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About Cyn Hadyn

C. L. Hadyn aka Cyn Hayden, a career historian with Hungarian/Viking nomadic roots, loaded up her gypsy wagon for the last time (hopefully) and headed to Greensboro, North Carolina, to follow her delusion of becoming a New York Times best-selling author.
Yeah, sounds silly but it’s true. I’m a transplanted Yankee living way south of the Mason-Dixon Line despite its lack of decent Italian food. Uh, concerning the Italian food, I’d still sacrifice a small digit for authentic Italian cuisine a la Philly, Trenton, or New York.
Before settling down to write full time in the land of ‘bless your heart, and y’all’, I was a Special Operations (US Army and US Marines) military historian/archivist. Now I collect a retirement check and write paranormal, and historical romance. I guess my service with Army and Marine Special Operations left an indelible impression on my writing, because my characters, both male and female, are distinctly Spec Ops in their outlook. They leave no man behind, color outside the lines, and are very, very lethal. I’ve also pushed the envelope a little by including Erotica, BDSM, M/M, and Sci-Fi romance (okay, I pushed the envelope a lot!). Which brings me to my latest books published by Decadent Publishing: Bloodstock, and Fall Back; Book 1 of the Golden Hours series. Decadent is about to publish my Alien romance entitled Dracon Rouge, and has also published Basket Case; Off Track; The Danegeld, and Guarded Hearts, under the pseudonym C. L. Hadyn.
If you have a taste for the paranormal, historical romance, or something more outré, I would love to hear from you at clhadynwrites@gmail.com.

Fall Back

Chief Petty Officer Calder Reade, a Special Amphibious Reconnaissance Corpsman thinks he was sent back to 19th century England to be a physician. But what if he’s wrong? If not a physician, then what? Perhaps the sorceress grandmother of the Chinese apothecary he just met will have the answer

Fall Back is Book 1 in the Golden Hours series. It can be read as a standalone.

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Bloodstock

Tricked into giving his word by a dishonorable man’s maneuvering, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi, Viceroy of Transylvania, is honor-bound to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He’s also required to gather to the bosom of his family the man’s widow, and mother of his intended, who despises him. The silly creature believes he’s a revenant, a vampire bent on making her daughter one as well, and she vows to see him staked and in his grave before she gives her daughter to him. But the prince isn’t soulless or undead, nor does he drain humans of blood. No, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi is a very different creature altogether.

As he paces the corridors of his dark castle, awaiting the arrival of the artist hired to paint miniatures of himself and his bride-to-be, he prays to the ancient gods to help him figure a way to break his promise without losing his honor.

The gods respond to his plea, sending Baroness Beatrix Celine Baranyi, a most unusual artist who carries a saber, rides as if she were a mythical minotaur, and dresses as a Csiko, a Hungarian cowboy. Solving the riddle of the gods’ reply before he binds himself to a woman he’ll never love will take all of his considerable powers.

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Basket Case

He’d been told he was drop-dead gorgeous, and the cameras didn’t lie. Gunner Nord was in Miami to model designer underwear for a feature ad for one of the prestigious women’s magazines, and he hoped to convince his girlfriend to move to Miami with him. He had a five-star suite in the Fontainebleau, a three-carat ring in a tiny velvet box, and an offer of a tryout for a professional jai alai team. Gunner hoped the first two would be persuasive enough for his high-maintenance girlfriend.

While his modeling career was glamorous, Father Time didn’t let anyone slip by him, and Gunner wasn’t idiotic enough to believe he’d be the exception. He was, it seemed, idiotic enough to believe a high-powered New York corporate tax attorney would still find him acceptable if he told her he wanted to chuck the modeling career in favor of playing a sport using a basket strapped to his hand.

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Guarded Hearts

Wren lifted a single teardrop from his face to study it. He didn’t know what made him let the water works loose. Liar, liar, pants on fire his inner child chided. His eyes were leaking because he was confused and, okay, he was afraid. He yearned for what he suspected he would never achieve. He wanted a lasting relationship with Geordy. He wanted the idyllic family life Geordy had with the Campbells, and he wanted to be loved for himself, for being Wren and not a Marine Raider, not a mixed martial arts fighter, not a bladed weapons expert, just plain Wren who loved William Shakespeare, cuddles, and a keen wit to return his teases. He cried because he truly didn’t believe those things were written in his stars.

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Off Track

You would think a Native American, who could track a piss ant through a meadow covered in heavy grass, wouldn’t get lost. But he was lost. Orion Brown, son of a full-blood Lakota Sioux was lost, but not in any geographical location. Orion was lost within himself. The deaths of five of Gunnery Sergeant Orion Brown’s men in combat in Afghanistan, and their battle buddies crying on his shoulder, had put him into unknown territory. Oh, he’d remained strong for the Marines who survived. He bucked them up to resume combat without their battle buddies guarding their sixes, but it had cost him. His stronger than strong routine had earned him an honorable discharge from the Marine Corps, panic attacks, and the inability to touch or be touched by other human beings without having a nuclear nervous meltdown.
His assigned VA shrink was a joke. Well, the man himself wasn’t a joke. He was sincere, he gave the impression he cared, and he listened when he grudgingly shared some of his feelings, but if he mentioned “survivor’s guilt” just one more time, Orion would show him just how much damage a Marine could do to office furniture. The doc just didn’t get it. He was damned if he tried to open up and interact with the people around him, and he was equally screwed if he let anyone throw an arm over his shoulder or kiss his cheek or slap him on the back. The first induced no feeling at all, as in semi-frozen stiff on a morgue slab, and the second induced panic attacks of epic proportions. He was rapidly being torn apart by the dichotomy of reactions.

A slip of a finger on his PC keyboard, offered salvation. The BDSM site wanted to know if he was a Dominant or a submissive. He almost didn’t fill out the personal questionnaire, but overhearing the prevailing opinion of him from two of his students in the Marine Special Operations Tracking/Counter-tracking Course he taught, convinced him he needed to go beyond conventional medical practice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have an extremely sexy Mistress paddling his backside if he was brought back to the land of the normal.

But the Great Spirit was not inclined to grant him normal. Irony of ironies, there was no female Dominant at the local dungeon strong enough to keep him from topping her. Instead, he was assigned to Dai Waleska. A six foot, two-inch Japanese-American Kung Fu Master. Now the overriding question was, was it worth submitting to another man’s physical, and possibly sexual, domination for a chance at getting back on a normal track. Which was more important? Dominance and submission to conquer his frozen core and panic attacks, or maintaining a macho Marine image that would more than likely end with him gargling with a Glock somewhere down a very short road?

Buy Now

 

The Danegeld

Rosilyn Hugh de Lassy, a former Special Operator and now sole owner and operator of De Lassy Inquiries, can proudly trace his family tree back to the Normans who helped William the Conqueror win at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Like his Norman ancestors, if Ross wanted something he went after it, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard to get it.
When Nels Rainer Kirkegaard, possessor of a PhD in History, talented artist and skilled wood-worker, inherits his grandfather’s furniture business, he is surprised by the stipulation he has one year to sow some wild oats before assuming the leadership of the company. In a chance encounter in a Washington, DC pub, Norman and Viking meet, and Ross surprises himself by hiring Nels to help him renovate the rundown monstrosity he intends to turn into office and living quarters.
When Nels’ silver blonde hair and Arctic blue eyes make him the target of a sex slave ring, Ross is compelled to rescue him. He is very good at finding things, and no self-respecting Special Forces operator would leave a friend behind. However, while searching for clues to discover where his handyman was taken, Ross finds one of Nels’ pen and ink sketches, and realizes the Dane could become more to him than just a friend. Ross has a major decision to make when he finds Nels. Should he, like his Norman ancestors, pay the Danegeld and live in harmony with the Viking or refuse and live at war with himself?

Buy Now

 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Chief Petty Officer Calder Reade, a Special Amphibious Reconnaissance Corpsman thinks he was sent back to 19th century England to be a physician. But what if he’s wrong? If not a physician, then what? Perhaps the sorceress grandmother of the Chinese apothecary he just met will have the answer

Fall Back is Book 1 in the Golden Hours series. It can be read as a standalone.

Buy Now

Tricked into giving his word by a dishonorable man’s maneuvering, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi, Viceroy of Transylvania, is honor-bound to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He’s also required to gather to the bosom of his family the man’s widow, and mother of his intended, who despises him. The silly creature believes he’s a revenant, a vampire bent on making her daughter one as well, and she vows to see him staked and in his grave before she gives her daughter to him. But the prince isn’t soulless or undead, nor does he drain humans of blood. No, Prince Szigismond Emre Janos Rackoszi is a very different creature altogether.

As he paces the corridors of his dark castle, awaiting the arrival of the artist hired to paint miniatures of himself and his bride-to-be, he prays to the ancient gods to help him figure a way to break his promise without losing his honor.

The gods respond to his plea, sending Baroness Beatrix Celine Baranyi, a most unusual artist who carries a saber, rides as if she were a mythical minotaur, and dresses as a Csiko, a Hungarian cowboy. Solving the riddle of the gods’ reply before he binds himself to a woman he’ll never love will take all of his considerable powers.

Buy Now

He’d been told he was drop-dead gorgeous, and the cameras didn’t lie. Gunner Nord was in Miami to model designer underwear for a feature ad for one of the prestigious women’s magazines, and he hoped to convince his girlfriend to move to Miami with him. He had a five-star suite in the Fontainebleau, a three-carat ring in a tiny velvet box, and an offer of a tryout for a professional jai alai team. Gunner hoped the first two would be persuasive enough for his high-maintenance girlfriend.

While his modeling career was glamorous, Father Time didn’t let anyone slip by him, and Gunner wasn’t idiotic enough to believe he’d be the exception. He was, it seemed, idiotic enough to believe a high-powered New York corporate tax attorney would still find him acceptable if he told her he wanted to chuck the modeling career in favor of playing a sport using a basket strapped to his hand.

His proposal died unspoken when he returned to his suite to discover his girlfriend packed and about to embark on a cruise with someone else. Her bon voyage gift to him was a pre-paid massage with a happy ending delivered by a siren of a Cuban masseuse. The therapist’s magical fingers relieved more than just the knotted muscles in his neck and back. They left him with the desire to do something responsible for the rest of his life, but only if the siren would agree to be by his side.

Buy Now

Wren lifted a single teardrop from his face to study it. He didn’t know what made him let the water works loose. Liar, liar, pants on fire his inner child chided. His eyes were leaking because he was confused and, okay, he was afraid. He yearned for what he suspected he would never achieve. He wanted a lasting relationship with Geordy. He wanted the idyllic family life Geordy had with the Campbells, and he wanted to be loved for himself, for being Wren and not a Marine Raider, not a mixed martial arts fighter, not a bladed weapons expert, just plain Wren who loved William Shakespeare, cuddles, and a keen wit to return his teases. He cried because he truly didn’t believe those things were written in his stars.

Buy Now

You would think a Native American, who could track a piss ant through a meadow covered in heavy grass, wouldn’t get lost. But he was lost. Orion Brown, son of a full-blood Lakota Sioux was lost, but not in any geographical location. Orion was lost within himself. The deaths of five of Gunnery Sergeant Orion Brown’s men in combat in Afghanistan, and their battle buddies crying on his shoulder, had put him into unknown territory. Oh, he’d remained strong for the Marines who survived. He bucked them up to resume combat without their battle buddies guarding their sixes, but it had cost him. His stronger than strong routine had earned him an honorable discharge from the Marine Corps, panic attacks, and the inability to touch or be touched by other human beings without having a nuclear nervous meltdown.

His assigned VA shrink was a joke. Well, the man himself wasn’t a joke. He was sincere, he gave the impression he cared, and he listened when he grudgingly shared some of his feelings, but if he mentioned “survivor’s guilt” just one more time, Orion would show him just how much damage a Marine could do to office furniture. The doc just didn’t get it. He was damned if he tried to open up and interact with the people around him, and he was equally screwed if he let anyone throw an arm over his shoulder or kiss his cheek or slap him on the back. The first induced no feeling at all, as in semi-frozen stiff on a morgue slab, and the second induced panic attacks of epic proportions. He was rapidly being torn apart by the dichotomy of reactions.

A slip of a finger on his PC keyboard, offered salvation. The BDSM site wanted to know if he was a Dominant or a submissive. He almost didn’t fill out the personal questionnaire, but overhearing the prevailing opinion of him from two of his students in the Marine Special Operations Tracking/Counter-tracking Course he taught, convinced him he needed to go beyond conventional medical practice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have an extremely sexy Mistress paddling his backside if he was brought back to the land of the normal.

But the Great Spirit was not inclined to grant him normal. Irony of ironies, there was no female Dominant at the local dungeon strong enough to keep him from topping her. Instead, he was assigned to Dai Waleska. A six foot, two-inch Japanese-American Kung Fu Master. Now the overriding question was, was it worth submitting to another man’s physical, and possibly sexual, domination for a chance at getting back on a normal track. Which was more important? Dominance and submission to conquer his frozen core and panic attacks, or maintaining a macho Marine image that would more than likely end with him gargling with a Glock somewhere down a very short road?

Buy Now

Rosilyn Hugh de Lassy, a former Special Operator and now sole owner and operator of De Lassy Inquiries, can proudly trace his family tree back to the Normans who helped William the Conqueror win at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Like his Norman ancestors, if Ross wanted something he went after it, and he wasn’t afraid to work hard to get it.

When Nels Rainer Kirkegaard, possessor of a PhD in History, talented artist and skilled wood-worker, inherits his grandfather’s furniture business, he is surprised by the stipulation he has one year to sow some wild oats before assuming the leadership of the company. In a chance encounter in a Washington, DC pub, Norman and Viking meet, and Ross surprises himself by hiring Nels to help him renovate the rundown monstrosity he intends to turn into office and living quarters.

When Nels’ silver blonde hair and Arctic blue eyes make him the target of a sex slave ring, Ross is compelled to rescue him. He is very good at finding things, and no self-respecting Special Forces operator would leave a friend behind. However, while searching for clues to discover where his handyman was taken, Ross finds one of Nels’ pen and ink sketches, and realizes the Dane could become more to him than just a friend. Ross has a major decision to make when he finds Nels. Should he, like his Norman ancestors, pay the Danegeld and live in harmony with the Viking or refuse and live at war with himself?

Buy Now

1 Comment

  1. Donna

    Welcome to the world!! Glad to see you live.

    Reply

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