Julie Elizabeth Powell's Blog, page 43
March 20, 2017
THE KRONICLES OF KORTHLUNDIA series by Jamie Marchant
THE KRONICLES OF KORTHLUNDIA series
Books 1-3
by Jamie Marchant
Genre: Epic Fantasy
The Princess Samantha sat at her dressing table and glowered at her reflection as her maids dressed her hair. She detested balls and loathed the hundreds of suitors who flocked around her, spouting empty flattery: “I have never seen a lovelier flower, Your Highness!” or “Your eyes rival the brilliance of the stars, Your Highness!” If I hear that one again, I’ll vomit. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if even one of them meant it. Sometimes she wished . . . . She pushed the thought away. She was the heir to the throne. She couldn’t expect romance.
“Let us be painting your face tonight, Your Highness!” Ardra begged, in her north Korthian accent. Samantha’s maid was as small and slight as the princess herself and had hair so blonde it was almost white.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Malvina chimed in. “Lady Shela’s maids said just yesterday we couldn’t possibly know our business ’cause you never wear paint.” Malvina, more of a typical Korthlundian woman, was tall and broad and not nearly as pretty as Ardra.
“Lady Shela,” Samantha snorted in disgust. Shela wore so much paint she resembled some ghastly sea creature. Samantha knew she wasn’t pretty, but she was fond of the freckles that speckled her nose and thought the emerald green brilliance of her gown set off her white skin and auburn hair beautifully. Besides being appallingly uncomfortable, paint would absolutely spoil the effect. The princess gestured toward the huge portrait that covered one wall of her bedchamber. “Do you think Danu wore paint?”
Malvina shrugged. “The Princess Danu was said to be a powerful sorceress, Your Highness. She probably didn’t need to wear paint to attract men.”
Samantha laughed bitterly, as she thought of the army of men waiting below. “I wish not wearing paint was all it took to scare them off. They say Danu never married, and see how happy she is.”
Samantha yearned for Danu’s freedom. The long-dead princess was laughing as she galloped across the fields. Danu’s auburn hair flew out behind her in the wind. The stars on the forehead and chest of her horse shone against its gorgeous coat. Samantha loved this painting, which was just as well because it was bolted to the wall and couldn’t be removed without tearing her chambers apart. She’d decorated the rest of her bedroom to match. Tapestries of horses covered the walls. Her dressing table, armoire, and large four-poster bed had horses carved into the woodwork. A quilt, embroidered with horses and stars, was spread over the bed. The mantle over her fireplace sported figurines of horses in gold, silver, jade, crystal, and precious stones. Every new ambassador added to her collection.
“Your Highness, you’ll be having to marry one of them eventually,” Ardra persisted. “The king won’t be letting you hold out forever. You are seventeen, after all. Your mother was only thirteen when she married the king.”
“You needn’t remind me, Ardra.” Samantha picked up her silver-backed brush from the dressing table. The gift from the Neaserian ambassador was inlaid with an amber Horsetad; diamonds marked the stars at its forehead and chest. She fingered it lovingly. “Do you think it’s true Danu rode a Horsetad?”
“So the bards sing of her,” Ardra said.
Malvina made an impatient noise in her throat. “And they also sing her kiss turned suitors into toads! You don’t really believe such nonsense, do you, Your Highness? Nobody can tame a Horsetad.”
“No, I suppose not,” the princess sighed wistfully, then smiled at the toads that hopped around the feet of Danu’s horse. How I wish my kiss could do that!
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At bedtime, Alvabane sat at her dressing table brushing her long hair. It had once been a bright, rich red, but it had dulled with age and was now mostly grey with only a few strands of color to remind her of what once had been. It seemed a metaphor for her life—small flashes of color to remind her of her once bright purpose.
One of those flashes, Erick, set her nightly goblet of fortified wine next to her hand. She needed the strong alcohol to dull the pain of her joints so she could sleep. Erick had served her for ten years. When her former servant had died, he’d been sent by her people, despite the fact that she’d only been a disappointment to them.
She turned to thank him, but the words died on her lips as she saw the reproach in his eyes. Alvabane turned back to her mirror. Tonight was the night of the new moon. She should have been preparing to perform the rites of the dark gods, not preparing for bed. “They have forgotten us,” Alvabane said. “The Soul Stone does not live.”
In the mirror, she saw Erick’s eyes narrow. He was not yet twenty and still had the optimism of youth. He still believed the Stone would come to life again when the gods willed it. He believed it would again be the weapon it had once been. Created in the far past by magic which had since been lost, it had been used by her people to protect themselves from the barbarians that now ran free over Korth and Lundia.
“I will perform the rites next month,” she promised, but so had she promised last month and the month before that. The stairs to the bottom of the East Tower were agony to her knees. Erick made a mewing sound, reminding her what he’d sacrificed to serve her and the dark gods. She herself had cut his tongue from his mouth when he came to her as a ten-year-old child. He had surrendered it stoically. Only the Bards were allowed to sing the rites of the gods. All others who heard them had to be rendered mute so they couldn’t repeat music not meant for their tongues.
“Do you think you have sacrificed more than I?” She turned to face him. “I submitted to the brutish duke’s bed for years. I gave birth to a child of rape. All so I could remain near the Stone. I performed the rites faithfully every new moon for decades. And for what, I ask you? The power of the Stone remains trapped behind the shield the demon Armunn created from his own soul. That shield can’t be destroyed. I have dedicated my life to trying, but it is impossible. The Soul Stone won’t live again!”
Erick mewed again and looked toward the tapestry on the wall. It showed the map of the desert of Sehra, to the south of Korthlundia, where her people had lived in exile since Armunn and his hordes had trapped the Stone and then driven them from their homeland. Blinking back tears of despair, she turned from him. “Do you think I have forgotten? Every generation fewer of our children are born. Only by returning to the land of our birthright can we be strong again.”
She got up and went to the tapestry, touching it lovingly. “Do you not understand? The dark gods have found me unworthy to be their messenger. I once thought I was the child of the prophecy, the one who would drive the descendants of Armunn’s hordes back across the mountains into Korth and reclaim the land they call Lundia as our own. But I was wrong. I’m an unprofitable servant, an unfit vessel.”
The Ghost is going to hell. Not even the goddess can forgive his sins: assassin, oath-breaker, traitor (an affair with the queen earned him that title). No one can ever learn the princess is his daughter. To keep this secret, he flees to the land that turned him from a simple stable groom into an infamous killer.
His mission now? To find evildoers and take them to hell with him. But when an impulsive act of heroism saddles him with a damsel who refuses to be distressed, her resilience forces him to questions why he really ran from his daughter.
The Ghost knelt at Ares’s feet, where the stench of blood was nearly overpowering. The altar was stained with it, and the bowl at the god’s feet was full from a fresh sacrifice. The power present in this place was undeniable—dark and forbidding, far from the peace and serenity in Sulis’s temples. But he was no longer worthy of Sulis’s blessing. The Ghost drew his dagger, held his left forearm over the sacrificial bowl, and sliced a new cut alongside his numerous scars. As he bled into the bowl, he felt the magic of the place coalesce around him. His blood sizzled as it hit the bowl, and the wound on his arm healed instantly, signaling that The Ghost truly belonged to the Saloynan god.
A door opened behind him, he stood and faced the high priest. Zotico was completely bald and looked no older than he had when The Ghost had first met him ten long years ago. He had small, beady eyes and a typical Saloynan narrow nose. “Pandaros! How wonderful!” the priest beamed, calling The Ghost a name he’d decided he must take up again. He could no longer be either “Ahearn” and “Darhour”; they were both dead. “Rumors said you were no longer among the living. Come in, come in.” Zotico gestured toward the doorway. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
Zotico’s enthusiasm seemed excessive even for him. Warily, The Ghost followed Zotico down the corridor to the high priest’s office. It was large, the walls covered with instruments of war—swords, shields, battle axes, and plaques ornamented with what looked suspiciously like human ears. The ears were new. Zotico caught The Ghost looking at them and swept his hand over a plaque that contained five ears nailed side by side. “Do you like the new decor? Sacrifices, all of them. I had them moved from our private sanctuary so I could better remember the devotion demanded by the god I serve.”
Zotico may not appear to age, but his ghoulishness grew with each passing year. The Ghost carefully schooled his features to avoid betraying any sign of revulsion.
In the center of the office was a large desk with one chair behind it and two large, comfortable chairs facing it. Zotico gestured The Ghost into one of the facing chairs. The Ghost sat, and the high priest offered him a glass of oenomel, a sweet mixture of honey and wine. Zotico poured himself a glass from the same pitcher and sat behind the desk. “Pandaros, my friend. Why have you neglected your obligations to Ares?”
The Ghost waited for Zotico to take a sip of his drink, then took one of his own. It was cloying in its sweetness. “I’ve been distracted.”
Zotico smiled sadly. “A true tragedy. There’s no one better with a blade.” The priest mimed drawing a knife across his own throat. “I’ve had acolytes scouring the city more than once looking for you, but I gave up years ago when not the slightest sign of your whereabouts could be found. Tell me, my son, where have you been?”
“Away.” The Ghost had no intention of ever letting Zotico learn anything about Samantha, who was both his daughter and his queen. Because of his careful disguise, Zotico believed The Ghost was a Saloynan.
Zotico laughed. “Long have I wished for the power of Delphi to penetrate your secrets. Is there a person in the world who knows even half of them?” Zotico looked expectantly at him, but The Ghost didn’t answer. “I see my curiosity shall have to be contained. Ares is a harsh master and not attentive to trifles. Still, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you have now returned to his fold. His temple has truly felt your absence.”
The Ghost grunted, “Do you have a job for me?”
Zotico’s eyes gleamed. “Do I ever! I’d nearly despaired of finding a capable assassin, but your fortunate arrival proves that Ares will never fail those who serve his name.”
“Who do you want dead?”
“I think it would be best explained by the one in need of Ares’s assistance, but I assure you it is your sort of kill. May I tell the client you’ll meet?”
The Ghost nodded.
Zotico’s entire body relaxed. “Good, good. The client would prefer not to be seen here. I’ve an arrangement with the high priestess of Aphrodite. The two gods were lovers, after all. Enter the goddess’s temple tomorrow morning and choose the acolyte wearing the pendant of a vulture.” Zotico smiled broadly. “Pandaros, my friend, it is a great day for you to have returned.”
“You are not my friend.” The Ghost left with Zotico’s laughter ringing in his ears.
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Jamie began writing stories about the man from Mars when she was six, and she never remembers wanting to be anything other than a writer. Everyone told her she needed a back up plan, so she pursued a Ph.D. in American literature, which she received in 1998. She started teaching writing and literature at Auburn University. One day in the midst of writing a piece of literary criticism, she realized she’d put her true passion on the backburner and neglected her muse. The literary article went in the trash, and she began the book that was to become The Goddess’s Choice, which was published in April 2012. Her other novels include The Soul Stone and The Ghost in Exile. In addition, she has published a novella, Demons in the Big Easy, and a collection of short stories, Blood Cursed and Other Tales of the Fantastic. Her short fiction has also appeared in the anthologies--Urban Fantasy and Of Dragons & Magic: Tales of the Lost Worlds—and in Bards & Sages, The World of Myth, A Writer’s Haven, and Short-story.me. She claims she writes about the fantastic . . . and the tortured soul. Her poor characters have hard lives. She lives in Auburn, Alabama, with her husband and four cats, which (or so she’s been told) officially makes her a cat lady. She still teaches writing and literature at Auburn University. She is the mother of a grown son.
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March 10, 2017
The Exchange Series: The Complete Collection by M.B. Feeney
The Exchange Series: The Complete Collection
by M.B. Feeney
Genre: YA/NA Romance
Born and bred in the UK, Holly is getting the chance of a lifetime—six weeks abroad. The Kings, a host family in the US, have invited her to stay with them and get a chance to experience life as an American. When she discovers that the King family includes two teenage boys, will she be glad she came or ready to hightail it back across the pond?
Aiden King's heart has been broken, and he's taking his anger out on his brother, Tyler.
Can he, with the help of his High School Guidance Counsellor, work through his problems.
Tyler King has moved away from his family in order to help himself move on from the mistakes he made in High School.
A summer romance could lead to so much more, it could lead to him finally surrendering to his repentance for his past actions.
Ellie King has a plan. Do well in her Senior Year at High School before going to study in London, England. That’s all she wants in her immediate future.
Writing to John Davids not only cements her desire to study in the UK, but gives her more if a reason to leave her family in the US.
FROM DEAR DIARY
April 2012
Dear Diary,
God, you'd think that after all this time, I'd have a much cooler greeting than that!
I just wanted to say that I hate airports. Nothing to do, other than sit around, waiting... waiting... oh, and more waiting. What am I waiting around in the airport for? So nice of you to ask. I'm finally off to America (I'm doing a silent happy dance in my seat!) for six weeks. I never thought that my college would have arranged something like this to give a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds "life experience". I mean, it's not even a 'proper' exchange programme. No-one's off to the U.K. to stay in my house in return. I just get to go and stay with a family I have never met before. Oh crap, now I'm getting nervous.
Oh well, it's too late, flight's being called.
Holly x
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M. B. Feeney is an army brat who finally settled down in Birmingham, UK with her other half, two kids and a dog. She often procrastinates by listening to music of all genres and trying to get ‘just one more paragraph’ written on whichever WIP is open; she is also a serious doodler and chocoholic. Writing has been her one true love ever since she could spell, and publishing is the final culmination of her hard work and ambition.
Her publishing career began with two novellas, and she currently has multiple projects under way, in the hopes that her portfolio of what have been described as “everyday love stories for everyday people” will continue to grow. Always having something on the go can often lead to block which eventually gets dissolved by good music and an even better book.
Her main reason for writing is to not only give her readers enjoyment, but also to create a story and characters that stay with readers long after the book is finished, and possibly make someone stop and think “what if . . . ”
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March 9, 2017
SWEET AS SUGAR by Stacy Eaton
SWEET AS SUGAR
The Celebration Township, book 5
by Stacy Eaton
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Missy Moresco might be Celebration Police Department’s police dispatcher, but she’s also got her thumb on the pulse of the township. When FBI Agent Casper Princeton shows up in town on a case, Missy and Casper go undercover to protect the real reason he’s there by pretending they are a couple.
With Missy’s snarky comments and Casper’s quick comebacks, these two find it hard to keep a professional distance. When Casper needs to rush home to a family emergency, Missy is torn on whether it’s a good thing or a bad one. Just when she decides it doesn’t matter, Casper shows up on her doorstep with his five-year-old daughter.
Can Missy and Casper keep the fake relationship going while they wait for his case to come to a head, or will his daughter and his job come between them before Easter arrives?
It had been like this for the last two hours. I still had four hours left of my shift, and I was dead tired. I hated working in snowstorms, especially when they surprised us. We had expected four to six inches, and the storm stalled over us and dumped a foot of snow in several hours.
If it were light and fluffy, it wouldn’t have been as bad, but this stuff was heavy and causing havoc everywhere: Power lines were down, trees were falling, cars were stuck on every roadway in the area.
The worst bit was that I was also dispatching for Dexter Township tonight. A massive tree fell down on their dispatch tower, and we were their backup while they repaired it. It made everything twice as bad.
“Celebration Police, what’s your emergency?”
“Hey, Missy, I know you’re busy. It’s Todd Cummings over in Dexter.” Todd was a police officer in the neighboring township. He was a young guy, only on the force a couple of years, but a good officer and not too bad to look at either.
“Yeah, I’m slammed. What’s up, Todd?”
“I’ve got a guy here trying to get through to you. He says he has official police business to attend to in Celebration, but we have two big trees down on the road. Do you by chance have any road crew that could head over this way?”
You have got to be kidding me, I thought. If he has official business, then he is probably in law enforcement of some kind—which means he should understand how serious our situation was right now.
“No, my crews are up the creek without paddles right now. We have trees down everywhere, and my plows are leading my police cars and ambulances around trying to get them to where they need to be.”
“But he says it’s important. He’s with the—”
I cut him off. “I don’t care if he’s the president of the United States. We’re in emergency mode up here, Todd. You know that. I don’t have anyone who can come down there and remove a stupid tree right now. Close the damn road and turn his ass around. There are no police officers available to help with whatever official business he might have anyway, so tell the city slicker to turn the hell around and go home. He can call our chief or Thad after the storm is over and speak with one of them then.”
“But, Missy—” he started to say.
I snapped. “Todd, I have been on one call after another for the last two hours. I have two calls holding right now, a house on fire, and a guy who just cut his hand off in a snowblower. My head is killing me, I haven’t peed since I got here four hours ago, plus I’m starving. I don’t have time to listen to his whiney ass even if he did get through. Tell him to take a hike. There are people that need my attention right now, and he is not one of them. Did you get that?”
“Um, yeah, we got that,” he answered, his voice subdued.
“Good.” I hung up to answer one of the two lines that were flashing as I heard the fire chief calling out for another fire truck to respond. The house on Cedar Street was fully engulfed. Damn, that was a shame, but I didn’t have time to feel for them. Later, I would, but now, I had more work to do.
“Celebration Police, what’s your emergency?”
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Welcome to Celebration Township.
Casey Lowe is new in town and hiding from her past. Her next-door neighbor, Thad Wagner, is a sexy police officer, who is good with his hands, and his lips, but Casey refuses to get involved with a married man, and Thad can't seem to understand why she keeps pushing him away. No matter how they try to stay apart, something keeps drawing them together. When an unexpected visitor shows up at Casey's house the week before Christmas, her future is on the line. Will Thad figure it out in time to save her, or will Casey become a conspirator to a murderer?
Tangled in Tinsel is the first book in the thirteen-story novella series that takes place in quaint Celebration Township, Pennsylvania. The rest of the series will begin to release in the fall of 2016.
Linda Maxim is a woman who learned early on how to work hard and succeed. Her only regret is that the man she loved disappeared just days after she got pregnant at the tender age of sixteen.
Fourteen years later, Ian Dugan needs a break from life and ends up crashing his vehicle and waking up in the hospital to find Linda watching over him.
Can Linda forgive Ian for leaving her alone as a pregnant teen? Will Ian be able to forgive Linda and himself when he learns of the daughter he never knew about? Find out on New Year’s Eve if Ian can erase the tears and find something to cheer about.
Jason Hayes loves working as a nurse and living in Celebration Township—or he did until Riayn Simmers showed up in town, and a secret from his past is threatened to be exposed.
Riayn Simmers is shocked to find her college love-and the man she had called a heathen-residing in the same town as her aunt. Now Riayn needs to decide if she can handle sticking around to run her aunt’s bakery, My Baked Buns.
Somehow Riayn and Jason must find a way to coexist in the small town, but what happens when Jason’s secret is exposed and he’s up to be auctioned off at the Valentine’s Day Party? Will the town believe, as Riayn once did, that Jason truly is a heathen, or will he finally win over her heart for good?
Dabby Finnegan got roped into being auctioned off for the annual Valentine’s Party, and nothing could have prepared him to face the vibrant and determined Paige Brogan. From the moment she jumps into his arms to collect her prize, his life will change.
Paige Brogan has had a crush on Dabby for a long time, and this auction is exactly what she’s been waiting for to finally catch his eye. When Paige wins a date with Dabby, the only thing she wants to do is spend the day with him working at his tavern.
As Paige and Dabby get to know one another, Dabby has a hard time understanding why this incredible woman would be interested in him. It’s when the rainbows are overhead, and green beer is flowing that Dabby finally realizes what he has and vows to never lose it.
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Corrine Wagner is determined to make a good life for herself and her son while hunting for the perfect man to complete her family. Unfortunately, with her crazy schedule of school and work, her patience begins to run thin with her constantly-in-trouble, five-year-old son, Tommy.
Nolan Tigues has lived across the street from Corrine his whole life—and carried a torch for her almost as long. When Nolan tries to help Corrine with Tommy, she takes it all the wrong way. She can’t believe Nolan thinks she’s a bad mom.
Can Nolan find a way to prove to Corrine that he cares about her—and about Tommy—as more than just a friend, or will Corrine push away the man who could give her everything she’s dreamed of her whole life?
Stacy Eaton is a USA Today Best Selling author and began her writing career in October of 2010. Stacy took an early retirement from law enforcement after over fifteen years of service in 2016, with her last three years in investigations and crime scene investigation to write full time.
Stacy resides in southeastern Pennsylvania with her husband, who works in law enforcement, and her teen daughter who is working toward her second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and on the choral and cheerleading squads at school. She also has a son who is currently serving in the United States Navy.
Stacy is very involved in Domestic Violence Awareness and served on the Board of Directors for her local Domestic Violence Center for three years.
SPECIAL OFFER BY TRACI HAYDEN
SPECIAL OFFER BY TRACI HAYDEN
Genre: Romance with a paranormal element
28 year old writer, Vanessa Fortney, has travelled the world, living life to the fullest. When she comes home due to the unexpected death of her only blood relatives, she only has one regret; never finding a love that triumphs all others.
In a beautiful valley in the Rocky Mountains, Nessa finds herself wondering about a mysterious stranger who saved her after a nearly disastrous car accident. The mystery that surrounds Daniel is quickly replaced by the increasing attraction Nessa feels for him.
Will she find that love that transcends all love or will an unforeseen tragedy keep them apart?
She stopped just behind him, noticing his appearance. His coat was made of gray wool and fell to his knees. His hands were pushed deep inside the pockets, making his shoulders to scrunch the collar against his neck. He was massively tall making her barely five and a half foot body look small in comparison. His hair cropped short and dark brown in color. She longed to see his face, his eyes—his lips turn up as she thanked him for saving her.
She carefully reached out to touch him, afraid he would disappear again. Before she could touch her mirage, he silently turned. His piercing sapphire-blue eyes settled on hers. The longing was like an ocean wave crashing against her. The instant feeling of being home settled in her bones.
She trembled against the cold as she opened her mouth, forcing her voice to rise from within her. “Thank you.”
He smiled slightly, his full lips parting to reveal glistening white teeth. The smile radiated in the sparkle in his eyes. The tiny creases in his face deepened as he gazed down at her. “You're welcome, ma belle.”
Nessa's body melted as his deep and lusty French accent washed over her, penetrating her deepest fantasies. “My name is...”
“Vanessa. I know,” he answered. He stepped forward, pulling a gloved hand out from within his coat. “My name's Daniel.”
She looked down at his extended hand and contemplated taking it. When they touched, it would be final. Her whispering dreams of him would become real. All her fleeting thoughts of him would be physical.
Free till March 21
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Genre: Contemporary Romance
Beth Huntley, photographer and devoted bachelorette, doesn’t believe in true love. Too much hurt and disappointment has left her hiding behind the camera. All she can see is a black and white world through the lens.
William Lorde, widower and father, was once an open and carefree man. The loss of his wife has left him wrapped up in the needs of his little girl. He can no longer see the colors of the world as he struggles each and every day.
What happens when these two similarly different people meet and help each other to step out of the world they’ve created for themselves? Will they find a love that helps them heal from the past, enjoy their present and create a beautiful future?
William
I watched the interaction between them through the camera lens. Beth wrapped her fingers around Angel's tiny hands, pulling her up onto her feet. Beth took a step backward, lengthening the distance between them. Angel looked down at her feet, almost willing them to move. Her leg came up, moving her foot forward in a jerky motion. Her foot landed on a patch of grass, crushing it beneath her. She looked up at Beth, her eyes wide in amazement. She giggled as Beth stepped backwards again. She looked down and pulled her leg up, then realized she couldn't move that one forward without losing her balance. She put her foot back down and raised the other leg. A smile spread across her face as she continued this beautiful dance with Beth.
They made their way slowly back to the blanket. When they were almost within arm's length of me, Beth twisted around, so she was behind Angel. I stretched out my hands towards Angel, waiting to see if she would make the attempt on her own. So many things happened at once. Beth loosened her grip on Angel, Angel took an unsupported step forward, and Angel spoke her first real word as she reached out for me. "Dada!" Her tiny voice was clear and her tongue and lips formed the word precisely.
I was almost numb from the shock. Angel had made so many incoherent sounds over the months, but it had never been like this. She’d recognized me and had come to the realization that the word and I were connected. She repeated the word again and again as she took another unsupported step towards me. Then something grabbed her attention, throwing her concentration off. She lost her balance and grew quiet as she began to fall forward. I reached out, wrapping my hands protectively around her waist, pulling her into my arms.
I fell back onto the blanket, playing airplane with Angel above me. Her face morphed into so many different forms of joy and I laughed. She was such a happy child, and I swore to myself she would always be happy and loved. She would never know sadness or disappointment, not if I could help it.
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My love for books began at a very small age. I lived inside the many worlds the local library could provide. The characters within those pages were my companions and my support when I needed someone most.
My imagination began to soar as I grew. I began writing small poems as a teenager, but never thought much about publishing or expanding beyond put my words to paper.
After my children were born our love for a certain TV show fueled my love for writing. Using my children as inspiration, I began to write fanfiction, my children being the characters within the stories.
My passion for putting words to paper (or screen as is the norm now) has turned from passion to obsession. I've made some incredible friends through this journey and in turn, have become not only an author but a promoter and supporter for those whose imagination dreams character and worlds that I can lose myself in.
I thank my precious children, my beautiful soul-mate and my forever sister and best friend for being my constant rock and support as I continue to walk this road called life.
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THE MASTERPIECE TRILOGY by Nikki Lynn Barrett
THE MASTERPIECE TRILOGY
by Nikki Lynn Barrett
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense
Twenty years ago, they survived a plane crash.
One boy, one girl. He was twelve; she was eight.
A bond forms when all they have is each other and a fight for survival on their hands.
Their story is one of friendship, danger, secrets and terrifying truths. For the first time ever, the Masterpiece Trilogy is bundled up in one boxed set. A Masterpiece Of Our Love, A Masterpiece Unraveled, and A Forever Masterpiece are full of twists, turns, suspense, and a love like no other.
Also included in this set is a new, never before published prequel.
A MASTERPIECE OF OUR LOVE
Hunter followed Becca inside, taking in the sights of her living space. The walls were a plain dull white, but Becca had filled them up with painting after painting, many of which he'd never seen before. Right by the patio door sat a large easel. A beige sectional took up a good amount of space in the living room. "It's so homey. Very you." he said, continuing to look around. Why had he never come to see her home before?
"All these paintings... You know I'm going to have to ask again. Why are you not selling these in a gallery somewhere?"
Becca's cheeks reddened again. She faced him, taking his hands in hers. "You really think I should, don't you?"
"Well of course." He pulled her closer, sliding his arms around her waist. "You just wait. You'll meet people that are going to bow down to your talent. Don't be surprised if you have a few offers. Then when you're world famous, I can say with pride that I knew you back when. That I love the most amazing, talented artist on this planet."
Her eyelashes fluttered and she looked down for a second, then flashed her gaze back to him. "Say that again," she whispered.
"What? That I knew you back when?" His lips curved up in a grin. He knew exactly what she meant, but had to mess with her anyway.
A MASTERPIECE UNRAVELED
"Becca? What's going on out here?" Hunter ran down the sidewalk toward them.
"This woman nearly knocked me over and when I try to help, she goes psycho on me as if I'm trying to hurt her. I didn't do anything to her, man." The guy took a few steps back.
Hunter knelt beside Becca, checking her over.
"Did he try to hurt you?"
"I didn't-" the guy started.
Fresh tears in her eyes, Becca shook her head. "I don't know. I did bump into him, and when he grabbed me I got scared."
"Come on angel, let's get inside then." Hunter held out his hand and helped get her on her feet.
"Crazies always come out at night. If your girl can't handle the dark don't let her out of your sight," the guy snarled, taking off.
She'd done it again. Panicked when nothing was going on. Practically attacked a guy most likely just trying to help, especially when she was the one who ran into him.
Hunter slid an arm around her shoulders. She limped away, her knee throbbing from hitting the ground. Before they went back inside, he stopped her on the patio by touching her shoulders, keeping her in place. "This isn't good, Bec. You can't-"
She stepped away from him. "I know. I can't keep doing that. You think I don't know this! I don't want to be jumping all over everyone when they're innocent bystanders! I hate losing my mind! I'm afraid I'm going to hurt somebody because I can't stop thinking someone's going to come after me again! I heard voices, talking about scaring someone. Part of me thought they were talking about me. Is that what you want to know? I'm paranoid. There, I said it."
Becca left Hunter standing there in shock as she bolted back indoors.
A FOREVER MASTERPIECE
Needing to lighten the mood before his heart broke even more, Hunter took Becca's hands in his. He gave her a light, mischievous smile. "You know, I never did get to bring a girl in my room to kiss her." Not at twelve. He hadn't been interested in girls that way, really. Not yet.
Had Becca been in his room when his parents brought her home? Did they bring her here, even for a while? They had to have before bringing her to the Langes. Hunter tried to picture what baby Becca looked like. Had he been curious about a tiny baby all of a sudden in the house? Did they try to keep her hidden, even from their four year old son? So many questions, and not enough answers.
"So what you're saying is you wanted to take an innocent girl up to your room and seduce her," Becca said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I don't know. I'm not that kind of girl. You'll have to really work your way to get a kiss from me."
Hunter chuckled, loving that she played along. He pulled her closer, sliding his arms around her waist. "Hard to get, eh? I think I can win you over. I've got the skills."
She tilted her head to the side. "Oh? This I need to see."
He leaned over and kissed her neck, trailing all the way to her jaw. "You know you want to kiss me. I'm one of your painting inspirations." He blew air on the nape of her neck. Her fingers dug into his back. "Come on, give a man his wish. Do I have to beg?"
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No matter where she goes, USA Today Bestselling author Nikki Lynn Barrett hears voices in her head. Instead of calling her crazy and locking her up, her family realizes it's just a product of being an author and allows her to write the stories so that the voices shut up.
But they don't. And probably never will. There's no need to lock her up, Nikki knows she'll never escape the voices, not until each and every last story is written. And for every story she writes, about ten or more ideas pop up.
When she isn't slaving away at her computer writing books that will probably make you cry and keep you in suspense, Nikki plots to take over the world one book at a time. What? It's a sickness. One she can't escape!
Books aren't her only addiction, though. Nikki can be found making up parodies to drive her son crazy, and bantering back and forth with her husband, who somehow manages to steal her away from the fictional world she lives in all the time.
Nikki lives in Arizona with her husband and son, where she can be found using every creativity outlet she can find through music, photography, handcrafted things, and random interests that she may pick up from time to time.
If you want to learn more about the author who makes people cry for a living, check out her website.
March 8, 2017
Romance Between The Pages presents...
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...
VICTORIA DANANN!
New York Times bestselling author of eighteen romances including paranormal, scifi, fantasy, contemporary, and teen. Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series won BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES and PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVEL OF THE YEAR the past FOUR YEARS IN A ROW. This past year two of her series took the top two places and two of her books took first and second place Paranormal Romance of the Year category. - Reviewers Choice Awards, The Paranormal Romance Guild.
Her paranormal romances come with uniquely fresh perspectives on "imaginary" creatures, characters, and themes. She adds a dash of scifi, a flourish of fantasy, enough humor to make you laugh out loud, and, occasionally, enough steam to make you squirm in your chair. Her heroines are independent femmes with flaws and minds of their own whether they are aliens, witches, demonologists, werewolves, hybrids, psychics, or past life therapists. Her heroes are hot and hunky, but they also have brains, character, and good manners... usually.
The rich characterizations come from being a lifelong student of behavior, casually, and a serious student of behavior academically. She also studied comparative religion, myths, and Dark Ages history.
Victoria lives in The Woodlands, Texas with her husband and a very smart, mostly black German Shepherd dog.
Listen on Itunes (Subscribe so you never miss an episode! It’s FREE!)
March 4, 2017
THE STRANGER'S VOICE by Grace Harper
THE STRANGER'S VOICE
by Grace Harper
Genre: Contemporary Romance
“Can you hear me?”
Adaline Starling needs a new tenant for the flat above her store, and Callum Hague needs somewhere to live.
Adaline is a genius, hiding in a magazine store, she has never opened. She is trying to convince the world that she is whole, that there is nothing wrong with her.
Callum Hague likes to fix things, preferably thousands of miles away from his hometown. He’s returned from a year long project in Nairobi where he has built a school.
They both have hidden imperfections that have shaped their lives from childhood. If they were left to their own devices, they would both become reclusive.
Their best friends think they would be perfect for each other and set about fixing them up.
It takes a serious incident for them to confess their invisible flaws, but will they accept each other’s hidden imperfection?
With supporting characters that include a cheeky apprentice and an overbearing charity chairwoman.
Will Adaline turn a deaf ear to everyone’s advice to own her imperfections?
“Sod him. Does that mean your flat is available to rent?” Steph asked me, she stared intently on my reactions. I made a fish impression, trying to break her scrutiny, she only lasted thirty seconds before breaking into fits of giggles. I raised my eyebrows still making the fish an impression with my lips. My cheeks hollowed out, and I increased the tempo of my lips moving up and down. Steph threw her cloth napkin at me, and I grinned.
“Why do you want to know?” I leaned forward, my eyes wide, raising one eyebrow. I knew what she was up to, she reeked of a cunning plan. It was written all over her sheepish looking face. I threw her napkin back at her, folded my arms under my breasts and waited for her to answer.
Steph straightened up and took a deep breath. “Eliott’s best friend has just come home from overseas. He stays with us, but after a day, he feels uncomfortable imposing on us. We’d have him there forever, but he thinks because we’ve been married less than a year, we should have the freedom to have sex wherever and whenever we feel like it. He thinks that him being around will dampen our sex life.
“That’s pretty considerate. Is this person good looking?” I asked. I don’t want a hot guy moving into the flat opposite mine. I don’t need the distraction. I’d never met a handsome man who wasn’t an arsehole.
“No, I don’t think so,” she frowned and looked up to the sky for divine help. “No, definitely not handsome.”
“You’re a shit liar. Is he rich?”
I thought rich, handsome men were the worst kind. I should know, my university was full of them. Steph had fixed me up on a few dates with her friends. All of them stunning in the looks department and had a decent bank balance. All of them rude, arrogant and self-centred. I had no interest in those kinds of men. Give me a poor, plain looking man, any day of the week. So long as he had rugby player thighs.
“Um,” she pondered this question, looking left and right. Who, she thought was going to help her with the question I had no idea. Unless she hoped the seagulls sauntering around our table knew the answer.
“Let me make this easier. Is he richer than the Beckhams?”
“Um,” she paused again.
“Bloody hell Steph, you had to think about that? Why the hell would you be trying to get him to rent the flat if he’s minted?” Irritated temporarily I took a swig of my latte, only to find it freezing cold. Politeness dictated that I swallowed the liquid. My upbringing would have had me spitting out on the paving stones next to us. The term, dragged up, applied to me.
“He is really down to earth, normal like you, Eliott and me. You won’t regret letting him move in, I promise.” Steph commenced fluttering of her eyelashes, blowing me smooch kisses and clasping her hands in a begging motion.
“I want to interview him first, if he passes my strict questions, then he can move in. But, the flat is a state. Jeff left it in a real mess, the doors are hanging off the hinges in the kitchen, the carpet needs replacing. None of which I can afford. The shop is a money pit too. I need to sell a decent comic to finish the renovations.”
“Did I mention, he’s a carpenter?”
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British author who loves to write about strong women and handsome men. She writes steamy romance novels that will warm your heart.
Writer of the Brodie Saga and the Geary Series, Grace immerses you in stories of love, or rather, love's pursuit to bring together two people who were meant for each other. It's not always quick or easy but it will happen eventually.
When Grace is not writing, she can be found mooching about in stationery stores. Grace might have a Maltesers addiction but is not ready to stand up and own that just yet.
HER SECRET RANGER by Donna Michaels
HER SECRET RANGER
The Men of At Ease Ranch, book 2
by Donna Michaels
Publisher: Entangled Lovestruck
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy
Kissing the sexy soldier was a dare she couldn’t resist…
By-the-book event planner Beth Brannigan’s best friend dared her to kiss a cowboy. She should have said no. Instead, she said please…again and again. If her brother finds out she’s dating—okay, kissing—okay, sleeping with—one of his military buddies, he’ll kill her. Assuming he doesn’t kill his friend first.
Former Army Ranger Brick Mitchum isn’t a relationship kind of guy. But then he meets Beth and starts to wonder if maybe it’s time he settled down. She’s mysterious. Unpredictable. Curvy in every way he needs… And hiding something. He’s just got to figure out what.
The best damn fantasy Brick Mitchum ever had hit him in the middle of the Braxton fair, of all places…and he was in no hurry for it to end. The gorgeous, green-eyed woman from two weekends ago miraculously appeared out of nowhere and laid a lip-lock on him that sent all the blood storming straight to his crotch.
She had to be a figment of his imagination. How else could he explain how they were both back in Braxton today and happened to bump into each other at the fair in a town of over forty-thousand people? The odds of them being there at the same exact time was not only impossible, it was improbable. It sure as hell wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t believe in them.
And yet, here she was.
The sweet little thing nibbled and tasted and let out a breathy sigh of pleasure that had him harder than the sledgehammer used in the strongman game down the fairway. Part innocence and part hot-as-hell in a lacey peach sundress, Beth was already halfway to ringing his bell. Doing his best to keep cool and let her run the show, he tried to concentrate on the fact Cord was waiting for him at the auction, but then she went and brushed his bottom lip with her tongue.
During the eleven years he was in the Army—the last eight as a Ranger—Brick had planned and carried out enough missions to know that if you wanted something to happen, you made it happen. And, hell yeah, he was making this happen.
With a low growl, he shoved his hands in her soft caramel-colored waves and held her head while he took over the kiss. Deep, long passes with his tongue brought her essence to him and a soft whimper to her throat. He loved how she clung to his shoulders, practically climbing his body in a show of need that rivaled his own. Brick knew from their hot weekend they had a killer chemistry, but the way this simple kiss morphed out of control in the space of a heartbeat shocked the hell out of him.
All too soon she drew back, staring up at him with heat smoldering in those incredible eyes he hadn’t been able to get out of his head the past two weeks. He’d tried. Oh, he tried. After all, they’d had a fun, no-strings-attached fling. Nothing more. Hell, they hadn’t even exchanged last names. No need. They’d kept it light. Fun. Hot. He might have broken his one-date rule with her, but he wasn’t sticking around Texas. Once the ranch was in the clear and the veterans’ barracks were completed, he was Vegas bound to work in his former commander’s security firm.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the moment at hand, though.
“Well, hello to you, too.” He grinned as his hands made themselves at home at her waist. They certainly knew every inch of her delectable body. And itched for a reunion. “I’m not complaining, mind you, but what was that for?”
Color increased in her cheeks. “It was a dare.”
A dare?
He raised a brow. The woman was full of surprises. “Someone dared you to kiss me?”
“Sort of. I was supposed to kiss the next cowboy to walk through the gate. I’m just grateful it was you.”
Well, hell. “You were willing to kiss a stranger?”
“No.” She released him completely and stepped back, a flicker of unease clouding her gaze. “I refused until you strode in and I saw an opportunity to make this work to my advantage.”
Former Army Ranger Stone Mitchum doesn’t have time for sex. Since starting a company with his brother and two buddies, he’s had more important things on his mind. Like transitioning veterans back into society. But when his curvy new tenant falls into his arms—literally—his libido snaps to attention.
Jovy Larson has four weeks to prove she’s worthy of taking over the family business. Her challenge? Sell gluten-free, vegan food—in the middle of cattle country, Texas. It’s a tough task, but not half as tough as fighting her attraction to her sexy, surly landlord.
Before she knows it, Jovy’s tangling sheets with the hot cowboy, stalked by a jealous cow, and strategizing ways to help Stone’s ranch. But by the time her lease runs out and the test is over, she’s faced with a new challenge…competing against Stone’s sense of duty to win his heart.
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Donna Michaels is an award winning, New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of Romaginative fiction. Her hot, humorous, and heartwarming stories include cowboys, men in uniform, and some sexy, primal alphas. With a husband in the military fulltime, and a household of nine, she never runs out of material to write, and has rightfully earned the nickname Lucy…and sometimes Ethel. From short to epic, her books entertain readers across a variety of sub-genres, and one has even being hand drawn into a Japanese translation. Now, if only she could read it.
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February 28, 2017
LIBERTY by Kim Iverson Headlee
LIBERTY
by Kim Iverson Headlee
Genre: Historical Romance (ancient Rome)
How hard would you fight for a chance at impossible love?
“Epic.” ~ Drue’s Random Chatter Reviews.
From the critically acclaimed, award-winning pen of Kim Iverson Headlee comes the thrilling, poignant tale of love across a vast social divide.
WINNER, 2015 BooksGoSocial Best Book.
Betrayed by her father and sold as payment of a Roman tax debt to fight in Londinium's arena, gladiatrix-slave Rhyddes feels like a wild beast in a gilded cage. Celtic warrior blood flows in her veins, but Roman masters own her body. She clings to her vow that no man shall claim her soul, though Marcus Calpurnius Aquila, son of the Roman governor, makes her yearn for a love she believes impossible.
Groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and trapped in a politically advantageous betrothal, Aquila prefers the purity of combat on the amphitheater sands to the sinister intrigues of imperial politics, and the raw power and athletic grace of the flame-haired Libertas to the adoring deference of Rome's noblewomen.
When a plot to overthrow Caesar ensnares them as pawns in the dark design, Aquila must choose between the Celtic slave who has won his heart and the empire to which they both owe allegiance. Trusting no man and knowing the opposite of obedience is death, the only liberty offered to any slave, Rhyddes must embrace her arena name, Libertas—and the love of a man willing to sacrifice everything to forge a future with her.
Marcus Calpurnius Aquila sprawled on his belly across the cushioned and linen-draped marble massage table, his head, arms, shins, and feet jutting over the table’s padded edges. As the male slave worked eucalyptus-scented unguent into the aching muscles, Marcus could feel the tensions of combat seep away.
Too bad the man couldn’t work out the knots in Marcus’s relationship with his father, Sextus Calpurnius Agricola, governor of Britannia province.
Citing “official business” yet again, Agricola had declined to witness Marcus’s gladiatorial bout in Londinium’s amphitheater this afternoon. His opponent had fought well, causing Marcus in his scanty armor to work up a sweat that, judging by the reverberating high-pitched cheers, had all the women swooning with delight.
Never mind that Marcus, who fought under his cognomen, Aquila, the Eagle, remained a perennial favorite with the crowd. Agricola never missed an opportunity to point out that his arena exhibitions—and the resulting private liaisons with adoring female spectators—flirted with the precipice of social acceptability and could damage Marcus’s political aspirations.
February 23, 2017
THE GAME BEGINS by Victoria Danann
THE GAME BEGINS
R. Caine High School
by Victoria Danann
Genre: YA Sci-Fi Fantasy Myths
When it came to the attention of the old ones that their creations, the Earth gods, had been playing games at the expense of humankind for millennia, they put a stop to it. But the rebellious gods were far too addicted to their games to give them up. After several summit meetings, they voted to use their own children as players and locate the playing field in the most treacherous environment in the known universe. High school.
To make it even more interesting, they would strip their children of their memories and withhold the rules of the game. The players believed they were ordinary kids until they were transferred to R. Caine High School. When odd things begin to happen, the players gradually realize they have special gifts or attributes. But that doesn’t mean they can’t die.
My name is Ever Moore.
I know. It makes me wince every time I say it. When I’m eighteen, I plan to have it legally changed to something that doesn’t make people laugh. But right now I’m stuck.
My dad thinks puns are the highest form of humor. He calls it ‘word play’. That’s right. I’m the spawn of nerds. My dad creates video games. My mother is an ethics professor at UCLA who thinks the battle between good and evil begins at home.
If you want to know just how weird it can get at the Thanksgiving table, I can go one better. My grandfather was a big deal rock star in the seventies. You wouldn’t know the name of the band. So there’s no point in name dropping. After a visit, he exits with a two-finger peace salute like all the other well-adjusted hippie grandparents, but he doesn’t say, “Peace.”
He says, “Rock steady.”
Ugh!
My family is big on manners. They’re too strict to let me say what I think, especially about Buzz’s love life. My grandfather doesn’t want to be called Grandpa or Grandad or Gramps or anything close to normal. Oh no. He wants to be called ‘Buzz’. I have no idea why. That is not his name.
Anyway, the best protest I can mount is rolling my eyes. I keep trying to get his attention and roll my eyes back further into my head when he does the ‘rock steady’ thing, but he will not be deterred.
Anyway I was leading a completely typical and deliciously angsty teenage life in Austin, Texas when my parents were suddenly offered jobs in the LA area at the same time. It was weird, but weird is part of my normal. Always has been.
Since my grandad, the rocker, still lives in LA with the latest girlfriend who’s barely legal - she’s two years older than I am and her name is Charmin, yes, like the toilet paper. If that was my name, I’d have the decency to go by something like Charm, which would really be making lemonade from lemmons. But not Charmin. I don’t think she’s bright enough to understand what people are thinking whenever they say her name. Anyway, with the jobs and the fact that ‘Buzz’ lives there, moving seemed like a good idea.
To them.
~~~
Now here we are in beautiful Oxnard. Yeah. I know. It sounds like somebody was in the middle of a sneeze when a cough barked out. I try looking it up to see what an oxnard is. Of course that was a circular exercise; ‘see city in California’. So I try ‘nard’. Closest thing is spikenard which is an herb. At that point I lose interest.
I’m stuck with Oxnard and, at least for the time being, Oxnard is stuck with me. So here’s a rundown of the good, the bad, and the boring.
The good news is that we managed to get a boat dock house. It’s on the water, but not on the beach. No extra space. There are three bedrooms. Guess who gets the ‘master’? That left two little rooms for my brother and me to fight over. I pulled rank - I’m four years older - and got the one facing the front. That means the water view.
Among other noteworthy travel facts, Oxnard is in a valley between the Santa Monica Mountains and the Los Padres, which is a cluster of mountain ranges. I’m told that you could be surfing at the beach while looking at snow-covered mountains. Put that in the kind of cool column.
Now for the bad. The house is tiny compared to where we lived in Austin. It’s going to be an adjustment.
As far as boring, I know no one here. As in NO ONE!
The only thing that could be worse than that is the fact that on Monday I’m going to have to walk into a new high school. Did I mention that I know NO ONE? Not even my brother will be in my school, which, okay, I admit I’m thankful for that because, if things could be worse, that would be it.
I’ve seen it. The school, I mean.
When nobody was there, I walked around the grounds with my dog, Elke. She’s a Norwegian Elkhound, really smart, really pretty, and really sure she doesn’t have to do what I say.
The school is kind of a gothic monstrosity that couldn’t be more out of place in SoCal. It looks like a Wizard of Oz tornado picked it up in Crumbling, Maine and dropped it in Oxnard.
I imagine the ground shaking when it hit. Boom.
How do I feel about starting a new school in two days?
As a sophomore?
Let me put it this way. Last summer my parents decided we were going to take a family trip to England. They said the educational value was astronomical. It would be like a field trip on steroids. Their words. Not mine.
So we went. But we didn’t go like normal families and stay in hotels. Of course not.
We stayed in family hostels. What’s that, you ask? Imagine going to camp with other families and sleeping in big bunk rooms with people of all ages, both sexes, some of whom make noises in their sleep that you wouldn’t think were possible for humans.
Don’t even ask about the shared bath.
Anyway, we went on one of those Bloody Tower tours in London where they trot you past all the torture tools and devices. Our guide tried to give cryptic descriptions about how they were used, because of his perception that my brother is of a tender and sensitive young age. The guide kept glancing at my brother nervously like he was afraid the information would scar the boy’s precious psyche, imprinting evil on the tabula rosa. On the contrary my brother probably invented some of those devices himself in past lifetimes.
The point I’m getting to is this. Given the choice, I’d gladly choose the rack over having to walk into a new high school as a sophomore where I know NOBODY! But this is the real world and I don’t have a choice.
I’m feeling sorry enough for myself to consider curling up into a ball when my brother barges into my room without knocking. “What the…? We moved here three weeks ago, Never. You’ve had time to unpack. You’re supposed to be the neat one. Miss Smart Perfect Suck up.” He punctuates that with a perfectly disgusting sucking noise.
Following his line of sight to the bed, the chair, the desk, I’m forced to agree that clothes draped everywhere looks like a breakdown straight ahead. Naturally I counter by going on the offensive.
“Nobody invited you in. Try knocking! I could have been getting dressed.”
“So what? You’ve got nothing that interests me.”
“Idiot. It’s called privacy. I deserve to have some in my OWN ROOM!”
“What’s this about?” He waves his arm to indicate the trunk show.
“I’m deciding what to wear the first day.”
He laughs that unbelievably aggravating laugh that never fails to make me want to pitch him out a second story window. By the way, there is one close by. It draws my gaze and gives life to my fantasy of hearing him scream on the way down.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” he asks, wearing his smarmiest smuggest sneer face. “Well, sit at the feet of the master, little girl, and I’ll tell you how to conquer first day fever and win.” He sounds like an infomercial for a self-help guru. Maybe he’ll do okay in SoCal. “When you walk in, look for the biggest toughest-looking girl around. Then you walk straight up to her and punch her in the mouth.”
No. He’s not going to do okay in SoCal.
“Levi. This is California. They have zero tolerance for that kind of thing.” He shrugs, completely unconcerned. I put my hand to my head. “Wait. Wait. I’m getting a premonition. Yes. Yes. I can see it now. Mom and Dad are going to get a call from your vice principal within ten minutes of dropping you off at school. He’s going to tell them that they’re raising a barbarian who’s prison bound.”
“Just telling you. It sets the tone for the entire year. Your life can be bumpy or smooth. Take it from me. Your barbarian is my bad ass.” He holds a finger up. “Oh. Did I mention the part about run like hell after you punch Alice Assault in the mouth?”
I blink at him, wondering for the multi-thousandth time which one of us was adopted. It was probably me. “Say your name slowly.”
He rolls his eyes, but gets the message and leaves.
My brother’s name is Levi. We’re not Hebrew. My parents just liked the jeans which, I guess, must have been cool at one time. If he says his name slowly, it sounds like, “Leave. I.”
If you’re thinking that’s mean, don’t even go there. He gets back at me by calling me Never and cawing like Edgar Allen Poe’s raven, especially if I have friends around.
Naturally he leaves the bedroom door standing open just to irritate me. I slam it, hear my mother’s faint shout saying don’t slam the door, lock it, and turn back to the impossible task of figuring out what people at this alien outpost consider first day of school clothes. If only I could…
That’s when I realize I might get a preview into life at R. Caine High School. I open the laptop and pull up images.
Why didn’t I think of this before?
Track and field. Lots of running and jumping enthusiasm then.
Football. Concussion anyone?
Basketball. No comment.
A CPR dummy. How many times has that thing been kissed?
Softball. Hmmm. Maybe.
Graduation. Gold robes. Ew.
And finally, a photo of kids swarming a large paved area, not wearing athletic gear or some kind of club tee shirt. Whether they were coming or going I can’t tell. The main thing is I can see the clothes and they aren’t all that different from what I’m used to. In fact, the picture could have been taken at my old school. Sigh.
So alright. I can do this. All I have to do is pick out something that makes me feel reasonably attractive. It’s the first day of school. Not the end of the world.
Right?
Right?
Lots of people have been through this and survived.
Yes.
I know I’m taking that on faith, but since I haven’t heard urban myths about kids going to new schools and never being heard from again, I’m going with that assumption. Or trying to.
~~~
Who am I kidding?
Doomsday looms.
I mean you wouldn’t think a person could actually fear lunch. Not the food, of course. Although some might say fearing the food made in the cafeteria is a test of Darwin’s theory. I don’t think Darwin’s theory applies to humans anymore. Modern medicine is pretty good at interfering with the impending doom and saving the day no matter how badly we botch genetics.
It probably seems like I’m obsessing over the word ‘doom’, but it’s just that kind of weekend. The kind that will live in infamy forever.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I was talking about the rites of lunch. The quest for that magical place where you can be part of a herd of the like-minded; meaning people who understand you well enough that you can talk to each other, eat together, gossip about whatever, and kid yourself into thinking they don’t gossip about you when you’re not there.
I look at the clock. Again.
The first day of my sophomore year should be a celebration of not being a freshman anymore. But that’s for kids who get to stay put. Not for people like myself who’ve been forcibly relocated, that means moved against my will, to the other side of the country.
By this same time tomorrow I’ll know if my quest was successful.
Will I be able to locate the magical lunch herd on the first day?
Have I been a good person?
Do I deserve that fate?
Why yes. Yes, I do.
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New York Times bestselling author of eighteen romances including paranormal, scifi, fantasy, contemporary, and teen. Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series won BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES and PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVEL OF THE YEAR the past FOUR YEARS IN A ROW. This past year two of her series took the top two places and two of her books took first and second place Paranormal Romance of the Year category. - Reviewers Choice Awards, The Paranormal Romance Guild.
Her paranormal romances come with uniquely fresh perspectives on "imaginary" creatures, characters, and themes. She adds a dash of scifi, a flourish of fantasy, enough humor to make you laugh out loud, and, occasionally, enough steam to make you squirm in your chair. Her heroines are independent femmes with flaws and minds of their own whether they are aliens, witches, demonologists, werewolves, hybrids, psychics, or past life therapists. Her heroes are hot and hunky, but they also have brains, character, and good manners... usually.
The rich characterizations come from being a lifelong student of behavior, casually, and a serious student of behavior academically. She also studied comparative religion, myths, and Dark Ages history.
Victoria lives in The Woodlands, Texas with her husband and a very smart, mostly black German Shepherd dog.
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