The Alex Conner Chronicles Book 1
by Parker Sinclair
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy
Can Alex solve this mystery before it's too late or will she be the one responsible for bringing this horror back into her life?
Who can Alex trust and how is she to deal with the draw she has towards a new man in her life – a man who is definitely more than meets the eye?
Alex Conner: Witch? Healer? Both? Joining this powerful female character and a scooby-like cast including a seer, sexy book boyfriends, devoted best friends, heros, villans and monsters, and magical creatures. Enjoy the first book in this ongoing paranormal and fantasy series overflowing with suspense, steamy and romantic scenes, kick ass action, intrigue, adventure, mind-bending plotlines, and laugh out loud humor. Trust is a coming of age story about a young women who had to figure out her powers all on her own. The new adult tale will get you laughing, crying, while also being a nailbiter as supernatural powers and beings make this a page turner for paranormal, mystery, suspense, and fantasy fans.
Trust is a unique twist on paranormal romance, contemporary & urban fantasy for fans of The Hollows by Kim Harrison's, with the humor, heart, and horror of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the magic of The Weird Girls Series by Cecy Robson, & the science and world building of The King Killer Chronicles.
The Alex Conner Chronicles Reading order: Trust, Truth, Forbidden, & Only with more to come! Contains explicit adult language and scenes.
“The storyline was brilliant." ★★★★★
"I ran the gambit of emotions with this book." ★★★★★
"Original and Captivating." ★★★★★
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Being observant has been my blessing, my curse, and my destiny. My grandmother always told me that I was the most perceptive creature she had ever known, aside from her cats. This focus and intensity have brought about my ability—my power.
I remember smells that would have been foreign to any other five year old, but not to the daughter of Stacy Conner. A pungent mix of bodily fluids, industrial drugs, suntan oil, and stale food. My mom was sprawled out on the floor, while a man I had just met, touched her roughly, yet it seemed that she found it to be in an acceptable manner. A bag of pills lay on the bedside table: red, blue, purple, white, green, and yellow.
“So pretty,” I remember commenting after I grabbed the bag and rolled it between my young fingers. I peered over the side at my mom as her pale blue eyes rolled in her cockeyed head, while a goofy smile crossed over her crusted, cracked lips. Her arm slumped away from her chest and blood trickled from her self-inflicted wound. I had come to expect this display on a nearly daily basis, so I turned away and made a slow crawl to the middle of my bed with my little bag of treasures. This vivid memory causes me disgust and a patient, silent inner sobbing.
Regardless of these painful memories, my mother is still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I assume most mothers are viewed that way. She lay there with her dirty blond hair tied back in her normal messy ponytail. Her beautiful high cheekbones remained, although her skin now held tight to her bones. When she stood, my mother was about six feet tall, usually dressed in tight short shorts, or jeans and tank tops with no bra. Her skin had a beautiful tone despite her drug-induced haze. Our blend of Irish, Spanish, and Italian ancestry mixed the darker shade of her skin with freckles in various locations, but I remember them most on the bridge of her nose, exactly where mine are. The Conner family is a unique blend that no one can really place. We get lots of stares, but not many questions. I guess the mixture of our looks and fear of the unknown lends itself to such reactions.
I emptied the entire bag, and while some of the pills found themselves piled upon another of its kin, the unfortunate ones fell with their entire surface area directly on to the faded, filthy bedspread.
I picked a few of them up, examining each one carefully before tossing them down to join the others. Soon, I was sailing them up into the air and watching them lose their fight against gravity, as they dropped back on to the bed with me. What a poor place to be, little treasures... you are trapped, just like me. Well, we don’t have to be bored just sitting here. Let’s try something fun.
My head was turned ever so slyly, my lips curled in a delighted Cheshire cat’s grin. Above me, the little treasures spun in the air in a cosmic splendor of colors and a plastic-like glimmer all on their own. I willed the air to move and shift, lifting and turning my mother’s prized possessions, spinning them madly around me as if they were planets orbiting the sun. I must have lost track of time, or else time had ceased to exist, when suddenly I took a quick look at my mother and saw her face full of shock and somehow even paler than it had been before. As I lifted my chin in defiance, a pill brushed my ear. Mom gasped, and somehow, even in her drug-induced stupor, she managed to grab my face, the treasures falling all around me like dive-bombing tropical insects.
Her beautiful blue bloodshot eyes focused on me as if to say, “Tell no one and never do this around anyone else again.” And I didn’t. Not until my grandmother taught me how to control my abilities and then only with her—till that day; the day I had to make him go away.
The Alex Conner Chronicles Book 2
Now that I can no longer deny my heritage as a powerful magic-wielding Earthen Protector and healer, everything comes crashing down around me. My estranged mother has enlisted my help in finding my Healer father; a man who was presumed dead since before I was born.
While I wait and train with Dana, the Mistress of Weaponry and Potions, innocent people, some who I dearly love, face unspeakable horrors. My small, yet powerful, group of companions confront danger head-on while we hunt down those responsible.
Is my father really alive and will the training prove to be enough for me take on new ruthless enemies?
As if the threats in my life weren't enough for me to handle, my feelings for two men have me torn and tempted.
"A suspenseful storyline." ★★★★★
"Original and entertaining fantasy." ★★★★★
"An urban fantasy with a nice punch." ★★★★★
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“I have stabilized them both; it seems their fates are intertwined for the moment—both must be saved or both shall die.”
I shiver at her matter-of-fact tone. Although I know she cares for Vex, something tells me getting him back to her wasn’t easy. Terra seems slower than I remember, and she hasn’t flitted to any other place along the massive tree that is her body.
Turning back to Vex, I send my power into his furry form, concentrating, and seeking out his injuries, to determine if I need to repair or remove anything. Shallow breathing barely moves his body in any sort of rhythm, and the fox’s heartbeat is faint. His mouth moves slightly and his nose twitches; it is obviously all he can manage right now.
As I continue to seek out the source of his condition, my eyes focus on his fern-like powers trying to rise from his fur, sizzling bright red and burning away before barely reaching the end of a single follicle. Something is burning him from within and the closer I get, the hotter I feel myself become. Darkness combined with fire greets me when I get near his injuries, the ones deep in his mind. The red burn sizzles at his synapses and boils the chemical reactions; he is stuck in a state of lunacy, unable to break out. I pull on the fertile earth beneath me, preparing to use Gaia’s force in its purest form in Terra’s world.
“Now, my dear, we save him together.”
Terra’s wooden fingers entangle in my arms and hair and I am not prepared for the rush that comes through me. Pure, raw, Earthen energy sings through my body, as if rocks, grit, and sand are pummeling me. It is as if I am being blasted away and tortured from the inside. I push the pain away, trying to trick my brain into thinking it doesn’t exist, and concentrate instead on eradicating the flame within Vex’s riddled brain. There is no way he is dying on me. I had somehow deluded myself that he couldn’t ever die. That childish idealism works for me now, as I refuse to let go of the power while it painfully races through me, and redirect it into him, taking out the flames that are attacking the broken fox.
I ease up slightly once I feel we have the upper hand, and pay for my mistake dearly as a searing, red-hot slap courses across my awareness, setting my mind afire for a moment.
“Do not let your guard down again, Eila.” Terra’s wooden fingers yank back on my hair and she whispers viciously into my ear. “The fire will find your weakness and take you next. Then what will you leave me with? A charred feral Chihuahua? Bones and ash of a Healer boy, and what of you? A drooling and worthless heroine, who will never recover from her guilt and failure? Now, concentrate, even if it tears your muscles and breaks your bones. I can always stitch you back up.”
The Alex Conner Chronicles Book 2.5
Sandra is a bombshell. She also happens to be a Seer, and Earthen Protector Alex Conner’s best friend. When Alex goes missing, Sandra seeks help from the one person she is forbidden to contact.
Can Sandra, and those she used to be closest to, finally move past all the fear and mistrust?
Discover Sandra’s dark and hidden past, one that even Alex doesn’t know about, in this intense novella, and get a peek at what is in the cards for their future.
“This story has action, excitement and suspense. It is about forgiveness
and the past colliding with the present.” ~ Amazon Reviewer
The Alex Conner Chronicles reading order: Trust, Truth, Forbidden, & Only. Contains adult language and situations.
Forbidden is a unique twist on new adult paranormal romance and supernatural suspense for fans of The Hollows by Kim Harrison; with the humor, heart, and horror of Buffy the Vampire Slayer; and the magic of The Weird Girls Series by Cecy Robson.
"Full of magic, demons, and mystery." ★★★★★
"This book blends reality and fantasy perfectly." ★★★★★
"Gripping story full of jammed packed action." ★★★★★
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Dana’s pinching grip on my arm breaks me away from my thoughts. She knows my plan, though she still insists on trying things her way again. I swear warm blood is dripping down the length of my arm, and I tense when a drop pulls away to fall upon the cold tile. I couldn’t have some decent clothes, could I? Well, it doesn’t help that she practically grabbed me out of bed and led me back to the guest room where Alex had been staying in my damn pajama shorts and tank.
“Ease up a bit, will ya?” We’ve been trying to take Dana’s Dreamwalk back to when Alex was taken on and off for hours now, yet we still can’t break into the memory, despite exhausting brain squeezing attempt, after attempt. The room, which harbored cool tones and an empty bed flickers to show the scene from hours passed. Alex is sitting up talking to me as I sit next to her on the bed and I brace myself for what happens next. Darkness engulfs the room, along with a trembling roar that seems to rattle the cracks of the tile in its grouted spaces.
“What in the hell is that mojo keeping us out? What did you do blondie?” Her voice whispers into my ear, angry though laced with a rare dose of fear from the Mistress of Potions and Weaponry. “There’s something sick and twisted stuck all over this putrid muck, like a vamp’s mouth sucking on a prostitute’s neck. Some crazy Seer blockage is what this is.” Her grip grows even tighter and I try to pull away.
“Look, Potions Priestess,” I growl. I’ve grown tired of being beaten down each time we trek into the past. “This is not working, and it is not because of me.” I gulp silently hoping this isn’t from me, or from those hidden parts of me that have been cemented over with double walls of brick, mortar, and secrets. Dana releases her fingers from where they’ve burrowed into my skin.
“You asked for it gypsy queen.” At the end of her promise, a fury of feathery smacks and barbed scrapes unleashes, as if I’ve walked through a forest of thorns with a background noise of an unwavering screeching inside my brain. I drop to my knees gasping and rubbing the length of my neck willing it to open so I can breathe. I take in a thankful inhale at a slight reprieve only to choke on feathers lodging themselves in, attempting to force me to swallow them down. I shut my mouth and fold into myself onto the ground, my hands over my head like I’m reenacting a tornado drill from school.
“Fight it, Sandra! You have to tear this thing down. We are in your memory, so you can control it.” What she truly means is that I better get control over it if we’re going to find Alex, but nothing I try works. I am entirely blocked out, and whatever the cause is has some serious badass power backing it up.
“I can’t,” I whimper, doubting she can even hear me over both the raucous and the fact that my lips are pressed against the hard floor. A tugging sensation yanks my mind with a pop, followed by silence and only the fan’s hush of cool air flowing along my skin.
“You can get up now, we’re done. I don’t know what else to do besides back your plan.” I swear she wants to spit on the floor after her sardonic statement. It’s hardly my plan.
The Alex Conner Chronicles Book 3
"This is a great high fantasy, sexy romantic read." ★★★★★
"Full of adventure, love, betrayal, and magic." ★★★★★
One would think the sassy, sexy hybrid Earthen Protector and Healer Alex Conner deserves some downtime after all she’s been through. But no. Instead, she finds herself trapped by the king of the Fae, and he’s not letting her go until he gets what he wants.
As alternate realities tangle her in confusion and bring her close to forgetting who she is and everyone she loves, will she unwittingly give the king what he craves?
If she does escape, will she ever pick up where she left off with her sexy Adonis Ryan?
And can she control the new power she never knew she could wield—one over life and death itself—or will she be entangled in a realm whose ruler is hell-bent on entrapping her and someone she holds dear, forever?
Only is a unique paranormal/supernatural romance & contemporary fantasy novel for lovers of the metaphysical, romantic fantasy, & elementals with romantic and dark fantasy elements. Only is enjoyed by fans of The King Killer Chronicles, Sunshine, The Hollows, The Weird Girls, and The Shannara Series & Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
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“I don’t know why you are crying, my dear.” The Fae King’s feigned attempt of not understanding his only daughter’s grief is disgusting to witness. “A man of great wealth and power, someone who will make your family even stronger and kept in the many riches you are accustomed to, will make you his bride. How can that not make you happy? I, for one, know I will be.”
Murmurs of agreement sound around me and I realize for the first time that we are not alone. Others eat along with us. The two men on either side of me make me wary. Is Verus being guarded at dinner, and for whose protection? Looking around, I see the real Verus on a cushioned bench by the fire across the room. Shoulders tense and hands clenched, she sits, watching herself relive this moment.
Lips, mine but not mine, answer him but I don’t raise my head to give him the satisfaction of looking upon my suffering. “But I don’t love him. I love . . .”
With a strike of his fist upon the thick wood table, a blow hard enough to rattle solid metal dishes and vicious enough to bring glasses crashing to the floor, the king keeps his daughter from uttering her final word.
“You love who? That lowly waif of a girl? That pitiful artist with nothing to her name? She doesn’t even have a mother or father. An orphan, living off you, disguised as your friend and you dare tell me she is more than such? You are a disgrace, daughter. She must have put a spell on your poor dulled mind. No daughter of mine will engage in such an insult. A woman and a man alone join together in this world, my world. Do you hear me? How dare you try to bring her to my house, to eat my food under the guise of friendship, and then to try and throw this in my face when I’ve already promised you to Char. You are my child. I am the reason you are in this world, daughter, and I am the only reason you are still a part of it.”
With Verus’s hair creating a veil around my sight, my eyes widen at the mixture of the bright oranges and reds of a sunrise. The vision stirs and fans the surging force that’s been simmering throughout my body along with photograph-like memories of a woman who can only be Verus’s mother. My face lifts. I know this show will reveal her intent on defying her father—but at what cost?
“You cannot tell me who to love, Father. You may have been able to control Lestan with your lies and manipulations, but you cannot control me.” Standing, my hands touch the shoulders of the two men on either side of me. So far they’ve stayed relatively quiet, yet once these borrowed hands touch them, they rise, grabbing their knives from the table. With a flick of their wrists, the knives are thrown at the king, each one burying in the wood of his chair, barely missing his face on either side. Verus has them under her control, and just by simply touching them as she touched me. Why does this girl need me when this is the power she controls?
The answer comes in a resounding yell when the king retrieves the knives from his chair and throws them back, striking their marks with their sharp ends, pinning the two men under Verus’s spell to the table by their hands. Two faces reflect the confusion about what has happened.
“You highness, there’s no way we would have ever, I mean we would never intend to harm you, ever,” they begin to plead, asking for forgiveness.
More words fly around about never defying his wishes, of their families needing them, literally begging the man who rules their world for their lives. Both voices are full of fear, for they must know he cares for no one but himself and his power. Steven was such a man. But look what happened to him. The higher they are, the greater the splat.
Parker gives credit to the development of her imagination and passion for writing to multiple childhood destinations lacking indoor plumbing. She would never trade the childhood her parents gave her, and she thanks them for raising her to have her own thoughts, dreams, and bountiful imagination. Oh and she wishes to thank them for teaching her that one should never leave their jeans on the floor of an everglades campground shower--lest she do the dance of the scorpions in the pants again!
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I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, but my parents were nomads for the first four years of my life. We bounced around a farm area in Colorado, to Santa Barbara, California, and then back to Kentucky. We stayed in Kentucky until Halloween of my 7th-grade year. It was a difficult transition for my 9th-grade sister and I when we were uprooted and moved to a small desert town in Colorado. We knew nobody, and we stuck out like sore thumbs, toes, and limbs with our southern accents, different styles of clothing, and on many deeper levels.
Yet, those aren’t the only places I grew up. As hippies, my parents loved to camp and live as minimally as possible. We would get pulled out of school, sometimes before summer even began, and spend months camping around the country, most of which was spent on our piece of land they bought in Montana. On these trips, we learned how to fly fish, white water raft, ride horses, farm, and how to protect ourselves against bears and other wildlife on hikes. It was a freeing and unique experience each summer that I will never forget. We weren’t allowed to have devices, sometimes not even radios when we backpacked into a glacier lake area. Instead, we made our fun by creating games, putting on plays, making phones out of strings and cans, and telling scary stories. My sister and I were inseparable, but when we did come across other kids, she’d shove me out to introduce us. Guess that made me social in a way.
As a writer, I can point to these trips as the main driving force behind my creativity, along with how we grew up playing outside and making our own fun. We only had one TV in our house, no video games, but plenty of books, art supplies and neighborhoods to play in. This led to creating worlds, to expanding our minds, and to replenishing the source of my creativity. I have beautiful memories, and now I’m using those to write wonderful stories.
What inspired you to write this book?
I have been writing for most of my life. In a plastic bin, I still have stories, journals, and even backs of napkins that hold words and stories back as far as elementary school. I think my love for writing came from a passion for reading and for the arts. My grandmother and father love to read, and I remember sitting with them in a sunroom in Biloxi, or on our porch in Kentucky reading alongside them in the silence. When I was writing, I don’t think I saw ahead to be an author until much later in life. I had submitted a poem or two to contests in college, but it wasn’t until my mid-20’s that I thought maybe I could tackle a book. I mean I had done a thesis, and two poem books, so why not go for gold and create an entire story—hell an entire world. I think the thing that held me back, the thing that closed the doors deep in my psyche, was that most of the fantasy and sci-fi books I had read were male authors. It wasn’t until my 30’s that the idea for writing a book with a strong, compelling, messy, and inappropriate protagonist really came to life. I thank those women I found in the paranormal and urban fantasy genre for leading me towards life as an author. When I began to read Jeaniene Frost, Kelley Armstrong, Cecy Robson, I realized my type of humor, action, romance, and magic all worked. They had proved it.
But it wasn’t until four years after my mom passed, something that has impacted me on a level I am not sure I have really tapped into let alone recovered from, that the well of creativity brewing since I was a child filled up and overflowed. I was in the Arizona desert with one of my best friends when I had a vision of my mom. When I tell you I saw and spoke to her, there is no way I doubt what happened. I felt her hands in mine, a glowing light warming me throughout my body and the sensation that she was happy, safe, and would never leave me. There is something about the desert, it was her favorite place after all, and that experience was the most magical thing that has ever happened in my life. When I came home from that trip, my first book, Trust, poured out of me. I was working as a high school guidance counselor and would still write until one or two in the morning before getting up at 5:30 a.m. for work. I drove myself to that final page, and now, here I am, six books later and finding a foothold in the indie community. I will never stop writing and will continue to seek to create new worlds and new stories for Alex. She saved me in a way, keeps saving me, by allowing me to escape into her world, one that my mother helped create.
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