BLOG TOUR – Cosmic Requiem Circle by Lucinda Wicked

Cosmic Requiem Circle
Book One
Lucinda Wicked
Genre: LGBT, Paranormal, Dark Romance
Date of Publication:  January 13, 2024

Cover Artist: Lucinda Wicked

Slice, butcher, kill

Misery has lived the last eon by their code. Hunting everything with and without breath for the right price. Unfeeling, without mercy. A greedy overlord makes Misery an offer they can’t refuse. All they have to do is kill the silver ghost

Except this ghost is not really a ghost…

Collect, collect, collect

Death has learned the hard way that solitude is the only way to safeguard her heart. Cold, ruthless and without compassion, the universe has learnt to be terrified of death. Deserting at the mention of her name.

Until there was one who wasn’t terrified. One who dared hold a knife to her throat.

Death is curious…

The universe has thrown death and Misery together and an ancient force looms in the background…

Death is about to find out that there are more twisted things in the universe and that perhaps…Death doesn’t have to walk alone.

Amazon

Book Trailer: https://shorturl.at/eAHIN


Death was finally able to take a nap, she rested, moving to a beach in her dreams. As she sunbathed, she felt a ripple through her dream. An odious black thing streaking the sky. She felt a subtle tremor in the cosmic threads, a disturbance that distrusted her sleep, bathing her dream world in darkness.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She said, stretching her hand for her scythe. She got up and took off the sarong, slipping her arms through the sleeves of a satin robe.

With the sharp edge of her scythe, she ripped through the fabric of the dream world.

“I actually put a lot of work into creating this one. This better be worth it.” Death murmured, stepping out of the dream and entering a black void.

She found herself standing within the threading—a vast expanse where the fabric of existence intertwined.

Threads stretched in every direction, touching each other in a complex web of interconnections. Each thread was connected to another. They revolved around a small spool in the center.

She found herself, a small piece of black lopping around each thread.

“What is it this time?” She said into the endless void, her voice echoing.

Tainted threads manifested before her, the red threads had clumps of black glue choking it. Her face contorted in a grimace.

“Damn. That’s a lot of dirt. What has this soul done?” She asked. “Come. Let’s go find them. Someone has to die.” She sighed.

She stepped into Misery’s dream. She was lying awake in a dark space.

“Really? You have the ability to think of anything and this is what you choose?” She said, scoffing. “You’re unbelievable. I don’t know why I bother.” Death finished.

Deathless eyes stare back at her.

“The dark is comforting. You should know that better than anyone else. It is home to vile twisted things like us. Come lay with me.”

“Would love to but this is a bye bye text. I’m too lazy to reach for my phone. I’m killing two birds with one scythe.”“That’s not how the saying goes.”

“Who cares.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Somewhere terrible. ” Death said.

Misery sat up, the shadows binding her to the black space falling away. “Where are you going?”

Death looked up, trying to convince her eyes to unsee Misery soft, white, naked, eyes open in ecstasy.

“To hunt a tainted thread.” Death said mindlessly.

“I’m coming with.” Misery said.

“You’re not. You’re busted up. Why are you naked?”

“I sleep naked.” Misery said, brows scrunching in confusion.

“I did not need to know that.” Death said, making a strangled noise. “Why do you insist on coming with me, Misery?” Death questioned, her mood souring. She looked at Misery with cold emotionless eyes.

Misery, undeterred, responded, “I’m connected to the balance as much as you are. I’m connected to you. It’s a roundabout thing. won’t stay idle when darkness threatens.”

“Everybody is connected to me, little psycho. Try again. I’ll be the last to leave this universe when it ceases endless existence. I’ll turn the lights out behind me. I’ll escort your soul to the after life too. Try again, Mise.”

“I have no soul.” Misery grinned, cracking open her chest to reveal a black empty space.

Death scowled. “You’re still not coming along.”

“Yes I am. I’m coming to cover your ass.”

“Literally or figuratively.” Said Death, her lids lowering. Misery flushed, disappearing into the shadows.

“Well. I’ll see you when I’m back.” Death said.

“I’ll be downstairs in five minutes. We both need to get dressed and you take ten years to change your clothes.” Misery said at the same time, wrinkling her nose.

They looked at each other, both frowning.

“I’m coming. The End.” Said Misery, disappearing into the shadows. Death cursed, opening her eyes.

She stood up, heading to her closet. She yanked out a long flowing lace vest and a pair of leather pants. She wore a silk shirt under the vest, the lace vest on it and a corset on the whole ensemble.

The lace looked like it was sewed to the corset. She slipped on a pair of black studded six inch stilettos and raced outside, sliding down the railing to the foyer.

She rushed outside, opening her Mercedes and taking a seat in the driver’s side. She pulled out of the castle, doing a victory dance.

She dialed Misery’s number, tapping her acrylics on the screen joyfully. The phone rang from inside the car.

She looked back to see a grinning Misery lounging in the back seat.

“You have to be shitting me.” Death said, shaking her head.

“I wish. You’re not supposed to leave people you’re going out with at home.” She said, laughing. She smoothly maneuvered herself from the back seat to the passenger’s side.


About The Author

Meet Lucinda Wicked – a seasoned cosplayer with over a decade of experience. When she’s not donning epic costumes, Luci runs her own gig catering to the spooky souls out there. Stickers, sweaters, and more – she’s got your eerie cravings covered. Luci’s love for all things spooky is practically woven into the fabric of her creations.
 
But Luci is not just a business owner; she’s a proud member of the LGBT+, BIPOC, and Neurodivergent communities. Embracing diversity and uniqueness is not just a trend for her – it’s a way of life.
 
You can snag Luci’s otherworldly wares at Luminous Moon Swag, whether you prefer the virtual aisles of Etsy or the online realm at luminousmoonswag.com. And if you’re in the mood for a quick cosmic escape, check out her TikTok micro-episodes featuring the Cosmic Requiem Circle.
 
In her spare time, you’ll find Luci immersed in the magical realms of her own creation, embracing the spooky, and spreading a cosmic vibe. This is Lucinda Wicked – crafting dreams and bringing a touch of the supernatural to your everyday life.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

BLOG TOUR – The Land Girl on Lily Road by Jullianne Hamilton

The Land Girl on Lily Road by Jillianne Hamilton is out now! Check out the tour and be sure to grab your copy of the historical romance today!

Title: The Land Girl on Lily Road
Author: Jillianne Hamilton
Genre: Historical Romance

Bravery and fortitude on the English homefront endure in this lighthearted, enemies-to-lovers WWII romance, perfect for fans of The Wartime Matchmakers and Dear Mrs. Bird. Expecting a relaxing getaway at her family’s summer estate, pampered socialite Elsie Foster-Quinn signs up for the Women’s Land Army. When she ends up at a Somerset dairy farm instead, Elsie immediately butts heads with the grumpy farmer she now works for. Being a land girl in a small town is far more than the city girl bargained for. Ben Grainger hates asking for help. When two land girls unexpectedly arrive on his farm, he quickly learns he can’t simply make them go away. He finds amusement in tormenting Elsie whose privileged life certainly didn’t prepare her for farm life. However, nothing could have prepared Ben for the feelings that suddenly emerge whenever the haughty little princess is near. Why can’t he keep his eyes off her? And why can’t she stop thinking about him? Opposites attract—but is it true love? Between the Germans bombing nearby Bath and a deadly disease rampaging through local farms, Ben and Elsie’s trust in each other is put to the ultimate test.

Out Now:

Universal | Amazon | Apple Books | Kobo | Nook


“The Army has acquired Channel House,” my father announced, his nostrils flaring with great abandon. “I got a call from some Corporal So-and-So this morning. He said the location is strategically advantageous so the British Army will be moving troops into our home within the week.” He shook his head and puffed his cheeks out. “I’ve never heard such outrageous poppycock.”

“No,” I said. “No, no, no, no. No, they cannot do this. They can’t just decide to move into our house because they want it. I’m going there next week to—” I hesitated as we both knew very well what I was going there to do “—work in the fields.”

He gave an exaggerated huff and the hairs of his thick mustache fluttered. “I called the War Office and they said there was nothing to be done.” He shook his head again. “The bloody nerve of those bastards.”

I considered what a manor full of troops and handsome officers might be like.

“I could still go—”

“No, you could not,” he thundered.

“Well, what is she supposed to do, Robert? She can’t go to some farm and live with-with-with strangers in the middle of nowhere.” Mother laid a protective hand on the gold chain at her throat.

An enormous portion of British Army uniforms were made at Father’s textile factories and this gave him some influence at the War Office. Evidently, it had not been enough to keep Channel House untouched by the war.

Sighing, Father lowered his eyes. Robert Foster-Quinn hated a lot—and I mean a lot—of things but he hated disappointing my mother most of all.

“I’ll make some calls,” he said quietly. “You may have to go to a farm temporarily while I sort this out and get you reassigned somewhere more appropriate.”

My mouth fell open. “Go to a farm? A real one? That was not part of the plan.”

“I knew it,” Mother added. “You should have taken a secretarial job and we could have avoided this whole situation. You would have stayed in London and slept in your bed instead of…instead of…” She shuddered and threw her hands up in the air.

“I’m sorry,” Father said, almost whispering. Apologizing was also high on his list of things he hated. “I will see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, giving a Dutiful Daughter nod and leaving his office.

“Elsie, darling?” My mother still looked distraught as she lifted a slender finger and gestured. “Those trousers are terribly unflattering on you.”

The high-waisted brown corduroy trousers were roomy around the thighs and backside, letting the wearer move around to work. They weren’t nearly as unflattering as the army-issued dungarees though. 

I clenched my jaw. “They’re part of the uniform.”

My mother’s hand went to her cheek. “Oh, God. It keeps getting worse.”

Catching Up with the Series:

The Hobby Shop on Barnaby Street

  Paperback | Amazon | Kobo | Apple Books | Nook | Scribd

The Seamstress on Cider Lane

Kindle | Apple Books | Kobo | Nook


About The Author

Jillianne Hamilton writes delightful historical fiction and historical romance novels featuring rebellious ladies and happy endings. Her stories feature feisty female protagonists and plenty of sass and wit, using the past as an exciting backdrop. Her debut novel was shortlisted for the 2016 PEI Book Award and her debut historical fiction novel, The Spirited Mrs. Pringle, was longlisted for the 2022 Historical Fiction Company Book Award. She lives in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island on Canada’s beautiful east coast. She is a member of the Paper Lanterns Writers author collective.  

Connect with the Author:

    Newsletter | Goodreads | Bookbub | Facebook | Instagram | Tiktok | Bluesky

 

BLOG TOUR- Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor by Jana Klánová

Enlightenment of the Rogue Emperor

Rogue, Arcane and Desolate  
Book One
Jana Klánová
 
Genre: YA Fantasy Adventure
Publisher: Jana Klánová
Date of Publication: 19th May 2023
ISBN: 978-80-11-03194-7
ASIN: B0C4LH4VYV
Number of pages: 526
Word Count: 155k

Cover Artist: nskvsky

Tagline: Until death or authorities do us part

Book Description: 
Eugenie is a certified, double-vetted, regular, ordinary high-school girl living her best life someone more competent planned for her, in a perfectly normal world, where strange things don’t happen because that is simply impossible.

Or so she thought.

Right the second she graduates, the rug under her feet gets pulled and she, alongside a young, mysterious scoundrel, takes a wild tumble down a mountain of myths and hoaxes that her country has been built upon into a whirl of unknown, scary… but oh, so exciting.

Amazon     Bookbub

Excerpt:

It was finally over. The last day of Academy began with a
rather underwhelming and bleak summer morning.

After spending four long years at the Military Academy of
the capital city Concordam, cadets were anxiously shivering with expectations
for the Commander’s arrival; it was his decision that would sort them into
specialized military branches and launch them into their new lives and careers.

While Eugenie sluggishly approached the classroom through a
dim academy hallway, she couldn’t help but overhear the excited chatter of her
classmates.

“Oh, I hope I go to the Navy! I submitted my preference form
a day after the deadline.

Do you think they’ll still accept it?”

“I applied for covert ops!” exclaimed an annoying voice of
an annoying classmate.

“You just proved that you’re too dumb for that,” someone
reacted, and a burst of clamorous laughter followed.

Eugenie rested her back against the wall outside the
classroom door. Waiting quietly all by herself for the chime to announce the
beginning of the end. When it finally rang, she slung her bag, packed in
accordance with the protocol for immediate transfer, over her shoulder and then
headed into the classroom. It was easy to notice that the second she entered, the
joyous murmur of the class notably faded.

Eugenie was odd.

She used to strike everyone’s attention by being decisively
the tallest girl in the class with a wordless greeting of an unimpressed stare–
eyes cold and grey like a stone. Her chestnut hair, slovenly laid to her
shoulders, naturally rebellious fresh face and slender stature were still
making people turn around, but it had been a long time since boys had dropped
the attempts to impress her, and girls gave up on involving her in recess chat.
Eugenie did not seem bothered. By nothing and no one. She could return
compliments, but that idea never crossed her mind.

Days passed by without her saying a full sentence. Her whole
image and emotionless behaviour that she had displayed steered her classmates
to the conclusion that she was an incorrigible, arrogant bitch.

She waddled to her desk at the back of the room and
collapsed unglamorously into the seat. Before classmates managed to revive the
flow of the chat that Eugenie disrupted, the Commander of the Academy walked
in. In a blink of an eye, the class stood in a rigid salute, greeting.
Commander Vance Ewin, who had constantly smelled like an ashtray, was a
remarkably vital man in his early seventies. Or unusually worn out in his
mid-fifties. No one knew for sure. His age was the first military secret cadets
came across.

“At ease, sit down,” he answered and casually slid his hands
into pockets of his heavily decorated olive-green uniform.

“The time has come for cadets to follow their own paths to
carry out the will of the motherland. As we all did. In the past years, while
ya’ll have been training on the grounds of our Academy, your performances and
physical and mental strengths were up for some evaluations.

Last month you were ordered to submit your preference forms!
If there is a match between your skills and the General’s demand, your wish is
likely to be granted. If the demand can’t accommodate you and your preference,
don’t think we’ll send you home. You’ll be sorted into a branch that will
utilize your existing skillset the best… Well, I bet ya’ll know the drill by
now pretty well, so let’s move on to what everybody is waiting for.

I’m now going to hand out envelopes. Each envelope has a
number inside. A respective military branch officer will come later, call a
number, and if they call yours, you’ll follow, no questions asked. Until then,
you’ll be quiet like a mouse. Instructions couldn’t be clearer.”

He didn’t wait for any response and barked the name of the
first cadet in the alphabet:

“Aikman!”

Trissy Aikman was briskly on her feet and paced to the
Commander confidently. There was no need to hesitate; they all had been through
something similar before. She saluted. The Commander then shook her hand
formally and passed the envelope to her. After that, she skittered to her desk
to find her result. She raised four fingers in the direction of her besties,
sitting across the aisle, to indicate which group she landed in.

Ingo Broft repeated the same protocol precisely.

“Dean!” Eugenie got minor heart failure when she heard her
name. She stood up so rapidly that her chair tumbled on the floor with an
ear-splitting clatter. Her face flushed red from embarrassment. Eugenie
staggered as if she instinctively wanted to put it upright again, but she froze
in motion. Fixing mess was not part of the envelope protocol. She overstepped
the disaster on the floor and headed towards the Commander. The Commander
rolled his eyes and nodded, albeit begrudgingly.

“Commander! An amazon is attempting to destroy the Academy
properties!” Broft, now a successful navy candidate from Panumbreno, caused a
boom of boisterous laughter.

“Broft! You think I can’t hear that damn racket? Well, I
did, but did you hear my order to shut the hell up and wait? Maybe you want to
run laps till your hearing gets better?” Commander Ewin growled back at him.

“No sir,” the classmate peeped, humbled.

Eugenie made it to the Commander and saluted with apologetic
eyes, but the Commander’s capacity seemed to be completely spent by the
correctness of the envelope ritual while simultaneously emitting his
don’t-fuck-with-me vibes in Broft’s general direction. After Eugenie returned
to her desk, she got her chair upright and hid her face away from the judging looks
of her fellow classmates.

The Commander took only minutes to serve all the envelopes
he had at hand.
“Respective officers will be in here shortly. Make us proud. Make yourselves
count,” were the last words of advice they heard from the Commander before he
left the religiously quiet classroom.

Eugenie opened the packet slightly. But she saw nothing. She
pulled the paper out to see the other side. Empty. She flipped the page
frantically and then inspected the inside of the envelope, utterly dumbfounded.

Eugenie was given a blank paper.

Every time a group of classmates left, her stomach clenched
tighter and tighter. It did not take long for the classroom to get deserted.
The thick aura of frustration, condensing slowly around Eugenie, became the
only other entity to keep her company.

The blank paper’s gotta mean something. The Commander gave
the order to shut up and sit. That means I can’t just leave yet, Eugenie
assessed.

She did not know how to execute the white paper protocol,
but she was as sure as sun that no cadet in the Academy of Concordam was meant
to take any action against orders.

I’m getting kicked out of the Army, she concluded, breaking
out into a cold sweat.

The dreary tension was making every tick of the clock drag
like years. Eugenie was in quiet panic mode, mentally preparing for the
possible outcomes of expulsion from the Army. The regime was not leaving many
options to anyone, but Eugenie did not fear the prospects that unsuccessful
cadets and students were haunted by.

It was the terrifying uncertainty of what would happen next
that was curdling her blood.

On top of that, she was not even permitted to leave; an officer
had to allow that first.

The Academy had emptied. Eugenie did not hear a single
squeak in the hallway for a long while. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by
an ear-splitting tire screech from outside. Her desk by the window allowed a
little peek into the Academy’s backyard; Eugenie leaned in to quench her
curiosity, fuelled by the boredom. She witnessed how an executive limo had
parked in the middle of the backyard with almost dastardly disrespect to any
kind of order. A distinct shape of an officer emerged from the driver seat and
scooted across in an agitated rush.

Oh no, Eugenie thought. Nope. It’s not him. It’s NEVER him.
He never visits the Academy. I wish that maybe someday, SOMEDAY, I’d get to
meet General Everian. He’s a rockstar just by the rank, an Imperial… and his
looks on top of that! She had been lost on a train of her gushing fangirl
fantasies until steps in the hallway grew louder and disturbed Eugenie from her
convenient daydreaming.

Gingerly, she glanced through the open door in the direction
of the incoming noise and in that second, her heart stopped beating.

A man in his late twenties, of a tall, athletic stature,
with a decorated army hat pressed against black hair, brushed into a fringe,
was rushing through the corridor like a merciless tempest. Even if this was
Eugenie’s first time to see a general in person, she could clearly recognize
the sign of the Imperial family; a coral-red sash was peeking through his
loosely unbuttoned, anthracite officer trench coat. And yes, he was carrying a
long-hilted sword clipped to his belt.

There was no doubt left. General Alistar Everian was coming
at her. A reflex immediately kicked Eugenie into a frenzied attention stance.

The handsome machine of authority charged into the empty
classroom but quickly lost his momentum in front of the blackboard. Perhaps, he
came to a shocking realization that it would be easier for him to navigate
without his hat. The annoying visor of his General headpiece kept invading his
line of sight constantly. He took it off, furrowed his thick eyebrows and
pierced Eugenie with a fiercely stern gaze. Even across the classroom, Eugenie
was snared by his frosty blue eyes.

“It is alright, Cadet. At ease,” he uttered coldly. A
displeased grimace on the General’s face curved his lips and revealed his
perfect, glistening teeth.

Eugenie felt like all her blood had decided to go on a
strike, despite her heart’s insane efforts. She tumbled down to the seat like a
pine tree defeated by a hurricane. General Everian paced to her, and with a
swift move, he snatched a chair belonging to another desk and descended on it,
right in front of Eugenie, with grace that would make a swan jealous. Eugenie
panted for a breath and leaned away in a desperate attempt to increase the
distance between them.

“Cadet, none of this is in my job description, and I have no
time for this. Are you even at least aware of what could possibly bring me
here?” He was not smiling. Nor graceful. His voice was so neutral that Eugenie
could not tell if he was trying to comfort or intimidate her. She shook her
head and turned her eyes down in a negative response. The General softly
exhaled, and from his exasperated hand gesture, it was clear he was searching for
words.

“Alright. Let me tell you the story from my end. On one fine
evening, I am sitting in my Commanding centre, minding my own business. Nothing
too important. As a Cordam General, I am only responsible for supplying
military personnel into seven provinces.” Even though he was ranting, Eugenie
could not help herself; all she could think of was how glorious General looked
when he was doing that.

“That’s the core responsibility of Cordam. We produce
soldiers, officers, clerks, lawyers, doctors, teachers and all this—” he waved
his hand impatiently, “—to maintain public order in the Unity lands.” Eugenie
nodded vigorously. The word he was missing was infrastructure, but she did not
find the courage to suggest it.

“Then this fat piece of – Commander– waltzes in my
Commanding centre and tells me: look, Alistar, I have one excellent cadet with
a unique psychological profile, and I don’t know how to sort her after she
graduates, which is roughly in 14 hours. Now you see, cadet, I got played like
a banjo by that stinker because you can already deduce, he got me to visit the
hellhole he runs to check on your sorting process,” he fired off his version so
casually as if they were drinking buds. Eugenie pulled another weak apologetic
face. When General noticed her reaction, his murderous drive faltered. He
looked around erratically as if he was supposed to search for some hidden clue.

“Looking at you, I assume that you’re already guessing the
cause of my presence. Can I see your envelope, please?” By the end of the
sentence, he posed his hand in a demanding gesture to Eugenie. Even though he
sounded calmer, saying no was not an option. Eugenie was shaking when she
passed the envelope to the General. He pinched it with two fingers and
inspected it against the light without any due. He scoffed at his findings.

“Cadet Dean, why did you not fill out your preference form?
You would get sorted by your choice, I can guarantee that,” there was a
negligible hint of curiosity in his tone.

“I didn’t like any of the options, sir,” she replied
bluntly. Immediately, she regretted not thinking her answer through.

“And what would be to your liking then?” he fired back at
her. This time she was ready with an answer. She had spent years waiting for
someone to ask her this question.

“I’d like to be Emperor’s personal guard, sir!” Eugenie
spouted proudly.

Although General Everian was a seasoned professional in his
trade, he lost his face in front of her again. This time, he was genuinely
baffled.

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Imagine as if I,
when sitting here ten years ago, said: I wanna be a General, but there is no
box to tick in your form, so piss off.”

Eugenie just kept her eyes low; no military officer was ever
in the mood for delusions of grandeur.

“No wonder you couldn’t find a match in the preference form.
Are you even aware that the Emperor has no dedicated military personnel?”
 

“Yes, I know, sir. That is why I submitted an incomplete
preference form. No matter what I’ll get sorted into, it will be a
disappointing result.” The General could no longer maintain his ironclad
composure, and his face got tainted with an amused grin.

“Why the Emperor? Why not… me, for example?” he acted
frisky.

“Ignore that question, Cadet,” he waved it away the second
he noticed that Eugenie was violently blushing.

About the Author 


Jana Klánová is an author from the capital of beer and magic, Prague, Czech Republic.

Her work is hugely influenced by authors like Terry Pratchett, J.R.R. Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Stephanie Meyer, Tara Gilesbie and other absolute legends.







BLOG TOUR – Potion Master by Sam Fairburn #DarkUrbanFantasy #MMFRomance


Potion Master

Fate Cycle Series
Book One
Sam Fairburn

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Sam Fairburn Publishing
Date of Publication: November 16, 2023

ISBN: 978-1-998204-01-4 
ASIN: B0CJ8DVMNT 
Number of pages: 340 pages.
Word Count: 93976 words
Cover Artist: Erick Robillard at Kinos

Tagline: Moderation is key… That being said, when not one but two enigmatic liars creep into my life, what’s a witch to do?

Book Description:

Riley

All I want is to start this new chapter of my life in peace, brewing beer and mixing potions at The Drunken Sailor. Simple. Safe. Single. But when my skills as potion master and healer are noticed by a mysterious stranger, the stalking that ensues leads me to ask more questions than I should. Things take a dark turn as the secret I fought all my life to protect gets uncovered by the deadliest magical mob boss in the city. Now, my best chance at survival is down to a cocky criminal and a bookman that is too clever for his own good. As their presence haunts my every waking hour and the situation gets dire, I don’t know if I can keep fighting this relentless pull between us.

Finn

I have focused on only one thing for the last three years—work. But when Riley comes into my bookshop, searching for a way to undo the tracking spell placed on her, I am caught up in a journey that ushers me right back to the one man I am trying to forget. I was his to cherish, his to punish, yet the worst wound he gave me was not a physical one. And she might be my salvation.

Erick

My blood is made of hunger and fight, which serves me well on my side of the law. No one but him knows who I am or where I come from. And I have all the intentions for it to stay that way. But when witches start to disappear in the city and no one, not even the Sennex, does a damn thing about it, I make it my business to investigate. Grave mistake. My efforts only lead me to desires I should steer clear of and discoveries darker than I could ever fathom. I fought to keep them away, to keep them safe, but life is never as kind as to bring hope without taking something in return.    

Witchy meets steamy in this tale of soul-wrenching magnetism, dreadful secrets, and magic that could wreck the world.

Potion Master is a slow burn dark urban fantasy MMF romance. It’s book 1 in the Fate Cycle series.

Excerpt:

“I throw the playing card into the air. It’s about to glow blue and give
me a minute of peace when Finn blows on it. The vessel and the spell it
contains catch fire like flash paper. One second it was there. The next,
there’s hardly any residue left. This feels more and more like bringing a knife
to a gunfight. Finn is one of the best and most powerful casters I’ve ever
known. I’m so far out of his league it’s laughable. I know he’s right, and I
should learn how to fight with my power as well as he knows how to fight with
his.

We keep at it for a while longer, me landing a couple of blows and him
hitting me with small spells not meant to injure but mostly to annoy.

Then Finn goes in for the kill. “I kissed her.” He says it with so much
nonchalance that it takes my brain a moment to register the meaning of the
words. Finn takes advantage of the distraction he just created to send his
palms forward, producing a wall of air that throws me to the ground. He’s on me
instantly, but it will take a lot more for him to win. We tumble together in a
mass of limbs and grunts.

“It’s none of my business what you do with each other,” I hiss. “You’re
not my problem.”

Finn holds me down, and I let him. I need a minute to recuperate from
the physical exhaustion as well as nurse the inner scab he just scratched at.

When he sees that I don’t fight him anymore, not really, he leans
forward and speaks directly into my ear. “Do you want to know how her skin
tasted or how her body felt plastered between mine and the wall?”

The jealousy is suffocating. I envy the path of her hands on his body.
I resent him for knowing the feeling of her lips under his. The image of them
together angers me as much as it mesmerizes me. The thoughts become
all-consuming.

“Do you want to know,” Finn whispers, “how each stroke of our tongues
brought up thoughts of you?” His words are like the most delicious alcohol.
They burn as they go down, but the heat spreads into my belly like wildfire.
Finn’s admissions, his body straddling mine, the electricity of his power. It
sets me aflame.

All I want to do is pin him to the floor and drink the taste of her
from his mouth. I buck my hips and turn his hold against him, but I don’t know
where to go from here. The hard ridge of his erection presses against mine, and
I freeze. I want him so much my entire body hurts with the strength of my
restraint.

I’m so caught up in the moment that I see Finn’s combat spell too late.
His hand is already glowing with a white ball of light. I don’t have time to
reach for a protection spell card. And, judging by the energy gathered like
lightning just under the surface of his skin, even if I dodge the hit, it will
seriou

sly damage the installations around us. He knows this. The bastard leaves
me no choice.”

About the Author:


Sam is a Canadian author of dark fantasy romance and dark urban fantasy romance with a healthy dose of spice (because why not?). She loves daydreaming about new characters and can often be found staring into the abyss of the great nothingness, completely lost in thought. She also dislikes talking about herself in the third person. Hence, I’m going to stop this author bio here. 

I am deeply grateful for every reader who takes time out of their day to lay their eyeballs on one of my books. I couldn’t be an author without you. 







BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – Guardian of Monsters by Catherine Stine



Witchy and Supernatural Power of the Feminine Fun Facts!
Compiled by Author Catherine Stine

Before people had hospitals and surgeons to fix people, they had midwives and herbalists. When babies or moms died in childbirth, or the herbal fix was insufficient to cure what we would now know was a fatal disease, who do you think was blamed? The same women who delivered babies and gave expert herbal remedies! In a fearful and ignorant world, they were labeled as witches, or agents of the devil.
***
Ironically, in ancient Rome even though women were housebound with zero political power, the most revered, influential people were the high priestesses presiding over the oracles, such as the one at Delphi. These women were said to be able to predict the future, wield supernatural powers and have innate knowledge of the divine realms. Greek citizens would go on pilgrimages to seek out their womanly wisdom. 
***
In Chaucer’s and Boccaccio’s European middle ages (mid 1300s) people were expected to be devout in their Christianity. Many believed literally in the devil and the power of witches. Interestingly, as devout as they were to the going religion, they also prayed to the sprites and night nymphs of their recently dropped Pagan beliefs. They also believed in Fortuna, or the wheel of Fortune: that fortunes rose and fell by the whirl of a wheel, often portrayed by a beautiful woman, Fortuna. How’s that for supernatural female power!
***
During the Victorian Era in 1899 Charles Godfrey Leland published a book called Aradia or Gospel of the Witches. This Aradia goddess, the incarnation of Diana/Artemis was going to bring magic to the Victorians and hopefully free women from the oppression of the times. 
***
Tamsin Blight 1798-1856 was a famous English witch healer, able to remove curses or spells from a person. She was also said to have put spells on those who displeased her. She was also known as Tammy Blee and Tamson.
***
In the 1920s and 30s there was a craze for psychics, card readers, and mediums who claimed they could communicate with people’s dead relatives. Harry Houdini, the famous magician, ironically made it his life’s work to try and debunk these folks. Arthur Conan Doyle, who wrote the Sherlock Holmes series was a huge believer in the supernatural. He had heated debates with Houdini.
***
The Tarot fascinates me. I collect cards for their variety and amazing images. They are thought to have originated all the way back in ancient Egypt, as a cosmic source of wisdom and divination of the future. The Egyptian word TAR means royal and ROmeans royal – thus the royal road to wisdom. Later, in northern Italy, a complete deck for card playing and gambling was devised. In France in the 1700s, a “cartomancer” named Jean Baptiste-Alliette created the imagery in the decks we often see today. There are cups, swords, wands, and pentacles. And the Major Arcana cards that hold great symbolism, such as the hermit, the world and the death card (which can also mean rebirth!)



Guardian of Monsters 
Sleuths of Shadow Salon
Book One
Catherine Stine

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Supernatural Private Investigation Thriller
Publisher: Konjur Road Press
Date of Publication: August 6, 2023
ISBN: 978-1-7333901-7-0
ASIN: B0CD9VP4NS
Number of pages: 236
Word Count: 65k
Cover Artist: Christian Bentulan

Tagline: Supernaturally on the case! Celestine LeBlanc and Luna Finley are the Sleuths of Shadow Salon.

Book Description:

Celestine, witch and wolf shifter has a talent for prophetic drawings. She’s shocked when she draws her landlord Ray with his eyes gouged out and a strange winged-mermaid leaning over him. Later she finds an eyeless Ray dead on the sidewalk. All she wanted to do was open a gallery, but first she must apprehend his killer. In a note she found after he died, Ray revealed he wasn’t just a leather-smith but a supernatural pirate mage. Years back, his Jekyll crew trapped the evil Demon Three Eyes clan. Ray had feared they’d escaped, were stalking him, and would soon wreak havoc on Savannah.

Oryn, a fellow student in Celestine’s continuing ed art class, is a fae and a thorn in her side, when he asks nosy questions about the case. Yet, she’s drawn to him when he’s her masseur at the spa she frequents, and he’s clever at brainstorming leads regarding Ray’s case. He insists his air magic could come in handy.

When pirates in Ray’s old crew are murdered, their body parts stolen, Celestine puts more horrifying clues together. She’ll need everyone on board, including Oryn and Luna, a mermaid asking to show her sea-glass sculptures at Celestine’s new gallery—the very same mermaid in Celestine’s tragic drawing of Ray. Otherwise, the lethal monstrosity Demon Three Eyes is unleashing on Savannah will destroy the city and everyone in it. 

This series may appeal to fans of Kim Harrison and Charlaine Harris.

Amazon        BN       Apple      Kobo      Smashwords       Books2Read  


Mics were thrust in her face as she stepped toward the front stairs.

“How do you feel about Ray Bartello’s murder?”

“Do you have a statement for the press?”

“Is it true that your drawing predicted Bartello’s death?”

“Why would you draw him eyeless?”

“Are you the murderer?”

She waited until that last crappy question—more an accusation—to say anything. Then she stared at the reporter. With scalding rage contained in a deceptively quiet hiss, she said, “Ray Bartello was a good friend of mine. I’m heartbroken by his passing.”

She glanced at Oryn for moral support. His slightly narrowed eyes seemed to say, Go slow, you don’t owe them. She agreed. After the supernatural attacks, she was not going to hint that she knew a damn thing, because the more that bad entities knew she was trying to figure out the case, the more they would try to maul, even kill her. Oryn gave a faint nod, his eyes tinting green. She went on.

“I know nothing about how this happened. You could camp here for days, and I still couldn’t tell you more. The proper place to provide any tips or leads is to the Savannah Police.”

As she pushed through the group, Oryn walked slightly behind her, since the reporters were busy photographing them together, no doubt fuel for salacious media.

“How do you know Miss LeBlanc? Are you dating her?” some ballsy reporter asked Oryn. He didn’t answer.

“Did you know Ray Bartello? Did you or Miss LeBlanc have a fight earlier on the day he was found?” asked another.

“Can you tell us anything more about the case?” asked a third.

Oryn face wrinkled in disgust. “Look, Miss LeBlanc needs peace. She’s said what she can. Yes, we’re friends, not that it’s your business,” he added sharply. “You may as well go get some sleep. Camping out here won’t get you what you seek.” He swept his arm around

Celestine, and they hurried up the stone stairs leading to her place.

Oryn stopped on the stoop while Celestine unlocked the door. “So, I’ll see you at class tomorrow? Will you be okay?” he asked. “If you want, I can cast a few air wards around the house so you can get a worry-free night’s sleep. Otherwise—”

“It’s not your job to protect me,” she said, gazing up at him and realizing how very much taller he was, next to her five-foot, seven-inch frame. Good goddess, the man must be six and a half feet tall if he’s an inch.




About the Author: 

Catherine Stine is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal, urban and historical fantasy, all with romance and suspense. Witch of the Wild Beasts won a second prize in the Romance Writers of America’s Sheila Contest. Other novels have earned Indie Notable awards and New York Public Library Best Books. She lives in New York State and grew up in Philadelphia. Before writing novels, she was a painter and fabric designer. She’s a visual author and sees writing as painting with words. Catherine loves spending time with her beagle Benny, writing about supernatural creatures, gardening and meeting readers at book fests. Learn more at catherinestine.com












BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – Melanie’s Awakening by Celia Breslin

Celia’s Bewitching Halloween Tale

For those of you in the blogosphere who already know me, you may have seen this spooky tale I love to share every Halloween, and I hope you enjoy revisiting it. For the newbies in the crowd, hello and welcome to this classic story from my family’s trove of Fae lore!

I grew up listening to my Irish grandmother’s stories about the Fae, including her encounter with a Banshee in her family’s cellar when she was a teenager. Of her many stories, this is my favorite…

Bumped by the Banshee

by Celia Breslin 

I lived in a large two-story house with my parents, younger sister, and grandmother. It was a cold, winter evening, nothing special or out of the ordinary. My family dined together, then my sister and I cleaned up while our parents and grandmother drank tea.

We joined them at the dining table to do our homework, but my grandmother said she was tired and went upstairs to bed. My parents followed shortly after that, but my father paused on the landing.

“Maeve, it’s going to be a cold night. Fetch us some coal, please.”

I abandoned my homework, grabbed the empty coal bucket from the kitchen, and went down into the cellar. I filled my bucket and returned to the stairs. I had one foot on the first step when the temperature in the cellar, already cold, dropped dramatically. Chills ran down my back. Behind me, someone moaned.

But how could that be? I was alone…

Terror rooted me to the spot. The keening grew louder. I dropped my bucket and covered my ears. A cold wind bumped against my back. I stumbled forward as the shrieking wind rushed over me and up the stairs.

But how could that be? The cellar had no windows…

Above me, the cellar door slammed shut. The sound broke me from my stupor. I screamed and ran up the stairs and out of the cellar, through the kitchen and dining room, and up the stairs to my room. My parents and sister found me under my bed, shaking like a puppy lost in a snowstorm.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” They asked me, while pulling me from my hiding place.

“I heard the Banshee wail.”

We stared at each other in silence, all of us reaching the same conclusion moments later.

We hurried to my grandmother’s room.

She was dead.

Copyright 2023, Celia Breslin. All rights reserved.

 

Melanie’s Awakening
Heartland Fae
Book Two
Celia Breslin
 
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Celia Breslin
Date of Publication: April 2023
ISBN: 9798223505884
ASIN: B0C37NKFYB
Number of pages: 124
Word Count: 30K
Cover Artist: Brantwijn Serrah

Tagline: They’re lovers from different worlds…and a Dark Fae is determined to keep them apart.

Book Description: 

When Melanie Blackstone is offered her bestie’s home in Illinois for the summer, she jumps at the chance. She has a jerky ex to forget and a fantasy-horror screenplay to finish for her agent back in California. But writing time is soon sidelined by strange lights dancing in the air and an even stranger dark figure lurking in the yard.

As a favor, Fae warrior Dealan agrees to look in on the female staying in his friends’ home. However, he didn’t expect her to be able to See him. Few humans possess the Sight, yet this one does. Even more surprising—the friendly and inquisitive woman seems to like him and want his company. A first for the solitary assassin.

But Dealan isn’t the only Fae fascinated by Melanie. A Dark Fae sets his sights on her as well…


Amazon US        Amazon CA      Amazon UK


Angus&Robertson     Apple      BN


Kobo      Scribd      Smashwords     Vivlio

 


excerptDealan scowled, cursing under his breath as he strode toward the house. The female must be daft. Her ruckus could wake the dead, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. This living, breathing human was a sufficient problem without adding temperamental ghosts to the mix.

Near the back porch, his keen Fae hearing picked up the rattling of doors, the clicking of window locks, and the scraping of curtains tugged along metal rods. Room by room illumination ceased. Darkness wouldn’t protect her from his kind, however, should they wish her ill. He harrumphed. Which they didn’t.

At the foot of the deck stairs he paused, reminding himself why he’d agreed to watch over this skittish lass in the first place. His best friend Angus was a right pushy bastard, and sadly, Dealan had never been able to refuse his friend’s damn requests. Factor in kindhearted Eva O’Reilly, his chum’s mate and longtime friend of the flower fairies, and it was nigh impossible to deny either of them any little thing.

Or, one noisy, possibly unhinged, woman-sized being named Melanie Blackstone.

“She’s a funny one, isn’t she, Warrior?” Rosina’s airy voice chimed from behind him.

Giggling ensued when he merely grunted in reply, then the leader of the flower fairies appeared before him in a swirl of pink sparkles. “Let’s go inside to see what else she does.”

“I’ll enter,” he corrected her. “Alone.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Rosina pouted, crossing her slender arms and cocking a hip.

“And always much too serious,” Valeria and Poppy tittered in unison, fluttering past his head to join their leader. Their wings whirred, showering sparks over his form, their magic brightening the evening gloom with pulsating pink and orange light. The pleasing sight did little to improve his mood.

“She saw us, Warrior, did you see?” Poppy squeaked.

Valeria’s head bobbled quick. “And took our picture, too.” She struck a pose and preened.

“Aye, I noticed, Little Ones.” The human seemed to see him, too, right before she shrieked like a Banshee then fell on her arse inside the sunporch. Strange, since they were cloaked in their natural invisibility and usually needed to lower the mantle to reveal themselves to those who couldn’t See. And according to Eva, her friend didn’t possess the Sight. Although, Eva had mentioned her friend wrote fantastical stories, and creative minds were typically open minds, so—

Valeria and Poppy darted to the door.

“Stay out here,” he commanded, as they peered into the solarium.

“Ohhhh, she left pizza,” Valeria squealed. “Let’s cover it in sugar and eat it.”

“And put honey in the wine! Drink it down,” added Poppy.

Rosina laughed. “Good plan.”

Dealan grimaced at the notion. “Negative. You are to remain outside.”

“Boooooooo,” they sang in unison, all three glaring his way.

A shrill scream erupted from the house. Shite. Dealan summoned his sword out of habit and leaped forward, landing before the fairies and waving them away from the screened back door. 


 

About The Author

Celia lives in California with her family. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and has a particular fondness for werewolves, vampires, angels, and the Fae. When not writing, you’ll find Celia exercising, reading a good book, hanging with her family, or indulging her addiction to fantasy TV shows and movies.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Newsletter:  http://eepurl.com/bxqwRL 
 
 
 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – AISLING: In the Land of Wolves by Eileen Sheehan

Aisling Halloween Spooktacular Banner

Mini Pumpkin Cheesecakes
 
 
 
Ingredients
 
CRUST
graham crackers (full sheets)
1/4 tsp. salt 
5 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
 
FILLING
8 oz softened cream cheese
3 tblsp packed brown sugar
2 tblsp maple syrup
1 lg egg
1 egg yolk
1 can pumpkin puree
1 tsp vanilla
 
Instructions
 
For the crust: 
 
Preheat the oven to 350˚. 
 
Line a standard 12-cup muffin tin with liners. 
 
Place the graham crackers in the bowl of a food processor and pulse until fine crumbs form. 
 
Add the brown sugar and salt and continue to pulse. 
 
Drizzle in the melted butter and process until the crumbs are moist. 
 
Scoop a heaping tablespoonful of the graham cracker crumb mixture into each muffin liner. 
 
Press the crumbs flat into the bottom of each cup with the bottom of a measuring cup or drinking glass. 
 
Bake the crusts for 5 minutes, until golden. 
 
Transfer the muffin tin to a wire rack to cool while you prepare the filling.
 
For the filling: 
 
Beat the cream cheese, brown sugar, and maple syrup in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed for 2 to 3 minutes, until combined and fluffy. 
 
Scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula. 
 
Lower the mixer speed and beat in the egg and egg yolk just until incorporated. 
 
Beat in the pumpkin, and vanilla until combined. 
 
Beat in the cornstarch, spices, and salt. 
 
Divide the cheesecake filling evenly among the 12 cups, filling each about 3/4 of the way full. 
 
Bake 10 to 12 minutes, until the edges are set and dry, and centers are slightly jiggly.
 
 
Cool the cheesecakes in the pan on a wire rack for 30 minutes. 
 
Transfer to the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, until cooled completely. 
 
To serve, remove the cheesecakes from the pan and peel away the liners. 
 
Arrange cheesecakes on a serving platter and garnish with whipped cream.

AISLING: In the Land of Wolves
Aisling Trilogy  
Book One
Eileen Sheehan
 
Genre: Paranormal, thriller, romance
Date of Publication: 6-17-2023
ISBN: 979-8398829426
ASIN:  B0C8GFMT74
Number of pages: 486
Word Count: 67,137
Cover Artist: Eileen Sheehan
Tagline: Join Aisling as she navigates a world filled with magic, love, and danger.
 
Book Description: 
 
Join Aisling as she navigates a world filled with magic, love, and danger. A victim of bullying, Aisling is transported to a land and time she knows nothing about. 
 
But with the help of a community of powerful witches, she discovers a strength within herself that she never knew existed. 
 
As she faces challenges and falls in love, Aisling becomes a fearless and self-assured woman.
 
Amazon     BN     Kobo     Apple

 


excerpt

Prologue

I have come to the conclusion that there can be mean girls in any species. They are not just amongst the humans. They are not limited to the teen years, either.  Although, they seem to be more prevalent during that time. What led me to this conclusion was simple experience.  You see, I was a victim of mean girls of the worst type starting at a rather sensitive age.

The mean girl abuse didn’t start until I was in my mid-teens and my mother moved us from a small West Virginia township with a population of twenty-two that was located about two hours from Washington, DC to a community that just managed to qualify as a city with its population of twenty-five-thousand and ten. It was located just over the Virginia border, which shortened my mother’s drive to her monthly meeting of the witch wannnabes in downtown DC by an hour.

The little township of Bloomsburg, West Virginia consisted, mostly, of my blood relatives which were either the Loftus or the O’Shea – all of whom were fascinated with witchcraft.  To my knowledge, however, none had been able to truly master it.

The small city of Meddleson, Virginia was void of any of my kin other than those in my household – my mother, one older half-brother, and one older half-sister – both of whom left for college before we were even settled in. It did, however, possess a closely knit community of actual practicing witches. It was my mother’s hope to be able to rub elbows with these magic practitioners and finally learn the art. She insisted that witchcraft was in our blood and it was simply lost to time and oppression. If we could mix and mingle with those who had not lost it, we would surely get it back.

At the time, I had no interest in learning or practicing magic, nor could I understand why my family felt it was such an important talent to possess.

My half-siblings’ father died in a car accident when they were quite young. He was the love of my mother’s life. No matter what room in our home that you might venture into, you  were sure to find at least one photo of him.  

I never knew my own father. Nor was there a photo of him for me to see. Whenever I would ask my mother to tell me about him, she would insist that he was nothing more than a sperm donor who had passed through our little borough in the night and I was to give him no more thought than that.

Although I found it disappointing, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as the intense emotion that I would sense pouring from every pore of my mother’s body whenever I brought up the subject of my father.  She would visibly tremble with what I had assumed was the desire to see him dead, or, at the very least, castrated and paraded, naked, through the streets.


 

About The Author

Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.
 
She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they gets to the end of the story.
 
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters… one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
 
Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, “When East Meets West” was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers. 
 
If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower
 
 
 
 
 
 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – Honey Drop Tome 1 Volume 2 by Alicia R. Norman and Krishtina Mayers

 
Not Him by Krishtina Mayers

“I’m there.”      

That’s what she’d seen on her phone.    

“I’ll be there soon.”      

That was her reply.      

They were millennials. It didn’t feel like that, though. It felt like they were a bunch of teenagers.      

Rebecca exited the camper and locked the door behind her. Her loose boots squished on the damp grass as she descended from the metal steps.    

Off into the night. There was a thick moon out, but she still needed her phone’s light.          

Her clamshell cell phone was in her hand, shut and with the flashlight on. The pig shaped suction cup on one side helped her keep a better grip. She walked. She went down to the neighbor’s pond.      

Laughing.      

Smooth, masculine laughing.      

Rebecca’s heart tingled and skittered. She twitched and gasped. Her light zoomed to the left. Her boots halted. Her eyes popped as they searched for anything strange.      

Nothing.      

Rebecca’s skin cooled as she mentally told herself it was fine. Besides, if there was trouble, it didn’t matter. She’d soon be in the embrace of a martial artist she was madly in love with. He’d beat ass for her.      

Her stride quickened. The empty field was the next landmark. Then the bare road without a single pavement marking. Then all the way down that road to the graveyard. That’s where her man would be.      

Laughing.      

Louder.      

In her ear!      

Rebecca yelped and spun around. Her light broke through. Up ahead, in the distance she saw it. It was right where she’d been. She could see the damn camper! She could see him! A man!      
Not her man!!      

A tall shadow, a great figure, a featureless man.      

With peculiar extensions growing from each side of his head, branching, splitting, silent.      

A proud stance. A sturdy stance.      

Rebecca screamed.  

Turned and ran.      

She couldn’t go back to the camper. He was there. The demon. The thing!    

Her feet slipped in her boots. She tripped over. Kicked her boots away. Only socks could protect her tiny feet. She felt the wet grass and dirt as she pushed herself up and continued. Her breath scraped inside herself. Her fingers were tight claws on her phone. Her knees hurt. Her calves ached. She was crying.            

Then she was knocked over. Flipped over. Made to look up at the thing. Stare up at the thing. Her breath was gone. She coughed. Saliva and mucus splattered out.      

The flashlight showed her just enough. A strange face. Spotted fur. A black nose with large, rounded nostrils. Wild, black eyes. A long tongue sticking out of a huge mouth. Uneven teeth that didn’t even seem to be in the correct places. Curling antlers with sharp points.      

She felt his palm sink into her face. She smelled sweat and musk. Her soft feet rammed into the thick muscle above her. Her nails dug in as she scratched. The fur glided under those dull, weak nails. Loose and powdery soil was disturbed and dusted over her.      

She wanted to fight him off.      

She couldn’t.
 

Honey Drop
Tome 1 Volume 2 
Alicia R. Norman and Krishtina Mayers
 
Genre:  dark fantasy romance drama, 
             paranormal romance, fantasy romance
Publisher: Luv Multimedia
Date of Publication:  September 3, 2023
ASIN: B0CH8WNJYJ
Number of pages: 274 pages
Word Count:  57, 527
Cover Artist: Alicia Norman
Tagline: When Love and Death Embrace
 
Book Description:  
 
With Abigail bitterly angry and their friendship in jeopardy, Prina finds herself drawn even more to Thayn and his mystical dark world. As she grows closer to him, the woman realizes his dark secrets involve a cosmic, political enterprise that may pull her and everyone she loves into the undertow. 
 
Mo Mo, Hekate, and Tabietha are also well aware of Keres and Moros’ dangerous schemes but are also busy trying to cover up their involvement with Thayn’s plans for Proserypn–when they do finally give the duo the attention they deserve, they all find it is too late to stop what is coming down the pike.
 
Book Trailer: https://bit.ly/3Lidftp
 
 

 


excerpt

Prina folded her legs to one side and stared at him. Her skirt had scrunched up to just below her hip.      

She stared…      

Watched as the man steadied himself over a handful of moments.      

Disbelief filled her heart.      

Had she … had she just …      

She spouted a rhetorical question.      

“Have I kicked a god?!”      

His face rose–he was grinning.

Little beads of tears were forming in his eyes. Was it really from the pain? Had she kicked him that hard? Well, being strong didn’t mean you didn’t feel pain she supposed.      

Regardless, the awe in Proserpyn’s heart was quickly supplanted by fear and horror. She straightened her legs to kneel, and then she prostrated herself. She blurted out every name she could remember.      

“Polydegmon! Odigos! Hades! Zylanthrakas!”      

She paused to pant into the mattress. Swallowed.      

“Thayn?!”      

Her fingers and nails rasped against the sheet.      

“I implore you, Death God! I implore you, Harvester! Have mercy on this weak mortal!”  

Proserpyn continued breathing into the sheet, heat building under her face. She was shaking as if she might fall apart. Although she should’ve smelled the bedsheet, she only smelled him, sweet, spicy, smoky.      

More seconds passed. She could’ve counted them if she’d thought to do so.      

Thayn laughed.

He actually laughed!!

He sounded …      

He sounded …      

Light puffs and gulps of air between each laugh.      

He sounded…?      

Prina’s fingers tightly curled.      

“Honey Drop, Dear Honey Drop. Come.”      

He sounded relieved!      

Prina froze.      

She felt movement. Thayn was approaching, but she didn’t think it mattered if she fled or not. He was a damn god. He could find her anywhere.      

He was beside her. His cool hands went to her waist. Prina’s belly shrunk into her back.      

Thayn lifted her up to an upright position and wrapped his arms around her. His nose went to her cheek. His breath tickled her. “Be at ease, please be at ease.”

That tickling breath became uneven. He shuddered.

He truly shuddered!      

Yet he grew warmer and warmer.      

Proserpyn looked away and folded her fingers into her cheeks. “I’m dreaming.”      

He sniffed. It was loud in her ear; it made her jolt in his embrace. Some of his hair tickled her.    

“What?” he whispered.

“I’m not married, certainly not to any god. All this time, I’ve been dreaming.” She tried to move away, but he did not yield.      

“Don’t leave!” Thayn’s highly embellished fingers spread out. His painted nails didn’t pierce her skin, but they did bite enough to make her whine. “I’ve pined for so long,” he said, “too long, and now you’re here. You’re here, and I can touch you! I can hold you! Don’t leave!”  

More and more hoarse but also wetter, as if his throat was aching and full of moisture.      

One of his hands went to hers as he moved her into position to straddle him. Thayn touched her jaw and turned her face toward his.      

Prina closed her eyes and sighed into the mouth against hers.      

There was a craving in his lips and teeth, sliding and pressing on her, his humming voice trickling down her body.      

A dream.      

Only a dream.    

Right.

Right? 

About The Author

Krishtina Mayers is a romance fiction writer from North Carolina. She prefers blending fantasy, humor, and darkness in almost everything she writes. Her hobbies include playing video games, cooking, and studying history. She likes her romance the same way she likes her chili con carne, spicy with a good amount of sausage and beans … and maybe wrapped in a soft shell tortilla to make big bites easier to handle.  

By day, Alicia Norman is a copy specialist at a major marketing firm, by night, she is a screenwriter and animator. She lives with her two kids and three cats in the burbs of Dallas, GA, and aspires to share her own brand of historical erotic fiction with BFF and co-writer Krishtina Mayers. 

Visit Patreon to support her on her mission: https://tinyurl.com/2p9fh6j6

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Honeydrops2023/

Buy Me a Coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/honeydropsa

 
a Rafflecopter giveaway

BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – Taken By The Alpha King by Abigail Barnette




We’re moving. The home we’re leaving was built in 1907, on the site of a house that had previously burned down. Designed by the local brickyard, which shipped hundreds of copies across the midwest as a complete home-building kit, it started life as a showroom, became part of a working farm, passed through the hands of several families, and had a brief stint as a meth lab, requiring extensive refurbishment before it could become a single family rental home.

At some point during the refurbishment, the owner decided to take a metal detector for a spin. She found what she described as, “An old locket with a bunch of hair in it.” I asked if she reburied that locket, but as a medium who’d already been living in the house for several years at that point, I knew that she hadn’t.

If she had reburied the locket, maybe we wouldn’t come home to an empty house with every cupboard wide open. Maybe the bare, disembodied legs of a young girl in a gingham skirt wouldn’t jump playfully over the landing at the top of the stairs. It’s possible that the grandfather clock–which we do not own and which is not present in the house–wouldn’t tick quite so loudly.

Keeping dog sitters has been an issue. A young couple who enthusiastically loved our animals said, “Never again,” once they’d had to be in the place alone. Another found one of our dogs trapped in a closet–something that had never occurred before–and yet another sent me a picture of the Addams Family’s house, stating, “I’m going to tell my kids this is where you lived.”

It isn’t a malicious haunting. We’ve never felt unsafe. Creeped out, maybe, when the back door has automatically opened for us when our car pulled into the driveway. Freaked by the footsteps heard in unoccupied rooms, sure. And the little girl’s legs? Always a bit jarring. But after a while, one grows used to catching shadowy figures out of the corner of one’s eye. And the back door thing? That could actually be helpful when one’s hands are full.

The townhouse we’re moving to is a little over twenty years old. There has never been a recorded death in it. It isn’t built on the site of a tragedy (that we’re aware of), and the scariest thing about it is that I’ll have to negotiate two flights of stairs to get from my bed to my office, rather than just one. But I wonder, will I miss living in such a benignly haunted place? Will it feel empty? Lonely?

I look forward to the cupboard doors staying shut, though.

How about you? Do you have any spooky stories from past houses?

Taken By The Alpha King
Abigail Barnette

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Trout Nation, Inc.
Date of Publication: May 2, 2023
ISBN: 9798988035503
ASIN: B0BZ2TY27H
Number of pages: 472
Cover Artist: Covers by Kris

Tagline: He’ll never stop fighting to keep his throne…and her.

Book Description: 

Born into a secret society of werewolves and betrothed to a mate she didn’t love, Bailey Dixon made the choice to leave her pack for five years. Now, she’s back and fully committed to becoming the werewolf she was destined to be.

But destiny–and the new pack king–have other plans. Rich, handsome, and utterly ruthless, Nathan Frost demands absolute obedience from the Toronto pack. When he sets his sights on Bailey, she’s plunged into a world of politics, sex, and violence she’s not equipped to navigate on her own.

With her life in danger and enemies emerging from every corner, Bailey is forced to rely on the mysterious stranger who’s usurped the throne of her pack. And even he can’t be trusted…


Amazon     BN     Apple     BooksAMillion



Humans imagine scenes in movies where werewolves scream in agony and tear out of their clothes, which I’ve never understood. We know when the full moon is. It doesn’t take us by surprise. And we know how to dress for it.

Or undress. My breath freezes in my lungs as Nathan walks into the circle. He stops in front of the monolith to Lycaon and drops his robe.

I shamelessly look him over, the way he did to me, from his broad shoulders, down his chest dusted with dark hair that thins to a line on his shockingly sculpted abs. I wasn’t expecting him to look as good as he does. I wasn’t expecting that my mouth would water at the sight of his cock, that my thighs would clench together at the thought of how huge it must be hard.

I wish he could see me. I hope he feels me, smells me.

And I hope that the strange attraction between us is making him as crazed with need as I feel.

An acolyte—a thrall trained in our ceremonies and rituals—steps forward with a shallow silver bowl bearing a glistening human heart. It’s required for the transformation; Lycaon himself was transformed into a wolf after he angered Zeus by feeding the God human flesh. Nathan grabs the heart with his bare hand and bites into it.

That’s when he lifts his gaze and finds me, seconds before the transformation starts.

It begins with his eyes. They flash silver, then red. His face shifts, nose and jaw elongating into a muzzle. We don’t turn into wolves. That’s a myth. We turn into a creature that stands upright; body covered with short, silky hair from our clawed feet to our canine-like heads. The fur flows over every contour of Nathan’s body and his spine curves, drawing him into a hunched posture. His ears elongate, pointing straight back, a shape humans would consider more elfin than dog-like, with tufts of fur accentuating the points. His arms grow longer, as well; in this predatory manifestation, a wide reach is an advantage.

In his animalistic form, he waits for the others but stares up at me. Like this, I’m vulnerable. Far too human. I would be no match for him, should he want me. And he does want me, but even this way, he has self-control, as well as some common sense. He knows he can’t reach me, and so do I, but being the target of all that concentrated power and bestial drive is still heady and frightening.

The good kind of frightening. The kind that makes me wonder what could happen if I only push a little further.




 

About the Author: 

Abigail Barnette is the pseudonym of Jenny Trout, an author, blogger, and funny person. Jenny made the USA Today bestseller list with their debut novel, Blood Ties Book One: The Turning. Their American Vampire was named one of the top ten horror novels of 2011 by Booklist Magazine Online. As Abigail Barnette, Jenny writes award-winning erotic fiction, including the internationally bestselling The Boss series.

Jenny has been featured on television and radio, including HuffPost Live, Good Morning America, The Steve Harvey Show, and National Public Radio’s Here and Now. Their work has earned mentions in The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, Slate, Vulture, and Fangoria.

A longtime supporter of community theatre, Jenny has appeared on stages across West Michigan as Anelle in Steel Magnolias, Julia in Two Gentlemen of Verona, Bea Bottom in Something Rotten, and Hunyak in Chicago, among many others. They’ve worked behind the scenes as everything from director to prop master. Jenny is a proud Michigander, parent of two, and spouse to their very most favorite person.









a Rafflecopter giveaway https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

BLOG TOUR, Excerpt & Giveaway – Vampire Witch by Eileen Sheehan

 
 

Ghost Dream by Eileen Sheehan

I first saw a photograph of the abandoned house on Twelve Maple Lane about a decade ago. My immediate impression was what a wonderful inn it would make for those who appreciated the days gone by.  So, without so much as a walk through, I bought it.

It was nightfall when I approached the old house that had been wholly unoccupied for years with reverence and a touch of trepidation. Its residents had long left it to the mercy of rodents, dust, and cobwebs. I felt as if I was invading the privacy of the ghosts who were left behind. Ghosts of occupants over the centuries since the building was little more than an idea in the mind of the builder.

Holding my flashlight firmly in one hand, I turned the porcelain doorknob that would allow me entry. It, like the door, was cracked with age. My mind pondered over how many hands had turned that knob and pushed their way into this dwelling in its glory days. Days when vibrantly colorful rooms glowed with the softness of gas and candle light and radiated laughter and happiness. My ponderings quickly left me when, for the first time in my life, my level head -that had always ignored and given no credence to superstition- experienced an overwhelming dread as an invisible cobweb clung to my face. I shuddered. It was only a cobweb, but it felt as if I’d walked through someone. Or, better yet, someone had walked through me.

Like a frightened child, I rushed to the one room that I had made certain was prepared for my occupancy by the workmen who were hired for the house’s resurrection. As I locked the door, a sense of security swept over me. I had not only locked out the moldy darkness, but the eerie feeling of unseen eyes was no longer hovering about. Someone had been thoughtful enough to make sure that there was a cheery fire burning in the oversized fireplace. Its flickering flames did wonders to give a sense of warmth and safety to the room. I sat down before it with a comforting sense of relief. The electricity was turned off, requiring the soft flickering lights of candles to illuminate my surroundings. Seeing the antique furnishings in such ambiance brought up visions of days gone by.

From the color and print of the faded wallpaper, and the delicacy of the bed and dressing table, I deduced that the room had once belonged to the gentler sex. I closed my eyes as I allowed my imagination to summon visions of faces out of the mists of the past. Faces that were long forgotten and voices that long ago grew silent for all time.

As a storm brewed outside of the thick leaded window panes, my reverie shifted to sadness. The singing of the voices from the past was replaced by the shrieking of the winds outside. The laughter in the ears of my mind shifted to a softened wail. The incessant beating of the rain against the panes stripped the room of all tranquility. The eeriness that I’d left beyond the closed door slowly crept through the cracks beneath it.

A nervousness overtook me as the fire burned low. An overwhelming sense of loneliness consumed me. Eager to shake it, I arose and changed into my night clothes. I moved about the room, stealthily preparing for slumber as if I was amongst others whose dreams would be lethal to interrupt. Diving onto the mattress, I slithered beneath the covers. With my head barely exposed, I lay listening to the rain and wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters until a blissful, deep sleep overtook me.

The acute stillness of the home when I awoke filled me with a shuddering expectancy. All, but the beating of my heart, was silent as I lay in the pre-dawn light while I debated what to do. The workmen would not arrive for several hours. My stomach was announcing the need for the breaking of my fast, but my cowardly nerves refused to budge. So, I lay in the warmth and false security of my bed until an unseen force took matters into hand.

Slowly. Very slowly, the bedclothes slid toward the foot of the bed. It was as if someone was pulling them from me. Instead of being too nervous to move, I was now scared stiff. Not only couldn’t I move a muscle, but I could make no sound. I finally regained control of my body enough to allow me to grab the edge of the blankets and pull them back over my breast until they reached my chin. It took an even greater effort to pull them over my head. Beads of nervous sweat formed upon my forehead as a result.

I lay in frozen silence while I waited for what might happen next.

After a brief interval, that steady pull on the coverings returned. I roused my energies, snatched the covers with a vice grip, and pulled them over my head again. Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps permeated my room. I felt a sense of relief that they sounded like they were moving away from me instead of toward me. When the footsteps reached the bedroom door, I waited for the creaking sound of it opening and closing, but it didn’t come. The footsteps, however, continued to exit the room and fade as they walked further into the empty house.

I lay trembling while contemplating what just happened until I had myself convinced that it was a dream. My nerves were further soothed when I crawled out of bed and found that the bedroom door was still bolted on the inside.

The day passed as normal. I exerted a good deal of emotional energy overseeing the workmen in my effort to keep the integrity of the old house in place. Once nightfall arrived and the men retired, I eagerly took my exhausted self to my bedroom once again.

I had just blown out the candle and snuggled beneath the bedclothes when I heard a grating noise overhead. It sounded like a heavy box was being dragged across the floor. When the dragging sound ended, a loud thud occurred. It was so loud that the windows shook.

Beyond my locked bedroom door, I could hear the muffled sound of doors slamming throughout the house.

A part of me wanted to get up and search for intruders, while the other part of me said to stay put and wait to see what would happen. I regretted not taking the precaution against intruders by having a bat or some other type of self-defense weapon in my room as I listened to the sound of stealthy footsteps creeping about the corridors, as well as up and down the stairs.

Sometimes these noises stopped outside of my bedroom door, hesitated, and went away again. I heard muffled sentences and occasional half-uttered screams that were faint, but discernable. Then, a light breeze passed by me as the swish of invisible garments reached my ears.

The eerie feeling that I’d felt the night before returned with a forcefulness unmatched. I sat up in bed and held my hand to my heart while I did my best to slow the beating that threatened to get out of control. Unlike the night before when the fireplace was ablaze with illuminating light, I had lit only a small fire that rapidly turned to embers. With the candles snuffed out, I was forced to rely on the glow of the embers and the filtered rays of the full moon through the window to see my surroundings. The shadows bounced about, but I was still able to make out a cloaked figure hovering in the corner of the room.

“Who are you and what do you want?” I nervously asked. The figure remained silent as it slowly moved toward me.

“This is my home,” I said with a boldness that I didn’t feel.  “You are not welcome.”

“Why do you wish to have this home?” the figure asked in a deep voice that had a hint of echo to it.

Surprised by the question, I was even more surprised by the way I calmly replied with, “I wish to bring it back to its glory days and to share it with others.”

“Glory days?” the figure mockingly said. “Those were times long gone. The house belongs to me now.”

“I purchased this house,” I insisted. “I have the deed to it.”

“You may have the deed, but I have lived in it,” the figure argued. “It belongs to me. You will leave.”

Fear was replaced by indignation over the shadowy figure’s demand that I leave a home that I’d put so much of my heart and soul into and would require even more before its beauty could shine through once more.

“If you care so much for this home,” I challenged, “Why have you let it go into such disrepair?”

“It is as I desire it to be,” the figure firmly announced.

“It is not as I desire it,” said a female’s voice from seemingly nowhere.

“Josephine!” the figure bellowed. “Why have you come?”

“I never left,” the voice replied. “I simply saw no reason to negate your occupancy until now.”

“Why now?” the figure asked.

“Finally, there is someone who is willing to return the life and love to the walls of my home,” Josephine said. “I have cried decades of tears for want of such a thing to occur. Now that it has, I will not allow you to prevent it. You must go.”

“I have occupied this place too long for you to be able to push me out,” the figure bitterly announced.

“Perhaps, if it were just myself doing the pushing,” Josephine said with conviction.

Too stunned and amazed by what was occurring before my very eyes, I stayed motionless while I listened to what I discovered to be two discarnate beings verbally debating over who should take control of the house that I now owned. I was tempted to ask them both to leave, since the house now belonged to me, but, since I was only now being exposed to the reality of a world beyond the here and now, I was uncertain what the protocol for such a request would be. So, instead, I remained stoic and silent while I waited to see what the outcome of this verbal debate might be.

To my surprise and dismay, the arguing grew quite potent. So potent, in fact, that the stillness of the air left the room. It was replaced by what I could only describe as a violent wind. The bedroom door rattled, along with the windows. A fleeting fear that the glass might shatter flashed through my head before my attention was turned to the fact that the room seemed to expand in the darkness as the figure of a woman in a Victorian gown appeared before me.

Although I had already become aware of the presence of the cloaked figure, he was merely a shadow. This woman, on the other hand, was as opaque as myself.

She was neatly put together with not one hair out of place. Her dress was of vibrant colors that glowed in the moonlight. As I stared in startled wonderment, several equally opaque spirits, both male and female, in Victorian attire joined her. Soon, the room was filled with what I inherently knew were former occupants of the grand house.

The shadowy figure stood his ground, alone against a roomful of spirits wanting him out. At first, as the energy he projected blew like a hurricane through the room to the extent that I clung fast to the bedpost, I thought for sure that he would win. It took a moment for them to gather together with hands firmly clasped, but when they did, the wind changed direction and forced the shadow into oblivion.

I sat in silence on the edge of the bed while I debated what to do next. The spirits faded away, one by one, until only Josephine remained.

“You need not fear us,” Josephine said. “We are pleased that you bring to this home the life and love that it deserves. It has been our desire for decades. We will protect you and it from this moment on.”

With that, she also faded away.

Feeling safe and satisfied, I silently smiled and retreated to the security of my bedcovers. Within moments, I fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

I awoke the following morning to the sounds of workmen bustling about the house. Surprised that I’d slept for so long, I raced to join them. As the day progressed, my thoughts, and memories of the battle between spirits the night before faded. By the time nightfall returned, I considered it nothing more than a vivid dream.

The restoration of the house continued until it was restored to its original glory with no more incidents from the unseen world. Since there were no more bumps in the night, bedclothes mysteriously sliding off me on their own, or spirits appearing before me, I eventually completely dismissed the dream as a reaction to the unsavory ambiance of a neglected home.

Today, I operate an historic inn that offers tours that are accompanied by the history of the house and its occupants that I acquired from the local library and town records. On rare occasions, I will receive a report from one of my overnight guests reporting vivid dreams of a woman in Victorian dress smiling as she stands at the foot of their bed.

 

Vampire Witch
Vampire Witch Trilogy
Book One
Eileen Sheehan
 
Genre: Paranormal/thriller/romance
Publisher: Earth Wise Books
Date of Publication: 01/01/2016
ISBN: 978-1726737524
ASIN:  ‎ B0195YJ1Q0
Number of pages: 378
Word Count: 91,903

Tagline: She falls for two handsome vampire brothers. Now, she must choose…. Lovers of VAMPIRE DIARIES or TRUE BLOOD will enjoy this story.

Book Description: 

Discovering the mother that you thought was dead for over a decade is very much alive will shake your world.

And so begins Casey’s dilemma. Add to that her mother has become a mutant vampire and has promised her in marriage to a wicked vampire king in order to unite the two kingdoms. Now, let’s combine that with the fact that the bearer of such news is a hot and sexy guy who turns out to be a vampire and he steals her heart. Then, to top it off she finds that he has an equally hot vampire brother vying for her love and who she just might have feelings for too.

Ready or not, Casey’s life just took a turn for the strange.

Join Casey in this sizzling, action-packed first book of a paranormal romance thriller trilogy.

Book Trailer: https://bit.ly/3PDgAWJ

Amazon      BN     Kobo     Apple     Smashwords

 


excerpt

Luthias groaned and raised his hand to his head.  Gwendoline was at his side in a flash.  She lifted him into a position that allowed him to easily drink the liquid she held to his lips and then lowered him back down again.

“This will help him regain a bit of his strength, but he’ll still need blood,” she said. She went to a tall refrigerator in the corner of the room and inspected its contents. “I doubt I have enough to bring him back to normal.”
“How much do you need?” I asked.

“He’s almost bled dry,” she said.  “I have enough to keep him alive, but not much more than that.”

I bit my lower lip while I watched Gwendoline pull every bag of blood she had in her supplies and place them on a tea cart to roll next to the table.  She emptied the first bag into a glass and urged him to drink.  He weakly obliged. By the time she’d fed him the last bag, the hollow around his sunken eyes was beginning to disappear and his wounds were starting to shrink.

I pointed this out to Gwendoline and she smiled faintly.

“If he has more blood will they heal completely?” I asked.

“Within seconds,” she said.

“Where does he usually get his blood?” I asked hesitantly.

“He hunts deer or wolf. Large animals are generally the best,” she replied.

“No humans,” I mused admiringly.

“Verso vampires refrain from drinking human blood whenever possible.  The risk of developing an addiction is too great,” she explained. “We live peacefully amongst ourselves and rarely venture out into the rawness of what’s left of our planet. An addiction to human blood would require they leave Verso.”

“There are some who drink it,” I said.  “A maid told me humans don’t last long in Verso because rogue vampires drink their blood until they’re dead.”

“That’s true,” she said with a nod. “It takes a strong vampire to be able to stop drinking a human’s blood before they drain them dry. In my centuries of life, I’ve known of only a few who could do it.”

“Is it the magic that keeps you alive?” I asked.

“Indeed,” she replied with pride. “As it will ye.”

“I plan on becoming a vampire,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but until ye do, the magic will slow down the aging process,” she explained. “There’s no need to rush things.”

“How old was Geo when he was turned?” I asked while I mindlessly stroked the length Luthias’s arm.

“He was twenty-eight. He had a wife and three children, poor lad,” she said.

 “I never thought about him having a family,” I gasped. “What happened to them?”

“They were killed by the raiding vampires. Geo was saved because of the strong magic in his veins.  Luthias found him and brought him to me to tend to.  He looked much like Luthias does now,” she said.

“When did Luthias turn vampire?” I asked.


 

About The Author

Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.
 
She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they gets to the end of the story.
 
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters… one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
 
Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, “When East Meets West” was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers. 
 
If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower
 
 
 
 
 
 
a Rafflecopter giveaway