Friday 30 October 2015

Series Spotlight & Giveaway: The Warriors of Hir by Willow Danes





Captured 
Warriors of Hir 
Book One
Willow Danes
Genre: Science Fiction Romance/Paranormal Erotica
Publisher: Here Be Dragons
Date of Publication: August 8, 2014
ISBN: 0692271813
ISBN: 978-0692271810
ASIN: B00MH65BDG
Number of pages: 218
Word Count: 55,000
Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Description: 

Jenna McNally is tending to the heartrending task of clearing out her grandfather’s cabin when she’s knocked off her feet by the impact of a nearby plane crash. She races into the snowy North Carolina woods to help and discovers that this is no plane that’s crashed.

Ra’kur’s people have been brought to the brink of extinction by war. After years spent searching for a compatible mate to bond with, an enemy attack lands him on a backward, primitive planet and right to the very female he has been seeking. And a Hir warrior’s first task in claiming a mate is to capture her . . .

Available at Amazon


***

Excerpt Captured

The screaming came from overhead, like metal ripping through the sky.

In the next instant Jenna stumbled, falling onto her hands and knees as the cabin itself seemed to be lifted up a bit before being slammed back down in a puff of dust, the books and boxes and Pap’s many doohickeys rattling around her.

She was gasping, her ears still ringing as the cabin settled into quiet again. Shaking, Jenna eased back onto her haunches, her hand going to the little golden bird charm that hung on a chain around her neck.

Earthquake?

Quakes were rare in this part of North Carolina, and besides, she’d felt that tremble, that rumbling, beneath her feet a few times out west and this was nothing like that.

Jenna’s glance darted about the room—the half-packed boxes, the groupings she’d made as she sorted her grandfather’s things into piles of stuff to keep or give away or throw out. Through the cabin’s front window, she caught sight of a far-off spray of snow thrown high into the air and now falling rapidly to the ground.

When she’d fallen, she’d dropped the framed photo of her and Pap standing in front of The Sweet Tooth on opening day. Thankfully it hadn’t broken, but the faded oval rag rug had done little to protect her knees from the fall and her palms felt raw and scraped.

Shakily Jenna placed the picture on the coffee table, put a hand on the worn red and black plaid sofa, and, wincing, got to her feet. Her right knee was likely going to sport a nasty bruise tomorrow but the couple steps across the living room to the window assured her that would be the worst of it. She frowned out at the sunny, snow-covered landscape, her breath fogging up the windowpane.

Plane crash, maybe?

There was a tiny airport not far from here. Recently built and meant for small craft—a few of the new, wealthy residents of Brittle Bridge used it when they didn’t want to go to Six Oaks—it was little more than a runway and a couple hangars.

Jenna scanned the woods, looking for smoke, but even the snow had settled now and the mountain seemed peaceful as ever. It took her a moment to realize that the TV that she’d had on to keep her company while she tended to the heartrending task of packing up Pap’s things had gone dark. A quick look at the blinking red light showed the Wi-Fi was out too.

No satellite, no Internet.

“Great,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. Thinking she could get by fine with just her cell she’d made the mistake of having the landline cut off last week before she realized her fancy—and expensive—new phone didn’t work inside the cabin. Outside, sure. Go twenty feet or sit in the SUV and the damned thing worked perfectly.

Jenna chewed the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t seen anything except the now-resettled spray of snow but if it were a downed plane then someone could be hurt out there. It got dark around five this time of year so there were a few hours of daylight left at least and she knew these woods better than anyone—excepting her grandfather, of course.

She grabbed her cell off the coffee table and in a few moments had her white down jacket zipped, the hood yanked up, and her gloves on. She was already wearing her sheepskin boots; the cabin floor sometimes felt cold to her even in the summer and now in January it was bitterly so.

Jenna drew in the bracing smell of snow and pine as she stepped onto the porch and shut the front door behind her. She was careful going down the cabin’s front steps; she’d slipped often enough on them over the years to remember to hold the handrail in winter. The soft powdery snow crunched under her boots as she walked and, as expected, three steps past her SUV the cell had reception again.

She scrolled through the numbers to the right one and hit “Dial” as she headed in the direction where she’d seen the snow spray.

“Sheriff’s Department.”

“Sarah Jane? It’s Jenna McNally.”

“Hey there, Jenna, you okay?” Sarah Jane had once been a model, or so Pap had said. Got her heart broke by a famous artist in New York and fled to Brittle Bridge to escape it all.

But then again, he’d made up stories about everyone with Jenna—the mayor was in the witness protection program, her teacher was a secret agent. She’d been labeled a “sensitive child” by the social worker who had handled the transfer of custody to him. Of course to Pap “sensitive” meant “creative” so he’d gone all out in encouraging her in all of it—the arts and music, crafting, baking—anything she wanted to try, and he was proud as punch to let her.

But if Sarah Jane had been a model, it was thirty-five years ago or more now and twenty since she joined the sheriff’s department. “You up at Pap’s still?”

Her grandfather’s name was William James McNally. But it had probably been since before Sarah Jane’s supposed model-artist affair days that he had been called anything other than “Pap” in the vicinity of Brittle Bridge—at least never in the twenty-six years Jenna had known him.

Well, excepting that social worker.

“Yeah, I’ll be here for a couple more days,” Jenna said, already past the clearing around the house and into the forest. “Listen, I think a plane crashed up here on our”—she swallowed hard—“my land.”

“A plane?” Sarah Jane’s voice went from neighborly to official. “Where did it come down?”

“Not sure.” Jenna ducked under a branch as she headed deeper into the woods. “I heard something real loud and then it was like ‘bam,’ something hitting the ground hard. Shook the whole place.”

“Can you see smoke from where you are now?”

“No,” Jenna admitted, trotting along as fast as the snow would allow her. Some of the drifts were deep and she had to mind where she stepped. She wouldn’t be doing anyone any good if she broke her ankle. “I’m heading out to take a look now.”

“But you saw the plane go down?”

“Uh, no.” Sarah Jane’s too-patient tone was starting to make her feel a little embarrassed for calling when she hadn’t actually seen anything. Maybe it was something else: a really big tree falling or a damn meteorite or something.

“Huh,” Sarah Jane said. “Lemme call around and see if anybody’s gone missing. But you call me straight off if you find anything, ’kay?”

“Sure thing.” Jenna ended the call and slipped the phone into her jacket pocket. Whatever crashed couldn’t be far from where she’d seen the snow spray up.

Forced by the lack of schools and friends for his young granddaughter, Pap had kept the house in Asheville, but they’d come to Brittle Bridge at every opportunity. Pap’s heart was here and she’d happily spent the summer days running barefooted in these woods clad in overalls, her chestnut hair in pigtails at first, then tied back in a ponytail as she got older.

Her stride faltered and she steadied herself against a pine, the rough trunk pulling on her knitted glove. Pap’s beloved woods were quiet and bright around her but Jenna suddenly had a strong urge to run back to the cabin.

She set her jaw and pressed on. Pap hadn’t raised her to be a coward and this was her land now. He’d left her five hundred acres and anyone on it without her say-so was trespassing, even if it was about to go up for sale.

Still, she wished she’d thought to grab Pap’s revolver or rifle or even his hunting knife before she’d come racing down here.

I’ll go as far as the creek and if I don’t find anything I’ll head on back.

But all was quiet at the creek too, the crystal clear water moving placidly between the banks—

Jenna stopped short. There was tang to the air, a burned smell that wrinkled her nose. It reminded her a little bit of the inside of a mechanic’s garage, out of place in such pristine woods.

It smelled wrong. Not only that…

There’s no snow here.

There was snow all around, covering the ground, hanging heavy in the tree limbs above, but here there was just a long patch of mud and broken sticks.

The sudden sick feeling of being watched raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. With a shock of awareness she realized just how very vulnerable she was out here, alone and unarmed.

Pap hadn’t raised her to be an idiot either. With trembling fingers she pulled her phone out and hit redial to the Sheriff’s office.

In horrified disbelief she watched the screen flash “Connection failed.”

She took a step back and searched the silent, still forest.

All I have to do is make it back up to the house. I can get the gun, get my car keys, call for help, get the hell out of here!

Her quickened breath was visible as she headed uphill back toward the cabin, the drifts and her fear slowing her down. She couldn’t remember if the ammunition was still in the kitchen cabinet or if she’d moved it to—

Something off to her right gave a soft, deep growl . . .

***

Taken
Warriors of Hir 
Book Two
Willow Danes
Genre: Science Fiction Romance /
Paranormal Erotica
Publisher: Here Be Dragons
Date of Publication: February 1, 2015
ISBN-10: 0692377735
ISBN-13: 978-0692377734
ASIN: B00T0VFO8S
Number of pages: 271
Word Count: 69,000

Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Description: 

Hope MacGowan is a city girl but reeling from a break-up on top of a layoff has her determined to have a weekend away in the North Carolina mountains—even if all her friends have bailed at the last minute. Hope’s life is one big train-wreck and getting kidnapped by a tall, blond alien—even a gorgeous one—sure isn’t helping.

R’har crossed the galaxy to seek a mate on this newly discovered world and this delicate red-haired female is everything he’s dreamed of—except happy to find herself mated to him. R’har knows in his heart he’s her true mate, even if he’s not human. But taking her doesn’t mean he can keep her and somehow he has to convince Hope to choose him before time runs out . . .

Available at Amazon

***

Excerpt Taken: 

Coldness snaked through Hope’s belly as Keri’s silence dragged on.

“Did you know?” Hope asked again. Her cell pressed hard to her ear, her heart in her throat as she waited for her friend’s answer, she had a sudden urge to open the car window and hurl the damned thing into the road before Keri could reply. “Did you know about Brian and Megan?”

Through the phone she heard Keri sigh and Hope’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the center diamond of her engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight.

Parked in front of the diner where she was to pick up the rental’s keys, Hope blinked out at Brittle Bridge, North Carolina’s quaint Main Street. Outside her car, people strolled about on their Friday morning errands, enjoying the May sunshine and the sweet mountain air, chatting and laughing.

Inside the car, Hope’s breath had the quick shallow pant of an animal caught in a trap.

“Look,” Keri began, a little impatiently. “It wasn’t my job to tell you. Megan—Brian really—should have.”

“You’re my friend. You went with me to look at venues, at wedding gowns. You bought a bridesmaid’s dress.” Hope’s throat tightened. “Megan bought a maid of honor dress!”

“I didn’t actually buy the dress,” Keri mumbled. “I called the boutique after we left and asked them to cancel my order.”

But that was back in March!

“How long?” Hope asked, her voice high and tight. “How long has it been going on? How long have you known?”

Keri sighed again. “I went to Gable’s with some people from work back in January and I saw Brian and Megan in a booth in the back and they were—It’s probably been going on longer though.”

“January? But—” Hope began, her tone pleading now as if she could argue this away, as if to point out the faulty logic of it would cast a spell and make everything right again. “But we got engaged on Valentine’s Day! He asked me to marry him on Valentine’s Day. If he and Megan were—” Her eyes stung. “He broke our engagement by text, you know. He sent me a text today to tell me that he and Megan were together and how very, very sorry he was. Megan texted to say she’s sorry too—Oh, and since she’s not coming for the weekend she’s not going to pay her third for the rental.”

“Oh, that is shitty,” Keri said.

Shitty as letting me plan a wedding when you knew all along Megan was fucking my fiancé?

But the great burden of red hair was everyone expected you to have a bad temper and a sharp tongue. Hope had spent most of her twenty-seven years showing the world how even-keeled she was, how she could handle anything with a cool head, not raging or weeping even in the face of heartbreak and grief, not letting anyone know how bad she hurt.

Those walls went up when she was eight and were so thick now that nothing—not the death of her parents, not the humiliation of her fiancé screwing her maid of honor—was going to bring them down.

“Yeah, it is,” Hope said instead. “So when were you going to get around to telling me that you aren’t coming for the weekend either?”

“Look, I just thought if you and Megan were alone—maybe the truth would finally come out. Being with the two of you and pretending I didn’t know sucked.”

“Wow.” Hope nodded even though Keri couldn’t see her. Even a determined redhead had her limits. “That must have been really rough on you.”

Keri went silent again.

Hope put her hand over her eyes, blocking out the cheerful spring sunlight. “I lost my job this morning.”

“What?” Keri sounded startled for the first time during their conversation.

“They made the announcement today. They sold the company to the Hindle Group last week and they had one too many graphic designers so they let me go. They made me drive all the way to Asheville to give me the news. My fiancé ends it in a text but my company had to tell me in person.”

“Jesus . . .”

“They gave me three months’ severance. And they shook my hand too. Apparently someone in the D.C. office did me the favor of clearing out my stuff while I was driving to Asheville yesterday so I’m all packed up. They’ll have everything delivered to my apartment by the end of the day.”

“So you’re driving back to D.C. tonight?”

“What for?” Hope asked bleakly. “Brian and Megan are at his place, making the most of the romantic curtained bed I bought. I don’t have work on Monday. No fiancé, no best friend, no job. My apartment lease is up in ten days and now I won’t be moving in with Brian. Maybe I’ll just move up here to the mountains. Take up wood crafting or something.”

“Call me when you get back,” Keri urged. “I’ll take you out and get you drunk. We’ll find you someone new.”

“No. I’m cursed.” Hope shut her eyes. “No one on the planet has worse luck with men than I do.”

Keri was smart enough not to argue that point. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hope said and hung up.

She turned off the car and sat there, the cell cradled in her lap. The invitations hadn’t gone out yet so she didn’t need to work through the guest list; with her parents both dead and no siblings there was no one left to call.

No one at all.

***

Stolen 
Warriors of Hir 
Book Three
Willow Danes
Genre: Science Fiction Romance /Paranormal Erotica
Publisher: Here Be Dragons
Date of Publication: July 28, 2015
ISBN-10: 0692500820
ISBN-13: 978-0692500828
ASIN: B012UW5YKG
Number of pages: 265
Word Count: 68,000
Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Description: 

Kidnapped from Earth by an alien warrior when she visits her uncle, Summer Mills is terrified she will never be able to return home. Her alien captors are using human females as breeding stock and her only chance to return to Earth is Ke’lar, the one Hir warrior willing to stand between her and his own kind.

Returning this human female home won’t be easy and Ke’lar knows by this act of defiance he is throwing his own chances at a lifemate away. Both his family’s enemies and his own clan have pledged to reclaim the woman he has stolen, the only woman he will ever love . . .

Available at Amazon


***

Excerpt Stolen: 

The alien warrior, naked beside her, gave a soft snore, his thickly muscled arm thrown over Summer, keeping her close as he slumbered.

When he had first captured her on Earth, she had only seen beast—his full mouth, his gleaming fangs, his inhuman ridged forehead and heavy brow. Now, lying beside him, his bare tan skin smooth and warm against her own, his eerie glowing amber eyes shut, she knew how very intelligent he was, this wild creature who had brought her to his planet. He, like all the males of his kind—the g’hir—was tall, powerfully built, fast as quicksilver.

Summer wet her lips. She could see the movement of his eyes behind his lids.

Dreaming.

She’d never get a better chance.

Escaping a seven-foot-tall alien warrior who’s claimed you as his mate and taken you halfway across the galaxy is impossible.

But when it’s your only chance in hell of ever seeing home again, you just tell “impossible” to fuck off.

Six days after her abduction, her heart hammering so hard she feared the sound of it would wake the warrior at her side, Summer eased out from under his heavily muscled arm and slid from his bed.

He stirred, reaching for her. She froze, crouching beside the bed, praying his vibrant eyes stayed shut, his face slack with slumber. His long, silky, red-brown hair was spread across the white pillow, his swarthy coloring a stark contrast to her own pale complexion.

When she’d first awoken to find herself captive on his ship he’d looked her over with his unnervingly brilliant alien gaze. He’d taken a lock of her pale blond hair between his large fingers, frowned at her skin, and asked if such pallor in a human meant she was sickly. Trembling before the huge warrior, thinking he’d kill her if he thought her ill, not even understanding how she was processing those growls of his as language—Summer swore she was completely healthy. He’d given a satisfied fanged smile; pleased, she knew now, that she’d be able to produce the robust, healthy offspring he wanted.

The warrior—Ar’ar—gave another soft snore and Summer straightened to standing.

Clad only in a whisper-thin nightgown, the polished tiles cold under her feet, she padded silently through his luxurious quarters. Sweet spring air drifted through the open balcony doors, the fine silk curtains fluttering in the breeze as she passed them.

The balcony of Ar’ar’s rooms—the opulent living quarters of a clanfather’s heir—overlooked his family’s vast holdings, and the three moons of his world—Hir—lit her way. The wind stirred her long hair, momentarily blocking her vision, and impatiently Summer tucked the bright strands behind her ears to keep them out of her eyes.

She had one chance at this.

If they caught her she’d be watched constantly no matter what concessions Ar’ar—her new alien “mate”—made to his female’s pleas. He was confident enough, and proud enough, that he had dismissed the honor guards his father, Mirak, tried to attach to her. Ar’ar gave a huffing, indulgent laugh as he’d waved them off at her request. After all, compared to him, Summer, even at five foot nine, was just a slip of thing.

A weak, harmless, helpless human female . . .

Using the building to help her balance, she climbed up to stand on the balcony’s wall.

Eight stories above the ground of an alien world.

Summer swallowed hard. There was a reason she always insisted on having a room on the first floor of a hotel. Just glancing out the glass-wall window of her high-rise office back home left her woozy.

But there was only one way out into the hallway—and ultimately to Earth—that wouldn’t wake the glowing-eyed fanged warrior snoozing back there. She had to get from these quarters over to the unoccupied rooms beside them. That door she could open without fear of waking him, then get the hell out of this monstrously large building they called a clanhall and run for freedom.

It wasn’t even very far over. Twelve feet, maybe.

All she had to do was get to the next balcony.

Never mind that the only way there was a small decorative outcropping on the side of the building barely as wide as her foot . . .

***

About the Author:

Willow Danes is the pen name of author Ariel MacArran, creator of the Tellaran Series. She is an Amazon bestselling author, currently at work on book four of the Tellaran Series, The Princess.

www.willowdanes.com

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8433496.Willow_Danes

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Willow-Danes/1452738648390350

***

Tour giveaway 

2 $15 gift cards to Amazon

1 Grand Prize One $25 gift card to Amazon and Jenna’s 14K Gold Necklace with 18” chain

Jenna's Necklace from the novel "Captured"


This special piece was used as the model for the necklace in the novel "Captured."

A precious little bird dangling from 14k gold filled chain. The petite 14k gold dipped charm is beautifully detailed, and finished with a soft matte finish. The pendant slides freely from side to side on chain.

A lovely and minimal piece made of high quality material suitable for everyday wear. Looks great on it's own and layers well with other delicate pieces.

• Pendant: 14K Gold Dipped

• Chain: 14K Gold Filled

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday 28 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Something Wicked This Way Comes by Jenika Snow





Something Wicked This Way Comes 
Jenika Snow
A Wicked Tale
ARe Books
Genre: M/F, Werewolves, Vampires, PNR

About the Book

Being wicked never felt so good.

Born from hate and violence, Lathan knows all too well what darkness feels like. He’s centuries old, and an abomination to the supernatural world. With a vampire father who forcibly took Lathan’s werewolf mother as his own, Lathan’s hybrid genetics make him feared by all.

Abbi has no one, nothing of importance in her life, but that doesn’t stop her from living. When Lathan feeds on her and tries to use compulsion to make her forget, she realizes he isn’t just a vampire, but something altogether different. He’s also her mate.

Can Abbi accept Lathan for who and what he is? Can she allow herself to be mated to a man who is half vampire and half werewolf, one feared amongst human and immortal alike? She knows he won’t stop until he has her.

Available at ARe

***

Excerpt:

Lathan was born of this world in blood, hatred…violence. He took his first breath with his mother’s arms around him, her tears of sadness, hurt, disgust, filling him. It was the only world, the only emotions he’d ever known. And it was that memory, even as he lay there vulnerable—unable to speak, barely able to breathe—that he watched his mother pass. It was a curse being able to remember every single memory of his life, a “gift” because of his hybrid breed, his dual species genetics.

He stood in the shadows, his hunger insatiable. He watched the humans, knew their blood—the sustenance that gave him life, gave him strength and power—was also the same viscous fluid that disgusted him.

He was half vampire, half werewolf, a demon among his kind, an abomination because of the two bloodlines running through his veins and of how he came into this world. His werewolf mother was kidnapped and raped by his vampire father, a male that claimed she was his mate. But Lathan’s father hadn’t cared about anyone but himself. He’d defiled the one woman that was claimed to be his mate, took her from Lathan because he was a selfish bastard.

It was because of his father he didn’t have a memory that wasn’t tainted with violence and degradation. It was because of his father, Karloff, that Lathan couldn’t show his face in the paranormal community without fear and disgust following him, because everyone knew who he was. The stench of his father’s blood ran through his veins, tainting him, marking him as evil. Karloff’s reputation was by far the most sinister of their kind, was tainted with the horror of the life he himself led, and of the lives he took.

Maybe Lathan should have had more empathy for the man that sired him, the man that forced his seed upon Lathan’s unwilling mother. But the truth was after three hundred years of living in this world alone, Lathan had no empathy for anyone or anything. He had no emotions, no expectations, or even hope that he’d find a mate, if one even existed.

But he’d killed his father a century ago—ripped open his throat, bathed in his blood—sand knew that killing the man that had raped Lathan’s mother, took from her everything she knew and loved, was a small act of vengeance on his part. It wouldn’t solve anything, wouldn’t make anyone see him as anything more than a monster, but it made Lathan feel a little less dark inside.

He moved back into the shadows even further when a young, beautiful, and unsuspecting woman started walking toward him. She was human, with long reddish brown hair, and eyes the color of the greenest emerald. She was slender, couldn’t be more than in her twenties, and the animal in him—the wolf, the demon he was—rose up. He wanted to taste her, wanted her blood to coat his tongue and move along the back of his throat. He’d never been this thirsty before.

But it could be because he’d held off feeding for the last couple weeks, hating to taste the metallic flavor of the substance that gave him life. Lathan wanted her blood, wanted it covering his mouth and dripping down his chin.

His vampire side felt the call of the blood, felt the power move through him, strengthening his muscles, making his body coil tight, ready to snatch her body to his, tilt her neck to the side, and expose the creamy expanse of her throat.

And then she was right here, the wind picking up and blowing her hair around her shoulders, having her scent slam into him. His dick got hard, his claws emerged, and his fangs punched forward. He hadn’t been this excited, hadn’t been this aroused in his entire existence.

***

About the Author:

Jenika Snow is a USA Today bestselling author, a mother, wife, and nurse.  She lives in northeast with her husband and their two daughters.

Jenika started writing at a very young age. Her first story consisted of a young girl who traveled to an exotic island and found a magical doll. That story as long since disappeared, but others have taken its place.

She loves to hear from readers, and encourages them to contact her and give their feedback.

For more information on other books by Jenika, visit her website: www.jenikasnow.com

***

Giveaway 

2 ARe Imprints (ebook copies)

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Tuesday 27 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Witch's Concubine by Cara Carnes




Witch’s Concubine 
Cara Carnes
A Wicked Tale
ARe Books
Genre: M/F, Vampires, PNR

About the Book

Nothing stands between a cursed witch and her quarry.

Macy Davenport has two weeks to purge the familial curse or she’ll suffer a sex-starved eternity. Finding a vampire strong enough to handle her rare dragon witch powers isn’t easy. But Doctor Death comes with a very high price and a string of complications.

Prince Dmitri Siysky, aka Doctor Death, doesn’t have time for the fiery dragon witch, even if her carnal dilemma offers interesting compensation. There’s an underground slave ring selling vampires and he’s been sent the witches responsible.

He expected trouble, but he never anticipated Macy.

Available at ARe
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-witch039sconcubine-1893623-340.html

***

Excerpt:

“This is crazy, even for you.”

Macy Davenport merged into the left lane, her right palm pressed hard on the horn and her foot on the accelerator. People didn’t have respect for fast lanes anymore.

“Sarah, this is the perfect solution to my problem.”

“Honey, not him.” Sarah’s voice fell into a hushed whisper, as if the world would hear her speak his name from the darkened interior of Macy’s Ford Festiva. “Doctor Death isn’t for you.”

“He has a name.” A shiver skittered down Macy’s spine. “I seriously doubt Dmitri Siysky appreciates that one.”

“That vampire deserves to burn. Did you hear what he did to poor Hilda?”

“Hilda the Hag?” Macy shook her head. “Look, that vampire has slept with half of Seattle, and the only reason he’s in Imperial custody right now is because he refused to sleep with the other half—most of whom are in command. Everyone with half a spell in them knows his only crime is not playing the political game. Or, in his case, screwing Hilda.”

“So you’d take her on to break him out?”

“I’d dare her to take me on. Two more days of these powers simmering in me and I swear I’ll take out half of Seattle.” She shuddered. “Starting with Hilda the Hag’s den.”

Soap box stored for a later time, Macy dodged a white minivan and careened around a corner. Ten minutes before Imperial Station closed for the weekend. No way in hell was she suffering another night of debilitating arousal.

“I’m fresh out of luck spells, Macy, and I have yet to find one for fixing bad driving. Please slow down.” Sarah gritted her teeth. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Macy guffawed. Oh, he’d be going somewhere eventually. Every horny, cursed witch this side of the Mississippi had probably heard about the legendary Doctor Death being incarcerated. The charges were as trumped up as the wretched hex spurring Macy into desperation.

“Look, I’m twenty nine for two more weeks. If I don’t purge the hex before the big three-zero strikes you might as well tie a bib around my neck and toss me in Witches Haven.”

“Do not speak of that place,” Sarah gasped. “I would never, ever put you there. Only the most cursed witches are sent to that…that…that travesty.”

Silence remained for a moment as the notion of Witches Haven brewed between them. They both knew the gut wrenching truth—Macy had to screw or she was screwed.

“Look, it’s like this. I literally have nothing at all to lose at this point. The only way to purge the hex is to…” Macy turned her head and slammed on her brakes when the light blazed red. Damn. One more minute lost. “You know what I need.”

“Yeah.” Sarah sighed. “I still don’t understand why this is your hex to carry.”

“It’s the curse of ten thousand nights. My mom only suffered a thousand of them before she…” Okay, she wouldn’t dredge the river of trouble tonight. “Until the hex is gone I can’t marry, I can’t have kids. I can’t even let a male witch or mortal touch me. I’m left with the trolls who gifted me with the rotten problem because my mom wouldn’t marry their king, the faeries who I loathe because they are as trustworthy as pond scum, and the vampires.”

And Dmitri was one hell of a vampire.

“So you’re going to march in there and demand he bed you?”

“Geez, Sarah.” Macy wheeled into the Imperial Station’s parking lot and threw her car into park. “You make me sound crass. I’d take him to my place first.”

“Pfft. Whatever.”

Macy glowered at her longtime friend and grabbed her purse. “Stay here if you want, but I’ve got myself a vampire to indenture.”

Talking a confident game was one thing. Following through was an entirely different ballgame Macy wasn’t sure she had the equipment to play. Hell, had she even found the right ballpark?

Her knees knocked together, clattering with the knock of her kitten heels as she made her way up the zillion stairs. The first guard to slow her down before she got to her quarry was toast, or rather, an oversized toad. She didn’t have time for anything beyond level one magic. Not when her entire future was at stake.

Literally.

***

About the Author

Cara Carnes was a princess, a pirate, fashion model, actress, rock star and Jon Bon Jovi’s wife all before the age of 13. In reality, her fascination for enthralling worlds took seed somewhere amidst a somewhat dull day job and a wonderful life filled with family and friends. When she’s not cemented to her chair, Born in small-town Texas, Cara loves traveling, photography and reading.

For more information on other books by Cara, visit her website: www.caracarnes.com

***

Giveaway 

2 ARe Imprint ebooks

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday 26 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Wicked Odd by Virginia Nelson





Wicked Odd 
Virginia Nelson
A Wicked Tale
ARe Books
Genre: M/F, Werewolves, PNR 

About the Book

Best way to tame a bad wolf? Be a little wicked yourself…

Carmen finds it hard to trust—then again, her father went mad and had to be put down by her current Alpha. Carmen might hold a position of power within the pack, but part of her always wonders if they could turn on her as quickly as they did him. When she finds a man who she’s pretty sure the current Alpha failed on a lot of levels, she decides to take matters into her own hands and prove Dara isn’t as perfect of an Alpha as everyone thinks.

Seth lost his mate, but he survived. He can’t stand to watch other wolves happily carrying on with their lives and mates after he’d failed to protect his own. Dara allows him his privacy and ensures that he survives, even if there are days when he wishes otherwise. When one headstrong and opinionated she-wolf decides she’s going to end the unique hell of his isolation, Seth has to make a choice…

Kick her butt to the curb or answer the call to claim her. But can he dare claim another mate when he knows he failed once to be the man his mate needed?

Available at ARe


***

Excerpt:

The stink of humans slathered in too much cologne and perfume competed with the smell of open beers and possible promiscuity in a cloud of inevitable shame—at least to Seth. He wasn’t sure why he still bothered to come down from his hill to visit the dance hall, but it was a ritual he practiced on one specific night of every year.

“Seth!” called Alex Jewel. “Good to see you, man.”

Seth grunted and nodded as he passed over the cover charge. “’Sup, buddy?”

“Not much. Haven’t seen you in ages. How the hell have you been?”

With a shrug, Seth headed past him and down the hall that led to the bar and dance floor. The ritual must be completed exactly for him to feel satisfied, which meant one beer on the outside patio, one inside, then he could go home.

Not that fulfilling the pattern actually made him feel any better at the end of the day. Still...

He ordered the first beer and headed outside with it. Few were out on the patio, but then again that was typical, too, for this time of year. Only the really dedicated smokers or secret lovers looking for a quiet dark spot would bother to brave the humid, still summer air—filled with tiny and annoying biting bugs—to sit outside.

Watching a single large-wing katydid perched on the fence helped him pass the time. He ignored the humans with their clouds of smoke and lust. The katydid busily cleaned his wings while Seth sipped the beer. It wasn’t as cold as he preferred, and he never drank this brand any other time of the year, but that, too, was part of the tradition.

Soon, his beer had been emptied and the katydid had flown to do whatever important insect tasks awaited him in the darkness.

Heading back inside, Seth caught the scent of a wolf and scanned the dance floor to see if he recognized whoever it might be.

He pinpointed the direction of the aroma to be near the stage, which meant the smell must be coming from one of two women dancing near the speakers. He couldn’t help the half smile the sight brought him. One of the women wore silver leg braces, yet danced with carefree abandon and a smile. Her movements might be restricted by her obviously weak legs, yet her joy flowed as effervescent as anyone else’s in the room, if not more. Next to her dark haired beauty, her dance partner looked particularly mundane. The other woman had boy-short blonde hair and seemed just as happy. Something about the pair caught his wolf’s attention, but he wasn’t sure what other than the fact it was good to see an obviously crippled woman having a good time with a friend.

Shrugging off the oddity, he moved to the bar to order the second ritual beer. Once he had it in hand, he headed for the small booth at the back of the dance hall as per routine. From there, however, he broke the pattern a bit. Instead of staring at the Elvis cut-out hanging on the wall below a clock with only fives—because it was always five o’clock somewhere—he watched the girls dancing.

At one point, the blonde went and got them both drinks, so they backed away from the dance floor to cool off then went right back to dancing. His wolf stirred again, but he disregarded it. But then the blonde looked in his direction, a flash of yellow in her eyes. His wolf more than stirred at the glance, practically clawing him from the inside. Unsettled, he stood to leave. He’d finished the beer and therefore the dance hall portion of the ritual.

At the door, someone caught his arm. “Hey, do I know you?”


***

About the Author:

Virginia Nelson, USA Today bestselling author, likes knights in rusted and dinged up armor, heroes that snarl instead of croon, and heroines who can’t remember to say the right thing even with an author writing their dialogue. Her books are full of snark, sex, and random acts of ineptitude—not always in that order.

For more information on other books by Virginia, visit her website: www.virg-nelson.com

***

Giveaway 

2 ARe Imprint ebooks

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday 25 October 2015

Author Interview: Kathryn Rogersof Memphis Hoodoo Murders


About the Author:

Kathryn Rogers is a Memphis native with an affinity for local BBQ and blues rock-n-roll. As a licensed therapist, she holds her Masters in Counseling and Psychology, and as a licensed educator, she holds her Bachelors in Education. Her experience providing counseling services to the community prepared her to expound upon the psychological issues her characters wrestle with in her stories. She currently lives in Jackson, Mississippi with her husband, playful preschooler, and rambunctious Labrador Retrievers.

***

Do you plan everything or just let the story flow?

I generally just let the story flow since I don't normally create the whole story in chronological order. Instead I typically get bits and pieces of the puzzle, and over time it becomes clear what order they should go in. At the beginning, I tend to see the beginning and ending though – it's the rest of it which comes to me in parts. I don't worry about the sequence of events – I just write it all down as best as I can. And then when I have enough pieces, the picture becomes clear.

Do your characters ever want to take over the story? 

My characters tell the story – I am the transcriber for them.

What is your favorite food?

That's a hard question at the moment. I am currently expecting my second child, so everything tastes differently today than it normally does. However, with that being said, I am always up for Mexican or Italian food. And I don't think any day is complete without a good cup of a coffee and a little bit of chocolate.

Are you a morning person or a night owl? 

I am absolutely a night owl. I love to write late in the evening after everyone has gone to sleep and the house is still and quiet. However, my husband and child are both early risers, so I now have to force myself to go to bed at a reasonable hour since my child will get me up early no matter how late I go to bed. Coffee helps with writing and the sleep deprivation which comes from motherhood.

Where do you dream of traveling to and why?

I studied in Europe in college a couple of times. I would love to go back to London and to travel around Scotland again. As far as places I have never been, I have always dreamed of visiting Norway and seeing their beautiful fjords. Someday I plan to go.

Do distant places feature in your books?

Not yet, but I can't say they won't ever.  At present, I am focusing on the Southern region of the United States as settings for all of my stories, particularly in Tennessee, Mississippi, and Louisiana. There is so much history in these areas that the writing possibilities seem endless.

Do you listen to music while writing? 

Absolutely. I do my best writing while Pandora is playing.

Could you tell us a bit about your latest release? 

Memphis Hoodoo Murders was released through Kindle August 14, 2015 and through Amazon August 15, 2015. While I have had some poetry published in the past, this is my first novel. I hope it will be the first of many.

What have you learned about writing and publishing since you first started?

I learned how important it is to be persistent with writing; the writers who become authors are the ones who didn’t quit. The business side of publishing was quite new for me, and having James Dickerson of Sartoris Literary Group to help guide me was tremendously beneficial.

Is there anything you would do differently?

I try not to have regrets by evaluating decisions I have made where things didn't turn out as well as I wish they had. I work to determine what I learned from the experiences, what I will do again, and what I will do differently the next go round. This is a much more productive investment of emotional energy and time than worrying about the past.

Who, or what, if anything has influenced your writing?

Everywhere I go and everyone I meet give me inspiration for my writing.

Anything you would say to those just starting out in the craft?

Read and write as much as you can. Listen to feedback from others who will take the time to read your work and who have your best interest at heart. Write what you want to read. Never make promises to readers you don't intend to keep, give them a story interesting enough to justify an investment of their time, and leave them feeling satisfied when they get done with your novel.

What are three words that describe you? 

Kind, compassionate, honest

What's your favorite book or who is your favorite writer? 

I like so many writers that it would be impossible for me to pick a favorite. However, J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer inspire me since they were both mothers who wrote their stories down and “made it” in the literary world. Stories like theirs gave me hope and encouragement to press on when I got discouraged at times and considered giving up. As far as books go, I don’t have a favorite, and I rarely read a book I don't like. Growing up, C.S. Lewis's Narnia series inspired me to be more imaginative, and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee is a classic story which left a lifelong impression on me. Also, The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck is one of the best novels I have had the privilege of reading.

Blurb of your latest release or coming soon book



Memphis Hoodoo Murders is an occult horror mystery novel. It was published by Sartoris Literary Group on August 15, 2015 and is available for sale on Amazon.

Synopsis:

Addie Jackson has witnessed people trying to kill her family her entire life, and now her grandparents’ attackers are hunting her. The Memphis police are never able to catch these crooks since the cops have been bewitched to stay away. Her grandparents, Pop and Grandma, habitually lie to Addie, but she is attentive enough to overhear the secrets they keep from her. In her predictive dreams, Addie regularly sees future events, which disturb her, but to her dismay, she has never been able to stop them from coming true. She often dreams of a dark character, who she is later shocked to discover is the Man, a devil from hoodoo legend.

Addie is disturbed to discover she is being stalked by a witch doctor named Hoodoo Helen. To make matters worse, the more secrets Addie uncovers, the more danger she finds. Addie presses Grandma for answers about the power behind the ring and pocket watch she often toys with, but Grandma remains tight-lipped. Knowing their deaths are imminent, Grandma makes a deal with the hoodoo devil to take care of Addie, and Addie is later horrified to discover that her beloved family has been murdered. John, a family friend, steps in to help Addie, and she soon realizes he knows more about her family’s tainted past than she ever has. Addie begins receiving cryptic letters from her deceased grandmother, which reveal a shocking family history revolving around slavery, time travel, and magic.

If Addie can survive jail, her cousin’s abduction, threats from a menacing gang, corrupt law enforcement, and hoodooed attacks, maybe she can finally dream of a future where she will be safe and free.

Praise for Memphis Hoodoo Murders:

Dripping with grisly spells, wry humor and a distinctly southern brand of magical realism, you’ll be quickly mesmerized by this magnetic paranormal thriller. A home run for author Kathryn Rogers.” – Reviewed by Best Thrillers

Addie Jackson is not your average college student. For starters, she lives with her slightly odd grandparents in a not-so-nice part of Memphis, Tennessee. Most of her life revolves around taking care of her grandparents and trying to keep a low profile in her neighborhood instead of going on dates, talking about new music, and having fun. When her grandparents’ behavior becomes even more bizarre, there are break-ins at the church the family attends, and she begins to have dreams that come true, Addie becomes even more aware of the strange life she is living. She begins to believe that her grandparents have been hiding something from her for her entire life, something big, something that could put everyone’s lives in danger. Something that could mean that Hoodoo magic is real. Kathryn Rogers’ novel, Memphis Hoodoo Murders, immediately catches the reader with an exciting title and a surprising first chapter.” – Reviewed by Red City Review

Any websites/places readers can find you on the web:

https://twitter.com/KARogers27

https://www.facebook.com/MemphisHoodoo/timeline/

http://www.amazon.com/Memphis-Hoodoo-Murders-Kathryn-Rogers-ebook/dp/B0103FN8PA

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26132963-memphis-hoodoo-murders

Friday 23 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: The Cure by Sam Crescent





The Cure 
Sam Crescent
A Wicked Tale
ARe Books
Genre: M/F, Vampires, Werewolves, PNR

About the Book:

What will they decide when the two choices are the coward’s way out or certain death?

When Sandra looks into the eyes of a killer, she believes her life is over. The Cure is chasing down wolves, witches, warlocks, and anyone who threatens their control of the world.

Lucas has been watching Sandra for a year. She’s his mate, even though he’s a vampire and she is a wolf. He will do whatever it takes to protect her.

With no choice but to accept Lucas as her mate, Sandra will do everything to fight The Cure that is destroying them. Can a mated vampire and wolf save the day? Or are their days of being mated numbered?

Available at ARe

***

Excerpt

Sandra King ran through the forest terrified for her life. Her pack had just been ransacked by a scourge of vampires. She’d witnessed the murder of so many, along with several of her family.

I shouldn’t be alive.

She had run while listening to most of her pack being destroyed. They had been killed, but who had been responsible for giving away their location? For as long as she could remember, and even according to all the history books, wolves and vampires had been at war with each other. She didn’t even know why, only that she had to hate them. During her twenty-five years she’d never once met a vampire, or even touched one.

Tonight, that was all about to change. She kept on running, and when her lungs were about to burst, she had no choice but to lean against the nearest tree trunk trying to gather her senses.

Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t hear anything other than the howling of the wind. This is what made vampires so deadly. They didn’t have a heartbeat, or a scent to them, and this made them impossible to track.

Some romance fiction talks of vampires and wolves having repulsive smells; it was a complete lie. Vampires didn’t have anything. They were evil to the core, disgusting in every single way. She’d just witnessed so many of them taking out her pack.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Sandra turned toward the sound. Out of her whole pack she’d always been the slowest. Where a lot of wolves had naturally slender bodies, she didn’t. She’d always been plagued to be bigger than most of her pack. Her own mother had put her on a diet to try and get her to slim down so she could attract the right kind of man.

There was no man for her, though. All of the guys had placed her in the friend column, or they had not cared for her. One day she hoped to find a man who would love her for her, and to start a family with him. She loved kids, and one day she would love to have many children call her mother, and love them.

Staring up at the sky, Sandra closed her eyes in the hope that whoever was out there didn’t find her.

When she opened her eyes again, she knew it was the biggest mistake she’d ever make. She’d let her guard down, and now she was staring into the scariest eyes she’d ever seen. His eyes were black, and reminded her a little of a shark just before it struck its prey. Her heart pounded and for several seconds neither of them did anything.

Suddenly, he closed his eyes, and when she looked at him again his black eyes had changed to brown, and he looked almost human. She opened her mouth about to scream, and he sprung into action. He pressed his hand against her mouth, wrapping an arm around her waist, and tugged her close so that her back was to him. At first, she tried to fight but he was just too strong, keeping her locked into place.

“Don’t scream, baby. You scream, they all come running, and I won’t be able to protect you.”

She was confused. He was the one who was trying to kill her.

The man, whoever he was, wrapped his entire body around her, placing his hand over her heart. What the fuck was he doing?

“Be still, be quiet, don’t make a sound,” he said, whispering the words against her ear.

Sandra couldn’t believe the response he gained from her body. Heat spilled between her thighs, and she had to fight her own need to reach out and touch him.

The vampire behind her didn’t say anything. He didn’t respond even though he must have scented her arousal to their closeness.

Couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow her?

***

About the Author:

Sam Crescent is a USA Today Bestselling author who is passionate about romance. She resides in the UK, and loves creating new exciting characters that take her on a journey she never expected.

When she’s not panicking about a story or arguing with a character, she can be found in her kitchen creating all kinds of havoc.

For more information on other books by Sam, visit her official website: www.SamCrescent.Wordpress.com

***

Tour Giveaway:

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Thursday 22 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Affirmation by Rayna Noire





Affirmation 
Pagan Eyes
Book Four
Rayna Noire
Genre: YA Paranormal/Wiccan
Publisher: Sleeping Dragon Press
Date of Publication: September 28th
Number of pages: 270 
Word Count: 65,015
Cover Artist: Dawne Dominique

Book Description:

Stella’s college life transforms from sweet to rancid when her boyfriend asks her to do the unthinkable. How did she end up holding her best friend’s future in her hands? Anything she does will trigger the disastrous conclusion. If that isn’t bad enough.

Add in a lunatic minister, a demi-goddess, and a walk through another dimension full of vindictive shrubbery and wildlife. It’s far from the typical freshman year.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/4AfW7s42QuY

Available at Amazon


***

Excerpt:

Oh, she tried not to think too much of the almost unknown senior who awkwardly asked her out to the senior prom. It was unfortunate he chose the morning her father stomped out of the house with a suitcase. The traumatic departure continued out on the front lawn where mothers with kindergartners stood on the sidewalk with strollers waiting for their oldest to board the bus.

Her mother clutched a skillet in her right hand because his abrupt announcement caught her in the middle of unloading the dishwasher. Her mother baited him by telling him that running back to his skanky ho would result in some incurable STD and a painful death.

The nearby mothers took a step back while covering their attentive children’s ears. Those with more than one child had more of a challenge as far as ear coverage.

Her father, halfway in his car, yelled back. “You ruined my life. Everything you touch you destroyed.” Catching sight of Stella, he added, “I wish you’d never been born.”

Most people at the bus stop probably thought he was talking to her mother. Apparently, that was the impression her mother received too, because she hurled the skillet at the car, dinging the door. Her father’s face suffused with red, and he opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he closed the car door and sped off.

Her mother, suddenly aware of her audience, dusted off her hands, announced to the listeners, “Good riddance.” Her actions announced it was her plan to chase off her husband with a frying pan before work. Stella stayed on the front stoop staring at the departing car, knowing he’d been staring at her, wishing she’d never been born.

It was hard to stop thinking about it. So when Kevin Hardesty asked her if she’d go to the prom with him, she didn’t answer, barely even heard the words as she turned away afraid she might start crying again. Apparently, not quickly enough, because it was all over school that the idea of going to prom with Kevin sent her into an enormous crying fit by the end of the day. When the gossip finally reached her via Leah, she wanted to find Kevin and explain. She never had the chance. He hanged himself that night from the local park swing set. The police found him near midnight when making their nightly rounds.

***

About the Author:

Rayna Noire is an author and a historian. The desire to uncover the truth behind the original fear of witches led her to the surprising discovery that people believed in magick in some form up to 150 years ago. A world that believed the impossible could happen and often did must have been amazing. With this in mind, Ms. Noire taps into this dimension, shapes it into stories about Pagan families who really aren’t that different from most people. They do go on the occasional time travel adventures and magick happens.

www.facebook.com/AuthorRaynaNoire

www.twitter.com/raynanoire

http://www.raynanoire.weebly.com/

***

Tour giveaway 

Amazon Gift Card $40 International

2 Filled Swag backpacks US only

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday 21 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Beast The Untold Legend by Shoshanna Evers





Beast The Untold Legend
Shoshanna Evers
A Wicked Tale
ARe Books
Genre: M/F, Fairy Tale, PNR

About the Book:

Deflowering the princess may just save her life.

Princess Justine found an unlikely ally when she stormed into the stables and found an angry, devastatingly handsome young man tending to her mare. Victor belonged to her soon-to-be Queen mother-in-law, and he had the whip marks on his muscled back to prove it.

The Queen, an enchantress well-accomplished in the art of black magic, turns Victor into a creature like no other.  He’s a ten foot tall beastly wall of muscle, animalistic sinew and savagery ready to unleash every primal urge coiled within him. At the Queen’s command, he kidnaps Justine on her wedding day to the prince — but refuses to kill her. Instead, he keeps her safe by turning her from a threat to the Queen’s power, into a ruined woman who will never ascend the throne.

Now the Beast holds his princess captive in the woods, his focus on only one mission: deflower her and get her with child before the queen comes back to kill Justine herself.

He wasn’t expecting Justine to see past his terrifying form and straight into his heart. Setting her free is no more of an option than keeping her. But as their tentative alliance forms, both Victor and Justine can’t help but wonder— what if being together is their chance for true love?

Available at ARe
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-beasttheuntoldlegend-1893614-147.html

***

"Beast," she said, trying to steady the tremble in her voice. "I have no quarrel with you, sir. Please don't hurt me."

To her surprise, the beast dropped down on all fours to be closer to her, and shook his massive head. A lock from his dark mane fell over his blue-gray eyes, and Justine paused. It made no sense for him to remind her of... Victor.

Maybe it was just that feeling they inspired in her that drew the comparison in her mind. That feeling she got when she stood on the edge of a cliff and stared down, and wondered what it would feel like to jump if only she had wings to keep her from crashing. Staring at the beast now, he felt like both the cliff... and the wings.

"I had no choice but to take you, Princess," he said, his voice gravelly and deep. "Do not run from me."

The cadence of his low voice sounded familiar, but that didn't make sense.

"You're not real," Justine said. "I fainted at my wedding and hit my head; I'm sure of it."

The beast loomed over her, covering her with his body, so there would be no escape. "I am real."

"Please, do not harm me, Beast, I beg you."

"I will not harm you," he said. "Look at me, Princess. *You know me.*"

No. This wasn't real. "You are a figment of my imagination. There is no beast like you in nature. "

His face was millimeters from her own. He pressed his cheek to hers, his rough whiskers prickling her own delicate skin.

Goosebumps raised along her arms. If it were a dream, would she be feeling that?

"I am real," he growled. "But you are right about one thing, Princess. I am not natural."

"Please wake up," she shouted, hoping it would jolt her out of her nightmare.

With a dangerous smile that bared his fangs, the beast gripped her arm. "This is no dream. Shall I pinch you, and prove it?"

"Yes," she said, with a boldness she didn’t feel. This nightmare was going on too long—

The beast raised one thick eyebrow... though the eyebrow blended in on his face, which was covered in smooth short hairs that did nothing to hide his strong jaw and high cheekbones.

He picked her up off the ground, his large hands so human if not for the claws that adorned them. Yet they weren't paws. He definitely had fingers, holding her firmly under her buttocks. Each one sent a line of heat through her chilled flesh.

The claws that had torn her gown earlier didn't touch her now. Had he... retracted them? Like a cat?

With a groan that sounded too much like raw satisfaction for her sensibilities, he pinched a handful of the flesh on her bottom.

The jolt of pain made her yelp in surprise. *Pinches in a dream shouldn’t hurt.*

He dropped his mouth to her neck, his whiskers scratching her delicate skin, and nibbled her ear. It didn't hurt, despite his sharp fangs. He wasn't tasting her... he was toying with her.

His tongue was soft sandpaper against her fragile skin, like a cat tongue. It tickled and made her restless, unable to keep still his arms.

He pulled away from her ear to stare into her eyes. She couldn't look away as he growled softly and pinched each handful of her ass cheeks again, holding her flesh hostage even as she squirmed against him.

*This is not a dream.*

"Stop!" she gasped, struggling to be free of his iron grip.

Her attempts to move her bottom away from his hands only served to press her mound against torso. Quick as could be, the beast adjusted one hand to grab the junction of her thighs, forcing a moan from her mouth.

"Am I real to you now, Justine?"

He knew her name. He used her name as if he knew *her.*

***

About the Author:

Shoshanna Evers, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, has written dozens of sexy stories since her debut in 2010, including Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining), The Man Who Holds the Whip, and  I Am Not Your Melody, all of which hit the bestseller lists in box sets. Among her most popular books are The Tycoon’s Convenient Bride…and Baby, Overheated, The Enslaved Trilogy, How to Write Hot Sex, and the controversial novella Held Captive by the Cavemen.

Shoshanna Evers has been listed on Amazon as one of the “Most Popular Authors in Romance,” as well as on the Contemporary Romance, and Erotica “Most Popular Authors” lists.

Reviewers have called Shoshanna’s writing “fast paced, intense, and sexual…every naughty fantasy come to life for the reader” with stories where “the plot is fresh and the pacing excellent, the emotions…real and poignant.”

Ms. Evers is also the cofounder of SelfPubBookCovers.com, the largest selection of instantly customizable, one-of-a-kind, premade book covers in the world.

Shoshanna used to work as a syndicated advice columnist and a registered nurse, but now she’s a full-time smut writer and a home-schooling mom. She lives in the mountains of north Idaho with her family and three big dogs, and loves to connect with readers on Twitter @ShoshannaEvers, and Facebook at www.facebook.com/shoshanna.evers

For more information on other books by Shoshanna, visit her official website: www.ShoshannaEvers.com

***

Giveaway 

2 ARe Imprint ebooks

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Tuesday 20 October 2015

Book Spotlight & Giveaway: Mercury Retrograde by Laura Bickle




Mercury Retrograde
A Dark Alchemy Novel
Book Two
Laura Bickle
On-Sale 10/27/2015  
ISBN: 9780062437617

About the Book:

Geologist Petra Dee and the citizens of Temperance, Wyoming come up against a venomous enemy, not to mention a biker gang that’s hell on wheels, in the second book in Laura Bickle’s Dark Alchemy series.

Something venomous has come to Temperance…

It’s been two months since Petra Dee and her coyote sidekick Sig faced off against Temperance’s resident alchemist, but things are far from quiet. When an Internet video of a massive snake in the backcountry of Yellowstone goes viral, a chase for the mythical basilisk is on. Monster hunters swarm into the area, and never one to pass up the promise of discovery, Petra joins in the search.

Among the newcomers is a snake cult on wheels - the biker gang Sisters of Serpens. Unlike some, the Sisters don’t want to kill the basilisk - they want to worship it. But things get complicated when the basilisk develops a taste for human flesh that rivals the Sisters’ own murderous skills.

Meanwhile, the alchemical tree of life is dying, and the undead Hanged Men of Temperance who depend on it know the basilisk may be their last chance for survival.

With time running out for everyone around her, Petra will be forced to decide who survives and who she must leave behind in this action-packed sequel to Dark Alchemy.

Amazon | BN | iTunes

***

Excerpt


No matter how decent Petra Dee’s intentions were, things always went to shit.

Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck, sliding down her shoulder blades and congealing between her skin and the Tyvek biohazard suit. The legs of the suit made a zip-zip sound, snagging on bits of prickly pear as she walked through the underbrush of Yellowstone National Park. She clutched her tool bag tightly in her gloved grip, the plastic of the suit rustling over the hiss of the respirator in her ears. Her breath fogged the scuffed clear mask of the suit, softening the edges of the land before her with a dreamlike filter.

“You don’t have to do this,” Mike said.

“Consider it a professional favor, okay?” she said. “And you said it was weird. Now, I’m curious.”

The park ranger in the suit in front of her stopped, turned, and awkwardly grabbed her sleeve. “Look, you don’t have to. The hikers who found it said it was pretty gruesome.” Mike’s voice was muffled behind his own mask, but his brow creased as he looked at her. It was clear to her that he now thought better of bringing her here. Maybe it was his dumb, misplaced sense of chivalry, or maybe things really did suck as badly as he suggested. With him, it was hard to tell.

“You can go back,” he suggested. Again.

“Mike. You need a geologist. There isn’t anybody on your staff who can tell you if it’s safe to be up here. Weird seismic shit has been happening in the last couple of weeks—new springs and fumaroles and mudpots opening up in this area, stuff that isn’t on the maps. And you’re stuck with me unless you want to wait for the Department of the Interior to show up and tell you what you need to know.” She didn’t want to be having this discussion out in the open. There were more men and women in suits behind them, far behind, waiting to see what Mike and Petra would do. They might not be within earshot, but it offended her sense of professionalism. “Besides, I owe you.”

And she did, big-time. Petra had a knack for causing trouble for Mike. Since she’d shown up in town two months ago to take a quiet-sounding geology gig with the federal government, she’d managed to stumble into an underground war between a cattle baron and the local drug-dealing alchemist. A shitstorm of administrative paperwork had been generated for Mike when drugs and bodies turned up in his jurisdiction. Pizza and beer only went so far to balance the scales of debt.

Mike rubbed the back of his hood with a crinkling sound. “Yeah, but …”

Petra nodded sharply. “I can do this.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“If you need outta here, just say the word.” Mike started walking again, pushing aside a branch blocking her way.

She moved forward to the edge of the tree line, beyond where blotches of color swam in her sweaty vision. A campsite. A red tent had been pitched in a clearing, though it tilted in a lopsided fashion on a broken pole, like a giant spider someone had plucked a leg from. Nice tent—a deluxe model, with mesh windows and pop-outs. A dead fire with cold ash was surrounded by a ring of rocks. Laundry dangled from a clothesline: T-shirts, jeans, socks.

And beyond it, a gorgeously pink mudpot. Iron in the underlying slurry likely yielded the soft rose color. The acidic hot spring burbled mud, steaming into the cool air. She was reminded of the steam rising from mountains as the dew baked off in the spring. There were thousands of these mudpots dotted all throughout Yellowstone National Park, too many to catalog, despite the hazards they posed.

Petra ducked under the clothesline, wrestling for a moment with a pair of child-sized purple leggings that seemed determined to get snagged around her respirator hose. After fighting them off, she turned her attention back to the scene.

A dark-haired man sat upright at the edge of the dead fire, hunched forward, his arms tangled in a blanket as if he’d been trying to protect himself from the cold.

Her breath echoed quickly in her mask. Mike moved forward to kneel before the man. Pulling the blanket off, he reached for his neck to take his pulse.

Early morning sunshine illuminated the man’s face. It was slack, jaw open, violet tongue protruding from his lips. Broken capillaries covered his cheeks, the red contrasting with mottled grey skin. His eyes were frozen wide open, and the sclera were bright red instead of white.

The blanket fell away to reveal a red flannel shirt. Oddly enough, it looked as if part of it had been bleached, as if he’d brushed up against a gallon of white paint. A knife glinted in his right hand, trapped in a claw frozen by rigor mortis. Petra squinted to get a good look. The knife was a piece of junk—the blade had been melted.

The body rolled over on its side, landing like an action figure holding its pose in the dirt.

Mike swore and grabbed his radio. “This is L-6, be advised that we’ve confirmed a male victim. Tell the medics to …”

Petra turned. That was a big tent. Too big for just one guy. And then there were the little girls’ leggings that she’d tussled with … damn it. Steeling herself, she crossed to the tent, her suit creaking. Sweating, she grasped the tent zipper. Its teeth stuck in the PVC-coated canvas, and she tried three times before she gave up. Part of the tent had come unstaked on the right side, letting daylight creep in. She worked that seam and pulled it open.

She stumbled back, falling on her ass.

A woman sat bolt upright in a sleeping bag, with speckled and broken skin like the man at the fireside. She stared at Petra with the same blood-red gaze under a tangle of brown hair.

Petra leaned forward to touch her shoulder. The woman didn’t move, frozen in some unfathomable moment of shock.  Heart hammering, Petra fumbled for a pulse. Through her gloves, the woman felt cold, and her chest didn’t move. Her skin felt swollen, as if stretched over an unseen trauma.

Mike crawled into the tent to stare at a bundle beside the woman. He peeled back a sleeping bag on a little girl, maybe five or six, clutching a dinosaur plush toy. Her eyes were closed, seeming very peaceful under bruised skin.

“Please let her be alive,” Petra whispered.

Mike shook his head. “No pulse. But … not a mark on her.”

Petra backed out of the tent into the clearing. Blinking, she reached for her equipment bag and dug out a handheld yellow gas monitor. Stabbing at the buttons, she waited for the sensors to start analyzing the air.

She glanced at the mudpot, that beautiful pink jewel barely the size of a bathtub. The warmth it radiated condensed against her plastic suit. When the call came in that a man had been found dead near a mudpot in Yellowstone, the rangers had all assumed that the culprit was poisonous gas, carbon dioxide or hydrogen sulfide. And that would make sense, but …

While waiting for the gas monitor to calibrate, Petra stood to peer into the bubbling mud. It was possible, but poisoning by those gases was a relatively rare phenomenon. She fished some tongue depressors out of her pack to dip a glob of the mud out into a specimen bottle for analysis.

A sharp drumming sounded overhead, and she looked up.

A woodpecker drilled into a pine tree above her, making a sound like a jackhammer. Birds had much more delicate respiratory systems than humans. If poisonous gas had seeped up from the mud here, then the bird should be showing ill effects. But instead it had found its breakfast, plucking bugs from bark, ignoring the humans below.

Her gaze scraped the perimeter of the camp. The vegetation was all wrong here—brittle and yellow and spotted, as if burned by something acidic. She knelt to pluck a piece of curled grass to stuff into a specimen bottle. Low-level amounts of hydrogen sulfide were likely to enhance plant growth. High levels could kill plants, but not quickly.

She glanced down at her gas detector. “Huh.”

Mike had backed away from the tent. “Well?”

“No carbon monoxide. No sulfur dioxide. Normal amounts of carbon dioxide. No appreciable levels of hydrogen sulfide right now, which is what I assumed the culprit would be, since that’s the most common airborne poison spewed by mudpots.” She pulled the hood of her suit back to take a sniff of the air. It smelled like pine needles, not like rotten eggs. “I think that it’s safe for your people to come in. Just … tell them not to touch anything they don’t have to. Gloves and suits.”

Mike nodded and began barking orders into his walkie-talkie.

Petra lifted her freckled face to the sky, feeling the blessedly cool breeze against her cheeks. She spat a bit of dark blond hair out of her mouth and reached to take another soil sample. Maybe there was some other toxin here? Something more exotic that would need more tests run. Arsenic could be here, but it wouldn’t have killed these people so quickly. The ground was opening up in pockets in the whole Pelican Creek area. Geologists had been detecting midlevel quakes in previously quiet land. In a place like Yellowstone, the geology was always changing, but this was unusual. And it needed to be investigated.

Mike mopped his brow. “Maybe there were high levels here overnight, and the wind swept it all away,” he mused. “Or the mudpot belched. A one-time thing.”

“Could be.” Inspiration struck her, and she stood to examine the man’s body by the dead fire. He lay where he’d fallen, rigidly on his side. “Could you help me with him?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need to check his pockets for change.”

Mike rolled the guy over. The body didn’t turn over with a normal thick, human sound. Petra heard sloshing, as if they were moving a cooler full of melted ice. Mike came up with a set of car keys and a fistful of change, which he handed to Petra. She stared at the debris, pushing aside the quarters, nickels, and dimes in her palm.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Pennies … ah.” She held a penny up to the light. A 2015 penny, bright and shiny and new. “It wasn’t hydrogen sulfide poisoning.”

“How can you tell?”

“If he’d been exposed to hydrogen sulfide, the copper in the penny would have oxidized. No evidence of that, here. When hydrogen sulfide was used as a chemical weapon in World War I, copper coins in the pockets of victims turned nearly black.”

“Great. Maybe the coroner’s toxicology report will tell us what it was. I’m mostly just concerned that we’ve got an ongoing hazard situation here.”

“I’ll run some soil samples,” Petra said. “In the meantime, you should have your rangers cordon this off for at least a hundred yards until we know for sure what it was.” She wrinkled her nose and reached for her respirator. “What the hell is that smell?” It wasn’t the rotten-eggs smell of hydrogen sulfide. This smelled worse, like roadkill.

Mike turned to the body. “It …” The smell hit him, and he struggled to pull his hood over his head. “It’s the body.”

Where the camper’s corpse had been turned over to the earth, a black, viscous substance oozed. Two medics had arrived in full gear and grasped the body, one at the arms and the other at the feet. As they lifted, it seemed as if some fragile surface tension held by the man’s skin failed. The skin split open, and dark fluid soaked the dirt to splash against the white suits of the medics.

“Christ,” Mike said behind his mask. “Only a floater would behave like that.”

“A floater?” she echoed.

“A body that’s been in a river for weeks. The gases build up while the organs rot. But … these guys can’t have been here that long. We’ll know for sure when we get an ID.”

More plastic suits showed up with body bags into which to pour what remained of the camper. They discussed how best to remove the woman and the child from the tent without rupturing them. It was decided to start with the child.

Petra turned away. She just didn’t want to see that. She began picking at samples around the edge of the campsite, trying to fade into the background. But the scene burned behind her eyelids. It wasn’t just the people that were dead. Death had spread to the vegetation around the campsite in a circle, as if someone had sprayed the plants with weed killer. As she ventured farther and farther away, she found a trail of rust-colored grass vanishing into the forest.

Ignoring the chatter and radio static behind her, she began to follow the trail. It spanned an area a little over three feet wide, a perfect path of brittle vegetation that contrasted sharply with the early autumn grass that still thrived. She paused before a pine tree that seemed to have had its bark scorched away by some kind of chemical reaction.

She began to regret removing her hood. Holding her breath, she chipped a piece of bark away with an awl and dropped it into a sample bottle.

The track ended abruptly at a spine of rocks that composed the next ridge. There were no plants to speak of here, only fine milk quartz pebbles and sandstone gravel.

She blew out her breath, frustrated at having lost the trail. Had there been some kind of chemical accident here? She ran through the desiccants and herbicides she knew, most of which were not good for people, but the most likely short-term effects would have been simple respiratory distress or skin contact allergies. Nothing that could cause the amount of squish and slop that the medics were dealing with.

No rational explanation.

Maybe there was an irrational one.

She glanced behind her. No one had followed her this far, to the edge of the forest. She fumbled in her gear bag for the last bit of equipment she’d brought: a golden compass. Glinting in the sun, it lay flat in the palm of her hand. Seven rays extended to the rim, with an image of a golden lion devouring the sun in the center. The Venificus Locus, a magic detector that she still wasn’t entirely sure she believed in, but couldn’t discount. Maybe it would have something to say. Maybe it wouldn’t. But not asking the question would be stupid.

She stripped off her glove, wiggling her sweaty fingers in the air. A hangnail that she’d neglected to trim kept annoying her. She ripped it off and hissed when blood welled up around the cuticle. Clumsily, she sloshed a bright drop of it into the groove circumscribing the outside of the compass. The blood sizzled on contact, then gathered itself into a perfectly round bead. It circled the rim of the compass once, twice …

Petra held her breath, as much in anticipation as not wanting to spill the blood. The bead of blood swung back and forth in an agitated fashion, then settled on north, pointing to the campsite right behind her.

“Great,” she muttered. That was pretty decisive. The compass would have just sucked up the blood if no magic was present.

This was weird land. The nearby town, Temperance, had been founded by Lascaris, an alchemist who’d conjured gold from dead rocks. Some of Lascaris’s old experiments still wandered the countryside. She’d encountered a few of them in her short time here: the Hanged Men, the Alchemical Tree of Life, and the Locus itself—which she’d been told had been made by Lascaris’s own hands.

A shadow flickering through sunlight caught her eye, and she looked up. She half-anticipated it to be the woodpecker foraging for more insects, but froze when she spied a raven watching her, balanced on the edge of a branch. His eyes reflected no light, his shadow mingling among the flickers of needles and branches of the lodgepole pine.

She stared back at it. It might be an ordinary raven. Or it might be one of the raven familiars of the Hanged Men. She turned the compass toward the bird. The drop of blood spiraled halfway around the disk before the bird, alerted, took wing and vanished.

Things around here were rarely ordinary.



***

About the Author:

Laura Bickle grew up in rural Ohio, reading entirely too many comic books out loud to her favorite Wonder Woman doll. After graduating with an MA in Sociology - Criminology from Ohio State University and an MLIS in Library Science from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, she patrolled the stacks at the public library and worked with data systems in criminal justice. She now dreams up stories about the monsters under the stairs. Her work has been included in the ALA’s Amelia Bloomer Project 2013 reading list and the State Library of Ohio’s Choose to Read Ohio reading list for 2015-2016.

More information about Laura’s work can be found at www.laurabickle.com

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