be an author, but years ago it was very hard to break into mainstream fantasy if you were writing gay characters, and that’s what I wanted to write. That’s what I wanted to read. I kept getting these almost apologetic rejections from publishers, with a promise to revisit the material if I would change the gay characters to straight. Naturally, I refused. And I kept refusing. I kept refusing until I no longer had an agent and all my work was just ghost writing and editing articles and interviews for entertainment magazines. At the time, if you had contacts in the industry, there was good freelance work. It was fun, too. I got to talk to producers and directors and a lot of cute actors. Only over the phone, unfortunately! (laughing) But then the content model changed and I began to see writers—good writers—providing articles and reviews for free and doing work for media outlets at very low rates. I guess you can say I saw the writing on that wall and got out. There was never going to be a better time for me to try to be an author, so off I went.

Mel: And I’m very happy you did! I’ve noticed that you pretty much do everything yourself. You write, design the covers, and self-publish. That’s pretty amazing, I think. 

KC:  Thank you! But the only reason I know how to do all that now is because I didn’t have any money to hire anyone when I started out. I learned out of necessity.

Mel: Does it ever get too much and you’d prefer to work with a publisher or are you happy the way things are?

KC:  I still work with traditional publishers. HAMMER AND BONE is with Riptide, and there is a French language edition of SCARLET AND THE WHITE WOLF coming from MxM Bookmark in 2016. But in the m/m and gay romance genre, I’m happy with the way things are. Of course, there are publishers I would just love to work with. I never wanted to do all this solo. It’s a lot of effort and every bit of time I spend on covers or formatting or working with distributors is time I don’t spend writing. I would love to go back to just writing, but publishing has weathered some pretty strong winds in the past decade and that certainly isn’t over yet. Self-publishers (I believe we call ourselves Indies now, I’ve stopped fighting that) who are already in place with an established brand and a reader following are actually in a better position than we have ever been. So I guess…umm… I’m always open to offers, but if nothing comes along, I’m still good.

Mel: HAMMER AND BONE was the first book I read by you because we were doing a mega buddy read in Hassell & Hall on Facebook, and I was blown away by your short stories, the way you told a story, the language you used, I just knew I wanted to read more of your books. 

What is your favourite book you’ve written and your favourite character?

KC: Oh man… my favorite character is Liall from SCARLET AND THE WHITE WOLF. I just love him. I love everything about writing him. When I sit down to write Liall, it’s like coming home. My favorite book? At present, I’m still really enamored of MALACHITE. It has so much history and potential and the sequel is going to be very different in tone. I’m going to take the story to some dangerous places. Jean, Marion, and Tris are in for a hell of a ride.

 

Mel: Oh my 🙂 I mean, it’s not like there weren’t already dangerous places  in MALACHITE ;-P I’m very anxiously awaiting the sequel now…

What do you read for pleasure? Which are your favourite books and why? Do you have any recommendations for us?

KC: My list of favorite genre authors is so long that I just put it on my website under FAQ. (laughing)

Mel: As for other free time activities, I’ve noticed some obsession with Hannibal on Twitter… 😉

KC: *cough* Wee bit! I’ve adored Mads Mikkelsen since Pusher and Hugh Dancy since David Copperfield, then they were in King Arthur together and that was a fangirl’s dream come true. I shipped Tristan and Galahad and read all the fanfiction there was, and then there was a dry spell in that fandom until Bryan Fuller and NBC HANNIBALl came along. It’s revitalized now, and of course Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are the perfect storm as far as shipping goes. There’s now more amazing Hannigram fanfic out there than I can ever read. It’s marvelous.

Sorry. I’ll shut up now.

Mel: No need 🙂 What can we expect from you in the future? What are your plans for your writing career and which books are coming out next?

KC: The release schedule for WINDWARD (the sequel to MERIDIAN) will be announced at the end of May. If things go well, you’ll see Windward published in just a few months, but that does depend on how well MERIDIAN does. I’ve tried to make it clear that MERIDIAN is not a cliffhanger or a partial. It’s a complete novel with an ending, I just plan to bring those characters back in the not-distant future, so I had to put a series label on it. Presently I’m working on CROSSBONES (Paladin Cycle #2) and THE TEMPLE ROAD (Scarlet and the White Wolf #5).

As for firm release dates… do you remember that meme that was going around last month: “Don’t wait for the series to end before you buy the book or that series may never get made”?  Well, when THE KING OF FOREVER came out, some readers said “Oh don’t buy it yet, wait until The Temple Road comes out.” They said it on a site with a very large following, and that had consequences for those book sales. That’s why both MALACHITE and MERIDIAN got released first and THE TEMPLE ROAD publish date got pushed back, because when the word is “Don’t buy this, wait” or worse “Don’t buy this, download it for free” that actually makes some of those career decisions for me. The reality of publishing is that—as in any industry—sales determine direction. If the readers don’t buy that particular thing, I’m just not going to be able to keep writing that particular thing. I’ll have to write some other thing.

That said, without readers, I would be shouting into the wind, so I really do love all my readers and I never want to disappoint them. There will definitely be more SCARLET AND THE WHITE WOLF novels, and I have absolutely no plans to ever stop telling stories. I can’t even imagine a life without writing.

 Mel: This future sounds perfect to me! Thank you so much for answering all my thousands questions, Kirby. I am looking forward to reading all the stories you’ll come up with and I can’t wait for the next books in Scarlet, Malachite, and Meridian, and well, whatever you write…

Meridian, by Kirby Crow
Series: Mirror, Book #1
Publisher: Bonecamp
Release Date: May 17, 2016

Grant Baines runs a specialty-tour company with his sister, Andie. The tour part is ushering frat boys around the Gulf of Mexico in his charter yacht. The specialty is that he’s an ex-military psychologist who does favors for the government. When Grant is asked to spend a week evaluating traumatized FBI advisor Matty Sawyer, he agrees, thinking it will be just another babysitting assignment.

Grant is more relaxed in a bondage playroom than he is going on a date, so he’s amazed at how strongly he’s attracted to the damaged but brilliant man who arrives in his town. Grant’s job is to assess Matty’s stability to return to the FBI after Jaeger Koning— Matty’s former lover— is charged with multiple assassinations.

Knowing Matty’s past poses a danger to his family, Grant is determined to keep his distance, until Matty reveals a submissive side that Grant finds impossible to resist.

MATTY HAD never really noticed before, but now it seemed that everywhere he turned, he was confronted with his own image. Why did people surround themselves with so many mirrors? On the plane. In the taxi. Now in a bus station with decor straight out of 1950.

In the grimy washroom, he splashed cold water on his face and smoothed his button-down shirt in the cracked mirror. Jagged edges bisected his visage near his left eye, giving him a bizarre, broken portrait of himself.

He frowned as a shadowy memory tried to surface. A shattered mirror… where? He reached for the memory and it was gone, vanishing into the haze of alcohol and painkillers he had slipped into after Jaeger had been arrested. Not surprising, actually. He remembered very little of those first weeks out of the hospital.

He rummaged in his bag for aspirin. He disliked touching the weekender bag: the ridges of costly crocodile leather, smooth as butter, the thick, hand-sewn straps. It was Jaeger’s last, extravagant gift to him. He hadn’t wanted to bring it, but he’d needed a luggage bag immediately and dreaded dealing with a crowd to shop for a new one.

The faucet stream was tepid. He cupped his hand under it and popped three aspirin into his mouth, swallowing water that tasted like chlorine and ash. His sleeves got soaked when he refused to unbutton his cuffs to expose the scars on his skin. He didn’t think he could face them under the harsh fluorescent lights, today of all days. It was a miracle he’d actually agreed to Diaz’s plan and gotten on the plane. Now he was… wherever he was. He barely recalled getting on the bus, thanks to an airline attendant and her steady supply of mini bottles in first class.

He glanced again at the broken mirror just as the corners of the room began to fill with ragged shadows. He put his head down and grabbed the rim of the sink.

“Stop it,” he wheezed, his throat tight with panic. “It’s not real.” He shook his head back and forth, blinking, as if that would banish the images. “It’s not real.”

But the shadows came for him anyway.

He burst out of the washroom and into the stifling lobby. The antiquated cash register dinged, and he jumped as if slapped. He jumped again when the bus driver’s shadow loomed in the glass door of the station. He flinched when a man brushed past, aware of the people watching him, the people wondering why his hands shook and why he shied away from eye contact.

At least a few of them would recognize him. His face had been on the evening news every night for a month as Jaeger’s criminal trial dragged on. The ID photo that they flashed on the screen was a recent one, and Matty had done nothing to alter his appearance. He refused to. That would be like an admission of guilt.

He breathed in huge gasps and tried to concentrate on taking stock of his surroundings. Orient yourself in the present, his therapist at the hospital had advised. Matty couldn’t even remember the doctor’s name now, but he tried to follow the advice.

Sweat dripped down his nose as he took in the battered lobby. Long wooden benches lined the walls, like church pews waiting for a flock. Industrial-gray paint peeled at the baseboards. Sputtering fluorescent lights lent human skin a greenish tinge. Outside, the noonday sun baked the concrete parking lot to a shimmering haze.

An ancient, baby blue pickup truck cut through the glare and jerked to a stop near the door. Baines Charters was emblazoned on the side. The side-view mirror flashed sunlight painfully into Matty’s eyes as the door of the truck opened.

That’s my ride, he supposed. The truck creaked as a man hopped out and stretched.

Matty stared and swallowed. The man was tall, six feet and more of rangy, tanned muscle, clad in board shorts and a sleeveless tank top. Straight black hair streaked with gray fell into his eyes, and he shook it away from his brow as he eyed the door, as if wondering if he should come in.

Matty made his feet move. He hesitated, palm flat against the glass door, as he took the man in. Just looking made his mouth water. Handsome didn’t begin to cover it, and Matty hadn’t even known they made jawlines like that. The man was older than him by several years, the silver streaks tattling on him when that amazing body wouldn’t. Adonis waning, he thought. Ares in his prime. He wondered what the man would look like naked, if the rest of him was as sculpted and perfect as those long legs and that deep chest.

Oh fuck, this isn’t why I’m here. 

But suddenly, after months of misery, he knew he wanted it to be. There was no denying his reaction. Matty knew the mental image he’d be taking to bed with him tonight would be the Baines Charters shuttle driver. It’s better than the alternative, he told the lazy sense of guilt pricking him, asking him why he thought he deserved to be happy even for a moment. It was better than picturing Jaeger’s face the last time they had been together, the night Jaeger confessed what he was.

Jaeger’s voice was in his ear again, his languid Slavic accent softening the clipped manner of his speech: I’m your family now, Mathieu. You’ll never be alone again. I’ll never leave you. 

“No,” Matty moaned, trying to push it aside, wishing he had some way to scrape the images of Jaeger’s body from his brain, to burn him out for good. Anything, he thought desperately. Anyone else but him, not him, please, please—

He clamped down on his control savagely, breathed in a panicky breath through his nose, and shoved the door so hard it flew back and banged as it hit the outside wall.

The driver stared at Matty as he came out of the bus station as if he’d been thrown. A broken edge of the concrete curb caught the toe of Matty’s shoe, and suddenly he was in the stranger’s arms, caught and held close.

“Hel-lo,” came a rich chuckle close to Matty’s ear. “Now that’s what I call a welcome.”

The warmth and closeness, and the way the man just stood there and held him, like he had nothing else to do and there was nothing at all odd about a strange guy throwing himself through a door to hug you, overcame all Matty’s defenses. He sagged against the warm body and shivered. Jesus Christ, was he cuddling closer?

“Hey.” The voice held sudden concern. “You okay, buddy? What’s your name?”

Matty closed his eyes and shuddered. A work-callused hand stroked his hair. He could feel the strands of it catching on rough skin.

“Wow, you’re really wound up, aren’t you? Are you Mathieu Sawyer?”

Matty’s eyes snapped open. He felt his face coloring a deep red. “Um.” He pulled away. The stranger held onto him as he did, gripping his arms as if he were afraid Matty would fall. “I’m… yes… I’m Matty.”

“Matty,” the man corrected himself. He smiled gently.

Matty gazed into those eyes and was lost. Sharp black brows framed them, giving the man a sardonic look. His eyes were a light brown, with laugh-lines etched into the deeply-tanned skin around them. But they were so warm, so loving, like the man was capable of wiping away every hurt in the world with a wink and a wicked smile. His chin was fucking dimpled and a trimmed stubble of black hairs edged an amazing angular jawline that Matty fought a sudden urge to lick.

He’d taste like the ocean, Matty thought in a daze. He felt the crocodile bag being taken from his hand.

“I’ll just put this in the back,” the man murmured. “Do you have any other luggage?”

Matty shook his head. The sun beat down on his shoulders and the humidity was already seeping into his clothing, like being wrapped in a sweaty fist.

“You’re a little overdressed,” the man said as he steered Matty to the passenger door.

Only then did Matty become aware of the huge Greyhound bus idling in the street, and the row of curious faces peering down at him from the windows.

Oh god just kill me now…

The bus driver exited from the lobby, a sheaf of tickets in his hand. He was a big, bulky fellow and he squinted at the pair of them. “Everything okay out here?”

Matty’s new acquaintance tossed his expensive bag into the truck bed like a sack of laundry. He waved at the bus driver. “We’re all fine, Henry. Thanks.”

Henry looked doubtful. “You sure about that, Baines? He seems kinda… twitchy.”

Matty’s head jerked up. “Grant Baines?” he blurted. “You’re him?”

Grant grinned. “In the flesh. We’d best get a move on.” He slapped Matty’s arm lightly and pushed him into the passenger seat, closing the door firmly. He folded his arms on the open window and gazed at Matty’s face with frank appreciation, lingering on his mouth.

Grant wet his lips and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Matty.”

*

THE BUS from the Naples airport had cruised smoothly past thirty miles of strip malls, fast food joints, restaurants, hotels, and luxury mansions, until finally the buildings thinned out and the highway narrowed to two lanes. The scenery then turned to sand, water, gas stations, diners, and palmettos, dominated by a blazing sun that seemed to wash the deeper colors out of the landscape.

Sitting in Grant’s truck, everything was gray-green or white, with strips of blue whenever they crossed a bridge.

“Where am I, exactly?” Matty asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the rushing wind.

“Kingshall,” Grant said, just as loud. “Or we will be, in about an hour. That town back there was Shores. The trip would have been easier on you if the bureau had just flown you in to Marco Island.”

Maybe they don’t want to be easy on me.  

Matty leaned his shoulder against the door as the truck rattled south on a concrete highway that he supposed led to the Gulf. Palm trees dotted the tasteful median, like soldiers in a column, and he spotted a few tall buildings in the distance.

“Would you mind turning the air on?” he asked.

Grant nodded, rolled his window up, and stabbed a few buttons on the dashboard. Blissfully cool air feathered Matty’s hair, and he sagged in relief.

“It works better if you roll your window up, too,” Grant joked.

Matty did that and then leaned back in his seat, sighing happily. His shirt was sticking to his skin and his armpits were soaked. He closed his eyes for a moment, then something soft slapped him in the face.

Grant had tossed a t-shirt at him.

“Go ahead and change,” he said, his eyes on the road.

“Ah… that’s okay. You don’t have to do—” Matty began.

“Go on. It’s clean. You’ll thank me in a minute.”

Matty bit his lip. Why was he hesitating? Grant made him shy in a way he hadn’t felt since the shower room in high school.

Stop being ridiculous. He unbuttoned his cuffs reluctantly. He slid a glance to Grant to see if he was looking as he unbuttoned the front and peeled the fabric from his shoulders, but thankfully, Grant had eyes only for the road. Still, Matty turned his body to the door as he changed, hiding the raw, ugly scars on his wrists.

When his sweaty, expensive shirt was in his lap and the dry tee was on his back, he felt better. He kept his wrists turned in to his body as he glanced at Grant, who smiled without turning.

“Moisture,” Grant said. “A body function that’s meant to keep you cool, but that stiff shirt must’ve been making you feel like a steamed crab.”

Matty smiled a little, and Grant finally looked at him.

“I knew you’d look younger when you smiled,” Grant chuckled. “Is that why you don’t?”

Nailed it. “It’s one reason,” Matty admitted gruffly.

“Don’t worry.” Grant answered. “I won’t hold it against you. How long has it been since you slept?”

“Does it matter?” Matty knew he sounded less than polite. Defensive posturing, he thought. “Forty hours, maybe.” The landscape rushed by, a smear of green below a band of pale blue sky. “How long do I have to stay in Kingshall?”

“You don’t have to do anything. It’s my understanding that you came voluntarily. If that’s not the case, you should tell me.”

“It’s not the case of record, but they’re not even going to consider allowing me to work for them again until you’ve evaluated me. Even then, I think I know what their answer will be. So to reply: No, I’m not here under orders, but I am here under duress.”

“I see.”

“Does that change anything?”

Grant raked his black hair back, revealing a high forehead that lent his angled brows an almost sinister look. “Not for me it doesn’t. But I have to warn you that I insist on complete honesty. You never have to answer any of my questions, but the ones you do answer, I require the truth. If you lie, I’ll put that in the report.”

Matty couldn’t help turning the screw a bit. “You mean if you catch me lying.”

Grant looked at him and didn’t answer for a moment, those amazing brows drawn together in an intimidating stare. “That, too.”

Matty changed sinister to dead sexy, and wondered what it would be like to look up at that face while he was being fucked.

*

MATTY WOKE when the truck jolted hard. He rubbed his eyes and peered around. They were traveling over a wide bridge, flat expanses of water on either side. Grant turned off onto a sandy lane where a weathered sign declared that Baines Marina, home of Baines Tours, was straight ahead.

Matty cleared his throat, embarrassed that he had fallen asleep. God, how long has it been? The sky was streaked with orange to the west, the arc of the sun a thin rim of fire over the water.

Sunset. They’d left the bus station at noon. No way it was eight hours to the Gulf Coast. He gave Grant a confused look.

“You were exhausted,” Grant said with a shrug, steering the truck around a deep rut in the road. “And some of these roads are pretty rough. I was afraid you couldn’t sleep through it.”

It took Matty a second to puzzle it out. “So you… what, you pulled over? And did what? Sat here and watched me?”

“No, I read a book. I kept the AC on. You were snoring away, even when I went out for a piss.”

“You sat here,” Matty repeated. “In the truck. While I slept.”

“I run a full-service company.” Grant grinned. “Don’t worry. You didn’t embarrass yourself. No farting or drooling or anything.”

“That’s not what bothers me. I just hate being observed when I’m unaware. There’s an intimacy to it that requires permission. It was also unnecessary and weird.”

“I apologize,” Grant said at once. “But you were just barely hanging on to your control at the station, weren’t you? And there are a lot of new situations waiting for you at the marina. It felt risky to take you into that without rest. Sometimes sleep is the best way to regain some equilibrium, so I made a medical decision.” He paused. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

Matty began to feel a little ungrateful. Grant Baines seemed to be an instinctual caretaker. Perhaps he was being too harsh. “I was just surprised.”

“I’ll try not to surprise you again.”

“What book did you read?”

Grant pointed to the glove compartment.

Matty opened it and took out a slim, dog-eared paperback with a blue cover. Heidi, by Johanna Spyri. “This is yours?” He wondered if Grant was kidding him.

“My dad had one of those huge Library of Classics collections they used to sell on TV,” Grant said. “It had Call of the Wild, Black Beauty, The Time Machine. I read them all in junior high. That’s one of my favorites, though.”

“They call it middle school now,” Matty said absently, thumbing through the book.

The truck rounded a stand of palms and a crowded little marina nestled in a green cove sprang into their view. A dozen or so sailboats filled the slips. Another painted sign denoted a Kiki’s Diner near the docks, and a neat little cottage with giant palms shading the covered porch could be seen further down the lane.

Matty replaced the book in the glove compartment as they pulled into a gravel parking lot and Grant switched off the engine. The truck sputtered and lurched forward. Grant turned in his seat and laid his arm over the headrest, leaning toward Matty.

“In the interest of full disclosure, I think I should tell you that you talk in your sleep.” His brown eyes filled with concern. “And the name you call out is Jaeger.”

To win an eCopy of Kirby’s new book MERIDIAN leave a comment on this post and tell us what your favorite book by Kirby is, or why you’re interested in reading MERIDIAN.

The winner will be chosen randomly at the end of release day (Tuesday, May 17).

Make sure to tick on ‘notifications’ so you don’t miss it if you win and we can contact you afterwards (or leave an email address).

Good luck to all participants…

Kirby Crow is an American writer born and raised in the Deep South. She worked as an entertainment editor and ghostwriter for several years before happily giving it up to bake brownies, read yaoi, play video games, and write her own novels. Whenever she isn’t slaying Orcs or flying a battleship for the glory of the Amarr Empire, she can be found in the kitchen, her garden, or at the keyboard, tapping away at her next book.

Kirby is a winner of the Epic Award (Best Horror) and has won the Rainbow Award multiple times for her novels in LGBT romance. She is the author of the bestselling “Scarlet and the White Wolf” series.

Kirby shares an old, lopsided house in the Blue Ridge with her husband and a cat.

Always a cat.

For more information and books you can check out her website or follow her on Twitter.

You can buy Meridian on Amazon.