Julie Elizabeth Powell's Blog, page 16
January 17, 2018
Romance Between The Pages presents...
Listen on Itunes (Subscribe so you never miss an episode! It’s FREE!)
Ever wondered about the personalities behind your favorite books? Victoria Danann's new podcast with Riley J. Ford has an incredible lineup of authors booked through the spring. No question is out of bounds. Check it out!
THIS WEEK'S BEST SELLING AUTHOR...
JAY CROWNOVER!
Jay Crownover is the international and multiple New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Marked Men Series, The Saints of Denver Series, The Point Series, Breaking Point Series, and the Getaway Series. Her books can be found translated in many different languages all around the world. She is a tattooed, crazy haired Colorado native who lives at the base of the Rockies with her awesome dogs. This is where she can frequently be found enjoying a cold beer and Taco Tuesdays. Jay is a self-declared music snob and outspoken book lover who is always looking for her next adventure, between the pages and on the road.
January 12, 2018
Goddess of the Wild Thing by Paul DeBlassie III
Let nature and the elements be your guide as we introduce you to Goddess Of The Wild Thing!
Goddess of the Wild Thing
is a dramatic tale of one woman’s spiritual journey where magical happenings, unexpected turns of fate, and unseen forces influence her ability to love and be loved. Eve Sanchez, a middle-aged woman and scholar of esoteric studies, encounters a seductive but frightening man who introduces her to a supernatural world in which the wicked powers of a surrogate mother’s twisted affection threaten love and life. In the mystic realms of Aztlan del Sur, Eve and three friends struggle with whether bad love is better than no love and discover that love is a wild thing.
Paul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico.
He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of everyday people.
Memberships include the Author’s Guild, the Depth Psychology Alliance, the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International Association for Jungian Studies.
His other award winning book:
A young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, "The Unholy" is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.
Books On Fire Tours: This was a difficult read. Not because it was a bad story. On the contrary. It was mind blowing! It was difficult because it messed with one's mind in the most clever and effective way, which only a Pscychologist can do . So what is it about?
Eve and her friends use yoga and other spiritual means to help them navigate life when it gets tricky, and the often elusive thing called love. Debating whether or not bad love is better than no love at all, they go through life's ups and downs together. Yet when Eve meets a man called Sam, who has potential, evil lurks and causes havoc in her life. An epic battle between good versus evil ensues between her and Sweet Mary, and in the process she finds her true self. BUT, there is so much more and as a reader you can only wonder what is real and not real.
Many people will complain about the lack of dialogue on this novel, but it is rich in back stories and information vital to the development of the plot. This book is not only filled with mystical and magical, but paranormal, metaphysical and occult elements. Essentially a great read for horror/ thriller fans, those who like a little romance will also enjoy this read. Because it catered to all my needs as a reader, I give this book 5 stars.
"Paul DeBlassie III has an extraordinary ability to pull the reader into his mythical world, and the special effect depictions drawn within my mind while reading *Goddess of the Wild Thing *could easily match up with some of the most gruesome of horror stories on film. He transports you through an amazing spiritual journey exploring the power of fate and love. Packed with action, suspense and even romance, Dr. DeBlassie has written a truly brilliant and riveting supernatural story!” ~ Tamara Ferguson, international, multi-award-winning author"
"Paul DeBlassie III has a wicked gift in writing psychological thrillers, and he does it in a way I have never experienced before. In *Goddess of the Wild Thing*, he gave me a glimpse into his reflections, inviting me to draw closer to the dark side. His writing is rich with supernatural symbolism and, when all is resolved, deeply empowering.” ~ Uvi Poznansky, artist and award-winning author
“*Goddess of the Wild Thing* by Paul DeBlassie III brilliantly couples his in-depth knowledge of the human mind and behavior with his love of lore, imaginatively knitting a deeply psychological and esoteric story that will keep you turning the page. I could picture clearly the fantastical sense of place . . . a must-read magical tale.” ~ Luna Saint Claire, author of *The Sleeping Serpent*
"Dr. DeBlassie, author of the multiple-award-winning *The Unholy*, produced another novel with depth, action, and spirit in *Goddess of the Wild Thing*. For centuries we’ve struggled with whether bad love is better than no love. In this paranormal thriller, a fierce woman tackles the question with determination and fire.” ~ Rayna Noire, author of the *Pagan Eyes Series*
The stone altar was used by Eve and company to conjure natural energies of earth, air, fire, and water. Tonatzé symbolized feminine strength and ancient powers. Around the altar, the four women entered mystic states with intuitive inspirations and visions. The four mestizas frequently gathered at midnight, when the full moon shone most lustrously. They held hands, sipped their whiskeys, and inhaled magic herb. Soon the image of the Goddess flickered in rhythm with their soft singing under the light of the high-desert moon. Chant and trance conjured natural magic. They yielded to relaxation, reverie, and trust in one another and the natural world.
Descending into a meditative state, they were whisked from one world to the next. On slips of paper, they quietly wrote their worries, dilemmas, trials, and tribulations.
Seeking answers and relief, they placed the folded papers in a granite bowl before the altar. They lit a match. Paper burned. Silence wrapped its arms around the four. Gentle breezes stirred. Hoots of distant and nearby owls carried through the nighttime atmosphere. Flames from the granite bowl rose three feet and abruptly expired, devoured by darkness.
The ritual of fire fortified the coven, foul happenstance and unexpected hazard averted, all save one kind. Man trouble waited for Eve like a demonic jack-in-the-box, head bobbing and grinning. Muscles up and down her back tightened. It was this that caused her to flee into denial, the thought of time wasted, mind and body pained. The desire to talk, confide in her friends about misgivings about Sam, the last worst guy ever, fled like alley cats into a lonely night. Denial made everything go away—and stay gone—better than a couple of vodkas on the rocks on a chilly evening.
A white cab edged out of the alleyway bordering the cantina. It pulled stealthily alongside Eve. She bent down and looked through the smudged passenger window. She wanted to make sure she knew the cabbie. Past midnight was no time to be in a trusting mood.
***
At three a.m., the proverbial witching hour of Aztlan, Sweet Mary left her apartment for the gathering of Las Brujas Malas, deep in the crumbling limestone edifice of vicious spirits. The condemned downtown limestone church, once a prosperous enclave of the Ecclesia Dei, had long been abandoned. It sat adjacent to Sweet Mary’s bedroom, badly stained by gray and black soot.
Putrid odors of the cursed underworld that lay beneath its unhallowed edifice, curled through the atmosphere surroundingthe decaying structure.
Sweet Mary wound her way past the fenced and barbed wired blockade that deterred homeless souls and nighttime vandals. Her lithe frame smoothly squeezed between the slightly ajar, chained doors. She walked over the toppled wooden pews and stone statues littering the concrete flooring from the back of the church to its altar.
The religious artifacts had been defaced by those news media referred to as sledgehammer-wielding lunatics claiming clerical abuse as children.
She quipped to herself, Religion mocks, uses, and abuses. Nothing new under the black sun.
She opened a narrow side door that led to a rusted iron spiral staircase. Into the haunted and torch-lined basement that stretched thirty feet beneath the surface, she stepped. At the final stair, she touched bare earth.
Torches were lit along a cave of mirrors, shards embedded in the walls, shattered remnants taken from the homes of victims who had defamed Las Brujas.
Anyone who dared speak ill of the brujas ended the day tormented, injured, or maimed. Crises happened. One second they were safe, the next mowed down by an out-of-control car, or mugged and cut, or worse, lured in by a soft and sexy vixen loaded with a nasty biological curse. Mirrors confiscated from homes during nighttime raids reflected the victim’s horrified face when doom struck. Sweet Mary hurried past the legions of rats scampering away from her every step into the cracks and crevices of the century-old limestone structure.
An unavoidable eyesore at the heart of one the most decayed areas of the often sinister downtown Aztlan del Sur. It was a meeting . In this haunted zone, Sweet Mary presided over the witches of black magic. They knew how to spot love, taint love, kill love. It’s what bad mothers did. It’s what Las Brujas did. It’s what Sweet Mary did—because what had been received must be given.
No one knew where they gathered. Evil demanded hiddenness. Street-smart folk and fear-ridden church folk knew them as Las Brujas Malas, the foulest of witches, not to be crossed. Even those who suspected the whereabouts of their lair dared not cross the street to look at the unholy building, now a crumbling religious edifice.
The witches met at the mouth of a deserted tunnel, which in former years led to the secret chapel of the reigning archbishop, who there entertained a bevy of female devotees. Las Brujas, the four desert urban witches, walked down the twenty-foot descent. Hard-pack dirt sloped gently into the entrance of the unhallowed region of the chapel that had become the accursed cave of Las Brujas.
They moved forward, into the mouth of the cave.
***
But here Eve was, paralyzed. Waves of gurgling and quicksand were no metaphor. Agitation could turn bad to worse. Eve clutched harder for a stable mind. It was a torment, nearly impossible not to panic. She gritted her teeth, tightened her mental hold. Gently, millimeter by millimeter, she managed to raise her right hand. Mud offered no resistance. She raised her right forearm out of the hungry maw of dirt and grit. She grabbed hold of a desert oak’s dropping branch. It held firm. Five fingers clutched like a vise. She lifted her left arm and hand. Inch by inch, she loosened her torso from the deadly mud. Low-lying olive tree branches gave steadier purchase.
Relief.
Memories of circling sparrows, an ancient warding against fated demise, provided a moment’s comfort. She pulled upward. Branches did not snap or break. They were supple. Evenly, she pulled with breath after concentrated breath. She gazed toward the sky. There were no sparrows overhead. The silence felt unnerving.
The sky shifted, turquoise bright turned to leaden gray. The desert olive branch snapped. Eve screamed and dropped. She sank to her shoulders. Quicksand lapped up past her chin, grains of sand forming crusts along her lips.
Clenching her teeth, she was grateful her mind hadn’t snapped along with the branch. Wits kept panic at bay.
Dying wasn’t a concern, survival was. It was the getting there that mattered—how it happened, how she did it. She detested the thought of dying by a witch’s curse, slipping into an underworld of final breaths and mud-loaded lungs. If she went down into the belly of the abyss and the mouth of a soul-famished witch, she’d do it on her terms.
Middle finger out.
THE DEMON DELIVERANCE by Victoria Danann
THE DEMON DELIVERANCE
Knights of Black Swan, Book 12
by Victoria Danann
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Choices always come with consequences.
If you force a demon to agree to a deal under duress, the day will come when you’ll regret it.
Sixt was a witch nursing a centuries-long grudge of a scorned woman.
Deliverance had been a slave to sex for so long he could barely remember life before. When he learned the compulsion that was a never ending itch was caused by an addiction curse, he was elated because hexes can be reversed. But happiness was short lived when he learned what he’d have to do for the witch who cast the spell.
Deliverance remained motionless while he processed what he’d just learned. The witch was inexperienced in matters of romance and she might have an infatuation that had lingered over a passage of time that was noteworthy even for a demon.
Perhaps his plan was due for a little tweaking. Perhaps he could pretend to tolerate his captivity, draw the witch out, even give the appearance of liking her. Gag. Perhaps she would open up like a moon magnolia at midnight, giving him all the information he would need to arrange for her eventual comeuppance.
Once he’d settled on a course adjustment, he stepped around the corner and into the room as if he’d just arrived.
Sixt looked up. “Oh, Deliverance. I won’t be needing you tonight.”
The demon’s eyes slid from Sixt to Harm, who said, “You’re welcome to join us. Maybe a game of whist?”
Sixt wished they were seated at a table so she could kick her brother in the shin.
“Not much for cards,” Deliverance said. There was no reason not to be polite to the witch’s brother.
“Wine then?” Harm pressed.
The demon kind of liked Harm in spite of himself and smiled slightly. “Thank you for the offer. I don’t drink often and tonight’s not the night.”
“Well, I don’t want you to feel unwelcome just because I’ve barged in on my sister.”
“Unwelcome?” Deliverance looked at Sixt like he’d love to throw a fireball and incinerate her where she sat. “Why does he think I’m here?”
“He knows the whole story.” Sixt looked away as she raised her wine glass to her lips.
“In that case,” Deliverance said to Harm, “you should know it’s senseless to ask a slave if he feels welcome.”
“But we can always make the best of a situation, old man. Just direct your feet to the sunny side of the street,” Harm said.
Deliverance looked at Sixt. “Is he serious?”
“We’ve been out of touch for a very long time. I’m not sure.”
To Harm, he said, “It’s easy to have a sunny disposition when you’re the master,” his eyes slid to Sixt, “or the mistress, in this case, and not the slave. If that’s all, I’ll be somewhere else.” He managed to refrain from adding, “Anywhere else.”
“Yes. That’s all,” said Sixt and the demon disappeared.
Harm chuckled and shook his head. “If you think that demon is coming around to your way of thinking, you have lost your way.”
“I don’t think I have much choice but to ride this out. Maybe cosmic intervention…”
“Cosmic intervention,” he repeated. “You ever heard of magical thinking?”
“Not the specific phrase, but I can guess what it means.”
“No, you can’t. It’s a human term for what adolescents do when they choose to believe, without logical basis, that things will ‘magically’ go their way.”
“Is there a point forthcoming? Because I’m going to bed…”
“Hold on to your patience. This absolutely applies to your situation and you know it. Your belief that any good can come from forcing that demon to be where he doesn’t choose to be is the very definition of magical thinking.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah? Well, I hope that when we ‘see’, you’re still in one piece.”
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Books 1-11 of the Knights of Black Swan series
Victoria Danann is the New York Times bestselling author of twenty romances. For the past four years in a row, Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series have won prestigious Reviewers' Choice Awards for both BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES and PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVEL OF THE YEAR. This past year three of her series and three of her novels were nominated. Two of her series took the top two places and two of her books took first and second place in the PNR Novel of the Year category.
In addition to vampire hunting knights, Victoria writes other paranormal romance, scifi, fantasy, and contemporary romance.
Victoria co-hosts the popular ROMANCE BETWEEN THE PAGES podcast which can be found on itunes or at → www.romancecast.com
LOYAL & TRUE by Laura Strickland
LOYAL & TRUE
Hearts of Caledonia, Book 1
by Laura Strickland
In defiance of her father, Caledonian tribeswoman Barta leads a daring raid against invading enemy warriors. But the fight goes badly, and her beloved war hound, Loyal, is killed. Unable to imagine existing without her dearest companion, she nevertheless must return home and accept blame for her terrible blunder.
For the first time in his life, Loyal is unable to rise and follow his mistress. When he appeals to the Goddess for mercy, she grants him leave to return on one condition: it must be in the form of a man. And only if Barta recognizes him for who he truly is will he be permitted to stay.
Loyal never suspects that, as a man, his connection with Barta will deepen, becoming passionate enough to transcend nearly any change. Will Barta recognize him before he’s lost to her forever?
Why could he not rise?
He remembered the battle—he could see it all now in patterns of black and white. Violence had its own aura as did so many things in the world, a combination of sight and smell. People smelled different when angry or afraid.
He’d fought at Barta’s side as he always had and always would, and taken a number of wounds. They didn’t matter; only her welfare mattered, and his presence at her side.
For him, battle felt like a game, a violent one. So long as Barta remained with him and protected, he cared little what else happened, even to him. He existed to be with her, to protect her—nothing more.
But now she arose from the place where they’d both gone down—where he’d thrown his body in defense of hers—and he could not follow.
For the first time in his life he could not follow.
Oh, unbearable agony. For, faintly, he could still feel her, smell her tears, sense her touch. And he could feel her starting to move away from him, feel her spirit tug at his. They were bound together, always had been, by a silver cord stronger than leather and more potent than magic.
Love.
Do not leave me here, Mistress. I cannot rise. I cannot follow you.
Like hers, his spirit howled at the sky.
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Award-winning author Laura Strickland delights in time traveling to the past and searching out settings for her books, be they Historical Romance, Steampunk or something in between. Born and raised in Western New York, she’s pursued lifelong interests in lore, legend, magic and music, all reflected in her writing. Although she enjoys travel, she’s usually happiest at home not far from Lake Ontario, with her husband and her "fur" child, a rescue dog. Author of numerous Historical and Contemporary Romances, she is the creator of the Buffalo Steampunk Adventure series set in her native city. Loyal and True. Is the first book in her new historical Hearts of Caledonia series.
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January 11, 2018
MAGGIE series by Mya O'Malley
MAGGIE series
Maggie, Naomi, and Entangled Souls
by Mya O'Malley
Genre: Paranormal Romantic Mystery Thriller
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to share your home with an unearthly spirit who can’t find closure? Living on the edge of a cemetery with souls dating back to the 1700s would be enough to spook anyone, but Naomi finds it oddly romantic, and becomes inspired to write her next novel. Why not, when her muse, Maggie, calls to her from beyond her own window?
After all, the story couldn't possibly be as complicated as Naomi's own love life. Torn between Ryan, the mysterious and seemingly perfect man she just started dating, and Bryce, the sexy single dad who recently moved in next door, Naomi must navigate the tangled web of dating—all while trying to solve the mystery of Maggie's death.
When things turn dangerous, Naomi quickly learns whom she can trust and, more importantly, whom she can’t. Will she be able to write Maggie’s story and finally give Maggie the peace she deserves?
Naomi sighed as she thought about the outcome of Maggie’s story. Her body had been found washed up near the river. Awful. What a horrible thing. The location of the body had been a place where people walked along a path by the river. Naomi herself had been close to the crime scene many times, unaware of the traumatic events that had taken place there.
No clues, other than it appeared to be a drowning. Evidence pointed to Maggie going out on a friend’s boat, perhaps, and falling overboard.
But how?
And where was the friend? It didn’t make sense. A piece of this puzzle was missing; a rather large piece.
A cold mystery was all that was left of Maggie’s story.
Come on, come on. Maggie. Talk to me. Tell me what happened to you. What kind of girl were you?
A sudden screech sounded from the window. Zelda. How was she supposed to concentrate on writing when Zelda kept intruding with her unpredictable behavior? She needed to write Maggie’s story. It was calling to her. If she didn’t write the story, she wouldn’t be able to write anything else.
Cries filled the air. This was ridiculous. Naomi wouldn’t even waste her time trying to figure out the cat’s problem. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Zelda cried out in response. Now the cat had broken her concentration.
Naomi needed to get out and clear her mind. She grabbed her notebook and her jacket from the hook in the entrance foyer.
Once she was out of the house and down the narrow path heading into the graveyard, she turned around. It wasn’t surprising to see Zelda pacing back and forth on the windowsill. Crazy.
After walking around for a few minutes, she was pulled toward Maggie’s grave once more.
“Maggie, tell me your story. I’m listening.” Naomi didn’t actually expect to hear a response, but she knelt down and listened. She strained to hear the slightest sound, anything at all that would open up this mystery.
Of course, she heard nothing.
Nothing but the faraway sound of cars passing down the one-way street adjacent to the cemetery, then the faint cry of a crow overhead. Lifting her head to the darkening sky above, Naomi could have sworn the crow was staring right at her. Was she in the middle of her own eerie dream? Brushing off the uneasy feeling, Naomi shook her head and sat in the grass.
“Was it your ex? Was it a stranger? Or was your death your own doing?” Naomi’s fingers touched the cold stone, running up and down the gravestone. A sharp crackling from behind caused Naomi to spin around. There was nobody there.
Naomi would have sworn she heard someone. Perhaps it had been a darting squirrel or other small animal. Her attention returned to Maggie’s grave once more. Call it a gut feeling, but Naomi was convinced there was foul play at work here. It could be her overactive writer’s imagination, but instinctively she knew Maggie had been killed by someone.
Most likely someone close to her. Wasn’t that usually the story?
More determined than ever to solve this crime, Naomi stood up and brushed her pants off. She leaned over and spoke directly to Maggie’s headstone.
“I will figure this out, girl. Just give me some time. I’ll find out who was responsible for this and you’ll give me my story. How does that sound? Fair?”
The sound came from the woods this time. Whatever was creating the sound remained hidden.
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Naomi has a knack for attracting attention from ethereal beings—whether she wants it or not. Newly engaged to her sexy neighbor, Bryce, she has little time to celebrate and plan for her upcoming wedding, because no sooner does she wrap up a heartbreaking cold case than she finds herself right back where she started, searching for answers alongside ghostly spirits.
This time, however, Naomi learns that things are not what they seem as a man from her past quickly becomes her worst nightmare. If she’s not careful, this man might crush her hopes and dreams forever as he proves to be her most difficult opponent yet.
Still, Naomi tries to focus on her relationship with Bryce. Can it withstand head games and cruel intentions? Naomi makes it her mission to keep Bryce and his daughter safe from harm, but will true love be tough enough to withstand her adversaries?
Naomi must keep her eyes wide open and question everything— and everyone—in order to survive.
She sensed it before she heard the news. She could feel it deep in her bones. All night long she had tossed and turned, unable to find sleep.
Nick.
“No,” Naomi wailed into her pillow, pounding her fists.
No. But, of course, she knew it was true. After all, she had a sixth sense about things such as this. Damn, Nick. Why? How?
It had been several months since she had taken in his disheveled form, those cowardly eyes scanning her face, pleading for forgiveness from the other side of the depressing, stained, plastic divider at the county jail.
Forgiveness that was difficult to give, although she had been working on it. Too late, Nick. It’s way too late for you now. Part of Naomi’s heart ached for Nick’s troubled soul. For the troubled child he had once been.
Another part turned cold as she conjured up his face in her mind. As she had woken from a fitful night’s sleep, the image of Nick crying out, lost in the empty dark place where challenged souls lacked peace and closure, was too overwhelming to dismiss as a bad dream.
“Bryce.” Naomi spoke his name aloud, even though her fiancé was most likely sound asleep at his house just up the dirt road.
She needed Bryce.
But Naomi knew Bryce would have to wait. Right after her first cup of coffee, she would have to call Officer Marty to confirm the facts of what she already knew to be true.
How had it happened? Possibilities swirled through her mind. Endless scenarios came forth. It could be anything. Nick had been doing time for his part in the cover-up of Maggie Field’s death. Prisons could be dangerous, particularly for someone like Nick, a man who struggled to keep his emotions in check and often had difficulty conforming to the rules.
One with a dark, menacing presence.
One with attitude.
Memories of the not so distant past slammed Naomi. Images of Ryan and Maggie . . .
Maggie.
The ghost that had all but consumed her. Maggie had reached out to Naomi, demanding peace. Naomi admitted to herself that she had become obsessed at that time in her life. Preoccupied with putting both Maggie and Ryan to rest. Luckily, Bryce was loyal and patient to the core during the first hectic months of their new relationship.
What would he say now, knowing that a spirit was back? Knowing that this time it wasn’t the sweet spirit of a girl named Maggie or a quirky, kindhearted man that needed her help?
This time it was worse, far worse.
This time the spirit was unsettled, tortured—and to make matters even more daunting . . .
He was her ex-boyfriend.
Would Bryce be as understanding about Nick as he had been with Maggie and Ryan? Hopping up out of her bed to make her cup of coffee, Naomi figured she was about to find out.
***
Moments after she hung up the phone with her friend, Officer Miriam Marty, Naomi reached for her coffee mug but then placed it back on the counter with a gentle thud.
Damn, Nick.
Miriam had confirmed Naomi’s worst suspicions and provided the bare facts surrounding Nick’s death.
He was, indeed, dead. But the strange thing about it was that it appeared to have been intentional on his part. It was too early to say, but Miriam suspected that traces of drugs would be found in his system.
An overdose? Could he have intentionally taken his own life? No, that didn’t sound right. Then again, how well did Naomi even know Nick anymore? For that matter, how well had she ever known him? Naomi supposed it was easy enough for an inmate to have the means to obtain drugs. And, let’s face it, prison life could be grueling.
No, no. Something didn’t feel right about this. Nick’s sentence was only to last just a few more weeks, why would he purposely harm himself? As Naomi tried to make sense of the news, she paced the floor. Zelda, her loyal feline companion, weaved in and out of her legs as Naomi stopped and grabbed her coffee mug from the table.
Sharp rapping on the door startled Naomi, causing her to spill her coffee on her blouse. “Shoot!”
Voicing her own displeasure at nearly being stepped on, Zelda screeched as she tore into the living room. Naomi snatched a napkin, wiping at her top as she made her way to the door.
“Are you ready?” Bryce raised an eyebrow as Naomi stepped to the side to allow him through the front door. He leaned over and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.
“Ready?”
“Ah, yes. Remember? We were going to grab a bite and then head over to the trail for a walk?”
Yes. That’s right. She and Bryce had plans this morning. With everything going on, she had clearly forgotten.
“I . . . I’m so sorry. Give me a minute to change my shirt. Sit, I’ll be right back.” She scurried up the stairs to her bedroom to change. This could be a good thing, the time alone with Bryce. His young daughter, Holly, was in school, and she could have Bryce’s full attention.
Dressed in a clean shirt, Naomi sprinted down the stairs and grabbed her sneakers. She attempted her best smile as she tied the laces. “Almost ready,” Naomi managed.
“What’s with you? Why are you out of breath?” Bryce cocked his head as he studied Naomi.
“Just excited to spend the morning with you,” she offered a bit too cheerily, glancing up at him as she felt nagging guilt rise in her throat. He wouldn’t be happy about the news regarding Nick, and that was putting it mildly. He simply couldn’t even begin to understand. He would tell her to leave it alone, not to get caught up in somebody else’s problems.
Naomi swallowed hard and gripped Bryce’s warm hand as they made their way to his truck. Once inside, Naomi glanced at her fiancé and then gazed down at her lap.
“Bryce?” she whispered.
Concern etched his handsome face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He reached for her hands.
“We need to talk.”
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ENTANGLED SOULS
coming late 2018
If Naomi thought solving three murders was going to earn her a respite from the spirits who flock to her for guidance and resolution, she couldn't have been more wrong. This time around, helping her friend, Officer Miriam Marty, solve a particularly daunting case is just the beginning.
Newly married to her soul mate, Bryce, Naomi figured she could settle in and enjoy the first few months of marriage without the all-consuming task of helping the spirits around her find the closure they so desperately seek. She should have known there was no chance of normalcy, though - even her stepdaughter Holly's quirky friend, Lillie, adds to the confusion.
This time, Naomi's challenge is unique. Not only does she have to put her heart and soul into helping an intricate, beautiful ghost, but this precious soul soon teaches Naomi that her path in life, her fate, has led her to precisely where she needs to be.
Everything about Naomi's past experiences with the paranormal crashes together as Naomi becomes entwined in the entangled plot that has become her life, alongside the unique souls that complete her destiny.
Mya O’Malley was born and raised in the suburbs of New York City, where she currently lives with her husband, daughter and step-daughters. The family also consists of a boxer named Destiny and a ragdoll cat named Colby. Mya earned an undergraduate degree in special education and a graduate degree in reading and literacy. She works as a special education teacher and enjoys making a difference in the lives of her students.
Mya’s passion is writing; she has been creating stories and poetry since she was a child. Mya spends her free time reading just about anything she can get her hands on. She is a romantic at heart and loves to create stories with unforgettable characters. Mya likes to travel; she has visited several Caribbean Islands, Mexico and Costa Rica. Mya is currently working on her eleventh novel.
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January 6, 2018
LADY OF STEEL by Mary Gillgannon
LADY OF STEEL
Medieval Ladies series
by Mary Gillgannon
One rapturous hour sparks unforgettable passion between Lady Nicola and Fawkes de Cressy. The memory of their time together enables Fawkes to survive the horrors and perils of the Crusades and gives Nicola the hope and strength to endure a brutal marriage.
Fawkes returns to rescue the woman of his dreams and finds Nicola enmeshed in a dark web of castle intrigue. Fawkes is so altered by the hardships and cruelties of war, that Nicola fears to trust him with her secrets or her heart.
Surrounded by enemies, the battle-hardened knight and the aloof, wary woman must rebuild the bond between them. Only if they dare let the soul-stirring magic their bodies share grow into love can they escape the sinister plot that threatens to destroy them both.
The tower room seemed much too small. It was like being caged with a wild creature.
He left the table and approached her. Nicola fought the urge to draw back. He seemed to sense her apprehension, for his fierce expression softened. “I don’t want you to fear me, Nicola. Unlike some men, I don’t believe in striking women. Or children. Or anyone smaller and weaker than myself. If I were ever to feel the need the discipline you, I would choose other, more civilized means.”
Discipline her? What did that mean? His words sounded reasonable and reassuring, but there was an edge of warning there. She must find some way to convince him she wasn’t his enemy. She must make it clear she would never deal with him as she had with Mortimer.
Body rigid, her heart pounding wildly, she said, “Milord, you must understand. Mortimer was a brute. There were many times I feared for my life at his hands. Whatever you may have heard of me…” Her hands trembled as she gestured and this time she was glad he saw. “I did what I had to do to survive.” And for Simon to survive.
His expression softened. His dark eyes again flared with violent emotion. “You forget. I knew Mortimer. He tried more than once to kill me. I have no sympathy for him. None at all.”
She let out her breath. Perhaps now they could begin again, and he would stop playing this game of cat and mouse with her. She nodded. “I’m very grateful you understand. I’d worried you might have heard tales of me, stories meant to portray me as wicked and manipulative.”
He watched her intently. “Aye, I have heard tales. ’Tis good you saw fit to reassure me. Perhaps now, perhaps we can…” He let his words trail off and the atmosphere between them shifted. His dark eyes no longer seemed stern and implacable, but smoldered with frank sexual desire. The tension between them changed, erupting with blazing arousal.
Fire started in her loins and spread outward, making her skin ache for his touch. She tilted her head, awaiting his kiss.
He hesitated, as if even now he feared to take this final step and give into what his body obviously desired. Observing his forbearance, she thought for the dozenth time of how different he was from Mortimer. Mortimer had been a slave to his emotions. This man sought control at all times.
But at last he brought his lips to hers. The blaze took them both.
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Mary Gillgannon is the author of eighteen novels, including romances set in the dark age, medieval and Regency time periods. She’s been married to her real-life hero for over thirty-five years. Her two children are grown, so now she indulges her nurturing tendencies on five very spoiled cats and a moderately spoiled dog. Her day job is working at the local public library where she has the gratifying task of overseeing the adult fiction collection. Besides writing, she enjoys gardening (a serious challenge in Wyoming) reading, and travel.
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THE BURNOUT CURE by Jill Blake
THE BURNOUT CURE
A Prescription: Romance! Book
by Jill Blake
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: December 25, 2017
When it comes to burnout, Lily Reid is an expert. Determined to turn her personal tragedy into a cautionary lesson for other physicians, she travels the country, lecturing about life balance and stress management. But her words falls on deaf ears—until she hits on a plan to appeal to a broader audience.
Enter Dr. Wolf Knox, aka “Wolfman MD.” He’s gorgeous, charismatic, and his patients love him. So do millions of fans who follow him online, watching the music video parodies he makes in his spare time. Too bad Wolf believes “burnout” is synonymous with weakness. His motto? Suck it up—and if you can't handle the pressure, get the hell out of medicine.
As Lily and Wolf clash over plans for a joint project, their mutual disdain gives way to desire. But when a fellow physician’s suicide forces them to confront their own fears and prejudices, will their fledgling relationship survive?
(Please note: This is a steamy contemporary romance that contains mature themes and explicit content, meant for adults 18 and over. It is a stand-alone novel, with no cliff-hangers, and a guaranteed HEA.)
Wolf tapped a finger on the pristine white tablecloth. From across the table, another physician glared at him. Obviously not a fan of syncopated rhythm. Wolf sighed, dropped his hand, and feigned interest in what the hospital’s chief of staff was saying.
Another five minutes of the man’s rambling welcome speech, and Wolf was back to tapping, this time against his jean-clad thigh.
He should have just stayed in bed. Or gone for a run. Or ironed out the lyrics he’d been toying with for weeks. Or done any of a dozen other things, instead of wasting his Saturday morning listening to a bunch of self-proclaimed experts pontificate about physician wellness.
What the fuck was that, anyway?
The stupid catch phrase seemed to be popping up everywhere. Kind of like physician burnout. Another term-of-the-moment Wolf hated. You’d think people would tire of the topic. But no. Whenever he opened a medical journal, or stepped into the doctors’ lounge, or went to the ER to admit a patient, there was always someone talking about wellness, burnout, or both.
And now, thanks to his best friend, Wolf had to sit through six more hours of torture. Unless he managed to sneak out early, during one of the breaks. He glanced at the printed itinerary, searching for the two names he’d been assigned. The first was easy enough to find. Lily Reid, the keynote speaker. But the second….He scanned the list to the very end. Yeah, it figured. The last speaker of the day.
He was going to kill Doug for getting him into this.
Of course, it wasn’t Doug’s fault that his wife went into premature labor last night. But the guy could have tried a little harder to find someone else to sub for him. Someone who wasn’t Wolf. Someone who actually chose to serve on Doug’s damn committee. What was the point of being chair if you couldn’t delegate scut work to other committee members, rather than dumping it on your best friend?
“Come on, man,” Doug had said over the phone, after waking Wolf from the first decent sleep he’d had in week. “Free food, six hours of CME credit, and you’ll be out of there by one at the latest.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wolf groaned. “No amount of free food is worth sitting through six hours of BS.”
Doug sighed. “Just because you’ve got the sensibility of a rhinoceros doesn’t make the issue any less real or important.”
“Give me a break,” Wolf said. In the background, he could hear the familiar sounds of the hospital: a monitor beeping, the low murmur of voices. “It’s one in the morning. You really want to debate this? Now?”
“Two introductions,” Doug said. “A minute each. That’s all I’m asking.”
Wolf rubbed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t you have someone else you can tap?”
“Like you said, bro, it’s one in the morning. Everyone else has a spouse or family. You know, a life.”
“Fuck you,” Wolf said. “I have a life—”
A sharp cry on the other end of the line cut him off.
“Gotta go,” Doug said. “I’ll email you the text.”
And that was how Wolf ended up at the 65th Annual Postgraduate Medical Assembly, waiting to introduce some quack hired by the hospital to explain how to get in touch with your inner child. Or whatever motivational mumbo-jumbo the woman planned to sell as the latest antidote to burnout.
January 4, 2018
Romance Between The Pages presents...
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Ever wondered about the personalities behind your favorite books? Victoria Danann's new podcast with Riley J. Ford has an incredible lineup of authors booked through the spring. No question is out of bounds. Check it out!
THIS WEEK'S BEST SELLING AUTHOR...
PAM GODWIN!
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.
Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.
December 30, 2017
BOB AND THE POLKA-DOT HIGHWAY by R. Murphy
BOB AND THE POLKA-DOT HIGHWAY
Book 3 of The Bob Books
by R. Murphy
Poor Roz…once again stuck on the horns of a dilemma. Does she accept the great offer for a job that’s hundreds of miles from Crooked Lake? Or does she pick David, the great guy who grows grapes half a mile from her house? And either way—assuming our crabby woman-of-a-certain-age manages to make a decision—what about her ghost, Bob?
Granted, Bob and Roz have never had a … ummmm… ‘traditional’ relationship but still, martini-loving ghosts don’t toddle along every day of the week. What happens to the wit, the sparkle, the laughter?
So many questions…(sigh).
Join Roz, David—and Bob—as they spend a beautiful, but confusing, summer on Crooked Lake. And oh, by the way, watch out for drips…
After a few weeks spent at her new job in the Midwest, Roz has commuted back to the Finger Lakes to tie up loose ends and finalize the sale of her lake home.
After brewing my tea, I wandered out to the deck where I finally had a chance to sit in my rocking chair and--after weeks of work in the Midwest, mourning, and running around--relax.
Colorful sailboats flitted over the sparkling water that I called my back yard, darting from shore to shore like dragonflies skimming the small waves. More than a dozen of them, I’d say, playing with the same breezes I’d enjoyed in the house a few minutes ago.
This was the lake of postcard dreams. Trees dressed in green decorated each bank while fluffy cumulus clouds, blimps of freshly-laundered cotton, hovered in bright blue skies. Sunshine poured over the entire contented landscape, golden honey from a jar.
Hard to believe after everything I’d been through, but this was the first time I’d ever seen the lake in full summer mode. All of a sudden I got it. I understood why people fell in love with life on the water and fought tooth and nail to stay in this little Brigadoon, sheltered from the cares of the world. A place set apart, cocooned like a happy memory from childhood, impervious to the cares and worries that beset the outside world.
Here was shelter, here was rest. Here timeless hobbies filled lazy summer hours, fishing and boating and swimming, pastimes that had existed for centuries and would exist, essentially unchanged, for centuries more. Living on the lake plucked you out of the normal flow of time and now I finally understood the magnetism of life on the water.
In my case, though, understanding was not quite the same as love. Instead of feeling the lake in my heart, appreciation for it never got further than my mind. I could never see the glories of summer without remembering the snow drifts and ice of the difficult winter I’d just struggled through, or the high waters and shale-shoveling marathons of only four months ago. My year-round involvement with the lake embodied the difference between a multi-dimensional relationship and an infatuation. This lake would definitely be a great place to visit in the summer, during the beautiful times. A same-time-next-year kind of relationship. Year-round, though? Another story, at least for me.
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Bob at the Lake
What would happen if Roz, a crabby woman of a certain age, moved to the wintry shores of a New York lake—and got a ghost? And not just any ghost, mind you. Bob’s a ghost from 1920’s Manhattan, full of quips and over fond of his martinis, who swans around in a silk smoking jacket and makes Roz’s life very . . . well, let’s just say ‘complicated.’
Especially after Roz meets David, the good-looking grape grower who lives up the hill. Join Roz, David—and Bob—as they navigate blizzards, cookie mazes, holiday shopping sprees, and the occasional power outage. (You know, all of those delightful challenges of a good, old-fashioned Northern winter . . .)
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“Trust me, it will hit you like a brick of gold.”
That’s Bob. He’s my ghost. Well, not my ghost since I’m sitting here writing, but the ghost who lives with me. Other women probably get muscleman ghosts who can fix plumbing and take out the garbage, or romantic ghosts who set their hearts a-flutter. Me, I get a ghost who’s middle-aged, plump, and who likes to lounge around the house in a silk smoking jacket from the nineteen-thirties. Not exactly the kind of ghost I’d ever imagined I’d get. I will admit, though, that Bob does make an amazing martini. A martini that, in fact, hits you like a brick of gold.
I found, unfortunately, the longer Bob lived at my place, the more I appreciated his skill with martinis. Which was probably not a great thing for my liver, or my relationships with my sisters, but what the heck.
Remember the Great Recession? According to the newspapers, some consumers seem to be wiping it from their memories, but it had a big impact on a lot of people, including me. That economy hurt. Lost jobs, lost houses, lost marriages, lost hopes—lives turned upside down in the flutter of a pink slip. People scrambling just to keep from drowning—couch surfing, penny pinching, living newly frugal lives.
Like millions of others, the economy sucked me into its undertow. In Nashville, my life had been moving along in a sensible fashion, even if it wasn’t Cinderella happy. A big-girl job, a decent townhouse, nice-enough neighbors, the occasional date. Then, like an idiot, I decided to stretch a bit financially and buy a lake house in New York’s Finger Lake area. I’d planned to rent it out during the summers and make money on it with an eye to retiring there a few decades in the future. My sister Katie and her husband have a summerhouse on the lake, and they were doing just fine with it.
After much too-ing and fro-ing between Nashville and western New York, I found a beautiful house on Crooked Lake, three miles up the road from my sister, and bought it. My house is ten miles from the nearest coffee shop or grocery store but, for a rental vacation home, who cared?
Two Nashville job layoffs later, I cared. Those were tough, bitter months, and I decided to leave the south to live closer to my sister. There’s nothing like getting kicked in the teeth a few times to make you realize how much you need family.
Bob at the Plaza
Bob, our favorite martini-loving ghost, has vanished. Now Roz faces a miserable snowbound Crooked Lake winter alone. Well, almost alone. Thank goodness for David, the practical, kind grape grower who lives up the hill.
What a winter it is! Record-breaking snows followed months later by record-setting rains. Ah, the joys of living on a lake shore when the spring floods arrive.
High water, anyone?
Undeterred by mice, sociopathic relatives, Carnegie Hall disasters, and spring floods, Roz searches for her MIA ghost. In the process she goes toe-to-toe with the hyper-verbal crowd at the Algonquin Round Table. Can Roz best smarty-pants Dorothy Parker in a game of wits? Will Harpo Marx finally speak out and help Bob return to Crooked Lake?
For the answers to these and many other spirited questions, read BOB AT THE PLAZA!
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I hesitated for a minute at the top of the post office stairs of my small town, determined to have a little fun before I returned home. What next? A no-brainer—fresh cinnamon-sugar cider doughnuts from the apple shack. Do stores like this exist anywhere but the northern states? Small seasonal places that sell mostly apples and apple products, like cider doughnuts and cider, and maybe some locally made cheeses and maple syrup on the side. Until I’d moved to New York, I’d never realized how many kinds of apples you could buy: McIntosh, Empire, Jonathan, McCoun, Delicious, Granny Smith, Crispin, Gala, and Cortland, to name but a few. And my latest favorite, Jonamacs.
The variety of local apples available from the apple shack amazed me. When I’d lived in cities, I guess I’d always just, unthinkingly, picked up a bag of Macintoshes or Empires whenever I wanted the fruit. A few months ago, faced with a dozen different varieties in the apple shack, I’d had no idea what my favorite apple was. So, I decided to do some apple taste-testing. I selected and individually bagged and weighed eight different apples that day in the store (much to the amusement of the woman at the check-out counter). Every afternoon I’d try a new apple for a snack and take notes. (Do I sound like a woman who lives by herself in the country with, perhaps, a tad too much free time on her hands? Hell, yes . . .) Turns out I didn’t like too-tart apples or grainy yellow-fleshed ones, or super crisp, aggressive, squirty varieties. My favorite fruits were ladylike, gentle apples, mildly sweet, moderately juicy, with dainty white flesh. In short, Jonamacs.
Like a dedicated knight on a quest, I now pursued Jonamacs whenever I could find them. I suspected I’d be desolate when they went out of season. And I wondered about other people, who’d eat whatever apple they could lay their hands on. Would they be considered apple gourmands? Apple Don Juans? Consuming enthusiastically, indiscriminately, unthinkingly, whatever random, willing apple came their way? (Yes, undoubtedly, a tad too much free time on my hands . . .)
Roz Murphy is the pseudonym of a long-time Finger Lakes resident who lives with ghosts and doesn’t want to confirm in her neighbors’ minds how nutty she really is. (They already have their suspicions.) After decades of writing in Manhattan and throughout the country, Roz settled on the shores of New York’s Keuka Lake, some of the most beautiful country ever created. She’s an ardent fan of the Finger Lakes wine industry, especially the local dry Rieslings.
SIRENS & SCALES box set
SIRENS & SCALES
Genre: Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance
From the darkest skies to the deepest seas, dive into a breathtaking collision of mermaids, dragons, sirens, and more in SIRENS & SCALES, a unique Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Collection!
Your travels through these stories of dazzling ocean tides and the dizzying reaches of the heavens will leave you breathless. Join dragon shifters and mer-creatures for an experience of salty seafaring adventures and magnificent airborne enterprises where sky meets sea, love meets its match, and imagination has no end.
With 26 full-length stories of enchanting fiction, you’ll learn the secrets of Atlantis, soar to uncharted peaks, and discover creatures of wing and fin and those who love them.
Ready to set sail and catch the tide before your chance for adventure is lost forever? Then order this collection of BRAND NEW and EXCLUSIVE material from your favorite USA Today and award-winning authors before it’s gone for good!
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A Clash of Fire by Natalie G. Owens and Zee Monodee
Take a family rivalry like Romeo & Juliet’s …
Add a liberal sprinkle of conflict à la Pride & Prejudice …
Breathe in some life & fire …
By Water's Edge by Kelly Anne Blount
Kidnapped from the sea by a fierce dragon, Aria must help her fellow mermaids escape before it’s too late.
Caught in the Current by Pauline Creedon
Mermaids can be cruel creatures. Bailey has always known and kept his head down to go with the flow. Today he’s not.
Dragon Wings by Konstanz Silverbow
The world against dragons. One girl against the world.
Dragonmount by Jennifer M. Eaton
Things can’t get any worse than being snatched by a dragon, until Anna is dropped into a bloodthirsty battle for the Draconic crown.
Frozen Ashes and Smoldering Shards by Midnight Voss and Ivy Quinn
Save the eggs, save the world.
Kiss of Frost by Graceley Knox
Fighting to save a family of dragons from evil mages? Easy.
Landlocked by C.S. Moore
If asked, Mari would have guessed that the most powerful force on the planet was a nuclear bomb. She was about to discover that the top spot was actually held by two things, love, and blood…
Mermaid Adrift by Jennifer Laslie
When disaster strikes, Meriya must decide whether to stay on land or return to the sea.
Moonstone Prophecy by Carly Fall
When an astrological event opens up the seams of the universe, paranormal entities swarm the town of Saint’s Grove, some for noble reasons, others with evil intent.
Of Blood and Ashes by Kyoko M
What would you do if you had a hunt a giant killer dragon in the haunted woods of The Suicide Forest?
Once Bitten by Tina Glasneck
Death by accident, vampire by design
Paradise of Shadows and Devotion by Gaja J. Kos
Hunted for her present. Haunted by her past.
Pillars of the Deep by Harper Alexander
The tide has come in. And it’s come to collect.
Returning by A.L. Knorr
Mira is a mermaid on a mission.
Sirena by Mindy Ruiz
Evil is in the Heart of the Ocean.
Slayer In Lace by D.D. Miers & Jessica Soucy
Proper. Polite. Utterly ruthless.
Spark by Natasha S. Brown
Myths come alive in the Shapeshifter Sagas.
Stolen by the Sea Lord by Starla Night
Their love is forbidden. But only she can save his race.
Stones of Dracontias by N.D. Jones
A life without love, forbidden or not, is a life unlived…
Tainted Siren by Isra Sravenheart
Tainted by Death, Cursed by Life!
The Lady Prefers Dragons by Katalina Leon
Wish Stones book 2
Doesn’t every girl dream of having two protective dragons of her own?
The Mermaid's Escape by Kellie McAllen
Four shipwrecked divers, one mermaid princess who longs for the freedom to choose – or not.
The Mermaid’s Puppet by Cate Farren
Mermaids versus dragons.
The Pirate’s Siren by Bethany Wicker
She belongs to two races—and both of them want her dead.
Waves and Secrets by B. Kristin McMichael
Wanting out of the Merworld is impossible, but that doesn’t stop two friends from trying.
Serial Killer Princess by RJ Blain
A magical romantic comedy (with a body count)
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