Welcome to the Blak Rayne Blog, where I post articles, author interviews, book and movie reviews, as well as anything else that sparks my interest!



Monday, April 24, 2017

Finding Your Groove #amwriting #creativewriting #mustread #article

Welcome to BRB, everyone!

Finding Your Groove

Sorry, I haven’t posted, but I had surgery a little over three weeks ago, and it’s made it difficult for me to write or do anything on the computer let alone publish blog posts. I still have another three to five weeks of healing to go, but at least now I can sit upright at my desk for short stints.

As for news, I do have a couple of things to share, the fourth book in my Reaper series titled Apprentice Killers will be published in early May and the last book Embrace the Reaper should be published in June to complete the series. And somewhere between the summer and fall, I hope to get another two larger, stand-alone novels out.

Now on to my post! :)

With any artistic medium—music composition, drawing or writing—as the creator you have to find your groove. For me, writing is similar to playing a piece of sheet music on the piano. I use a specific rhythm, if you will, for almost every story I write. For instance: show, tell, dialogue then show again perhaps followed by a bit of narrative. Of course, the rhythm would repeat throughout the book with the odd deviation at critical points in the plot, maybe to signify an action sequence. And while I find the genre can determine the pacing and the characters can determine period and setting, I believe the POV is the deciding factor when it comes to the rhythm I use. First person naturally has more telling than third person.
On occasion, I listen to music when writing, usually when I need inspiration. But I also use the music to set my mood. If the scene is sad or dramatic I’ll pick the appropriate songs. And sometimes when I do this I find my writing actually mimics the rhythm I’m listening to. I don’t care too much for lyrics because they can sway my thoughts in a direction I may not want to go, so I stick to classical, movie soundtracks and anime scores, etc. While working on my Reaper series I often put on the John Wick: Chapter 2 soundtrack. The music is gritty, dark and at times fast-paced, which really helped me keep the actions scenes concise.

Have a great week!

Happy Yaoi Hunting!

Blak Rayne

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

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The Jaguar's Consort by Aliyah Burke
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Hades Playground by Isis Pierce
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Under The Crescent Moon by Amy Lee Burgess
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The Demon The Witch and The Firebird by Phoenix Johnson
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Arcane by Erzabet Bishop
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Chicks Dig Scars by Kathleen Grieve
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Swelter by K.C. Stewart
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Dark Melody by Megan J Parker
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Sunday, April 2, 2017

Reaper Series - #promotion #mustread #darkromance #gayromlit

The following books are available at Amazon!
As a prostitute, Z has no one trustworthy he can rely on in his life until he meets Brody, a kind and mysterious man who seems to be the answer to all his problems.

Kill the Reaper (Reaper Series Book 1) 

‘Wherever depravity knocks, he will answer. Whenever Z knocks, he will kill.’

For Z, prostitution is a way of life, but it’s also become his prison. Desperate to forget his ugly existence, even if it’s only once a week, he confides in a john—a mysterious but kind man named Brody. Every Friday night they talk until the early morning hours. Brody is altruistic, giving him the attention he craves and, in time, they cultivate a unique bond.
For Brody, he’s found something special in Z—an innate charm and pure view of the world—qualities he can appreciate. He’s grown fond of Z and comfortable with their routine, but he knows it will soon come to an end.
Fueled by curiosity, Z follows Brody through the city to a dance club. He wants to learn all he can about his unusual client. However, he discovers more than he bargained for—a dark unsettling secret is hidden in a back room, a secret he can never share.

The elevator slid shut at the far end of the hallway and I caught a glimpse of Brody inside. I raced past it and down three levels of a concrete stairwell to catch him. Once on the street, he walked like he had a purpose, cutting straight through anyone in his path. I followed him for several blocks, where he entered an abandoned warehouse in an industrial park. I kept close to the walls and shadows, careful not to disturb anything.
On the fifth floor, in what had once been a spacious office, sat the basics in furniture—a liquor cabinet and kitchenette, bathroom, and a bed—it wasn’t how I expected him to live. A meticulous man, he seemed the type who would rent a West End condo.
Brody began to remove his clothes, and I ducked behind a rusted filing cabinet. He wasn’t huge or burly, but lean, an unbreakable man, and I felt an even stronger attraction to him. In certain respects we were one in the same—a pair of freakish oddballs—mutually needy. I wanted his attention and it seemed he wanted my approval. But what about love? And what about sex?
His cock was long and lean like him, his nakedness beautiful. My stomach fluttered and I bottled my breath, quickly looking away to stay calm. He deserved privacy and my respect. But my thoughts were far from respectful.
Water ran, and I waited, rubbing nervously at my sweaty upper lip. The bathroom door opened, and Brody emerged in a cloud of steam, waist wrapped in a towel. In minutes, he was dressed and adjusting his tie in front of the large window. Then he slid the holsters over his shoulders, buckled the chest strap, and put on his blazer.
Once again, he was on the move, myself in pursuit. But somehow within a block of the warehouse, his trail had gone cold.
“Shit,” I gasped, my breath misting in the air. Light from a neon sign nearby glistened on the damp pavement. No other business in the immediate area was open. I had a hunch and pulled on the blackened entrance door.
Loud music hit like a brick, rattling my chest. People drank, danced and made out—the club was a den of wickedness. And I soon became disoriented in the chaos, temporarily absorbed like water into a sponge by the hypnotic pulse of lights. I shoved against the suffocating mass of bodies and scanned the sea of bobbing heads. At the rear of the club, I noticed a hallway emitting a red glow and, for some inexplicable reason, I felt drawn to it and moved in that direction.
When I reached it, a man brushed past, bumping my arm. The unnatural light obscured his head and shoulders. I paused and glanced back, but he’d vanished. Our interaction was so brief, only his stature had registered. There were three doors to my left and the middle one stood partly open. I gave it a cautious push and it crept inwards. The red glow from the corridor gradually spread across the floor.
I gagged.
In the center of the room was a dead man, seated on a chair in front of a boarded window, his mouth gaping, a quarter-sized hole in his forehead. He stared with vacant eyes, those deprived of a soul. Blood trickled past the bridge of his nose and had spattered the plywood in the window, like someone had flicked paint from his or her fingertips.
For the first few seconds, I was too traumatized to be scared, but had enough sense to get out of there. Murder was still illegal. Turning on my heels, I blew from the room, heart hammering. I tried to act normal, but failed, wading at an urgent pace across the dance floor, propelling people out of my way. A yard ahead was the silhouette of a tall figure, a man engulfed in the epileptic beat of strobe lights. I don’t know why, but the back of his head and shoulders, and his sturdy purposeful gait seemed all too familiar. He had to be the man who’d passed me minutes before.
He exited the building and I did the same, dashing outside into the drizzly night. Gulping at the cold air, I looked in every direction. The street was desolate, not a human in sight—the man had, yet again, vanished into thin air. I turned east for home, an alley sandwiched between the club and neighboring building, and someone materialized from the shadows.
“W-Who are you?” I demanded, limbs shaking.

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Purchase Links:
Kiss the Reaper is available at these distributors.

Barnes and Noble: 
Google Play: 

Maximum Kill (Reaper Series Book 2) 

‘Twice the evil. Twice the fun.’


After most of the government officials involved in the Snuff program are eliminated, Brody and Z take up residence in a deserted village south of Peardonville. Beisicker seems the perfect refuge nestled in a snow-covered valley, quiet and far from prying eyes. However, their time together is brief.
Z is kidnapped, and Brody is forced to meet his first significant challenge, a fellow serial killer. The pharmaceutical giant End Life wants its best asset to return, and it will stop at nothing to make it happen.


As far back as he could recall, he’d had the ability to shut out the world, to see only what he wanted to see, to pick and choose. And when he chose to kill, he enacted the murder in his head, planning for inconsistencies, unforeseen problems, or possible errors in his judgment. Once satisfied that he’d accounted for all variables, he executed with precision timing.
His gaze shifted, instantly drawn to shouting outside of a Laundromat; a couple was in the middle of a heated argument. Observant as ever, he calmly took note and sauntered past. The woman said she’d had enough of the man’s cheating. She said they were through, and he backhanded her, sending her sprawling across the ground along with a basket of neatly folded clothes. She wept, holding her mouth as the man yelled above her, berating and threatening. Not one passerby took notice of the couple’s abusive tête-à-tête. It never ceased to surprise him how emotionally detached the average person could be.
He blinked slowly, allowing the external stimuli to flow: young male, athletic build, thirties, with a chip on his shoulder, buildings on either side, six vehicles, multiple escape routes, only one practical, weather perfect to mask noise and decrease the possibility of identification. He proceeded past the front of the Laundromat and disappeared in an alley. As he walked, he knotted his plastic bag of items and tossed it away behind a dumpster. Reaching inside his jacket, he curled his fingers around the grip of his favorite piece. He exited onto a back street and into blowing snow, a blizzard that somehow encapsulated the immediate area in a dead calm. The man was beating the woman next to a cream SUV. Propped against the front quarter panel, bleeding, the woman put her arms up in defense as the man kneed her.
She looked at Brody then, tears streaming down her bloated face. He read the fear in her watery eyes, eyes that were pleading in desperation. The pain reminded him of Zeus.
Exhaling white, he grimaced and took aim. “I despise cowards.”
At the sound of Brody’s voice, the man spun around. “Who the hell are you?”
“The Reaper.” He squeezed the trigger. The firing pin clicked. And a bullet drilled a hole into the man’s chest, snapping his torso back and throwing him onto the icy pavement.
Brody took a moment to soak in the beauty of his handiwork, blood pooling on a stark canvas of the purest white. He loomed above his choking victim like a vulture over a carcass, his mind racing, hundreds of frames of contemplation per second—a gruesome mishmash of those he’d killed and those he’d saved—the rush filling his soul with blinding rage, lust, and near-transcendent gratification. The man beseeched for his life. But those quick to seek mercy after committing a heinous act only fueled his need to cleanse. Crouching, he grabbed the guy by the scruff of his jacket and shot him in the forehead.
“Thank you,” the woman murmured, peace easing her disfigured face, and she cracked a lopsided smile.
Holstering the M9, he retraced his steps to the alley, where he retrieved the white plastic bag and headed back to the main road. Five blocks later, he heard sirens wail in the distance.

Purchase Links:
Kiss the Reaper is available at these distributors. 

Amazon: Blak Rayne
Amazon: Maximum Kill

Jack the Anthropophagite, book 3 in my Reapers series is available now at Amazon!

Direct Purchase Link: Amazon JTA

I can write dark, and have, but Brody and Zeus have led me down a darker path than I would normally take. It started with Kiss the Reaper then I added Maximum Kill. I wanted to write something different from my usual romance. And I love drama, especially with a psychological aspect--characters that are in desperate need of redemption. And I think I've achieved that in this series so far. There will be two more stories added to the roster, and then I will move on to my next project. I hope you enjoy JTA as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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Jack the Anthropophagite (Reaper Series Book 3)

Jack will eat no fat but will devour lean.’


While drifting from town to town, Zeus and Brody meet Mr. McMurty, a generous widower in need of help. In exchange for a place to stay, they agree to do odd jobs around his farm.
Then one rainy night, Zeus notices a man standing outside the bathroom window. Brody searches the property but finds no trace. Zeus is certain of what he saw, and he’s certain their peaceful stint is about to come to an abrupt end.


We returned to the farmstead, showered and put on clean clothes, and packed our duffel bag. It was still raining when we left, and the daylight had sunk into a murky haze. Brody exited the house first, and I don’t know why, but again a real uneasy feeling filled me. As I reached back to pull the door shut, a loud bang echoed off the house and blood exploded from Brody’s left shoulder. The subsequent chain of frightening events happened in slow motion: the impact twisting his torso unnaturally, blood flying past his fingertips.
I couldn’t expel any noise from my throat, and I couldn’t move.
For a fraction of a second, time froze.
Then everything began to move at normal speed once more; Brody grabbed his shoulder, ducking for cover, and hollered, “Run!”
I instantly sprang to life, my heart pounding. I dropped the duffel bag and jumped over the veranda rail to land on the uneven ground below. And that’s when I saw Jack standing in the meadow in front of the McMurty house. Rifle aimed, the pasty scarecrow fired another shot. I cringed, covering my head. Brody dove for the veranda and counter-fired with one of his M9s.
I couldn’t go back inside the house. I had to get to the truck like we’d planned. The main highway ran through the town ten miles away, and it was our only means of escape. Thirty yards dead ahead, nestled on a slope, was the barn—a creosote-stained wood structure commonplace on the prairies.
Soon as I heard Brody shout “Don’t stop!” I sprinted in that direction past the shed, fruit trees, and chicken coop. The daylight was almost gone as I came to a halt at the side of the barn. The gunfire had ceased. The only noise was that of the falling rain. Panting white into the air, I peered around the edge of the building. Cold droplets fell into my eyelashes and slid down my nose. I began to shiver.
Mr. McMurty’s truck was an additional thousand yards away—a dangerous distance where I’d be left wide open to a bullet. And where is Brody? Staring at the blackening sky, I bumped the back of my head against the wall with clenched teeth. Damn it, think!
I sighed in defeat. With no other option, I had to make a run for it. All I could hope was that the encroaching night would camouflage my movements. I zipped my jacket to conceal my bright red T-shirt. But just as I went to run, someone clamped a hand over my mouth, giving me the scare of my life.

Author Bio:

Blak Rayne is an author of gay romance. She loves to write and believes it’s one of the greatest forms of self-expression. What better way to see inside the human soul? Blak Rayne resides in Canada, and yes, she is a woman, wife, and mother. She’s been writing and drawing since elementary school, and she loves anything that involves the arts. As for family, her daughter is her toughest critic and greatest support!

Blak Rayne
‘Taking erotic to a sinful new level.’

Visit me online!

Direct Purchase Link: Amazon JTA
Amazon: Blak Rayne