Hey folks! Today I’m happy to introduce you to Trevann Rogers and her story House of the Rising Son!
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Trevann Rogers is a writing pseudonym. She is two authors with day jobs, living in the wilds of Connecticut with Molly, a chubby rescue mutt who’d rather eat and snuggle than just about anything else, Chloe, a tough as nails terrier mix who never met a pillow she didn’t want to kill, and Lil Monkey, a sock monkey who thinks he’s real and hopes no one catches him sneaking out of the window in the middle of the night to live his own adventures. (He claims, among other things, to have written several SyFy movies and had a gig as a male stripper at one of the local establishments. Who knows?)
Apropos for writers, the two women met as pen pals and stayed connected through their love for words and an unquenchable addiction to music. They use a pen name to spare their families questions regarding why their relatives write about gay male rock stars, incubi, attorneys, Were’s and vampires. Okay, that’s not true. But it could be.
Social worker and executive by day, their hours to write are long after the sun goes down and the creatures who live in the shadows come out to play. Between day jobs and other obligations, they learned long ago that being themselves means living after midnight.
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I asked Trevann Rogers, “How did you get your start in writing and what fuels you to continue?” and here is the response.
When I was very young, I played on my grandfather’s antique typewriter and copied my story books letter for letter. I couldn’t read yet, but I guess I was fascinated by words even then. I’ve been writing ever since.
I started writing seriously when I found the world of pen pals. Writing long letters to friends around the world was an amazing experience. I met some of my dearest and longest standing friends that way. Eventually, a few of us began to write stories together about fictional people and places. I suppose it was a way to daydream the lives we wished we were free to create. Writing stories WITH each other turned into writing stories FOR each other. Eventually, I searched for a local tribe to belong to; people who, like me, loved to write and longed to learn how to do it well.
What fuels me? Sharing the worlds I create is addictive. Don’t get me wrong. Writing is hard. It’s like laying your soul bare, or bleeding on the keyboard. But nothing feels as satisfying as someone “seeing” my story, or falling in love with my characters.
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Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.
Alexander’s future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who’d be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He’s barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.
As Cheyenne’s musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can’t let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who’s not sure if he’s falling for the incubus or the rocker.
Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.
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While waiting for their drinks, Alexander studied the deep grooves carved into the table, trying to ignore the friction of Cheyenne’s thigh rubbing against his as the musician tapped a heel to the thump of the DJ’s music. Once the drinks arrived, Alexander downed half the bottle before he realized Cheyenne’s large green eyes were staring at him.
“So where’s your girl, Prudhomme? I mean, Prune Danish. No, wait…”
“Prudish. Shit, Prudence,” Alexander sputtered.
Cheyenne’s eyes sparkled. “No, you got it right the first time. Where is she?”
He shrugged. “Home, I guess.”
Cheyenne cocked his head. “Oh, really?” He put his hand on Alexander’s leg. “What’s up? You can tell me.”
“It’s not working out.” Alexander dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “It’s my fault.” He couldn’t keep his attraction to Cheyenne out of his voice. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Cheyenne put his thumb to his lip and paused. “It’s like the drink.”
Alexander tilted his head, not sure he heard correctly. “The drink?”
“Yeah, that nasty ass bourbon. I bet your father drinks it. Your uncles. All your friends. Everybody, right?”
He didn’t answer, but waited for Cheyenne to continue.
“It was just expected that you’d drink it too. So you did.” His hand moved up Alexander’s thigh. “But now, maybe it’s okay to drink what you like. A different brand, a better vintage. Because you want it. Because it tastes better.” Cheyenne licked his lips. “Because it feels right.”
Alexander cleared his throat and brushed his lap, pushing Cheyenne’s hand away. “I can’t.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy. My whole life will change.”
“It already has.”
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~ * ~ GIVEAWAY ~ * ~
Trevann Rogers will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. CLICK HERE to enter to win a $20 Amazon/BN GC – a Rafflecopter giveaway! Readers, follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates and places can be found here: Tour Schedule
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Trevann Rogers, thank you for stopping by today!
Love & blessings to all! ❤