July-August Issue Bewitching Book Tours Magazine

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 46 July/August 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Roxanne Rhoads Cover Artist: Michelle Berryman Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com Ad space rates are: $40 full page ad $20 half page ad $10 quarter page ad You can subscribe to this magazine at http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours Š Copyright 2016 Stock images from www.123rf.com and www.pixabay.com

Have You Read Last Month’s Issue?

Table of Contents July/August 2016 Page 6 Christian A. Brown Page 11 Aftermath by Joe Reyes Page 16 Dial M for Murder Series by Alexis Kennedy Page 21 The Lucy Trilogy by L.M. Pruitt Page 24 McKinley Mysteries by Carolyn Arnold Page 26 Of Beasts and Bonds by N.D. Jones Page 30 Defeat Writer's Block by Luke Ahearn Page 34 Writing the Modern Gothic By Marie Treanor Page 40 Oubliette: A Forgotten Little Place by Vanta M. Black Page 45 Interview with M L Sparrow Page 51 Top Ten Websites to Help Authors by Lincoln Cole Page 55 Rubicon International Series by Ann Gimpel Page 61 The After Effect by Rose Shababy Page 69 Interview with Jamie A Waters Page 74 Interview with Miriam Pia Page 78 Enchanted Guardian by Sharon Ashwood Page 81 The Embodied Trilogy Special Edition Ebook Collection by JB Dutton Page 90 Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel by James A. Hunter Page 105 Transition by Luke Ahearn Page 110 Daughter of the Sun by Zoe Kalo Page 116 Sacred Legacy by Kat Flannery

Feast of Dreams Four Feasts Till Darkness Book Two Christian A. Brown Genre: Fantasy Romance Book Description: As King Brutus licks his wounds and gathers new strength, two rival queens vow to destroy each other’s nations.

Lila of Eod, sliding into madness, risks everything in the search for a powerful relic, while Queen Gloriatrix threatens Eod with military might—including three monstrous technomagikal warships.

Far from this clash of queens, Morigan and the Wolf scour Alabion, hunting for the mad king’s hidden weakness. Their quest brings them face to face with their own pasts, their dark futures…and the Sisters Three themselves.

Unbeknownst to all, a third thread in Geadhain’s tapestry begins to move in the wastes of Mor’Khul. There, a father and son scavenge to survive as they travel south toward a new chapter in Geadhain history.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/rURqUni_lco Available at Amazon Kindle and Paperback

Feast of Fates Four Feasts Till Darkness Book One Christian A. Brown Genre: Fantasy Romance Date of Publication: September 9, 2014 ISBN: 978-1495907586 Number of pages: 540 Word Count: 212K

Book Description: "Love is what binds us in brotherhood, blinds us from hate, and makes us soar with desire.�

Morigan lives a quiet life as the handmaiden to a fatherly old sorcerer named Thackery. But when she crosses paths with Caenith, a not wholly mortal man, her world changes forever. Their meeting sparks long buried magical powers deep within Morigan. As she attempts to understand her newfound abilities, unbidden visions begin to plague her--visions that show a devastating madness descending on one of the Immortal Kings who rules the land.

With Morigan growing more powerful each day, the leaders of the realm soon realize that this young woman could hold the key to their destruction. Suddenly, Morigan finds herself beset by enemies, and she must master her mysterious gifts if she is to survive.

Available at Amazon and Createspace

About the Author Bestselling author of the critically acclaimed Feast of Fates, Christian A. Brown received a Kirkus star in 2014 for the first novel in his genre-changing Four Feasts Till Darkness series.

He has appeared on Newstalk 1010, AM640, Daytime Rogers, and Get Bold Today with LeGrande Green. He actively writes a blog about his mother’s journey with cancer and on gender issues in the media. A lover of the weird and wonderful, Brown considers himself an eccentric with a talent for cat-whispering. http://christianadrianbrown.com https://twitter.com/AuthorChrisAB https://www.facebook.com/ChristianAdrianBrown https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8422242.Christian_ A_Brown https://plus.google.com/u/0/105782095673393074893/about

Aftermath Book 1 Joe Reyes Genre: Young Adult Post-Apocalyptic Publisher: Wasteland Press Date of Publication: April 29, 2016 ISBN: 1681111128 Number of pages: 284 Word Count: 79, 722 Book Description: Aftermath is a growing series about war, love, brutality and most of all, survival. What was once the United States has become a savage post-apocalyptic environment where the worst of the worst prosper and the remaining good hide.

The series features a brutal setting, where seven characters in different parts of the United States must adapt to this new environment. The "fight or flight" mentality plays into the story, as the nation is divided into factions fighting for control of the country. The government is outnumbered, outgunned, and forced into hiding as well to recoup their forces. The novel follows a fast paced momentum from the first page to the last word. The plot pits these characters against the elements and each other, with plot-lines intertwining on opposite sides of the war effort. And one character's quest for revenge can jeopardize not only the war outcome, but the reshaping of the entire nation.

With an ever-changing storyline and evolving characters, the Aftermath series gets more intense with every chapter. But what these characters don't realize, the terrifying evil is making its way across the ocean.

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If I Can See It Then I Can Write It Whenever I start a story, I completely map it out. I draw the environment and look up pictures of what I want the characters to look like. The most fun I had while writing Aftermath was creating the weapons from it. In Aftermath, people craft weapons of survival out of everyday items.

Instead of having a character use a tree branch for a club, I let my creativity take over. I wanted to see what I could come up with, simply from materials found in my home or at my job. Since a lot of the people would be killed or scattered in a supposed raid, as featured in Aftermath, having the time to raid a random house or tool shed wouldn’t be too ridiculous. The whole story is based on survival. To adapt to a kill or be killed environment, you have to arm yourself somehow.

In the story, I have a group of hunters who use only bows and arrows. I picked up a simple bow and arrow, went to the back yard and harnessed my inner Katniss Everdeen as I took aim at a series of targets. I didn’t do so well early on, but that was the whole point. I had to LEARN how to adapt and get it right because that could mean the difference between snagging some dinner or going to sleep hungry.

There is a group of cannibals called Savages who live up to the title. The group is growing in number rapidly and there isn’t a plethora of guns to spare. This gives members of the group more incentive to create their own custom weapons for added brutality.

I hope this gave you an in-depth look into the making of this story. Aftermath was a lot of fun to write and even more fun to reenact. I hope you all pick up a copy of my book and let me know if you liked it.

Excerpt: Sara “People and beans again?” a raggedy-looking man says as Sara passes him a plate. He glares down, disappointed, at the meal of perfectly cut human flesh and a side dish of green beans. Sara hands out more plates to the group of men huddled around a fire.

“When you guys kill something other than people, you’ll get something else to eat,” she says with a sarcastic smile, walking off.

It’s near-insane to talk back to these guys. They are psychotic killers, but she is protected. Marcus, their leader, has taken a liking to her. So it’s a choice of be killed, be raped and then killed, or be his willing sex slave.

Sometimes she doesn’t know if she made the right choice.

Before going back to the kitchen, she stops by every group to see if they all have something to eat. Dozens of groups gather around, having their breakfast. The field is littered with dirty men and women feasting on human remains.

Probably over a hundred in total, she guesses.

The Savages is what they are called. The group started after the bombs fell about five years ago. They were small at first, but they’ve since grown into a much larger army. This gives them better resources and a nice cut of whatever they take from towns.

All they do is kill and raid villages. They swoop in, kill, take everything, and leave. They take in recruits, sometimes, if they seem to fit the part. The survivors don’t last long. They are usually killed and displayed as a message to discourage others.

For years they tried the whole nomad lifestyle, but when the army got bigger, they realized they had to settle down.

It’s a lot easier than constantly uprooting the whole camp.

They have no reason to leave. There are always animals in the forest. A river provides fresh water and fish.

Armies are too afraid to attack them. They can’t survive an all-out military assault, but the government has much more important enemies than them to worry about.

They all wear custom-made armors consisting of materials they find on the road. Sports gear is a big part of it: elbow pads, football pads, helmets—anything they can find. A lot of it is hand-sewn and made from animal skins.

The farm would also pose a problem for moving. Horses are bred and domesticated as transportation. Without cars and without gasoline to run them, they are a necessary component of life here.

Each Savage has the brand of an S on the back of his or her shoulder, indicating initiation into the group. It is given after their first kill. After a big massacre and initiation, they will celebrate with a great feast: their victims.

Sara never likes thinking about how many people one dead body feeds. The thought makes her sick. The taste has always bothered her. She may force herself to eat flesh when she absolutely must, but she is and always has been a vegetarian . Even when they spruce it up with spices and other ingredients, it is still a person, and no amount of sauce can change that.

Sara’s stomach starts to rumble. She hasn’t eaten much in days. Usually, she is able to sneak extra beans and vegetables because the others love flesh, but the shortage of them is now beginning to hit her.

Hopefully, Penny can get me something, she thinks, walking into the large kitchen tent. The sight doesn’t help her appetite. Penny is in the middle of carving someone up.

“Three years of culinary school and I’m making foot filet for a hundred ingrates,” Penny mocks as she hacks off a foot with a butcher’s knife.

Sara feels sick again. She covers her mouth to hold the vomit back. The smell of blood is too much.

“Aww, sweetie, not feeling good?” Penny says affectionately, walking up to her. She doesn’t get it, her shirt is covered in blood and it’s making Sara sicker, but she needs a hug.

“New necklace?” Sara asks, seeing a piece of the metal chain falling from Penny’s shirt.

“One of Eric’s men gave it to me.” A gold snowflake hangs from the end, surrounded by pretty little stones.

“Which guy?” Sara asks.

Penny’s face betrays her disgust. “The creepy looking one with the cuts.”

The kitchen tent is filled with people preparing food for the group. There’s a huge fire going, and the bodies are put on a metal gate over the fire to barbeque. The Savages know that uncooked flesh can kill them. They are as smart as they are ruthless. That’s why they’ve been around for all five years.

“You hungry?” Penny asks.

Sara shakes her head. “He’ll probably make me eat with him later.”

Penny sighs but says nothing. They both know what Marcus is going to do to her. Sara will have to eat flesh again, among other things. Penny doesn’t like the idea of eating people either, but she is a chef and can trick herself into thinking she’s eating something else. With all the spices she’s schooled in, it’s almost easy.

Everyone who doesn’t like it has ways of coping, but most of the Savages love the taste and the trophy. Eating the very people they killed makes them feel tougher. Sara would be the first to admit the taste of it isn’t bad, but that freaks her out the worst.

“You smell nice today,” she says from Penny’s arms, covered by her blonde hair.

“I found some shampoo. I’ll give you some later tonight,” Penny says with a smile. “Now come on, you have to bring the men food. The meeting’s starting.” Penny releases her, only to hand Sara a tray of appetizing human parts and vegetables. “How do I look?” Sara inquires.

Penny adjusts a few out-of-place strands of hair on her head and smiles. “You look great.”

About the Author: Joe Reyes has never been afraid to go for what he wants in life. His goal is to be a full time published author and is taking all the steps necessary to make that dream a reality. He hates when he hears about people who give up on their dreams.

His writing style is fast paced. When he wrote his novel Aftermath, he wanted it to feel like a television show. Joe doesn’t like boring descriptions. He finds filler scenes to be a book killer and makes sure that every chapter has an immediate purpose or a purpose later on.

Website: https://joereyesauthor.com/ Twitter: @JoeReyesAuthor Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joe.reyes.5203 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/32589455-joereyes Instagram: @JoeReyesAuthor

Ravaged Dial M for Murder Book 1 Alexis Kennedy Detective Brooke Daniel's first day in the Homicide Department began with the grueling discovery of unidentifiable human remains and continued with the Mayor's daughter being slain by a sadistic killer. The killer begins to taunt Brooke, as if he knows her personally, and the killings continue. The detectives soon dub him "the Ripper" because of his copycat behavior of the infamous Jack the Ripper, and he doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

Meanwhile, while hunting the Ripper, more unidentifiable remains are found and the homicide team soon finds itself hunting another kind of killer—an animal kind.

When "the Ripper" sets his sights on Brooke herself, who—or what—will save her?

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Déjà Vu Dial M for Murder Book 2 Alexis Kennedy When she was a little girl, Elena Davidson had to witness something no child should ever have to. On Christmas morning, she witnessed the murder of her parents from her hiding spot in their closet. The killer wore a ski mask, but he was eventually caught, and Elena would never forget the face of the man convicted—Jeff McCormick—because of the hideous scar running down his cheek and the bright orange hair that helped convict him. She would also never forget the coldness in his eyes, as he proclaimed his innocence on the witness stand, while being sentenced to sixty years imprisonment.

It's now twenty years later, and she's seen "the tall man" again—right before her house is broken into and a trinket of her mother's, missing since the day of her murder, is left behind— and right after similar grisly murders. This all brings about the questions—why is Jeff McCormick out of prison, and is he after her? Or was he telling the truth all along—and he really is innocent—and the real killer is after her?

Either way, someone is breaking into homes and murdering couples in the Greenville, MS area.

With the help of Detective Brooke Daniels, and hunk FBI Special Agent Shane Braun, maybe Elena's haunting past can finally be closed—before it kills her.

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Cupid Dial M for Murder Book 3 Alexis Kennedy Gavin Delray has a dark side, and many unfortunate and unsuspecting women are about to witness it. A scorned lover, he plans to use internet dating to search for his true love, all the while punishing those who won't measure up to the god of love, Cupid's, standards.

Detective Brooke Daniels has her hands full with the murders of young women piling up. Working with her gorgeous new partner, Dex Stone, and love interest FBI agent, Shane Braun—whom she has been keeping at arm's length—she risks her life in a dangerous undercover operation on the dating scene as she tries to find the connection that will lead her to the killer and just maybe even to her own heart's desire.

Another kind of killer, never flushed out, lurks in the woods once again as well. While trying to find their newest serial killer, the Homicide Team has to once again investigate what kind of being could be leaving bodies mangled in the area, including one of their own.

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About the Author: Alexis Kennedy is the fresh face of fiction. She writes thrilling and unique stories with twists and turns to keep you coming back for more. A talented author, Alexis knows how to please her readers.

Novels can sweep you off your feet and land you squarely in a new world. In the case of an Alexis Kennedy novel, that world is populated with compelling characters winding their way through a dynamic story. Her novels give you the opportunity to see the world from a different perspective, to be someone else, if only for an hour.

Alexis’s writing transports you to richly realized lands full of love and intrigue, murder and mayhem.

Alexis lives in Missouri with her child and their beloved pet. She began writing poetry in her early teens and has been fascinated with writing ever since. Her novels reflect her education and love of writing, reading, learning, and living life to the fullest. She is a big

follower of Karin Slaughter and James Patterson and she loves and enjoys reading books from Connie Mason and Shannon Drake.

Readers around the world seek out Alexis Kennedy’s books for their fast pace, exciting plot, and compelling characters. Today you can enjoy six books from Alexis, although rumor has it she is currently working on another six. Her books for purchase are: Bound Through Blood, Under the Blood Moon, Two Faced, and then from the Dial M for Murder Series: Ravaged, Déjà Vu, and Cupid. You will be captivated by her stories, and you won’t want to take your eyes off until the end Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alexis.kennedy.author/ Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Alexis-Kennedy/e/B00MBG7YKA Website: http://www.alexiskennedy.net Publisher: http://www.titlewavepublishing.com Blog page: http://www.fictionaddiction.club

Burden Lucy Trilogy Book 1 Winged Series Book 11 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban fantasy/paranormal romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: July 26 Word Count: approx. 90K Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: All my life, I've had plans.

Dying the day before beginning the final year of my surgical residency wasn't one of them.

Finding myself drafted in the eternal war between good and evil wasn't one of them, either.

And dealing with friends, enemies, and lovers I don't remember?

Definitely not in my plans.

Curse Lucy Trilogy 2 Winged Series Book 12 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: August 27 Word Count: approx. 90K Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: The problem with plans?

Even the best ones can go awry. And when they do... all hell breaks loose.

If I've learned only one thing in the last few months, it's the past never dies.

Four plagues down. Six more to come.

We need more than a plan.

We need a miracle.

Redemption Lucy Trilogy Book 3 Winged Series Book 13 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: September 29 Word Count: approx. 90K Formats available: ebook Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: The problem with miracles?

They require a deity who cares.

And if you don't have one of those... you need a sacrifice.

Or the world ends About the Author: L.M. Pruitt has been reading and writing for as long as she can remember. A native of Florida with a love of New Orleans, she has the uncanny ability to find humor in most things and would probably kill a plastic plant.

She knows this because she's killed bamboo. Twice.

She is the author of the Winged series, the Plaisir Coupable series, Jude Magdalyn series, the Moon Rising series, and Taken: A Frankie Post Novel. http://www.lmpruitt.org https://www.facebook.com/pages/LM-Pruitt/364776895104 https://twitter.com/lmpruitt http://www.amazon.com/L.M.-Pruitt/e/B00427WOW4/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4320796.L_M_Pruitt

McKinley Mysteries Carolyn Arnold Published by: Hibbert and Stiles Publishing Inc. Number of books in series as of May 2016: 10

Sleuth around with murder-solving duo Sean and Sara McKinley as they do whatever it takes to unravel a mystery while romancing it up along the way.

Series Overview: Romance. Humor. Murder. Are you looking for a murder mystery without all the graphic violence and foul language? Something that you can enjoy in an afternoon and walk away feeling good about afterward? How about a dash of humor and romance? If so, meet former detectives Sean and Sara McKinley. When a billionaire leaves them all his money, they no longer have to work, but they find themselves sticking to what they’re good at—solving murders. Undercover, off the books, and around the world, they’ll get to the bottom of things…and romance it up along the way.

This is the perfect book series for fans of Hart to Hart, Castle, Colombo, Monk, Rockford Files, Psych, and Magnum PI. Read in any order or follow the series from the beginning: The Day Job is Murder, Vacation is Murder, Money is Murder, Politics is Murder, Family is Murder, Shopping is Murder, Christmas is Murder, Valentine’s Day is Murder, Coffee is Murder, Skiing is Murder.

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McKinley Mysteries Series Page About the Author: CAROLYN ARNOLD is an international best-selling and awardwinning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series—Detective Madison Knight, Brandon Fisher FBI, McKinley Mysteries, and Matthew Connor Adventures—and has written nearly thirty books. Her genre diversity offers her readers everything from cozy to hardboiled mysteries, and thrillers to action adventures.

Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark: POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.

Carolyn was born in a small town and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city. Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower.

She currently lives just west of Toronto with her husband and beagle and is a member of Crime Writers of Canada.

Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online: Website - http://carolynarnold.net/ Twitter - https://twitter.com/Carolyn_Arnold Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolynArnold And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at http://carolynarnold.net/newsletters

Of Beasts and Bonds Death and Destiny Trilogy Book 2 N.D. Jones Genre: paranormal romance Publisher: Kuumba Publishing Date of Publication: August 18, 2016 ISBN: 9780997529333 ASIN: B01FWLXNJG Number of pages: 403 Cover Artist: Maduranga Nuwan Book Description: In a world of mystery and magic, sometimes old bonds must be broken before new ones can be formed. Who knew that finding one’s soul mate would test bonds and unleash beasts?

Mami Wata and Oya are now free from their watery prison and ready to wage a battle five hundred years in the making. Special Agent Assefa Berber and Dr. Sanura Williams are the prophesized Cat and Fire Witch of Legend. To save the world from Mami Wata, a water goddess with a bloody thirst for power and an insatiable appetite for death and destruction, they must defeat her beasts and the Water Witch of Legend.

Assefa and Sanura are fully in love but possess only a partial mate bond. While Sanura has merged their auras, bonding Assefa’s cat spirit to her, she has yet to accept his claiming bite. Their incomplete mate bond and their new relationship are tested when Mami Wata sets her malevolent eyes on them, manipulating beasts, sacrificing humans, and creating heartache. Can their bond survive, or will they drown under the vicious tide of godly might?

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Excerpt: With focused golden eyes, alert gray ears, and keen black snout, the Mngwa took in his surroundings.

The prickly grass under his large, wide paws.

The heat of the midday sun beating down on his thick black-and-gray fur.

The scent of mullah bamyah—garlic, tomato juice, minced beef, okra, salt, and pepper.

The four snarling big cats stalking him.

Scanning each strong, lithe, and ferocious cat, the Mngwa cataloged their stance, their position, and the distance between each other and from the Mngwa. They flanked him, a large cat to his front, rear, and sides. If the Mngwa could smile, he would have. Foolishly, they thought their numbers a strategic advantage that would fell the undefeated Mngwa of myth and legend. Instead of a smile, he snarled, a baring of elongated teeth.

A challenge.

The four cats attacked, their bestial response to his bait.

Four sets of paws struck the ground, claws digging into grass and dirt, brawny legs propelling them forward.

Razor-sharp teeth bared, husky growls cut through the muggy June air, and feline eyes glowed with a premature win.

The leopard reached the Mngwa first, snapping and going for the bigger cat’s neck. Not wasting time with the youngest of the four attackers, the Mngwa sidestepped the snarling, snapping leopard. To only pivot, turn, and ram the side of the too-slow feline with the Mngwa’s massive head. Away from the Mngwa the leopard flew, sailing through the air and crashing to the ground several feet away.

The three other cats spared no pitying glance to the downed leopard, who lay on his side, breathing labored and ragged. A sure sign of broken ribs.

More growls and snapping, each cat trying for a different part of the Mngwa’s massive body. The Mngwa was having none of it, so he went on the offensive. Leaping over the biggest threat, the Bengal tiger, the Mngwa landed nimbly, then ran straight at the cheetah. Taking the speckled feline by surprise, the Mngwa powered over the cat, knocking him down before hauling him up by his scrawny neck and shaking. The cheetah’s fragile neck was held firm between the Mngwa’s curved saber-shaped teeth.

When the Mngwa no longer felt resistance, he opened his deadly jaws and allowed the cheetah to fall from his brutal clutch and slip, nearly unconscious, to the waiting grass.

Smack. Bite.

The lion and tiger claimed simultaneous strikes on the Mngwa. A swipe across his hindquarters and a bite to his side. The lion latched onto the Mngwa, his lethal teeth working to find purchase in the cat of legend’s winter dense fur and even thicker hide.

Like the predator he was, the Bengal tiger charged while the Mngwa grappled with the formidable lion. A mix of yellow-and-orange with wide dark-brown stripes, the 510-pound tiger landed on top of the Mngwa. His weight hefty, his claws long, sharp, and dangerous. The maw that threatened his nape even deadlier.

The lion kept up his offensive, kept clawing, kept sinking his teeth in deeper and deeper.

The Mngwa roared, reared back on his hind legs, forcing the tiger off him and to the hard ground. With a side dive, the Mngwa dropped the entirety of his 695 pounds onto the 380-pound lion. His long, dark mane shot up and out with the force of the attack.

The downed lion snapped and snarled but didn’t get up. No, with the Mngwa looming over him, golden eyes marble hard, paw raised, claws out and within striking range of the lion’s throat, the feline had only two choices.

One would see him dead, while the other …

The lion lowered his eyes, and then his head.

Submission.

Pleased, the Mngwa shifted his gaze to the tiger, his other senses having tracked the big cat the entire time.

He knew it would come down to this—the Mngwa versus the Bengal tiger. It always did.

The big cats circled, taking each other’s measure. They searched for an opening, an opportunity to attack with the least probability of an effective and bruising counterattack. The combatants knew each other well—style of combat, defensive and offensive tactics.

Speed, size, and agility were on the Mngwa’s side. Yet, the toxin from an animal no longer than an inch, the golden poison frog could kill a dozen men. Its tiny size and bright colors deceiving. Not, at a length of 120 inches and 43 inches of shoulder height, with a tail just as long, there was anything small about the Bengal tiger baring his gleaming white teeth at the Mngwa.

The Mngwa underestimated no one—no matter the outward appearance of the enemy. Even the cat of legend, if incautious, could taste the bitter tang of defeat. So he watched and waited and plotted the tiger’s downfall.

The tiger charged, all muscle and menace. His long, powerful legs ate up the distance between them, determined copper eyes all for the Mngwa.

The cat of legend braced himself, choosing to face the big cat head-on. He wanted this fight, the primal challenge that only a great beast like the Bengal tiger could give him. A glorious battle of fangs, fur, and claws that would push, force, and compel the Mngwa to prove his worth, his manhood, his undisputed dominance as the predator of predators.

Crash.

The ground shook - the Mngwa and tiger locked in a feral clench.

Biting.

Clawing.

Pulling.

Strong. The tiger was so strong. But not strong enough.

The Mngwa opened his mouth wide and clamped down on fur and flesh. The neck of his opponent was thick with rigid muscles and delicate veins. The pulse of the tiger’s life a strong, fast throbbing beat in the Mngwa’s deadly mouth.

The tiger whimpered his pain. Neither loud nor long. But enough, enough for the Mngwa’s ears to detect the effect of his attack. Yet the tiger fought on, as the Mngwa knew he would. As the Mngwa wanted him to, the tiger too stubborn, courageous, and fierce to submit so easily.

No, there was much fight left in the Bengal tiger.

He swiped at the Mngwa, vicious claws finding vulnerable underbelly and drawing blood. It hurt, but not enough for the bigger cat to release his vice grip. The Mngwa sank his teeth deeper into the side of the tiger’s neck, tasting blood and prideful were-cat magic.

Her gardenia scent slammed into his senses seconds before the Mngwa and the tiger were surrounded by a ring of raging fire. Breaking his hold on the smaller cat, the Mngwa turned to see an angry fire witch barreling toward them—green eyes cold, red-gold hair and long striped sundress blowing in a wind that came out of nowhere. Her deadly focus was all for the Bengal tiger who, unlike when he fought the Mngwa, trembled with fear.

Lightning hissed.

Thunder growled.

And fire witch magic crackled in the blistering summer air.

Dammit, he had to do something and fast. Retreating as far as he could go within the cage of fire, the Mngwa propelled himself forward, accelerating when he approached the heated barrier and jumped. With ease, he cleared the four-foot high ring of fire and landed, with an oompf, on top of a glaring Sanura.

“I can’t believe you just—” He licked her. From the front ring bodice of her green-and-orange striped dress, up her toned shoulders and around the tie neck, and into thick hair covering an ear, the Mngwa tasted his witch.

“Get off me, you big furball. I can’t breathe.”

Satisfied and comfortable, the Mngwa nuzzled his witch’s face, neck, and her heaving breasts, unfazed by Sanura’s angry protestations. The only part of him that pinned the witch down was his massive head and part of his chest. But, the Mngwa supposed, even that much weight could be heavy on a woman who, while five-feet-ten-inches tall, weighed no more than 140 pounds. With a teasing snort that had a lock of her wavy hair flying upward and out of her eye, the Mngwa decided it best to give the fire breathing witch some relief.

With a single thought from Assefa—I’ll take care of our witch, my friend, go to sleep—the cat gave way to the man. A transformative effect where fur and hide succumbed to hair and skin, paws and claws shrank to hands and legs, and golden eyes, muzzle, and fangs retreated, waning under Assefa’s command.

“Is that better?” Assefa smiled down at his hot-tempered girlfriend, right before settling the whole of him on top of the whole of her.

Very nice. Sanura made for the best mattress—plush, lush and with the right amount of firmness.

“You’re naked.” A huffed complaint that did nothing to encourage Assefa to move off her.

“Of course. My Mngwa doesn’t like clothing.” He shifted on top of her, letting Sanura feel just how naked he was. “He thinks pants are too binding. What do you think?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I think you need to worry more about that big damn tiger you were fighting rather than your Mngwa in boxers.”

About the Author: N. D. Jones lives in Maryland with her husband and two children. She is the founder of Kuumba Publishing, an art, audiobook, eBook, and paperback company. Kuumba Publishing is a forum for creativity, with a special commitment to promoting and encouraging creative works of authors and artists of African descent.

A desire to see more novels with positive, sexy, and threedimensional African American characters as soul mates, friends, and lovers, inspired the author to take on the challenge of penning such romantic reads. She is the author of two paranormal romance series: Winged Warriors and Death and Destiny. N.D. likes to read historical and paranormal romance novels, as well as comics and manga.

Website: http://www.ndjonesparanormalpleasure.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/fantasyromanceauthor/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/NDJones Twitter: https://twitter.com/NDJonesauthor Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/ndjones001

Defeat Writer's Block by Luke Ahearn

I don't get writer's block, ever. I see so many fellow writers struggle mightily with it so I decided to figure out why I don't struggle with it to see if I could help them. I figured it had to be the way I thought about writing and not some magical property I was imbued with or some superior ability I possessed. There's nothing special about me.

What did I figure out? It is simply the way I think about writing. The decisions I make, the questions I ask myself, and the battles I choose to fight along the way. Speaking with other writers I quickly determined that one of the biggest sources of writer's block is second-guessing yourself. I may second-guess everything else in my life, but not when I am writing. Writing is self-expression so how in the world can I get self-expression wrong? And that's the first thing I realized is that I view writing as self-expression and not a test I need to pass to prove myself. Maybe it will help you to remind yourself that when you are writing you are telling your story, not trying to guess what a million other people want to read. Guess what, they all want to read something new and unique and that's what you will create when you are simply expressing yourself. Okay, on to more practical steps.

Remember, don't get it right, get it written. Don't edit as you write. It is said that writing is rewriting but you have to get it written first in order to rewrite it. I've come up with a process that works for me. It seems a bit tight and mechanical from the outside, but it’s geared toward eradicating any chance I have of second-guessing myself or getting hung up on minutia. Each one of those two issues will paralyze my writing progress. Writing to me is like riding a bike; if I go too slowly, I fall down.

Step One – Rough I write the first draft quickly, focusing on the big picture elements of the story, the basic shapes or rough sketch of the novel. Spelling, grammar, and punctuation are not important at this stage. I only rewrite at this point if it is absolutely necessary to the logic of the story. I often leave notes and marks to myself in the manuscript to develop something I know needs more work later on but I don't want to tackle at the moment. Often it is simply to do some research on something I want to be

accurate or more authentic. How much damage will a suppressed 22 pistol do to a muscular man in a thick leather jacket? What's it like to walk through a storm drain pipe underground? Those are actual notes. I found the answer to the first question online and went into a sewer pipe later on my own. But as I wrote I just made the notation to come back later when I had that information and didn't let the lack of it slow me down.

At this point I am plowing through the story and trying to keep the work pace fast so I get that first draft done. Sometimes I use the # mark before and after a chunk of text to indicate I need to give it more attention later. Sometimes it's just comments in square brackets like [big fight scene here resulting in hero losing a finger] or [don't forget to check the timeline]. The key is to use marks that are not commonly used in writing so you can search for them later. You can also use the markup feature of Word or your own invention. This allows me to jump around the manuscript and write sections I feel like writing at any given time.

Step Two – Shape I then do a shaping pass, where I tighten and smooth things out, but even then, I stop myself from hashing over the same sentence or paragraph trying to make it perfect. As long as it’s clear what I mean, it doesn't matter how rough or imperfect it is. Not only does this keep me going, but it allows my subconscious to work through any problems I leave unsolved. And I leave a lot unsolved and my unconscious always solves it.

During this phase if I get stuck I stop immediately and turn my attention to something else--anything else. This is one of the ways I think I thwart writer's block most effectively. I don't stop and stare. I'm not procrastinating either. I just don't waste time trying to write when I have nothing to write. I attack the problem in another way. Staring at the screen never gets you through the block, walking away and coming back always fixes it in my experience. I believe strongly in the power of the subconscious. I not only walk away when I need to, I walk away purposely leaving things hanging.

Even if I have a solution to a character's problem I find leaving whatever I am working on open allows my mind to roll it around. I always come back with a much better finish for whatever I was working on.

It takes less time to stop trying to solve the problem consciously and let your subconscious tackle it.

It always works, and I am often stunned by the answers that comes. I don't feel like I am the person writing the book when answers come to me that way. It’s truly a magical experience. It’s as if the characters are telling me what they came up with.

I think too many writers accept the notion of writer’s block and stop at the first sign of resistance. I say the prose is your bitch, run that shit down, and keep going. Your words aren't going anywhere.

You'll have a chance to drive by later and finish the job.

Step Three – Polish After the shaping pass, which can be the most complex to me as I am tackling timelines and world logic, etc. I start the polish pass. The goal of the polish draft is to get your manuscript readable by beta readers. At this point everything needs to be in place and this is the time to fret over word choice

and pacing, etc. This phase is the opposite of the first two in that now the goal is to polish and not make changes to the events of the story or major plots points. Of course there are exceptions and I've made those changes at this point, but you have to be tough on yourself and make sure you are not rewriting because you are indulging in self-doubt, perfectionism, or just afraid to put your work out there. It helps to discuss these decisions with another person, if possible, to keep yourself honest.

I find it helps to start feeding my beta readers the first few chapters as I finish the polish so I have a motivation to get the next few done. I can't go back to the earlier chapters and change them and I can't sit on them forever. When the readers have the first few chapters I can then discuss possible major changes with them. My readers haven't failed me yet when advising me whether I should take on the job of changing something major or leaving it be.

Step Four - Incorporating Feedback Then it’s off to the readers, and they send back insightful comments, questions, and point out flaws. I incorporate things, fix things, etc. During the wait I start on the cover art and the marketing.

Step Five – Wait Finally it’s off to the editor to fix mechanical errors. After I get it back from the editor, the book is probably as good as it will ever be. To work on it any more would either make things worse or at best, just change it into a different book.

Well, that's my process. Hope it helps you.

Writing the Modern Gothic

By Marie Treanor Gothic romance is an old literary genre, about as old as the novel itself, stretching back to the days when the word “romance” meant fantasy more than just a love story. But Gothic horror like Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein and John Polidori’s The Vampyr have a timeless charm, as we see in much more recent films and books based on these stories. Bram Stoker’s Dracula, probably still the best known Gothic horror novel ever, has its roots in Polidori’s earlier, shorter work.

One of the timeless elements of Gothic is the mingling of horror and romance. Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey was written as a skit on the Gothic novel craze of its day. Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre brings us both the mad woman in the attic and the archetypal Gothic hero in the dark, brooding and deeply flawed Mr. Rochester. I grew up with those books, and with Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. I devoured Victoria Holt’s novels, and Mary Stewart’s and emerged as a writer with a thorough love of Gothic.

Although until I wrote The Dead of Haggard Hall, I never actually set out to create a Gothic novel as such, a lot of my books seem to have Gothic elements. Gothic Dragon, with its time travel to a fictional Gothic world, and the awakening of Saloman in his hidden crypt in Blood on Silk are probably the most obvious examples. But I’ve always had a soft spot for those dangerous heroes.

In fact, today’s steamy romance genre lends itself wonderfully well to the Gothic. One of the things I always loved was the understated sexuality, the attraction of evil - or possible evil. Even in Victoria Holt’s books, sexual attraction was the basis of the romance as well as the danger, however subtly expressed by today’s standards. From this, the idea of the “hot Gothic” came to me. Dracula without the Victorian repression; Victoria Holt with the bedroom door open; the deep sexual chemistry latent in these older books given free rein. That was the beginning, for me.

And while I mulled it over, Barbara Darke began to grow in my imagination. Someone who’d always been different, haunted but compassionate, perceptive, no shrinking maiden who’d tolerate either abuse or rescue by her brooding hero, but a heroine who walked knowingly into danger because she was the only person who understood that danger, the only one with a clue as to how to deal with it.

Barbara is far from the innocent young girl trope of older Gothic romances. She’s been married to a good man and she misses physical love. She isn’t afraid of her body’s desires, although she is aware of the risks of giving into them, whether it’s demons or handsome gentlemen who tempt her...

Which brings me to our hero, Patrick Haggard. Deep, damaged, dangerous is what Barbara perceives when she first encounters him. On one level, he is the dark, brooding hero with a troubled past beloved of all the best Gothic romances. But he is also a bit of a rebel, a fighter of other people’s causes and a champion of the poor and the downtrodden – which makes him a threat to the establishment, if not to Barbara.

Still, I suppose they’re not quite modern heroes, since they live in 1850’s England! So why do modern hot Gothic and set in the Victorian era? Well, just because it lends itself so well, both to the genre and to my characters. In their own ways, Barbara and Patrick are both misfits in their own society. Nowadays, perhaps, they wouldn’t stand out in the same way.

And then, a large part of Gothic charm for me is sheer atmosphere – the creepy old house, guttering candles and dark shadows that just don’t work so well with today’s electric lighting! Barbara and Patrick were born into this environment, the one deeply enmeshed in the world of spirits, the other a sceptic in a scientific age. The Dead of Haggard Hall is modern Gothic because I’ve told it in a modern way – or at least Barbara has, in her own honest, open, sensual voice. Both of us hope you enjoy it!

The Dead of Haggard Hall Darke of Night Book One Marie Treanor Genre: Gothic/historical/paranormal romance Publisher: Samhain Publishing Date of Publication: 26th July 2016 ISBN: 978-1619235830 ASIN: B01CUOPRZQ Number of pages: 216 (paperback) Word Count: 71,000 Cover Artist: Kelly Martin Book Description: Spirit possession is easy to remedy. Possession of the heart is another matter.

After vicar’s widow and natural medium Barbara Darke loses her respectable teaching position, she reluctantly agrees to become companion to her former pupil Emily, now the bride of young Sir Arthur Haggard.

Once settled at Haggard Hall, Barbara finds her friend is beset by ghostly voices and unexplained deaths. In a maelstrom of dark spirits and wicked emotions, Barbara battles to lay Emily’s ghosts to rest—both hampered and helped by Arthur’s skeptical cousin Patrick, who provokes and attracts her in equal measure.

It would be a mistake to trust a secretive, guilt-ridden man suspected of driving his wife to suicide, if not outright murdering her. And it could well be lethal to give in to her own desires, confused as they often are with the lusts of the dead.

But Arthur and Emily are in genuine physical danger, and suspicion is falling closer and closer to Patrick—the man who haunts Barbara’s sensual dreams. The man who stands to inherit Haggard Hall.

Warning: Contains a medium whose body is open season for spirit possession, and a scandal-ridden journalist who only believes what he can see—and touch.

Amazon

Amazon UK

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iBooks

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Samhain

About the Author: Marie Treanor lives in Scotland, in a chaotic house by the sea, together with her eccentric husband, three much too smart children and a small dog who rules them all. Most days, she avoids both housekeeping and evil day jobs by writing stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.

Marie is the award winning author of over forty sexy paranormal romances - Indie, New York and E-published.

Website: http://www.MarieTreanor.com New Release Mailing List Sign-up: http://www.marietreanor.com/marie-treanor-newsletter Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-Treanor-Paranormal-Romance/105866982782360 Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarieTreanor Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/marietreanor/

What Makes Bewitching Book Tours Different From Other Virtual Book Tour Companies?

Bewitching Book Tours has been in business since 2010 making us one of the oldest virtual book tour companies around. We know book promotion.

Our authors are our number one priority. This is not a hobby or a side job in addition to the day job. This is our day job, which means we put our authors first.

Bewitching Book Tours offers multiple tour packages and services for authors- we have one day packages for cover reveals, release day blitzes, and one day tours. We also offer one week, two week and one month tours. Bewitching also offers Kindle Free Book Blitz tours to promote your Kindle free book for up to five days. Other services we offer are Twitter parties, Facebook parties, Press Release Writing, and radio interviews.

Custom packages are available.

Bewitching has optional special features including a monthly magazine, a BlogTalk Radio Show and we offer custom Bewitching Book swag creations such as bookmarks, keychains, purse charms and more.

The most important things about Bewitching is that your book starts receiving promotion as soon as you sign up with Bewitching. A media kit is created, tour banners are made, and a page goes up on the Bewitching Blog announcing your upcoming tour. An invitation is sent out to all the Bewitching Tour Hosts and your upcoming tour is shared throughout our vast network of social media which includes multiple Facebook pages and accounts, Tsu, Twitter, Google +, Pinterest, Tumblr, and other book social sites.

Immediately your book has been put in front of thousands of book lovers. And we don’t stop there. We continue to work on your tour scheduling tour stops, reviews and more depending on your tour package chosen.

Once your tour is set up we send you the tour schedule, materials and instructions so there is no confusion.

You return requested materials to Bewitching and we handle the rest.

Once your tour has started we promote every single tour stop every day on multiple social media platforms several times throughout the day. Combine this exposure with the daily tour hosts’ and the author’s social media promotion of the tour stops and you have your book in front of thousands of readers every day.

Even after the tour Bewitching continues working for you. Your name and web link will be listed on our blog as a client and your tour pages will be archived, not removed. So they will always be available for readers to access. If Bewitching has special events in the future like calls for submissions, holiday contests or other multi-author events you will be invited to participate.

Oubliette: A Forgotten Little Place Vanta M. Black Genre: Fiction, Thriller, Paranormal, Historical Fiction, Genre-Fiction, New Adult, Horror Publisher: Black Chateau Publishing Date of Publication: March 2016 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-2-6 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-1-9 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-0-2 Number of pages: 566 Word Count: 247,912 Cover Artist: Black Chateau Enterprises Book Description: Veronica knows the monsters aren’t “just in her head”, but no one listens to the headstrong ten-year-old as they tie her to a hospital bed every night.

Years later, after being dumped by her business-partner/boyfriend, Veronica finds herself on the verge of bankruptcy. Then a late-night call promises the perfect solution — a job opportunity decorating a castle in France.

Will Veronica risk what little she has left to chase a fairytale?

When the shadowy things that once terrorized her come back, Veronica must decide how much she’ll sacrifice for them, for her sanity, and for her life.

This epic book consists of interwoven stories with paranormal twists. A horror-filled historical fiction adventure, it spans nearly two millennia.

You'll be transported to an ancient Pagan ritual, Roman-ruled Gaul, the bloody Inquisition of the Knights Templar, France as it's ravaged by the Black Death, the duplicitous Reformation, the Paris Catacombs, and the gory French Revolution, while you unravel Oubliette’s cryptic layers.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/y0NMLzBnxKg

Amazon BN Author Website

About the Author: Vanta M. Black, author of Oubliette—A Forgotten Little Place, enjoys uncovering the dark mysteries of our Universe.

In addition to writing, she enjoys traveling to provocative places and studying all things esoteric.

Black has degrees in English, communication and art. She resides in Southern California with her husband and two pug-mix dogs, and spends her time in support of causes that empower women and advance science and technology. http://www.vantamblack.com/ https://www.facebook.com/VantaM.Black https://www.facebook.com/OublietteNovel/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14697666.Vanta_M_Black https://twitter.com/VantaMBlack @VantaMBlack http://oublietteaforgottenlittleplace.tumblr.com/ https://www.pinterest.com/VantaMBlack/ http://www.youtube.com/c/VantamblackOubliette https://www.iauthor.uk.com/oubliette-a-forgotten-little-place:18380

Oh The Places You Will Go! Researching Oubliette— A Forgotten Little Place by Vanta M. Black When you write a book set in the Loire Valley of France, you have to go to France. When a scene of the book is set in the Paris Catacombs, you have to go to the Paris Catacombs. When one of your characters drinks copious amounts of absinth, you go try the stuff for yourself (In France, of course, as American absinth is absolute swill). And when you base a book on the alleged “most haunted castle in Ireland”, you visit Leap Castle in Ireland.

These are just a few of the places Vanta M. Black explored while researching Oubliette—A Forgotten Little Place.

Then of course, there’s Google. But that’s not very exciting to talk about.

Vanta M. Black explains, “Sure I did a ton of research online to start. But I wanted the experiences described in my book to be as authentic as possible. They always say, ‘write what you know’. That’s why I made the travels. I had to see Leap Castle for myself. I had to breathe in the Loire Valley. And I had to creep under the beautiful City of Lights to see the Paris Catacombs for myself.”

The research that goes into writing a genre novel, one that is both historical fiction and a thriller, is a process many writers and aspiring novelists struggle with. Vanta M. Black covered the topic during An Evening with Vanta M. Black hosted by Phil Giangrande from Seated at the Writer’s Table, and presented by Prophecy Girl Films.

During the event, Black said, “I believe that even a book with a paranormal theme like Oubliette has to be based in reality. I challenge any history buff to find something in my book that isn’t based on actual events and/or legends. I hate it when you read a book, get excited about a historical reference, then look it up and discover it’s bogus. I have to give my readers a better experience than that!”

To see video recording from A Conversation with Vanta M. Black, visit her YouTube page.

The main characters in Oubliette also travels to the Loire Valley via Paris. Sisters, named Veronica and Nikki, are invited there to decorate an old chateau, which is where the oubliette is located.

Black says, “When I traveled to France I felt like I was my own main character, Veronica, experiencing it. I met a dear friend there, Kim, who jaunted around with me and showed me the magnificent sites. She spoke French, and was very much like Nikki in the book, only a lot nicer and not nearly as slutty.”

Black Chateau Publishing, the publisher of Vanta’s book, in the spirit of supporting creatives and those who like to write fan fiction, is presenting the Ohh La La Oubliette Fan Fiction Contest. Just by writing a minimum of 500 words of a fan fiction story based off one of the storylines in Oubliette, and/or one of the characters, someone could win a trip to France to explore just like Vanta and her fictional character, Veronica, did.

“I’m incredibly excited about this contest. We’re about to issue the official announcement, so this is like a sneak preview for your readers. I believe that art, whether it be the written word, a painting, a poem, a song, whatever, is a gift given to others. That is what true art is. That’s why giving my readers the chance to create an Oubliette sub-plot, and possibly go to France and have the trip of a lifetime, is so fulfilling. I’m one of the judges in the contest and I can’t wait to start reading the entries soon!

For more details about prizes and how to enter, visit Vanta’s website page dedicated to the Ohh La La Oubliette Fan Fiction Contest.

What inspired you to become an author?

I don’t even remember what first inspired me to become an author. I’ve always loved reading and I think that natural developed into a desire to write my own stories. From a very young age I wanted to be an author and just never grew out of it!

Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

There are so many genres I have ideas for, but have yet to try, ranging from horror, to historical novels based during the holocaust, to a dark erotic short story.

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

Elira and Anthony will always hold a special place in my heart, since No Rest for the Wicked was the first book I ever completed, but I also love Sin from Ghetto. Who doesn’t love a bad boy with a heart of gold?

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

Player is the first book in my What Happens on Campus Series. The second book will be Riley and Cam’s story, Flirt. I haven’t started writing it yet but I’m aiming to start soon and have it finished by the New Year so that I can publish it in 2017.

After Flirt will be Terri and Jet’s story, Friend, and the final book in the series, Bully, will belong to Dawson and Payton.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

Here’s a quick unedited excerpt from the key moment in the book: Wide eyed, Taiyo could only stare at the black wall rushing towards them, engulfing everything in its path.

Grabbing her arm and twisting her around, Ryuu snapped her out of her trance, his own eyes wide with panic. “Run!” he yelled over the roar of the approaching tsunami, “Run!” Her feet tripped and stumbled beneath her before she found her stride. Years of being on the track team caught up with her and running was second nature, her legs stretched out and her arms pumped, but she couldn’t help looking back. Chasing at their heels, the wave was gaining on them fast. Water was already pooling around their feet, seeping through shoes and socks to freeze their feet as the continued sloshing through it. There was nowhere to go.

“Keep running,” Ryuu cried, snatching at her hand and pulling her along behind him, fear making him run faster. “There, look.” Pointing to an apartment building, he veered towards it.

“We won’t make it!” The water was already starting to cut them off.

Reaching for the gate, Ryuu went to haul it open, but it was too later.

It felt like a concrete wall had smashed into her back. At first it shoved her forwards into the gate, before yanking her back and forcing her under. All the air was knocked out of her and she gasped, inhaling frigid water as the wave sucked her in. Beneath the surface, the water churned, flinging her around amidst the rest of the debris like a toy doll in a washing machine. Something smashed into her side, but the flare of pain barely registered. Despite the turbulence, Ryuu’s hand remained wrapped around her wrist. The water tried to drag them apart, pulling them in separate direction, and she prayed he’d hang on no matter what.

Kicking her legs and flailing her free arm in a desperate attempt to swim, her lungs burned. What felt like an eternity later, Taiyo sucked in cool air as they broke the surface. Her hair was wrapped around her face, blinding her, but as she pushed it away another surge of water dragged her back under. Bobbing back up a second later, she coughed and splutter, forcing her eyes open despite the sting of the dirty water, gripping at Ryuu with her free hand as he tried to keep their heads above

water, his feet kicking her legs as he trod water. Black hair plastered to his skull, his face was stricken, white with fear. His terror only intensified her own.

“Over here! Over here!” Latching onto the voice that could barely be heard over the angry rumble of the water, she strained to see a man crouched atop his car as the vehicle was pulled along by the tide.

“Swim,” Ryuu cried, striking out as the water frothed around them.

Pulled into a swirling current, they were suddenly racing towards the car and seconds later they slammed into it. Grunting in pain, Taiyo’s hands scrabbled along the smooth hood, searching for something to cling to. The man on the roof grabbed her hand, but she was slick from the oily water and the moment he tried to pull her up she slipped back down with a splash, helpless tears filling her eyes.

“Please, please,” she sobbed, reaching up again. Jamming her foot between the wheel and the arch she pushed upwards. Ryuu let go of her hand to help push her up. Once she was within reach, the man leant down and grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her up onto the relative safety of the cars roof.

Shaking and panting, her heart pounding in her chest, she scrambled around to help pull Ryuu up.

The heroic stranger already had hold of his arm, but as she watched in horror another wave rocked the car and the man pitched forward. He almost ended up in the water, but managed to save himself, letting go of Ryuu in the process.

“No,” she screamed, lunging forward as the water swallowed him whole, pushing his head down beneath the murky surface. Desperately her eyes searched, waiting for him to reappear and when he did she cried his name.

Bursting head and shoulders out of the water, he floundered for a moment, before his eyes locked on hers and he began swimming back towards them, his strong arms cutting through the water in arcs. Taiyu had never known a better swimmer than Ryuu and she felt a flash of hope, but then she realized that instead of getting closer he was being pulled further away and she saw the fear in his eyes. A second later, the water engulfed him once more and a mess of debris filled the spot he’d occupied.

It all happened so quickly that her mind could barely comprehend. Her gaze darted back and forth, but she didn’t see him reappear. Desperately, she continued to call his name, standing up on the precariously wobbling car to get a better view. Nothing.

All around them, other people were calling for help but she could barely see them, they were just detached voices somewhere amid the debris and none of them were Ryuu.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Editing. I’m awful at editing No matter how many times I read it over, I always miss something…

It’s so annoying!

When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?

Unfortunately, at the moment it seems that writing is more of a hobby than a job.  I write after I get home from my day job and at the weekends. I love writing and am just waiting for the day it becomes a job instead of a hobby that I have to fit in here and there!

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

I’m currently working on a novella set in Japan in 2011, call A Tangled Web (TBC). It follows the day to day life of school-girl Tayio Hayashi as she falls in love with her best friend, Ryuu. But there’s a problem… she’s currently dating his twin brother. Taiyo struggled the juggle the two, lying to both of them, but when a true disaster strikes, in the form of the Great East Japan earthquake and the devastation tsunami that followed, she is suddenly confronted with the consequences of the selfish mistakes.

I’m also working on a slew of short stories, one of which is ‘The Origins of Snow’, which will be a short story based on Snow White and will introduce my new Adult Fantasy series.

Player What Happens on Campus Book One M L Sparrow Genre: New Adult, Contemporary Romance Date of Publication: September 1 2016 Number of pages: 254 Paperback Word Count: 79053 Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Designs Book Description: Let the game begin…

After a tragic accident which leaves her tormented by guilt, Chloe Newman accepts a scholarship to study a St. Joseph’s University. Traveling from England to Texas, the last thing she expects is to meet the schools charming quarterback on her first night. However, Parker Mitchell is a player both on and off the field.

Parker is immediately fascinated by Chloe and, after a rocky start, they manage to find a way to make their relationship work despite interference from others on campus, including Parkers jealous ex, and the ghosts that haunt Chloe’s conscience.

But, the real test comes when they visit Parker’s family over Christmas break and he finds himself being pulled back into their lifestyle...

Excerpt: “Where are you going?” Karla asked, propping herself up on an elbow to watch him as he pulled on his jeans and looked around for his shirt. “Why don’t you just spend the night here?” Smiling seductively, she sat up and let the sheet drop.

Parker couldn’t help but look, what guy could resist? Karla had a perfect body and great tits, too bad she was as mean as a snake when she wasn’t trying to sweet-talk a guy into her bed.

“Come on, Kar,” he sighed – he was sick of her games already and he’d only been back on campus a couple of days – “you know how it is. We’re just fuckin’, nothin’ else. I’m not cuddlin’ you like some doe-eyed freshman you got wrapped around your finger.”

“Fuck you, Parker,” she spat angrily, seductive look completely gone, “I wouldn’t date you if you were the last guy on earth.”

Laughing, he found his shirt slung over the desk and pulled it on. “You already fucked me and it was amazin’.

You’re one of my favorite booty calls.”

“You’re such a dick,” she raged, still gloriously naked, “get out of my room.”

“A minute ago you asked me to stay.”

“Aaahh! Get out!” She threw the bottle of water on the bedside table at his head.

Dodging the missile easily, he scooped up his sneakers, jammed his baseball cap onto his head and left, still laughing.

He should probably feel bad for acting like such a jerk, he thought as he knelt to tie his laces in the hallway, but Karla could take it; she was as mean as they came and he couldn’t force himself to feel sorry for treating her the way she treated everyone else. Anyway, she knew the deal – he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend; he needed to concentrate on football. This was his third year and he had to work extra hard if he wanted to get into the NFL when he graduated. Besides, he didn’t want to be tried down to just one girl, where was the fun in that?

Practice had started yesterday and it had felt good to get back out on the field with his team and best mate Dawson. This year was going to be a great one, he could feel it; the team was fresh and strong, with new talent having joined in the form of several freshmen.

Bypassing the elevator, since it was broken already, he headed for the stairs. Despite what his family thought, university wasn’t all fun and games and he needed to get in a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow morning.

Halfway down the stairs joining the third and fourth floor, he paused as he turned the corner and saw a girl leaning against the wall with her hands braced on her knees, panting. Beside her stood the most humongous suitcase he’d ever seen, which she’d evidently been hauling up the stairs.

As he watched, she reached down to the black rucksack at her feet and fished out a blue inhaler, taking a couple of puffs before straightening up again and pushing the hair back from her red face.

“D’ya want a hand with that?” he asked, making her jump, her head whipping around to face him.

Immediately, he felt his body reacting, even after spending the afternoon screwing around with Karla. The girl was gorgeous. Even with a face as red as a tomato.

Big brown eyes stared up at him in surprise, framed by dramatically long lashes, and for a moment all they did was look at one another, before her face became impossibly redder and she glanced away, biting her lip uncertainly.

“A hand would be great,” she admitted, glancing scathingly down at the big blue suitcase, “it’s really heavy.”

Her words didn’t register for a minute as his brain tried to place her accent. British, he thought, clipped and wellrounded. He could listen to her talk forever.

Taking the last few steps, he held out his hand, introducing himself. “Parker Mitchell, at your service.”

“Hi,” she smiled up at him, tucking a strand of dark, coffee colored hair behind her ear before reaching out to shake his hand, “I’m Chloe. Chloe Newman.”

“What floor you on?”

“Sixth,” she answered with a downwards quirk of her lips.

Whistling between his teeth, he grabbed the handle of the suitcase as she picked up her rucksack, putting the inhaler back inside. Half way there, at least.

Lifting the case, he huffed out a breath, “Jesus… I’m impressed you got it this far, it’s probably heavier than you are.”

Wincing guiltily, she twisted a piece of hair around her finger in a nervous gesture. “Sorry. I can probably manage if…”

Laughing, slightly dismayed that she thought he’d let her finish lugging it up the stairs when he was easily twice her size, he shook his head. “I got it. Imagine how bad I’d feel if I woke up tomorrow and found that the cute British girl had a heart attack tryin’ to get to her room.”

“Well, okay then.”

Grinning at the blush that once more filled her cheeks, he gestured up the stairs, “Lead the way.”

If she went in front, he could check out her ass. Not the most gentlemanly thing, but then he’d never claimed to be a gentleman. And she had a good ass. He felt his heart beat faster; she was all lush curves and long, denim clad legs. Tall, for a girl; he was six three and she was only a head or so shorter. He was in deep shit, Parker thought as he followed her up the stairs, trying to tear his eyes away.

By the time they reached the sixth floor, he was sweating. Her suitcase really was fucking heavy. Stopping outside room 605, Chloe turned to him, “This is me. Thank you so much for your help.”

“My pleasure,” he drawled, setting the case down beside her and stepping back. “See you around.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, lifting a hand in farewell as he walked away, “see you.”

When he got back to the stairwell, he couldn’t help but look back, seeing her enter the room and pull the door shut behind her. He should have got her number.

About the Author: M L Sparrow is currently the author of four books: two YA Scifi’s, The Demon Inside and Ghetto, an Adult Fantasy called No Rest for the Wicked.

Player will be her first foray into the world of Contemporary Romance. She will write pretty much anything that pops into her head, no matter the genre, and enjoys keeping her readers guessing as to what she will write next, though you can pretty much guarantee that there will be some degree of romance!

As well as writing, M L Sparrow enjoys travelling and has been to some amazing countries in the past few years, her favourite of which was Japan. She never fails to gather inspiration from her travels and has an endless supply of ideas for future novels…

Website/Blog – http://mlsparrow.wix.com/mlsparrow Twitter – https://twitter.com/MLSparrow1 Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/mlsparrowauthor/ Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard Google + - https://plus.google.com/104871428938669723117

Top Ten Websites to Help Authors by Lincoln Cole Here are a list of top websites that authors can use to help build their careers. There’s no specific theme behind them, and it includes advertising websites, review websites, services, and anything else that I’ve found beneficial since hitting that publish button on KDP. 10 – BookBub – The king of email advertising. Bookbub has been around for a long time and only takes the best of the best books with a lot of reviews, and even then only if it matches the current tastes of their readers. It can boost your book sales unlike no other program out there, and if you’ve submitted before and been denied don’t worry: everyone has. Just keep trying.

9 – Online Book Club – A website where you can submit for a free editorial review. They have a lot of promotional options as well, and if you’re willing to put in the time and effort to join the community it can really help you out.

8 – CLC – Literary Classics comes with reviews and a contest. It isn’t necessarily cheap to enter, but they put a lot of work into their annual book awards and there are some amazing people who work here. If your book is a good fit for YA or children, then this company can help immensely in building up your career and helping you expand. When they like a book, they will champion it.

7 – Reader’s Favorite – This website can help immensely for anyone interested in getting a free review or entering a contest for their works. The submission process is easy and the company has a lot of different systems in place to help indie authors to build their careers.

6 – IBPA – A very professional organization that has discounts and benefits for its members. A lot of their services are powerful and expensive, so this is something that can be hugely beneficial as an author’s career expands. The discounts alone can pay for the yearly fee.

5 – Wattpad – An online forum for authors and readers to look at works in progress and offer feedback and critiques. It’s a difficult community to work into and the site feels somewhat fractured, but it can be immensely useful.

4 – WriteOn – Similar to Wattpad, but the site is a little easier to navigate. This forum is filled with more authors and less readers, so occasionally it can feel like shouting into the abyss to get attention for your book. That being said, people can be very helpful.

3 – RRBC – An online community of authors and readers that are full of information and support for your career. When you join, you’ll find an engaged and professional group of people who are always willing to help. The more you put in, the more you’ll get. Has an annual fee, but it isn’t a lot.

2 – BookFunnel – A hosting service for eBooks you’re planning to give away, BookFunnel can help you distribute watermarked copies of your book to readers. Great for giveaways and being able to track how many copies you give a month, or for newsletter signups to track the number of people who take advantage of free offers. They have a really cheap entry level option for authors who aren’t making a lot of money, and they deliver the preferred format directly to your readers.

1 – KBoards – If you want to put your finger on the pulse of amazon’s publishing network, this is where it is. Anything that is happening in the world of self-publishing can be found here, and usually as soon as it comes into existence. The people are friendly and supportive and browsing will teach you more about writing and publishing than you ever would have expected.

There you have it: those are just a few of the websites I’ve discovered as an indie author that can help build a career. A lot of them I only found out about recently and wished I knew about sooner.

My best advice for authors is to just have fun with it. Experiment and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. If you’re having fun with your books, then other people will too.

Raven’s Peak World on Fire Book 1 Lincoln Cole Genre: Horror/Paranormal Thriller Date of Publication: 7/4/16 ISBN: 9780997225976 Number of pages: 280 Word Count: 76,000 Cover Artist: MN Arzu Book Description: A quiet little mountain town is hiding a big problem. When the townsfolk of Raven's Peak start acting crazy, Abigail Dressler is called upon to find out what is

happening. She uncovers a demonic threat unlike any she's ever faced and finds herself in a fight just to stay alive.

She rescues Haatim Arison from a terrifying fate and discovers that he has a family legacy in the supernatural that he knows nothing about. Now she's forced to protect him, which is easy, and also trust him if she wants to save the townsfolk of Raven's Peak. Trust, however, is considerably more difficult for someone who grew up living on the knife's edge of danger.

Can they discover the cause of the town's insanity and put a stop to it before it is too late?

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Y7MhpGIAWkU Excerpt: “Reverend, you have a visitor.”

He couldn’t remember when he fell in love with the pain. When agony first turned to pleasure, and then to joy.

Of course, it hadn’t always been like this. He remembered screaming all those years ago when first they put him in this cell; those memories were vague, though, like reflections in a dusty mirror.

“Open D4.”

A buzz as the door slid open, inconsequential. The aching need was what drove him in this moment, and nothing else mattered. It was a primal desire: a longing for the tingly rush of adrenaline each time the lash licked his flesh. The blood dripping down his parched skin fulfilled him like biting into a juicy strawberry on a warm summer’s day.

“Some woman. Says she needs to speak with you immediately. She says her name is Frieda.”

A pause, the lash hovering in the air like a poised snake. The Reverend remembered that name, found it dancing in the recesses of his mind. He tried to pull himself back from the ritual, back to reality, but it was an uphill slog through knee-deep mud to reclaim those memories.

It was always difficult to focus when he was in the midst of his cleansing. All he managed to cling to was the name. Frieda. It was the name of an angel, he knew. . . or perhaps a devil.

One and the same when all was said and done.

She belonged to a past life, only the whispers of which he could recall. The ritual reclaimed him, embraced him with its fiery need. His memories were nothing compared to the whip in his hand, its nine tails gracing his flesh.

The lash struck down on his left shoulder blade, scattering droplets of blood against the wall behind him.

Those droplets would stain the granite for months, he knew, before finally fading away. He clenched his teeth in a feral grin as the whip landed with a sickening, wet slapping sound.

“Jesus,” a new voice whispered from the doorway. “Does he always do that?”

“Every morning.”

“You’ll cuff him?”

“Why? Are you scared?”

The Reverend raised the lash into the air, poised for another strike.

“Just…man, you said he was crazy…but this…”

The lash came down, lapping at his back and the tender muscles hidden there. He let out a groan of mixed agony and pleasure.

These men were meaningless, their voices only echoes amid the rest, an endless drone. He wanted them to leave him alone with his ritual. They weren’t worth his time.

“I think we can spare the handcuffs this time; the last guy who tried spent a month in the hospital.”

“Regulation says we have to.”

“Then you do it.”

The guards fell silent. The cat-o’-nine-tails, his friend, his love, became the only sound in the roughhewn cell, echoing off the granite walls. He took a rasping breath, blew it out, and cracked the lash again. More blood. More agony. More pleasure.

“I don’t think we need to cuff him,” the second guard decided.

“Good idea. Besides, the Reverend isn’t going to cause us any trouble. He only hurts himself. Right,

Reverend?”

The air tasted of copper, sickly sweet. He wished he could see his back and the scars, but there were no mirrors in his cell. They removed the only one he had when he broke shards off to slice into his arms and legs. They were afraid he would kill himself.

How ironic was that?

“Right, Reverend?”

Mirrors were dangerous things, he remembered from that past life. They called the other side, the darker side.

An imperfect reflection stared back, threatening to steal pieces of the soul away forever.

“Reverend? Can you hear me?”

The guard reached out to tap the Reverend on the shoulder. Just a tap, no danger at all, but his hand never even came close. Honed reflexes reacted before anyone could possibly understand what was happening.

Suddenly the Reverend was standing. He hovered above the guard who was down on his knees. The man let out a sharp cry, his left shoulder twisted up at an uncomfortable angle by the Reverend’s iron grip.

The lash hung in the air, ready to strike at its new prey.

The Reverend looked curiously at the man, seeing him for the first time. He recognized him as one of the first guardsmen he’d ever spoken with when placed in this cell. A nice European chap with a wife and two young children.

A little overweight and balding, but well-intentioned.

Most of him didn’t want to hurt this man, but there was a part—a hungry, needful part—that did. That part wanted to hurt this man in ways neither of them could even imagine. One twist would snap his arm. Two would shatter the bone; the sound as it snapped would be . . .

A symphony rivaling Tchaikovsky.

The second guard—the younger one that smelled of fear—stumbled back, struggling to draw his gun.

“No! No, don’t!”

That from the first, on his knees as if praying. The Reverend wondered if he prayed at night with his family before heading to bed. Doubtless, he prayed that he would make it home safely from work and that one of the inmates wouldn’t rip his throat out or gouge out his eyes. Right now, he was waving his free hand at his partner to get his attention, to stop him.

The younger guard finally worked the gun free and pointed it at the Reverend. His hands were shaking as he said, “Let him go!”

“Don’t shoot, Ed!” “Let him go!”

The older guard, pleading this time: “Don’t piss him off!”

About the Author: Lincoln Cole is a Columbus-based author who enjoys traveling and has visited many different parts of the world, including Australia and Cambodia, but always returns home to his pugamonster and wife. His love for writing was kindled at an early age through the works of Isaac Asimov and Stephen King and he enjoys telling stories to anyone who will listen. http://www.LincolnCole.net http://www.LincolnCole.net/blog https://www.twitter.com/lincolnjcole https://www.facebook.com/lincolnjcole https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7796821.Lincoln_Cole https://amazon.com/author/lincolncole.net

Garen Rubicon International Book One Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 55K words Release Date: 6/14/16 Genre: Shifter Romantic Suspense

Undercover Shifter Bad Boys = Alphas With Serious Attitude Tumble Across the Rubicon Into the Death-Riddled World of International Espionage

Book Description: As an agent for an international espionage firm, Miranda has her hands more than full. Between secretly lusting after her boss, Garen, and making sure the dirty little secret about her double life as a wolf shifter remains hidden, she’s still a virgin at nearly thirty.

Sent to eliminate the head of a human trafficking organization in Amsterdam, she barely escapes with her life. Injured, frightened, and under attack the second her private jet lands in the U.S., she’s not certain where to turn.

Garen’s watched Miranda just as surreptitiously as she’s been eyeing him.

Unfortunately, the fact that she works for him is a showstopper. Plus, he has a few secrets of his own that have kept him single. When Miranda insists on heading up a covert operation, he can’t come up with a plausible reason to stop her. Watching her sprint headlong into danger damn near kills him.

He wants to hold her, love her, protect her.

Miranda’s life is on the line. Will Garen risk exposure to save her?

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iBooks Or buy direct from Ann at this link.

Excerpt from Garen: The Gulfstream G280 shuddered as it banked hard right. Miranda Miller pushed one of the window blinds out of the way. Damn. Black as pitch outside the aircraft. She felt like warmed-over crap. Her mouth tasted sour, and her eyes were hot and gritty. She rubbed them and tallied how long it had been since she’d slept. At least two days. She reached for a Styrofoam cup in its no-spill metal holder, sloshed cold coffee around her mouth, and swallowed.

Her headset hummed. “Wakey, wakey, fraulein,” a heavily accented German voice rumbled. “We land at JFK as soon as the tower clears us.”

“What?” Fear sliced through her fatigue. “I told you we needed a smaller airport.”

“Sorry, fraulein. This one was closest. We are below recommended minimums on fuel.”

She considered asking the pilot why he hadn’t planned better but decided not to antagonize him. It was bad enough they were flying without a copilot—probably against FAA regulations. She had a dummied-up commercial pilot’s license tucked in her wallet under one of her many assumed names. Hopefully it matched the one on her phony passport. She hadn’t had time to check. If it came down to it, she’d been instructed to tell the tower she copiloted the flight.

As if he’d read her thoughts, the pilot’s next words were, “I need you to move into the cockpit, fraulein.”

“Alrighty. Give me a minute.”

“You do not have much more than that. I do not wish further difficulties with the U.S. authorities.”

Miranda wondered just what other problems the pilot might be referring to. She almost asked him, and then decided she didn’t really care. Her international security company engaged professionals. Most of them came from either the military or law enforcement and had checkered pasts. She unbuckled her seat belt and stumbled to her feet.

Her crumpled, black pantsuit stank, but maybe only to her lycan senses. She hoped humans wouldn’t be able to smell stale blood.

A muffled chortle made its way past her lips. Maybe once anyone got a whiff of days old sweat, they’d give her a wide berth. Her body ached, especially her ribs where her target had slammed a lead pipe into her. She fingered her side and wondered if anything was broken. Not much you could do for ribs. They had to mend on their own.

A few steps took her to the tiny head in the rear of the aircraft. She splashed cold water on her face and winced when she took a good look at her scraped knuckles. Her target in Amsterdam—head of a worldwide human trafficking organization—had been much harder to eliminate than she’d expected. She’d needed her supernatural speed and strength—and her wolf form. One more face-dunking in cold water and she grabbed a towel to dry herself.

“Now, fraulein.” The jet shuddered again as its landing gear clicked into place.

The pilot sounded so exasperated, she rushed down the aisle and hurtled through the already-open cockpit door. He grabbed her arm and threw her into the empty seat.

“Watch it!” she snapped. Her upper lip pulled into a snarl. Claws pressed against the ends of her fingertips.

Miranda struggled for control. Her wolf wanted to kill the human who’d manhandled her.

“Sorry.” The pilot’s voice was mild. She recognized compulsion beneath his words and wondered what the hell he was. “I do not wish to draw anyone’s attention,” he went on smoothly. “The rules regarding business-class jets are in constant flux.” He glanced at her with gray eyes that didn’t miss much. “Are you hurt?”

She nodded. “My assignment ran into unexpected snags.”

“Will you require medical attention before you proceed to the West Coast?”

She snorted. What a subtle way of asking if she’d been shot or stabbed. Lars Kinsvogel—or whatever his name really was—had obviously dealt with people like her before. Something he said caught her attention. “Won’t you be my pilot?”

He shook his head. “Someone fresh will relieve me.”

“Will I be able to stay aboard?”

He shot her an odd look. “Of course not. You must go through customs.”

She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line. “That’s why I wanted to land somewhere inland.”

His gray eyes narrowed to slits. “All flights from foreign destinations are subject to customs, no matter what the airport. Is this your first international assignment?”

Heat rose to her face. “No.” She was damned if she’d say anything else. She didn’t know him from Adam.

The radio crackled. The pilot responded in pilotese and banked the plane. “Flights from Europe are cleared to land at certain airports. With the fuel we have left, we could have landed in Philadelphia or Newark, but I have a feeling those two destinations would not meet your needs, either. What are you afraid of?”

Miranda wasn’t certain what she could tell him. Company policy was clear. Talk to no one. “Never mind.”

She thought about Garen, her boss and chairman for Rubicon International. She’d been half in love with his razor-sharp mind, lithe build, salt-and-pepper hair, and sky-blue eyes for years, but he didn’t see her as anything but a junior-grade agent. Rumor had it he scarcely acknowledged employees until they became full-fledged operatives. If her fellows were any indication, she had a way to go. At least a few more assignments. And then there was the problem of her being a lycan.

She sighed, and fantasies of Garen went up in smoke like they always did. It was nice to dream, but Miranda steered clear of men. Between her wolf side and her somewhat unorthodox career, intimate relationships carried too much risk of discovery. She relied on her fingers, a vibrator, and the occasional one-night stand to take the edge off her needs.

The jet banked yet again and dropped lower. Its wheels made contact, and the pilot hit the brakes. Because she wasn’t belted in, Miranda nearly plunged into the instrument cluster. Lars made an aggravated clucking sound, but he didn’t say anything. They taxied off the runway.

“Since I have to get off, I need to get my things together.”

“Wait until the aircraft comes to a complete stop, fraulein.”

He sounded so much like a bot, she stifled a laugh. The plane moved smoothly into an enclosed hangar. Once it rolled to a halt, she pushed out of her seat, returned to the passenger compartment, and unhooked her small duffel from the wall. Lars’ breath hissed against her ear. “Where are your weapons?”

“On me and in my bag.”

“Put everything in your bag. Clips separate.”

“I’m not that stupid.” She pulled a 9mm semiautomatic from its shoulder holster and punched the button to discharge its clip. She drew back the slide, extracted the chambered bullet, and stuffed it into the clip. Next came a snub-nosed .38 revolver and two knives. She spun the chamber to make certain all the bullets were out and then placed everything in locked gun cases in her carry-on.

Lars still stood practically on top of her. She met his gaze, noticing he was a few inches taller than her five feet eleven. “Yes?” She quirked a tired brow.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” He settled his hands on her shoulders. She smelled his arousal and knew he had a hard-on without even looking.

“Christ! Not now.” She spun from beneath his grip. “Let’s just get through customs and allow whoever’s knocking to search the plane.”

“We will have some downtime in the terminal. At least an hour.” He sounded hopeful.

Miranda looked at him. Really looked at him. Lars was attractive in a Teutonic sort of way, with ice-blond hair and gray eyes. His trim body suggested he worked out. Interest flickered but then died. She shook her head. “I haven’t slept for forty-eight hours. I’m dead on my feet.”

“Why did you not sleep during the flight? The air was smooth.”

Good question. She’d wondered the same thing. “I have no idea. Too keyed up, I guess.”

He shouted something in German to whoever was pounding on the side of the jet and took her arm. “I will watch over you until you are safely back in the plane.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but something in his face stopped her. In that moment, she understood he was a trained operative just like her. His role this time around happened to be pilot, but she was certain he’d stood in her shoes before. “Which branch of the military trained you?”

He shook his head and let go of her arm. “It does not matter. Follow me, fraulein.”

She shouldered her duffel and walked to the rear cabin door. Lars had just sprung the locks. He spoke soothingly in German to an obviously agitated customs officer standing at the top of the stairs. The agent’s beady, black eyes settled on her. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes. Is there a problem, sir? It’s been a long flight, and both of us are tired. It took me a while to get my bag together.”

Nostrils flared, the agent looked intently at her and then stepped into the aircraft, waving them down the jet’s steps. “Customs is the last door at the north end of the hangar,” he barked. “Don’t even think of running. This hangar is locked and fully alarmed.”

Lars placed a hand beneath her elbow and guided her across a concrete floor. “It is best if we do not deviate from a straight line,” he muttered.

“Holy crap,” she said. “Why are they so uptight?”

He shrugged. “As you Americans say, it goes with the territory.” He grinned, displaying very white, very even teeth. “Everything we do and say between here and the customs area is filmed and recorded.”

Lars Rubicon International Book Two Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 63K words Release Date: 6/28/16 Genre: Shifter Romantic Suspense

Undercover Shifter Bad Boys = Alphas With Serious Attitude Tumble Across the Rubicon Into the Death-Riddled World of International Espionage

Book Description: Tamara MacBride has a much bigger problem than hiding her shifter side from the world. By the skin of her teeth, and with a smattering of Irish luck, she manages to kill her sister’s murderer. Escaping from the scene of the crime is much harder than she anticipated. Just when she thinks she might be safe, her cab driver shrieks and slumps over the wheel.

An unknown assailant terminates Lars Kinsvogel’s target. Pleased by the outcome—after all dead is dead—he exchanges the glitz of Monte Carlo for a nearby airport, intent on collecting the private plane he left there. He’s no sooner arrived when a cab jumps the curb, and he races over to investigate. There’s not much he can do for the cabbie, but his passenger is still very much alive.

Trying to hustle Tamara out of the cab is tough. She’s frozen by fear, but when Lars lays out the rest of his plan to move her out of danger’s path, her temper flares. He can’t leave her alone in Monte Carlo. Can he convince her to trust him in time to save her life?

Excerpt from Lars: Lars Kinsvogel sucked in an annoyed breath. Anxiety and greed thickened the air in Monte Carlo’s Place de Casino, and he stifled a choking sound. Damn his hypersensitive shifter senses. If it weren’t for them, the desperation

hovering around him wouldn’t be quite so palpable. Casinos were always like this, though, a haven for the rash and reckless. What had likely begun as a harmless pastime turned into hardcore addiction for an unfortunate few, forcing them to return again and again despite diminishing returns.

Hope springs eternal. All the poor sods need is one more spin of the wheel, another hand of cards… Lars glanced up, right into the croupier’s beady gaze.

“Would monsieur like to place a bet?” The croupier grinned with all the warmth of a hammerhead shark, displaying a mouthful of bad teeth. What was it with the French and their aversion to dentistry? Lars shook his head and made shooing motions with one hand. He’d have to either join the baccarat game soon or move on, but he could get away with loitering for a few more minutes without drawing undue attention to himself.

His target, a powerfully built man with features revealing Chinese ancestry, had an arm slung around a striking brunette. Maybe she was one of the hookers who worked the casino circuit, or maybe she was a steady thing for the man.

Lars considered it and decided she could be both. Around five feet eight, she had a lush, curvy body, dark hair cut into a stylish bob that fell a few inches past her shoulders, and memorable eyes the color of a restless ocean. A short, black sheath hugged her like a second skin. Open nearly to her waist, it displayed half her full breasts. Even though Lars’ appraisal was surreptitious, he forced his gaze elsewhere. The woman was sex incarnate, and he didn’t need anything diverting him from his objective.

Jaret Chen pressed chips into his companion’s hand and urged her to pick a number. He gave one of her breasts a familiar squeeze, which earned him a smile, perfectly rouged lips stretching over impossibly straight teeth— and a slight shake of her head. Color stained her tanned skin. Lars realized he was looking at the woman again, wondering how her breasts would feel beneath his fingers. She seemed uncomfortable with Jaret’s frank exploration of her body, so she probably wasn’t a pro. For some unexplained reason, Lars felt relieved. The woman was too elegant to earn her living lying on her back.

He snorted to himself and studied the flashing display above the baccarat table. Maybe the woman wasn’t French. That might explain her perfect teeth—and her discomfort with having her body mauled in public. At least she held Jaret’s attention. So far the drug dealer hadn’t spared him so much as a sidelong glance. Lars had never met the man, but knew a great deal about him from an extensive dossier provided by Rubicon International. Deeply involved in the heroin trade from the Middle East, across the Mediterranean, and into Europe, Jaret was one of the principals in a large operation—and Lars’ current target.

He sized the man up. Maybe six feet, he had a barrel chest. Strongly muscled arms strained against the fabric of his cream-colored, silk dress shirt. His art deco tie had been loosened. Dark eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and straight dark hair cut short blended with his business attire. For all intents and purposes, he was indistinguishable from the phalanx of wealthy—and wannabe wealthy—men circulating through the casino. Lars glanced at his own cream-colored silk shirt and black linen pants. With the exception that his tie was still firmly knotted, he and Jaret were dressed as twins.

Guess neither of us wanted to stick out in anyone’s memory.

Lars glanced at his Rolex. Close to midnight and time to move on. He’d seen enough. Now it was a matter of figuring out where and when to strike. These things always went more smoothly when he was close to invisible. He melted into the crowd and made his way outside. The casino fronted the French Riviera, and Lars stood looking out at the Mediterranean for long moments. The water was quiet tonight, waves barely slapping the white sand beach. His cell phone, set on silent, vibrated against his hip, and he tugged it from a pocket to look at the display.

Private. Damn! Could be anyone.

Lars punched the answer icon, held the phone to his ear, and waited. No need to say anything until he knew who was on the other end.

“Are you somewhere you can talk?”

Lars inhaled sharply as Garen LeRochefort’s voice came through the phone’s speaker.

Another shifter, Garen had founded Rubicon International with Lars hundreds of years before. The mechanics of the spy game had changed drastically between the late seventeen hundreds and modern times, but the basics—kill or be killed—hadn’t altered much. Everyone who worked for Rubicon International was some type of shifter. Lars’ animal form was a mountain lion, Garen’s a wolf.

Lars loped farther down the beach until he cleared several couples engaged in deep, hungry kisses before responding. “What has happened?” Something must have, or Garen wouldn’t have risked contact.

“You need to leave.”

“But I have not—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Garen cut in. “I’ll explain when you’re back in the office on a fully encrypted line.”

Lars thought about his twin engine Piper Seneca waiting at the Nice airport, twenty-four kilometers from Monte Carlo. It gave him freedom to come and go, and was much cheaper to operate than the business class jets he also owned. “Maybe I could still—” “No!” The one word thundered so loud, Lars moved the phone away from his ear. “Don’t even go back to your room.” Garen hesitated. “Old friend. Trust me on this.” The line went dead.

Lars stared at the iPhone’s display and dropped the device back into his pocket. He’d been compromised. He wasn’t certain quite how, and a part of him was curious as hell. He kept walking, swinging in a wide circle to head back toward the Hotel de Paris. Garen had said not to return to his room, but if he was careful, maybe he could learn something critical that would help their side.

“Ja, forewarned is forearmed,” he muttered.

Keycard in hand, he let himself into a side door of the rambling old structure, got his bearings, and started cautiously up a stairwell. His suite was on the second floor, at the very end of the wing facing the Mediterranean.

He’d always loved the old hotel with its thick, patterned carpets and antique lighting and furnishings. Staying next to the walls, he used a bit of shifter magic to cast a don’t look here spell. It wouldn’t keep someone determined from seeing him, but it didn’t require much magic, either.

He entered the second floor a few doors from his own and scanned the empty hallway, his senses on high alert.

Midnight was early in Monte Carlo, a city where people frequently stayed up through dawn and slept the day away, so he fully expected to see other guests, but the hall was mercifully empty. He padded silently toward his door and examined it, wishing he’d set a trap. He inhaled, trying to sort scents, but there were too many to make sense of. He could leave, just walk away like Garen had almost ordered him to, but Lars had never been a coward, and he was more intrigued than frightened. He’d spent years worming his way out of dicey situations. This was just one more, and he was damned if he’d walk away from his things. Not unless he had to.

He took a deep breath, tugged his guaranteed-not-to-set-off-metal-detectors .32 caliber revolver from its ankle holster, and shoved the key card into the slot in the door. A tiny electric motor hummed before the deadbolt snicked out of the way. He turned the latch, kicked the door open, and pivoted from side to side, scanning the sitting room of his suite, gun at the ready. Lars waited in the doorway, barely breathing, and then he heard a muted click, followed by an unmistakable whirr, and knew.

A bomb.

He cursed in German, not knowing if he was more annoyed with the turn of events or with himself for not taking Garen’s advice and getting the hell out of there. **** Tamara MacBride pushed the betting chips back into Jaret’s hand. “Sure and I’m not feeling like wagering just now,” she murmured. “Why don’t you do it for me?”

He shot her an odd look. “But you like to gamble.”

You only think I do.

“Something we had for supper didn’t quite settle. Would you mind if I sat somewhere?” She swayed a bit on her feet to make her statement more realistic and sent a weak smile his way. In truth, she was a bit nauseated.

Between sweat and greed, the air in the casino stank of humanity’s darker side. Expensive colognes added a queer edge, their rich scents intensifying as their owners’ anxiety rose. If she hadn’t been a shifter, she might not have noticed, at least not as much. So far, she’d done a decent job hiding what she was from Jaret. She aimed to keep things that way.

He ran a thick index finger down the bare skin between her breasts. “We could return to our rooms.”

She crinkled her face in what she hoped looked like an apology and did her best to ooze regret. “Better wait until my tummy settles.” He was arrogant enough, he had no idea how repulsive she found him. Thank all the bloody saints, she’d managed to keep any sexual activities between them tamped down to nothing because of his heroin habit.

According to a bit of Internet research, she supposed he could probably get hard, but the drug suppressed orgasms. At least so far, he’d been much more interested in his next shot of dope and drifting into an opiate-induced dreamy void than in bothering her for sex.

Jaret returned his attention to the baccarat table. “I’ll just be over there.” She pointed to a row of padded Louis Fourteenth chairs with bowed legs. Jaret nodded absently. His pupils were very small, so he was still fully under the influence of his last shot. That meant she had at least a couple of hours before he’d need to leave the casino.

Tamara tottered to a chair on ridiculously high heels. They made her feet ache, but Jaret liked it when she dressed like a fancy woman and pleasing him was high on her list. She settled onto the plush seat and slipped her

shoes off. A waiter stopped and arched an inquiring brow. Nodding pleasantly at him, she ordered club soda. Rubbing the bridge of her nose between two fingers, she made a grab for her courage. So far, her plan had gone off without a hitch. The only thing left was to finish things off.

The waiter handed her drink over, along with a bowl of salted nuts, and she set both on a nearby chair. The ebb and flow of noise in the crowded room eddied around her. A quick glance at Jaret reassured her that he was still deeply engrossed in gambling—his second favorite addiction, right after heroin. He didn’t care much for women, other than as window dressing and so the other men would see him as some sort of stud.

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

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

The After Effect Renegade Heroes Series Book Two Rose Shababy Genre: Urban Fantasy/Sci-fi Publisher: Super Sheroes LLC Date of Publication: July 19th, 2016 ISBN: 978-0-9904620-3-3 ASIN: B01GSMOAE0 Number of pages: 228 approx.

Word Count: 72,757 Cover Artist: Regina Wamba

Maximum Ride meets Sin City in the Renegade Heroes series!

Kasey and his friends are fringe heroes. They use their abilities to protect society, until their last battle leaves Kasey almost dead. Disillusioned, they leave the city in search of peace.

But peace is the last thing they’ll find. Ever since Kasey escaped the cold fingers of death, his powers have been running wild. It doesn’t take long for his girlfriend, Blue, and the others to notice.

In the lush forests of northern Idaho they meet a brand new hero whose shocking revelation sheds new light on Kasey’s strange behavior.

And with her revelation comes a terrible solution none of them can accept.

Worse still, Kasey soon comes face to face with the nightmares of his past.

Will the heroes find the strength to face the consequences of their mistakes? Or will Kasey be forced to make the ultimate sacrifice?

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Excerpt: After the events of the morning, everyone seemed to need some private time, especially Blue. She went to our room and crawled back into bed, claiming to still be tired from the night before. Esme and Avery retreated outside, while Val and Ash went to town to go bowling with the couple they met the night before.

I sat by myself in the living room, remote in hand and flipping mindlessly through channels. With no one in close vicinity, I didn’t have to work to block out random thoughts and impressions. I stretched out on the couch and let myself relax completely, a rarity for me. No walls in my mind, no struggle for control, no confusion as I tried to sort out all the voices.

I came across the movie Casablanca as I scrolled through channels, and stopped. Something about the movie spoke to me, reminded me of me and Blue. I wondered if it was the depth of Rick and Ilsa’s love for each other that mirrored mine and Blue’s.

Maybe it’s the hopelessness of it, the voice inside me mocked. She has to give him up to do the right thing, and he has to push her to do it. Just as you’ll have to push Blue. There’s nothing you can do to change it. At least she’ll have Avery to comfort her after you’re gone.

Once again, the foreign anger inside me growled to life.

In defiance I pushed the channel up button on the remote, flipping through channels until I found one playing music videos and a close up of a woman’s face filled the screen.

Zelda, I thought as I studied her features. Despite Blue’s denial, I could still see a resemblance between the two of them. Zelda wore heavy makeup so it was hard to tell, and she seemed taller, leaner, and had longer features, but the similarities were there.

Her brow wrinkled as she sang, and the sadness in her eyes seemed to seep through the screen.

Stuck inside a life of maybe Finding bliss in erratic shifts I watch you avoiding me Sin-free and quietly Keep your hands clean Keep your mind free Never touch me Forget to love me We can be pure so we can be godly We can be meek so we can be lonely Open your eyes Free from the guise No longer hypnotized Breaking out Searching for a beautiful life Somebody else’s life Can I start over this life?

Breaking out Something about her singing made me uneasy as I stared at her. The song was a kind of ballad, but still possessed an edge, an undeniable hardness. The mournful expression of earlier now seemed like a persona, fake sorrow. I turned the television off and laid back, closing my eyes, trying to quell the uneasiness.

I pushed the song from my mind, thinking about the events of the previous night, as well as this morning. I wondered if Rayne’s solution was truly the only way to fix things, but it was the image of Blue’s tear-stained face that haunted me as I fell asleep. *** Home, I realized. I was home. I looked around the small room as I pulled the nightshirt in my hands over my head. The water closet, the old bed with the rusted frame, the bare wooden floor slats. I looked down at my hands and realized they were those of a child.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out from the other room, and I dropped to the floor behind the bed as angry voices barked orders through the wall.

The door burst open and I scurried under the bed as a man dressed in camouflage and carrying a rifle marched in, dragging my sister Zoya by her hair. She screamed and I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming as well.

My father rushed into the room, yelling at the man until another soldier came up from behind and struck him on the back of the head with the butt of his own rifle.

Zoya screamed as our father crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from the wound at the back of his head.

From under the bed, I watched it pool beneath him before one of the soldier’s dragged him from the room, the blood streaking across the floor in a gruesome smear. The first soldier shut the door behind him.

I watched as Zoya twisted herself around the soldier’s leg, biting him hard on the calf. The man backhanded her with a force that knocked her to the floor.

She lay still for a moment, facing the bed, until her eyes landed on me. Her voice filled my mind. Do not move, brother. Do not make a sound.

The soldier heaved her off the floor and threw her on the bed. The bedsprings flexed above me, and I flattened myself against the wooden slats of the floor to avoid being crushed.

The sound of Zoya crying filled my ears, and I squeezed my eyes shut as if I doing so could block out the noise.

A wave of nausea hit me and suddenly, I found myself staring up at the soldier as he ripped the clothes off my body. In the same moment, I realized I was also staring down at Zoya as I shredded her clothes with strong, unfamiliar hands.

I felt the screams tearing out of my throat as mad panic overwhelmed my senses, barely able to separate the image of the soldier above me and Zoya below.

A second later, the maniacal glee of the soldier ripped through me, and I couldn’t hold back my screams any longer.

I screamed until my throat was hoarse, until the screams turned to great heaving sobs. Only then did I hear the voice calling my name.

“Kasimir,” the voice soothed. “Shh. Open your eyes, little one.”

Peeking through my eyelids, I saw Zoya’s face peering at me under the bed. She reached out a hand.

“Come, little one, you are safe.”

“But you’re dead,” I breathed as I put my hand in hers and she helped me from under the bed. I looked around in wonder.

The walls had fallen away, and the bedroom sat in the middle of a clearing, a lush forest surrounding it on all sides as the sun shone down on us.

I looked at our joined hands and realized the hand that held hers belonged to an adult. The childish persona I had adopted in the dream had disappeared.

“That’s right,” I said aloud. “This is a dream.”

“Are you certain?” Zoya asked with a smile. “Just because you are not awake does not mean you are dreaming. I have been trying to communicate with you for a long time, but it was not until you understood what was happening that I was able to break through.”

“If this isn’t a dream, then what is it?”

“You are between,” she said.

“Between what?”

“Between spaces. Between worlds.” She pointed toward the woods. “Look, there. Do you see it?”

I stared in the direction she pointed, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the woods, I began to see a black void deep in the trees. At first I thought it was just the darkness of the woods itself, but after a moment I could see the outline of the void. The edges writhed and seethed as if alive, and the entire void blurred and shimmered like a puddle of oil.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is the other side.” She lifted her hand again, this time pointing in the opposite direction. “And there. That is the world you know.”

I looked, this time shocked to see a ghost image of me sleeping on the couch projected against the trees.

Zoya continued, pointed at the ground beneath us. “This space is the crack between worlds. This is what you created when you died and went back. This is you.”

I nodded. “I understand. I just don’t know how to fix it.”

Zoya gave me a sad smile. “Yes, you do. Look again,” she said as she pointed back to the void.

I looked again, and suddenly I could see long, tentacle-like strands from the void snaking across the clearing, their thin fingers wrapped around me.

I cried out and tried to shake them off, but they moved and slid over my skin like oily, black mercury.

“Just as you are attached to the world you know, you are now attached to the other side,” Zoya told me. “As long as you are attached to both worlds, they will continue to merge.”

“What will happen if the worlds merge?” I asked.

Her smiled disappeared. “Ultimate chaos. Both worlds will be lost.” Her voice took on a tone of urgency.

“You must seal the rift before it is too late. If you do not, everything you love will be destroyed.”

I thought of Blue and realized that if I had to die, I couldn’t think of a better reason.

I looked at Zoya. “How do I fix it?”

“You must go back. The pieces of that world you see attached to you will follow you back in, and the rift will seal itself.”

“Is there any way I can seal it and stay with Blue?” I asked.

Zoya frowned. “As long as you are attached to the other side, you cannot stay with her.”

“She won’t let go easily,” I told her.

“No,” my sister agreed. “She loves you as deeply as any person has ever loved another. I am glad you found such a love, little one, even if only for a short while.”

I stared at her, as if realizing for the first time who I was talking to, and I reached for her hand again. “I wish you could meet her. I miss you, sister.”

She pulled me into an embrace. “I have been with you since the rift was opened,” she whispered against my ear. “Fighting to protect you. I will stay with you as long as I can.”

I pulled away and looked at her worried face. “What do you mean?”

She glanced toward the void. “There are others who are not so benevolent. I fight them as much as I can, but I cannot fight them all. Your mind is too open. The barriers are down, and the others are trying to use you to gain access to the other side. If they overwhelm you, you will be lost forever and the side you know, her world,” she said pointedly, and I knew she meant Blue, “will be lost along with you.”

I nodded, tears filling my eyes as I looked at my sister. “Is it terrible, Zoya? The other side?”

“No,” she smiled. “Those of the light, stay within the light, and those of the dark, stay within the dark. I existed in place of pure joy. The two sides have begun to merge only since the rift was created. If you repair it, all will be as it was.”

Zoya glanced at the void again, before looking back at me with fearful eyes. “It is time for you to wake up, little one, but before I go, one last warning. The past may be gone, but it is not dead. Very soon you will come face to face with your nightmares.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The void emitted a strange mix of moaning and hissing, and Zoya’s frantic eyes darted to the abyss. “No time,” she whispered. “Wake up!” *** I gasped for air as I woke, rolling off the couch in my panic. I hit the floor with a heavy thud.

As my breathing calmed, I replayed the dream in my mind. Not a dream, I reminded myself. It may have started out just like my nightmares, but it definitely hadn’t ended like one.

I warmed as I thought of Zoya. Ever since I lost my family, I’d tried to put it in the past and forget what happened. I’d told myself to look to the future and focus on becoming the person I wanted to be.

Now I realized the past stayed with us no matter how much we tried to ignore it. By trying to ignore it, I had dishonored the memory of my family. I had dishonored Zoya.

“I will do better,” I said aloud. “I promise you, Zoya, I will make things right.”

The Blue Effect Renegade Heroes Book One Rose Shababy Blue Brennan is jaded and bitter despite her pinup girl looks and quick wit. Night after night, she scours the Seattle club scene looking for someone or something to fill the emptiness inside.

When she meets the mysterious Kasey, her world stops… literally. He claims she has the ability to control time and stuns her even further when he reveals his own gifts.

Blue is inexplicably drawn to Kasey and reluctantly enters his world filled with a new breed of humanity. They’re misfits like her, blessed or cursed with powerful abilities, struggling to hide their differences from the rest of society.

Then the group discovers a nameless, faceless sociopath with nightmarish powers; and he’s coming for Blue. She’s left reeling when they discover her gifts are the key to defeating his terrible evil and saving them all.

Now she must race against the clock to harness her own powers and save her new friends. Can she be more than a renegade? Can she be a hero too?

On Sale for .99 at Amazon About the Author: Rose Shababy and her family reside in eastern Washington State. Rose grew up in the Northwest but swears she’s going to move to warmer climates someday. She’s claimed this for over 20 years, however, and has yet to move more than 75 miles away from her mother.

Rose has a deep love of all things Star Trek and yearns to travel the heavens, as well as an intense desire to be bitten by a radioactive spider. Unfortunately she sucks at science and math so she hasn’t been able bring her dreams to life, instead living vicariously through books, comics, television and film. She hopes to someday make a million dollars so she can afford to buy her way to the international space station, but she’d settle for being able to fly around the world and leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Rose also loves to cook and worked for years in a gourmet Italian grocery and deli where she learned to hone her skills. She prepares culinary masterpieces for her family, but fervently wishes the dishes would wash themselves. Especially now that her dishwashers/children

are nearly grown and only one still lives at home.

Rose likes to use her free time wisely. For instance, she likes to daydream, will often read for hours until she falls asleep on the couch with an electric blanket and a warm tabby cat curled up on her hip, as well as spending cozy weekend days watching Syfy movies like Sharknado and Mega Piranha with her husband.

If Rose were a cartoon animal, she’d prefer to be a wise old owl or a sleek and sexy jaguar, but in reality she’d probably be a myopic mole with coke-bottle glasses.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rose.shababy Twitter: https://twitter.com/RoseShababy Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Rose-Shababy/e/B00NJXBZOK/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/6063741-rose-shababy Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/roseshababy/

What inspired you to become an author?

I've always loved books. When I was a kid, I had books strategically hidden around the house so wherever I was, I had access to a story. Writing stories was a natural evolution to me. It was a way that I could keep myself immersed in these fantasy worlds without needing a book. I could craft my own tales.

Do you write in different genres?

I have genre ADD. I can't seem to keep myself confined to one genre. Most of my books have elements of romance, science fiction, paranormal, action and adventure.

If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

I love science fiction and paranormal. Normal rules don't apply. If you can imagine it, you can write about it.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

I can't say too much without spoiling things, but the Coalition is an organization that makes an appearance and poses as a potential threat‌ It all starts with a shadow on the ground. Hence, the title "Shadow of the Coalition".

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I never intended for a message, but there are little things that I seem to always come back to in my writing. I have a strong belief in cycles and balance. Throughout my books, there are many references to cycles, rebirth and remerging (i.e. phoenix, ouroboros symbol, etc.), and the importance of balance (i.e. elemental).

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

Yes, but it wasn't conscious. It actually wasn't until recently that I realized some of my characters shared some strong similarities with people who have influenced me. For example, my main character (Kayla), shares similar traits to two people who had a profound influence in my life.

As a writer, I think all of our life experiences help to shape our writing. Although I've used quite a bit of imagination and creative license, there's always a shred of truth in everything.

What books/authors have influenced your life?

I have to say one of the most influential books I've ever read was "We the Living" by Ayn Rand. I'd read some of her other books, but something about this more obscure title really got to me. The heroine wasn't typical and sometimes I didn't like her decisions, but her journey completely captivated me.

What is your current “work in progress� or upcoming projects?

I have a couple of "works in progress". First and foremost, I'm trying to finish up the third book in The Two Towers series. I'm hoping to have this finished by the end of the summer. I'm also considering writing the stories about some of the other characters in the same world. I think some of them have their own stories to tell.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

I'm trying not give away any spoilers, but I can tell you a little bit. The book starts off with a bang‌ with an attempt on Kayla's life. A lot of the characters from the first two books will be back, and a new character from Kayla's past. All sorts of secrets are going to finally be revealed.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

I get into "zones" and become a total zombie. When I hit the writing zone, it's really hard to get me out of it and back into reality. I'll stay in the "zone" for days on end and forget everything around me. When I come out though, it can be a little bit of a challenge to get back into it.

Do you have to travel much to do research for your books?

Only in my imagination. I've actually had an idea for a story that I've been working on for the past ten years, and I have boxes of research. I need to travel to some of the places to flesh out the story, but it's just a matter of time. I don't think I'm quite ready to tackle the magnitude of this project just yet. It's completely different from anything I've ever written, but it'll eventually happen.

Just for fun questionsIf you could have one paranormal ability, what would it be?

Time travel. I'd love to be able to bounce around to different periods in history and get a firsthand look at what life was really like.

If you could keep a mythical/ paranormal creature as a pet, what would you have?

A unicorn. Because I mean... who wouldn't want a freaking unicorn?!?! Not only do they look cool, but they can go Stabby Unicorn if you piss them off.

Shadow of the Coalition The Two Towers Series Book Two Jamie A. Waters Genre: Paranormal Romance / Science Fiction Romance / Dystopian Romance Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing Date of Publication: June 28, 2016 ISBN: 978-1-77127-810-2 ASIN: B01FNEPYXU Number of pages: 417 Word Count: 107,000 Cover Artist: SuzieDesigns

Book Description: The award-winning novel, The Two Towers, continues in Book 2‌ What’s stronger? Free will or fate?

It's been a month since Kayla, a headstrong ruin rat, and Carl, an OmniLab trader, returned to the surface.

After she helped to restore control of the towers to those who would look after the best interests of the people, she'd found herself irrevocably bonded to Alec, the new co-leader of the High Council.

Although her heart belongs to Carl, she finds it difficult to resist the strange bond between her and Alec.

Caught between learning how to handle her new emerging abilities, mysterious earthquakes, and a strange group seemingly intent on targeting OmniLab, Kayla and Carl are once again swept up in events that threaten to change the entire future of the towers.

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Excerpt: Kayla got down on hands and knees to crawl between the floor and a collapsed ancient wall in Sector 12.

It would be a tight fit, but she’d navigated worse in the past. Taking a deep breath, she sucked in her stomach and squeezed through the narrow space.

Getting up, she brushed the dirt off her visor and shone the flashlight around what appeared to have once been a common room. Living room, she remembered. Although, there definitely wasn’t anything living in the room now. A thick shroud of dust and debris coated the surfaces within the room. The remnants of an old fireplace stood in the corner and pieces of broken furniture were scattered on the floor.

Closing her eyes, a deep breath helped to focus her thoughts. Using what she now knew as energy threads, she opened up her senses to explore the hidden world around. The darkness fell away, embracing the energy swirling in the ruins. The energy had the flavor of an almost living thing, inviting her to tap into it. She shivered as it poured in and her blood hummed with the rush of power. Her fingers unfurled as the energy became an almost tangible thing.

She basked in the warmth and excitement of the intoxicating power. As the energy flowing through her increased, it was a little easier to ignore the sense of wrongness and longing she suspected was from being separated from Alec.

It had only been six weeks since she left OmniLab towers. After she helped to restore control of the towers to those who would look after the best interests of the residents, she'd found herself irrevocably bonded to Alec, the new co-leader of the High Council. Even though he was enigmatic and alluring, the shared energy bond scared her more than she wanted to admit. He was likeable enough, but it was an OmniLab trader named Carl who had truly touched her heart.

Her face warmed at the thought of Carl. Even though they'd known each other for almost a year, it wasn't until she recently joined his camp that she began to see him in a new light. The man had a quick mind and was incredibly devious, two traits she greatly admired.

Living as a ruin rat on the surface was a constant challenge. Survival was sometimes dependent upon outsmarting the OmniLab traders and their crews. Kayla enjoyed the challenges Carl provided, pitting her will against his. He seemed to understand her better than anyone else had in a long time. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was sexy as hell too.

With a sigh, she pushed away the errant thoughts and focused back on the dilapidated room. The energy continued to flow around her, and she focused on channeling it until the mental image of the room began to shift and transform. The dingy walls became brightly painted surfaces covered with family photographs. A child played on the floor while her parents sat on the couch and watched an antique vidviewer on the wall.

She opened her eyes and stared at the verisimilitude of the ruined room. A wave of vertigo swept over her as the mental image overlapped with reality. Shaking her head, she pushed aside the image but the memory of the past refused to leave completely.

An old photograph caught her attention and she crossed the room toward the cockeyed frame. The glass was cracked and the picture faded, but she gasped at the sight of the image. The family looked exactly like the one she'd imagined. The energy flow spiked, and she swallowed nervously trying to regain control.

Veridian’s voice interrupted over her headset. "Kayla? You okay? Your vitals just spiked."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that," she said in a rush, not wanting to alarm her scavenging partner on the surface. He'd been monitoring her progress for the past hour. "I just found an old photograph and it surprised me.

That’s all."

Okay, Kayla, keep it together. You know this energy shit is freaky and you haven’t figured exactly how it works yet. Just relax.

A slight vibration under her feet caused her to freeze. The floor felt secure, but vibrations didn’t usually happen without reason. More curious than alarmed, she bent down and pressed her gloved hand against the ground. The vibration grew stronger.

"Kayla, get out of there now!" Veridian’s voice shouted over the headset. "We’ve got seismic activity on the monitors."

The walls began shaking violently. A rumbling noise grew in intensity. Dust and debris fell around her.

She crouched low against the wall, powerless to do anything else. The picture frame on the wall crashed to the floor. There was a loud cracking noise and she threw her arms up over her head as part of the ceiling collapsed.

About the Author: Jamie A. Waters is an award-winning, science-fiction and paranormal romance writer. Her first novel, The Two Towers, was a winner of the Readers' Favorite Award in Science-Fiction Romance and the CIPA EVVY Award in Science-Fiction. The highly anticipated second book in the series, Shadow of the Coalition, is scheduled to be released Summer 2016 by MuseItUp Publishing.

Jamie currently resides in North Carolina with her teenage son and two neurotic dogs who enjoy stealing socks. When she's not pursuing her passion of writing, she's usually trying to learn new and interesting random things (like how to pick locks or use the self-cleaning feature of the oven without setting off the fire alarm). In her downtime, she enjoys reading on her Kindle, playing computer games, painting, or acting as a referee between the dragons and fairies currently at war inside her closet. www.jamieawaters.com https://www.facebook.com/booksbyjamiewaters https://plus.google.com/u/1/116233971537364130348/posts http://www.twitter.com/jawatersbooks https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8073005.Jamie_A_Waters

What inspired you to become an author?

I read great works I loved and learned the language. Also, in truth, I thought it might be a way to earn a better living than most of the jobs I would likely run into given my economic background.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I do hope that I have 'a voice' but other than that I'm not sure because I have had to write in numerous ways over the years.

Do you write in different genres?

Yes. If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

Certain kinds of nonfiction and science fiction. At least that's what I think. I could be wrong seeing as the novel this blog tour is for is not even a science fiction novel. However, in the background there is a science fiction novel and I am hoping to get that released later this year, which still promoting this urban magical realism novel.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

In truth the story had a different working title before – maybe some of you have heard of it. A previous draft was called An Adventure in Indianapolis. My ebook told me in like 2011 that it got 40,000 reads in 2 years so, seriously, maybe someone you know read it. I edited it more and decided it needed a catchier title but I did not change it until after Alethia publishing sent it back. They contracted the novel – they didn't reject it, but then they didn't release it by the time they said they would so I asked them to send it back. For some reason, that changed things.

I decided that the best way to describe the events of the plot were to understand that the mastermind villain was leading a double life. This is a white collar criminal, not a street thug type of entity. I

decided to just name the novel after the villain of the novel, maybe because I think the villain's name sounds cool: Tutweiler Buckhead.

The surname really is the upscale neighborhood in Atlanta because so much crime is greed motivated. I know others would say greed causes crime. I would refer those of you in the right age groups to that whole Transformer – Decepticon thing. Buckhead is an upscale neighborhood in Atlanta, Georgia. I only know of it because I did a real estate blog for EastBiz many years ago. I think it sounds cool and gives the character the kind of ambiance I wanted for a clean, smooth, white collar criminal.

Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?

I think it varies from story to story. With me, normally the plot and character concepts precede creating the title.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Yes, of course. In some ways I am an old school 'good triumphs over evil' story teller, but I do like to get people to think.

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

No, not unless you count Yuppies. There haven't been yuppies since like 1993 have there been? I don't even know – sorry.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

In truth, if people snap this book up and let me know they want more enough to commit to buying copies up I would happily write more. When I first wrote it, I wrote it so that it could stand alone.

I'm not a fool, if you want more, I will make more. (wink wink nudge nudge) I do want to earn an entire living writing, not just a grain of rice and a thank you.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

JLichtenberg graciously gave me permission to call her a mentor and 'use her' as my mentor. I have checked out other novelists and book writers over the years. In truth, the other authors I asked to let me call them mentors told me 'No.'. JL told me 'Yes'. That's the difference.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

You can score some free samples – miriampia.org also miriam pia at Scribd and at WordPress.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Yes, pleasing editors and people I am asking to actually spend their own money on my works. LOL but so true. Seriously, every work has its challenges. It is hard to give a concise and clear answer to this question.

Who designed the cover of your latest book?

SBPRA commissioned the person. I have no idea. I am incredibly grateful, however, because I don't have that skill.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Be careful, it often leads to a sales job or won't have your name on it...Or will have to write other peoples' ideas to get steady pay. Those who write for love are out earned in numbers by those who write only because they get paid. However, the richest best selling authors usually at least naturally liked the story he or she wrote.

Do you have a song or playlist (book soundtrack) that you think represents this book?

No, but I am a possibly odd mixture of someone who likes symphonic orchestral music and a straight up hard rocker. I do like some other kinds of music but left to my own devices it is like that. If I were to use bands to describe who I believe I am that applied by age 17 years of age I would tell you Rush and U2.

What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?

I thought I was going to end up working in the sciences, maybe as the administrative or management portion of the forestry industry – tending New York State's managed forests for a living and maybe writing science fiction on the side. Then, my last year of university I 'gave in' and majored in philosophy because I loved it and like 3 teachers told me I was one of the best students they had ever had in the subject. Not all my teachers gave me that kind of feedback. My husband told me not to.

Meanwhile, I did take a few English lit courses in colleges. I was able to get As but the teacher had no idea I was writing on the side. I used to tell myself things like "I don't want the teacher telling me how to write," while editing a manuscript draft in the student union of SUNY Brockport in 1990.

The Double Life of Tutweiler Buckhead Miriam Pia Genre: urban fiction, magical realism, crime fiction, mystery Publisher: SBPRA Date of Publication: 2015 ISBN: 978-1628572254 Number of pages:300 Word Count: 95,000 Book Description: Frustrated by the audacity of local villains, the sheriff of Marion County turns to the mayor. Urban fiction set in a real city, The Double Life of Tutweiler Buckhead takes some of the charm of vigilante comic book heroism and mixes it with the nitty gritty of contemporary crime fiction.

A band of champions searches for the missing pieces in the evil plot of a local drug kingpin in The Double Life of Tutweiler Buckhead: An Adventure in Indianapolis.

Ideal for those who love events of the outside world and the workings of the mind – characters’ actions and thoughts are portrayed in this contemporary novel – with just a touch of magic.

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About the Author: Miriam Pia has been writing for decades, including over ten years as a professional. Most of her work was done without a byline and as a ghostwriter.

This is the author's first published novel. http://miriampia.com/ http://sbpra.com/miriampia/ https://www.facebook.com/miriam.pia1

Enchanted Guardian Camelot Reborn Series Book Two Sharon Ashwood Genre: Paranormal Romance Publisher: Harlequin Nocturne Date of Publication: August 1 2016 ISBN: 978-0373009763 ASIN: B01CNMT0DK Number of pages: 300 Word Count: 85000 Book Description: Enchanted Guardian- A love of legendary proportion In another time, in a place once known as Camelot, they had been lovers. Torn apart by betrayal and lies, Lancelot Du Lac and Nimueh, the Lady of the Lake, had each suffered greatly.

But the magic of the fae had reawakened a man once trapped in stone, and Lancelot was determined to find his long lost love. Only, Nim was desperate to hide her fae soul, as she was marked for death by their mutual enemy.

Though centuries apart had not diminished their passion, they would once again face a dangerous test to prove each was the other’s destiny.

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Excerpt: Lancelot caught her arm, pulling her up short. Nim scowled down at the long, strong fingers. Fine scars ran along his tanned knuckles, evidence of a life around blades. Heaviness filled her, a primitive reaction to the strong, aggressive male taking control of her in the most basic way. Once it might have grown into anger or lust, but now it confused her.

“Take your hand off me,” she said, letting her voice fill with frost.

“No.” He pulled her closer, turning her to face him. “You will answer my questions.”

Nim jerked her arm free. They were so close, she could feel his warm breath against her skin. “About what?”

His nostrils flared as if scenting her. Still, Nim studied his tense jaw and the blood flushing his high cheekbones. The heat of his emotions made her feel utterly hollow. His hand closed around her wrist again, almost crushing her bones.

“There are too many people here,” he growled.

“There are enough people here for safety. Perhaps I don’t want to answer you.”

His eyes held hers a moment, dark fire against the ice of her spirit. That seemed to decide him, for he pulled her close and took a better grip on her arm. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He didn’t reply, but steered her toward the door, moving so fast she skittered on her heels. She took the opportunity to pull against him, but this time he held her fast. “Don’t.”

The threat was real. Her fighting skills were nothing compared to a knight’s. Lancelot could crush or even kill her with a single blow. Still, that didn’t make her helpless, and she would not let him forget that fact. Rising up on her toes, she put her mouth a mere whisper from his ear. “You forget what I can do. My magic is nothing less than what it was when I was the first among the fae noblewomen. I can defend myself against your brute strength.”

Just not against what he’d done to her heart. She closed her eyes a moment, feeling his breath against her cheek and remembering the past for a long moment before she denied herself that luxury. “Let me go,” she repeated.

In response, he pulled her to the side of the building, refusing to stop until he was deep into the shadows. The ground was little more than cracked concrete there, tufts of grass straggling between the stones. He pushed her against the siding, her back pressed to the rough wood. “Not until I’ve had my say.”

He had both of her arms now, prisoning Nim with the hard, muscled wall of his chest. Anyone walking by might glimpse two lovers in a private tête-à-tête, but Nim drew back as far as she could, something close to anger rising to strike. No one handled her this way, especially not him.

“Then talk,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Aren’t you even surprised to see me?” he demanded.

“Why should I be?” She needed to squash any personal connection between them. Even if she was whole and their people were not at war, he had betrayed her.

He put a hand against her cheek, his fingers rough. She jerked her chin away, burning where his touch had grazed her.

But he was relentless. “I’m told you were caught by Merlin’s spell along with the rest. I know what the fae have become.”

Soulless. As good as dead inside. Lancelot didn’t say the words, but she heard them all the same. “It’s true,” she replied. “It’s all true.”

His expression was stricken as if hearing it from her lips was poison. Good, she thought. Better to be honest.

Better that he believe her to be the monster she was.

“Maybe that’s true for some. I don’t believe that about you. You still have too much fire.”

With that, he claimed her mouth in an angry kiss. Nim caught her breath, stifling a cry of true surprise. The Lancelot she’d known had been gentle and eager to please. Nothing like this. And yet the clean taste of him was everything she remembered.

His mouth slanted, breaking past the barrier of her lips to plunder her mouth. The hunger in him was bruising, going far beyond the physical to pull at something deep in her belly. Desire, perhaps, or heartbreak. She wasn’t sure any longer, but she couldn’t stop herself from nipping at his lip, yearning to feel what she had lost. A sigh caught in her throat before she swallowed it down. Surely she was operating on reflex, the memory of kisses. Not desire she might feel now. The warmth and weight of him spoke to something older than true emotion. Even a reptile could feel comfort in the sun. Even she…

Still, that little encouragement was all the permission he needed to slide his hand up her hip to her waist and she could feel the pressure of his fingers. Lancelot was as strong as any fae male, strong enough certainly to overpower her. That had thrilled her once, a guilty admission she’d never dared to make. She’d been so wise, so scholarly, so magical, but an earthy male had found the liquid center of heat buried under all that logic and light. They had always sparked like that, flint against steel.

But then his hand found her breast and every muscle in her stiffened. This was too much. Memory was one thing, but she wasn’t the same now and she refused to have a physical encounter that was nothing more than a ghost of what it should be.

Nim pushed him away. “I don’t want this.”

Something in her look finally made him stop, but his eyes glittered with arousal. “Are you certain about that?”

About the Author: Sharon Ashwood is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely admits the whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle would never work out, so she writes her adventures instead.

Sharon is the winner of the RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sharonashwood/ Newsletter: http://www.sharonashwood.com/newsletter/ Blog: http://www.sharonashwood.com/daily-strange/ Website: http://www.sharonashwood.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/SharonAshwood Facebook Fanpage: https://www.facebook.com/authorsharonashwood

The Embodied Trilogy Special Edition Ebook Collection JB Dutton Genre: Urban fantasy / science fiction Date of Publication: July 11, 2016 ISBN: 9780991791842 ASIN: B01H7U1QOE Number of pages: 560 Word Count: 183,094 Cover Artist: Alexandra Nereuta

Follow Kari's exciting adventure in in one special edition of all three ebooks, including bonus author insights, deleted scenes and a treasure hunt quiz..

The Embodied trilogy is an unusual web of adventure, romance, fantasy, and science fiction.

Prep school student Kari Marriner is swept up in a mystery that fast becomes a thrilling adventure when she discovers that mysterious aliens called the Embodied and their pseudo-religion, the Temple of Truth, been influencing her family’s life for decades. She soon finds herself battling dragons, unicorns, and nefarious angels on the streets of New York and in the catacombs of Paris, while having her emotions torn by a handsome alien and a jealous boyfriend. In a final showdown, she must travel to the creatures’ home in the dark universe and make a heart-wrenching choice: rescue her mother or save the Earth.

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Excerpt: The first sensation was my stomach lurching and spinning. Then I seemed to be plunging dizzily while simultaneously zooming higher on some kind of impossible rollercoaster ride. And suddenly I felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing. I was separated from any kind of physical reality, like – oh… oh wow – like I was totally disembodied. I could sense things but not see them with my eyes. I had… a sort of mathematical awareness, as though I was plugged directly into the mainframe of a supercomputer the size of the universe, my mind swimming in pure information. Geometric shapes twinkled in and out of existence. Lines and points moved around in constant motion. It felt like a dream made of numbers… patterns and data combining and separating. Spirals within spirals and symmetries within symmetries.

“Mom?” I called out. Or at least imagined myself calling out. Ripples in this web of information undulated in front of me when I said her name. “Mom? It’s me. It’s Kari.” More complex ripples floated away.

Nothing.

At that moment it occurred to me I had no way of getting back home.

“Noon?” I said hopefully. Oh man – he’d told me how to use the sphere to reach the Dark Universe but now I was here and totally disembodied, I had no way of controlling my body to remove the sphere from my forehead.

But before I could worry about this too much, the waves of information started to coalesce into more recognizable shapes. Pyramids and spheres, but not solid ones. They seemed to be made of… of symbols and binary code. That was it – they were like living equations! And then weirdly, in one of the pyramid shapes, I could recognize Noon. I felt as though I could see his mesmerizing face. Even though it was data or whatever, it was somehow him.

The whole experience was kinda hypnotic. Was it even really happening? In one respect, I guess none of it was real, because I was literally seeing outside my universe.

“Kari – you made it,” I heard him say.

“Is that really you? Cilic didn’t kill you?”

“Well, he killed Embodied me, but the Mihim brought my diamond pyramid back here.”

This was super-bizarro. Now it was like the surrounding patterns had gone out of focus and I could clearly see the pyramid that was Noon’s true form.

“Wait, let me do something,” he said. “I’m going to recreate a reality you’re familiar with to make this easier for you.”

And the entire crazy churning data kaleidoscope sort of crystalized. I found myself standing in a towering hall with walls, floor, and ceiling made of what looked like sheets of sheer diamond. But in the depths of the diamond the same patterns I’d seen before were refracted in a million colors. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever encountered.

Silent Symmetry The Embodied Trilogy Book One JB Dutton Genre: Urban fantasy / science fiction Date of Publication: January, 2013 ISBN: 9780991791804 ASIN: B00B0534UC Number of pages: 194 Word Count: 54,359 Cover Artist: Alexandra Nereuta Book Description: Kari Marriner’s earliest memory is her father’s death in a car crash back in small-town Wisconsin.

Now, 12 years later, her mother has been hired by a pseudo-religious organization in Manhattan called the Temple of Truth (a.k.a. the ToT). At Chelsea Prep, Kari develops a crush on classmate Cruz. But when she realizes that Noon, another attractive guy at school, is involved with the ToT, her curiosity gets the better of her.

Kari stumbles upon a secret tunnel leading from her apartment to another in the building, where an ancient book holds images she can scarcely believe, and a cavernous room contains... something inexplicable. As Kari pieces together the incredible evidence, she discovers that the ToT is run by other-worldly beings called The Embodied who influence human behavior and have established a global long-term human breeding program. But why? And what is her role in all this?

Just as she starts wondering whether the love she feels for Cruz is genuine or if her emotions are being controlled by The Embodied, her mother is kidnapped and Kari has to figure out who is human, who is Embodied, and who she can count on to help rescue her mother.

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Excerpt: When I got in, the apartment was empty. I dumped my stuff and had a shower. I only realized as I was drying my hair that the apartment was really empty. Flash wasn’t there. The hairdryer was his nemesis, and the feud had being going on since he was traumatized by it as a kitten. But he couldn’t resist confronting it. Whenever I blow-dried my hair he would freak, hissing and arching his back, fur standing on end. But not this time.

I turned off the hairdryer and called his name. Nothing. I made little squeaking noises with my lips, walking from room to room. Okay, this was bizarre. Where the eff could he be? There was only one sure-fire way of making him come running. I went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard where the cat food was stored. I shook the bag loudly. Silence.

Wait, there wasn’t silence.

There was a muffled voice coming from... coming from? I bent down to follow the sound. It was coming from the cupboard.

The cupboard was a medium-sized space, maybe three feet high and 18 inches wide, and as I stuck my head inside to listen I felt like I was somehow entering another world. It was a gut feeling. You know, the kind you can’t explain but know you should trust. Some people call it instinct, but Mom explained to me once that the gut and the ancient lizard brain are linked. This is the “fight or flight” response that you feel when you’re threatened. It’s helped us survive over millions of years of evolution. And it’s rarely wrong.

So what was different in there? What was my subconscious reacting to? The smell. Yes, that was it – something smelled different in there, and it wasn’t cat food. Now the muffled voice was louder, more distinctive. And I could tell that there were actually two voices, a man’s and a woman’s.

I put my head in further and another part of my gut sent me a second message. The dimensions were wrong.

The cupboard stretched back much further than it should have, back beyond the kitchen wall.

I withdrew and stood up. I opened the cupboard above it and moved the cereal boxes to one side. This one was only a couple of feet deep. Looking back into the cat food cupboard, it was obvious that it went back at least a foot more.

I stood with my hands on my hips for a moment, trying to process. And where on earth was Flash? I called his name again and listened. Suddenly the voices stopped. I bent down and put my head back in the cupboard. There was a stale smell, and... was that a draft? I reached inside and felt around. The cupboard was so deep it was hard to see the back clearly. I shuffled inside, resting on my forearms and prodding the back wall with my fingers. It moved slightly.

I pushed harder, and with a groan it swung open at the bottom. It was hinged somehow at the top, like a large flap. I opened the flap wider and felt a distinct whoosh of cooler, damper air hit my face. I peered through the opening but it was pitch black inside. Then the voices started again, this time much clearer. I still couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was definitely a man and a younger woman talking.

Pushing the flap open even wider I realized that I could fit through the opening. The other side of the flap felt like a tunnel or duct the same width and height as the cupboard. The trouble was, it was too dark in there to explore it.

I needed a flashlight.

Mom is nothing if not resourceful. There were always spare batteries in the house when I was a kid. A first aid kit that nurse-Mom whipped out at the first sign of fever. And a well-stocked emergency box in an easy-to-reach location.

Five minutes later I was back in the cupboard, flashlight in hand.

I wriggled inside on my hands and knees, then pushed the flap open again. I crawled through it, testing the strength of the surface beneath me as I went. The tunnel creaked a bit – I guess it was made of wood – but it seemed pretty firm. I advanced, the tunnel’s blackness stretching out in front of me. The flap swung shut and the dank air enveloped me.

I stopped and listened, probing the tunnel with the flashlight. It seemed to go on forever. “Flash?” I whispered loudly. But all I could hear were the echoey voices. I carried on crawling forward. They seemed to be getting louder.

The young woman’s higher-pitched voice was easier to make out than the man’s gravelly rumble.

I thought I heard her say, “...control of it...here, I can get...here...make it...” Just snatches of sentences. The man said something in reply. When I was crawling, the noise my jeans made on the wood made it impossible to distinguish individual words in what the woman was saying. I shone the flashlight ahead of me. Was that a turn in the tunnel? As I got nearer, I could tell that there was a junction to the left in the tunnel up ahead.

I reached the bend and looked around it, the flashlight beam sweeping the tunnel walls. There was another long stretch that ended in...? A bend or a drop? “Flash?” I whispered again and listened. Now both voices were more distinct. They were definitely coming from further along the tunnel.

“...can’t stop them,” said the man.

“That’s just it,” answered the woman. Then silence.

I crawled onward, accompanied only by the swoosh and scrape of my jeans and shoes. Half a minute later I reached the end of this stretch of tunnel. Now there was a turn to the right, and a section that went upward. I raised my head to look up this chute. For a second my brain made a connection. That was it – garbage chutes! These big old buildings were usually equipped with them. Maybe that was what this was. But why did the tunnels go sideways? No, it made no sense.

I knelt at the junction, searching for an explanation. Then, before I knew what was happening, I screamed.

Something had dropped from the chute and landed in front of me. Something alive. I scrambled backward, heart in mouth, the flashlight making crazy-ass shadows on the tunnel walls.

In seconds I was back at the first turn, but as I tried to crawl around it, one of the belt loops on my jeans snagged on a nail. I tried to pull it off, frantic. I glanced back down the tunnel and saw a movement. It was coming toward me. It was... Flash.

My limbs sagged, I stopped struggling, and the loop unhooked from the nail. The cat meowed and trotted up to me. Laughing in relief, I petted him. “You... you... I love you!” I said, happy to have found him. And happy that he wasn’t a giant rat. Or something worse that the depths of my imagination had conjured up in my state of panic. He purred and snuggled against my nose.

“Kari.”

I froze.

It was the young woman’s voice. Distant, but distinct. I strained my ears to hear more but I was already far from the source of the sound, and Flash’s purring obscured the rest of the words. But I know I heard it. I know I heard my name.

“Kari.”

Starley’s Rust The Embodied Trilogy Book Two JB Dutton Genre: Urban fantasy / science fiction Date of Publication: January 2015, second edition April 2016 ISBN: 9781311725493 ASIN: B00ONKYNOC Number of pages: 206 Word Count: 60,934 Cover Artist: Alexandra Nereuta Book Description: Six months ago, Kari Marriner’s life was torn apart. Now turned 17, she’s looking for answers in her rural Wisconsin hometown. But just as the Embodied seemed to have vanished, there’s a new, more terrifying visitor from the Dark Universe.

Back in Manhattan, a charismatic English artist named Starley convinces Kari he can find her missing mother if she flies to Paris with him. He also shares an incredible secret from the dawn of mankind. But Starley is not who he seems. Before she knows it, Kari finds herself standing in front of the Mona Lisa with him, yelling out, “He’s got a bomb!”

And that’s when things go totally insane. The Rebel Embodied’s henchman, Cilic, returns to Earth on a deadly mission. The body of Kari’s treacherous friend Aranara is washed up on the banks of the Hudson. But is she really dead? In the Paris catacombs, Kari and Starley are hunted by a nightmarish mythical creature that’s all too real.

A family mystery, an exiled race, freakish beasts, jealousy, love… and death. Kari has to face them all in this fast-paced fantasy thriller.

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Excerpt: The sun was setting behind the buildings. A big barn with half the roof missing. A grain silo. A couple of smaller shed-type buildings, one with no door, the other with the door hanging off its hinges. And a farmhouse.

Windows shattered. Front door gawping at me. I gulped and sent an ILY back to Cruz. He liked those.

Then I had the strangest feeling. Like a disruption in the atmosphere, but also in my mind. The air changed somehow, and I heard a rumbling of distant thunder. I could have sworn that the fading daylight got brighter for a few seconds. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. It made me stop moving. Then reality seemed to snap back to normal. I kept going toward the farmhouse.

I saw something move.

The setting sun had backlit the barn so it was hard to be sure what it was. A horse, I think. A big, black stallion moving around in the barn.

My mind filled in the blanks. Probably a horse that had escaped from a neighboring farm and made a new home for itself here. Okay, cool. No mystery. Maddie must have seen it and her mind made it fit the legend.

I lay Maddie’s bike down in the grass, careful not to make a sound. I tiptoed toward the barn, not wanting to startle it. I turned on the flashlight app on my phone. Clouds were gathering, the light was fading. More distant thunder. I just needed to find it, take a photo and show Maddie. Her grandfather would know what to do, how to capture it safely and find its owner.

I entered the barn, still creeping quietly. Ew. It certainly smelled like a barn. There was hay strewn around on the ground. My phone flashlight was practically useless. It illuminated a patch, like, five feet in front of me. In the dim light, I could make out a row of stalls on each side and a hayloft up ahead with a ladder propped against it.

Now I thought about it, the smell was kinda weird. I grew up around here and although I’d never spent any time on a farm, I sensed that there was some kind of extra, non-farm smell here. Hard to identify. But yucky and familiar all the same.

Was that an animal noise in one of the stalls on the left? Or just the wind blowing through the holes in the walls? I crept toward the stall very, very carefully. My hand holding the phone was shaking. Come on, Kari. Get a grip. The sides of the stalls weren’t high enough to conceal a horse. Unless it was lying down in the hay, of course.

I reached the stall where I thought I’d heard the noise. I waited a second, held my breath, then stepped in front of the stall’s open gate. It was empty. And that’s when the hairs stood up on the back of my neck again. But this time there was another, all-too-familiar feeling along with it.

It was the feeling I had when Noon was in my head. Yet not exactly the same. This was unpleasant, even disturbing, and somehow stronger.

I spun around. In the barn doorway stood the black stallion. Protruding from its forehead was a long, tapered horn. It really was a unicorn. It raised its head and my mind felt like a heavy blanket had been draped over it. It eyed me purposefully. My irrational fear as a little girl came flooding back, multiplied by a million. I almost peed my pants. Was this a bad dream? Maybe I would wake up surrounded by My Little Pony’s in my 8-year-old’s bedroom?

If only…

The unicorn took a step forward. The feeling in my head got even stronger and now I could swear that I heard the name Noon repeating over and over. Not his voice, just his name. Was the unicorn Embodied? I didn’t get a chance to wonder about this because now the feeling in my head was becoming worse… painful. I was convinced that my mind was being probed by this astonishing creature. In the space of a few seconds, the pain increased and so did the repetition of the name Noon until it was so excruciating that I felt like screaming. I put my hands to my temples and opened my mouth. As I was about to close my eyes, I saw the unicorn start to charge toward me.

Despite the pain, I managed to fling myself to one side and into the empty stall just before it reached me. It galloped past and I heard it stop. My head was still throbbing. I staggered to my feet, one fist still pressed to my temple. Maybe I could make a break for it.

The unicorn appeared in front of me, blocking the stall entrance. I was totally trapped. I looked around in desperation. A broken wooden handle was poking out from a pile of hay in one corner. I grabbed it and pulled out a pitchfork. The unicorn advanced into the stall, its head lowered so that its horn was aimed directly at my head. The pain coursed through my brain like a river of electricity.

I swung the pitchfork at the unicorn’s head. I missed, but it backed up, startled. I swung again. It made a snuffling sound and stepped back further.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I screamed.

The unicorn cocked its head to one side like it was listening to me. The pain in my brain diminished.

I swung again and shouted the same thing.

The unicorn drew itself up to its full height and then something even more incredible happened. It raised its tail. But this was no stallion’s tail. It was like a huge peacock tail, shimmering with shades of black, gray, and silver.

The tail fanned out, probably ten feet wide, and despite the pain in my head, I lowered the pitchfork, just standing there in awe. What was this being? It seemed to possess incredible power and at the same time be unimaginably beautiful. In fact, it was all the more terrifying because it was so beautiful.

Diamond Splinters The Embodied Trilogy Book Three JB Dutton Genre: Urban fantasy / science fiction Date of Publication: May, 2016 ISBN: 9780991791835 ASIN: B01DFUUIA8 Number of pages: 212 Word Count: 62,257 Cover Artist: Alexandra Nereuta Book Description:

Prep school senior Kari Marriner has a heart-wrenching choice to make: rescue her mother or prevent aliens destroying the Earth.

Having faced down mythical beasts and trans-dimensional villains, Kari has finally unraveled the mystery of the cult-like Temple of Truth and found the diamond sphere that can free her mother from the evil clutches of the Thoth high priests. But to find out how to use the sphere, Kari must team up with the one person she can never trust: Aranara, the treacherous sister of her missing soulmate Noon.

When a submarine trip to the bottom of the Hudson River ends in death and disaster, Kari is scarred, both emotionally and physically. She wants to run and hide but digs deep and finds new sources of inner strength. As the storm of the century hits New York, a child’s life hangs in the balance and Kari gambles everything in a final confrontation with the genocidal Thoth.

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Excerpt: Aranara pushed at the hatch. Nothing happened. Whether it was the water pressure or some safety mechanism I don’t know, but she stopped trying and went back to the control panel. The sub reversed. I looked through the transparent bottom and saw Noon’s pyramid coming back into view. As soon as it was directly beneath us, she climbed onto her chair and aimed the gun at the globe-shaped acrylic window. With a surge of terror, I realized what she was about to do.

“Nooooo!” I screamed as she fired. I was kneeling on the floor of the cabin beside Mangold’s body. I automatically shielded my face. The bullet ricocheted. The dome had cracked instead of shattering. She shot twice more, not even flinching from the flying bullets. The crack spread. Water started to spray in. I reached up to try to stop her, but she held me off with one hand while she fired again with the other.

The window bulged inward. Then it burst. Water poured in and I screamed again, clawing at her uselessly as she pulled away enough acrylic to make an opening big enough to swim through. The water gushed like a torrent. She got hold of the sides of the hole she’d made and somehow managed to pulled herself out. The sub listed to one side and my reality shifted. Everything felt like a dream. I was in a reversed fishbowl. The air was inside and the water was outside, with Aranara swimming in it, downward toward Noon’s pyramid on the riverbed. The water was already up to my knees. There was nothing I could do. This was where I was going to die.

Wait – maybe one thing! I had shut Noon out. Maybe he could do something. I closed my eyes and calmed myself as best I could. “Tell Aranara to help me. I’m going to drown.”

I heard nothing. The water was up to my waist now. Spray. Smell. Sickening fear. I looked down but now it was impossible to see where Aranara was underneath the sub because of the river water rushing into the cabin. Did she already have the pyramid? Was she blocking Noon’s communication with me somehow? The water reached my chest. The dreamlike state disappeared. New panic set in. There was only one chance. Once no more water was flowing into the opening that Aranara had made, I could try swimming out through it. But we were seventy feet below the surface. Could I hold my breath long enough? I saw something move at my feet and looked down. I let out a huge scream as Mangold’s head floated up next to mine. Oh god, oh god. The water was up to my neck. I stood on the chair. My head was touching the top of the dome. The water was now level with the opening. I had to fill my lungs with as much oxygen as I possibly could from the few inches that were trapped at the top of the cabin. I breathed deeply. One, two, three deep breaths. The water lapped at my chin. Four. I held my breath.

I pushed off the chair toward the opening. It was barely wide enough. But before I could reach it, the submarine pitched downward. The hatch hit me in the back. The opening was further away than before, below me now. I swam toward it. The acrylic was at least an inch thick. I caught hold of the edge of the opening with one hand and pulled myself forward. As my head went through, the submarine lurched to one side. A searing pain in my cheek.

I held on tight. Now I could use both hands to pull myself through. Then I was out. My lungs were already starting to hurt. Daylight was so far away up above. Suddenly an arm circled my waist. It was Aranara. She didn’t even look at me, just kicked with both legs, pulling me away from the listing sub. I felt myself getting dizzy as we rose faster than a normal person would be able to. The pressure was enormous. The air was forced out of my lungs. I passed out.

About the Author: After graduating from film school in London, England, JB Dutton emigrated to Montreal in 1987, where he still lives with his two young children and their even younger goldfish. He spent over a decade as a music TV director before moving into the advertising industry as an award-winning copywriter for clients such as Cirque du Soleil. JB Dutton has written novels, short stories, blogs, screenplays and a stage play. He also writes adult fiction under the name John B. Dutton.

Blog: http://JohnBDutton.wordpress.com Goodreads author page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6949179.J_B_Dutton Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B009297EM2 Professional Facebook page: http://facebook.com/JohnBDuttonAuthor Twitter handle: @JohnBDutton Tumblr: http://JohnBDutton.tumblr.com Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/johnbdutton/ Newsletter Sign Up: https://johnbdutton.wordpress.com/newsletter-signu/

Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel The Yancy Lazarus Series Episode 2 James A. Hunter Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy Publisher: Shadow Alley Press Date of Publication: May 22, 2015 ISBN: 978-1514234266 ASIN: B00WDQCY30 Number of pages: 415 Word Count: 111,000 Cover Artist: Dane, EbookLaunch.com Book Description: PRAISE FOR COLD HEARTED: Yancy Lazarus is back and facing off against his most dangerous foe yet—without the benefit of his magic. A breakneck thriller that'll keep you turning the pages!

—Sam Witt, Author of Half-Made Girls (Pitchfork County Novels) Yancy Lazarus just wants to be left alone. He wants to play his blues music, smoke a few cigarettes, and otherwise leave the supernatural world to fend for itself.

He especially wants to be left alone by the Guild of the Staff—the mage ruling body—where he used to work as a Fix-It man. But when a little kid gets nabbed by an ancient Fae creature from the nether regions of Winter and the Guild refuses to set things right, he just can’t seem to heed good sense and leave things be.

Nothing’s ever easy though. Turns out, the kidnapping is just the tip of one big ol’ iceberg of pain and trouble. It seems some nefarious force is working behind the scenes to try and unhinge the tenuous balance between the supernatural nations and usher in a new world order. So now, if Yancy ever hopes to see the bottom of another beer bottle, he’s gonna have to partner up with an FBI agent—an agent who’s been hunting him for years—in order to bring down a nigh-immortal, douchebag mage from a different era. And to top it off, Yancy’s gonna have to pull it off without his magical powers … Boy, some days just aren’t worth getting out of bed for.

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CHAPTER ONE: Spelunking The tunnel stretched out before me like the throat of some monstrous serpent, icy blue walls radiating pale witchlight to guide my feet. I shuffled along the winding pathway, trying for speed and failing miserably. There was snow underfoot, but the powder was often interspersed with patches of slick ice, which made the going treacherous as hell. It didn’t help a lick that my feet were so numb I couldn’t feel my toes, even though I had on heavy boots and thermal socks. Every friggin’ step felt like a crapshoot and I wasn’t quite sure how the dice would land.

I heard a howl from somewhere back in the darkness, a warbling noise that echoed and bounced around the narrow tunnel. I glanced back for a moment, which is precisely when my feet skidded out from under me and I went down hard, my ass connecting on the slippery ground below. My hip ached from the tumble, but at least my head landed in a pile of snow instead of on hard ground. I lay there for a moment, staring up at the curved ceiling, simmering in indignation.

Why me? Why couldn’t I ever just keep my head down and mind my own friggin’ business? I felt like kicking my own ass for being such a gullible, softhearted mook. Shit, the least I could do was be a little more selective. Tell people I’d only do them favors if the location was somewhere nice and beautiful … like say, sunny, sandy, not-coldas-balls Honolulu.

I guess, technically, Thurak-Tir—home to the High Fae of the Winterlands—was a beautiful-ish place, so long as you’re the kind of person who doesn’t mind the arctic tundra of Siberia. The buildings are impressive at least: slick spires of frost, carved and sculpted into a thousand wonders; a house fashioned to resemble a frozen waterfall; a palace made of snow and crystalline-rime in the image of Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life; a tower in the shape of a serpentine neck, complete with scales, topped by a massive dragon’s head. Under the light of day, the whole city sparkles like a diamond, and at night beautiful slashes of green and gold drift through the air, a semi-permanent Aurora Borealis.

But it’s also piss-freezing cold and only beautiful in the way a statue is—lifeless, still, too perfect. And the residents are all the same. Bunch of too-good-for-you, cold-hearted pricks. I absolutely hate Thurak-Tir. Give me a warm New Orleans night in a dirty bar with a crowd of shit-faced hobos any day of the week.

Down in the subterranean caverns below the city, where I happened to be trudging around, was even worse.

Monsters, spirits, and a whole lot of frigid air. The light of day never penetrated these depths, so the cold … well, the cold seemed both malevolent and alive, like some frostbite-belching yeti.

More yowls and howls, followed by cackling laughter: Ice gnomes—not nearly as cute or cuddly as they sound—closing in, and fast. Time to move.

I scrambled onto my hands and knees, gaining my feet like a clumsy toddler taking his first steps, and shambled away from the chorus of mocking laughter. Creepy little twerps.

If I was going to make it out of this place in one piece, I needed better lighting. Thankfully, I’ve got something a little handier than a flashlight. I can do magic, and not the cheap stuff you see in Vegas with flowers or floating cards or disappearing stagehands. People like me, who can touch the Vis, can do real magic. Although magic isn’t the right word—magic is a Rube word for those not in-the-know. Users just call it the Vis, an old Latin word meaning force or energy. Simply put, there are energies out there, underlying matter, existence, and in fact, all Creation. It just so happens that I can manipulate that energy. Period. End of story.

I paused for a moment, and opened myself to the Vis. Power rolled into me like magma from an active volcano, heat and life and energy filling me up, sending renewed strength into my limbs. I was careful only to draw a little and push the rest away—unchecked, the Vis can be as seductive and dangerous as a beautiful woman with a grudge.

Weaves of fire and air flowed out around me as I shaped that raw force; a soft nimbus of orange light encircled me, granting both better visibility and a small pocket of comforting warmth. Sure, it would make me stand out like a dirty redneck at a posh country club, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I got moving again, huffing and puffing my way along. More frenzied cries floated toward me from the tunnel twisting away behind. I needed to move faster, but the gloom still hampered my progress, forcing me to slow down and take my time. Even with the combined illumination from my construct and the ghostly witchlight bleeding from the walls, I could only see a few feet out. This was a night place, a dark place that fought the intrusion of light and heat with tooth and nail.

Even going sloth-speed, I almost didn’t see the cliff until my feet were over the edge. I hollered and threw on the brakes in a panic—digging in with my heels and pinwheeling my arms as I fell once more onto my back. I landed with a whuff of expelled air and immediately sprawled out my arms and legs. The greater surface area seemed to slow

me down a little, but not enough. My legs skittered over the side, drawing me onward and downward. I clawed at the unyielding ice with numb fingers, my thin winter gloves making it all the more difficult.

I pulled more power, more Vis, into my body, and pushed thin strands of fire out through my fingertips. Small divots blossomed into the ice-covered surface of the floor, little grooves where my digits could find purchase.

Unfortunately my gloves began to smolder from the flame, the leather sending up curls of gray smoke. I ignored the heat—survival was my first priority. I dug in, giving it everything I had, arms and hands straining with the effort.

At last I skidded to a halt, my slide coming to a premature stop though it was a damn close thing. The tension in my arms and hands eased up as I slowly, carefully, pulled my hips and legs back from the drop-off, though my feet still dangled out in the air. Past the drop-off was blackness all the way down with no bottom in sight. Admittedly, the soft glow surrounding my body didn’t do much to diminish the gloom. Hell, the bottom could’ve been ten feet down or ten thousand. Better not to find out by taking a leap.

My heart thudded hard against my ribs. I’m not exactly afraid of heights, mind you, but anyone would be apprehensive about the prospect of careening off a cliff into potentially unending blackness. I took one more glance over the edge and uttered a sigh of relief. Whew. Dodged a bullet there.

I heard a hoot of mirth just a second before something hard and heavy collided into my back—a wallop right between my aching shoulder blades.

My fingers tore free of their meager holds and over the drop-off I went, manic gnome laughter filling my ears as I fell. I tumbled down and down, flipping through the air like a fumbled football. I caught just a brief glimpse of a short, knobby form peering over the edge, his whole stumpy body shaking as he cackled. Asshole gnomes.

I lashed out with air—great columns of the stuff—directed down to slow my descent. That was a start, but the construct wouldn’t keep me from getting impaled on a giant icicle or busting my guts open on a rocky outcropping.

So next, I pulled in strands of artic cold, weaves of spirit and reinforced bands of fae power, floating through the air like so much dust. A shimmering bubble of green—shifting from emerald to pine to jade and back again— snapped into place with an effort of will, encompassing me in a tight globe of power, exerting a slight pressure on my body. A small safeguard against pointy things and an air pocket to cushion my body from the inevitable impact.

Splash-thud.

About the Author: Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things.

So just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thailand. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.

Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.

Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.

You can visit me to find out more at www.JamesAHunter.wordpress.com www.twitter.com/@jamesahunter13 www.facebook.com/WriterJamesAHunter

Quick Tips for Authors- Guide to Using a Pen Name

By Roxanne Rhoads Many, many professional writers use pen names. Kim Harrison and Nora Roberts are two NYT Bestselling Authors that instantly come to mind.

For years I wrote under both my real name and a pen name. At times it was really confusing, especially in the beginning when I had no idea when I should use both names and when I should just use my pen name.

Throughout the years of operating Fang-tastic Books, a book review and promotion site for paranormal authors, I found that many new writers are just as confused as I was in the beginning.

One time an author, who is man but writes as a woman, sent me all his promo info for his book under his pen name and his bio under his real name. His email and web sites were also under his real name. So I assumed that he had no problem with both names being used to promote his book (since he didn’t specify otherwise). As a reviewer and promoter I publish what authors send me, I don’t change their words except for misspellings.

Well, the author contacted me a few days later very upset because I used his real name and the pen name. I explained to him the problem and suggested a few ways to stop any confusion in the future.

The things I suggested to him are ways to keep writing names separate while making your professional life much easier.

First of all, set up an email account in your pen name. Many email servers like gmail offer this for free. Use this email account for all writing transactions and submissions under your pen name.

Create a signature line for your email. For a long time I wondered after I sent an email if I accidentally signed the wrong name. Now I use signatures with my email

accounts that include my name, email address, and web addresses so I never have to worry about signing the wrong name.

Create a bio for your pen name. This bio should not include any writing credits, jobs, degrees or memberships that are under any other name. When someone tries to verify the info in your bio and can’t find anything under your pen name you’ll look like a liar. So keep your names and bios separate unless you have no problem with both names being linked or being public knowledge. Some authors use different pen names for different genres, not because they are “hiding” or trying to keep their real name from the public eye. In that case you can include something like this at the end of your bio: “Suzanne Case also writes as Susannah Monroe”.

Set up separate social media accounts for your pen name. That way all your promotion can be done through those networking sites under that name alone. This is extremely helpful when you want to remain anonymous plus it helps build your author brand. You want to build an author brand, not a book brand.

Set up a blog using only your pen name. This is extremely easy to do, especially with Blogger, WordPress or Weebly and it will help with promotion as you can publish all your book covers and publishing information on the blog, entertain readers and draw people in. Try to get the URL with your pen name in it, such as www.JadeDesire.Blogspot.com or grab a custom domain name from GoDaddy.com and point your blog to the domain www.JadeDesire.com.

The last and most important thing to remember when using a pen name…don’t ever give anyone your real name unless absolutely necessary. Book reviewers, bloggers, book promoters- none of these people have any reason to know your real name.

Publishers and agents are the only ones that ever need to know your real name and sometimes there are ways around that as well.

In some localities you can file a DBA (doing business as) under your pen name.

This is the same as filing for a business name. Some cities/counties/states won’t allow you to file a DBA under a person’s name while others do. If you can, this will allow you to legally use that name for all transactions. You can even open a bank account using your business/pen name. To get around the use of a social security number you can file for a taxpayer id number.

The only drawback to going this route is that it leaves a paper trail that anyone can have access to if they know where to look but you won’t have to give your real name to publishers, editors or agents.

Decide which route works best for you then stick to your guns and keep your names as far away from each other as possible.

Secrets of Successful Virtual Book Tours Quick Tips for Authors Guide Roxanne Rhoads Book Description: Are you considering a virtual book tour?

Not sure where to start or exactly what an online tour will entail?

Roxanne Rhoads, book publicist and owner of Bewitching Book Tours, shares her virtual tour expertise in this Quick Tips for Authors Guide.

Secrets of Successful Virtual Book Tours will guide you in utilizing the best marketing tool available- a virtual book tour, which can create online exposure for your book, jumpstart your book sales, help build your author brand, and expand your network.

In this guide you’ll learn:        

what you should do before a tour the components of a great author website the best social media outlets for authors to utilize tips for building your author brand how to write great guest blogs what to expect from an online book tour the secrets of successful book tours how to schedule your own virtual book tour

And you’ll receive in-depth details about what to do during a virtual book tour to guarantee success.

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Excerpt Secrets of Successful Virtual Book Tours by Roxanne Rhoads The world of publishing is continuously evolving thanks to technology and the Internet. It is now easier than ever to publish a book. But with the growing number of new books being released every day it is also harder than ever to get your book noticed in the crowd.

If your line of thinking includes- “If I publish it, people will buy it,” think again.

Indie publishing requires a dedication to self-promotion. Gone are the days an author hermits them self away to write, then hands the book to the publisher who does all the leg work for promotion.

Even NYT Bestselling authors and those with contracts through the big publishers still have to do a certain amount of self-promotion.

There are many ways to promote: social media, advertising on popular websites and blogs, print advertising in trade magazines, attending reader oriented conventions and events…but one of the best ways to get your book out there and build name recognition as an author is through a virtual book tour.

In this Quick Tips for Authors Guide, you will learn why a virtual book tour can be an author’s most effective marketing tool.

About the Author: Roxanne Rhoads has been working in the world of online book promotion since 2005. She has worked as a freelance writer, author, book reviewer, book blogger, editor, selfpublisher and book publicist. She has a unique advantage of knowing how multiple sides of book publishing and promotion operate.

Roxanne understands how book bloggers work and what they want to make their jobs easier while also understanding that authors need promotion to be streamlined, easy, and less time consuming.

Roxanne shares some of her knowledge in her latest release, Secrets of Successful Virtual Book Tours.

Author Website http://www.roxannerhoads.com Bewitching Book Tours www.bewitchingbooktours.com Bewitching Blog http://www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com/ Facebook http://www.facebook.com/BewitchingBooktours

Bewitching Book Tour Packages and Pricing Book sales will magically soar during one of our spellbinding virtual book tours Bewitching Book Tours specialize in tours for paranormal, urban fantasy, and paranormal erotica books with prices just right for any author's budget

Every tour package includes:  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus Giveaways are not necessary during tours but they are highly encouraged. Giveaways draw many more readers and viewers to tour stops plus they help increase your social media followers.

We utilize Rafflecopter entry forms so you can offer one prize package or several throughout your tourwinners are chosen at the end of the tour. $47.50 will get you the Release Day Blitz One day book release blitz includes  Posting on up to 20 blogs which will include- tour banner, your book info, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus The release day blitz can be purchased alone or added to another tour package

$50.00 will get you the week long Bewitched Book Blitz Tour Your will receive 1 week of tour stops  Posting on approximately 5-7 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus This tour is perfect for an author to get a taste of how a book tour works Great for new releases or for the backlist book that could use a sales boost $85 will get you the 2 week Cast a Magic Spell Tour 2 weeks of tour stops

 Posting on approximately 10-14 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

$140 will get you The Spellbinding Special 1 Month Tour This is our most popular so far- with it you'll receive one month of tour stops  Posting on approximately 20 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

Kindle Free Book Blitz $50

Is your book going free on Kindle?

Get the most out of your Kindle free days with Bewitching Book Tours We are now offering a Kindle Free Book Blitz Tour- Up to 5 days of promotion just $50- this includes:  Posting on numerous blogs that will announce that your book is free is Amazon  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation

 two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

Cover Reveals are $45 Add a live Facebook party to any package for $100 A Facebook Party includes the coordination, set up and moderation of a live Facebook party (event) page.

The party will last for about two hours.

A party page will be created and moderated by Bewitching Book Tours.

This is a great way to interact with readers. They can post questions and the author can answer in real time.

The author will be responsible for providing party content (book/author facts and links, quizzes, games, and prizes). Bewitching Book Tours can help with brainstorming ideas for content and prizes.

The Facebook party can be purchased by itself or added to a tour package.

Please understand Bewitching Book Tours is not responsible for missed your stops on your tour. After the tour is scheduled and all of the tour materials have been sent out, it is the responsibility of the Blogger who signed up for the tour to post materials on their designated day.

Bewitching Book Swag Bewitching Book Tours offers custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

We offer high quality, hand crafted, one of a kind items made to match your book. Currently we are offering beaded bookmarks, beaded keychains, purse charms, belt loop charms, wine glass charms, and earrings.

These items can be created with colored beads to match the colors in your book cover.

We can also add small charms to coordinate with book content- we have a wide variety of charms to choose from and if we don't have something that matches your book we can get it.

Some of the silver charms available are: vampire fangs, wolves, witch hats, keys and locks, books, hearts, haunted houses, bats, foxes, hamsas, dragons, sugar skulls, rhinestone skull and crossbones, high heeled shoes, Fleur de lis, masquerade masks, owls and many more.

You can also opt to have the items completely customized by adding your book cover to a metal charm.

The book covers are encased in small metal photo frame charms and sealed in resin for a high quality charm that looks fabulous and is very durable.

Our goal is to create custom book swag that represents your book.

Transition The Euphoria Z Series Book Three Luke Ahearn Genre: Thriller/Post-Apocalyptic Publisher: Luke Ahearn Date of Publication: April 25, 2016 ASIN: B01ESFRJW4 Number of pages: 194 Word Count: 56,200 Book Description: Transition is the third book of the Euphoria Z Series set in a post-apocalyptic California.

The post-apocalyptic world is in transition. While things may seem safer, a great danger lurks under the surface and sometimes from above.

What does the Island have to do with the state of the world, and the invisible creatures? New threats arise and evil is tracked down. Will this finally be the end for Ben and his psychopathic lifestyle?

Continue the adventure as we find out what happened to Cooper, Lisa and the others.

Amazon Excerpt: Prologue It doesn’t rain frequently in San Jose, California and when it does it’s a quick gray affair that rinses away dust and freshens the air. Every few years there’s a day or two of torrential downpours, interspersed by widespread drizzling and dripping. And rarely, as was the case this day, the skies opened and dumped a decade’s worth of rain upon the city in only a few days. These rare downpours could last days and do substantial damage citywide.

The downpour was so heavy it was impossible to see farther than a few hundred yards. Water ran from the highest spots in the city and merged into thick fast flowing rivers on its journey downhill. It gushed down streets, blasting over curbs and past sign posts, taking away anything that wasn’t nailed down. The waters were black with months of accumulated filth and foamed with the runoff of a million miles of city streets. The fine dust of millions of corpses, that which wasn’t already blown away by the winds, was swept into storm drains and out to the Pacific Ocean.

But the most alarming aspect of the rainstorm by far was the thunder and the lightning. Every few minutes great jagged bolts of light arced across the sky, illuminating the world in blinding flashes, followed moments later by the thunder, a terrifying sound as if the heavens were being torn open. Then cascading booms shook the earth for long moments after.

One of these giant flashes illuminated the inside of a dark warehouse revealing a world of crisp black shadows and harsh blinding whites. For a split second a human shape was visible laying atop a large worktable. It resembled the sarcophagus of a long dead pharaoh. Puddles of odd liquids had collected under the body and run off the edge, hardening in long stalactites of black and dark red. A minor flash revealed a hardened shell, mottled with the same black and reddish hues. The long low rumble of the distant thunder that followed caused an eye to twitch. A loud crack and a blinding flash of light caused both eyes to open wide in shock and fear. A high-pitched keening could be heard emanating from the misshapen body on the table.

Slowly a hand rose, the cracking of dried viscera was faint but clearly audible above the muted pounding of rain. The open eyes, clear and green, regarded a grotesque hand armored in a red and black crust. The arm dropped and the eyes closed. The thrumming of the rain and intense fatigue made slipping back into the sweet darkness of sleep all too easy.

Later, a blinding flash of light and the ensuing crack of thunder caused the figure to startle awake. Fat drops of water fell almost forty feet from the compromised skylights above creating a loud rhythmic clunk, clunk, clunk as they struck a crustaceous shell. There was a hiss as breath was sucked inwards through thin reddish tubes that hung over a tiny mouth. The creature spasmed at the discomfort as air filled its long dormant lungs.

The figure rolled awkwardly left and right as it attempted to stand. Dried viscera cracked and crunched and fell away in large chunks. It stopped to rest a few times until eventually, with great effort, it rolled on its stomach and swung its legs off the table, pushing itself to a standing position in a sort of diagonal pushup. It struggled to stay upright as it took one awkward step forward, then another.

The heavy armored shell made walking difficult and uncomfortable. Each labored movement caused the figure to hiss and gasp. It took three steps and bent forward over the table to rest. The effort was exhausting and the armored plates tugged at odd spots and pinched and pulled on the raw skin beneath.

Many laborious steps later and the creature was nearing the door to the warehouse. The effort was exhausting, the movement unnatural, and feelings of weakness and nausea were overwhelming. But a sense of urgency drove the creature forward. It knew that it must get out of that dark place. There was somewhere it had to be.

The warehouse door swung open and wind blasted cold rain across the armored body, but it felt nothing. It looked down, apparently just now gaining a sense of awareness beyond wakefulness and the desire to escape the dark building. Groggily it tugged on a section of armored shell as if it was just now noticing it. The skin beneath pulled, the shell seemed to be attached to flesh like that of a lobster or crab. A disfigured hand rose up, lightning flashed and a gasp of horror came from the bulbous armored head as it looked with revulsion at its own red and black armored appendage.

The creature looked to the sky and stepped into the torrential downpour. It shuddered as icy rain made its way beneath its armored plates. A shell loosened from a forearm and with a touch clattered to the ground. The rainwater stung like fire and the figure backed into the warehouse staring at raw skin glistening with red wetness. The unprotected skin was as sensitive as that of a newborn babe. The arm went back into the rain and recoiled again as if the rain water was scalding. It tried again and again until it could stand the pounding rain.

Eventually it stepped out into the deluge and disappeared into the blinding storm.

Lisa barely remembered her own name when she awoke, but now it was all coming back to her as she shuffled along in the downpour and she grew more and more terrified. She had no idea what had happened to her or what was happening to her presently. She remembered hiding in the safe room and later talking to the creature. Another piece of her exoskeleton fell away and she shivered as cold rain pounded her left shoulder. It didn’t hurt as bad as the first time rain hit her flesh. She almost tripped when most of the shell on her right leg fell away all at once. It was as if she were molting like a crab. She was sick, weak, and terrified. She had no idea what had happened to her but everything about her body felt different and weird.

About the Author: Luke Ahearn was born in New Orleans, LA and now lives in Central California. He is a successfully published author of both fiction and nonfiction, most recently completing Transition, the third book in the Euphoria Z Series. He has over 20 years of professional game development experience in lead positions; designer, producer, and art director.

Luke is also a book cover designer interested in supporting his fellow authors. He hates writing about himself in the third person, but thinks it makes him sound more substantial.

He can be reached at www.LukeAhearn.com https://www.linkedin.com/in/lukeahearn https://www.facebook.com/luke.ahearn https://twitter.com/TheLukeAhearn https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/222683.Luke_Ahearn

Daughter of the Sun Cult of the Cat Book 1 Zoe Kalo Genre: YA Fantasy Date of Publication: Ebook April 1, 2016 Date of Publication: Print June 15, 2016

ISBN: 978-1533061768 ASIN: B01DRDUQW8 Number of pages: ebook 330 pages Number of pages: print 350 pages Word Count: 95,000

Cover Artist: S. Frost Designs Book Description: Sixteen-year-old Trinity was born during a solar eclipse and left at the doorsteps of a convent along with a torn piece of papyrus covered with ancient symbols. Raised by nuns in the English countryside, she leads a quiet life until she’s whisked away to the Island of Cats and a grandmother she never knew.

But before they can get to know each other, her grandmother dies. All that Trinity has left is a mysterious eye-shaped ring. And a thousand grieving cats. As Trinity tries to solve the enigma of the torn papyrus, she discovers a world of bloody sacrifices and evil curses, and a prophecy that points to her and her new feline abilities.

Unwilling to believe that any of the Egyptian gods could still be alive, Trinity turns to eighteen-yearold Seth and is instantly pulled into a vortex of sensations that forces her to confront her true self— and a horrifying destiny.

Amazon Daughter of the Sun - Cult of the Cat Book 1 Chapter 1 One month before the summer solstice…

Goosebumps snaked up my spine.

I'd had the same sensation last night while gazing at the moon, when for an instant I’d picture it red, bathed in blood. Then the rippling, bristling feeling had come back this morning as I brushed my teeth and stared at the

reflection of my eyes in the bathroom mirror. In a flash the green orbs had turned crimson. I’d blinked, struck by a wave of vertigo, the cold tiles shifting under my feet.

“Trinity...you all right?” Brianna nudged my arm, bringing me back to the present. We were walking down the main staircase of the orphanage—where we’d lived all of our lives—toward the open-air playground for our usual half-hour break after lunch.

“Fine. Just restless.”

“Maybe lunch did it. All those veggies. They take you for a rabbit.”

The touch of humor in her voice didn't lift the dark cloud hovering over me. I shot her a sideways glance. “No, not the veggies,” I muttered. “Something else.”

She stopped in the middle of the staircase and her hazel eyes studied my face. “What?”

I stopped, shrugging. “Don't know.”

“I saw you in the dormitory last night, staring out the window. You seemed so far away.”

Red moon.

The sky had been so clear, the stars twinkling like gems, so unusual for the common grayness of the English countryside.

Blood moon.

I’d been mesmerized, as if its eerie splendor had spoken to me in an ancient, alien language. I hadn't been able to understand it, but I’d felt faint by its allure.

“Trinity?”

“It's nothing. You know me. One day up, one day down.” I looked to the bottom of the staircase, past the hall to the open doors to the courtyard. Now the sky was gray. The girls played outside, chatting incessantly. The little ones ran this way and that, their black and white uniforms a blur.

When I looked back at Brianna, I saw she was staring at something past my shoulder. I turned around and glimpsed a flash of black through the window.

“Did you see that?” I asked. “Looked like a limousine.” Not that I’d ever seen one in real life, only in the movies we were sometimes allowed to watch in the weekends. “I wonder if it’s coming here.”

But Brianna didn’t answer. Her spaced-out gaze was still fixed on the window. There was something odd about her expression.

“Brianna. Hello. I’m talking to you.”

She blinked, startled. She looked at me. “What? Oh. Right. You know…I just—I just remembered… I have to help Sister Anne at the library.”

“Now? All of a sudden?”

“Like I said, I just remembered.”

I made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “Tell her you forgot.” I did feel a twinge of guilt. Sister Anne was one of the nice ones. “She's so old, she won't even remember.”

“Don’t be mean. I promised her.”

“You know, people take advantage when you’re always nice.”

She didn’t answer, but I read the gentle reproach in her eyes.

“All right, all right,” I muttered. “I'll see you later.”

She smiled and, to my surprise, gave me a tight, warm hug. “Cheer up. I don't like it when you get the blues. I want you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. Her chestnut hair, streaked with copper and gold and woven into a braid like we were all supposed to wear, smelled like soap, clean, fresh. Which reminded me: I had not braided my hair today.

Brianna was my best friend in the world. Nearly seventeen years ago, when we were tiny babies, we had been found at the door of the orphanage only a day apart—a very odd event, according to the nuns. When we were babies we were often put in the same crib and we sucked each other’s thumbs and took turns crying for attention.

We drew apart and she hurried up the stairs, the old wood creaking under the rubber soles of her shoes.

I moved in the opposite direction toward the courtyard.

Outside, the sky was covered with virulent clouds, promising a downpour. A cool breeze hit my cheeks, made me instantly alert. The air was redolent of fertilizers from the nearby farms. The temperature was unusually cold for late May. Sister Eveline and Sister Celeste already kept guard, but as one of the older girls, my duty was to keep watch during playtime. The courtyard was big and was enclosed by high, rusted, spiked iron gates crawling with vines and wisteria. Beyond the gates, on one side, a massive weeping willow loomed, its leaves rustling in the breeze. On another side, rolling hills made most of the landscape, dotted here and there with the silhouettes of nearby farms.

The courtyard was made of concrete and had swings and see-saws for the younger girls. The rest was just empty space with a few stone benches for us to sit.

The Sisters strolled across the courtyard toward the main doors, their heads tilted downward, deep in conversation—or so I thought. In their wimples and flowing habits, they looked like two big black birds. Sister Eveline suddenly turned toward me with a hard expression and made a gesture about my hair.

“I’ll braid it after the break,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. I gave her a lovable grin and pointed to the younger children. “I have to keep an eye on them, as you know.”

The look she gave me told me she didn’t buy my sweet disposition, but she let it drop and continued her way to the doors.

I crouched and chatted with the little ones for a while, and pushed their backs at the swings. I giggled at their silly, innocent tales. Sophie, a sweet five year-old with red corkscrew ringlets, wrapped her small arms around me and I whirled her in the air.

When I put her down, I spotted Beth Thompson and her two evil minions emerging from the corner of the orphanage. A cat trailed behind her.

I narrowed my eyes. Beth had tied a string around the cat’s neck and was pulling it along like a pet—but, as I knew only too well, girls like Beth didn't keep pets.

Then Beth did something she shouldn’t have done: when the cat refused to budge, she yanked the string, almost choking the animal.

I winced, feeling the pain as my own.

A shiver rippled up my spine. Again.

About the Author: A certified bookworm and ailurophile, Zoe Kalo has always been obsessed with books and reading.

Reading led to writing—compulsively. No surprise that at 16, she wrote her first novel, which her classmates read and passed around secretly. The pleasure of writing and sharing her fantasy worlds has stayed with her, so now she wants to pass her stories to you with no secrecy—but with lots of mystery….

A daughter of adventurous expats, she’s had the good fortune of living on 3 continents, learning 4 languages, and experiencing a multicultural life. Currently, she’s working on a Master’s degree in Comparative Literature, which she balances between writing, taking care of her clowder of cats, and searching for the perfect bottle of pinot noir. She lives and writes in Belgium.

Website/blog: https://zoekalo.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Zoe-Kalo-206262253053039/ Twitter: @zoekalowriter Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14951190.Zoe_Kalo

Sacred Legacy The Branded Trilogy Book 3 Kat Flannery Genre: Historical western paranormal romance Publisher: Imajin Books Date of Publication: July 31, 2016 Number of pages: 175 Word Count: 72,000 Cover Artist: Ryan Thomas Doan Book Description: Tsura is a Chuvani, and with that comes great power…

Desperate to escape the memories that haunt her, Tsura Harris returns to Jamestown, the very place her mother forbade her to go. A gifted Chuvani, Tsura has sworn off all magick, thus making her vulnerable to the Renoldi clan, who wish to kill her and take the pendant that is the key to her power.

Red Wolf is hell-bent on living his life on the sea, until he runs into Tsura on the docks. His pride wounded from her rejection years before, he hoped to never see her again. But when the evil Corsair, Romulus Black, demands to know where she is, Red Wolf must protect her, as is his duty.

But is duty and honor his only reason, or does Red Wolf still carry a flame of love in his heart? And will Tsura finally discover her destiny?

Amazon

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CHAPTER ONE SACRED LEGACY Jamestown, Virginia, July 1740 Tsura Harris lifted the hem of her green skirt and stepped up onto the wooden plank. She clutched her reticule in her right hand and reached for the rope with her left. The planked bridge swayed as the boat rocked against the seas.

She stared at the water below. White-capped waves crashed along the ship’s hull, rocking the boat. She inhaled, forced her chin up, and took another step. She walked the short distance to the boardwalk, releasing the breath she’d held when her boot touched land. She planted both feet upon the wooden dock and set her shoulders, but the reminder of why she was here intensified the weight upon her chest. Despair was her shadow, and it was with her today.

“Sister!”

Her brother’s deep, masculine shout came from above.

She shaded her eyes from the hot afternoon sun and peered up at him. His stature always shocked her. Micah Walker was six foot with broad shoulders and strong arms, a spitting image of their father, Kade. His white shirt gaped open to show the tanned skin beneath, a sign of too many days out on the water. Long blond hair waved in the breeze. Her handsome brother had his pick of the ladies, but still hadn’t settled down. It was a shame. She knew he wanted children and a wife of his own, but his heart belonged to the sea and time would lend him those favors only when he was ready.

“You must wait,” he called and raced past his men carrying crates of goods onto the wharf.

She placed her bag onto the wooden walk and clasped her gloved hands together.

He reached her, his cheeks glowing and dark eyes lit with mischief. Before she could discourage him, he picked her up and swung her around. Her boots kicked the bag, knocking it over, as his strong arms held her tight.

Micah had always been affectionate. He never shied away from holding her hand, kissing her cheek, or teasing her like a brother would. He’d come to her side when she needed him the most. When her life had fallen apart, and she couldn’t see past her own misery to pick herself up. He had carried her, and she loved him for it.

“You cannot go off without wishing me well.” He smiled down at her.

“If you would simply release me, I’d be able to make it so,” she retorted. He was the only one, aside from her mother and father, who she allowed to touch her.

“Very well, nit.” He set her in front of him. The nickname he used for her was one of endearment and came from her pestering him as a child.

“Thank you.” She smoothed her skirt before bringing her eyes to meet his.

“You do not need to do this.”

She glanced away unable to stare at him any longer.

“Come sail with me.”

She shook her head. The urge to leave caused her legs to shake. She couldn’t be around him any longer. His cheerful disposition haunted her and made her think of things she’d rather forget.

“I know you don’t want to speak of this, but—” “No, Micah.”

“Tsura, you need to forgive—” “Forgiveness is not within my heart.”

“It surely is.”

She shook her head, careful not to release the many pins holding her thick corkscrew curls in a loose chignon.

“It is in all of us.”

She glared at her brother.

“Do not speak to me of forgiveness, brother. My heart is cold to it.”

His dark eyes watered, and she knew her words had hurt him, but she didn’t care. It was better this way—it was easier.

“Will you not reconsider?”

“No.” “Please stay. I will protect you.”

Protection was not what she needed. She could care less if she died. It’d be a relief from the constant pain she felt each day.

“I should’ve taken you to mother and father.”

“Do not speak to them of my presence here.”

“They will understand.”

“Not one word.”

Micah sighed. “As you wish.”

“I must go.” Anger pressed on her spine, and she straightened.

His shoulders dropped.

“Be safe. Trust no one.”

She nodded.

“I port back in Jamestown one month to this day. You will be here.”

It was not a question, and she didn’t know if a month would be enough. Would the time between then and now ever fade from her soul? Would she be ready to return? She didn’t know if she could go back and so she didn’t answer.

“Hiram knows of you coming?”

“He does.”

“Very well.” He straightened and smiled. “Know that I love you.”

She fought the tears. If Micah saw one ounce of sadness within her, he’d throw her back aboard the Jade and take her with him.

“As I you.” She refused to say the words.

He picked up her bag and handed it to her.

“Thank you. Now go. You have work to do and whores to see.” She smirked.

“Ah, that I do.” He pulled her into a final embrace. “You will find your way. I am sure of it.” He held her away from him, and his eyes searched hers. “Remember who you are.”

She pressed on his chest and stepped out of his embrace. She couldn’t help the furrow of her brow or the set of her chin. The reminders of the life she led were never to be forgotten, and because of that she’d be forever lost.

Micah sensed the change in her and left it alone. He bowed, and with a final kiss to her forehead he walked away.

She turned, unable to watch him go, raised to believe it was a sign of weakness, of regret to watch one leave your life. This was meant to be. The world around her had tilted, and even though she wanted nothing more than to go back in time to the lavish house on the hill where she’d felt content, where laughter was but an expression upon her lips, she could not. What had been was no more, and she’d do right to remember it. One year had passed, but the ache inside her soul still remained

About the Author: Kat Flannery’s love of history shows in her novels. She is an avid reader of historical, suspense, paranormal, and romance. She has her Certificate in Freelance and Business Writing. A member of many writing groups, Kat enjoys promoting other authors on her blog. She’s been published in numerous periodicals throughout her career.

Her debut novel CHASING CLOVERS has been an Amazon Top 100 Paid bestseller. LAKOTA HONOR and BLOOD CURSE (Branded Trilogy) are Kat’s two award-winning novels and HAZARDOUS UNIONS is Kat’s first novella. Kat is currently hard at work on her next book.

Website: http://www.katflannerybooks.com Blog: http://www.kat-scratch.blogspot.com Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/katflannery1 Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kat-Flannery/105465069558958

Subscribe and be surprised! All new subscribers receive a thank you email with a gifted copy of C I N. Each month, claim your exclusive free short stories and join in on the contests for various prizes. http://www.christinaleighpritchard.com/ What is C I N? Why do I want it?

C I N, voted "New & Noteworthy" by USA Book News, is a young adult paranormal romance novel, packed with suspense at every turn.

The Doctor said I should be dead. My heart beat furiously. I looked up at the flashes of lightning in the sky. Yes, I should be dead.

Why wasn’t I? Seventeen year old Lisa Brown’s life is falling apart. First, her mother and father divorce, then their house forecloses and now, her mother has decided to commit herself to a psychiatric hospital.

If that weren’t enough, she must leave sunny south Florida to attend a boarding school full of geniuses in cold, Lynn, Massachusetts. The city where the locals chant “Lynn, Lynn, city of sin; you never come out the way you went in.”

And, they aren’t kidding. Lisa must live in a tiny shack with two strange teenagers, a dog named Pig who growls when you look at him and a cat named Rat. “Mind the cat,” everyone says. What the heck is wrong with this place?

Lisa thinks she’s landed in her own house of horrors with the anti-social Alex and his facetious sister Ally. But, the real drama begins the day she is struck by lightning…

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