Tempted By a Touch

Title: Superior Species

Series: Superior Species Book One

Author: K.A. Meng

Genre: NA Urban Fantasy Romance

AVAILABLE NOW

Ivory Ames has caught the attention of four gorgeous guys. At Los Roshano University this isn’t normal, even when all the upperclassmen have perfect physiques, flawless complexions, and hypnotic looks. That’s not even the weirdest part. The town has a strict sunset curfew because of wild animals attacking.

To keep her friends and herself safe, Ivory must figure out the truth behind the town’s mysteries before it’s too late.

K. A. Meng lives in North Dakota, in the same town she grew up. Her love for the paranormal started at a young age when she saw her first ghost.

Today, she spends her time writing paranormal romance, fantasy, and everything in-between. When life drags her away from it, she hangs out with her son and friends, goes to movies, watches TV, plays board games, walks her dogs, and reads books. She is actively involved in two writing groups and wishes to some day visit Disney World.

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Submission Is Not Enough - Book Tour with Excerpt

10/25/2016

submission-is-not-enough-fb-cover-available-now

A fallen hero reborn Theo Taggart lost everything the night he died. His family, his beautiful Erin, and worst of all, he lost himself. A twisted doctor brought him back from the brink of death, but reprogrammed his identity to serve her will. Rescued by his brothers, he must fight to reclaim the man he was and the life, and love, that were stolen from him. A love worth fighting for Erin Argent thought she'd lost Theo forever. When he walked back into her life, it was nothing short of a miracle. Months of torture and conditioning at the hands of Dr. Hope McDonald have done damage to Theo that may never be mended. He has no memory of her or the life they shared. Breaking through to him, and helping him rediscover all he lost, will be the toughest mission she's ever faced. Luckily for Theo, Erin loves a good fight. Their reunion under siege Unfortunately, Hope is far from done with Theo Taggart. Obsessed with her prize experiment, she will do anything to get him back. If the only way to finally break him of his past life is to kill Erin and his son, then she's only too happy to oblige…

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Theo took the stairs as quickly as he could. He knew where he was going, but he wasn’t going to think about it. For the first time since he’d gotten home, he didn’t care about his past or figuring out who he’d been. He wanted. He wanted something right now and that felt good. She’d been right. There wasn’t a place for guilt here. He strode up the stairs, her weight comforting in his arms. Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about that either. He was going to enjoy it, not wonder why his body remembered her when his mind would not. “Hey, is everything okay?” Damn it. Case was standing at the top of the stairs, obviously having come out of the privacy rooms. His wife was at his side, her face flushed. Mia had sex hair. Good for them. Red was about to have sex hair, too. Lots of filthy sex hair. “Everything’s great. Night.” Case put a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa. I thought you were going to take this slow, brother.” “If you don’t get your hand off him right this second, Taggart, I am going to ensure that you never have children,” Red said, her eyes narrowing on his brother. “You won’t be able to cock block anyone because you won’t have a damn cock. Am I clear?” Case’s hands came up immediately as though he knew that tone and was not going there. “Trying to help.” “Three is clean and has plenty of condoms. We’re taking a monitor turn up here. I checked all the rooms.” Mia grinned at him. She actually was helpful. “Have fun and we’ll see you at home.” He didn’t bother to look back. Case could give him a lecture later. He wasn’t waiting anymore. He’d waited forever. Even when he couldn’t remember her face, he’d known she was there. He’d felt her, or rather he’d felt her absence. Could he truly be with a woman whose name he couldn’t think without hurting her? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t making those decisions tonight. He was enjoying her. His sub. He was bringing her pleasure and he probably should do a good job of it because his sub was fucking mean. And fragile. He’d seen the moment she’d thought he was rejecting her. He’d watch her skin flush and her body start to turn in on itself. She was such a mix of strength and need. It was intoxicating. He wanted so badly to be the man who gave her what she needed. Affection. Pleasure. Comfort. Love—he wasn’t thinking that word tonight. Nope. Pleasure was way better. He kicked out lightly at the partially open door number three. It looked like Mia had done her job. The room was perfectly clean, the lighting soft and romantic. The best thing about this room though was the complete lack of any of his friends or family being here. It was him and her, and that was exactly what he wanted. No Ian. No Li. No Kai asking them hundreds of questions. Him and her and the night. He tossed her on the bed and stood back, looking down at her. “Tell me why you thought I was rejecting you.” The instant she hit the bed, she was up on her knees. So graceful. So deadly. What the hell was this woman like out in the field? She moved like a predator, but the look on her face was pure sarcasm. “Uhm, your words. That’s what sealed it for me. ‘I don’t want to do this’ is generally considered a rejection.” Somehow she managed to put an unsaid “dumbass” on the end of her sentences. Not all of them. She’d been perfectly sweet most of the night, but she could turn it on when she wanted to. “I didn’t mean that. When I said the words, I watched you change. Why? You’re good at slapping people down. I wouldn’t have said that until today.” “Because I’ve been careful around you,” she admitted. “Why? You think I’m delicate?” Her lips curled up. “I don’t think you’re delicate. I think I’m a lot to take, but I also am starting to believe I was wrong. You like me rough.” “I like you a lot.” More than he could ever tell her. blake-sine-fb-ok-now-available

NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog int eh world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance and urban fantasy that she found the stories of her heart. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome, or foursome may seem.

FACEBOOK / TWITTER / WEBSITE / AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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Tempted By A Touch - Blog Tour and Giveaway

10/25/2016

Tempted By a Touch

by Kris Rafferty An Unlikely Hero #2 Publication Date: October 24, 2016 Genres: Adult, Entangled: Select, Romantic Suspense

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Synopsis: People keep dying around Harper MacLain. Try as she might, she can’t stop bad things from happening to those she loves. When her closely guarded secret lands her in the middle of her ex-boyfriend’s investigation, she’s in over her head. She hates that Detective Lucas Sullivan is in her life again, tempting her to fall back into bad habits…and his bed.When Harper left him, Lucas tried not to care, burying himself in his job instead. Then Harper became the job. Now they’re on the run, and all he can think about is keeping her safe…and his hands off her. Lucas knows she’s the key to solving his case, if he can keep them alive long enough to do it. And that’s the trick…because falling in love can kill you.

**DON'T MISS THE FIRST BOOK IN THE AN UNLIKELY HERO SERIES...**

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Synopsis: Marnie Somerville is sure Dane MacLain is just another bad guy. Her job as resident investigator at Whitman Enterprises is to track down the owners of delinquent accounts, but something about Dane’s case is off, and Marnie can’t resist a good mystery. The secret files and cover-up she finds after hacking her boss’s computer are more than she expected, and now she’s fleeing her former employer...right into Dane’s arms.Former detective Dane MacLain has spent the last year gathering intel against Whitman Enterprises, the company he believes responsible for his wife’s death. When a beautiful and intense woman shows up with information, Dane is willing to accept all she has to offer, especially when the help comes in such a sexy package. Caught in a deadly cat and mouse chase, Dane must do everything he can to protect Marnie as they run for their lives.

ABOUT KRIS RAFFERTY

Kris Rafferty was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the youngest of four in a rambunctious Irish-American family. She became obsessed with books early on, and remembers her first library adventure. She wrote her first story when she was six and never stopped. She received her BA at U/Mass Boston, married the love of her life, has three perfect children, and earned her third degree black belt in Parker American Kenpo Karate. She plays classical piano, loves road trips, and is a fanatic for warm water ocean. If she’s not writing, she’s reading all sorts of romance. Ms. Rafferty lives happily ever after in North Carolina, writing.

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The Immortal Divide - Book Tour with Excerpt

10/25/2016

The Immortal Divide
The Chronicles of Fate and Choice Trilogy Book Three
By KS Turner
Genre: Fantasy

This is when it will change.
For them. For us. For everyone.
Destiny, freewill, intent, magic, science, life, everything.
This is when all those named gods will fight to the end.

This world and all worlds are fated to end. The prophet, Jychanumun, has tried to prevent it. He has spent millennia walking between life and death to find a way. The powerful Shaa-kutu have tried to prevent it. They have fought with wits and weapons and given their all. Despite their best, nothing seems capable of stopping the formidable Arrunn from completing his final fateful move. So, can Tachra change that fate?
Tachra stands between shadow and light. She has no tools or weapons, only the Earth power and true-vision. Perhaps her fellow humans will ascend to greater knowledge and unlock a new discovery. Or, if she can decipher the Book of Fate, perhaps that will hold a key to saving them all. But when that last prophecy comes, will she make the right choice?

After all, that fate has already been written:
"If any survive, it will be known as the three day darkness. If none survive, the darkness will swallow all."

The passageway had widened to a large square, clad entirely in matte-black stone that seemed to draw in any light. It was dark, almost black. I sensed shadows. I sensed deeper shadow. I sensed shadows within shadow.
At the end of the square, sitting, was Meah. She was tense, agitated, and defensive. Low growling sounds were coming from her throat. Her fur had risen to bristles. She was facing a direction I could not see. Her eyes had narrowed. She did not like what she was seeing, but she would not look away.
“When you also see,” Viir spoke, “do not fret. You are quite safe.” I walked forward to stand beside Meah.
I looked.
By the skies! A Nigh-kutu!
Before me was a Nigh-kutu imprisoned. Several transparent energy walls and several walls of metal bars stood between us. Nevertheless, my inner defensiveness immediately rose, creating another barrier between the creature and Meah and I. He looked fearsome.
The huge black kutu crouched at the back of a large room. His broad black wings were splayed out, undulating in time to the slow, tense rhythm of his deep breaths. I could hear guttural growling as he breathed. Every breath he exhaled released pent up, furious tension. His hands were tethered by golden rope. The rope was secured to the walls behind him. His pure black energy darkened the space around him. He was fully dressed in war wear. His black skin trousers tucked into strong boots with straps around his legs and body where once he would have kept weaponry. He was muscular, and emitted the power of one of the most formidable Nigh- kutu warriors.
The Nigh-kutu felt my presence. He looked up. His eyes flashed with shadow-light. His expression was full of hate. His breathing and growling did not change. He just held my stare with restrained fury. He wanted to kill me. He wanted to kill us all.

Originally trained as an illustrator and designer at Saint Martins School of Art and at Middlesex University, KS Turner turned to fiction when she saw the limitless possibilities of connectivity it offered. Before her shift in career, she worked as a fashion designer for major high-street brands, a graphic designer for musicians, and a product designer for corporations, as well as dabbling with designing technology, sustainable energy, and textiles.
A vivid series of dreams were the inspiration for the Chronicles of Fate and Choice books. Kate initially tried illustrating her dreams, but found the medium too limiting for the story she had seen, so began writing. At first she didn’t have any intention of writing novels, but the books soon started to come together.
Her first two novels, Before the Gods, and Tumultus, were featured in many magazines, won book of the month with Spirit and Destiny magazine, fantasy of the year with Bookbag, and the ‘Must Read Now’ awards with SciFiNow magazine.
When Kate isn't writing, she draws, paints and sculpts as well as studying maths, science, theology and philosophy. She loves to play music, explore, nurture nature and spend time with friends and family. She lives in Somerset.

http://www.ksturner.net/
https://twitter.com/KSTurner_author
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15560233.K_S_Turner

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The Legend of the Pumpkin Thief - Blog Tour and Giveaway

10/25/2016

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The Legend of the Pumpkin Thief
by Charles Day
Publication Date: October 18, 2016
Publisher: Tantrum Books

As the townsfolk sleep, something creeps into the neighborhood. Hidden in shadows, its presence is as old as time itself, its intent not born of goodness.
Nick, a teenager who fancies himself a detective, wakes to find his carved masterpiece missing. Now a mystery is afoot, and Nick has his first assignment, to find out who or what is snatching up the town’s pumpkins and why.
Unfortunately, as with all great detectives, obstacles stand in Nick’s way—the neighborhood bully and his cronies, and the strange old lady and her dog who share the run-down house at the end of Nick’s block. As Nick investigates, an urban legend unravels . . . .
The Legend of The Pumpkin Thief.
Nick fears the legend as he embarks on the most dangerous adventure of his young life. Collecting clues, getting ever closer to the true nature of evil, he learns that curiosity comes with a high price.
Link to Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/30633827-the-legend-of-the-pumpkin-thief

Purchase Links:
Google Play | BAM | Chapters | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | TBD | iBooks

Charles Day is the Horror Writer Association’s Mentor Program Chairperson, Co-Chair for the NY/LI Chapter, and a member of the HWA Library committee. He is also a member of the New England Horror Writers Association, the American Library Association, and the Young Adult Library Services Association.
He is also the Bram Stoker Award® nominated author of the YA novel, THE LEGEND OF THE PUMPKIN THIEF. He’s also published his first adult novel DEEP WITHIN and the first book in his Adventures of Kyle McGerrt trilogy, a YA western heroic fantasy, THE HUNT FOR THE GHOULISH BARTENDER, and his first coauthored novel with Mark Taylor, REDEMPTION
His forthcoming publications and projects in development for 2014 include a comic book series
based on the ADVENTURES OF KYLE McGERRT trilogy, his first middle grade series, THE
UNDERDWELLERS, and his third YA novel, IMMORTAL FAMILY.
On the publishing business side of things, Charles is the owner of Day Media and Publishing in New York, which houses the successful imprints, Evil Jester Press, Evil Jester Comics, and Hidden Thoughts Press (mental wellness collections,)
He’s also an artist and illustrator, who is passionate about creating the many characters he’s brought to life in his published, or soon to be published works. You can find out more about his upcoming writing projects, check out his illustrations and art, or find out what he’s cooking up next with that evil dudeinthebox, the evil Jester, by visiting his Facebook page:https://www.facebook.com/charles.day.92

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Cease & Desist - Blog Tour with Excerpt

10/25/2016

Cease & Desist
by Stephen David Hurley
Genre: YA Thriller
Release Date: October 10th 2016

What if the secret to being charismatic were actually a gene you could inherit, and pass along to your children. What if this "X-factor" could make you a star? Welcome to the world of Cease de Menich, a sixteen-year-old actress in New York City who gets cast as Joan-of-Arc in a reality-drama, only to discover her "acting gift" has been passed down through her bloodline for almost six-hundred-years. Cease finds the plot of the drama reveals dark secrets from her past--an abusive mother, a brother who committed suicide--and the reader must decide if she's a reliable narrator or a terrified girl who's succumb to the pressure of fame and the abuse of her past.

Cease & Desist is a dark, contemporary YA thriller with a supernatural twist. Readers of books like I Let You Go and The Girl on the Train will enjoy this coming-of-age story, which struggles with the realities of sexuality, violence as entertainment, and mental illness. Cease & Desist has excellent crossover potential into the adult marketplace.

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I’m Cease de Menich. It’s OK if you don’t know me— but you will. That’s what my agent keeps telling me to tell people, and judging from the throng of mostly stage-moms waiting beneath a marquee that reads “Good Morning, New York City,” maybe he’s right. I’m the actress who plays Jeanne d’Arc (please don’t call her Joan; that was never her name) the virgin, the warrior, the Catholic saint in a reality show that’s going to be a blockbuster. I’m supposed to say that, too. But don’t worry, I’m not over-the-top full of myself the way the others in the final three are.
I’m not beautiful, for starters. I’ve got a big nose—a French nose, as my Aunt Nina insists—but if it weren’t for my wide-set eyes it would be a real honker. I want to have it fixed but my Nina won’t let me. She says it gives me character. But the real reason is that we haven’t got the money, so that’s another thing you don’t have to worry about. I’m not rich, not like the girls from the Upper East Side who sat beside me at Juilliard. What I am is tough and smart, and I have something all the unrich, unbeautiful girls have: I have absolutely nothing to lose.
I look out the window of the car as I take off the last of my body armor; at the faded crepe in a liquor store window—the long shadows lumbering over subway grates on Broadway— and back to the faces of the wannabes waiting in the cold. All those wet noses and eager looks—all those eager fingers I hope will soon be pressing the letters of my name into their home screens. It’s only been four months since I was standing outside in the cold—an unknown, a wannabe, just licking my lips hoping to sink my teeth into a plum role.
For all you people who’ve been watching me on the WebTV trailers, I know what you’re thinking—that I just got lucky. I don’t deserve to be here. And you know what? I think that, too. (Is there an unrich, unbeautiful, sixteen-year-old girl anywhere who wouldn’t think that?) But fame never landed on my doorstep like a perfectly wrapped gift. I’ve paid my dues in ways you’ll never know… and for those of you who’ve been watching the installments the producers have been showing on WebTV every night—and are wondering just what this show is, I can offer you an explanation in a few simple steps. First. This isn’t just a reality show; in other words, this isn’t just a show about a bunch of girls and boys who fall in love or beat each other to death—it’s a drama. I’m an actress playing an historic character who lived almost six hundred years ago. Try to think of my character, Jeanne d’Arc, as a real-life superhero, because she was. The three finalists who must compete for the boys are Jeanne d’Arc, Catherine the Great, and Susan B. Anthony. The boys do not play historic characters—they’re just hunks who flex their pecs and preen a lot. You probably know by now, that the conflicts we face are pretty modern—as in, things that girls and boys must face every day at home and school.
Second. The plotlines of each episode are closely guarded secrets. Dialogue is released the night before we shoot, and I’m given only my lines and a brief outline of the action. There were rumors in the beginning that actors would bribe the writers to get their lines early or to find out what was being written about the other characters. I don’t doubt it.
Third. Francis MacDonald, the director, is crazy—hopefully crazy the way that Hollywood geniuses are—an auteur, I try to convince Nina, but she keeps insisting he’s an imbecile.
I comb my fingers through my hair and need another minute before I get out of the car. I’m tired. Before arriving here I was locked in a straw-filled cage for three hours, and now I’d rather be back home in Tudor City with my Nina having my brownies and milk because even a martyr about to be burned at the stake deserves her brownies and milk. I open the window.
“We’ve been waiting all morning,” a girl in the crowd says. I offer up a wholesome smile. “Sorry. I was tied up.” And I was. Tied to a stake, in fact, just after the interrogators in Rheims, France (actually it was the Kaufman-Astoria Studios in Queens) grilled me, Jeanne d’Arc, about the voices I heard from angels and why I chose to wear men’s clothing.
A woman tugs the arm of her girl, maybe eight, with a crooked smile, braces, and black-rimmed glasses with unfashionably large frames. “She’d make a great angel, don’t ja think?”
I know why they’ve come. All those eager faces. All those Louis Vuitton dreams. They want to know how I made it. What it feels like, rising so quickly at such a tender age. What the ingredients are in the potion that raised me up over all the others.
The it-ness of fame.
Be careful what you wish for, is what I should tell them, tell all of you. Fame tastes like a kiss from a stranger—a really hot guy who’s got a dark side you’d better see before it’s too late. Fame will make you do the most horrible things to the people you love. It feels like a bolt of grief in my chest, a lock I’ve felt since the first day I arrived on the set.

Stephen David Hurley teaches middle school and blogs about fiction, faith and young people. You can find his blog at—you guessed it--fictionfaithandyoungpeople.com

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The Billionaire Next Door - Blog Tour and Giveaway

10/25/2016

The Billionaire Next Door
Billionaire Bad Boys #2
By: Jessica Lemmon
Releasing October 25, 2016
Forever

Can't Buy Me Love
It's Tag Crane's job to be the life of the party. Traveling from one exotic locale to another is just part of running the luxurious Crane Hotel empire. But even paradise isn't perfect. Devising a new business strategy is keeping Tag up at night-and so is the Great Dane barking at all hours in the apartment below his. To muzzle the problem, Tag charges downstairs . . . right into the most beautiful, blond distraction he's ever seen.
Dog-sitting by day, bartending by night. It's not exactly the life Rachel Foster dreamed of. But when Tag Crane rushes in, all mountain-man shoulders and obscenely sexy smile, needing her help for the Crane Hotels, it's a fantasy come true. What's the harm in a fun no-strings fling? Only a fool would give her heart to a billionaire player like Tag-until suddenly the one man who can't be caught is the one flirting with forever . .

Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2016/08/the-billionaire-next-door-billionaire.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28119766-the-billionaire-next-door
Goodreads Series Link https://www.goodreads.com/series/179156-billionaire-bad-boys

Buy Links:
Amazon | B & N | Google | iTunes | Kobo

When she reached the door, she pulled her fingers through her blond hair, and decided her visitor had earned the penalty of seeing her sloppy hair, leftover makeup, and pale blue flannel pajamas with a polar bear and snowflake design.
She turned the knob and blinked, stunned.
Holy crap, there is a mountain man at my door.
She was faced with wide, round shoulders. A waterfall of caramel-brown, slightly wavy hair cascaded down his arms. He wore a closely trimmed beard, his mouth flat beneath it. One eyebrow was arched over the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“Hello,” she managed, before jerking her gaze from his assaulting blues to take in the fitted cream-colored sweater, a pair of gray cargo pants, and laced leather boots.
He was like a sexy city lumberjack.
“Hi.”
Oh. That voice. Deep, rich, and low enough that it registered in her belly.
When his eyes dashed away from her face and he smiled, her brain turned to mush. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Not a single thing.
“There he is. Hey, buddy.” The giant knelt as Adonis meandered through the living room, pausing to do a downward-dog stretch in front of the man’s feet. The dog received a scrub on the head, and she was rewarded with more of her guest’s low voice. “You’re better today, yeah? Sleep okay?”
Meanwhile, Rachel gawked at the two of them. Her appearance was probably less put-together than the dog’s. She ran her fingers through her hair again, making it worse at this point, and straightened her pajama top futilely. There was no escaping that she looked as if she’d crawled out of bed after a late, late night.
The man stood. “Typically, Adonis has had his walk by now, but I didn’t see you at the elevator, so…”
She squinted one eye and finally her brain chugged into gear.
Oh. Oh.
Oliver had mentioned a dog walker, but Rachel had sworn he said he’d postponed the walks while she was staying here. But since he was here, he may as well take Adonis. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to go for a stroll in the snow.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She went to where the leash was hanging—on a hook inside the pantry—retrieved it, and chased Adonis for a few irritating seconds while he turned in circles in excitement. “I took him out at three in the morning, so I’m not sure if he’ll have to…you know.” Dog clipped, she handed the leash to the ridiculously good-looking man at her door. “Do you bring your own poop bags? Or do you…” The man was looking at her like she’d sprouted a third eye, so she swept the topic away with one hand. “You know what? I’ll just grab one.”
She shot him a tight smile, went back to the pantry, and returned with a bag made for Adonis’s business. She offered it to the guy, who was holding tight to Adonis’s leash while the pooch lunged for the elevator. The man didn’t budge, despite the dog’s strength.
“Where’s Oliver?” he asked.
She frowned as she crinkled the plastic bag against her body. “You mean he didn’t tell you? He’s on a business trip. I’m housesitting.”
“You his niece?” he asked after running a long gaze down then up to her face again.
She laughed. “No, not at all. He’s one of my regulars. Odd, right? But we hit it off and he likes me, so…”
The man’s frown deepened, those gorgeous eyes darkening to stormy blue. “I’m not the dog walker.” He offered the leash but Adonis stayed in the hallway rather than coming back inside. “I’m an upstairs neighbor.”
“Oh. Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” Rachel took the leash and wrestled with Adonis, who was much, much stronger than she. He knew it. The dog spread his feet wide and stood his ground on the carpeted floor.
“I suggest you find a way to keep him quiet at night while you’re out. I work from home and I can’t listen to him bark for hours.”
Hours?
“If I were anyone else, a noise complaint would be in your future. Oliver follows the rules. He wouldn’t like knowing you’re breaking a big one.” That low voice had dropped lower, the reprimand having the dual result of both pissing her off and making her feel a little tingly.
God. I need more sleep.
“No need to be rude,” she snapped. He blinked, surprised. Probably not used to being put in his place.
Look at him. He’s a wall. Who would stand up to him?
Then she remembered his kind smile, the way his hands rubbed Adonis’s flank with rugged gentleness. A shiver climbed her spine at the same time Adonis jerked hard on the leash.
She expelled a dainty “oh!” and lunged forward at the same time the man in the doorway caught the leash in one hand and her against him. Rachel found every part of her from thighs to breasts plastered to the giant’s body. Her palms flattened over two hard pectoral muscles hidden beneath the sweater, her legs bumping his legs, which felt as solid as two marble columns. She tilted her head, met those aqua blue eyes and…and…remembered she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet.
She shoved off his rock-hard stomach, slapping a palm over her mouth. Then she gave a hard tug to Adonis’s leash, who turned with a sigh and paced back inside. Once he was clear of the door, she sent the hard-bodied hunk at the threshold a glare and slammed the door in his face.
Adonis yipped his disappointment at losing the chance to go outside.
“You’ll have to take him out now!” came a shout through the door. “Don’t blue-ball the poor guy after taking him halfway.”
Adonis wagged his tail so hard, he nearly took out a lamp. The hulk at the door was right. There was no way she could turn down the Dane’s pale eyes and smiling pink mouth, perked pointy ears, and lolling tongue.
“Fine,” she growled and stomped for the bedroom. She snatched up her boots and hastily picked out her clothes, feeling both tired and cranky. Yet as she tugged on her coat, she found her mouth curving into a half-smile.
Blue balls.
Who was that guy?

A former job-hopper, Jessica Lemmon resides in Ohio with her husband and rescue dog. She holds a degree in graphic design currently gathering dust in an impressive frame. When she’s not writing super-sexy heroes, she can be found cooking, drawing, drinking coffee (okay, wine), and eating potato chips. She firmly believes God gifts us with talents for a purpose, and with His help, you can create the life you want.

Author Links:
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Top 5 Ways To Frustrate An Alpha Billionaire Bad Boy

In my new release The Billionaire Bachelor, our hero Tag Crane is having one heck of a time getting heroine Rachel Foster to comply. His tried-and-true tricks simply don’t *quite* break down this particular woman’s defenses. Which means Tag shrugs and wanders off to find a new woman to tempt, right…?
WRONG!
You know when an alpha guy finds The One, even if he doesn’t know she’s it for him yet, he digs in and tries, tries, and tries again. Which brings me to the Top 5 ways to frustrate an alpha!
Many of these Rachel does without even trying…

.5. Don’t let him pay your way. Alphas, especially rich ones, love to lavish gifts upon the object of their affection. If you want to frustrate him right down to his expensive shoes, insist on buying your own dinner. In Tag’s case, he won this battle, but it didn’t stop Rachel from arguing. Points: 1

.4. Insist on working. Tag invites Rachel to Hawaii under the guise of consulting on his latest bar upgrade for a Crane hotel on Oahu. But when he gets her there he decides he’d rather play than work… Rachel makes sure she puts in her hours whether he likes it or not. Points: 2… but -1 because she definitely makes time for play!

.3. Resist his advances. Playboy Tag Crane knows his way around a woman—and how to woo one. But whenever his cocky charm makes itself known, Rachel is sure to laugh it off. At one point, she lies and blurts, “I’m not the least bit attracted to… what you have going on.” Points: 3. Well played!

.2. Don’t react the way he expects. When Rachel opens her front door one evening to find Tag standing outside of it, he lays a long, delicious kiss on her lips. When she doesn’t respond by climbing him like a cat on a curtain, Tag is completely confused. He even thinks to himself “SURELY, she liked it?” Throwing him off-kilter comes naturally to our wily heroine. Points: 5

.1. Don’t spell things out for him. Alphas think simply. In The Billionaire Next Door, Rachel uses the phrase “Me-Tarzan, You-Jane” to describe his techniques. The best way to frustrate an alpha? Keep him guessing… You won’t only frustrate him, you’ll fascinate him. And once he’s fallen head over money clip, he’ll come running and fight to win you. Points: 10.

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Mirror Mirror - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

Mirror, Mirror
Author: Tami Lund
Genre: Paranormal

Adelle Hendrix doesn't believe in hocus pocus. She doesn't believe in happily ever after, either. So when she sees her best friend, Ben Jackson, in a supposedly enchanted mirror, she decides she's not the crazy one, the loony old gypsy woman who showed her the mirror is.
Except that crazy old woman won't leave her alone, and the more frequently she and her jack-o-lantern with the ever-changing carved faces show up, the more Adelle begins to wonder... Are she and Ben meant to be more than friends?
This book is not meant to be read by readers who are looking for a serious, boring read with a tragic ending. Only fans of funny and everlasting romance should pick this one up.

The inside of the tent was bare save for piles of silken material strewn on the floor and an elderly woman who sat in a throne-like chair, a small round table before her. A squat, grinning jack-o-lantern and a fat red candle with a bright, tall flame were perched on the table. The candle and the carved pumpkin were the only lights in the tent, but they clearly illuminated the woman who sat behind them.
The woman who, by Adelle’s judgment, looked to be approximately a thousand years old. Her face was heavily lined, her cheeks sagged, her nose was crooked. She wore a brightly colored scarf on her head, wispy gray hairs sticking out from under the silky material. Her body was covered with the same type of peasant shirt and billowing skirt that Adelle wore, except it was uncomfortably obvious she wasn’t wearing a cleavage-enhancing bra, because her breasts hung somewhere in the vicinity of her knees.
“Quit staring at me, girl. You’ll look like this someday, too, if you’re lucky.”
Lucky?
“Lucky,” the woman said, as if Adelle had repeated the word out loud. “You wanna know how many hunks I had in my day? There’s a reason I look so worn out.”

Tami Lund writes. And drinks wine. She also loves romance, and is writing happily ever afters, one book at a time.
Tami writes paranormal and contemporary romance, often with a dose of suspense. Chances are, there is a new book coming out soon. Be sure to stalk her on social media, so you know when.
And most important, if you enjoyed one of Tami's books, please let other readers know by leaving a review on the site from which you bought it. Otherwise, how will they know which book to read next?

Social Media Links:
Tami’s Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorTamiLund?ref=hl
Tami’s started a Facebook group, which highlights a different author each month, and is designed to give readers a chance to get to know authors, not just get the “hard sell:” https://www.facebook.com/groups/WineWithTami/
Follow Tami on Twitter: https://twitter.com/TamiLundAuthor
Enjoy Tami’s visual inspiration on Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/TamiLundAuthor/
And if you want to keep up with the latest and greatest, signup for Tami’s monthly newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/Tami_Lund
If you follow Tami’s Amazon author page, you’ll get an email when a new book releases: http://www.amazon.com/Tami-Lund/e/B00AXJH5MY/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1434888658&sr=8-1
Website (there’s a free read available only here, oh, and she blogs here, too!): http://tamilund.com
Oh, yeah, Instagram, too: https://instagram.com/tamilundauthor/

Links
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Tami-Lund-ebook/dp/B01KSBYV14/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8#nav-subnav
iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/mirror-mirror/id1146611981?mt=11
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/mirror-mirror-72
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mirror-mirror-tami-lund/1124439043?ean=2940153686257#productInfoTabs
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/659913

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The Power of Mortals - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

Spirit Vision 3: The Power of Mortals
Author: Morgan Straughan Comnick
Genre: Paranormal Romance

"You are the beacon of the Lord’s two worlds, but how can you protect them when you have lost your shining light?
When Stary Moon, the Spirit Warrior, awakes on the lunchroom floor of her school, battered and bloodied, she cannot recollect how she came to such a state.
Stary ignores the concerns of her best friends, Chloe, Rin, and Lauren, and continues to go on with her life, but no matter how normal her days and Spirit Warrior duties are, she feels a lingering sorrow like someone is missing from her life. Her friends discover some shocking truths about Stary and realize they’re the only ones who remembers Umbra—Stary’s boyfriend who has mysteriously gone missing. Stary’s universe crashes around her and the fate of the world rests on her shoulders. Her objective is clear, but when she leaves on this mission, there is no turning back, and she will lose one of her worlds—the mortal world of her family and friends, or the spiritual world of her duty and missing someone, for good. Still, Stary has a point to prove to this dark presence that is threatening to consume the planet: there is power from those one least expects, and Stary is prepared to risk everything on this claim."

I felt like I needed reassurance.
I clicked the volume up on our remote controlled door ringer so I could hear customers if they came in. I ventured to the back of the massive building, the walls slowly going from drywall to brick and then hard concrete. It was like I was stepping through time, the walls welcoming me to the past and yearning to tell me of their adventures as observers. When I made it to the back room, the vintage room, I was surrounded with colorful garments from the 1940’s to 1980’s, organized on racks by categories with my mom’s bright and adorable handmade signs. This popular section was my mom’s pride and joy, showing off the eras that helped raise her and inspire her loving, creative soul. Shoppers found it charming, a rare, hidden gem, and they would get authentic, period pieces for costume parties.
There was, however, one other reason this room was a sweet retreat and bitter entrapment.
That is why I was here at this moment.
Sure enough, I was not disappointed at the insanity they saw. I saw the flash of fabric at the corner of my vision despite the fact I had been staring at the floor to mentally brace myself. At turtle speed, I lifted my head at the entryway to this part of the puzzle pieced together store that was my mom’s. There, I witnessed three dresses flying in a whirlwind circle that made me dizzy. A red and white checkered hoedown dress was ripped off the display wall from a sudden gale, swirling into the crazy above me, its poor, lacey underskirt frills flapping embarrassingly. A green 80’s dress and blue bellbottoms joined the fray, this rainbow trapped in a spin cycle making my stomach clench.
Wait for the wig…
On cue, a rubber, black wig dolled up in a classy fashion was tossed into the air, the calling card for my so called troublemaker, one whose mischief needed to be managed.
“Hello Natasha.”
The wig stopped its trampoline routine, hovering three feet over from the robin-egg hued carpet. The other wigs in the costume props bin vibrated, their metal clinking like the rattling of bones. I heard something that sounded like an irritated grunt and a pouting whine, one that signaled me to continue.
I plastered my calm, nurturing smile on my face, my voice becoming breathy, patient teacher mode kicking in, “Hi Natasha, I hope you’re doing good today.” I pointed upward, grinning at the parade of dresses soaring through the air. “I’m impressed with the show you did. I know it's lonely today, but in case we get any customers, we don’t want the clothes to get ruined. Do you think you could put them down for me, please Natasha?”
There was a pause, the air heavy with her thoughts and the ectoplasma energy she was producing. A few long seconds rolled by, neither one of us backing down.

Educator of young minds by day, super nerdy savior of justice and cute things by night, Morgan Straughan Comnick has a love for turning the normal into something special without losing its essence. Morgan draws from real life experiences and her ongoing imagination to spark her writing. In her spare time, she enjoys doing goofy voices, traveling to new worlds by turning pages, humming child-like songs, and forcing people to smile with her "bubbliness." It is Morgan's mission in life to spread the amazement of otaku/Japanese culture to the world and to stop bullying; she knows everyone shines brightly.

To learn more visit at the following:
Website: http://morganscomnick.com
Facebook: bit.ly/MorganSComnick
Twitter: @MorganSComnick
Youtube Channel: Sakurastar07

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When Glass Shatters - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

Click here to join the Rafflecopter Giveaway contest!

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We are super excited to feature
WHEN GLASS SHATTERS

The new novel by J.P. Grider is a great read that promises to keep you glued to your seats from cover to cover.

When Glass Shatters is available now at Amazon.com.

When Glass Shatters Cover

About When Glass Shatters

Genre: New Adult Romance, Contemporary Romance
Publication Date: October 1, 2016

The deaths of her mother and new stepfather leave eighteen-year-old Lorraine Mattina with many challenges.

The first?

Telling her twelve-year-old siblings their worlds are about to shatter.

The second?

Asking her estranged stepbrother for help.

The deaths of his father and his father's new wife mean practically nothing to nineteen-year-old Noah Mack—until the stepsister he barely knows comes begging for help. His response? Pretty much—"Get the hell lost."

But when he can't get his new stepsister out of his mind, he goes to the extreme and gives up the NCAA Wrestling Championship title and his college education.

That's when the real problems begin.

Lorraine and Noah face many obstacles when picking up the pieces of their parents' deaths, but none as big as the secrets they keep.

When Glass Shatters is available now.
Grab your copy today!

Giveaway

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Join the giveaway contest from October 24 - 29, 2016!
Win a Signed Paperback of When Glass Shatters by J.P. Grider!

- - - - -

Get your copy of When Glass Shatters now!
Available at Amazon.com

About J.P. Grider

J.P. Grider is a New Adult and Young Adult author who is a sucker for a good love story - whether it's reading one or writing one. And when she's not reading or writing a fairy tale, she's living one.

Visit the Official J.P. Grider Blog:
http://www.jpgrider.com

Connect with J.P. Grider on Social Media:
Facebook, Twitter, Instagram

When Glass Shatters on Tour

Get more tidbits and info on When Glass Shatters from the sites below, and get more chances to win the giveaway contest!

October 24

Book Unleashed - Promo, Excerpt

EskieMama Reads - Promo, Excerpt

The Silver Dagger Scriptorium - Promo, Excerpt

The Romance Reviews - Review

Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin' - Review

October 25

Books, Dreams, Life - Promo, Review, Excerpt

Shannonbookishlife - Review

Random Thoughts of a Book Nerd - Promo, Excerpt

Country Girl Bookaholic - Promo, Excerpt, Character Interview

October 29

Romantic Fanatic - Excerpt

Life's Guilty Pleasures - Review

Delish and Yummy Book Boyfriends - Top Ten List

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Demon Assassins - Book Tour with Excerpts

10/24/2016

Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!

Witch’s Bounty
Demon Assassins Book One
By Ann Gimpel
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance

One of three remaining demon assassin witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way to kick some serious demon ass, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to England to quell a demon uprising.
Gutsy, opinionated, and outspoken, Colleen refuses to come. Witches need her help, and they trump everything else. Despite breaking a prime Sidhe precept concerning non-interference in mortals’ affairs, Duncan offers his assistance. Colleen fascinates him, and he wants to discover more about her. Lots more.
The Sidhe might be the best-looking man Colleen’s ever stumbled over, but she doesn’t have time for him—or much of anything else. She, Jenna, and Roz are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it.
Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill.

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Rain worsened from a steady drizzle to a pounding, punishing deluge of icy sleet. Colleen Kelly strengthened the spell around herself. It sizzled where it ran up against the droplets. At least she wasn't quite as wet as she would have been without its protection. Pavement glistened wetly in the last of the day's light. It was just past three in the afternoon, but December days were short in the northern latitudes and Fairbanks was pretty far north.
“At least it’s not snowing,” she muttered as she pushed through a nearby glass-fronted door into the magicians’ supply store she owned with two other witches in the older part of downtown. Bells hanging around the door pealed discordantly. She sent a small jolt of magic to silence them.
“I heard that. Not the bells, but you. It’s supposed to snow this time of year. How could you possibly be pleased the weather patterns have gone to hell?”
Jenna Neil stalked over to the coatrack where Colleen stood. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face and shrewd, hazel eyes. Jenna towered over Colleen’s six foot height by a good four inches, and her broad shoulders would’ve made most men jealous. Between her trademark high-heeled boots and a scruffy embroidered red cloak tossed over skintight blue jeans, she looked as exotic as the anti-hex hoop earrings dangling from each ear.
Colleen rolled her eyes, shook out her coat, and hung it on the rack. “Spare me your lecture about global warming, okay? It’s cold enough to snow. It just isn’t, for some reason.”
“Mmph.” The line of Jenna’s jaw tensed.
Indian spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of herbs, dried flowers, and desiccated body parts from small animals. Colleen’s stomach growled. Breakfast had been at six that morning—a long time ago. Pretty bad when even dried newt smelled like food.
“Did you cook something?” she asked. “And if you did, is there any left?”
A terse nod. Jenna turned away, walking fast. Colleen lengthened her normal stride to catch up. “Hey, sweetie. What happened? You can’t be in this big a snit over the weather.”
Jenna kept walking, heading for the small kitchen at the back of the store. “A lot of things. I was just having a cup of tea. Shop’s been dead today.” She disappeared behind a curtain.
Colleen glanced over one shoulder at the empty store. The phalanx of bells around the door would alert them if anyone stopped in. The minute she tugged the heavy, upholstery fabric that served as a kitchen door aside, the pungent tang of Irish whiskey made her eyes water. “You said tea.”
“Yeah, well I spiked it.”
Colleen grunted. “Smells like you took a bath in booze. What the fuck happened?” She grabbed the larger woman and spun her so they faced one another.
“We got another pay-your-tithe-or-die e-mail from our Coven.” Jenna’s nostrils flared in annoyance.
“So? That’s like the tenth one.” There were new policies none of them agreed with, so they’d joined with about twenty other witches and stopped paying the monthly stipend that supported their Coven’s hierarchy.
“It’s not what’s bothering me.” Jenna pulled free from Colleen, tipped her cup, and took a slug of what smelled like mostly liquor.
Colleen fought a desire to swat her. Getting to the point quickly had never been one of Jenna’s talents. She clamped her jaws together. “What is?”
“Roz called with…problems.” Jenna turned and started toward the steep staircase ladder leading to her bedroom above the shop.
“You can’t just drop that bomb and leave.” Colleen made another grab for Jenna to keep her in the kitchen. Worry for their friend ate at her. Of the three of them, Roz was by far the most volatile. “What happened? I thought she was in Missouri, or maybe it was Oklahoma, visiting that dishy dude she met online.”
“Didn’t work out.” The corners of Jenna’s mouth twisted downward.
Colleen quirked a brow, urging her friend to say more.
Jenna plowed on. “He only wanted her for her magic. Turned out he preferred men.”
“Aw, shit.” Colleen blew out a breath. “She must’ve been disappointed.”
Half a snorting laugh bubbled past Jenna’s lips. “Maybe now she is. At the time, furious would’ve been closer to the mark.”
Colleen’s throat tightened. “Crap! What’d she do? She didn’t hurt him, did she?”
“Not directly. She turned him over to the local Coven.”
“Thank God!” Colleen let go of Jenna and laid a hand over her heart. Roxanne Lantry was more than capable of killing anyone who pissed her off. It was how she ended up in Alaska. Roz hadn’t exactly been caught when her cheating husband and his two girlfriends went missing, but she hadn’t stuck around to encourage the authorities to question her, either.
Colleen and Jenna had already left Seattle when that little incident went down. Roz repressed her antipathy for Alaska’s legendary foul weather and joined them. Magically, she was strong as an ox, and she had a hell of a temper.
Colleen’s stomach growled again. Louder this time. It didn’t give a good goddamn about anything other than its empty state. She pushed past Jenna to the stove, lifted a lid, and peered into a battered aluminum pot. Curry blasted her. The spicy odor stung her eyes and made her nose run.
“Whew. Potent. Mind if I help myself?”
“Go ahead.” Jenna sat heavily in one of two chairs with a rickety wooden table between them. She picked up her mug and took another long swallow.
Dish in hand, Colleen slapped it on the table in front of the other chair and went in search of a mug of her own. There weren’t any clean ones, so she plucked one out of the sink and rinsed it. Back at the stove, she tipped the teakettle. Thick, amber liquid spilled from its stubby snout into her waiting mug. Jenna waggled the whiskey bottle in her direction.
“Nah.” Colleen settled at the table. “It would go right to my head. Maybe after I get some food on board.” She tucked in. After the first few mouthfuls, when the curry powder nearly annihilated her taste buds, the pea, potato, and ham mixture wasn’t half-bad.
Jenna drank steadily, not offering anything by way of conversation.
When Colleen’s dish was empty, she refilled her mug with tea, filched a couple of biscuits from the cupboard, and sat back down. “Are you going to talk to me?”
“I suppose so.” Jenna’s words slurred slightly.
Colleen cocked her head to one side. “I suggest you start now, before you forget how.”
“Oh, please.” Jenna blew out a breath, showering the small space with whiskey fumes. Colleen waited. The other witch could be stubborn. Wheedling, cajoling, or urging wouldn’t work until she was good and ready to talk.
Finally, after so long Colleen had nearly chewed a hole in her cheek, Jenna finally muttered, “Roz called.”
Colleen ground her teeth together. “You already said that. It’s how you knew what happened with the guy.”
Jenna nodded. “There’s more.” She picked up the whiskey, started to pour it into her mug, then apparently changed her mind and drank right from the bottle. “She’s in Seattle. Checked in with Witches’ Northwest, just to say hello, and because she wanted to touch base with people she’s known for a long time.”
Another long pause. Colleen batted back a compulsion spell. It wasn’t nice to use those on your friends. She shoved her hands under her bottom to reduce the temptation.
Jenna lowered her voice until Colleen had to strain to hear. “The Irichna demons are back.”
“But our last confrontation wasn’t all that long ago. Only a few months. Sometimes when we best them, they’ve stayed gone for years.”
Colleen shook her head. Even the sound of the word, Irichna, crackled against her ears, making them tingle unpleasantly. Irichna demons were the worst. Hands down, no contest. They worked for Abbadon, Demon of the Abyss. Evil didn’t get much worse than that. No wonder Jenna was drinking. Colleen held her hand out for the bottle—suddenly a drink seemed like a most excellent idea—and picked her words with care. “Did Roz actually sight one?”
“Yeah. She also asked if we could come and help. More than asked. She came as close to begging as I’ve ever heard her.”
“Erk. They have a whole Coven there. Several if you count all the ones in western Washington. Why do they need us?” Colleen belted back a stiff mouthful of whiskey. It burned a track all the way to her stomach where it did battle with all the curry she’d eaten.
Jenna just shot her a look. “You know why.”
Colleen swallowed again, hoping for oblivion, except it couldn’t come quick enough. She knew exactly why, but the answer stuck in her craw and threatened to choke her. The three of them were the last of a long line of demon assassins, witches with specialized powers, able to lure demons, immobilize them, and send them packing to the netherworld.
When things worked right.
They often didn’t, though, which was what killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived for a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassin ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Roz would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. So far, none of them had come anywhere close to identifying a guy who looked like husband material…
Colleen looked at her hands. Even absent a husband, none of them had a shred of domesticity. Certainly not enough to saddle themselves with offspring.
“What’s the matter?” Jenna grinned wickedly, clearly more than a little drunk. “Cat got your tongue too?”
As if on cue, a blood-curdling meow rose from a shadowed corner of the kitchen and Bubba, Colleen’s resident familiar, padded forward. When he was halfway to them, he gathered his haunches beneath him and sprang to the table. It rocked alarmingly, and Jenna made a grab for her cup. The large black cat skinned his lips back from his upper teeth, bared his incisors, and hissed.
“Oh, all right.” Colleen clamped her jaws tight and summoned the magic to shift Bubba to his primary form, a gnarled three-foot changeling.
The air shimmered around him. Before it cleared, he swiped the liquor out of her hand and drained the bottle.
“Would’ve been a good reason to leave you a cat,” Jenna mumbled.
He stood on the table and glared at both of them, elbows akimbo, bottle still dangling from his oversized fingers. “If you’re going to fight demons, you have to take me with you.”
“No, we don’t,” Colleen countered.
“You don’t follow directions well,” Jenna said pointedly.
“Isn’t that the truth?” Colleen rotated her head from side to side, starting to feel the whiskey. At least once when they’d humored the changeling, he’d almost gotten all of them killed. Problem was she couldn’t predict when he’d follow her orders, and when he’d decide on a different tack altogether. Then there were the times his fearlessness had saved them all.
Bubba might be a wildcard, but he was her wildcard.
“You forgot when I welcomed your spirit into my body—and kept it alive—while the healers worked on you.” Bubba eyed Colleen, sounding smug.
“If you hadn’t decided to play hero, and needed to be rescued, the demons wouldn’t have injured me.” Colleen winced at the sour undertone in her voice. That incident had happened five years before. Maybe it was time she got over it.
“Nevertheless.” He tossed his shaggy head, thick with hair as black as the cat’s. “When you conjured me from the barrows of Ireland, and bound me, we became a unit. You can’t go off and leave me here. It would be like leaving a part of yourself behind.” His dark eyes glittered with challenge.
“I hate to admit it—” Jenna sounded a little less drunk “—but he’s right.”
“See.” Bubba leered at them, jumped off the table, and waddled over to the stove with his bowlegged gait. Once there, he opened the oven, climbed onto its door, and peeked into the pot. He started to stick a hand inside.
“Hold it right there, bud.” Colleen got to her feet, covered the distance to the stove, and dished him up some of the curry mixture. “Get some clothes on and you can have this.”
He clambered down from his perch and over to several colorful canisters scattered around the house where she stashed outfits for him. Keeping Bubba clothed had been a huge problem until she’d hatched up a plan, and sewn him several pant and shirt combos with Velcro closures, since he didn’t like buttons or zippers.
The changeling dressed quickly and took the bowl from her. “I could’ve gotten my own food.”
“Better for the rest of us if you keep your paws out of the cook pot.” Jenna stood a bit unsteadily. “I’ll be right back.”
Bubba stuffed food into his mouth with his fingers. “Where’s she going?” His words came out garbled as he chewed open-mouthed.
Colleen looked away. “Probably to pee. Maybe to throw up. Um, look, Bubba, it might be wiser if we took a quick side trip to Ireland and released you.”
She glanced sidelong at the changeling spirit she’d summoned during a major demon war forty years before. He’d been truly helpful then, especially after he’d mastered English, which hadn’t taken him all that long. In the intervening time, he’d mostly clung to his feline form, eating and keeping their shop free of mice and rats. They’d lived in Seattle the first ten years or so after he joined them, relocating to Alaska to conceal their longevity. She dragged the heels of her hands down her face, feeling tired. It was getting close to time to move again, but she didn’t want to think about it.
Bubba shook his head emphatically. Food flew from the sides of his mouth. He scooped a glob off the floor and ate it anyway. “I have to agree to being released. I don’t want to go back to my barrow. I like it much better here.”
Colleen sucked in a hollow breath, blew it out, and did it again. Bubba was right. Rules were rules. He’d had a choice at the front end. He could’ve refused her. Witches respected all living creatures. The ones on the good side of the road, anyway. No forced servitude for their familiars, despite rumors to the contrary.
Jenna lurched back into the kitchen looking a little green. “You okay?” Colleen asked.
“Yeah. I drank too much, that’s all.” She rinsed her mug at the sink, refilled it with tap water, and sat back down. “Did you two come up with a plan?”
“I’m going.” Bubba left his dish on the floor and vaulted back onto the table.
Jenna rolled red-rimmed eyes. “That was the discussion when I left.”
“Your point?” Colleen swallowed irritation.
“Nothing.” The other witch sounded sullen, but maybe she just didn’t feel well.
“I offered to free him—” Colleen began.
“I refused,” Bubba cut in. He shook his head. “No recognition for all my years of loyal service. Tsk. You should be—”
“Stuff it.” Jenna glared at him. “We have bigger problems than your wounded ego.”
He stuck out his lower lip, looking injured as only a changeling spirit could, but he didn’t say anything else.
“I suppose we have to go to Seattle,” Colleen muttered, half to herself.
“Don’t see any way around it.” Jenna worried her lower lip between her teeth.
“What exactly did Roz say?”
“We didn’t talk long. Her cellphone battery was almost dead.” A muscle twitched beneath Jenna’s eye. “She’d just stopped in at Coven Headquarters and the group mobbed her. Said we had to come. They’ve already lost about twenty witches to stealth demon attacks.”
Colleen’s heart skipped a few beats. Twenty witches was a lot. Maybe a quarter of the Witches’ Northwest Coven. “Crap. When did the attacks start?”
“Only a few days ago. They’d planned to call us, but saw it as goddess intervention when Roz showed up.”
“Damn that Oklahoma cowboy.” Colleen pounded a fist into her open palm. “If his Coven doesn’t flatten him, I will.”
“He wasn’t a cowboy.” Jenna’s voice held a flat, dead sound. “He was supposed to be a witch. You know, like us.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do you want to close things up here, or should I try to get someone from our Coven to fill in at the shop?” Jenna looked pale, but the tipsy aspect had left her face.
Colleen shook her head. “We haven’t sold enough in the last few weeks to make it worthwhile to pay someone to clerk for us.”
“Okay.” Jenna’s hazel eyes clouded with worry. “When do you want to leave?”
“If you asked Witches’ Northwest, we probably should’ve left three days ago.”
“How are we getting there?” Bubba squared his hunched shoulders as much as he could and eyed Colleen.
“Excellent question.” Jenna looked at Colleen too.
She raised her hands in front of her face, palms out. “Stop it, you two. I can’t deal with the pressure.” Colleen clamped her jaws together and considered their options. Roz already had a car in Seattle. It didn’t make sense to drive their other one down, plus it would take too long. Flying with Bubba was impossible. He looked too odd in his gnome form and his cat form didn’t do well with the pressure changes. They had to teleport, which would seriously deplete their magic and mean they couldn’t fight so much as a disembodied spirit for at least twenty-four hours after they arrived.
Jenna screwed her face into an apologetic scowl, apparently having come to the same conclusion. “Look, I’m sorry I’m not more help. There’s something about that particular mix of earth, fire, and air that I always bungle.”
Air whistled through Colleen’s teeth. It had been so long since they’d teleported anywhere, she’d almost forgotten Jenna’s ineptitude with the requisite spell. “How about this? You go down to the basement and practice. I’ll get a few things together…”
“What do you want me to do?” Bubba asked.
“You can help me,” Jenna said. “I’ll do better if I have an object to practice with.”
The changeling scrunched his low forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “Just don’t get me lost.”
“Even if she does, I’ll be able to find you.” Colleen tried to sound reassuring. She was fond of her familiar. In many ways, he was very childlike.
Heh! Maybe that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to have a kid. I already have one who’ll never grow up.
The bells around the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her feet. “First customer in two days. I should’ve locked the damn door.”
“Back to cat form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt and pants and dropped them back into the canister.
“I say,” a strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?”
“I’ll take care of the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.”
She got to her feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store for their customer.
A tall, powerfully built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue. Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong magic.
What was he?
And then she knew. Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost hurt to look at him.
Colleen held her ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her chest. “What can I help you with?”
“Colleen Kelly?”
Okay, so he knows who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could’ve plucked my name right out of my head.
“That would be me. How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her lips.
“Time is short. I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.”

Witch’s Bane
Demon Assassins Book 2

Last of the demon assassin witches, Roz, Jenna, and Colleen have escaped disaster so far, but their luck is running low. Demons strike in the midst of Colleen’s wedding, and Roz launches desperate measures. As she shape-shifts to keep one step ahead of evil, at least it takes her mind off her other problems. Personal ones. She burned through a couple of marriages and hooked up with a string of loser men before, after, and in between. Though she wants to be happy for Colleen, the jealousy bug bit deep and hasn’t let go.
In Roz’s secret heart, she’s attracted to Ronin, one of the Daoine Sidhe. He’s so profanely beautiful she can barely breathe around him, but he’s also headstrong and arrogant. Not good partner material—unless she wants to end up dusting her heart off one more time.
Ronin set his sights on Roz the day he met her, and he can’t get her out of his mind. Unfortunately, she’s so prickly getting close to her requires scheming. He casts an enchantment to lure her at Colleen’s wedding, but she senses the spell and calls him on it. Demons swarm out of the ether before he can come up with another strategy. Killing them trumps everything.
Roz is used to calling the shots. So is Ronin. Sparks fly. Tempers run hot, right along with an attraction too heady to ignore.

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Roxanne Lantry—Roz to everyone who knew her—paced up and down the sodden lawn outside the huge old Victorian that housed the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. Rain pelted her from beneath a gunmetal sky, but it was better out here than inside. She fought an unfamiliar thickening at the back of her throat and balled her hands into fists.
“I will not cry,” she muttered to an inquisitive ground squirrel that ran across her boot tops, but telling herself and controlling her emotions were two different things.
One of her two best friends, Colleen Kelly, would be getting married in less than half an hour. Roz had been inside, in the midst of all the bride-craziness, but seeing Colleen swathed in cream-colored lace sent her into a tailspin.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She kicked at a hummock of grass and yelped when it didn’t move, but the pain from her stubbed toes helped her focus. If she was honest, not an easy task when men were involved, she knew exactly what was bothering her.
“Yeah,” she mouthed the words, lecturing herself. “Two failed marriages and a whole bunch of loser dudes before, after, and in between. I’m jealous and I need a good, swift boot in the backside. Just because Colleen finally stumbled across Mr. Right doesn’t lower my odds of ever finding someone who’s gorgeous and magical and worships me.”
Now if I could only believe that…
Roz was happy for Colleen and Duncan, the Daoine Sidhe she was marrying. They made a great couple, but surely there was enough connubial bliss in the universe to sprinkle a little her way too. Her last go-round with a strikingly handsome Oklahoman she’d met online had ended in fireworks when he’d admitted all he really wanted was to tap into her magical ability. When the rubber met the road, he didn’t even like women. Her stomach churned. She hated being made a fool of. She’d turned the guy in to his Coven for false advertising and laying a trap to delude a fellow magic wielder, but she doubted they’d done much to censure him.
Water dripped off her nose. She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward, but the rain kept on dripping. Roz shook her fist at the low-hanging clouds, recognizing it for displacement activity. What she really wanted to do was pound her fist through the Oklahoman’s nice, straight nose.
Enough of this. Give it a rest. That happened months ago.
For Christ’s sake, I need to get moving, go inside, and trade my jeans and serape for fancy duds.
Roz took a few deep breaths to settle her angst. She couldn’t show her tear-stained face to the world. She’d never live it down. When she closed her eyes, the Oklahoma asshole formed behind her lids, taunting her. Roz clenched her jaw and summoned a calming spell. It seemed like cheating, but time was short. As the wispy edges of magic caught her up, they soothed her frazzled nerves and she turned hard right and headed for the house at a brisk trot.
She, Colleen, and Jenna Neil were the last of a long line of demon assassins. Witches with specialized powers, they lured Irichna demons, immobilized them, and sent them packing to the netherworld. When things worked right, she and her sister witches—along with Colleen’s familiar—shanghaied the demons and locked them behind the gate guarding the Ninth Circle of Hell.
The demons didn’t go without a fight, though, which was what had killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassination ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Colleen would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. None of them had a shred of domesticity, so no one had signed up for motherhood. At least not yet.
I can’t put two weeks together without a major demon battle these days. How the hell could I take time off to raise a kid?
Rain ran down her neck and Roz shivered. Thinking about demons chilled her bones. Realizing she’d stopped walking, she plodded toward the house again and forced her thoughts to the magicians’ supply store she owned with Colleen and Jenna in Fairbanks, Alaska.
The other two witches had moved there months ahead of her. She hated the idea of all that snow and cold and winter nights that lasted twenty hours, but she’d boxed herself into a dicey situation and hadn’t had much choice. Her temper, never very controllable on a good day, had gotten the better of her, and she made short work of her cheating husband and his two—yup, count ’em—girlfriends. After that, she’d packed up and headed her aging Subaru north. Next stop, Fairbanks…
That had happened a few years ago. So many, it was almost time to move on before anyone noticed she and the other witches didn’t seem to grow any older.
Roz shook her head, not wanting to go there, either. She forced her mind back to the special skill she shared with Colleen and Jenna. She hated to admit it, but demons held the high cards these days, and she had no idea how to even the odds.
Aren’t I just the queen of cheerful?
She gave herself a mental shake with instructions to snap out of her funk.
Roz made it to the huge house and tugged on one of the ground level doors. When it didn’t open, she hit it with a jolt of magic, and the deadbolt snicked aside. She stopped long enough to shake water off her and then loped down a long corridor with a concrete floor toward one of the old mansion’s many stairwells. Fluorescent lights, recessed into the ceiling, gave off a sickly yellow gleam that matched her sour mood.
She’d just begun climbing upward when a rush of footsteps sounded from the hallway below.
“There you are,” Bubba, Colleen’s familiar, cried out and leapt up the stairs after her.
Roz glanced over a shoulder and saw he was in his normal form: a three-foot-tall changeling with oversized feet, long arms, and a bow-legged gait. His shaggy, black hair had been brushed until it shone, and his dark eyes glittered mischievously. Colleen had a hell of a time keeping him dressed, but today he sported black pants and a black jacket over a white shirt.
“Yes,” Roz countered, still feeling out of sorts. “Here I am. The question is why aren’t you upstairs with everyone else?”
“Colleen got worried. She sent me to hunt you down.” Bubba crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself.
Roz rolled her eyes. “Bubba, look—”
“Uh-uh.” He uncrossed his arms and waggled a finger at her. “Niall. Remember, you all promised to use my real name from now on.”
“So we did. Crap! I don’t have time for this.” She unkinked her neck and trudged upward.
“No kidding,” he agreed. “Everyone’s here, and you’re not even dressed yet.”
Rather than focus on her shortcomings, Roz changed the subject. “You’re looking pretty spiffy, bud.”
“Do you like it?”
“What I saw of it. It’s sort of like a black tuxedo, but with Velcro instead of buttons.”
“I hate buttons.”
Roz grinned in spite of herself. “I know you do, sweetie.”
She came to the third floor landing and pushed the stairwell door open, holding it for the changeling. “Run and tell Colleen I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for an answer, she walked briskly halfway down the long hall and let herself into her bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she unlaced her wet boots and toed them off. Next she shucked her sodden clothes, ducked into the bathroom, and gathered strands of coal black hair, pulling it into a ponytail with both hands. Once she had her hair together, she wrapped her head in a towel. She didn’t believe in hair dryers, so once she’d soaked as much water as she could into the towel, she grabbed her comb, made several sections, and plaited her knee-length, straight-as-a-stick hair, weaving it into a pseudo-French braid.
Before she left the bathroom, she inspected her face in the mirror. She never wore makeup because it made her look like a clown. Her bronzed skin and stark bone structure declared her Native American blood more clearly than words could have. She smoothed her eyebrows with a few drops of water and considered which of two outfits to wear. Colleen had said it didn’t matter to her, so long as Roz didn’t show up in her usual tattered blue jeans and combat boots.
With a snort of amusement, she padded back into the bedroom and pulled a long, beaded black buckskin skirt off a hanger. She stepped into it and laced the side fastening. Next came a turquoise deerskin top, also beaded, that clung to her like a second skin. In addition to not bothering with makeup, she also didn’t care for underthings, so the outline of her breasts was clearly visible through the soft leather. She slipped a heavy silver and turquoise necklace over her head, arranging her braid on top of it, and grabbed a matching ring off the dresser.
The only thing left was her moccasins. Roz wriggled her feet into them, enjoying the way the deerskin warmed and hugged her feet. Jenna always wore high heels, but Roz had never understood how she could tolerate them. They’d had a few heated discussions years ago before Roz finally gave up.
“To each her own,” she told the mirror. Satisfied she looked presentable, she focused the threads of her calming spell, strengthened it a bit to make certain she’d last through the ceremony without breaking down and bawling like an idiot, and let herself into the hallway.
The buzz of a crowd reached her from the main floor. She glanced toward the stairs and then the other way, wondering if Colleen was still up here. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to find out, she walked two doors down and knocked. The door flew open almost immediately and she looked into an accusing set of pale blue eyes.
“It’s about fucking time,” Colleen exclaimed. Auburn hair with lily of the valley woven into it swirled around her, falling to waist level. At six feet, Colleen was normally a good four inches shorter than Roz, but today she wore heels and they were of a height.
“Huh?” Roz murmured, confused. “I almost went downstairs. I had no idea you were waiting for me.”
“We’d planned to all go down together.” Colleen sounded sullen. “You know, like a proper wedding party.”
“If we were all that proper,” Roz said, “Jenna and I would be wearing matching—”
Jenna made chopping motions with both hands and unfolded her well-rounded frame from off the bed. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face with shrewd, hazel eyes. Rather than her standard, thrift store couture, today she wore a short beige silk skirt, a lacy blouse, and her trademark high-heeled boots. Huge, golden hoops graced her ears.
She walked to Roz’s side and looped an arm through hers. “Don’t think anything of it. The bride—” she waved an airy hand Colleen’s way “—has been antsy as a scalded cat all day.”
Colleen closed her teeth together with an audible clack. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.”
Roz and Jenna turned to stare at her. “What?” Jenna asked, incredulous.
“Hey, if you don’t want him—” Roz began.
“No shit,” Jenna interrupted. “Tall, blond, drop dead gorgeous. Those green eyes are to die for and those shoulders.” She made panting noises. “The couple of times I saw him without a shirt, I almost came just watching his muscles rustle beneath his skin when he walked.”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “You two are impossible. Can’t a bride have a case of jitters without her two closest friends turning into vultures?”
“No.” Roz looked down her nose at Colleen. “Considering how long and hard I’ve hunted for decent partner material…” She let her words trail off before the extent of her jealousy leaked out.
The door blew inward and Bubba marched in, hands on his hips. “Come on. Everyone’s ready.” He lowered his voice, but not by much. “I think Duncan’s worried that you—” he pointed at Colleen “—got cold feet.”
“She nearly did,” Jenna muttered.
“Aw, crap. Guess I need to go tell everyone the wedding’s off.” Bubba did an about face, but before he could sprint through the open door, Colleen snatched him up.
“You’ll do no such thing.” She swallowed audibly. “I’m ready. I guess.”
“Let go of me.” Bubba writhed in her grasp.
“Not before you promise to keep your mouth shut.”
Roz smirked. Circumspection was not exactly the changeling’s long suit. She walked to Bubba’s other side. “I’ll take him.” She held out her arms.
“I can walk,” the changeling said with a great deal of dignity, “as soon as Colleen lets go of me.”
“You haven’t promised,” Colleen said. “Please, sweetie. It’s important to me. A girl needs to have some things stay private.”
He blew out an annoyed sounding breath. “All right. I promise.” Colleen relaxed her grip. Shaking himself like a dog might have, the gnome-like changeling chuckled. “Too bad. Something like that’s a prime piece of gossip.”
Colleen broke into a broad grin. “Right up your alley, eh?”
Roz made shooing motions. “Let’s get going. You don’t want all that food the Sidhe catered to get cold do you?”
“I don’t care about food,” Colleen mumbled. “I’m so nervous I probably won’t be able to eat a thing.”
“Well I do,” Jenna said. “I’m with Roz. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Have a couple belts of whiskey,” Roz suggested. “It’ll do wonders for your nerves.”
The hallway air brightened and shimmered. When it cleared, Titania, Queen of Faerie, shook floor-length silvery hair out of her ice blue eyes and pushed it over her shoulders. A diaphanous gown, more jewels than fabric, floated around her tall, thin frame. “Is there some problem?” she inquired with asperity, and her gaze zeroed in on Colleen.
Colleen half curtseyed.
Roz considered it, but didn’t because Titania wasn’t her queen.
“No problem at all.” Colleen inclined her head. “We were just on our way.”
The Queen of Faerie’s severe expression softened. “Thank the goddess. For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to break Duncan’s heart.” She strode forward and thumped Colleen’s chest with a bony forefinger. “If you ever hurt that boy, I’ll hunt you down and make you very sorry.”
“That boy—” Colleen held the queen’s gaze “—is a thousand-year-old man.”
Titania furled her perfect silver brows. “Details. Besides, it’s rude to contradict me. Privilege of age and rank and all that. Let’s go. I haven’t performed a marriage in centuries. I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Colleen’s eyes widened. “I thought Naomi, the leader of this Coven, was going to join Duncan and me.”
“We both have roles to play.” Titania’s mouth twitched. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let one of my own be bound in marriage without my magic involved.”
“I have no idea what I thought,” Colleen managed, but she looked ready to throttle the queen.
Before things got any tenser and Colleen started in about it being her wedding, Roz herded them out the door and down the hallway. Colleen stopped for a moment at the head of the stairway, tension rolling off her in waves.
Roz wrapped an arm around her. “It will be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” After a quick hug, she let go.
As if those six words did the trick—or maybe it was the hug—Colleen swept down the long, curved staircase, looking regal. Roz, Jenna, and Titania jostled one another as they made their way down the twenty-five steps. Bubba made an end run around them and fell in behind Colleen, where he picked up her lace train.
They marched through the dining area where caterers and witches bustled about laying out a spread of food that smelled delicious, into a large, luxurious room that took up much of the bottom floor of the old Victorian. At one point, they’d talked about having the ceremony outside, but the weather put the kibosh on that idea. Roz wondered why they’d wasted their breath even considering an out-of-doors event. It was the winter solstice in Seattle. She bet there’d never been one when it wasn’t raining like crazy—or snowing.
Chairs lined the wood-paneled great room, and a fire burned merrily in a huge stone fireplace that took up one end of the sumptuous space. Old-fashioned chandeliers were festooned with hundreds of blazing candles. Witches sat on one side of a center aisle, Daoine Sidhe on the other. Roz guessed between three and four hundred people were in attendance—more Sidhe than witches. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at Colleen, and a collective aaaaah surged through the room.
Roz clamped down on a grin. Colleen really did make a lovely bride, with her Irish complexion and red tresses. The creamy lace dress was perfect. White would have made her look washed out. Titania strode around all of them and took her place at the head of the room. Roz noted with amusement that Naomi held her ground when Titania tried to push her to one side.
Before she and Jenna left Colleen to find their seats, her gaze landed on Duncan—Lord Regis—and her heart nearly stopped. All Sidhe had an ethereal beauty, but Duncan practically glowed. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crimson cummerbund and diamond studs, he cut an impressive figure with his high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and strong jaw. Longish blond hair had been braided in tight rows, but the severe style suited him and make him look like an ancient warrior.
Roz averted her gaze, afraid he’d catch her staring, but he only had eyes for his bride. She said a quick prayer asking the goddess’s blessing on their union and turned toward the witches’ side of the room.
Because Ronin came up from her other side, she didn’t notice the Sidhe leader until he wove an arm around her shoulders. “I saved you a chair next to me.”
Her heart slammed into double-time rhythm. She’d met Ronin two weeks before at his castle in northern England, and they’d shared several spirited conversations over meals. Something magical and electric had sparked between them, but she’d chalked it up to everyone’s emotions running full tilt. She’d just escaped demons by the skin of her teeth, and he was dealing with shame or guilt—or whatever he felt—about forcing witches into being demon assassins two centuries before. While his attentiveness had been welcome—and more than a little flattering—she’d been more focused on her relief at being alive than anything else. Besides, after the Oklahoman, she’d sworn off men—forever.
Ronin smiled, not looking anything but glad to see her, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop, in addition to beating much too fast. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his blue eyes twinkled warmly. Every bit as handsome as Duncan, he was dressed in formal clothing, black with a blue cummerbund, and what might have been ruby studs.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to sit over there.” She gestured in the general direction of the witches’ side of the room.
“No one will notice,” he assured her and hooked his hand beneath her arm.
Roz didn’t fully understand why she let him guide her to a padded straight-backed chair near the front of the room and help her into it, but there was something irresistible about his energy. Too late, she recognized a mild compulsion spell. Anger spiked, but now wasn’t the place to give in to it. With every shred of self-discipline at her disposal, she forced her attention to Duncan and Colleen reciting their vows, and to Naomi, who’d muscled her way in before Titania could get rolling.
When Ronin draped an arm around her shoulders, she shot him a harsh look that made him move it damned fast. Good, she thought. It’s about time the Sidhe realize their days of pushing witches around are over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and he seemed interested in her, but the last thing she needed was some overbearing mage mucking things up. She still wasn’t quite certain how Colleen’s marriage to Duncan would impact her and Jenna. They’d always been kind of like The Three Musketeers, demon style. The permanent addition of a Sidhe was bound to have some effect. Exactly what was hard to gauge.
Who am I kidding? We didn’t just get Duncan. We’re stuck with his kinfolk now too. All of them.
She bit back a sigh. If the series of meetings a couple of weeks before in the U.K. was any indication, she, Jenna, and Colleen would have to fight to be recognized as anything remotely close to equal.
Roz snuck a glance at Ronin. He sat straight in his seat, his profile heartbreakingly beautiful. His long-fingered hands were clasped together in his lap. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what they’d feel like stroking her body. Warm. Electric. Compelling.
Maybe I should give him a chance, a tiny, inner voice piped up.
Bosh.
Roz tried for a stern note, but the other part of her brain wouldn’t shut up.

Witches Rule
Demon Assassins Book 3

Jenna’s a special witch, sort of, when her magic works, which it often doesn’t. One of three remaining demon assassins, she and her sister witches, Roz and Colleen, are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. On the heels of Roz’s and Colleen’s weddings, Jenna is headed for the U.K. when a demon confronts her. Any other witch could teleport out of the plane, but not her.
Frustration about her limited power eats at her. It would be pathetic to get killed for lack of skills a teenager could master.
Tristan is a Sidhe warrior, but his primary gift is attunement to others’ emotions. He fell hard for Jenna, but hasn’t had an opportunity to act on their attraction beyond a few kisses because she returned to Alaska, and he’s been in the field fighting demons.
As seer for the Sidhe, Kiernan is haunted by visions, particularly an apocalyptic sending that seems to be coming true. A confirmed bachelor, he doesn’t understand his attraction to Jenna, but it’s so strong he can’t fight it. After a while, he doesn’t even try, despite recognizing Tristan’s claim to her.
Startling truths surface about Jenna’s magic, and then there’s the problem that she’s falling in love with two very different men. At first she believes she has to pick one of them, but her spirit refuses to walk away from either. It’s impossible to choose between a seer with dreams in his eyes and a beautiful man who intuits her every need. Standing on the verge of Earth’s destruction, will she defy convention and follow the song in her heart?

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Jenna Neil sank heavily onto her airplane seat and kicked off her high heels, shoving them beneath the seat in front of her. With a small sigh of relief, she rotated her ankles to take the pressure off her aching arches. She’d always loved heels—the higher the better—and insisted on wearing them, never mind they definitely lacked a comfort factor. Once she’d shot past six feet, she figured it didn’t matter if she added a few inches to her already overbearing height.
A flight attendant leaned over to hand her a pillow and blanket. Jenna tucked the pillow behind her head as she listened to the safety briefing and estimates of their arrival time in London.
She closed her eyes, but it didn’t ease how tired and gritty they felt, and smoothed her too-short denim skirt down her thighs. A red wool sweater and matching denim jacket finished off her outfit. She’d been so excited about getting out of Alaska and away from the layers she was forced to wear through the winter, she’d probably underdressed for the current jaunt. Less trendy clothes were tucked in her checked luggage, but they weren’t exactly accessible.
The last few days hadn’t offered much opportunity for rest. She, Colleen Kelly-Regis, and Roxanne Lantry-Redstone—Roz to everyone who knew her well—were the last of the demon assassin witches. Having escaped Irichna demons by a ridiculously narrow margin—again—the three of them were on their way to the U.K. where they could do it all over again.
Jenna grinned ruefully. Demons running amok through the British countryside had thrown witches and the Daoine Sidhe together after two hundred years of enmity. It had also netted impossibly hunky husbands for her sister witches, but that was beside the point. Staying alive was a much more front and center problem.
Because Irichna demons had become so much more aggressive, everyone but her thought it would be best to travel separately. She hadn’t agreed, but she’d been the one dissenting vote. As far as Jenna was concerned, there was always strength in numbers, but the others were convinced their current strategy would confuse the demons long enough for everyone to regroup on the eastern side of the Atlantic. Colleen and Roz were teleporting with their husbands. Niall, Colleen’s Irish changeling familiar, was making his own way back home along with two Scottish changelings, Llyr and Krae. Jenna had never been much good at teleporting, so she’d opted to fly commercial. It would place her arrival at least twelve hours after everyone else, but she could live with that. At least the first leg of her journey, from Fairbanks to Seattle, and thence to New York, had been uneventful.
Thinking about Irichna made her shiver, so she unfolded her blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Demons didn’t get much worse than Irichna. As Abbadon’s chosen henchmen, they played for keeps, and Abbadon was the biggest and baddest of Hell’s denizens, so nothing was off limits. Demon assassin witches had been a craw in his throat for a long time, and lately he’d upped the ante to get rid of them—permanently.
Them means me, and I’d do well not to forget that.
Jenna blew out a weary breath. One of her not-so-distant ancestors had been forced into demon containment two hundred years ago by the Sidhe, breaking every rule that bound magic-wielders, but the Sidhe hadn’t cared. In the intervening years, demons had managed to kill every single witch with demon-assassin ability—except for her, Roz, and Colleen. The Sidhe were primed to take back some responsibility for ferrying Irichna to the Ninth Circle of Hell where the gatekeeper locked them away, but that hadn’t exactly happened yet.
She gritted her teeth and unclenched hands she’d balled into fists around the edge of the thin airline blanket. The aircraft backed out of its slip and headed for one of the many runways at JFK Airport. While it would be lovely to have help with the demons, working with the Sidhe held its own set of problems. For one thing, most of them were insufferably autocratic, which was how Jenna’s great-grandmother had ended up being suckered into picking up the demon banner in the first place.
Even though Titania, Queen of Faerie, appeared marginally tolerant of Colleen’s and Roz’s marriages to Sidhe now, she’d given Duncan quite a bit of grief over his proposed marriage to Colleen at the front end of things. By the time Ronin, the de facto Sidhe leader, made it clear he’d set his sights on Roz, Titania had backed down a few notches, probably because they were beset by Irichna.
Jenna thinned her lips into a hard line. Hundreds of years before, Ronin’s human partner had died in childbirth, and the child along with her. Apparently, both the Queen and King of Faerie made it clear Ronin had sunk himself by choosing to marry someone outside his race. In the face of their indifference, Ronin had carried his grief alone.
It’s just like it is with humans. Everybody’s got to have somebody to look down on…
Jenna tamped back a cynical grin. The Sidhe had made strides accepting other races, but they had a way to go before they moved beyond their intolerant past.
Jenna pictured her friends’ husbands, and a small sigh escaped. Like all the Daoine Sidhe, Duncan Regis and Ronin Redstone were heartbreakingly stunning. Duncan’s blond good looks and green eyes provided a counterpart for Ronin’s dark hair and deep blue gaze. When Jenna scratched the surface and did a little soul-searching, she had to admit she’d never expected to find a permanent partner. Girls like her—well rounded and obscenely tall—weren’t exactly in demand. Colleen was beautiful with her waist length auburn hair and pale blue eyes, and Roz was unusual and striking. Her Native American heritage and long, lean frame turned heads whenever she passed by.
Guess I’m the odd witch out these days…
Jenna pressed her lips together. It remained to be seen how her friends’ marriages would impact their lives. Some things would have to change because she couldn’t quite envision Duncan and Ronin simply moving in to her Fairbanks, Alaska, home along with their new wives. For one thing, all the Sidhe maintained amazing abodes in the U.K. Places that resembled castles more than houses.
Jenna reined in her thoughts. There were a lot of unknowns, but the main problem would be surviving the next few weeks. Once they got the Irichna on the run—if that were even possible—then she could figure out more prosaic things, like if she’d be the only one still living in Fairbanks and running their magicians’ supply shop. Before the thought even finished forming, she knew that arrangement wouldn’t work. She, Roz, and Colleen had to stay together, and if the others insisted on remaining in the U.K., well then she wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. If she returned to Alaska by herself, she’d be a sitting duck for Irichna to swoop down and overpower her.
She shivered again and considered asking for a second blanket.
In an attempt to divert herself and maybe unwind, though it seemed unlikely, Jenna started to push her seat back and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to quite yet. The plane’s engines were revving, but they hadn’t left the ground. She heard the captain instruct the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for takeoff and tried to relax in her plush first-class seat. If the goddess was good to her, maybe she’d catch a few hours of sleep before the plane landed.
A flurry of supernatural energy caught the edges of her attention, and Jenna’s gut twisted into a sour knot. She sat up straight and craned her neck to scan the cabin, defensive magic at the ready. Her eyes widened in disbelief as Krae’s unmistakable form shimmered into being, and the changeling bounded into the empty seat next to Jenna. Her long, bright red hair hung loose, and her eyes shone like emeralds. Krae’s stocky body was draped in wide-bottomed green silk pants and an embroidered black tunic. As was usual with changelings, her feet were bare. The creatures drew their power from the earth, and Jenna assumed they didn’t want layers of leather or rubber or neoprene between themselves and their magical well. With their three-foot height, broad shoulders, and longish arms, they looked like a missing link between humans and the great apes.
“What are you doing here?” Jenna kept her voice low.
“Don’t worry,” Krae replied, not exactly answering Jenna’s question. “No one can see me except you.”
“Where are Niall and Llyr?”
“Niall joined Colleen and Duncan, and Llyr is with Roz and Ronin.”
Of course, why didn’t I think of that?
Jenna cleared her throat. “Why did you make different plans?”
Krae cocked her head to one side and crinkled her gnome-like face, making her look even more outlandish. “We discussed it and decided you might need help.” A corner of her mouth curved into a frown. “Personally, I thought it was a bit overdrawn, but Niall was most insistent about remaining with Colleen.”
“Can he join her teleport spell after it’s already set in motion?” Jenna was curious, but if Krae could teleport into this aircraft, maybe the other two could tap into a spell she’d always considered sacrosanct.
“Not directly, but he communicated with Colleen telepathically, and she altered her destination to pick him up. Llyr did the same with Roz and Ronin.” Krae dusted her palms together and grinned. “Nothing easier.” The changeling swept her agate-green gaze around the first-class cabin. “When will they feed us?”
“As soon as we pass through ten thousand feet, which won’t be long since we just took off.” Jenna paused for a beat. “If you weren’t thrilled about the plans to get to the U.K., why didn’t you speak up back in Alaska?”
“We did. No one listened to us. Roz and Ronin were so wrapped up in lust and pawing at each other, all they wanted to do was get to his manor house as fast as they could.”
“Well, they did just get married,” Jenna pointed out in defense of her friend. “And I don’t recall anyone but me voicing concerns about splitting up to travel.”
“That’s because you weren’t paying attention, either. Look, sweetie, if the Irichna win, no one will be tupping anyone.” Despite being much shorter than Jenna, the changeling managed to send a withering glance her way.
“Point taken.” Jenna shot an equally scathing glance back. “Next time, if you feel strongly about something and no one’s paying attention, talk louder.”
“Rehashing the past is a waste of time.” Krae bounced up and down in her seat. Jenna considered telling her to fasten her seatbelt, but if no one could see her, there wasn’t much point. “Be sure to take everything they offer foodwise,” the changeling instructed. “I’m hungry.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem since I’m not.” Jenna lapsed into silence.
“Why so glum, witchy girl?” Krae trained her ancient eyes, which probably didn’t miss a trick, on Jenna.
“Oh, no particular reason.” Jenna stifled a snort and rolled her eyes. “I find facing death several times a day downright exhilarating.”
A bell sounded, and the fasten seat belt icon winked out. Moments later, the first-class cabin flight attendant leaned close. “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jenna snapped and then winced at how surly she sounded.
“I heard you talking and thought maybe you needed something.” The flight attendant smiled encouragingly. Airlines had moved past using Barbie clones long since, and this woman was middle-aged with streaks of gray in her dark, shoulder-length hair, the beginnings of wrinkles around her blue eyes, and a kind expression.
“Food,” Krae prodded, not bothering with telepathic speech.
“Thanks for being concerned.” Jenna managed a genuine smile for the cabin attendant. “I am hungry, so snacks would be appreciated whenever you get around to serving.”
“Of course.” The woman smiled back. “I’m Suzanne.” She tapped the nametag hanging around her neck. “Just press your call button if you need anything. Other than that, relax and enjoy your flight.”
“You could’ve been a bit more assertive about our dinner,” Krae complained.
“I’m guessing they can’t hear you, either.” Jenna switched to telepathic speech.
“Of course they can’t.” Krae blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “Look, witchy-girl, draw a spot of magic and shield your speech. That way no one will bother us, and we can talk.”
Feeling like an idiot because she hadn’t come up with the idea herself, Jenna drew the requisite spell before she spoke again. “I was actually hoping to sleep.”
“You can do that after we eat and talk.”
Jenna turned to face the changeling and raised a quizzical brow. “This is starting to sound bigger than you. Whose idea was it for the three of you to split up, and for you to join me?”
Krae’s generous mouth twitched into a grin, and she jabbed a finger in the air between them. “Smart witch.”
“You didn’t exactly answer me.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Jenna pressed her tongue against her teeth to manage her annoyance. The last thing she needed was a rousing game of twenty questions, so she trained what she hoped was a non-confrontational gaze on Krae and shrugged. “We have seven hours, feel free to take your time.”
The changeling’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re burning up with curiosity. I can smell it.”
Jenna didn’t bother to point out she was so trashed from the past few weeks that she doubted she had enough energy to burn up with anything. Suzanne handed her a bottle of water and a tray with an assortment of appetizers. The flight attendant had no sooner moved on to the next passenger than Krae bent over the tray and dug in.
The changeling looked up after inhaling half the finger sandwiches and most of the nuts. “Sure you don’t want any of this?”
“Help yourself.” Jenna adjusted her seat so it tilted backward, twisted the cap off the water, and drank deeply.
“Beer, wine, or a cocktail, miss?” a masculine voice asked.
Jenna glanced up at a cabin attendant she hadn’t seen before. He was tall and rangy with very blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a gold band on the third finger of his left hand. She swallowed a smile. With looks like his, he might have begun wearing the ring in self-defense, to slow the tide of women throwing themselves at his feet. He arched a brow and gestured toward the drink cart.
“Um, maybe a cup of coffee with a side of Irish whiskey.”
“Excellent choice.” He beamed at her, displaying very white, very even teeth. He may have winked, but she wasn’t quite certain. “Would you care for cream or sugar?”
“Both.”
Once he handed her drink over, she uncapped the small bottle of spirits and dumped a little into her cup. She’d traveled through so many time zones already, it scarcely mattered whether it was evening yet, and the liquor might have a salutary effect. The steward’s gaze traveled up her body in frank appraisal before he moved to the passenger across the aisle. Jenna’s face warmed a few degrees. What the hell? Was he sizing her up for a quickie in one of the plane’s johns?
Krae twisted her head and stared at the man. The air glistened wetly where the changeling deployed magic. She wasn’t particularly subtle, and the man’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.
“He felt that.” Jenna pitched her mind voice just for Krae and shielded it to boot.
“Indeed he did.” Krae narrowed her eyes. “Do you know what he is?” Jenna shook her head. “Pity,” the changeling went on, “neither do I.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to send more magic his way,” Jenna murmured. “As it is, what you did tipped him off. How did you know something was wrong?”
“How else?” Krae shrugged. “I almost missed it, but something…odd drew my attention when he looked at you. If he’d been human, his gaze would have held more heat. Instead there was an…unnatural hunger.” She hesitated. “More like he was relieved he’d found you rather than wanting sex.”
A shudder iced Jenna’s blood. Unlike Roz and Colleen, she couldn’t simply teleport off the airplane. Her heartbeat sped up. “Maybe you should leave,” she told Krae. “No point in both of us being trapped.”
“Uh-uh. We hold our ground for now. It’s possible his presence has nothing to do with you.”
“Not very fucking likely.”
Krae picked up another small sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth. Jenna snuck a peek at the steward just in time to see him disappear through the curtain separating first class from the remainder of the aircraft. Because she was desperate for information, she sent a tendril of magic snaking outward and yanked it back as soon as she determined the man wasn’t an Irichna disguised as human. Duncan had run up against one masquerading as a priest near the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. It had lured two female teenagers and would have drained them of life if Duncan hadn’t intervened. As it was, he wasn’t certain either had survived because he’d left them at a hospital and hadn’t hung around long enough to find out.
Jenna ran options through her mind, not liking any of them. She didn’t want to end up in a pitched battle inside the aircraft. Hell, they’d probably lock her away as a terrorist the minute the plane landed, and Irichna would pick her off from her cell.
“I was serious,” Krae’s out loud voice intruded. “There’s at least a small possibility he’s simply some sort of mage. He might have gotten a magical hit off your aura and was curious.”
“What did you want to talk about earlier?” Jenna changed the subject because she could speculate about the mystery steward from now until he made a move against her, and it wouldn’t change the outcome, other than making her more aware to watch out for him.
“How much do you know about my race?” Krae countered, answering Jenna by asking a question of her own.
“Mostly what I’ve gleaned from living with Niall for forty years. Why?”
Krae popped the last sandwich into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We’ve always known we would have a key role to play in major battles against the Irichna. It’s written in our histories, and we’ve prepared as best we could.”
Jenna drew her brows together. “Niall never mentioned it.”
“It’s quite possible he didn’t know. We’ve done our damnedest to keep that particular bit of knowledge quiet, so the Irichna wouldn’t target us before the time came to play our part. Not that we didn’t inform our people—and try to coach them—but Niall’s been gone for a good many years.”
Jenna rolled her shoulders to offset the iron bar of tension sitting between them. “You sound like a preacher threatening the latter days are nearly upon us.”
“They are.” Krae’s expression turned deadly serious.
“More whiskey, miss?”
Jenna started at the sound of the steward’s voice. He’d returned to the cabin so quietly, she hadn’t heard him. “Um, no.” She resisted the temptation to look at him. It would give her more information, but that was a two-way street.
“As you will, miss.” He pushed the drink cart past her. It made quite a bit of noise, which led her to suspect he’d used magic to muffle his presence earlier.
How long had he studied her without her knowing?
Why hadn’t Krae sensed him?
Worse, he’d apparently made his way back to the front of the plane, pushed the rattling cart past her, and served other passengers without alerting her to his presence. Not good. Jenna shielded her mind—just in case—and clamped her jaws together when he sashayed into the curtained galley alcove between first class and the cockpit. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, and her throat was dry. It was looking like she’d need to do something, but what would attract the least attention?
Krae uttered a muted expletive in Gaelic, bolted from her seat, and whisked after the steward. Jenna stared after the changeling with her mouth hanging open. She pushed upright, remembered her seatbelt, and fumbled with the clasp. By the time she was free of it, a flash of multicolored light practically blinded her, flaring above, below, and through the curtain. Heedless of the other first class passengers, who couldn’t sense expended magic anyway, she threw her power wide open.
Jenna didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it whistled from between her clenched teeth. She drew her lips back, hissing in satisfaction once she realized the blast of power had come from Krae, not the man. Balancing on the balls of her stocking-clad feet, Jenna strode forward and pushed past the curtain.
The steward was shaking his head back and forth, his face screwed into a mask of pain. Power flashed from the changeling’s hands. “No more,” he rasped, tottering from foot to foot. “I won’t hurt either of you.”
Jenna dragged an invisibility spell over all of them, layered a don’t look here spell over that, and prayed to the goddess no one would enter the small, enclosed space for the next few minutes.
“What are you?” She shoved the question hard into his mind.
“I already figured that out,” Krae said sourly. “He’s a minor demon sent to keep an eye on you and report back.”
“I already told you I hadn’t,” he whined. “And I won’t. You can bind me with magic.”
“That’s not good enough,” Jenna growled. “Demons lie.”
“So do changelings and witches.” He shot her a venomous look that belied his promises of non-interference.
“We’re wasting time,” Krae said and settled into a low chant.
A look of horror twisted the steward’s handsome face into something unrecognizable. He tried to walk past them but clearly couldn’t move. The air thickened, took on a blackish tinge, and stank of ozone just before smoke rose from the creature and he vanished.
Jenna drew back, impressed. Whatever Krae had done was magic well beyond her own abilities. Footsteps sounded on the far side of the curtain. Suzanne. Jenna recognized her energy and ducked into a passenger restroom. If Krae was powerful enough to banish the demon, shielding herself from the flight attendant should prove trivial. Kicking herself for being sloppy, Jenna pulled the magic from her spells to make the cramped galley appear as normal as possible.
“Paul,” Suzanne’s voice was pitched low, “your drink cart’s here. Where are you?”
Jenna flushed the toilet and splashed cold water on her overheated face. She took her time drying off and settled her features into a bland expression before stepping out of the john. With a nod and a smile at Suzanne, she pushed the curtain aside and returned to her seat. Krae was already there, doing her best to mask a self-satisfied grin.
“Okay, I give up.” Jenna eyed the changeling. “What did you do?”
“Teleported him outside the plane. Nature took care of the rest.”
Jenna thought about it. “While it’s good he’s gone, how will we know he didn’t report in somehow?”
“We won’t,” Krae said shortly. “Which means we’ll have to be very careful not to lead the enemy right to wherever we’re staying after we land.”

Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients, now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2016 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids round out her family.

www.anngimpel.com
http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel
http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)

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Of Flame and Light - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

Taran Wird holds the unique ability to conjure fire and lightning. She is mated to Gemini, Second in Command to the Squaw Valley Pack of the Lake Tahoe Region, and the sole werewolf to possess the ability to split into two wolves. And although they are mates, Taran’s insecurities have driven them apart.
Devastated by an injury that left her with a zombie-like limb, Taran struggles to regain command over her magic. But when her arm and her power turn against her, lashing out on those she most loves, she knows she can no longer carry this burden alone. Not that she likes the alternative.
The only way to regain control of her magic is to align and learn from the local coven of witches―the very ones who sought to banish her when she and her three unique sisters first moved to the mystical region. But although Taran is trying, the teachings don’t come easy, and the tasks leave her weak and emotionally shattered.
Yet Taran must learn and learn fast. Time is running out. The fire she once mastered so easily has become her greatest adversary and is now slowly burning her alive
--
Purchase:
Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Son of a bitch.
I groan as I roll onto my back. I’d like to say this is the first time I’ve been knocked unconscious. I’d also like to say my boobs are the same size, but hey, such is my life.
Dirt. All I sense is that and dank heaviness that accompanies a . . . cave? Through the fog taking up residency along my brain, I make out a dim glow. It takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from my light-saber arm. I push up on my hands, grimacing when my fingers sink into the soil. Yet it’s what I see when I glance up that has me scrambling to my feet.
A lonely hand scuttles by me, chasing after a rat. Oh, but it gets better. I press my back against a dirt wall as a foot hops by, chasing after the hand, that’s chasing after the rat, with a decapitated head rolling —I shit you not—merrily behind them.
It’s like some kind of fucked up nursery rhyme. I don’t want to know the next verse, especially not with the collection of zombies gathering from all sides. These are different from the ones who pulled us onto shore. Their grisly faces are more emaciated and their bodies are in a more advance stage of decomposing. As they shuffle toward me, pieces of their skin fall in small moist clumps.
I hold out my hand. “Stay back.”
They collectively moan.
And move closer.
I grit my teeth, summoning that spark from deep in my core. The dank air seems to enclose around me, giving me a chill and snuffing out my inner heat.
Shit, shit, shit.
On wobbly legs, I slide my back against the dirt wall, my hands out. The zombies gather closer, cocking their heads, their empty sockets mesmerized by the glow of my arm. At first, I think they’re simply curious. But then their short thick tongues push forward, appearing to lick what’s left of their lips.
I jump when another hand scrambles by, its pinky brushing against my foot. My back presses against the dirt wall as I slide against it. I’m not sure where to go. I only know I can’t stay here.
I bang my fists against the wall, trying to stimulate my fire. My left hand doesn’t react, tensing uselessly. But that spark I so need triggers from my right arm, igniting flames along the path of my blue veins only to putter out.
Come on, light.

Cecy Robson is an award-winning author of magical realms, to-die-for Alpha heroes, and young adult adventure. A double RITA® 2016 finalist for Once Pure and Once Kissed, and published author of more than fifteen titles, you can typically find her on her laptop or stumbling blindly in search of caffeine.

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Cursed Frames - Blog Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

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Cursed Frames
Serena Kearney
(Scarred Bullet #2)
Publication date: October 21st 2016
Genres: Action, New Adult, Romance

He’s been there to help through it all.
Every touch, every sound, and every breath.
I was starting to get better. I was starting to live again the way a normal girl should. That is until we graduated college and life got in the way.
I didn’t think I would see Dem Dabbs again, at least I hoped I would soon, because now I’m falling back. I’m back into my habits. I don’t think I’m strong enough, but somehow, I have.
I’m living on autopilot… until I get that hope back.
I can see him.
Will it be the same? Will we pick up where we left off?
Will his touch bring me back to normal?
Or does he need me more than I need him?

Goodreads / Amazon

Sequel to:

Author Bio:

I am a Leo. Born August 10, living on the east coast. I self-published my first novel, PNEUMA, November 2014, and it's hasn't stopped since.
One of my biggest problems was having too much to read. Now my newfound problem; having too much to write and not enough hands to type it out. Not enough brains to put the stories together fast enough. Not enough tea or coffee to keep me awake 24/7.

So, like every normal person, I have to take it one day at a time.

My cravings for sweets keep me going, any sort of cakes (especially red velvet), pies, cookies, and ice cream.
I have a cat named Bongo-Bongo, who loves to get in my way when I'm trying to work, but is too cute for me to fight him off.
And then I have my family, specifically my husband, who puts up with my endless nights, my tapping of the keyboard, my ridiculous imagination, and yet, he always encourages me to believe in myself and follow my dreams.

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GIVEAWAY!
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What do you do to get over writer's block?
Writer’s block is the worst... the absolute worst. One example is when I’m on a roll. The imagination flows into my brain, characters are talking, and scenarios are scrambling around. I need to write it down, I have to, so I do. I piece them all apart and try and put them together with the characters that I want to represent.
And then do you know what happens... I’m typing, tapping, and then boom... no more.
Literally... no. more.
You sit there and you know you can type something, but it’s not what you want and it would come out like crap. So you have to take a break, because the other thing worse than writers block, is actually writing something that you hate.
I try to not do that, so I have to close my laptop and go do something else, but because it’s on my mind and I can’t think of anything, it gets frustrating.
So the best thing I’ve found to do, is kind of common sense, I try not to think about it. Now, this can last from maybe a day, to months. It’s quite unpredictable, but when that breaks, back to the laptop I go, because I know how long it’s taken me to think of something next and if I don’t write it down, I’ll lose it.
Sometimes the ideas come at the most random times and if I’m out and have nothing to type it with, I pull out my phone and write out the scene that got the idea flowing, leaving it for later when I get home, so I don’t completely lose it.
Activities that help get my mind off of it is maybe binge watching on Netflix, shopping, or even just sitting and reading, because of course, another story definitely takes me away from my own mind.

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Impulse- Book Tour with Excerpt

10/24/2016

Impulse
By C.J. Lake
Genre: New Adult Romance

**Standalone novel, NO cliffhanger. Contains explicit/steamy content intended for mature readers.**

I couldn't believe my luck, seeing Cady Killoren at the bar and finding out she no longer had a boyfriend. Then ending up at her place later that night... She had her guard up, but there was no denying what was happening between us. I wasn't sure how to play this, I hadn't exactly been honest with her. I only knew I wanted more of her...and then things got complicated.
It was one impulsive night--totally unlike me! I can't even blame it on the drinks. That night with Mick was pure chemistry. I never would've guessed that the next time we met it would be in a crowded restaurant, being introduced by my dad! And I would find out that everything I thought I knew about Mick was a lie. There are a lot of reasons why I need to resist Mick Croft... Easier said than done.

“So where does that leave us?”
“Wh—us?” she repeated stupidly.
“You and me,” he said softly and inched even closer—which only reminded her how good he smelled.
“N-nowhere,” she managed to eke out. Remember your resolve, she told herself. Distance, not flirtation.
“C'mon, Cady,” Mick murmured, “that's it?” For a moment, she just looked up at him. “Don’t we deserve another night?” The husky strum of Mick’s voice nearly sent shivers through her. “We could even make it ‘no strings’ since that’s what you’re into?” he suggested playfully.
Please, that was so not what she was into; in fact, she’d tried it just once—with Mick—and look at her. Still wanting him, still thinking about him.
“No,” she said finally.
“No to no strings?” he questioned.
Inhaling sharply, Cady replied, “No to all of it.” Though his face was inscrutable, she sensed that Mick was as unconvinced as she felt, so she doubled-down. “We can't hook up again.”
“Why not?” he asked simply, still not moving away. “We barely got started the first time.” Her eyes widened for a second. Barely got started? God...
She fought a sudden carnal reaction that sent her pulse leaping and made her cheeks flush. For an insane, overheated second, she imagined what else they could have done that night—
Abruptly, she caught herself. What am I doing??
Was she that weak? That hot for this guy? Where was her resolve?
To regain a sense of control, Cady straightened her posture (always a pretty good precursor to prissiness). “Mick, we’re forgetting that night, remember?”
He slanted her a look. “We are? When did I agree to that?”
“You have no choice,” Cady replied crisply. “I’m still annoyed with you.”
With a roll of his eyes at that, Mick said, “Jesus, how long are you going to be mad about a couple of white lies?”
Obviously he was determined to brush off his insincerity at Donovan Shay's. Their very first meeting had started with a pointless lie and apparently Mick didn't see a problem with that. “A lie is a lie—no matter how you color-code it.” Before he could say or do something to change her mind, Cady pressed on, “Besides, can you really blame me for being turned off? Considering that you...”
“What?”
“...got me into bed under false pretenses,” she managed.
Then Mick had the nerve to laugh. “Got you into bed? C'mon, you must be kidding. Cady—we barely did anything!” His voice was gruff as he leaned his face a fraction closer to hers, adding, “And if you want to be accurate here, it was more like you got me into bed.” When she didn't immediately protest, Mick continued, almost glibly, “What could I do? You were pressing up close to me with those big blue eyes…that mouth…waiting for me to kiss you, practically challenging me to kiss you…”
“I was not,” Cady protested weakly, her voice soft and almost cracking.
Somehow their faces had drawn closer, and Mick's mouth was only a few inches from hers. She could almost feel his breath on her lips. “You were,” he murmured thickly, his deep voice making her burn. She felt heat spreading through her body, as perspiration broke on the back of her neck. It suddenly felt like it was 110 degrees in that kitchen. She was way too close to kissing him all over again.
And she panicked. “Oh, my God, you're doing it again right now!” Cady whispered, hoping no onlookers had noticed how much Mick was affecting her. A little flustered, she took an abrupt step back--then one more, just to break the spell.
Straightening up, Mick sighed. “All right, forget it. Like I said earlier: let's not argue. Obviously you just want to stay mad at me.”
“And obviously you're impossible to reason with.”
“And you're frustrating as hell.”
“I’ll come back.”
They both looked and saw Torie. “No, stay,” Cady insisted, feeling like she needed her friend there before she made an even bigger fool of herself. Obviously Cady didn't have to be a Psych major to realize that most of her fury with Mick at the moment was driven by suppressed desire. Sure, if life were simple, things might be different and Cady could do what she truly wanted—which was basically a repeat of everything they'd done last weekend, and then a bunch of other stuff that, according to Mick, they'd left out.
“Yeah, stay,” Mick agreed. “I was just going.”
Torie acknowledged Mick with a quick, friendly smile. “Hey—I remember you.”
Mick nodded. “Donovan Shay's, right?”
“Yep. So, how's the private security business?” she asked sarcastically.
At least Mick had the good shame to cast his eyes downward for a moment, as if to say he had no defense. Finally, a shred of humility!
Smiling sweetly, Torie added, “By the way, tell your friend, Quinn, that he's full of shit.”
With an effacing half-grin, Mick replied, “Believe me, he knows that.”
Turning her attention back to Cady, Torie said, “Well, I didn't mean to interrupt, but I was only coming over to warn you.”
Reflexively, Cady's forehead pinched with concern. “Warn me about what?”
“About the freakishly small world we live in,” Torie said, forcing a smile—which only worried Cady more. “Um, okay...Wes is here.”

C.J. Lake is a storyteller who is passionate about art, surfing, and skiing/snowboarding. She is the author of Constructing Us, A Hot Winter, Sky High, and Impulse. Residing near the coast of Massachusetts, C.J. is currently working on a new book.

Readers can get in touch via email writercjlake@gmail.com

https://www.amazon.com/C.J.-Lake/e/B00LYVFAKE/

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The Bridesmaids Checklist - Book Blast and Giveaway

10/24/2016

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The Bridesmaids’ Checklist: Laura’s Wedding
by K.T. Castle
GENRE: New Adult Chicklit Romance

Kassandra is a single, independent woman who prides herself on her own success. But when she’s asked by her best friend Laura to be the Maid of Honor in her wedding, Kassandra finds herself questioning her lifestyle. Helping Laura plan the wedding is no problem—she’s done it before for all their other friends. The first time was a blast, the second super fun, but doing it without receiving any help from the rest of the girls gets old really fast.
The whole event kicks off with the worst kind of surprise when Kassandra discovers who her friend's fiancé really is, and she's torn between supporting Laura's future happiness and hiding the deeply buried, intimate past she shares with the groom-to-be. Struggling to be the bigger person and do all the hard work on her own, Kassandra finds surprising comfort in Josh, the best man in the wedding and someone she's been avoiding for years. He's charming, thoughtful, handsome, and the worst kind of womanizer, but she just can't seem to stay away. All the while, Kassandra can't help wondering if the wedding could be any more cliché—until she finds unexpected ways to change things up a bit.

This can’t be happening.
The person sitting at our table was definitely someone I knew. Someone I actually had been avoiding for quite some time.
“Well, well. Good morning, babe,” the beautiful blond said to me.
I knew this guy. I’d constantly met him at bars and pubs around the city. He was always well accompanied by attractive ladies, but that didn’t stop him from hitting on me. Persistently, he’d tried for the past couple years to get my number and into my panties.
This beautiful man and I had a history…well, not really. We had a history of not having a history. He was an artfully known womanizer in the circles we frequented. Knowing exactly what I’d be getting myself into if I ever decided to tap that drop-dead gorgeous body of his, I had no choice but to reject him over and over again.
One drunken night I almost caved in.
Laura couldn't be marrying this man.
“Oh, God. Not you. You’re a man whore!”
He stood as soon as the statement escaped my lips. He didn’t look offended. I guess he was used to my rejections by now. “Nice to see you, too,” the handsome man said. “I like knowing that you miss me.”
“Miss you? You wish! I can’t believe you’re marrying my best friend.” And I really didn’t.
“No offense, babe, but I’m not the one marrying Laura. I’m Ed’s friend. Name’s Josh, remember?”
Oh, right. Josh. For a moment there, I thought I had to talk Laura into canceling the wedding.

K.T. Castle is an author/artist in progress. She's on a quest to find the words, forms, and colors to materialize the worlds and people of her imagination. She never saw herself as an incurable romantic, but lately, that's what she finds herself musing about. Love is found everywhere, regardless if it comes from a nice person, an ass — mundane or even vampire. When she's not busy with work, in front of a computer placing many thoughts in order, she makes her best to be creative or relax with a good book and a snack. Some of her favorite characters are Sookie, Rule and Shaw, Bella, Edward, Clary, Jace, Wrath, Hollywood, Blaire, Woods, Ethan, the Sleeping Beauty, and Ariel.

Get to know her more on her social media pages.
Facebook: @KTCastle.author
Google+: K.T.Castle
Twitter: @KTCastle_author
Pinterest: KTCastle_author
Website: www.ktcastle.com/

Get a copy of her book on Amazon
https://amzn.com/B01IOOBO0I

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Lyrical Press Historical Romance - His Make-Believe Bride - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

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His Make-believe Bride
by Martha Hix
GENRE: Historical Romance

She’s a bride with a secret as big as Texas…
Widowed and alone, Linnea Powell agrees to swap places with a reluctant mail-order bride. Arriving in Lubbock, Texas, armed only with her future husband’s letters promising a prosperous life, Linnea feels hopeful—until the stagecoach leaves her standing before a handsome stranger who has more ambition than he does prospects. Still, Linnea accepts Sam Kincaid’s proposal, knowing the moment he seals their vows with a hungry kiss, she’ll never be able to keep her past a secret. For her appealing new husband is all too eager to share the marriage bed….
Sam knows there’s something mysterious about his new bride. But that only adds to Linnea’s allure. And when he learns his wife is really a vulnerable widow, he’s even more determined to give her the life and family she dreams of. Sam’s not afraid of hard work, especially when the prize is Linnea’s love. What the rugged rancher doesn’t know is that Linnea has an even bigger secret, one that could destroy his reputation—and shatter his heart….

“What makes you think you can just step in and take this nice young lady’s identity?”
Still feeling the shake and rattle of riding for days in a stagecoach, Linnea Powell, disgraced widow, tried to ignore her lunch companion’s question. Impossible. The dark-haired, skinny woman was jerking her thumb at the eatery’s newest waitress.
Linnea leaned in to whisper, “Put your finger down or Mr. Philpott will notice you’re upset.”
Jewel Bellingham did drop her hand, but her mouth flattened with disgust.
They both glanced at the reporter, their fellow stagecoach passenger since leaving the East Texas town of Jefferson—one of several waystations on their journey from Shreveport, Louisiana. The man sat at a table for one and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Despite his hunger for a shocking story, he always refused to break bread with the women, which suited Linnea just fine.
The prig then wiggled on his chair and raised a forkful of pie as if to smell the contents. One side of his mouth lifted in what appeared to be distaste.
“He could ruin everything,” Linnea said, her tone a hushed yet heartfelt plea.
The newly hired waitress approached. Carrying a large tray of plates, Ermentrude Flanders winked as she breezed by to deliver the noonday meal to a table of four. Just this morning, when the stage pulled into Fort Worth, the pleasant, flaxen-haired girl had abandoned her seat to ask the proprietor to take down the Waitress Required sign.
“I can understand wanting to better oneself,” Jewel remarked, leaning in to whisper, “but I have a hard time reconciling her future.
She could have been a respectable matron. To take a waitress job, on the off chance she can quit if a highfalutin bunch of Fort Worth doctors will allow her to study medicine at their school? Not likely.”

Martha Hix is an internationally and multi published, award winning author. Living in the breathtakingly fabulous Texas Hill Country, she is blessed with a husband, two daughters and one son-in-law, their children, many friends and relatives, and has a house filled with books and spoiled four legged kids. She enjoys volunteering for good causes, and is an election judge and precinct chair for her county. She loves to hang out with her WINOS and Slacker girlfriends, and with her writing muse, Barbara Catlin. Visit her on the web at marthahix.com.

http://marthahix.com/
https://twitter.com/marthahixwriter

Buy links:
Buying options at: http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/33901

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The Otherling - Blog Tour and Giveaway

10/24/2016

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The Otherling
by Heather M. Walker
GENRE: Paranormal romance

In the deep south of Doltree, Georgia, not everything is what is seems. Long accustomed to life as an outcast, the beautiful and demure Annaleah Grace has learned to stand apart from the crowd with dignity. Being the daughter of a white witch and a white witch herself, living in a town of devout Christians, has earned her more than a few raised eyebrows.

When she meets the handsome, yet snarky, Professor Bainbridge with whom she will be teaching at the local University, everything in her life abruptly changes. Something about him seems intimately familiar to her in a way she can’t totally identify. Even though he’s brusque and intimidating, Annaleah is drawn by his otherworldly eyes and foreign mannerisms.

With the help of angels, both Holy and fallen, she discovers just how unique she truly is. Dreams become a meeting place between this reality and the next, and Professor Sebastian Bainbridge’s true identity is revealed.

When her dreams begin to be more than dreams and she wakes up with Georgia red clay she walked through during a nightmare still wet on her feet, Annaleah knows something intense and powerful is going on, and that somehow, Professor Bainbridge is part of it. She is determined to embrace the profound destiny that awaits her and the Professor, even if that means taking up a sword to fight the Devil himself.

Sebastian caught Annaleah neatly in his arms, and encircled her in his wings, holding her so close she felt she could melt right into him and together they would burn as one being. Tears came to her then, spilling down her cheeks and falling onto her breasts, a silver light coming from them as they fell. Sebastian opened his wings then and placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to look into his mirror eyes. As she saw herself in them, glowing and alive and beautiful, it felt so very right. Sebastian wiped the tears from her eyes, slowly, gently and with great care. His eyes never left hers as he bent his head down, until right before the moment when he caught her lips with his, and everything in the world ceased to exist but their kiss. In that sacred, glorious moment, as their lips pressed together, she was pierced to her heart with all-consuming adoration, and from behind her she felt a great motion, as if she had moved something with a great weight on her back. Confused, and a bit shocked, she broke the kiss, turning to see what was happening behind her.
Sebastian laughed despite her apparent confusion and said, "Oh Annaleah my darling, did you forget?"
Feeling a bit betrayed by his laughter when he could plainly see her distress, Annaleah asked, "Did I forget what?"
At this Sebastian outstretched his magnificent wings to their full height and length, blocking out the sky and the moon hanging therein.
"Your wings Annaleah; you forgot you had wings."

Heather was born into a military family, and has lived everywhere from Mountain Home, Idaho, to a small town in England called Bloxham. She eventually settled down In LaGrange, Georgia with her partner of 15 years, Billy, her 7 year old daughter Makaylah, and her 4 indoor cats. She considers herself first and foremost, a mother. She enjoys being a writer, a jeweler, a glass artist, a painter, and avid crafter. It has been her life long dream to publish a book, and she has lovingly worked on “The Otherling” in its various stages for almost 3 years. Heather loves to read, mostly horror, fantasy and occult books. She studies angelology, mysticism, Wicca, psychology and the human mind. Her writing goal is to create a book that comes to life in her reader’s hands and minds, and places them there in the middle of the story. It is her deepest wish that “The Otherling”, as well as her other written works, will accomplished this, and make a home in the hearts of all those who read her words.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/HeatherMWalker6
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011566055965
Blog: http://heathershappyhaven.com/

Link to buy on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Otherling-Heather-M-Walker-ebook/dp/B01DEC2670
Barnes and Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-otherling-heather-m-walker/1123579627
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29614146-the-otherling
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/624990

The Otherling will be $0.99 during the tour.

What is something quirky about you?

I have a lot of things that make me, “quirky” you might say. I love animals, and I truly think that they have souls, emotions and personalities, just like we do. A lot of people tend to think that because they do not communicate like humans do, that they are not as intelligent, and therefor not as important as we are. I just cannot understand how anyone can stare into the eyes of an animal and not see a living soul there.

I treat animals the way I would a person, with compassion and respect. I have a special affinity for cats especially, we just seem to gravitate to each other. I have taken care of so many outdoor cats I can’t recall all of their names. I have four indoor cats as well, and they are my family members, not my pets. Each has their own personality and quirks, and way of showing affection and expressing themselves. Luna is the newest member of our family at two years old. She is an orange Manx, and full of energy. When she wants to be affectionate, she rolls over on her side, then on her back to show her bully for rubs. More than the other three, she is one to do the slow eye blink, which is kitty language for “I love you.” Frosty is nine years old, and has feline alopecia. Like so many people, he has an anxiety issue, and tends to over groom himself until his fur falls out. We try to give him extra love and play time. He too, enjoys belly rubs. Rajah is 15 years old, and is a silly boy. He likes to twitch his tail in my face playfully, and has a habit of eating his food with his paws, like a fancy boy. Athena is my familiar, and she is Rajah’s sister, and is 15 too. My poor girl is deaf, but that doesn’t stop her from doing anything a normal cat would do. She is always by my side, and tends to say “Merr” instead of meow, which is why she has the nickname of “Merr” or “Merr Merr.”

I guess the quirkiest thing I do is not only talk to my cats as if they can understand very word I say, but I also sing to them. I know people would probably think me crazy, and that is okay. I enjoy it, and my cats seem to as well.

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The Witch Singer - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/23/2016

THE WITCH SINGER
Author: Heather Long
Series: Magic & Mayhem, Kindle Worlds
Genre: Paranormal

Curses. Vampires. Skunks. Allergies. Sore throat.
The life of a Witch Singer shouldn’t be this complicated.

After years spent paying off an old debt by working for the vampires, Bridget the Witch Singer receives the opportunity of a lifetime. Solve on vampire’s oops – he turned the wrong person – and she’s a free witch. Desperate to win her freedom, she heads to Assjacket to find the solutions to the vampire’s problem and everything goes wrong along the way, including a flat tire, getting sprayed by a skunk and the allergy attack from hell.
Unfortunately, Martin is no ordinary skunk and his spreay is a nervous tick. She does her best to save the beast when her scream accidentally wounds him and springs him from his curse. Good news for Martin, not so good for Bridget who can’t get rid of him. Once in Assjacket, she’s tasked by the BabaYoMama to unite at least two couples and sing at their weddings in order to gain the cure she needs for her freedom.
Only one, small problem – a witch singer with a sore throat can’t perform.

Find out more at: Amazon

You know how, when you’re young, you dream of how your life will go? Sometimes, the crap you watch on TV influences you. You always think they have it better—I mean, who wouldn’t want to be an invulnerable superhero who makes it at the last minute and saves the day? If you were a superhero, did it really matter if you were vulnerable to a bit of meteor rock? The last time I was afraid of a rock collection was, like, never. Too bad I hadn’t been born on another planet then jettisoned to Earth when my planet was destroyed. No matter how ridiculous, I had dreams. Big dreams. I always thought I would be a star. If not of the stage or screen, then at least at every backwater pub, club, and high school dance where someone let me hold a microphone. Hecate knows, I’m a damn karaoke expert.
But nope. No, I have a problem. A wicked temper, salted by way too much sarcasm. I got up on a stage and strutted my stuff. Okay, I was drunk, and it was a dare, but how was I supposed to know that half the audience in that club that night was there ashors d’oeuvres for the local vampire enclave? Did they have a sign out front? No. No, they did not. So there I was, doing my best Sandra Dee impression and rocking out to Summer Lovin’ with this really good looking guy when some jackass in the audience boos us.
Booed.
Okay, he got up, turned around and farted in tune to the song. Not just offensive, but really profane. It really threw me off my game, so much so that when we got to the part about the true love vow, I said cow. My gift, it’s got some serious kick, and all the mortals in the place—including Mr. Farts-A-Long—were moo-ved along.
Yep, I said moo-ved, ‘cause I crack myself up.
Anyway, long story short, the vampires in the bar were pissed. Beyond pissed. Like metric-nuclear-to-the-max-you-wouldn’t-like-me-when-I’m-angry furious. Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, they saw me as asset to be co-opted rather than feasted upon. Of course, it could also have something to do with the fact that the potent herbal teas I drink to protect my very valuable throat also makes my blood taste like ass. Or so I’ve heard.
For the last few years, I’ve been the local enclave’s version of a jukebox. They want jazz? Well, I’m their girl. They want blues? Yep, there I am. Bubblegum rock? Just crank Bridget up and press play.
It’s so effing boring. I got hauled across town in the dead of night, while in my pajamas, my hair is standing straight up—not to mention I lost one of my favorite slippers when Goon One and Goon Two hustled me into the car. If only I didn’t have to wear the stupid choker. If my voice went even a fraction of a decibel above normal conversation, it zapped me.
I tested it once. My hair didn’t comb straight for a week. Not even with product and a flat iron. Again, I digress, the point being… if I could have shattered the vampires’ eardrums, I would have but nope. I ended up standing in the too-plush living room of one Alistair Hethrington Nasty-Face.
Yes, I know. It wasn’t his real name. “Good morning, Mr. Nasty-Face, what can I do for you today?” Keeping them on their toes required a lot more coffee than they’d provided. “Please tell me you want me to take off the collar so I can sing you a lullaby to permanent sleep?”
“Sit down. Shut up. Listen.” Awww, he was in a foul mood.
“Did Mr. Nasty-Face not get a good day’s sleep?” Flopping onto the sofa, I folded my arms and put my feet on his really nice table. Since I was missing a slipper, I’d likely leave a mark on the wood.
“Bridget…” He growled my name. It was pretty sexy, if one discounted his rather disgusting penchant for feeding on blood, his need for dominance, and the overwhelming arrogance in his silk black power suit. “We have an issue.”
“Didn’t do it.” Holding my hand up, palm forward in a show of surrender, I did my best to keep my expression empty of doubt or at least not sneering. “I’ve been home all night. Bridezillas marathon.” Awesome cat fights, too. The whole brides turning into monsters the closer their wedding day came served as a fervent reminder what a crapfest love could be.
Mr. Nasty-Face sighed then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m shocked no one has ripped your throat out yet…or at least your tongue.”
“Pity I need both to do your dirty work, isn’t it?” Mom used to accuse me of being too confident. On the one hand, I suppose I see her point. I mean why else would I have let the word ‘cow’ slip into my lyrics? I knew what would happen. Then again, the vampires didn’t kill me and, while working for them sucked, it certainly beat the alternative.
Most of the time.
With a baleful look, he stared at me. He might as well have had “shut up” stamped on his forehead or maybe he wanted to stamp it on mine. Either way, I mimed zipping my lips closed then waited.
I wasn’t going to give him long, a fact he seemed to grasp. “I have a job for you, a difficult task to which I believe you are uniquely qualified.”
“Peachy.” I flashed him a view of my pearly whites. Then stopped. I hadn’t actually had a chance to brush my teeth before they dragged me to his house. “What’s the job?”
“Always straight to the point with you.” The vampire sighed then cut his hand through the air. “Fine. I don’t care. Here’s the task. Montague turned a succubus.”
“The fuck you say.” Thank Hecate I didn’t have coffee in hand. I might have choked on it. “You can’t turn other species.”
“Not typically, no.” Mr. Nasty-Face strode across the room, retrieved a file then carried it to me and dropped it on the coffee table. The folder opened to a photograph of a very messy bedroom. Blood stained the sheets, the walls, and something dark and sticky seemed splashed liberally over the carpet. At no point in my existence did I possess a desire to be a crime scene tech or in any way attached to a crime scene.
“Gross.” I flipped the folder closed. Clearing my throat, I gave myself a minute so I didn’t hurl. “How does a nasty photograph tell you a vampire turned a succubus?”
Hands curling into fists, Nasty-Face stalked away to the bar and poured himself a drink. The agitation within him made for short, jerky motions. He slammed the crystal decanter down with enough force, I thought it might shatter. The amber liquid sloshed out of the glass onto the cherry wood counter, but he ignored it.
“Oh…dude.” Real shock rippled through me. “You did it.”
He held up a finger. “Not another word, never repeat that sentence outside of this room. Understood?”
Laughter bubbled up, and I pressed two fingers to my lips to keep it from escaping. As funny as the whole situation might be, Master Nasty-Ass was in a mood. Clearing my throat again, I fought for some semblance of control. “How can I help?”
“And delivered so nicely, too.” Nope, my attitude didn’t fool him a bit. Hey, at least I tried. “I need a solution to the problem. You will reach out to other witches and to Baba Yaga and find out how to reverse the transformation.”
Oh. Was that all? “Really? You just want me to track down the biggest, baddest witch and ask her how to undo something impossible?”
“If anyone knows what to do, it would be the witches. You will find the answer to my problem, and you will fix it.”
“Sounds like you have it all thought out, so forgive me if I’m stepping on your toes, but I see a couple of small problems with that plan.” At his baleful glance, I spread my hands wide. “I’m bound to your enclave, can’t travel out of the state. And, the last I checked, Baba Yaga isn’t a big fan of Texas.”
“That’s an inconvenience, not a problem. The collar will come off for the trip.”
“Dude. Seriously?” He had my attention now. How to play this? How to spin it so it worked for me?
“Yes. I am aware you will need access to your magic.” As if the fact he said the words were all that was needed, the locks on the collar began to turn. I could feel the click clack of it all. “I also know how that brain of yours works. Once the collar is off, all bargains and bets are in the air. I know you, Bridget. You’ll do what’s best for you which means running as far from here as you can.”
No lie. The vampire did know me well. “I bet you’re going to make it worth my while.”
“I will cover all your remaining debts to the enclave.” That was a hefty price tag. “I will certify your freedom from obligation and give you the collar back once the task is complete.”
Give me the collar? The last lock spun slowly, but halted before it was complete. One more lock off and my voice was my own again. As would be my magic and the ability to go anywhere I wanted. “What’s the catch?” I’d been around vampires too long not to look for the secret out they worked into their deals.
“If you fail to complete your task or if you decide to ditch and run, I still have the collar and an entire host of bounty hunters to come after you. Trust me, they will come in force. You might spend the rest of your life running, no matter how short that time might be. Then, when you are caught, the collar will go on with a permanent spell. One that can only be broken when you’re dead and your soul crossed over.”
“I knew there was a reason I called you Nasty-Face.” He ignored the off-hand comment even as I tried to examine the deal from all sides. “To clarify, you take off the collar, I’m free to leave. You want me to go to the Baba Yaga and ask her how to undo an impossible turning of a succubus to a vampire? That’s it?”
“I want you to get the solution so we can perform it and undo the unnatural act from having happened.”
There was the rub. “And if there is no solution?”
“I don’t believe there isn’t one. History dictates turning her shouldn’t have been possible in the first place. Thus, if it is possible to turn her, it must be possible to unturn her.”
Gods and Goddesses, I’m going to hate myself for asking the next question. “Point of order. Don’t you die to become a vampire?”
Nasty-Face hesitated. Yeah, I didn’t think he’d considered that angle. “That’s less important than undoing it.”
“Dude, if you don’t care if the succubitch lives or dies, just pound a stake through her heart and call it good.” Really? Could I just shut up for five minutes? If he took me up on that suggestion, I was right back where I started. Of course, in my defense, I hadn’t had any coffee yet. The man didn’t have any coffee handy that I could see, either. Just liquor.
Maybe I should do shots.

Other Books by Heather Long:

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.
Connect with Heather: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon

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Life As A Teenage Vampire - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/23/2016

Life as a Teenage Vampire
Author: Amanda Meuwissen
Genre: YA M/M Paranormal Romance

The last thing Emery expected at the end of his senior year of high school was to become a vampire and fall in love with his best friend… Emery Mavus just wants to survive his senior year of high school. Becoming a vampire complicates things. So does a bizarre mentor, a group of vampire hunters, and an unexpected, new attraction for his openly gay best friend, Connor. An occasional uncontrollable hunger for blood might be the least of his worries.

Mr. Leonard was menacing in a way I’d never seen before, larger somehow too, like a predator. But his blank expression was what scared me.
“If I had contacted him the moment Mallory died, he might have made it in time, but he won’t arrive before the hunters do. He told me not to do anything foolish, but if I do nothing, I’ll die, the hunters will leave, and the trail will run cold. Mallory will never get justice.”
His voice floated around me like an echo, his eyes too bright.
“He told me to run if they came, but that is something I cannot do. I know you can’t help me fight them, Emery, but you can give them a reason to stay, give Alec time to discover the truth.”
“Alec?” My back hit the wall and I gasped. He had me cornered.
“My Maker, my friend. He can ensure they pay for their crimes. But if I don’t give them a reason to stay in town, he’ll be too late.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. If he had more emotion in his voice I’d worry he was delirious, but he sounded so even, so certain. The twist in my gut nearly doubled me over, and I held out a hand to keep him from getting closer. “Mr. Leonard—”
“Hush, Emery.”
I made to push him away, but in that same moment, the fear that had crept under my skin feeling like it might burst out my pores, lessened. Everything about Mr. Leonard seemed different. He didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. It was the air around him, the atoms buzzing, something intangible that shifted. His eyes were mesmerizing, and as I returned his stare, all the anxiety in my stomach washed away. I felt warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like I was snuggling up for an afternoon nap.
My hand dropped.
“I am so sorry, Emery. I have no other choice.”
I didn’t see him move. He was there, standing in front of me, and then he wasn’t. Instead, the curve of his shoulder was in front of my face, and a sharp pain in my neck tore the air from my lungs, like he’d struck me with a knife or a needle. But the pain faded almost instantly, and the tight pressure felt almost soothing.
I sagged against the wall, seeing only the dark blue of Mr. Leonard’s shoulder, the hazy background of the sofa and fireplace fading in color until there was nothing but calming darkness.

Amanda has a Bachelor of Arts in a personally designed major from St. Olaf College in Creative Writing, and has been posting content online for many years, including maintaining the blog for the digital marketing company Outsell. She spent a summer writing screenplay script coverages for a company in L.A., and is an avid consumer of fiction through film, prose, and video games. Amanda lives in Minneapolis, MN, with her husband, John, and their cats, Helga and Sasha (no connection to the incubus of the same name).

Links
Buy link: https://www.amazon.com/Life-Teenage-Vampire-Amanda-Meuwissen/dp/1943619328/
Website: http://www.amandameuwissen.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6831429.Amanda_Meuwissen
Tumblr: http://crimsondomingo.tumblr.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAmandaMeuwissen/

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The Moreva of Astoreth - Book Promo with Excerpt

10/23/2016

The Moreva of Astoreth
Author: Roxanne Bland
Genre: Science Fiction

In the world-building tradition of Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey and Ursula K. LeGuin, The Moreva of Astoreth is a blend of science fiction, romance, and adventure in a unique, richly imagined imperialistic society in which gods and science are indelibly intertwined. It is the story of priestess, scientist, and healer Moreva Tehi, the spoiled, headstrong granddaughter of a powerful goddess who is temporarily exiled from Temple life in her beloved desert home to a volatile far northern corner of the planet for neglecting to perform her sacred duty, only to venture into dangerous realms of banned experimentation, spiritual rebirth, and fervent, forbidden love.

I made my way back through the underbrush. I’d just reached the path when I heard something crashing through the forest. Whatever it was, it was a lot bigger than a mouse. Then the crashing sounds ceased. I stopped and looked around but couldn’t see anything. Curious and uneasy, I stepped onto the packed dirt. I froze. Standing on the path between the village and me was a great, shaggy beast. A curved horn grew out of its snout. It had feet the size of dinner plates ringed by wicked-looking claws. And it was staring at me.
It bellowed, stood on its hind legs and then charged.
The world seemed to slow to a crawl. I screamed, a long, drawn-out sound, hurled my bag into the underbrush and ran. Even though I had the speed of the Devi, I sensed it gaining on me. I imagined its hot breath on my neck. Unless I did something and fast, I wasn’t going to make it out of the forest alive.
Up ahead, I spied a tree that looked sturdy enough to hold me and put on a burst of speed. When I reached it, I leapt into its branches and started climbing. Higher and higher I climbed. When I dared look down the beast was snarling and clawing at the tree trunk as if to tear it apart. I said a prayer to Astoreth. Then it started shaking the tree so hard I nearly lost my grip. Squeezing my eyes shut I screamed again and again and hung on for dear life.
Crack!
A roar of pain. The shaking stopped. I heard the beast crashing away through the forest. I opened my eyes to see Teger standing about twenty šīzu from my tree, his usual scowl on his face. “Moreva, come down from there!”
I shook my head.
I watched him move closer. He must have seen the look of terror on my face because his hard expression melted into concern. “Moreva,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice gentle. “Come down, Moreva.”
I looked in the direction where the beast had gone. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was still out there. I shook my head a second time.
“It’s not coming back, Moreva. It’s all right to come down now. Besides, I’ve got my rifle so if it does come back, I’ll just shoot it again.”
Well, that made sense.

Roxanne Bland grew up in Washington, D.C., where she discovered strange and wonderful new worlds through her local public library and bookstores. These and other life experiences have convinced her that reality is highly overrated. Ms. Bland lives in Rosedale, Maryland with her Great Dane, Daisy Mae.

Links
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Roxanne2
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/brlesq1/roxanne-bland-author/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Roxanne-Bland-Author-289392377750996/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RoxanneBland2
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Moreva-Astoreth-Roxanne-Bland-ebook/dp/B017JY331W
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-moreva-of-astoreth-roxanne-bland/1122928113?ean=2940152455090
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589767

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Opaque - Release Day Blitz

10/22/2016

Opaque
The Scion Saga Book One
By Calix Leigh-Reign
Genre: Young Adult, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Romance

"Her crimson limbal ring glows and I focus my sight as the incandescence dims. I clearly see it for sure this time. There's no denying it. Carly isn't human. She's something more - and if she isn't human, neither am I."

For those craving an untapped Sci-Fi niche - Opaque delivers in this gripping page-turner involving mutated Limbal rings, biokenretic anomalies, mental dysfunction, perplexing Russian ancestry & romance.

Cālix takes us on an adventure that begins when 16 year old misanthropic Adam unknowingly reaches biokenretic puberty, and his supernatural abilities awaken to save him from his murderous intentions. His every thought revolves around the extinction of the human race until mysterious Afro-Russian Carly Wit stumbles into his English class one morning. Adam notices something otherworldly about her immediately but denies the bio-synch taking place inside of him. As he resists their blossoming love, he battles with unnatural thoughts of his mother.

Discovering his origin isn't what he'd thought, he becomes determined to peel back the layers of his lineage and unmasks a multitude of mind-bending secrets along the way.

Amazon BN Kobo

The rust scented liquid oozes from my nostrils as I focus my thoughts on the rustic aperture. There’s a tiny ping inside of my throbbing head, as if something has recoiled. My oxygen supply is cut off, and my body convulses violently. I resist the ictal attack but my sight and hearing simultaneously abandon me. I’m trapped inside of an electrical storm. I wait ambivalently for it to pass and I lose track of time. Regaining my ability to swallow, the taste of copper invades my mouth.
The sound of my bedroom window slamming closed startles me. Bolting upright against the headboard, I scan for any movement inside of the eerily silent darkness. Seeing none, I walk over and slide the pane vertically upward. I’m not sure if I had anything to do with the closure. Probably not.
A foreign degree of heat rapidly spreads throughout my limbs, traveling into my chest. I cough. My breath is like steam rising from a teapot just before it begins to boil — but somehow it doesn’t burn me. Groaning, I completely undress and stand naked in front of the window. Bathing in the crisp air, and hoping to cool myself.
It’s too hot for covers so I sprawl out naked on the bed, with my manhood facing the ceiling and my hands underneath the back of my head. Wanting her. Deserving her. Growing angrier by the second. My unembellished room is dark. Lit only by the supermoon. My cell phone illuminates with a text notification. I angrily glance out of the corner of my left eye, but I don’t bother turning my head. It doesn’t matter who it is because I know who it isn’t.
My thoughts begin their inevitable descent. I recognize that my Creator has set me apart. It just seems nonsensical to set one apart only to watch their forceful and painful conformity.
My eyes itch so I close them and converse with my immortal. My every extremity tingles as if I’m being electrocuted, and there’s a very noticeable rumbling inside of my thorax that grows until my breathing catches. The wind howls, as if in response to my anatomical anomalies. The spirit attempts to dissuade my thoughts with partial, believable hope that my torturous suffocation is self-inflicted and completely voluntary. A debate ensues and my immortal departs.
I open my eyes as the itching subsides. My vision is distorted and my eyeballs are warm. I blink rapidly to abate the calefaction until my sight normalizes. The wind fights with the trees and they fight back. The wind — always the victor. I desperately wish the psithurism would drown out the torturous sounds wafting with invasion from their bedroom. The soft moans escaping her throat. What an actress. Their mattress squeaking. Offbeat. Quite naturally. Lame ass animal. He can’t even do that right.
I should be inside of her. I will be soon. But for now, sleep will save lives and ensure a perfect plan. I close my eyes in torturous anger, and the metallic scented sludge regathers to block my sinuses, before dripping down my face — onto my cheeks.

Cālix is the published author of the Russian-mutant, psychological Sci-Fi fantasy novel, Opaque. She's a certified paralegal and has studied creative writing under English teacher, script writer and published author Larry Strauss. Her earliest literary inspirations include Alice Walker, Larry Strauss, VC Andrews and Stephen King. She spent a majority of her childhood in libraries and developed an intense relationship with words. She's a member of YARWA and RWA and is currently serving as a judge for YARWA's 2016 Rosemary Contest. She enjoys prayer, discovering the minds of those who rebel against social programming, listening to music, a great cup of coffee, exquisite ethnic cuisine, spending time with family & friends, attending movie premieres, traveling and the arts. She spends her free time in the gym, fantasizing about story plots and different ways of changing the world.

Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/calixleighreign

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/CalixLeighReign

Twitter: www.Twitter.com/CalixLeighReign

Blog: www.CalixImplied.com

Instagram: www.Instagram.com/CalixLeighReign

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/54011366-c-lix-leigh-reign

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Hand Over Fist - Blog Tour

10/22/2016

Blurb

HAND OVER FIST (Out of Hand Series Book 1)

Martin Russell is a good man living in a bad world.

Once a successful businessman, he is at rock bottom when, with barely enough motivation to face the future, he spends his last coin on a bus ride out of the city. Then a chance incident near his home triggers a sequence of positive opportunities, and an old friend, Hannah, elbows her way back into his life and gives him back his self-belief.

His life, unexpectedly, could not be better as he rebuilds his world. Old friends rally around him and his future is full of positivity. That is until the phone call informing him that Hannah has disappeared and people's lives change forever. He needs friends more than ever; non-more so than John Staples, known as Pin-up, the billionaire businessman with a network of connections, who enlists disgraced ex policeman Bobby Tanner to help find Hannah.

They are all thrust into a world of half-truths where the roots of evil run deeper than can be imagined; where all roads lead to the door of The Chemist’s underworld empire of corruption. Bobby Tanner and Pin-up must uncover the truth, and fast. Lives depend on it.

hand-over-fist-michael-ross

Purchase links:

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2dp95wT

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2efnAa6

hand-over-fist-teaser

About The Author

It was a strange and twisting road that led to the publishing of my second novel.

Born and raised in Bristol, England. I spent my adult life in business, the majority of that time marketing cars. I eventually owned the largest Saab specialist in the world, before a divorce put an end to that part of my life.

This led me to leave Bristol to live halfway up a mountain in the Welsh valleys, start a part time six year English Literature course at Bristol University, and attend creative writing classes in Cardiff.

My interest in English literature flourished and I have won several prizes for my short stories. My first book, 'Twenty Short Stories – Settling a score,” reached No 6 in the Short Stories Best Sellers and is still available. My second novel, a romantic thriller entitled Hand Over Fist was released earlier this year

Chasing What’s Already Gone evolved from a short story Carpe Diem in my second anthology Twenty One Short Stories. I could not get the two main characters out of my head and I had to find out what happened to them after the end of the short story.

I now live very happily halfway up that mountain in the Welsh Valleys with my wonderful partner, Mari, and our rescue dog, Wolfie.

Facebook www.facebook.com/michaelross.writer

Twitter https://twitter.com/mikerosswriter

Website http://www.michaelrosswriter.com

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Song of the Oceanides - Book Promo

10/22/2016

Song of the Oceanides
Author: JG Zymbalist
Genre: YA/NA fantasy/steampunk

Song of the Oceanides is a quirky but poignant coming-of-age tale about children, Martians, freaky Martian hummingbird moths, and alluring sea nymphs.
The first thread relates the suspenseful tale of a Martian girl, Emmylou, stranded in Maine where she is relentlessly pursued by the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s Extraterrestrial-Enigma Service. The second thread concerns her favorite Earthling comic-book artist, Giacomo Venable, and all his misadventures and failed romances. The final thread deals with a tragic young lad, Rory Slocum, who, like Emmylou, loves Giacomo’s comic books and sees them as a refuge from the sea nymphs or Oceanides incessantly taunting and tormenting him.
As much as anything, the triple narrative serves to show how art may bring together disparate pariahs and misfits—and give them a fulcrum for friendship and sense of communal belonging in a cruel world

J.G. Źymbalist is the pseudonym of a very reclusive author who grew up in Ohio and West Germany. He began writing Song of the Oceanides as a child when his family summered in Castine, Maine where they rented out Robert Lowell’s house. There, inspired by his own experiences with school bullying and childhood depression, the budding author began to conceive the tale.
For several years, J.G. Źymbalist lived in the Old City of Jerusalem where he night clerked at a series of Palestinian youth hostels. There he wrote the early draft of an as yet unpublished Middle-Eastern NA fantasy. Returning from the Middle East, he completed an M.F.A. in poetry at Sarah Lawrence College.
The author returned to Song of the Oceanides while working for the Martha’s Vineyard Historical Society, May-September, 2005. He completed the full draft in Ellsworth, Maine later that year.
He has only recently decided to self-publish a few of his previous works. Foreword Reviews has called his writing “innovative fiction with depth,” and Kirkus Indie has called his style “a lovely, highly descriptive prose that luxuriates in the details and curios of his setting.”

Links
https://www.amazon.com/Song-Oceanides-JG-Zymbalist-ebook/dp/B01AM2I8MC?ie=UTF8&*Version*=1&*entries*=0

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/song-of-the-oceanides/id1105591853?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/song-of-the-oceanides-j-g-zymbalist/1123264697?st=AFF&SID=BNB_DRS_Evergreen_20150928&2sid=VigLink_6161406_NA&sourceId=AFFVigLinkM000003

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Keys To the Sun - Book Tour and Giveaway

10/22/2016

Keys to the Sun
Author: Marcel Feldmar
Genre: YA Supernatural

In a city built on legends, the truth is hard to find.

This is a novel-length fantasy based in modern-day New Orleans and inspired by The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, with maybe a little bit of The Goonies and Scooby-Doo.
Keys To The Sun is a mystery tale about three teenagers on vacation in New Orleans who find more than they bargained for when they discover a secret attic in an old mansion.
Lucas and Parker Chance, with their new friend Nicole Wells, find an old map and mysterious clues that promise to lead them to a long lost pirate’s treasure. With the help of their enigmatic Aunt Ruby they begin to search through the French Quarter, but soon realize they are not alone in their quest, and find themselves caught between the forces of good and evil as the treasure turns out to be the location of the legendary House of the Rising Sun.

“Bury me above the cold, cold ground,” he whispered quietly. “Where my soul shall not be drowned.”
“What?” Aunt Ruby snapped her head around.
“Nothing,” Lucas said shrugging. “Just rhyming.”
Aunt Ruby promised they’d come back when the gates were open. Mother wasn’t so sure, but father convinced her by telling her how amazing her photographs would look.
The neighborhood seemed so quiet as they drove. “You’ll see. It’s a different world in the daylight,” Cole told them.
The sun had set, the yards were full of shadows, the trees seemed to sway secrets between leaves and branches. People on the street walked quietly, stopping on occasion to take a picture of an interesting porch or house. Windows were lit, golden and warm, but curtained. There was a world inside each house hidden from them all, a story they would never hear behind each wall.
“And then the journey ends,” Aunt Ruby said suddenly as Cole turned the wheel. They drove between two houses on a gravel path that curved into a row of trees, a gnarled and twisting moss-covered oak and a row of magnolias. The wheels spun and crunched, and Cole skidded to a halt beside a brick wall that had turned almost black from age.
“Home.” Cole jumped out of the car and opened the doors for her passengers.
The six of them stood and looked past the large oak, along the decaying brick wall and through the magnolia trees. They looked and didn’t move a muscle, except for a soft exhalation from mother and a quiet sigh from Lucas.
The street they had driven along was gone. The houses they had driven between were hidden. What they could see was a grey house. A beautiful two-story house with ornate columns on the bottom, a balcony with wrought iron rails and more columns, two rows of windows, alternating stained and tinted glass. The walls were painted different shades of grey, from not quite white to not yet black. The highlights around the windows and rails, the eaves, the door, the stairs, and the spirals of the columns were all different shades of the same theme. A beautiful merging of shadows that formed a cohesive look for a house that couldn’t possibly be any other color than grey.
“Welcome to Twilight Oaks,” Aunt Ruby said.

Marcel Feldmar was born in Vancouver, moved to Boulder, ended up in Denver, went back to Vancouver, moved to Seattle, and ended up in Los Angeles. He is married with three dogs, and enjoys fancy cocktails. He is also a coffee addict and an ex-drummer for too many bands to mention.
Marcel attended the writing program at the Naropa Institute (otherwise known as the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics) and moved through a few college creative writing courses in Vancouver (Canada). He was distracted by music for a few years, but finally decided to trade in the drumsticks for a pen, and proceeded to write his first novel — The Devil’s Jukebox. After the book writing block was removed, the words started to flow. He is currently working on a more adult tale that falls into a similar style, which has been called “Paranormal Pop Fiction”, but evidently he is also starting to work on ideas for a sequel to Keys To The Sun.

Links
AUTHOR PAGES:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheAuthorMarcel
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8022413.Marcel_Feldmar
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mochalouder

BOOK LINKS
Amazon: https://amzn.com/1519680732
Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/5916102

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After the Happily Ever After - Promo Blitz

10/21/2016

Horror/Fantasy/Fairy Tale Anthology

Date Published: December 15, 2016

The happily ever after is never the end. The curtain doesn't fall once love is recognized or evil is vanquished. Credits don't roll once the giant is slain or the big bad wolf is boiled alive. Wicked stepsisters, malevolent rulers, and hideous creatures still have lives after their sinister roles play out; heroes, lovers, and dreamers often find their victories lead to more troubles.

Within these pages are more than seventy continuations, retellings, and eldritch stories that explore the dark forests, magical castles, and hideous creatures After the Happily Ever After.

Teasers

“Sweet Revenge” by Charlotte Bond:

The laughter had died and the rumours had grown when they'd found the third dead dog in two weeks; each one had been torn to pieces, the heart gone and the ribcage showing teeth marks.

Outside the cottage, in the dark night, a dog howled.

“Little Red Hunting Hood” by Mary DeSantis:

I halt halfway to getting my red cape off and hung on a hook by the door.

Budding beanstalks, grandma has a visitor. Grandma never has visitors, except for me, Mom, and that guy she met at the Elder Cottage Living group two months ago.

I strain to hear. Whoever’s back there is quiet, which means it isn’t the Elder Cottages guy, and of course, this is the one time Grandma keeps her voice low.

I hang my cape and go back to the basket.

Two sets of footsteps approach. Grandma enters the kitchen. Her white hair is in its signature bun, and she’s wearing her white dress with the red-check pattern.

“Hello, sweetie.” Her face wrinkles with a smile and stays wrinkled as she directs her a glare over her shoulder. “Oh, for giant’s sake, get in here. She doesn’t bite.”

“A Sleeve of Feathers” by Claudia Quint:

It all came crashing down when he found Geileis in bed, nestled between Dylan and Ailill, Oisin cuddling on the left and Ruari at her feet, with Emmet and Cian resorting to floor space when they ran out of room on the bed. Stephen dragged the brothers out one by one, pushing and pulling so they awoke with starts and cries, until she roused, confused and sleepy, to ask him what in the world he was doing.

“Like it's the most normal thing in the world.” Stephen contented himself by folding his hands to stop fiddling with the cuffs. “To sleep with your brothers and shut out your husband.”

“Step-Mother” by Deanna Smith:

My name is Cindy Charming. I'm not, just so you know. Husband is, but that's his gig, and if it makes me squeal and giggle and blush when he's pouring it on, that ain’t nobody's business but our own. I sure as hell didn't spawn these three hooligans without some learned interjection from him.

We tied the knot ten years ago. A fabulous fairy tale wedding, of course. A little creepy when the in-laws asked how much torture I'd like to lay on my step-mother and step-sisters, but you've really got to hand it to them, they went all out to make sure I felt welcome to the fam.

“Raven, Rose, and Apple Pie” by Jaap Boekestein:

The wind pulls at my hair; my braids are all undone. I can see such a distance from the highest tower of the castle: yellow fields and darks woods, silver rivers and hazy gray mountains with white peaks. It is beautiful. Will this be the last thing I see before I throw myself from the window? What will I think during the fall? Will I feel regret, or fear, or freedom? Will it… will it hurt? God in Heaven, forgive me.

His song saves me. The sound of the lute reaches even the highest tower. His voice…

Beautiful.

A minstrel is at the gate, asking to be let in with a demonstration of his skills. He is young; he is handsome, wearing bright colors.

I step back from the edge.

I have been saved.

“WITCH v. HANSEL, GRETEL, et. al.” by Daniel M. Kimmel:

So the question before us is one of balancing these two compelling but competing claims: Appellant Witch's insistence that any attempt to curtail or punish her actions would be an infringement of her religious freedoms under the First Amendment versus the desire of the Respondent class not to be baked and eaten.

While there is no precedent that is precisely on point, there are a number of cases that indicate a clear pattern. One such case is Goldilocks v. Papa Bear, Mama Bear, et. al. 516 Goose 749 (1852). In this instance, Goldilocks was in the same position as the Respondents in this case, trespassing on private property while asserting a need that, as was so claimed, overrode any competing rights. In her tort action against the Bear family, Goldilocks asserted numerous injuries, such as from eating porridge that was “too hot” or attempting to sleep in a bed that was “too small.” Nonetheless, the court found for the Bears, upholding the ursine precept that “a bear's home is his castle” and that being a “cute child” did preempt the rights of the Bear family to the quiet enjoyment of their abode. Indeed, the defense raised by Goldilocks against charges of criminal trespass and unauthorized digestion are precisely those that are asserted by the Respondent class in the present action.

Alisha Costanzo is from a Syracuse suburb. She earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of Central Oklahoma, where she currently teaches English. She’s the author of BLOOD PHOENIX: REBIRTH, BLOOD PHOENIX: CLAIMED, and LOVING RED, and is co-editor of DISTORTED and UNDERWATER. IMPRINTED, her new novel, is undergoing serious edits for its 2017 release. In the meantime, she will continue to corrupt young minds, rant about the government, and daydream about her all around nasty creatures.

Having relocated from Northwest Florida’s lonesome roads and haunted swamps, Anthony S. Buoni now prowls the gas lamp lit streets of New Orleans, playing moonlight hide and seek in the Crescent City’s above ground cemeteries. Anthony is the author of Conversation Party, Bad Apple Bolero, as well as the editor to the Between There anthologies. His stories and articles have been featured in North Florida Noir and Waterfront Living. When not prowling, Anthony keeps it scary, writing dark fiction, editing, and watching horror movies. In his spare time, he DJs, plays music, and conjures other worldly creatures with tarot cards and dreams.

Contact Links

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Purchase Links

Amazon

Kickstarter Pre-Order

Bookmarks and Pre-order Copies

Unpublished stories, personalized poems, and Advance-reader Copies from the Contributors and Editors.

Limited-edition Hard-cover copies of the 550-page anthology.