I am delighted to welcome DB Nielsen to Bookbabblers today, as part of the blog tour for Scroll.
Book Boyfriends, Supernaturally Hot Guys
Keepers of Genesis, by DB Nielsen is a gripping new epic adventure series perfect for fans of Twilight and A Discovery of Witches. A magical blend of romance, fantasy and fascinating ancient history, this captivating four-part series is already enthralling a legion of young adult readers and crossover fiction fans alike. The second part, SCROLL, publishes this week.
There’s something irresistible about book boyfriends – you can take them to bed, get under the covers, slip beneath the sheets, and let their words seduce you… And they’re even hotter when brought to life onscreen.
A book boyfriend for those readers who may live on a different planet to the rest of us, is a fictional character in a book that you would gladly risk everything – life, limb, bucket loads of teasing – to kiss, hug, hold hands with, wake up beside, stare crazily at (even after it gets to be super weird and stalkerish), follow to the ends of the earth and beyond (even if it gets to be super weird and stalkerish!), marry, elope with, and weep uncontrollably at their downfall or death.
So here’s my list of supernaturally hot guys (including supernatural ones):
1. Westley from “The Princess Bride”. Look, this film is a cult classic but I love to watch it for the character of Westley. He starts out as a farm boy “poor and perfect” with eyes “like the sea after a storm”. He goes off to seek his fortune but is captured by the Dread Pirate Roberts and put to death. But Westley doesn’t let death stop him from “true love” and his hotness increases as he is intelligent, resourceful, a masterful strategist, skilful swordsman and dashing hero. And when he says, “As you wish” there’s not a female in the audience who wouldn’t want to swap places with Princess Buttercup.
2. Dean Winchester from the “Supernatural” TV series. What can I say? He’s hot. He’s the bad boy with a heart and lots of soul. He’s a hunter who kills the vampires, shape shifters, demons and gets rid of the ghosts – and he can protect me any day from all the things that go bump in the night (unless it’s in my bedroom!)
3. Kyle Rhys from “Terminator”. Another classic cult movie but Rhys is the hero who travels back in time and risks everything, even dies, for love of the woman he hasn’t even met but fallen in love with through a photo and tales about her. One night is all it takes to create lasting memories and a love that lasts a lifetime. That’s what I call romantic…
4. Heathcliff in “Wuthering Heights”. There’s something about this Byronic hero-villain that mirrors the idea of “mad, bad and dangerous to know”. His obsession with Catherine borders on madness but it’s hard to go past a line like “How can I live without my soul?” and not feel his pain. He totally reinvents himself for her – moving from the poor waif child from the Liverpool slums to become educated and affluent – but is devastated to find she has married another man in his absence. Despite this, he loves her to his death, believing they are soulmates and will be reunited in the afterlife (only mental images available!).
5. Aragorn from “The Lord of the Rings”. Whilst he is the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor, this tormented soul bears the burden of his heritage and the betrayal of his ancestors. Yet Aragorn is a good man – honourable, courageous, noble, dignified, and so forth. He learns to be a better man and is supported by Arwen, his Elven soulmate, transcending boundaries of race to be with her.
6. And let me just sneak in Legolas here. Who wouldn’t fall in love with a gorgeous Elven archer and prince of the forest? Have you seen the films? Drool-worthy!
7. Mr Darcy from “Pride and Prejudice”. Do I really need to explain my choice here? Arrogant, proud and prejudiced, Darcy is able to change through the challenges posed by Elizabeth Bennet. He is the ideal gentleman – and who wouldn’t want to be “mistress of Pemberley”? (yet again, only mental images available! I’m sure you may have your own favourite – take your pick)
8. Duke Orsino from “Twelfth Night”. Okay, I know this is a little out there but he was one of the first book boyfriends I had. What I loved about this guy was that he was in love with love to begin with – and didn’t even know what love was. He thought he was in love with one girl (based on her looks – age-old story) then realised that he was attracted to someone else (unfortunately, he fell in love with a girl disguised as a guy, based on their common interests and intellect, and felt incredibly torn by the challenge to his sexuality) – luckily for him, it all works out in the end and he is able to marry the right woman (what can I say, only mental images available again!)
9. Thor and Loki. Sorry, I can’t decide between them and both Chris Hemsworth in the role of Thor (whom I can imagine playing the role of St. John Rivers) and Tom Hiddleston in the role of Loki are uber-hot! And both are gods, so what more can I say?
10. Henry DeTamble in “The Time Traveler’s Wife”. I loved this book and there’s no better endorsement than stating it made me cry. Henry isn’t your conventional hero – there’s nothing extraordinary about him except his genetic disorder that leads to time travel – but it’s his love for Claire that is so beautiful and heartbreaking; a romance that is all of his lifetime and hers and beyond. And his letter to Claire at the end is truly moving … and, for me, that’s the power of words, as it can make you fall in love with the most unconventional heroes…
Whether or not you have found your favourite supernaturally hot guy, there’s someone out there between the covers of a good book for everyone … but just keep your hands off mine!
SCROLL: KEEPERS OF GENESIS II by DB Nielsen is published on 12th March www.dbnielsen.com @db_nielsen
Scroll down to read an extract from the book:
Extract from SCROLL (Keepers of Genesis II) by D B Nielsen
It was almost as if I had conjured him up from my imagination,
knowing that I was in desperate need of a protector within this gypsy
encampment as I was sure the fortune-teller’s voice was loud enough to
carry to the other Romany tents nearby and call them forth – it was loud
enough to wake the dead.
Finn’s eyes flashed a warning as he came to stand between me and
the old gypsy woman, dwarfing her tiny form. But it was not enough to
intimidate her as she continued to berate me. If anything, her speech
picked up in pace and tone, sharpening to slithers of ice.
Finn began to talk with her, his dulcet voice clearly audible to me,
even over her screeching. But it sounded strangely unlike his voice, and
it took me almost a full minute to realise what was so different.
Finn was speaking Romany.
He was speaking a language that no outsider could possibly know
or learn. For the Roma, their dialects were a closely guarded secret; a
powerful language. They believed it held great magic. They did not give their power or magic away. And they would not allow an outsider to trespass on their domain.
But, of course, Finn did know it. Fluently.
His speech was not the botched attempts to converse in someone
else’s tongue – unlike my exchanges in French. He knew it idiomatically and it trickled from his tongue smoothly and fluidly. His hands moved in an intricate dance of gestures as he spoke, sketching the dramatic way in which the gypsies punctuated their sentences.
And the fortune-teller replied in a spate of words too fast for me to
even guess at their meaning.
It might have been entertaining if I hadn’t already known what they
were arguing about. Still, it was like watching a prize-fight between
two well-matched combatants.
But then I heard a word that I did know and understand, issuing
forth from between the old gypsy woman’s thin lips.
She fairly spat the word at Finn.
Finn paused in his speech. Then, not even bothering to turn and face
me, he threw over his shoulder in English, ‘Saffron, get out!’
His voice, harsh and angry, brooked no opposition and I found
myself making for the tent flap and, seconds later, dashing past the
Romany encampment following the path of the Seine, the fortuneteller’s
curse still resounding in my head.
She had called Finn “Emim”, confirming my worst fears and
suspicions. He was the enemy. In the back of my mind, I had already
known this – but even now I didn’t want to believe it. I’d convinced
myself that he wasn’t like the others. There was something different
about him. He wasn’t like his “brothers”.
I moved quickly and quietly behind the crowd so as not to attract
attention in my agitated state. People were striding past me in the
opposite direction, laughing and joking, heading towards the gypsy’s
tent for a scrying.
I had only just passed the last gypsy caravan, pausing briefly to look
back before stepping out into the fitful light of the streetlamps when
Finn moved out of the shadow of the fortune-teller’s tent. He lifted his
head to the cool night air as if sniffing my scent like a wolf. His eyes
roved past the line of colourful tents with their hanging lanterns, skimming lightly over the figures of the tourists and locals who were seeking entertainment, moving between them, tracking me down.
Peering through the gloom, they came to rest on me.
I could not believe the strength of his vision, that he could see me in
such dim light. But his eyes narrowed perceptibly and he seemed to
bare his teeth in anticipation as he sighted his prey.
I took to my heels in fright.
I had something of a head start – there was a good distance between
him and me and a tide of obstacles in between. Or so I thought.
But it did not matter.
I had known as soon as I had begun to flee from his monstrous
figure that he would easily catch me up. I had seen him move at great
speed before – there was no way I was capable of outrunning him. I
don’t even know why I bothered to try. I did not even dare to imagine
what he might do to me once he did catch me up.
But I was soon to find out.
I supposed that I expected him to strangle me. Even if he did need
my help to find the second part of the map, I had discovered something
that was never meant to be known – something about his past he wished
to keep secret, and not just from me. So I fled, dashing past market
stalls and buskers, dodging tourists and onlookers, retreating from the
noise and laughter of the markets with Finn in furiously hot pursuit.
I put on a burst of speed as I neared the ice rink, believing that I
could hear him closing in behind me with every stride. My breath was
coming out in short, sharp wheezes; momentarily steaming in the
wintry night air.
It was then that I realised that Finn was no longer behind me.
He had eased into a lope, effortlessly keeping abreast of me. Pace
for pace. His graceful strides did not even produce a puff of breath from
between his lips – lips that were, in my mind, pulled back in a snarl.
He deliberately did not close the gap between us.
He was toying with me, allowing me to believe that if I could reach
the ice rink, I could reach safety. He was allowing me to lead him to a
dead end where he would easily catch me up and have me at his mercy.
Gasping, I exerted greater energy, feeling my heart pumping fit to
burst; its beat a litany accompanying the rhythm of my stride. ust a little more, I tried to convince myself. Another few metres or so.
But my legs were slowly turning to jelly as I ran out of stamina.
I could not go much further.
It was useless.
I reached the colonnades of the Hôtel de Ville and collapsed against
one of its stone columns. His hand came down hard upon my shoulder
and twisted me around to face him.
I noticed, as if from a great distance, the minutest details – how his
eyes were now a turbulent midnight blue, how a lock of his overlong
dark hair artfully flopped down on his forehead, that his shirt was
slightly open exposing the hollow of his throat where I could see the
blood beneath his pale skin throbbing wildly. I noticed, too, the
expression on his face.
It was as wild and savage as the ocean in a tempest.
My sides were burning from the run, I was heaving great gasps of
air as if I was drowning for breath.
He did not even have the decency to look winded. He barely looked
like he had been working out.
It did not occur to me then that I could have called out for Gabriel’s
assistance. I was in no fit state of mind.
But then, neither was Finn.
We stood in the shadow of the Hôtel de Ville where there was
enough privacy for a couple to be intimate. But from the look in Finn’s
eye I gathered that was the last thing on his mind.
I waited for him to ring my neck.
He had his arm above me and his body pressed against my length to
ensure I could not escape.
‘You needn’t bother,’ I said, pushing against his taut chest, ‘I’m not
about to run away. I doubt I’d get to take three steps before you caught
up with me again.’
He did not budge. His eyes were harrowing, intense, violent.
I had never seen him in the grip of such strong, passionate emotions
that they fairly seethed within him. I had only ever observed his
indifference and despair. This Finn was new to me. And new to him,
too, from what I could judge.
I swallowed hard.
‘There were seven lanterns–’ I tried to explain, but he cut me off.
‘The Roma are not to be trusted. They are as treacherous, cunning
and black-hearted as devils.’
He obviously didn’t see the irony of his statement.
Again, I got no further.
He lifted his hand and, just briefly, I wondered if he was about to
I should have been afraid. I should have protested. Perhaps fought
him. But I simply stood there, refusing to flinch.
He gripped my jaw, tilting my head up to face him. His touch was
not rough or cruel. It was, in fact, unexpectedly gentle for one who
looked so murderous. He stood there staring at me for what seemed like
an eternity, his hand still upon my jaw, brushing against my exposed
throat. I began to wish he’d just get it over with. Kill me and be done
‘Bloody hell! Finn, say something. Do something. If you’re going to
kill me, just do it, just get it over with–’
I stopped speaking then because he made me.
He did not strike me. He did not strangle me.
Instead, he did something entirely unexpected.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. When he finally
released me, I was breathing too hard and too fast – as if I had been
chased by him all over again. My lips felt bruised and I tasted the
metallic sting of blood. My eyes had widened till they were huge hazel
saucers in my too pale face. And I looked at him with wide-eyed
surprise as if seeing him for the very first time.
He grabbed my arm then and half-dragged me, half-marched me to
the edge of the steps of the Hôtel de Ville, overlooking the ice rink. In
the distance, I could make out Gabriel’s wheat coloured head where he
stood towering above the mere mortals surrounding him.
Finn thrust me forward so violently that I almost slipped upon the
icy steps of the town hall as he withdrew his hand from my arm. Then
he turned abruptly and strode away, not bothering to look back at me
once as he departed, knowing very well that my gaze was locked on his
retreating form. I stood still on the steps of the Hôtel de Ville, a small figure against
the impressive stone colonnades that adorned the town hall, scrutinising
Finn as he was swallowed by the tide of humanity that separated him
It was several minutes before I regained my composure. And
several more after that for my breathing and heart rate to decrease and
return to normal.
Gingerly touching my swollen bottom lip in wonderment, I
suddenly realised I had not even thought to pull away from his close
embrace … nor had I wanted to.